Odd Ducks
by R.C. Sproul Jr.

"You shall be My witnesses." The Bible often brings together what we want to keep apart. We want to believe that either one thing is like another, or that it ought to be like another. The truth is here, and elsewhere, it is both. As Doug Wilson explains, when Paul makes a comparison between the love of a husband for a wife, and the love of Christ for His church he says both that we as husbands are commanded to reflect the love of Christ for His church, but also that we necessarily will, either truly or falsely. The connection will be made, and we either show that Christ loves the church, or that He does not.

The same is true of the above passage, Christ's promise/warning to the disciples in the opening chapter of Acts, immediately preceding the Ascension. Jesus is speaking face to face with the Apostles for the last time. He is giving them both a charge, and a warning. The truth was, for good or ill, as the appointed messengers, given the authority to speak for Him, that they would be His representatives on earth. And though we do not speak with the same authority as the Apostles, the same is true of the church today. We too are the sent ones; we too are witnesses. When the world asks what Jesus is like, they find their answer in us.

Those of you who have been reading Every Thought Captive for a while may remember that I wrote once about the thinking that went into naming my son Robert Campbell, making him the fifth generation of RC's. I argued that it was my intention to place on him a sense of obligation, a weight of duty because of his name. He must be aware of those men who went before him, wearing the same name. The truth is, however, that a few weeks after Denise and I named him, we placed on him a greater burden when he took on the name of Christ through the sacrament of baptism. All you who were ever so relieved that your name wasn't RC, as you read that article, can start to sweat, that is, if Christ has so marked you, if you bear His name.

This is precisely what the third commandment is all about. It certainly includes an injunction against the frivolous use of the names of God. Those pagans on television or in the movies that use His holy name as mere filler will find at the judgment that such was not wise. It may even include a prohibition of salty language, though I tend to doubt it. But the center of the commandment is the injunction against bringing shame or dishonor on the name of God. And we do that every time we sin, if we bear His name.

Taking on the name of Christ does all sorts of wonderful things for us. It most importantly means that He has taken on the punishment of our sin, such that we have peace with the Father. It means that we are credited with His righteousness, such that we, in Him, earn the glory of heaven. It means that though we die, yet will we live, and live forever. It means that we are joint heirs with Christ, that we are, and ever more will be kings and queens over the created order. It means that we will see Him as He is, and that we will be like Him.

But it also means we have an obligation, that we are, whether we like it or not, His witnesses. That ought to scare us. It's one thing to tell a lie, another thing altogether to lie about who Jesus is. When I am unkind to a brother, I'm telling the world that Jesus is unkind to His bride. When I impose all sorts of unbiblical law on people I am telling the world that His burden is hard and His yoke is heavy. And when I succumb to the allure of the world, when I seek after other gods, I suggest to the world that Jesus is not a true servant of the Father, but an adulterer.

The first century church operated under the very same burden. The only difference is that they didn't have two-thousand years of church history behind them. The ministries of mercy that our fathers did around the globe have made it that much easier to show to the world who Jesus was. Those in the book of Acts were starting from scratch. They were the first visible manifestation of the invisible God that they served. When Stephen was stoned for proclaiming the gospel, then the people knew that this Jesus died that others might have life. And when Stephen beheld the Lord in glory, then they knew that this King who had died was indeed still king. Their task was to get the word out, through all that they did, about who this Jesus was and is.

On the other hand, perhaps they had some advantages that we lack. When a first-century believer was known to bear the name of Christ, unbelievers did not immediately think of Jim Bakker or Jimmy Swaggert. They didn't have images of folks carrying signs saying, "God hates fags." They didn't have to explain away the crusades.

They carried with them neither any positive momentum, nor any unwanted baggage. Yet without these things, in no time at all, they did develop a reputation, an image. They were known to be rather odd ducks. I remember sitting on the stage of a Roman amphitheater in Galilee. Our guide who was showing us all around Palestine explained to us that the first century believers would not attend the various games and festivals in the stadia that dotted the land. That doesn't surprise us. But then he explained that at the founding of the church the problem wasn't so much that the Christians steered clear to avoid the violence of the gladiator games. Nor was it because some girl in a bikini might walk around between rounds carrying a sign. They didn't go, he said, because they weren't interested. It was no first century boycott, but a true show of indifference.

It was at that point that I vowed to purge my life of the daily intake of Sportscenter, and the daily reading of the scores in the paper. (In fact it was then that I gave up on reading the paper). They didn't go to the games because the games didn't matter. And of course, nobody thought up the brilliant strategy of being His witnesses by carrying a sign and wearing a rainbow wig to the game. Neither did the youth dream of becoming successful gladiators so that they might have a chance to thank the man upstairs for the victory. (By the way, lest you think I have broken a vow, I excluded banning the Steelers, not because I thought it was any different, but because it is better not to take a vow than to take one and to break it).

This is, of course, only a small thing. It is, however, a bigger thing than what most of us take to mean our calling to be set apart. We figure if we smile nicely, maybe if we hum Amazing Grace under our breath, maybe if we say, "God bless you" to our business associates over the phone, maybe someone will give us that famous opening for telling them about Jesus, "I've noticed something different about you…" This is not how we are to be witnesses.

Because our faith touches all of our lives, it ought to make all of our lives look different. I'm not suggesting that we ought to walk on our hands because the pagans walk on their feet. The more influence we have on the culture by being set apart, the less set apart we will be, because the pagans will begin to act like us. The pagan divorce rate is as high as it is because the Christian divorce rate is as high as it is. If we would start seeing God's children as a blessing, then the pagans would stop killing their children. They follow us, not we them. And so when we do follow them, we're just the blind leading the blind. We do not separate from them so that they don't see us, but so that they will. As long as we look like and act like them, there is nothing for them to see. We want to be a lamp under the bushel, a city in the valley, to cover the light with worldliness, lest they think we're strange.

I am suggesting that as we take every thought captive, we will likewise take all our actions captive. Ideas have consequences. In fact, that's what they are for. And as we do that, then we will be accurate witnesses. Jesus was not just one of the guys, and so neither may we be.

I am not suggesting that we ought to be dour. Jesus you'll remember, though a man well acquainted with sorrows, was called by His enemies a glutton and a winebibber. Consider what happened during our Feast of Pentecost, that celebration of the return of the Groom, in the person of the Spirit. As the crowds poured into our little place here, we began to have a problem with parking. Cars were spilling over into the street. One enterprising neighbor, having spent the early evening home alone with the TV, draining a six-pack, determined that he might get another six-pack out of our dilemma. He slurred an offer to have guests park at his place, for only five dollars. What was the difference between the evening here, and the evening there? Was it beer? No, we had beer. Was it his good time, and our bad time? More likely the opposite. We were enjoying each other, and God's provision. We were gathered in body around our Lord. He was gathered in spirit with distant others watching the same soon-to-be-forgotten television program. While he was trying to make a buck, we were serving one another. We had a grand time, while he was just killing time.

We are like the world in so many ways, ways we are ashamed of. We have had a divorce in our little congregation. But we have responded by excommunicating the guilty party, and taking his sweet wife and two dear children and treating them as the widow and orphans that they are. Area churches, let alone the world, are shocked as we care for this needy family, as we put a roof over their heads, and food on their table. They are stunned that we have not only refused to send this young girl out into the workplace, and her kids into daycare, but that we have refused to let Caesar have any part in caring for her. But this is just what the Bible says we are to do. We are witnesses to Him, because He is a husband to the widow, and a father to the orphan.

Of course we have a long way to go. We are far from being odd enough. We still bicker with each other. We still fret and fear over things that do not matter. We still seek the praise of the world. We still live with one foot in this earthly place. The allure of the world is strong. Our failures, however, are not an excuse for further failure. That we have far to go is no reason not to go. If anything, it is a reason to move more quickly. After all, it was not easy for those in the book of Acts as well. If they could go to the coliseum, not as spectators, but as victims, we ought to be able to put up with being thought slightly odd.

We are witnesses. Our sorrows, like His, are not the result of who wins a basketball game, but over husbands who leave their families. And our joys, like His, are not mere amusement, but to reflect on the glory to which we have been called, to drink up the glory that is our King. We are to be different, set apart, called out, separate. We are to think more clearly, love more dearly, live more sagely, and die more bravely. We are to be like the One Whose name we bear. We are to be faithful in carrying out the continuing acts of Jesus on this earth.