I continue to see posts on social media defending the proposition that those who are either childless or who have reached a certain age should no longer pay taxes to support education. I confess that I’d rather pay no taxes for anything. I also know that we often get what we pay for.
As long as we don’t need any doctors, nurses, engineers, pastors, lawyers, entrepreneurs, leaders, scientists, younger than we are, I guess we’ll be ok not educating the coming generations. We’ll save lots of money!
Or I guess we could be satisfied with only children of those who can afford to educate their children getting an education. Perhaps those who do not have parents wealthy enough to pay for their education should just do manual labor jobs, say in the farm sector. Since we’ll have fewer educated people, we’ll have to revert to older methods of farming that are manpower intensive, so that’ll help employ masses of less-educated people. For some, this will have the added benefit of putting a damper on immigration. Instead of having people coming across the border to do the grunt work on our farms we’ll be able to fill those jobs with our own children, leaving no room for immigrants.
Sarcasm aside, I’d rather have an educated populace. I think we’d all be better off if children – our own and those in other families – received more education. I even think we’d be better off if we invested in educating the children of those who may have entered out country illegally.
When Jesus enters Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, it looks like he’s rolling to success. As the week progresses there’s more and more conflict with the leaders of the people. That conflict comes to a head when one of Jesus’ disciples hands him over to the authorities. The Jewish authorities convict him as a false prophet and blasphemer, one who is leading the people astray. The Romans convict him because his messianic claims pose him as an opponent to Caesar. That Friday afternoon we see Jesus, the incarnate Son of God, run into the buzz saw not only of Roman authority, but death itself.
Jesus didn’t HAVE to do this. He could have settled for just being a prophet, a dispenser of information. He could have just shared the information people needed to have a happy life with God and gone on his merry way. He never would have had to become vulnerable; the immortal God would never have had to become mortal.
But he did. And he did it for us. At any point in his experience of opposition, rejection, beating, and crucifixion he could have stopped and withdrawn. He could have called “10,000 angels.” He could have used his own divine authority to simply annihilate those who opposed him.
The thing is, he came for those people too. He came for Caiaphas and his crew. He came for Pilate and his pals. He came for the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Zealots, and the Romans. He came for sinners – even those who determined themselves to be his enemies.
Christians speak of “Good Friday.” We don’t call it that because we look at Jesus’ sufferings and think nothing of them. We call it that because we know he willingly took on that suffering for us.
There’s one other thing we know, something that makes all the difference. That Friday it LOOKED like Rome and its partner Death got the last word. Jesus had been brutally rejected and put in his place. But they didn’t get the last word. God the Father raised Jesus from the dead on the third day, overruling all the powers of sin, death, and hell. The victory Jesus won was not just for him, it was for us. Because those same forces – sin, death, and hell – are arrayed against us, we need the life and victory Jesus offers us. That’s why we entrust our lives to him and give him our allegiance.
In our culture Baptists may be the loudest proclaimers of the teaching, but it’s rooted in the Calvinist/Augustinian teaching of the “Perseverance of the Saints.” If salvation is ONLY a matter of what God does, if God’s grace is irresistible, then it is pure logic that someone who is now saved is someone God wanted saved and also someone God wants to be saved forever. There is nothing a person can do to resist God’s effectual will.
That reasoning is very attractive. It’s simple, it attributes maximal power to God, it comforts us regarding not merely ourselves but our friends and loved ones who were (so we believe) “saved” at one time, but later seem to turn away.
Wesleyans have, for the most part, not only failed to be heard in the wider Christian culture, but we’ve also failed to shape the theology of our own people. We’ve failed to show how salvation as pictured in Scripture is more (not less) than flipping a switch regarding our eternal destination. Sanctification (holiness, Christian perfection) is PART of salvation, not just something that may or may not come on top of it, like sprinkles on a cupcake. Too often in recent generations we’ve either preached a tepid moralism (since the stringent moralism of previous generations seemed mean) or preached a message of salvation that was just like we might hear from our Baptist neighbors.
The phenomenon of a person who at one point appears to be “saved” but who later doesn’t is common to all theological traditions. Those in the Methodist tradition may say the person “backslid” or “lost their salvation.” Those who adhere to the Calvinist/Augustinian tradition may say the person “was never really saved to begin with,” or “they were just playing games with God.”
There is no comfort in this “once saved, always saved”/”they were never really saved to begin with” teaching. Assurance of salvation is impossible, since at any given moment it might be that whereas I THINK I am sincere in my faith, I am REALLY just “playing games with God” or “fooling myself.” This is why the evangelistic appeals that demand that we “know that we know that we know” that we are saved are ultimately not very helpful.
My confidence is in Jesus and his promises, not in my own faith or in my self knowledge. I’m a sinner. I know I can be wrong (my sin has epistemic consequences, as some would say). I KNOW Jesus will never cast me away, decide he’s tired of me, or reject me. If I waver, or turn away, I have scriptural evidence that he’s not giving up on me, that he’s never comfortable in my walking away. But I also have scriptural evidence that he doesn’t compel or coerce me to go the right way.
Jesus, Thine All-Victorious Love is by Charles Wesley. The tune is Azmon, the same tune used for Wesley’s O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing, a hymn we sing with some regularity, so at least that will be familiar. Here are the words:
Jesus, thine all-victorious love
shed in my heart abroad;
then shall my feet no longer rove,
rooted and fixed in God.
It’s useful to note that the word “shed” here in the first stanza is a verb. We’re praying, asking Jesus to “shed,” to “pour out” his “all-victorious love” in my heart, wherever I am. The expected result of Jesus pouring out this love in my heart (Wesley is drawing on Romans 5:5) is that “my feet no longer rove,” no longer flit from this attraction to that, but are “rooted and fixed in God.” The sentiment is very similar to Robert Robinson’s words in the third stanza of Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.
O that in me the sacred fire
might now begin to glow;
burn up the dross of base desire
and make the mountains flow!
Two desires are expressed in this stanza, both building on volcanic imagery. Wesley is drawing a close connection between “love,” “fire,” and the Holy Spirit. Now we are singing/praying that Jesus’ all-victorious love will, like a fire, burn up all the “base desire,” all our desires that aim for less than God. When it comes to the phrase about the mountains flowing, I think he’s pointing at Jesus’ comment about how faith the size of a mustard seed can say to “this mountain,” “get up and be cast into the sea.” The power of Jesus’ love operative in us is powerful enough to remove any impediment.
O that it now from heaven might fall
and all my sins consume!
Come, Holy Ghost, for thee I call,
Spirit of burning, come!
Early Methodism had a strong conviction that the power of God was sufficient to defeat sin in our lives. This went beyond the conviction that our sins would be forgiven so we could be reconciled to God. Wesley and the early Methodists believed that through the power of the Spirit we could defeat the presence and power of sin in our lives now. That’s the experience we are praying for in this third stanza.
Refining fire, go through my heart,
illuminate my soul;
scatter thy life through every part
and sanctify the whole.
The song ends with a request that the work of God permeate every aspect of our being. More than just having sin rooted out and eradicated, there is something positive happening as well: God himself, in the person of the Holy Spirit, is taking up residence in us. Our prayer here is one of opening ourselves to him without reservation, without saying to the Spirit, “Here, you can go into these parts of my life, but leave those other parts alone.
Here are the top nonfiction books I read this year.
Joshua McNall, Perhaps Adam Hochschild, American Midnight Matthew Emerson, He Descended to the Dead Fleming Rutledge, Not Ashamed of the Gospel Alan Kreider, The Patient Ferment of the Early Church Carmen Imes, Being God’s Image Matthew Bates, Why the Gospel? Lucy Peppiatt, Unveiling Paul’s Women Justin Earley, Habits of the Household Kavin Rowe, Leading Christian Communities Patrick Lencioni, The Six Types of Working Genius
Before she died in 2004, long-time member Virginia Hobbs shared oral history about the congregation. Here is audio from that history. We’d like to make a video with it and could use help from people who would listen and provide or suggest photos that could fit with what she’s telling about in each segment. Let me know if you’d like to help.
Have you considered the fourth stanza of the hymn, All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name?
Let every kindred, every tribe
On this terrestrial ball,
To him all majesty ascribe,
And crown him Lord of all.
When we read the story of the call of Abraham in Genesis 12 we see that God makes Abraham a promise. God will bless him and through him and his family bless all nations on earth. We see this promise echoed to Abraham’s descendants in the Exodus when God tells Israel that although the whole earth belongs to him, they will be his treasured possession out of all nations and will be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. You may have heard Israel described as “God’s chosen people.” We see that chosenness and its purpose right there. Israel was God’s chosen people to reach all the rest of us.
We see the result of that truth in this stanza. While the hymn appeals to “Ye chosen seed of Israel’s race” in the second stanza, by this point we’re looking at the fulfillment of God’s purposes. We see this prospectively in Jesus’ Great Commission when he says, “All authority in heaven and earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations.” We see the outcome in Revelation 7:9-10 – “After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice:
‘Salvation belongs to our God,
who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb.’
By the final stanza we’re no longer addressing various groups of people, calling on them to “Hail Jesus’ name” and to “Crown him Lord of all.” Now it’s “we” – “O that with yonder sacred throng” – the “sacred throng” is those groups of people who have come together to worship. We now declare that we are joining them as we fall at his feet and “join the everlasting song” of praise to Jesus.
Do you know the song, Lord, I Want to Be a Christian? Consider the four claims we make in this simple song:
Lord, I want to be a Christian
Lord, I want to be more loving
Lord, I want to be more holy
Lord, I want to be like Jesus
The obvious thing about these claims is that they are good things for people like us – church goers – to desire. There’s nothing surprising here.
What’s consequential here is that we are publicly expressing what we want. If I say I want a cookie, what action would you expect to see me take? You’d see me acting in ways that would lead to my acquiring a cookie. That might mean that I get a recipe and start baking cookies. It might mean that I go to a grocery store or bakery and get a cookie. You would not expect my saying, “I want a cookie” to be followed by a cookie magically appearing in my hand.
Suppose I say, “I want to be more healthy.” Being healthy for me might include things like my eating and exercising habits. If I tell you, “I want to be more healthy,” there are patterns of activity you could potentially observe in my life to see if my claim that this is my desire, something I indeed want, is true. If you see me eating cheeseburgers and fries, and drinking a shake (all foods I like) at every meal and never see me exercising, you might come to think that my claim that I want to be more healthy is just a pile of meaningless words.
Look again at the claims we make when we sing this song. What kind of evidence would a person look for if they were to believe these claims of ours? What would they see in our lives that would lead them to believe that we DO
want to be a Christian, more loving, more holy, and like Jesus? Are there any actions on our part that could work toward fulfilling these desires we claim to have?
Of course, we could have a conceptual problem. It could be that we want all these things, but we have no idea what they entail. We have an idea that being a Christian is a good thing, but we don’t know how to do it. We know that love is good, but we have no clue how to be more loving. We know “holy” is a popular churchy word (and an unpopular worldly word), but we have no confidence that holiness is anything that can ever be achieved by us. And being like Jesus? We might be able to imagine growing our hair out, having a beard (whether real or fake), wearing a robe & sandals, but actually like Jesus? That’s just not something we can do. We might believe that if any of these things are going to happen God’s just going to have to do it – God’s just going to have to “strike” us with these things, because if our involvement is required, it’s just not going to happen.
There’s something important we’d be missing if we thought this way. Well, two things, but one much more important than the other. The first thing we’re missing is that each of these statements is addressed to someone in particular – and not to the person sitting next to us. In each case we say, “Lord, I want…” This is prayer language. We are talking to God. But we’re not just describing something, like we would be if we said, “Lord, there is a table over there.” When we sing/pray “Lord, I want…” we are using what is called “self-involving” language. We are saying something about ourselves to someone we consider to be our Lord. These are claims that have (hopefully) the beginnings of truth (perhaps we’re just setting out on this journey and we only know enough to begin to want to want these things), and are working there way toward being expressions of our true desires. When we realize who we are talking to, we realize there are more word implied here: “Lord, I want to be like Jesus… and I can’t do it without you… and I invite you to hold me accountable.” That is to say, we’re inviting God to look for evidence in our lives for the truth of these claims.
There’s one last thing here. Though you can pray/sing this on your own, we’ll be singing it as a congregation this Sunday. While some people who are still at the very beginning of their journey in faith may just sing the words without intending to make any claims about themselves at all, most of us will be seeking to make these as true claims. We are declaring with each other that WE want these things. We as individuals, as families, as a church, want to be Christian, more loving, more holy, and like Jesus. This is a journey we get to do together. Because we’re on this journey together, we can take action together. We can encourage each other. We can hold each other accountable and be held accountable when it comes to taking these actions. We’re not in this alone, we have others walking alongside us to help us, to teach us, to pick us up when we fall.
We’re going to start our singing Sunday with Ask Ye What Great Thing I Know. Consider that word “know.” The first sense of that is the theoretical: Here is an idea, a fact, that I know. I know that Jesus Christ, the crucified and risen Son of God, “delights and stirs me,” “defeats my fiercest foes,” “consoles my saddest woes,” “revives my fainting heart, healing all its hidden smart,” is “life in life” and “death of death,” and “who will place me on his right?” We who sing know these things to be true.
But there’s another sense of “know” implied here. We see these two senses in scripture in places like Ephesians 3 where Paul prays that the Ephesian church will “know this love that surpasses knowledge.” How can you know something that surpasses knowledge? Well, consider another translation. We can take Paul to be praying that they “Experience this love that surpasses understanding.” God’s love in Christ is so great, so intense, so extensive, that we cannot ever completely understand it. But we can experience it.
Let’s apply this sense of know to our singing this hymn. “Ask ye what great thing I experience.” Sure, I know that completely ruins the poetry and musicality. Consider, however, that declaring the truth of the facts expressed in the hymn is one thing – surely a good thing! Declaring that this is our experience of Jesus, that’s something different. We don’t just know about Jesus, we know Jesus. We’ve experienced these things for ourselves.
It might be that come Sunday morning when it’s time to sing this song you might think that it’d be nice to have had this experience of Jesus, but you haven’t yet. That’s one of the advantages that comes from preparation for worship. By knowing shat song we’ll be singing you can look at it in advance. Even this very moment as you read my words – or Sunday morning as we sing the hymn – you can pray, “Lord, I want this to be my experience. I want to have this experience of Jesus and life in him. Do this work in me so that I will joyously share the news of Jesus with everyone who asks me what great thing I know, what the thing is that stirs me and excites me.”
I don’t get the opportunity these days to do much deep consideration of theology, so when I learned that the Firebrand Theology Seminar would focus on the work of Billy Abraham this summer it was too good to pass up.
I think I first met Billy sometime in the 1980s. I don’t remember when it was exactly – it could have been while I was at Asbury Seminary, at a Texas Conference event, a special theology meeting, or a Good News Convo. Later (in the 90s) when I was doing my doctoral work, Billy was the external reader of my dissertation. His doing that – and the conversations we had over it – were a blessing to me. In the past 25 years I was able to reconnect with him mostly at Wesleyan Theological Society meetings. I was in the audience as one of many cheering him on when he received a Lifetime Achievement Award at Seattle Pacific University.
The seminar gave me the opportunity to review Billy’s works that I’d read over the decades – and to read some I’d missed. Of all his works, Crossing the Threshold of Divine Revelation may be my favorite. His recent four volume work, Divine Agency and Divine Action runs a close second. The basic idea of both – the claim that God is living and active (an agent) in our world – is essential to my own theology and practice of ministry.
It was also nice to get to see some old friends and to make new ones. Though more participated online than in person, I was able to meet many people that I’ve engaged with online.
Bandits No More 