28 minute read
Easter Morn at the Cemetery
by CHAD BIRD
Ten acres of refrigerated rural soil, Thickly frosted in Easter’s pre-dawn; Subterranean saints, quilted in earth, Smile warmly at the band of believers, Huddled above to catcall verses of victory, Into the mocking mien of chiseled stones; The rocky trophies of mortality’s coup, North, south, west, and east of Eden.
Wizened hags, pimpled teens, snotty-nosed kids, All dust to dust, prey of the funereal broom, Swept beneath this rug of grass and weeds. Most forgotten by man, yet all remembered, By Him whose lungs breathed mud into man; Each fruit of a womb, the apple of His eye. Each soul, a priceless pearl, purchased With crimson coinage minted in divinity’s veins.
These wooden suitcases of rotting raiment, Sepulchered beneath the worshipers’ feet, Travel on, transported by time not space, From the hour of death to the day of judgment, Ever ready to spill their contents upward, No longer as bags of bones and soiled flesh, But resculptured clay pulsating with life; Lazaruses wiping graveyard dust from their feet.
Like champagne corks, grave-stones shall pop, As unbottled bodies after long fermentation, Bubble upward with fresh blood and skin, Ready for their vintage soul waiting above; And joined by that ragtag band of believers, Who awoke early to go to the place of sleepers, Defying death and mocking mortality, Early one Easter morn.
Chad Bird has served as a pastor and assistant professor of Old Testament theology at Concordia Theological Seminary (Ft. Wayne, Indiana), contributed hymns to the Lutheran Service Book, and co-hosts the podcast Forty Minutes in the OT. He is the author of Christ Alone and The Infant Priest, and blogs regularly at Christ Hold Fast and the Flying Scroll.
“Easter Morn at the Cemetery” is included in The Infant Priest: Hymns and Poems. It is reprinted here by permission.
T H E OL O GY ON TAP
WHAT ABOUT THE GIFTS OF THE SPIRIT?
How are we to think about the work of the Holy Spirit? Should we expect to see signs and wonders in our day? What is really going on in Acts 2? Join us as the hosts tackle these questions and more as we begin a brand-new series on the gifts of the Spirit.
The Wonder-Working God: Seeing the Glory of Jesus in His Miracles BY JARED C. WILSON Crossway, 2014 192 pages (paperback), $14.99
Christians who trace their heritage to the Protestant Reformation have tended to be cautious when it comes to miracles. With visions of unbiblical excess running through our heads, this wariness is often merited. Nonetheless, Christianity is a supernatural religion, and believers base their lives and eternal destinies on the truth of amazing claims about God’s supern a t u ra l i n t e r ve n t i o n in history at numerous points. We confess that this God became flesh and dwelt among us and we have seen his glory. Yet few and far between are those books and other resources that draw our attention to some of the key biblical examples of this glory: the miracles of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Jared Wilson believes t h a t t h e m i r a c l e s o f Jesus reveal the nature of his glory with laser focus. Wilson, pastor of Middletown Springs Community Church in Middletown Springs, Vermont, shines a spotlight on these miracles in The Wonder-Working God: Seeing the Glory of Jesus in His Miracles, a companion volume to his earlier book, The Storytelling God, which focused on Jesus’ parables. Wilson’s blend of biblical depth, vivid writing style, and pastoral focus make this new book a worthwhile resource for a wide audience.
While The Wonder-Working God is primarily an exposition of the miracles recorded in
the Gospels, the introduction and first chapter orient readers both to the “problem” of miracles in our contemporary age and to Wilson’s approach throughout the work. The miracles, he argues, are meant to highlight the glory of Jesus. His miracles reveal his character and, in Wilson’s words, are “the very windows into heaven” (31). Wilson helpfully situates the miracles of Jesus in their redemptive-historical context with a summary of God’s good creation, humanity’s fall into sin, and the buildup to the pivot of all history in the incarnation of Jesus. In a world twisted by sin, the entry of the long-awaited king shakes things up—a fa c t m a d e g l o r i o u s l y clear in the miracles. Our fallen world is not “normal,” Wilson asserts, a n d t h e m i r a c l e s o f Jesus, far from a diversion from the “normal” c o u rs e o f t h i n g s, a re actually a restoration of the way things are supposed to be. The miracles of Jesus mark the new beginning of God’s will being done on earth as it is in heaven. These opening chapters are a useful entry point to a consideration of the miracles of Jesus, especially in a culture in which the language of miracles has been marginalized.
After this helpful introduction, Wilson guides readers through expositions of several categories of miracles in the Gospel accounts: Jesus’ power over the created world, his power to heal, his power over forces of spiritual darkness, his power to raise others from the dead, and—the grandest miracles of all—his own incarnation, transfiguration, resurrection, and ascension. Each of these chapters is sermon-like
in content, and Wilson bridges the gap between the biblical text and a contemporary audience by blending interpretation with an engaging writing style. Though he is concerned with application throughout the work, Wilson’s main aim is for readers to see the glory of Jesus in these familiar stories from the Gospels.
The unique blend of strong biblical exposition and lively presentation is where Wilson’s book shines. He remains firmly rooted to the biblical text and is faithful to theological nuance, and throughout he offers a winsome presentation—not to mention some funny turns of phrase. The Wonder-Working God will appeal to a wide audience, from seasoned believers to those just beginning to consider the claims of Jesus. In addition, Wilson’s chapter on the miracles that characterize the life of Jesus is one of the book’s most stirring sections. This chapter skillfully weaves Old Testament promises and their New Testament fulfillment together with historical and systematic theology, all in the service of calling readers to worship the true king.
If any weakness were to be noted in Wilson’s book, it is simply that some themes cry out for more development. For example, while Wilson does spend some time summarizing the wider biblical teaching on the themes of Jesus’ miracles, the reader is left wanting more. He helpfully reflects, for instance, on the Old Testament themes of banquet as they relate to the miracle of water into wine at Cana and the miraculous feeding of thousands in the wilderness. He also alludes to the coming banquet for God’s people in eschatological glory. It is somewhat surprising, then, that no mention is made of the way that God’s people can experience a foretaste of this coming glory in the ordinary bread and wine of the Lord’s Supper. This criticism notwithstanding, The Wonder-Working God is an inviting gateway into greater wrestling with Scripture.
Readers will not agree with everything Wilson writes or with some of the specific ways he bridges the ancient text and our contemporary context. As with any work, wisdom is found in consulting multiple thinkers (many of whom Wilson helpfully highlights in the footnotes). None of this, however, should detract from the fact that The Wonder-Working God is a wonderful choice for individual or group study. Any reader will come away encouraged by the way Wilson helps us encounter Jesus in his miracles. Likewise, pastors will find in Wilson a brother who proclaims Christ from all the Scriptures in an engaging and pastorally sensitive way.
The constant refrain in The Wonder-Working God is that the miracles always serve to point to the glory of Jesus. In a similar way, Wilson whets the reader’s appetite for Scripture. His lively writing style shakes us awake from the drowsy way we often read the Gospels. The Gospel accounts of the miracles of Jesus, like all Scripture, are treasure troves. By driving readers to these familiar passages with fresh eyes, The Wonder-Working God accomplishes the same goal as the miracles: to point to the glory and grace of God in the face of the miracle-worker himself, Jesus Christ.
Andrew Canavan is a graduate of Westminster Seminary California and a member of Redeemer Presbyterian Church (PCA) in Encinitas, California.
Boring: Finding an Extraordinary God in an Ordinary Life BY MICHAEL KELLEY B&H Books, 2013 224 pages (paperback), $14.99
Arriving airline passengers are frequently asked, “How was your flight?” The question is often met with the matter-of-fact response, “Uneventful.” A typical jetliner such as a Boeing 737 can weigh over 100,000 pounds with passengers and baggage aboard. The aircraft can fly 500 miles per hour and needs less than 10,000 feet of runway to take off and land. Uneventful? If you stop and think about it, there is no such thing as an uneventful flight when you travel in such a plane.
Acknowledging this airplane reality illustrates the essence of Michael Kelley’s oft-repeated argument in his hardly boring book, Boring: Finding an Extraordinary God in an Ordinary Life. Kelley’s premise: “There is no such thing as an ordinary life when you follow an extraordinary God” (6).
Breezing through the book offers a delightful departure from the fodder of David Platt, Francis Chan, Shane Claiborne, and the like—all urging
various forms of “extreme discipleship,” pounding believers with admonitions to do more, do greater, and do something increasingly big, Big, BIG for God. Yet the most delightful aspect of Kelley’s easy-reading volume lies in the fact that the book is not written in direct response to these purveyors of “radical” Christianity. Rather, Kelley admirably addresses the root appeal of all such radical causes, namely, the fear among Christians of merely “ b e i n g o rd i n a r y ” — o f feeling inadequate in the midst of the routines of everyday life. In fact, Kelley is at his best when grappling with the monotony of marriage, the challenges of parenting, and the grind of the workplace.
Kelley ’s unpacking of pertinent Scripture (1 Sam. 8; Rom. 8:28; 1 Cor. 10:31; 2 Cor. 10:5; Jer. 17:7–8, among other texts) is both commendable and salutary. His quotations of G. K. Chesterton and C. S. Lewis are well chosen and well placed. His call for contentment is most commendable. And Kelley rightly calls out both the world’s “cultural emphasis on more” and “our own sinfulness that constantly pushes our hearts toward excess” (49) as culprits in fostering discontentment. Particularly edifying is Kelley’s treatment of “the well-worn verse of Philippians 4:13: ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’” As Kelley points out, the passage is about contentment (in God’s provision), not triumphalism (or football). He challenges readers by asking, “Are you worshipping at the altar of excitement?” (73).
Kelley never calls for excessive measures (well, beyond fathers being the first to rise in
the morning in their households). Typical of the perspective he offers, he reminds us that “true contentment isn’t about settling for less. It’s about seeing the true value of what we already have in Christ” (50). “It is the ability to do that which we consider mundane with honor and even joy that is most difficult for us. We must, in a sense, fight to not fight to escape the ordinary” (48). Refreshingly, in a time when so many pastors and Christian pundits have advanced va r i o u s s c h e m a s f o r practicing some latest assortment of spiritual disciplines, Kelley shares by reflecting on his pers o n a l e x p e r i e n c e o f parenting a two-year-old son diagnosed with leukemia: “What we needed more than anything else was to be reminded of the gospel, over and over again” (37). One can empathize w i t h t h e c h a l l e n g e i nvo l ve d t h e n i n n o t expanding upon this view with yet another To-Do list (for not doing). Kelley pulls it off most masterfully. Yet there is plenty of sage counsel proffered throughout the book. He offers “boring stuff ” that has “fallen steadily out of favor in Christian practice” (68): prayer, Bible reading and memorization, and routine church attendance. Want more? Kelley suggests more, but he refreshingly does so without advancing any formal checklists, sequential steps, or even numbered points. The book just reads like brotherly advice from a familiar friend.
My favorite passage in Boring is an anecdote from Kelley’s time as a student at a college where his professor father taught statistics (can an academic subject get more boring?). The school was
a small secular one, but because it was located in the panhandle of Texas it had a large contingent of professing Christians on campus. A two-hour “worship experience” was staged every Thursday night starting at 10:00 p.m., and inevitably “Christian leaders” who organized the affair were late for class the next morning. Kelley’s dad opined, “You know, son, sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is go to bed early and show up to class on time” (60).
Boring is chock-full of such treasures. I enthusiastically encourage Modern Reformation readers to digest its delights. But one word of caution: while encouraging acceptance of mundane life as God-honoring, Kelley’s analysis constantly calls attention to the extraordinary God who is “behind the scenes” in “seemingly ordinary circumstances” (17), and highlights that “below the surface” (23) there is always “something bigger going on” (18). In doing so, he encourages his readers to “see the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary” (40). True enough. But after Kelley notes, “As we look through Scripture, we find God not removing people from the ordinary,” he then adds, “but instead [is] transforming that ordinary into something wholly different” (17–18). Life is only boring until we begin “to more fully grasp the scope, power, and wisdom of God” (20).
It is in this transformative view of life’s affairs that some concern must be voiced. We must be sure not to treat God as a means to transform an ordinary life into an extraordinary one. Here, talk of transformation may undermine the broader concern that Kelley admirably sets out to address. Don’t let it. Sometimes the ordinary is, well, just plain ordinary. As Christians, let’s not feel compelled to always turn the ordinary into an occasion to spot something extraordinary going on.
Let me expand upon this caution by commenting on two particular passages in Boring. First, Kelley succumbs in the final pages of his book to echoing the popular catchphrase to “not just go to church but be the church” (202). That mantra outright dismisses the notion that going to church is being the church. It’s the very cornerstone upon which rests the radical/extreme call for (truly extraordinary) Christians to “flee into something—anything—that holds the promise of importance” (19). My suggestion: Go to church. Don’t go to church to be the church; just go to church to go to church.
Second, Kelley notes in his chapter on parenting that “our best opportunity to significantly impact the world might just be through our children” (119). Again, true enough. But to bring that extraordinary thought to bear on every ordinary moment of childrearing would only serve to ruin childrearing. There are some Christian parents who—fully grasping the scope, power, and wisdom of the rod— insist on turning an everyday routine into a wholly different teaching moment. An overbearing awareness of the extraordinary nature of parenting can be destructive to children who can easily become burnt-out and defeated, or rebellious and defiant, or both—not to mention the harmful impact this can have on the well-intentioned parents.
The same is true in our pilgrimage as saints. Let’s please not ruin the Christian life with incessant concern for finding the extraordinary lurking beneath ordinary Christian life. Let’s just live ordinary Christian lives; let’s be found resting in the knowledge that God is sovereign and merciful, allknowing and loving, gracious and just.
Sometimes we sense our Christian walk is lacking. In these moments, let’s simply remember:
What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and to enjoy him forever.
James H. Gilmore is coauthor of The Experience Economy and Authenticity: What Consumers Really Want.
Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven BY JOHN ELIOT GARDINER Alfred A. Knopf, 2013 672 pages (hardcover), $35.00
In the minds of Christians who appreciate classical music, whether as performers or simply as listeners, perhaps no figure so fully epitomizes what it means to be a “Christian composer” or a “Christian musician” as does Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750). While Lutherans can most legitimately claim Bach as their own— the composer was a part of that tradition, both as a result of his location as well as by personal conviction—Protestant musicians of all stripes look to him as a model for the quality of his output and the theological conviction with which that output was imbued. The rigorous Lutheran orthodoxy expressed in his sacred compositions has led him to be dubbed the “Fifth Evangelist,” and over the years a picture of Bach as a man of extraordinary piety has developed in the minds of some. However, a lack of reliable firsthand biographical information about the composer has also led to numerous competing biographies, some commending Bach’s piety and others viewing him anachronistically through an Enlightenment lens.
Enter Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven, whose author, John Eliot Gardiner, is one of the most widely acclaimed conductors of Baroque music. The author’s expertise in Bach’s choral works is evident, with special attention given in the book to the composer’s cantatas, Passion settings, Christmas Oratorio, and Mass in B Minor. While Gardiner’s insights into these works are fascinating, one wishes that greater attention had been given to Bach’s keyboard works; Bach was one of the greatest organists of his day, and his music for organ and for other keyboard instruments is of tremendous significance.
For the purposes of this review, I would like to direct the reader’s attention to Gardiner’s treatment of Bach the man—more specifically, Bach the Christian man. While Gardiner never reveals his own religious commitments, judging by his writing he can perhaps be described as a world-embracing humanist, whose theistic perspective is agnostic at best. Statements such as the following appear periodically throughout the book:
Bach’s Lutheran faith is encapsulated in this extraordinary music. It carries a universal message of hope that can touch anybody regardless of culture, religious denomination or musical knowledge. It springs from the depths of the human psyche and not from some topical or local creed. (15)
Even to skeptical and agnostic minds, Bach’s B minor Mass radiates a recognizable and powerful spirituality, one that does not rely on creedal orthodoxy, odd though that might appear. (523)
Gardiner clearly has no desire to present himself as an orthodox Christian of any stripe, and in instances such as these he demonstrates a slight desire to blunt the “creedal orthodoxy” of Bach’s work, or at least to give it a broader application. Nevertheless, Gardiner never questions the genuineness or orthodoxy of the composer’s faith, and even admits that this faith was central to Bach’s character and to his view of the world.
Bach’s working library, estimated to have contained at least 112 different theological and homiletic works, was less like a typical
church musician’s and more what one might expect to find in the church of a respectably sized town, or that many a pastor in Bach’s day would have been proud to have owned.… What it does reveal beyond his personal piety, his lifelong reverence for Luther and the central importance of Luther’s writings in both his personal and professional capacities, is that Bach was evidently deeply—and apparently uncritically— immersed in a mindset that was at least two hundred years old. (154–55)
His attempts to find more “ecumenical” applications of Bach’s work notwithstanding, Gardiner never shies away from the fact that Bach was indeed a believing Christian and, more specifically, a committed Lutheran.
Gardiner’s work reveals a t r u l y a n d eve n d e e p l y Christian Bach, but it does not narrate the story of a flawless man. Bach was descended from a long line of Thuringian musicians and was not above using his family connections to improve his own station and later those of his sons. Like many artists of his caliber, he was sometimes given to impetuousness and on at least one occasion found himself in an altercation involving swordplay. Bach’s long cantorate in Leipzig (1723–1750) saw numerous disagreements with church, school, and municipal authorities, whose various political machinations began well before Bach’s tenure and continued after his death. Bach was not even above, to coin a term, “autohagiography,” taking steps to ensure that the received understanding of his early life and training was to his liking. In short, Bach was, as are all believers, simul iustus et peccator, justified and yet still prone to sin. Gardiner writes with particular poignancy here:
We should debunk once and for all the idea that Bach in his personal and professional life was some kind of paragon, the Fifth Evangelist of his nineteenth-century compatriots, the living embodiment of the intense religious faith and “real presence” that his music seemed to transmit. Acknowledging Bach’s frailties and imperfections, far less heinous than those of Mozart or Wagner, not only makes him more interesting as a person than the old paragon of mythology, but also allows us to see his humanity filtering through into the music, which is far more compelling when we understand that it was composed by someone who, like all human beings, experienced grief, anger and doubt at first hand. This is one of the recurrent features that confer supreme authority on his music. (203)
As a Christian, this is why I find Gardiner’s treatment of Bach’s life so compelling. Gardiner does not fall into the trap that Christian biographers might of trying to portray Bach as some sort of “super-Christian,” but at the same time he does not attempt to explain away the composer’s faith or downplay its permeating influence upon his life and work. He simply presents a flawed but believing Christian man, striving to create “a well-regulated or orderly church music to the Glory of God” (180). Indeed, and perhaps entirely by accident, Gardiner presents Bach as an exemplar of the doctrine of vocation, a redeemed sinner seeking simply to do his work “heartily, as for the Lord and not for men” (Col. 3:23).
In that respect, even those with little regard for art music, or who understand Scripture to prohibit the kind of concerted church music Bach so ably composed, can find in this man something worthy of emulation.
Micah Everett is assistant professor of music at the University of Mississippi. He and his family are members of Christ Presbyterian Church (PCA) in Oxford, Mississippi.
M A R T I N LU T H E R O N T H E H O LY S P I R I T : A L E S S O N I N S T I C K I N G T O T H E B A S I C S
by RU S S E L L DAW N
Martin Luther and the Reformation he initiated are famous for the socalled three solas: sola scriptura, sola gratia, and sola fide—Scripture alone, grace alone, and faith alone. This fame is justified, for these three emphases permeate Luther’s thought. To understand Luther on the Lord’s Supper or salvation, or on how God works in the secular realm, one must first understand the content and contours of the three solas. The solas may be thought of as a key to unlocking much of Luther’s thought. This key works especially well on the door to Luther’s view of the Holy Spirit—his pneumatology, as the theologians say. Specifically, he emphasized that the Spirit comes to us through the outward, tangible means of God’s word in the Scriptures. Further, the coming of the Spirit is an act of God’s grace, not a response to our works, and the Spirit both effects and comes by our faith.
We see this idea developed in Luther’s 1524–25 treatise, Against the Heavenly Prophets in the Matter of Images and the Sacraments. He wrote this to correct the teachings of his one-time friend, colleague, and ally in the Reformation, Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt. Von Karlstadt had come to reject the view that the Lord’s Supper was a means of grace. He also rejected the efficacy of infant baptism. He led his followers in forcibly removing and destroying church furnishings such as crucifixes and images of saints. Luther tells us that when von Karlstadt was asked to defend his teachings and actions, the latter did not lean on God’s word but asserted instead that the Holy Spirit had spoken to him inwardly, instructing him in his own spirit. Further, von Karlstadt’s followers could experience the same inward voice of the Spirit by remaining in a state of “self-abstraction”—that is, by concentrating on turning from material things, one can come to the Spirit and be taught internally.
Luther understood that von Karlstadt referred his followers to “some imaginary realm,” where “a heavenly voice will come, and God himself will speak to you.” There, Luther mocked, the faithful will “journey on the clouds and ride on
the wind.” But as Luther pointed out, von Karlstadt could provide no details about such a realm or how to get there, leaving him vulnerable to Luther’s claims of spiritual fraud. Luther also saw fraud in von Karlstadt’s downplaying of the importance of Scripture, his elevation of the importance of good works (especially works not enjoined by Scripture), and in the lack of miraculous signs to attest to the genuineness of von Karlstadt’s new teachings.
Contrary to von Karlstadt and his followe rs — Lu t h e r ’s i ro n i ca l l y n a m e d “ h e ave n l y prophets”—Luther explained that God teaches us through the external word of the Scriptures. The word, and the material signs of baptism and the Lord’s Supper that accompany the word, serves as the “bridge, the path, the way, the ladder” between a person and the Holy Spirit. Moreover, the Spirit comes to the person by this path, rather than the person having to come to the Spirit. The Holy Spirit, said Luther, “is not acquired through breaking images or any other works, but only through the gospel and faith.” That is, the Spirit comes to us through the word (sola scriptura) and faith (sola fide), not because of our works but by grace (sola gratia).
Central in Luther’s teaching is the order in which these things take place. The external—that is, the word and the sacraments—precedes and effects the internal—that is, the Holy Spirit, faith, and salvation. A false and lying spirit (like von Karlstadt’s, or more precisely, the spirit that motivated von Karlstadt’s teaching—for our fight is not against flesh and blood) reverses this order. The internal is placed first. Bread, wine, water, and the letter cannot profit us, von Karlstadt argued; it is the Spirit, working internally, that benefits us. But this point merely raised the question of how the Spirit is acquired, in answer to which Luther pointed to the word and the sacraments: “God has determined to give the inward to no one except through the outward. For he wants to give no one the Spirit or faith outside of the outward Word and sign instituted by him.”
Today’s popular emphasis on the connection between the Holy Spirit and speaking in tongues may lead the modern reader to wonder how Luther taught on that matter. Luther appears to have been unaware of the notion of a “personal prayer language” that characterizes much of the charismatic movement of the past several decades. When he taught on tongues, his focus was on the use of the Latin language in the mass. Von Karlstadt criticized Luther for permitting the continued use of Latin in the mass in churches under Luther’s sway. Luther defended the practice on the grounds that in those churches the sacrament was provided only to those who had been instructed and understood the words of the sacrament. As Paul taught in 1 Corinthians 14, the use of a tongue not comprehended by the people is permissible if a translation or other interpretation is provided. Again, Luther’s laser focus was on the efficacy of the external word, which leads to the gracious indwelling of the Holy Spirit.
Against the Heavenly Prophets was a longer and more vitriolic rant than it needed to be. Its benefits are great, however, even today. Its basic message is clear, simple, and sound and therefore useful in any age. When confronted by a movement whose adherents claim to be inspired by the Holy Spirit, we must use the Scriptures to test their claims. Do they understand the external word to precede and effect their internal inspiration? Do they teach the gospel message of justification by grace alone through faith alone? If the answer to either question is negative, we face a lying spirit, not the Holy One.
Russell Dawn is assistant professor of history at Concordia University in Irvine, California. He also directs the university’s VisionMission-Vocation program.
CHARISMATIC MOVEMENTS in the H I S T O RY O F T H E C H U R C H
by T I M OT H Y W. M A S S A R O
THE ANCIENT SPIRIT
The mystical practice of speaking in divine and unintelligible languages was common in the ancient world from the eleventh century BC. The prophetess of Delphi and the sibylline priestesses spoke in unknown tongues, giving revelation from the gods. In the early church Irenaeus and Tertullian spoke of glossalia favorably, while Chrysostom disapproved of the practice, and Augustine declared that the gift was only for the era of New Testament. Montanism, a movement in the late second century, claimed this ability of tongues and a dependence on the extemporaneity of the Holy Spirit.
THE PENTECOSTAL BIRTH
The Azusa Street Revival (1906–1913) in Los Angeles is generally cited as the beginning of modern-day Pentecostalism. The main feature of this Pentecostal outpouring was “baptism with the Holy Spirit,” an experience subsequent to salvation evidenced by what the Los Angeles Times called “a weird babel of tongues.”
THE THIRD WAVE AND BEYOND
In 1983, a “Third Wave” appeared through the Vineyard Movement led by John Wimber and other movements, such as the Kansas City Prophets. Although these movements differ in ministry focus and theological convictions, they are a part of the charismatic movement.
THE MEDIEVAL SPIRIT
In the Middle Ages, the monastic Joachim of Fiore (or Flora), was given to prophetic expression. He sought to predict various movements of the Spirit throughout history, claiming that an “Age of the Spirit” was on the horizon.
THE MODERN SPIRIT
The direct genealogy of the modern charismatic and Pentecostal movements can be traced primarily through John Wesley and the Methodism of the First Great Awakening. Charles Finney in the Second Great Awakening on American revivalism claimed to have experienced a post-conversion baptism of the Holy Spirit, which became the de facto requirement of those who followed him.
THE CHARISMATIC MOVEMENT
The charismatic movement (1960s) is commonly thought to have come to the mainline denominations with the testimony of Dennis Bennett, a rector in an American Episcopal Church. This testimonial led to a widespread renewal movement within mainline denominations, including even Roman Catholicism.
Timothy W. Massaro is a graduate of Westminster Seminary California and is a staff writer for Modern Reformation.
JULY 30- AUGUST 1 2015
WHITE HORSE INN WEEKEND
PASADENA, CA on the CAMPUS o f PROVIDENCE CHRISTIAN COLLEGE
WHO IS JESUS?
SESSIONS INCLUDE:
Jesus According to Pop Culture Jesus and the History Channel Lamb of God: Old Testament Prophetic Texts Who Do Men Say That I Am? False Jesuses Jesus’ Person and Work Good News! You’re Not Jesus
VISIT WHITEHORSEINN.ORG/WEEKEND F O R M O R E I N F O R M AT I O N. S PA C E I S L I M I T E D
