Links For The Church (7/12)

By / Jul 12

Christians Create In Response To Creation

What is the purpose of our creativity? How can the Christian reflect God’s creativity? In this helpful post, Adam Nesmith answers both of these questions.

Does Your Prayer Life Need to Change?

Forrest McPhail provides encouragement for the Christian who is struggling with prayer.

On the Longing to be Seen, Heard, and Known

“The good and faithful actions that you accomplish quietly, without affirmation or praise from others, are the very things that God sees, hears, and knows about you.”

Christians Need More Intergenerational Friendships

Joe Carter shares practical encouragement for church members to seek out those who are older or younger than them and why this is beneficial for the body.



Pastor, Preach Your Sermon

By / Jul 9
Editor’s Note: The weekend can be an incredibly distressing time for many pastors to enter into. The desire to spend quality time with family while juggling the pressures of an unfinished sermon can be an exhausting reality. What many pastors need are not more tips on how to prepare better sermons as much as some encouragement to better prepare their hearts to preach the sermon they have. Join Ronnie Martin every Friday for The Preachers Corner, where he offers some words of comfort and stories of hope to help preachers enter the weekend encouraged by the gentle and lowly heart of Jesus. 

Well, who knew that sermons would be the latest topic to emerge in our ongoing social-media controversies? And while we’re on the subject, I’m not here to get mired in the intricacies of the debate, but to encourage you with these simple words: pastor, preach your sermon.

Two reminders:

  1. You have a people given to you by God to shepherd.

  2. You have the Word given to you by God to shepherd your people with.

Here’s what gospel preachers are called to do with the Word (among other things):

  1. Pray the Word

  2. Observe the Word

  3. Explain the Word

  4. Illustrate the Word

  5. Apply the Word

I’m not your schoolteacher. I know you know this. And I know I’m writing to faithful preachers who labor week in and week out to shepherd their people with the grace and truth of God’s word.

But here’s what is also true. We preachers share a common enemy who would like to obscure our hearts and clutter our minds during the painstaking process of preparing to preach God’s Word. He knows we’re still going to preach it, but He would love for our consciences to feel as condemned as possible when we step into the pulpit on Sunday.

He would like us to feel empowered to preach with the wrong motivations. He would like us to be motivated to preach with the wrong inspirations.

So don’t cave into his whims. Don’t let your integrity be ravaged by your adversary, the devil, who prowls around like a roaring lion (1 Pet. 5:8). Instead, preach your sermon during this out-of-season moment and be confounded once again that the Word you speak is a death-defying proclamation of illuminating light that has the power to bring lost souls back into the land of the living.



I, Yet Not I: A Man’s Personality, Spiritual Gifts, and the Glory of God

By / Jul 9

Who are you? What gives a man his identity? Answering those questions truthfully is essential to living a life of purpose and significance.

The great English Baptist preacher Charles Spurgeon’s book, An All-Around Ministry, contains Presidential Addresses he delivered at the Annual Pastors’ Conferences (1872-1890). One of the lectures that has profoundly impacted me is titled, “Individuality, and its Opposite.” He explained his topic saying,

I want to show that each one of us is a man by himself, and then that no one is alone by himself. Our individuality and our fellowship, our personality and our union with the Lord, our separate existence and our absorption into Christ;—these are the themes upon which I am going to dilate (An All-Round Ministry, Bellingham, WA: Logos Bible Software, 60).

Spurgeon points to Paul’s assertion, “I worked harder than any of them, yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me” (1 Cor. 15:10b, CSB). He notes that Paul’s “I, yet not I” is a helpful way for a man to think about his unique God-given personality and gifting. Consider how thinking about our life in this way can unleash a man to live for God’s glory.

Individuality – I

Spurgeon warns against prideful egotism but advocates what he calls humble egoism, which he describes as “honest selfhood” (62). He explains, “We hope that each man will recognize and honorably maintain his personality” (62). He warns that it is a tragic thing for a man to live with a “counterfeit voice” (72). Spurgeon explains, “Men are not cast in molds by the thousand; we are each one distinct from his fellow” (73). He further exhorts, “Be yourself, dear brother, for, if you are not yourself, you cannot be anybody else; and so, you see, you must be nobody” (73).

Every man must commit himself to the reality that his life constitutes his own unique and strategic ministry opportunity. Paul unjustly imprisoned asserted, “what has happened to me has really served to advance the gospel” (Phil. 1:12). Satan desires us to live in abstraction and a fantasy world of “what if?” and “if only?” but the Scripture admonishes us to live for Christ in the unique and concrete reality of our daily lives. Nobody else can be you—surrendered to Jesus.

Its Opposite – Yet Not I

Spurgeon then states he wants to talk about what “is not the reverse [of individuality], but the converse” (80). He reminds his hearers that though they do have unique work to do in the world, “Brother, you are not the only lamp to enlighten earth’s darkness, . . . You are only one member of the mystic body, one soldier of the grand army” (80). We must remember, “You are not alone in sounding the praises of Christ, your voice is but one of a mighty orchestra” (81) and “although we are individuals, and must keep up our personality, we are only instruments for the accomplishment of the Divine purposes” (83).

Spurgeon notes that all believers share the experience of the Spirit of Christ dwelling within us. God spiritually gifts each believer (Rom. 12:6-8, 1 Cor. 12:4-11, 28, Eph. 4:11), but spiritual gifts are not given for self-promotion or to magnify our individuality. Rather, they are given for the common good of the church (1 Cor. 12:7, 14:12, 26). Since spiritual gifts are given for the benefit of the entire body, it would be foolish to boast about them and call attention to ourselves. Rather, we use them to serve others and call attention to Christ.

Men, be you—surrendered to Christ. No one can do it for you because no one else has your unique and strategic ministry opportunity. But never forget that you are united to Christ and a member of his body. Apart from Christ, you can do nothing.  Your spiritual gifting is to point to him and build up his church. God does not need you, but by his grace, he has uniquely called you and gifted you, spend and be spent for his glory.

Editor’s Note: This originally published at Prince on Preaching.



Dean Inserra On Growing A Church

By / Jul 9

We asked Dean Inserra, “How do you lead a growing church without getting a big head?”



4 Unmet Emotional Needs of Pastors: Friendship

By / Jul 8

Confession: This article is written by a man with a lifelong addiction to achievement. Prioritizing friendship has never been my strong suit.

In the 5th grade, I discovered that straight A’s were a surefire way to separate myself from the pack, to get ahead and to chase a dream. While my passion for learning has opened up doors along the way, it has also been an obstacle in forming deep bonds with other men.

I don’t think I’m alone in this, and it seems especially prevalent among pastors. As I’ve opened up with church leaders in this area, I’ve discovered several reasons why pastors are friendless in the ministry.

There’s a Masculine-Fueled Reluctance to Be Vulnerable.

In Disciplines of a Godly Man, Kent Hughes writes:

We all know that men, by nature, are not as relational as women. Men’s friendships typically center around activities, while women’s revolve around sharing. Men do not reveal their feelings or weakness as readily as women. They gear themselves for the marketplace, and typically understand friendships as acquaintances made along the way, rather than as relationships.

I agree with Hughes, and I see this tendency in myself. In order to bond with a brother, I have to be willing to share uncomfortable feelings such as fear, shame, guilt, and sadness. These emotions are not feminine, but human, and true friends are able to open up when experiencing them.

Over the years, I’ve noticed how awkward men can be at church events. The conversation usually revolves around surface-level topics like sports, hobbies, and recent purchases (boats, fishing poles, tools, etc.). Rarely does a man lock eyes with another and say, “I’ve been experiencing a tremendous amount of fear the past few months,” or “I’m walking through a grief process since losing my job.” These kinds of statements are a glue that brings men closer, but are rarely used.

Pastors especially struggle to display vulnerability. The pastor is expected to lead a life worthy of imitation, which includes the fruits of the Holy Spirit (love, joy, peace,etc.), so it’s expected that he focus on the positive and be strong for the weak. But what if he’s the one feeling weak? In that case, he–along with his wife–assumes they had better keep the struggles under wraps.

Vulnerability matters in leadership. Pastors often think success looks like running the perfect staff meeting or leading a growing church. But sometimes success is going into that staff meeting and saying, “Hey, can I let you all in on some of the battles raging in my heart?” Likewise, vulnerability matters in community. Vulnerability is necessary to move anyone from “acquaintance” or “colleague” into a deep, meaningful friendship.

Here’s another challenge for you: Identify three other local pastors, even if you don’t know them well–or even at all–and invite them to lunch. Who knows? Maybe they’re in the same boat. And you just might find they are a safe place for you.

There’s Constant Pressure to Grow the Ministry.

“How many are you running?” a Bible Belt native recently asked a West-coast church planter. The planters confessed to me that the question activated a shame cycle that took days to deactivate.

Whether we like it or not, America’s focus on franchising and scaling creates an unhealthy scorecard for church leaders. In order to “get a trophy” in our context, your church needs to be highlighted in a magazine for steep spikes in attendance or baptisms. While we all agree that multiplication and growth are grounds for celebration, the size of one’s church is not a healthy measure of God’s favor. Many times, the church’s growth is related to factors outside a pastor’s control.

What does this have to do with friendship? A constant feeling that “I am not enough,” or “my church is not enough” causes pastors to put their personal needs behind the needs of his feeble flock. The sermon could be a sizzler with just a few more hours of study. The staff will be stoked with a more carefully prepared meeting. The church will be challenged if  one more person is won to Christ, and that story can be told on Sunday.

Please hear me: Sizzling sermons, inspired staff meetings, and souls won for Christ are answers to prayer! These are the moments a pastor lives for. But the constant pressure to do it again, and again, will ultimately lead to a shallow way of life. When is enough enough?

According to Jesus, we are already enough (Rom. 8:1). Here’s a critical truth: We need close friends in order to be emotionally and spiritually healthy. We can’t lead our churches well if we’re leading out of burnout and loneliness.

Earlier, I mentioned the importance of befriending other pastors. But before you discount church members as friends, remember this: It’s easy to let church business disconnect you from the people you serve. An emotionally healthy pastor is connected with his flock.

There’s a Challenge in the Scriptural Command to Manage the Home Well.

This rarely gets talked about, but I felt this pinch often as a pastor. There’s an underlying expectation that the pastor’s kids are a model to follow, that his marriage is free of all contempt. The Bible says a pastor must “manage his own household competently, having his children under control with all dignity (1 Timothy 3:4).” Who is sufficient for such a task!?

Leading at home is often harder than leading at the church. We think: What if the deacons discover that my kid is walking through a hard season, or that my marriage looks like a long stretch of Kansas interstate? These are real insecurities that cause pastors to focus intensely on home and less on friendships.

We have four kids, and while they are certainly not perfect, we are tremendously proud of them. My wife, Lynley, and I are heavily invested in helping them mature into followers of Jesus. But it’s messy. It’s three steps forward and two steps back. Parenting feels more fragile than we would prefer, and it requires the vigilance of a private detective. At any given time, least one of our kids is moving into a season of struggle, needs help processing a hurt, or has been notified that the basketball roster did not include his name.

Making time for male friendship, as a pastor, comes after family. This is biblical and right, but the stakes seem higher for the preacher on a platform. Dating his wife, finishing his sermon, coaching a soccer team, managing tense relationships with his church staff, and responding to unfair social media posts are more urgent. That means “playing golf with Joe” remains #14 on the to-do list.

If you’re still reading, you’re probably a pastor who longs for meaningful friendship. When the Lord said, “It’s not good for man to be alone,” this applied first to Adam’s need for Eve, but it also speaks to deep longing in everyone for community. Open up to your wife about your desire to build a strong friendship or two. Explain your need and ask for her help in making friendships a priority. Invite her accountability on this.  Involve her in the friendships; plan double dates with other couples. Make sure to include ministry couples who share your struggles and can speak truth and life into the two of you.

Don’t be an island or a work machine. Be a human. Be a friend. We all need community; pastors are no exception. Authentic friendship is risky because it requires vulnerability. But it’s well worth it.

 

 



The Trinity’s Fruitful Root

By / Jul 8

While the controversies surrounding the Nicene Creed of the fourth century did not directly concern the Father, they did radically shape how the Father is conceived in relation to the Son and Spirit – that is, the way in which he is Father. And while the historical script from AD 325 to 381 advances the status of the Son and Holy Spirit, it does so in the environment of a long shadow cast by the Father. Giving attention to this “shadow” helps us understand what it means to confess, as the Church does at the opening of the Nicene Creed, “I believe in one God, the Father Almighty.”

The Father’s “Shadow”

Pre-Nicene theologians would often speak of the dependence of the Son and Spirit upon the Father and, thereby, argue to some extent for the superiority of the Father. The most influential pre-Nicene theologian for setting the script of the fourth century was Origen of Alexandria. He is a fascinating figure because his theology influenced both sides of the Nicene debates. With regard to the Father, it did not appear to be Origen’s intention to subordinate the Son and Spirit to him. Nonetheless, his theology communicated a clear separation between the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.

The pro-Nicene theologians of the fourth century advance the theological script with the same biblical characters but with greater attention to the whole of Scripture’s pattern of naming the persons of the Godhead. The beneficial result was they faithfully drew out both the unity and diversity between the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Within this maturing story culminating in the Nicene Creed, the fourth-century script focuses upon the status of Son and Holy Spirit yet does so always in “dialogue” with the Father.

One might say that rather than being a central protagonist in the narrative surrounding the Nicene Creed, the Father is a “supporting” character; but only a supporting character in the sense that Gandalf is a supporting character within the story of The Lord of the Rings. Gandalf is a character who is not central in terms of physical or verbal presence, yet nonetheless dominates indirectly through his specific background and relations with the main characters. The example of Gandalf highlights a character who is often known through how others respond to him and how he affects key situations in the narrative. The Lord of the Rings is not about him per se, but the story cannot be told without him and the intricate web of relations his character upholds. He looms over everything.

The remainder of this article with illustrate this precise point through two pro-Nicene theologians who were crucial to the final victory of Nicene thought in the Church. First, we will learn from Hilary of Poitiers (AD c. 315 – 367) who was from modern day France and wrote in Latin yet travelled to the eastern part of the Roman Empire and dialogued with Greek-speaking theologians. Second, we will learn from Gregory of Nazianzus (AD 329 – 390) who is known as one of the Cappadocian Fathers. Gregory was from modern day Turkey and for a time presided over the proceedings of the Council of Constantinople (381), which was responsible for the final form of the Nicene Creed we recite today.

Hilary of Poitiers on the Fruitful Father

The focus of Hilary’s Trinitarian arguments was on generation from the Father, which he often articulated in terms of an eternal “birth” (Latin: Nativitas). Hilary’s theological reasoning began with the Trinitarian names revealed in the New Testament. In particular, in his monumental work On the Trinity Hilary focuses on the words “Father” and “Son” as leading to the centrality of the birth to our understanding of the Trinity. When we confesses “Father” or “Son” we are immediately led, through these divine names and their mutual entailments, to a confession that the Son is begotten of the Father. Through the eternal birth Hilary stresses that the Father and Son have the same nature, while also insisting that there exists a real distinction (though not a separation) between them. The unity and distinction of the Father and Son revealed through the birth is explained within Hilary’s thought by examining the “gift” given from the Father and received by the Son.

In explaining the eternal birth Hilary uses languages that initially makes an orthodox Trinitarian theologian nervous:

“The Father is greater than the Son, and surely greater, since he allows him to be as great as he himself is, since he bestows the image of his unbegotten nature upon him by the mystery of the birth, since he begets him from himself into his own form.”[1]

While Hilary will use language of “greater” for the Father because of his gift of the divine nature to the Son through the order of the eternal birth, at the same time he will say the Son is “not less” because of his full reception of the gift from the Father.

Through Hilary’s emphasis on eternal birth he highlights what he sees as the Father’s identity. Though he is appropriately reticent in his speech on this point, what explains the Father’s giving through the birth points to something about the Father’s character. In On the Trinity 9.61 Hilary says, “God does not know how to ever be anything else than love, nor to be anything else than the Father.”

This statement comes in the context of an account for divine simplicity, so when God is referred to as “Father” he is wholly “Father.” That is, there is not one “part” of God that is Father and another that is not: “The Father is the Father of everything that is in him and all that he has…. He is wholly the Father of him who receives his being from him.”[2] For Hilary, the perfection of God is seen in his simplicity where he is Father of “all his own attributes which are in the one whom he has begotten from himself .”[3]

It is at this point, where Hilary is considering the birth in simplicity in light of the Father’s love, that he gives a striking line: “the perfect birth of the Son, with all of these attributes, completes him as the Father.”[4] In what sense can one who is perfect in himself as Father be completed? While it strains our theological categories, if we read out of the character of the Father as the eternal “giver” out of his “love,” then to fully give of himself “completes him as the Father.” In other words, out of his love the Father gives everything to the Son who receives it perfectly. In his eternal giving, he is fully working out of who he is as Father and manifesting his unique character. To confess “the Father Almighty” in the Nicene Creed, then, is to speak of the Father’s superabundant fruitfulness revealed in generation—a fruitfulness which lovingly establishes equality among each of the divine persons.[5]

Gregory of Nazianzus on the Origin-less Father

Gregory of Nazianzus’s writings also stress the fecundity of the Father that contributes to the dynamism of the Triune life of the Godhead. At the same time, though, Gregory helps us fill out our confession of the Father through acknowledging that, whereas the Son and Holy Spirit are from another divine person, the Father is from no one. The Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son. The Son is begotten from the Father. The Father is unbegotten.

Late in his life, when removed from the heat of theological battle and in a reflective state, Gregory wrote theological poems. They mirror the content of his five famous Theological Orations and thus reflect the mature theology confessed in the final wording of the Nicene Creed. In his poem “On the Son” he writes of the eternal birth of the Son from the Father:

Nothing ever existed before the great Father. For he who contains the universe and is dependent on the Father knows this, the one who is sprung from the great Father, the Word of God, the timeless Son, the image of the original, a nature equal to his who begot him. For the Father’s glory is his great Son and he was manifested in a way known only to the Father and to the Son made known by him.[6]

The eternal birth or generation of the Son necessitates an eternal equality, which Gregory briefly translates in terms of image and shared glory. Distinction between Father and Son is held up by the order demonstrated through begetting, but equal nature means that, despite having an ordered “beginning,” the Son is as eternal as the Father: the Father is the Son’s “timeless beginning.”

Gregory goes on within this poem to note the distinctiveness of the Father: “As God, as progenitor, he is a mighty progenitor. But if it is a great thing for the Father to have no point of origin for his noble Godhead, it is no lesser glory for the revered offspring of the great Father to come from such a root.”[7] Gregory is arguing for two things at the same time here: on the one hand, he is upholding the full divinity of the Son through his origin and “root” in the Father and, on the other hand, he is arguing for the uniqueness of the Father’s divinity as having no origin—he’s unbegotten.

Lest the Spirit be left out, Gregory in his Theological Poem “On the Spirit” describes the Spirit’s divinity “coming from the Father,” the “unoriginate root.”[8] What the Father has is the origin-less “divinity”: he is the “endless beginning” of the Trinity, even if that starting point must be discerned from the vantage point of the Son and Spirit who provide the vision of the Father. What is being described here by Gregory is known in Trinitarian theology as the “relations of origin” where the Son (by begetting) and Spirit (by procession) are known relative to their eternal origins in the Father.[9] Again, as several characters of the Lord of the Rings are illumined through their relations to Gandalf, so understanding the Son and Spirit comes only through properly relating them to the Father.

Knowing the Father “On the Way”

Learning to confess God the Father in the Nicene Creed draws the eyes of faith to a person, yes, but that person can never be severed from his personal relations. Accordingly, to know the Father is to know him “on the way.” That is to say, the Father does not present himself immediately within the economy of creation and redemption as a dominant protagonist. Therefore, while there is always an element of mystery to understanding each of the divine persons, Gregory teaches us it is especially the case with the unbegotten Father. Knowledge of him arises from his relations and acts manifest in the Son and Spirit, even while that knowledge will always stall in probing the exhaustive nature of those relations.

As the Spirit and Son bring us to the Father, they not only prompt us to confess his origin-less divinity but also that he is the fruitful root of the Trinity. Out of the Father’s eternal fecundity, Hilary taught us, he lovingly gives in the eternal generation of the Son and procession of the Spirit. What is more, in God’s unfathomable goodness, this fecundity rooted in the Father generously abounds freely causing the creation of the world: “I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible.”

Most precious to the faithful, however, most precious to those who confess the Father with faith, hope, and love in their hearts is the fruit of the Father manifest in our redemption where the Spirit unites us to the Son so that in him we know the Father by grace even as the Son does by nature.

Editor’s Note: This post originally appeared at the blog for Credo Magazine and is used with permission.



Jared Wilson on Advice for New Writers

By / Jul 8

FTC.co asks Jared C. Wilson, Assistant Professor of Pastoral Ministry at Spurgeon College and Author in Residence at MBTS, "What advice would you give to new writers?"



Episode 125: FTC Mailbag

By / Jul 7

On this episode of the FTC Podcast, Jared and Ronni answer your questions in another installment of the FTC Mailbag. This time around they cover pastors who badmouth former congregations, how to find godly mentors, pastors balancing community involvement with local church ministry, pastoring people through midlife, and beginning replant conversations with dying churches.



Deacons: A Book Review

By / Jul 7

Deacons are the guys who fire the pastor when he does something stupid, right?

 Are deacons just glorified janitors?

Does our church even have deacons? Who cares?

Depending on what church you are a part of you might have very different perspectives on what a “deacon” is. Whatever your view is, if you are tempted to think that the role of deacons is something relatively yawn-worthy, something on par with organizing church yard sales or pointless committee meetings, Matt Smethurst would like to change your mind.

In his new book, Deacons: How They Serve and Strengthen the Church, Smethurst wants to open your eyes to this sobering and encouraging reality: “Deacons wrongly deployed can halve your ministry, but deacons rightly deployed can double it…For better or for worse, deacons are difference makers,” (p. 20).

Smethurst, who is now an elder at his church, first served for years as a deacon himself. Serving in both roles provides him a unique perspective on what a deacon is and isn’t, and how faithful deacons can enhance and focus the work of the elders. Central to Smethurst’s argument in the book is what deacons must be and what deacons must do: deacons must be Christ-like servants, and deacons must do Christ-like service.

What a Deacon Must Be

Our English word “deacon” is simply a transliterated form of the Greek word diakonos, “servant.” A deacon, quite literally, is a servant. Smethurst demonstrates that this means that a deacon is to be what all Christians are to be: servants. A quick search of the use of diakonos in the gospels shows us that the call to be a “servant” is not limited to an elite few, but universal for all Christ-followers (cf. Matt 23:11; Mark 9:35).

“If you’ve put your trust in Christ,” Smethurst writes, “you are already a deacon in a broad sense,” (p. 16). Of course, the Bible does begin to use the noun “deacon” in a more technical sense as one of the two ordained offices in the church, as the epistles of Paul show us (cf. Phil 1:1; 1 Tim 3:8-12). But even as we examine the qualifications of a deacon in 1 Timothy, we should be struck with just how ordinary these requirements are. Deacons are not called to leap over tall buildings in a single bound or stop proverbial trains with their bare hands. The requirements for the diaconate are none other than the same requirements all Christians are called to submit to: speak the truth, abstain from drunkenness, do not be greedy for dishonest gain, be faithful in marriage, etc.

Smethurst explains: “Deacons must embody the kind of character expected of all Christians. But they should be exemplary in the ordinary. Deacons are the people in your church of whom you should be able to say, ‘Brother, do you desire to foster unity? Sister, do you wish to grow as a servant? Watch them,” (p. 71).

This is why character always matters more than competency when it comes to selecting a deacon. Deacons, like elders, are to be living-breathing examples of godliness for the church to model themselves after.

The temptation for many churches is to view the diaconate as the junior varsity team to the elders when it comes to spiritual maturity. Sure, he doesn’t really know his Bible and has a bad temper, but he is really handy and is willing to mow the church lawn, so we should make Ted a deacon. Finding competent deacons who can organize ministries is crucial—but competency never outweighs character (see pgs. 32-36). And when we rightly understand what deacons are called to do, the importance of what they must be becomes even clearer.

What a Deacon Must Do

Acts 6:1-7 is an important starting place for understanding what deacons must do. The early church is threatened with serious divisions that are occurring across ethnic lines: Hellenistic Jews are ignored in the daily distribution of bread. Jesus taught that the church would be formed from peoples from every nation (Matt 28:18-20) and the Jerusalem church is the first petri-dish in which this multi-cultural community is growing. These divisions contradict Jesus’ vision of what the church is to be. So, what do the apostles do?

Although Acts 6:1-7 never uses the noun diakonos the way Paul uses it in Timothy, we do get the verbal form of it (diakoneō) when the apostles explain, “It is not right that we should give up preaching the word of God to serve (diakoneō) tables,” (Acts 6:2). So the apostles call on the entire congregation to select seven men, “of good repute, full of Spirit and wisdom,” (Acts 6:3, note the importance of character!) who can serve the church. The apostles conclude, “But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word,” (Acts 6:4). So the church chooses seven men to serve the church (Acts 6:5-6).

And what happens? We are told, “And the word of God continued to increase, and the number of the disciples multiplied greatly in Jerusalem, and a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith,” (Acts 6:7). These seven men didn’t just slow down the infestation of division in the church—their service led the church to explode in health and evangelism!

From this story we glean many insights into what a deacon’s ministry should do:

Prioritize the ministry of Word and Prayer

The apostles are reluctant to forego their ministry of the Word and prayer to wait on tables, but not because they find the service below them or the problem to be unimportant. There’s actually a play on words with diakonos in Acts 6:2, 4, which becomes apparent if we just use our English word “deacon”:

“It is not right that we should give up preaching the word of God to deacon tables… But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the deacon-ing of the word.”

The word used in verse 4 for “ministry” comes from the same word group as diakonos: diakonia. The apostles are not unwilling to be servants—they just know that the unique service they have been called to cannot be neglected.

This distinction in service correlates to the distinction between elders and deacons in 1 Timothy, where the only substantive difference between the two is the requirement for elders to be “able to teach” (1 Tim 3:2). Pastors must devote themselves to the ministry of the Word. It can be tempting for pastors to get entangled in many problems in the life of the church either from a lack of help or a lack of trust in others and begin to neglect the prayer and ministry of the word—but this comes with a cost. Smethurst notes:

“By prioritizing Scripture and prayer, the apostles are choosing to stay focused on the whole church’s spiritual welfare, even as they affirm the Hellenists’ physical needs…a church whose ministers are chained to the tyranny of the urgent—which so often shows up in “tangible problems”—is a church removing its heart to strengthen its arm. It’s a kind of slow-motion suicide,” (p. 47).

Deacons thus are to work and care for the needs within the church so that the elders may be free to prioritize prayer and the ministry of the Word.

Promote and Prioritize Unity in the Church

Unity was threatened in Acts 6 and the seven stepped up to protect the unity. “Deacons should be those who muffle shockwaves,” writes Smethurst, “not make them reverberate further,” (p. 54). Deacons are those who labor to prioritize and implement the priorities of the elders and to free the elders to devote themselves to what will bring the most unity: prayer and Word. Deacons are not those who use their position of authority to battle others or cudgel the elders. In fact, Smethurst points out that while there are several passages where elders are called to exercise oversight and members are called to submit to them (Acts 20:28; 1 Tim 3:1-2; 5:17; 1 Pet 5:2; Heb 13:17), there is no such parallel with deacons. “Members…are called to emulate deacons; they are never told to obey them,” (p. 84).

Smethurst cites Mark Dever’s helpful analogy,

“If the elders say, ‘Let’s drive to Pittsburgh,’ it’s not up to the deacons to come back and say, ‘No, let’s drive to Philadelphia instead.’ They can legitimately come back and say, ‘Our engine won’t get us to Pittsburgh. Perhaps we should reconsider.’ That’s very helpful. But in general their job is to support the destination set by the elders,” (p. 83).

Smethurst concludes, “A contentious Christian…will make a poor deacon. So what should mark a deacon? Palpable humility. A spirit of gentleness. A willingness to be flexible. The ability to stand on conviction without being combative,” (pgs. 76-77). This is so critical when many churches (particularly in the Baptist tradition) view the deacon board as a kind of adversary to the pastor, there to check him if he moves the church in a direction they don’t like. It is the role of the elders to lead the ministry; it is the responsibility of the deacons to help facilitate the ministry, not provide an alternative direction.

Deacons can promote and protect the unity of the church by responding to opportunities for division in the church, supporting the ministry of the elders, and exhibiting humility in their own character.

Care for the Physical Needs of the Church

Since deacons are to work on “anything in a church’s life that threatens to distract and derail elders from their primary responsibilities,” (p. 75), this often means that deacons should be working to identify and meet tangible needs within the church. In Acts 6, that was an equitable distribution of bread. In churches today that may look like caring for the physical needs of widows, care for the church facilities, oversight of the church’s technology, budgets, hospitality, outreach opportunities, benevolence ministries, and so on and so forth.

It is interesting to note that we are never told exactly how the seven in Acts fixed the dilemma. Nor are we told that the apostles dictated what needed to be done. After the congregation had agreed that they were qualified and competent (why they must be “full of wisdom”), the apostles simply trusted them to figure out how to solve the problem. When addressing physical needs within the church, deacons are to be creative problem solvers. Their desire to guard the unity of the church compels them to this, “An ideal deacon candidate should have a track record of: sees a problem → wants to safeguard unity → thinks creatively → solves the problem,” (pgs. 55-56).

Conclusion

At one point, the church I now pastor had a board of deacons who oversaw the pastor and had authority over him. Later on, the church changed its model of governance and, while not eliminating the office entirely, had all deacons vacate the office and simply left it empty. Apparently, no one thought the job was important enough to be filled. Smethurst’s book shines like a lighthouse blazing through the fog of that kind of indifference. The work of deacons is not an optional quirk; it is a difference-maker in the life of a church.

There is so much more in this book that should be commended. The appendix on the issue of whether or not women can serve as deacons is worth the price of the book alone! Smethurst has packed the book with good exegesis, enlightening history, careful theology, and oodles and oodles of practical wisdom and refreshing encouragement.

He closes his book with these words of encouragement to all laboring in the diaconal ministry: “I want to reiterate that diaconal work is not glorious because it is always seen (it often isn’t). Nor is it glorious because it always gratifies (it often doesn’t). Ultimately, the work is glorious because of what it mirrors,” (p. 118). That mirrored reality is none other than the Deacon of all Deacons, the Servant of the Lord: Jesus Christ.

Editor’s Note: You can purchase Deacons: How They Serve And Strengthen The Church here or wherever books are sold. 



At the Feet of the Fake: What Fiction Can Teach Us About Theological Interpretation

By / Jul 6

From the same pen which birthed the ever-important fictional town of Gilead, Iowa, came a collection of delightful essays entitled, “When I Was a Child I Read Books.” In one of these essays, novelist Marilynne Robinson writes regarding the concept of “imaginative love” in which she describes the capacity for humans to feel genuine affection for those who are not really there. Using fictional characters, or real authors of the past as test-subjects, she stated, “I love the writers of my thousand books. It pleases me to think how astonished old Homer, whoever he was, would be to find his epics on the shelf of such an unimaginable being as myself, in the middle of an unrumored continent.” She concludes, “All together they are my community.”

The Teacher Who Is Not There

Those who have spent much time in the presence of well-crafted fictional characters need not be swayed by Robinson’s logic. For, the evidence of such a possibility resides in their deep inward adoration for their favorite characters. Those of us who find fiction as a well of joy are more than equipped to recite the real lessons we have learned at the feet of the fake. One of Dickens’s orphaned boys—Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, or Pip—may have taught us to adore the mundane; one of Rowling’s students, Longbottom perhaps, may have taught us the worthiness of bravery. These characters’ lives, in their entirety, find their full existence inside a few pages, but their instruction lives large within us.

Fiction has the power to instruct all those who would dare dive into the world of the imaginative. She’s equipped to act as the schoolmaster on an endless assortment of topics; she knows lessons of love and heartbreak, hope and despair, fortune and loss, friendship and traitors, work and leisure, and the list could almost ever-flow. Fiction’s wisdom is as vast as her contributors and is increasing with each new page published. When one surveys the list of potential lessons taught from fictional literature, they may not suspect theological realities to be present, yet the theologian has much to learn from novels.

A Real Lesson From the Fake

The roads of fiction and theology cross at a number of intersections. However, the jurisdiction of this essay will be confined to a brief examination about the lesson fiction literature might teach us regarding the task of theological interpretation of Scripture. Even with this delineation, the points of contact between novels and theological interpretation proliferate. For who would doubt that well-crafted fiction has a lesson for theologians and theological interpretation when it comes to articulating plot development, or pursuing a robust understanding of character, or developing empathy with those caught in the drama, or visualizing interlocutors and antagonists. Yes, in this very incomplete list of reasons, the theologian has ample justification to crack open their next Jane Austen novel.

However, there is a benefit which exists at a more basic level about which the novelists or fiction reader can instruct the theologian. Namely, the novelist can instruct the theological reader about the inherit relationship between the ontology and functionality of a piece of literature.

We would all think a reader crazy who picked up Alexander Dumas’s classic, The Count of Monte Cristo, and proceeded to read the gathered chapters as an anthology of loosely, but not explicitly, related content. This reading method would be unthinkable and would undermine any hermeneutical effort or impact. No one cracks a novel and reads chapter two assuming that it has nothing or little to do with chapter nine. Nor do readers set out to read a great work of fiction with the assumption that it matters not where they begin working through the drama.

These acts strike us as silly since anyone who picks up a novel has a deep underlining conviction about what a novel is and even when they are not seeking to apply their convictions regarding the literary piece’s ontology, they do so, nevertheless. When a reader reaches for a novel, they do so with the intuition and assumption that what they hold is a unified story and this internal belief shapes how they proceed to work through the words therein. Their understanding of the book’s ontology will not allow them to interpret chapter two as having nothing to do with chapter fourteen. Yes, readers of Edmond Dantes’s tale know that the wisdom of Abbé Faria—discovered towards the beginning of the novel—will pay dividends in the plot against Gérard de Villefort throughout the rest of the masterpiece. Moreover, they need not be schooled in an academic form of literary method to have this correct intuition. The fiction reader’s intuitive hermeneutical method is rooted simply in what they know a novel to be—a story, unified by author and theme, which is taking them to somewhere, to something, or to someone.

This is a real lesson which theological readers can learn at the feet of the fake. A piece of literature’s ontology will always impact how we are to handle the content of that piece. Or, as the late theologian John Webster stated, “bibliology is prior to hermeneutics.” Practitioners of theological interpretation put the proverbial cart before the horse when they set out to outline methods of handling and applying the Biblical data before coming to terms with what the Bible is in the first place. We must know what the Bible is before we can properly ask what we ought to do with it.

When readers rearrange their theological and hermeneutical method to put ontology before function, they learn, says Scott Swain, that “the Bible is an extraordinary book” and therefore “the reading of the Bible is an extraordinary enterprise.” The Bible’s extraordinariness comes from the reality that with it and in it, the triune God of the universe—who tells the stars where to hang and the oceans where to stop—has revealed himself in order that wicked creatures might find themselves reconciled in and to himself.

While the contents of this divine self-disclosure were constructed by diverse hands—authors spanning multiple centuries, continents, and cultures—it nevertheless has a unified divine author who threads a yarn of consistency through all its content. This divine author, and his telos for the Scriptures, assures readers that they can have the same intuition intact when they approach the pages of Scripture as they do when they discover the drama of a great novel. Theological interpretation, which approaches the biblical data with theology and presuppositions in hand, is done best when the ontology of the Bible dictates the function of the interpreter. The divine authorship actually bears hermeneutical responsibility that would bar interpreters from treating the Scriptures as an anthology of loosely related material.

So, as we sit at the fictitious school of the imaginative, may we learn a real lesson. A lesson which declares that literary ontology must precede literary function and that the proper interpretation of speech will always have the speaker in mind. For our purposes, that speaker happens to be the a se, simple, immutable, impassible God of the cosmos. May each new great novel we read remind us that the literary intuition of the interpretative community may serve her well or for harm, but it will indeed show up in how she treats the text.

Editor’s Note: This article originally appeared at the blog for Credo Magazine and is used with permission.