But what has happened since? Some expected a significant decline in the number of books and articles focusing on Edwards, and there's no denying the fact that the production following 2003 has fallen off to some extent. But that doesn't mean Edwards has been forgotten.

In the past few weeks I've been packing up my books for an impending move to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Those who know me shouldn't be surprised that the last books to be put away are the more than three shelves of volumes either by or about Edwards. As I made my way through this cherished section of my library, I couldn't help but notice several important works that are worthy of note. So, what follows is a brief bibliography of "Edwardsean" works published subsequent to 2003. I don't profess to have listed all that have been released in the past five years. I list here only the ones I personally own (some of which I have not yet read, but hope to).

By far and away the most helpful of all these volumes is Reading Jonathan Edwards: An Annotated Bibliography in Three Parts, 1729-2005 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), by M. X. Lesser. Anyone preparing to write on Edwards or wanting to know of available resources on him cannot ignore this monumental accomplishment. The book includes a reprint of two earlier works compiled by Lesser that covered virtually everything written about Edwards up through 1994. This volume extends the survey up through 2005. This includes not only books about Edwards but journal articles, book reviews, and doctoral dissertations. It is absolutely indispensable for those doing research on Edwards.

I'm sad to say that it retails for $145! You can obtain it on Amazon.com for $110, or perhaps find a used copy for significantly less. I got mine for $58, but only because I bought it at the Eerdmans bookstore in Grand Rapids where all their publications are available at greatly reduced prices.

Five volumes in the Yale University Press edition of Edwards' collected works have been released since 2003. They include Volume 23, The Miscellanies (Entry Nos. 1153-1360), edited by Douglas Sweeney (2004); Volume 24, The Blank Bible, Part 1, edited by Stephen J. Stein (2006); Volume 24, The Blank Bible, Part 2, edited by Stein (2006); Volume 25, Sermons and Discourses 1743-1758, edited by Wilson H. Kimnach (2006); and Volume 26, Catalogues of Books, edited by Peter J. Thuesen (2008).

Here are some others listed by year of publication. The following includes only books, and I'm sure there are many I've left out (to whose authors I issue a profound apology).

2004

A God Entranced Vision of All Things: The Legacy of Jonathan Edwards (Wheaton: Crossway Books, 287 pp.), edited by John Piper and Justin Taylor.

The Glory and Honor of God (Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 387 pp.), edited by Michael D. McMullen. This is Volume 2 of previously unpublished sermons by Edwards. Volume 1, The Blessing of God, was released in 2003.

Jonathan Edwards and Hell (Christian Focus Publications, 171 pp.), by Chris Morgan.

The Trinitarian Ethics of Jonathan Edwards (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 324 pp.), by William J. Danaher, Jr.

2005

The Princeton Companion to Jonathan Edwards (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 331 pp.), edited by Sang Hyun Lee.

Jonathan Edwards at 300: Essays on the Tercentenary of His Birth (Lanham: University Press of America, 175 pp.), edited by Harry S. Stout, Kenneth P. Minkema, & Caleb J. D. Maskell.

Originally written as a Ph.D. dissertation in 1955, a new edition is now available of William S. Morris's The Young Jonathan Edwards: A Reconstruction (Eugene: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 688 pp.).

Jonathan Edwards and the Metaphysics of Sin (Burlington: Ashgate, 146 pp.), by Oliver D. Crisp.

Jonathan Edwards: The Holy Spirit in Revival (Webster, NY: Evangelical Press, 227 pp.), by Michael A. G. Haykin.

Jonathan Edwards: America's Evangelical (New York: Hill and Wang, 284 pp.), by Philip F. Gura.

Jonathan Edwards and the Enlightenment: Knowing the Presence of God (Lanham: University Press of America, 203 pp.), by Josh Moody.

2006

Heaven on Earth: Capturing Jonathan Edwards's Vision of Living in Between (Wheaton: Crossway, 142 pp.), by Stephen J. Nichols.

Originally published in 1837, we now have a new edition of Life of Jonathan Edwards (Puritan Reprints, 256 pp.), by Samuel Miller.

2007

The God-Centered Life: Insights from Jonathan Edwards for Today (Regent College Publishing, 196pp.), by Josh Moody.

The Cambridge Companion to Jonathan Edwards (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 374 pp.), edited by Stephen J. Stein.

Published in 1830, we now have a new edition of The Life of President Edwards (Puritan Reprints, 766 pp.), by Sereno E. Dwight.

Signs of the Spirit: An Interpretation of Jonathan Edwards' ‘Religious Affections' (Wheaton: Crossway, 238 pp.), by yours truly.

2008

A New Inner Relish: Christian Motivation in the Thought of Jonathan Edwards (Christian Focus Publications, 263 pp.), by Dane Ortlund.

The Preaching of Jonathan Edwards (Carlisle: The Banner of Truth Trust, 465 pp.), by John Carrick.

Happy reading!

Sam

(2 Corinthians 12:8-10)

God loved the apostle Paul. Yet God sovereignly orchestrated his painful thorn in the flesh and then declined to remove it, notwithstanding Paul's passionate prayer that he be healed.

We are not apostles. Yet, as his children, no less so than Paul, God loves us too. We don't know the nature of Paul's thorn, but each of us has undoubtedly suffered in a similar way, and some considerably worse. We, like Paul, have prayed incessantly to be healed. Or perhaps knowing of a loved one's "thorn" we have prayed for them. And again, like Paul, God declined to remove it. Why?

It's hard to imagine a more difficult, confusing, and controversial topic than why God chooses not to heal in response to the intercessory pleas of his people. I don't profess to have all the answers, but I think I've got a few. I'm sure that this meditation will provoke many to anger and frustration, while others, I pray, will find a measure of comfort.

In the final analysis, virtually everything about healing remains a mystery. I don't mind saying that I'm weary of those who claim to reduce healing to a formula or a manageable cause and effect phenomenon in which we can know with certainty why some are healed and why others are not. I've labored in this meditation to avoid falling into that trap. That said, I would like to suggest that the reason why many are not healed may possibly be answered in any one of seven ways.

(1) Although we must be careful in giving more weight to the role of faith than does the NT itself, we also must be willing to acknowledge that occasionally healing does not occur because of the absence of that sort of faith that God delights to honor.

This does not mean that every time a person isn't healed it is because of a defective faith or that if only a more robust and doubt-free faith were in exercise that healing would inevitably follow. But it does mean that faith is very important. How can we conclude otherwise in view of the many texts in which healing is closely linked to someone's faith? I hope you'll take the time to pause and read these passages: Matthew 9:22, 28-29; 15:28; Mark 2:5,11; 5:34; 9:17-24; Mark 10:52; Luke 17:19; Acts 3:16; 14:8-10; James 5:14-16.

In my book on spiritual gifts I asked the question: "Why did Jesus emphasize faith?" Neither he nor his Father need it. They could have orchestrated life such that something other than faith would be the condition on which they would heal. They are not hampered or hindered by the faithlessness or prayerlessness of the sick person or those who pray for his/her healing. The reason is this: faith glorifies God. Faith points us away from ourselves to him. Faith turns us away from our own power and resources to his. Faith says, "Lord, I am nothing and you are everything. I entrust myself to your care. I cling to you alone. My confidence is in your word and character no matter what happens."

Faith is not a weapon by which we demand things from God or put him in subjection to us. Faith is an act of self-denial. Faith is a renunciation of one's ability to do anything and a confession that God can do everything. Faith derives its power not from the spiritual energy of the person who believes, but from the supernatural efficacy of the person who is believed: God! It is not faith's act but its object that accounts for the miraculous.

(2) Sometimes healing does not occur because of the presence of sin for which there has been no confession or repentance. James 5:15-16 clearly instructs us to confess our sins to one another and pray for one another that we may be healed. Again, please do not conclude from this that each time a person isn't healed it is because he/she has committed some specific sin of which they have refused to repent. But in some cases this is undoubtedly true.

(3) Although it sounds odd to many at first hearing, healing may not happen because the sick don't want it to happen. Jesus asked the paralyzed man in John 5:6, "Do you want to be healed?" What on the surface may appear to be a ridiculous question is, on further examination, found to be profoundly insightful.

Some people who suffer from a chronic affliction become accustomed to their illness and to the pattern of life it requires. Their identity is to a large extent wrapped up in their physical disability. They enjoy their dependency on others and the special attention it brings them. In some instances they don't want the responsibilities that would come with being healthy. This is not a common phenomenon, but it does happen in a few cases.

(4) We must also consider the principle articulated in James 4:2, where we are told that "you do not have, because you do not ask." The simple fact is that some are not healed because they do not pray. Perhaps they pray once or twice, and then allow discouragement to paralyze their petitions. Prayer for healing often must be prolonged, sustained, persevering, and combined with fasting.

(5) Some are not healed because the demonic cause of the affliction has not been addressed. Please do not jump to unwarranted conclusions. I am not suggesting that all physical disease is demonically induced. Of course, it is interesting, is it not, that in Paul's case God used "a messenger of Satan" to inflict the thorn. There is also the case of the woman in Luke 13 "who had a disabling spirit [or, a spirit of infirmity] for eighteen years. She was bent over and could not fully straighten herself" (Luke 13:11). According to Jesus, "Satan" had "bound" her (Luke 13:16; see also Acts 10:38).

It takes considerable discernment, time, and patience to determine if an illness has a demonic cause, together with even greater commitment to praying for that individual and leading them to address the reasons for their spiritual oppression. When these factors are ignored, healing may not be forthcoming.

(6) We must also consider the mystery of divine providence. There are undoubtedly times and seasons in the purposes of God during which his healing power is withdrawn or at least largely diminished. God may have any number of reasons for this to which we are not privy, whether to discipline a wayward and rebellious church or to create a greater desperation for his power or to wean us off excessive dependence on physical comfort and convenience or any number of other possibilities. If this leaves you confused, that's why it's called a mystery!

But what must we say when the problem isn't the absence of faith or the presence of a demon or the refusal to repent or the failure to pray or a lack of desire? How then do we account for on-going physical affliction, as in Paul's case? I strongly urge you to carefully read the next point.

(7) Often times there are dimensions of spiritual growth and moral development and increase in the knowledge of God in us that he desires MORE than our physical health, experiences that in his wisdom God has determined can only be attained by means or in the midst of or in response to less than perfect physical health. In other words, healing the sick is a good thing (and we should never cease to pray for it), but often there is a better thing that can only be attained by means of physical weakness.

More important to God than our physical health is our spiritual holiness. This isn't to say the body isn't important. God isn't a Gnostic! He values and has redeemed our bodies and now dwells within them as his eternal temple. But while we live in this corrupt and decaying world, inner and spiritual conformity to the image of Christ often comes only at the expense of or at least simultaneous with physical deterioration and suffering (see 2 Cor. 4:16-18).

Let me personalize this principle. If I believe Romans 8:28, that God sovereignly orchestrates all events in my life for my ultimate spiritual good (and preeminently for his ultimate glory), I can only conclude that, all things being equal, if I'm not healed it is because God values something in me greater than my physical comfort and health that he, in his infinite wisdom and kindness, knows can only be attained by means of my physical affliction and the lessons of submission, dependency, and trust in God that I learn from it.

In the final analysis, we may never know why a person isn't healed. What, then, ought to be our response? In the first place, don't stop praying! Some people find this difficult to swallow. Many times I've been asked: "Why should Paul bother to pray for release from something that God wills to inflict?" The answer is because Paul didn't know what God's will was in this particular case until such time as God chose to make it known. And neither do you or I with regard to any particular illness that we may suffer.

If the Lord had never said in response to Paul's prayer, "No, it isn't my will that you be relieved of this thorn," Paul would have been justified, indeed required, to continue to pray for his healing. I once heard Jack Taylor put it this way: "Never cease praying for healing until you are shown otherwise either by divine revelation or death!" If you are able to discern, as did Paul, through some prophetic disclosure or other legitimate biblical means that it is not God's will now or ever to heal you, you may cease asking him to do so. Otherwise, short of death itself, you must persevere in prayer. You never know but that God's ultimate and long-term will for you is complete healing after he has for a season accomplished his short-term sanctifying purpose.

In Paul's case, the only reason he ceased asking for deliverance was because God, in effect, told him to shut up! "No, Paul. I'm not going to heal you. It isn't my will in this instance that you be set free from this affliction. Rather, I have a higher purpose in view: your humility and my Son's glory manifest in the context of your on-going weakness."

To which Paul, in effect, replied: "O.K., Lord, I'll shut up and submit to your merciful purpose in my life. I know you love me and desire what is ultimately of greatest good for my spiritual growth. Therefore, my prayer now is that you maximize in me the beneficial effects of this pain. Don't let me miss out on any spiritual good that might come my way from this malady. Teach me everything I need to know and sustain me that I might be a platform for the glory of Christ and a source of comfort to other suffering saints."

I'm sure there are other ways to account for why God chooses not to heal, but I trust that these have proven helpful. There is much I do not know about this matter, but of this I'm quite certain: God's grace is sufficient in all circumstances so that we, "for the sake of Christ" (2 Cor. 12:10a), might learn that in our weakness his power is made perfect!

Sam

I'm sickened, as I'm sure you are, by the almost daily barrage of news concerning either the self-serving, authoritarian practices of some professed Christian leader or the moral scandal that has befallen yet another. Where do these people come from? How do they manage to attain such lofty heights of praise and power? Why do people grant them such unqualified allegiance? What accounts for their ability to amass so much wealth and fame and authority over the lives of their followers?

Don't be misled. I'm not talking about the obvious and notorious cult figures such as David Koresh or Jim Jones or the leaders of certain polygamous groups who have been much in the news of late. I have in mind local church pastors and leaders of para-church ministries as well as those who have risen to fame and fortune on the waves of "revival" movements and other sensational and supernatural spiritual happenings.

Countless theological and sociological studies have examined such folk in an effort to understand the source of their power and the secret to their allure. I've read a few of them myself and they've often been spot on target. Amidst the variety of explanations for their success, one is common to all, which brings us to our text in 2 Corinthians 10.

However, before noting Paul's comments, let me differentiate between the sort of authoritative and self-aggrandizing "shearer of the sheep" that the apostle confronted in the church at Corinth and the truly gifted and godly pastor of today's mega-church. My words that follow are not intended to indict those who, through faithful and diligent service, have built large churches and gathered zealous disciples. Not all forms of success are bad! Quite a few prominent leaders whose ministries have drawn thousands of devoted followers are to be honored and emulated. They are not the focus of my concern or the target of my criticism.

I have in mind the aggressive, self-righteous, supremely self-confident person whose alleged authority borders on legalistic control. This is the person whose flamboyant style, charismatic personality, and sheer energy of will seduce his followers into suspending their critical faculties and throwing discernment to the wind. This sort of "leader" does not humbly serve and sacrifice for the flock but expects them (without necessarily saying so) to supply him with financial blessings and a wide array of other perks and privileges. This individual is typically unaccountable and not held to the same standard that he requires of his ardent devotees.

So what explains this remarkable mystique? Why do so many fall prey to such claims? To what does this sort of "leader" appeal as the reason why he should be treated with such extraordinary respect and devotion? Look at Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 10:7 for at least one answer to our question:

"Look at what is before your eyes. If anyone is confident that he is Christ's, let him remind himself that just as he is Christ's, so also are we" (v. 7).

The NASB renders the opening words of v. 7 as a statement of fact: "You are looking at things as they are outwardly." More likely this is a command: "Look at what is before your eyes."

What they are to look at and from which they are to draw appropriate conclusions would include such things as the fact that they are themselves the fruit of Paul's labors, bearing witness to the authenticity of his calling as an apostle (see 1 Cor. 9:1-2; 2 Cor. 3:1-3); that Paul "belongs" to Christ (as do his co-workers and all believers) no less than the intruders; that his authority came from Christ and was always exercised for the building up of the Corinthians; and that his actions and words were not incompatible, as some alleged, but were always aimed at the same goals, being prompted by the same motives.

The "anyone" of v. 7 likely "points to a particular individual, the ringleader of the Judaizing intruders who expressed the viewpoint of them all" (Harris, 688). But what precisely is it that this representative figure is claiming, on the basis of which he and like-minded others are challenging Paul's authority?

This man is claiming, literally, to be "of Christ". The genitive is certainly possessive, thus suggesting that he promoted himself as one who belonged to the Lord in some unique and special way. Several suggestions have been made concerning the precise nature of this statement.

Some contend that they were claiming to be Christians and insisting Paul was not. But this is highly unlikely. As radically opposed to him as they were, there's no indication in the letter that they questioned his salvation.

Some say these opponents claimed to belong to the "Christ party" mentioned in 1 Corinthians 1:12 (where some said, "I follow Paul," or "I follow Apollos," or "I follow Cephas," or "I follow Christ"). But would Paul have responded to such a claim by saying he is of the Christ party no less than they? Given his strong denunciations of the schismatic spirit in Corinth, he would hardly now have endorsed it!

Others suggest they were appealing to an earthly relationship with Jesus. They knew him during the time of his sojourn but Paul didn't, thus putting them at an advantage to him. But in v. 7b Paul claims to have no less a relation to Jesus, and we know he had no personal contact with the Lord until after the ascension, most likely on the road to Damascus.

Might it be a claim to have received a special commission from Jesus? But that is an assertion made only by the "super apostles" (cf. 11:5) whom Paul does not address until the next chapter. Here he is dealing with "insiders" who are critical of him because of his feeble previous visit and his frightening ("Severe") follow-up letter (cf. 10:9-11).

The most likely interpretation is that they were asserting some special, ongoing relationship with Christ, making their point with an obviously feigned humility. One can almost see a slight tilt of the head together with just the right inflection of voice: "I am Christ's man. I belong to Jesus in a way you don't. He has a higher interest in me than in you. He has a deeper affection for me than for you. I have access to his mind and heart in a way that transcends whatever claims you might make. Therefore, I and a few others have been given an authority and power and place above you and your co-workers."

In many such cases the person who stands center stage doesn't explicitly assert that he or she is the recipient of special divine favor or revelatory insights worthy of only a chosen few. They would never commit the tactical error of publicly promoting themselves as uniquely "anointed". They simply do nothing to disabuse their followers of such false perceptions. Their calculated silence is mistaken for humility and their power base grows.

Is this not precisely the grounds on which so many today build their reputations and undergird their authority? False and self-serving leadership that ultimately works to enhance the person's fame and fortune is almost always the result of allowing people to think one has a unique and privileged relationship with God, one that is unavailable to ordinary believers. It is frequently, if not most times, grounded in the claim to supernatural experiences, whether angelic visitations or third heaven translations or having heard the voice of God with a clarity and force beyond what any average Christian might experience.

Let me say it as forcefully as I can: Beware of all such claims to a superior or "super" spirituality! Beware of any suggestion that one has special knowledge or insights unavailable to others! Beware of those whose only credentials are the visions they have allegedly seen or the angels with whom they have allegedly conversed (cf. Col. 2:18)! [I say this as one who believes in the gift of prophecy, visions, and angelic encounters.]

On the other hand, genuine, godly leadership that warrants your allegiance is built on character, not charisma. It is grounded in virtue, not visions. Its appeal is the centrality of Christ, not displays of power or heightened states of ecstasy. And at the heart of such authentic authority is the faithful proclamation of a cross-centered, Christ-exalting gospel, which is to say, a preaching of "Jesus Christ as Lord" and "ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake" (2 Cor. 4:5).

All of us, at some point or other, will have to "look at what is before our eyes" (v. 7a) and pass judgment on the legitimacy of claims to spiritual authority. What criteria shall we employ? Upon reading the following words of Charles Spurgeon, I think I now know:

"I have not the slightest desire to suppose that I have advanced in the spiritual life many stages beyond my brethren. As long as I trust simply to the blood and righteousness of Christ, and think nothing of myself, I believe that I shall continue to be pleasing to the Lord Jesus Christ, that this joy will be in me, and that my joy will be full" (cited by Carson, 65).

Sam

What should be our response, if any? Do we simply ignore them, confident that in time they will fade away as have other skeptics in centuries past? Fade away they will, but I believe we should be more proactive in our efforts to expose the ill-founded and prejudicial nature of their arguments. That's why I'm grateful for the work of such notable Christian apologists as Tim Keller (The Reason for God), Alister McGrath (The Dawkins Delusion), Ravi Zacharias (The End of Reason: A Response to the New Atheists), and Al Mohler, Jr. (Atheism Remix). What they and their books have achieved is akin to what Paul had in mind when he wrote the following:

"For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ, being ready to punish every disobedience, when your obedience is complete" (2 Corinthians 10:4-6).

What can our weapons do? They destroy "strongholds" or "fortresses" (NASB), vivid imagery indeed. Paul's use of this word recalls the ancient practice of building a massively fortified tower inside the walls of a city where its citizens might retreat to make their final defense. But to what does Paul's language actually refer? What are the literal "strongholds" that our divinely empowered weapons destroy? Verse 5 gives the answer.

First, they are "arguments" or "speculations" (NASB), by which Paul means the thoughts, plans, and intentions designed to justify one's calloused disbelief in God (cf. 2 Cor. 2:11; 4:4; Rom. 1:21; l Cor. 3:20). He is saying that our weapons "destroy the way people think, demolish their sinful thought patterns, the mental structures by which they live their lives in rebellion against God" (Carson, 47).

Second, our weapons are effective in bring down "every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, (or, "every pretension that sets itself up against the kingdom of God," NIV). People will often appear humble in their appeal to intellectual doubt as a way of keeping God at arm's length. Others "display a supercilious and condescending cynicism" or claim "an intellectual independence that loves to debate theology without ever bending the knee in adoring worship" (Carson, 48). But we have been graciously equipped by God with the necessary weaponry to overcome every arrogant claim, every haughty or prideful thought, every pompous act that forms a barrier to the knowledge of God. We are fully empowered to address every argument used to rationalize sin and to justify unbelief and to delay repentance.

Furthermore, our warfare is not merely aimed at dismantling and tearing down the sinful reasoning and rationalizations which are strongholds by which the mind fortifies itself against the gospel. It is actually effective in doing so! The gospel will always remain foolishness to some and a stumbling block to others, but to those "who are being saved it is the power of God" (1 Cor. 1:18), "to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks" (1 Cor. 1:24), the gospel of a crucified Christ is "the power of God and the wisdom of God" (1 Cor. 24b).

The ultimate aim, of course, is to "take every thought captive to obey Christ" (v. 5b). The picture is of "a military expedition into enemy territory, an expedition so effective that every plan of the enemy is thwarted, every scheme foiled, every counter-offensive beaten" (Carson, 50). Whatever ideas of the unbeliever hindered faith, whatever notions or plans were barriers to repentance, they are defeated, captured, and graciously transformed, to be brought under the authority of Christ and ultimately to acknowledge a new loyalty, a new allegiance.

Barnett suggests that, given the context, the "weaponry" Paul has in mind might refer to "his disciplinary ministry to them at the time of the second [painful] visit and through the ‘Severe Letter'" (464). On this view, the "destruction of fortresses" and the "pulling down" of speculations refer to his victory over the person who wronged him (cf. 2:6; 7:12) and those in the congregation who have undermined his apostolic authority. This interpretation, however, is generally regarded as too narrow and restricted to fully account for Paul's language.

So what then are our weapons of warfare? What is it that Paul utilizes to bring about this triumphant result? Surely he would point to the same armaments he cited in Ephesians 6:13-18, such as truth and righteousness and unyielding proclamation of the gospel and faith and the glory of salvation and the Word of God and persistent prayer. These may not seem formidable, especially when one considers the political power and financial resources available to those who stand in opposition. But they are enough. And they are effective.

There are two additional issues that need to be addressed.

First, some have misinterpreted and misapplied this text as if it spoke of cosmic level spiritual warfare (i.e., territorial demons). "Strongholds" and every "lofty thing" (NASB) have been taken as referring to demonic spirits who have been assigned by Satan to specific territorial or geographic regions. We then, according to this view, are called to identify, engage, and, as it were, pull them down (ostensibly through prayer, fasting, proclamation, etc.). But the enemies in view are ideas and arguments and philosophies and excuses that are antithetical to the kingdom and glory of God. This isn't to pass judgment on whether there are territorial spirits, but simply to point out that this isn't what Paul had in mind when he penned this passage.

Yet, again, it is worth asking: Who is behind these thoughts? Who inspires and energizes such anti-Christian arguments and philosophies? What gives them the force that they appear to exert on the human soul? We mustn't forget that it is "the prince of the power of the air" who is even now "at work in the sons of disobedience" (Eph. 2:2; cf. 4:17-19). We've already seen in 2 Corinthians 4:4 how "the god of this world [i.e., Satan] has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ". How are they blinded if not by being deceived with philosophical and religious lies? Paul even said that Christ had called him "to open their eyes, so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God" (Acts 26:18). In describing the condition of the latter days he spoke of "deceitful spirits and teachings of demons" (l Tim. 4:1).

So, whereas there is no basis for finding any reference to so-called "territorial" spirits here in 2 Corinthians 10, there is certainly good reason to think that Paul's warfare and divinely empowered weaponry applied to his (and our) conflict with principalities and powers, ruler and authorities, the cosmic powers and spiritual forces of evil in heavenly places (Eph. 6:12) who so often confuse and harden and blind and enslave those who are resistant to the gospel.

Second, contextually Paul is talking about "strongholds" in the lives and minds of those in the Corinthian church who were resistant to his apostolic authority. But do ordinary Christians today have them too? Yes. Such intellectual, philosophical, and moral enemies to the knowledge of God don't automatically and altogether disappear when we get saved.

I once heard someone define a stronghold as "a mindset impregnated with hopelessness that causes us to accept as unchangeable something we know is contrary to God's will." What he had in view are negative patterns of thought that cripple our ability to obey God and thus breed feelings of guilt and despair. They are often burned into our minds either through repetition over time (such as occurs in an abusive, incestuous relationship) or through a one-time traumatic experience, or even more commonly through the influence of false teaching and a skewed theology. In relation to this latter point, Clint Arnold believes that "the critical thrust of the passage is directed against christological heresy. . . . Therefore, in its original context, demolishing strongholds refers to changing wrong ideas about Christ in the minds of believers who have been influenced by demonically inspired teaching" (Three Crucial Questions about Spiritual Warfare, 54-55).

Whatever the case, no matter the opposition, the good news is that we have access to powerful and efficacious resources, adequate to prevail over all resistance and to defeat every enemy (cf. Rom. 12:1-2; Eph. 4:20-24). We must dedicate ourselves to thinking and meditating on whatever is true and honorable and just and pure and lovely and commendable and excellent and worthy of praise (Phil. 4:8) and entrust ourselves to the power of the Spirit who can overcome the influence of every negative and destructive thought.

Sam

There's no indication that Paul's enemies in Corinth were repeating this slanderous charge, but they did spread the rumor that his plans and decisions and the implementation of his "ministry" were the fruit of a sinister, self-serving motive and shaped by principles lacking in spirituality.

Of course, Paul was happy to acknowledge that he walked or lived "in the flesh," but he steadfastly opposed any suggestion that he waged spiritual war or ministered among the Corinthians "according to the flesh." And as we'll soon see, there's a world of difference between the two. Contrary to their baseless accusations, Paul insisted that "the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds" (2 Cor. 10:3-4).

Let me make a couple of observations about his use of language in this text and then we'll turn our attention to its application in our own day.

They key to understanding Paul's response is found in his use of the word "flesh" in v. 3 to mean two different things. When he declares that "we walk in the flesh" (Gk. sarx; although the NIV renders it "world"), he is referring to life on earth in general. This is simply his way of describing our basic human condition that applies equally to both Christian and non-Christian. If you are a human being, you "walk in the flesh".

But when he denies waging spiritual war "according to the flesh" (again, sarx) he has in mind not merely the physical body or our common lot as men and women but human methods and means and resources as over against those that derive from God and are compatible with the values of the spiritual realm. "Paul concedes, of course, that the world is his sphere of activity; but that does not mean the world dictates the agenda, still less that it provides the tools for the job" (Carson, 41). More about what that entails in a moment.

Note also that after affirming he "walks" or lives in the flesh he then changes verbs and denies that he "wages war" according to the flesh. If nothing else, this adds an edge to his response to the accusation that he was a weak and timid man. Make no mistake about it, says Paul. I am in the midst of an on-going battle, a fight, a war, and because of God's powerful presence in me I'm more than up to the task (on the Christian life as war, see Rom. 13:12; 2 Cor. 6:7; Eph. 6:11-17; Phil. 2:25; 1 Thess. 5:8; 1 Tim. 1:18; 6:12; 2 Tim. 2:3-4; 4:7; Philemon 2).

What precisely would his enemies have had in mind in making the accusation that he pursued his ministry as an apostle "according to the flesh"? As strange as it may sound, from what we've already seen in 2 Corinthians and will later read in chapters eleven and twelve, they likely meant his lack of verbal eloquence, his alleged reliance on self-commendation, his bodily weakness, his choice not to accept money for his labors, as well as the absence from his resume of supernatural encounters and ecstatic revelatory experiences.

But let's turn for a moment to the present day. While acknowledging the obvious, namely, that all humans live "in the flesh", what might be the modern day equivalent to laboring "according to the flesh" in a way that is displeasing to the Lord?

As I look across the broad expanse of ministry styles and the values that govern them, ten "worldly" or "fleshly" things come to mind. I'll only briefly note them, and then turn to their opposites.

Much of so-called ministry today is driven by (1) pragmatism, the notion that if a method or strategy is effective in attaining what are thought to be legitimate goals, that in itself legitimizes the method even though it may be ethically questionable or even explicitly unbiblical.

Far too many in church life are motivated by (2) self promotion and make their decisions and formulate their theology based on what they believe will most greatly enhance their position. Others are driven by (3) good old fashioned (or should I say bad old fashioned) greed. The so-called prosperity gospel and the manipulative and deceitful tactics of many TV evangelists are illustrative of this.

Others fixate so completely on (4) quantity that any message or ministry that threatens numerical increase is cast aside, even though it may be profoundly biblical. For some, (5) comfort dictates how they proceed. They make their choices based on what most effectively preserves ease of life and reinforces their sense of control and the tranquility of their surroundings.

Far too many are personally ambitious and the specter of (6) power shapes what they do. Whatever enhances their grip on the church or elevates their influence in the congregation is most highly prized. Related to this is the allure of (7) fame and the often associated fear of having one's voice muted and being marginalized within the broader body of Christ.

When we turn to the standards or ideas that give shape to how we pursue life in the body of Christ, many are guided by (8) human ingenuity or the fanciful, even if unbiblical, ideas that pop into their heads (what D. A. Carson refers to as "glib how-to formulas for instant spiritual maturity and material prosperity" [52]). Then there is the influence of (9) secular values or the findings of the latest public opinion poll, or perhaps worse still the underlying philosophy of (10) naturalism that largely rules out the supernatural realm of God's activity among us.

As pessimistic or cynical as that may sound, we have to be realistic about how far ranging and widespread such factors are. They constitute a modern day equivalent to waging war "according to the flesh", the avoidance of which demands our constant vigilance.

On the flip side, if only briefly, we must be governed not by pragmatism but by biblical principle; not by self promotion but by a Christ-centered passion; not by greed but contentment with what we have; not by a concern for quantity but a commitment to quality and spiritual excellence; not by what enhances our comfort but by a willingness to suffer for Christ's sake; not by a hunger for power but a recognition that in our weakness the glory of God is most seen; not by a hankering after fame but a willingness to labor in anonymity if only Christ is known; not based on the best ideas that men can conjure up but in conformity with the wisdom that comes from above; not by the preferences of a world that denigrates revelatory truth but in accordance with the moral values of God's Word; and not as if physical reality is all there is but in recognition of the power of the unseen spiritual realm.

And why should we find comfort in the merely human and material weapons this world affords when, as Paul says in v. 4, our weapons are "not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds"?

This phrase translated "divine power" has been variously interpreted, all of which are both possible and carry significant meaning. Among the options are that our weapons are "made powerful by God," or perhaps are "divinely" or "supernaturally powerful", or are "powerful in God's perspective," or even are "powerful for God" or "in God's cause" or with a view to achieving God's purpose.

In any case, on any view, our weapons work! They are divinely effective. They get the job done because God works in and through them to accomplish his purposes. D. A. Carson has summed it up best in the following comment:

"The contrast Paul is drawing must not be overlooked. He is not comparing, say, tanks, rifles, and missiles with prayer, fasting, and preaching. The fleshly or worldly side of the contrast depends on the interpretation of 2 Corinthians 10:3-4a - worldly weapons in this context are the kinds of tools of the trade relished by the intruders: human ingenuity, rhetoric, showmanship, a certain splashiness and forwardness in spiritual pretensions, charm, powerful personal charisma. Such weapons they will not find in Paul's arsenal, so they think him inferior; but Paul responds by openly disavowing such weapons. He would not want to defend himself on that score, for his weapons are of an entirely different sort. They are spiritual weapons, and they are divinely powerful" (46).

What these weapons are and what they actually achieve remains to be seen as we proceed through this paragraph. But of greatest importance now is for us to recognize the futility and vanity of trusting in anything other than the spiritual resources and moral values and theological truths that God has made available and entrusted to us. Let us not be swept up in the shallow and man-centered ways and means of so much so-called "church" life today.

We can't escape living in the flesh any more than Paul could. But nothing compels us to wage war according to the flesh other than our own delusional, self-serving, and prideful ambitions.

Sam

No one knew this better than the apostle Paul, the victim of repeated misinformation and rumor. It appears yet again in 2 Corinthians 10:1-2. But as you read it, take careful note of his response:

"I, Paul, myself entreat you, by the meekness and gentleness of Christ - I who am humble when face to face with you, but bold toward you when I am away! - I beg of you that when I am present I may not have to show boldness with such confidence as I count on showing against some who suspect us of walking according to the flesh" (2 Cor. 10:1-2).

There's no great mystery about what was happening behind the scenes in this ancient city and church. Enemies of Paul, those envious of his influence and authority, had spread the rumor that he was two-faced, that he lacked the integrity to be himself at all times, that he adapted to his circumstances in a way that was inconsistent with his true character, that he related to people from motives that were self-serving and cared only about the preservation of his own reputation and well being.

Paul articulates this accusation in a somewhat sarcastic way, describing himself as one who is "humble when face to face with you, but bold toward you when I am away." In other words, he had heard what was being said of him in Corinth. "The rumor is fast and spreading," said Paul, "that when I'm in your presence I lack the courage to be forthright and strong about my opinions. They say I'm a weakling, that I so fear your rejection and so selfishly covet your approval that I'm careful not to say or do anything that would upset you or put my image at risk. ‘Look at Paul,' they say. ‘Such a timid man; so meek and subservient and deferential to the desires of others.' Ah, but when I'm away and out of your reach, then I let loose and exert my apostolic authority, boldly insisting on your complete obedience. When I'm far removed from your presence and feel safe, I suddenly put on a different face and assume an authoritarian posture to get my way in your midst."

What could possibly have led to such charges? Is there something in the way Paul had conducted himself that contributed to this misunderstanding? It's possible that two factors may have played a part.

You may recall the firm and unyielding position Paul took regarding the man guilty of incest (see 1 Cor. 5). Paul had insisted on the corporate discipline of this unrepentant sinner. He evidently mentioned it again in the so-called non-canonical "severe" letter he wrote to them (2 Cor. 2:3-4). It's entirely possible that some used this as an excuse to accuse him of being bold "at a distance", when he was, so to speak, out of the reach of any personal consequences for his authority.

As for the charge of being weak when present among them, this may have come as a result of his "painful visit" (2 Cor. 2:1) when he chose not to immediately discipline some who were guilty of immorality. In any case, the rumors were vicious and hurtful: "Paul, we simply don't trust you. You appear selfishly pragmatic. Your behavior leads us to believe you'll do whatever is convenient and serves your interests, regardless of how it may affect us."

One author sums it up as follows:

"It is clear that Paul has been accused of being a cowardly bully who is very good at writing domineering letters. They said that in person he was a craven weakling, an ineffectual wimp. But he had megalomaniac pretensions: a timid puppy who barked like a 'bold' rottweiler from behind the fence! 'His letters are weighty and forceful,' they said, 'but in person he is unimpressive and his speaking amounts to nothing' (10:10)" (165).

But there was even more to their charge. They suspected Paul "of walking according to the flesh" (v. 2). This had to be just as distressing, if not more so, than the accusation that he was two-faced. Here they are questioning his relationship to the Holy Spirit, insinuating that he lived his life and made his decisions and chose his words without regard to the leading of the Spirit. Far from being a Spirit-filled and Spirit-led man, they were saying he was devoid of the Spirit's presence, relied little on the Spirit's power, and simply followed the promptings of his flesh! Ouch!

Paul was undoubtedly deeply wounded by this display of distrust on the part of the Corinthians. Anger probably also factored into his response. It would have been so very easy and natural to assume a self-defensive posture and explode in righteous rage. But note well two distinctive features in his reply.

First, despite the fact that he has been charged with being "bold" and "insistent" only in his letters (cf. v. 10), Paul refuses to take the bait and blast them with apostolic commands. Rather he appeals, using language that is deeply personal and emotional, even tender ("I, Paul, myself entreat you").

Second, instead of appealing to the majestic and irresistible authority of the risen and exalted Lord, he grounds his appeal in "the meekness and gentleness of Christ" (v. 1). He points to those two characteristics of Jesus that portray him as slow to take offense, willing to bear reproach, and self-sacrificing. These, Paul says, are my model for ministry. These, Paul says, are the spirit in which I make my appeal.

The two words summarize Jesus as gentle, gracious, not given to retaliation or malice in his relations with others, free from contentiousness or aggression. Paul probably has in mind the entire demeanor of our Lord's earthly life and especially his posture of non-retaliation during his beatings and eventual crucifixion (cf. 1 Peter 2:23).

Zechariah had long ago prophesied of the Messiah that he would be, above all things, "humble" (Zech. 9:9), something that Jesus declared of himself in Matthew 11:29. Humility and meekness and lowliness of heart were characteristics of the heart that Jesus highly valued and blessed (cf. Mt. 5:5).

Paul says, in effect, "Don't expect me to respond to your sins against me any differently than Jesus responded to those who sinned against him. If he could humble himself and choose the path of gentleness, so must I."

But let no one misunderstand the apostle or again take his words as an indication that he will abdicate the position Christ has bestowed upon him. Paul fully intends to be as "bold" as he must in order to put things right when he finally arrives. The words "with such confidence as I count on showing" could more accurately be rendered "with which I dare to be courageous." The point is this: "Far from flaunting his authority by rushing into disciplinary action, Paul envisions the prospect as a dare that cannot be avoided, not a challenge to be encountered with relish" (Carson, 36).

As Murray Harris has noted, in v. 2a "Paul is pleading with the Corinthians to avoid forcing him to act boldly . . . in a display of his confidence as an apostle having the Lord's authority (10:8). In effect he is saying, ‘Don't mistake the timidity that some people credit me with . . . for weakness and the inability or unwillingness to act with authority and dispatch'" (673).

As noted above, some had also accused Paul of walking "according to the flesh" (v. 2). The word "flesh" is generally used by Paul in one of three ways: (1) as a neutral reference to the physical body; (2) as a pejorative reference to the fallen, sinful nature; or (3) as a reference to the standards of excellence as the world judges excellence. Here he has in mind this third notion. Their calumny against Paul was that he is unimpressive, ineffective, a third-rate orator who is not sufficiently worthy to warrant remuneration, and inexperienced in visions and revelations which are the hallmark of spirituality (as they define it). He simply "does not attain to the high standards of spirituality and leadership that they claim for themselves! He lives and serves at the lowly level of this world, of flesh; they minister as dynamic, spiritual leaders whose spiritual experiences attest their superiority, and whose rhetoric demonstrates their God-given graces" (Carson, 37-8).

There is much for us to learn from this. Perhaps the greatest practical lesson is the importance of a proper balance between humility and tenderness in dealing with those who sin against us and a determination to hold our ground in accordance with whatever authority the Lord has granted. Paul was neither a bully nor would he be bullied. He took Jesus as his role model. Aggression was out of the question, but that didn't entail an abandonment of the rightful authority granted him by the risen Christ.

Oh, how easily we gravitate to one of two extremes, giving more weight than is due to one or the other of these crucial characteristics. Either we equate humility and gentleness with a cowardly withdrawal and a reluctance to draw a line in the sand, or we insensitively crack the whip of authority without regard for the welfare of the souls entrusted to our care. May Paul's godly and Christ-like example be an encouragement to us all!

Sam

This is certainly the case when it comes to the stewardship of our finances, as we have already seen on several occasions here in 2 Corinthians 8-9. The fact that God is always prior, that his grace awakens, supplies, and sustains our giving in no way diminishes the virtue of our actions. I doubt if anyone this side of heaven will ever adequately account for this. Explaining how the antecedence of divine sovereignty is perfectly consistent with subsequent human responsibility is certainly beyond my abilities. Perhaps all that we need to know at present is that it's biblical.

So, as we bring our study of these two chapters to a close, I want once again for you to observe how definitive Paul is in making certain that all glory and honor and credit go to God for our giving.

Yes, this "ministry" of "service" undoubtedly supplied the needs of the saints in Jerusalem. They were greatly and gloriously sustained and helped by the generous offering of the saints in Macedonia, Corinth, and elsewhere (v. 12). What an incredible blessing this is to behold and to see how it builds and nourishes mutual love and fellowship among the saints ("they long for you and pray for you," v. 14).

Yes, the Corinthians will be seen to have submitted to this task, an obedience that is the fruit of their embrace of the gospel.

Yes, the Corinthians will be known as a people overflowing in goodness. The "generosity" of their "contribution" will be acknowledged by all (v. 13).

But make no mistake about it. God was beneath and behind it all! Look again at what Paul says:

"For the ministry of this service is not only supplying the needs of the saints, but is also overflowing in many thanksgivings to God. By their approval of this service, they will glorify God because of your submission flowing from your confession of the gospel of Christ, and the generosity of your contribution for them and for all others, while they long for you and pray for you, because of the surpassing grace of God upon you. Thanks be to God for his inexpressible gift!" (2 Cor. 9:12-15).

Note first that "the thanksgiving is given to the ultimate benefactor, God, not to the intermediaries, the Corinthians" (Harris, 646; v. 12b). Paul made this crystal clear in v. 11 when he acknowledged that human generosity produces "thanksgiving to God." Why would God be thanked if the ultimate and sufficient cause of this ministry was in the hearts of the Corinthians? Credit to whom credit is due! God is thanked because he is the one who stirred and sustained their commitment to give. This, in fact, is our ultimate aim in giving: the glory of God!

Furthermore, why will they "glorify God" for the willing submission and obedient confession and generous contribution of the Corinthians (v. 13)? Again, the only credible explanation is that God is the gracious source of their virtuous acts. God had imparted the desire to give and had provided the resources to fulfill it. The giver always gets the glory.

Note also that it was "because of the surpassing grace of God" (v. 14) "upon" and in the Corinthians that this offering first took shape and was finally consummated. It is only appropriate, therefore, that "thanks" be given "to God for his inexpressible gift" (v. 15).

Finally, consider again Paul's use of the word for "grace" (charis) throughout these two chapters. We first saw how God gives "grace" to his people (see 8:1 and 9:14), enabling their hearts to overcome covetousness and greed and experience the joy of generosity. Then, secondly, the word "grace" is used to describe the very gift itself, the money that the Corinthians happily sent to Jerusalem (see 8:7). Finally, this leads to the giving of "thanks" (the Greek word is eu-charis-tia) to God for this remarkable scenario. Paul wants to make sure that God is seen as both first and last: his grace generates the giving, the goal of which is the glory of God!

What is God's "inexpressible gift" for which Paul and all others offer thanks? Is it "the surpassing grace of God" operative in the Corinthians, mentioned in v. 14 (cf. 8:1)? Or is it God's gracious gift of Jesus (2 Cor. 8:9) who, though rich, impoverished himself to make us rich? The answer is both! As Tasker said, Jesus Christ is "the divine gift which inspires all gifts."

That said, the gift that transcends human speech is preeminently Jesus himself. Throughout his letters Paul employs every manner of speech, a vast array of adjectives, and the most vivid imagery imaginable to describe the splendor and sufficiency of God's gift to us in Christ Jesus. But there are limits to the mind of man. There are times when our dictionaries prove deficient. When explanation fails, exclamation takes over. When words fall short, wonder ensues. Jesus is, as Paul says, "inexpressible" (the word he uses is found only here in all the NT). He is ineffable, and leaves the adoring soul stunned, speechless, and gasping for breath.

And now, before closing our study of these two chapters in 2 Corinthians, a brief summary of the twelve principles of Christian stewardship is in order.

(1)        Giving is always and ever the fruit of an antecedent work of divine grace. We are energized to give and find the resources for doing so because God has graciously stirred and sustained our concern for others and then supplied us with seed for sowing (2 Cor. 8:1; cf. 1 Chron. 29:12-19). God is always and ever the reservoir. We are the pipes.

(2)        Giving is to be in proportion to wealth. Precisely what percentage that might be is never stated by Paul and was obviously of no concern to him (2 Cor. 8:3,11,12; 9:8-11; cf. 1 Cor. 16:2).

(3)        Giving is to be regarded as a privilege; indeed, it is an act of worship and praise (2 Cor. 8:4; cf. Phil. 4:15-18).

(4)        Giving is to be voluntary, not forced, pressured, or "under the gun" (2 Cor. 8:3,11-12; 9:5,7).

(5)        Giving is to be preceded by the dedication and consecration of oneself to the Lord's work in whatever capacity possible (2 Cor. 8:5).

(6)        Giving is to be characterized by a spirit of reciprocity (2 Cor. 8:13-15). When we consider the plight of those in need, let us never forget that the day may come when we ourselves may be dependent on them.

(7)        The administration of Christian giving should take into consideration the wise principles that governed Paul's approach to the collection: test and approve those who are entrusted with financial matters in the church; never entrust such matters to one person alone; such people should have a good reputation in the church and in the surrounding community (2 Cor. 8:16-24)

(8)        Giving is not to be impetuous but rather characterized by forethought and prayer (2 Cor. 9:7).

(9)        Giving must never be poisoned by regret over what we perceive has been lost or by covetousness for what we might otherwise have purchased for ourselves (2 Cor. 9:5,7).

(10)      Giving should always be cheerful and joyous (2 Cor. 9:7).

(11)      Giving should not be undertaken with a view to personal enrichment. Rather, one should give with the expectation that God will supply the giver with abundance for additional giving (2 Cor. 9:8-11).

(12)      All giving should find its source, power, and pattern in the grace of God in Christ (2 Cor. 8:1,9; 9:14-15). In view of the indescribable, inexpressible, and ultimately unfathomable gift of the Father in and through the Son, generosity on our part should never be constrained but rather flow freely from a heart set free from sin and selfishness.

Sam

Book Review

Why We're Not Emergent

(by two guys who should be)

Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck

(Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2008; 256 pp.)

Part Five

In Chapter Nine, DeYoung and Kluck turn their attention to a number of emphases within emergent Christianity that they believe are deviations from biblical orthodoxy (a focus, by the way, that virtually all emergents would contend is the very reason why we need emergent Christians; there are far too many "fundamentalists" like DeYoung, Kluck, and Storms who insist on analyzing others' theological positions to determine if they're orthodox or not!).

They begin with the emergent focus on the Kingdom of God and point out that it isn't what emergents affirm about the kingdom that is disturbing but what they omit or perhaps even deny. Yes, the kingdom is, at least to some extent, the announcement that God has inaugurated in Christ Jesus his plan for bringing ultimate peace, justice and compassion on the earth. It is, to some extent, a "this worldly" revolution of love and reconciliation to which we have all been summoned. "It is a call to join the network of God that breaks down the walls of racism, nationalism, and ecological harm. The kingdom of God," notes DeYoung, in paraphrasing the emergent view, "is like a dance of love, vitality, harmony, and celebration" (184; these metaphors and descriptions, says DeYoung, are taken from McLaren's book, The Secret Message of Jesus, 138-48).

Thus, according to emergent Christianity, the message of the kingdom in the ministry of Jesus was not primarily about certain doctrines to believe but about a manner and style of life to live. Citing McLaren, "the kingdom of God . . . is a revolutionary, counter-cultural movement - proclaiming a ceaseless rebellion against the tyrannical trinity of money, sex, and power" (184). Or again, according to McLaren, the message of God's grace and the forgiveness of sins through the cross work of Christ is, at best, only "a footnote to a gospel that is much richer, grander, and more alive, a gospel that calls you to become a disciple and to disciple others, in authentic community, for the good of the world" (The Church in Emerging Culture, 215). A footnote to the gospel? Hmmm.

The authors of this book are not protesting against this understanding of the kingdom, unless, of course, the kingdom is reduced to little more "than a plan for world peace" (184). What disturbs them is the absence of truly good news in this message. "Our cursed world needs more than a plan for refurbished morals. It needs a Savior because it is so full of sinners. I just cannot understand how the gospel as a call to become a disciple for the good of the world is richer, grander, and more alive than a gospel that announces God's grace, forgiveness, and the free gift of salvation" (186).

DeYoung is understandably befuddled by a "gospel" that announces no news of God's redemptive work on our behalf and ignores the call of Christ to Nicodemus that one "must be born again" (John 3:3). Do emergents really believe in original sin and the need for divine mercy and the existence of hell? "I understand the emergent concern about living rightly in this life," says DeYoung. "That was a concern of Jesus. But why are heaven and hell as eternal destinations so routinely marginalized in emergent books? If heaven and hell are real and endure forever, as Jesus believed them to be, they ought to shape everything we do during our short time on earth" (186).

Now, I'm no prophet, but I think I know the answer to DeYoung's question. I think I know why hell plays such a minimal role in the emergent understanding of the "kingdom of God" and the "gospel". Although no emergent author has yet explicitly endorsed universalism (although some see it in Spencer Burke's book, A Heretic's Guide to Eternity; I happily confess to not having read it), I suspect that it is lurking quietly beneath the surface of much of what they believe. In fact, I will make a prediction. Within three or four years, several prominent emergent church authors will "come out of the closet" and admit they embrace salvific universalism. Given what appears to be the denial of original sin by Steven Chalke (The Lost Message of Jesus, 67) and the reinterpretation of hell by Brian McLaren (The Last Word and the Word after That) and the rejection of wrath as an essential attribute of the divine nature and the almost uniform dismissal of penal substitutionary atonement as "cosmic child abuse" and the tendency to question whether conscious faith in Christ alone is essential for salvation, what other possible pathway can they walk? If man is not by nature wicked and God does not by nature require the satisfaction of his wrath in the atoning sacrifice of Christ and hell is little more than what we create for ourselves on earth, what stands in the way of affirming that all mankind will eventually be saved?

The authors are equally concerned that the kingdom of God among emergents "often ends up sounding largely political" (189). Although there may well be proponents of the political right among emergent church leaders, "it is undeniable that left-wing politics is a common thread running throughout the emergent literature" (189). God "may not be a Republican or a Democrat, but from reading the emergent literature, it sure seems like He votes Democrat" (189).

I must say that I'm less concerned with this point than I am with the theological issues we've addressed. But I do agree with DeYoung and Kluck when they argue that the problem is not in working to eliminate injustice (who would ever suggest that it is), but rather "in thinking that this is the main business of the church as church. . . . [W]hen the church's business is mainly political and its unifying creeds are political instead of doctrinal, the church and state overlap until the church becomes redundant" (190).

DeYoung then turns his attention to what has become virtually the standard rejection by emergent believers of the penal substitutionary atonement of Christ. I will forego expanding on this point here, since I've addressed it at great length in my review of a book that everyone should read (Pierced for our Transgressions; see the review at my website under Recommended, Book Reviews).

As I've previously noted, emergent leaders have also "practiced a studied agnosticism about hell and God's wrath, deliberately avoiding the topic in sermons or writing, because, they say, it's not our business who is there - if anyone is there at all" (196). I, on the other hand, think it is precisely our business and our ministry. If, as the apostle Paul says, people are of two and only two groups, "those who are being saved" and "those who are perishing" (2 Cor. 2:15), the determining factor being their response to the gospel of God in Christ Jesus that we have been called to proclaim, how dare we justify our contempt for their eternal welfare by saying it is "not our business"?

The final concern in this chapter is the tendency among emergents to avoid the suggestion that conscious faith in Jesus Christ alone is the pathway to eternal life. Their professed admiration for non-Christian religions and their reluctance to pronounce the unrepentant and unbelieving as hell bound is of great concern. "I hope I am wrong," writes DeYoung, "but I can find no indication in McLaren's writings that belief in Jesus as the Christ and the unique Son of God is necessary for entrance into heaven or the kingdom" (202).

The early church, write DeYoung and Kluck, "was important because it was intolerable, and it was intolerable because it was intolerant. Not socially intolerant or coldhearted or obnoxiously abrasive, but intolerant of any salvation but the cross, any God but theirs, and any Lord but Christ" (204).

Following two short and very insightful chapters by Kluck on Rob Bell (Chapter 10) and Tony Jones (Chapter Eleven), the book concludes with a call to emergent churches everywhere to reconsider the principles and truths spoken by Jesus to the seven churches of Asia Minor in Revelation 2-3. In a word, "emergent Christians need to catch Jesus' broader vision for the church - His vision for a church that is intolerant of error, maintains moral boundaries, promotes doctrinal integrity, stands strong in times of trial, remains vibrant in times of prosperity, believes in certain judgment and certain reward, even as it engages the culture, reaches out, loves, and serves" (248).

What we need most, say DeYoung and Kluck, is the knowledge of a God who is holy and righteous and loving and all-powerful and sovereign and merciful, who has acted in history through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, to deliver spiritually dead and morally depraved sinners from eternal death that they might live in ever-increasing enjoyment of him to his everlasting glory.

Call this "linear, dogmatic, or hopelessly otherworldly, but it's what Christians have held onto for millennia as their only comfort in life and in death. And by God's grace such an articulation of the Christian message will emerge and reemerge, unapologetically and unhesitatingly, as front and center in all our churches" (253).

So, please go purchase and read this book. Please.

Sam

Book Review

Why We're Not Emergent

(by two guys who should be)

Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck

(Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2008; 256 pp.)

Part Four

In Chapter Seven, DeYoung sets his aim on the emergent perspective on modernism and postmodernism. I suspect that many of you will find that a bit tedious, and I can understand why. You'll be relieved to know that since I addressed many of these same issues in Parts 2 and 3 of my seven-part review of D. A. Carson's book, I'm going to forego any additional comments here (you can find those articles at my website, www.samstorms.com, under Recommended, in the Book Reviews section).

What is of special interest in this chapter, however, is DeYoung's excellent discussion of the role of preaching, both in the emergent and non-emergent world. With tongue firmly planted in his cheek, he has labeled this section, "Dialogue the Word, Timothy!", an obvious reference to Paul's famous exhortation in 2 Timothy 4:2.

DeYoung reminds us of Paul's tireless exhortation to his young disciples that they teach and preach and rebuke and encourage others, and that they guard themselves and the flock of God against false doctrine (see 1 Timothy 4:6, 11, 13; 5:17; 2 Tim. 2:1-5; Titus 1:9). These texts notwithstanding, "many in the emerging church lament the central place preaching has received in Protestant worship services" (155). Actually, the objection is less about preaching and more the style or manner in which it is engaged. It is the notion of a ministerial monologue in which one ordained Christian speaks a message to a congregation of unordained, passive listeners that evokes their negative response.

The purpose of preaching, they tell us, is not informational but transformational. Communal communication, in which all are invited to somehow participate, is needed in today's world. Uni-directional, discursive sermons, delivered by seminary trained pastors, is a reflection of an Enlightenment mentality that is out of touch with the postmodern, image-driven, participatory culture of our day.

But DeYoung is right to point out a number of false dichotomies that lie beneath this criticism, namely, "that discursive communication is only interested in information and not formation, that it is a mere lecture isolated from family and community, and that it is purely pedagogical instead of celebrative. This is not helpful. We must refuse false dichotomies that force a wedge between head and heart, rationality and faith, truth and experience" (156). "I'm no big fan of the Enlightenment either," continues DeYoung, "but it is simply wrong to attribute every hint of linear thinking, propositional preaching, or discursive communication to some modern Enlightenment corruption" (156). And he proceeds in the next few pages to give copious counter-examples of such to the emergent claim.

I think DeYoung is right when he contends that "much of the emergent disdain for preaching is really an uneasiness about authority and control" (159). But he also argues that "the decline in preaching goes hand in hand with a lost confidence in the importance of truth claims. Preaching presupposes there is a message that must be proclaimed and believed. The very act of verbal proclamation by one man to God's people assumes that there is a word from God that can be ascertained, understood, and meaningfully communicated. This is what is being objected to in preaching, not simply the specter of modernism" (159).

And may I add to this that what may be driving much of the emergent disdain for linear, discursive preaching is their own regrettable experience of having been raised in churches where the proclamation often turned to legalistic oppression in which little if any voice was given to the congregation as a whole. No one, I hope, would endorse the insensitive authoritarianism that has characterized much of the preaching in western fundamentalism. But the abuses of this otherwise sacred ministry are no excuse to discard the practice or to ignore the biblical commands that we teach and preach the Word.

Following a brief analysis of Rob Bell's misuse of (Jewish) history (as well as comments on the same in the writings of Doug Pagitt and Brian McLaren, see pp. 160-65), DeYoung closes this chapter by arguing that many emergents are equally as shaped by modernism as those they criticize. In fact, when one looks carefully at some of the distinctive ideas and emphases of emergent authors it is difficult to differentiate their concerns from those of nineteenth-century theological liberalism. Says DeYoung:

"The preference for ethics over doctrine, the reservations about God's wrath and judgment, the perceived need to retranslate the Christian faith for a new time, the devaluing of propositional truths, the chastisement of firm doctrinal boundaries, the understanding of missions as social compassion and not conversion - these are all impulses of the modern world. So are the broad tolerance of general religious sentiment that is lacking in specificity and definition, the unwillingness to assert the Bible's complete truthfulness, the downplaying of original sin, and the direct appeals to bettering the world apart from the call to repent and be born again" (166).

Before concluding this installment, a brief but passionate comment is in order about one item that appears in Chapter Eight (much of which is given to a discussion of Peter Rollins' book).

If there is one undeniable common link between the theological liberalism of the last 150-175 years and contemporary emergent thought, it is the disinclination to discuss (if not an outright denial of the existence of) hell. Many emergent believers, Brian McLaren being chief and most outspoken among them, aren't preoccupied with hell. They dislike the way this biblical reality compels them to speak of "who's in" and "who's out". They feel it requires an act of discernment and judgment that only the arrogant and self-assured can make.

Let me be brutally honest and forthright: I am unapologetically preoccupied with hell, and for two simple reasons. First, the Bible says it is quite real, and second, the Bible says people are going there. I lie awake at night thinking about "who's in" and "who's out". I'm utterly and unashamedly obsessed with hell because I believe it is real, and because there are people I know and love who persist in their rejection of Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior and who, apart from repentance and faith in him, will spend eternity there.

That's offensive language. But it's biblical language. And I'm obligated to be biblical even if it offends. One simply cannot affirm any concept of biblical authority and deny that it speaks often of those who are "in" and those who are "out". The language it uses is of the sheep and the goats (Mt. 25:31-46), the wheat and the tares (Mt. 13:36-43), believers and unbelievers (1 Cor. 14:22), the righteous and the wicked (Malachi 3:18), those "who are being saved" and those "who are perishing" (2 Cor. 2:15), those who receive the crown of life as over against those who suffer the second death (Rev. 2:10-11), and those who are granted access to the New Jerusalem and those who "will never enter it" (Rev. 20:22-27).

One must never read such texts or ponder their meaning with anything other than fear and trembling and a realization that if one is "in" it is altogether of sovereign grace and mercy shown unto otherwise hell-deserving sinners. To avoid, diminish, or, God forbid, deny such texts and the eternal destinies they affirm is the epitome of selfish disdain and lack of concern for lost souls. Either one is branded with the name of the Lamb or the mark of the Beast (Rev. 13:11-14:5) and our approach to life and ministry and preaching and the Christian faith as a whole must be governed by that inescapable reality.

What would have become of countless native Americans had David Brainerd (1718-47) not been preoccupied and obsessed with who's "in" and who's "out"? I dare say he would not have written in his diary, on Monday, April 19, 1742, these words of love and commitment to their eternal welfare:

"God enabled me so to agonize in prayer, that I was quite wet with sweat, though in the shade, and the wind cool. My soul was drawn out very much for the world; I grasped for multitudes of souls" (The Life of David Brainerd, Yale:162).

On the next day, Brainerd wrote:

"I think my soul was never so drawn out in intercession for others as it has been this night. Had a most fervent wrestle with the Lord tonight for my enemies" (162).

I praise God for people like David Brainerd and William Carey and Lottie Moon and Hudson Taylor and countless others who refused to turn a blind eye to the reality of eternal punishment as if to do so were a badge of "epistemological humility". I praise God for those who care deeply for lost souls and are willing to speak the truth, harsh and offensive though it be, that others might have eternal life.

This isn't the last time the subject of heaven and hell is addressed in this book. It appears again in Chapter Nine, together with a discussion of other basic biblical truths that many in the emergent movement either misunderstand or reject outright. To those we now turn our attention.

Sam

Book Review

Why We're Not Emergent

(by two guys who should be)

Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck

(Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2008; 256 pp.)

Part Three

I want to go on record that I love doctrine! When I explore the theological complexities of the Incarnation of the Son of God, my heart is strangely warmed. When I think deeply about his death and how it propitiates the Father and redeems and saves and breaks the power of the enemy, I get goose bumps up and down my spine. When I reflect on the relationship between the human and divine in the one person of Christ Jesus, and then contrast and distance the orthodox view from that of heresies such as Arianism and Socinianism, I get positively giddy!

In fact, I can't think of anything more important or crucial for all Christians individually and the church corporately than to take whatever steps are necessary to deepen and intensify our knowledge of God and the revelation of himself in Jesus Christ. To take this glorious truth, together with others as they are set forth in Scripture, and to formulate carefully worded statements of faith that identify what we call Protestant evangelical orthodoxy is one of the greatest joys I know as a Christian. And to differentiate these views from those that are outside the boundaries of biblical revelation, so that heterodoxy is seen as the soul-threatening, hell-deserving enemy which I believe it to be, is the responsibility of every Bible-believing Christian.

Do I believe that any statement of faith is impeccable, perfect in every affirmation and denial? No. We can never be comprehensive or infallible in our interpretation of the biblical text or in the theological conclusions we derive from it. Deep humility and a conscious awareness of our weaknesses and personal prejudices, together with a consistent dependence on the Holy Spirit and a readiness to alter our affirmations when they are shown by Scripture to be ill-conceived, must characterize all our theologizing. But theologize we must. Our eternal destiny hangs in the balance.

Human frailty and cultural influences notwithstanding, we must articulate as best we can what we believe are the foundational and non-negotiable truths of Holy Scripture. The Bible itself speaks unapologetically of "the whole counsel of God" (Acts 20:26-27), and of "the standard of teaching" to which we are committed (Romans 6:17), and of a "gospel", deviation from which calls forth an eternal "anathema" (Galatians 1:9), and of a "pattern" of "sound words" and the "good deposit" that have been entrusted to us (2 Timothy 1:13-14), and of "the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints" (Jude 3).

In case you hadn't figured it out by now, that in itself is more than enough to put me at serious odds with many, if not most, in the emergent movement. I fully expect that if they were to read the previous four paragraphs I would be immediately branded as a cold and calculating rationalist (or modernist) who's impervious to change, closed to conversation, who arrogantly thinks he's got the unfathomable God figured out, freeze-dried, and packaged away (I'm drawing on the language of Brian McLaren). I doubt if there's much I could say to convince them otherwise, so I won't waste my time trying. But this does lead us into a brief discussion of the emergent resistance to a focus on propositional truth about the Son of God and suspicion of all things theological.

As noted in the previous installment of this series of studies, a common refrain among emergents is, "Just give me Jesus!" In depth theological analyses and carefully articulated doctrinal formulations concerning the person and work of Christ (and a variety of other biblical truths) are viewed as a hindrance to vital spiritual relationship not only with Jesus but also between Christians. The determination to identify biblical orthodoxy, so we are told, only serves to sterilize our otherwise fertile faith and to divide by creating boundaries that determine who's "in" and who's "out", who's "orthodox" and who's "heterodox".

A typical statement is this one by Erwin McManus (who's actually less "emergent" than most): "The power of the gospel is the result of a person - Jesus Christ - not a message. The gospel is an event to be proclaimed, not a doctrine to be preserved" (108). But as DeYoung and Kluck point out, "how is the gospel event we proclaim different than [sic] a message? And how is a message about Jesus - say, who He is and what He did on earth - different than [sic] doctrine? We can tell people about Jesus every day until He returns again, but without some doctrinal content filling up what we mean by Jesus and why He matters, we are just shouting slogans, not proclaiming any kind of intelligible gospel" (108).

It's one thing to passionately proclaim, "It's all about Jesus!" But what is it about Jesus that we are supposed to be all about? It's one thing to rant against creeds and religious rituals, "but once we say something about why Jesus is glorious and what His life was like and what it accomplished, aren't we settling back into dogma and religion again?" (108).

This is again related to the emergent distaste for refined theological statements and what evangelicals have traditionally referred to as "orthodoxy" or right belief. As I read the New Testament it seems evident that the authors conceive of "orthopraxy", or right behavior, as flowing out of orthodoxy. The ethical imperative is always grounded in the theological indicative. One need only observe Paul's comments in Romans 12:1 and Ephesians 4:1 as examples. Emergents, on the other hand, will often simply conflate the two while placing primary emphasis on right behavior.

But we cannot afford to ignore the biblical emphasis on certain truths as foundational to all Christian living. As DeYoung and Kluck argue, "People go to hell for believing the wrong things" (see Gal. 1:8). "People within the church should be corrected when they believe the wrong things" (see Titus 1:9). And "People are sometimes to be kept out of your house for believing the wrong things" (see 2 John 9-10; 112).

There simply is no gospel without theology, for "as soon as you say Jesus died and rose again for your sins according to the Scriptures, you have doctrine. You have a message about what happened in history and what it means. That's theology" (113).

The authors are especially helpful in pointing out the emergent dislike for doctrinal boundaries. Statements of faith in which we articulate not only what we affirm but what we deny are rare in emergent churches. At most, they will cite their affirmation of the Apostles and Nicene Creeds. But doctrinal affirmations, says Tony Jones, national coordinator of Emergent, are "a modernistic endeavor that I'm not the least bit interested in" (117).

I must confess that when I visit a church or navigate to their website, that's the first thing I look for. I want to know what boundaries they draw and why. I want to know if it is biblical Christianity for which they stand and whether truth is important. After reading Jones's comments, DeYoung wonders, "Are there no doctrinal beliefs (besides believing in statements of faith) or ethical behaviors (besides undefined lovelessness) that put one outside the camp?" (118) You may find this distasteful, but the fact remains that "Christianity cannot and does not exist without boundaries" (118). There is much to which we say Yes theologically, but there is also much to which we must say No.

There are times in reading emergent literature that one wonders whether they have a concept of theological error and doctrinal falsehood. If theology is merely a dialogue and journey and conversation, but does not at any point reach a definitive and intelligible conclusion about what is true and false, on what grounds do we assure anyone of eternal salvation and others of eternal peril?

An excellent, as well as deeply disturbing, example of this tendency among emergents is the book by Peter Rollins, How (Not) to Talk of God. I hope to review this regrettable book in a subsequent article, but here I only take note of it as typical of the biblical and theological skepticism among many emergents. Rollins, founder of the Ikon community in Belfast, writes with an acknowledged skepticism about ever knowing anything truly about God. Of course, he does have a few things to say about God, for "that which we cannot speak of," he concedes, "is the one thing about whom and to whom we must never stop speaking" (123). But when we talk about God we can never make him known. It is as "unknown" that we "know" him. Citing DeYoung, "we believe in God but remain dubious concerning what we believe about God, to the point that we disbelieve the God we also believe in, ‘holding atheism and theism together in the cradle of faith'" (123; holding atheism "in the cradle of faith"; hmmm, now there's a thought). Thus, says DeYoung, in summarizing Rollins, "idolatry is not worshiping the wrong God but believing ‘that our ideas actually represent the way that God and the world really operate'" (123). So when we speak about God we aren't really speaking of God but only of our understanding of God.

DeYoung responds:

"I keep wondering, am I missing something here? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes; we do see through a glass dimly; we do not fully understand God; we don't know God as God knows Himself; our words can't capture the essence of God. God is greater than we can conceive - but what about the 1,189 chapters in the Bible? Don't they tell us lots of things about God that we are supposed to do more than doubt and not understand? Aren't the Scriptures written so that we might believe and be sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see and even proclaim this faith to others?" (123-24).

He finds it hard to believe, and include me here as well, "that the apostles went off into the world telling people about the God they couldn't speak of and inviting the people to journey with them as they grew in their mutual un/knowing about the God they disbelieved in" (124).

Where does that leave us? Again, I can no better than quote DeYoung at some length:

"Young people will give their lives for an exclamation point, but they will not give their lives for a question mark, not for very long anyway. Once the protest runs out and the emerging church has its own blogdom, and conferences, and church networks, and book deals, there will be no exclamation point, and all that's left will be ethical intentions and passionate appeals for kingdom living. This will not sustain a movement - the protest will for a while, but once that's gone there will be no great vision of God, no urgent proclamation of salvation, no eternal judgment or reward at stake, just a call to live rightly and love one another. That message will sell on Oprah, Larry King, and at the Oscars, but it won't sustain and propel a gospel-driven church, because it isn't the gospel" (127-28).

I hope after reading that paragraph you see why I think you need to read this entire book. To be continued . . .

Sam

Book Review

Why We're Not Emergent

(by two guys who should be)

Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck

(Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2008; 256 pp.)

Part Two

A consistent refrain heard among the emergent is that the Christian life is primarily about the journey and our experience along the way, and less about the destination. The result, at least for them, is that "the Christian life requires less doctrinal reflection and more personal introspection," which "feeds on and into a preoccupation with our own stories" (34). DeYoung identifies what he believes are three problematic implications of this perspective, only two of which I'll mention.

First, it undermines the knowability of God. All Christians in every tradition have acknowledged that God is inexhaustible. No one will ever know God exhaustively, not even in the glorified state of heaven. But that doesn't mean we can't know anything about him accurately. According to DeYoung, "emergent leaders are allowing the immensity of God to swallow up His knowability. In good postmodern fashion, they are questioning whether we can have any real, accurate knowledge about God in the first place" (35).

Here again we find a false dichotomy. Emergents leave us with what appear to be only two options: either you arrogantly claim to know everything about God rationally or you know nothing about him at all. Or if you do know something, it is "personal" or "relational" knowledge. We see here the typical emergent distrust of language and God's apparent inability or reluctance to communicate truth to the human mind. But this runs counter to everything we see in Scripture and in redemptive history. Says DeYoung:

"The God of the Bible is nothing if He is not a God who speaks to His people. To be sure, none of us ever infinitely understand God in a nice, neat package of affirmations and denials, but we can know Him truly, both personally and propositionally. God can speak. He can use human language to communicate truth about Himself that is accurate and knowable, without ceasing to be God because we've somehow got Him all figured out" (37).

On several occasions in reading books by emergents, I've come across their appeal to the illustration of the blind men encountering an elephant. One touches the trunk, another the tail, another his leg, and yet another his ear. Each formulates a different understanding of what an elephant is, none of which, however, has an entirely accurate grasp. "But what if the elephant spoke," responds DeYoung, "and said, ‘Quit calling me crocodile, or peacock, or paradox. I'm an elephant, for crying out loud! That long thing is my trunk. That little frayed thing is my tail. That big floppy thing is my ear.' And what if the elephant gave us ears to hear his voice and a mind to understand his message (cf. 1 Cor. 2:14-15)? Would our professed ignorance about the elephant and our unwillingness to make any confident assertions about his nature mean we were especially humble, or just deaf?" (37)

This isn't to deny the element of mystery in Christian experience (another especially popular word among emergents). God will always remain inexhaustible and infinite. But "mystery as an expression of our finitude is one thing. Mystery as a way of jettisoning responsibility for our beliefs is another thing" (39).

A second problem with the emergent view of journey is that it tends to equate uncertainty with humility. To argue that we can accurately know who God is as revealed in Jesus, so the emergents tell us, is "the same as pinning down Jesus and summing up God", a reflection not only of our stupidity but arrogance. But why can we not have both a humble searching for God, a recognition of his ultimate infinity, together with a measure of confidence, even certainty, that what knowledge we do have of him is true? "There is a place for questions," notes DeYoung. "There is a time for conversation. But there is also the possibility of certainty, not because we have dissected God like a freshman biology student dissects a frog, but because God has spoken to us clearly and intelligibly and has given us ears to hear His voice" (40).

Again, "it is not a mark of humility when we refuse to speak about God and His will except in the most ambiguous terms. It is an assault on the Holy Spirit and disbelief in God's ability to communicate rational, clear statements about Himself in human language" (40). This points yet again to the "either-or" mentality in many emergent authors. It is the false dichotomy that says you must know something exhaustively or omnisciently in order to know it truly. "But aren't we capable of knowing truth unambiguously without having to know it with invincible certainty?" (41) Yes.

This tendency among emergents to insist on the inherent uncertainty of knowledge becomes problematic when "you write books trying to convince people to believe or behave in certain ways" (41). In other words, "radical uncertainty sounds nice as a sort of protest against the perceived dogmatism of evangelical Christianity [which, I might add, often appears to be the primary focus of all emergents], but it gets in the way when you want [to] prove your point" (41). Somewhere in the midst of your rants against certainty and your insistence on the ultimate unknowability of God you will need to be clear about your beliefs if you hope to persuade others they are true.

One example of the celebration of ambiguity among emergents concerns their stance on homosexuality. Let's be clear about one thing. As Christians we must display the same compassion and kindness toward the broken and struggling as did Jesus. All people should be treated with dignity and love. But that shouldn't prevent us from drawing a line on ethical issues on which the Word of God speaks. I applaud the desire not to hurt anyone and the recognition that homosexuality in particular is a complex issue. But the refusal of many emergents to take a stance on this subject "also hurts people - it hurts those struggling to overcome sexual temptation, it hurts those gently calling homosexuals (along with other sinners) to repentance, and it hurts those who dare to speak with certainty on the issue" (47).

Following a brief chapter (Two) in which Kluck introduces us to Rob Bell ("He has the requisite black-framed glasses that everyone our age who considers himself learned has these days. I have them too," confesses Kluck [56]), and his best-selling book Velvet Elvis, DeYoung continues his interaction with the issue of knowledge and propositional truth (Chapter Three).

In particular, he focuses on the emergent view of the Bible. Emergent Christians still love the Bible, or say they do, but for a different reason. The way the Bible functions in their lives has taken on a new shape. The Bible isn't viewed as the authoritative, inerrant and objective revelation of God that provides us with eternal and timeless truth. It is, rather, a unique collection of literary artifacts that tells a story which we are invited to join.

At the center of the emergent (postmodern) view of Scripture is the disdain for propositional truth. A propositional statement is simply an assertion that can be either true or false. Either what is proposed corresponds to reality (and is true) or does not (and is false). Emergent Christians, however, don't like to think of the Bible in these terms. They rightly point to the fact that Scripture is filled with stories and parables and questions and poetry and a variety of other literary genres. Christianity, they say, is fundamentally a relationship with a person, not belief in propositions.

Strange thing, though: that last statement is a proposition! To assert that Christianity is a relationship with a person rather than belief in propositions is a propositional statement that is either true or false. Try as they may to escape propositional truth, even emergents must employ a propositional statement to deny them (or to minimize their importance). More important still, this way of articulating things forces us into another false dichotomy, as if to say one must embrace the Bible either as a narrative that leads us into relationship or as propositional statements that call for affirmation.

At the heart of the emergent worries over propositional statements is their fear that it reduces the Bible to a cold and sterile collection of theological assertions that we merely analyze, examine, exegete, and impose on others. There is a measure of truth here. Our aim isn't merely to dissect the Bible but to be transformed by it. And, as DeYoung rightly observes, "there are scores of freshly minted seminary-trained pastors who bore their congregations with endless word studies and the ins and outs of genitive absolutes" (71). But he is also right to ask, "Why can we only affirm the Bible as family story by denigrating the Bible as a book to be analyzed and theologized? Why not go the more historically responsible route and uphold the Bible as both?" (73)

Like it or not, the Bible is filled with propositional statements that call for a rational, informed response. In fact, one's belief concerning the truth claims of the Bible's many propositional assertions has eternal ramifications. Jesus himself said that "unless you believe that I am he you will die in your sins" (John 8:24). If we do not believe his claim to be the incarnate Word, we have no hope of eternal life. Yes, Jesus is a living person with whom we want a saving and life-changing relationship. But as DeYoung points out, the emergent movement "seems to be built on reductionistic, even modernistic, either-or categories. They pit information versus transformation, believing versus belonging, and propositions about Christ versus the person of Christ. The emerging church will be a helpful corrective against real, and sometimes perceived, abuses in evangelicalism when they discover the genius of the ‘and,' and stop forcing us to accept half-truths" (75).

It's not uncommon to hear an emergent Christian say, "I don't want truth about Jesus Christ. I want Jesus! Don't give me propositions about Jesus. Give me the person of Jesus!" That sounds sweet and spiritual and appealing and passionate. And it is precisely that sort of thinking that sends people to hell! You can't love Jesus Christ without loving propositional truths about him. If you do not embrace what Scripture says about Christ, the word "Christ" can mean anything you want it to mean.

So let me ask a question: What Christ do you believe in? With what Jesus do you long for relationship? Is it the Jesus who is God in human flesh? That's the doctrine, the propositional truth, of the Incarnation. Is it the Jesus who died as a sacrifice for sin, enduring God's wrath for sinners and thereby obtaining forgiveness? That's the doctrine, the propositional truth, of Atonement. Is it the Christ who rose from the dead? That's the doctrine, the propositional truth, of Resurrection. Is it the Christ in whom by faith alone and through grace alone we are declared righteous and saved? That's the doctrine, the propositional truth, of Justification.

Which Christ you believe and what you believe about him are not secondary questions. Is it the Christ of theological liberalism? Or the Christ of the cults? Perhaps you long for a relationship with the Christ of Islam. They believe in Jesus as a great prophet, beloved of God. But not until you assert in theological propositions biblical truths about Christ does your faith mean anything at all.

Reading their literature often leads me to wonder what emergents actually believe about the Bible. They typically avoid using words like inerrant, infallible, authoritative and revelatory, when describing the Scriptures. It's one thing to insist on the beauty of biblical narrative and its liberating power, "but unless people are convinced that the Bible is authoritative, true, inspired, and the very words of God, over time they will read it less frequently, know it less fully, and trust it less surely" (78).

Therefore, concludes DeYoung, "in our world of perpetual squishitude, why offer people more of what they already have - vague spirituality, uncertainty, and borderline interpretative relativism? Why not offer them something hard and old like the Law in which we delight, and dare to say and believe ‘Thus saith the Lord'?" (85)

Sam

Book Review

Why We're Not Emergent

(by two guys who should be)

Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck

(Chicago: Moody Publishers, 2008; 256 pp.)

Part One

I start to get really nervous when I hear others speak in unqualified, glowing and glorious terms about a book or speaker. Nothing can be that good, I say to myself. I'm really resistant to trendy endorsements of the next greatest thing. So I was obviously on guard when I began hearing and reading endorsements of the book, Why We're Not Emergent (by two guys who should be). But darn it, they were right. When I read blogger Phil Johnson's three word re