Even better than The Race Card{tm}

If you follow the news, you have seen it happen: whenever anyone of the wrong pigmentation disagrees with our president's policies, or those of certain of his associates, he finds himself accused of racism. Just when you think this may be dead or at least exaggerated, it pops up yet again. The hope is to sideline the logic and force of the criticism and put the critic (A) on the defensive and (B) in an insoluble dilemma (i.e. "Prove you're not racist, on 'three': one, two...").

Such trump-cards are not confined to politics, of course. One of the more egregious is played regularly by Leaky Canoneers.

Perhaps you're new to these parts and unfamiliar with the expression. I invented the term "Leaky Canoneer" to denote the person who formally says that he affirms the completeness, inerrancy, and closed nature of the Biblical canon, but who informally gives the lie to that profession. How? By asserting that God

1. ...continues to speak...
2. ...directly...
3. ...and quotably (or at least paraphrasably)...
4. ...to him...
5. ...apart from Scripture.

I've come at this dozens of times from dozens of angles, both here and at Pyro and elsewhere.

Today's sally is brought to you courtesy of James MacDonald. You'll forgive me for letting you do your own research for links and specifics; we at Pyro (but not we alone) have been pretty much on top of the situation, and sometimes ahead of the curve. Two of my favorite Tree Falling in the Forest posts were on the topic (this and this).

But anyway, James MacDonald decided to feature well-known modalist and word-faith preacher T. D. Jakes as a "Christian leader" on his Elephant Room show. A firestorm of very appropriate concern and criticism arose. MacDonald responded alternately by chest-thumping, backtracking, then more chest-thumping. Many wondered how this guy could be associated with The Gospel Coalition while seeming to be relatively unconcerned about, you know, the gospel.

As usual, Phil Johnson put it best: "The collective leadership of TGC are going to have to decide which is more important: the Gospel, or the Coalition."

Well no, it turns out, they won't.

In a solution that solves nothing, James MacDonald has resigned from TGC leadership, as that leadership has acknowledged.  In making this acknowledgement, however, they only compliment the departing brother, and make no direct reference to his hosting a heretic as a Christian leader. So that problem is unsolved.

What does MacDonald himself say? Oh, this and that, about what you might expect. He's making his priorities pretty clear to everyone, I daresay, and I hope the effect is salutary.

My focus is this bit from MacDonald's post:

See that? MacDonald doesn't want his "minor" leadership role to " to give the impression [the TGC leadership] agree with all God has called me to do."

Let me break that down for you who are keeping score at home:

1. God has "called" James MacDonald to do a number of things.
2. The TGC leadership might not agree with all of those things.
3. Therefore, the TGC leadership might not agree with God.

Nice, huh? They do nothing but compliment their departing heretic-promoting brother, and he responds by accusing them of sinning by not agreeing with him. Because that is the rub, right? God "called" James MacDonald to do certain things. Of this MacDonald entertains and allows no doubt. But the TGC leadership might not agree with those things. Those things that God called him to do.

Which means they don't agree with God.

So what is it when you don't agree with God? Right. Sin.

Nice, huh? And slick! You see, this way MacDonald doesn't have to answer any questions! He's completely off the hook! He doesn't have to explain featuring a heretic, his judgment, his priorities — why, now we know his priorities, according to him: he just wants to do what God tells him to do!

And who can blame him for that?

Unfortunately, much of the leadership of TGC probably can't, because at least some of them accept MacDonald's position at least in principle. God just might be mumbling and hinting and suggesting things apart from Scripture. Who can say?

And let's be very clear on this as well. Do you have a verse in your Bible saying, "And I command James MacDonald to give prominent platforms to men who deny the revealed truths of My nature and play fast and loose with Scripture on the whole"? Mine lacks that verse. This can only mean that God "called" James MacDonald directly, apart from Scripture.

So you can't judge it. See? God wasn't talking to you. He wasn't talking to me.

He was just talking to James.

This is that ugly little absolutely necessary corollary of Leaky Canoneering: adherents can play the "God told me" card and instantly get out of all criticism.

Well, not only that, right? Because now we know that James MacDonald isn't someone so desperate to be popular and well-liked that he'll make unwise (at best) associations to promote himself — no, he's a hero, because he and he alone is listening to the voice of God.

And these other guys? Psh. Carnal! Hidebound. Unspiritual, clearly. Because they might not "agree with all God has called [MacDonald] to do."

So, see? You thought it was James MacDonald who was looking kinda bad?

No, sir; no, ma'am.

It's TGC leadership, and anyone else who disagrees with MacDonald. For treating MacDonald with kid gloves, they get thrown under the bus.

And that, friends and neighbors, is "The 'God Told Me' Card."

Nicely-played, too.

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.

Dad is a pastor? Hunh; why didn't God think of that?

I mean, it seems like such a great analogy, and full of wonderful thoughts. Dad is a pastor. His family is his little tiny church. Cool!

Everybody's saying it. If I've read that assertion once, I've read or heard it dozens of times. Driscoll just released a book with that in the title, and you can read online for free.

Now, this isn't a bag-on-Driscoll post. It isn't even in any sense an about-Driscoll. post. The idea isn't original with him, and his book may have many great ideas. I'll probably look through it later.

But so many great people give this "Dad is a pastor" line that I'm a bit puzzled that no one has pointed out: the Bible never says anything like that.

Shouldn't that be significant? I mean, if it's such a great idea, how come God didn't come up with it first?

I remember in Pastoral Ministry class, reading the text by Criswell (I think it was this one). He talked about being a prophet, a priest, and a king, and how a pastor was all those things. As I recall, I wrote in my margin something like "Yeah, except that he's none of those things. That would be the Messiah."

Ditto dad-as-pastor. You may make the case that he should lead his family. True! And he should teach them the Word. True! And he should care for and pray for their souls. True! and true!

"Say," remarks some well-meaning sage. "A pastor does those things!" True again.

But the Bible never says the dad is a pastor, is like a pastor, is sort of a pastor. Never once. So it must not be an analogy we need.

And besides, Mom assists dad in many of those same things. Does that make her an associate-pastor?

The ugly side-effect of this popular, made-up notion is that it can encourage arrogant, self-absorbed, loveless isolationists to withdraw from the challenging nitty-gritty of actual church-fellowship. After all, why do they need to go to church? Dad is the pastor, the family is the church. Just stay at home, sing the hymns that The McGillicutty Family likes to sing, pray prayers the length The McGillicutty Family likes to pray, preach on texts and topics that The McGillicutty Family likes to hear, stay away from anything and everything The McGillicutty Family doesn't enjoy, and let The McGillicutty Family fellowship with The McGillicutty Family.

Sinful?

How can it be?!

Dad is the pastor!