The Two Hills
Regular readers of The Proclaimer will know that this summer I am moving from one ‘hill’ to another: I’m leaving the Cornhill Training Course to join the faculty of Oak Hill Theological College. One’s named after a road it used to be on but now isn’t which is miles from the nearest cornfield and isn’t really a hill anyway, and the other sits atop what looks at best like a small rise in the ground. All very confusing.
It has been a privilege and a pleasure to teach at Cornhill, albeit for quite a short time. Each year the Lord sends a wonderfully stimulating and enthusiastic posse of new students to Cornhill. To see so many of them grow in love and gifts is a deep delight. A number of readers of this blog will be pastors who have sent students our way, and it is gratifying that good local churches continue to think that Cornhill is useful.
I’ve received a few comments on my move (not many, but a few) which have reflected a sense that one or other the ‘Hills’ is thought to be the real deal, where the real training happens, while the other is a bit lightweight / a bit unfocused / a bit blinkered / not turning out people with the right convictions solidly in place [delete as appropriate]. Now I have no doubt that both institutions have their weaknesses (both have employed me, for a start). But I find it impossible to think that I am moving from somewhere lesser to somewhere greater, or the other way round. I think instead that I am moving from training institution that has proved itself incredibly useful in the Lord’s hands and has the opportunity to continue doing so in the future, to another of which the same is true.
As we are all aware, there is a growing diversity of training routes for Christian ministry on offer, from colleges to courses, from residential and full time to local and part-/spare-time. There is of course always the danger of dilution as things diversify and as training is developed by a variety of people, each with their own strengths and blind spots. We’re all slightly uncomfortable when we see others doing things that we (whether rightly or foolishly) think we could do better. But it’s surely better to run those risks and attempt to address the issues as we go, in order to get as many pastors, elders, leaders and others trained as possible.
Seen in the right perspective, all colleges and courses are not merely businesses trying to strengthen their customer base (although of course they need stay solvent and be professionally and competently managed). They are ultimately servants of the real work of the Lord going on in local churches. And it seems for now to be the case that a varied set of training possibilities, varied both in terms of structure and small emphases of content and focus, serves churches well, as we seek to grow the gospel in as many places as we can.
Fighting Sin and Growing in Godliness, according to Galatians
There’s a very particular take in Galatians on fighting sin and growing in godliness which is worth noting, firstly in our own lives and secondly in our preaching and pastoring. It emerges towards the end of the letter. Paul sets out the contrasting ‘acts of the flesh’ (5.19-21a) and ‘fruit of the Spirit’ (5.22-23a). But he does not (we must note!) directly command or exhort the Galatians to fight against sin or to work directly at growth in godly characteristics. He does both of those things elsewhere – respectively in, for example, Col 3.5-10 and 2 Pet 1.5-8 – but not here in Galatians. Mortification of sin is biblical teaching, but not Galatian, I think.
What is Paul doing in Galatians with regard to godliness, then? ‘So I say, live by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh’ (5.16). Here is a command – live by the Spirit – and a statement of a consequence that will follow if we obey that command – it will then turn out that we are in fact not gratifying the desires of the flesh.
So the crucial godliness question in Galatians is, what does it means to ‘live by the Spirit’?
Two answers stand out:
i) In the immediate context, Paul has commanded them to ‘serve one another humbly in love’, because this fulfils the entire law (5.13b-14). The subsequent command to ‘live by the Spirit’ (v.16) looks rather like a restatement of this. Thus to live by the Spirit is to live a life of humble, loving service towards others.
ii) In the wider Galatian context, living by the Spirit means not relying on law-keeping for security in right-standing with God: ‘Are you so foolish? After beginning by means of the Spirit, are you now trying to finish by means of the flesh?’ (3.3).
Put this together, and it looks like this:
We must keep striving to find our entire security in our right-standing with the Lord not in any law-like list of achievements, but only in the works that the Spirit brings about in us. We must strive, too, to make humble, loving service of others the distinguishing feature of our attitudes and actions. (And note that these two have a natural link: if I get my sense of secure right-standing with the Lord through any list of laws I have kept, I will inevitably compare myself favourably with others in order to make my list of well-kept laws seem impressive enough – and that is the very antithesis of a loving, humble, servant heart.)
As we are focused on these two strivings – for the right foundation of our justification, for the right fundamental attitude to others – we will discover (back now to 5.16) that we are not gratifying (fuelling, feeding, stroking, pleasing) the desires of the flesh.
There is more than one way prescribed in Scripture for fighting particular sins, and we need all of them. One is to assault them directly. Another, as set out in Galatians, is to focus Christ and the Spirit, not law, as the basis for our secure standing with God, and to co-operate with the Spirit’s work in developing in us a life of humble, loving service.
If you read the fruit of the Spirit as a preacher, I wonder if one of the greatest challenges is whether we are patient. Evidence of the fruit, of course, is evidence that we are keeping in step with the Spirit, filled with him. So it’s sometimes a useful exercise to read the Galatians verse and ask yourself some pretty searching questions.
On this basis, I wonder how many of us preachers would stumble over patience (or long-suffering, or forbearance, depending on your translation). I had a happy lunch last week with Dick Lucas and we reflected and riffed on this for a while (if you can imagine him riffing). We live in an instant gratification world, as we all know. We complain when we see this quality creeping into church – we see a lack of commitment, we see people flitting from church to church at the slightest provocation.
But do we pause and ask whether we suffer from the same lack of patience in ministry? I long for people to be changed by the word. I long for conversions. I long for breakthroughs. And I get impatient when there are none. There is a kind of godly ambition which is holy and fuels prayer. But there is also a kind of ministry impatience which gets too easily frustrated at people’s lack of progress.
There’s a tension here, is there not? I want to be on my knees praying that John Smith will believe, pleading that Joan Smith will be sanctified. But I also need to channel my impatience into godly prayer rather than letting it overflow into ministry frustration.
Patience, Mr Preacher, patience.
Never lose the wonder
I cycle home over Tower Bridge most days, alongside the Tower of London. It’s a pretty magical views. Every now and again, particularly in the summer, the bridge lifts. It’s never unplanned – you can go on the Tower Bridge website and see when the liftings are which, in my better moments, I remember to do before I set off for home.
But this week, on a night when I needed to get home for babysitting duties, I was not quite in time and had to wait (it takes about 15 mins to go up and down). I was impressed by the adulation of the tourists – lots of oohing and aahing. Lots of cameras. Lots of selfies. Here was one of London’s most iconic shots – Tower Bridge OPEN! And yet, it just felt like an inconvenience to me. I’ve seen it so many times, it was just annoying – something to break my journey and put me under pressure.
That’s a strange reaction – truth be told – to something so romantic and eye-catching. I have (or had, at least) lost the wonder for a moment. And preachers can become similarly desensitised. We can lose the magic (if I’m permitted to use that phrase) of the wonder of God, the depths of his love, the delights of his salvation, the incredibleness of his indwelling. In ministry terms, preaching can become a chore, conversions a bit hum drum and sanctification taken for granted. Whereas, in fact, we ought to be in the front row with our camera phones taking photos.
Lord, never let me lose the wonder.
Hallowed be your translation
We’re preaching through the Sermon on the Mount at the moment at church and it struck me as we reached chapter 6 how many modern translations bottle the Lord’s prayer. There is one phrase which is an archaism. “Hallowed be your name” trips off the tongue, of course, because the prayer is so well known. But the language obscures the meaning and if most translators were true to their philosophy they would translate it differently.
The verb is hagiazo which appears frequently in the New Testament. But even in the most obvious place it is never elsewhere translated in this way (that’s probably 2 Tim 2:21), even in the King James Version. It is the language of setting apart as holy or showing to be holy. And that is how the KJV uses it in some places in the Old Testament (though never in the New). For example, “Then I will cut off Israel out of the land which I have given them; and this house, which I have hallowed for my name, will I cast out of my sight” (1 Kings 9:7). There it is translating the Hebrew root qds, or hagiazo in the LXX.
So, compare how translations deal with this word:
- KJV 1 Kings 9.7: “hallowed”
- KJV Matthew 6.9: “hallowed”
- ESV 1 Kings 9.7: “consecrated”
- ESV Matthew 6.9: “hallowed”
- NIV 1 Kings 9.7: “consecrated”
- NIV Matthew 6.9: “hallowed”
- HCSB 1 Kings 9.7: “sanctified”
- HCSB Matthew 6.9: “honoured as holy”
In fairness to the ESV, it does explain the word in a footnote. And, arguably, “consecrated” is equally jargon. You might think this does not matter, but I did a quick unscientific survey the other day of various people, including some pastors, and most had no idea what the phrase in the Lord’s prayer really meant. Given the extraordinary nature of what Jesus calls us to pray for, that’s a remarkable thing, isn’t it?
Can you, will you pray today, “Lord, may your name be honoured as holy.” In me. In my church.
Sometimes, just one word in a Bible passage carries great weight. I’m not suggesting that we should just preach on that one word, but we have to let the word carry the weight in our sermons. This has struck me freshly whilst writing out Revelation as part of my morning devotions. Many of the letters to the churches (though not all), have the word alla in them – often translated ‘nevertheless’ or ‘yet’ or ‘but’.
It’s a word of contrast which carries great weight; It’s not simply this and that, a plain conjunction. Rather, this simple word emphasises a gulf or a gap between what is good in a church and what is worthy of discipline. And the word of contrast (as opposed to say, “also”) makes that which follows – in each case, the negative – stand out more. In technical terms, it’s adversative.
It’s got me thinking two things. One is about preaching. When preaching these letters, it would be easy, in very broad terms, to divide up the positives and negatives as two separate headings and simply move from one to the other. But the fact that they are connected together adversatively has to come through in a sermon. Expository preaching has to be driven by the way thoughts and ideas in the passage are constructed. We’re not cherry pickers. That probably means that in this kind of sermon the transition is as important as, say, the subsection heading.
But it also got me thinking personally. These are letters to churches, of course. But reflect on that word ‘nevertheless’ for a moment. What would Jesus’ letter to you say? “I know….” “Nevertheless….” Fill in the blanks.
Dan Brown exegesis
Jeffrey John, Dean of St Alban’s Cathedral, recently preached a sermon on the Centurion’s servant from Luke in Liverpool Cathedral, arguing that it proves that Jesus accepted gay relationships. It beggars belief. I won’t bother linking to the sermon, but Ian Paul has a characteristically clear response here, including a demolition of John’s exegesis. This is what I want to focus on. For we can, if clever enough, make the Bible say whatever we want it to say. This, says Paul, is the ‘Dan Brown approach to reading a text.
‘There is a secret meaning, which has not surfaced in the history of interpretation, but with some expert knowledge (which I have access to you and which you, the ordinary reader, cannot question), I will excavate the real meaning of this text which has been hidden from you (and is hidden even from Luke and Matthew themselves) which will prove my case beyond any doubt.’
What I value about Ian Paul’s response is not so much this particular demolition but the exegetical lessons he makes in passing. Even if, like me, you’re not (and are unlikely to be) persuaded by John’s Lukan exegesis and arguments, there is still much to appreciate and learn from in Paul’s response. Preaching is not just exegesis. But it is not less than exegesis. May God make us all faithful exegetes.
Do song words really matter that much?
Some Christians can get a bit hot under the collar about song words. I am often one of them, I confess. For, you see, I really believe that song words matter. This is primarily because singing to one another and with one another is a ministry of the word. “Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns and songs from the Spirit” (Col 3.16-17). It’s one of the reasons why I value a well-edited hymn book. Some of that hard work has been done for you.
But here’s a question, to which I don’t really have an answer, only a view. How far do we go with precision over song words? In order to protect artistic merit, is some latitude acceptable? Let’s take a working example. At the EMA, we sung Dustin Kensrue’s Grace Alone. I freely confess it’s not my favourite song (“head full of rocks”?). But here’s a theological question.
Are we orphans before we are saved? For that is how the song begins? “I was an orphan lost at the Fall.” There is a sense, surely, in which we were not. It was not that we were fatherless before our salvation. It’s that we had the wrong father! I wasn’t wandering around the spiritual orphanage, I was in my father’s house from where I needed to be rescued, my father being the Devil. The language of orphan actually downplays my status!
Now, you may say I am picking a fight where one does not need to be picked. Fair enough, I take the point. I am rather agnostic about this song (which has some excellent lines and is good in its Trinitarian approach). But if singing is a ministry of the word, we should care about such representations, shouldn’t we?
Yes? No? What do you think?
My summer reading holiday
Yep, that’s not a typo. Summer I take a holiday from reading, Christian reading that is. Before you begin composing that email in your head, I don’t take time off from reading the Bible. I never stop being a Christian, even in the Dordogne. But I do take a yearly break from reading Christian books. It’s all down to the Sabbath. Let me explain.
I’m the kind of guy who finds it hard to take rest. My mind is always whirring with ideas and thoughts. I’m always day-dreaming about things that could be done. I’m always writing blog posts in my head or thinking about training opportunities and content. But if I’m going to serve my people well, I need to be able to switch off and get some rest. That means doing a Ctrl-Alt-Del on my head. I have found that I can’t do that if I’m reading Christian books on holiday.
In part this is because books are part of my job. In the months leading up to the EMA I get through a hundred or so. But even if that were not the case, I find it hard to read a Christian book without marking a passage – ‘that would be an interesting illustration’ or ‘so and so needs to read this’. In other words, I simply can’t get the downtime I need. No rest.
Perhaps you think that’s a weakness. Maybe so. But it is a reality for me nonetheless, and part of learning about myself, my capabilities and (more importantly) limitations, means that I’ve had to make this fast a holiday discipline. So no Christian summer reading list from me: but, if you’re interested I’ve lined up this and this and this and this. And a few more.
Painful goodbyes and lonely ministries
I’m saying goodbye to four colleagues this summer. My wonderful conference manager, Rachel Olajide is going off to have a baby and despite me printing off articles from the Daily Mail about women who return to work 1 hour after giving birth, she is unmoved (rightly!).
Our Cornhill administrator, Becky Hollands is not returning from maternity leave choosing the good option of staying with her newly born son. Good for her! Let not anybody say “she is not coming back to work”. She is working all right. And then some.
My friend Tim Ward is leaving to go to Oak Hill and I will greatly miss his wisdom and contribution. He has kept me on the straight and narrow and I have valued his counsel and input. At the same time Jonathan Griffiths is leaving to go further – Ottawa in fact (a name I have learnt to spell correctly). He has a wise head on young shoulders and our loss is Canada’s gain (where the need is very great).
Partings are always painful. Inevitably one develops working habits where we learn to rely on Christian friends and colleagues. That’s how it should be. We are for each other. And so when partings happen the pain is not simply missing someone, but having to learn new ways of working that will continue to serve others and ensure we are ourselves properly encouraged and accountable.
All of this is not to moan but to observe that this is the nature of ministry in general. People move on. If you are serving in a small church, then the ministry friendships you develop are generally local and even if you don’t move on, others do. In a larger church, there are inevitable changes in staff teams. It means that ministry, in any setting, can be a lonely business. Making and keeping friends requires hard work and investment. It’s too easy to be a loner.
However, there aren’t many people who thrive on being alone. We need support networks and friends, both inside and outside the church. I’m hoping to continue to see my friends, but I have also to be realistic and realise that the decreased proximity means that the nature of the relationships will change. At the same time I need to be building new bridges and friendships to counter the in-built loneliness of ministry.
And you should too.