Reformation Diaries
A Phobia of Fearing God
June 10 , 2008
by Bo White
The teacher in Ecclesiastes, after a tour of our material existence, writes, “Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man” (Eccles. 12:13, ESV). Frankly, this doesn’t seem to be a common theme from pulpits around our country and it certainly isn’t the theme of the worship songs streaming on the contemporary Christian music scene. In fact, the whole idea of fearing God seems to be lost in many respects. The logic goes something like this: God is a loving God and Jesus tells us over and again to not be afraid and when we address God, we should say “Our Father in heaven” (Matt. 6:9). Therefore, let’s talk to God, draw near to God, and even invite God into our “family” meetings where the children of God gather to feel his presence. And while much of this is true, it’s only a half-truth. And half-truths are worth very little.
John Bunyan writes, “The presence of a king is dreadful to his subjects, even if he carries himself ever so condescendingly. If then there is so much glory and dread in the presence of a king, what fear and dread must there be in the presence of an eternal God!”[1] Kings invite their subjects into their presence; the subjects never invite the king. I was in a worship service recently where the pastor began with these words: “We invite you God to come and be here with us.” I couldn’t help but think that instead of proclaiming the beginning of worship, the pastor was actually proclaiming the end of it. Why would I kneel before someone I had the power to invite over to our little church building? What awe is there in a deity that needs an invitation?
The concern churches have of creating a community that is grace-centered and characterized by sincere love has lead to a God who is increasingly more familial than majestic. In a very real sense, we believers seem to be afraid to fear God. Now, I am phobic in my fear of snakes. I don’t like them; and so I run from them because inwardly I feel threatened, insecure, and simply do not want to find out if a specific snake is a friend or foe. There isn’t much logic to it, which is why it’s a phobia. It’s unreasonable for me, in many respects, to fear snakes, simply because most of them can do me no harm. I frankly don’t like them and oftentimes it’s for no good reason.
But God created all things by the power of his word. God sustains all things by his word. At the word of God, every living thing in the universe came into existence. The wind and the waves obey the words of Jesus (see Mark 4). Let the truth of the power of the word of God sink a moment into your mind and heart. You can scream your lungs out at a thunderstorm and that will affect absolutely nothing. But the still small voice of God can make it rain for forty days and forty nights. God is, in a word, awesome.
Bunyan puts it this way, “For if God shall come to you, indeed, and visit you with the forgiveness of sins, that visit will remove the guilt, but increase the sense of your filth—and the sense of this, that God has forgiven a filthy sinner, will make you both rejoice and tremble.”[2] Notice that Bunyan doesn’t leave us with an either/or option. When God forgives us through grace alone on the merit of Christ alone, we indeed rejoice and we also tremble. Jesus is both Son of God and King of Kings. By our union with Christ, we are both adopted children of God as well as servants of the Almighty King. We are not only sons who can rejoice in being near to God, nor are we simply servants who are subjects to a loving King. We are inseparably both sons and servants.
In Luke 15, the famous parable of the Lost Son ends with not only a royal banquet scene but with the prodigal understanding that he longs simply to serve in his loving Father’s house. The tension the follower of Christ lives with then is that through Jesus our sins have been eternally paid for and there is now no sacrifice needed. Jesus paid it all. Yet Jesus invites us to live in a kingdom, not the Democratic Republic of God. We are forgiven and free, but we have no vote. God alone is sovereign.
During the 1770s, lining the streets of Boston were signs that read: “We serve no sovereign here.” My concern is that these same signs unwittingly hang today in some church buildings because there is no awe, no willingness to bow a knee, and no authentic reverence or fear of God. We don’t want a sovereign God who can do whatever he ordains or pleases. We want a serving God who will do whatever we want. And this is revealed with our current obsession, as Christians, to be relevant.
Let’s be clear. Jesus is the exact representation of God (see Heb.1:3), so Jesus is a revelation. So many churches though plead for Jesus to be relevant more than a revelation. And in being relevant, the fear of God is gone. And when the fear of God is missing, then believers will turn to slick marketing, trendy music, and emotional highs rather than to the Jesus who can calm storms and walk out of his own grave. The longer the church strives to become relevant, the longer there is a phobia for fearing God, and the longer the wait will be for renewal and reformation. “You see, all true reformation and genuine spiritual renewal comes from Christ alone. True reformation is not worked up by human effort. The last church in the world to be visited by spiritual renewal will be the church which thinks it can produce it.”[3] After all, if God is sovereign, then he will initiate the movement of his Spirit, not the other way round.
So, yes, on the one hand, let’s draw near to God because “no one has sins forgiven, no one goes to heaven, no one has peace until there is faith in Jesus Christ.”[4] But, on the other hand, let’s be crystal clear: “No one comes to me [Jesus] unless the Father who sent me draws him” (John 6:44). The fact that God has drawn us near to him should leave us not only free of all chains with a peace that passes understanding, but also on our knees saying, “I know you love me. What’s next? I am at your service.
Bo White, a graduate of Covenant Theological Seminary, is a teaching elder in the Presbyterian Church in America. He currently attends New Valley Church in Phoenix, Arizona, and is chief messaging officer of Food for the Hungry, an international organization committed to a gospel-centered approach to ending poverty worldwide.
[1] John Bunyan, The Fear of God (Morgan, PA: reprinted by Soli Deo Gloria, 1999), 6.
[2] Bunyan, 9.
[3] Robert Reymond, The God Centered Preacher (Glasgow: Christian Focus Publications, 2003), 185.
[4] R. Kent Hughes, Sought by Grace (Chicago: Moody, 2002), 78.
The Curse of Numbers
April 12 , 2008
by Chaplain Kelly L. O'Lear
I have a son who just turned twelve. His name is Elijah and he is a very funny young man. I look forward to receiving his comical e-mails at my outpost in rural Afghanistan. They cheer me up. I even share them with others since I understand they will make those who know my son laugh. Elijah recently wrote me concerning his report card. He received a “B” in math. He struggled in math before but now loves it and is doing well. I am glad that he is beginning to conquer numbers.
Though we often do not see it, our rebellion against God incorporates numbers. We take comfort in them instead of receiving comfort from our Creator. This is especially true for the soldier at war. We count the days—days passed and days to go. We think if we can outlast the number of days a deployment requires of us—451 at the beginning of this deployment—then we will be just fine. In our own minds the battle is not with our sinful nature, the world, and the devil. Rather it is with the calendar. I too am guilty of this. I play number games in my own head instead of giving thanks to the Creator of the day.
We take comfort in time that has passed rather than giving thanks for what has been. Many of us at war are ever grateful each night as we lay down our heads to rest that one more day has come to its completion. Our heart is not on gratitude for the blessings of the day. Often we do give thanks for our daily bread and the fact that we are still alive and well—things that deal with our own personal welfare. This is good and right, but incomplete. Rarely do we end the day thanking God for the blessings of good friends and all the other things for which we ought to give thanks.[2] I often find myself telling soldiers that they should not wish away any day of their lives. I too need to live by this.
And yet, do not all people live under this curse? Alarm clocks buzz at the beginning of the day with the dreaded digital display staring at us. Required hours of work and school become burdensome. Deadlines on calendars steal life from us. Savings and retirement goals and numbers circle through minds as life moves along. Parents count the years until children leave home unaware or denying the void left by this passage. We tally the years until retirement with the hope of that day moving nearer without a concern of what vocation will give the retirees’ day meaning. Children question the years their parents have left as the ones who birthed and nurtured them slowly age and become less independent. Os Guinness in his accessible work, Prophetic Untimeliness, reminds us that we are slaves to the watches we wear on our wrists and the clocks and calendars on our walls. There are the numbers that haunt us. Our contemplation is not focused on the God who exists beyond time. Rather, our minds often focus on our own comforts in the present moment. We focus on what must happen in the immediate moment at the expense of contemplating the eternal plan. The very plan determined by God with that even number. I am not advocating the abolition of the clock and calendar or numbers. Of course, these are necessary in the left-hand kingdom. My point is that the clock and time, as a curse, can eliminate our focus on greater things.
The truth is that all of this “too rests only upon the Word and command of God.” Our Creator knows the number of our days before the world began. Christ said, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows” (Matt. 10:29–31). Therefore, we are to live each day with the eternal provision of God before us. Each day is a new opportunity unique unto itself to serve our neighbor in love. Each day is a gift whereby our heavenly Father gives us what we need for life and salvation. We can be sure of our care in this world because he who rose from the dead is true. His blood covers our sins, so we do not need to anticipate the end of our days because they are not the end. We are not to live as slaves to numbers but free men beyond numbers because of our eternal destination. Real life is lived with Jesus Christ at the center. Our modern culture-driven church too has become distracted with the lure of the present moment. Cultural entertainment often replaces the Word and sacraments as the means of conversion. A providential God is beyond that.
I am glad that my son is good at math. I am proud of him. He is a funny and likable kid. I look forward, God willing, to spending many days with him in the comfort and peace of our home along with my wife Jennifer, son Nathaneal, and daughter
[1] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Creation and Fall: Temptation (Touchstone: New York, 1983), 31–32.
[2] In Martin Luther’s Small Catechism, in explaining the meaning of “our daily bread,” Luther mentions the many thing we should give thanks for: “Everything that has to do with the support and needs of the body, such as food, drink, clothing, shoes, house, home, land, animals, money, goods, a devout husband or wife, devout children, devout workers, devout and faithful rulers, good government, good weather, peace, health, self-control, good reputation, good friends, faithful neighbors, and the like.”
A Two-Part Gospel?
Jan. 15 , 2008
A Two-Part Gospel?
by Joseph Martin
“We’re concerned because you’ve cut off half the gospel!” Such was the exasperated, but sincere, comment from a senior staff member during the devotional time at a monthly clergy gathering. As a predominately evangelical group of clergy, we always began our district meetings with noonday prayer and a discussion of the upcoming Sunday readings. Being Advent, we were sharing our thoughts on Matthew 24:42, “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come.”
As expected, the discussion focused on the word “watch” and the various disciplines that Christians should be involved in during this season of preparation for the Lord’s coming. As Episcopal/Anglicans, we were to use the Advent season to refocus our lives on more contemplative prayer, Bible reading, and service, and to encourage our church members to do the same.
After a few exchanges of point-counterpoint to my attempts to establish the foundation of Christ’s righteousness as the basis on which anyone is prepared for the Lord’s return, I asked, “So what will be the bottom line of our sermons this week? What will we tell our people about how to be prepared for the Lord’s return?” Once again, all around the room, was more of the same: “Be diligent, be alert, be prepared.”
As the discussion was about to close—and I could see that the bottom line focused on what we do in order to be prepared without a mention of what Christ has done to provide our preparation—I shared as honestly as I could the frustration I felt in trying to establish the basis of being prepared in terms of trust, faith, and belief instead of works. “Why do I feel I’ve been in a sparing match over such a foundational evangelical principle as faith in Christ alone as the basis by which anyone can stand before God on the Day of his return?” I said with a genuinely broken and frustrated heart. Then the lid came off, “Because that’s not what the passage says and we’re concerned that you have cut off half the gospel!”
Never in a million years would I have believed that the evangelical church in which I found refuge twenty-five years ago would become an adversary in my understanding of the gospel. They had been my friends, my allies, my shelter from the wishy-washy secularized church in which I had grown up. Now, after my life-saving reception of the gospel, as articulated from a Reformation perspective, and my adherence to the sound Reformation scholarship represented by the Modern Reformation camp, suddenly I had become an irritant, an object of concern, and a one-dimensional grace hound unconcerned with “our part” in the gospel.
Space does not allow in this short article to outline the complexities of the evangelical transformation over the past twenty to fifty years, but suffice it to say that modern American evangelicalism has clearly reshaped the gospel of Christ into a two-part message: what Christ has done (on the cross), and what we need to do to complete the transformation. The announcement of the gospel as the “one way” love of God* that declares us righteous through the sacrificial death of Christ, completely apart from our participation or cooperation, is seen as narrowly one dimensional and dangerously antinomian, releasing Christians from the various spiritual disciplines necessary for the exaggerated progress that all followers of Christ are expected to make in this life.
Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, as the one-way declaration of our righteous standing before God propels us out of gratitude to love and serve him, and any addition to the once-offered sacrifice of Christ is the clearly the Galatian problem; nevertheless, to take such a stand in the modern evangelical camp will no doubt raise some eyebrows and possibly bring on some heat. Either way, we can rest assured that we stand fully righteous and “prepared” to meet the Lord only because of the one-part gospel of Christ: his work done on our behalf. Oh, what a relief!
*The “one way” love of God is the definition of grace offered by the Rev. Dr. Paul F. M. Zahl in his book, Grace in Practice (Eerdmans, 2007).
Joseph Martin is pastor at
