Just a great hymn
Just saying. Even if you don’t want to sing it, you could at least use it in your devotions. Some authors have a way with words…
See, the conqueror mounts in triumph,
see the King in royal state,
riding on the clouds, his chariot,
to his heavenly palace gate!
Hear the choirs of angel voices
joyful hallelujahs sing,
and the gates on high are opened
to receive their heavenly King.
2. Who is this that comes in glory,
trumpets sounding jubilee?
Lord of battles, God of armies,
he has gained the victory;
he who on the cross once suffered,
he who from the grave arose,
he has conquered sin and Satan,
he by death has spoiled his foes.
3. He has raised our human nature
through the clouds to God’s right hand;
there we sit in heavenly places;
there with him in glory stand:
Jesus reigns, adored by angels:
Man with God is on the throne;
mighty Lord, in your ascension
we by faith behold our own.
4. Glory be to God the Father;
glory be to God the Son,
dying, risen, ascending for us,
who the heavenly realm has won;
glory to the Holy Spirit;
to one God in Persons three,
glory, both in earth and heaven,
glory, endless glory, be.
Christopher Wordsworth (1807-85)
Learning to pray in public
Here’s a thought: how many pastors of churches lead their church not just in preaching the word, but in public prayer? I don’t mean the intercessory stuff that’s become the meat and drink of church praying. I mean the (and I use this word very carefully) prophetic or even priestly praying where the whole church is taken up to the throne of God with carefully chosen words and phrases dripping with Scriptures.
I think that used to be a feature of evangelicalism which is fast disappearing. It’s not a Free Church/Anglican thing: when I started talking to colleagues about this all of us were able to name names of those from all kinds of denominations who prayed in this way.
Put it another way. If, in 200 years, people wrote down our prayers in a little black book, would it look anything like Valley of Vision. Are we even able to pray in this way publicly? And if we’re deficient here, are we really that surprised that people are deficient in their own prayer life.
This isn’t an argument for long prayers. Nor for complex prayers. But it may well be that pastors need to learn to pray publicly. It’s an area of leadership we don’t really exercise.
Valley of Vision is a good place to start, as are some of Cranmer’s collects. Spurgeon’s prayers are very long, but have great power. I plan my praying, just as I plan my preaching. I use notes – not only because I want to make sure my theology is right, but because I believe that leading God’s people in prayer is no little thing.
How about you?
Delighting in Orthodoxy 101
As Christian ministers, we need to constantly fight the battle to find delight in the most basic truths of Christianity. Without this battle, we become immune to the wonders and awe of the gospel and in all that it means. Take Christmas: every year I preach on the incarnation and its wonder: Jesus as fully God, fully man. There I’ve said it. Pretty basic and fundamental – yet so familiar to us that it loses its shine. How did you feel when you read out that sentence? Did you heart leap as you read once again the mystery of God made man? Did you feel your mind stretch at the concept that is beyond understanding? No? Me neither. And that’s the problem.
It’s not that we don’t believe these foundational truths. It’s that they cease to move us as they should. They cease to prompt a right response in us. And if that is the case, how can we preach them to others?
For evangelicals, this is particularly pressing. Let me suggest three signs that we may be losing this battle, or not even engaging in it. They are three areas that we particular delight in.
- Hunting heresy. It’s good to contend for the faith, necessary. But it’s a serious sign when we start delighting in finding heresy rather than in the truth it is an aberration of. There’s lots of this about. I can’t speak for others, but I always want to ask myself if I’m finding more joy in uncovering such mistaken truth than I am in the truth itself.
- Minutiae pleasure. I love detail. And I love thinking through hard issues and working them out. That’s well and good. I’ve been doing that recently with republication. But there’s a real danger that I find joy in this working out of the detail. Like solving a mathematical problem, there’s a delight in getting to the answer. For myself, that kind of joy is always a danger sign.
- Disputable delight. Some matters are disputable. There’s no doubt about that. Disputable is not just a pragmatic category, it’s a Bible category. That doesn’t mean there’s not a right or wrong answer. Take baptism. Paedo Baptists and credo Baptists cannot both be “right” I don’t think (although that’s perhaps an unhelpful category). But we recognise that there’s a biblical case for the other side, even if we don’t fully agree with it. For myself, I want to be wary of finding too much delight in the disputable matters. I think there’s a danger in that, because the fundamentals of the faith are indisputable.
All of which is to say, we need to constantly fight the battle to find delight in the most basic truths of Christianity. How you do that will depend on you. I take a subject (like the incarnation) and try to write out a prayer in a notebook: not for public consumption, but to train myself to delight in these things. I also pray with a hymnbook. I struggle to choose some old hymns to sing congregationally, but they are great fodder for my prayer time as the poetry is so emotionally engaging.
But however you do it, fight you must.
Why should the Big Idea govern the main point of a sermon?
Suppose a pastor, knowing the state of his congregation, sees that in Sunday’s bible passage there is some truth he judges they badly and urgently need. OK, it is not the main point of the passage, but he is sure it is what they most need. Is he not justified in making this subsidiary point in the passage into the main point of the sermon? Indeed, is this not his pastoral responsibility, to use his God-given intuition and knowledge of his congregation in this way?
Such an argument is plausible but dangerous, at least for regular week by week expository preaching. There is nothing wrong with selecting a topic for a one-off sermon and applying this particular bible truth because it seems to be timely and appropriate. But we must not pretend it is exposition. One of the great benefits of exposition is that we let God set the agenda, we give God the microphone, we trust that God knows best what we need to hear, that if we give our congregations a balanced diet of systematic consecutive exposition working through bible books, we and they will over time be built up in godliness and faith. So let’s not lose our nerve; let’s have the courage to make the main thing in the passage the main thing in a faithful expository sermon. Apart from anything else, it will save our churches from having too often to endure the bees buzzing round in the pastor’s bonnet.
Must there be a Big Idea?
Along with many others seeking to train in expository bible ministry, we at the PT Cornhill Training Course make “the Big Idea” one of the key pillars of our training strategy. For every bible passage, we ask our students to work hard to express the one central truth of the passage in a clear and concise sentence. If you come across one of our students on a bad day, you may well find them tearing their hair out trying to find the wretched Big Idea!
But are we right? OK, so it’s often a helpful exercise trying to find a Big Idea; but what if there isn’t one? Must there be a Big Idea for every bible passage? Or, to put it another way, is the whole “Big Idea” thing an arbitrary creation of Cornhill and other like-minded training methods?
It’s a fair question and a good one. What lies behind it is the whole business of coherence. If you, as a sane and rational person, say something to me, I will generally make the assumptions, first that you intend to say something coherent to me (rather than whimsical or random “Alice in Wonderland” speech) and that you succeed, at least approximately, in saying something coherent. Suppose I have had a ten minute ‘phone call with you, after which a mutual friend asks me what you said. She is not asking or expecting me to repeat what you said verbatim; what she wants is the main content of what you said, put more briefly (“I got the job,” “I have been promoted,” “She said yes” or whatever it may be). If this is so with fallible human beings, how much more ought we to make the assumption that God intends, and succeeds in conveying, a coherent message in his word. In which case I may reasonably expect to be able to find the main point of what he says.
We must be sensible about this. It does depend on wise divisions of passages in a bible book; some divisions fit better than others with the underlying structure. And some passages may have a tighter Big Idea than others. But it is a reasonable assumption that God is not making random disconnected statements, but rather speaking with coherence. That’s what the Big Idea idea is about.
Making Job less impenetrable
Job is Holy Scripture. I know that. But I also know that some things in Scripture, by its own admission, “are hard to understand.” I put Job in that category. Not that there aren’t wonderful truths which I know well (and recite at funerals). But understanding these truths in the larger sweep and answering quite basic questions (“what are we to make of Elihu?”) are not straightforward. And as I long to see Christ in every book, I have to confess that Job is one of the hardest.
That’s why I love Christopher’s new commentary on Job in the Preach the Word series. He’s written on Job before of course, but this new volume is substantial. I’ve been using it to help me as I read through Job very slowly in my personal devotions – and what a help it’s been in understanding the Scripture. Looking back, my notes in the margin are copious and full of exclamation marks. There’s nothing to be ashamed of using other people’s learning and study to benefit your own. And whilst I don’t plan preaching Job right at the moment (it needs more studythan a devotional reading can give it), nevertheless, I’ve found it both personally and pastorally helpful. Christopher’s is a really first class volume worth having on your shelf and using. This series was patchy at first, but is getting steadily better and better.
Having a bad day?
There are some days in ministry which are just bad. It may be a personal struggle with sin which defeats you, even though you know it should not. It may be a struggle with a sermon: you’ve been wrestling with it, like a dog with a bone, but you just can’t make headway. It may be a frustrating situation in church: someone has let you down, someone has sinned, a marriage has broken up, someone key has announced they’re leaving, a difficult email has arrived.
As pastors and preachers it is right to feel some of this burden: “Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn?” (2 Cor 11:29). It is to be expected. But that does not make it any easier.
I had a day like that last week. Pretty much it contained all of the above. All together. All on one day. I don’t tell you this for your pity. I’m a complex Joan of Arc and your pity only fuels my sin! I tell you by way of encouragement. Because every minister of the gospel has days like that. And we need to know that the antidote to bad days is a big view of God; a clear sight of the Saviour, a deep work of the Spirit.
The day before my bad day, I wrote down a line from a Puritan prayer and put it on a post-it on my computer screen. It has been a deep challenge and comfort to me as I think of the gospel and how my heart is in constant need of change:
“O Holy Spirit, take the things of Christ and show them to my soul”
The four stages of man
It is always helpful for the preacher to be thinking through to whom he is preaching in terms of their spiritual state. Thomas Boston is helpful here with his fourfold state, picking up on Augustine:
- Primitive integrity, i.e. pre-fall – in Augustinian terms, able to sin
- Entire depravity, i.e. post-fall, pre-conversion, not able not to sin
- Begun recovery, i.e. regenerate, able not to sin
- Consummate happiness (or misery), i.e. glorification, unable to sin
It will not have escaped your notice that we are not preaching to either (1) or (4). However, chances are we are preaching to both (2) and (3). Moreover, it is easy to make two mistakes when it comes to Christians (category 3 to you and I):
- It’s easy to put them into (2) and forget they are indwelt by the Spirit and so able not to sin. The sinful nature remains, sure, but sin is not a power over them. I love Wesley here: to paraphrase, the power of cancelled sin is broken. We can appeal to believers on the basis of the work of Christ applied to them by the Spirit: it need not be this way. We fall into this error when we preach too much on sin (did I just say that?). I must qualify: if we only give the impression that the Christian life is one of failure and repentance in a demoralising cycle, is that really reflecting the teaching of Scripture?
- However, it’s equally easy to go to the other extreme and assume believers are somehow glorified already. It’s all about delighting, rejoicing and abiding in Christ with no (it seems) sin to be put to death. I caricature, but you get the point. We do this when preach too little on sin. Perhaps we scoff at old-Keswick holiness teaching, but there is a real risk that this sinless Christianity is creeping back into our preaching through the back door.
Find the middle biblical, road. Stay on the horse, Martin.
I like reading theology. Maybe it’s just the way my brain is wired. It’s not that I read theology in place of grappling hard with Scripture for myself and then coming to Bible commentaries and biblical studies.
It’s not (I hope) that I’m filling my mind with a framework that I can neatly shove any Bible passage into, preaching a theological system rather than the content and aim of this particular text. Instead, at its best, I like reading theology most especially when the writer builds his case through a series of insightful and careful readings of Scripture, rather than just stringing together theological assertions and adding a list of ten different Bible verses in brackets at the end.
That’s why I’ll look forward at some point to dipping into volume two of Douglas Kelly’s Systematic Theology, on Christology, because a review promises me that he regularly does the former. I’ve also been stirred recently by the same kind of thing in Donald Macleod’s little book of short essays on Christ, From Glory To Golgotha. Writing of the Transfiguration, he says that it was an encouragement from the Father to the Son: presumably Jesus did not stand talking with Elijah and Moses simply to make a show to the three disciples who were watching for their benefit. The Father, says Macleod, is reminding Jesus of his own essential glory; is giving him a foretaste of the future transformation of his humanness; and is giving him a glimpse of what his death will mean for others.
Are these going to be my headings in a sermon on the Transfiguration? Probably not! But does Macleod capture something significant in the way the Transfiguration is related to us in Scripture, and the context in which it is set in the Gospels? I think he does, and adding that to the spectacles with which I read the Transfiguration can only help.
Spot the difference?
You’re standing at the front of church, the first song has started and you look out to the sea of faces in front of you…Bob’s fidgeting and generally looking very awkward, Sophie looks bored and unmoved by what she’s singing… then you wonder what your face and body language is communicating to them.
Paul exhorts us in Ephesians to speak to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody with your heart to the Lord. I can’t help wondering though if our particular brand of British awkwardness is getting in the way of the call to make melody in our hearts to the Lord – to sing to him from the heart – to really mean what we’re singing in a way that overcomes even British awkwardness and our fear of each other.
Shouldn’t we know and express a greater sense of delight and joy or conversely a greater depth of sorrow and grief when we’re gathered with God’s people, singing to our King, than we do at the football stadium or in front of our favourite film the night before?
Of course it’s not about putting on a show for the sake of others – ironically a show is probably closer to what we’re doing when we don’t sing from our hearts – but rather letting our singing express the inward reality of God’s work in us. Shouldn’t we expect to look around and see a beaming face or a look of earnest anguish rather than one of seemingly blank indifference? If we see blank indifference, shouldn’t we be asking questions about the health of peoples’ hearts and our own for that matter?
This will obviously look different for each of us but, in whatever way is appropriate, let’s beware of hypocrisy and in our own singing let’s encourage each other and our congregations to respond to God’s great mercies from minds and hearts that are transformed by his grace.
Let’s all sing … like we mean it!