Forgiveness, abortion, and other sins

Craig said this in a recent post:

But what if you've had an abortion? You've done a terrible thing. But healing and restoration can be found in Christ. Don't justify your own actions, look to Christ for justification.

I agree, and think it merits a word of expansion.

God forgives the sins of repentant believers.

It was God who said this:

He who conceals his transgressions will not prosper,
But he who confesses and forsakes them will find compassion
(Proverbs 28:13)

And this:

In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace
(Ephesians 1:7)

And this:

...and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem
(Luke 24:47)

God forgives sins, there is forgiveness for sins; it is sinners who are declared righteous in and because of Christ.

God doesn't forgive mistakes, errors in judgment, bad choices, regrettable decisions, regrets. Genuine confession of sin doesn't include a "but" or "if" or "because" — as in "I did this, but I had no choice," or "if that was wrong, I'm sorry," or "I did that because my lover / partner / parent...."

Confession of sin is specific and unqualified. If it was a sin, you didn't have to do it. If it was a sin, you shouldn't have done it. If it was a sin, there is no excuse for it. If it was a sin, you would not do it again, offered the opportunity, God helping you.

If you imagine that you had to do it, that there was an excuse for it, that it wasn't really all that bad, then you don't see it as God sees it yet.

If your sin leaves you with a wrong that you should right, but you are unwilling to right it, then you don't see it as God sees it yet.

In those cases, your action isn't really a sin, to you. It is, at worst, an "oops." But Christ died for sins, not "oopses," since "oopses" don't really require forgiveness.

And the truth is, you don't really think it was even an "oops," do you? You still think you had a good reason to do it. It wasn't really bad, like what bad people do. You just have this guilt-feeling, and you'd like it to go away. So you run to the "forgiveness" button.

Or worse still, some Christian is talking to you, and trying to bring you to see it God's way (which is really a very loving thing to do), and you want him to stop bugging you about it.

So you tell him you're forgiven and he should forgive you too. That should shut him up.

Yet you really aren't forgiven.

Because you don't think you've really sinned.

And God only forgives the sins of repentant believers.

Forgiveness, the Dixie Chicks, Christianity

This headline annoys me: Dixie refuses to forgive the Chicks [SunHerald article, link now dead]. Its assumption is that there is a reason why "the South" should forgive the anti-American country-western band "The Dixie Chicks," and that it refuses to do so.

In 2003, during wartime, the Chicks were enjoying their freedom in a foreign country, and used that opportunity to — sing? Heavens, no; liberals seemingly never simply shut up and sing. No, they attacked our Commander in Chief. When outrage was expressed back home, they ultimately simply dug in their heels and maintained their opposition and refused to admit just how wrong their action was.

Immediately afterwards, there was a mealy-mouthed non-apology — but now they have retracted even that.

So now they're not selling well in the South, and having to cancel concerts.

So my question is: whyever would the South, or anyone, "forgive" them for what they proudly maintain was the right thing to do? What does "forgiveness" mean, anyway?

I've had people tell me they "forgive" me for being a dispensationalist, and I don't generally do much more than grin, because I know it's just a tease. But if I seriously thought someone was telling me he'd forgive me for holding to something that is a conviction of mine, something I am persuaded is true, I'd react very pointedly. I might say, "Please don't. I haven't changed my mind. Taking all of the Bible seriously is not a moral crime crying out for repentance and forgiveness."

Similarly, I'd decline anyone offering me forgiveness for loving my wife, for being devoted to my children, or for liking fried chicken and "24." Please don't. I don't regard any of those as moral wrongs, as sins, and I don't ask for forgiveness. So don't give it to me.

There's this traditional notion that Christians are required to forgive unrepented wrongs. I simply have never seen it in the Bible. What's more, I simply can make no sense of it.

On the contrary, Jesus says, "Pay attention to yourselves! If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him..." (Luke 17:3).

"If."

If he sins, I am not told to forgive him, but to rebuke him. Tell him that what he has done is wrong, and why. And then, if he repents, if he admits that what he has done is a sin, then I am to forgive him. But Jesus says nothing about what to do, in this section, if he does not repent.

Not that He never speaks of such a circumstance. Take Matthew 18:15-18. Now, there is a situation where a brother sins, is rebuked, and refuses to repent.

What does Jesus say to do? Forgive him? Not at all. He says to rebuke him again and again, with increasing intensity. And then, if he still refuses to repent, kick him out of the church and regard him as an unbeliever.

So where does the idea come from that I am morally obliged to forgive every sin, whether it is repented of or not? I do not know. God doesn't do that (1 John 1:9), and I know of no passage where He says I must.

What would it mean, anyway? When I ask you to forgive me, I am thereby telling you that I have come to regard what I did as being wrong, as being immoral and sinful, as being indefensible. I am saying that I should not have done it. I am asking you to let it go, not to hold it against me, on the basis that I too have let it go, insofar as I no longer embrace the mindset that it was a right and justifiable thing to do.

But forgiving an unrepentant person makes no sense to me. He doesn't regard what he did as being wrong. He doesn't see it as immoral and sinful, and indefensible. He doesn't think that he should not have done it. In a sense, it is insulting to him to "forgive" him of something he defends, embraces, clings to.

Let's say I'm the president of a seminary, and T. D. Jakes expresses an interest in teaching there. A representative approaches me. I say, "No, I don't think so; there's good reason to believe that Jakes is a modalist and rejects the Biblical doctrine of the Trinity. That's contrary to our position."

The representative expresses shock at my response, and says "Brother, that is such an unforgiving spirit!"

I blink. "Sorry?" I might say. "Come again? 'Unforgiving'? Did Jakes admit that he was a modalist, repent of it, denounce modalism as sinful and heretical, and embrace the Biblical doctrine of the Trinity publicly and unambiguously? Did he ask the Christian community to forgive him his past heresy?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how could I even 'forgive' him for holding a position he still holds? What would that even mean? 'Brother Jakes, I'm so glad you're teaching here and admitted that you once held to heresy, but no longer do?' He'd be outraged — and he'd have a point! Of course I'm 'unforgiving,' because he's 'unrepenting'!"

So what does it mean to be unforgiving, in such circumstances? Simply to regard the sin as a current issue, and deal with it as such. I must not take vengeance, but must rather bless, love, and do good (Matthew 5:43-47; 1 Thessalonians 5:15; 1 Peter 3:9). There may sometimes be consequences for another's sin (Matthew 5:32; 18:15-18), but the motive is not revenge and the attitude is not bitter hatred.

If anyone ever convinced me of a Biblical obligation to forgive the unrepentant of their unrepented sins -- to regard them as not having done what they have proudly done and will do again, gladly and without concern, at the next opportunity -- his next task would be to help me see what possible sense it would make.

As the first has never been done, I don't anticipate the second anytime soon.

UPDATE: since I wrote this post, Chris Brauns came out with a wonderful book on the subject, titled Unpacking Forgiveness. I reviewed it here. Get the book, read it. You won't regret it.

Forgiveness: new book, and survey results

Chris Brauns has written a new book, Unpacking Forgiveness. It comes with the high marks of commendations by Jerry Bridges and m'man Ligon Duncan.

Regular readers know that my own thoughts on forgiveness don't mirror lockstep evanjellybeanicalism. (See mainly here, and as well the tag forgiveness.) My impression is that Brauns' book is along the same lines. Obviously, I haven't read it yet, but plan to read and review it when I can.

In the meanwhile, see the results of a survey Brauns did on the subject.

Forgive me for bringing this up again...

Forgiveness.

A while back, I took a stand other than the popular (and, to me, incomprehensible) evangelical position here. Upset some folks.

Dear Libbie broached the subject again here and here.

She linked to a good essay on the subject over at NeoFundamentalist. The anonymous writer's position is similar to mine. Read it, and our interaction in the comments.

Taking the opposite position is Valerie (— who, like my wife, does not wish to be called "Val," thank you very much), who alludes to something by the often-incomprehensible-to-me Douglas Wilson.

Both Neofundamentalist and I cite Scripture that directly creates our position.

Neither Valerie nor Wilson cite one Scripture that directly states that a Christian should "forgive" someone who commits and clings to a sin against him. Their position (as I read it) rests instead on concepts and assumptions and extrapolations and is, to me, as I keep stating, impossible to make sense of.

I'm always concerned when I feel that someone is taking a Biblical concept (i.e. grace, forgiveness, family), and just sort of "goes" with it. I really only feel safe if I specifically anchor my development of a concept as closely to Biblical texts as I can. On this specific, for as popular as the notion of "unconditional forgiveness" is, it's remarkable to me that advocates cannot adduce one direct command to extend it.

NOTE: Valerie refines her position some in comments on Libbie's second post. She makes some very good points, including this wonderfully well-phrased thought: "We should be predisposed to forgive sins committed against us. That should be our default position." Amen.

I know it can be difficult to forgive, but for the life of me, I have never, ever understood how genuine Christians — who know they've been saved from the fires of Hell, and forgiven inexcusable atrocities against a holy God — can knowingly and deliberately refuse to forgive a person who asks for forgiveness. Now, on that one, there is some pretty specific Scripture (i.e. Matthew 18:35).

"Sins" and "mistakes"

I'm thinking along the lines of today's Pyro post — sin, repentance, forgiveness, and All That. The Willises find themselves dealing (again!) with how to respond to ex-Governor Ryan, now that he has "apologized."

Or has he?

Three times Ryan refers to the crimes that sent him to jail as "mistakes." Straight-up, that's not a good sign. One of the first and surest signs I remember indicating that The Nameless One had not even driven his El Camino in the same county as repentance was his repeated reference to his abuse of Monica Lewinsky as a "mistake." At the time, I scoffed, "'Mistake'! If he thought that was Hillary at the time, only to discover to his horror that it wasn't, that would be a 'mistake.' This wasn't a 'mistake.'"

When you add up some figures and accidentally get it wrong, that's a mistake. When you reach past the dented soup can to get the next one, and find out later that it was beef broth instead of chicken noodle, that's a mistake. If you tell everyone to turn to verse one when you should be saying verse twenty-one, that's a mistake. When you click "No" instead of "Yes" and lose a document you've worked on for four hours, that's a mistake.

Is sin a mistake? Well, in the sense of Oh dear God help me I should not have done that!, yes, it is a mistake. It is The Wrong Thing to Do. It is Something I Never Should Have Done. Yes, sin is a mistake.

Eve was indeed mistaken to believe the Serpent. Adam was indeed mistaken to follow his wife into sin to keep peace at home (or whatever lame excuse he made to himself). Cain was mistaken to think that murdering his brother would make him feel better in the long run.

Saul was mistaken to think he could be excused for doing a priestly act. David was mistaken to think he could run through the Top Ten and break every one because he was a king (or, again, whatever he told himself). The Jewish leaders were mistaken to think that getting Jesus lynched would solve their problems. Pilate was mistaken to think doing what he knew to be unjust was a good idea. They all were mistaken to think that their actions solved the "Jesus problem."

So yes, sin is a "mistake." It is always a "mistake," because it is always the wrong thing to do.

But sin is never just a mistake.

"Sin," the Holy Spirit tells us through John, "is ἀνομία," it is lawlessness. That is, it is thinking and acting as if the Law of God does not apply to me, as if I am a law unto myself. I consult myself and my feelings, tell myself that this is a good thing to do, and I do it. I act as a god.

When I call my sin a "mistake," I'm insisting that I'm really basically a good person. Why, I would never do something really wrong! I also say that what I did was not that big of a deal. It was just a slip, a goof, an oopsie. Anyone could do it. And I try to evade any consequences. I mean, good Lord, don't make a federal case out of it! It was just a mistake.

A repentant man does not view, nor approach, nor deal with his sin that way. He deals with it as sin, something done deliberately, inexcusably, and culpably. He blames only himself, he agrees with God in damning it (and himself for committing it), he judges it, and he deals with it as God lays out for him to do. The scope of his sin is the scope of his repentance. He takes full responsibility, names it, claims it, disowns it, begs forgiveness of God and all the wronged, and does anything and everything he must to make it right.

(Here's the irony: many people who would do most or all of that with a mere mistake, insanely won't do that with a sin.)

Sigh. Well, there's a lot more to unpack there. I guess I'll have to do (at least) one more post unpacking sin and repentance and forgiveness.

UPDATE: the timing of this post is interesting, in unintended. Did you know it's the eve of the tenth anniversary of The Nameless One's impeachment?

Interview with Narnia's writer-director leaves me a bit concerned

When I heard that Andrew Adamson was selected to write and direct The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, I wasn't thrilled. He was a director on Shrek and Shrek 2, neither of which is a favorite of mine. Both movies are a bit too smug and cynical for me to love, though some of the scenes are wonderful.

And then there's the Disney involvement in Chronicles. Brr-r-r-r-r-r! How would they ruin it?

On the other hand, almost everything I've seen about this production since then has impressed me, and has all been good. The trailers send chills up my spine, they're so good; the kids look perfect; C. S. Lewis' stepson Douglas is an enthusiast; all the pre-screenings have been positive. Everything looks good.

And then I read this interview with Adamson on Dark Horizons.

I can't imagine anything making me not go, and all the other reasons still are solid reasons for being optimistic -- but some things Adamson says... just yikes.

Start with something relatively trivial, yet still disconcerting.

Adamson: ...when Father Christmas gives weapons to the kids, and says to the girls, I don't intend you to use them because weapons are ugly when women fight. I just came off doing two films which I think were empowering to girls -- the Princess Fiona character I think is an empowering character -- and I said to Doug [Grisham, Lewis' stepson], I understand that C.S. Lewis might have had these dated ideals, but at the same time there's no way I could put that in a film . . .

"No way," Adamson says. Why "no way"? Because they aren't politically correct, and don't fit in well with Adamson's own version of feminism. In other words, they may very well be the worldview of the classic, internationally-adored works themselves, but Adamson's ideology trumps that. He doesn't like it, so he won't do it.

An aside: I wasn't thrilled with Peter Jackson being chosen for Lord of the Rings, either. Nothing in his filmography nor lifestyle suggested he was up to it -- yet he did a wonderful job. Having said that, though, I think his worldview and those of his associates did stop them short, in several respects, from doing Tolkien's story the full justice it deserved. But it is far, far better than I feared, and I remind myself of that in re. Adamson.

Nor is this particular item (what Father Christmas says) of any great moment in the story. It isn't that which concerns me. It's Adamson's unhesitating decision not to do something because it offends his worldview. Yet directors all the time put out horrible, repulsive movies, and defend them as being bold, uncompromising, or demanded by the source material. But Adamson can't bear this little passing ding on his feminist creds by a passing remark from a relatively minor character.

How might that willingness to impose his template on Lewis affect greater plot points? Maybe a lot.

Consider these remarks, emphases added:

Question: What about the religious element?

Adamson: I think the ideas of good, evil, forgiveness and sacrifice are very present in the book, and I think that's what makes it so universally appealing. I think the idea of forgiveness is a human condition regardless of your belief or religion . . . it's just something that -- it's an easy thing to say that the world would be a better place with a lot more forgiveness. I didn't think a lot about the religious aspect of the film. I know people have interpreted the book in many different ways over different years. ...I don't know if C.S. Lewis really intended it to be allegorical, but he definitely wrote from a place of his own belief. And a lot of people get that from the book. ...[People] can apply their personal belief and interpret the movie the same way they interpreted the book.

Question: What about the religious references in the film's climatic final battle and that line, 'it is finished.' That's taken straight from the bible.

Adamson: No not intentionally.

Question: It is Finished are words from the Cross.

Adamson: I actually honestly didn't know that. Seriously, I can't believe I didn't know that. The thing that I wanted and the thing I was really going for is for Aslan's sadness and having to get to this point -- there's a moment where Aslan and the White Witch stare at each other at the end as if they're both accepting their fate. He's going to have to kill her. She accepts that she's going to be killed. And to me I didn't want to send home the message that war is an ideal solution. I wanted Aslan to actually regret the fact that he's going to have to kill the White Witch. I wanted a line that he could turn to and really just say -- it's over. It's done.

So, Adamson clearly does not seem to know the first thing about the Bible or Christianity, and feels free to impose his worldview on Lewis' work. These aren't happy discoveries.

On the resurrection factor in the story:

Obviously C.S. Lewis wrote from a point of view based on his own personal beliefs. And the resurrection story is there. But I think it's open to interpretation. I think it's really up to the individual and their own personal beliefs as to how they will receive this film.

How classically post-modern. Adamson generously allows that Lewis had his beliefs and worldview -- but then says that his own story is "up to the individual," and "open to interpretation." In other words, there is no doubt what Lewis meant by his story -- but it's okay for us to make it mean whatever we want.

What troubles me is the lack of humility in approaching such a source. When Adamson produces a body of literature that are still touching, changing and helping hearts and minds after five, six decades -- then maybe I'll accept his right to make such pronouncements. Doing the Shrek movies doesn't even make the needle on tha gauge tremble a little.

Peter Jackson was at his best when he and his partners respected the source, which they mostly did. Listening to their comments on the DVD's, this attitude stands out. When they felt that they had to vary, they really struggled with it, and even occasionally express some misgivings about having done so (i.e. the extreme change to Faramir's character).

Adamson, in these remarks, doesn't display such humility or reverence. He read the books when he was eight, and he feels it's his right to impose his memory and his current template on the books.

To what degree he does so, and with how much violence -- these will determine the film's quality. Grisham's interviews reassure me. Adamson's remarks do not.

POSTSCRIPT: Why does Adamson's hubris in "improving" Lewis remind me of this scene in Braveheart?

Prince Edward's homosexual "lover" has just spoken up and told Longshanks (King Edward I) what he should do. Longshanks asks,

"Who is this person who speaks to me as though I needed his advice?"

Then the king throws him out the window.

Forgiveness, yet again, and really well

I don't think I've seen one discussion of forgiveness that wraps up so much Biblical clarity. Check it out. Their responses are pretty much what I've given.

(In fact... I think they've been reading this blog!)

h-t Justin Taylor, finder of many wonderful things

"I'm really not into doctrine or theology..."

Like Freddy Krueger, some canards/dodges never seem to die. You think they're dead. Goodness knows they've been killed and killed. But they keep popping back up.

Here's one:

"I'm not really into doctrine or theology; I'm more into life. I just want to love Jesus."

Ever take that one apart for the dodger who's talking to you? There are a couple of ways of responding.

One way could go something like this:

1. You say "I." Who and what are you? Are you an evolved animal, the product of conditioning and glands and solely material causes? Do your thoughts have any more meaning and significance than a sneeze or a tic? Are you the product of an unthinking process, so that meaning and morality are irrelevant to you? Are you created by an infinite-personal God, and morally accountable to Him? Do you differ from the rest of creation? How? How do you know? That's for starters.
2. You say "not really into." How did you decide that? On what basis? Does this not assume a hierarchy of values? On what does your ethical code rest? How did you arrive at it? Is it for you only, or for others as well? If only for you, why so? If for others, on what authority? How do you know what you know? Are you a solipsist? A positivist? A nihilist? Can others know what you know? How? Should they? Why?
3. You say "doctrine or theology." No doctrine or theology? Which doctrine or theology are you not into? Is there a God? Can you describe Him in non-doctrinal and non-theological terms? Are not all predications about God, by definition, both doctrinal and theological? Is not your anti-doctrinal position itself a doctrinal position?
4. You say you're into "life"? What life? What kind of life? What does it look like? How do you get it? How do you distinguish it from its opposite? Do all have this life? If not, why do you have it, while they do not? Can they get it? How? Why, or why not?
5. You say you just want to "love." What is "love"? Why love and not hate? What would love look like? What makes love good? Does love have a shape, form, and edges? Do all have it? Why, why not? How can the have-nots get it? How can it be distinguished from its opposite? On what authority?
6. You say you want to love "Jesus." Who or what is a Jesus? Did He exist? Does He? How do you know? Can anyone else know? On what basis? Was He the Son of God? What does that mean? Was He virgin-born? Why? What kind of life did He live? What did His life mean? Did He die? How? Why? To what end? With what result? What does He demand? Can you have forgiveness through Him? Forgiveness of what? Why? How? What does He offer? Does only He offer it, or do others offer it as well? Do you know that any answer you give to any of these questions is necessarily both doctrinal and theological?

You could answer that way.

Or you could just say, "Wow. That is really stupid."

Good Friday/Easter video and shared thoughts on the Cross

Blessed Good Friday, friends.

Here's how we'll put our minds there. First, enjoy this video suggested by reader Susan:

Second, share what verse in the Bible is standing out in your mind at this moment as most revealing and meaningful to you concerning Christ's work on the Cross that Friday. We won't hold it to you as your here-I-stand position-statement on the most important verse in all of Scripture; just share what is standing out now, as you sit before your monitor.

Warming up to the topic: my surrface thought is actually a carol. "The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight" is sung of Christ's birth, in "O Little Town of Bethlehem." It occurs to me that this applies richly to Easter as well.

The Scripture I go to is Ephesians 1:7 — "In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace." I think of that verse a lot; I often reflect on it as I partake of the cup in Communion.

The redemption rests on the truth that I was born a slave to sin, unable to obtain my own freedom. By nature, thought and choice, I was sold over to rebellion against God. I was a captive, willing and helpless, miserable of my bondage but wanting no part of the real God. It took a miracle to liberate me.

The blood reminds me that my salvation is objective and external, in this sense: it did not rise from within me. It was not improvement, enlightenment, a new leaf. It was conceived, bought and paid for by the Son of God. It was not a philosophy or a program of moral improvement that He taught. It was Him dying, Him pouring out His personal life in His blood, that purchased my release. My release was not secured by, and is not retained by, my feelings of piety or deeds of holiness. It was in spite of both. It was secured and is maintained by the infinite value of the blood of the Son of God.

And this blood secures both freedom and forgiveness. All my sins were atoned for by His blood. This includes my sin yesterday, and my sins today, for all my sins were future on that Friday; so all my sins were encompassed by His blood atonement.

All this is in Him, borne by His strong, immense shoulders, with the undergirding of His eternal resolve and His impeccable character. Apart from Him, nothing of lasting good. In Him, all good and blessing and hope and joy.

Hallelujah, what a Savior!

What Scripture stands out to you, and why, Christian friend?

Book Review: God Is the Gospel, by John Piper

God Is the Gospel: meditations on God's love as the gift of himself,

by John Piper. Crossway Books: 2005; 190pp.

John Piper's writing has had a great and uplifting impact on my Christian life. His book Future Grace was used by God to lift me out of a deep pattern of depression. I've also benefited from Desiring God, The Legacy of Sovereign Joy, and others of his writings.

This book is subtitled "Meditations on God's Love as the Gift of Himself." Its contents are pretty well summed-up between the title and the subtitle.

The Good. One of the first factors to strike me about this book was the saying, "It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness."

There is definitely a crucial role for writing books and essays leveling Biblical criticisms against bad teaching and bad trends. Certainly the examples of the apostles and prophets bears this out fully. Part of a shepherd's job is to warn against wolves, and steer the sheep in the opposite direction. So I fully endorse truthful, humbly-bold Biblical assessments of destructive and dangerous trends, naming names and citing sources.

But Piper here has, I think, taken the other option. He shows us that it can be a very good option, too. He rarely if ever quotes a false or defective teacher, yet it is plain that at least part of what he is doing is meant to counter the me-centered, sinner-sensitive, faddish, man-exalting ministries of -- well, Piper didn't want to name anyone, so I won't either. Names aren't the point here, anyway.

What Piper does instead is to light one big, blazing candle: the fact that the whole point of the Gospel, in its entirety as well as in its several parts, is to bring us to God. The Gospel tells how Christ came to redeem a people for His Father, to accomplish forgiveness, redemption, regeneration, propitiation, adoption, justification -- so that we can stand before God forgiven, freed, and clothed with His own righteousness. The first citation is of 1 Peter 3:18, "Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God." That sounds his theme excellently.

And so again and again, Piper shows us Biblically that the point of the Gospel is not that we be forgiven, redeemed, justified, sanctified -- in isolation. It is that those realities be made ours by Christ so that we can have a relationship with God, in which He is our life, our light, our glory, our fascination, our God.

Here are some notable passages from the book:

My burden in this book is to make as clear as I can that preachers can preach on these great aspects of the gospel and yet never take people to the goal of the gospel. Preachers can say dozens of true and wonderful things about the gospel and not lead people to where the gospel is leading (p. 41)

Propitiation, redemption, forgiveness, imputation, sanctification, liberation, healing, heaven -- none of these is good news except for one reason: they bring us to God for our everlasting enjoyment of him (p. 47)

...people who would be happy in heaven if Christ were not there, will not be there. The gospel is not a way to get people to heaven; it is a way to get people to God. It's a way of overcoming every obstacle to everlasting joy in God. If we don't want God above all things, we have not been converted by the gospel (p. 47)

Conversion is the spiritual discovery that being loved by God is not the divine endorsement of our passion for self-exaltation (p. 151)

There are a lot of other things I really like about this book as well, of varying import.

Piper (or someone) has repented of the "sin" marring his other books, of indulging in endnotes. There simply is no excuse, anymore, for endnotes. Ever. If it doesn't need to be said, don't say it. If it must be said, put it right there, on the page, for the reader to see. If the reader doesn't want to see it, he doesn't have to. If he does want to read it, he shouldn't have to keep two bookmarks, and keep turning back and forth. I do hope Piper and his publishers stick to this newfound virtue.

Also, Piper or someone has repented of the sin of changing God's name in Bible quotations. If a writer regularly changed passages that called Jesus "Jesus" into "Lord" or "Christ," it would be bothersome. No less so in OT quotations. It's bad enough that English translations perpetuate the unbelieving Jewish superstition of hiding "Yahweh" behind "LORD." Worse, in his earlier books, Piper (or his publisher) would work a second change, converting "LORD" to "Lord," so that the reader had NO way of knowing that the original text referenced Yahweh instead of 'adonay ("Lord"). He could not trust Piper's quotation, and that is bad. Glad to see it changed in this book.

Also, every other paragraph doesn't mention "Christian hedonism" anymore. I'm glad if the excellent Dr. Piper has gotten that out of his system. I doubt he's dropped the phrase, which is (in my humble opinion) a bad label for a good idea; but he may have outgrown the need to machine-gun it into our vocabulary. And that's a good thing.

The Bad. "This was especially relevant to my wife and I"(p. 133) Ouch! That's what editors get paid to catch. Someone did not earn his pay.

The, Well, Could-Be-Better. Suppose Dr. Piper were to drop by my home and take me aside. Suppose he were to begin, "Daniel, my brother, you are other than me." I'd be too shocked to correct his grammar, of course, and would nod for him to continue. Suppose he said, "I feel stagnant as a writer. I feel I'm repeating myself, rutted, not stretching and growing. What should I do? Do you have any suggestions?" I'd say sure, I have some suggestions... if you really, really want to hear them. If he said he did, I'd say something like this:

"I think you may be right. You are repeating yourself, and I think you could benefit by rising to a challenge. So, for the next book you write, make four resolutions, brother, and stick to them.

"First, do not reprint or retread any of your other books. Just say 'no' to self-reference. Dude, in this book you re-tread previous writings at least six times! I counted! 'The next three pages are taken from my book, _____.' 'The next two paragraphs are from my book, _____.' Goodness, you even pre-tread a book that isn't published yet, on page 162! On top of that, you refer readers to your other books at least eleven times. Your index shows references to 'Piper, John' on seventeen pages.

"John, buddy, brother -- if you haven't anything new to say, just don't. Write fresh material. Append an annotated bibliography of your other books, if you have to get that out of your system. Goodness, F. F. Bruce wrote about fifty-eight thousand books and articles, but I don't remember his writings being pockmarked with constant allusions to them. My memory may be faulty, or it may have been British modesty on the late Dr. Bruce's part, but it was a good practice.

"Second, try writing a whole book without using any form of the word 'savor' even once. I know you love that word. Heavens above, we all know you love that word. But overuse has made it lose its impact in your writings. Use your thesaurus, and find another five or six words or phrases to use, instead -- and use them. Your readers are losing the savor for 'savor.'

"Third, unless you want to title your book 'What Jonathan Edwards Said About ______,' don't quote Edwards anymore. We all know you love him. If we didn't know it before, this book would surely convince us. Your index shows thirty-one pages referring to him, and I think even that is short.

"So it's okay, you've made your point, you really, really love Jonathan Edwards. You're on record. Now say what you have to say. Don't be like the scribes and elders, telling us 'Rabbi X said....'

"And just between you and me, you're actually a better writer than the admirable but bloodless Edwards, anyway. So speak in your own voice.

"Fourth, I'll pass along to you the one idea of abiding value that I got out of my Pastoral Ministry class at Talbot. Picture a reader out there, outlandishly dressed, weird-looking, someone who captures your attention. He's a foreigner. He may even be an alien from another planet. He only has your next book to read. What's more, he only knows three words in English, and he keeps saying them over and over as he reads your book.

"They are, 'Tell me how!'

"See, brother, you've been a pastor a long time. Surely you've ministered, in person, to actual flesh-and-blood individuals whose lives have been changed by being gripped by the truths you preach. Surely you have some illustrations that will put shoe-leather on those truths, and tell us how they walk and talk. The Bible certainly does that, both laying things down prescriptively, and fleshing them out descriptively, in story after story.

"If you're reluctant about telling other people's stories, remember that the Bible isn't. Do what James Herriott (-- not even the author's real name!) did in his All Creatures Great and Small books. He told dozens of other people's stories, but he fiddled with the names and places so that no one would be embarrassed. Do that.

"By the way, that's one of George Lucas' shortcomings as a filmmaker. Mark Steyn pithily observed that Lucas has to have his characters say things like, 'I love you," because he's incapable of showing us. Don't just tell us we need to do those things -- show us.

"Now, of course, in that last point, I'm assuming that it is the case. You seem like a people-person, as a pastor must be. I'm assuming that you aren't like my impression of another very well-known pastor-writer, who (I've been given to understand) 'has people to deal with people.' In my opinion, his speaking and writing really show that fact, and they're the worse for it. I almost totally agree with him doctrinally, but I have to preface everything he says with 'Theoretically....'

"You don't want to be like that. A good shepherd knows his sheep. He doesn't just know people who know his sheep. He lives with them, he feeds them, he leads them, he protects them, and if need be he lays down his life for them.

"If your success has gotten you into that position of isolation, I'd recommend that you change your schedule. Switch roles with some lesser being for a few years. Deal with people, and see more how the truths you write about are lived out.

'Then tell us about it, in your next book, even if we have to wait five years for it."

In sum, I do recommend this book. It's God-honoring, Christ-exalting, and Biblically-based. Having said that, I do hope Pastor Piper perhaps slows his production, and puts a bit more into his future works. The church will be the better for it.

NOTE: I received this book as a gift from the publisher through Mind & Media. This is the first time I've done a review for that site.

Borrowed ethics question: how to respond to an associate pastor who confesses to homosexual "orientation"?

Mark Lamprecht poses a question, framed as coming from a faithful good-guy associate pastor:

As you all know I’ve served as a pastor here for several years. You also know that I have remained single the whole time. What I am about to tell you is not easy to openly admit.

The fact is that my sexual orientation…is…homosexual.

But please hear me out. I am fully convinced, and professes to you now, that theonly justifiable and acceptable sexual expression is heterosexuality within a heterosexual marriage, one man and one woman committed for life.

I have put specific guidelines in place to protect myself and the whole congregation. For example, I always leave the door open when counseling people. I am accountable to other pastors about this issue and I even have internet filtering software on my computer.

Finally, it is important for you all to know that I have not engaged in any illicit sex and have no plans to. I also meet with a Christian counselor about the same-sex attractions. Please stand with me in prayer on this issue. Thank you.

My first, non-serious response is "What — now they hold orientation-meetings for this?"

But here's my more-serious response. First, I acknowledge that there are many good ways to respond. Mine will feature the response that I think is (A) less likely to be given, and (B) probably more important than the likelier touchy-feeling good-sounding responses.

I think it's important to tell him that the first step in dealing with any problem is correct diagnosis of both the problem and the desired solution.

Next, it is important to tell him that he does not seem to have done either.

Third, by way of explanation, I'd point out to him that there is no help from God for an "orientation." The Bible doesn't know of such an "orientation." This may be why his only goal as to his "orientation" is that he "[has] no plans to" act on it — as I have "no plans to" visit Canada or live in New Jersey... though either could happen, and there's no moral or absolute reason why they shouldn't.

What do you do with an "orientation"? Since it is an un-Biblical category, forget the Bible. There is no forgiveness or redemption for an "orientation." So I guess you have to do therapy, or meditation, or yoga or something. No idea. Can't help you.

Or perhaps by "orientation," he is meaning to say "I struggle with sinful temptations to have sex with other men"? Okay, fair enough. Now we are getting somewhere Bibley.

But in that case, how do you say you "have no plans to" act on them? Picture a man standing up and saying he struggles with temptation to commit adultery with the senior pastor's wife, but he "has no plans to" act on it? Or that  he struggles with temptation to have sex with little children in the church Sunday School, but he "has no plans to" act on it? Or that he struggles with temptation to rape some women in the congregation, but he "has no plans to" act on it?

Well now, that's very different, isn't it?

No, actually, it is no different. It's just that, at the moment, the particular sin of homosexuality enjoys a martyred, romantic celebrity-status among sins. It's a special sin. People tempted to it are special cases.

But you see, while I believe that a certain amount of motivation behind evangelicals who (should know better but) give in to this trend is loving and compassionate, the net-result is actually disastrous and unhelpful.

"Disastrous and unhelpful" because, as I mentioned, God offers no help that I know of for dealing with "orientation"... unless you mean that orientation to sin which afflicts all natural sons of Adam (Rom. 8:7-8). Now, if it's a sin, like every other sin in being a sin, then we're on Biblical grounds. Now there is all sorts of help to be found in Scripture and in the truths of the Gospel.

But then he does lose his romantic, martyred status, and has to queue up with the rest of us plain old, garden-variety sinners, who don't go up to the pulpit and say we have a "polyamorous orientation" or a "hyper-acquisitive orientation," rather than saying we struggle with lust and covetousness. Why don't we? Because we know it! Unless we're far off from Biblical truth, we already know that there are only two kinds of people this side of heaven, viewed in one way:

1. People under sin's unchallenged lordship
2. People struggling with sin

There is no saint this side of heaven who doesn't struggle. Period.

So on the one hand, he has to give up his "Special Sin" card. He loses Tragic Hero status. He also mortifies the "no plans" out. Sin is to be mortified, and that means "deaditized." On the other, he gets to tap in to the same glorious Gospel help that all struggling saints have enjoyed for 2000 years. Gospel, repentance, forgiveness, regeneration, justification, mortification, sanctification, with the sure promise of ultimate glorification.

Hopeless pop-psychology for redemption in Christ. Not a bad trade, I'd say.

Postscript: as I've often said, I have great sympathy for anyone struggling with this sexual temptation as a temptation. I can only imagine how difficult it is, I know that. In fact, I think it's too difficult and too important to abandon such folks to pop-psychological mumbo-jumbo with a sprinkling of God-talk. They're sinners. I'm a sinner. The Gospel is for sinners like us.

That's terrific news, and it's the news we should stick with plainly, emphatically, insistently, and confidently.

"It was twenty years ago today"... yesterday

Our sister Kim the Kanadienne writes a characteristically transparent reflection on the 20th anniversary of her wedding to the infamous Bugblaster. Here's just one chuckalicious excerpt:

When I was a young bride of 22, I had no idea of what it meant to be married. I thought marriage was all about having my needs fulfilled and finally finding that perfect, romantic person to do all the fulfilling for me. I had little understanding about humility, submission, and forgiveness. In the first few months of my marriage, I threw a box of After Eight mints at my husband as he retreated down the hall, anxious to get away from my temper. I am happy to say that I am still very rough around the edges, but I am getting better. And I don't throw things at him anymore ..... much.

Read the whole thing for the smiles and wisdom.

Rebirthday

Thirty-five years ago today, the sovereign grace of God led me, smarting under the conviction of sin, to look to Jesus Christ for salvation, forgiveness, life, meaning, and all. All glory to the Father for His sovereign, eternal, electing love; to the Son for coming into the world to save sinners (—and doing it!); and to the Spirit, for His work of conviction and glorification of Christ.

If you like, you can read my testimony more fully here.

Apologizing: how not to (Or: Easy for me to say "I'm sorry")

Last Wednesday at church my text was Leviticus 5:5, which gave me the opportunity to do some teaching on confession. Among the many things on which we touched, I mentioned that the circle of confession should equal the circle of the offense. For instance, if my sin is strictly mental, there's no one to talk to about it other than God. If my sin affects and is known by one person, I must speak with that one person. If the sphere of the sin is broader, so must be the arena of the confession.

By contrast...

I am neither a fan nor an admirer of the late George Eldon Ladd, lauded though he is for some of his work. From what I've read of him, was a man very eager to be thought well of by people who didn't think well of Christ. He wanted to be thought of as a smart evangelical, who was hep to liberal scholarship while holding different views here and there. He wanted liberals to respect him.

A major work of Ladd's was 1964's Jesus and the Kingdom. He had a lot personally invested in it. However, influential liberal NT scholar Norman Perrin (who had just published on the subject) wrote a widely-read review of Ladd's book that was simply scathing, climaxing in this sniffing, dismissive sentence: “Ladd thus takes his stand squarely in midstream of the contemporary concern about eschatology—with his face turned resolutely upstream, whence we all came some considerable time ago.” Ouch.

Ladd was personally devastated by the review, a fact that came to be widely-known. Reportedly, when Perrin heard, he regretted having been so sharp in his criticism. Here's how Donald Hagner reports the aftermath, in Hagner's chapter on Ladd:

When Perrin heard about Ladd’s painful reaction to the review and was informed of Ladd’s fundamentalist background, he regretted having written such a sharply critical review. Some years afterwards at a professional conference, Ladd and Perrin happened to sit at the same table. Ladd, it is reported, shook throughout the meal and was unable to speak. After the others had left the table, Perrin to his credit was gentlemanly enough to apologize to Ladd for the hurt he had caused him. 

[Elwell, W. A., & Weaver, J. D. (1999). Bible interpreters of the twentieth century: A selection of evangelical voices (237). Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books.]

"Gentlemanly"?

Well, here's what I wonder. Did Perrin apologize because he concluded that he had done something wrong, something immoral that he should not have done? If so, what? Was it that review? That review, which was read broadly among the whole world of scholarship in which Ladd so eagerly sought acceptance and respect?

If so, then what is "gentlemanly" about waiting until there were no witnesses, to apologize privately for this very, very public sin?

Further, if Perrin concluded that he had done wrong, did he only come to this conclusion on this night, so many years after the event, and conveniently in the chance presence of Ladd? If not, why was the "apology" (such as it was) so long in coming?

Or if all Perrin was saying was he had in fact done and said the right thing and wouldn't change a word, but he felt bad that Ladd took it so hard — well, that's not really a confession, is it? And it's not really an apology. It did nothing to acknowledge, let alone repair, the damage that Ladd felt Perrin had done him.

In fact, it's arguably worse than not apologizing at all. "I feel bad that you were such a weakly, bad sport, and a whiner, about that well-deserved beating I gave you. So, you're a wimp — but I'm a good guy, because see? Correct, unapologetic... yet sensitive!"

To heal a relationship, a Biblical confession/apology should contain these elements:

1. It should acknowledge the wrongness of a specific act.
2. It should encompass the same sphere as the act, or as close to it as possible.
3. It should include a commitment to undo the harm, if possible.
4. It should include a request for forgiveness for the offense.

Perrin's action, as reported above, give a pretty good illustration of how not to confess and heal a relationship by an apology worthy of the name.

Some T4G 2012 thoughts

A lot has changed in the four years since my last T4G. Mainly: it is much bigger. The crowds are simply massive. Though this is starting out on a negative note, I'll say that I find that a minus. One is lost in the crush and, while I'm happy to see so many so eager for such good teaching and preaching... well, it reminded me of the seventies, when I'd go to Ticketmaster to get the very best seats the very second Chicago announced a concert -- and I'd end up in row XXXXX.

Also, the selection of books given away was not as uniformly stellar as in 2008, though it did feature some very good titles.

The highlights for me and my observations, mostly in random order:

1. Spending a lot of time with Frank Turk and his wife was probably the highlight. They were already two of my favorite non-relatives in the known universe, but for me hearing them chat and interact and cut up was a deluxe hot fudge sundae with lots of nuts and no cherry. (Don't care for cherries on sundaes.) Only thing that would have made that better would have been having my dear Valerie with us. In fact, that would have made absolutely everything better. But I digress.
2. Seeing Phil and Darlene Johnson is always a treat. (Readers: "Duh.")
3. The warm greeting and chats with Ligon Duncan and Jim Hamilton. Love those brothers, absolutely love them; what gifts to Christ's church they both are. My bucket-list includes finding some way to spend more time with each of them. Both made my day. Wish I could take every one of Jim's classes, and wish I could be an undercover Calvidispiebaptogelical apprentice to Ligon. (More on Ligon, below.)
4. Meeting and chatting with Chris Brauns, author of the stellar book on forgiveness (if you don't have it, you need it), and hearing of his writing plans.
5. Meeting and chatting with Dr. Matt Harmon, one of the readers for my TWTG manuscript, and discussing our book plans and thoughts. Matt has some terrific projects in the works, I'm excited for him. Also a brief chat with Brian Rickett, one of the gracious TWTG endorsers and a good guy who sounds like he's got a terrific work going.
6. Meeting -- and here I despair, because I know I'll forget someone I shouldn't -- Kim and Neil Shay for the first time in person, The Blainemonster (real name Blaine... Moore, I think?) Andrew Lindsey, Daniel Comings, Danny Wright, Steve Weaver, Evan May, Staci Eastin, Spencer DeBurgh, Logan Paschke, a missionary to Peru and then Mexico named Kenan Plunk, and Brad Williams.  Seeing David and Kelly Kjos again, and spending more time with them. I know there were others -- a David, a Chris, others -- and I apologize for not remembering better. Saw Joe Thorn for, as I recall, the first time since the conference at Tulsa where the seed-thought for TWTG was planted.
7. Dinner with Carl Trueman, along with my fellow Pyros and their wives, and Phil's associate Travis Allen. I think I understand many things better that affect me personally and evangelicalism at large, though not in a happy way. The dinner was very helpful, informative, fun. I think and hope it was good for him; I know it was good for us.
8. Carl appeared on a panel with celebrity pastors talking about celebrity pastors. Carl was winsome and persuasive, made excellent points. He said he is concerned that, when he asks students who are the most influential figures on their lives, they name celebrity pastors they've never met and seldom (never) name their own pastors. Trueman is concerned about the impact on students' aspirations and expectations. Carl said he understands the need to sell tickets, but asks why all conferences always feature "the same twelve names." Indeed. I leaned over to Frank and whispered that they should ask him for his recommendations, and just then Carl (reading my mind) said "Why can't you have one or two sessions conducted by a faithful and unknown pastor of a small church?"
9. On that: my mind went to the first session, where Mark Dever did his usual elimination rounds. I thought I might win one of them. He was closing in on the pastors there who'd been pastors for the least amount of time at their current churches. I was annihilated by a fellow who'd been a pastor for two days. But in the other direction, he discovered a gent who'd pastored the same church for (as I recall) well over fifty years. Now, other things being equal, that is a man I'd like to hear talk. I hope they kept his name.
10. By the way, if any of the leaders are reading this: here's how you do it. Get a no-name or a relative no-name. Have all the speakers ready to talk at every session. Then simply draw a name before the session, and have that brother speak. That way, attenders won't flock to favorite celebrities and shun the faithful unknown. There y'go, problem solved.
11. You will find audio of all the talks here. The talks I heard were all varying degrees of good. The most helpful and/or challenging to me were those by C. J. Mahaney, Thabiti Anyabwile, and Ligon Duncan. I spoke briefly with C. J. mainly to express appreciation. (In case anyone's fixing to accuse me of namedropping, C. J. stands in that vast majority of people who clearly don't know me from Adam.)
12. Mahaney's talk was first. He has that George W. Bush gift for lowering expectations, then exceeding them. His text was 2 Corinthians 4, and I'll be listening again. In particular, he made a terrific observation about verses 4 to 6: verse 4 shows the impossibility of the situation, verse 6 shows God doing what only god can do, and verse 5 places the preacher of Christ right there in the middle.
13. Thabiti talked about 1 Timothy 1, with particular emphasis on verses 11-17. He says the mention of the Gospel in v. 11 was like a favorite song for Paul, triggering a flood of associations. Thabiti's main challenge was that we not underestimate the Gospel, not exclude anyone as a lost cause -- for that exclusion surely would have excluded Paul. He challenged my cowardly timidity, left me with much to think and pray about. (I'm not sure Thabiti remembers me much, either, just to add to the previous.)
14. Ligon's talk was devastating to the degree that I'm not sure I'm ready to say much about it, or ever will. Just listen to it. My handkerchief was pretty wet at its close. Ligon's text was 1 Kings 19, and he preached it with a pastor's heart and a scholar's eye. Absolutely wonderful, absolutely devastating, absolutely glorious. I will definitely plan to listen to it again, and incorporate much in my BibleWorks notes.
15. Oh, and since several have asked, yes, a certain "recent book" was there, though not featured or mentioned by any particular T4G leader:

• Dr. Jim Hamilton.

• View from the nosebleed section:

• Love these guys.

Dispensationalism: defined?

I recommend subscribing to the Theological Word of the Day. Each day you'll be mailed a new term, brief definition, and sometimes some recommended reading.

But the last two have been... uneven. I'll pick on today's definition at this blog, and perhaps the other, later, at Pyromaniacs.

The word? Dispensationalism. Here's their definition in full:

A biblical hermeneutic paradigm common in conservative fundamentalist and Evangelical Christian theology. Originating from the Plymouth Brethren in the nineteenth century and popularized in the Schofield Reference Bible in the twentieth century, dispensationalism has three primary characteristics: 1) the call for a consistent literal or “normal” hermeneutic, 2) the separation of Israel from the church, 3) the separation of human history into several distinct epics, “economies,” or dispensations in which God relates to mankind in a distinct way. With regard to soteriological history (history of salvation), dispensationalism teaches that salvation has always been by faith alone, by grace alone, yet the content of the Gospel has been progressively revealed through biblical history. Dispensationalism has a variety of forms and has gone through some recent developments.

Well. For starters, I think I like referring to it as a "biblical hermeneutic paradigm." This correctly takes the focus off of counting or slicing dispensations (which everyone does), charts (which many do and anyone can), or even the timing of the Rapture (which all positions affirm, but with differing temporal location). It correctly isolates the issue as a hermeneutical issue. That, I like a lot.

However.

"Schofield"? Best-selling study Bible since the start of the last century? How about "Scofield"? Eek.

And then after a good beginning and two good distinctives, it slips on the third: "the separation of human history into several distinct epics, 'economies,' or dispensations in which God relates to mankind in a distinct way."

Um, no.

Every Biblical system distinguishes at least two different economies (hel-lo? Old Testament? New Testament?). Most would also grant that pre-Fall is a different set of expectations, and post-Second-Advent is another. Well, that's four — unless the individual is just so angry at dispensationalists that he'll Gumby up words to keep himself different.

But look: if you feel free to eat ham, go to church on Sunday, and ask God for forgiveness explicitly on the basis of Jesus' blood rather than offering an animal sacrifice .... gotcha!

Probably Ryrie's third distinctive is a better one: seeing the glory of God as the center of history, rather than man's redemption.

Thus far, my quibbles.

Seven Pounds: impressions and reflections

Valerie and I recently watched Seven Pounds (Will Smith, Rosario Dawson). Here are my thoughts.

Spoiler-free

Smith's disciplined excellence as an actor won me from skepticism to admiration years ago. Since Valerie feels similarly, we both were interested in his recent movie, "Seven Pounds."

In that regard, Smith does not disappoint. This is a tour de force of Smith's focused, mature approach to his craft. Here is an actor who so inhabits his character that you can sense the misery in the character's soul, even when that character is smiling and charming. In other words, he's an actor portraying a man who is acting, and you see that the character is pretending — but it's done with a light, yet convincing, touch. It is a remarkable performance.

All the other actors are fine, particularly Rosario Dawson. The chemistry between the two is important, and it is palpable.

However, this is a very sad movie. Intelligent, layered, deliberate (the unkind word would be "plodding," but we were never bored), involving, dramatic — but very, tragically, sad.

In that regard, I'm forced to liken Seven Pounds to Million-Dollar Baby and Bridge to Terabithia. Trailers suggest that it will be a drama with overtones of mystery and perhaps some romance. It is all of that, but it also is a depressing and (I will argue) senseless tragedy.

I recommend it for the acting and drama; I warn you about the oppressive tragedy, and a touch of sexual immorality.

Totally Spoilery

Read no further if you don't want to know the whole thing.

This is the plot, unraveled. Ben Thomas is a decent (if driven) businessman who loves his wife. He has just given her a diamond ring. He is driving with her one night, laughing and enjoying her, and he glances at his BlackBerry.

In that glance, he fails to notice an oncoming car. An accident ensues. Thomas' wife and six other people die.

Thomas is so consumed with misery and remorse that he involves his brother and best friend (unwittingly and wittingly, respectively) in a plan to do sacrificial good for seven people ("seven pounds" of flesh, an allusion to Shakespeare that is not explained in the film) to suit justice for the accident. He will donate bone marrow and other parts of himself while alive. Then he will commit miserable, painful, agonizing suicide-by-jellyfish to donate his heart and eyes to a blind man and a dying woman with whom he has come to share love.

The accident is the result of a momentary oversight. Not drunkenness, drug use, or recklessness. Thomas is not depicted as a bad person. Just eaten alive with relentless grief and misery and guilt for which he finds — and is offered — no relief.

Thomas is a man who badly needs Jesus Christ, and the hope and life and forgiveness that Christ alone provides. But he doesn't know it, and no one tells him, so he murders himself. A woman lives — heartbroken, ironically enough, because of Thomas' heart — and a man sees, but the "hero" is doubly-dead and blind.

So Seven Pounds leaves you sad, and at the same time angry, and feeling that perhaps the filmmakers made you sad just to make you sad.

And gee, what if his little one-time pre-suicide one-nighter left Dawson's character pregnant? Oops, we're not supposed to ask questions like that about Hollywood sex. Because, don't you know, immorality (straight or "gay") is casual, beautiful, and consequence-free.

The DVD promotional site includes a rave review calling this a "life-changing" picture that is "good for the soul." Really? If we take it as a "message" movie, and take the message seriously, then we should all be consumed by hopeless misery, designate ourselves organ donors, get someone to fall in love with us, and then commit suicide.

Real feel-good stuff, that.

Except for the not.

I think the Gospel is literally infinitely better. Christ lays down His life for His own, out of fullness of love for His Father and for us, and not out of a a howling abyss of unresolved (and inappropriate) personal guilt. Further, Christ did not single out people who were worthy of His sacrifice; instead, He targeted the least worth, the least deserving (Luke 5:32; 1 Timothy 1:15; thanks to Mike Leake for that observation). By His death, Christ redeems us, saves us, and gives us eternal life. He bodily rises from the dead, to sit at the Father's right hand, and will come one day to right all wrongs and reign forever.

Now, that is a life-changing message that is really good for the soul.

Like, forever.

What?! (Rick Warren on Hannity & Colmes)

I haven't taken the time to read any of Warren's books. Were I a pastor, I'd have the time, and would feel obliged. As it is, neither is the case.

I did once read an extensive interview with him in which Warren insisted he was totally Reformed and Calvinistic. But I've seen some pretty wretched quotations from him, along with a few decent ones.

Warren was shilling a new Christmas book on Hannity and Colmes. Colmes, evidently a graduate of the Larry King One-Note School of Interviewing Christians, elicited one example of each. To wit:

COLMES: ...But if you don't accept Jesus, if you're not something who goes that route religiously...

WARREN: Yes.

COLMES: ... can you find your way to heaven? Can you still be — go to the same place when it's all said and done?

WARREN: I'm not the authority on that, but I believe Jesus is. And everybody's betting their life on something. Jesus said, "I am the way." I'm betting that he's not a liar. I'm betting that he told the truth.

That's really not bad, unless you want to quibble with the use of "bet." Warren's stand with Christ, unabashedly. He's putting the weight where it should be: on Jesus and His Word.

But... in the very next exchange:

COLMES: What about — what does it say for all those people who do not accept Christ as their personal savior?

WARREN: I'm saying that this is the perfect time to open their life, to give it a chance. I'd say give him a 60-day trial.

(CROSSTALK)

COLMES: Like the Book of the Month Club.

WARREN: Give him a trial. See if he'll change your life. I dare you to try trusting Jesus for 60 days. Or your money guaranteed back.

COLMES: Really? You're going to give me the money back?

WARREN: Absolutely.

Oh boy.

You know, if somehow, some bizarre and inconceivable way, I had come up with this as a method to challenge people with the claims of Christ... the moment this rank unbeliever says "Like the Book of the Month Club," I think I'd be wondering if it was such a good idea after all. "Special Offer Jesus: Just Like the BoM Club!" No, no no no.

That interview fits right in with my impression of Warren: a mix. He says some good things about war, peace, conflict, human nature. But it's sugar-coated and watered down. And the exchange above pretty well mars the whole.

I think he went wrong just before the portion I quoted. It was here:

COLMES: Well, what about those people who don't — you know, I happen to be Jewish. Not everybody — and Jesus, by the way, I have a lot in common with. Same religion.

WARREN: Absolutely.

COLMES: So not everybody necessarily goes that route.

"Absolutely" was the wrong answer.

I think it would have been better to respond with questions. Something like this:

You are? Honestly, I had no idea. So you take the entire Torah as being the very words of God, binding on your conscience and life? You know yourself to be guilty and condemned before God, without a hope of forgiveness unless an innocent victim dies a bloody death in your behalf? You expect God to send a redeemer who would be born of the line of David, of a virgin, in Bethlehem, before the fall of Jerusalem; who would die as an atoning sacrifice for His people's sins? Who would rise from the grave? Who one day would rule over the universe? And you believe that any Jew who rejects Him is under the judgment of God? Because, you know, I got all that from the Torah, which I think should define Jewish religion, as the whole Bible should define Christian religion.

But no, Warren, wanting to be liked and sell books, allowed himself to be put on the defensive. The Gospel ended up in the same position.

Pity.

Defining Christians and Republicans (part two)

(concluded from part one)

Why say you is, when you ain't?

Why, then, would anyone want to call himself a "Christian" when he isn't one, when he doesn't embrace the core convictions that define what it means to be a Christian? Many reasons are possible. Here are four:

Wolf-in-sheep's-clothing phenomenon. Particularly in the case of leaders, clergy, or missionaries, if they want to fleece the flock, they won't get in if they appear in their true colors. Sheep One will say, "Dude! Wolf!" — and the sheep will go bleating off. So a cagey leader throws on a few cottony tufts, learns to say "Baa," and stuffs his silverware and A-1 into his pockets.

Social respectability. When a writer from a newspaper interviewed me, as a new pastor in a new town, I mentioned that I had not been raised as a Christian. My dear, late mother was very offended. To her (born 1916), in saying this I implied that I had not had a moral, civilized upbringing. I meant no such thing, of course; I simply meant I had not been raised in the Biblical, Christian faith.

But Mom represented an America in which to be an American was to be a Christian, which is to say a decent, moral, nominally-religious, vaguely "God"-fearing person. "Unchristian" had no doctrinal referent; it simply meant crude, rude, uncharitable, ill-bred.

So I think particularly in the case of politicians, there's enough of a civic memory of this time that it looks better to be a "Christian" than, say, a Hindu or an atheist. It gets you ten points in the Moral-O-Meter, and provides a nice "cover." (But only if you're not a fanatical about it. You can be a Jack Danforth "Christian," a Jimmy Carter "Christian,"a Bill Clinton "Christian,"a Barack Obama "Christian"— certainly not a Sarah Palin Christian.)

Many like to say they're Christians because they don't really understand the Gospel, but do like perceived benefits. Their notion doesn't include truths and implications such as Luke 9:23, Romans 6 and Hebrews 12. But they like their (mangled) understanding of gauzy themes such as forgiveness, acceptance, eternal hope. Their perversion of it is that they can live like Hell and hope for Heaven, and own a "Get Out Of Guilt Or Accountability" card, if they just say they're Christians. (See under Clinton, Bill; or, nauseatingly, the Gutless Grace subset of dispensationalists — who have much to answer for.)

Deeper down, though, lies suppressed God-consciousness. Paul says quite bluntly, that all men naturally "suppress the truth in unrighteousness" (Romans 1:18). They know God, but choose not to honor Him as God (v. 21). So at bottom, they know they should be Christians; they want the comfort that comes from being a Christian. They like (as I said) the notions of being forgiven, of having hope, of thinking that that whole death-thingie has been taken care of, and All That. Plus, there's usually no immediate price to pay, in our culture, for saying you're a Christian. So, just say it, and all these wonderful prizes and parting-gifts are yours to keep.

So... can you say who is a Christian and who isn't?

Yes, and no.

That isn't nearly as wiggly as it sounds at first glance, so hang in with me.

When the GOP calls itself a "big tent," I always think, "But even the biggest tent still has walls." So where are the walls on a political party? I honestly don't know. I know where I think they should be — but in a party that equally has been home to Ronald Reagan and William Weld, Tom Coburn and Arlen Specter, I just don't know where they are.

At root, though, that is in large measure because the political party has no defining document, no transcendent and objective authority. This is not the case in Christianity. We have both: the Bible, and the triune God who inerrantly inspired its authorship. (NOTE: what follows is considered and condensed, not intended for skimming.)

The "yes" part

You'd think a religion called "Christianity" should have something to do with Christ, wouldn't you? And so, in a sane world, it would. Christ said: "But why do you call Me 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do the things which I say?" (Luke 6:46 NKJ). Two critical truths at least are highlighted in this dominical bombshell: (1) confession of Jesus' Lordship is foundational; and (2) such a confession must be followed by acceptance of and obedience to His words.

Confession of His Lordship. Jesus Himself put this confession as foundational to the church. Confession that Jesus is Lord, Christ, God incarnate is the foundation-rock on which the church must be built (Matthew 16:16-19; cf. Romans 10:9; 1 Corinthians 3:11). This is the confession that the Holy Spirit inspires (1 Corinthians 12:3b). It is both goal and result of His death on the Cross, and bodily resurrection (Romans 14:9).

Obviously Jesus is Lord in the sense that He is the absolute authority, both supreme teacher and supreme master. Jesus clearly has this in mind in Luke 6:46. But "Lord" is also a common title for Deity throughout the Old Testament — that is, for God. And indeed the Christian confesses Jesus as both his Lord and his God (John 20:28).

This actually all forms a sort of endless (but constructive) do-loop. Anywhere you start, you get to the rest of it. That is, if Jesus is God, then He is Lord; if He is Lord, then He is God. How? Jesus affirmed that no less than the Father Himself demanded that the Son receive honor equal to the honor paid the Father (John 5:23). If He is Lord, then we are to believe what He says; if we believe what He says, then we must believe that He is God.

In either regard, to accept the foundational conviction that Jesus is Lord and God necessarily pays off into...

...acceptance of and obedience to His words. As Lord, Jesus expects me to take His yoke upon myself and learn of Him (Matthew 11:28-30), and to do what He tells me (Luke 6:46). It is not a peer-relationship; the Christian life is not a negotiation. So it follows that, if Jesus is my Lord and my God, I will learn to love what He loves and hate what He hates; to cherish what He values, and spurn what He despises. My convictions and values, and my choices and actions, will be progressively brought into conformity to His.

That is why the NT requires, imposes and provides tests. We see the apostles extending "a judgment of Christian charity," which is to say that one's profession of faith is accepted, unless other considerations make that profession impossible to accept. Note: both halves of that statement should receive due weight. The predisposition is to accept a professed brother as such; but equally, disqualifiers do, in fact, disqualify.

Jesus Himself set the stage for this, by depicting many as falsely expecting to be welcomed to Heaven, when instead they'll be banished to Hell (Matthew 7:21-23).

So, similarly, Paul says he doesn't care who preaches a different Gospel, that person is justly damned and doomed (Galatians 1:8-9). No honest reader could doubt that Paul's Gospel had definite and distinct form, shape, edges. He lays it out as crucial and foundational, in 1 Corinthians 15:1-11. Paul paints the Gospel as requiring the affirmation and embrace of certain events and their meanings as assigned by Scripture, including the penal, substitutionary death of Christ, His burial, and His bodily resurrection. In that section as well, Paul stresses the need to cling to this Gospel precisely as given; salvation is to be found nowhere else.

Likewise the apostle John gives a cycle of three tests of eternal life (cf. 1 John 5:13). They include correct doctrine (cf. 4:1-4; 5:1, etc.), obedience to the written Word of God (2:3-6; 5:2-3, etc.), and love for the brothers (3:11-18; 4:7-12, etc.). He goes over these three themes, these three tests, again and again, from different angles.

So it isn't surprising that, in contrast to modern "Anything-goes/Whatever" evanjellybeans, we frequently find the Bible referring to false brothers (2 Corinthians 11:26; Galatians 2:4), false prophets and false teachers (2 Peter 2:1), warning against deceivers (Colossians 2:4, 8, 16-22; Jude 4), and both commanding and commending the exercise of close discernment (1 Thessalonians 5:21-22; Revelation 2:2). Christians say they're Christians; but saying you're a Christian doesn't make you a Christian.

So yes: it is possible to trace out the parameters of Christian profession and practice. And it is possible that someone's words and/or life indicate that he hasn't the right to claim to be a Christian.

The "no" part

Many of these tests are meant for me to use on myself, primarily — not (primarily) on others. I am to test myself (2 Corinthians 13:5), and apply John's threefold tests to see if I have eternal life (1 John 5:13). They are not primarily given that I might go around with a big red C and a big red P, stamping Christian or Phony on anyone I meet.

"Primarily," I say. However, HSAT, I am urged to apply discernment and judgment, as we've seen (cf. Matthew 7:6, etc.). Christian leaders in particular are responsible to identify, deal with, and warn against false teachers and false brothers (cf. Titus 1:10-13; 3:10-11, etc.). The church is to echo this judgment (cf. Matthew 18:17; 1 Corinthians 5:9-13; 2 Thessalonians 3:6, 14-15).

But I can barely know my own sick, deceptive heart (Jeremiah 17:9), let alone another's (1 Corinthians 2:11). So I must be humble and cautious, must stick with what I can see and hear, must not overreach, and must leave the ultimate decision to God.

Plus we must factor in truths such as Romans 7:14-25, where even the apostle Paul himself said that what he did (and failed to do) was not always right. He did what he shouldn't; he didn't do what he should. His life, unlike Jesus', was not seamlessly perfect and "there" (cf. also Philippians 3:12-13). So even the Christianest Christian we'll ever know will have lapses, failings, weaknesses — sins.

So humility and grace are definitely called for.

However, HSAT, I not only can, but must say that certain words and deeds and concepts and beliefs are not Biblical, not Christian, not pleasing to God — when I have the revealed mind of God on those matters. And I can extrapolate, and warn, rebuke, reprove, exhort. And I can (and must) warn that a pattern, a path, if not repented of, will lead to Hell.

Though a Christian may sin, he struggles and fights against his sin (Galatians 5:17). He regularly puts to death the deeds of his body (Romans 8:13). He does not continue in sin (1 John 3:3-4, 8-10). That distinguishes a Christian: he isn't floating downstream towards the waterfall. He fights the current.

And mark this: there is no sentence, word, nor syllable of Scripture meant to give comfort to anyone willfully continuing in unrepented sin.

So: if someone's confession of "Christ" is heterodox and out of step with Scripture; if his value-system bears no mark of the yoke of discipleship in the school of Christ; if his closest associates despise the Lord and His word; and if he stubbornly resists all attempts to point him to Christ, and to the word of God — then we would be faithless towards God, and loveless towards that man or woman, to imagine or hold out any basis to believe him or her to be a Christian.

At the very least, we can and must certainly say something like,

"What you are saying/doing is offensive to God, and condemned by God. I can't see your heart, but I can see what comes out of your heart. Jesus says that the mouth speaks from what fills the heart (Luke 6:45), and our actions come from our hearts (cf. Proverbs 4:23). These are not the actions nor words of a heart that believes and loves God, and that worries me terribly for you. I implore you, repent, bow the knee to Christ as Lord from your heart — or you have no reason to hope that you have any part in Him or His kingdom."

It's what Jesus would do (Mark 1:15; Luke 13:3, 5; Revelation 3:19).

It's what we should do.