Every week R.C. Sproul Jr. writes a short note to the subscribers of our weekly e-newsletter, the Kingdom Notes. Herein are those notes. If you want to receive these notes as they come out, subscribe to our Kingdom Notes e-newsletter.

A Cornucopia of Blessing

One could argue that the controversy of the day in Reformed circles can be reduced down to interpreting one text. In John 15:5-6 we read, "I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit for without Me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in Me, he is cast out as a branch and is withered; and they gather them and throw them into the fire and they are burned." The question of the day seems to be, how attached are these branches that are later cut off, and what kind of blessing are they receiving from the vine? If they are cut off, were they ever attached?

That this is what we are talking about might perhaps cause us to question whether we are attached to the vine at all. Isn't it just like us Reformed people to turn an injunction to holy living into an occasion for armchair theology? Far more important than figuring out what "sap" flows from vine to branch is being about the business of bearing much fruit.

I don't know what the sap is. The Bible doesn't tell us. I do know, however, what the fruit is, because the Bible tells us that. The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. This, and not a laundry list of theological precision is how we ought to be judging ourselves. This, and not a laundry list of wisdom driven lifestyle choices is how we ought to be judging ourselves. Confessional purists who lack peace are in trouble. Head-covering homeschoolers who lack joy are in trouble. Head-covering, homescooling, confessional purists who lack gentleness, like me, are in a heap of trouble. The trouble won't be solved by finding the right answers to the questions that vex us. It will only be solved by clinging to the Vine.

Last Sunday evening I began at the Bristol parish of Saint Peter Presbyterian Church a series of Bible studies built around the fruit of the Spirit. I chose this theme not ultimately because I'm worried about the fruitfulness of the sheep, but because I am concerned with my own fruitfulness. I'm not interested so much in studying the intersection of Vine and branch. I'm interested in bearing fruit. My desire isn't to understand all the great mysteries of the faith. My goal is to look like the object of the faith. Our Husband is a great feast of grain and grape, of bread and wine. Our calling is to be the same. Won't it be something when the day comes when those outside the camp say about us, "Say what you want about those crazy Christians and their weird ideas. But you have to hand it to them, they're bursting to overflowing with love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and self-control."

Doing Theology Proper(ly)

God bless the Westminster Shorter Catechism. I cut my own theological teeth going through G.I. Williamson's fine study guide on the catechism. I have spent the last thirteen years helping my children to memorize it. I have taught through the catechism at least three times in the last fifteen years. I believe it, confess it, and learn from it. But, I have a bone to pick with it. Question four asks, "What is God?" It answers, "God is a spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable in His being wisdom, power, holiness, goodness, justice and truth." All true, gloriously true. But first, my problem with the question. Why, I have to wonder, does it not instead ask, "Who is God?"? I am willing to grant their may be some grammatical reason for the distinction. I suspect, however, that the answer is revealed in the answer.

When we ask what God is, we are already looking at Him not as a person or persons, but as a thing. God is not a person or persons with whom we have a relationship, but is the object of our study. The answer betrays this kind of approach because of what it is missing — not a word is said about God being tri-une. I am happy to grant, of course, that the catechism does get around to the trinity two questions later. (Don't forget, I love and believe the shorter catechism.) But I don't believe you can be in the neighborhood of defining God until you get to the reality of the trinity. And I don't believe you could cover the trinity and still ask what God is instead of who God is.

I think it strange as well that we cover the trinity the way that we do. Question six asks, "How many persons are in the godhead?" and answers, "There are three persons in the godhead: the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, and these three are one God, the same in substance, equal in power and glory." Once again, all true, gloriously true. But is the essence of the trinity the essence of the members of the trinity? I'd humbly suggest not. If you want to get at the trinity, do not begin with their sundry attributes. Do not even begin with their callings. Begin with their relationships. The Father loves the Son and the Spirit, the Son loves the Father and the Spirit, and the Spirit loves the Father and the Son.

God is not a string of attributes. God is trinity.

Thanks for the Doubling

I have argued in the past, though I believe it less with each day, that God has blessed me with the spiritual gift of thick skin. The more slings and arrows that come my way, the thinner it seems my skin becomes. There is, however, an upside to growing more concerned with what people think. It is this — when people think well of you, it is a great encouragement.

While I have over the past eleven years that the study center has existed not been shy to teach some hard truths, to take an occasional prophetic stand, one thing that has been hard for me to do has been to ask for financial support. We all know the horror stories of sham ministries that exist as money making machines. I don't mind people thinking I'm mean spirited, or wrong on this issue or that, but please don't let them think I'm some sort of Reformed Rootin' Tootin' Robert Tilton. And so I have been slow to ask for financial support.

The solution to that fear is simple enough. I have to ask myself this question — do I believe in what we are doing? If I believe that our labors here are a benefit to the kingdom of God, why would I be shy about asking the citizens of that kingdom to help finance the work? A very generous donor has recently helped me get over that hump. He offered to match any new monthly giving that would be committed to by donors before the end of July. If this man was willing to give so generously, surely I ought to be willing to ask boldly. And so I did.

My encouragement grew not only out of the initial offer, but from the response of many of you. You stepped up to the plate, because you too believe in what we are doing. We cannot help Christians live more simple, separate, and deliberate lives for the glory of God and the building of His kingdom unless or until we have Christians eager to live more simple, separate, and deliberate lives for the glory of God and the building of His kingdom. And we cannot flourish until those same Christians begin to help others do the same. We are grateful, therefore, to that initial donor. We are grateful for all of you who participated in this offer. We are grateful to all of you who give in any way. And we are grateful for the opportunity to help all those who will listen. We are most of all grateful to our Father in heaven, and to His Son who made us His Sons.

The doubling window has closed. But I, I pray, having been encouraged will continue to have the courage to ask our Father and His children to support the work we have been called to do. Thank you.

God in the Details

I'm on hold as I type. I'm waiting to find out if my riding mower is fixed. After eleven years of faithful service, my previous mower finally went the way of all flesh. In February (see how prudent I am, buying in the off-season?) I bought a new mower, and an expensive warranty. During my fifth mow something went wrong, and my mower has been in the shop now for three weeks, awaiting a back-ordered part. Boy howdy is it frustrating.

At the same time we have been going through a dry-spell around these parts. To call it a drought would be to give the wrong impression. There are no tumbleweeds rolling down the street of Mendota. But we haven't had much rain, and so my grass hasn't grown much at all. There's some tall weeds here and there, but the grass is just fine.

Now I bore you with lawn talk not to delay the inevitable, where I give in and go out and try to mow three or four rather vertical acres with a push mower. Instead I have a point. Just as we are willing to "allow" God to reign over certain parts of our lives, that is our own personal "spiritual realm," so we "allow" Him to reign over certain parts of the universe. Wars, and rumors of wars are appropriate objects of His attention. Rain also, because there's not much we can do about it, is something we are content to leave in His hands. Mower repair, or parts procurement, however, that's a human thing.

When Abraham Kuyper first thundered, "There is no square inch in all reality over which Jesus Christ does not declare, 'MINE'" we all stand up and cheer such grand and eloquent insights. We stand ready to storm Washington, Hollywood, perhaps even Amsterdam, having heard such rousing speech. That's a good thing. But it also means that the three or four square inches that are the missing pulley on my mowing deck are missing because the King of the Universe has so declared.

Understanding that God reigns over the details not only should give us greater wonder, it ought also to give us greater peace. When you get cancer, when you go through the Internet treatment, when you deal with a sick child, it is actually comparatively easy to remember that God is in control, and to rest in that truth. When you just miss the green light, when your luggage gets lost by the airline, or when your mower quits in the middle of a mow, it's a little harder. Which challenge then has the greater power?

Giving Honor

The temptation to the priesthood is always there. When the Reformation brought with it the doctrine of the priesthood of all believers, such wisdom did not undo the problem of pride and fear. Those of us who have been called to teach from the Word of God feel the need to justify our existence, our calling, by unraveling the complexities of God's Word. If we don't find complexities, we make them up, so that we can unravel them.

God, who delights to thwart our pride, often does so here simply enough — by speaking with such simplicity that we cannot miss it. He makes it so easy as to make it difficult to make it look difficult. We want to explain to the world how to have their best life now. We have purposed to give them a purpose driven life. We have explained the power of a particular prayer. But God has already told us how we can live the good life. His promise is that if we will honor our mother and our father, it will go well for us in the land He has given us. We do not need to take back Washington. We do not need to infiltrate Hollywood. We need to honor our parents. Pretty simple.

Last week I had the opportunity to attend gathering known as the Christian Booksellers Association convention. Several years ago, that trade association, perhaps fearing truth in advertising concerns, changed their name to CBA. Now their convention isn't even called CBA. It is instead the International Christian Retailing Show. I did not go to pitch a book on honoring our parents as the path to a good life. I went to honor my parents, as a path to my good life.

My father was given a great honor this year. He received a lifetime achievement award for his years of writing outstanding books. My wife Denise and I went to be with him when he received the award. It is my habit when speaking about my father to remind people that what makes him a great man isn't his theological acumen. It isn't his prodigious gift of communication. What makes him a great man is that he is a great man, a great father, a great husband, and that he lives a life honoring to his father.

He doesn't make it easy to honor him. The problem isn't that he isn't honorable. The problem is that he is better than me at everything. The problem there isn't my jealousy, but my weakness. We were getting ready to enter the auditorium where the award would be given. He is pleased and surprised to see me and my dear wife there. We hug, and I congratulate him. Then my mother hands me a book, my father's latest. This little book, The Truth of the Cross, is described by the scholar Bruce Waltke as the best book he has ever read on the cross. The content honors Jesus, our elder brother who honored His Father, even to such an agonizing death. But it is the dedication page that so shocks me. My dad, whom I was seeking to honor that night, honored me by dedicating this book to me. What do you do in a situation like that? The answer here too is simple enough. You give thanks to your Fathers, and give thanks for the Son.

Color Me Fall

Though I'm ashamed to admit it, I once, decades ago, had my "colors" done. This is a thing, a girl thing if the truth be told, where sundry cloths of various colors are draped over you to discern which family of colors best suits you. These families are divided into seasons. Some are summers, others winters, etc. I'm happy to report that I don't remember what season I was. I only know I wasn't what I wanted to be — fall. My preference for fall had nothing to do with the hues, and everything to do with the season.

Back home in Pennsylvania fall is festival season. In the rural little town where I lived they have each September the Flax Scutching, a kind of old fashioned days where locals make clothing out of flax, and the Methodist Auxiliary serves up sausage and flapjacks. Then came the Rolling Rock races, a series of steeplechase events put together to raise money for charity. It was actually just an excuse for the upper crust to tailgate. The last festival is Fort Ligonier Days, a celebration of the heritage of Ligonier, Pennsylvania.

I live in Virginia now, but still look forward to the fall. Now I have four things to which I look forward. First, in September, we will start back up with classes for older homeschoolers. We will, once again, be offering a class in introductory logic. And we will teach, using Clarence Carson's fine history texts, American History from 1878 to 1928. I not only get to talk about issues near and dear to my heart, but get to do so to people near and dear to my heart, local homeschooled children, and their parents.

Also in September we will begin a new Sound Teaching series, spending the first four Tuesday evenings looking at the epistle of joy, Paul's letter to the church at Philippi. What we find there is a potent reminder of the potency of God's grace in our lives, a clarion call to do the heavy lifting of giving thanks and rejoicing in God's goodness to us. Again God in His grace allows me to look into this good news with the very people that I love.

October brings with it first our third Couples Camp of the year. While we are still taking names for the waiting list, we are sold out. We will meet the 11th through the 13th, and consider together the sovereignty of God, the family, and the kingdom of God. We meet together in my basement, and will enjoy our meals out on my porch looking out over the Holston River and the Clinch mountain range.

And then comes the grandest celebration of the fall. Wednesday evening, October 31 we will gather together not to bob for apples, and seek out treats or tricks, but to worship the living God, in gratitude for His great work of the Reformation. Thursday we will gather together to consider the meaning of the solas of the Reformation, looking especially at how those solas shape our body life here. In the evening we will enjoy a bonfire with s'mores, and I will be telling stories of the Reformation. Friday we will conclude our mini-conference, considering two more of the solas, and enjoying a kind of public "basement taping." In the evening we will gather together again to dance before the Lord in gratitude for His grace. Saturday we will have dozens of booths, offering tasty fair goodies, homemade foods and crafts, and even some good books. And on the Lord's Day both parishes of Saint Peter church will meet together in Bristol for worship.

We will read through Luther's 95 theses, and will conclude with a variety of local folks making music, and by singing together psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. For those who have an interest is seeing what unites the Saint Peter body, who would like to taste deeply this ethereal thing we call community, this would be an ideal time to visit.

This is a lot to look forward to. Truth be told, I am looking forward to looking forward. Each of these events, to one degree or another, points us toward the fullness of the kingdom. These, like every kind of feast, are little tastes of heaven. They are the gold and sapphire leaves of healing falling from the trees. Isn't God good, that we get to do these things? Come and taste that He is good.

The Simple Gospel

In wrestling they call it "the reversal." You score big points when you not only escape the clutches of your opponent, but suddenly have him in your clutches. Here is how the devil does this to us as it relates to how we have peace with God. At the time of the Reformation our fathers spent a great deal of time and energy trying to get a handle of this question of how we have peace with God. Out of this came the solas of the Reformation, nuggets of recovered wisdom that slowly grew into a great mass of doctrine. Rome fired back, and we returned that fire. Sundry compromises were suggested, and we haggled over why those wouldn't work. We built our competing empires, and fussed at one another. And every generation brings its Rodney King who wonders why we can't all just get along.

So the debate goes like this. Cranky Reformed folk man the barricades in defense of their learned tomes. We make our stand on imputation, on sola fide, on penal, substitutionary atonement. Happy ecumenists, on the other hand, want a more simple gospel. They want to leave behind the tired old sixteenth century arguments in favor of something plain and unadorned. Have you caught the reversal yet? Rome, and her kissing cousin, Eastern Orthodoxy, created a ladder like system to get into heaven, complete with lists of sundry saints to help you along the way, liturgies to appease the wrath of the Father, penances to pay and refining fire beyond the grave, all designed to make us good enough for God. The Reformation, on the other hand, threw over these man-made, man-driven systems in defense of a simple gospel — repent and believe.

Our heritage isn't complex, weighty, pharisaical burdens. Our patron saint is the tax collector who entered the temple, beat his breast and prayed, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner." It is precisely the commitment we who are Reformed have to the simplicity of the gospel that requires us to draw lines in the sand against any system built upon self-righteousness, against any "gospel" that adds burdens to the good news.

Recovering our heritage then requires two things. First, as we rightly defend sola fide, we must do so without destroying sola fide. If our explanations and defenses, no matter how zealous, do not lead us back to God, be merciful to me, a sinner, then we are on the deadly road to Rome, no matter how loudly we denounce Rome. And second, our commitment to the simplicity of the gospel must keep us from embracing the complexities of the anti-gospels. Our commitment to simplicity cannot allow an ecumenism that includes complex systems. Or to put it another way, we must repent and believe.

Rejoice, Again I Say Rejoice

God in His grace brought me back to Ligonier again this week. It was my second trip in two months, my fourth in the last thirteen months. Though it was the briefest trip, it was the best one yet. In the previous trips I attended with my children the amusement park I frequented as a child. We saw a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball game. On another trip Campbell, my oldest son, and I attended the baseball All Star game. And on another trip I got to go snow skiing on the same slopes where I broke my leg as a boy. This trip was the best. I drove seven hours there, and seven hours back, with seven hours actually in Ligonier. I went alone, and I went for a funeral.

It was my best trip yet for two important reasons. First, it was a celebration of the redeeming and resurrecting power of Jesus Christ. Because the death of His saints is precious in the sight of the Lord, it is likewise precious in the sight of His saints, even those who go on before us. One of the men who spoke, who was friends with the deceased for over sixty years, recounted his first conversation with his friend, after his terminal diagnosis. Tim Couch, who knew then and knows now that his Redeemer liveth told his friend, in a sing-song taunting voice, "I'm gonna get there before you are … I'm gonna get there before you are." Because Tim so loved His savior, this funeral was a celebration of Tim and His savior. This was not a funeral where everyone was sad, but forlornly tried to remember that death has lost its sting, that we do not mourn as those who are without hope. Instead this was a funeral where everyone rejoiced, where the dark palette of mourning only served to highlight the resurrection sunlight.

The second reason was a common enough blessing of funerals — it brought together so many long lost friends. Funerals are reunions where the gospel is preached. What made this reunion so poignant for me was the people. Those who came were the very characters of my childhood. Tim and his lovely wife Marilyn were like an uncle and aunt to me when I was a boy. Tim, when I last saw him in March, thankfully did not remember the time he was babysitting my sister and I, and I used my fork to catapult cottage cheese against his face. The whole Gooder clan was there, and they don't get much gooder. Randy, their son, was my best friend when I was a boy, and now serves as a minister of the gospel in Indianapolis. He was Tom Sawyer to my Huck Finn or perhaps the other way around. One lady we knew, when she would see us together would observe, "Well, if it isn't Frick and Frack!" So many of the students from the old study center were there, Rick and Dodi Wellock, John and Gretchen Best. So many former employees were there — Dave Fox, Pixie Lichtenstein, Patti Monique, and me. These were the people that populated my childhood dinner table, while my dad played the role of Luther, doling out wisdom through table talk.

Tim Couch was given a double measure of the spirit of Barnabas. From the time I first determined to start the Highlands Study Center Tim and Marilyn cheered us on. With letters and emails, and an occasional face to face, he would inquire about our efforts. Seeing all his friends gathered I realized that he, better than most, understood something of what we are trying to create. Seeing that old community gather to honor one of its patriarchs helped me understand that he had a heart for community. Seeing my childhood friends, I realized afresh one of my most potent motivators. I want my children to grow up in the context of such blessings as I did.

These two, of course, are one. That is, resurrection joy and the power of community are indeed the same thing. We are the community of the redeemed, the fellowship of the cross. Our joy, and our love one for another are grounded in our King. He has called us to rejoice, and again He calls us to rejoice. We move from faith to faith, because we move from the body of Christ, our taste of heaven, to the presence of Christ, the fullness of heaven. Funerals are reunions where the gospel is preached. Death is the reunion where the gospel is made flesh.

Behold How Good and Pleasant

King David was a man who knew how to mourn. Even the most hardened man could not help be moved by his paradigm of repentance, Psalm 51. On the other hand, David knew how to celebrate. Remember when God was pleased to bring back to Israel the sign of His presence, the ark of the covenant. Remember that David danced before the ark as it was brought into the city. Remember that someone caught a glimpse of his skivvies, and Michal gets her skivvies in a twist. David patiently explains that he was rejoicing before the Lord, and had nothing to be ashamed of. He would not let her rain on his parade.

We see David celebrating again in Psalm 133, a psalm of ascent. This type of Psalm was sung by the faithful as they traveled together up to the Temple in Jerusalem. In this particular one, David is celebrating the grace of God in human relations — "Behold how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity. It is like precious oil on the head, running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down the collar of his robes. It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion. For the Lord has commanded the blessing — life forevermore."

We run a great danger when we come to this text and spend our time considering the nature of Psalms of Ascent, when we explain the symbolism of Aaron's beard, and the ancient near eastern use of precious oils. Understanding these truths can be a good thing, but only if it helps us to see, rather than causes us to forget, what is right before our eyes — that it is a great blessing when men dwell together in unity. This isn't a text given to us so scholars can demonstrate how smart they are. This is a song given to us so we can thank God for how good He is, in giving us friends, and peace among the brethren. This isn't something to exegete — it is something to sing.

It's a joyful day for me. There is no breaking news, no exciting announcement. All I have is oil running down my beard. I get, at the Highlands Study Center, to work alongside Eric Owens and Dante Tremayne. I get, at Saint Peter Presbyterian Church, to work alongside Laurence Windham, Wayne Hays and Jay Barfield. These are all men I both respect and admire. And in our work together, we get to minister to and among some of God's greatest works — men, women and children that He is making new.

When war breaks out, God is with us in the foxhole. When peace breaks out, God is with us in the blazing sunlight that shines roundabout us. In the former we feel His comfort. In the latter we taste His glory. In the former we remember His promise of life forevermore. In the latter we taste the promise.

What Little Difference a Year Makes

It was about this time last year that I gave up the ghost on that whole hair thing. I shaved off the few crumbs that had hung on so valiantly. I was two months into chemotherapy, and it was taking a toll. I considered it a victory if I could work until 3:00 in the afternoon, and a victory if I could sleep each morning until 5:00. It's not a happy thing to be too tired to work, and too uncomfortable to sleep. I was preaching every Sunday to the combined parishes of Mendota and Bristol, all of whom fit comfortably into a building we had previously outgrown. I was the center of attention of a cadre of internet assassins, a horde of hyenas dancing and laughing around my moribund reputation. And Denise, my children, the saints of Saint Peter and Jesus all loved me.

A year later and I'm now only mostly bald. I did a brisk three mile walk this morning, after a full night's sleep. Work will end about 9:30 as we record a Basement Tape tonight. I get to preach this coming Sunday to a full house in Mendota, while the parking lot will be full in Bristol where Laurence will preach. I have fallen off the radar of the internet goons. And Denise, my children, the saints of Saint Peter and Jesus still love me.

Paul, in the epistle of joy, Philippians, mentions joy sixteen times in four short chapters. He presents it not merely as a possibility, but as a calling. We have learned in our consumerist age that happiness is the next purchase away. If we get this job, lose this weight, buy this cell phone, then we will have joy. We Reformed, on the other hand, take a stiff upper lip approach to the question. We grumpily insist that we'd better be joyful, or else. Circumstances be damned.

The truth of the matter is that joy is in fact circumstantial. We will not have joy unless certain circumstances are met. There are contexts, worlds in which we could live where joy would be uncalled for, ludicrous. And then there is one world where joy isn't something we obey, but is something we drown in. In plenty or in want, in sickness or want, we are the beloved of the Groom. If we are His, joy is ours. Our treasure is in heaven, where sickness cannot intrude, where reputation thieves cannot break in. There is kept for us the pearl of great price. Rejoice, Paul tells us. Again he tells us to rejoice. Single, married, pregnant or not, sick or healthy, respected or rejected, in pain or at ease, we are blessed beyond measure. Rejoice. If you are His, this joy is not the fruit of your circumstance, but is your circumstance.

Friends Are Friends Forever, if the Lord's the Lord of Them

A time or two ago I had the privilege to write in this space about the many blessings I enjoy in my work, working with the staff of the Highlands Study Center, working with the session of Saint Peter Presbyterian Church, and working among the saints at Saint Peter. This week I have yet another blessing. Not only do I get to teach through the content of our couples camps, but I get to do so in the home of one of my greatest heroes.

One of the great callings and giftings of Christians is a love born out of forgiveness and grace. That is, we all have friends, (and in fact we are all friends) whose sins are pretty obvious to the watching world, but that we love anyway. To be in community isn't to miss the spots and blemishes of your neighbor. It is to love your neighbor anyway. But have you ever met people where at some point in your relationship it dawns on you that if you wanted to lay a charge against this saint or that, you don't think you could come up with anything? Mark and Monique Dewey don't fit in their category. They have two glaring faults. First, they are utterly unaware of themselves. They're dummies. They don't have a clue how great they are. Second, they are utterly unaware of others. They're dummies. They don't have a clue how sinful I am, and so manage to maintain a friendship. They're sinners alright, but they're my kind of sinners.

When we were putting together the board of directors of the Highlands Study Center we had several different kind of criteria we were looking for. I spoke with my father about looking for men who were like this, and some men who had that talent or the other. My father gave me far better advice. He told me to have one criteria alone — pick men, he said, who will be loyal to you. Loyalty, biblically understood of course, precludes yes-men. A biblical loyalty is one that is first loyal to the Scriptures, and then to the brethren. No man will be quicker to call me to account than Mark Dewey. And because of his own character, no man will be heard more quickly.

Mark and Monique attended the very first Couples Camp we sponsored, along with Kevin and Susanna McCroskey, another outstanding family. Now, almost a decade later, we are loading up our family and heading off to do the same teaching in their home. As we noted in our last missive, the more things change, the more they stay the same. The Sprouls love the Deweys. Fools that they are, the Deweys love the Sprouls. We have reason to love them; they have the grace to love us. Please, if you have friends like ours, be sure to thank them, and better still, thank your Father in heaven for them. If you don't have friends like these, labor to be friends like these, and soon you will have more friends than you can handle.

The Fifth Empire

A few days ago a group of intrepid students, some young and some not so young, gathered together in my basement to study a bit of American history. For our first time together we began by looking at Daniel's interpretation of Nebuchadnezzer's dream of the great statue. There Daniel gave the king of Babylon roughly a thousand years of world history, before it happened. He foretold the fall of the Babylonian empire to the Medo-Persian empire. He saw that next would come on the scene a nation that would conquer all the known world, as Alexander the Great would do for Greece. He saw that Rome would follow on the heels of the Greek empire, and in turn that it would be divided.

Before we set about to look at modern American history, I wanted us to be certain we had a sound view of history. I wanted us to remember, as Daniel so powerfully made known, that our God controls all of history, that our God reigns. That reign is certainly not restricted to "spiritual" matters. Nor is His rule restricted to Palestine, or other "special" lands, as some see America or England. Instead, all that comes to pass, from the fall of the Roman Empire to the drop in the stock market today, to the very leaves that descend this afternoon in my back yard, all of this happens by God's sovereign, efficacious decree. He brings it all to pass.

Daniel tells us why these four empires came and went when he gets to the fifth empire, "As you looked, a stone was cut out by no human hand, and it struck the image on its feet of iron and clay and broke them in pieces. Then the iron, the clay, the bronze and the gold all together were broken in pieces, and became like chaff of the summer threshing floors; and the wind carried them away, so that not one trace of them could be found. But the stone that struck the image became a great mountain and filled the whole earth" (2:34-35). Nations rise and fall for the same reason rivers rise and fall, for the same reason that death follows life, for the glory of the King of that last, and eternal kingdom. History then is the study not merely of God's providence, as if He were managing a machine. It is instead the story of the King. It begins "In the beginning" and it ends, "And they all lived happily ever after." And in between, therein lies the tale. The dream is certain, and its interpretation is sure.

Bidding Geldings to Be Fruitful

It has been a long and hard summer for sports fans. Not in one league, not in two, but in the three biggest sports leagues in the country the news each day wasn't dominated by this Cinderella team or that perennial superstar. The dominant faces in the news for the NBA, the NFL and MLB were the respective commissioners of the league. David Stern had to deal with an official caught up in a gambling sting. Roger Goddell had Michael Vick to deal with. And Bud Selig did nothing about steroids. Just when the storms seem to break, along comes the New England Patriots and video-gate.

The problem here isn't, in the end, gambling. The problem isn't that sports have somehow become entirely too competitive. The problem isn't endemic to professional sports. Once more, instead, we find professional sports to be a microcosm of the broader world. It was philosophers, not football players, who first suggested that right and wrong are culturally conditioned. It was artists, not football players, who first "challenged our paradigms" by mocking honor. It was professors, not football players, who first taught us that all texts are shrouded power grabs, and so have no power to compel.

We have created a culture where we cannot be condemned for our sexual shenanigans, and then are shocked that we are surrounded by competitive shenanigans. As Mark Dewey once wrote in Every Thought Captive, we know that Lance Armstrong and Barry Bonds were unfaithful to their marital vows. Why should we expect them to be faithful to their competitive vows? Which, in the end, is the more sacred vow?

Relativism in the end isn't merely stupid. It isn't merely permissive. It is instead the death of everything good, true and beautiful. Because we are sinners we construct a world where sin is not possible. Because we are human, we hate the world we have created. Or, to quote a far better man, "And all the time — such is the tragic-comedy of our situation — we continue to clamor for those very qualities we are rendering impossible …. In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings to be fruitful" (The Abolition of Man, by C.S. Lewis.)

They will scream at us that we are narrow, bigoted, and judgmental. And all the while they will long, as long as we are not like them, for the goodness, truth and beauty that inhabits the walls of the city of God.

Wine on the Lees and the Fat Things

When we grumble against God, He is wont to give us things to grumble about. When we give thanks, on the other hand, it is His holy habit to give us more to give thanks for. As the growing photo galleries on our website attest, we find ourselves more and more often taking time to feast before the Lord. This past weekend several families of Saint Peter, expressing their joy and gratitude for the grace of God in bringing new covenant children into the kingdom, put on a rather grand feast, roasting a pig, renting a hall, and putting on a dance. As always, it was a sight to behold, from the joyful families spread out on blankets in the sweet grass, to the Patty-Cake Polka being danced by multiple generations.

There are any number of reasons that drive me to thank God for the saints of Saint Peter. One of those is that the saints there do rather well at giving thanks to God. Our feasts, despite the clucking of sundry internet Michals, are not excuses for excess. They are instead performances given for the Lord of the Dance. They are opportunities for us not merely to affirm the truth of the gospel, but to manifest the beauty of the gospel. We were all once lost and are now found, and that is reason to celebrate. We were once at war with our King, with each other and with ourselves. Now we harmonize complexity, the beautiful feet dancing the good news. All because justice and mercy kissed at Calvary.

For years now we have been been trumpeting this message, that joy and holiness not only are not at odds, but are one thing. And for years God has been blessing us with joy and holiness. We give thanks, and He gives more. We give more thanks, and He gives more. And so we move from grace to grace, from blessing to blessing, not from mourning to dancing, but from dancing to dancing.

Like Oil on Aaron's Beard

We ought not to be surprised when our fathers see things we have missed. Our temptation, when looking back at medieval scholasticism is to make fun of the arcane arguments they seemed to delight in. How many angels, these scholars puzzled, could dance on the head of a pin? We, in turn, wonder how many of those scholars did the dance of the pinheads? It was these same ponderous folks, however, who once puzzled over the "full-bucket" problem. God, they rightly affirmed, before the creation, was utterly filled to the brim with joy, with satisfaction. The Trinity enjoyed full and perfect communion with each other, and had need of nothing. Why then, these good folks wondered, was the creation made? All that we do we do to fix some perceived lack. In just a moment I will leave my desk to address my lack of lunch. God lacked nothing, so why was the world made? What goaded Father, Son and Holy Spirit to act?

As obtuse as this might seem, it is a far more sound approach to creation than that taken by most modern "scholars." How many times have radio preachers, television evangelists and the like opined that God created the world because He was lonely, because He wanted human companionship? Horse hockey. God was utterly complete. Man was not created to fill in some lack, but to drink deep of the fullness. All of creation is the great affirmation that God is all-sufficient, that He is the fullness of every good thing. Man, as God's image bearer, takes in that reality, and rejoices.

Penurious secularists are wont to justify their barrenness along these lines, "We just wouldn't feel right bringing a child into this world." I don't blame them. God is full, and they are empty. Their world has all the joy, all the purpose all the life of the dark side of the moon. God, on the other hand, looking at His own glory, wanted to see it redound to the blessing of others.

It is, I trust, this same spirit, that drives families like ours. We seek out God's blessings not because we're afraid God will get mad at us if we don't, because we believe birth control is a sin. Nor do we do so merely because we enjoy children, though that is surely a step in the right direction. Instead we seek to bring children into our families so that we might share the bounty of God's grace, so that the fullness of our joy might spill out on others.

Last night my dear wife Denise and I took our first class on foster parenting, the first step of dipping our toes back into the adoption process. While some families do well to welcome children into their homes temporarily, and are to be praised, our goal is adoption, to give a more permanent home to children without homes. Please pray with us that God would bless us with another little child or two. Please join us as we give thanks to God for the blessings of family. Please pray as well that the Highlands Study Center would continue in its calling, that we might have opportunity to bring greater joy to more and more families, that they in turn might have that same joy overflow to their children and their children's children.

The Institute for the Obvious

If you find yourself in a grand quandary, chances are you are missing the obvious. No, I don't mean that all difficult questions come equipped with easy answers. The point isn't that every complex question can only be reached through muddling up simple questions. Instead what I mean is that most of the time we spend on real brain teasers would be better spent on kid’s play. Suppose, for instance, I'm trying to figure out a healthy way for my children to spend time with other children. I've read all the arguments back and forth on age segregation. I've heard all the anecdotal evidence there is on both sides — Suzy's son ran off and joined the army because she wouldn't let him play with his cousin's Gameboy — or Jim's daughter ran off and married a roadie because Jim let her attend a slumber party at the pastor's house when she was eight. I've even heard the wise wisdom that says these questions must be answered with wisdom. But I've still missed the point.

Analyzing all the stuff we homier-than-thou types like to analyze isn't how we keep the hearts of our children. Certainly our children should dress modestly. Of course their identity ought to be toward their family rather than their peer-group. And yes, truth be told dating is not only dumb but dangerous. Nevertheless, the way we keep the hearts of our children isn't found in mixing together the precise formula of this peculiar habit and that one. It's not like if our daughters wear head coverings Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays they'll stay loyal, but if they wear them Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays they will rebel. We don't nurture our children in the faith by reading the tea leaves exactly right. Rather we keep the loyalty of our children by doing these two things — first, we love them. Second, we tell them we love them.

If you're thinking too hard, you're trying too hard. Go back to the beginning and do the simple things. Not only is Jesus' yoke easy and His burden light, but you don't need a Ph.D. to know how to carry it. So one more time. Don't want to lose your children to the world? Good. Love them. Tell them you love them. Repeat.

As Unto the Lord

The morning after next I will meet again with those men who are a part of our Highlands Hall program. We will be talking about Milton Terry's book Biblical Hermeneutics, which in turn has me thinking again about the R.C. Sproul Jr. Principle of Hermeneutics. Don't think I don't know it's a silly name. But please don't let the silly name cause you to lose sight of the very important principle. It goes like this, 'Whenever you see someone doing something really stupid in the Bible, do not think to yourself, 'How can they be so stupid?' Instead think to yourself, 'How am I more stupid?'" This is how we understand the Bible, and how the Bible helps us better understand ourselves.

Consider, for a moment, the grumbling and complaining of the children of Israel on their way to the Promised Land. God describes His role in this journey as carrying His own on eagles' wings. His own, on the other hand, spent more time and energy grumbling and complaining than they did actually walking. We too are on our way to the Promised Land. And we too grumble and complain. Every thorn, real or imagined, becomes a burr under our saddle. Every thistle, real or imagined, puts our teeth on edge. If we are spiritual, we remember the beauty of the Promise. If we are wise, however, we would give thanks for the journey as well.

There are challenges that come with our work here at the Highlands Study Center. We are able to imagine more impact, and less troubles. We are able to imagine a bigger budget, and a bigger staff. We are able to daydream about what it might be like one day. If we would do better than the children of Israel, however, we need not only look to the future with hope, but look to the present with gratitude. We need to realize that however grand the Promised Land might be, we are riding on the wings of eagles right now.

In a few hours we'll be recording The Basement Tapes just a few yards to my right. Jay and Jonathan and Laurence will all be miked for sound. Dante will keep the machines running. And we will have guests listening in as well. Tomorrow about this time I will be winding down my classes for homeschoolers, having taught Logic and Modern American History. My own Darby and Campbell will be there, as well as a dozen or so of my favorite children in the world. The morning after that I'll be hanging with the Highlanders, talking about the Bible, and hermeneutics with godly men aspiring to the ministry. The next day we'll have about a dozen couples gathered in my basement for Couples Camp. A week after that I fly off to Montana to preach to a fine group of godly families there, and the week after that Darby and I head off to the San Antonio Independent Christian Film Festival. Like those rare professional athletes that are still driven by a love for the game, I not only can't believe I get to do all this stuff, but I get to do all this stuff, and get paid for it. And thanks to Eric Owens, our president, I don't have to worry about the paying part of it.

It is good and right that we should consider, as we get ready to enter into the end-of-the-year fundraising season, all the good God is doing through our work here. But it is also good and right that we should give thanks to God for His goodness in allowing us to do this work. We are doing good, but we are also having a grand time doing it. So here again is the application part of the R.C. Sproul Jr. Principle of Hermeneutics — after you see your sin in the sins of the people in the Bible, repent, and believe the gospel. And give thanks.

Gotcha!

Two years ago today, Reilly Justice Sproul became, before the eyes of the law, a Sproul. Today we celebrate what is known among adoptive families as "Gotcha Day!" We give thanks to God who in His grace blessed our family with this little guy. We give thanks that in His providence, this special child has been brought into a home where he will not only be loved, but will be raised in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. We give thanks that while he has been mocked by our internet critics, he has been warmly welcomed by our covenant community. We give thanks for the laughter and joy he has brought into our home. We give thanks for the delight his older sisters and brother take in him. We give thanks that when our love overflows, it returns back to us. We give thanks for the care Reilly receives from his elders in the church. We give thanks for all the other gotcha days that are celebrated in so many homes at Saint Peter Church. We give thanks that we, who were by nature strangers and aliens have not only been brought into God's covenant, but that we have been adopted into His family. We give thanks for his smile, for how he runs on his tiptoes, for how much he loves sausage and biscuits with his breakfast, just like his dad. We give thanks for the way he hugs my head when I hold him during Lord's Day worship, and for the way he stands next to Shannon, hoping she will pat him on the head. We give thanks for the forts he builds with the dining room chairs. We give thanks that he has not only been a part of our family for the past two years, but that he will be a part of our family forever. We give thanks for his grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, who love him as we do. We give thanks for the many people who prayed for us during the long adoption process, who were a vital part of the team that brought this to pass. We give thanks to Justice Phillips, and the whole Phillips clan who stood alongside us, and continue to do so even now. We give thanks for Darby, for Campbell, for Shannon, for Delaney, for Erin Claire, and for Maili, that we "got" them too, by the same grace of God. We give thanks for our social worker, our adoptive midwife. We give thanks for to the ladies who cared for Reilly before we got him. We give thanks for his birth mother, who sacrificed for his sake. Go, and give thanks.

Feasting On Sausages

They say that one should avoid, if one wants to continue to enjoy the fruit of such labors, watching sausage made, and law made. Both are messy business. As we discussed this morning in our Highlands Hall meeting, sometimes the making of theology can be much the same. Our reading for this week took us through the early ecumenical councils. We see Arius condemned, Athanasius approved, and then a switch, then a switch, then another switch. Many of these switches were the result of shifting political alliances, rather than improving exegesis. Out of this mess came our creeds. Which we love, and honor, and joyfully submit to. God made straight lines out of crooked sticks.

Jesus taught us to pray, "Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." This is our challenge — to create on earth a witness to heaven. Or more accurate still, our challenge is to show forth the glory of God, while we are so decidedly inglorious. Our great problem is that we are sinners, sent to show forth not just a King that is sinless, but a kingdom that is likewise supposed to be sinless. We aren't though.

We ought not be surprised when earth looks more like earth than it does heaven. What we ought to do, instead, is repent and believe the gospel. That we have not reached our destination is no reason to stop making the journey. It is instead the very reason for the journey. We are going to a better place. And we will get there as our Lord works in and through sinners like us. It's a messy process. But, glory to God, it ends in a feast.

All Believers

When we celebrate the Reformation, we would be wise to take the bad with the good. Or at least we ought to be on our guard. We rejoice in the recovery of sola Scriptura. We rejoice as well in the doctrine of the priesthood of all believers. But we ought to be able to see the danger rearing its ugly head. When we put the two together, as we should, we tiptoe close to what my friend Keith Mathison calls "solo Scriptura." Here a body believes that they alone, with the Bible in their hands, are the ultimate authority. "What need have I, the solo Scripturist affirms, of the church, or of the gifts to the church, like teachers? Me and my Bible can go it alone." The danger is real, and we are to this day reaping the whirlwind of every wind of doctrine.

The Scripture is, of course, our only final authority. And we are all a part of the royal priesthood. The fruit of this, however, ought not to be an army of little popes, but a family working together. Consider the Reformation Celebration we just completed. During that time we enjoyed some teaching on the solas of the Reformation. Our teachers were Mark Dewey, Laurence Windham and the present writer, all duly ordained shepherds of the sheep. We also enjoyed during our celebration music from a half dozen or so young folks in the church. We enjoyed egg rolls cooked by the Smythe clan. We feasted on pies and chili from dozens of families. Some of us bought baskets woven by Gregor Wellons, others bought dolls knitted by Marguerite Abril. Several young ladies in the church made and sold jewelry, and several young men constructed their own toy weapons and had them on sale. We all offered up as a sacrifice our labors before the Lord.

This weekend we did not have three men doing priestly work, while the others did secular work. We did not have three men doing Reformation work, while the others made money to pay the bills. Instead we were all fulfilling our callings as a royal priesthood. We were all about the business of Reformation. The priesthood of all believers doesn't make ministers out of cobblers. Instead it affirms the ministry of cobblers. We all have work to do, and all our work, if it is honest work, is kingdom building work.

The Reformation reminded us of our calling. And so we are called to remember the Reformation, and give thanks to the One who gave it to us. We do this not just once a year, but all year long. We set aside these few days to remember that all our days belong to Him. We hope you'll join us again in a year when we once again dance to remember.

Giving Thanks

Inherited liturgies come with blessings and with cursings. It is a grand thing indeed that our forefathers set aside a day for giving thanks, that they traversed time to teach us to give thanks. They remembered that we might remember. Trouble is, as with all liturgies, we face the temptation of remembering the sign, but forgetting the thing signified. Or, we diminish the thing signified. We might remember to give thanks, but chances are, we will give thanks for the same old things.

One cannot give too much thanks for God's blessing of food, especially when the table is groaning under the weight of it. The golden turkey, the steaming mashed potatoes, these cry out to be thanked for. So too those around the table. Typically we gather together cross generationally. We witness God's covenant faithfulness around the table, and so wisely give thanks for family. And, having done our duty, and lest the feast should grow tepid, we commence with the feast.

It's a great thing to feast. It's even better to do so in thanksgiving for God's provision of our food, and His grace toward our families. But there is so much more to be thankful for. My intention here isn't to catalogue all the things we pass over. It is instead to cover two of those things in my own life, my co-workers.

Eric Owens and Dante Tremayne are two gifts from God that I can't imagine being without. I am thankful for their character. These men are honest and humble. I am thankful for their labors. These men are diligent and gifted. I am thankful for their friendship. These men are fun, and better still, loyal. These men have stuck by me, and have lived out their commitment to the mission and message of the Highlands Study Center at great cost to themselves. These are foxhole friends who have actually been in the foxhole with me.

God has blessed the Highlands Study Center with many friends. I'm grateful for each of our board members. I give thanks for each of our monthly partners. I rejoice over every student. But most of all I give thanks for the men I work with every day, men I'm not just grateful to have as co-workers, but proud to have as friends.

Guilt by Association

In a week or two we will be recording another one of our Basement Tapes, this one on the work of G.K. Chesterton. My assumption is, or should I say my hope is, that no one, at least outside of John Robbins, upon hearing the grateful things we have to say about the man will determine that I must be a closet Roman Catholic. After all, I have been known to associate with G.K. Chesterton. Add to that that I have written more than once for Chronicles magazine, edited by Thomas Fleming, a known Roman Catholic. I have spoken more than once for the Separation of School and State Alliance, an organization led by my friend Marshall Fritz, another known Roman Catholic.

Of course I could also be accused of being a closet Lutheran. I have two pictures of Luther on my office walls, a bust of Luther on my desk, and a Luther bobble-head on my bookshelf. I once served as the editor of a magazine named for one of Luther's best loved books. My favorite book of all time is by Luther. I assign that book in our Highlands Hall program. Add to that that I was proud to have Gene Edward Veith speak at our last conference. He too is a known Lutheran.

Or maybe I'm a closet Baptist. I've not only read The Pilgrim's Progress, but have taught on it as well. I preached my first sermon ever at a Baptist church in Sandpoint, Idaho. I've preached at several Baptist churches, and spoken at quite a few Baptist conferences. In my previous duties at Ligonier Ministries, I invited Al Martin to speak, as well as Alistair Begg. And then there's the notorious Doug Phillips. He and I are known associates. Rumor has it we've been plotting to take over the Reformed world through the strategic marriage of my daughters to his sons. If you can't believe rumors, what can you believe?

That particular nugget had its genesis this way. Doug had graciously invited me to speak at his second Uniting Church and Family conference. During a time of questions and answers I was asked how it was possible for a committed Presbyterian and a commited credo-Baptist could get along so well. I was happy to answer from my perspective — character. I noted that our theological differences were real, but that I not only respected Doug Phillips, but admired him. This is the standard I judge by, not only for myself, but regarding potential future suitors for my daughters.

Our character shows itself to be lazy when we judge others on the basis of their friendships. It shows itself to be foolish when we judge one man for the presumed errors of his friends. It shows itself quick to judge when it finds others guilty by association. Godly character embraces truth, eschews falsehood, and loves godly character, wherever it finds it.

For the record, I'm not a closet Roman Catholic. I'm not a crypto-Lutheran. I'm not a secret Baptist. I'm a Presbyterian, through and through, from the five points of Calvinism to my kilt.

Turning Vices into Virtues

Baby rationalists are merely able to practice the escape. Mature rationalists go for the reversal. That is, when we are just learning how to rationalize our sin, we tend to be satisfied to avoid the charge of wrongdoing. If I can assuage my guilt by spinning my sin this way or that, all's well. But as we grow more accomplished at this feat, we find it even more exhilarating to turn our sins into virtues. We delight to turn vices into virtues, and on occasion virtues into vices. Consider the hackneyed answer to the hackneyed question during a job interview. Interviewer asks, "What would you say your greatest weakness is?" Interviewee looks appropriately humble and replies, "Well, I've been accused of being a workaholic before."

Presbyterians have well earned their nickname "the frozen chosen." It likewise hits the mark when we are called "The Split P's." We are known for being theological persnickety, and often try to pull the interviewee trick on our own sin. That is, we confess, with all due humility, that we are indeed far too apt to split over matters as fine as the hair on a frog. But, we explain, what else could you expect from theological purists like us? We turn our propensity to divide into something praiseworthy.

A little historical perspective has helped me see this more for what it is. In our Highlands Hall program we were discussing recently LaTourette's A History of Christianity wherein he covered sundry offshoots from the Roman Catholic church, offshoots which preceded the great schism, as well as the Reformation. You had this Coptic church here, that monophysite church there, and then the Arians moving right along as well. What struck us all was that while each of these groups clung to some grave heresy, their heresies did not seem to mean that much to them. That is, they weren't zealots for their respective heresies. What drove these schisms, it seems, was a desire for power.

Isn't it just possible, I'm wondering, that we Presbyterians split not because of our theological precisions, but because of our lust for power? If I can make exclusive psalmody a make or break issue, then even if a small splinter agrees with me, I can be the big kahuna of that splinter. If I can accuse Joe over there of being power mad, and get a group to go with me, then I can exercise my power in my little group. Heck, when I get my own power thing going, I can even become gracious toward my former enemies.

The R.C. Sproul Jr. principle of hermeneutics (which is, for those of you new to this, "Whenever you see someone doing something really stupid in the Bible, do not say to yourself, 'how can they be so stupid?' but say to yourself, 'How am I more stupid?'" has at least two important corollaries. First, this phenomenon is not restricted to the Bible. That is, wherever we see people acting stupid, we can rest assured that we too act just as stupid. Secondly, it is not restricted to just stupidity. Whatever the sin is, and wherever we see it, chances are, we are guilty of it. Lust for power shows up in the Bible everywhere from Eden to Babel to Absalom to Ahab to Judas. Then it shows up again throughout church history. Isn't it likely that it's still with us? Disguising it as theological purity won't change what it is. Horse hockey by any other name smells the same.

If our fate is not to repeat history, what we need is to repent. We need to repent of our lust for power, and our attempts to rationalize away that lust. We need to practice a theological precision that is able to zero in on the log in our own eye. The only thing we need to split is our garments as we cry out for God's mercy. Then maybe, just maybe the Presbyterians would be known as those repentant people.

Shooting at the Peacemakers

Whenever there is an issue, one will usually find two issues. You believe, for instance, that it is immodest for a woman to wear pants. I believe, enlightened knight that I am, that it is not necessarily immodest. That's an issue of disagreement. While it is certainly possible that it could go the other way, odds are that the second issue would work out this way. You believe it a grave problem that I don't hold your view on women and pants. I, on the other hand, am profoundly indifferent to your view, quite content for you to go on holding it. Now we have a second disagreement. We differ on the relative importance of the issue we differ on.

Shrewd politicians have learned how to use this to their advantage. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that you believe the federal government ought to spend more money on education. I, on the other hand, believe that no civil governments ought to spend any money on education. If you want to make progress, what do you do? Do you come after dangerous fanatics like me? No. You instead get after people between us, and charge them with failing to sufficiently condemn me. You accuse those who want the level of federal spending to remain constant of being soft on loonies like me. Why would you risk alienating those who are closer to you? To get them to move closer still. As you denounce them, they in turn will feel the need to prove their bona fides on the issue. Before this assault, my loony views were a matter of indifference to these "moderates." Now it is something they must loudly denounce, lest they get painted by you with my brush.

The strategy, of course, works for politicians of all kinds. It works in office politics. It works in family politics. And it works in church politics. It isn't enough to disagree with theory A anymore. In order to avoid being tainted you have to stand up and declare theory A to be the very spawn of Satan. In some circles, for instance, it isn't enough to believe in the five points of Calvinism. You must, in order to keep your Reformed credentials, believe that those who deny any of the five points of Calvinism go straight to hell when they die.

The world is full of issues, some of them subtle, all requiring wisdom. But the greatest wisdom is always needed for the second issue. The hard question is the proportion question. It is better, in the end, to enjoy the company of those who are wrong on a given issue, than those with whom we agree on the issue, but turn it into a matter of life and death. Give me a peaceful Arminian any day over a fire-breathing Calvinist. Give me, on the other hand, a fire-breathing Calvinist any day over those Machiavellians who push their agenda by shooting at the peacemakers.

How Long Is That in Dog Years?

As I write the news hot off the wire is that Michael Vick has been sentenced to 23 months in prison for his involvement in dog fighting. I have no comment on the sentence itself, on the crime that Vick was accused of. I don't care to comment on the Atlanta Falcons, or different breeds of dogs. Instead what shocks me today, as it has for the past several months, is how high up in the news chain this event is. Why is this front page news?

Watching Michael Vick move so swiftly from media darling to social pariah caused some pundits to argue that the issue is dogs. That is, people will forgive just about anything, so long as it doesn't involve pets. There's a point there. The trouble with this explanation, however, is that dog fighting has been going on for centuries without coming up on people's radars. The real driving force here is celebrity. If it had been roosters instead of dogs, and if it had been Rosie O'Donnell instead of Vick, the story would have been just as big.

I don't expect the broader culture will soon give up its white hot interest in the comings and goings of celebrities. We're going to continue to have tabloids, and tabloid television for some time. The question is, what about the church? So far I've been able to discern two responses of the church to the celebrity driven culture.

First, we go along for the ride. That is, professing evangelical Christians are probably just as likely to subscribe to People magazine or one of its clones as the general populace. We seem to tune into Battle of the Surviving Surreal Life Bachelors From the 80's as much as our neighbors. We bow down before the same idols.

Second, we play our own anemic version of the same thing as well. We follow the lives of our own sub-standard stars, from Bill Hybels to Franklin Graham to Richard Roberts to Rick Warren. The Reformed world, as you might imagine, shows the same trend, only with smaller stars and greater vitriol.

To paraphrase the Bible, where our mouths and eyes are, that is where our treasure is. Do we spend more time talking about Jesus in a given week, or talking about a movie star? Do we spend more time reading about Jesus in a given week, or reading about some pop diva? Do we spend more time considering our own sinful hearts, or the admittedly perverted hobby of a former football star? Do we spend more time thinking about the battles we throw our children into, or the battles Mike Vick through his dogs into?

Michael Vick will serve his time, a time that will be relatively free from the incessant media blare. He will have time to think about his sins, to consider the dangers of celebrity. We, in the meantime, will still be locked up in our high def, plasma flat screen cages, where it is too loud to think about our sins.

Many Happy Returns

Isn't it revealing that the two biggest shopping days of the year are the day after Thanksgiving, and the day after Christmas? Having stuffed ourselves with turkey and trimmings, having purportedly given thanks, we wake up before dawn the next day to go and get more stuff. Maybe, just maybe, if we get up early enough, and if we show enough stamina, maybe this time we'll end up satisfied. Christmas morning we wake up, open all those presents, and begin plotting our strategy for the next day, when we will return and exchange all the things that didn't satisfy us.

Now I'm not against stuff. I have quite a bit of it myself. Nor am I anti-celebrating the birth of Jesus. Nor, finally, am I opposed to celebrations of the birth of Jesus that involve the exchanging of stuff. What I fight against, both within my own heart, and the hearts of all who will hear, is the unspoken but still potent notion that stuff will satisfy the longings of your heart. The returns department is proof enough, even before the credit card bill comes due.

For years now I have been arguing that advent, like the Lord's Supper (which are both celebrations of the coming of Christ), has both a past and a future element. We celebrate advent in part by trying to put ourselves in the context of those faithful Jews who longed for the consolation of Israel. We try to enter into the joy that our prayer, "O come, O Come Emmanuel" was heard. Christ has come. But our remembering isn't only make believe. We too long for the coming of the Messiah. He came, and established His kingdom. He came, and redeemed His bride. But He is coming again, this time to judge both the quick and the dead, to make all things right.

Which reminds us, in the end, of the proper place of longing and satisfaction. We have the pearl of great price. He alone can satisfy. But we long for His return. The more we long for Him, the more rejoice that He is with us always. The more we long for the consummation of the kingdom, the more we rejoice that He has already overcome the world. The more we seek, the more we find that we have already been found. You have been given much. This in turn is your great responsibility — give much thanks. May God bless your advent season, and may He bless you in the coming year, the year of our Lord.

Google All the Way

Al Gore says he invented it. Microsoft Explorer discovered it. AOL mailed it in. But Google gave the internet legs. It serves as the road map that makes the information superhighway navigable. Google helps you find stuff, which means, sadly, that it also gives directions to the dark side of town. Whether it's porn or gossip, Google knows where to go. Internet assassins can overcome their virtual invisibility by tying their star to someone more recognizable, and then lynch them. I know it's shocking, but it can be done. Trust me. Google then invites the curious in.

Despite that hard reality, it can be used for good. Last year my friend Doug Phillips suggested on his blog at year end that it might be a good thing to chronicle the blessings of God in your life over the past year, that we make a point of remembering what we so often forget. As I looked back over 2006, among the many things I was grateful for was the friendship and support of Doug Phillips and Kevin Swanson. During the film festival that year, when both men were up on stage, and I was in the audience with my first born son, I whispered to Campbell, "See those men up there. They are loyal and decent men, filled with courage and wisdom. I pray that you will grow up to be like them." I told that same story in a private email late last year to both these fine men.

Which got me to thinking about people it would have been impossible to reach pre-Google. Not long ago I used this handy tool to track down a classmate of mine from junior high school. This particular classmate, I'm sorry to say, was teased quite a bit. I'm even more sorry to say that not only did I not stick up for him, but I participated in the cruelty. Google helped me track him down. He is a highly respected attorney, and he had an email address. I wrote him an apology for the ways in which I had wronged him, and he, nearly thirty years later, graciously forgave me.

In like manner, as we finished up our Basement Tape on G.K. Chesterton, I remembered that one of my college professors had taught during a Fantasy Lit class, that both Tolkien and Lewis were driven by a profound sense of wonder, a sense I believed they may have learned at the feet of Chesterton. During the class I had no idea what my professor was talking about. Twenty years later it started making sense to me. (This concept is foundational to the teaching we do in our Sound Teaching series Being As Children.) I thought he might be encouraged to know that the wisdom he planted twenty years ago was bearing fruit not only in my life, but in the lives of my children, and those we reach through the work of the Highlands Study Center.

So here's a suggestion. Use Google for good. Find someone that you have lost, that either is owed an apology or a thanks. Better yet, do both. Be as specific as you can, both as you repent and as you give thanks. I'm guessing you'll be glad you did. And then, do it again.

The Heart of the Matter

It may be the most frightening command in all of Scripture. We are told by our Lord to pray, and to pray these words, "Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors." If you fail to pray this way, you invite the judgment of God for your disobedience in prayer. If you succeed in praying this way, you invite the judgment of God for your disobedience in forgiveness. Now you're stuck between a rock and a hot place.

What we need is some context. This prayer, after all isn't given universally to the human race. It is given instead to the children of God. We begin with "Our Father, who art in heaven …" Only the redeemed have any business praying this prayer. And only the redeemed can pray this with confidence. The relationship between forgiving and being forgiven, in God's economy, works backwards. That is, Jesus isn't teaching a doctrine of justification by forgiving alone. We are not forgiven because we forgive. Instead, we forgive because we are forgiven. If we are His children, we became such because we were, by the sovereign power of His Spirit, made aware of our sins. We confessed our sins. We clung to the cross of Christ. We come out the other side of this process not just forgiven, but changed. We know what we were. We know something of the cost it took that we might be forgiven. Now, how can we do anything else but forgive others? We don't forgive others out of fear of being not forgiven ourselves. We forgive others out of joy at being forgiven ourselves.

This, in turn, is how the world knows that we are His. Our love one for another is the sweet fruit of forgiveness. Saints and sinners alike not only sin, but sin against each other. The difference is two-fold. Saints repent, and saints forgive. Pray boldly, and keep going back to the heart of the matter. It’s about forgiveness, forgiveness.

The Institute for the Obvious II

It should go without saying that precious few things can actually go without saying. As simple and fundamental as some concepts or commands might be, our desperately deceitful hearts can still mess them up. Here's a case in point. The evangelical world has any number of folks who take a teetotaler position with respect to the consumption of alcohol. I think that position is out to lunch, sipping tea. I've argued against that position in print, on the net, and out loud. What I haven't spent as much time and energy on is the clear biblical prohibition against drunkenness. I figured, foolishly, that there was no pro-drunkenness camp plaguing the church. What I should have figured is that the abundant biblical warnings against drunkenness are there precisely because it is a sin people, even in the church, are capable of committing. Therefore it ought to be written about or preached against.

But not today. Instead I want to consider a more positive obvious injunction that probably can't go without saying. This morning I met with the men studying with our Highlands Hall program. We were considering together my friend Keith Mathison's outstanding book The Shape of Sola Scriptura. (Though this too should go without saying, when I describe this particular Mathison work as outstanding I'm not meaning to suggest it is the only outstanding book he has written. All of Keith's books are high on my list.) Having re-read the book in preparation for this meeting, it dawned on me, perhaps due to my previous missive, Google All the Way, that it might be a good thing to give Keith a call and tell him what a great book it is. I did so, and he graciously received my praise.

In this work Keith is laboring to lead us to solid ground with respect to the authority and sufficiency of the Bible. He spends part of his time dealing with what he calls Tradition 0, or solo Scriptura. This is the solipsistic notion that we can discern God's will just be being alone with our Bibles. The Anabaptists made this a mainstay of the evangelical church, and our worldly relativism has given it a shot of steroids. (Isn't it something that so many proponents of this view are actually proponents of this view? Why should we listen to people who say, "Don't listen to people! Just read your Bible!")

The Cathodox position (recognizing that there are differences between Rome and Orthodoxy) adopts at best Tradition II or at worst Tradition III, in both cases setting themselves up as the final arbiters of truth. The Reformed tradition, sola Scriptura, which is also the oldest tradition of the church, Tradition I is a mite nuanced. Here we both submit to the Bible alone finally, while likewise giving thanks for and honoring our fathers who have gone before us. We understand the Scripture in light of the regula fide, the rule of faith, or that body of understanding that the church has always had.

I could go on, doing a poor job representing Keith's good work, but not today. Instead we're finally getting to my point. Here it is — reading good books is a good thing. It is healthy, and helps make us strong. Obvious, I know, but then so are a lot of other things we need to be told. If it is not now your habit, consider making it a habit. Consider committing yourself to reading, say, ten or twenty books of some substance this year. They don't have to be slow and ponderous books. Keith writes in an engaging and understandable style. His boss, my father, has written a helpful book or two that aren't slogfests. Study up on something. Read a writer from church history. Calvin, believe it or not, is readable. Read Augustine's Confessions, or Luther's Bondage of the Will. If that's too tough, try C.S. Lewis, or J.I. Packer. Read some history, like Paul Johnson. Read E. Michael Jones on the history of horror, or of music.

Of course, it doesn't go without saying, but read your Bible. That will never return void. Go on now. Read something good. You'll be glad you did.

The Quiet Game

I love my children, and strive at most times to be honest with them. I must confess, however, that there are times when pragmatism overwhelms principle. Suppose, for instance, that we are driving to Florida to visit the grandparents. This involves 12 to 14 hours of driving, with seven children in the car. My scruples about Hollywood shrink a tad, and we plug in videos for hours on end. But as the end of the trip approaches, I'm not above playing "The Quiet Game." Here the parent, in all honesty, jerks the chain of the children. We disguise our desire for quiet in the van by turning it into a game. The children think they're involved in some epic competition, when all they're really doing is giving me a few moments of peace and quiet.

I wonder if the same technique has a chance of working with adults. In our most recent issue of Every Thought Captive, I wrote and published an Apologia column wherein I explained that I do not embrace what has come to be known as "Federal Vision." My friend, and member of our board of directors, Pastor James MacDonald, has published online that article here. The article concludes this way, "I believe, as I have been arguing for years, that the animus behind all this animosity is not the defense of theological purity, nor a recovery of biblical language. I believe that behind it all is pride. I believe that the devil has his hooks in both sides, and that both sides could do much more for the kingdom of God if they would spend their time and energy heeding the wisdom of Luther who said, "When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, 'Repent' (Mt 4:17), He willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance."

That pride shows its face most clearly when advocates on both sides allow rhetoric to overtake careful argument. Hotheads on both sides are given to taking offense at the drop of a pin, and in turn making offense. Precious few men on either side have been diligently careful to speak with care and caution. Two who have are Lane Keister at Green Baggins, (on the anti-FV side) and Keith LaMothe on the pro-FV side. What really gets my goat is that as soon as sane voices begin their discussions, the rabble rousers show up and destroy the discussion with their hoots and hollers.

Here then is what I'd like to suggest. Let's try an internet version of the quiet game. Let's see which side can go the longest without inflammatory language, without judging motives, without ratcheting up the rhetoric. Let's run a fruit check. Mark T., you may not play. Jim, I'm sorry, but you may not play either. Everyone else, the game starts … now. No time outs.

Power Preaching

It's a bad fault of mine, but I suspect you suffer from it as well. My fault is that I assume that others have the same faults I do. If I struggle with pride, my guess is that those to whom I am speaking, or writing, also have a problem with pride. My problems, more often than not, are not RC Sproul Jr. problems so much as human being problems.

Let me confess one. When I am given an opportunity to preach, opportunities I covet and hoard, I walk into the pulpit with this shameful desire. It is my hope that somewhere along the way in the preaching of the sermon the flock who are there will respond in the quiet of their own minds, "Wow, I never thought of that before." I know. It's awful. It's embarrassing. And it is true.

Which is why I suspect it is true of many preachers. We're all sinners. We all have egos. These come out to play when pastors get together. We compete with each other, in the most silly ways. "How long do you typically preach?" preacher A asks preacher B. Preacher B hikes up his pants and proudly declares, "Oh, I'd say about 45 to 55 minutes. How about you?" Preacher A, who had the diabolical wisdom to ask first, simply adds ten minutes or so, and wins. The point here is this. The longer you preach the better you are, for one of two reasons. Either your delivery is so powerful the congregation pleads with you to preach so long. Or, even if your delivery is poor, you can at least brag at the power you have over the congregation. Yup, we reason, they hate every minute of it, but I've got them under my thumb.

There is a slightly more pious version of this kind of, uh, match. Here the issue isn't sermon time, but sermon prep. Preacher B asks, "How long do you take to prepare your sermons?" Pastor A, realizing he should have asked both questions first so he could answer them both second, says, "In a given week, if the flock leaves me free enough, I"ll put in 25 to 30 hours of sermon prep time." Pastor B, taking the consolation prize says, "Well, I typically put in about forty hours."

Now I'm going to assume that these men are not liars. They're just fools. They are pretending to be scholars, while failing to be shepherds. They see the pulpit as an opportunity to demonstrate their research skills rather than their shepherding skills. They, like me, want the people to go away thinking, "Wow, I never thought of that."

There is a critical difference between preaching the Word and dissecting it. With the latter we slice the Word up, put it on a slide and slide it under the microscope. We stand above the Word and deliver what we have discovered about it to the waiting masses. With the former we proclaim the Word, get underneath it, and let its light show us our sin, and God's promise. With the former we proclaim, "Thus saith the Lord." With the latter we proclaim, "Thus saith me." The latter is the power of self gratification. The former is the power of salvation. The calling of the preacher is to call the congregation to believe the Word of God. We speak His Words, and what we bring to the table is this insightful prophetic message, "Believe it." This is the power of the foolishness of preaching, lest any man should boast.

Shared Life

My friend and co-laborer Laurence Windham is good at what he calls "diagnostic questions." These are questions that on their face seem rather innocuous, but that have a shocking ability to reveal our souls. Be careful when you're with him.

As I am typing, not far from me, another friend and co-laborer, Mark Dewey, is speaking at our Pastors Camp. His title, which to be fair I imposed on him, is "The Anti-Christ, How Programs Destroy the Church." He has been arguing that whatever the good intentions that bring into our churches nurseries and Sunday Schools, Awana and the Golden Agers, Youth Group and Women's Circle, that these are destructive in the end.

I'm not here going to reiterate his argument. Instead I'm going to ask you a diagnostic question. But first, some information about Saint Peter Presbyterian Church. At present we have roughly 250 souls under our care. These are divided into two parishes. One lives and meets in Bristol, the other in Mendota. We have roughly 45 families. Which means, in turn, that we have a whole lot of children in our church. I'm guessing we have between 100 and 150 children who are members of our body. We have no programs for them. We do not have a school. We do not have Sunday School. We don't have a scouting program. We do not have a youth group. All we have is each other.

So here is my question. Do you know the names of all the children in your congregation? I have not studied our church directory. I worship, more often than not, in Mendota rather than Bristol. I'm not a terribly good memorizer. But I know the names of our children. I know them, I believe, because they are our children. They are not a part of a set of programs of the church. They are instead a part of the church. We are one body together.

That doesn't mean, of course, that I decide how much TV should be watched in their homes. I don't set the modesty standards for each child. They have parents for that. The point isn't that it takes a village. The point is that we are to not only discern the body, but love it. How can we love that which we do not know?

The children of Saint Peter Presbyterian Church are not something to be used. They are not something to be herded, or processed. They are instead the object of our love, and the recipients of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Don't create programs for them. Instead learn their names. Instead have a conversation with them. Instead, be the church.

The Wait of Glory

I won't call it a diet, though it certainly feels like one. For lunch today I had carrots, celery, mushrooms and cucumbers, with hummus as a dip. Last night for supper I had a baked potato with organic plain yogurt, and sautéed peppers, onions and eggplant. Anybody salivating yet? This whole thing is part of a week long "liver cleanse" I am going through, for no critical health reasons. (I received my third or fourth scan recently since stopping chemo, and everything's clean, I trust you'll be happy to know.) I believe this week will likewise take off a few pounds, which for me would be a good thing, or at least the beginning of a good thing. What I have found interesting throughout this ordeal is how I've been able to deal with it. When Denise suggested it, eager and ready to shoot down my counter arguments, she was almost deflated by the ease with which I agreed. "A week?" I asked her. "I just have to do this for a week? Sure, sign me up."

Not only can I put up with almost any lack for a week, I'm finding it to be almost a positive experience. I have spent more time this week thinking about food than in the entire last six months. I have mentally prepared meals that I will eat when this is all over. I've tuned into cooking shows, and very nearly tasted what I saw. It's not just been good for my health. It's been good for my culinary happiness. I have entered into the joy of anticipation.

At the same time this week, my young friend Ben Lueders, wrote beautifully on his blog on the impending passing of his grandfather. As I read his piece, I began to cry. I mourned for the reality of death, especially that it tears families apart, piece by piece. But soon death lost its sting. Soon I was warmed by the promise of where Ben's grandfather is going, where we are all going. I encouraged Ben to remember the wisdom of C.S. Lewis who reminds us that all our long lives are but the opening paragraph of the opening page of the very preface of our experience, that our real lives, which, if we are in Christ, are the holidays, begin on the other side of the vale. Our lives here are nothing but futzing around back stage, waiting for the curtain to go up. Anticipation, once again, not only raises our spirits, but brings down heaven upon us. The more our eyes are on the prize, the more the prize defines us and warms us in the here and now. Or, to put it rather more poetically, "For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory" II Corinthians 4:17.

Remembering the Dead

It's hard to look at the ugly things, and nothing is uglier than people. The Scriptures warn us