The Wanderer

Over the last few days, the two articles below drew ever closer in my feed reader, until they nicely juxtaposed themselves alongside one another, providing a little fruitful tension in the contrast. I thought it might be worth offering.

First, there is Carl Trueman, calling us back to the priority of pastoral ministry, quoting a note from a friend:

I worshipped this Sunday with my in-laws at their home church which is pastored by a man featured at this year’s [conference name supplied] with 6000 of my closest friends.  My father-in-law has been dying for five years (renal failure) and is very likely within months of his death.  I can’t get a pastor or elder from this congregation to come and visit him once, let alone make it a weekly priority to help him die well – in the full confidence of the Lord Jesus.  But there’s time, mind you, for (yet another) conference.

Then there is Jason Bohm (at the TGC website), acknowledging some of the temptations that Trueman identifies, but speaking movingly of meeting a distant friend for the last time on earth, reminding him of his priorities:

And it is for this gospel that we must not ignore the temptations that lurk at conferences like TGC and Together for the Gospel. Temptations to glorify ourselves rather than Christ. Temptations to idolize for the listeners. Temptations to pride for the speakers. In both cases the disease is the same: We are stealing something that belongs only to God. But in both cases the cure is the very reason conferences like TGC and T4G exist: the gospel. The cure is realizing, by God’s grace, that all the glory of all my heroes is filthy rags compared to the glory of Christ. This is the same antidote for the temptation to pride that lurks for those who preach, whether it is to 5,000 or 50. We all, both speaker and listener, must boast only in the Lord (1 Cor. 1:31). And we all need to remember that the only perfect Gospel Coalition takes place in heaven.

I hope that this will keep us thinking.

I was pleasantly surprised and genuinely stimulated by this interview. Paxo is on good form, and in Russell Brand he has an interviewee who, rather than revealing his hidden shallows, actually manages to uncover depths that I imagine many of us might never have imagined he has.

Now, to be sure, Mr Brand is deconstructing fame and celebrity and consumerism from a humanistic viewpoint, but it’s still a pretty brutal and intelligent desconstruction. It gets the more interesting toward the end when Mr Paxman begins to ask about sustaining his brightness, and Brand speaks of death, meaning, and substance in life. As this section develops, and Brand attests that fame is nothing but “ashes in my mouth,” I was powerfully reminded of Augustine’s dictum, that God has made us for himself, and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in him. How I would love to speak to Mr Brand and explain the good news to him! If God were pleased to save him, and take that insight, that passion, that intelligence, and sanctify it, we might have an Augustine for the 21st century. Now wouldn’t that be interesting?

Disclaimer: it is a pretty blunt interview at times, and some will find it crude at points, as they discuss some of Brand’s better-known misdemeanours, and how they are like and unlike other crudities and cruelties. I should also point out that I am not seeking to excuse the substance of Brand’s public persona and proclamations.

When I got home from town earlier today, it was warm in the conservatory. Really warm (47 degrees Celsius is 116 degrees Fahrenheit, for our non-metrical friends).

It’s bringing out the tropical creepy-crawlies.

Some friends and I go out most weeks in Crawley to seek to bring the good news to the people of this town. Today we were few in number, and it wasn’t easy. Despite going for the “Minister from Del Monte” look, Jon Baigent (below) is finding it slow going. It may console Jon for you to know that when I preached, people didn’t just walk past, they actually moved away.

It was a beautiful day, but it was hard work.

I had one tricky non-conversation with an atheist who was angry with me after I had done nothing more than offer her a tract. I had one excellent conversation with two ladies who wanted new bodies to replace their worn ones, and I was able to offer them one.

Of course, part of the difficulty, with the more and the less polite, may have been this, a few yards down the path:

Yes, it’s interpretive gospel dance. I know it’s a little tricky to see, but the lady in white right in the centre is engaged in a variety of slinky moves with a variety of partners symbolising – I believe – a variety of things. Was this an improvement on the flag demonstration? Difficult to say.

I know what I will keep doing, and not just because I don’t have a full complement of gospel dance moves fully worked out yet.

PS Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water, a British uberblogger has warmly commended this as a great example of what to do for an Easter celebration:

Did anybody else spot the apostle Paul three rows from the front? Calvin was there having taken the opportunity to break out his little-used dayglo magisterial robe. I think I saw Whitefield somewhere in the middle throwing some shapes. Spurgeon, troubled by gout, was only able to watch from the side, otherwise he doubtless would have been hurling himself into the mix.

Tragedy is the word that springs to mind, and that’s not a recommendation for a backing track with more of a disco feel. I am stopping writing this now before some of the things I am tempted to say spill from my keyboard.

John Wesley’s counsel to a young preacher whose preaching gift was, if not declining, certainly stagnating:

What has exceedingly hurt you in time past, nay, and I fear, to this day, is lack of reading.

I scarce ever knew a preacher who read so little.

And perhaps, by neglecting it, you have lost the taste for it.

Hence your talent in preaching does not increase. It is just the same as it was seven years ago. It is lively, but not deep; there is little variety; there is no compass of thought.

Reading only can supply this, with meditation and daily prayer.

You wrong yourself greatly by omitting this.

You can never be a deep preacher without it, any more than a thorough Christian.

Oh begin! Fix some part of every day for private exercise. You may acquire the taste which you have not; what is tedious at first will afterward be pleasant.

Whether you like it or not, read and pray daily.

It is for your life; there is no other way; else you will be a trifler all your days, and a pretty, superficial preacher.

Do justice to your own soul; give it time and means to grow.

Do not starve yourself any longer.

Take up your cross and be a Christian altogether.

Then will all the children of God rejoice (not grieve) over you, and in particular yours.

HT: Justin Taylor.

Journibles (The 17:18 Series)

Rob Wynalda

Reformation Heritage Books, various dates, various pp., hardback, $13-20

Various ISBNs

When I tell you that this growing series consists mainly of blank pages, you might ask me why you should invest your hard-earned local shekel in such a product. Let me explain: building on the mandate of Deuteronomy 17:18 (that the king write out his own copy of the law) and the expectation that such a process will be an aid to memory and a prompt to understanding, each journible takes either one or several of the books of Scripture, giving a blank right-side page for someone to write out their own copy of the book, and the left page for notes, comments and thoughts (with very occasional prompts to get the juices flowing). Could you not do it yourself in any decent notebook? Yes, but I imagine that investing in these well-bound and attractively-presented volumes – pleasant enough to prompt the employment of a good fountain pen to slow down the process of thought and action – may prove an incentive and a means of maintaining focus and accountability in the process. As a deliberate, spiritual exercise, perhaps as part of one’s private devotions, or as a Sunday afternoon activity, I should hope that this would prove a genuine means of getting the Word of God written not just on the pages of a notebook but on the fleshy tablet of the heart.

• Amazon.co.uk
• Amazon.com

I was expecting a lot from Tim Challies’ new book, The Next Story: Life and faith after the digital explosion. But it has far surpassed my expectations.

So writes David Murray. His overview of the book, with some questions for review of his own principles and practices, makes me half-glad that I am expecting a copy, and half-concerned at how likely I am to feel exposed by it.

Carl offers some radical thoughts on marketing and conferences for those who might wish to be truly countercultural. Having done so, he offers the following conclusion:

Ok, we all know none of this is going to happen. But it should, if we are really serious about both providing good conferences for people to attend and not encouraging the celebrification of the church. And, of course, reflecting on why it won’t happen might in itself be a very instructive exercise.

To read the intriguing build-up to this, go here.

An afterthought: do you think those of us both unknown and incompetent should offer ourselves for the next T4G or TGC, the Master’s Conference, the Desiring God jamborees (is that a real plural?), and other megaconferences? What fun could be had! Would we prove Carl’s point?

I have enjoyed these three thoughtful posts from Kevin DeYoung on the relationship between confessionalism and pietism (not a label for which I have a particular fondness, but never mind). Although it is written from within the Presybterian debate on the issue, as a confessional Baptist there was a lot that I thought was wise and helpful. Worth checking out.

PS Kevin sums up the to-ing and fro-ing (think what that might sound like without helpful hyphens!) here.

But we’ve heard the music, and for all the seeming intelligence of their explanations, we know what the music does to us. Those notes may be nothing in isolation, but in aggregate they form a song more lovely than the lectures of learned scoffers. We know this melody is meant to evoke earlier ones, and as soon as we hear the music again, the denials of the little men behind the microphones lose all power to compel. The strains of hope and longing that we have heard awaken faith and conviction and boldness, even as the academics drone on in their boring refusal to enjoy the music.

The one who wrote the music and conducted the orchestra came, and still people refused to hear his song. They did not recognize the one who was foretold, whose pattern was prefigured, whose destiny it was to unlock the door to life, lay the foundation for faith, design the theater for God’s glory, and build the temple of the Holy Spirit, but the hoped for hero really has come. And he’s coming back. He came the first time as a man of sorrows to be acquainted with grief. When he comes again his robe will be sprinkled with the blood of his enemies who lie trampled beneath his feet. He will accomplish God’s purpose and fill the lands with God’s glory like water fills the seas.

Some of the language is a touch flowery, but you should read all of this. You can excuse a little ripeness in the language when the theme is so rich!

Yesterday started in humbling fashion. As some of you will know, I was struck down with a violent virus a few weeks ago now. Said virus left me weak as a kitten and unable to exercise, with the result that I am now marginally less weak and out of shape to boot. After a little light jogging and cycling, the time had come to go back to the early morning workouts with a few friends.

In my absence, our base of operations had shifted to another, more local park. We started with the usual runs and sprints and pyramid drills of sit-ups and press-ups, and that was painful enough, prompting more than a few giggles from my uberfit friends.

But then we moved on to the new element. Apparently, this park is the only one for miles around with a parkour training environment (for more on the insanity of free running, see something like this). Now, there are many things at which I am not good, but rarely do I find something at which I am so natively and staggeringly inept as parkour. I was built for rugby, you see, and all this whip-thin and whippet-supple stuff passed me by.

There were many low points. There were the chin lifts when a man who once claimed to be my friend asked why I was wearing the face of a constipated monkey. There were other lifts I was supposed to be doing, when I ended up dangling helplessly. Working back and forth hanging underneath a series of rungs, I asked how many would be a good number.

“Chris managed six,” said Carl, “And I have done three.” I had a go, and thought my two was pretty impressive.

“Chris can go across the whole set of rungs and back six times,” explained Carl. “You managed two single rungs.”

We did some practice leaps over some kind of fence apparatus. I now have parkour shin, the result of landing on said shin on top of the fence in mid-leap. I barely spared myself landing on a far more painful part of the anatomy. At one point, required to hurtle up a ramp and leap from the top, I backed off . . . and off . . . and off.

“Where’s he going?” asked Chris.

“It’s alright,” said Carl, “I think it’s his run-up.”

Needless to say, this rather spoiled my focus.

Anyway, determined to accomplish something of value, I was again dangling off something, by now bruised and bleeding, and feeling my wedding ring cutting into my finger. I took it off and placed it with my other valuables in the bag, and eventually the painful hour was over.

I headed home, glad to be back in the swing of things, but wishing I could swing and not merely hang. As I headed to the front door, crossing the fruitful sward, I pulled my keys from my bag and heard a little ping. It sounded as if I might have dropped something, but I kept moving. When I got in and sorted myself out, I realised that I was not wearing my ring. Searching through the valuables, I realised what that little ping had been. It was the sound of my keys catching on the ring and catapulting them into the grass as I walked to the door.

Searching ensued. I was due in London at 1030, so there wasn’t much time. Seeking to behave calmly, I gave myself the customary loofahing and donned the appointed garments. I headed back out with the help of Thing One and a rake and some urgent and brief prayers. We began to search. I combed the grass. I began wondering how much metal detectors cost. Thing One searched with his boy rake, chopping and flinging in such a way that if he came anywhere near the ring it would probably disappear into the middle distance at some velocity. The tension began to mount. My wife could see I was grieved, and was trying to be supportive. I would soon need to leave. Thing Two wandered out to watch the fun, carrying a breakfast-type snack of mini-weetajobbies of indeterminate brand. He gazed at me in some fascination as I continued to scrutinize the ground (as, probably, did many of the neighbours). He got closer. As usual when he is meant to be eating but has found something else to entertain, the lip of the bowl began to droop at more of a pouring angle. Pretty soon he would begin to shed weetajobbies. I lunged for the bowl but it was too late, and a couple of the little blighters succumbed to the irresistible pull of gravity. I opened my mouth to suggest that such clumsiness was unhelpful and stooped to pick up the lost breakfast.

There, lying precisely between the two fallen weetajobbies, was the lost ring. I scooped up them and Thing Two with some joy, kissed a cheerful goodbye to the wife, Things One and Two and the newborn Thing, and leapt into the vehicle to speed Londonwards in order to deliver a lecture on John Bunyan to one hundred Dutch students. On my finger – a sore and bruised but altogether happier and properly clad finger – was my wedding ring.

Such are the kindnesses of God, even in the dropping of breakfast cereal.

If you want the Kingdom speeded, go out and speed it yourselves. Only obedience rationalizes prayer. Only missions can redeem your intercessions from insincerity. – William Carey

With Carey’s exhortation in mind, Lewis Allen offers twelve pointers for local church evangelism: twelve questions that we might helpfully consider in one form or another.

Al Mohler asks why bringing the gospel to our Muslim neighbours is so difficult:

The future shape of the world appears to be a worldview competition between Christianity, Islam, and Western Secularism. For Christians, both of these worldviews represent real and lasting challenges to evangelism. Neither is a particularly new challenge, and the Christian encounter with Islam is now over a millennium in duration.

Writing over thirty years ago, when most American evangelicals had little knowledge of Islam, missiologist J. Herbert Kane of Trinity Evangelical Divinity School outlined six reasons why the evangelization of the Muslim world has been so difficult. His explanation of “Why the Muslim Soil is So Barren” remains both instructive and important.

He gives us Kane’s six reasons for the difficulty, reminding us that this is not a reason not to try, but instruction in why it may be hard.

Some people have an alleged healing ministry. Today, I am glad to announce my own breaking ministry.

This week, around me, near me, or under my hands, the following have broken:

• My car (a splendid puncture).
• My computer (a total crash, requiring a complete reinstall, and a brand new machine at that, and don’t tell me to buy a Mac, I might have to shoot you).
• My reading light (which just disintegrated).
• My shed door handle (a combination of wear, tear, and being levered open by criminals a couple of times).

Clearly, I am a dangerous person to be around, but may have a role in the demolition industry at some point in the future.

This is why things have been even slower than usual on the blog. And, if you think this has been slow, you should see the rest of my life at the moment!

Two afterthoughts:

Afflictions keep the hearts of the saints humble and tender. Prosperity does not contribute more to the puffing up the soul, than adversity does to the bowing down of the soul. This the saints by experience find; and therefore they can kiss and embrace the cross, as others do the world’s crown. The more the purest spices are beaten and bruised – the sweeter scent and fragrance they send abroad. So do saints when they are afflicted. (Thomas Brooks)

Christians, by their afflictions, gain more experience of the power of God supporting them, of the wisdom of God directing them, of the grace of God refreshing and cheering them, and of the goodness of God quieting and quickening of them to a greater love to holiness, and to a greater delight in holiness, and to a more vehement pursuing after holiness. (Thomas Brooks)

I have recently had several conversations with various people, a number of which could have been quite tricky, some of which involved me needing simply to sit and listen, but none of which have come to involve anything of real altercation or argument. I pointed this out with humble relief (honest!) to my wife, and got the following in return:

Maybe you’re getting wiser. Maybe you’re just tired.

Sometimes my wife brings me back down to earth without my feet ever leaving the ground.

David Platt issues an earnest and eloquent plea against functional universalism. He uses smarter words than me:

Five excellent suggestions from Thomas Weaver:

1. Make sure your faith is only something you live out in public.

2. Pray only in front of people.

3. Focus on your morals.

4. Give financially as long as it doesn’t impede your needs.

5. Make church community a priority… as long as there is nothing else you want to do.

He fills them out a little here.

Any other ideas?

He’s right, even if you might wish to massage his suggestions for your own circumstances or convictions.

Nobody can compete with a fantasy.

Dan Phillips contends with the unreal phenomenon of paper pastors. Worth thinking about.

Kevin DeYoung has been reading Bruce Gordon’s Calvin and learning some lessons. There are seventeen in total:

1. If you want to make an impact beyond your little lifespan, teach people the Bible. “What made Calvin Calvin, and not another sixteenth-century writer was his brilliance as a thinker and writer, and, above all, his ability to interpret the Bible” (viii).

2. The big public personalities are often privately awkward. “In the public arena Calvin walked and spoke with stunning confidence. In private he was, by his own admission, shy and awkward” (x).

3. We read too much causality into our childhoods. “With his contemporaries, and much in contrast to our age, Calvin did not consider his childhood as psychologically formative: it was a brief and brutal preparation for adulthood associated primarily with ignorance, volatility and waywardness” (2).

Read the rest . . .