Spring has sprung. The trees are budding and the bulbs are beginning to poke up through the ground. It is just about the best time of year—yielding up long-dormant, nearly-forgotten blessings:
1. Coffee on the porch at sunrise.
2. Breaking down March Madness bracketology with my sons.
3. Long runs in the quiet of the dawn and at the dimming of the day.
4. Lententide liturgical Vespers services.
5. Stacks of seed catalogs arriving in the mail.
6. Sugar maples, crab apples, and dogwoods offering hints and glimpses of their coming glory.
7. Saturday afternoon barbecues.
8. Fresh cilantro and basil in salads.
9. Uninterrupted hours of reading in the sunshine.
10. The spring marathon schedule.
For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.
Thursday, March 16
Friday, March 10
Thursday, March 9
Greenville Seminary Conference
I will be speaking at the Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary spring conference this week. I am thrilled by the opportunity to once again tell the story of Thomas Chalmers and his missional vision--a message that I believe is more relevant today than ever.
For more information about the conference schedule, topics, and a list of speakers visit the seminary website.
For more information about the conference schedule, topics, and a list of speakers visit the seminary website.
Monday, March 6
Random Wonderfulness
Reasons to over-use exclamation points abound:
#1: Den of Iniquity Destroyed. Driving near Vanderbilt University in Nashville this past weekend I noticed that the building Planned Parenthood occupied for years is now being torn down. Good riddance!
#2: Homeschooling Joke: Twenty years ago if you mentioned you were going to home school your child, you would be asked two questions: “The government lets you do that?” and “But, what about socialization?” Now the tide has turned so that if you mention sending your child to public school, you may be asked these two questions instead: “God lets you do that?” and “But, what about socialization?”
#3: I'm Not Alone. Amerigo was voted Nashville's "Best Italian Restaurant" by the readers of the Nashville Scene urban tabloid!
#4: Properly Shelved. I noticed that the big Borders store near the Vandy campus has shelved the new Al Franken political diatribe, Truth, in the Recent Fiction section!
#5: Also Properly Shelved. I also noticed the Left Behind series--and all of its sundry spin-offs--was shelved in the Juvenile/Humor section!
#6: Bradford Pears. OK. So, they only last for a few years and can't handle even the mildest of winds but, man oh man, they sure are beautiful when they start to bloom this time of year!
#7: Irrelevant Oscars. I'd love to be able to say that nobody cared and nobody watched--but, that would be stretching it. Not by much though!
#1: Den of Iniquity Destroyed. Driving near Vanderbilt University in Nashville this past weekend I noticed that the building Planned Parenthood occupied for years is now being torn down. Good riddance!
#2: Homeschooling Joke: Twenty years ago if you mentioned you were going to home school your child, you would be asked two questions: “The government lets you do that?” and “But, what about socialization?” Now the tide has turned so that if you mention sending your child to public school, you may be asked these two questions instead: “God lets you do that?” and “But, what about socialization?”
#3: I'm Not Alone. Amerigo was voted Nashville's "Best Italian Restaurant" by the readers of the Nashville Scene urban tabloid!
#4: Properly Shelved. I noticed that the big Borders store near the Vandy campus has shelved the new Al Franken political diatribe, Truth, in the Recent Fiction section!
#5: Also Properly Shelved. I also noticed the Left Behind series--and all of its sundry spin-offs--was shelved in the Juvenile/Humor section!
#6: Bradford Pears. OK. So, they only last for a few years and can't handle even the mildest of winds but, man oh man, they sure are beautiful when they start to bloom this time of year!
#7: Irrelevant Oscars. I'd love to be able to say that nobody cared and nobody watched--but, that would be stretching it. Not by much though!
Friday, March 3
Moody Radio and the Creeds
The Moody Radio Network will be featuring a series of programs this next week on the creeds of the church. The programs, hosted by my friend Wayne Shepherd, will examine the history, importance, and current relevance of those great declarations of faith. I will be on the air with Wayne on Wednesday and Thursday discussing the Nicene and Chalcedonian creeds--we recorded both of the nine-minute segments last night. Check the Moody Radio website for air times and stations in your listening area--or for podcasts and net streaming of the programs right from your computer.
Interestingly, today is the anniversary of one of the events in history that highlights the vital importance of those creeds--even the nearly forgotten and obscure creeds such as the Chalcedonian.
By the middle of the fifth century, the forces of disintegration had almost destroyed the western half of the Roman Empire. Various Germanic barbarian warlords—from the Vandal, Visigoth, Frankish, and Herulian tribes—had replaced the old imperial power with their own. For several decades they had placed puppet emperors on the throne and had taken control of the once-great military.
The eastern half of the venerable empire was struggling with troubles of its own. A usurper drove the emperor, the young Zeno, from his throne. Needing a strong base of support, this usurper placed a large number of Monophysite heretics in key positions.
Monophysitism had actually begun as a response to another heresy known as Nestorianism. A bishop, Nestorius, had refused to call Mary the "Mother of God" or "Theotokos," because, said he, the child in her womb was thoroughly human. In contradistinction to this, the Monophysites taught that Christ's human nature was dissolved in his divine nature as a drop of honey dissolves in the ocean. Each faction was attempting to preserve a part of the truth about Christ's incarnation—but each had gone to one extreme or another. Eventually the church restored a sense of Biblical balance at the Council of Chalcedon in 451, declaring that Christ was both truly God and truly man—thus denouncing the Monophysite and Nestorian polar opposites.
Instead of resolving the issue though, the Council's ruling only incited further fighting. The Monophysites refused to accept defeat. The imperial usurper ordered the acts of Chalcedon burnt and nearly 500 bishops complied. In Alexandria, the controversy was particularly fierce. Rivals tortured and killed each other. A Monophysite monk, known as Timothy the Cat, had the patriarch of Alexandria butchered three days before Easter and triumphantly seized his place, consigning his corpse to flames.
Thus, when Simplicius became bishop of Rome on this day in 468, he inherited a roiling mess. Immediately, he used his influence to help Emperor Zeno regain his throne and oust the Monophysite bishops. But when Zeno—out of fear of the powerful Monophysite faction—determined to arrange a compromise, Simplicius threatened to topple him once again. Compromise was not possible, he argued. Unless Christ is fully God, he cannot redeem us. Unless he is fully man, he cannot stand in our place.
Eventually the unflinching defense of Simplicius for the principles laid down at the Council of Chalcedon saved the Church from a fatal compromise during one of the most volatile epochs in history. With Athanasius, he stood contra mundum, and as a result, not only preserved Biblical orthodoxy but the vitality and integrity of the church as well.
Interestingly, today is the anniversary of one of the events in history that highlights the vital importance of those creeds--even the nearly forgotten and obscure creeds such as the Chalcedonian.
By the middle of the fifth century, the forces of disintegration had almost destroyed the western half of the Roman Empire. Various Germanic barbarian warlords—from the Vandal, Visigoth, Frankish, and Herulian tribes—had replaced the old imperial power with their own. For several decades they had placed puppet emperors on the throne and had taken control of the once-great military.
The eastern half of the venerable empire was struggling with troubles of its own. A usurper drove the emperor, the young Zeno, from his throne. Needing a strong base of support, this usurper placed a large number of Monophysite heretics in key positions.
Monophysitism had actually begun as a response to another heresy known as Nestorianism. A bishop, Nestorius, had refused to call Mary the "Mother of God" or "Theotokos," because, said he, the child in her womb was thoroughly human. In contradistinction to this, the Monophysites taught that Christ's human nature was dissolved in his divine nature as a drop of honey dissolves in the ocean. Each faction was attempting to preserve a part of the truth about Christ's incarnation—but each had gone to one extreme or another. Eventually the church restored a sense of Biblical balance at the Council of Chalcedon in 451, declaring that Christ was both truly God and truly man—thus denouncing the Monophysite and Nestorian polar opposites.
Instead of resolving the issue though, the Council's ruling only incited further fighting. The Monophysites refused to accept defeat. The imperial usurper ordered the acts of Chalcedon burnt and nearly 500 bishops complied. In Alexandria, the controversy was particularly fierce. Rivals tortured and killed each other. A Monophysite monk, known as Timothy the Cat, had the patriarch of Alexandria butchered three days before Easter and triumphantly seized his place, consigning his corpse to flames.
Thus, when Simplicius became bishop of Rome on this day in 468, he inherited a roiling mess. Immediately, he used his influence to help Emperor Zeno regain his throne and oust the Monophysite bishops. But when Zeno—out of fear of the powerful Monophysite faction—determined to arrange a compromise, Simplicius threatened to topple him once again. Compromise was not possible, he argued. Unless Christ is fully God, he cannot redeem us. Unless he is fully man, he cannot stand in our place.
Eventually the unflinching defense of Simplicius for the principles laid down at the Council of Chalcedon saved the Church from a fatal compromise during one of the most volatile epochs in history. With Athanasius, he stood contra mundum, and as a result, not only preserved Biblical orthodoxy but the vitality and integrity of the church as well.
Tuesday, February 28
We Few, We Peculiar Few
Long before the bane of television invaded our every waking moment C.S. Lewis commented that while most people in modern industrial cultures are at least marginally able to read, they just don't. In his wise and wonderful book An Experiment in Criticism he said:
"The majority, though they are sometimes frequent readers, do not set much store by reading. They turn to it as a last resource. They abandon it with alacrity as soon as any alternative pastime turns up. It is kept for railway journeys, illnesses, odd moments of enforced solitude, or for the process called reading oneself to sleep. They sometimes combine it with desultory conversation; often, with listening to the radio. But literary people are always looking for leisure and silence in which to read and do so with their whole attention. When they are denied such attentive and undisturbed reading even for a few days they feel impoverished."
He goes further admitting that there is a profound puzzlement on the part of the mass of the citizenry over the tastes and habits of the literate: "It is pretty clear that the majority, if they spoke without passion and were fully articulate, would not accuse us of liking the wrong books, but of making such a fuss about any books at all. We treat as a main ingredient in our well-being something which to them is marginal. Hence to say simply that they like one thing and we another is to leave out nearly the whole of the facts."
All this is not to imply any hint of moral turpitude on the part of modern bohemianism, rather it is to recognize the simple reality of the gaping chasm that exists between those who read and those who don't, between the popular many and the peculiar few. It is to recognize that education demands the latter while maintaining steadfast incompatibility with the former.
"The majority, though they are sometimes frequent readers, do not set much store by reading. They turn to it as a last resource. They abandon it with alacrity as soon as any alternative pastime turns up. It is kept for railway journeys, illnesses, odd moments of enforced solitude, or for the process called reading oneself to sleep. They sometimes combine it with desultory conversation; often, with listening to the radio. But literary people are always looking for leisure and silence in which to read and do so with their whole attention. When they are denied such attentive and undisturbed reading even for a few days they feel impoverished."
He goes further admitting that there is a profound puzzlement on the part of the mass of the citizenry over the tastes and habits of the literate: "It is pretty clear that the majority, if they spoke without passion and were fully articulate, would not accuse us of liking the wrong books, but of making such a fuss about any books at all. We treat as a main ingredient in our well-being something which to them is marginal. Hence to say simply that they like one thing and we another is to leave out nearly the whole of the facts."
All this is not to imply any hint of moral turpitude on the part of modern bohemianism, rather it is to recognize the simple reality of the gaping chasm that exists between those who read and those who don't, between the popular many and the peculiar few. It is to recognize that education demands the latter while maintaining steadfast incompatibility with the former.
Monday, February 27
The Pilgrimage Home
On this day in 1901, English author, journalist, and wit G.K. Chesterton wrote a rather obscure short story that would ultimately define his work as a popular philosopher. It was about a man who traveled around the world in an effort to find his true home—only to end up precisely where he began.
Thomas Smythe had been born, brought up, married, and made the father of a family in a little white farmhouse by a river. The river enclosed it on three sides like a castle—on the fourth side there were stables and beyond that a kitchen garden and beyond that an orchard and beyond that a low wall and beyond that a road and beyond that a wood and beyond that slopes meeting the sky—but Smythe had known nothing beyond what he could see from his house. Its walls were the world to him and its roof the sky. Indeed, in his latter years he hardly ever went outside his door. And as he grew lazy, he grew restless; angry with himself and everyone. He found himself in some strange way weary of every moment and hungry for the next.
His heart had grown stale and bitter towards the wife and children whom he saw every day. His home had become drab and wearisome to him. Yet there was a fragment of a memory that yet remained of happier days when the thatch of his home burned with gold as though angels inhabited the place. Even so, he remembered it as one who remembers a dream. One calamitous day, his mind snapped under the weight of the contradiction—the contradiction between his fond remembrances of the past and his drab circumstances in the present. He presently announced that he was setting out to find his home—that fine white farmhouse by the river. Though his beloved wife and children tried to make him see that he was already there, he could not be persuaded. His delusion was complete.
Thomas Smythe then set out on an epic journey. He crossed hill and vale, mountain and plain, stream and ocean, meadow and desert. Like a transmigrating soul, he lived a series of existences but he never diverged from the line that girdled the world. At long last though, he crested a hill and suddenly felt as if he had crossed the border into elfland. With his head a belfry of new passions, assailed with confounding memories, he came at last to the end of the world. He had arrived at the little white farmhouse by the river—he had arrived at home. His heart leapt for joy as he saw his wife run to meet him in the lane. The prodigal had returned.
The story struck a chord with Chesterton’s readers for a thousand different reasons—it was a powerfully told parable of the universal human experience, it was a poignant prose poem of everyman’s heart longing, and it was a stern rebuke to the vagabond spirit that drags all the Cains, the Esaus, and the Lots eastward away from Eden. But they probably loved it most of all because it was their own story—the testimony of their own, as yet incomplete, pilgrimage home.
Thomas Smythe had been born, brought up, married, and made the father of a family in a little white farmhouse by a river. The river enclosed it on three sides like a castle—on the fourth side there were stables and beyond that a kitchen garden and beyond that an orchard and beyond that a low wall and beyond that a road and beyond that a wood and beyond that slopes meeting the sky—but Smythe had known nothing beyond what he could see from his house. Its walls were the world to him and its roof the sky. Indeed, in his latter years he hardly ever went outside his door. And as he grew lazy, he grew restless; angry with himself and everyone. He found himself in some strange way weary of every moment and hungry for the next.
His heart had grown stale and bitter towards the wife and children whom he saw every day. His home had become drab and wearisome to him. Yet there was a fragment of a memory that yet remained of happier days when the thatch of his home burned with gold as though angels inhabited the place. Even so, he remembered it as one who remembers a dream. One calamitous day, his mind snapped under the weight of the contradiction—the contradiction between his fond remembrances of the past and his drab circumstances in the present. He presently announced that he was setting out to find his home—that fine white farmhouse by the river. Though his beloved wife and children tried to make him see that he was already there, he could not be persuaded. His delusion was complete.
Thomas Smythe then set out on an epic journey. He crossed hill and vale, mountain and plain, stream and ocean, meadow and desert. Like a transmigrating soul, he lived a series of existences but he never diverged from the line that girdled the world. At long last though, he crested a hill and suddenly felt as if he had crossed the border into elfland. With his head a belfry of new passions, assailed with confounding memories, he came at last to the end of the world. He had arrived at the little white farmhouse by the river—he had arrived at home. His heart leapt for joy as he saw his wife run to meet him in the lane. The prodigal had returned.
The story struck a chord with Chesterton’s readers for a thousand different reasons—it was a powerfully told parable of the universal human experience, it was a poignant prose poem of everyman’s heart longing, and it was a stern rebuke to the vagabond spirit that drags all the Cains, the Esaus, and the Lots eastward away from Eden. But they probably loved it most of all because it was their own story—the testimony of their own, as yet incomplete, pilgrimage home.
Friday, February 24
Testimonies to Chalmers
“To know Chalmers is to love him, and to wish to be like him. Those to whom the cause of Christ is dear can but seek that a double portion of his spirit should be upon them.” Adam Philip
“What I thirst to read is Chalmers’ life….I cannot conceive of a wiser, greater or better man. Every part of his character was colossal; he had the heart of twenty men; the head of twenty men; the energy of a hundred. He has not left his equal in the world.” John Mackintosh
“Truly I consider him as raised up by God for a great and peculiar work. His depth of thought, origionality in illustrating and strength in stating are unrivalled in the present day. In other respects he is too sanguine. He does not sufficiently see that a Chalmers is necessary to carry into effect the plans of a Chalmers.” Charles Simeon
“It was his contagious ‘enthusiasm for humanity’ that invested him in the eyes of students, as well as congregations, broad Scotland over, classes and masses alike, with an admiring reverence assigned to one of the old Prophets of Israel.” J.R. Macduff
“What I thirst to read is Chalmers’ life….I cannot conceive of a wiser, greater or better man. Every part of his character was colossal; he had the heart of twenty men; the head of twenty men; the energy of a hundred. He has not left his equal in the world.” John Mackintosh
“Truly I consider him as raised up by God for a great and peculiar work. His depth of thought, origionality in illustrating and strength in stating are unrivalled in the present day. In other respects he is too sanguine. He does not sufficiently see that a Chalmers is necessary to carry into effect the plans of a Chalmers.” Charles Simeon
“It was his contagious ‘enthusiasm for humanity’ that invested him in the eyes of students, as well as congregations, broad Scotland over, classes and masses alike, with an admiring reverence assigned to one of the old Prophets of Israel.” J.R. Macduff
Tuesday, February 21
Chalmers Conference
Thomas Chalmers believed in pastoral care. He believed it should be personal, intentional, covenantal, and incarnational. In other words, he believed that it should be strategicly designed to run counter to our natural inclinations in this poor fallen world. He said, "Show me a people-going minister and I will show you a church-going people."
Of course, for that sort of thing to actually work, pastoral care had to be done on a human scale. As Chalmers often asserted, "Gargantuanism and the care of souls cannot coexist."
So, how can the modern evangelical congregation put into practice these insights? That is the very thing we will be exploring Friday and Saturday at the Parish Life Conference here in Franklin. I am excited both for the clarity it will bring to my own thinking (remember: thoughts tend to disentangle themselves as they flow over the tips of pen or tongue) and to my own covenant community's practical agenda for ministry.
Of course, for that sort of thing to actually work, pastoral care had to be done on a human scale. As Chalmers often asserted, "Gargantuanism and the care of souls cannot coexist."
So, how can the modern evangelical congregation put into practice these insights? That is the very thing we will be exploring Friday and Saturday at the Parish Life Conference here in Franklin. I am excited both for the clarity it will bring to my own thinking (remember: thoughts tend to disentangle themselves as they flow over the tips of pen or tongue) and to my own covenant community's practical agenda for ministry.
Rosalie Slater (1919-2006)
I first met Rosalie Slater within the pages of a stack of big red books--the big red books which formed the basis for The Principle Approach to Christian Education. There I encountered her love for Christ and His Word, her love for freedom, her love for America, her love for beauty, goodness, and truth, and most of all, her love for her students.Years after her loves had stirred up in me those very same loves, I was able to meet this remarkable trophy of grace face to face. In fact, I was her birthday present! Several of her yokefellows and co-laborers at the Foundation for American Christian Education conspired to fly me to Virginia and then sneak me into a dinner party honoring her and her great legacy. We talked of Chalmers and Scott and Comenius and Spurgeon into the wee hours of the night. We listened to a piper play Scotland the Brave. We ate a chocolate cake to die for. We laughed. We sang. We plotted. We opined. I was enraptured. I still am.
For the next few years we corresponded often. We sent each other books and articles and little snippets of interest. Ours became a rich and dear friendship--but more, ours became a rich and dear partnership in the great task of discipling the next generation of Christian leaders.
This past Friday evening, Rosalie went to sleep in Virgina only to awake in Heaven. Her many books, curricula, and projects will continue to allow her to continue to stir up a love for all that is good and right and true. Thanks be to God for a life well lived, a legacy passed on, and a heart tuned to the great anthem of the Gospel.I will miss her. We will miss her. May God be pleased to raise up from the throng of her students the next Rosalie.
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