One thing you’ll find about Dennis is that he’s not afraid of being raw, and you’ll see that in his posts.

Interestingly, as I was reading Spurgeon’s Morning by Morning, today’s passage was on pain–and I think particularly poignant. Dennis, this is for you buddy:

It was but a little while ago that on thy knees thou was saying, “Lord, I fear I have no faith: let me know that I have faith.” Was not this really, though perhaps unconsciously, praying for trials? – for how canst thou know that thou hast faith until thy faith is exercised? Depend upon it, God often sends trials that our graces may be discovered, and that we may be certified of their existence. Besides, it is not merely discovery, real growth in grace is the result of sanctified trials. God often takes away our comforts and our privileges in order to make us better Christians. He trains His soldiers, not in tents of ease and luxury, but by turning them out and using them to forced marches and hard service.

I’d be curious, after reading Dennis’ post and Spurgeon’s thoughts here, how do you view your pain and trials in your life?

I’d planned on sharing the way in which Liam rolled around around like a spaz with so much excitement when we got to the part where Jesus appeared alive to his friends, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I got too busy with work. It truly was awesome to see the sheer joy and enthusiasm Liam had when we read the resurrection story. And it’s proof that the gospel story is incredibly compelling.

As cool as that was, something even cooler happened when we read the story of Saul’s conversion. On that night, Liam decided to ask Jesus to come into his heart. I can’t even begin to describe how incredible it was to listen to my little boy give his life to Jesus. It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t recite the Westminster Confession or have tongues of fire descend on him. He simply said, “God please come into my heart and give me a new heart.” And that was that. But he knows the implications and has been talking about them since.

Now, yesterday was an interesting day. I had a lot of work to do, our baby Dylan didn’t sleep will the night before, and I was seriously grumpy. I wanted to let my wife get some much needed sleep, but I also wanted to get to work. So, I turned on the TV, sat Liam in front of it and got to it. Well, Liam wasn’t going to have any of that. He kept talking my ear off, doing things he knew he shouldn’t have to get my attention, and generally making life a little difficult.

I didn’t handle it very well, told him to go somewhere else, and used the age old “respect your parents” angle. I could tell he was frustrated that I didn’t give him my attention, but I have to confess I didn’t care.

A little later, I heard something that melted my heart. My son was in the living room praying this over and over: “God, please come back into my heart again. God, please come back into my heart again.”

I instantly knew that it was my fault he would pray this. I’d made him feel like a bad boy for wanting to be with me.

Talk about a horrible feeling.

I called Liam over to me. He got a big smile and came running onto my lap.

“Hey buddy,” I said, giving him a big hug. “I heard what you were praying.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I want God to come back into my heart.”

“Guess what? You don’t have to keep praying that,” I told him. “God loves you so much that when he gives you a new heart, it’s new forever. You don’t have to ask God back into your heart because He never left.”

Well, that was some pretty good news indeed for my boy. He smiled, relaxed, and said he was so glad.

And here’s the deal. We all believe this way deep down. We may not pray out loud for God to come back into our hearts over and over again, but we think it. We often feel ashamed of our sin, and doubt the salvation that God has offered us freely through Jesus. And what a shame that the devil lies to us this way. We forget what Paul tells is in Philippians 1:6, “And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.”

My son knows that I love him, even when he does things wrong. He knows that while I may discipline him, I’ll never abandon him or cut him off. And now he’s learning that our heavenly Father, who is a way better daddy than me, feels the same way about us. It’s a simple truth, that once again I was reminded off by God’s grace through a 4-year old boy.

Who needs Calvin when you have kids?

As a family, we’ve been reading through, The Jesus Storybook Bible: Every Story Whispers His Name, with my four-year old son, Liam. If you’re shopping for a children’s Bible, this one has my highest recommendation.

Needless to say, Liam has had some interesting questions as we’ve gone through the stories. It’s been fun working through the stories and seeing my son process everything. During this time, Liam has genuinely started expressing more and more love for Jesus. He’s been talking about him, saying how much he loves Jesus, and even making up songs randomly about Jesus. This is such an awesome thing for me to see as a dad.

Because of this, I haven’t been looking forward to reading the story of the crucifixion. Knowing my son, I didn’t want to see him saddened by the death of someone he loved. I didn’t want to see him despair. In our society, we try so hard to protect our children from the brutal realities of the world–and as a product of our culture, it was hard for me to share the story with Liam. But I knew I had too.

As we snuggled in and began reading, I could tell it was already tough for my little buddy. His face was downcast, and his usually busy body was still. Finally, as we got to the last part where Jesus is taunted to save himself, Liam exclaimed excitedly, “Yeah! He’s going to get down from the cross!”

He even jumped up and down with joy.

But then I had to go on. I had to tell the story that Jesus didn’t get down. He stayed on the cross. And he died. For me and for you.

Liam knows the ending. He knows that Jesus is alive today. We even discussed it. And you know what, Jesus’ disciples knew this too. Yet, just as with the disciples, my son’s grief at seeing Jesus die–even knowing intellectually that he would raise again–was real and it was palatable.

It has been a long time since the story of the crucifixion brought tears to my eyes. I’d heard it so many times before. But last night, seeing it again as a fresh and painful story through Liam’s eyes, I once again was tearful.

I think we could all benefit from seeing Jesus through a child’s eyes. And I can’t wait to see the resurrection through Liam’s eyes tonight.

If you’ve bounced around the Christian blogosphere you’ve probably at least heard about the justification debate between some prominent reformed theologians and N.T. Wright. This debate went fairly public when John Piper publicly responded to Wright’s book, What Saint Paul Really Said: Was Paul of Tarsus the Real Founder of Christianity?, with his book, The Future of Justification: A Response to N. T. Wright. Wright has most recently responded with his newest book, Justification: God’s Plan & Paul’s Vision.

Rest assured the debate is not over, and is probably just heating up. That being said, I should preface that this is a single issue debate and that Wright is not only respected in these circles for his work on a number of other issues, he is also considered an authority. There’s no denying Wright is an important, well-thought of, and orthodox brother in Christ with much to add to the fabric of Christian thought.

I’ve yet to dive completely into the debate. I’m currently reading What Saint Paul Really Said, and find it interesting so far. If you want to get caught up on the state of this debate, this month’s Tabletalk Magazine, published by R.C. Sproul’s ministry organization, is dedicating its entire issue to the topic. You can read some of the issue here:

What N.T. Wright Really Said

That’s all for now. If any of you are more versed on this controversy, I’d love to get your perspective in the comments section.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (21:3-4).

This passage is in reference to the New Heaven and New Earth, and taken in light of what Wright is talking about is referencing God’s restoration and, even improvement, of his tabernacle–Earth–where he will once again dwell among his people. Beautiful thought, no?

So, I’m curious, where do you all stand on this? What are thoughts on Wright’s words here? Do you believe there is a direct connection between your creation theology and your eschatology?

One poignant quip in the comments section:

“It’s a shame that Jesus didn’t have N.T. Wright around 2000 years ago to help Him express what He really meant about hell.
Then Jesus wouldn’t have had to grope around and use figures of speech like weeping and gnashing of teeth, unquenchable fire, torment in flame, broad and narrow ways, judgement and the like when apparently He really meant to talk about people declining to be part of God’s new creation.”

I’m not going to pretend I’m an expert on the intricacies of the doctrines of heaven and hell, but I have a hard time reconciling Wright’s (seemingly) watered down version of hell with my own readings of the scriptures.

What do you think: Is this because of my culturally western-stained mind (as Wright would claim), or because Wright’s account bypass the scriptures for a more philosophical explanation?

The book is mystifying and frankly hard to comprehend having grown up with Western conceptions of justice. In the book, Job, who is called “blameless and upright” by God is caused to suffer much pain and heartache. His wealth is destroyed, his children are killed, and his health is taken from him by God, who says to Satan, the instigator of this tragedy, “[Job] still holds fast his integrity, although you incited me against him to destroy him without reason.”

Throughout the book, Job searches for answers for the tragedies that befall him. He longs to plead his case to God. Job clings to his righteousness. During his suffering, Job’s three friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar, come to comfort him, but end up rebuking him.

Their logic goes like this: God only afflicts the wicked. You are afflicted. Therefore you must be wicked.

Job defends his conduct and maintains that he is righteous. He compares himself to other wicked men and contrasts his character and actions with them.

Much of the book is made up of the various exchanges between Job and his friends on this topic.

But then steps in Elihu, the youngest and wisest of Job’s friends, who listened to the exchanges silently and “burned with anger at Job because he justified himself rather than God. He burned with anger also at Job’s three friends because they had found no answer, although, they had declared Job to be in the wrong” (32:2-3).

Elihu says something very profound in chapter 36, “But you are full of the judgement on the wicked; judgment and justice seize you. Beware lest wrath entice you into scoffing, and let not the greatness of the ransom turn you aside. Will your cry for help avail to keep you from distress, or all the force of your strength?” (17-19).

Job may have been righteous and blameless, but when affliction came upon him, it was that righteousness and blamelessness in which he found justification. And he justified himself in comparison to other men, rather than in the eyes of God. Therefore, in the same way he judged, he was judged (17).

Today, Pat Robertson would be wise to read the book of Job and rethink these words of his:

Pat, to you I say, “You are full of the judgement on the wicked; judgment and justice seize you.” We have all made a pact with the devil, and we are ransomed by a loving God regardless. Tragedy happens to all, and I pray that when it happens to you that you will find more grace than you failed to give to others in their time of suffering. So, stop calling the kettle black and shut the hell up unless you have something helpful to say.

Seems a lot of senseless suffering is happening today. I have more friends than I care to count with various cancers, some not expected to enjoy the blessing of long lives and seeing their their beautiful children grow, to never hold their grandchildren here in this life. Other friends are on hard financial times, seeing hopes and dreams, homes and careers dissipate like smoke in the air. Still others have lost love ones, spouses snatched away far too early in the game.

And the thing is these are all good men and women. All God-fearing, Jesus-serving men and women.

Yet, they suffer. And they do so under the sovereignty of God.

The theology of my youth has no answer for this kind of sovereignty. The prosperity gospel has no hope for those who suffer though they do good. It, like Job’s friends, must resort to hallow promises and formulaic advice.

• “Stop sinning, and things will be better for you.”
• “You have not because you ask not. More faith will heal your situation or your health.”
• “If you give more, God will make you rich.”

The reality is that our existence is not so simple. As Job says, “Your maxims are proverbs of ashes; your defenses are defenses of clay” (13:12).

The very same advice you offer me, Job says, to turn to God, to renounce my sin, to not question God, to have more faith and then I will “feel secure, because there is hope,”–that same advice condemns you. Are you more righteous than me? Do you have some formula that courts God’s favor for you but pours out God’s wrath on me? “Will it be well with you when he searches you out?” (Job13:9).

The answer is no.

The prosperity gospel is not new. It’s as old as the hills. It creates distinctions between men. It turns God into a cosmic coin-op. Put your money in, pull the lever and,bing!, you’re rich. Put your faith in, pull the lever and, bing!, you’re healthy.

The lie of the prosperity gospel is that the measure of God’s goodness to you is inversely proportioned to your measure of goodness to God.

Job testifies to us from thousands of years ago that this is not true.

God says that Job suffers for no reason. What He means, I think, is that their is no fault in Job that induces suffering. But that doesn’t mean God doesn’t have His reasons. And that is the paradox of pain.

Annie Dillard writes wryly on this topic in her memoir, An American Childhood, as she recounts her struggle with God and quitting the church in her teen years (she later returned):

The assistant minister of Shadyside Presbyterian Church, Dr. Blackwood, and I had a cordial meeting in his office. He was an experienced, calm man in a three-piece suit; he had a mustache and wore glasses. After he asked me why I had quit the church, he loaned me four volumes of C.S. Lewis’s broadcast talks, for a paper I was writing. Among the volumes proved to be The Problem of Pain, which I would find fascinating, not quite serious enough, and too short. I had already written a paper on the Book of Job. The subject scarcely seemed to be closed. If the all-powerful creator directs the world, then why all this suffering? Why did innocents die in the camps, and why do they starve in the cities and farms? Addressing this question, I found thirty pages written thousands of years ago, and forty pages written in 1955. They offered a choice of fancy language saying, “Forget it,” or serenely worded, logical-sounding answers that so strained credibility (pain is God’s megaphone) that “Forget it” seemed in comparison a fine answer. I liked, however, C.S. Lewis’s effort to defuse the question. The sum of human suffering we needn’t worry about: There is plenty of suffering, but no one ever suffers the sum of it.

Dr. Blackwood and I shook hands as I left his office with his books.

“This is rather early of you, to be quitting the church,” he said as if to himself, looking off, and went on mildly, almost inaudibly, “I suppose you’ll be back soon.”

Humph, I thought. Pshaw.

No one I know on this earth has suffered the sum of pain. For that we should all be grateful. If we think we are the most miserable, we are deceived. And if we search for answers we will despair. It is so hard to do, but we must approach life as Job, saying, “Though [God] slay me, I will hope in him…” without saying the in the same breath, “…yet I will argue my ways to his face” (13:15).

And while I know of no one in this life who has suffered the sum of pain, I do know one who has. Jesus. On him was the full wrath of God poured, and in Him is my hope of salvation from the pain and suffering of this life.

[Photo by The Doctr]

How vast is creation, yet we know so little of it. Yet, God, who upholds the heavens by his Word and Will, came to this speck of dust to save a people who thought themselves greater than Him. Praise be to God, our Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.

Merry Christmas!