It seems like everybody has been talking about A.I. for a while now, but in the last bit here Christians (especially online-active Christian authors) have been responding to The Gospel Coalition’s “Line in the Sand” on their use of A.I. Yesterday, Tim Challies provided a helpful summary and reflection on the discussion here.

What A.I. Is

I pretty much agree with everything Tim says, but wanted to flag one reminder that I think is helpful to keep in mind: A.I. is not a “thing.” A.I. is an aggregate, a conglomerate, of other things, and those things all come from people.

This might need some explaining. The current batch of powerful A.I. tools like ChatGPT and Claude are, under the hood, large language models (LLMs). They have been fed a huge amount of text and have analyzed it all to estimate what words tend to follow other words. This is why some people have referred to A.I. as little more than fancy autocomplete.

We’ve had autocomplete on our phones and computers for a long time: you type in “Bob hung up the…” and the computer suggests “phone” because, given on the data it was trained on, it predicts that to be the most likely word to come next. LLMs can be thought of as autocomplete on steroids. Lots of steroids. They’ve been fed a mind-boggling amount of data, their prediction models have been tweaked and souped up by huge teams of really smart people, and they have access to powerful computer infrastructure that didn’t seem possible in the not-too-distant past.

There is a lot more going on: A.I. tools also employ neural networks modelled after the human brain, and there are aspects of how LLMs work that seem to baffle even their creators. Still, it’s helpful to remember that LLMs are essentially prediction tools, and when they generate what appears to be intelligent language, we’re actually reading a series of statistical guesses made by a computer program that is really good at estimating what word should come next.

And it was trained in all of that guessing by reams and reams of words written by real people. That’s right: in behind A.I. is the work of humans, real people whose real words form the basis for the LLMs’ prediction models. This is why computer scientist Jaron Lanier says, provocatively, “There is no A.I.” A.I., in his way of framing things, is “a collaboration of people instead of a new entity.” You can listen to a 9-ish minute interview with Lanier here where he explains this idea in a way that is both helpful and compelling.

I think this helps bring a bit of clarity to a key question Tim asked in his article:

Today, individuals and small organizations are identifying AI as a tool that can elevate their writing by providing them with what formerly only institutions could afford—the services of a high-functioning research assistant and editor. The bigger institutions don’t need AI to serve these functions because they have access to funding, and therefore to professionals, who can carry them out… And that brings us to the heart of the issue: Does it matter if this function is carried out by a someone or a something? Is it acceptable for individuals to use AI to narrow the competence gap that institutions enjoy by virtue of their size, or is this giving an app a function that is essentially human?”1

If we understand that A.I. is essentially a computer-organized collaboration of people, the distinction between “someone” and “something” shrinks somewhat. When an author uses A.I. to edit an article they wrote, the computer program is estimating how someone would perform that editing based on it’s exposure to the work of many someones.

There’s still a real difference, but it’s not a difference between a human and a machine. It’s a choice between a human and a software-negotiated collaboration of humans. This understanding doesn’t necessarily answer our ethical and practical questions concerning A.I., but it does help sharpen them somewhat.

How I Use A.I.

For me, this means that I don’t use A.I. to generate any of my writing—in my sermons, my academic work, or right here. (That em dash you saw there? I’ve been using them for years.) It would be wrong to pass off A.I. generated work as if it were my own, as wrong as plagiarizing another human—because that’s essentially what I’d be doing.

I further agree with Brett McCracken that “writing is a product of deeply human, necessarily inefficient processing, meandering, wrestling, noodling, cogitating, and often suffering.”2

The same could be said, perhaps in an intensified way, regarding sermon preparation. Truly, few experiences are richer than standing before my congregation each Sunday to deliver words that I’ve sweat and prayed over all week. I don’t want to preach other people’s words, cobbled together by a computer. It would fundamentally change the experience in a way that has zero appeal to me, besides the obvious ethical issues. I’ve told my church that they should fire me if I ever start using A.I. to generate my sermons, although, honestly, it doesn’t feel like a temptation right now.3 For similar reasons, I’ve also never used A.I. to write an email or text message. Communication is precious and personal to me, and I’m not comfortable outsourcing it.

But in a variety of other ways, I do use A.I., sometimes extensively. My basic standard is that I’ll use A.I. for anything that I would reasonably ask another person to do. I’ve been a Claude Pro subscriber since March, and here are some of the ways I’ve found it to be well worth the $25 or so I pay each month:

• making meeting minutes. In church committee meetings, rather than tie up someone’s brain power with minute-taking, I record the conversation, transcribe it with MacWhisper, and ask Claude to generate minutes using the transcription. It does a really good job.

• research assistant. Claude is surprisingly effective with scholarly research. I use it many weeks in sermon preparation to test ideas, ask for sources, and synthesize information. Here is an example of an actual chat from my study on Habakkuk 2:4. I don’t trust every word that Claude spits out, but neither do I blindly trust every word written by a human in a commentary. I found and read every source referenced in that chat, which means that it actually helped me read more instead of doing my reading for me. Claude has tracked down sources, tested hypotheses against actual evidence, and given feedback in meaningful ways.

• personal assistant. Claude Cowork takes care of a lot of busywork for me like organizing files, analyzing my schedule, clearing up unused disk space, and other personal admin tasks.

• giving me a head start on projects. I recently used Claude to create discussion guides from a series of teaching transcripts I did. I still edited the end results somewhat, but using A.I. saved me 3-5 hours of work. I also used Claude to summarize a book chapter for a devotional I gave once, and although I told people I’d used A.I., I had to edit it so much to make it sound like me that I don’t think I’ll do that again.

• editing. I don’t actually use Claude for this very much, if at all. But for the past few months I’ve used Apple’s built-in Writing Tools to proofread every sermon manuscript before it gets posted on the website. This is a pretty basic form of A.I., but it usually catches 30-40 grammar or formatting mistakes in each document. (I don’t use the “rewrite” feature at all.)

There’s probably more that could come to mind, but these are some of the big uses. And that’s just for ministry-related tasks! Personally, I’ve used Claude to build three apps, deploy a project server, research a ton of topics, and do a bunch of other work that would have taken me months on my own.

A.I. is a tool, a powerful tool, and a tool for which I thank God: it has been a big help to me personally. Like all powerful tools (think of knives and fire) it has some inherent dangers, but with proper care, I believe it can be used with great benefit. Hopefully these short reflections encourage you to do the same.

I have a theory about how we choose churches in North America. At this point, it’s just a theory, based on my own observations and experiences. Maybe one day I’ll be able to put some hard data behind it, but I’m sharing it now because I do suspect there’s some truth to this—and maybe you’ll find it helpful to reflect on.

The basic idea is that, in general, people don’t tend to choose a church based on objective factors, like doctrine or history. People don’t tend to say, “I know what this church believes, and I agree with those beliefs, and so that’s where I’ll settle.”

Instead, people gravitate towards a church when its culture fits with their personality, inclinations, temperament, and preferences. Often, that church’s doctrine is one of the last things they’ll consider as they decide whether or not it “feels right.”

I can think of some clear examples in people who have left Protestant churches for Roman Catholicism. They made the move because they liked the reverence or the aesthetic experience of the liturgy, and simply held their nose at some of Rome’s troublesome doctrine, accepting it as the price of admission for the great feelings of awe they got each week at mass.

But a similar dynamic occurs within Protestantism all the time. Growing up, I spent a number of years in various Charismatic environments (and still have some dear friends who attend similar churches). In my experience, most people do not choose to attend a Charismatic church because they’ve evaluated and been convinced by the theological arguments for the continuation of the charismatic gifts. Instead, they land there because those types of churches fit well with how they’re wired. They like it when services are energetic and unstructured, they don’t mind new and novel experiences, and they have a higher level of trust and curiosity when it comes to supernatural phenomena. They also tend to be fairly active in missions, outreach, and social causes, which correlates with their willingness to engage with the unfamiliar. Continuationist theology is often simply taken for granted as a part of this whole milieu.

On the other hand, I’ve observed that people who gravitate towards more conservative churches are not typically drawn by a love for the doctrines that gave those churches birth. Rather, they’re often compelled by a desire for safety, certainty, assurance, and predictability. They feel uncomfortable when things get too out-of-control. They may honestly believe that “Baptist” is just a worship style, and they prefer it, hands down. (Get it?)

They’ll listen each week to Biblical preaching, not necessarily because they believe that expositional preaching is the best way to handle the Bible, or even because they love and submit to the word of God, but because a consistent message from a predictable book feels like the right thing to do in that environment.

Over time, these collective preferences and practices solidify into a church culture that establishes what is normal and expected, and, like all cultures, is all the more powerful the more it goes unnoticed. Good doctrine may be embraced, formally, and is often a source of emotional comfort: “We believe in the good old truths.” But functionally, these doctrines are little more than accessories to a culture that actually sets the church’s factory defaults.

All this means that pastors in conservative churches are up against a lot of pressure when they try to start leading people, from the Word, to do things that feel uncomfortable—like evangelism, discipleship, or simply growing spiritually. If one’s preferences have been operating as their de facto authority, then when we use the Bible to motivate them towards something that seems uncertain or unsafe, it feels like we’re challenging their whole system of belief.

This is why churches that formally embrace the authority of the Bible can be so resistant to Bible-driven change. When a pastor uses the Bible to challenge aspects of a church’s culture, he may in fact be challenging the whole reason some people are there in the first place. And if they don’t actually have a developed doctrine of Biblical authority, they won’t see any problem with their refusal to follow where God’s word is leading.

Obviously, I’m painting with a large brush here, and a finer point could be put to much of this. But the encouragement here is for us to make sure that God’s word really is in the driver’s seat of our lives and our churches. If Jesus has called us to pick up our crosses and follow him, we should probably not expect to find comfort wherever we go. In fact, like Paul and Silas in a Philippian jail, it may be that when we are the most uncomfortable, we are the closest to where God wants us to be. It may be that we need to die to our preferences, regularly, in order to fruitfully fellowship with the people of God in a church that embraces and follows his truth. So be it! It will be worth it.

For pastors (and future pastors), the encouragement here is to think like a missionary. If you were pastoring in Papua New Guinea or Paraguay, think about all of the hard work you’d be doing to understand the local culture, appreciate what’s good, and help your people follow Jesus even if that means rejecting parts of their culture that feel very normal to them.

As pastors in North America, we have basically the same job, even if we serve in an established church. Evangelical culture can be just as resistant to Biblical authority as any other culture in the world. That’s not a recipe for despair; it’s an invitation to read the New Testament more carefully—watching how the apostles applied the Great Commission in various cultural settings—and think like missionaries as we lead our people to live as citizens of the kingdom.

Intrusive thoughts are a silent struggle for a growing number of people I talk with. Not that I think that more and more people are struggling with intrusive thoughts; I’m just hearing it from more people who, after knowing me for a long enough period of time, are willing to open up about it.

An intrusive thought, according to Harvard Health, is “a strange, disturbing thought or a troubling image that pops into your mind. It might be violent or sexual, or a recurring fear that you’ll do something inappropriate or embarrassing.” According to some research, almost everybody has some kind of experience with thoughts like this at some point, and many people are able to brush them off and move on.

Others respond with concern and worry (“Is there something wrong with me?”), and the attention they pay to the thought prolongs its rent-free stay in their mind. Or, by working hard to not think that thought, they make it even harder to ignore—like the classic example of trying not to think about elephants.

In my experience, Christians—especially those with particularly sensitive consciences—are at unique risk of overreacting to intrusive thoughts, given their beliefs about the content of those thoughts. When a Christian has a violently sexual thought pass through their mind unbidden, it’s harder for them to think “that was weird,” and move on. It’s easier for them to wonder things like,

• “Was that Satan? Can he plant thoughts in my mind? If so, am I ever safe from him?”

• “Was that me? Did I sin just by having that thought? People would be horrified—what must God think?”

• “If that thought came from me, is that an actual desire in my heart? What if I’m actually going to do what I imagined? How can I stop it from happening if the thought itself is too horrible to even talk to someone about?”

The Urge to Jump and the Will to Live

While researching intrusive thoughts, I was fascinated by a study on “high place phenomenon” (PDF), the authors’ term for the “sudden urge to jump when in a high place,” a common example of an intrusive “thought [that] can seem to come out of the blue.”¹

According to their research, and affirmed by subsequent studies, high place phenomenon is widely experienced by those with no other history or presentation of suicidal desires. In these cases, the authors suggest that what’s happening relates to our brain’s “fear circuitry”: finding ourselves in a dangerous situation, our brain tells us we’re in danger, and we back away from the edge before we’re fully aware of what’s taken place. “It is not until moments later, when the person tries to understand his or her behavior, that the individual’s slower perceptual system kicks in and potentially misattributes the safety signal (‘Getting too close, back up’) to a death wish involving heights.”² Thus, rather than anything to be concerned about, “experiencing this phenomenon may have the counter-intuitive effect of affirming one’s will to live.”³

Whether this specific explanation is correct or not, the study did reveal a correlation between the experience of high place phenomenon and sensitivity to fear or anxiety. Put simply, the more prone to fear a person is, the more likely they are to have this experience—and be bothered by it afterwards.⁴ This lines up with other evidence that people who are more fear-prone tend to “misinterpret innocuous bodily sensations as threatening.”⁵

The Engine of Fear

Fear is the engine here, as it takes Murphy’s Law and makes it personal: if something terrible can happen, not only is it going to happen, but it’s going to happen to me. This is why our heads feel itchy when we hear about a lice outbreak. It’s what makes us worried, ever since a friend died of cancer, that every ache and pain is a fresh tumour in our own body.

And perhaps it’s the case that when we find ourselves staring danger in the face—such as the 27-story drop over the balcony railing, or the five-foot swerve between us and the oncoming semi truck—the bad ending seems so inevitable, so certain, that it feels easier to surrender than to resist. And now that we’ve felt that urge, we have something new to worry about: not just the fear of falling, but the fear that we’re the kind of person who actually wants to fall to our death.

It does seem to me that a similar set of mechanics is at work in the broader experience of intrusive thoughts. The content of these thoughts—harming a child, being unfaithful to a spouse—are no less terrifying to consider than jumping off a balcony. Nor is the fearful prospect that you are the kind of person who just had that thought, and keeps on having that thought, and what does that say about you?

The more these fears are meditated on, the more they grow, and before long people can be convinced that they’re actually going to hurt themselves or others, or that they’re losing their mind, or that they are a particularly wicked sinner with no hope of salvation, or some combination of these and other awful possibilities.

This worst-case scenario thinking is particularly evident in fears about the “unforgivable sin” (Matthew 12:31), which for some Christians has the macabre draw of a balcony railing in a tall building. It might start by wanting to know what it is so they can be sure they haven’t done it, but then, knowing what it is, the sense of terrified inevitability grows, and the urge to commit it feels irresistible. Awful words may form in their minds, and they may be convinced that they’re already and hopelessly damned.

How to Fight Back

If we’re on the right track that fear itself is the engine—and the fuel—for intrusive thoughts, then what’s the solution? We know that paying them more attention doesn’t work; that only gives them more life. Simply ignoring them and refusing to take them seriously can be effective for some people. But even if this works, it might miss out on the chance to deal with the real root: fear.

I’m increasingly convinced that behind the experience of intrusive thoughts lies a set of deeply held fears about ourselves, our place in the world, and our relation to God. Fears like,

• What if I sin in a spectacular way? How do I know I won’t? I’m terrified of hurting others.

• I’m so horrified by my thoughts; is there any safe place for me, if not in my own head?

• What if this is the devil?

• Am I even a Christian, given these things I’m struggling with? What if I’m self-deceived and lost for eternity? How disappointed—or disgusted—must God be with me?

• I’m so embarrassed and ashamed of the things I’ve thought. I’m such a hypocrite and faker. If people knew who I was on the inside, I’d be rejected and left all alone.

• What if the worst-case scenario really is going to happen to me? When?

These fears cannot just be ignored. They must be killed with the sword of the Spirit (Eph 6:17). And there’s perhaps no better in the Bible to go than Romans 8 for weaponry against these fears—and the fearsome thoughts they give life to.

What if I sin in a spectacular way? How do I know I won’t? I’m terrified of hurting others. “For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers” (Rom 8:29).

I’m so horrified by my thoughts; is there any safe place for me, if not in my own head? “Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us” (Rom 8:34).

What if this is the devil? “For I am sure that neither… nor angels nor rulers… nor powers… nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom 8:38–39).

Am I even a Christian, given these things I’m struggling with? What if I’m self-deceived and lost for eternity? “Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn?” (Rom 8:33).

How disappointed—or disgusted—must God be with me? “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” “…him who loved us” (Rom 8:32, 37)

I’m so embarrassed and ashamed of the things I’ve thought. I’m such a hypocrite and faker. If people knew who I was on the inside, I’d be rejected and left all alone. “What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom 8:31).

What if the worst-case scenario really is going to happen to me? “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us… And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose… Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? …No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.’ (Romans 8:18, 28, 35, 37–39).

Fear can’t get a word in edgewise in the face of promises like this. Like I shared from Habakkuk on Sunday, these promises enable us to stare our worst-case scenario fears in the face and say, “What then? What changes? Nothing permanent.”

The death of Jesus on the cross for us, and the eternal promises He bought for us there, have ripped the teeth out of our worst fears. If we fall off the building, we go to heaven. If people find out about our deepest secrets, our Heavenly Father’s love for us won’t change, and 10,000 years from now, that’s all that’s going to matter. If the bad thing happens, God is going to use it for our good, and it’s not going to come between us and Him.

So Christian, read these promises. More importantly, believe these promises. Really believe what they say. Let them shine the light on your fears and reveal them as the weak and hollow things they are. Meditate daily on the scope and scale of all that God is for you in Christ, and find that your fears have less and less power to terrify you, overwhelm you, or even hold your attention.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus; your fears are one thing that certainly will grow dim in the light of His glory and grace.

Baptist Renewal

In the past two years, our church has been privileged to partner with AMBER (The Association of Ministers for Baptist and Evangelical Renewal), a new network of churches and pastors across (mostly Western) Canada I previously wrote about here.

It was in the middle of our spring conference last May, listening to Shaun Martens’ message on congregationalism, that I first thought, “We need to publish this as a book.” Over the past few months we’re re-worked our conference addresses into written chapters and have bundled it with our freshly-updated confession of faith. We’re also honoured that respected historian Dr. Michael Haykin contributed his essay on the origins of the Baptist movement (which he delivered at our conference last year) to this volume.

There are many great books out there which delve deep into the biblical basis for our Baptist distinctives and identity, but not any—that I’m aware of—that are short, readable, pastoral, and which I could confidently put into the hand of anybody in my church. We really hope “Baptist Renewal” fills this gap for many pastors and churches.

We’ve priced this book to make it easy to pick up and give away ($10 CAD for print, $2.99 for Kindle) and pray the Lord will use it for his glory in many Canadian churches. You can check it out here.

And, by the way, don’t miss out on AMBER’s 2026 spring conference, “A Better Story: Celebrating God’s Good Design for Men and Women,” the recordings of which are available here.

PrayerPlay

I love praying for my family, my church, and missionaries around the world, and, like many people, I’ve found it necessary to use tools to help me remember names and prayer requests. I simply don’t trust my memory.

Two quick asides here:

1. I don’t agree with the idea that all good praying is spontaneous, and that writing down someone’s name to pray for them at a later time makes your prayer less personal or less meaningful. The opposite is true: writing it down means it’s important enough to make sure you actually do it. If we write down appointments, tasks, or other notes we want to remember, why would we treat prayer any less seriously?

2. I also don’t think that structured, list-based praying is the only kind of prayer we should engage in. Praying in response to Scripture as we read it, praying throughout our day as needs and burdens arise, praying for people as they cross our minds—all of this is important, too. Prayer, like other relationships, should have both structured and spontaneous elements to it.

After reading Paul Miller’s A Praying Life (which I really recommend!) I found his “prayer cards” model to be very helpful. Instead of a giant, intimidating list, a stack of recipe cards allows you to pray for people in a manageable, focused way, as well as keep track of the “prayer stories” that develop as we bring people before the Lord regularly. Daily, weekly and monthly stacks let you pray for different requests with varying frequency. In the last few years I’ve switched back and forth between physical cards and the PrayerMate app which replicates this functionality on my phone.

Here’s where I’ve struggled, though: some of my best times talking to the Lord are not when I’m sitting still, but when I’m driving somewhere, hiking through the woods, or, more recently, walking the neighbour’s dog. Some of this is probably a combination of personality and ADHD; I have a way easier time talking to anybody when we’re out for a walk or a drive compared to sitting still. But there’s also something about the sky, being outside in God’s world, that spurs worship and provokes a response to the person who made all of this.

The obvious problem is that it’s hard to flip through a deck of recipe cards, or look at a screen on your phone, while you’re walking or driving.

Enter PrayerPlay. Using an AI tool (Claude Code), I made an app in my spare time that reads your prayer cards out loud, so you can pray on-the-go. I’ve been really helped by it, and I hope it helps you too!

Here’s a short rundown on some of the app’s features and functionality:

• You can set it up however you like.

  • You can keep it simple with a single list of a few cards.

  • Or, you can make a robust system with multiple lists, dozens of cards in each list, and numerous items on each card.

• You can use it in different ways.

  • Pop in headphones and have your prayer items advance on a customized interval, pausing or advancing at any point.

  • Or, you can turn off audio and swipe through cards manually, for those times where you do want to sit still.

  • Each prayer list has a “play” button at the top so you can pray through just that specific list.

  • Or, the “Pray” tab builds a customized pray session that pulls together cards from various lists.

    • Each list has settings that determine how many cards get included in each prayer session.

    • Cards and items can be shuffled, viewed in sequence, or scheduled for specific days of the week, month. (One time requests can be set for specific dates and optionally auto-archived afterwards.)

• A quick-add shortcut from the home screen (or within the app) makes it quick and easy to add new requests.

• A sharing functionality lets you easily share anything with other users.

• Your data is yours, period. PrayerPlay uses purely on-device technology, from speech to storage; nothing is collected or saved on a server whatsoever. Nobody can see what you’re using the app for unless you choose to export and share.

• Totally free to use. Zero in-app subscriptions. (The App Store description has a link where people can contribute to development costs if they choose to.)

At this point, PrayerPlay is available for iOS only; an Android version is in the works. Check out this link to download (free!).

It’s been a joy to be a part of these projects and I pray that the Lord uses them for His glory.

In 1 Samuel 4, we discover that for all they got wrong, the Philistines got a few things right—specifically relating to the nature of manhood.

“Take courage, and be men, O Philistines, lest you become slaves to the Hebrews as they have been to you; be men and fight.” (1 Samuel 4:9)

The Philistines understood that being a man isn’t just a matter of biology; it’s also a matter of behaviour. There are certain ways of acting that are appropriate for men. In this passage, that specifically includes courage and the ability to fight.

Christians are very prone to spiritualize these characteristics. 1 Corinthians 16:13 says, “Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong.” I wonder how many assume that, because that’s in the New Testament, it means we should be spiritually strong.

No doubt it does. But is that all it means? I’m not so sure.

Most men discover at some point that it’s impossible for them to be spiritually strong without some attention to their bodies. Even Charles Spurgeon, not exactly the picture of physical health, recognized that he couldn’t be happy in the Lord without getting out and walking in a stiff breeze every once in a while. “A day’s breathing of fresh air upon the hills, or a few hours ramble in the beech woods’ umbrageous calm, would sweep the cobwebs out of the brain of scores of our toiling ministers who are now but half alive,” he once wrote.

God gave us bodies which work best when they are used, and much of the time that means using them to do hard things. “Bodily training is of some value,” Paul said in 1 Timothy 4:8, a statement that establishes rather than downplays the value of physical training. Commenting on this passage, Douglas Moo writes,

We should not underestimate the physical toughness of someone like Paul, who walked thousands of miles/kilometers on his journeys and endured extreme physical deprivation over decades (2 Cor 11:23–27). Timothy would have trekked his share of miles/kilometers alongside Paul. The point is not to denigrate fitness but to contrast its (temporal) utility with the eternal worth of “godliness.”1

Let’s go even a step further. Men, as men, have a God-given responsibility to provide and protect. When bad people want to hurt vulnerable people, godly men step in between. A generation of us have been raised on John Piper’s illustration of a young guy on a first date with a girl who, he just found out, has a black belt in a martial art. But then…

…two men accost them with ominous expressions and say, “Pretty girl you’ve got there, fellow. We’d like her purse and your wallet.” And then they say, “In fact, she’s really pretty. We’d like her.”

Now, the thought goes through his head, “She’s got a black belt in martial arts,” but instead of stepping behind her, he takes her elbow with a firm grip and just eases her back and says, “You touch her, it will be over my dead body.” And he tackles them both. And while he tackles them, he says, “Run.” They knock him out cold, and the next thing they know, they’re both on their back with their teeth bashed in.

…and as she’s riding to the hospital with this man, she looks down at him and says to herself, “This is the kind of man I want to marry.”2

I’ve shared versions of this story throughout the years, and I love watching how the guys sit up a little straighter and the girls get that far-away look in their eyes. We all know, deep down inside, that this is what real men do. This is good.

But 1 Samuel 4:9 has got me thinking: what’s the value of getting in between your girl and the bad guys if you can’t actually do anything to protect her? Most of the women in our lives don’t have black belts. For a lot of men, this story would end very differently: “They knock him out cold, and then they grabbed the girl and did what they wanted with her.”

Did the man in that version of the story act like a man? He had the courage to try to protect her. But what good is intention without ability? If God has given him the responsibility to protect, but he can’t actually fulfill that responsibility when the situation calls for it, is he actually being a man?

Increasingly, I’m beginning to suspect that physical strength has at least something to do with God’s call for Christian men to “be strong.” Those who know me well understand how ironic this might sound. I’ve been hopelessly ectomorphic my entire life; my body really doesn’t like building muscle. I’m not a particularly strong man, if strength is defined physically. But, at 40 years of age, I’m feeling less and less okay with that. And I have a fresh bag of protein powder on my kitchen counter to prove it.

If it sounds strange to hear a pastor talking about the the importance of physical strength, maybe that’s because I’m getting sidetracked on some weird tangent. Or, maybe that’s because us western Christians have a long history of separating physical realities from spiritual realities in ways that the Bible doesn’t.

There’s a whole post’s worth of caveats and qualifications I could add here. If you’re thinking “but what about…?”, there’s a good chance I’d agree with you. Yes, there’s different kinds of strength and different ways of being strong. Yes, feminine strength has physical manifestations, too: lots of women throughout history and around the world today have had to work really, really hard with their bodies. No, I’m not advocating for some macho, chest-thumping version of Christianity. And no, I certainly haven’t been “red-pilled” by the “manosphere.”

But I do want to call men to be men in every way that God intended them to be. Paul meant something when he said “act like men, be strong.” And I’m wondering if just maybe the Philistines were on to something after all.

I'm supposed to like the Puritans.

But I really struggle with them.

It's not because I don't I love the theology of the Reformation and the movements that followed in its wake. I do! I'm a Baptist who traces my convictional heritage back to the Puritans. Many of my Christian heroes love the Puritans and recommend large doses of reading these theological "redwoods."

But still, I really struggle to read and appreciate the Puritans. And I think I can narrow it down to two reasons.

First, I've found the Puritans to often be unreliable in their use of Scripture. Richard Sibbes' "The Bruised Reed" is one example of this. Taking up Isaiah 42:3—"a bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench"—he goes on for chapters and chapters, splicing and analyzing every nuance of these words in a way that is painfully out of touch with how Hebrew poetry and metaphor actually work. "Here's the kind of person that a bruised reed represents, here's exactly how it got bruised, here's how to know if you've been bruised in this way, here's what the smoke of the wick signifies, here's what Jesus plans to do with the wick…" This is all stuff that would get a bad mark on a first-year Bible college paper. While some of what Sibbes says is good, he spends a lot of time going way beyond anything Isaiah 42:3 is actually intending (or able) to communicate.

This might not be such a problem if it was obvious that what we're reading is a theological meditation inspired by Scripture. The problem is that the whole thing is put forward as exposition of Scripture, and modern day Puritan-promoters go on about the Puritan's incredible ability to see all kinds of deep things in Scripture that nobody else can see. Maybe that's because, at least sometimes, they're seeing things that aren't actually there in the first place. Maybe "a bruised reed he will not break" is a beautiful but straightforward metaphor that communicates a simple truth about the Messiah, but which is not designed (nor able) to carry the freight that Sibbes expects it to. Maybe preaching seventy-five sermons on half of a verse of Scripture is a cause for concern, not celebration.

My second struggle with the Puritans is their approach to sin. The Puritans really embraced the idea of total depravity, but often applied it in such a way that made it sound like born-again Christians can't do anything but sin. From the moment we open our eyes in the morning, we are soaked in heinous rebellion. The best prayers we've ever prayed contain enough sin to send the whole world to hell, as John Bunyan is famous for saying.

If you read through the Valley of Vision, see this idea all over the place: even as Christians, we're filthy, awful, disgustingly sinful people who need to start each day begging God for mercy as if we were just coming to Him in faith for the first time.

All of this sounds convicting, and appeals to those of a particular temperament and sensitive conscience. The problem is that this view of sin and the Christian life is not in sync with the New Testament. “We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life… For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace” (Rom 6:4, 14).

Jesus saved us from sin, and the writers of the New Testament expect that Christians will walk in freedom from it. Yes, they describe sin as an ongoing struggle, but they did not think we'd be on the losing side of that struggle all the time. As we read passages like Colossians 3 or 1 Peter 1, we see how the apostles defined sin, told us to kill it, and assumed we'd be victorious with some measure of consistency. "My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin" (1 John 2:1a). Killing sin is both possible and achievable.

Yes, that is not the whole story. The apostles are also realistic: "But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous" (1 John 2:1b). We should not be surprised to get to the end of a day and find we have sins to repent of. But we should also not be surprised to get to the end of a day and not be able to think of any sins we need to repent of. The Puritans would probably consider this evidence of great spiritual blindness; I suggest it's something closer to the normal Christian life. “Beloved, if our heart does not condemn us, we have confidence before God” (1 John 3:21; see also Paul's repeated references to a "good" or "clear" conscience).

Any Christian can over-analyze themselves and come up with all kinds of reasons for why they must repent for each muscle twitch not performed for the glory of God (and the Puritans seemed to have a propensity for introspection of the highest order), but this morbid approach to holiness is wildly different from what we see in the pages of Scripture. This connects us back to the first point on interpreting the Bible properly: sweeping statements like “you therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt 5:48) or “whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Cor 10:31) are found in contexts that define what is being asked of us, which much of the time has to do with down-to-earth realities like loving our enemies or eating lunch with idol-worshippers. If we define sin in such a way that we can't blink our eyes without bringing down damnation on ourselves, we're not paying attention to how the Bible actually describes these realities.

So, there you have it. These are two reasons why I struggle with the Puritans. I know that I'm in danger of over-generalizing here, so should clarify that the Puritans were a varied group and some of their writings are much better than others. I know there's examples that avoid the pitfalls expressed here. I also don't want to throw out the baby with the bathwater, so want to add that we owe a lot to the Puritans, as do I, personally. For example, I've benefitted a lot from John Owen's "Communion With God" (except for his frequent cringe-inducing use of the Song of Songs). I've been enjoying "A Heart Aflame for God," a recent book by Matthew Bingham that explores spiritual formation from a Puritan perspective. The Puritans shaped many of the men who shaped me, which isn't saying nothing. I know I still have a lot to learn and gain from them.

So yes, there is a large and healthy baby amidst some murky bathwater; pointing out that such a distinction exists is all that I really hoped to accomplish by writing this short (and decidedly non-Puritanical) article.

When the church gathers, we worship God, and one of the key ways we do that is through song. We sing together to remember God’s Word, to respond to God’s grace, and to reflect God’s glory. We sing to express an appropriate emotional response to the truths about God in Christ (Psalm 33). Ephesians 5:19 speaks of addressing “each other” through song, and in Colossians 3:16, singing is connected to the word of Christ as we teach and admonish each other. Corporate worship is thus not an individual experience, but something shared by those gathered.

Accomplishing these realities (as consistently as possible) requires the best combination of songs sung by our congregation. Lyrics really matter. With only a certain amount of songs to sing each week, it will be important for them to be as impactful as possible.

As a result, we use the following criteria to curate and maintain the collection of songs that EBC will sing. Song leaders will have freedom to choose from this group of songs for any given week in cooperation with the preacher, in order that the songs will fit well with the truths of the Biblical passage being preached.

General Criteria

• Song choice should reflect sensitivity to a wide range of ages in our congregation.
  
  

• Certain songs could appeal more to a certain age group, but the general mix of songs chosen should be able to appeal to a broad range of ages.
  
  

• While respecting the first point about appealing to varying ages, we shouldn’t choose songs based on category, but for content. Songs don't get a pass because they are either old or new. An older hymn should be evaluated as carefully as a newer chorus.
  
  

• We want to appreciate a place for both simplicity or complexity in theological or doctrinal truth. Something like Jesus, Strong and Kind will come across more simply, while O Sacred Head Now Wounded is obviously more complex. Both have their place.
  
  

• Song lyrics should be as clear as possible. Vague lyrics or phrases that could be interpreted wildly differently by various people will generally not help us to worship as a body. Additionally, we will be cautious in choosing songs that express specific feelings or experiences that some of our congregants may have never felt or experienced. We will keep in mind different backgrounds of our congregation and how certain words or phrases could be interpreted.
  
  

• Even if a song just has one or two lines that seem weak, it’s probably better to look for a song that is better suited for use. With limited opportunity to sing each week and over a year, we wants to have the strongest group of songs for worshiping together.
  
  

• Content should trump personal musical preferences as much as possible. A song an individual really likes can continue to be a song they really like, but it may not be the best fit for corporate worship at Emmanuel.
  
  

Specific Questions

• Truth

  • What is this song saying or teaching? Does the Bible clearly state the same?

  • What is it saying about God? Is it true? Is it saying it in a biblical manner?

  • What is the saying about us? Is it true? Is it saying it in a biblical manner?

  • Does the song misinterpret Scripture or does it help us understand the Bible? Does it misapply anything from the Old Testament toward the New Testament or life today?
    
    

• People

  • Does this song say things that would be easy for people to misinterpret or misunderstand? Is there poetic/metaphorical language that is hard to grasp or interpret?

  • How will this song be received by men? Women? Children? Seniors? Can all age groups sing this through with integrity?
    
    

• Experience

  • How does this song engage our emotions? Does it do so in a fitting way?

  • Does this song describe experiences that most of us can/should be able to relate to?

  • Does it say things most people in our church can/should honestly sing?

  • Is this a song about the experience of worship, or is it a song that actually worships God/teaches/admonishes?
    
    

• Music & Craft

  • How singable is this? Does it jump octaves? Does the music serve the words and do we need to adjust anything from any existing recordings of it? Are there any long interludes we want to trim?

  • Is the song excellently and carefully written?

  • Do the lyrics have an understandable “flow,” or do they just string together nice phrases in a way that will leave people confused as to what they just sung?
    
    

• Purpose

  • Why do we want to sing this song? Is it because it’s popular and catchy, or does it actually serve our congregation?

  • How does this song accomplish the goals of Ephesians 5:18-20 and Colossians 3:16? How will singing this song, long-term, shape us as a church?

  • How does this song fit into our repertoire? Does it balance/compliment the other songs we sing?
    

While doing our best to be faithful to the Lord and His word, we recognize that genuine worship is ultimately a supernatural event: we are drawn near by the Father through Jesus to offer Him the fruit of our lips (John 4:23, Hebrews 8:1-2, 10:19-22, 13:15). May the Lord bless our efforts, magnifying His name among us as we worship Him in spirit and truth.

It's a good question, and I thought it was worth trying to answer in this format.

Principles

I'll start at the top: I believe that Christianity provides us with a total and complete view of reality. It is not just a private religion or spirituality that we practice off in a corner, sealed off from the rest of the world. Instead, as C. S. Lewis said so well, "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."

This is because Jesus is Lord of all. All. Kuyper was right: “There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, Mine!” This means that we can (must!) look at anything and think about it like Christians. Jesus is Lord over all that we do—not just the 15 minutes we spend reading the Bible in the morning, but also every hour worked, every diaper changed, every meal prepared, every little league game watched, and every evening spent on the couch. Biblical principles can (and must) shape how we structure a household, earn an income, watch a movie, practice a hobby, feed a pet, and govern a nation.

And, in fact, they already do so in more ways than we realize. Thanks to centuries of Christian influence, Biblical principles are the "air we breathe," whether we know it or not. People are valued, freedom is celebrated, and progress is made because the teachings of Jesus took root and shaped the values of whole cultures. Biblical principles have had a significant and unmistakable impact on much that we hold dear in our modern world.

Priorities

That being said, it must be recognized that when we read Scripture—and the New Testament in particular—we don't merely find a collection of principles for Christians to take and apply at will. The gospels and epistles are not just fodder for our theologizing. Instead, the New Testament gives Christians a specific set of priorities that should shape their life and direct what the New Covenant people of God focus their efforts on.

These priorities centre around the words of our risen Lord in Matthew 28:18-20: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.”

Making disciples is not a single-track activity, and our witness to the reign of Christ should be comprehensive. Good words are to be paired with a whole life of good works. But make no mistake about it—the goal of our good works is the advancement of the gospel message. A thoughtful read through the epistle to Titus shows the tight connection between our actions and our message about the once-crucified, now-risen, and soon-returning Jesus. Christians are to behave such "that the word of God may not be reviled" (Ti 2:5), "so that an opponent may be put to shame, having nothing evil to say about us" (Ti 2:8) and "so that in everything they may adorn the doctrine of God our Savior" (Ti 2:10).

This unabashedly evangelistic shape to the Christian life is chronically missed or under-emphasized by many Christians, sometimes particularly by those interested in the whole-life implications of the Biblical worldview. When I read Andy Crouch's Culture Making or Tim Keller's Every Good Endeavour a number of years ago, I came away thinking, "Okay, fair enough—but what about the Great Commission? What about the day God has fixed on which he will judge the world in righteousness?" Vague notions about the cultural mandate cannot be used to displace the specific priority to make, baptize, and teach followers of the risen Christ who is our only deliverer from the wrath to come (Acts 17:30-31, 1 Thess 1:10).

So yes, there are all kinds of things that Christians should do as we seek to live a life of good works that draw attention to our Lord (Matt 5:16). We should mow our lawns and brush our teeth and pay our taxes and shovel our neighbour's driveway and feed the poor and serve cheerfully on our tenant's association. Christians should work in all kinds of jobs, serving the Lord Christ (Col 3:23-24) as they pick up garbage and teach students and pave roads and write software and raise children and film movies and drive tractors. Doing these things will have a positive effect on our immediate surroundings. Like salt in a meal or a lamp in a dark room, Christians should get into all the nooks and crannies of our world, being noticed when they are around and missed when they are not (Matt 5:13).

But none of these things, in and of themselves, constitute our primary objective. Good works will provide temporary benefit, and demonstrate love to our neighbours, but without the hope of eternal life, they are ultimately meaningless—just like everything else under the sun (Ecc 1:2-3). “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?” (Matthew 16:26).

Some have suggested that the salvation of souls is a lesser goal than the transformation of societies, and Jesus does not agree. Our Lord has given us clear priorities, and it's our duty to maintain those priorities: “No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him” (2 Tim 2:4). The alternative is disaster. “For Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me” (2 Tim 4:10).

Politics

Because God places Christians in various vocations (1 Cor 7:17-24), we should expect to see the people of God in all kinds of jobs, offices, and positions, making a difference for Jesus just like he told us to (Matt 5:13-16). Politics is no exception. Indeed, even before the New Testament was completed, numbers of government employees and officials were being impacted by the gospel (Luke 3:12-14, 8:3; Acts 8:27ff, 10:1, 17:4, 19:31; Phil 4:22).

When Christians in politics serve the Lord Christ, there is no doubt that they will benefit their constituents, and this is something to celebrate. We'd have to be blind to miss the hand of God working through William Wilberforce—and others like him—who spread lots of salt and light through their political vocations.

But from everything I can see in Scripture, a Christian who finds themself in politics is in basically the same spot as a Christian in any other vocation. They have before them particular opportunities within their particular sphere of influence to do good works that glorify God and adorn the gospel. Their sphere of influence may be larger than others, which is why it's good for a country when its leaders are disciples of Jesus. We should cheer for godly politicians, and encourage young people so inclined to pursue political careers for the glory of God.

And yet, it remains a fact that not a single New Testament passage instructs the people of God to pursue cultural transformation through direct political involvement. This truth can't be drowned out by theological catchphrases or witty rhetorical questions. Cultural transformation through politics is simply not a New Testament priority.

That should give us pause when we feel the temptation to overemphasize the importance of politics, compromise Biblical standards for political ends, or hitch our hopes to a partisan agenda. It should give us pause when we start to forget that we are sojourners and exiles (1 Pet 2:11) with no lasting city who instead are to be seeking the city that is to come (Heb 13:14). It should help us remember that we will inherit the earth not by pulling the levers of political power, but through meekness (Matt 5:5).

Practicalities

What does this mean for Christians who are involved in politics? It means that, at the very least, they should be faithful and courageous, devoted to unchanging righteousness instead of questionable party platforms, and willing to call out wickedness whichever wing it's coming from. Like Daniel and his three friends, they should be ready to give up their influence—and even their own lives—for the sake of their true allegiance. It means that they do their jobs to the best of their abilities for the glory of God, adorning the gospel without ever confusing their work with the gospel.

What does this mean for the rest of us? I'll offer two suggestions. First, while we should be thankful for Christianity's influence on our society, we shouldn't treat this as our expectation or birthright. Christianity exploded in the first three hundred years of its existence despite being culturally weird and politically powerless, and it's thriving around the world today under similar circumstances. Although, perhaps "despite" is the wrong word to use. According to 1 Corinthians 1 & 2, the weakness and strangeness of the gospel is a feature, not a bug. God loves to save people in ways that anchor their faith in His power instead of man's wisdom (1 Cor 2:5). Cultural Christianity had its benefits, but the costs have been high, and returning to a world in which the gospel seems strange may not be the catastrophe many make it out to be.

Second, as clichéd as this sounds, we need to keep the main thing the main thing. The gospel is our priority, and no, this doesn't mean we neglect politics any more than we neglect other non-gospel responsibilities like brushing our teeth. But if every second sermon given in your church talked about bad breath as if it were the great plague of our times, you'd be right to ask questions. If your pastor started a weekly podcast about missional dental hygiene (maybe called "Cross Brushing"), I hope you'd ask more questions. If he started to publicly recommend which brand of mouthwash you should use, and hosted a conference at your church about why Christians should get their silver fillings replaced with composites, you'd be right to assume that the cart was pulling the horse, and gospel implications were supplanting the priority of the gospel itself.

If you left to join another church, his devotees might pity you. "There goes another grungy-mouthed dupe of the processed food industry. Don't they understand it's either Christ or cavities?"

Lest you think I'm just being sarcastic, the truth is that oral health is a really big deal and a legitimate avenue for global missions. It's something Christians should care about—and that's exactly my point.

So vote for good politicians, and do what you should to establish righteousness in your society. And along the way, don't forget that Heaven and Hell are forever, Jesus is coming back, and that “according to his promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells” (2 Peter 3:13).

Also, don't forget to brush your teeth.

Unpacking Syncretism

The heart of my concern was summed up in this sentence: "I am concerned that Evangelicals on both sides of the border are falling prey to a syncretism that espouses Christianity insofar as it is important for Making America (or Canada, or wherever) Great Again."

The New Oxford American Dictionary defines syncretism as "the amalgamation or attempted amalgamation of different religions, cultures, or schools of thought." This is what we might call a thin definition of syncretism. Missiologists—those who study missions—define syncretism a little more "thickly:" Syncretism is what happens when the practices of a new religion are adopted without any change to the existing worldview.

What does that even mean? Here's an example. Years ago, friends of mine went on a missions trip to a Central American country. They were stunned to learn how the local Catholic priest would perform the mass, and then, without missing a beat, walk out the door of the church, change his robes a little, and offer a goat in sacrifice to the local tribal deity.

This is classic syncretism, of a kind we see all around the world. A thin definition of syncretism says, "look, two religions being blended." A thick definition of syncretism understands what's really happened here: for years, the people had believed in a spirit-filled world in which various little gods needed to be kept happy in various ways. Catholicism was introduced to them, and the people rapidly adopted its practices. But their basic way of looking at the world hadn't changed. The God of the Bible is just one more deity to appease. The sacrifice of the mass is just one more religious ritual to perform along with all the others. And after it's done, of course a goat has to be offered on the church lawn, because how else are all the other gods going to be kept happy?

Syncretism is so sneaky, because, from the perspective of the missionary, it can appear to be but a minor speed bump in an otherwise successful endeavour. "Look! These people say they believe in Jesus, they're coming to our church meetings, and they're starting to talk like Christians. Sure, they've got a few kinks to work out, but that will come in time." Little do they realize how much remained unchanged. Instead of turning from idols to serve the living and true God (1 Thess 1:9), the people have simply added Jesus to their long list of gods. He's just another tool in the tool-belt to help them get at what they've always been after (Acts 8:9-24).

In other words, the goat sacrifices aren't anomalies: they are where the real worldview pokes through the veneer of Christian practice.

From the perspective of the syncretists themselves, nothing seems off. Syncretism may shock outsiders, but it's invisible to the ones practicing it, which is why they are practicing it in the first place. Their syncretism feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Evangelical Syncretism

A seminary professor (and a former missionary) once told our class that, in his opinion, North American Evangelicalism was one of the most syncretistic religions in the world. He believed that many Evangelical Christians, though fully adopting the forms and practices of Christianity, still held to a worldview that was throughly secular. They might go to church every Sunday, read Christian books, and listen to Christian music, but if you dug down to the foundations of how they actually understand reality, you would find basically the same set of assumptions and priorities as their unbelieving neighbours.

And if you looked hard enough, you'll see evidence of this syncretism at play in their lives—their own version of the Central American goat sacrifices. Evidence that, in the end, they still wanted basically the same things as everybody else: worldly success, satisfaction in life, and a comfortable existence surrounded by family and friends. They practiced Christianity in some measure because it helped them get those things. Jesus was a means to an end.

I think my professor friend was on to something, and in recent years, I've seen more and more evidence for Evangelical syncretism—particularly in the realm of politics. Beneath a layer of Christian practice and language, it appears as if the underlying priorities, goals and values of many Christians are increasingly political, human-centred, and, frankly, worldly. The primary framework appears to be political conservativism with a little Jesus added to the mix.

Now, I fully understand that many conservative Christians understand their politics to be related to their faith in that as they see conservative principles being most in line with Christian principles. That's a fair position to hold and defend, and it's one I hold myself, even though it needs to be acknowledged that it is not the only position Christians have held and defended. A fair bit also depends on how narrowly or widely one defines "conservative principles."

Nevertheless, though some defend conservative politics as the most consistent outworking of biblical principles, others appear to embrace Christianity as the most effective means to achieving conservative ends. In other words: syncretism. Christianity is the best and most reliable way the way to achieve the same socio-political goals that our unbelieving neighbours are after.

Where do I see this? What is the evidence I offer for this alleged syncretism? In what follows, I'll share some observations that I've grouped under four main headings. Could these be examples of an unbiblical worldview poking through a veneer of Christianity, bearing witness to the syncretism that lurks below?[mfn]Please note, this is not an academic paper, and you won't see many quotes or footnotes in what follows. These are my observations, which may or may not resonate with you, but which I hope are stimulating as you ask some of these big questions for yourself.[/mfn]

1. Adopting Political Instead of Biblical Categories

One of the key areas I see syncretism at work is the way in which many Christians have adopted extra-biblical (or even un-biblical) categories for describing people and the world we live in.

One prime example is "the Right" and "the Left." How many times have I heard Christians talk about "the Left," as if "it" is the great scourge of our day, without batting an eye?

The problem here is that "the Left" is not a biblical category—it is a political category. If we think that people on "the Left" are worse sinners than people on "the Right," then we're not thinking like Christians. If we think that "the Left" is the problem with our country, then we are thinking in terms of worldly wisdom. If we allow the "Left-Right" polarization to shape our conception of reality, we've abandoned a biblical framework.

Is there a chance we feel more at home with someone who shares our politics, but not our faith, than we do with someone who shares our faith, but not our politics? If so, what does this say about our most foundational beliefs?

The cosmic struggle isn't between "Right" and "Left" or "liberals" and "conservatives," but between the domain of darkness and the kingdom of Christ (Col 1:13). Can we forget that it was conservative Pharisees who crucified Jesus? Can we forget that a conservative without Jesus is in just as much darkness as a liberal without Jesus? Can we forget that, without the hope of eternal life set before us, all of the conservative politics in the world is just vanity, a chasing after wind?

Christians must also remember that "the Left" is not an amorphous blob of viewpoints. When we say "the Left" we are talking about people, made in the image of God, people who are more than the sum of their cultural and political viewpoints, people who we've been commanded to love and share Christ with.

People are people, not walking political issues. When we see someone from an other country, what do we see? Do we see "immigration," or do we see a person who has probably been through a lot, who is probably suffering right now, and who could really use the love of Jesus?

Isn't this how Jesus taught us to think when he told us, “And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles” (Matt 5:41)? The language Jesus uses here points to the Roman practice of soldiers forcing civilians to carry their loads for a distance of one mile. It was an unmistakably political event in which the oppression of Rome came crashing in to the daily lives of an occupied people. And yet Jesus tells us to see the soldier, not as a symbol or stand-in for the oppressive Roman regime, but as a person whom we are to love by going above and beyond what's legally demanded of us.

What would it look like if Christians consistently applied this kind of thinking in our day?

2. Advancing Un-Biblical Priorities

Another area where I see syncretism at work is in the way that many Christians have adopted and promoted extra-biblical (or even un-biblical) priorities.

Christian nationalists advocate the transformation (or return, as they may argue) of our countries into Christian states. Those who are less strident still speak of the importance of maximizing the Christian influence on our culture.

That sounds like a great idea, but it's simply not a biblical priority. If you struggle with that thought, I encourage you to read through the New Testament with a highlighter in hand, underlining every passage where Christians are encouraged to maximize their influence on the surrounding culture through direct political engagement.

It's just not there. Now, I'm not ignorant to how the arguments tend go at this point. "Well, would you prefer us to work at minimizing Christian political influence? Would you prefer that we maximize secular or Muslim political influence?"

And my response is that those are the wrong questions entirely. They are questions which, intentionally or not, attempt an end-run around the Word of God. Influencing politics is simply not a question that the New Testament is preoccupied with. It describes us as sojourners and exiles with a gospel to preach, a saviour to follow, and people everywhere to love. We can go round-and-round the mulberry bush of political theology all day, but if we just stop and open up our Bibles and start reading them, I suggest we'll find that Jesus and His apostles are interested in other things altogether.[mfn]https://www.plough.com/en/topics/faith/discipleship/why-i-went-cold-turkey-on-political-theology[/mfn]

Now, yes, Christians will have an influence on our culture as we live as salt and light, carrying out good works that bring glory to our Heavenly Father (Matt 5:13-16). Furthermore, most of us reading this live in democracies, and loving our neighbours will include some level of concern and engagement with politics. Some Christians should even pursue careers in politics. But that's where an understanding of priorities is so crucial. What is the relative importance the New Testament gives to these matters? There's lots of things Christians should do as good neighbours, but what should be occupying our attention?

The priority many Christians give to political matters is evidence of being out of touch with the priorities of Scripture—especially the emphasis found in the Bible on the return of Christ and the glories of the age to come.

“For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done” (Matt 16:26-27).

What good is it if we win the next election but lose our soul? Is there a chance we've lost the plot?

3. Compromising Biblical Standards for Political Ends

One of the clearest places where I've seen evidence of syncretism is in the way that many Christians have been willing to compromise biblical standards for the sake of political goals. A key example here is Evangelical support for Donald Trump.

Two comments before I go further: yes, I'm Canadian. But there's lots of Canadian Christians I know who wish they could have voted for Trump. Support for him doesn't end at the 49th parallel. Second, I realize many of my American brothers and sisters voted for Trump with their noses plugged, trapped inside of a real-world round of "Would You Rather?" with no happy choices. That's not the phenomenon I'm referring to. What I'm referring to are the Evangelicals who supported Trump with enthusiasm, gusto, and little-to-no criticism.

There's lots that could be said here, but the big problem to highlight is the double standards. Trump has regularly said and done things which would make conservatives blow gaskets had they come from the other side. Conservative Christians have been so quick to point out the lies of "the Left" but have said precious little, in comparison, about the many, many lies that Trump has told.

Would John the Baptist have held his tongue about Herod's infidelity if Herod had happened to be on the right political "side"?

Five years ago, Albert Mohler described Trump as a huge embarrassment, and he's still right. When I talk to my family and friends who are not Christians, it's clear that, in their eyes, Evangelicals have lost their moral authority over the way they've given unqualified support for the unsupportable and made excuses for the inexcusable.

Does the truth matter, or is it just a political tool? If we are to "live not by lies," does that also include the lies coming from the Right? Will we hold ourselves (and others) to God's eternal standards, or the fluctuating morals of political expediency?

4. Confusing The Christian Gospel with a Political Message

Finally, syncretism is on full display when Christians repeatedly confuse the gospel with a political agenda. This has been a problem for some time, but it's come into razor-sharp focus since the murder of Charlie Kirk.

Once again, I want to reiterate that Charlie's death was a tragedy, and may God help (literally) anyone who celebrated it. What happened to him was atrocious, and we're right to be appalled.

And at the same time, the truth matters. If all you knew about Charlie Kirk was based on second-hand information from Evangelicals shared on social media in the last several days, you'd get the idea that he was basically a missionary. Christians have used phrases like "when Charlie Kirk went to campuses to preach the gospel…" and have compared him to Stephen—or even the Apostle Paul.

Friends, no matter how tragic Charlie Kirk's death was, the truth is that he was not a Christian missionary; he was a political activist. He wrote books like "The MAGA Doctrine." He was an apologist for Donald Trump, defending him at every turn. Watch hours of his latest videos (as I did into the wee hours of a recent morning) and you won't see lots and lots about Jesus. You'll see lots and lots about DOGE, the scam of college education, Trump's immigration practices, etc.

Kirk was a political activist who was also a Christian, and sometimes he talked about his Christian faith and its relation to his political work. This is not slandering Charlie Kirk. It's simply stating the facts.

There are only two explanations, as far as I can see, for the widespread depiction of Kirk as a champion for the gospel. One, people have only watched a few carefully-selected clips, and assume that they represent the entirety of his material. Or two, they are familiar with the rest of his material, and they can't tell the difference between Christian doctrine and the MAGA doctrine.

If I had to, I'd guess that both explanations are in play, but it's the second one that worries me the most. Leaving aside the growing irony of a message about a crucified saviour being wrapped up with the actions of a powerful and morally compromised government, even if Trump supporters could justify the administration's every decision as good and wise (an impossibly long shot, I'd offer), that does not justify confusing pro-Trump political activism with gospel proclamation. As Mark Dever said back in 2008, "we must make a distinction between the gospel and other things that we take to be true, and... this distinction is faithful to the New Testament."[mfn]https://t4g.org/resources/mark-dever/improving-the-gospel-exercises-in-unbiblical-theology-session-iv/ This whole message is worth watching, and has many helpful points of contact with the current topic.[/mfn]

In Conclusion

The central issue here—and the whole reason I'm speaking up about any of this—is the purity of the gospel. When we stop seeing a difference or distinction between conservative politics and the gospel, we are in dangerous territory. This is a danger inherent in the way in which Charlie Kirk, and the many now following in his steps, seamlessly moved between pro-Trump and pro-Jesus talking points. When the gospel begins to be confused with MAGA politics, it is not merely in danger of being forgotten, minimized, diluted, or compromised—those things are already happening.

For years, conservative Christians have generally assumed that our biggest enemies were on the cultural left. We've pushed hard against the progressive agenda. Could it be that our spiritual enemy, like a deft master of jiu-jitsu, is using our momentum against us? As we gain traction against liberal opposition to the gospel, could we be tumbling right into conservative compromise of the gospel?

“I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Cor 2:2). Christians, regardless of political stripe, must be zealous to maintain the purity of the gospel. May God deliver us from any vestiges of syncretism, and shape us to be bold and pure witnesses for the crucified, risen, and returning Lord.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

Some Things We Know

Here's one thing we know for sure about September 10, 2025: what happened that day was unspeakably awful. To watch any man be killed is appalling; to have a man be killed in public, so gruesomely, so unexpectedly, is atrocious; and to know this happened to a husband and father of young children is heartbreaking.

One day, Kirk's children will come to realize that millions of people watched their dad be killed, and will bear the burden of deciding whether or not to see that same footage themselves. It's right for this to chew us up inside.

Charlie Kirk's death was a tragedy and an atrocity.

Selah.

Some Things We Don’t Know

There are some very important things we don't know about the death of Charlie Kirk, particularly why he was killed in the first place. While any information we have may be out of date within days or hours, at this point the news reports are still full of words like "allegedly," "purportedly," and "apparently." There's a lot that's unknown.

Which means that, until we know more, Christians should refrain from referring to Kirk as a "martyr." According to Merriam-Webster, a martyr is "a person who voluntarily suffers death as the penalty of witnessing to and refusing to renounce a religion."[mfn]https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/martyr[/mfn] At this point, we simply have no basis for applying that term to Charlie Kirk. It's neither certain nor clear that he was targeted for his faith, let alone that he voluntarily suffered death for refusing to renounce his religion. Even if it comes out that he was killed for being outspoken on issues that are adjacent to (or implications of) his Christian beliefs, this is still a step removed from actual martyrdom.

No matter how highly you may think of Kirk, I hope we can agree that words have meanings, and those meanings matter. By calling him a "martyr," we devalue that word and dishonour the many real martyrs around the world who are killed for their faith in Jesus each and every day.[mfn]See more at persecution.com, opendoors.org, or globalchristianrelief.org/stories/christian-persecution/.[/mfn] What happened to Kirk is bad enough—there's no need to embellish it with things that aren't true.

Some Things to Consider

In the wake of last week's tragedy, I've been concerned by much of the narrative and commentary I've heard from fellow Christians (including some I deeply respect).

I am concerned that many have been quick to call Charlie Kirk a "martyr" precisely because they perceive little difference between Christianity and the particular brand of conservative politics that Kirk was famous for promoting.

I am concerned that Evangelicals on both sides of the border are falling prey to a syncretism that espouses Christianity insofar as it is important for Making America (or Canada, or wherever) Great Again.

Albert Mohler unintentionally diagnosed the problem last week when he described how an earlier Charlie Kirk

...saw Christianity as a huge drag on conservative progress. He was pretty clear in calling for a new young conservatism of liberty and resistance. At the time, he didn’t have a lot of use for conservative Christians, and he wasn’t subtle.

Not long thereafter, Charlie embraced two things that had been missing from his earlier approach. He openly and boldly claimed the gospel of Christ and courageously identified himself as a Christian believer. He also began to argue with consistency that a recovery of Christian truth was essential for a lasting conservatism.[mfn]https://wng.org/opinions/a-most-tragic-turning-point-1757563042[/mfn]

The order of operations is not insignificant: conservatism first, Christianity second. This pattern is reflected in eulogies which describe Kirk as a patriot and a man of faith, in that sequence.

I am not picking on Charlie Kirk here. I am suggesting he was emblematic of an entire worldview that sees Christianity as an essential ingredient of the American republic (and Western civilization), and therefore embraces Christianity, not necessarily because it is objectively true, and not necessarily because Jesus is supremely worthy, but because Christian faith is necessary for the achievement of their specific sociopolitical vision.

Lest anyone accuse me of judging Kirk's heart, I am not saying that he was not my brother in Christ. I am simply surveying the evidence of what he actually talked about most of the time. Yes, we heard about Jesus occasionally, but a Jesus so wrapped in red, white and blue that I question how recognizable He was to much of the world. I'm also looking at the speed at which Evangelicals have been quick to laud Kirk as a martyr, which I take as further evidence of increased confusion between the Kingdom of Heaven and the Republican Party.

It's Not All or Nothing

As I type these words, I fully anticipate some writing me off as being a part of "the Left." You must be a "lib" if you have anything critical to say about Charlie Kirk, right? The truth is that I'm thoroughly conservative in my social, economic and political convictions. But I'm a Christian first, and I don't see complete alignment between the priorities of Jesus and any political party, platform, or persona. And I'm increasingly convinced of the importance of viewing the world through Biblical categories, not the simplistic zero-sum grid of "Left" and "Right."

Here's an example: we can reject the progressive social agenda without having to pretend that Donald Trump is a good man—or that Charlie Kirk was a respectful debater devoted to the open exchange of ideas for truth's sake alone. Because, in general, that just wasn't true. Of course you can find some good examples, but often enough I have to agree with Moira Donegan's description of many of his interactions: "aggressive, unequal, trolling affairs, in which he sought to provoke his interlocutors to distress, shouted them down and belittled them… and selectively edited the ensuing footage to create maximally viral content in which his fans could witness him humiliating the liberals and leftists they perceived to be their enemies."[mfn]https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2025/sep/14/charlie-kirk-killing[/mfn]

Whether or not someone agrees with that description will probably depend on whether or not they agree with Kirk's positions, and that's exactly the problem I'm seeking to address. Christians, thinking with Biblical categories, should have room for nuance. We can grieve his death, and even agree with some of his conclusions, without having to cast Charlie Kirk as the model of Christian speech and missional purity. It's not all or nothing.

Why This Matters

These issues are not theoretical. I write these words in particular for the many thoughtful young men in our church, one of whom texted me the news last Wednesday before I heard it anywhere else. (Yes, Kirk had an impact this far north of the border.) I have a genuine concern for these brothers, and the possibility of them being over-influenced by the Charlie Kirk hagiography currently circulating the Evangelical internet.

Brothers, don't get swept up in the emotion of the moment. I know this sounds so clichéd, but Christ, and not Charlie Kirk, must be our example. Titus 3:2, which reminds us "to speak evil of no one, to avoid quarreling, to be gentle, and to show perfect courtesy toward all people,” applies to "libs" and "smug college students" too.

With renewed minds, let's keep steady on in our refusal to be conformed to the pattern of this world—whether that pattern tries to press in on us from the Left or the Right.

Read the follow-up article here.

I first heard John preach on 800 CHAB while growing up in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. A country (now oldies) station by day, for two hours each evening they play back-to-back Christian programming. Haven of Rest, Back to the Bible, or the inimitable drawl of J. Vernon McGee often filled our car speakers while we waited for our mom to come out of the grocery store. To my young ears, it sounded like the kind of stuff people in a seniors' home would enjoy. Nothing I was interested in.

At some point, though, a specific voice stood out. I'd sit up straighter and pay attention when he would come on. He was different than the others. Instead of treacly platitudes, he often criticized the Western church, and as someone who had grown up in that church, his criticisms resonated with me. Instead of telling stories, he asked you to look at the next verse, and told you what it meant. Passages of scripture came to life as their meaning and application were opened up with clarity and passion.

Somewhere along the line I put a name to the voice: John MacArthur. When I was 17 or 18, I started listening even more deliberately and intently to his preaching, tuning in to CHAB at 7:30 on purpose. Thanks to the internet, I began to devour his sermons on demand. Though I had attended evangelical churches most of my life, I had never (to my memory) been exposed to expository preaching, and it was like being introduced to the Bible all over again. Rather than being the domain of sleepy Sunday school classes, milquetoasty Sunday morning pep talks, or guilt-ridden but fruitless quiet times, I encountered Scripture as a book through which the living Christ addressed his church with authority and relevance.

Then a friend recommended I read MacArthur's landmark book "The Gospel According to Jesus," which recalibrated my whole conception of the gospel. Next, the same friend pointed me to "The Coming Evangelical Crisis," a volume to which MacArthur had contributed an essay, and which helped me understand the environment I had grown up in as never before. Next up was his two-volume commentary on Romans, which I read slowly and carefully over several months. Convictions were being shaped, and theological foundations were being formed.

Is it any surprise that it was during this season I began to experience a tug towards pastoral ministry myself? I read through MacArthur's "Rediscovering Expository Preaching" the summer I was 19, and a preaching opportunity that September gave me the chance to apply what I'd been learning. I rode on the high of that sermon for months, and became fully convinced that proclaiming the word of God was what I wanted to do with my life.

At that early stage, anybody who watched me walk into church with my big MacArthur Study Bible might have mistaken me for a textbook MacArthur-ite. What cured me from hero worship was actually two trips to Sun Valley for the Shepherd's Conference in '06 & '07. The teaching at those conferences had a profound impact on my developing philosophy of ministry, but staying in the homes of two families from Grace Community Church helped me recognize that this place was not Heaven. These were real people with real imperfections, as was true of John himself. As I interacted with conference attendees who did revere him in an unhealthy way, I thought a lot about how to learn from someone without worshipping them.

As the years have gone on, there's no doubt that I've parted ways with MacArthur on many points, whether on theological matters (like dispensationalism), his handling of cultural or political issues, or what seemed to me like an increasingly combative approach to just about everything. Ministry apprentices at our church have heard me criticize him more than once over the years. And honestly, that's probably why I'm writing this piece. I want to set the record straight: when I criticize John MacArthur, I do so in the way that a son might criticize his father. Some things may drive him nuts, but he dearly loves the man who has shaped him in more ways than he is aware—and to whom he owes his life.

If it wasn't for John MacArthur, I doubt I would be a pastor (if not a Christian), and I certainly wouldn't be the pastor (or Christian) that I am. I have a hard time thinking of a single conviction I hold that he did not have some role in shaping. At the foundation of all of my philosophy of ministry (and approach to life itself) is the doctrine of the sufficiency of Scripture, and nobody did more than John MacArthur to help me understand and embrace that central tenet. In the Lord, I owe him a great debt, and my gratitude for him is profound.

The day after John died, I opened up the Grace to You podcast and played "What Heaven Is" for my kids at the breakfast table. It was classic MacArthur, and a great introduction for their first time hearing him preach. I hope it won't be their last.

So thank you, Lord, for John MacArthur. Thank you for the gift that he was to so many of us. Keep me, and the many others who follow in his footsteps, faithful to you until the end of our own earthly races. To you be the glory forever. Amen.

But just as Jacob feared, Laban tried to stop him. Laban apparently thought he has ownership over Jacob. "Then Laban answered and said to Jacob, 'The daughters are my daughters, the children are my children, the flocks are my flocks, and all that you see is mine'" (Genesis 31:43). Laban is talking nonsense here. He sounds like a mob boss—or maybe just one of the many dysfunctional grandparents throughout history who missed the memo in Genesis 2:24 about their adult children leaving home to start new families of their own.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine told me about his grandparents who have really struggled with their grandchildren living more than a few minutes from home, and have put intense pressure on their family to stay put within the same few square miles.

Perhaps we can understand that coming from unbelievers, whose only hope is in this life, and for whom family really is everything because they have nothing else. But when grandparents know the Lord, they can avoid the example of Laban. They can give up control, and with tears bless their children and grandchildren to go wherever the Lord directs them to do whatever He wants them to do.

I'm so grateful my in-laws gave us that gift when we moved to Nipawin. Our family was small, our youngest was still a baby, and though there was sadness, they did not for one minute try to make us feel bad for moving away in pursuit of kingdom fruitfulness.

When Paul invited Timothy to accompany him (Acts 16:1-3), Timothy left behind Eunice, his faithful mother, and Lois, a godly grandmother, both of whom had invested years of love and training into him (2 Tim 1:5, 3:15). Just think of what we all would have missed out on if they had selfishly guilted Timothy into staying close to home.

Arrows in a quiver aren't meant to stay there—they're for shooting at the enemy (Psalm 127:4-5). I can't imagine Lois and Eunice had dry eyes as they said their goodbyes to Timothy, but would they also not have felt joy at seeing what all their years with him had built up to? They had trained him in the Scriptures so that they could unleash him on the kingdom of darkness, and every reader of the New Testament is, in one sense, in their debt.

So as we search the Scriptures for examples of wise grandparenting, let's look to Lois, not Laban. If you have grandchildren, invest in them so that they—and through them, God-willing, many others—may spend eternity with the Lord, not just holidays and Sunday dinners with you. There will be a cost involved, but the rewards will be infinitely worth it.

Today, together, we're here to face the awfulness of death. We're not going to hide from that or run from that. As we commit the body of little Constance to the ground we remember God's curse on the sin of our father Adam: that because of his sin, he and his children would "return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return’” (Genesis 3:19).

Adam was a gardener, used to putting things in the ground, and one day he himself would go into the ground. It sounds so symmetrical—from the ground, to the ground; dust to dust—but it's not the way it's supposed to be. We were supposed to go from dust to glory. We were made from the dirt to be more than dirt; to be living images of the living God who would walk with him in eternal fellowship. We came out of the ground, but we were never supposed to go back to it.

There is something about death, no matter the age of the one who dies, that shocks us with its unnaturalness and its wrongness. This is not how it should be. And the shock and horror of death is accentuated when the one who dies is not old and aged, but young and small and innocent. There is one kind of sadness in seeing a blazing fire slowly burn down into ashes until the last glowing coal is extinguished. It is another matter altogether to witness the kindling snuffed out before the fire even has a chance to burn.

Nothing here seems right. Death seems wrong, and this death seems especially wrong.

But if I may, I would draw our attention to another death in history that, if it is possible, is even more wrong, even more shocking in its sense of un-fittingness.

I speak of the death of a son who was more perfect than any human child. A son who filled His father with delight. A son who was truly perfect, unstained by Adam's sin; a son who had been given many chances to do wrong and never caved in once over 33 years. A son who took upon Himself the sins of the world and suffered in the place of His people from all time and all places.

I believe we have good reason to be confident that on the cross, Jesus died for this little one we've gathered here for today. We know that we are all sinners, not only by choice, but also by nature. We’re all born with a guilty status that we've inherited from our first father Adam (Rom 5:12-19). And yet, Scripture repeatedly tells us that the sins for which people are judged are not the sins they inherited but the ones they committed. We know from John 9:41 and Romans 1:20 that God's judgement falls on those who reject Him "without excuse.”

And from that, I, and many others, conclude that God treats differently those who do have an excuse—those who die without the ability to see and respond to his glory. The sin they inherited from Adam cannot be ignored, but must have been graciously paid for by Christ on the cross, and thus they are welcomed with mercy into the kingdom of God.

"Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven'" (Matthew 19:14).

Jesus died for our sins—committed and inherited. And what that means is that Christ's death has transformed this death. Because of His death, this death is not merely a return of dust to dust. This burial today is not an act of finality. It is an act of gardening—yes, even on this frigid February afternoon. We are planting a seed today, a seed that will one day bloom into beauty unimaginable.

But someone will ask, "How are the dead raised? With what kind of body do they come?" You foolish person! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. And what you sow is not the body that is to be, but a bare kernel, perhaps of wheat or of some other grain. But God gives it a body as he has chosen, and to each kind of seed its own body… So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. (1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42–44).

I believe that we are sowing here today. Planting a seed that has fallen to the ground and died much sooner than anybody expected. A natural seed, sown perishable, dishonourable, weak. But because Jesus died and led the way on His resurrection morning, this is a seed that will be raised: supernatural, imperishable, glorious, powerful.

Now, I don't share any of this today to try to make anybody feel better, or to take away the pain of this loss. That's impossible. This grief is real and it is only appropriate to feel it and sit with it.

But I share this to try and situate the grief and the pain in the right story, and in the right place in that story.

Though we sow in tears today, full of questions without answers, yet shall we reap with shouts of joy on the day when, from this very spot, Constance Alma Neudorf arises to meet her saviour on the day of His return. “And so shall we ever be with the Lord” (1 Thess 4:17).

We groan in grief today, but this is a groaning that leads to life—the life of the Resurrection (Rom 8:22-23).

And one day, under the bright sky of the New Creation, perhaps some of us will gather at this very spot, and think back to today, and look back on these tears as old tales.

I tell you this, brothers: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:

   "Death is swallowed up in victory."
     "O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?"

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain." (1 Corinthians 15:50–58).

AMBER's three emphases—Word saturated, gospel centred, and distinctly Baptist—resonated deeply with me. I nodded along to every sentence of their "Abstract of Principles for Baptist Churches." When a member in our church read some material from their website, she told me, "It sounds like you wrote it." It seemed like we shared not only some important convictions and values, but a vision for the renewal of the church in our part of the country, and that excited me.

That March I was able to have lunch with Michael Lorusso, a member of AMBER's council. Despite mishearing his last name as "LeRousseau" and asking if he was French (a deep insult to any Italian), he was gracious and we had an engaging conversation. I learned that AMBER began its life as a renewal movement within a particular Baptist conference in the midst of its own downgrade. Their attempts at fostering renewal hadn't been met with the warmest welcome, some of the churches represented by AMBER had already moved on from that conference, and AMBER's purview had widened as a result. They were open to connecting with Baptist pastors in various denominational situations across Western Canada.

I asked how I could learn more and connect further, and Michael suggested I come to their conference in Abbotsford that May. That seemed like a long shot at the time, but our elders were supportive of the idea, and we found a way to make it happen.

I left from Nipawin with one of our elder apprentices, and our route to Abbotsford took us through Alberta such that we were able to make the second half of the road trip with Michael and three others from his church. Sharing a vehicle and accommodations for three days provided a solid opportunity to get to know these brothers and talk about things that matter. The conference itself was a real encouragement; hearing the various pastors preach through Galatians, and then talking to them one-on-one between sessions, deepened the sense that I'd found some kindred spirits. We left at the end of the weekend with plans to connect further.

That fall, after further conversation and a thorough process, I was invited to become a council member of AMBER. I was then able to join the rest of the council in Calgary at the end of October to finalize our confession of faith. For two days, rigorous theological discussion and heartfelt prayer flowed together with side-splitting laughter and good espresso, and we parted with a document—forged in the fires of our brotherhood—that we could joyfully stand behind.

I love our confession because it is robust, historically informed, Bible-soaked, and worshipful. It does not shy away from bring gloriously specific on matters like God's good design for men and women, and yet there is a gentle humility in the application of this doctrine. As the introduction states, "We recognize that this statement is not perfect and only represents the best attempt of a few fallible and finite men at giving an abbreviated summary of what is infallible and infinite. For that reason, agreement can only mean that an individual has no settled theological opposition to the doctrines contained herein.... we believe it is necessary to call all those in association with AMBER to a substantial agreement with this statement while graciously granting room for growth for those with hesitations or without formed convictions, trusting the guidance of the whole in places where we feel less confident or even unsettled."

So, for example, while AMBER stands firmly within the Reformed tradition, AMBER is "Reformed" in the same way that I am. We prize what the Bible says about the absolute sovereignty of God in all things, including the salvation of sinners, but we don't use these truths as a club to clobber people, or to exclude those who are still hesitant or unformed in their understanding.

AMBER is, as its name implies, an association of ministers—which in this context primarily means pastors and elders—who can support and resource one another in the work of Baptist renewal. We also hope that as we build relationships as pastors, our churches will be able to link arms and partner together for encouragement, accountability, and gospel partnership.

For the past two years, AMBER has hosted conferences focused on our first two emphases: the primacy of the Word and the centrality of the gospel. This May, our third annual conference, "Baptist Renewal," will consider it means for us to be distinctly Baptist. After an opening session with renowned historian Michael Haykin (who will be joining us virtually), the conference sessions will unpack significant Baptist distinctives, such as the headship of Christ, congregationalism, and believer's baptism. I'll be speaking on the topic of regenerate church membership.

This conference is not just for pastors—it's open to all who care about the church in our part of the world. (In fact, one of the highlights of last year's conference was seeing just how invested the people of Maranatha Baptist Church were with the event, and AMBER in general.) This year, we are hoping to bring a good sized group from Emmanuel, and we've actually set aside some money in our church budget to help cover travel and accommodation costs for those attending. (The conference itself is free.)

If you're interested in learning more about AMBER or the conference, please find out more at the AMBER website or the conference's event page. You can register here, and if you do, please let me know. It would be good to get a sense, sooner than later, of how many from Nipawin will be making the trip.

I'm grateful for the friendship and fellowship I've already experienced with AMBER, and I'm looking forward to our church getting to know these other churches better. I pray that these budding relationships will be used by the Lord for the sake of the gospel in Western Canada for years to come. May it be!

One of the first things we learn about God in the Bible is that He is creative.[mfn]The fact that "creativity" is not listed as one of God's attributes in many systematic theologies says a thing or two about common theological methodology, but that's a point for another post.[/mfn] He makes things. He created this universe out of nothing. And not only is He powerful enough to make everything we see, He is also creative enough to think it all up.

God thought up galaxies and neutrons and red blood cells and the small intestine. He thought up chickens and lobsters and platypuses and chameleons. He designed the periodic table of elements and the northern lights and the water cycle and the migration patterns of birds. He made tall oak trees and red strawberries and wheat that changes from green to gold and flowers of a million different colours and patterns.

God didn't need to do any of this. He could have made a universe functional and boring. But the fact that He created what He did shows us that He is creative.

As humans created in the image of God (Gen 1:26-27), we see His creativity reflected in us as we create. We paint, puzzle, plan, parent, produce, and perform because we can't help but make things like our maker. Authors and moviemakers build whole worlds, children snap together building blocks, and thoughtful adults arrange furniture and artwork to make a home. Made in God's image, we see the Creator reflected in each one of us.

God's creativity is surely reason for us to praise Him. After describing some of God's multi-faceted creation, Psalm 104:24 exclaims, "O Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom have you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures."

But beyond this, God's creativity is also a reason for us to trust Him. Ephesians 3:20 refers to God as "him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think.'' God's ability surpasses not only our capacity to ask, but even the boundaries of our thinking—which includes our imagination.

When struggles and trials stump us, we so easily imagine that God is stumped too. As if our problems are His problems. As if He can't figure this out just because we can't figure this out.

But God is the one who not only thought up the giraffe but also designed special valves in its neck to maintain consistent blood pressure to its brain, so that as it bends its head down to drink its brain doesn't explode from the blood pressure in its neck, and as it raises its head up again it doesn't faint from orthostatic hypotension. God is the one who not only designed the woodpecker, but gave it a tongue that wraps around its brain to protect it from otherwise-fatal shock as it hammers away for insects. God not only built you, but gave you an incredibly complex immune system that right at this very second is protecting you from harm in ways you'll never be aware of.

This God is able to do more than we can ask or think. And if you know Him, haven't you experienced this time and time again? How many times has God surprised you with an answer to prayer you never would have anticipated? How many more times will He do the same?

This means we can trust Him with our requests. We can cast our cares on Him (1 Pet 5:7), and leave them there, knowing that it is an infinitely creative God who hears our prayers and cares for His children.

Towards the end of the message I made the comment that the Sabbath doesn't apply to us, but I didn't get the chance to flesh that out any further, and so I (understandably) got some questions about that later. Was I really saying that the command to rest one day in seven doesn't apply to Christians anymore?

The short answer is yes, that's exactly what I was saying. Colossians 2:16-17 and Romans 14:5 are two passages that show us this is the case.

But there's a bit more below the waterline on this topic. Isn't the Sabbath a part of the Ten Commandments? Aren't Christians supposed to obey the Ten Commandments? Didn't the Sabbath just move from Saturday to Sunday? Are we allowed to mow our grass or do homework on Sundays?

If you want to explore these questions (plus a bonus question about Phariseeism and decisions in the church today), I did my best to explain how this all works in this video earlier today. Below it, you'll find some links to where we tackled this topic in the You Are Here series back in 2019.

• The Law (sermon)

• Law, Covenant and Mission (blog post)

In the last instalment, we considered how the suffering of Christ paid for the sins of all who believe in Him. For those who are trusting and resting in Christ alone, judgment for sin is not a future event waiting for us after we die—it is a past event that happened finally and fully at Calvary.

But what does this mean for suffering in the lives of Christians? If suffering is a picture of the reality of sin, and Christ has paid for that sin, why would we still need to suffer? If suffering is a warning about coming judgement, and Christ has taken that judgement for us, what role could suffering still have for a Christian? If suffering is meant to drive us to repentance, and if we have repented and trusted Christ, then surely there is no further reason for Christians to suffer?

The logic being these questions is sound. And one day, because of the cross, we will experience a suffering-free eternity:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. 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, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." And he who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." (Rev 21:1-5)

Because of the cross, the suffering of God’s people will end. The question is, when? And the answer is, not yet.

Already, Not Yet

As we’ve been recently exploring in our sermon series in Matthew 11, you and I live in the “already-but-not-yet.” The Messiah has come and inaugurated the kingdom, but its final consummation still awaits. Jesus healed the sick and raised the dead, but John the Baptist still languished in prison (Matt 11:1-6). The decisive victory against Satan was won by Christ on the cross (Col 2:15), and yet we are still waiting for our enemy’s final destruction (1 Cor 15:24-25). We are already new creations (2 Cor 5:17), yet we groan in these mortal bodies (2 Cor 5:1-4). There is a glory that will be revealed in us, but in the meantime we do suffer (Rom 8:18).

As Rich Mullins put it, when Jesus was born “the old world started dying and the new world started coming on.” We live between these two worlds, in the tension between the already and the not yet.

And we find that in this season, while not everything had changed, neither have things remained the same. The realities of the old world have not been fully removed, but they have been transformed. We see this when we consider our relationship with sin, suffering, and death, realities that were conquered at the cross and will be removed in the new creation. In the meantime, wile they are still a part of our existence, our experience of them has been permanently altered.

Consider sin. Before we were born again, we were dead in sins (Eph. 2:1) and in slavery to it (Rom 6:17). In the New Creation, sin will be no more (1 Jn 3:2, 1 Cor 15:42-54, Rev. 22:3). In the meantime, in the in-between of the already-but-not-yet, sin still plagues us. But instead of being enslaved to it, we've been set free from its power (Rom 6:18). It's still around, but instead of being our master, it's now an enemy combatant, a sword has been put into our hands, and we’ve been told to put it to death (Rom 8:13).

The same is true with death. Before redemption, death was the end, the inescapable doorway to judgment (Rom 6:23, Heb 9:27). In the New Creation, death will be no more (1 Cor 15:53-54, Rev 21:4). In the time between, we do not escape death—but our relationship with it is drastically changed. It is no longer the end (Jn 11:25-26). Instead of just an enemy, death is now an ally that ushers us directly into the presence of our Lord (Phil 1:21-23). Because of the death and resurrection of Jesus, death is no longer a loss but a gain.

And the same goes for suffering. Before we knew Christ, suffering told us of our sin and warned us of our judgement. In the New Creation, suffering will be eradicated. Until then, suffering is not removed from our lives. But our relationship with suffering, and its significance in our lives, is permanently altered. In order to draw this out, let’s consider Romans 8:18-24.

Groaning in Hope

Romans 8:18 says, "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us." Suffering, for those who are in Christ, has become something small and temporary. There is a glory coming, and it is so great that our present suffering doesn't hold a candle to it.

The next verses situate our present suffering in the broader context of creation. "For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility" (Rom 8:19-20). That “futility” is the curse of Genesis 3. The creation didn’t do this to itself. Neither did Adam, or even Satan.

As the rest of verse 20 explains, the creation was subjected to futility “not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope." Yes, God brought the creation crashing down around Adam as a portrayal of his sin, but that was not creation’s final role in this drama. As verse 21 goes on to say, God subjected the creation to futility in hope “that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay, and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God" (Rom 8:21). Just as the creation has displayed the horrors of human sin, so it will one day display the beauty of our final redemption. Unchained from the curse, all things made new, creation will be finally free and fully glorious.

Until then, it waits. And while it waits, it suffers. But the future hope transforms the present hurt, as verse 22 explains so poignantly: "We know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.” The suffering of creation—every earthquake and famine, every red tooth and claw—is like groaning, but a groaning that leads not to death. It is the groaning of a woman in childbirth. She is in pain, but a pain that will bring about new life.

And according to verse 23, this is not just true for creation, but for all of us who are in Christ: “And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Rom 8:23).

We groan along with creation—meaning that our groaning is the groaning of childbirth. And this is a most stunning transformation. To the unrepentant sinner, the sufferings of this world are death throes, forebodings and warnings of final destruction. But to those who are in Christ, the suffering we experience are but the birth pangs of the new creation. John Piper describes this amazing transformation with the following illustration:

If you are in a hospital and you hear a woman across the hall groan or scream, it makes all the difference in how you feel if you know you are on the maternity ward and not the oncology unit. Why? Pain is pain, isn't it? No. Some pain leads to life. And some pain leads to death. And what verse 22 promises is that for the children of God, all pain leads to life. All the groanings of this world are the birth pains of the kingdom of God. If you are part of the kingdom – a child of the King – all your sufferings are labor pains and not death spasms. And I mean all of them – even the death spasms![mfn]https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/subjected-to-futility-in-hope-part-2[/mfn]

Glorious Transfer

These words are profound to me, because I’ve been in both situations. I’ve stood beside my mom in the oncology ward as she cried out in pain from the cancer that was eating her body away from the inside, and I’ve held my wife’s hand in the delivery room as she sweat and cried and pushed for dear life to bring our three children into the world. I’ve seen the pain that leads to death, and the pain that leads to life. And Romans 8:22 is telling us that, in Christ, all of our pain is pain that leads to life.

When Jesus saved us, he did not immediately remove suffering from our life—but he did something no less stunning: he transferred us from the palliative ward to the maternity ward.

I find this perspective so helpful in its utter realism. Ask any mother, particularly those who did not have anesthetic, and she will tell you that childbirth was an indescribably painful experience. But she will also tell you how those sufferings were eclipsed by the overwhelming joy of holding her new child in her arms.

Similarly, choosing to see our suffering in the light of eternity is not some mind game we play to try and make things feel better. We're not saying "it's not that bad." It is that bad—and the glory towards which we are hastening will be infinitely better.

So lift your eyes, suffering Christian. Your suffering is all about the gospel, which we’ve come to learn is not just a private business, but a cosmic drama that encompasses all of creation. Christ has died, Christ has risen, and Christ will come again. In the meantime, we suffer, but not a palliative-ward kind of suffering; Jesus has transferred us to the delivery room of hope. Cancer, car accidents, catastrophes of all kinds—these are no longer threats of impending judgment, but preverberations of new life. Each experience of suffering is one push closer to the sweet rest of the new creation.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Cor 4:16–18).

If suffering is ultimately a display of the reality of sin, then it’s no coincidence that Jesus had to die the way He did. Jesus did not pay for sin by dying alone in a quiet way. Sin had to be atoned for through suffering.

“From that time Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised” (Matt 16:21).

“And he said to them, ‘I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer’” (Luke 22:15).

The gospels tell us what that suffering entailed physically: spitting, slapping, punching, beating, whipping. “His appearance was so marred, beyond human semblance, and his form beyond that of the children of mankind” (Isaiah 52:14). A crown made of thorns—the very thorns that grew up in painful response to Adam's sin (Matt 27:28, Gen 3:18). An unbearably heavy cross, nails through the hands and feet, and slow, agonizing suffocation. There’s a reason that the word we use for extreme pain is “excruciating,” which comes from the word for cross.

He also suffered the emotional pain of abandonment by his closest companions, being slandered and lied about, being rejected by His own people, and the shame of being hung up naked in front of a crowd who had gathered to mock him while He died.

And beyond this was the spiritual torment of bearing the curse that our sins deserved. The dark sky, the shaking ground, the cry of “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” all speak to the reality of the divine judgement that Christ bore in the place of His people. “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us” (Galatians 3:13).

And we can’t miss that Christ did not just suffer—He suffered publicly. On the cross, He was lifted up from the earth so that people might look at him (John 3:14). And as we look, we see a man pierced for our transgressions. Crushed for our iniquities. If suffering is a reflection of the seriousness of sin, then Christ’s gruesome suffering for our sins makes it crystal clear just how atrocious those sins actually are.

But, praise God, that's not the only thing the cross tells us. Because Jesus did suffer for our sins, the public suffering of the cross also makes it unmistakable that our atrocious sins have been paid for. The punishment He bore brought us peace, and each of His wounds was for our healing. Our sin was laid upon Christ, and He was condemned and judged as our substitute. He drank the cup of the Father's wrath in our place. He satisfied divine justice on our behalf. The bloody spectacle of the cross not only tells us how serious our sins are, but also that those literally deadly sins have been forgiven.

"For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." (2 Cor. 5:21) "Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God." (1 Pe. 3:18) "There is now therefore no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" (Rom. 8:1)

No condemnation. The storm is over. The axe has fallen. The debt is paid. The law has been satisfied. Justice is fulfilled. Satan's grounds of accusation are taken away. “He has appeared once for all at the end of the ages to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself” (Hebrews 9:26).

The cross is at the centre of history, and there are countless implications of Christ's accomplishment upon it. For the purposes of this series, we want to ask an important question: if suffering is a display of sin, and our sin has been put away by Christ, does that mean that those who trust in Christ don't need to suffer any more? On this side of Calvary, can we forget about pain and get on with living their best lives now? That's the question we'll consider in the next instalment.

In part 2 of this series we saw that physical suffering is a part of God's response to human sin, deliberately designed to demonstrate the tragedy that exists within each of our own hearts.

We might ask whether this is fair of God, or at least something of an overreaction. Did a bite from a fruit really warrant all of the pain and bloodshed in the world?

To answer that question, it's helpful to consider what would have happened if Adam and Eve had got what they actually deserved. "But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die" (Gen 2:17). God would not have been unjust to respond to our first parent's sin with instant, eternal punishment. That what sin deserves, because every sin—even the smallest bite from a fruit—is an offence against a Person of infinite worth and majesty.[mfn]For more consideration of the nature of the first sin, see What Eve Should Have Said.[/mfn] Thus, even the smallest sin is a crime of infinite offence.

But Adam and Eve did not get what they deserved. They kept breathing. They kept living. They awoke to fresh sunrises and the sound of a baby's cry and the taste of good food and refreshment of rest after work and the love of one another. And all around them was this universe—still beautiful, still showing God's glory—but constantly reminding them of their sin.

There is a word for this: grace. God could have dealt with sin immediately by giving them their just deserts. But instead He extended grace, giving them life while showing them their sin, and therefore offering every opportunity to return to Him. Being alive on a cursed earth is a lot better than any one of us deserves, and when we see it like this, we begin to grasp that pain and suffering are gifts that summon us to repent before it's too late.

This connection between suffering and repentance is one Jesus made explicit in Luke 13:1-5:

There were some present at that very time who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. And he answered them, "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans, because they suffered in this way? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish. Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them: do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who lived in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish."

Luke 13:1-5

Jesus tells his hearers that extraordinary suffering does not imply extraordinary sin. But that is not because He sees no connection between suffering and sin. According to Jesus, we are all extraordinary sinners, all worthy of death. Every resident of Jerusalem deserved to fall under Pilate's sword or be buried under the rubble of Siloam. The wonder is not that some suffered, but rather that so many did not.

And not just Jerusalem: "...now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead" (Acts 17:30b-31a).

We've all heard the question, "How can a good God allow suffering?" The assumption, buried somewhere below the surface, is that we're mostly good people who deserve something along the lines of a comfortable existence. But God does not agree with our self-assessment. Something as basic as the cycle of the seasons is a grace we don't deserve, designed to witness to His goodness and lead us to repentance (Gen 8:21-22, Acts 14:15-17, Rom 2:4). The fact that anybody is breathing right now is an unfathomable gift not one has earned.

Suffering, therefore, gives us a taste of what we actually do deserve. Suffering speaks to us of our sin and our need to repent of it. Suffering tells us that God is patient, and that He is warning us and waking us and giving us time before it's too late. Suffering tells us that we need a Saviour to rescue us from final judgement.

Suffering, therefore, points us to the greatest act of suffering in history: the crucifixion of Christ. That's what we'll consider in the next instalment.

More to come.

In Part 1 of this series, we considered how God created a physical, visible universe in order to communicate spiritual, invisible truth (Rom 1:20). This declarative role of creation must be kept in mind as we explore both humanity's first sin and the Lord's response to it.

Consider Adam and Eve, surrounded by the glory-shouting universe, created to see and know and love and worship the God whose undefiled majesty they saw everywhere they looked. And yet they did the unthinkable: they rebelled, choosing a piece of fruit—and what it would do for them—over the glory of God. Although they knew God, they did not honour him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools. They exchanged the truth about God for a lie, and they worshiped and served themselves more than their Creator (see Rom 1:18-25). They willingly chose to disobey the Lord, challenge Him, and disbelieve His word—all in order to elevate themselves to His place (Gen 3:4).

And as their teeth sunk into the fruit... well, what did happen? As they defiantly swallowed that first bite, did Eden immediately disappear, the sky grow dark, and thorns and thistles spring fully grown from the ground? Not that we can tell. As far as we know, nothing happened to the external world right away. 

The initial change was internal. Their eyes were open to the reality of evil. But there was no blind law of nature that made death and suffering come into the world in a sheer action-and-reaction response to their sin.

What did happen, according to Genesis 3:8-13, is that God Himself came down to Eden and called them to account. It was a very personal process: He asked them questions, and He made them answer. He then responded to their actions, personally and specifically, starting with the serpent. He then addressed Eve, describing to her the struggle and pain she would now bear.

Yet His most sweeping statements are reserved for Adam. Why? Adam was the head. Adam should have protected His wife from the serpent, and certainly not followed her into sin. Adam was the one primarily responsible for stewarding the creation. That's why Romans 5:12 says that it is through one man that sin entered the world. And speaking to Adam on that dark day, the Lord said these words:

Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you, "You shall not eat of it," cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Genesis 3:17-19

We have to notice that "The Curse" did not fall from the sky and self-deploy. God cursed the earth because of Adam's sin. The crucial words are there in verse 17—"because of you," or "for your sake" as the KJV says. God deliberately declared that the physical world, from that moment on, would be changed on account of Adam's rebellion.

Every morning that Adam woke up to go plow the fields, his work said: "your sin." Every drop of sweat that came down his forehead and stung his eyes said, "your sin." Every time he bent down to pull a weed up, and pricked his finger on a thorn, and felt the pain and saw the drop of blood—that all said "your sin." And as Adam felt death began to work in his body, and saw one of his sons kill the other, it all shouted, "this is your sin."

When we remember that the universe was designed to communicate spiritual truth to us, we can see God's purpose in bringing the perfect creation crashing down around Adam. The physical world was being used to tell Adam about the nature of His own sin—and, thereby, the magnitude of the one against Whom he had sinned—in graphic, bloody, painful detail.

Another passage that points towards this same truth is found in Jeremiah:

Has a nation changed its gods, even though they are no gods? But my people have changed their glory for that which does not profit. Be appalled, O heavens, at this; be shocked, be utterly desolate, declares the LORD, for my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water.

Jeremiah 2:11-13

The Lord looks at the horrific sin of His people and, in effect, says to the stars in the sky: "Do you see what they've done? You can't just keep shining on there as if nothing has happened!" Creation declares the glory of God, and in these cases it does so by demonstrating the true scale and nature of our rebellion against Him.

It's common enough to say that pain and suffering are a result of sin. What I'm seeking to press here is that they are a result of sin because God made it so. He cursed the earth. It was intentional. Romans 8:20 confirms this: "For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it."

The curse of death and suffering that God brought on the world was deliberately designed to communicate to us the reality and the seriousness of sin. Which means that when we experience suffering "out there"—cyclones, car accidents, cancer—we are fundamentally seeing a display of the awfulness that already existed within our own hearts.

Which means that suffering is designed to lead us to the gospel by way of repentance. That's what we'll explore in the next instalment.

More to come.