“Lest We Drift”

Editor’s Note: The following excerpt is taken from Lest We Drift: Five Departure Dangers from the One True Gospel by Jared C. Wilson. Copyright © 2025 by Jared C. Wilson. Used by permission of Zondervan. www.harpercollinschristian.com

Lest We Drift is now available wherever Christian books are sold.

Theological drift is always a danger within evangelicalism. When Reformed evangelicals are not drawing their polemical passion from the rise of Protestantism beginning in the early sixteenth century, they are inspired by the cautionary guidance of more recent historical episodes like the Downgrade Controversy in the late 1800s of Victorian England, the Fundamentalist/Modernist controversy of the 1920s–1930s, the Southern Baptist Convention’s “conservative resurgence” in response to liberalizing influences in the denomination in the late 1970s–1980s, and the concerns in the mid-1990s over Evangelicals and Catholics Together. If the early history of Christianity was fraught with the codification of orthodoxy, late Christianity has been about the enforcing of it.

We are well acquainted with the danger of drift; we seem less acquainted with our own susceptibility to it. And while we are accustomed to noticing the drift of others, we are woefully blind about noticing it among ourselves.

While the bulk of this book is concerned with the kinds of drift threatening our fidelity to the gospel—and our unity around it—it is important to establish first (and reestablish throughout) how such drift occurs. And this is the implicit claim of gospel-centrality as an ideology: that the moment we take our eyes off the center is when we begin to move away from it.

After expounding the wonders of Christ’s glory in the gospel (and the prophetic freight with which it culminates), the author of Hebrews warns us, “Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it” (2:1). One primary implication is clear: Drift from the gospel is possible, and it happens when we stop paying ever-closer attention to it.

And since we are people constantly distracted by a million things inside and outside of ourselves, the potential for drift is constant in our lives. Every movement, no matter how faithful, remains vulnerable, and we fool ourselves if we think we’re the first to finally exorcize our institutions and organizations of this temptation. The shifts are subtler than we usually realize, but they have widespread ramifications.

D. A. Carson remarks thusly on the generational impact of drift:

I have heard a Mennonite leader assess his own movement in this way. One generation of Mennonites cherished the gospel and believed that the entailment of the gospel lay in certain social and political commitments. The next generation assumed the gospel and emphasized the social and political commitments. The present generation identifies itself with the social and political commitments, while the gospel is variously confessed or disowned; it no longer lies at the heart of the belief system of some who call themselves Mennonites.

Whether or not this is a fair reading of the Mennonites, it is certainly a salutary warning for evangelicals at large. [1]

It absolutely is.

I have sensed a parallel phenomenon in the generational succession of the gospel-centered movement as well. With the increased speed of information transfer, the full descent of the internet age, and the reality of globalization, what once might have taken generations can now transpire in the span of a few decades. For a great many of us who came of age at the height of the seeker-sensitive church movement—initially influenced by and trained in ministry to emulate pastors like Rick Warren, Bill Hybels, and Andy Stanley—the rediscovery of Reformed theology provided a canvas upon which to work out our growing angst with the attractional ministry paradigm. In the beginning, younger Boomers and older Gen Xers set about cherishing—or at least enjoying the newness of—gospel-centrality, especially in reaction to what we were rebelling against. From this interest arose the young, restless, and Reformed phenomenon, but in just ten short years, what was new to us had become the established norm for the next generation.

Many younger Gen Xers and Millennials effectively grew up with the gospel-centered movement as the wallpaper of their church experience. This was the generation of “assumption,” for which the implications proved more interesting than the gospel itself. It didn’t help that many of the “cherishers” pastoring and influencing them turned out merely to be dabblers.

The watchword of the Reformation was semper reformanda—“always reforming”—which for its originators meant always returning to the gospel of grace, always and ever conforming to the centrality of Christ. In the spirit of Luther’s first thesis, the whole life of the Christian is to be one of constant repenting, which means constantly turning from sin and constantly turning to Christ.

Gospel-centrality, in other words, is not something you can set to autopilot.

This is true even if your doctrinal fidelity is to the true gospel! The true gospel may be de-centered, placed in the lockbox of our theological basement, or simply hung on the wall of the church website. Accordingly, it provides the background for all manner of functional, ministerial, and cultural drift. For instance, nearly every mainline church where Christ and his gospel are not preached biblically or with conviction claims to affirm the historic creeds. And nearly every conservative church where political rants and legalistic tirades dominate the pulpit maintains an orthodox statement of faith in their church documents.

Drift does not usually begin at the places of doctrines and documents but at the places of discourse and disposition.

Tim Keller writes:

Both the Bible and church history show us that it is possible to hold all the correct individual biblical doctrines and yet functionally lose our grasp on the gospel. D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones argues that while we obviously lose the gospel if we fall into heterodoxy, we can also operationally stop preaching and using the gospel on ourselves through dead orthodoxy or through doctrinal imbalances of emphasis. Sinclair Ferguson argues that there are many forms of both legalism and antinomianism, some of which are based on overt heresy but more often on matters of emphasis and spirit. It is critical, therefore, in every new generation and setting to find ways to communicate the gospel clearly and strikingly, distinguishing it from its opposites and counterfeits. [2]

We will examine some of these alternate emphases in subsequent chapters, but as the urban legend tells us, the best way to spot counterfeits is to become familiar with the real thing. Since part of our tendency toward gospel drift is in fact a pervasive gospel confusion, it behooves us to establish and constantly refamiliarize ourselves with the true gospel and the substance of what is meant by “gospel-centrality.”

__________

  1. D. A. Carson, The Cross and Christian Ministry: Leadership Lessons from 1 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004), 63.
  2. Timothy Keller, Center Church: Doing Balanced, Gospel-Centered Ministry in Your City (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2012), 21.


Gaslighting Job

“It sort of seems like God is gaslighting Job?”

A friend of mine raised this concern after I preached on Job 38–41. I hadn’t considered the question in my sermon prep, but especially in our therapized and therapeutic culture, it’s worth considering. 

I’d like to look at the question in three phases. First, we’ll broadly consider the pastoral implications of reading clinical mental health dynamics into the Scriptures. Second, we’ll consider what exactly gaslighting is and how one could in good faith map the concept onto what God does at the end of Job. And, third, we’ll take a fresh look at God’s speeches in Job and consider how the label “gaslighting” fails to summarize Job’s encounter with God.

Pastoral Considerations

Living in the context of what Philip Rieff called The Triumph of the Therapeutic, followers of Jesus need to be aware of a few key dynamics.

First, relational and power dynamics are top of mind for young Bible readers. From labeling biblical characters as “toxic” to reading between the lines to look for internal motivations that don’t show up in the text, people will encounter the stories of Scripture as though they are watching a counseling session unfold. One of the things that, for C.S. Lewis, makes something a children’s story is the “absence of a close psychology.” Modern adult readers will intuitively supply a close psychology even when one isn’t offered in the text.

Second, in biblical application and in preaching, it’ll be tempting to speak far beyond the Scriptures in this arena to tickle the ears of listeners. There is a lot we might want from Scripture that it doesn’t give us; like Job, we must learn to perceive God’s silence as God’s wisdom.

Third, we ought to demonstrate awareness of pop-psychological thought processes. The next generation is incredibly online, and pastors have two options for how to minister into that arena: be incredibly online themselves, or be immersed in relationships with people who are incredibly online and learn from them. The overwhelming majority of people we are seeking to evangelize are people with a digitized sense of self. If we can’t speak their language, we’ll fail to contextualize.

This doesn’t mean we adopt the assumptions that come with the pop-therapeutic worldview. But if we can’t say, “You’ve heard it said, but I say unto you,” we can’t preach like Jesus did. That being said, let’s look at the terrifying encounter Job has with God.

The Whirlwind

Gaslighting, an increasingly common term, speaks to the “crazy making” dynamic that exists in some abusive relationships. The term comes from the 1944 movie Gaslight in which a controlling husband makes his new wife doubt her memories and perceptions, over time convincing her that she can’t trust herself and that she’s imagining things.

There are a few elements in the Job narrative that might tempt a good-faith reader to see gaslighting in the way that God deals with the suffering Job. 

First, there is a power imbalance. The show of force God makes in appearing in a whirlwind combined with the overwhelming metaphors for God’s power over the earth, the stars, the Behemoth, and the Leviathan could be read as attempts to silence and stifle rather than engage; who are you to question me, when I can do all these great things?

Second, God seems, at a first read, to ignore the questions Job asks regarding God’s justice and fairness; his real grievances seem dismissed or ignored. God doesn’t answer Job’s questions and instead redirects the conversation toward His own questions and emphasizes Job’s smallness, limited nature, and inability to comprehend God’s infinite activity. Job’s questions are framed as being invalid; who are you to question me, when you don’t have the mental capacity I have?

Third, God withholds key information. Job never learns about the deal God makes with the satan in Job 1. Why does God not tell Job the whole endeavor was a test? That He bet on his righteousness against the evil one and won? How is Job expected to live his life in soberness if God isn’t going to let him have all the facts? Job’s agency seems to be undermined.

If we had a husband interacting with his wife like this, we’d rightly support her and rebuke him. “You’re going to complain about my inattentiveness when I bring the bacon home? You’re going to raise concerns about how I treat the kids when my SAT score was 500 points higher than yours? You’re tracking my location? Mind your own business!” It looks manipulative and demeaning.

So, how are we to answer in defense of the Holy One of Israel?

Job’s Encounter

First, just to get clear on the concept of gaslighting, it’s about making someone question their sanity over time. Someone could be manipulated or lied to in one interaction, but they can’t be gaslit, per se. Gaslighting requires a pattern. The story of Job doesn’t technically meet the criteria for gaslighting in the proper sense. But what about in the sense that Gen Z and the TikTokers use it? In which it’s more of a synonym for manipulation or being sketchy?

God’s presence in the whirlwind isn’t intimidation; it’s revelation. Job is a wisdom book, and the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. Fearing God is about reverence, respect, and mindfulness. When you’re afraid of birds, you’re constantly on the lookout for them. When you’re afraid of God, you’re looking for Him in the nooks and crannies of your life. The whirlwind is powerful and attention-capturing, as is the Lord. Yahweh is revealing Himself in a palpable and compelling way. 

Job’s primary angst and question are not dismissed, but are answered with God’s very presence. Whole chapters of Job are devoted to him wrestling with questions about whether God has abandoned him, whether God can hear him, and whether God will ever answer him. God showing up in the lightning-snow-tornado is God definitively answering, not in words but in deed, Job’s central question: No, I’ve not abandoned you. Yes, I can hear you. And, yes, I’ll respond to your questioning.

God’s response is not a dismissal of Job’s perspective, but a contextualization of his perspective. Job isn’t told “you haven’t suffered” or “your experience isn’t valid” or even “you are wrong.” Job’s speech and conduct are commended and blessed by God. What Job is told is “you are limited.” Job isn’t getting new information here; he’s getting a new experience. “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you” (Job 42:5).

Job’s questions about God’s justice were rooted in his belief in God’s goodness and the struggle to reconcile that belief with his lived experience of suffering. When Job is captivated by God’s power, he’s able to locate his experience more tangibly in the context of the world which is governed by the God who holds Leviathan’s leash. The incomprehensible power of calamity is as mere pet canary to the Lord. Job “knew” this; now he “knows” it differently.

Job isn’t left questioning his sanity. He’s left in a state of wonder and awe. Recognizing afresh the Over-and-Aboveness of the majesty of God. He levels up his wisdom not because his theology of God has changed but because his proximity to God has changed.

Let’s now consider the argument that God doesn’t tell Job about the bet He placed in letting Satan destroy what was most precious to him. First, in a sense, God does generally tell him what happened behind the scenes; Leviathan, the great agent of chaos, Job is told, is under the control of Yahweh. Yahweh does take ultimate responsibility for all that happens in the cosmos.

Second, God gives Job the perspective he needs to grapple with the reality he’s living in. Job is brought into further alignment with reality, not separated from it like what happens when someone is gaslit. If we are in fact living in God’s world, then awareness of and respect for God’s sovereign providence over all things is sobriety. The fear of the Lord truly is the beginning of wisdom.

Students of the Scriptures

People can’t really help seeing what they initially see or hear when reading the Scriptures. What we bring to the text is our whole selves: our sociological context and our theological assumptions are both a part of that. Yet, the temptation and tendency to see what isn’t there is something we should be conscious of and concerned about as students of the Scriptures. God is not an abuser of Job.

In fact, He’s the opposite. God is good. He invites Job into reality, out of chaos and confusion, and blesses him afresh.

Job’s grief remains, but his crisis of faith dissipates when his core question (“Where is God?”) is answered with God’s very presence.



9 Ways to Help Those Who Are Suffering

In the past month, what have you heard from those you love? Divorce, loneliness, layoffs, cancer, parenting struggles, disappointment, betrayal, conflict? Everyone we love will hurt and suffer. While we feel compassion, we often find ourselves at a loss for what to do. Whether it’s a struggling spouse, a grieving friend, or a hurting member in our church, we want to help, but we’re unsure of the best approach. We walk a fine line between giving people space and showing up, between speaking truth and offering a listening ear. We fear doing or saying the wrong thing. It’s difficult to navigate. So, how do we help those who are suffering? How can we grow in showing up with love and wisdom?

How Does God Want Us Involved with Those Who Are Suffering?

First, consider what God desires for you when you have suffered.

Paul reminds us that God is “the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort. He comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Cor. 1:3–4).

In ALL your affliction, God wants to comfort you.

But what does comfort mean? When we think of comfort, we think of something enveloping—comfort food normally means something dripping in melted cheese, a comfortable blanket surrounds us with its softness, we sink deeply into a comfy chair. These images give us a sense of being surrounded and covered.

This is exactly what God wants to do in your suffering. He wants to totally surround you in His care. He is the God of all comfort.

And this is how He wants us to be involved with others. God’s method is giving comfort to His people and then giving comfort through His people.

What Kind of Comfort Can We Give to Those Who Are Suffering?

As we experience and reflect on all the diverse ways God has comforted us in our suffering, we become equipped to offer the same comfort to others. Consider the variety of ways God has comforted us and how this directs our comfort to others.

  1. Seeing

God: There is no secret pain. You never suffer alone in the dark. God sees your pain (Psalm 31:7), hurt, difficulty, and disappointment. You are not overlooked or ignored. His eyes are on you.

Our call: Distraction and self-concern are easy. Sometimes we are so busy, we miss the suffering of others in front of us. We miss the tear in the eye, the sullen face, or the absence. We must begin by developing eyes to see one another (Phil. 2:4, Prov. 22:9).

  1. Caring

God: God is not apathetic or cold to your pain. When God introduces Himself, one of the main ways He describes Himself is by telling us He is compassionate (Exod. 34:6)!  Jesus wept when He saw the suffering of those He loves. It’s not different for you. He deeply feels your pain and sorrow. He cares (1 Pet. 5:8); He is filled with compassion.

Our call: Our goal shouldn’t simply be to make others feel better (Prov. 25:20); maybe we need to feel worse! We must enter into their pain, weeping with those who weep (Rom. 12:15). We don’t dismiss or offer petty encouragement like saying, “It could be worse,” or “It will all work out.” We start where God does, feeling deeply with compassion (Col. 3:12).

  1. Touching

God: The Bible gives images of God holding on to us (Isa. 41:10), metaphors to convey that God is not distant. And in the incarnation we get more than metaphor. Jesus comes in flesh and often expresses His care for those suffering through physical touch (Mark 8:22). Like a father carrying his child, an affectionate holding of the hand, an encouraging grasp on your shoulder, or the strong hug of a dear friend, God’s hand is on you in your suffering.

Our call: Maybe you have said, “I don’t know what to say.” Sometimes words aren’t sufficient. We are embodied people (Acts 20:36–38). Sometimes we need to let our arms do the speaking and just give a hug, or lay a hand in prayer.

  1. Bringing Joy

God: God doesn’t merely feel bad for us. He wants to actually transform our experience. He brings joy (Psalm 94:19) in the middle of gloom, light in the middle of darkness, and song to our silent suffering.

Our call: People suffering don’t want every conversation to be about the problem or every text to be checking in on them. They still want to have fun, play, and experience joy. Proverbs says a joyful heart is great medicine (Prov. 17:22). Find ways to include your suffering friends in fun activities and conversation.

  1. Praying

God: When you suffer, Jesus is praying for you (Heb. 7:25). He never tells you He will pray and then forgets. He never gets too tired or busy to remember you. When you are at a loss for words and don’t even know what you need to bring before God, Jesus, in His perfect wisdom and love, is interceding on your behalf.

Our call: Talking to God about others may feel unproductive. But by faith we believe God hears and answers prayer (2 Cor. 1:10-11). So, we pray.  It also means that instead of only saying, “I’ll pray for you,” we should pray for one another on the spot. Additionally, when we text and say, “I’m praying,” we should be more specific. We should share what we are praying. Paul often shares the content of his prayers for others (Eph. 1:17-19), and it serves as a great encouragement.

  1. Helping

God: God doesn’t just address our emotions; He tangibly serves and helps us (Psalm 46:1). He cares for the practical needs we have (Matt. 6:8). Jesus healed, fed, and ate with people. Even now, we are told He helps by answering prayers and sending us the Holy Spirit as Helper.

Our call: It might seem spiritual to say, “All I need is God.” But, if by that we mean we are above material things, then we will miss out on how God actually meets our needs. When Paul was alone in prison, he requested help. He didn’t only say, “Pray for me.” He asked for specific things: his books and blanket (2 Tim. 4:13). That may sound like the requests of a preschooler, but the point is that we need tangible expressions of care. Prayer alone is not sufficient. Think how you can lift burdens (Gal. 6:2) by bringing a thoughtful gift, a meal, a coffee, watching kids, cleaning the house, etc. Don’t simply say, “What can I do,” but rather offer specifics by saying, “Let me…”

  1. Speaking

God: God is not silent in our suffering (Psalm 119:50). We need to hear truth in our confusion, encouragement in our despair, and words of hope in our loss. God’s words have given you life to cling to when everything was shaking. His promises have been your refuge. His voice has been your strength. He speaks.

Our call: It is easy to be fearful of speaking. Maybe we have fumbled before, or we just don’t know the right words. But we must not let our fear lead to silence. Wise words can cheer and heal (Prov. 12:18, 25). We can comfort by sharing our compassion (“You are on my heart,” “I’m sorry this is awful”) or by sharing reminders, particularly from the Psalms, of who God is and what He does (“God sees,” “God cares,” “God is with you”).

  1. Being Present

God: Suffering feels isolating and lonely. But you have never truly suffered alone. In whatever valley you’ve traversed, God has been right there with you (Psalm 23:4). Even if the pain stays, so does He. He is present in every hospital room, empty house, car ride, and room with the door locked. He will never leave you nor forsake you.

Our call: We need the presence of others to bring comfort (2 Cor. 7:5–6). Even the apostle Paul pleaded with Timothy to come to him when he was in distress (2 Tim. 4:9–21). Sometimes it’s just being there for a few minutes. Sometimes it may be a red-eye flight. Or it may be a routine, weekly visit. There may be nothing you can do or change, but you can still go, show up, and be with those who are suffering.

  1. Understanding

God: Every pain we have God gets. He truly understands us. He made us and knows our frame. But, even more so, Christ lived through it Himself. He experienced the weakness, hurt, and death of this life. There isn’t a pain we have that He can’t understand (Heb. 2:17–18).

Our call: We may not understand each part someone has gone through, but we can understand the roots. We have all felt basic human experiences, at least in degree. There is no temptation that is not common to man (1 Cor. 10:13). This means we move toward one another; we listen, we ask them to tell us more, or we say, “If you want to talk, I’d love to hear how this is going…”

The More We Receive, the More We Can Give

We must not be self-sufficient in our suffering. Don’t bottle it up, turn away, or seek escape. God wants to comfort you. For every pain you have, His comfort is greater. Come to Him, pour out your heart at all times (Psalm 62:8), and receive from the God of all comfort.

As we do this, we will be filled with comfort to give. God’s comfort is both a gift and a tool. He is training and equipping us for ministry. Everyone we love will go through hurt and suffering, but God has given what you need to help with love and wisdom. You have been comforted and commissioned.



What Seminary Degree Do I Get if I Don’t Know What the Future Holds?

Editor’s note: This article was originally published on FTC.co on May 28, 2019.

In the spring of 1987, I visited Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, mostly to investigate the campus and its immediate surroundings. I had already decided to pursue graduate study at TEDS based on a family connection to this school, but I knew almost nothing about it otherwise and knew even less about theological studies. I hoped this visit would be a good start, if only to minimize the hassle of registration later that year.

After some self-guided exploring, I stopped into the student development office and asked if I could talk to someone regarding degree programs, because I had not ironed out even that detail. Master of Arts? Master of Divinity? Master of Theology? I had no idea which way to go, because I could see myself doing just about anything for the Lord, from pastoral ministry to overseas missionary service. I knew I was supposed to do something in ministry, but I had no clear idea of what.

Surprisingly, when I asked for a quick, advisory session, they said to me, “Yes, Dr. Kantzer is on campus today, and he would be glad to speak with you.” My parents had taken theology courses from Kenneth Kantzer at Wheaton College in the 1950s, so I recognized the name, but I didn’t know that I would be talking to an evangelical VIP, which Dr. Kantzer certainly had become long before coming to TEDS. To this day, I’m glad I dressed well for the occasion which, Mrs. Madsen informs me, cannot always be assumed in my case.

The central question I had for Dr. Kantzer was, “Which degree should I pursue if I don’t know what the future will bring?” His answer would be the one that I would now give to any student coming to Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, where I currently serve. “In that case,” he said, “you should get the Master of Divinity. It’s the one that you’d need for pastoral ministry and also the one that you’d be expected to have as a Ph.D. applicant.” There was no hesitation from him at all on this point: Get an M.Div. I would offer the same advice today, some 30 years later, should anyone ask me which degree to pursue at MBTS or any other Bible-believing seminary. Get the M.Div.

The Master of Divinity is the Swiss Army knife degree that has everything in it for the prospective pastor, missionary, denominational worker, and eventual scholar. It provides a solid foundation in biblical languages, Old Testament, New Testament, and theology. It equips the student to do evangelism, defend the faith, counsel biblically, and preach well-organized, expository sermons. Even the hands-on, practical tasks of ministry are covered by the M.Div., especially church administration and special occasions like baptism, the Lord’s table, weddings, and funerals. The M.Div. does not cover these topics in exhaustive detail—obviously not. But it takes some good, first steps and provides a basis for later refinement and understanding.

Hardly any Christian gets to study the Bible intensively for several years and to learn how it applies in many spheres of practical ministry. Most of them would rejoice in having a Bible at all in their own language, to say nothing of huge libraries, Christian bookstores, software tools, and the like. But most people reading this article do have these wonders at their fingertips and around the corner, and many of them will be M.Div. students and graduates. Therefore, with the same benefit of experience, they already know what I discovered 30 years ago: When the door opens for M.Div. study, go through it.



Postmodernism and the Gospel

Editor’s note: This article is part of a two-part series titled “How to Evangelize Postmodernists.” Part one is available here.

How Should We Evaluate Postmodern Beliefs from a Christian Perspective?

What is a faithful and biblical response to postmodernism? In this next section, we will overview some basic responses to postmodern beliefs. Then, in the final section, we will turn to consider how we can effectively evangelize postmodernists. It should be said that these responses are brief, and much more could be said. Indeed, whole books have been written on these topics.[1]

First, postmodernism’s belief about truth is self-defeating. They argue that truth is relative and that there is no such thing as absolute truth. Yet, they are affirming at least one absolute truth when they say that—namely, that there is no such thing as absolute truth. That is an absolute statement. So why do they get to affirm that absolute truth but no others? Additionally, how can they be absolutely certain that there are no absolute truths? Where do they base their certainty to make such a bold claim? Self-defeating arguments should be rejected. We must not forfeit objective truth. We cannot give into the postmodernists’ insistence that there is no such thing as truth in the objective sense. This means that we need to reframe the conversation and not let them set the agenda.

Second, postmodernism’s belief about the subjective nature of language and interpretation needs to be challenged as well. Because of their view of referentialism, which argues that there is no perfect correspondence between words and the meaning that they confer, understanding authorial intent is impossible. A couple of things can be said about this. First, from a more common-sense view, well of course, there is not perfect correspondence between words and the meaning that they confer. But does that really mean that it is impossible to truly understand what one intended by what they said or wrote? From a basic sense, that appears to be a dramatic overstatement. If I received a letter from the government telling me that I owe thousands of dollars in back taxes, I am can very well discern the government’s intention in that letter. In fact, if I ignore what they intended, I could well end up in jail!

Secondly, those who argue for this view expect that you will be able to track the words they use in the way they use them to rightly understand what they are saying. They cannot argue for this viewpoint any other way than by using language to communicate their intended meaning. As Norman Geisler said when he critiqued Derrida, “The sentences conveying his view would have no meaning on a conventionalist theory of meaning. In short, he appears to have left himself no ground to stand on–even to express his own view.”[2] To give a practical example of this, I want to cite a rather lengthy example from D. A. Carson’s life that he talks about in his book The Gagging of God. He says:

A few years ago, I was teaching an evening course on hermeneutics, a course jointly offered by several of the seminaries in the Chicago area. Not very successfully, I was trying to set out both what could be learned from the new hermeneutic, and where the discipline was likely to lead one astray. In particular, I was insisting that true knowledge is possible, even to finite, culture-bound creatures. A doctoral student from another seminary waited patiently through two or three hours of lectures, and then quietly protested that she did not think I was escaping from the dreaded positivism of the nineteenth century. Deeper appreciation for the ambiguities of language, the limits of our understanding, the uniqueness of each individual, and the social nature of knowledge would surely drive me to a more positive assessment of the new hermeneutic. I tried to defend my position, but I was quite unable to persuade her. Finally, in a moment of sheer intellectual perversity on my part, I joyfully exclaimed, “Ah, now I think I see what you are saying. You are using delicious irony to affirm the objectivity of truth.” The lady was not amused. “That is exactly what I am not saying,” she protested with some heat, and she laid out her position again. I clasped my hands in enthusiasm and told her how delighted I was to find someone using irony so cleverly in order to affirm the possibility of objective knowledge. Her answer was more heated, but along the same lines as her first reply. I believe she also accused me of twisting what she was saying. I told her I thought it was marvelous that she should add emotion to her irony all to the purpose of exposing the futility of extreme relativism, thereby affirming truths objectivity. Not surprisingly, she exploded in real anger, and accused me of a lot of unmentionable things. When she finally cooled down, I said, rather quietly, “But this is how I am reading you.” Of course, she saw what I was getting at immediately, and sputtered out like a spent candle. She simply did not know what to say. My example was artificial, of course, since I only pretended to read her in a certain way, but what I did was sufficient to prove the point I was trying to make to her. “You are a deconstructionist,” I told her, “but you expect me to interpret your words aright. More precisely, you are upset because I seem to be divorcing the meaning I claim to see in your words from your intent. Thus, implicitly you affirm the link between text and authorial intent. I have never read a deconstructionist who would be pleased if a reviewer misinterpreted his or her work: thus in practice deconstructionists implicitly link their own texts with their own intentions. I simply want the same courtesy extended to Paul.[3]

Third, we should push back on postmoderns’ insistence that all metanarratives are equal. Are they really? Think about it for a moment. Is a metanarrative that promotes human flourishing and human dignity really on par with one that dehumanizes some people and treats them harshly? Think about Nazi Germany, where the vast majority of Germans agreed with their wicked leaders about the triumph of the Aryan race. Is that metanarrative truly moral and “okay”? Many of those people believed what they were taught was their “truth.” Who are you to say that Hitler was actually evil? And on and on we could go pointing out the absurdity of this belief. No, there is an objective nature to how we evaluate cultures and beliefs, and it comes from God Himself and what He has revealed in His Word. Listen to the way that D. H. K. Hilborn describes this and even expands upon what I have said:

More fundamentally, of course, it is hard to see how orthodox Christian theology could disavow metanarrative as such, since this would seem to require the denial of a divine “author” or “creator” distinct from the world—a Word who gives ultimate meaning to our words. The gospel of salvation through Jesus Christ is in this sense surely the “story which explains our stories” (John 4:29). Then again, it is a story which subverts the claims of other “grand stories”, because far from representing a malign “bid for power”, it has as its heart an act of radical, loving renunciation…It is precisely in the metanarrative of his atoning death that Jesus challenges the necessary postmodern identification of “grand stories” with totalization and tyranny, for here the metanarrative turns on a divestment of power in which the Lord of heaven and earth comes “not to be served but to serve”, and in which the bringer of abundant life sacrifices his own life as a “ransom for many” (Mark 10:45).[4]

In other words, most postmodernists disavow metanarratives because they think that they are power grabs that lead to oppression. Yet, in the true metanarrative from the Bible, the Lord of all humbles Himself and takes on humanity to redeem His people. As Paul so eloquently says of Jesus in Philippians 2:6–8, “who, existing in the form of God, did not consider equality with God as something to be exploited. Instead, he emptied himself by assuming the form of a servant, taking on the likeness of humanity. And when he had come as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death—even to death on a cross.”

Fourth, we should challenge some postmodernists’ desire to mix and match spiritual preferences. Granted, some postmodernists are atheistic, but others are open to a self-styled spirituality where they get to pick and choose what sounds good to them. Functionally, they create a God in their own image. They choose a little of this and a little of that. They like a little Jesus and a little Buddha as well. They like certain aspects of Hinduism with just a touch of Islam on top. But we must emphasize that this subjectivism has no authority behind it and is unfaithful to the religions from which it pulls. I would venture to guess that most postmodernists have not spent extensive time actually studying the religions they claim to pick and choose from. If they did, they would see that most of the major religions make exclusive truth claims about themselves. Meaning, they are not simply offering a way; they believe they are offering the way or the truth. As you know, this is certainly true for Christianity. So, we should emphasize what Jesus believed and said about Himself. For example, in John 14:6 He said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Notice that this understanding contradicts Islam which says that Jesus is a mere prophet of Allah. Or how Judaism says that He was a false prophet. Or how Hinduism says that He is an avatar of Brahman. It makes no sense to try to combine these exclusive truth claims about Jesus. He cannot be A and non-A at the same time and in the same way. That would violate the law of non-contradiction. Thus, it is not intellectually honest to cherry-pick various aspects from multiple religions in order to form a spirituality that you are comfortable with. Additionally, postmodernist authors expect you to interpret their writings in a particular way as we saw above. Therefore, we should push them to show the same dignity and respect to other religious texts. They are not free to make them say what they want without respect to authorial intent. If they do, then they are intellectually dishonest and inconstant, and their position is self-defeating. Thus, it should not be respected as viable. We must push these postmodernists to see the self-contradictory nature of their spirituality and present them with the truth of what Jesus actually said about Himself.

Fifth and finally, we must challenge postmoderns on the issue of morality. Is morality really determined by one’s community? To return to Nazi Germany, was what they did in the Holocaust not truly evil because their entire community agreed to it? If it was evil, why so? On what grounds does a postmodernist have to declare what they did wrong? Furthermore, on what grounds does a postmodernist have to say anything is evil and anything is good? Listen to the way Groothuis describes this point: “If evil is deconstructed into incommensurate language games, perspectives and final vocabularies, no evil remains–but the evil of its attempted banishment and the haunting impression that something is deeply amiss.”[5] If it is solely determined by each community, then what happens when those communal beliefs conflict and contradict one another? What happens when those beliefs conflict in the same society? Say you have one community in the same country that believes one thing and another community that believes something contrary; who is to say which view is right morally speaking, especially when it affects the laws of the land? Who gets to make those decisions? This string of questions reveals that without an objective moral law giver (i.e., the Creator God), morality is subjective, and no one truly wants to live in a morally subjective universe. Not me and not the postmodernists either.

How Can We Effectively Evangelize Postmoderns?

Having learned about postmodernism, how can we effectively evangelize people who are beholden to the beliefs of postmodernity? In a humorous account, apologist Douglas Groothuis demonstrates how not to do it. He reimagines Paul’s Mars Hill encounter (Acts 17) to address postmodernists, when he writes:

People of Postmodernity, I can see you speak in many language games and are interested in diverse spiritualities. I have observed your pluralistic religious discourse and the fact that you use many final vocabularies. I have seen your celebration of the death of objective truth and the eclipse of metanarratives, and I declare to you that you are right. As one of your own has said, “We are suspicious of all metanarratives.” What you have already said, I will reaffirm to you with a slightly different spin.

We have left modernity behind as a bad dream. We deny its rationalism, objectivism and intellectual arrogance. Instead of this, we affirm the Christian community, which professes that God is the strand that unites our web of belief. We have our own manner of interpreting the world and using language that we call you to adopt for yourself. We give you no argument for the existence of God, since natural theology is simply rationalistic hubris. We are not interested in metaphysics but in discipleship.

For us, Jesus is Lord. That is how we speak. We act that way, too; it’s important to us. And although we cannot appeal to any evidence outside our own communal beliefs and tradition, we believe that God is in control of our narrative. We ask you to join our language game. Please. Since it is impossible to give you any independent evidence for our use of language, or to appeal to hard facts, we simply declare this to be our truth. It can become your truth as well, if you join up. Jesus does not call you to believe propositions but to follow him. You really can’t understand what we’re talking about until you join up. But after that, it will be much clearer. Trust us. In our way of speaking, God is calling everyone everywhere to change his or her language game, to appropriate a new discourse and to redescribe reality one more time. We speak such that the resurrection of Jesus is the crucial item in our final vocabulary. We hope you will learn to speak this way, as well.[6]

As I hope you might have anticipated, this will not do. But how can we effectively evangelize postmodernists? Here are a few things to keep in mind.

First, remember that postmodernists prize authenticity. The question for them is not “Is this true?” but rather, “How does this make you feel?” or “Does it really affect your life?” For us who are seeking to engage postmoderns, we must be careful not to be hypocrites. Hypocrisy will shut doors to the postmodern world. Because of this, cold-call evangelism can be harder with postmoderns. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do cold-call evangelism, but we should remember that relationships are vital to postmodernists. In their mind, it is only through a relationship that one can see that you are genuine and not a hypocrite who is simply seeking to control people by sharing your metanarrative. The more people can see your love and hospitality, the more they might be willing to hear you share the good news of Jesus Christ. Commenting on using hospitality as a means to open doors for evangelism with postmoderns, Sam Chan writes:

Hospitality is also a powerful apologetic tool. Often we have to defend questions such as, “Why are Christians so hypocritical?” or, “Why are Christians homophobic?” We can give good explanations for why Christians are (or are not) hypocritical. And we can try to give good examples for why Christians are not homophobic. But more often than not, our friends aren’t listening to our answers because their minds are already made up. But if we have them over to our homes, then it is hard for them to accuse Christians of being hypocritical when they’re enjoying a meal with us. And if we’re inviting our gay friends for dinner, then it’s hard for them to argue that we’re homophobic. We’re obviously not homophobic if we’re opening our homes to gays for a meal.[7]

Chan later describes how he thinks Christians can change their evangelistic strategy to postmoderns. For moderns, the logic typically goes:

“Truth, Believe, Praxis.

  • This is true.
  • If it’s true, then you must believe
  • If you believe it, now you must live

But with postmoderns, I believe a better pedagogical sequence is:

Praxis, Belief, Truth

  • The Christian life is livable.
  • If it’s livable, then it’s also believable.
  • If it’s believable, then it’s also true.”[8]

Whether or not you choose to adopt all that Chan says is up to you. But adjusting your strategy in light of what postmodernists believe could prove to be helpful.

Second, use your testimony in your Gospel presentation. As has been said, postmodernists are not as concerned with whether or not something is true. But they may be persuaded by the fact that the Gospel has changed your life. Once again, this might demonstrate to them that the Gospel works, i.e., it changed your life. Remember that postmoderns are fundamentally pragmatic. Because truth is not paramount to them, they primarily care about what works. To be clear, I am not equating your testimony with sharing the Gospel. Those are two different things. In fact, I’d encourage you to share the Gospel compellingly by using Scripture, and then get to your testimony and how Jesus has changed your life. But implementing your testimony in your evangelistic strategy to postmoderns is winsome.

Third, at the end of the day, don’t be intimidated by postmodernists. Yes, we should learn how to best evangelize them. Yes, we should learn what they believe so that we can have more fruitful interactions with them. Yes, we should think of creative ways to engage them. But, when all things are said and done, we must simply proclaim the Gospel. If you get overwhelmed with all the arguments about what they believe and how to best respond to them, you can almost never go wrong with just starting a simple conversation about who Jesus is and how He has changed your life. After all, it is the Gospel that is the power of God for salvation (Rom. 1:16).

I want to leave you with Paul’s words from 1 Corinthians 1:18–24:

For the word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but it is the power of God to us who are being saved. For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and I will set aside the intelligence of the intelligent. Where is the one who is wise? Where is the teacher of the law? Where is the debater of this age? Hasn’t God made the world’s wisdom foolish? For since, in God’s wisdom, the world did not know God through wisdom, God was pleased to save those who believe through the foolishness of what is preached. For the Jews ask for signs and the Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to the Jews and foolishness to the Gentiles. Yet to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God, because God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.

As you seek to engage postmodernists with the truth of Jesus Christ, trust that God is with you, and that He will use you to draw people to Himself. You don’t have to have everything figured out; all you have to do is be faithful.

__________

[1] See Gagging of God, Truth Decay, and Is There a Meaning in This Text.

[2] Norman Geisler, Baker Encyclopedia of Christian Apologetics, 194.

[3] D. A. Carson, The Gagging of God, 102-103.

[4] D. H. K. Hilborn, “Postmodernism,” in New Dictionary of Theology: Historical and Systematic, ed. Martin Davie et al. (London; Downers Grove, IL: Inter-Varsity Press; InterVarsity Press, 2016), 692–693.

[5] Douglas Groothuis, Truth Decay, 171.

[6] Groothuis, Truth Decay, 161-162.

[7] Sam Chan, Evangelism in a Skeptical World, 118.

[8] Chan, Evangelism in a Skeptical World, 125.



A Bible for the People

Editor’s note: Content taken from The Story of Martin Luther by Jared Kennedy, ©2024. Used by permission of Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers, crossway.org. Available for purchase from Crossway and where Christian books are sold.

Prince Frederick of Wittenberg did not want his university’s best professor to be killed, but he knew there was a real threat. Even before Martin had gone to Worms, Prince Frederick already guessed that he would be condemned by the emperor.

After the trial, Martin was given twenty-one days to change his mind. If he didn’t recant, his books were to be burned, and he was to be turned over to the authorities right away. If Martin was going to survive this verdict, he would need his prince’s help. So Frederick made a plan.

Martin and his friends left Worms and traveled east toward home in Wittenberg. When they came near the woods outside the village of Eisenach, they were suddenly surrounded.

A group of men on horseback drew their swords, and one demanded, “Where’s Martin Luther?”

Before one of Martin’s friends could answer, another horseman grabbed Martin by his cloak and threw him to the ground. The kidnappers put Martin on the back of one of their horses and immediately darted off into the woods.

Most people thought Martin had been killed, but Prince Frederick had arranged the “kidnapping” to keep Martin safe. Martin was held in protective custody at Wartburg Castle (nicknamed “the Wartburg”), a tall, stone castle that looms high above the wooded hills of the Thuringian Forest. Martin hid in the dark, gloomy fortress for almost ten months.

As long as Martin was at the Wartburg, the pope and the emperor’s officials couldn’t find him. But Martin had other enemies. Ephesians 6:12 says, “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against . . . the spiritual forces of evil.” Alone in the castle tower, the devil’s accusations filled Martin’s mind: Are you the only wise person? Has the church in so many centuries gone wrong? What if you are wrong about justification? What if you are taking many people with you to hell?

The old storm in Martin’s heart returned. He was depressed and couldn’t sleep. Then he remembered Dr. Staupitz’s advice to hold on to Christ, to stop thinking about himself, and to serve God’s people. He remembered his mentor’s words, “You will be a teacher of the Bible.”

What better way to teach God’s word than to give the German people a Bible that they could read in their own language? There had been German Bible translations before Martin, but these older versions were difficult for regular people to read. What was the point in using fancy and complicated words that couldn’t be understood? Martin told his friend George Spalatin, “Give us simple words and not those of the court or castle, for this book should be famous for its simplicity.”

To make his translation, Martin studied hard to understand a Bible passage’s meaning. He also looked at each verse and thought, How would a German person say something like that? Martin wrestled, for example, with Luke 1:28, where the angel Gabriel greeted Mary and announced that she was pregnant with baby Jesus. Some Bible versions had translated his words, “Hail Mary, full of grace.” Martin thought this was confusing: “A German can talk about a purse full of gold or a barrel full of beer, but how would a German understand a girl ‘full of grace’?” Martin thought that translation missed the point. “I’d prefer to say simply, ‘Leibe Maria’ [“beloved Mary”]. What word is richer than that word, ‘liebe’?”

The translation work was humbling for Martin. He wrote, “I have undertaken to translate the Bible into German. This was good for me. If I hadn’t done it, I might have died thinking I was smart.” Though the work was difficult, Martin completed translating the entire New Testament from its original Greek into German in just eleven weeks. Martin’s time in the Wartburg settled the thunder roaring in his soul. It also prepared him for a different storm. Within the year, he’d return to Wittenberg, ready to face the troubles that raged there.



What Is Postmodernism?

Editor’s note: This article is part of a two-part series titled “How to Evangelize Postmodernists.” Part two is available here.

A part of every effective evangelistic strategy is rightly understanding the beliefs of those you are seeking to evangelize. Knowing what your interlocuters believe and what makes them tick, so to speak, will help you be more effective at relaying the good news of Jesus Christ. This is why missionaries seeking to reach Muslims will research Islam and the Quran, and those seeking to reach Hindus will study Hinduism and the Vedas, etc. While it is clear in Scripture that God is sovereign over salvation, we should strive to do our best to be winsome and knowledgeable about those we are seeking to reach.

Though it is not a religion per se, this is no less true for those who embrace postmodernism.  Though very few people would likely choose the label “postmodernist”[1] to describe themselves, the modern West is heavily influenced by postmodern thought. The average person on the street may not know anything about Michel Foucault and Jean-François Lyotard, but that does not mean that their ideas are not mainstream in our culture. Thus, for Christians who are trying to be faithful to reach the lost in the American context, it would be wise to learn about postmodernism so that we can more effectively engage postmodernists.

But before jumping into this topic, I want to say that there are very few original thoughts in what follows. I was greatly helped in my research by D. A. Carson[2], Douglas Groothuis[3], James Sire[4], and Sam Chan.[5] If one desires more information on postmodernism at large, all of these resources would be helpful. With that noted, let’s jump in!

What Is Postmodernism?

To rightly evangelize postmoderns, we must understand what postmodernism is. However, to understand postmodernism correctly, we must first understand what modernism is. Modernism was largely built upon the ideas of foundationalism. Foundationalism argues that knowledge is the result of understanding foundational truths that are either self-evident (those facts that are so obviously true they don’t need to be argued for or proven, i.e., the law of non-contradiction) or those that can be tested and confirmed through our senses. In other words, being rational and using logic to prove something is fundamental to foundationalism. We can make objective decisions to determine truth by using logic and reason. You may have heard the terms “rationalism” and “empiricism” before, and that is what these two “isms” are largely getting at. So, in answering the question of “How do we know something?” moderns would say, “Because our use of reason or testing/verification tells us so.”

With this in mind, let’s consider how to define postmodernism. People have differing definitions of postmodernism, and a consensus definition has not emerged. Getting a descriptive definition that is not obscure is hard to find as well. One of the easier-to-understand definitions actually comes from PBS! They define postmodernism this way: “A general and wide-ranging term which is applied to literature, art, philosophy, architecture, fiction, and cultural and literary criticism, among others. Postmodernism is largely a reaction to the assumed certainty of scientific, or objective, efforts to explain reality.”[6]

Don Carson would argue that postmodernity is largely a reaction to the epistemological certainty of modernism.[7] Epistemology is the branch of philosophy that examines how we know what we know. So, Carson argues that postmodernism takes great issue with how moderns are so certain that they know what they know. If you read about postmodernism more broadly, you’ll notice that most definitions argue that postmodernism is largely a critique of modernism.

What Are the Core Beliefs or Big Ideas in Postmodernism?

One of the core beliefs of postmodernism is the rejection of objective truth. Friedrich Nietzsche famously said that “God is dead.”[8] By this, Nietzsche meant that with the rise of modernism, reason, and skepticism, the traditional conception of God could not possibly be true or viable. And when God is removed from the equation, so is objective truth.

Nietzsche also pondered the essence of truth. He said, “What, then, is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, metonyms, and anthropomorphisms–in short, a sum of human relations, which have been enhanced, transposed, and embellished poetically and rhetorically…”[9] In other words, truth is not objectively there. It is described in the language in which we tell our metanarratives (more on this below), but there is nothing more truly there. If we continue to insist that we have the one true story, we are delusional. As James Sire noted commenting on Nietzsche’s thought here, “Those who hang on to their metanarrative as if it really were the master story, encompassing or explaining all other stories, are under an illusion. We can have meaning, for all these stories are more or less meaningful, but we cannot have truth.”[10] From a slightly different angle, listen to the way Douglas Groothuis describes it:

For these postmodernist thinkers, the very idea of truth has decayed and disintegrated. It is no longer something knowable by anyone who engages in the proper forms of investigation and study. Truth is not over and above us, something that can be conveyed across cultures and over time. It is inseparable from our cultural conditioning, our psychology, our race and our gender. At the end of the day, truth is simply what we, as individuals and as communities, make it to be and nothing more. Truth dissolves into a host of disconnected “truths,” all equal to each other but unrelated to one another; there is no overall, rational scheme of things.[11]

And this thought introduces another major point within postmodernism, and that is its focus on language. According to postmodernism, all language is a social or human construct. We create language systems, but language does not describe anything true necessarily. Rather, language is used for practical purposes, i.e., to get things done, and to construct “truth” for that community. Therefore, since there is no objective truth behind language, but rather pragmatism (“pragmatism” is a philosophical view that affirms theories or beliefs in terms of their practical application or their ability to get things accomplished), truth is determined by the community. If language is a communal activity and you can convince enough people to agree with you and what you say, then that is “truth” for that community.

Another focal aspect of postmodernity that is attributed to the work of Jean-Francois Lyotard, who is considered one of the founders of the movement, is an “incredulity toward metanarratives.”[12] A metanarrative is the big-picture story that defines one’s worldview. So, for Christians, we have our story which is derived from the Scriptures. Our story goes that there is a Creator God who created and sustains the world (Gen.1-2; Heb. 1:3) The disobedience of the first couple brought sin and death to His creation (Gen. 3), but He made a way for reconciliation through the life, death, and resurrection of His Son (John 3:16). And on and on. But that is our metanarrative that frames how we view all of reality.

And other people have their own metanarratives, whether they be naturalists who do not believe in the supernatural, Marxists who view all things from the lens of the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, the Muslim who believes the story of the Quran, etc. Postmodernists believe that no metanarrative is any better than any other. All these stories are equally valid for those people who believe them. If they work for these people, then they are validated and true (at least they are true for those who believe them).

But notice how this quickly leads to relativism. If your community believes that Jesus is God, well, He might be God for you and your community, but not for someone else or some other community who holds to Allah being God. No one’s story, in other words, is any more “true” than anyone else’s. We are all just playing language games, and if your story helps you live a more meaningful life, then good. But you have no business or authority in telling others that you have the one true story. Listen to how Sam Chan describes the implications of this:

In this way, postmodernity recognizes that knowledge is power. The one who gets to tell the story and impose it as a metanarrative upon others is playing a power game. In postmodernity, there is deep mistrust of organized religion, government, and other forms of established authority because that is exactly what authority figures do: they impose their metanarrative upon all peoples and use truth as a weapon to force people to conform to their metanarrative. That’s also why, in postmodernity, we employ a hermeneutic of suspicion upon a narrative or truth claim. We deconstruct the narrative or truth claim by asking, “What power game is this person playing?”[13]

As you have probably already discerned, this view is at the root of a lot of the social ideologies in our current culture like Critical Race Theory (CRT), Queer Theory, Fat Theory, etc.

Additionally, because language is viewed from this perspective, objective interpretation is also impossible. If truth is subject to the fancy of a community, then is there really a right and wrong way of interpretation? This is where the word “deconstruction” comes into the picture. As James Sire notes:

There is as well a problem with the stories themselves. How is the language in which they are expressed to be interpreted? Within the deconstructionist segment of postmodernism, the stories we tell ourselves and others do not have a determinate meaning. They are subject to normal misreading through lack of intelligence or basic background, or difference between the writer’s or speaker’s background or context and that of the reader or listener. There is an inherent indeterminacy to language itself. Stories all contain the seeds of self-contradiction. Texts and statements mean only what readers take them to mean.[14]

Therefore, when it comes to interpretation, authorial intent is often jettisoned. In other words, what the author meant when he wrote something is largely irrelevant. In fact, it’s impossible to recover what the author intended according to this view. This is because postmodernists, under the influence of one of the leaders named Jacques Derrida, adopt a form of a view called referentialism. Referentialism argues that there is no perfect correspondence between words and the meaning that they confer. Therefore, as Norman Geisler argues, “meaning…is ultimately untransferable between writer and reader.”[15] Now, as I will argue in part two, this view is ultimately self-defeating. Nonetheless, it is important to try to understand where they are coming from.

Without going into much more detail, a couple of other aspects of postmodernism that are worth mentioning are complexity and contradiction; postmoderns value that things are not always what they seem. They value complexity, and one of their adamant rejections is that things are never as clear or as simple as moderns often made it. Additionally, postmoderns value concrete experiences. They are not fond of abstract principles but prefer real-life experiences. They desire to define their own reality based on how they feel, what works, and what they think improves their (and others’) way of life.

By way of summary, postmodernism can be roughly defined by the following characteristics (other characteristics could be added, and these appear in no particular order):

  1. A critical nature towards rationalism and empiricism (logic and verification to discern truth).
  2. A rejection of absolute truth.
  3. “Truth” is determined by one’s community.
  4. Language is a social construct that is used for pragmatic purposes.
  5. A skepticism of metanarratives (no metanarrative is any better than any other).
  6. Knowledge is power (hence skepticism of those in power and controlling metanarratives).
  7. Objective interpretation is impossible.
  8. A valuing of the complex and a rejection of the simple.
  9. A valuing of the concrete and a rejection of the abstract.

__________

[1] Throughout this article, “postmodernist” and “postmoderns” will be used synonymously.

[2] D. A. Carson, The Gagging of God.

[3] Douglas Groothuis, Truth Decay.

[4] James Sire, The Universe Next Door.

[5] Sam Chan, Evangelism in a Skeptical World.

[6] https://www.pbs.org/faithandreason/gengloss/postm-body.html#:~:text=A%20general%20and%20wide%2Dranging,objective%2C%20efforts%20to%20explain%20reality.

[7] Carson, The Gagging of God, 57-64.

[8] Frederick Nietzsche’s writings, on multiple occasions, used the term “God is dead.” The first occurrence is found in The Gay Science (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 2012), 156.

[9] Nietzsche, “On Truth and Lie in an Extra-Moral Sense,” 47.

[10] Sire, The Universe Next Door, 211.

[11] Groothuis, Truth Decay, 20.

[12] Jean-Francois Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition, 24.

[13] Chan, Evangelism in a Skeptical World, 111.

[14] Sire, The Universe Next Door, 213.

[15] Norman Geisler, Baker Encyclopedia of Christian Apologetics, 192.



The People’s Christ

Editor’s note: Excerpted from A Wondrous Mystery: Daily Advent Devotions by Charles H. Spurgeon © 2024 by editor Geoffrey Chang. Used with permission of New Growth Press. May not be reproduced without prior written permission. Available for purchase at newgrowthpress.com.

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“I have exalted one chosen from the people.” Psalm 89:19

Our Savior Jesus Christ, I say, was chosen out of the people; but this merely respects his manhood. As “very God of very God” he was not chosen out of the people; for there was none save him. He was his Father’s only-begotten Son, “begotten of the Father before all worlds.”1 He was God’s fellow, co-equal, and co-eternal. Consequently, when we speak of Jesus as being chosen out of the people, we must speak of him as a man. We are, I conceive, too forgetful of the real manhood of our Redeemer, for a man he was to all intents and purposes, and I love to sing,

A Man there was, a real Man,

Who once on Calvary died

He was not man and God amalgamated—the two natures suffered no confusion—he was very God, without the diminution of his essence or attributes; and he was equally, verily, and truly, man.2 It is as a man I speak of Jesus this morning; and it rejoices my heart when I can view the human side of that glorious miracle of incarnation, and can deal with Jesus Christ as my brother—inhabitant of the same mortality, wrestler with the same pains and ills, companion in the march of life, and, for a little while, a fellow-sleeper in the cold chamber of death.

We have had many complaints this week, and for some weeks past, in the newspapers, concerning the upper-class families. We are governed—and, according to the firm belief of a great many of us, very badly governed—by certain aristocratic families. We are not governed by men chosen out of the people, as we ought to be; and this is a fundamental wrong in our government—that our rulers, even when elected by us, can scarcely ever be elected from us. Families, where certainly there is not a monopoly of intelligence or prudence, seems to have a patent for promotion; while a man, a commoner, a tradesman, of however good sense, cannot rise to the government. I am no politician, and I am about to preach no political sermon; but I must express my sympathy with the people, and my joy that we, as Christians, are governed by “one chosen from the people.” Jesus Christ is the people’s man; he is the people’s friend—aye, one of themselves. Though he sits high on his Father’s throne, he was “one chosen from the people.” Christ is not to be called the aristocrat’s Christ, he is not the noble’s Christ, he is not the king’s Christ; but he is “one chosen from the people.” It is this thought which cheers the hearts of the people, and ought to bind their souls in unity to Christ, and the holy faith of which he is the Founder and Perfecter (Hebrews 12:2).

Christ, by his very birth, was one of the people. True, he was born of a royal ancestry. Mary and Joseph were both of them descendants of a kingly race, but the glory had departed. A stranger sat on the throne of Judah, while the lawful heir grasped the hammer and the plane. Mark well the place of his nativity. Born in a stable—cradled in a manger where the horned oxen fed—his only bed was their fodder, and his slumbers were often broken by their lowings. He might be a prince by birth; but certainly he had not a princely retinue to wait upon him. He was not clad in purple garments, neither wrapped in embroidered clothing; the halls of kings were not trodden by his feet, the marble palaces of monarchs were not honored by his infant smiles.

Take notice of the visitors who came around his cradle. The shepherds came first of all. We never find that they lost their way. No, God guides the shepherds, and he did direct the wise men too, but they lost their way. It often happens, that while shepherds find Christ, wise men miss him. But, however, both of them came, the magi and the shepherds; both knelt round that manger, to show us that Christ was the Christ of all men; that he was not merely the Christ of the magi, but that he was the Christ of the shepherds—that he was not merely the Savior of the peasant shepherd, but also the Savior of the learned, for

None are excluded hence, but those

Who do themselves exclude;

Welcome the learned and polite,

The ignorant and rude.

Christ was chosen out of the people—that he might know our wants and sympathize with us. You know the old tale, that one half the world does not know how the other half lives, and that is very true. I believe some of the rich have no notion whatever of what the distress of the poor is. They have no idea of what it is to labor for their daily food. They have a very faint conception of what a rise in the price of bread means. They do not know anything about it; and when we put men in power who never were of the people, they do not understand the art of governing us. But our great and glorious Jesus Christ is one chosen out of the people, and therefore he knows our wants.

My brother Christian, there is no place where you can go, where Christ has not been before, sinful places alone excepted. In the dark valley of the shadow of death you may see his bloody footsteps—footprints marked with gore; ay, and even at the deep waters of the swelling Jordan, you will, when you come hard by the side, say “There are the footprints of a man: whose are they?” Stooping down, you will discern a nail-mark, and will say “Those are the footsteps of the blessed Jesus.” He has been before you; he has smoothed the way; he has entered the grave, that he might make the tomb the royal bedchamber of the ransomed race, the closet where they lay aside the garments of labor, to put on the vestments of eternal rest. In all places wherever we go, the angel of the covenant has been our forerunner. Each burden we have to carry, has once been laid on the shoulders of Immanuel.

__________

  1. Taken from the Nicene Creed
  2. Taken from the Chalcedonian Definition


Does Original Sin Still Explain the Human Condition?

The doctrine of original sin has fallen on hard times. Celebrated as more “positive” thinking, recent pop publications like Humankind: A Hopeful History propel the sirenic melodies of innate human goodness to an ever-growing audience. The past portrayal of original sin is attributed more to the 17th-century works of Thomas Hobbes than to the Bible, and the new data reveals that we are actually our best selves when we recognize our inner goodness. To many outside the church, the man-as-moral-monster bit simply doesn’t do.

However, there are also others operating within Christian culture who would say a traditional doctrine of original sin is missing the point of the Bible’s message about God’s love and grace.

So, is Christianity’s teaching about sin merely a vestige of times gone by? Is it necessary to the Bible’s message of salvation? Is there a connection between Adam’s sin and my spiritual condition? Does our theology of sin fit with a modern view of the origins of humanity?

The challenge of answering such relevant questions is the breadth of ground they cover—church history, systematic theology, biblical exegesis, philosophy, and now even genetics. However, we are not starting from the ground up in constructing our thoughts about original sin. Christians have been asking similar questions for millennia, and we are stepping into a long stream of holy reflection on what it means to be a human being in a post-Fall world—albeit, now in the 21st century.

What Is Original Sin? 

Throughout the history of the Church, there has been considerable agreement over the doctrine of universal sin. Sometimes, this concept can be confused with original sin. However, while related, the two concepts are distinct. Universal sin affirms, with passages like Romans 3:23, that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (ESV), that there is no human being that does not sin—thus, the universal aspect of the doctrine. Sometimes confusion can arise because passages that support universal sinfulness are used as proof texts for original sin (for example, Isa. 64:6). However, many Christians from various denominations would follow the clear teaching of the apostle Paul in affirming the universal impact of sin on humanity.

However, the reality of universal sin raises another question: How does sin spread universally to all humanity? This is the question the doctrine of original sin seeks to answer. What is the mechanism by which sin invades the world? A traditional understanding of the doctrine of original sin states that Adam and Eve’s transgression had a direct impact on the human race so that all of their children—as their progeny—received a fallen nature, characterized by both separation from God and a corrupted moral state. Generally, discussions of original sin begin their reflection by highlighting the writings of Augustine, who argued fervently for original sin during the fourth century A.D. in response to the optimistic anthropology of his opponent Pelagius. Recently, the argument has been made that original sin is more an Augustinian doctrine than a biblical one. Scholars propose that the church’s embrace of original sin is merely one more example of dogma directing exegesis—the church decides on its theology and then makes the Bible fit into the mold. Anyone familiar with Church history knows that such concerns are not without validity, but accusations claiming the Bible doesn’t teach original sin are inaccurate.

Origins and Original Sin

In reflecting on the Bible’s answer to how sin invades humanity, our thoughts naturally drift to the story of our first parents, Adam and Eve. Genesis 3 records how sin entered into the good world that God created, and while there is no explicit statement about how sin will be passed on to other humans, the narrative of chapters 4–11 reveals that the sin of Adam and Eve leaves an indelible stain on their progeny. Sin spreads quickly and severely. When humanity first chafes at the expressed will of God, the rebellion looks like eating a piece of fruit. However, only one generation later, the crime committed is taking the life of a fellow image-bearer. This pattern in the early chapters of the Bible continues until the narrator writes in Genesis 6:5, “The LORD saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually” (ESV). The tidal wave of sin that overtakes humanity in these early chapters is woven together with the genealogy of Genesis 5, which demonstrates that human life is getting shorter as sin spreads—lining up with the Pauline teaching thousands of years later: Sin leads to death.

The rapid spread of sin, rebellion, disregard for God’s image, and evil in the world rightly causes us to ask: What happened to Adam and Eve in Genesis 3? Traditionally, proponents of original sin have used the language of a fallen nature to describe the impact sin had on humanity. But some critics of the doctrine have argued that a fallen nature creates problems for Christology. If human nature is now a fallen nature that brings with it moral corruption and guilt, then how can Jesus be truly human (with a fallen nature), and yet truly sinless? If He doesn’t assume a fallen nature, then how can He redeem that which He doesn’t take on?  While much reflection has been spent trying to understand the relationship between the human will and human nature, one need not assert a metaphysically transformed fallen nature in the Garden to affirm original sin. The ensuing state of moral corruption and sin that will infect every offspring of the couple flows from their spiritual, relational, and covenantal separation from the life-giving God who created them.

The punishment described in chapter 3 affirms that both the man and the woman will continue their God-given roles in the world (that is, working the soil and bearing children), but because of their sinful rebellion, these tasks will be burdensome, and eventually deadly. Later reference to the image of God in humanity (Gen. 9:6) indicates that people did not cease to be divine image bearers because of the first sin. Adam and Eve did not physically change because of sin; instead, their moral constitution was forever altered because of the severed relationship with their Creator. The narrative of Genesis 3 indicates that death entered the world because of sin and because Adam and Eve were removed from the Garden of Eden (that is, the presence of God and His provision for life in the Tree of Life). In the Garden story, death is characterized by physical mortality and separation from the life-giving Creator God.

The Old Testament and Original Sin

In agreement with some opponents of original sin, Genesis 3 does not explicitly teach that all of Adam’s children biologically inherit his sinful, fallen condition. However, the passage does teach that after the Fall the way of humans being in the world is forever redefined by mortality and separation from God—two realities that continually surface throughout the Old Testament. In Leviticus, Israel is instructed that sacrifice—that is, death—is needed to atone for the sins of the people: Sin leads to death. However, many sacrifices and ritual practices were conducted simply to address the human condition. To be a human being is to be unclean and in need of purification. Yet, even while Israel had these ritual rules to follow in order to experience God’s presence and live in relationship with Him, they repeatedly rebelled against God, worshipped idols, and committed moral atrocities revealing that the poison of sin still ran through God’s people—to the extent that Jeremiah says it is more likely for a leopard to change its spots than for Israel, who was accustomed to evil, to do good (Jer. 13:23).

Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than where the great dynastic leader David confesses in Psalm 51:5, “Behold, I was brough forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.” David’s words are often cited as a proof text for original sin, and they are often criticized as such as well. As a poetic reflection on his own wicked deeds toward Uriah and Bathsheba, David’s words come to us through the figurative and emotive style of poetic sorrow. While Psalm 51:5 does not necessarily prove original sin, it ably demonstrates the impact sin and wickedness continue to have on God’s chosen people—even His chosen king! The message of Psalm 51 lines up well with another Davidic psalm reflecting on the impact of sin on humanity: “They have all turned aside; together they have become corrupt; there is none who does good, not even one” (Ps. 14:3, ESV). Sin has impacted the human condition deeply and holistically. The Old Testament reveals a people who not only sin (that is, do the wrong thing), but who are a sinful people who need a circumcised heart (Deut. 30:6), a heart of flesh (Ezek. 11:19), a new heart (Ezek. 36:26), and the law of God inscribed on their heart (Jer. 31:33). Israel’s problem was the human problem—a sinful, corrupt heart that requires divine attention.

During the Second Temple period, Jewish writers espoused a view similar to original sin. Commenting on the impact of Adam’s sin on the rest of humanity, 2 Esdras 3:21–22 reads, “For the first Adam, burdened with an evil heart, transgressed and was overcome, as were also all who were descended from him. Thus, the disease become permanent; the law was in the hearts of the people along with the evil root; but what was good departed, and the evil remained.” As this passage reflects on God’s interaction with Israel in exile, it reveals that early Jews perceived the perennial sin problem that plagued their nation as rooted in the transgression of Adam.

The New Testament and Original Sin

In the Gospels, Jesus speaks clearly to the impact of sin on the human heart. In John 8:34 sin is compared to slavery, not merely committing a wrong action. One is under the power of sin and must be set free. And earlier in John 6:44, Jesus stated that “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him” (ESV). The consequence of original sin is a humanity that exists in perpetual enmity with God and, therefore, cannot on their own account or in their own moral ability draw near to God. Furthermore, Jesus clearly taught that the root of sin lies in the heart of human beings. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus drives His listeners to realize that the law not only exposes wrong behaviors but wrong desires. Or, as He would later say in Matthew, “For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander” (Matt. 15:19, ESV). As the seat of the will and desire, the heart is what must be transformed, and yet it is the one thing God’s people are powerless to do—God must act.

While the Gospels point to the heart as the root of the problem of sin, the most robust discussion of original sin is found in the Pauline Epistles. In one of the clearest depictions of the fallen condition of humanity, Paul writes to the church in Ephesus, saying:

And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind.

Paul’s assessment of the Ephesian Christians before God “made them alive” in Christ was that they were spiritually dead, enslaved to the power of evil in the world, and were by nature children of wrath. According to our natural condition as descendants of Adam (not necessarily a “fallen nature”), we are born into the world hostile to God and therefore “children of wrath,” experiencing alienation from God, powerless to come to God in our own strength, nor desiring to because of our corrupt hearts.

Ephesians 2 provides a clear depiction of the fallen condition of humanity apart from the grace-filled saving work of God, but Romans 5:12 is the locus classicus for discussions about original sin. In this chapter, Paul seeks to expand on his argument in the earlier chapters of Romans by describing the universal impact of the work of Christ, as compared to the universal reality of sin and death in the world. So, while Romans 5:12 is relevant to the discussion of original sin, and I believe supports it, Romans 5:12–19 is not primarily about the mechanism of the spread of sin. Verse 12 reads, “Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned” (ESV). Douglas Moo helpfully highlights the structure and logic of the passage:

A Sin came into the world through Adam

B With sin came death

B’ Death spread to all people

A’ Because all people sinned (Moo, Romans, NIVAC, 181)

The sin of Adam is the vehicle that brings sin and death into the world, and the post-Fall reality of death spreads to all of Adam’s children “because all sin.” Some critics of original sin have argued that this passage doesn’t speak to the origins of sin at all, but only to the spread of death through sin. And, as an isolated text, it could be argued that is the case. However, it is only six verses later where Paul elaborates on his comparison between Adam and Christ and writes, “Therefore, as one trespass led to condemnation for all men, so one act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all men” (Rom. 5:18, ESV). It is not a misreading of Paul to see in Romans 5 an assertion about the spread of sin to humanity through the sin of Adam.

Augustine and many “realist” interpreters since the fourth century have argued that the propagation of sin occurs because Adam’s progeny is truly in him seminally at the time of his transgression, so humanity literally sins with Adam. Others have argued more convincingly that Paul’s emphasis in Romans 5 is to present Adam as a covenantal representative that stands to shape the spiritual destiny of all who follow, in a similar way that Christ represents a new humanity for those who unite with Him by faith. In explaining the unique representative role played by both Adam and Christ, Herman Bavinck writes, “They have the human race not behind them but before them; they do not spring from it but give rise to it; they are not sustained by it but themselves sustain it; they are not the product of humankind, but are, each in his own way, the beginning and root of it, the heads of all humanity” (Reformed Dogmatics, III:106). The trespass of Adam invariably impacted all humanity by bringing about the spiritual separation between God and man that would usher in an era of mortality. It is only when the New Adam arises to establish a new humanity that the power of sin and death are overcome by the grace and mercy of God.

Conclusion

Is there one biblical passage that we can point to that clearly sets out the details of exactly how Adam’s sin impacts the rest of humanity? No, there is not. Just like we might say there is no verse in the Bible that explicitly states the doctrine of the Trinity. The formation of Christian doctrine consists of both analysis and synthesis. We always want our textual analysis to read various passages well and within their own context, but we also want to aptly synthesize the biblical text in our understanding of “what the Bible teaches.”

Is the doctrine of original sin an antiquated idea that Christians need to wake up and abandon? No. It is a biblical truth that describes the reality that human beings are not sinners because they sin; instead, they sin because they are sinners. And for sinners, while original sin is not necessarily “good news,” the reality of mankind’s inability to save himself truthfully guides us more and more into the beauty of the gospel and the saving grace of God.



The Mystery of Godliness

Editor’s note: Excerpted from A Wondrous Mystery: Daily Advent Devotions by Charles H. Spurgeon © 2024 by editor Geoffrey Chang. Used with permission of New Growth Press. May not be reproduced without prior written permission. Available for purchase at newgrowthpress.com.

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Great indeed, we confess, is the mystery of godliness: He was manifested in the flesh. 1 Timothy 3:16

“God was manifest in the flesh” (1 Timothy 3:16 KJV). I believe that our version is the correct one, but the fiercest battles have been held over this sentence. It is asserted that the word Theos is a corruption for Os, so that, instead of reading “God was manifest in the flesh,” we should read, “who was manifest in the flesh.”

There is very little occasion for fighting about this matter, for if the text does not say “God was manifest in the flesh,” who does it say was manifest in the flesh? Either a man, or an angel, or a devil. Does it tell us that a man was manifest in the flesh? Assuredly that cannot be its teaching, for every man is manifest in the flesh, and there is no sense whatever in making such a statement concerning any mere man, and then calling it a mystery. Was it an angel, then? But what angel was ever manifest in the flesh? And if he were, would it be at all a mystery that he should be “seen by angels” (1 Timothy 3:16)? Is it a wonder for an angel to see an angel? Can it be that the devil was manifest in the flesh? If so, he has been “taken up in glory” (1 Timothy 3:16) which, let us hope, is not the case.

Well, if it was neither a man, nor an angel, nor a devil, who was manifest in the flesh, then surely, he must have been God; and so, if the word be not there, the sense must be there, or else nonsense. We believe that, if criticism should grind the text in a mill, it would get out of it no more and no less than the sense expressed by our grand old version. God himself was manifest in the flesh. What a mystery is this! A mystery of mysteries! God the invisible was manifest; God the spiritual dwelt in flesh; God the infinite, uncontained, boundless, was manifest in the flesh. What infinite leagues our thought must traverse between Godhead self-existent, and, therefore, full of power and self-sufficiency, before we have descended to the far-down level of poor flesh, which is as grass at its best, and dust in its essence! Where find we a greater contrast than between God and flesh, and yet the two are blended in the incarnation of the Savior. God was manifest in the flesh; truly God, not God humanized, but God as God. He was manifest in real flesh; not in manhood deified and made superhuman, but in actual flesh.

Oh joy! there sitteth in our flesh,

Upon a throne of light,

One of a human mother born,

In perfect Godhead bright!

For ever God, for ever man,

My Jesus shall endure;

And fix’d on Him, my hope remains

Eternally secure.

Matchless truth, let the church never fail to set it forth, for it is essential to the world’s salvation that this doctrine of the incarnation be made fully known.

O my brethren, since it is “great indeed,” let us sit down and feed upon it. What a miracle of condescension is here, that God should manifest himself in flesh. It needs not so much to be preached upon as to be pondered in the heart. It needs that you sit down in quiet, and consider how he who made you became like you, he who is your God became your brother man. He who is adored of angels once lay in a manger; he who feeds all living things hungered and was athirst; he who oversees all worlds as God, was, as a man, made to sleep, to suffer, and to die like yourselves. This is a statement not easily to be believed. If he had not been beheld by many witnesses, so that men handled him, looked upon him, and heard him speak, it would be a thing not readily to be accepted, that so divine a person should be manifest in flesh. It is a wonder of condescension!

And it is a marvel, too, of benediction, for God’s manifestation in human flesh conveys a thousand blessings to us. Bethlehem’s star is the morning star of hope to believers. Now man is nearest to God. Never was God manifest in angel nature, but he is manifest in flesh. Now, between poor puny man that is born of a woman, and the infinite God, there is a bond of union of the most wonderful kind. God and man in one person is the Lord Jesus Christ! This brings our manhood near to God, and by so doing it ennobles our nature, it lifts us up from the dunghill and sets us among princes; while at the same time it enriches us by endowing our manhood with all the glory of Christ Jesus in whom dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily. Lift up your eyes, you down-trodden sons of man! If you be men, you have a brotherhood with Christ, and Christ is God. O you who have begun to despise yourselves and think that you are merely sent to be drudges upon earth, and slaves of sin! Lift up your heads and look for redemption in the Son of Man, who has broken the captives’ bonds. If you be believers in the Christ of God, then are you also the children of God, and if children then heirs—heirs of God—joint heirs with Jesus Christ.

What a fullness of consolation there is in this truth, as well as of benediction; for if the Son of God be man, then he understands me and will have a fellow feeling for me. He knows my unfitness to worship sometimes—he knows my tendencies to grow weary and dull my pains, my trials, and my griefs:

He knows what fierce temptations mean,

For he has felt the same.

Man, truly man, yet sitting at the right hand of the Father, you, O Savior, are the delight of my soul. Is there not the richest comfort in this for you, the people of God?