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MODERN REFORMATION VOL.25 | NO.1 | JANUARY-FEBRUARY 2016 | $6.95

Story The

GODâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S PEOPLE PA RT

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FEATURES

14 East of Eden

38 The Words of the Preacher

B Y S I M O N E T TA C A R R

B Y D O N O VA N L . R I L E Y

22 Take Your Son, Your Only Son, Whom You Love

46 The Lord Himself Will Give You a Sign

BY CHAD BIRD

BY DENNIS E. JOHNSON

30 Yahweh Is Salvation

54 Greatly Loved by God

BY ROBERT & ROBIN TRESKILLARD

BY DOUGLAS BOND

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DEPARTMENTS

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

BOOK REVIEWS

BY ERIC LANDRY

“Marie Durand” REVIEWED BY WILLIAM BOEKESTEIN

5 B I B L E S T U DY

A Psalm for Pilgrims

“Bonhoeffer’s Seminary Vision” REVIEWED BY J O N AT H A N G I B S O N

B Y N I C H O L A S DAV I S

“Honest Evangelism”

REVIEWED BY CHRISTOPHER CHELPKA

72 B A C K PA G E C H R I S T & C U LT U R E

The Christ of the Cinema B Y A N T H O N Y PA R I S I

Election Year Category Confusion B Y M I C H A E L S. H O R T O N

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L E T T E R from the E D I TO R

the one you are looking at. In this issue, we tell the story of God’s people through fictionalized, first-person accounts of several important Old Testament characters. From Eve’s fateful choice to Daniel’s keen hope in the fulfillment of God’s promises, we want to retell the story of God’s people in their own words. Our authors for this issue include pastors, theologians, and popular writers. Each of them—with some fear and trembling—agreed to our strange request: inhabit your character, identify a moment or even series of moments that give shape to his or her place in redempne of the hallmarks of a good stotive history, and then show how that character ryteller is character development. points forward to Jesus, in whose story of obediWhile one-dimensional, predictence and sacrifice all of our individual stories able characters can derail a good find their conclusion and significance. plot, even a simple story can come alive if With this issue, we kick off an entire year inhabited with characters written with depth focused on the story of God’s people. In this and complexity. issue, it’s the story of ancient Israel as told by Many of us have forgotten that one of the best Eve, Abraham, Joshua, Solomon, Ahaz, and ways to approach the Bible is as a story told by Daniel. In future issues, we will revisit the story and through the many different charand significance of Jesus: his acters in redemptive history. In their birth, death, resurrection, ascenstories, sometimes we learn deep and sion, and return. Along the way profound theological truths, brought we’ll discover, like Israel, how “ IN...STORIES... to the height of worship; while other our stories make sense only in his WE LEARN... times we see glimpses of brutal inhustory. So, if this is the first issue manity that remind us that these of your subscription to Modern PROFOUND characters are not like those found Reformation, then hang on— THEOLOGICAL in other ancient character studies— you’re in for a wild ride! Make TRUTHS.” men and women whose vices are sure you keep your subscripto be avoided or whose virtues are to tion going so you can see how be emulated. the entire year fits together— In the long list of liars and connivliterally! (We’ll reveal more ers, cheats and ne’er-do-wells, murderers and about that toward the end of the series.) adulterers, kings and priests, prophets and warAs always, thank you for reading and for riors, we are given a glimpse into the world in responding via Facebook and Twitter to Modern which God is at work—a world much like our Reformation magazine. We’re embarking on our own. The complex characters of the Bible are as twenty-fifth continual year of publishing, and gloriously and frustratingly human as you and we couldn’t do it without the faithful support of me, and through them the Bible’s story is given friends and readers like you. flesh and blood, direction and scope. This issue of Modern Reformation magazine is unique. We have never published an issue like ERIC LANDRY exec utive editor

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I L L U S T R AT I O N B Y C H R I S T O P H E R D E L O R E N Z O ; L E F T: I L L U S T R AT I O N B Y A R T H U R M O U N T

A Psalm for Pilgrims by Nicholas Davis

he Christian life is a journey, not an instantaneous arrival—we are pilgrims, traveling on the way to Zion, looking for the heavenly city that is to come. The book of Hebrews compares the Christian life to those Israelites who wandered through the wilderness, often wondering how much longer it would be before they arrived at the Promised Land. Peter describes the Christian life in the opening of his first Epistle when he calls the elect “exiles.” We are no longer in the glory days of Solomon’s temple, we are not yet in the new heavens and new earth, but we are living in a time of exile, a period of waiting. It is on this long journey to a land still far away that Psalm 23 comforts us and uplifts

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us. The Lord is our Shepherd, and we hear his voice speaking to us, as the psalm reveals our Lord Jesus as both the Good Shepherd of his sheep and the only sheep to never stray from the Shepherd.

THE LORD IS MY PROVIDER In times of prosperity and ease, we can easily fall into a kind of spiritual complacency where we forget our need for God. It’s easier to think we have everything together when we aren’t struggling, suffering, or in need of something. But we’re not to be satisfied with wealth or possessions. We’re to delight in the Lord and to evaluate all things in light of his good character.

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If God is my shepherd and he is the one leading me, then “I shall not want” (v. 1). The Good Shepherd provides for his sheep by giving them food and drink. The psalmist uses imagery of luscious green pastures for sheep to graze on and still waters for sheep to drink from. The thought recalls God’s provision to Israel when she was wandering in the wilderness. After God had delivered her from the mighty hand of Pharaoh, the people of Israel began to grumble and moan, crying, “Would that we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the meat pots and ate bread to the full, for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger” (Exod. 16:3). Their complaint showed them to be a stiff-necked people, giving no thought to God’s delivering them from slavery, and overcome by their current difficulty. The Shepherd who had rescued them from oppression would also save them from hunger by providing them with manna. He would spread out a table in the wilderness for them to eat and be nourished until the end. The psalmist, David, continues by saying that this Shepherd “makes me lie down in green pastures” (v. 2). God is a shepherd who gives his sheep exactly what they need for body and soul. The same God who dropped food from the sky for his wandering people also gives us bread to eat and wine to drink when we gather in holy assembly to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. He cares for our souls by the gift of eternal rest through the Lord Jesus Christ—we no longer have to try to earn our salvation, for Christ has done that for us. Through his righteous life, atoning death, and victorious resurrection, he has earned salvation for us—giving us an eternal Sabbath rest from our works and all forms of self-justification. “He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake” (v. 3). The Lord works in us through the Holy Spirit each day to give us rest from our evil works and to begin that eternal Sabbath rest that Jesus has started but not yet finished (Heidelberg Catechism Q/A. 103). Every

Sunday, we press the pause button on the weekly buzz and lie down in God’s green pastures of word and sacrament, confident that “the Lord is [our] shepherd, [we] shall not want.” But now the psalm turns away from the green pastures, and we enter into the valley of the shadow of death.

THE LORD IS MY PROTECTOR “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me” (v. 4). With a rod and with a staff, God protects his sheep. Shepherds in the ancient Near East would carry a long crook or a shaft to steer and reel back straying sheep, and a rod to beat off wolves. Just like an earthly shepherd, our divine Shepherd uses his staff to discipline his straying sheep and his rod to keep our enemies at bay. Sheep are wayward, and they need a watchful Shepherd. In our sin we are prone to wander, grasping after what we want and blind to what we need. As Isaiah the prophet said, “All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned, everyone, to his own way.” That is who we are by nature. Even as those who are gifted with the new birth from above, we tend to still wander about. We desperately need for God to protect us from ourselves! Sin seems good for a season, but it always leads to death. So God protects us by giving us undershepherds—pastors and elders—to take us in when we are hungry, to feed us until we are full, and to keep us from wandering from the fold. The Good Shepherd, as he tells us in the Parable of the Lost Sheep, goes after all of his sheep who stray. When the one leaves the ninety-nine, a good shepherd goes after that one. He wants to see the sheep return to the fold and eagerly waits for the sinner to repent and come home. Although Psalm 23 highlights the importance of being protected from ourselves, we also need protection from our enemies. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Why? For the Shepherd is with

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me. The Lord is my protector. We live in a cursed world full of sin and death. The “valley” is a dangerous place, and we see that God’s people are not immune to suffering. Even though God is our Shepherd, harm can and will befall us. We can be comforted, however, by the knowledge that God is with us in our wilderness as we wander through the plains of this present evil age. He has not left us, and we can truly fear no evil. Ultimately we fear no evil because God has given us the ultimate protection from our enemies in Jesus Christ. Jesus comforts us with these words in John 10, saying, “I am the Good Shepherd, and the good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.” Jesus came to be the Lamb slain for us so we would have the forgiveness of sins! He was beaten with the Father’s rod of judgment, so that we would be given the protection of the Father’s staff as the sheep of his pasture. By his blood, we are spared from God’s judgment on his enemies, and we are delivered from our slavery to Satan. Unlike us sheep who have fallen away and wandered off, Jesus never strayed from the Shepherd! He perfectly obeyed all that the Father commanded him. He walked through the valley of the shadow of death in order to bring us new life, saying, “Come, all of you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” We fear no evil, because Jesus has subjected all of our enemies— the world, the flesh, and the devil—under his feet. Finally, the psalm shifts from shepherding imagery to that of a host and a house.

THE LORD IS MY PORTION “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil: my cup overflows” (v. 5). The psalmist pictures for us a festive banquet, with the host entertaining his guests with a table abundantly laden with food and drink. His enemies, however, look on helplessly, shut out from the celebration, unable to harm him or steal his gifts. In Psalm 73, the psalmist struggles to understand something so common in this life. Why is

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it that so often the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer? Why is there such injustice in the world? Those who want to live a life pleasing to God are the poorest, while those who scorn and hate God are the wealthiest. God’s people often don’t have their “best lives now.” As the psalmist navigates his way through this question, he concludes that although the wicked may prosper in this life, God has placed all evildoers on a slippery slope that ends in destruction. Life may look good now, but time is running out. Seeing past the folly of earthly life, all of God’s people look ahead to the joy that is to come. It is news of this triumphant victory that allows us to embrace the temporary suffering and tribulation for a little while longer. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (Ps. 73:25–26) Life is not fair; but this life is not the only life we will ever know. We are still pilgrims on the way to Zion, to that great heavenly city beyond the world we see and know now. We have an inheritance—a portion—that is greater than all of the wealth and riches of Wall Street. And so Psalm 23 ends with certainty and assurance: “Surely goodness and love will follow

“Psalm 23 ends with certainty and assurance: ‘Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will live in the house of the Lord forever.’”

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me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever” (v. 6). For all who believe in Jesus, the Good Shepherd who gave his life for you, you will dwell in God’s house forever. The great host has prepared an eternal meal and an eternal home for you to dwell in forever! David only had a glimpse of this reality; we see it in its completion! He knew God was his Shepherd, but we have heard him through his Word and seen his body and blood in the Supper. Jesus is the Good Shepherd. Jesus provides for

and protects us. He is our portion and lasting inheritance. Jesus is not just “God with us”—he went through the valley of the shadow of death himself! He was forsaken by God on the cross, so that we would never be left nor forsaken, but accepted and adopted as heirs in the city that is to come. NICHOLAS DAVIS is assistant pastor at Christ Church Presbyterian in Irvine, California, and assistant producer for White Horse Inn.

C H R I S T & C U LT U R E

The Christ of the Cinema by Anthony Parisi

I 8

n his book on director Martin Scorsese, the late film critic Roger Ebert described the ominous context in which he previewed The

Last Temptation of Christ (1988). Prior to its release, he was invited to a private screening and watched the film alone. “This was not a perk,” he writes. “It was a security measure.” Ebert was

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led to a townhouse where the director was living under a shadow of death threats. The TV evangelists of the time had thundered with denunciation and outrage. One church leader, Campus Crusade for Christ founder Bill Bright, offered to cover the costs of the studio investment if he could obtain all the film negatives. He vowed to destroy them. The graphic content of the film was understandably upsetting to religious audiences, but the level of reaction that it provoked was astonishing. During the film’s release, a French fundamentalist group launched Molotov cocktails inside the Parisian Saint Michel Theater and injured thirteen people. Organized protests and boycotts in the United States caused major theater chains to refuse screenings. Some cities sought wholesale bans, many succeeding. The following year, Blockbuster Video caved to pressure and declined to rent the video in stores. The charge was blasphemy, and Scorsese’s film was a tipping point in the “culture wars.” It would become a key target in Michael Medved’s influential book Hollywood vs. America (1992). This mood is not an unfamiliar one to us today. The cultural divide in America has widened even farther, and conflicts over ideology occur in new arenas every year. Fast-food restaurants and pizza parlors become staging grounds for bitter power plays. Religious groups continue to struggle for influence and fight their cultural enemies in politics and the arts. Antagonistic, “faith-based” films are produced at an increasing rate, with 2014’s God’s Not Dead bringing in a remarkable $62 million. For many Christians, the box office remains a battle to be fought and won. When films have religious subject matter, devout viewers tend to be primarily interested in questions of theological accuracy. Is the scriptural text taken seriously and interpreted rightly? Are the historical details correct? Does it teach the right ideas? These concerns can dominate discussion and are often the only point of reference, determining both the value of the work and our level of engagement. Theater

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“The latest media sensations needn’t determine our talking points....Criticism can (and should) be made, but it must always be done with integrity and care.”

attendance is cast in terms of “support,” with even participation seen as an economic move for or against an artist’s ideas. Films based on the Bible bring out our tensions with art into stark relief, and doubly so when the subject is Christ himself. Some portrayals are made by Christians, others by atheists. Some seem subversive, others commendable. What is our response? What do we do with the cinematic Christs that come our way? Ignoring them is one reasonable option. The church is called to embrace a confident faith, and we can certainly stand to shrug things off better. The latest media sensations needn’t determine our talking points. Various films come and go and are always of relative importance. Christians like me who work in the arts may have a larger responsibility of engagement, but those conversations are best done without hand-wringing. Criticism can (and should) be made, but it must always be done with integrity and care.

SON OF GOD One of the more popular recent productions is the evangelical film Son of God. Extracted from

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the hit History Channel miniseries The Bible (2013), it was produced by reality television producer Mark Burnett and his wife Roma Downey. In an interview with Christianity Today, Burnett stated that his goal was to “affect a new generation of viewers and draw them back to the Bible.” The team consulted with a range of pastors and academics, striving to craft an outreach tool that would be accurate and devotional. The film is sincere and inoffensive, although out of context it loses the admirable ambition of the miniseries, which was to show the thematic connections in the Bible’s unfolding narrative. Unfortunately, the filmmaking is quite poor, weighed down by generic cinematography and flat direction. It plays like a Sunday school felt board in motion, a tedious swell of music scoring each scene to little effect. The key story points are hit, but the movement is stale and perfunctory, leaving it more tract than art. Actor Diogo Morgado is an unfortunate casting choice for Jesus, his attractive features and wry smile giving him the qualities of a supportive boyfriend. He always seems slightly amazed at his own miracles, overcome with emotion as he pleads with the crowds. The insertion of trite, contemporary dialogue such as his invitation to “change the world” doesn’t help much either. While I’m unpersuaded by Calvin’s view of the second commandment, sights like these certainly give iconoclasm appeal.

THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST Much more evocative is Mel Gibson’s film, The Passion of the Christ (2004). It too is an earnest, pious rendering, but Gibson’s directorial approach takes full advantage of the cinematic medium and uses striking imagery and mood to powerful effect. He produced the film independently in order to make bold creative choices, using Aramaic and Latin languages and keeping dialogue at a minimum. It is richly poetic, full of theological allusions, and the scene progression draws from the classic Stations of the Cross iconography. Gibson’s approach focuses on the gospel’s core event, the crucifixion, avoiding the rote proceedings of many adaptations and finding an intense, emotional center. Interwoven flashbacks bridge moments in Jesus’ life to the violence of Calvary, and the effect achieves a kind of musicality. It skillfully highlights the connections between his teachings, Palm Sunday, and the Last Supper, drawing everything toward the central image of the cross. The Passion of the Christ achieves what few gospel films do—truly embodying its central message. As the violence escalates, Christ’s prayer to forgive his oppressors is shown as truly radical. The lengthy experience is brutalizing but pointed. Here is the gospel: a shocking display of God incarnate, broken for sinners.

“Even with the distance that mass media brings, we are making a connection with an artist, and how we choose to respond and relate is important.”

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The emphasis, however, on graphic violence is disturbing, and there’s a tortured angst to the filmmaking that has become more pronounced in hindsight. Two years after the film’s release, Gibson’s battle with alcoholism reemerged and his personal life imploded. His inner demons and savage outbursts were exposed and laid bare by the media. Despite earnest work to make reparations and become stabilized, his career in Hollywood has still not recovered. When one watches Passion now, the dark energy and ferocity are haunting. This reveals an important feature of art often lost on moviegoers. To a participant, the viewing experience is not merely an engagement with a story or a set of ideas. Fundamentally, to watch a film is to encounter another human being. Mel Gibson is expressing himself and reaching out to you as a viewer when you watch his film. We meet him through the art. Even with the distance that mass media brings, we are making a connection with an artist, and how we choose to respond and relate is important.

THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST The Last Temptation of Christ isn’t one of Scorsese’s better films, and the director later acknowledged he is better suited to explore spiritual ideas on the “everyday scale” of modern life. A case can easily be made that it is in fact heretical, a portrait so interested in the human side of Christ that he is depicted as fallible and sinful. Jesus’ divinity is discovered (or possibly earned) through his infamous “last temptation” to forsake the cross and marry Mary Magdalene. The film’s theology is deeply confused and incoherent. Yet, like Gibson’s Passion, one feels the weight of a sincere, spiritual wrestling. Scorsese is a lapsed Catholic, and his films regularly employ Christian imagery and themes. Roger Ebert writes, “The Roman Catholic Church was for him like a heavenly father to whom he had a duty, but did not always fulfill it.” Ebert

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believed the church once played a larger role in Scorsese’s inner life than is generally realized. He describes a time when “talking with me after one of his divorces, he said, ‘I am living in sin, and I will go to hell because of it.’ I asked him if he really, truly believed that. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I do.’” When we treat art as just a product we can use or a tool to send messages, we miss out on the human element at play. Scorsese made the film because he wanted to “get to know Christ better,” but the reaction he received was shameful for those who claim the name. An opportunity for grace and understanding was lost. Culture is something we build with everyone, a diverse space for common grace that we all share as our lives are intertwined. Art is one of our most sophisticated forms of communication, an imaginative invitation to greater empathy and connection. Even if we’re deeply offended by something, we’re called to turn the other cheek. It’s tragic when the church prefers to take up pitchforks instead. Ebert saw that what gives Last Temptation value is “not that it is true about Jesus but that it is true about Scorsese.” Like the director, Willem Dafoe’s Messiah is filled with anguish and conflicted over his true purpose. The film shows us Scorsese’s tortured soul, struggling with God and burdened by doubt. One can only imagine the effect the hostile response must have had on him. Love is easily lost in a culture war mindset, but Christians must strive to transcend the power struggles of the surrounding world. We’re called to look to the interests of others above ourselves, and this extends to artists in Hollywood. In film, Jesus can be depicted with varying degrees of accuracy, but there’s a much more important reality at play. What matters most is that when we encounter the Christ of the cinema, who we’re really seeing is our neighbor. How will we respond? ANTHONY PARISI is a San Diego-based writer and film-

maker.

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Yahweh Is Salvation 14

EAST OF EDEN

TAKE YOUR SON, YOUR ONLY SON, WHOM YOU LOVE

THE WORDS OF THE PREACHER

THE LORD HIMSELF WILL GIVE YOU A SIGN

GREATLY LOVED BY GOD

E 14

East by SIMONETTA CARR

EDEN illustrations by SIMON PEMBERTON

So, this is death. My son’s body, yesterday strong and lively, is lying listless and cold in a pool of blood. I HAVE SEEN animals dying, even back in the

Garden, when the Lord replaced our inadequate leaf coverings with animal skins, sacrificing an animal for our protection. But this is different. Death has come to the human race—a race made in the image of God, a race that could have lived forever. It’s here, the fulfilment of God’s warning: “You shall surely die.” Why didn’t I believe it? The serpent seemed confident. “You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” I have relived that moment many times, trying to understand it, to justify it, to erase it. The serpent’s questions were unexpected and confusing. “Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any

tree in the garden’?” I knew that was not the case. There was only one fruit we could not eat nor, I added, touch. Touching the fruit was no t in t he p r o hibition, was it? I looked at Adam, who had related God’s law to me. He was silent. As wonderful as the Garden was, the serpent convinced me we could have much more, right then and there, without waiting for God’s timing. The serpent appeared to be our friend, but he was strange. He could speak our language and seemed to know more than we knew, but I didn’t give it much thought then. It was an enticing prospect of having our eyes opened, of being like God and knowing more than what God had revealed. The fruit was beautiful and looked delicious. I held it in my hand for a few moments, and then picked it from the tree. Nothing happened. I took a bite. Still nothing, except for a new feeling of uneasiness. Adam didn’t react. What was

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he thinking? I called him, but not to ask for help. I handed him the fruit, and he ate. We looked at each other. I could see on his face the same questioning anxiety that was tightening my chest. Our eyes were opened, but not to wonderful new worlds of knowledge and power. We knew something new—it’s true—but it was only fear, guilt, and shame. We were certainly not like God! We were just frightened and confused. We had changed, but not for the better.

THE DAY OF RECKONING We heard the Lord approaching, while a cold gust of wind swept through the Garden and left us shivering. Before that moment, God’s presence had always been good news. Now it was dreadful. We tried to hide, but even in the thickest patch of trees we felt exposed. We became conscious of our nakedness, which had never bothered us before. We grabbed some leaves and sewed them together to make a skimpy covering. We could barely look at each other. New, uncomfortable feelings continued to surface in our minds—feelings of resentment and anger toward each other. I knew I had done wrong, but why didn’t Adam stop me? Why didn’t he stop the serpent? Why had he kept quiet? Wasn’t he supposed to guard the Garden? After evading God’s questions for a while, Adam placed the blame on me. He sounded as if having me as a companion had been a bad idea from the start. His words pierced me through: “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me the fruit of the tree, and I ate.” Did he see me as a mistake? Would it have been better for him to be alone, since I had not been “a helper fit for him”? How far away now was the song he had sung at my arrival, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh!” Finally, and thankfully, he admitted his guilt, “I ate.” When God turned to me, asking, “What is this that you have done?” I felt so sick I thought I would die right then and there. It would have only been right. My eyes welled up with what I know now to be tears. I grasped at my only

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excuse: “The serpent deceived me.” My justification sounded as lame as it was. How could I have believed a creature over the Creator? Finally, like Adam, I had to confess, “I ate.” The Lord didn’t give the serpent a chance to speak. He didn’t ask him what he had done. He started with the obvious: “Because you have done this…” and pronounced his curse against him. It was expected. Then God said the most unexpected thing: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.” I didn’t fully understand, but it was a promise of life. This wasn’t the end. We had sided with the serpent and declared our enmity against the Lord, rebelling against his rules, but God was not leaving us in this condition. He was turning things around, reversing the enmity we had no power to reverse, and promising life and final victory through my offspring. The Lord added specific punishments for Adam and me. We heard new, unfamiliar words—pain, sweat, thorns, thistles. As surprising as it sounds, the Lord didn’t destroy us for our insubordination. He didn’t send us naked and helpless into a dangerous and hostile world, but he clothed us with animal skins. He cursed the ground, but he promised we would still “eat the plants of the field.” He predicted hard labor, but he added we would “eat bread.” He instituted pain in childbirth, but that very sentence implied we would still have children and descendants. Adam’s expression changed, as if he had just understood something. He gave me a new name: not simply Woman, someone like Man and “taken out of Man,” but Eve—a name communicating life because I was “the mother of all living.”

BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS Outside of the Garden, the unmistakable signs of the death penalty have become increasingly obvious, as our bodies are now subject to illness, injury, and decay. Even worse has been the decay of our hearts and minds and the realization that we no longer need an external source

of temptation to sin against God. The desire to do evil has become part of us, while faith, goodness, and love are no longer natural responses. They require a struggle. My relationship with Adam has also become strained. If accepting God’s rule over me has been difficult, accepting the rule of another sinful human being—God’s judgment after my sin—has at times seemed unbearable. Besides, the same feelings of mistrust and resentment we first experienced after sinning resurface at times, magnified by the frustrations of this imperfect and taxing life. Because Adam had rebelled against God, now the ground is rebelling against him. His work is hard. By God’s grace, however, we have been able to share many joys and satisfactions, including the excitement of reaping a good crop and the joy of seeing children come into the world. I still remember the thrill of feeling, for the first time, a new life developing inside of me. Every turn and kick of the baby in my womb was a further reminder that the promise of life was as sure as the reality of death—that death, struggle, and pain would continue for a while but would not have the final word. As God decreed, childbirth was painful. In fact, it was frightening, since there was no other woman who could share her experience and assist me as I am planning to do with my daughters. In the end, however, the joy of holding the very first baby in my arms made me forget all the pain. He was so small and weak, more helpless than most of the animals I had seen at birth, but I could see in him the prospects of a great future—the renewal of the human race Adam and I had ruined. “I have gotten a man with the help of the Lord!” I said. I called him Cain, “Acquired.” His name reminded us that God keeps his promises. After Cain, God gave us another son, Abel, and other children followed. With time, I learned that God’s words “In pain you shall bring forth children” were not limited to the moment of birth or to the hardships of gestation. Raising children has been difficult and has required much effort. The deepest pain has been that of watching them replicate our sins.

As soon as our children could understand, we told them about our first, fateful sin and then about God’s wonderful promise. We taught them to worship God and to accept their place as creatures, without trying to know or be more. Most of the time, the Lord has sustained us. The shadow of death, while certain, had started to seem remote. Until today.

WE TAUGHT THE GOD AND TO A PLACE AS CREAT TRYING TO KN ASHES TO ASHES, DUST TO DUST Adam has dug a hole in the earth where we are burying our son. As God predicted, man is returning to the ground, “For out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Abel’s name (“Breath” or “Vapor”) comes to mind, reminding me of the brevity and frailty of our lives. It seemed like only yesterday that he was playing in the fields and running back to hug my knees. He is now gone like a breath on a cold winter’s night—visible only for a brief moment. Remembering God’s warning about death and seeing animals die never prepared us for this moment—for our last look at our son as the ground covers his body, for our fear of the unknown—nor for this new, seemingly inconsolable pain that tears our hearts apart, paralyzes our responses, and dulls our senses.

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M TO WORSHIP CCEPT THEIR URES, WITHOUT OW OR BE MORE.” I remember Abel’s patience and diligence with the sheep, his smile, his kindness—every good thing I had taken for granted, because I didn’t imagine they would come to such an abrupt end. I already miss him more than words can say. Remembering the reality of sin could never prepare us for Cain’s act of murder, or the look of absolute terror in his eyes during his fretful departure from us. In him, I see our first attempt to run from God. I look desperately—but in vain—for a sign of my son’s repentance. I try to make some sense of what happened. How could it be? Cain tells us he can’t stay—he can’t continue to work in the fields, because the ground will no longer bear fruit for him. He protests the punishment God has inflicted on him, making him “a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.” I recognize the same voice that had told me God was unfair.

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A shudder runs through my veins when I hear God has cursed Cain. My heart sinks in the horrific, devastating thought that the offspring of the serpent may include my own son, this son in whom we had placed all our hopes! But how did any of this happen? The two brothers lived side by side, raised the same way. Both of them had been hard workers and a great help in our daily struggles—Cain in the fields with his father, and Abel with our sheep. They both gave us joys and heartaches and made us proud and discouraged at different times. They both worshiped God, although—looking back—I see that Abel worshiped with greater faith, sincerity, and humility, bringing the very best, the firstborn of his flock and their fat portions. Over the past few weeks, Cain had been especially quiet and sulky. I could sense something

BY MICHAEL

GOD MADE a PROMISE

S. HORTON

PA R T

Covenant: The Context of a Promise Promises are powerful. God made a promise, a worldwide, game-changing promise, and every story in the Bible finds its way back to this promise of hope. Yet, when we consider the Old Testament, it can be confusing to dip into one part of it, especially without knowing much about the other parts. The thread that ties it all together is a single promise, repeated in various ways and with slightly different emphases, from Genesis to Revelation. These sidebar articles trace the history of this promise in the Old Testament.

n sharp contrast to their pagan neighbors, Israel’s relationship with God was covenantal. To be related to God covenantally means that he is the Lord and his people are his servants; and when God sought to establish this sort of relationship with Israel, he chose a political arrangement that was familiar throughout the region and beyond: treaties. When a lesser kingdom or city was invaded by enemies, a greater king might come to the rescue.

In view of the rescuer’s mercy, the lesser kingdom would acknowledge the rescuer as their lord. In many cases, the lord would create a treaty (covenant) and seal it in a public ceremony by making the lesser king pass through the pieces of severed animals. In doing this, the servant was assuming the same fate as the animals if he should fail to keep the terms of the covenant. The treaty or covenant itself typically followed a set pattern. It began by identifying the lord who was imposing the covenant and giving

brewing in his heart. He seemed especially jealous of Abel. I feared for him, having known firsthand how deceitful these thoughts can be. Still, I never imagined his feelings would escalate to this, because this—this act of murder, this abrupt and violent termination of someone’s life—had never entered my mind.

the reasons why he should be obeyed as lord. This was followed by various commands, after which came sanctions that listed blessings for obedience and curses for disobedience. Finally, a copy of the treaty was deposited in the shrine of both parties. Henceforth, the lesser kingdom could live in security, but only as long as it was a loyal member of the empire. God set up a covenant at creation, and when he did, he issued only one stipulation to Adam: Not to eat of the Tree of the Knowledge

of Good and Evil. There were also sanctions: Life for obedience and death for disobedience. Adam and Eve violated the terms of the covenant. But even after the Lord arraigned them for their transgression, he promised that the seed of the woman one day would crush the serpent’s head (Gen. 3:15). That began the war of the “seed of the woman” and the serpent, who is assisted by his retinue of fallen angels and earthly emissaries.

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Could we have prevented it somehow? Could we have stopped Cain? My mind replayed past events over and over, probing into every recess of my memory, trying to detect my faults and to play out a different outcome, but it returns me inevitably to our first, fateful insurgence against our Maker. A surge of guilt engulfs me, again.

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If Adam and I could rebel against a Lord we knew as most loving and gracious, in the most perfect and ideal circumstances and when we had the full ability to obey, then this manifestation of sin shouldn’t surprise us. But it does. I recoil when I remember the times Adam and I allowed our anger and resentment to escalate. Only our Lord, by his mercy and grace, has prevented us from this and other terrible acts. But now what? Now that all our hopes for Cain seem to have vanished and Abel is gone from this earth, what will become of God’s promise? What will become of the human race? I thought I had it figured out. So often I have succumbed to the delusion that we can interpret and command our own lives, but this unexpected, overwhelming tragedy threw all my thoughts and plans into disarray. I can hardly breathe, and I can’t even think of eating or sleeping. Will this pain ever subside? Will life ever be the same? And what will become of Cain? My heart wavers between a natural motherly love and a feeling of horror and dread. Living alienated from the true and living God and in perpetual enmity against him is the worst possible condition. I know, because I came dangerously close to that point of no return. But God didn’t destroy Cain. In fact, he placed a mark on him to protect him. There is so much that makes no sense at all. Part of my heart lies buried under the ground, while my eyes still search for Cain, hoping to see him return, repentant. What’s left for us? Am I still the “mother of all living”? Is my offspring still going to crush the serpent’s head? Once again, I am tempted to know more than what God has revealed, and I am brought to my knees. In this unaccountable and bewildering turn of events, only God and what we have known about him and heard from him stand firm and sure. If I have learned anything from our rebellion in the Garden, it is that God keeps his word. He said, “You will surely die,” and we did, in more ways than one. We have tasted death every day since that fateful day, although now it stares right at us. But God also promised life and victory. Inexplicably and graciously, he moves me to

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look beyond the grave. As crushing and agonizing as this tragedy is, in God’s larger scheme of things—a scheme still difficult to grasp—this is only a bruising of the heel. I can’t even think of having more children. I am afraid to place my hopes in another son. If I could, I would choose death for myself, but the Lord is giving me life. I don’t have the strength to go on, but God’s purpose is greater and stronger than I can ever be. I remember a similar feeling of hopelessness and inability when we left the Garden and—to a lesser degree—many other times until now. But the Lord supported us through it all. Somehow, by God’s strength, I will rise from the edge of this grave and walk back to my house. As unmanageable as it seems, I will continue to feed and support my family. As inconceivable as it sounds, I might smile again. Somehow, sooner or later, God will appoint for me another offspring instead of Abel. These weary arms will again hold a child and this aching breast will again nurse him. Somehow, God will continue to sustain us, until a new offspring will inflict the final blow to the serpent—a blow that will defeat death, sin, pain, and anguish forever. I don’t know how the Lord will do it. I don’t even fully understand what it means, but I don’t have to. God’s merciful words still ring in my ears and the memory of the Tree of Life, which is now protected but not destroyed, is imprinted on my mind as I wait for the One who will give us the right to enjoy it. And that’s enough for now. Sitting by death, I cling to these promises of life for us, for Abel, and for the rest of the offspring God has appointed to give me. I can do no other. SIMONETTA CARR was born in Reggio Emilia, Italy. Besides her busy job as a mother of eight, she has written for various newspapers and magazines and has translated the works of several Christian authors into Italian. She is author of the series Christian Biographies for Young Readers (Reformation Heritage Books). She lives in Santee, California, and is a member and Sunday school teacher at Christ United Reformed Church in Santee.

Your Only SON, by CHAD BIRD

WHOM YOU LOVE 22

My feet rarely stand idle when God is around. He’s always telling me to go. IT’S BEEN THAT WAY from the beginning,

when he spoke to me in Ur: “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” I remember hearing those first words as if there were a pregnant pause between each phrase. “Go…” And I said, “Yes, I will travel to another part of my country.” “From your country…” And I thought, “Okay, God, but I will take my kindred with me.” “And your kindred…” And I thought, “Well, at least I will take my father’s house.” “And your father’s house…” He had whittled away at those places and people who had theretofore defined my

existence. A landless, kinless, fatherless life awaited me. Yet still he wasn’t finished. This Yahweh, this Go d in whom I ha d come to believe as an adult—so unlike the swarm of idols around which I was reared—was a strange, backwards deity. He would have me throw caution to the wind, uproot myself, and trail off to who knows where with only his word in my pocket. Yet, despite the seeming lunacy of the command, I went. When I was called, I obeyed and went to a place that I was to receive as an inheritance, not knowing where I was going. I sojourned in a land of promise, no roots, no rights. I was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose builder and architect is God. All I had was the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. That was sufficient. It seems ages ago. In some ways it is. I was seventy-five when I, along with my wife Sarah and our nephew Lot, set foot on Canaan’s soil. Back then, I thought I was just an old man.

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Here I am now, with well over a century of years under my belt. We’ve had our ups and downs. The debacle in Egypt when, as a direct result of my self-protective lying, my wife was whisked away to Pharaoh’s harem. The strife between my men and Lot’s men that led to a further split in our family. My defeat of Chedorlaomer and his armies when they kidnapped Lot from Sodom. The foolish choice Sarah and I made to go to Plan B and have a son through our maidservant, Hagar. That morning when I looked down upon the smoldering ruins of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah that I had pleaded with God to spare. My stupid, second lie about Sarah being my sister that got us embroiled in yet another royal mess. And finally, when my own body was as good as dead, and Sarah’s womb was as barren as the desert sand, we experienced the miraculous birth of our long-awaited son of promise. So hilariously inconceivable was his conception that we named him Isaac, which means laughter. But the laughter that once was like joy rising from the grave became entombed in the ancient soil of my soul once more. For the Lord who would not let my feet stand idle, who called me out of my country, my kindred, and my father’s house, told me to go yet again. But this was a different journey—a journey to a wordless land, a region beyond the reach of speech, for it defied description. The Lord called me to do what he had never required of a man: to give back to him the gift I had waited for my whole life. I heard his words as, decades ago, I had heard the words that called me out of Ur of the Chaldees. Then, as now, each syllable, snail-like, crawled along. And in my mind, I engaged in dialogue with the Lord. “Abraham!” he said. “Here am I.” “Take your son…” And I thought to myself, “But I have two sons. I have Ishmael and I have Isaac—” “Your only son…” And I said to myself,

“But Ishmael is the only son of Hagar, and Isaac is the only son of Sarah—” “Whom you love…” And I thought, “But I love both my sons—” “Isaac.” Finally, the circle narrowed to its epicenter as he pronounced the name of my son of laughter. There caught in my throat a dread unlike anything I had ever felt before. And I shivered as he spoke his next words. He told me to go to the land of Moriah. He told me he’d show me a mountain there. He told me to offer Isaac there as a burnt offering. When a man worships a strange, backwards God, he does strange, backwards things that he himself cannot begin to understand. There I was, hearing God tell me to kill the very son he had promised me, and I put up no protest. I, who had interceded for Sodom, did not intercede for my own son. I, who had gone so far as to lie to Pharaoh and Abimelech to save my own skin, uttered nothing to save my own flesh and blood. Oh the things I could have said: “Far be it from you to do such a thing, Lord, to ask me to put to death my righteous son! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” I could have said, “Lord, you promised that one from my own body would be my heir, you delivered on that promise when Isaac was born, and you swore that from my loins would come descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sands of the seashore. Those promises are null and void if the stars wink maliciously down

“ WHEN I WAS CALLED, I OBEYED… NOT KNOWING WHERE I WAS GOING…. ALL I HAD WAS THE SUBSTANCE OF THINGS HOPED FOR, THE EVIDENCE OF THINGS NOT SEEN. THAT WAS SUFFICIENT.”

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upon the bloody corpse of my son, if his body becomes only so much sand on the shore of my sea of tears.” I could have said, “Show pity, dear Lord, upon my aged wife, Sarah, who will die of a broken heart if I return home without her only son. Show pity, dear Lord, upon me, for I fear that I shall go to Sheol in mourning for my son.” Oh the arguments I could have employed, the soaring rhetoric I could have displayed, the weeping and wailing and pleading in which I could have engaged. Yet I did not. And why I did not I cannot fully explain. All I can say is this: what I could not do by my own reason or strength, I did when the Lord spoke these words to me. As when the Lord called me out of Ur, I obeyed and went, not knowing where I was going; so now I obeyed and went, not knowing what the Lord had in store for me and my son. All I knew was that the Lord cannot lie. And if he promised to make my offspring like the dust of the earth, he would do it, even if that meant raising my son from the dust to life again. So I arose early in the morning, not even delaying the start of the journey. I saddled my donkey, not waiting for my servant to do it. I cut the wood we would need for the burnt offering, lest we be unprepared on the mountain. I took two of my young men with me, so that no lack of help might hinder our pilgrimage. And yes, I took my son, my only son whom I love, Isaac, as we arose and went to the place of which God had told me. I had time to ruminate upon what was to come. Moriah is not right around the corner; it’s a three-day journey. Along the way, we were joined by an unseen traveler, one who wears many disguises. He walked alongside me by day, having donned the mask of fear, and whispered into my ear, “You pitiful fool! You’ll die an old bag of bones with the innocent blood of your murdered son tattooed onto your wrinkled skin, his screams haunting your dreams, and your wife’s accusing face a reflection of your own guilty soul.” He lay down beside me at night, having donned now the mask of reason, and whispered to me, “My dear friend, I beseech you to reconsider this irrational demand from a deity who is patently insane. For your sake, for the sake of

your son and wife, let us turn around and go back home. Wash your hands of t hi s blo o dt hirsty tyrant.” He had even more masks: shame, doubt, guilt—you name it. I did not argue with him. To mute his words, I repeated the words my God told me, “I will establish my covenant with Isaac as an everlasting covenant for his offspring after him. Through Isaac shall your offspring be named.” His words are what kept my hesitant feet moving forward, my heavy heart beating with faith, my weary eyes locked on the promise that could not fail. On the third day, I lifted up my eyes and saw the place from a distance. Here was the land of Moriah, and here was the mountain God had chosen. I knew the place well. Years before, Melchizedek, the priest and king of Salem, had met me near here when I returned from rescuing my nephew Lot from the kings who had kidnapped him. On that day, he refreshed my weary body with bread and wine; he blessed me, and I gave him a tenth of the spoil. Yet this time I, not Melchizedek, was to serve as the priest. I was not here to offer a tenth of wartime spoils to God’s representative, but to offer up the whole of my son upon the altar of God. There was no one to bring me bread and wine; tears were my food and drink. Here at Moriah, near Salem, which some call Jerusalem, we had reached our journey’s end. Here in Jerusalem, my son, the one in whom the blessings of God resided, would shed his blood. I told the two young men who had traveled with us, “Stay here with the donkey; I and the

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“IF HE PROMISED TO MAKE MY OFFSPRING LIKE THE DUST OF THE EARTH, HE WOULD DO IT, EVEN IF THAT MEANT RAISING MY SON FROM THE DUST TO LIFE AGAIN.”

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boy will go over there and worship and come again to you.” I suppose some will think I was pulling the wool over their eyes. Yes, he and I would go over there; he and I would worship; but only I would come again, right? How could it be otherwise, for this “worship” necessitates the death of the promised son? How could my son return with me when his body would be ashes upon an altar? I will tell you how. The God in whom I believe is the God of Adam, the God of Seth, the God of Noah. He is not the God of the dead but of the living. If he crafted Adam from the dust of the earth; if he brought Noah through the liquid grave of earth-covering waters; if, indeed, he created life inside the dead womb of my wife, Sarah, then surely he was able to recreate Isaac from the ashes of the altar. He will resurrect, reform, and re-breathe life into my son. My God is able even to raise the dead. It must be, for God has told me two seemingly contradictory things: first, that through Isaac my offspring will be named; and second, that I am to sacrifice this same offspring. He is the Lord of truth; he cannot lie. I will sacrifice my son, but God will raise him up again. We will go to the mountain, we will worship—and, yes, we shall both return. So I took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on Isaac my son. And he took in his hand the fire and the knife. We went, both of us together, father and son, up the mountain. My son shouldered the weight of the wood upon which he was to be sacrificed. He carried in his hand the knife that was to spill his blood. The fire that would consume my son, this lamb, this Godpromised seed—he bore it himself. I glanced over at him as we walked alongside each other. My mind replayed over and over again the good news I had heard passed down from the fathers. Long ago, at the advent of evil in this world, the Lord had promised to send the woman’s seed to crush the head of the evil serpent and, in that same action, to suffer the venom of death from the fangs of that serpent. He would shoulder the evil of the world and crush the skull of the one who had introduced death into our world. So when my son questioned me as we walked, the Spirit of Yahweh gave me the words to say.

GOD MADE a PROMISE PA R T

The Abrahamic Covenant

uch later, God called Abraham out of a moonworshiping family and made a covenant with him (Gen. 15). In this covenant, God promised to give Abraham an inheritance: an innumerable multitude of physical descendants in their own land and nation and an innumerable multitude of spiritual descendants for a spiritual kingdom taken from all the nations of the earth. Abraham believed the promise and was justified through faith. Then, with Abraham asleep, God himself passed between the animal pieces. He alone swore the oath and assumed the sanctions.

God did indeed provide a son, Isaac, to the nearly century-old couple. But then he tested the patriarch’s loyalty by commanding him to sacrifice Isaac. Just as Abraham was about to plunge the knife into his son, God stopped him. In Isaac’s place, God provided a ram for the sacrifice. In a similar episode, in Genesis 28, God reaffirmed his oath to Isaac’s son Jacob. While asleep, Jacob had a vision of a stairway to heaven with angels ascending and descending on it. Actually, it was a stairway from heaven to earth. God then reaffirmed his pledge to Abraham.

“My father!” “Here am I, my son.” “Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” The answer I gave him is the answer the Lord gave to me, “God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” That’s what he had been doing for his children all along. He provided the animals that he himself sacrificed to make skins by which to cover the shame of Adam and Eve. He provided the flock

Genesis 37–47 tells the story of Joseph, the eleventh of Jacob’s twelve sons. Jealous of Joseph, his brothers sold him into slavery, and Joseph ended up in Egypt under Potiphar, captain of Pharaoh’s guard. Through a series of intriguing twists and turns, Joseph was brought before Pharaoh to interpret his dreams of coming disaster. Pharaoh accepted Joseph’s interpretation and advice and made Joseph prime minister of Egypt. Through a dramatic series of events, Joseph was reunited with his family, and they all came to Egypt, where Jacob’s descendants

multiplied rapidly and grew wealthy. Joseph assured his brothers, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today” (Gen. 50:20). After Joseph’s death, Israel’s fortunes turned. “Now there arose a new king over Egypt, who did not know Joseph” (Exod. 1:8). For the next four centuries, the Hebrews were slaves.

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from which Abel, by faith, offered up sacrifices that were pleasing to the Lord. And today, on the mountain, the Lord would provide once more. Yet my words cast their vision beyond the horizons of this day. For as Isaac carried that wood of sacrifice, as the Spirit opened my eyes to foresee in him the promised Seed of the woman, I believed that God would provide the lamb for the burnt offering. It would not be an animal from Eden; it would not be from the flock of Abel; it would not be a beast, upon the altar

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slain—but the seed, the son of the woman, whom God would provide in the fullness of time. When we came to the place of which God had told me, I built the altar there and laid the wood in order and bound Isaac my son and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Here was my son, my only son whom I loved, Isaac, led like a lamb to the slaughter, who did not open his mouth. Here was the seed, the son whom God had promised to me. A thousand voices beckoned me to unbind him and walk away. But the voice of Yahweh alone is the voice that always speaks truth. And that voice had said, “Offer him there as a burnt offering.” So I reached out my hand and took the knife to slaughter my son. Were I to live a hundred lifetimes, I would never forget the moment when I lifted the blade, when my hand hung suspended between heaven and earth, life and death, over the bound body of my son, and the Angel of the Lord seized my wrist with words of grace. “Abraham, Abraham!” he called from heaven. “Here I am.” “Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me.” There are no words recorded of my response to this angel, for human speech has not yet—nor will it ever—create words that capture what a resurrection feels like. It is like being catapulted from the tomb to a throne in the twinkling of an eye. It is like having the blindfold removed at your execution to discover you’ve been led into a party. It is like many things, yet like none of them; for the resurrection from grief to hope, from life to death, is a gift that experience alone has the tongue to tell. I have tasted that experience. My son, my only son whom I love, Laughter—he was spared to usher joy into his old father’s life yet another day. I lifted up my eyes and, behold, behind me was a ram caught in a thicket by his horns. So I took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of my son. I had told Isaac, “God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” And he had. So I called the name of that place, “The Lord will provide,” as they say

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to this day, “On the mount of the Lord it shall be provided.” But not on that day alone would the Lord provide. For the Angel of the Lord called to me a second time from heaven and said, “By myself I have sworn, declares the Lord, because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will surely bless you, and I will surely multiply your seed as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore. And your offspring shall possess the gate of his enemies, and in your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed, because you have obeyed my voice.” As the ram lay burning upon the altar, I heard these words of the angel: “In your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed.” In my seed—not seeds, but seed—the blessing of the Lord would extend to the whole world. From me, from my bloodline, would come the seed promised to Adam and Eve. In him, the Lord would finally provide what all people needed: righteousness, forgiveness, life, and salvation. The lying serpent would strike his heel. He would drink in the venom of death. Yet by his death he shall destroy the power of death once for all. I lifted up my eyes to look around at the mountain called Moriah. I eyed Jerusalem. I gazed down at the sacrificial victim upon the altar, whose blood was shed instead of my son’s. I glanced up to where the Angel of the Lord had spoken to me from heaven, and I thought, “On the mount of the Lord, on this mountain, it shall be provided.” The Lord will provide the seed as the sacrifice appointed. He will be the Son who is not spared but delivered up for us all. He will be the ram caught in the thicket offered up as a sacrifice for me and Isaac and all others. On the mountain of the Lord, the Lord will provide his seed, his Son, his only Son, whom he loves. I rejoiced to see that day. I saw it and was glad. CHAD BIRD has written for The Federalist, Modern Ref-

ormation, The Lutheran Witness, and Concordia Journal, among others. His books include The Infant Priest: Hymns and Poems, Christ Alone: Meditations and Sermons, and Why Lutherans Sing What They Sing. Two of his hymns are included in the Lutheran Service Book.

YAHWEH

Salvation by ROBERT & ROBIN TRESKILLARD

I awoke to the sound of screaming. I sat up with a jerk, my throat knotted as the piercing cry filled the tent again. “A SNAKE!” It was my wife, Adah.

Grabbing my spear, I sat up. “Where is it?” “I don’t know. Close!” I heard a rasping sound. My wife jumped, yelling and shaking her leg. “It bit me! Get it off!” I saw it hanging from her foot like a sallow, white rope. Lashing out with the dull end of the spear, I knocked it against the wall of the tent. It fell and vibrated its body so the rasping noise was heard again—a warning it was ready to strike. I leveled the tip of the spear and lunged. The creature hissed, slipped under the wall of the tent, and was gone.

*** The sun had risen like a white stone, mistshrouded and languid over the eastern mountains. I stood in the shadowed gateway to the tabernacle’s outer courtyard, still holding my

spear. “Adah is dying,” I said once more. Moses made no response, his emotions inscrutable behind his veil, so I grasped his sleeve. “Do you hear? My wife is dying!” “The serpents, yes. Yahweh is judging us—” “Ask for mercy. You call me Y’hoshua to remind me Yahweh is salvation. Please—” “The people must ask for forgiveness. They grumble against God like their forefathers, always wanting to go back to slavery.” “Ask Yahweh to heal Adah! The grandchildren weep.” Behind me the tribal leaders gathered, followed by thousands. Many of the stricken were carried on stretchers. Yet even as they came, the horned vipers rose up from where they’d lain hidden in the sand and struck down more. The people screamed as they rushed to Moses, crying out in a great chorus: “We have sinned! We have spoken against Yahweh and against you! Pray that Yahweh will take the serpents away from us!” “Do you still want to return to Egypt?” Moses asked. “No! This scourge reminds us of the slavery our forefathers endured.”

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The elders pulled a bull into the courtyard, laid it upon the altar of burnt offering, and the elders slaughtered it as God commanded—that blood be shed for the community’s sin. Eleazar, the high priest, stepped from the tabernacle with two assistants, attended the sacrifice, and filled a golden cup with the blood. Moses’ moist eyes blinked above his veil. “I’ll plead once more that God will have mercy.” Grasping me by the shoulder, he guided me toward the doorway of the tabernacle, from where I would watch and pray as was our custom. “Eleazar!” Moses called. “Bring the blood of the sacrifice. We are ready.” The audacity of what happened next took my breath away—just as it had every time I’d witnessed it. Moses pulled the drapes aside, slipped off his sandals, and—slowly, cautiously— approached the altar of incense that sat before the Holy of Holies, the seat of Yahweh. Moses had taught us that wherever God’s presence resided was holy ground. This had never made sense to me: if the ground itself were holy, why would a man dare tread upon it with his bare feet, which were so easily soiled? How could you approach the unapproachable…and do so barefoot? Was it to show a man’s humbleness? Or was it because Yahweh wanted men to touch the holiness, perhaps to feel even the pebbles of his Otherness? No wonder Moses trembled as he fell upon his face before the golden altar, which burned bright with incense. I caught the sweet scent, and my legs shook as I fell outside the doorway, praying for Adah and our people. Eleazar walked past, his feet stirring up dust that stung my eyes. A chanted prayer filled the tabernacle as he approached the curtain and sprinkled blood before the curtain seven times and spread blood upon the four horns of the altar. As Moses continued to pray, he sang, moving from the altar to the burnt offering where the elders waited, pouring out the remaining blood over the sacrifice. Soon my hands and knees felt a pulsing ripple through the ground, followed by peals of thunder, rumblings, and flashes of light, which smote the interior of the tabernacle. My breath came shallow and sharp as sweat began to soak

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through my robes onto my prayer shawl. It was gone as quickly as it had come. Moses faced me. The light in his eyes was terrible to behold, but there was a look that told me he’d received an answer. He extended his hand to me. “The Lord has said: ‘Make a fiery serpent and set it upon a pole. Everyone who is bitten, when he looks up to it, shall live.’” “A serpent will heal Adah?” I asked, confused. “Does Yahweh reject us and want us to return to the gods of Egypt?” “You misunderstand. Even though it will be cast in bronze, it must not be worshipped.” “But—” “This is the word of the Lord, and though we wonder, we must not question it. Y’hoshua, I want you to kill one of the vipers. We will use its body to make the mold for bronze casting.” My head began to pound, and I’m ashamed to say that fear crept into my voice. “We can use beeswax for the model. Ben Seruch has enough. His tent is near—” I turned to walk away but Moses spun me back. “No, you must slay a serpent to fulfill all righteousness.” I tested the sharpness of my spear. Since God had commanded, I guess I could do it. Killing a snake would take only a few stabs. But Moses pulled my spear firmly from my hands. “You may not mutilate its body, Y’hoshua.” “Then how will I kill it?” I asked, my voice shrill in my own ears. Moses’ steady gaze met my eyes. “Pray for wisdom. Yahweh will save you.”

*** My feet were like stones and my empty hands hung limp. I was going to die. Without my spear, the viper would sink its teeth into my flesh and the fire would burn through my body. Like Adah, I would swell, sweat, and vomit. I had seen hundreds of the dead carried from their tents with blackened, purulent sores. Every fear screamed at me to ignore Moses. Yet if I did, Adah would die. Yahweh would save me, I told myself. But would he? Could I trust him? I had led Israel and

defeated the Amalekites. I could fight. Yet here I was, expected to slay a deadly snake without a weapon! Suddenly, I realized I had retraced the way back to my own tent, whose sad walls still sagged like a shroud under the weight of the nighttime dew. The entire family had gathered outside— my grown children, my grandchildren—wailing. Inside it was silent… too silent. Throwing back the flap, I stepped cautiously inside to find Adah’s sister, Yatarah, holding my wife’s hand and crying. Behind her stood a tribal physician who’d been trained in the Egyptian way, his head shaved and a sun medallion around his neck. The man scowled at my intrusion. Adah lay unmoving upon the bed, a cloth covered her eyes, and her skin was deathly white. The swelling of her leg and ankle could be seen like a lump under the bloodstained blanket. Yatarah’s tears made my fears come alive. It was too late. I had lost her already. My hands took up my shawl to rip it, but I’d never be able to convey the shredding that had severed my soul from my heart, my life from hers. “No, you fool.” Yatarah waved a finger at me. “Adah is only sleeping.” I fell at Adah’s side and kissed her hand. It was cold, but there was life! Her fingers caressed my beard, and then she choked out my name, “Hoshua?” “Yes, I am here.” “Will Yahweh have mercy? The leg…it hurts.” I pulled back the blanket and was shocked to find her foot plunged inside a dead, bloody jackal—an attempted Egyptian cure. The stench was horrible, and I was furious at the physician. “Get out!” I yelled. “And take away your mongrel treatment! My Adah will pray to Yahweh—not to Anubis!” “The sister,” he said coldly, “has promised me four silver coins when the treatment is finished.” “You’ll get nothing!” Taking hold of the jackal’s golden fur, I slid it off her foot and heaved the carcass out the doorway. The physician, seeing my rage, dashed out the back door of the tent. I ignored Yatarah’s irritation as I wiped my bloody hands on the now tattered prayer shawl

and fell on my knees before Adah. She rested her limp hand on my head. “I’m sorry I let them do this… ” “Hush. All will be forgiven. I must kill a serpent and bring it to Moses.” Her brow tightened. “Oh, Hoshua, no!” “Yahweh told me to do this. He will save me and then he will heal you.” But without a weapon, I doubted my own words. “You may die because of my sin,” she said. “Pray the Lord forgives me.” I closed my eyes and held her tightly. “O Yahweh, blessed be the true God of light and mercy, the true God of life and joy, the God of our fathers. Forgive Adah…forgive Yatarah… forgive me. Protect us as we seek to serve you.” Adah cried on my shoulder. “It’s hard, but I’ll trust this awful task somehow brings Yahweh’s love down to us, down to this dust and fire and misery…”

*** I left the tent, half-blinded by my own tears. All around me the camp suffered with distress as the serpents struck—their screams carried by the breeze, already hot as the sun rose higher. Without warning, a viper’s head rose up from the sand before me. Its body was thick, with a broad head and a small horn above each yellow slit eye. In my confused anguish, I had forgotten my sandals at the tabernacle. I wanted to yell but no sound came. I wanted to run but my feet did not move. The snake rubbed its scales menacingly. Its eyes were wary. Its tongue flickered out and in like the tail of a fish caught in a trap. It was waiting for me to move, waiting for an opportunity. “Naked I came from my mother’s womb,” I recited from the story of Job, “and naked I will depart. Yahweh gave and Yahweh has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” As the horrible head began to sway back and forth, I realized what it was watching: the bloodied tassels of my prayer shawl blowing in the hot desert wind. Slowly, I slipped off my shawl and held it at arm’s length. I moved away carefully, hoping the snake would remain fixated on the

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“THE LORD HAS SAID: ‘MAKE A FIERY SERPENT AND SET IT UPON A POLE. EVERYONE WHO IS BITTEN, WHEN HE LOOKS UP TO IT, SHALL LIVE.’ ” shawl. I tensed my body as I prepared to act— my training and my strength encouraged me. I wasn’t too old for this. It wasn’t so long ago that I had fought other enemies, and my eyesight was still keen. “Shema Yisra’el…Adonai Eloheinu…Adonai Echad,” I intoned. The snake slid sideways and hissed at me, causing me to jump. “Hear, O Israel…The Lord our God…The Lord is one.” The serpent lunged forward and my heart stopped. But its mouth opened only in frustration, venom dripping from the milky fangs. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart with all your soul and with all your strength!” I swung the prayer shawl forward as the snake struck again. Somehow, I grabbed its neck, sliding both hands up to its head. It writhed and twisted angrily, its teeth still latched onto the wool of the prayer shawl. Suddenly, the cloth came loose from its fangs and venom dripped on the sand as it hissed angrily. I slammed its head upon a nearby flat ledge of rock and then stepped on its neck; its the tail coiling around my leg, squeezing. Not finding a rock of the right size within reach, I took my other heel and bashed its head again and again, harder and

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GOD MADE a PROMISE PA R T

The Sinai Covenant

oses led the people to Mount Sinai, where God delivered the law to Moses as the mediator of this covenant. Besides the Ten Commandments, God delivered detailed commands governing every aspect of Israel’s life in the land that he was giving them. The Holy Spirit led the people on their route toward the Promised Land, but they longed for Egypt where at least they’d had water and food rations. They forgot the Lord’s mighty acts of liberation from Egypt. Ultimately, their quarrel with Moses was an attack on God’s leadership and plan, and his goodness and power. Yet God remained faithful. True to his word, the Lord did not let this faithless generation enter Canaan to possess the Promised Land. Moses died having viewed it only from the mountain. Joshua, Moses’ lieutenant, led the people into the land that God had

promised in Genesis 15 to Abraham’s descendants. After the conquered land had been divided among the twelve tribes, Joshua reminded the people of the covenant that God had made with Abraham: “Not one word has failed of all the good things that the Lord your God promised concerning you. All have come to pass for you, not one of them has failed” (Josh. 23:14). This was an important announcement. Joshua emphasized the complete fulfillment of the land-promise. Yet, according to the covenant made with Moses at Sinai, God was under no obligation to let them remain in the land. In fact, Joshua added, “The Lord will bring upon you all the evil things, until he has destroyed you from off this good land that the Lord your God has given you, if you transgress the covenant of the Lord your God” (Josh. 23:15–16). The people quickly renewed their allegiance to

the covenant, “but Joshua said to them, ‘You are not able to serve the Lord, for he is a holy God. He is a jealous God; he will not forgive your transgressions or your sins’” (Josh. 24:19). This was not exactly an inspirational pep talk! There is nothing in the Sinai covenant itself that obligated the Lord. The commands were to be fulfilled by Israel, and the sanctions of blessing or curse depended on the nation’s obedience. It was a precarious covenant, based on the loyalty of sinners—hence Joshua’s warning. The book of Judges picks up the story. As soon as Joshua died, Israel turned away from the Lord “and served the Baals. They abandoned the Lord, the God of their fathers, who had brought them out of the land of Egypt. . . . Then the Lord raised up judges, who saved them out of the hand of those who plundered them. Yet they did not listen to their judges, for they whored after other

gods and bowed down to them” (Judg. 2:11–16). Later God raised up Samuel who called Israel to return to God as king. If they would renew their loyalty to the God of Sinai, then God would deliver them from the hand of the Philistines. They did so. In his old age, Samuel made his sons judges over Israel. But they were corrupt, taking bribes and perverting justice (1 Sam. 8:3). Then Israel wanted “a king like all the nations” (v. 5)—a king they could see. Samuel was dismayed with this plea, but God told him to allow it, “For they have not rejected you, but they have rejected me from being king over them” (v. 7). Isn’t it amazing that God mercifully allowed this demand and continued to work graciously among his rebellious people?

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harder, until the skull cracked and blood poured from its mouth. I fell to the warm sand with my chest heaving. The creature was dead!

*** You’ve done well,” Moses said after hearing my story. “It’s what the Lord said would happen to the serpent one day: ‘And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your children and hers. He will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.’” “Is that the prophecy from the beginning? It doesn’t apply to me because I wasn’t struck. It never came close—praise to Yahweh who is my salvation!” “Y’hoshua I have named you and as Y’hoshua you will be known for all the generations to come.” Moses took up the dead snake and used three nails to secure it to a slim piece of wood. With freshly dug clay we covered the snake, enclosing the head completely, yet leaving the tip of the tail sticking out. Then we buried the clay mold among hot coals to bake. Sitting back, Moses asked me a strange question. “How would you feel if you were to be nailed to a branch?” “I wouldn’t want to be.” “What if you could take the people’s sins upon yourself?” “You mean like a scapegoat?” “Yes. Do you love these people? Would you die for them on a branch?” I had to think about that. “For my tribe, maybe. To die in battle would be better though.” Moses blinked. “What about your wife? Would you die for her?” I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” “Then remember that we are God’s betrothed and this snake represents the death of our sins nailed to a branch. One day Yahweh himself will fulfill his covenant with our father Abraham and die for all our countless failures.” “This is not an Egyptian idol then?” “No, it is our assurance that God remembers his covenant with our fathers.” We talked for a long time while the clay baked

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and the flesh of the snake inside turned to ashes along with the thin wood. Craftsmen worked alongside us, melting bronze inside a clay pot, which was then buried in a pit of hot coals and fed by bellows. When all was ready, we lifted the clay mold from the fire and shook the ashes out—but the skeleton stayed inside. Then we laid it upon a large angled rock and poured the blazing white-hot bronze into the mold. We waited for the mold to cool some, finally pouring jars of water upon it, which shattered the clay and allowed the steaming bronze snake to emerge as if from a tomb. Soon the metal snake was cool enough to touch, and we were able to snap off the thin bronze branch. I marveled at the intricate details of the viper’s face, body, and scales. Strangely, some of the snake’s ribs had survived the casting and, though burned, were visibly embedded within the metal. Moses took the snake and hammered it onto a stout pole. Then we took it outside the camp—to the kind of place where a scapegoat would have been loosed—and raised it upon a hill. By now, word had spread that all those bitten should come, look upon it, and be healed. As thousands began to move toward Moses and the bronze snake, I ran to get Adah. As the crowds thinned, I saw her. She leaned on Yatarah, but she was moving. I scooped her into my arms and took off with a gift of speed I’d never known before or since. The Almighty was with us and soon we were at the hill. Adah exhaled deeply, and time froze as I feared it was her last. Then she inhaled, opened her swollen eyes, and squinted up toward the gruesome snake glaring down at us in the sun. I felt a wave of life and strength come back into her limp body as she was healed. “I am made new, Y’hoshua. Truly Yahweh is salvation.” ROBERT AND ROBIN TRESKILLARD have been writing sto-

ries together for nine years, having worked together on The Merlin Spiral trilogy—Merlin’s Blade, Merlin’s Shadow, and Merlin’s Nightmare—published by Zondervan. They are currently collaborating on The Pendragon Spiral trilogy. They live in the country near St. Louis, Missouri, and are still homeschooling the youngest of their three children.

Words by DONOVAN L. RILEY

PREACHER 38

You have asked me to share my wisdom with you; you have come here to sit at my table in the hope that you will be enlightened. So I will share what I know. I HAVE THOUGHT for a long time about all that our God has made—all of us wonderful creatures he has wrought, and the useless desires that drive us to build up and tear down and rebuild again all he has made. I will speak to you about all these things. All I ask is that you listen and write down what I tell you, so that after I have gone to be with my fathers, my words will remain to shepherd

you and the children of Israel through every generation. Tonight I will not speak to you as the king but as “the Preacher.” As such, it will not be my wisdom I share with you. Though I have greater understanding and greater wealth too, I cannot say to you that I have enjoyed them. Life and its pleasures are traps. The pursuits of our hearts’ desires are snares that kill. I have learned this, and so I will not speak to you of the wisdom that drags one down into the grave. No, it will be the words the Lord God has given me to speak. His words will come to you like spears and nails.

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Everything is a breath. All our life is like the wind. We are fleeting as vapor. All our righteousness is counted as nothing by our Maker. All our works, what are they? What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun. Who is it that creates the heavens and the earth? The Lord alone can create something new. We do nothing new, but we imagine that when we have done all we can our work is righteous in God’s sight. We vainly presume that what we make for ourselves the world has never before seen. But we can do nothing new, because we are the same. The same old Adam is present in us from the cradle to the grave. I have witnessed what God has given to men and women to busy themselves with. Having been king over Israel in Jerusalem all these many years, I applied my heart to seek and search out by wisdom all that is done under the heavens. What I have seen is that everything done under the sun is useless. It was in this realization that I was taught wisdom, not by men but by God. Learn, then, to submit yourselves to the wisdom of God. Don’t worry yourselves with thoughts about what God has not commanded. The safest way is to rely on the word of God. In this is enough guidance for all of us. His commands to us are to trust always in him, love one another as we have been loved by him, and bear the yoke he has laid upon our shoulders. Whatever he has given you to do is good. Whatever he has not given you to do, whatever comes from your own hands, will end in sorrow. I have explored the limits of reason and understanding. I have known love and sensual pleasure. My ears have been filled with the words of wise men and liars. I have tasted the most delicious delicacies, and I have held in my hands the rarest artifacts. As king over Israel, I have explored what life can offer of happiness, enjoyment, goodness, and wisdom. And after all this, I have been shown that they will not cheer me or lighten my burdens unless God himself gives them to me and satisfies me. Let God have his way and all creation will be given to you as a gift. Do not say to the Lord, “I will wait for you at this place, and at this time

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you will give me pleasure; and here is the person whom you will send to me for this purpose.” If you speak to God in this way, then all will go wrong for you. Whatever you plan for yourself will be condemned as evil or useless. Happiness and enjoyment in this life are both gifts from God. Let us enjoy them as he has given them to us. Hear and pay attention to what I tell you. In my youth I tried to make paradise on earth. But only when the Savior comes, whom God will send, will the paradise our first parents knew be restored to us. Only then will the orchards blossom in season and out of season. Then new water will flow up out of the earth, and our fields will produce our daily bread without end. Our flocks will cover the face of the whole earth, and they will never see sickness or disease. We will neither marry nor be given in marriage. We will be united with the Lord as a bride sits next to her bridegroom at the wedding feast. There will be no more concubines, no more buying and selling of people for profit or pleasure. There will be no more slaves or servants in our houses, for all will be welcomed into the Lord’s house and called “beloved children.” This is the only wisdom that gives me comfort, because it is wisdom given to me by the Lord. Do not think it matters whether you are wise or foolish. Only faith in the Lord will save you from anxiety and useless worries. If you think that my wisdom can save you from falling into misfortune or ruin, or that you have found a wisdom that can bring permanent happiness, then you are a fool. Human wisdom is fine, and it can be of some benefit to you. But if you do not know what is pleasing to God, then your wisdom is foolishness. You are lying to yourself. Commit yourself to the Lord. Pray that he sets you to doing his will and that you would accomplish what pleases him. Then you can take comfort in the knowledge that you are truly wise. Many of our fathers, who did not know God, thought they were wise. In their blindness and foolishness, these kings became wicked. They turned to other gods, even gods that required human sacrifices. Some went so far as to murder their own children, believing that their blood sacrifice would earn them wisdom

and righteousness as a reward. These evil men claimed to speak for God’s chosen people. They said, “We serve you, children of Israel, as your advocate before God,” but they put God’s people in chains. Claiming that their words were God’s word, they enslaved their own people. My own father discovered at the end of his life that his sins had caused the people of Israel—the people God had given to him to shepherd—to wander away to worship other gods. No, I have seen how even the godliest men can fall into madness and foolishness when they begin to think they are wise and that God will bless whatever they undertake. My friends, do not think that only kings fall victim to this temptation. The more people gain, the more they want. They torment themselves trying to find something good that will give them pleasure. They tear at each other, hurt each other, and torture each other out of envy. And for what? A treasure that will rust or a delicacy that will be eaten by worms. Where is wisdom in this? Where is kindness, or love, or goodness? God has given us to one another as gifts, to strengthen and bless one another’s work. Together we gather in a harvest of God’s blessings. But when we tear at each other and refuse to share the harvest, we gain nothing but sorrow and heartbreak. A certain wise father, when he was about to die, commanded his sons to be present at his bedside. He gave them a bundle of sticks to break. Although they could not break them all at the same time, they did manage to break them one by one. In this way he taught his sons that their wealth and their treasures, everything they would accumulate for themselves, would be secure if they were of one mind and helped one another. If they were of one mind, then small things would grow; but through arguing about who is wisest, strongest, or most righteous, they would be scattered and brought to nothing. Have this same mind among yourselves when you go up to the Lord’s house. Draw near to God and listen. This is better than all the sacrifices you would foolishly want to offer to him. Those who act in this way are fools; they do not know that what they do is evil in the sight of God. Keep

your mouth shut. Do not let your heart drive you to speak too quickly or make promises to God you cannot hope to keep. God sits enthroned in the heavens, and you stand here on earth. He dwells in unapproachable light. Therefore, when you are in the house of the Lord, let your words be few. There is no wisdom in many words. Be of one mind. At the same time, do not let your mouth sin against God in the midst of the congregation. Why should your voice disturb God, or your actions destroy what he has given you? Fear God and worship him. In this is your peace. We are made by him to receive all we need for body and soul from him. Everything is in the hand of God. How then can we claim that any of our works, whether in his house or in our own, are worth anything? No, both the gifts and the enjoyment of them are from God. But as soon as we begin to measure them against what our neighbor has been given, or control how they use them, we sin against God. In all you do, work hard and do whatever you can with one mind according to what God’s word has taught. Do not measure your work or your efforts against your neighbor’s. There is no wisdom in this. Commit yourself, all your efforts, plans, and outcomes, to the wisdom of God. Let the word of God rule over you. This is the gift from God. God will keep you occupied all your days, and he will put joy in your heart. In this is wisdom. The one who forgets this is a fool. Foolish people do not care about godly wisdom or what happens to others. But what about the best men and women in Israel? What shall I say about those who help others—those God has set over Israel as governors and fathers? They should be encouraged to live with all Israelites in peace, to marry, to rule, and to not imagine their works are useless.

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“ WHERE IS KINDNESS, OR LOVE, OR GOODNESS? GOD HAS GIVEN US TO ONE ANOTHER AS GIFTS, TO STRENGTHEN AND BLESS ONE ANOTHER’S WORK. TOGETHER WE GATHER IN A HARVEST OF GOD’S BLESSINGS.”

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GOD MADE a PROMISE PA R T

The Davidic Covenant

aul was chosen to be king, but he offered an unlawful sacrifice, and his heart turned from the Lord. Finally, the Lord rejected him, and David was anointed king of Israel (1 Sam. 13–16). Years later when David wanted to build a temple, God replied, “Would you build me a house to dwell in? I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent for my dwelling” (2 Sam. 7:4–6). Instead God said,

“The Lord will make you a house” (v. 11).

enant, ordered in all things and secure” (2 Sam. 23:5).

Eventually, David indulged his sinful heart, and his reign was strewn with episodes of violence. Although David’s whole house was a mess, God once again was gracious. Like the promise he had made to Abraham, the oath he had made to David was unbreakable. The spotlight was now on the office of the king, the representative head of the Lord’s people. The house of David would have an everlasting throne. David’s last words extol the Lord’s promise: “He has made with me an everlasting cov-

The reign of David’s son Solomon began well, but his heart turned from the Lord, mainly through his many foreign wives. He even welcomed idolatrous shrines and festivals. Yet God continued to keep his promise to David. Under Solomon’s foolish and oppressive son Rehoboam, the nation divided. “There was none that followed the house of David but the tribe of Judah only” (1 Kings 12:20). So there was now Israel in the north and Judah in the south. As the story

You asked me to teach you wisdom. You asked to be enlightened. It is something few can possess. Listen then: God’s wisdom is not like human wisdom. Human wisdom is written down in books that wear out, fade, and are motheaten. What is spoken of as wisdom is heard, yet soon is forgotten. But God’s wisdom will never wear out or fade or be forgotten. God’s wisdom is God himself, and he is greater than I. Ignoring or avoiding God’s wisdom means that you avoid God—that Wisdom who spoke creation into existence, who created the heavens

unfolds, we meet no king again quite like David. In most cases, the record shows no loyalty to the Lord. In others, it is mixed. Only in a few instances do we find kings with a heart for the Lord. Yet it is God’s promise that keeps the story moving forward, with a Davidic heir on the throne. Even with the best of kings, there was always a “nevertheless.” The recurring question is this: When will there be a righteous king to reunite Israel and Judah and reign as God’s own emissary?

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and the earth, who saves us from ourselves and from all our useless works and ways and all our foolish plans. This is the revelation of God shown to me when he gave me wisdom. He gave himself to me as a gift. Therefore, eat the bread on this table with joy. Drink the wine in your glasses with a happy heart. God has already given them to you as a gift, just as he has given himself to you in the giving of them. To live in this understanding, that God is wisdom, means you live in his favor. What you gain for yourself or what little you are given is all

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God-pleasing when it is enjoyed in faith. When you suffer through evil times and distress, do not trust in yourself. Trust that God is at work in all things for your good. A fish snaps at the bait and swallows the hook. Birds see a worm and walk into a snare. They think they see something good and are captured. So it is with us when we choose something good for ourselves and hope in it. We are deceived. This is what I have learned from wise men, and what experience has taught me. Whatever our plans may be, they usually turn out the opposite of what we intended. What I have said may seem harsh, like nails and spears that poke and pierce your flesh. But such is the wisdom of God. It is not God who is harsh toward us, but we who are lazy, who resist his way of teaching us wisdom. His wisdom is powerful, lively, and compelling. It takes all the parts of our lives we try to keep separate from him, the gifts we try to claim as our own work, and binds them together into a whole. God is our Wisdom, our Shepherd, and our Savior. Listen to Wisdom. Beware, my friends, of anything beyond these words. Watch out for those who offer you wisdom not given to you by the one Shepherd. There is no end to the writing of books. There is much study that does nothing but make you dull and ignorant. Instead, recognize that the Spirit of God is upon me, filling my mouth with his word. Recognize the true and living God in my words. Just as you who sit at my table are not superior to me, so I am not superior to God. I do not imagine that I can teach the Shepherd, but I receive all things from him. I will end my preaching now. All has been heard that needed to be said. Everything that I have sought to understand, all that I have considered and studied, has led me back to God’s wisdom. All that we imagine and all the works of our hands are useless. They are nothing more than a breath. But when they are received in faith from God as gifts, they are the heart’s greatest comfort and true blessing. Therefore, fear God and keep his commandments. In this is the whole obligation of men and women to God. Believe and trust that God is good. His wisdom will shepherd and save you from the

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day of his furious judgment. Do not lie to yourselves. God will bring every work of our hands into judgment, along with every secret thing we do, whether it is good or evil. Our delight and hope must never be in our works but in God and his word. You have asked me to teach you wisdom and I have. You came here searching for meaning to avoid living a meaningless life. This is possible only when you receive God and his Wisdom, because they are the same person.

“ WHEN YOU SUFFER THROUGH EVIL TIMES AND DISTRESS, DO NOT TRUST IN YOURSELF. TRUST THAT GOD IS AT WORK IN ALL THINGS FOR YOUR GOOD.” Receive Wisdom in faith and you will enjoy God’s favor. Then you will avoid useless ideas and meaningless works today and forever. Now, may the Lord our God—who is for you Wisdom, your only Shepherd, your Redeemer, and your Savior—favor you in life and in death until the day when he calls us all from our graves to dwell with Wisdom forever. Amen. DONAVON L. RILEY is pastor of Saint John Lutheran Church in Webster, Minnesota. An author and conference speaker, he is a graduate of Concordia Universities in St. Paul, Minnesota, and Portland, Oregon. He received his seminary and post-graduate education at Luther Seminary in St. Paul. He blogs at Gnesio Lutheran and The First Premise, and he is the content director for the website Higher Things Online.

The

LORD HIMSELF

by DENNIS E. JOHNSON

YOU A SIGN 47

I, King Ahaz, admit it. It didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t turn out as I expected. But realistically, what alternative did I have? MY ADMINISTRATION and my nation were under military assault from all sides, and I needed to forge an alliance with a rising power, one with expansionistic aspirations and that would welcome a pretext for invading my enemies. Where else, realistically, could I turn, except to Assyria? Let me explain our crisis, and you tell me whether you could come up with a better

solution! It was my fate to rule Judah in t r o ub le d t im es. My grandfather Uzziah (also known as Azariah) and my father Jotham had it easy. Grandpa reigned for over half a centuryâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;though toward the end he suffered from a mysterious skin disease and withdrew from public life, so my father ruled with him. Grandpa was a military genius, conquering neighboring peoples to the west (Philistia) and south (Arabia), and subduing the Ammonites on our eastern border. He strengthened the

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fortifications of our capital, Jerusalem, and built watchtowers in the countryside to protect his vast farms and pasturelands. His standing army, outfitted with the latest in military weaponry, numbered in the hundreds of thousands and their courageous leaders in the thousands. His prowess in war reminded people of our royal ancestor David, and his international fame rivaled that of David’s son Solomon. No one dared mess with Grandpa! My father had his strong points, though his reign was much shorter. He too was a builder and a warrior, keeping the Ammonites in submission. The big flaw in both Grandpa and Dad was their loyalty to the Lord, following in old David’s footsteps. Of course they both made the necessary political compromises, letting their people worship wherever they chose, however they chose, and whichever god they chose. And, to Grandpa’s credit, he insisted on his royal right to take center stage in Judah’s worship, a privilege those Levite priests had monopolized for far too long! I suppose the sudden outbreak of Grandpa’s skin disease had something to do with the fact that my father, ever the traditionalist, lacked the stomach to demand his right as king to lead our worship. I have certainly remedied Dad’s defect! What my father and grandfather failed to grasp was how risky it is to put all your eggs in one basket, whether religiously or politically. As monarch of a minor nation confronted by danger on all sides, I realized that when it comes to gathering allies (human and divine), the motto has to be “The more the merrier.” If the support of Molech, god of the Ammonites, could be bought by human sacrifice, then passing a few of my own sons through his fires seemed a small price to pay. But I digress. I was saying that my grandfather and father had easy reigns, distinguished by military victories, political dominance, and economic prosperity. It’s understandable that they were loyal to the Lord, the unseen god who (so the story goes) once upon a time rescued our people from slavery, preserved them in the Sinai badlands, gave them possession of the land that we now call “home.” Since everything was going well for them, it was safe enough for those who preceded me to the throne to trust this invisible

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“Lord.” Yes, I have heard troublesome prophets claim that things went well for them because they were trying to be loyal to the Lord, but I don’t buy it. My times, however, have been different. I was confronted with enemies on all sides. Immediately to the north, our kinsmen, whose fathers had long ago rejected my ancestor David’s royal house, were now ruled by a royal pretender, a traitorous assassin named Pekah. Pekah formed an alliance with Rezin, king of Syria, and together their troops pushed south into Judah, actually succeeding in besieging Jerusalem! Tens of thousands of my hard-fighting troops fell in battle. Even more of my subjects—ordinary men, women, and children—were taken as prisoners of war. Seeing my troubles descending from the north, the Philistines invaded from the west and the Edomites from the south. We were attacked on all sides! What I needed was a strong ally who could split—maybe even crush—the Pekah-Rezin alliance, forcing them to withdraw their troops from outside Jerusalem’s walls to defend their own borders. Who better to approach than Tiglath-Pileser, sovereign of Assyria, the rising power in the Land between the Rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates? If Assyrian troops could be induced to sweep across the Fertile Crescent and break through Syria’s “backdoor,” maybe even press farther west into the realm of Israel’s northern tribes, then I would be saved! Small states need strong saviors, and Tiglath-Pileser would be my rescuer. Of course, enlisting Assyria’s military support would be costly, both financially and politically. I had reckoned on that. I would have to swear allegiance to the Assyrian ruler and pay tribute fees in exchange for his protection. What I had underestimated was Assyria’s insatiable appetite for “protection money.” Not only would I have to plunder the wealth of the Lord’s temple, but I would also, regretfully, draw on my own royal treasuries. That last part really hurt. Grabbing gold from the Lord’s house didn’t bother me, since I had big plans to reconfigure its design, replicating the cutting-edge trends in worship I

had witnessed in Damascus after Tiglath-Pileser overwhelmed that Syrian capital. At least that part of my plan worked! But Tiglath-Pileser’s greed was ravenous, always demanding more. I have to grudgingly admit that my alliance with Assyria brought more grief than relief. But what alternative did I have? What did you say? I could have turned back to the Lord, who gave victories to my ancestor David and peaceful, prosperous reigns to my grandfather Uzziah and my father Jotham? You sound just like that annoying prophet Isaiah, who claimed to have been enlisted as the Lord’s spokesman in a terrifying vision at the temple around the time of Grandpa’s demise! I know Isaiah had my father’s ear, but—as I’ve said—it’s fine to trust the Lord (or whatever works for you) in tranquil times. But I had a crisis on my hands! The threat of the Israel-Syria alliance had my heart and the hearts of my subjects shaking like the trees of a forest shake in the wind! So what did Isaiah, that self-pronounced messenger of the Lord, have the temerity to say to me? I went out to inspect the conduit leading to the upper pool, trying to ensure that our city’s water supply would not be disrupted in the siege we expected. There he was, with his little son, “Remnant Shall Return,” waiting for me. What kind of a name is that to give a boy? What a bizarre blend of hope (“shall return”) and disappointment (only “a remnant”)! But I digress. What galled me was the message that Isaiah claimed his God (the God of my fathers, but not really mine) had given him: “Be careful, be quiet, do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint because of these two smoldering stumps of firebrands, at the fierce anger of Rezin and Syria and the son of Remaliah.” “Smoldering stumps of firebrands”? Pieces of kindling smoking but on the verge of being extinguished? Where had this prophet and his God been living? I had read the reports from the battlefield, the shocking totals of our casualties, and I knew the real picture: the forces of the Rezin-Pekah alliance were a wildfire racing across fields from the north, and the troops of Judah were mere stubble, consumed in an instant by their fiery rage. Isaiah’s facile “Do not

fear, do not let your heart be faint” was so out of touch with reality that I would have laughed had the situation not been so dire. But his message from the Lord wasn’t finished. Isaiah went on to announce that within sixty-five years not only Rezin and Pekah but their respective nations, Israel and Syria, would be crushed, “shattered from being a people,” he said. That was the outcome—even better than the outcome—that I had in mind in enlisting Tiglath-Pileser’s intervention. But sixty-five years? My grandfather had ruled for only fifty or so, and that was an unusually long reign in our part of the world. What good would it do me if my foes were destined for destruction long after I was buried in my tomb? I can understand why a preacher with no political experience or responsibility could dare to call me to be “firm in faith” in his unseen Lord. I had a kingdom to protect, so I naturally had to put my faith in forces more visible, more tangible…like the ruthless armies of Assyria, champing at the bit to lash out from the Land between the Rivers, across the Fertile Crescent, and down into Syria, bursting through Damascus’s backdoor! Did Isaiah see the contemptuous unbelief in my eyes? Did he sense that I was not one to be fooled by empty words, hollow promises? That I would demand something I could see and touch before I placed my faith in his unseen God? The old ones passed down stories of his drowning Egyptian charioteers in the sea, his feeding wanderers in the desert daily for decades, his shattering Jericho’s walls. If he were willing to do stunts like these, I might have reconsidered my devotion to the gods who seemed to be giving our neighbor-nations such success in making our lives miserable, with their user-friendly ever-so-see-able images. So (claimed Isaiah) the Lord made me an offer, handed me a blank check: “Ask a sign of the Lord your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven.” Seriously? Name your miracle? Of course, I knew what that was. No god that I knew could deliver on an offer like that. It had to be a trap. But I was too clever for Isaiah and the Lord he claimed to be representing. I was not going to

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bite at that bait! In fact, in the back of my mind I found a line from our ancient Scriptur es, probably something I had heard from my grandfather or father, that came to my rescue. I simply said, “I will not ask, and I will not put the Lord to the test.” Isn’t that exactly what Moses, our deliverer, had said? “You shall not put the Lord your God to the test, as you tested him at Massah.” That’s what he said, I’m pretty sure. You can see that, actually, Isaiah was trying to lure me into impiety, into calling the Lord’s bluff by naming a sign for him to accomplish in order to win my trust and loyalty. (Besides, what if the Lord had actually granted the sign I named? Then, to be frank, my bluff would have been called— because, just between you and me, I’ve always been devoted to so many gods and to my own political savvy that I couldn’t have brought myself to trust the Lord alone, no matter what stunt he would have pulled off.) So I neatly sidestepped Isaiah’s snare and was ready to walk away from that dreamer. Conversation over. But it wasn’t. Isaiah seemed peeved, frustrated, and impatient. How dare he be peeved with his king? He spit out, not altogether respectful of my office: “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary men, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign.” Well, I didn’t see that coming! I was aware of rumors that this Lord was prone to predict

“ ASK A SIGN OF THE LORD YOUR GOD; LET IT BE DEEP AS SHEOL OR HIGH AS HEAVEN.’ SERIOUSLY? NAME YOUR MIRACLE? OF COURSE, I KNEW WHAT THAT WAS. NO GOD THAT I KNEW COULD DELIVER ON AN OFFER LIKE THAT. IT HAD TO BE A TRAP.”

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future events and then fulfill his own predictions, just to show that his power and wisdom were infinitely better than the gods of Ammon and Philistia and Edom and Moab and Syria and, I guess, even mighty Assyria. What if he were to do something really stupendous now, despite my deep doubt and disloyalty, something I could not deny or explain away? It turned out I didn’t need to worry that Isaiah’s God would call my bluff. Do you know what his magnificent, doubt-destroying, faithcompelling sign was? “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” The infant baby of a young unwed mother, given the name “With Us Is God.” That’s

“DID HE REALLY CHILD’S NAME, IM NOT JUST AN EXPR LONGING BUT ACTUAL OF DIVINE PRO

it? What I needed was a general like Gideon, a champion like Samson, a battery of plagues on the troops approaching Jerusalem’s walls—those who (so the stories are told) brought mighty Egypt to its knees and loosened Egypt’s deathgrip on our fathers in slavery. That’s what I needed—power! But a baby? Seriously? Then he added that before the boy grew up, old enough to tell good from evil, Pekah and Rezin would be destroyed, and that Assyria my ally would become Assyria my afflicter. As it turned out, the last part actually happened. But remember, I was the one who put that whole course of events in motion, for good or ill, by reaching out to Tiglath-Pileser! Still, I confess to you (please keep my secret), what gnaws at me is that promise of a virgin’s son named Immanuel. If she really were a virgin, of course, that would be a miracle. And her son would be a miracle baby, a one-of-kind

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MEAN THAT THE MANUEL, WOULD BE ESSION OF WISHFUL LY AN ASSURANCE MISES KEPT?”

human being. But I prefer a more plausible explanation: perhaps the prophet meant that the mother would be an unmarried young woman, who should have been a virgin. If we had been observing the Torah Moses gave us, a pregnant girl like that would either be married in a hurry or executed for breaking her engagement vow. And perhaps her choice of a name, “With Us Is God,” was just wishful thinking, not an actual clue to the identity of her son. But what if Isaiah, what if his Lord, meant something more? My memory of Moses’ Torah is admittedly hazy. I even surprised myself when I pulled up that bit about not putting the Lord to a test. But I think I heard somewhere that at the dawn of time, when our first parents had grown up enough to tell good from evil and their discovery didn’t go especially well for them, God said something about a woman’s son, one who would

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wage war against the ultimate enemy, suffer a grievous wound, but emerge triumphant, crushing the foe’s head. Does that ring a bell with you too? So I wonder…Did the prophet really mean a virgin—a young woman who had never slept with a man? Did he really mean a miraculous birth, a miraculous child? Did he really mean that the child’s name, Immanuel, would be not just an expression of wishful longing but actually an assurance of divine promises kept? That in him the assurance spoken (so the old stories claim) to Isaac and Jacob and Joshua and others, “I will be with you,” will actually come true? What’s that you say? It did? DENNIS E. JOHNSON is professor of practical theology at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido. He is the author of Walking with Jesus through His Word: Discovering Christ in All the Scriptures (P&R Publishing, 2015).

GREATLY

Loved

God

by DOUGLAS BOND

“ Welcome to Babylon, Daniel,” said Ashpenaz, bowıng low before us. I STARED NUMBLY at Nebuchadnezzar’s chief eunuch. So much had just happened to me and my friends. When Hananiah, Mishael, Azariah, and I were little more than boys, we had looked on in horror as the king’s army destroyed Jerusalem. The city was sacked and the temple was plundered, yet we (for reasons known only to God) had been spared. Terrifying as the sight of slaughter and desecration were, I began to realize that my

darkest fear had come upon me: exile. I loved Jer usalem; I loved God’s temple; I loved psalm singing; I loved the Judean feasts. My secret dread, the one fear worse than death, had come upon me. We were wrenched away from the place where God dwelt, dragged off to be the slaves of a delusional tyrant. The Lord had ordained a difficult path for me. How was I to honor and worship God surrounded by those who hated him and his people? And here was King Nebuchadnezzar’s servant Ashpenaz, beaming at us with delight, welcoming us into the king’s palace as if it were some great privilege to be dragged from our ruined

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homeland and our loved ones, to be set apart for royal service in the Babylonian court. Kindly though he was, I was still suspicious. He was the chief servant of the king who had defiled the house of God and brought us here; he couldn’t have actually cared about us. I watched him bustling about our quarters, seeing to it that the linens were laid, fitting us for new clothes, and I was curious. “Ashpenaz, what are you doing? Why are you treating us well, as if we were something special?” “The king wishes it,” he said simply. “It was his command that we should ‘set apart noble youths without blemish, of good appearance and skillful in all wisdom, endowed with knowledge, youths who understand learning.’” “Why?” “Is it not plain?” he asked. “His Majesty wants men competent to stand in the king’s palace. It is a great honor. It is my duty to prepare you to fulfill your new purpose in life. After we rename you, you will be instructed in the language and literature of the Chaldeans.” Bowing low, he left us. “I don’t like it,” said Hananiah. “They want to make us Babylonians.” “And to worship Babylonian gods,” said Mishael. “And to eat Babylonian food!” said Azariah, sniffing the air. Ashpenaz returned with a retinue of servants carrying silver platters, loaded with an assortment of roasted meat. Others carried pitchers of wine and silver goblets. My suspicions mounted. “Let’s see how Babylonians do with wine,” said Hananiah. Swirling the wine in his cup, he closed his eyes and inhaled. “Ah, mineraldriven, with hints of spice.” Nosing the wine again, he added, “Appellation Babylon, though that can’t be helped.” “It’ll pair nicely with roast lamb,” said Mishael. “Let’s see!” said Azariah, eyeing the feast. Ashpenaz glowed with satisfaction. “For those set apart to stand in his palace, the king honors them with the finest meat and drink in the land, prepared for his own table, to his exacting standards—food and wine fit for the gods.”

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As I looked at the food, something didn’t feel right. “Ashpenaz, what do you mean, ‘fit for the gods’?” “You Hebrews amuse me,” said Ashpenaz. “You offer food to your god. In Babylon, it’s nothing but the finest for our king and for our gods.” Spreading his arms wide as if to enfold us, he added, “And for you his favorites. Now, drink and take your fill.” He motioned to the servants and left. Tormented by the savory aromas filling our chamber, none of us at first spoke. Back in our Judean home, we four friends had taken great pleasure in eating and drinking and were known for our refined palates. I cleared my throat. “We know what we must do,” I said. “Rather, what we must not do.” Azariah swirled the wine in his cup but said nothing. “Of course, we won’t eat the swine flesh,” said Mishael. “But what’s wrong with the beef and lamb?” said Hananiah. “And the wine?” added Azariah, nosing his goblet. “What’s wrong,” I said, “is that it’s an offering to the Babylonian gods—” “Which aren’t actually gods,” pointed out Hananiah. “And we have to eat something,” said Mishael. “Won’t do to starve,” agreed Azariah. “My friends,” I said, “recall how God fed his children manna in the wilderness, how he brought cool water from a rock in the barren desert.” “True,” said Hananiah slowly. “And he has brought us food here, now.” “That’s it!” Mishael chimed in. “This is our manna, here in Babylon!” “And eating it would be like plundering the Egyptians,” said Hananiah. “And drinking it,” added Azariah. “It is far more likely,” I said, “that we are being tempted with the food and promises of false gods. It comes down to this—will we trust in the God of heaven, or in the false gods of the Babylonians?” My words had an effect. Azariah set down his goblet.

“I have a plan,” I said. “Let us trust in God and see his deliverance.” An hour later Ashpenaz poked his head in our chambers. He frowned. “What is wrong? You have eaten nothing.” “We mean no disrespect, Ashpenaz,” I said. “But we cannot eat food offered to your gods. Our God forbids it.” Ashpenaz’s face grew pale. I tried to reassure him. “We are grateful for your kindness, and we are hungry. Bring us vegetables only: beans, garlic, leeks, lentils, beets.” I could scarcely believe my own words. When I was a child, I loathed vegetables. Meat was the thing for me. “And perhaps some water. We—we cannot drink wine offered to other gods.” Ashpenaz’s eyes widened. “But what will I tell the king when you become pale and faint? Daniel, you do not know this king as I do. He will have my head lifted off.” “Ashpenaz, our God made the earth, the sky, the sea, and everything in them; he can turn lentils into lamb roast, beans into the best cuts of beef. If he chooses, he can even turn water into wine.” “But what if he does not?” he asked. I could see beads of perspiration forming on his brow. “Then I am a dead man.” “Daniel, we can’t do that to Ashpenaz,” said Hananiah. “Give us ten days,” I continued. “If we’re not healthier and stronger than the others, then we’ll do as you say.” Ashpenaz wrung his hands and said he would speak with the cook. “So that’s it?” said Mishael. “No meat, no wine—just vegetables and water?” “My friends, our God can turn stones into bread,” I said. “He can feed us every day with the bread of heaven.” “But the wine?” said Azariah. “Surely there can be no cross-contamination with the pork, not in the wine?” “Wine offered to Babylon’s idols,” I said. “Ashpenaz believes this is the wine of the gods. Let us show him the power of the Ancient of Days, God himself coming down and spreading for us a feast in this wilderness. And, yes,

Azariah, God—if he wills—can turn murky Babylonian water into the finest wine.” “Appellation Heaven, you mean?” said Azariah. “Precisely, wine not only fit for God but crafted by his skill and power.”

HIDDEN THINGS REVEALED Ashpenaz brought us our vegetables and water, and on the tenth day, he was astonished. “Look at you! Healthier and stronger than all the rest! How is it so?” We gave glory to God and invited Ashpenaz to do the same. All was well for a time. Then, one morning, we were awakened by Ashpenaz’s cries of distress. He burst into our room, wailing, “The thing the king has asked is impossible. Only the gods can do it!” “What’s wrong?” I asked. “The king has dreams—bad ones. But this one is far worse. Not only has he ordered his wise men to interpret the dream, but he also demands that they tell him what it was in the first place! No mere man can do such a thing, be he the wisest in all the earth!” “What will happen?” I asked. “What do you think will happen?” cried Ashpenaz. “They will be killed!” “All of them?” said Azariah. “No,” said Hananiah. “Not the students—we haven’t completed our instruction.” “Not wise at all,” agreed Mishael. “All will be killed,” said Ashpenaz sadly. “Including you.” “But what if someone could tell him the dream and its interpretation?” I asked. “Who can do that?” asked Ashpenaz. “The God whom we serve. There is nothing hidden from him.” I then urged my friends to seek mercy from God so that we wouldn’t be destroyed with the others.

*** It was late in the night when I awoke from my sleep. In a dream of my own, God had revealed

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that the other parts of the image were subs e q u e n t k i n g d o m s, represented by silver, bronze, iron, and clay. I told him that it was God who crushed all these kingdoms, and that he would set up a kingdom that would never be destroyed. The king rose from his bed and knelt before me. I glanced apprehensively at his servants, who stared in shock. As the king touched his brow to the floor, he said, “Truly, your God is God of gods and a revealer of mysteries!” Instead of ordering my execution, the king gave me great gifts and made me chief prefect over the wise men in the realm. At my request, he appointed my friends rulers over the affairs of the province.

“ OUR GOD MADE THE EARTH, THE SKY, THE SEA, AND EVERYTHING IN THEM; HE CAN TURN LENTILS INTO LAMB ROAST, BEANS INTO THE BEST CUTS OF BEEF. IF HE CHOOSES, HE CAN EVEN TURN WATER INTO WINE.” the mystery to me, and I was beside myself with joy, singing and praising the Lord for his mercy to me and my friends. “Blessed be the name of God forever and ever! O God of my fathers, who removes kings and sets up kings, who reveals deep and hidden things, who has now made known to us the king’s matter!” I called for our servant, and after explaining what had happened, I was rushed to the king’s chambers. I was so overcome by the revelation of the dream that even his terrible dignity and awful power didn’t frighten me. “Can you do it?” he demanded. “Can you tell a king his dream and its interpretation?” “No man can do this,” I said. “But there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries. The true God has revealed to King Nebuchadnezzar what is to be.” As I told him of the statue in his dream, his eyes widened in astonishment. I explained that the head of gold represented his kingdom, and

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FIERY DELIVERANCE It might seem that being made prefect and governors would have secured our positions as court favorites, but that wasn’t our experience. I had just returned from an errand for the king and was looking forward to some much-needed rest when I found Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah talking excitedly. “What news, friends?” “He wasn’t satisfied with a statue with a golden head!” said Hananiah. “Nebuchadnezzar has erected an idol that’s covered in gold from head to foot and has ordered everyone to worship it!” “Everyone who doesn’t want to be cast into the furnace,” said Azariah. “The furnace?” I asked.

“We refused,” said Mishael, “politely.” “Some of the others reported our refusal to the king,” said Azariah. “He—he was offended.” “Offended?” repeated Hananiah. “He was enraged! ‘Who is the god who will deliver you out of my hands!’ Daniel, you should have heard Azariah: ‘Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand.’ And then Mishael added, ‘But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up.’ I wish you had been there!” “And the king?” I asked. “What did he do?” “He ordered the furnace heated seven times hotter than usual,” said Hananiah. “And bound us head to foot and threw us in.” They were excited, giddy almost. I looked at them. Their skins were unmarked and their bodies unharmed. Their eyes shone and their faces smiled so broadly that I wondered if they had been into the wine. “In the furnace? In the actual flames?” “In the flames,” said Hananiah. “Truly, God never does leave us or forsake us.” Azariah’s voice was hushed with reverence. “He himself was with us.”

“Who? Who was with you?” I asked. “The Son of God himself,” said Mishael. “It is too wonderful for words.” “Nebuchadnezzar saw him too,” continued Hananiah, “and he was astonished. He called us to come out. He sniffed our clothes. Daniel, he was trembling—not a hair on our heads was singed! He has now issued a royal decree: ‘Anyone who speaks anything against the God of gods shall be torn limb from limb and their houses laid in ruins, for there is no other god who is able to rescue in this way.’ And then he sang.” “Nebuchadnezzar sang?” I said. “What did he sing?” “‘The Most High God,’” responded Mishael, “‘his kingdom is an everlasting kingdom.’”

HEAVEN RULES I thought that now we were finally safe. The king’s edict protected God’s people from persecution and exalted the worship of Yahweh even above the worship of the Babylonian gods! Unfortunately, however, it wasn’t long before Nebuchadnezzar had another dream, and once again, we were in danger. He called me to him,

“THE KING AGAIN BLESSED HIS NAME AND SANG HIS PRAISES: ‘GOD DOES ACCORDING TO HIS WILL AMONG THE HOST OF HEAVEN AND AMONG THE INHABITANTS OF THE EARTH; AND NONE CAN STAY HIS HAND OR SAY TO HIM, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” ’ ”

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and as he told me about it, I could see he was frightened. “What does it mean?” he asked. It was my turn to be scared. “My lord, may the dream be for those who hate you and its interpretation for your enemies. The watcher of men will come down from heaven, by decree of the Most High, and will strip you of your kingdom, till you know that the Most High rules the kingdom of men and gives it to whom he will, till you acknowledge that heaven rules.” I urged the king to repent of his sins and show mercy to the oppressed.

*** Within twelve months, the kingdom departed from Nebuchadnezzar. In his grief and humiliation, he became like a raving beast, without reason or understanding. His madness forced his attendants to chain him to a stump, and he ate grass like an ox. He continued like this for seven years, until God finally showed him mercy and restored his mind. The king again blessed his name and sang his praises: “God does according to his will among the host of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth; and none can stay his hand or say to him, ‘What have you done?’”

THE HAND APPEARS But his exile had left its mark on his people as well as himself. During his madness, Nebuchadnezzar’s idle son, Belshazzar, had ruled in his place. If Nebuchadnezzar was volatile and capricious, then Belshazzar was a debauched libertine. At one of his drunken orgies, he ordered that the vessels of gold, which had been taken from God’s temple in Jerusalem, be brought to him and his harem. As the party raged, a human hand appeared, writing something on the wall. Although Belshazzar promised them great riches, none of his wise men could decipher the words. It was in the early watches of the morning that I was summoned to the terrified young king. He would reward me beyond my greatest

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expectations if I would but tell him what the writing meant. “Keep your gifts for yourself,” I told him. “Although you knew God’s judgment upon your father, you have lifted yourself up against the Lord of heaven. You have praised false gods and dishonored the God who raises up kings and brings them down, in whose hand is your breath and all your ways. From God’s presence this hand has appeared to give you his word. God has numbered the days of your kingdom and is bringing it to an end. You have been weighed in the balance and found wanting.” The days that were numbered were fewer than anyone imagined. That very night, the king was killed and God gave the throne to Darius the Mede.

PREDATORY PRIDE If life was exciting under Nebuchadnezzar and Belshazzar, then it was going to be an absolute thrill under Darius. I have always been uncommonly afraid of wild beasts—as a child, I was beset by nightmares about lions, jackals, and had looked in fear at the claws and teeth of trophies brought home by hunters. King Darius, on the other hand, loved lions. But he also loved a well-managed kingdom. He recognized that I had an excellent spirit, but he did not acknowledge the God who had given it to me. Anxious to establish his reign and magnify his name throughout the earth, like Pharaoh and Joseph of old, he set me over his whole kingdom and only as regarded the throne was he greater than I. But there were those in his court who were suspicious. Why would Darius want his rival’s official in his own court? A coalition of satraps, eager to curry favor and displace inconvenient rivals, urged him to establish an irrevocable ordinance: “That whoever makes petition to any god or man—except to you, O king—shall be cast into the den of lions.” King Darius, moved by their flattery and ignorant of their real design, happily signed the injunction into law. What was I to do? Even if the king regretted

GOD MADE a PROMISE PA R T

Covenant Curses and Future Blessings

ventually, Israel and Judah were sent into exile. The part of the Bible called “the Prophets” spans the period from just before the exile to just after the exiled people were released to return to Israel and rebuild the temple. These prophets were God’s covenant attorneys, bringing his lawsuit against Israel and Judah on the basis of the Sinai covenant. Yet on the basis of the Abrahamic covenant, there was the promise of a future beyond their wildest dreams. We saw in the trial of Adam and Eve that the sentence was followed by a surprising and glorious announcement of the

gospel: a Redeemer who would crush the serpent’s head (Gen. 3:15). Later, too, after God arraigned his people and issued his sentence, he promised “a new covenant” that would be “not like the covenant that I made with their fathers” at Mount Sinai, “my covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, declares the Lord’” (Jer. 31:31–32). The new covenant would not be like the Sinai covenant. Like the promise that God made to Adam and Eve, to Abraham and Sarah, and to David, this pledge transcended the infidelity of the people. Its fulfillment depended not on the people, but on God. Israel’s promise-breaking brought history to a stand-

his decision, Persian law had no amendment process. Unless I prayed to the king, it was the lions for me. I returned to my room, opened my window, and prayed. “O God, who removes kings and sets up kings, O Lord, hear. I do not present my plea before you because of my righteousness, O Lord,

still. Yet God’s promisekeeping pushed history forward, toward its fulfillment in Jesus Christ. In its darkest days of exile, Israel heard God vow, “You shall be my people, and I will be your God” (Jer. 30:22). The prophets continually returned to this promise of one who would rule on David’s throne forever in righteousness, blessing, and peace (Isa. 9:7–10). He would be the prophet greater than Moses—the greater Joshua who would cleanse the whole earth and give his people rest on every side. He would be the good shepherd who gathers his holy nation from a remnant of Israel and the nations (Jer. 3:1517; John 10:11). He would be the Son of Man—a

clearly divine as well as human figure in the book of Daniel. Israel would be expanded beyond their wildest dreams, and the Lord would remove the death-shroud that lay over the world (Isa. 25:8). There was to be feasting with God forever. Something lay ahead that was far greater than the Exodus from Egypt and the glorious days of the conquest of the Promised Land. It was far greater than a renewal of the Sinai covenant with its geopolitical theocracy. It would be a far greater covenant, with greater promises and a greater mediator. So while Adam and Israel—all of us have failed to keep our promise, God’s promise remains.

but because of your great mercy. For your own sake, delay not. O Lord, make your face to shine upon your servant whose name is written in your book, who is called by your name.” Even as I prayed, I knew I was condemned— the king’s spies were lying in wait to betray me. They dragged me before Darius and

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triumphantly read their charges. “Daniel, one of the exiles from Judah, pays no attention to you, O king, or the injunction you have signed, but makes his petition three times a day.” This wasn’t the first time I had to defend myself to a king. Hard experience with both Nebuchadnezzar and Belshazzar had taught me how to address foreign royalty. Darius scoured the legal code for a loophole, but the cunning of my accusers was ready with an answer. “Know, O king, that it is the law: no injunction that the king establishes can be changed.” Cornered by his own laws, Darius was powerless to save me. He was with me before I entered the den where the lions lived—and ate. “May your God, whom you serve continually, deliver you!” Frightened though I was, I entered their den in peace, with the word of God as my comfort: “Those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake to everlasting life; those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky above, and those who turn many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever.” Surely, the Son of Man who had joined my three friends in the furnace could deliver me out of the jaws of these hungry lions. My entrance into the den was anticlimactic at best—after sniffing curiously at me, the lions yawned and curled up for their night’s rest. I could feel my muscles tensing, preparing myself for the rush of fur and teeth and claws. But there was nothing—the tawny, shining masses of fur remained curled up in a corner, purring contentedly in their sleep. There is something extraordinarily comforting about the murmuring reverberations of a lion’s purr. I curled up next to one of them and nodded off.

*** I awoke with a start next morning. “O Daniel, servant of the living God!” cried Darius. “Has your God, whom you serve continually, been able to deliver you from the lions?” I patted the massive head of the lion, whose mane had been my pillow, and yawned. “My God sent his angel and shut the lions’ mouths. Because of the covenant-keeping, steadfast love

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of God, I was found blameless, as I am before you, O king.” Darius was elated, but only for a moment. He turned on the conspirators with deadly furor and ordered them and their families thrown into the den. The lions were awake now— mindful that they had missed their evening meal. I shuddered at the horrific sounds of the lions breakfasting on God’s and my enemies. It wasn’t the last I would hear of terrifying beasts. God gave me several visions of his plans for the future, one of which had four terrifying beasts: a lion with eagle’s wings; a devouring bear; a leopard with wings and four heads; and a dreadful creature, exceedingly strong, with iron teeth and ten horns, and one more horn with the eyes of a man. The scene shifted. I saw the Ancient of Days. He wore clothes as white as snow and was seated on his fiery throne. Fire streamed out before him, a thousand served him, and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him; his court sat in judgment and the books were opened. On the clouds of heaven, there came one like the Son of Man. To him was given dominion and glory; all peoples, nations, and languages would serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, a kingdom that shall never be destroyed; and the saints of the Most High shall be given this everlasting kingdom, and all dominions shall serve and obey them. There were other terrifyingly wonderful visions, ones that left me pale and bewildered, even overcome for days. But I had learned something in my exile: When enemies rise up against the Prince of princes, he will bring them to everlasting contempt. I have learned that the Ancient of Days rules over kings, over fire, over lions, over jealous rivals, over all dominions— over everything. Best of all, I have learned to rest in the steadfast promise of him who lives forever, of him who proclaimed to me: “Daniel, you are greatly loved.” DOUGLAS BOND is author of more than twenty books, including Grace Works (and Ways We Think It Doesn’t) and Hammer of the Huguenots. Learn more at bondbooks.net.

KNOW WHAT YOU BELIEVE With over twenty-five years of radio broadcasting and magazine publishing, our mission is help Christians “know what they believe and why they believe it” through conversational theology. Visit us at whitehorseinn.org to learn more and browse the archives.

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BOOK REVIEWS

I L L U S T R AT I O N B Y C H R I S T O P H E R D E L O R E N Z O

Book Reviews 66

Marie Durand

Bonhoeffer’s Seminary Vision: A Case for Costly Discipleship and Life Together

Honest Evangelism: How to Talk about Jesus Even When It’s Tough

by Simonetta Carr

by Paul R. House

by Rico Tice with Carl Laferton

REVIEWED BY

William Boekestein

Jonathan Gibson

Christopher Chelpka

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BOOK REVIEWS

Suffering Well Marie Durand by Simonetta Carr Reformation Heritage Books, 2015 64 pages (hardcover), $18.00 o amount of freedom is worth the compromise of biblical teachings” (52). This maxim can serve as a reminder of Christian priorities at a time when religious freedom remains under threat throughout the world. In Marie Durand, Simonetta Carr reflects on persecuted Protestants in eighteenth-century France. After the revocation of the right to peaceful worship, Marie Durand was one of many who were unwilling to compromise the gospel and thus suffered the loss of freedom, livelihood, wealth, and public esteem. Many lost their lives. Marie was imprisoned in a tower for more than thirty years, having only to recant her faith in order to regain her freedom. In this and other books in her Christian Biographies for Young Readers series, Carr allows readers to enter the lives of some of the spiritual predecessors upon whose shoulders we unwittingly stand. In this series, readers encounter sincere believers who chose to endure dire situations and consequences in order to honor God and remain true to their consciences. These stories are wonderfully brought to life with the help of illustrator Matt Abraxas. Contemporary readers will find in this book a reality check. In our day, we wonder if Christianity is really worth it when our convictions become unpopular. We start checking our watches when it looks as if the minister’s

sermon might run over time. We leave churches because the vote on the most recent nonessential matter didn’t go our way. Our toleration for persecution is low. Most of us have not resisted sin, nor could we even imagine resisting, to the point of shedding our blood (Heb. 12:4). The author’s tribute to Marie Durand is therefore applicable to believers today: We must simply continue to do what God calls us to do every day, keeping our eyes on the future triumph of glory (53). Marie Durand was born into a Calvinist family during a time when persecution forced the Reformed Church in France underground. Marie’s brother was a preacher who was discovered and executed, and her mother and father were also arrested and suffered. As mentioned, Marie was imprisoned in the Tour de Constance for thirtyeight years, leaving only personal letters behind a s her t estimony. She died a few years after her release in 1776, the year of America’s Declaration of Independence. We might find it hard to imagine being locked in a cold, drafty, unsanitary tower for so long, only to emerge as a mature, loving, sober-minded Christian! But during those hard years, when everything else was stripped from her, Marie learned to say to her God, “There is nothing on earth that I desire besides you” (Ps. 73:25). This is not to say that contemporary believers do not suffer. What Paul says is true—“All who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted” (2 Tim. 3:12)—because believers at all times and places have to tread the same ground on which “the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Pet. 5:8). As we resist the devil, we do well to remember that “the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by [our] brotherhood

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throughout the world” (1 Pet. 5:9)—indeed, throughout the history of the world. This is why books such as Marie Durand are immensely valuable. Her life provides an imperfect but badly needed tutorial for adults and children alike on how to suffer well as a child of God. WILLIAM BOEKESTEIN is pastor of Immanuel Fellowship Church in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

The Seminary as Precious Community Bonhoeffer’s Seminary Vision: A Case for Costly Discipleship and Life Together by Paul R. House Crossway, 2015; 208 pages (paperback), $17.99 onhoeffer’s Seminary Vision arises out of the author’s theological reflection over nearly two decades of seminary involvement in both teaching and administration. Paul House writes concerned for the shift in seminary education from face-to-face teaching in a community context to online distance learning. He is convinced that “a biblical theology of pastoral formation makes face-to-face community-based seminary education a priority, not a preference” (15). Online education may be reserved for true emergency cases but must not become the norm. House takes pains to show that the quality, content, and form of education matter. Enter Dietrich Bonhoeffer. While biographers and scholars writing about Bonhoeffer highlight his various roles as a pastor, ecumenist, theologian, and Resistance member, they rarely mention that he

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was a seminary director and teacher for five years (1935–1940)—longer than he served consecutively in any other job. Indeed, it was his calling to seminary life that brought him back to Germany in 1939, despite the safety of a year studying in America. Bonhoeffer’s Seminary Vision contains six chapters. Chapter 1 is introductory, explaining why this aspect of Bonhoeffer’s life has perhaps been neglected. Chapter 2 traces Bonhoeffer’s path to seminary ministry and introduces the reader to his students, settings, and daily life together. House situates Bonhoeffer’s seminaries in the midst of the conflict between the German Church and the Confessing Church, a protest seen most clearly in the Confessing Church’s declarations at Barmen and Dahlem. Some candidates for ministry in the Confessing Church no longer wished to study at established seminaries or serve in state-supported churches, and so a new institution was necessary. Chapters 3 and 4 trace the influence of Bonhoeffer’s two best-known works—The Cost of Discipleship (1937) and Life Together (1939)—on his seminary vision. House stresses that these books cannot be properly understood unless they are located in the educational context in which they were written. Both books became badges of distinction for the seminaries. Taking his cue from the Sermon on the Mount, Bonhoeffer demonstrated how grace is costly, seen in the call and commitment to follow Christ, and in Christian ministry where sheep require a shepherd. Bonhoeffer also touched on the church community in the visible world. His view of the church influenced his conception of seminary life. It was not a place where “abstract doctrines of religion simply get passed along from one mind to another without human interpersonal

BOOK REVIEWS

contact. It is not a place of disembodied communication”; rather, seminary is “a place where communion between believers occurs, where the concrete acts of Christ and the apostles are reenacted daily” (85). House draws various lessons for present-day seminaries from his reflections on The Cost of Discipleship set within Bonhoeffer’s seminary life. Seminaries should tighten up their enrollment policies and admit only committed students. Required onsite residence ensures a certain level of commitment. The shift toward cheap and accessible online learning should be resisted, because it bears “no resemblance to the commitment Christ asks of persons he calls to ministry” (94); instead, seminaries should focus their energies on becoming more biblical in their mission as they endeavor to be more financially responsible and viable. The lessons for teaching faculty are equally relevant.

“In an Internet age that presses seminaries to embrace the new, accessible, cheap-butprofitable forms of learning, House’s book is a clarion call to stand firm on biblical principle.”

Schools must reject a careerist mind-set and avoid any desire to “market” or “brand” themselves. Committed faculty will sacrifice time for students, knowing that they are there first to shape students in class rather than write books in their offices. Bonhoeffer’s seminary model calls for committed shepherds. He trained pastors to develop disciplines necessary for the hard work of ministry: daily Bible reading, prayer, praise, confession, and meditation, as well as community life. Finally, seminaries should take on an “incarnational” model for seminary training, one which reflects the visible body of Christ. Chapter 4 focuses on the influence of Bonhoeffer’s Life Together in his seminary context. Whereas The Cost of Discipleship expressed what sort of students and faculty should constitute seminaries, Life Together describes what Bonhoeffer wanted these communities of Christ’s body to do together. Bonhoeffer believed that seminary was a time for students to learn how to lead a faithful Christian community, and this was best learned by participation in such a community. Seminaries, for Bonhoeffer, were precious communities of the visible body of Christ, in which individuals learned to embrace solitude within community and to practice service and listening. For House, some lessons naturally follow: if forming seminary communities is a conviction and not just a preference, then it ought to shape everything a seminary does, from admissions and curricular development to chapel and student life. Moreover, seminaries should aim to send out Bible-formed shepherds, not selfabsorbed visionary leaders; they should provide a visible example of the body of Christ. Chapter 5 traces the theme of perseverance in relation to Bonhoeffer’s seminaries. During these years of Bonhoeffer’s life, the Confessing Church faced various challenges, not least of which were the oath-to-Hitler controversy and the legalization controversy, in which seminarians past and present were pressured into becoming “legalized” ministers. Reflecting on

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“ Bonhoeffer’s seminary model calls for committed shepherds. He trained pastors to develop disciplines necessary for the hard work of ministry: daily Bible reading, prayer, praise, confession, and meditation, as well as community life.”

Bonhoeffer’s perseverance with seminary life, House encourages faculty to remain in contact with former students in their current ministries, rather than simply fare-welling them with a graduate certificate. Long-term sacrifice is also required on behalf of all who work at a seminary or support it. Those seminaries that do persevere offer a visible testimony to others to do likewise. The final chapter, “Life Together Today,” describes some possibilities for modern ministries. House starts by answering three main objections to the necessity of embodied pastoral formation: (1) the Epistles are a model for distance education; (2) the “body-of-Christ” language is unsuitable for seminaries; and (3) stressing face-to-face education inhibits world missions. House then applies Bonhoeffer’s seminary vision to various seminary contexts: large and small seminaries, seminary enrichment programs, university theology department enrichment programs, and church-based internship programs. He concludes with a plea not to go down the route of distance learning. “In the end we must do the right thing, not because it will succeed as we wish, but because it is the right thing” (196). Bonhoeffer’s Seminary Vision is an informative and a challenging read in the shifting sands of current theological education. In an Internet age that presses seminaries to embrace the new,

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accessible, cheap-but-profitable forms of learning, House’s book is a clarion call to stand firm on biblical principle. Some critical evaluation of Bonhoeffer’s theology at different points would have been beneficial, especially in relation to the application of incarnational theology and ecclesiology to seminaries. More reflection on the appropriateness of terminology such as “incarnational ministry” and seminaries as “visible bodies of Christ” is surely needed. To his credit, House does state that “a seminary is not a church, whatever one’s church polity,” but how a seminary may reflect the visible body of Christ yet not actually be a local church requires further delineation. Nevertheless, as one who shares many of House’s concerns about the direction of theological education, this is a timely book. It is not just relevant for seminary presidents and faculty but also for board members, administrative staff, and students, and all churches and individuals who support seminary education. Even if one demurs from Bonhoeffer’s theology in places, one can surely agree with him that “the matter of the proper education of preachers of the gospel is worthy of our ultimate commitment.” JONATHAN GIBSON is associate pastor–scholar at Cambridge Presbyterian Church, England, and assistant professor of Old Testament at Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia.

BOOK REVIEWS

“ As Paul describes it, his proclamation in the midst of so much weakness was ‘a demonstration of the Spirit in power.’ ”

Choosing the “Painline” Honest Evangelism: How to Talk about Jesus Even When It’s Tough by Rico Tice with Carl Laferton The Good Book Company, 2015 112 pages (paperback), $12.99 hen we consider our duties in evangelism, most of us have wondered what to say and how to engage people naturally. Rico Tice addresses these concerns in his new book, Honest Evangelism: How to Talk about Jesus Even When It’s Tough. Tice’s solutions are sensible and practical. Be a good listener. Play to your strengths. Use Mark 8:27–38 to explain Jesus’ identity, mission, and call. Remember to check for understanding, agreement, and personal application in your conversations. Tice’s book also grapples with the fear that Christians experience in evangelism. Paul, for example, admits to the Corinthians, “I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom” (1 Cor. 1:3–4a). Tice describes this as

“the painline” and says we need to learn to cross it in order to tell people about Jesus. But crossing the painline doesn’t require what we usually think of: mastery of doctrine, rhetorical skill, and unusual extroversion. Paul had these skills and traits, but it didn’t make the painline disappear. So how did Paul get the character, conviction, and courage he needed to overcome his fears and proclaim the gospel? By the grace and power of God. As Paul describes it, his proclamation in the midst of so much weakness was “a demonstration of the Spirit in power” (1 Cor. 1:4b). This is good news for fearful Christians. It means that crossing the painline to tell others about Jesus is possible because evangelism isn’t about finding ways to trust in ourselves, but about trusting in God in spite of ourselves. It also means that when we trust the Spirit in the midst of our weakness in order to proclaim the cross, the gospel message will be preached in a fitting gospel mode. CHRISTOPHER CHELPKA is pastor of Covenant Orthodox Presbyterian Church in Tucson, Arizona.

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Election Year Category Confusion ince the end of the nineteenth century in American churches, the pendulum has swung back and forth between saving souls (View A) and transforming culture (View B). As different as these approaches appear to be, both succumb to precisely the same error: the confusion of law and gospel. View A is worried about confusing evangelism with politics, social engagement, and culture. View B proclaims a “bigger gospel”: the salvation of souls and bodies, of individual believers and the whole creation. In this election year, here’s the correction I recommend for both approaches. First, we need to distinguish between the law and the gospel without separating them. By definition, a law is a command and gospel means “good news.” Legalism collapses the gospel into the law, and antinomianism collapses the law into the gospel. Both are dangerous, and both of these groups make different mistakes when it comes to the gospel and the transformation of the world. Group A reduces the gospel to the salvation of individual souls. The resurrection of the body, however, is hardly good news if the point is merely to save souls. The gospel changes our expectations, our sense of meaning and purpose, and the motives that drive our lives. Group B fails to realize that the salvation Christ has won is “already” and “not yet.” In between Christ’s two comings is an era of bringing the gospel to all nations before the final judgment. It’s also an era of loving our neighbors, serving alongside Christians and non-Christians in various callings.

Finally, just as we have to distinguish between law and gospel without separating them, so we must distinguish the Great Commandment (Matt. 22:36–40) from the Great Commission (Matt. 28:19–20). In the Great Commandment, Jesus says to love “the Lord your God” and to “love your neighbor as yourself” (see Lev. 19:18; Deut. 6:5). This commandment is God’s mission plan for human society, founded in creation. In the Great Commission, Jesus says to his disciples to “go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” This is God’s mission plan for the new humanity in Christ. Some churches confuse these mandates, as if the Great Commission calls the church to transform culture. Others separate them, as if our high calling in Christ had no connection with responsible stewardship and citizenship in the world. The way around these false alternatives is to recognize that we are called by God to love and serve our neighbors. We are also called to witness to them about Jesus Christ. I’m convinced that if more Christians had these categories—distinctions without separation—in mind when they thought about crucial public issues, especially during general election cycles, there would be a far deeper Christian witness to a world that has become understandably cynical about the so-called intersection of faith and culture. MICHAEL S. HORTON is editor-in-chief of Modern Reformation.

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by Michael S. Horton

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