Spurgeon's first preaching "assignment"

I just saw, and loved, Through The Eyes of Spurgeon. Great film, joy to watch. I recommend it heartily. I would pick a nit, here. The film suggests that "Bishop Vinter" lied to Spurgeon and his companion, telling each that the other would preach. The real story is much more charming. In Spurgeon's own words, relating the incident not long after his sixteenth birthday:

There is a Preachers’ Association in Cambridge, connected with St. Andrew’s Street Chapel, once the scene of the ministry of Robert Robinson and Robert Hall. A number of worthy brethren preach the gospel in the various villages surrounding Cambridge, taking each one his turn according to plan. In my day, the presiding genius was the venerable Mr. James Vinter, whom we were wont to address as Bishop Vinter. His genial soul, warm heart, and kindly manner were enough to keep a whole fraternity stocked with love; and, accordingly, a goodly company of zealous workers belonged to the Association, and laboured as true yoke-fellows. My suspicion is, that he not only preached himself, and helped his brethren, but that he was a sort of recruiting sergeant, and drew in young men to keep up the number of the host; at least, I can speak from personal experience as to one case 

I had, one Saturday, finished morning school, and the boys were all going home for the half-holiday, when in came the aforesaid “Bishop” to ask me to go over to Teversham, the next evening, for a young man was to preach there who was not much used to services, and very likely would be glad of company. That was a cunningly-devised sentence, if I remember it rightly, and I think I do; for, at the time, in the light of that Sunday evening’s revelation, I turned it over, and vastly admired its ingenuity. A request to go and preach, would have met with a decided negative; but merely to act as company to a good brother who did not like to be lonely, and perhaps might ask me to give out a hymn or to pray, was not at all a difficult matter, and the request, understood in that fashion, was cheerfully complied with. Little did the lad know what Jonathan and David were doing when he was made to run for the arrow, and as little did I know when I was cajoled into accompanying a young man to Teversham. 

My Sunday-school work was over, tea had been taken, and I set off through Barnwell, and away along the Newmarket Road, with a gentleman some few years my senior. We talked of good things, and at last I expressed my hope that he would feel the presence of God while preaching. He seemed to start, and assured me that he had never preached in his life, and could not attempt such a thing; he was looking to his young friend, Mr. Spurgeon, for that. This was a new view of the situation, and I could only reply that I was no minister; and that, even if I had been, I was quite unprepared. My companion only repeated that he, in a still more emphatic sense, was not a preacher, that he would help me in any other part of the service, but that there would be no sermon unless I delivered one. He told me that, if I repeated one of my Sunday-school addresses, it would just suit the poor people, and would probably give them more satisfaction than the studied sermon of a learned divine. I felt that I was fairly committed to do my best. I walked along quietly, lifting up my soul to God, and it seemed to me that I could surely tell a few poor cottagers of the sweetness and love of Jesus, for I felt them in my own soul. Praying for Divine help, I resolved to make the attempt. My text should be, “Unto you therefore which believe He is precious,” and I would trust the Lord to open my mouth in honour of His dear Son. It seemed a great risk and a serious trial; but depending upon the power of the Holy Ghost, I would at least tell out the story of the cross, and not allow the people to go home without a word.

[C. H. Spurgeon, C. H. Spurgeon’s Autobiography, Compiled from His Diary, Letters, and Records, by His Wife and His Private Secretary, 1834–1854, vol. 1 (Cincinatti; Chicago; St. Louis: Curts & Jennings, 1898), 200–201.]

Reasons not to abandon expository preaching?

To my mind, there are a myriad of reasons not even to toy with the notion of not preaching God's word in the assembly of the saints. But I want to single out an odd one from an odd angle.

I address preachers, exclusively.

Ask yourselves, "What possible thing do I have say, of myself and about myself, that warrants all these people interrupting the course of their lives and gathering together in this place at this time?"

If the answer that comes up from the very depths of your soul isn't "Nothing! Not one thing!"...

...then I'm not certain your head's in the best place for being a preacher in one of Christ's assemblies.

All that to say this: one of my chief reasons not even to be able to conceive of abandoning commitment to opening Scripture in every meeting of Christ's church is simply this question —

What else would I have that's worth talking about?

Nothing. Not one thing.

The literally indispensable ministry of the Holy Spirit in Gospel preaching

One of the realities that weighs more heavily on me in pastoral ministry now, more than ever in the past, is the need of the Holy Spirit's lifegiving ministry in, through, and beyond the act of preaching the Gospel.

As usual, Spurgeon says it with evocative power and excellence:

Oh, brothers and sisters, if anybody in this place knows the power which is in Christ to make his ministry of any use, I am sure that I do! I scarcely ever come into this pulpit without bemoaning myself that ever I should be called to a task for which I seem more unfit than any other man that ever was born. Woe is me that I should have to preach a gospel which so overmasters me, and which I feel that I am so unfit to preach! Yet I could not give it up, for it were a far greater woe to me not to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

Unless the Holy Ghost blesses the Word, we who preach the gospel are of all men most miserable, for we have attempted a task that is impossible, we have entered upon a sphere where nothing but the supernatural will ever avail. If the Holy Spirit does not renew the hearts of our hearers, we cannot do it. If the Holy Ghost does not regenerate them, we cannot. If he does not send the truth home into their souls, we might as well speak into the ear of a corpse. All that we have to do is quite beyond our unaided power; we must have our Master with us, or we can do nothing. 

We deeply feel our need of this great truth; we not merely say it, but we are driven every day, by our own deep sense of need, to rejoice that our Lord has declared, “All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth,” for we need all power. Every kind of power that there is in heaven and in earth we shall need before we can fully discharge this ministry. Before the nations shall all be brought to hear the gospel of Christ, before testimony to him shall be borne in every land, we shall need the whole omnipotence of God; we shall want every force in heaven and earth ere this is done. Thank God that this power is all laid by ready for our use, the strength that is equal to such a stupendous task as this is already provided. 

[Spurgeon, C. H. (1896). The Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit Sermons, Vol. XLII (pp. 235–236), "Our Omnipotent Leader." London: Passmore & Alabaster. Paragraphs added to enhance readability]

Even so, come, Holy Spirit, to bring the word of the Gospel home with power and conviction (1 Thess. 1:5-6).

Preaching: what many must do, and what only one can do

The years have increasingly impressed on me the truth of Spurgeon's meditations on Luke 24:45 —

He whom we viewed last evening as opening Scripture, we here perceive opening the understanding. In the first work he has many fellow-labourers, but in the second he stands alone; many can bring the Scriptures to the mind, but the Lord alone can prepare the mind to receive the Scriptures. Our Lord Jesus differs from all other teachers; they reach the ear, but he instructs the heart; they deal with the outward letter, but he imparts an inward taste for the truth, by which we perceive its savour and spirit. ...How many men of profound learning are ignorant of eternal things! They know the killing letter of revelation, but its killing spirit they cannot discern; they have a veil upon their hearts which the eyes of carnal reason cannot penetrate. Such was our case a little time ago; we who now see were once utterly blind; truth was to us as beauty in the dark, a thing unnoticed and neglected. Had it not been for the love of Jesus we should have remained to this moment in utter ignorance, for without his gracious opening of our understanding, we could no more have attained to spiritual knowledge than an infant can climb the Pyramids, or an ostrich fly up to the stars.

Our greatest and most passionate, ardent labors in preaching and teaching, pleading and reasoning, warning and encouraging — they're all two things:

1. Absolutely necessary
2. Utterly inadequate

We must do them, and we mustn't think they're sufficient. We must preach and teach; and when the lightbulb comes on for some soul, we mustn't imagine we turned the switch. We did not. A supernatural hand dimmed the light (2 Cor. 4:3-4), and it must be a greater supernatural hand that flicks it on (2 Cor. 4:6). That hand uses the means of our preaching (2 Cor. 4:5), but apart from that hand, our preaching is in vain.

What a prod to earnest prayer, and abject dependence, is this truth.

"Yeah, but dude, you're no Spurgeon"

[This is a companion-piece to the post today at Pyro, and to this sermon.]

The best three-word non-explanation explanation I've ever heard, for the phenomenon that was Charles Haddon Spurgeon, is this: freak of grace.

God worked in Spurgeon in a very unique way and, while his faith and core convictions are such as should be embraced and emulated, many of his personal idiosyncrasies should not be. It isn't that they were necessarily  wrong; it is simply that... well, they worked for him. And you and I are not him. Dude, friend, my brother — we are so not him!

So there are a great many things to which, if any mere mortal today were to try them in Spurgeon's name, the title of this post would make a sufficient response. Here are a few examples:

• "I know I'm only 16 and I've only been saved for one year, but I want to get up and preach a sermon. After all, that's what Spurgeon did."
• "I know I'm only 17 and unmarried, and I've only been saved for two years, but I want to pastor a church. After all, that's what Spurgeon did."
• "I know I'm only 20 and unmarried, and I've only been saved for a few years, but I want to be the sole pastor of a major church in a major city. After all, that's what Spurgeon did."
• "I think I'll enter the solo pastorate of a large and growing church without the benefit of the least bit of formal education or apprenticeship. After all, that's what Spurgeon did."
• "I think I'll preach for decades without really becoming adept in Biblical Hebrew or Greek. After all, that's what Spurgeon did."
• "I think I'll focus on preaching isolated texts with no particular progresseion either of a theme or through a book of Scripture. After all, that's what Spurgeon did."
• "I think I'll wait until Saturday to pick my sermon text for the next day. Then I'll enter the pulpit with a sketchy outline that would fit on an index card with room to spare. After all, that's what Spurgeon did."
• "I think I'll wait until Sunday afternoon to pick my text. Then I'll enter the pulpit with a sketchy outline that would fit on an index card with room to spare. After all, that's what Spurgeon did."

See how it works? This, you can try at home.

But doing what Spurgeon did and expecting good to come of it? Nah. Better not.

After all, dude, seriously:...

Fairbairn on Christianity: doctrine? Life? Both?

As I'm preaching through Titus I have occasion to use any of dozens of books. One lesser-known commentary on the Pastorals is by Patrick Fairbairn, better known for his works on prophecy and typology.

The title for my series is Titus: Living Sound Doctrine. It's my best shot at capturing the constant back and forth interweaving of the two themes in Titus, showing the interrelatedness of sound doctrine and sound living.

All that to introduce Fairbairn's apposite remark on Titus 2:1.

Christianity is primarily, indeed, a doctrine, but only that it may be in the true sense a life; and the two can never be kept apart from each other in the public teaching of the church without imminent peril to both.

[Fairbairn, P. (1874). The Pastoral Epistles: The Translation with Introduction, Expository Notes, and Dissertations (270). Edinburgh: T&T Clark.]

The folly of not making the effort to profit from Biblical preaching

Over at Pyro today I offer some thoughts on how to benefit from expository preaching. Re-reading it, I thought of and found a passage in Spurgeon that illustrates the converse: how foolish it is to hear Biblical preaching, and not make the effort to profit from it. It comes from Lectures to My Students, and I've broken it up a bit to make it more readable.

Thus Spurgeon:

---

The same venerable brother delivered a sermon equally singular but far more original and useful; those who heard it will remember it to their dying day. It was from this text: “The slothful man roasteth not that which he took in hunting.”

The good old man leaned upon the top of the pulpit, and said, “Then, my brethren, he was a lazy fellow!” That was the exordium; and then he went on to say, “He went out a hunting, and after much trouble he caught his hare, and then was too idle to roast it. He was a lazy fellow indeed!”

The good man made us all feel how ridiculous such idleness was, and then he said, “But then you are very likely quite as much to blame as this man, for you do just the same. You hear of a popular minister coming down from London, and you put the horse in the cart, and drive ten or twenty miles to hear him; and then when you have heard the sermon you forget to profit by it. You catch the hare and do not roast it; you go hunting after the truth, and then you do not receive it.”

Then he went on to show, that just as meat needs cooking to prepare it for assimilation in the bodily system—I do not think he used that word though—so the truth needs to go through a process before it can be received into the mind so that we may feed thereon and grow. He said he should show how to cook a sermon, and he did so most instructively. He began as the cookery books do—“First catch your hare.” “So,” he said, “first get a gospel sermon.” Then he declared that a great many sermons were not worth hunting for, and that good sermons were mournfully scarce, and it was worth while to go any distance to hear a solid, old-fashioned, Calvinistic discourse.

Then after the sermon had been caught, there was much about it which might be necessary because of the preacher’s infirmity, which was not profitable, and must be put away. Here he enlarged upon discerning and judging what we heard, and not believing every word of any man.

Then followed directions as to roasting a sermon; run the spit of memory through it from end to end, turn it round upon the roasting-jack of meditation, before the fire of a really warm and earnest heart, and in that way the sermon would be cooked and ready to yield real spiritual nourishment. I do but give you the outline, and though it may look somewhat laughable, it was not so esteemed by the hearers. It was full of allegory, and kept up the attention of the people from the beginning to the end.

[Spurgeon, C. H. (1875). Lectures to my students, Vol. 1: A selection from addresses delivered to the students of the Pastors' College, Metropolitan Tabernacle. (115–116). London: Passmore and Alabaster.]

Preaching to a new or distant church

One of the interesting framing-thoughts that the late David Morsey, who gave me my first pastoral training, imparted was this: look to the NT epistles to see what was essential to the apostles. That is, imagine you're about to give something to a church at a distant, something to aim and help and stabilize and focus them. What would it be? What would you choose? The epistles gives us a glimpse into that mindset and those priorities.

I do this when I'm going to speak at a church, particularly as a guest. I had the gracious invitation recently to speak at Copperfield Bible Church, and faced those questions. So many possibilities, so many sermons already in my files or waiting to be plucked and developed and preached... what to choose? Assuming I'd never have another opportunity to speak, what could I give to them, under God, that could be a gift that kept on giving?

Find out HERE, and then HERE.

Help for pastors and other public speakers, from...

So brother-pastors, maybe you're still smarting a bit from Sunday. Maybe you felt you had a good message, but delivered it poorly or ineffectively. You just don't feel like you're connecting with your hearers.

Fret no more! Thanks to a tip from reader Yurie Hwang, I can now offer you this...

I think it's, like... hysterical?

My sermons and talks online

From time to time I get asked whether I have any sermons online. Indeed I do (get asked, and have them).

After answering the last email last week, it seemed like a good idea to put them all together in a post — and, ladies and gentlemen, this is that post!

This post contains lectures in a conference on the Sovereignty of God

Lectures from a conference on Proverbs

Sermons from River City Grace church in Sacramento, CA (search for my name)

Select Dan Phillips as preacher, and this has a bunch of sermons

More sermons here

Thirteen signs your sermon isn't going well

Courtesy of Chris Brauns, author of the superb Unpacking Forgiveness, is Mike Wittmer's list of 13 signs a sermon isn't going well. I think my favorites are numbers 13, 4, 3 and 1.

Ultimate sermon illustration gif

I'll supply the illustration, you write the sermon.

Knox and MacLeod: two fiery Scots

Many in Scotland were wowed by the prospect of the Pope's visit.

Not pastor Donald MacLeod. His thoughts:

"On the face of things the forthcoming papal visit to Britain should be an unqualified publicity triumph, offering a heady mixture of theatre, religion and politics. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that the event was deliberately timed to clash with the 450th anniversary of the Scottish Reformation. Ironically the spoiling tactic has turned out to be entirely unnecessary. Our SNP Government has no intention whatever of acknowledging Scotland's debt to the Reformation, and even less of honouring John Knox, the greatest of all our nation-builders, but now safely airbrushed out of our history. That he saved us from national economic ruin, laid the foundation of our national system of education and fired us with an aversion to tyranny, now counts for nothing. Our Government is in Knox-denial. Why does secular, humanist Scotland so warmly entertain Catholicism, with all its authoritarianism, and yet register terror at the mere mention of the religion of Knox? Is it just that we're suckers for funny costumes, and love to see old men dressed in ancient Roman togas?"

Oh yeah, I like him.

Meanwhile, John Knox's body lies a-moldering under a parking lot. (Ken Ham offers some good thoughts on two contrasting graves.)

Absurd, offensive, sad. Love Scotland, a lot — but what a sad spiritual course it's taken.

Here's a much more fitting tribute; great pose, at the High Kirk of St Giles, Edinburgh.

UPDATE: my dear wife and DAOD saw and liked this window of Knox preaching at St. Giles:

Did Jesus sweat drops of blood as He prayed in the Garden?

My heart is in the pulpit, even when the rest of me doesn't have that blessing. That being the case, among my great joys is knowing that the material I offer at my various sites is being used in pulpits on various continents.

This time, ahead of any Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter services, I offer a thought about a deeply ingrained fixture among evangelicals for a long, long time: the idea that Jesus sweated blood as He prayed in the garden.

The image is based on Luke 22:44 — "And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground."

You may notice a marginal note that both verses 43 and 44 are missing from some manuscripts. Since v. 44 is the only verse that mentions this phenomenon, it may not be the greatest idea to lean on something that is textually questionable. However, that isn't my focus here. Let us suppose, for our discussion, that the verse is textually certain.

Does Dr. Luke assert that our Savior sweat blood as He prayed? Many choice servants of God have thought so. Hear Spurgeon from just one place of many:

The mental pressure arising from our Lord’s struggle with temptation, so forced his frame to an unnatural excitement, that his pores sent forth great drops of blood which fell down to the ground. This proves how tremendous must have been the weight of sin when it was able to crush the Saviour so that he distilled great drops of blood! ...This sets forth the voluntariness of Christ’s sufferings, since without a lance the blood flowed freely. No need to put on the leech, or apply the knife; it flows spontaneously. No need for the rulers to cry, “Spring up, O well;” of itself it flows in crimson torrents. (pm for 3/23)

However, note what many say, as contrasted with what Luke said. Many say Jesus "sweated blood," "sweat blood." Luke does not say this. Luke wrote, "his sweat became like [ὡσεὶ, hōsei] great drops of blood. Do you notice the difference? One is a declarative statement ("sweated blood"), the other is a simile ("like great drops of blood").

Now, it is just possible that hōsei means "just like"... but still, there's that "like." Consider some of Luke's other uses of hōsei. For instance, in Acts 2:3 — "And divided tongues as of fire appeared to them and rested on each one of them." Does anyone argue that the tongues were actual flames? I don't think so. They were like flames of fire. Or was Stephen's face the actual face of an angel, or was it like an angel's face (Acts 6:15)?

So I take this as a simile. What is a simile? It is a figure of speech where two different objects are compared, often because of a single point of correspondence.

Maybe I can illustrate by a little family joke. I forget how it started, but my mother used to say with great fondness that I was "like a son" to her. We'd chuckle.

Why was it funny? Well, because I wasn't "like" a son to her. I was her son. If I were "like" a son, I would not be her son. A thing is not "like" what it is; it is what it is.

So, when Luke says that Jesus' sweat was "like" great drops of blood, he is saying that Jesus' sweat was not great drops of blood. No need to search for medical parallels, or to speak of "hemohydrosis." Had Jesus sweat blood, it would have been great drops of blood — not "like" great drops of blood.

Luke and our Lord lived in a different land and time. Their days weren't spent in safety-engineered offices and air-conditioned buildings with rounded, edgeless corners. They didn't earn their living by sitting on cushions and tapping out words on ergonomic keyboards. No, they worked out of doors, among sharp stones and rough wood and jagged iron. They saw many cuts, and plenty of bleeding. Certainly Dr. Luke had also seen his share of blood pouring from cuts and wounds.

Luke is telling us that Jesus did not build up a mild sweat, a thin sheen of perspiration. So heavy was His burden that the Lord Jesus looked as if He had been deeply cut, and were bleeding profusely. Only it wasn't blood that was pouring off His body in a great flow of steady, swollen drops. It was sweat.

Probably the closest any of us have come would be a heavy nosebleed. We lean over the sink and watch in some fascination: drip, drip, drip, drip. Steady, large succession of drops. So it was with Jesus, but all over, and in sweat.

The picture loses none of its poignancy with the loss of sanguinity. There is no need nor place for sacrificial shedding of blood in the Garden. That would take place on the Cross.

Now our Lord is well-nigh crushed by the prospect of bearing our sins, and His Father's just wrath. The Lord Jesus was in such an agony as He confronted the horrors awaiting him, the torment and torture of body and spirit that He would endure, that as He wrestled in prayer, sweat poured off of Him. So great was the cost of our salvation.

So great was our Savior's love.

Hallelujah! What a Savior.

Spurgeon, doing that thing Spurgeon does

All of us who love Spurgeon — and (did you know?) I love Spurgeon — sometimes chuckle at how he handles texts. Which is to say, sometimes... he doesn't. That is, he quotes a text, then launches. Launches somewhere else.

I can't remember the specific, but I'm sure I've read a sermon where he says basically, "OK, this isn't what this text says, but here's what I'm thinking:...."

He gets away with it for two reasons:

1. He's Spurgeon, for pity's sake. And...
2. He's Spurgeon.

Being Spurgeon, even what he says is likely to be soaked with Biblical truth, though not very expository.

Well, in the October 20 pm reading of Morning by Morning, we see a classic example (emphases added):

“Keep not back.”
— Isaiah 43:6

Although this message was sent to the south, and referred to the seed of Israel, it may profitably be a summons to ourselves. Backward we are naturally to all good things, and it is a lesson of grace to learn to go forward in the ways of God. Reader, are you unconverted, but do you desire to trust in the Lord Jesus? Then keep not back. Love invites you, the promises secure you success, the precious blood prepares the way. Let not sins or fears hinder you, but come to Jesus just as you are. Do you long to pray? Would you pour out your heart before the Lord? Keep not back. The mercy-seat is prepared for such as need mercy; a sinner’s cries will prevail with God. You are invited, nay, you are commanded to pray, come therefore with boldness to the throne of grace.

Dear friend, are you already saved? Then keep not back from union with the Lord’s people. Neglect not the ordinances of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. You may be of a timid disposition, but you must strive against it, lest it lead you into disobedience. There is a sweet promise made to those who confess Christ—by no means miss it, lest you come under the condemnation of those who deny him. If you have talents keep not back from using them. Hoard not your wealth, waste not your time; let not your abilities rust or your influence be unused. Jesus kept not back, imitate him by being foremost in self-denials and self-sacrifices. Keep not back from close communion with God, from boldly appropriating covenant blessings, from advancing in the divine life, from prying into the precious mysteries of the love of Christ. Neither, beloved friend, be guilty of keeping others back by your coldness, harshness, or suspicions. For Jesus’ sake go forward yourself, and encourage others to do the like. Hell and the leaguered bands of superstition and infidelity are forward to the fight. O soldiers of the cross, keep not back.

There y'go. Fine, challenging, Bibley thoughts, all with one common denominator: they have nothing to do with the text.

Pastors, remember: DO NOT try this unless you are Charles H. Spurgeon!

Mark Driscoll at the Crystal Cathedral

You can read the text of Driscoll's 8/23/09 sermon here. If I get this right, you have to pay Schuller $15 to own the sermon. So, read it.

Given that it was transcribed by such a massive organization, the amount of misspellings and typos are surprising. But what about the content?

I'll be brief. I know that someone who is "out for Driscoll" could carp over this and that. It isn't the sermon I think I'd preach, offered the same pulpit.

But HSAT, honestly — Driscoll preached Christ. It is not bad at all. Driscoll did not go off on himself, waste time making himself look cute and edgy and "bad-boy." He simply preached Christ: preached Him as God, preached His atoning death and resurrection, preached His exclusivity. It was Jesus, from start to finish.

Driscoll even talked about our sin, and our need for forgiveness. I imagine Driscoll will be faulted for his "God needs to" riff, but I think it is pretty clear that he means "we need God to." I'll leave catching people at bad syllables and conjunctions to the Pharisees. It's a standard no mortal could meet.

And Driscoll's message would have been adorned were he a person of greater overall credibility, unburdened by baggage of his own persistent creation. But he preached Christ from that apostate pulpit, and I rejoice in that (Philippians 1:18). Now let's pray all the more that Driscoll's life adorn the Gospel (v. 27), by his dealing with those shaming issues.

Given where he's preaching, I didn't love Driscoll's closing prayer, which includes a petition that his hearers "be as people with joy and purpose and passion and pleasure and enthusiasm and hope and joy that never ends." But once again, in context, this is prayed for people who have (as he prays) embraced the real Jesus in living faith.

It's a good sermon.

So what do I think I would have preached, sitting here in the safety of my relative anonymity, in a universe where the likelihood of that invitation is far less than the likelihood that Obama will do a 180 and move America back towards its best founding values?

I have a bit of a history with Schuller. Robert Schuller said he learned "possibility thinking" from Norman Vincent Peale, promoter of "positive thinking." Norman Vincent Peale said he learned "positive thinking" from Ernest Holmes. Ernest Holmes founded the non-Christian mind-science cult from which the Lord saved me.

As a Christ-hating non-Christian, I sometimes heard Schuller. He was kind of like us, but mentioned Jesus more than we did. After my conversion, I thought "Now I can get more out of Schuller!" I tuned in... and bleeagh! It was like a mouth full of dead hay. It was awful. This was what I'd just been saved from.

Schuller effectively denies sin, denies the exclusivity of Christ, is at best a functional universalist, and is well out of the pale of Biblical orthodoxy.

So, in preaching Christ's exclusivity, Driscoll did hammer at Schuller's rotten foundation. In preaching Jesus as He is, rather than how He can help you get what you want, he also brought another critical truth to bear.

I think, if I had only one sermon, I'd have preached God's holiness and our sin, and the unsurmountable crisis that poses; and I'd have preached Jesus as God's only way — and our only hope — of dealing with that crisis.

If I had two, I might have done that and what Driscoll did.

Because what Driscoll did preach was good, and nothing's gained by denying it.

UPDATE: the photographer who snapped the top image is Ronald Hodgman.  He has other pictures of the event here.

A 2 Timothy 2:15 parable

You are undergoing a very complicated bit of major surgery. The outcome could help you a lot. Or, if it goes wrong, it could leave you paralyzed, in constant pain, severely crippled, or dead.

Due to the unusual nature of the procedure, you remain conscious but immobilized and mute throughout the surgery.

All the shaving and daubing and anesthetizing has been done, and you are wheeled into the theater. A team awaits. There is the surgeon.

"You're in excellent hands," a nurse says. All the other attending professionals agree.

The surgeon leans over you. "Nothing to worry about, nothing at all," he says, and begins.

All is virtually silent, apart from occasional beeps and clicks. Then:

"Oops," the surgeon says.

Then, "Oh well."

Oh well?

A few minutes later, you hear, "Nurse, hand me that... that thingie. That whatsis. You know, the bogotron. I think that's what I'm looking for."

Bogotron? You're pretty sure that's a made-up word. You hear some unsettling slicing and sloshing... then a sudden splip!

"Hunh," the surgeon says in a bemused tone. "Ah... I don't think we needed that anyway."

After which you hear a swoosh and a splop!, as something moist lands in a can off to your right.

"Okay, I think this is what I'm looking for," the surgeon murmurs. "Or... wasn't it supposed to be smaller? This looks big. Janitor, does this look big to you?" Someone mutters incomprehensibly. You think English probably wasn't his native language. There's some rough laughter. The surgeon joins in. When he leans back into your field of vision, he's wiping mirthful tears from his eyes.

"Ah me, I've never had so much fun!" he exclaims, then hunches back over your abdominal area. "Let's see... where was I? Oh crud, that thingie's sunk back in there. Crud crud crud, I'll never find it now. Well, this one probably is just as good. I don't like its color, anyway. Nurse, hand me that... that... that shiny sharp dealie. No, not that - well, never mind, that'll do, I'm pretty sure. I've wanted to use that anyway, see what it does. Now's as good a time as ever."

How do you feel about your surgery now?

(This parable tags on to this.)

On Peter Masters' rant: in which I add only one small thought to Messrs. Turk and Wilson

I was very disappointed to read this rant by Pastor Peter Masters, who I think is a good brother, and who I know is successor to the great Charles H. Spurgeon at the Metropolitan Tabernacle. I had some thoughts I wanted to share. But for a couple of reasons, I held back temporarily.

Then I saw that Frank Turk said just about everything I wanted to say, only better. So I decided that, when I had the chance, I'd add the one little thing I wanted to add.

But then I saw that Doug Wilson pretty much covered that, as well, except for one specific. However, in his covering, Wilson did bring one little nag at the back of my mind to the forefront.

So, first, the specific:

As disappointing and largely wrongheaded as Masters' rant is (basically he dismisses "new Calvinists" because he doesn't like their music style and their worship style), I am afraid he is at least somewhat in Spurgeon's tradition.


Just, unfortunately, not in Spurgeon's best tradition.

It was an odd thing. Spurgeon enjoyed cigars, even though his practice scandalized orthodox brothers on (what they imagined were) grounds of morality and worldliness. He was bold and unapologetic. I think Spurgeon was right.

At the same time, Spurgeon was death on theater-going. The Bible says precisely as much about theater-going as it does about cigar-smoking: zero. Yet he was thunderously condemnatory. Perhaps his most memorable statement was this:

The evangelical faith in which you and Mr. Beecher agree is not the faith which I hold; and the view of religion which takes you to the theater is so far off from mine that I cannot commune with you therein.

Unless I badly misunderstand him (and have for years on this), Spurgeon is saying that Beecher cannot be a Christian. Is not saved. Why? Because of immorality (Biblically-defined), or defective views on the Bible or the person and work of Christ?

No. Because he feels free to go to the theater.

As I say, Masters is in that tradition. It just isn't a good tradition.

Now, here's the little thought Wilson brought to the forefront of my mind. Masters complains, of modern would-be Calvinist preachers:

They reject the concern for the personal guidance of God in the major decisions of Christians (true sovereignty), thereby striking a death-blow to wholehearted consecration.

To that, Wilson offers this tart and dead-on retort:

And this from a man who a moment before was chastizing the charismatic element in the behavior of the new Reformed! It is bad to lift hands to the Lord like the charismatics (and like John Calvin, but let that pass), but it is not bad to make personal life-decisions as though the gift of prophecy were still operative today? A personal word from God, your name on the envelope and all, is necessary to true consecration? Why can't you just do what the Bible tells you to do?

I wondered who Masters was thinking of when I read this. I know he knows Phil; I guess he might occasionally visit Pyromaniacs. The person in that neighborhood who has pounded this particular bongo-drum the most furiously lately would be the Calvinist Spurgeon-loving guy who wrote this and this and this and this.

But honestly, that guy is such a small fish (as commenter #11 on this meta quite correctly observes), that I realized it probably would be Kevin DeYoung, whose book (you may recall) I loved.

Making Kevin DeYoung another bad Calvinist.

In which case I say, "Please, God, more bad Calvinists!"

Driscoll TGC 2009 impressions

Just finished listening to Mark Driscoll's talk at the The Gospel Coalition 2009, and here are my thoughts:

1. He said some good things.
2. Wow. Dude really does think he's a martyr. I mean seriously.
   
3. If I were a young guy, hanging on every word and earnestly purposing to do everything Driscoll was saying... I'd be completely lost at sea. So many of the things he said just tangled back up on themselves. I'd have to have a transcript to illustate extensively. But I remember kind of chuckling when Driscoll was talking about "those people who say 'Thank you God that I'm not like those people!'" Yes, well, indeed; thank God we're not like those people who thank God they're not like those people! Because that would be bad!
4. I honestly wonder whether Driscoll knew how much he contradicted himself, just in the course of the talk. Or is that why he kept saying he did those bad things, too? Or was that a device to make it okay for him to say it? I really don't know.
5. I honestly think, in those young shoes, I'd have ended up with, "Well, I guess I just have to be Mark Driscoll. Because he's the only one who gets right what matters, what doesn't matter, when to 'throw down,' when to 'peace out'... and then say he repents, periodically. And do it some more. But everybody else is wrong! Everyone else is too doctrinal about the wrong things, too undoctrinal about the right things, too strident, too passive, too fixated, too limp...."
   
6. Does Driscoll listen to himself? Does he like what he hears?
7. Meaning no snark whatever, I think I would think, "Wow. Do I really want to sound just like those guys in Comedy Central?" I say "no snark," because maybe he does. I heard somewhere that he learned how to communicate from comedians. Maybe he thinks they're the ones who know how to connect with people, and that's his model. So, IOW, maybe he does want to sound exactly like them. Because he pretty much does.
   
8. Even worse, I really think I'd wonder if I really want to think like those guys on Comedy Central. Because a lot of the things Driscoll said were just cute. Period. Plus nothing. They were laugh-lines. Think about them for two seconds, ask one serious question, they collapse.
9. You can't not see the Driscoll/Johnson/MacArthur interchange in the background. Driscoll means us to, clearly. "Rapist." Yeah, that was subtle, Mark. And he means us to believe that he's really, really, really trying to be a good boy and suffer for Jesus. But I have to say: just not buying. It felt a more like venting, to make himself feel better. One Dan's opinion.
   

• Driscoll talks a lot about repenting and all. Phil Johnson asked him, "Of what, specifically?" Is it a good thing that Driscoll never answered Phil? Specifically?
  
• Driscoll and apologists seem to (try to) make a lot of the fact that John MacArthur didn't pick up the phone and ask Driscoll out to Starbucks or an Ultimate Fight game or something. Even granting that (which I don't) — then why didn't Driscoll do what he thought Phil or MacArthur shouldn't have done? Isn't that Matthew 7:12-y, and 1 Peter 3:9-ish? Piper's a significant voice, but MacArthur isn't? Johnson isn't? Why couldn't Driscoll have picked up the phone and asked MacArthur or Johnson out to... to whatever, if that's the way he thinks it has to be done? Is ignoring the specific pleas and concerns, and playing the martyr, a better way to "make the Gospel win," as he kept saying?
• Where would this discussion be today if Driscoll had just responded as promptly, directly, Christianly, and forthrightly as MacArthur and Johnson had reached out to him?
• ...or if those who "mentor" him had pressed him to do so, and followed through?

I'm left with a bad, sick feeling about the whole thing. I can't see his heart, and I truly, honestly won't guess. He sure gives every sign of a guy who just doesn't get it, who feels attacked and harrassed. Which he is, in all honestly. Driscoll is hated by the same people who would hate you and me, and for the same reason.

But this isn't about that. These are critics Driscoll needs to hear; but he thinks he needs to hunker down, endure, suffer, be a martyr, and fire back from under cover (as I think he did in this talk).

Since I don't know what's going on "backstage," I really wonder what his mentors are doing with him, saying to him. They are men who are mature and godly enough that they ought to be able to calm him down, translate, add any warmth they think is missing, but reaffirm the specifics.

If Driscoll doesn't deal honestly and frontally with good counsel he's gotten... I just don't see a happy future. Not for him, not for folks who look up to him... and I fear repercussions for the good men who've tried to help him.

Faithful pastor: ever a waiter, never a guest?

A striking statement from Spurgeon's autobiography:

'I once learnt something in a way one does not often get a lesson. I felt at that time very weary, and very sad, and very heavy at heart; and I began to doubt in my own mind whether I really enjoyed the things which I preached to others. It seemed to be a dreadful thing for me to be only a waiter, and not a guest, at the gospel feast. I went to a certain country town, and on the Sabbath day entered a Methodist Chapel. The man who conducted the service was an engineer; he read the Scriptures, and prayed, and preached. The tears flowed freely from my eyes; I was moved to the deepest emotion by every sentence of the sermon, and I felt all my difficulty removed, for the gospel, I saw, was very dear to me, and had wonderful effect upon my own heart. I went to the preacher, and said, "I thank you very much for that sermon." He asked me who I was, and when I told him, he looked as red as possible, and he said, "Why, it was one of your sermons that I preached this morning!" "Yes," I said, "I know it was; but that was the very message that I wanted to hear, because I then saw that I did enjoy the very Word I myself preached." It was happily so arranged in the good providence of God. Had it been his own sermon, it would not have answered the purpose nearly so well as when it turned out to be one of mine.'

There's a lot to think about in this, but I just focus on one facet: Spurgeon admitting his own falling-short, sometimes, of the joy he should have in Christ.

I very much empathize with his statement, and have often felt exactly the same — though I've not put it as well. I've preached Christ's riches to the elect often and with absolute conviction... for my hearers. But my own feeling of those truths, for myself, hasn't been nearly as exultant as it should be.

This is one of the reason, or really two of the reasons, why Spurgeon remains so broadly useful. Luther said that a good theologian is made by oratio, meditatio, and tentatio — prayer, meditation, and temptation. Spurgeon knew all three. He hadn't the leisure of laboratory Christianity. He actually had to live it out. He knew deep, dark depression, and had to battle his way out by God's promises. He never sold a pistol he hadn't fired first.

And, secondly, he admitted it. I think of one preacher, and I simply imagine him doing such. When this worthy brother gives illustrations at all, they're always about others' follies and failures and sins. He evidently has none... or none that he cares to mention.

His preaching doesn't connect with me. Informs, yes; encourages, moves, blesses, no. When I get all perfect and everything, I'll give it another go.

Until then?

Spurgeon.