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As we look at the state of the culture around us, we sometimes feel like we are locked in the graduate school of sin, in what appears to be some kind of demented calculus course. Believers look at this in dismay, thinking that we somehow need to come up with some sort of super-wise, uber-godly biblical answer to all of it. We want to come up with our own righteous calculus course, one where the answer key is most tidy, and entirely correct. But this is an optical illusion—what we actually need to do is take all our so-called urbane sophisticates back to kindergarten, and teach them all to draw a straight line between the carrot and the bunny. And before that can ever happen, we must come back to mere gospel. It must be a gospel with blood in it, and sap, and salt.
“For after that in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe. For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom: But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling block, and unto the Greeks foolishness. But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:21–24).
Pascal once said that it was the mark of true philosophy to make light of philosophy. He and the apostle Paul would have been on good terms. Paul tells us that God in His wisdom made a determination about the wisdom of man. God determined that man, with all his pursuit of wisdom, would not be able to attain to the knowledge of God (v. 21). God settled our philosophy, which was the same thing as settling our hash. But God then determined that He would add insult to injury. Not only would He prevent man from climbing up to Him on that rope of sand called philosophy, He decided that the way that men would be enabled to come to Him would be through the foolishness of preaching (v. 21). Men would come preaching, and God would save those who believed the message (v. 21). There were two kinds of men that this offended. The Jews wanted a sign in the sky, or something like that, and God said no (v. 22ff). An evil and adulterous generation seeks after a sign (Matt. 12: 39; 16: 4). The Greeks wanted an argument in their brains, one that flattered their brains. Again God said no (vv. 22ff). Instead of all this, we preach a Messiah on a gibbet, Christ crucified. This is a skandalon to the Jews, and it is lunacy to the Greeks (v. 23). But from among the Jews and Greeks, there are the elect, the called ones (v. 24). To them this crucified Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God. As the power He is the answer to the Jews, and as the wisdom He is the answer to the Greeks.
You are a finite point. Above your head is the endless expanse of sky, and beneath your feet is absolute nothing. You are not at the mid-way point between infinity, which you do not understand, and nothing, which you don’t understand either. But you are a lot closer to nothing than to everything. If fact, you even used to be nothing. The observable universe contains an estimated 200 billion galaxies, with an average galaxy containing about 100 billion stars. You cannot explain that, can you? But if we take you down to the other end, and ask you to explain nothing, you can’t do that either. Let’s give you just one electron, or one quark, keeping things simple for you. Explain that—why is it here, rather than not here?
Compounding your struggle with finitude is the fact that you are a selfish and prideful finite point. You are much more important than all the other finite points. This is clearly evidenced by the fact that you think you are. And your brain—a subset of your finite point—is filled with big thinks. But with all your big thinks, you do not know God. Moreover you cannot know God until He brings you face to face with your own sin, and humiliates you with that vision.
You must look at your sin. But if you look at it there on your hands, you will despair. If you try to go muckraking in your heart, you will surrender all hope. If you look at it in the temptations that are so alluring to you, you will be sickened by how you are still drawn to it, even though you know it to be death.
You must look at your sin, straight at it, but you must look at where God has impaled it—on the cross of Jesus Christ. When the fiery serpents were afflicting the Israelites, God did not tell them to look at the place on their hand where they were bitten. He did not tell them look at the serpents on the ground. He commanded that they look at the bronze serpent, transfixed on a pole (Num. 21:4-9; John 3:14-15).
“And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life” (John 3:14–15).
To look at the sinless Christ on the cross is the same thing as looking on the sinful Christ. This is because He never sinned, and He was always holy and pure—He knew no sin. But He was full of sin, covered with sin, buried in sin—God has made Him to be sin. So the catch is that all the sin was ours. So when we look at our sin there, what happens is that God imputes the righteousness of His Son to us here. It is a stupefying exchange.
“For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him” (2 Cor. 5:21)
God delights to tumble the powerful from their seats. He loves to knock square academic caps off of learned heads. He catches the wise in their craftiness, and ties them hand and foot.
This is not because He is sadistic. No, He also loves to save men, but He never saves the proud ones, at least not like that.
“In that hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes: even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight” (Luke 10:21).
It gave Jesus joy to think of the fact that the Father has hidden these simple things from the savants, and handed them all off to the toddlers. And if it gave Jesus joy, shouldn’t it give us joy? If it doesn’t, then let us rethink our understanding of the gospel. Does your gospel have the blood of the cross in it (Heb. 13:20)? Does it respond with the sap of a living faith in it (Ps. 92:14)? Does it have the salt of the covenant (Num. 18:19)?
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Pastor Jerry Owen (Emmanuel Church—CREC, Bothell, WA) joins Aaron Ventura to discuss 2 Corinthians.
Join the #SamePageSummer Bible Reading Challenge: https://biblereading.christkirk.com.
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The first letter to the Thessalonians was inspired by the Holy Spirit, and is part of the Word of God. But at the same time, it was Paul’s second choice. What he really wanted was to be together with the Thessalonians, face to face, so that he could truly encourage them.
“But now when Timotheus came from you unto us, and brought us good tidings of your faith and charity, and that ye have good remembrance of us always, desiring greatly to see us, as we also to see you: Therefore, brethren, we were comforted over you in all our affliction and distress by your faith: For now we live, if ye stand fast in the Lord. For what thanks can we render to God again for you, for all the joy wherewith we joy for your sakes before our God; Night and day praying exceedingly that we might see your face, and might perfect that which is lacking in your faith? Now God himself and our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, direct our way unto you. And the Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men, even as we do toward you: To the end he may stablish your hearts unblameable in holiness before God, even our Father, at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints” (1 Thessalonians 3:6–13)
Remember that Paul had said earlier that he was beside himself with concern over how the Thessalonians were doing (1 Thess. 3:1, 5), which is why he had sent Timothy to them (v. 2). Now he said that Timothy had returned with very good news. That news was that their faith and love were solid, and that they had good memories of Paul (v. 6). They wanted to see Paul and company, and the feeling went both ways. That news was a comfort to Paul in the middle of his afflictions and distress. So the news was refreshment to Paul in the midst of a trial. It was such good news that Paul describes it in terms of life—“for now we live” (v. 8). The Thessalonians standing fast was life to Paul. Paul has so much joy over them that he is without words when it comes rendering thanks to God (v. 9). Paul had been praying day and night, and doing so “exceedingly,” as he asked for two things. First, he wanted to see the Thessalonians face to face, and second, that he might be able to complete or perfect whatever was lacking in their faith (v. 10). And so he repeats his prayer request again—that God Himself, the Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ “direct our way unto you” (v. 11). He also prays that God would make them grow and increase in their love for one another, not to mention everyone else, in the same way that Paul felt about them (v. 12). The purpose of this is so that their hearts might be established without blame in holiness before God the Father, until the parousia of the Lord Jesus with all His saints (v. 13).
One of the challenges we will have as we work through the two letters to the Thessalonians will be the challenge of distinguishing the end of the age (which occurred in 70 A.D.) and the end of the world (which will occur we know not when). I am taking the reference to the parousia at the end of our text here as referring to the destruction of Jerusalem, and the passage in 1 Thess. 4:16 as referring to the Second Coming. Briefly, that will happen when the Lord Jesus “will descend from heaven,” and when He does there will be a general resurrection. Then there will be another question, when we get to chapter 5, about whether the “day of the Lord” refers to the Second Coming of chapter 4, or is referring back to the judgment on Jerusalem found in the earlier chapters.
The word parousia simply means arrival, coming, or presence. The word is not a synonym for the Second Coming. Paul can even use it of his own arrival somewhere (2 Cor. 10:10; Phil. 1:26; 2:12), or of the arrival of his companions (1 Cor 16:17; 2 Cor. 7:6-7). He uses it to refer to the man of lawlessness (2 Thess. 2:9). And there are references to the coming of Jesus, as in our text here (1 Thess. 3:13). I take this as a coming in judgment on Jerusalem, the appearance of the Lord being manifested in the complete fulfillment of His prophecy that Jerusalem was not going to have one stone left on another. The phrasing is likely an allusion to Zechariah.
“And ye shall flee to the valley of the mountains; For the valley of the mountains shall reach unto Azal: Yea, ye shall flee, like as ye fled from before the earthquake in the days of Uzziah king of Judah: And the Lord my God shall come, and all the saints with thee” (Zech. 14:5).
Here are the reasons for thinking that we are talking about a visitation of wrath in the first century. The first chapter refers to the “wrath to come” (1 Thess. 1:10). The Jews in chapter 2 fight against Gentiles receiving gospel, and Paul says that “wrath is come upon them to the uttermost” (1 Thess. 2:16). This is clearly a reference to 70 A.D. This book was written circa50/51 A.D. During Passover in 49 A.D. there had been a massacre of thousands of Jews at the Temple. Also the emperor Claudius had expelled all Jews from Rome in that same year. Such events were not the fullness of wrath, but the pot was starting to boil, and Paul certainly expected it to boil all over the stove. Although he moves on to talk about the end of the world in chapter 4, we make that determination from the context (“the dead in Christ shall rise”). From the descriptions in the first three chapters, we have no reason to believe that Paul has moved out of the first century yet.
Notice how deeply Paul yearns for the growth of the Thessalonians in holiness. Also notice that he “settles” for writing to them. He would much prefer to see them face to face. He prayed exceedingly that he might be able to see them in person. Catechized by our digital world, we think we have conquered distance when we really haven’t. Our letters have gotten much more sophisticated than they were in Paul’s day, but our face-to-face communication is not what Paul would have made of it. Our texting, and Zoom meetings, and online sermons, and POD books, and blogs, and phone calls, are just souped up letters. Paul would have used them all, but he still would have yearned to be with the Thessalonians, in the same room, breathing the same air, and not through a mask.
As we grow in the Lord, notice that it is the Lord who enables us to grow in the Lord. God gives the increase. When we increase and abound in love for one another, this is not our doing. It is being done for us. The Lord is the one who makes us love each other, and He is the one who establishes us in holiness. Love for Christ is part of the work of Christ. We are commanded to love Him, and this command to bear fruit is fulfilled as the fruit of the Spirit.
As the great Augustine once put it, “Give what you command, and command what you will.”
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You should recall that at our previous joint worship service earlier this summer, the emphasis was on two kinds of unity. The first is a unity that we are given by grace, and are called to preserve (Eph. 4:1–3), and the second is a unity that we are called to establish or build (Eph. 4:11–13). We preserve the existing unity by dealing with sin properly—resisting temptation, seeking forgiveness, and extending forgiveness. The second kind of unity is the maturity that the Holy Spirit is in the process of bestowing on us as He grows us up into the perfect man.
In the message today, we need to drill down into some of the issues surrounding that first kind of unity. And that means we have to talk about sin. But I want to focus on a particular kind of sin, the kind that consistently thinks of itself as always somehow in the right. You know, sins that are common in church. This kind of sin actually causes a lot of havoc in conservative churches—far more havoc than selling cocaine does, or running a brothel, or robbing banks.
“From whence come wars and fightings among you? come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members? Ye lust, and have not: ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts. Ye adulterers and adulteresses, know ye not that the friendship of the world is enmity with God? whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God. Do ye think that the scripture saith in vain, The spirit that dwelleth in us lusteth to envy? But he giveth more grace. Wherefore he saith, God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble” (James 4:1–6).
As our community continues to grow, and is growing rapidly, we are likely to find ourselves with increased conflicts with the town, whether we want them or not. One crucial thing to avoid, therefore, would be conflicts with one another.
When Christians collide with one another, what is going on? You would think that when Christians ask that question, they would immediate think of James 4, which actually asks and answers it. Where do battles and fights among you come from (v. 1)? You have certain desires down in your members, and these desires are waging war (v. 1). You want, and don’t have. You kill, and still want, and still don’t have (v. 2). The reason you don’t have is because you don’t ask God (v. 2). And when you do get around to asking God, He doesn’t give it to you because you are asking for it all wrong, in order that you might consume it on your lusts, your desires (v. 3). “You adulterers and adulteresses,” James says. Don’t you know that friendship with the world and friendship with God are mutually exclusive (v. 4)? You cannot have both, so choose and choose wisely. For v. 5, I am following the AV, taking it as “the spirit within us veers toward envy” (v. 5), but God gives more grace (v. 6). God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble. But if you take v. 5 in the way other translations do (“the Spirit within us yearns jealously”), it doesn’t really affect the broader flow of the argument.
James tells us that the central villain here is our “desires.” And that means we have to take a moment to understand those desires in the context of this passage.
There is one kind of desire that everyone here has, and there is nothing wrong with it. Let us call it creational desire. You have a desire to breathe, for example, or to drink when you are thirsty, or to eat when you are hungry. This kind of desire can function without anybody else being present. It is not socially rooted. If you are thirsty in the desert, the nature of that thirst will not be affected by the presence or absence of other people. You have these desires simply because you are a creature with a nature. You have lungs, and muscles, and nerve endings.
But there is another kind of desire, and it is the kind of desire being addressed in our text. Do not be thrown by the use of the word lust. In modern English, the word has a strong sexual connotation, but that is not required here. Take it as simply a strong desire, desire for anything. But in this context, it is desire for things that are socially situated. It is mimetic desire, imitative desire. James is asking why fights arise among you (v. 1). He says that we covet (what someone else has) (v. 2). We fight (with somebody else) (v. 2). Then he locates the root problem—the problem is friendship with the world (v. 4). It is friendship with the world, and all of its lies, blandishments, advertisements, fashions, fads, and entertainment stampedes. You could be quite godly if it were not for all these other people out there.
But it is not just other people. It is the other people we know, the people who are up close, in your neighborhood, in your school, or in this sanctuary together with you.
The secularists, when trying to give an account of human fractiousness, have a quaint myth that they love to appeal to. They believe that we collide with one another because of our perceived differences, and if we could only come to see how many similarities we share, then the fluffy clouds would suddenly appear, and attractive woodland creatures would caper in the meadow. And so it is that they sponsor international student exchange programs, and food fairs where we sample one another’s exotic foods, and they love to solve problems with diplomacy. Let’s hug it out.
But what if conflict is caused, not by dissimilarity, but rather by similarity? You bonk heads with someone precisely because you were both reaching for the same thing. And you were reaching for the same thing because your tastes were so similar.
If you will allow me, a few autobiographical illustrations might help. I have been in the education business for some forty-odd years now. During that time, guess how many scrapes or collisions I may have had with advocates of the Montessori approach to education? Why, zero. And how may tangles have I had with classical, Christian, Latin-loving, logic-teaching, Trivium-applauding, Sayers-appreciating educators? No idea. Too many to keep track of.
How about theology? How many battles have I waged with ministers from the Assemblies of God? Again, zero. And how many head bumps with Reformed, postmillennial, presuppositional, paedobaptistic, and Presbyterian brethren? Heh.
You have collisions with your roommate because of the things you share. And that would include the things he borrows without asking.
Similar views, similar tastes, similar opinions, similar doctrines cause people to converge. And when they converge, conflict is hard to avoid. I also cannot tell you how many times I have counseled a young man who is interested in a young lady, and he wants to know if he should contact her father, and I am trying to figure out what to do with the fact that I had a very similar conversation the previous week with this fellow’s roommate, and about the same girl. This kind of thing does not happen because everybody is so dissimilar.
In the world of education, we are now have a cornucopia of options—Logos School, Logos Online, Kepler, New St. Andrews, White Horse, Jubilee, and I am sure some others. Do you think that any James 4 elbows might get thrown? Why, yes. Remember what I said about those distributing “the biblical worldview” by various other means (publishing, video, etc.)—we have Canon Press, CCM, Huguenot Heritage, Gorilla Poet, Roman Roads, CrossPolitic, Having Two Legs, New St. Andrews, Blog and Mablog, and there will soon enough be even more points of friction. And also remember what I said about all the restaurants, realty companies, medical practices, software companies, light manufacturing, contractors, and so on. And don’t forget Christ Church, Trinity Reformed, CCD, and so on. You cannot have this type of cloud form without it becoming a thunderhead.
In ungodly societies, and in ungodly times, the electrical charge that builds up is dealt with by means of catharsis. Sometimes it is artificial catharsis—plays, movies, grand sporting events. So let’s cancel all those. And sometimes it is real time catharsis—riots, executions, wars. Of necessity, apart from Christ, there is an endless cycle of it.
But the last verse of our text says that God “gives more grace.” And how does He do that? The ultimate and final cathartic event was the crucifixion of Jesus. Even Pilate was keen enough to see that Jesus was turned over to him because the Jewish leaders were envious of Him (Matt. 27:18). And in that ultimate death, we see—by faith we see—the death of death. But there is no death of death apart from the death of sin, and there is no death of sin apart from the death of envy and striving.
In the death of Jesus, every form of envy died. In His resurrection, we have God’s assurance that it need never come back.