Many of you have been praying for the many New York churches who heard back in December that they will need to find a new place to congregate. This has been a difficult challenge for many churches, since space is an expensive and limited commodity in this bustling city that needs the gospel of Jesus Christ.

So What Are Churches Doing Now?

Our church is one of more than 60 affected by this decision, which has provoked discussion about cultural definitions of worship and church-state relations. Churches, civic leaders, and legislators have pushed back at the local and state level. There have been demonstrations on the steps of City Hall, peaceful displays of disobedience, and "pray-in's." Pastors and city councilmen have been arrested for protesting, and Mayor Bloomberg's annual prayer breakfast was an awkward one, to say the least. Tim Keller has written in opposition to city's decision.

Hopeful legislation has been proposed in the New York State Senate intended to overturn the city's ruling. It's likely the New York State Assembly will soon follow suit by considering a similar bill. However, none of these decisions will be made before February 19. In fact, it's likely that nothing will be decided even in the next several months. Moreover, there is much pressure from outlets such as The New York Times for Governor Cuomo to veto such legislation, even if it passes.

Despite these challenges, many churches in the city that own space have flexed their hospitality muscles. Many churches that met Sunday mornings in public schools are now making plans to meet Sunday evenings so they can share these buildings.

Congregations such as First Baptist Church, which meets in the Upper West of Manhattan, are adapting not just for charity but also for the sake of the gospel. Pastor Matthew Hoskinson has planned to forfeit their Sunday school hour at 9:30 a.m. to allow for a congregation to meet during that time, even as he has arranged for another congregation to meet Saturday nights, and still another Sunday evenings.

Our own congregation has benefited from First Baptist's hospitality and pastor Hoskinson's leadership. Starting February 19, we plan to meet on Sunday evenings at First Baptist Church. This effort to welcome churches takes more time and manpower than what you might first assume.

Other churches in our position are benefiting from the hospitality of congregations who have the blessing of their own meeting space in a city built for commerce, not churches.

Strategic Opportunity

As churches race for space and labor for their constitutional rights, we have at least two strategic opportunities to adjust our expectations for what a worship gathering looks like.

First, there is a unusual unity that comes from sharing space among evangelical churches. Many evangelical pastors meet for prayer and planning service projects. These are hugely strategic and a blessing. But there is something different that happens when you have to figure out how two (or three) churches are going share space. We have been blessed by First Baptist as they help us cope during this season of shared space. They don't just want us to manage---they want to help other churches flourish.

Second, many churches now planning for evening services have already found this is a more strategic time for many New Yorkers to meet. Few skeptics in this city wake up Sunday morning eager to check out a church service. And on the Upper West Side, where our congregation meets, many family sporting events have been planned for Sunday morning. So we've grown excited about planning for these new opportunities for outreach on Sunday evenings.

We trust that the Lord is sovereign in all these things. This is certainly a challenging time for many churches in New York. But we have every reason to rejoice, as we hear of new, faithful, gospel-proclaiming church planters coming all the time and evangelical churches that continue to grow and multiply around the city.

With that in mind, consider this an invitation to explore the work of one of the 20th (and now 21st) century's most influential writers: Cormac McCarthy. I extend this invite not as an expert, but as a shameless, googly-eyed fanboy. As C. S. Lewis says in the introduction to his book on the Psalms, "The fellow-pupil can help more than the master because he knows less. The difficulty we want him to explain is one he has recently met." In my case, the former is most certainly true, and hopefully the latter is as well.

Spanning the Landscape

McCarthy has written ten novels, several of which have been turned into major motion pictures. The Road won the Pulitzer Prize in 2007, and All the Pretty Horses won the National Book Award in 1992.

McCarthy's work spans the American landscape, telling stories that take place in Appalachia and the Old West. If there's a common theme to the settings of McCarthy's work, it's that he tends to choose times and places on the precipice of change and decay: the growing lawlessness in the border towns of No Country for Old Men, the end of the cowboy era in The Border Trilogy, and the end of the world as we know it in the scorched earth of The Road.

McCarthy describes himself as "not particularly religious," even though he grew up Roman Catholic, and his books drip with biblical imagery and language. I've often wondered if he isn't versed in the work of the Puritans, both for his understanding of the depths of sin and also the overarching hand of Providence. If he is, he isn't saying. Instead, he spends much of his time at The Santa Fe Institute, a strange think tank of elite physicists, mathematicians, biologists, computer scientists, and others who do "complexity research," a field for interdisciplinary studies and projections. According to an interview with Rolling Stone, McCarthy isn't just a fly on the wall. He contributes to the conversations and work of some of the world's leading scientists.

Distinct Style

It's hard to define and describe McCarthy's writing style. The Road often reads like Hemingway---stark and lean---while other books like Suttree (especially its breathtaking gothic opening) are effusive and cinematic, leaving the mind whirling. He famously writes with minimal punctuation, saying, "If you write properly, you don't have to punctuate." In McCarthy's mind, the flow of the work should be apparent, including the dialogue (he doesn't use quotations), without filling the page with punctuation.

This gives his novels a relentlessness, barreling the reader through his gloomy worlds. If one theme is consistent to McCarthy's work, it's depravity and darkness. His stories usually follow characters who venture into desolate places, where humanity is descending into something devious and dark: the brothels of Cities of the Plain, the roving murderers of Blood Meridian, the cannibals who haunt the margins of The Road. Through this frightful landscape, McCarthy's lead characters do their moral wrestling, wondering if anything good remains in the darkness. His books all answer that question differently, though (I would argue) rarely without some measure of hope.

Fire and Light

Reading McCarthy's books, you'll observe a theme of fire and light in his books. "Carrying the fire" is discussed often in The Road, a shorthand way that the father speaks to his son about maintaining dignity, humanity, and courage in the midst of apocalyptic anarchy. That theme appears in No Country for Old Men and The Border Trilogy as well---the thread of hope for humanity appears as light flickering in the darkness. In Suttree, the lead character is a remarkably decent man, living among a collection of amusing and broken miscreants.

The standout in McCarthy's work is nature itself. Humanity is dark and prone to great, catastrophic evil, but nature is profoundly beautiful in McCarthy's. His eloquence comes alive when he talks about rivers and streams, horses and fish. The final few sentences of The Road contain a description of trout that, if you've ever caught one and held it in your hand under the summer sun, is absolutely perfect.

Where to Begin

Perhaps the easiest introduction to McCarthy is The Border Trilogy, three books set in the early 1900s, as the American cowboy disappears. The first book, All the Pretty Horses, is a tragic love story starring John Grady Cole, a prototypical heroic cowboy who goes to Mexico in search of work. The description of Cole breaking a whole herd of wild horses in a single day is some of McCarthy's most beautiful work.

The rest of the trilogy is equally good. The third volume, Cities of the Plain, may be my favorite McCarthy novel, but I wouldn't suggest reading it apart from the others.

The Road is his most recent novel, and flows out of his relationship with his young son. The dialogue between father and son, journeying through an apocalypse-burnt American South, is stark and authentic. They are running from death, chased at times by cult-like bands of cannibals and slave traders. The black sky rains ash all day. Strangely, this heartbreaking book is one of his most human and hopeful.

True Sound

McCarthy certainly isn't for everyone. Some will be utterly disturbed by his violence. Others may be merely irritated by the lack of punctuation or his downward-moving story arcs.

But if you're like me, McCarthy's work will sound true. The tragedies of John Grady Cole and Ed Tom Bell will sound like stories we've heard a hundred times. The violence of the curse will leave us shaking our heads, and the power of a horse will take our breath away. Loss will sting and leave us feeling empty, and a simple meal like beans and tortillas will taste like manna. Life will sometimes feel like it's all darkness, death, consequences, and judgment, but a thread of light will flicker through. McCarthy helps us see that, and through his stories, helps us feel it and articulate it in new ways.

John Piper once said on Twitter "Cormac McCarthy is to the American literary canon what Judges is to the the biblical canon." I couldn't agree more.

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Evangelicals have a peculiar relationship with the doctrine of the Trinity.

Defined nearly as much by the way they hold their values and beliefs as the beliefs themselves, evangelicals value the Bible as God's distinct self-revelation. They are people of the Book, and therefore, if it's evangelical, it is usually going to be biblical. And yet, the formulation of the creedal doctrine of the Trinity that came down from Nicaea isn't stated in the Bible.

Excellent proposals have recently been provided for understanding how the triune God reveals himself as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit in Scripture, including these:

• Andreas J. Köstenberger and Scott R. Swain, Father, Son and Spirit: The Trinity and John's Gospel (IVP, 2008)
• R. Kendall Soulen, The Divine Name(s) and the Holy Trinity: Distinguishing the Voices (WJK, 2011)

But the manner in which evangelicals arrive at the doctrine has been contested. Such a predicament led some early Pentecostals to break ranks with orthodox Pentecostals over the doctrine of the Trinity and have only recently begun to discuss their theological differences. A revealing 2008 report published in the academic journal Pneuma shows that Oneness scholars almost conceded to an inexplicable threeness in God's being, while the trinitarians allowed that the language of "persons" is not sacred in trinitarian theology. These were significant steps to clarifying positions on the doctrine of the Trinity.

Aside from a few exceptions, however, evangelicals have not often given much thought to their articulation of trinitarian doctrine. In the 20th century, evangelical theologians used the doctrine for almost exclusively apologetic purposes. Today, in independent evangelical churches and institutions of higher learning, the trinitarian articles in their doctrinal statements are often haphazardly constructed, and rarely seem to receive much attention. Yet while the doctrine itself often remained underexplored, evangelical theology was always assumed to be "solidly trinitarian." Only rarely was this affirmation moved to the front and center of evangelical confession, as it was in the case of the 1989 insertion of the explicit affirmation of the doctrine of the Trinity into the Evangelical Theological Society's Doctrinal Basis. Otherwise, the doctrine has more often been assumed rather than defended or explicitly and thoroughly appropriated.

There are exceptions to this, of course, as Fred Sanders has recently shown in his remarkably helpful and highly accessible work The Deep Things of God: How the Trinity Changes Everything (Crossway). This book shows not only that evangelicalism is tacitly trinitarian but also how some notable leaders within the tradition (e.g., Susanna Wesley, Nicky Cruz, and Francis Schaeffer) devoted meaningful attention to the doctrine. Nevertheless, these are rare exceptions that reveal an unfortunate feature of evangelical theology.

Second Rank

Suggested by some as being a legacy of Calvin to locate Scripture at the beginning of doctrinal formulation---as he did in the Institutes---evangelicals have often followed suit, relegating the doctrine of the Trinity to second rank. I suspect this move, along with the doctrine of the Trinity relegated to having primarily apologetic import, has also caused evangelicals to wonder where to locate the doctrine in their own formulation and articulation of the gospel.

Recent evangelical publications have tended to belabor this point about the difficulty or inaccessibility or impracticality of the doctrine, thus denying the church the benefits of sustained reflection on the ineffably sublime triune God on the basis of what he has done in Christ. Recent studies within leading evangelical institutions have even defined major stalwarts of late 20th-century evangelicalism as "sub-trinitarian." After surveying the writings of John Stott, Alister McGrath concluded, "There is no sense, at least in Stott, that the Trinity is the cornerstone of evangelical identity." Evangelical organizations like InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and the Evangelical Free Church of America have recently corrected some of this negligence by reasserting the doctrine of the Trinity's primary significance in Christian confession, locating it as the primary article in their respective statements of faith. Some new collaborative organizations (including The Gospel Coalition) have also located the doctrine of the Trinity front and center, a promising move for evangelical confession.

Assumed Then Lost

The trinitarian underemphasis has generated some of the confusion that presently exists within evangelicalism, especially among those who otherwise share many core and common doctrinal convictions and commitments. And yet, on a much larger scale, this may be a similar feature to the oft-quoted quip from Don Carson, that when the gospel (in this case: the triune nature of the God of the gospel) is assumed, the passion is lost in proclamation, and could likely be lost within a generation.

I shudder to think how long and for how many generations evangelicals have "assumed" the doctrine of the Trinity. While any genuine salvific movement of God in the world always gives birth to trinitarian faith, tacit trinitarianism is not satisfactory for evangelical theology. Instead, the doctrine of the Trinity ought to inform everything---in theology, ministry, ethics, and all of life.

This trinitarian paucity may have resulted from evangelicalism's focus on other emphases, such as world evangelism and biblical scholarship. And yet, recent work from a number of missional and biblical theologians has shown strong efforts to be more trinitarian in emphasis and outlook. A leading example is the work of Christopher J. H. Wright and his recent efforts with The Cape Town Commitment. Additionally, the following publications offer some of the best trinitarian engagement in recent years:

• Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Remythologizing Theology: Divine Action, Passion, and Authorship (CUP, 2010)
• Stephen R. Holmes, The Holy Trinity: Understanding God's Life (UK: Paternoster, 2012; US: IVP, 2012)
• Keith E. Johnson, Rethinking the Trinity and Religious Pluralism: An Augustinian Assessment (IVP, 2011)

The difficulties between evangelicals and the Trinity are simply part of the present state of evangelical identity---an identity inherited from the particular 20th-century emphases within evangelical theology. We should therefore not be surprised by confusion or lack of nuance, even among some of our best teachers and leaders. This is our situation. We can do better, and have begun to in very hopeful ways.

There is still much more to say by way of understanding the nature of the triune God, the divine life, and God's working in the world. Of all people evangelicals shouldn't be afraid of further development in our doctrines of the Trinity, as we hold out hope in the gospel of the triune God who passionately loves the world.

Image is everything in modern culture. Take for instance the shopping mall. More than showcasing merchandise, malls resemble ancient temples or medieval cathedrals---places of worship where the spirit is lifted. Along with designer jeans and exotic coffees, you can fashion for yourself an improved image, one in which people take pride.

Concern for image sometimes reveals itself in ways that are less than subtle. Consider, for instance, the following personal ad from New York magazine:

Strikingly Beautiful: Ivy League graduate. Playful, passionate, perceptive, elegant, bright, articulate, original in mind, unique in spirit. I possess a rare balance of beauty and depth, sophistication and earthiness, seriousness and a love of fun. Professionally successful, perfectly capable of being self-sufficient and independent, but I won't be truly content until we find each other. . . . Please reply with a substantial letter describing your background and who you are. Photo essential.

Over and against such blatant hubris, there is a concern for image that is not only acceptable, it is actually basic to our Christian identity and calling. The apostle Paul says, "Christ is the visible image of the invisible God" (Col 1:15). To properly understand what this means, we must consider God's original creation of Adam and Eve in the Garden---the place where image projection started.

Angled Mirrors

Created in God's image, Adam and Eve were like angled mirrors. Positioned faithfully beneath God, a visage of holiness shone down upon them and reflected outward to the world. Unfortunately, the first couple committed treason against the Creator, and, with fruit juice on their lips, the image of Adam and Eve was shattered. In shame they were expelled from the garden, unable to convey divine holiness and as they had previously. This legacy of disgrace is our birthright.

With such a shameful heritage, the human race desperately seeks to restore its shattered image by grasping the world's possessions. Money, leisure, sex, power, fashion, corporate promotions, and fame all promise wholeness. Like wild elephants, we charge toward these allurements. Many people reach the end of their lives surrounded by these hollow icons to find that the promise of fulfillment was a cruel sham.

Thankfully, God doesn't leave his creation to die in deception, duped by illusory hopes. Jesus, the visible image of God's glory, personally addressed our problem. As God's Son projected divine beauty and holiness, he did something that virtually no one anticipated---he died. As a substitute for humanity, the love of God went to the Cross.

Our Vocation

The work of Christ has direct bearing upon humanity's image problem. In the resurrection, God inaugurated an end-time renewal of the world, providing liberation from the seduction of self and the worship of cultural icons. In Christ, the Church emanates divine grace and truth, which is our vocation.

We would do well to consider the kind of Christian image that we are projecting. Intentionally or not, we reveal something; does our image reflect Christ, or is it a semi-religious version of society? Are we an angled mirror postured beneath the Lord, or a vanity mirror standing at attention before the world? The former is captive to the liberating rule of Christ and mediates divine truth. The latter masquerades as freedom and flaunts the ephemeral whims of self.

We can improve our reflection of Christ by observing a four-fold routinethat entails reading, reflection, prayer, and witness. Reading is the thoughtful study of Scripture that seeks to grasp its truth. Reflection considers how society displays or lacks this truth. Prayer is turning one's volition toward the God of Truth. Witness reflects truth into the world. You might say reading ingests the fruit; reflection chews it; prayer savors it; witness extends its nourishment to neighbors. Further still, reading pursues the sweetness; reflection understands it; prayer asks for it; witness shares it.

Reading

As we read Scripture, it is like placing a freshly picked grape into the mouth. The sweetness of divine revelation opens ours eyes to recognize our identity in Christ. Paul says, "And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another, for this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit" (2 Cor. 3:18). In the background of this text is Moses. When Moses spoke with God in the Tent of Meeting, his face was physically transformed. In time, shining face became a symbol of renewal in the faith of Israel: "The LORD make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace (Num. 6:25-26).

According to Paul, Israel's awaited hope of renewal was properly fulfilled in Jesus. When we encounter Christ in his Word, the idolatry of self and the surrounding culture loses its seductive appeal.

Reflection

Have you ever been surprised by how much juice is contained in a little grape? Even more surprising is the amount of flavor that is generated by slowly savoring its flavor. The longer we hold its juices on the pallet, the more flavor is produced. Conversely, the one who hastily rolls the grape across his tongue and into the throat is unfamiliar with such pleasure. He has eaten the grape but not tasted it. Reflection is concerned with savoring the truth of Scripture for all it is worth.

Opinions differ as to the hallmark of reflection. The Jewish tradition helps us appreciate memorization; others emphasize the practice of repetition and visualization. I would like to suggest that in addition to these, a crucial part of reflection involves relating Scriptural truth to what we observe in society. Borrowing the title of John Stott's book on preaching, it is living "between two worlds," with one eye on the ancient text and the other on the values and practices of our day. Reflection considers how the kingdoms of Christ and this world relate.

Prayer

The human soul humbles itself in prayer, seeing that it is powerless to grasp the sweetness of God in its own strength. Like those who would pass through the Church of the Nativity's so-called Door of Humility, the small rectangular entrance created in Ottoman times, a requisite posture of submission must be assumed. In doing so, God's people are positioned to properly fulfill our calling.

After reading Scripture and considering how it speaks to society, we are compelled to pray. Prayer recognizes that we are incapable of advancing God's kingdom without the animating movement of the Spirit, a movement that is invisible to the naked eye, but perceived in prayer.

Witness

The love and compassion of God would have us savor the sweetness of grace to our soul's delight; however, we are never permitted to hoard it. Having read Scripture, related its truth to society, and bathed it in prayer, we are poised to serve as a witness.

Have you ever wondered why the world doesn't recognize the beauty of Christ? Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 4:4, "The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God." This is the reason: blindness. Divine light shines, but the darkness doesn't comprehend it.

On account of sin, the human heart gravitates toward idolatry over God's image. Interestingly, the terms idol and image are cut from the same bolt of lexical fabric; that is, depending on context, the Hebrew word tselem and the Greek eikon can both be rendered either "image" or "idol." It is probably true that this principle also applies to us. Very often, depending on our situation, we will reflect one way or the other: Christ's beauty or selfish pride, toward salvation or damnation.

Still Hope

Even though society is unable to recognize God's glory in the face of Jesus Christ, and our role of reflecting it is flawed, there is still hope, for the light of salvation doesn't emerge from darkness but rather proceeds into it. This is the essence of image reflection. Through the church's proclamation of the gospel, truth about Christ's kingdom radiates into society. In this way, God displays his victory over idols and provides renewal to languishing lives. Shattered men and women are transformed and eternally captivated by the beauty of the Savior.

As a Christian, I would like to submit a personal ad to New York magazine:

Strikingly Beautiful: Encountered in the Bible, desperately needed, energized with supernatural power, died for your sins, rose from the dead and eager to embrace with eternal love all who draw near to him---Jesus the Christ.

This is why Christian image is everything.

Tim R. from Lafayette, Louisiana:

What does Peter mean when he writes that God rescued a righteous Lot, who was greatly distressed by the sensual conduct of the wicked (2 Pet 2:7)? How does this square with what we read in Genesis 19?

We asked for a response from Chris Bruno (PhD, Wheaton College), academic dean for the Antioch School Hawaii and a pastor for Harbor Church in Honolulu.

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I have to confess that 2 Peter 2:7 has always perplexed me. When you read Genesis 19 and the account of God's judgment on Sodom and Gomorrah, there is not a whole lot that would lead you to think that "righteous Lot" was "greatly distressed by the sensual conduct of the wicked," as Peter puts it.

In Genesis 19, Lot is living in Sodom with seemingly little trouble sleeping at night. As many commentators point out, he was sitting at the city gate (Gen 19:1), which indicates that he had some level of influence in the city. While there is certainly nothing wrong with gaining influence in a city full of sinners (in fact, we should aim to do this more today), nothing in the text indicates that Lot was working to reform the city for the kingdom of God.

Also, while he does insist on showing the strangers who had come to visit hospitality, he also offers his virgin daughters in place of his neighbors' lustful demands to sleep with the strangers. Beyond this, Lot's daughters get him drunk so he can father his own grandsons in the last part of the chapter. I don't think we can sweep any of this under the rug very easily.  So, at least in Genesis 19, the evidence certainly leans against seeing Lot as righteous. Then how can Peter call him "Righteous Lot"?

I think the key to this puzzle is found in Genesis 19:29: "So it was that, when God destroyed the cities of the valley, God remembered Abraham and sent Lot out of the midst of the overthrow when he overthrew the cities in which Lot had lived."

When we connect the dots, we discover that Lot was righteous because of the gospel. In Genesis 15:6, we find that Abraham believed God and this was counted to him as righteousness. That is to say, Abraham was justified by faith and, as we see in Genesis 12-17, the Abrahamic covenant is a testimony to justification by faith. Paul seems to say as much in Romans 4 and Galatians 3.

So then, when Genesis 19:29 says "God remembered Abraham," I think we might have a clue on the way to figuring out how Lot was in fact righteous. I don't think we can say that when God remembered Abraham, Abraham's righteousness through faith was imputed to Lot. Rather, God remembering Abraham refers to at least two things: First, Abraham was indeed righteous through faith, and found favor with God. Because of this, Lot's rescue was in some sense for the benefit of Abraham. It was clearly an answer to Abraham's prayers in Gen 18:22-33.

But that still does not explain 2 Peter 2:7. In fact, Peter goes on to say that Lot was tormented "over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard" (2 Pet 2:8). So, on the basis of 2 Peter, we must conclude that there is more than simply God's favor to Abraham at work in Genesis 19. I think that when God remembered Abraham, he was not just remembering Abraham as an individual. So then, the second way that God remembered Abraham was by remembering the covenant with Abraham and the promise that, as Paul puts it, all those of faith are the sons of Abraham (Galatians 3:9).

So then how was Lot righteous? Lot was righteous in the same way that you and I are righteous---by trusting in the God of Abraham. God remembered Abraham (Gen 19:29), whose faith was counted to him as righteousness (Gen 15:6). The only biblically consistent answer to the question of how Lot was righteous (2 Pet 2:7) is that he, like Abraham, believed God. Lot was righteous not because he acted perfectly in the incident with the two strangers in Genesis 19---far from it. But we know from Peter that he was troubled by the sin he saw around him day after day.

I'd suggest what we need to do is read the Bible canonically in this situation. We can see in Genesis 19:29 that God's faithfulness to the Abrahamic covenant was the deciding factor in Lot's rescue. We know that, according to Genesis 15:6, God justifies, or makes righteous, those who have faith in his promises. So then, we can infer Lot's righteous status from Genesis. As a consequence of this, we can assume that, just as Abraham's obedience in the sacrifice of Isaac in Genesis 22 was a result of his righteous status, Lot's righteousness should also lead to obedience. Genesis leaves us wondering whether and how this might have happened.

But 2 Peter 2 confirms that Lot was indeed righteous and fills out how this righteous status affected him. He was troubled by the sin he saw around him in Sodom. However, this was not the foundation of his righteousness, but rather the result of it. Both his righteousness and ours, as 2 Peter 1:1 reminds us, is finally and fully predicated on the righteousness of our God and Savior Jesus Christ.

It seems that the only way to affirm both the account in Genesis 19 and the teaching of 2 Peter 2 is to read both in concert. And when we are reading these texts canonically and Christologically, the pieces fit together in such a way that they can only lead to one conclusion: Lot was simultaneously righteous and sinful.

And more often than I'd like to admit, I act like Lot did. I am indeed troubled by the sin I see around me in the world. But far too often, I end up responding to the sin I see around me the same way that Lot did---by sinning myself. My guess is that many Christians share this experience.

But like Lot, I have also been declared righteous. Not because of what I have done, but because of what Christ has done for me. And at the end of days, I will be proclaimed righteous because I have been united to the true Righteous One. No person is proclaimed righteous apart from Christ, but all who are in him are declared righteous along with him. This is how Lot could be righteous even in the midst of his sin. So then, 2 Peter 2:7 is a testament to audaciousness of the gospel---Peter could call a man with so many obvious flaws Righteous Lot because of the promise to Abraham. And if we are in Christ, then God has rescued us as well because he remembers his promise to Abraham.

Shrigley's doodles don't aim at aesthetics. Instead, as Jonah Weiner observes, "The overall effect is like discovering the sketchbook of a boy who taught himself to draw while locked in a basement." Brilliance.

But in another sense, Shrigley's work does aim to produce a chortle. Like the turtle who can't pass the soap because he's not a typewriter, a man in one of Shrigley's doodles is killed for wearing shorts. Chortle.

But before you roll your eyes at "what passes as art these days," consider the following.

David Shrigley is no art slack. He graduated from Glasgow School of Art, has written the libretto for an opera, published dozens of books, and has released a spoken-word CD. Not to mention that he more commonly makes a living off his photographs and sculptures.

My father once knew an artist whose paintings sold between $75,000 and $150,000 a piece. The galleries couldn't keep his pieces on the wall. Toward the end of his life, the caliber of his art dropped substantially, but the prices stayed the same---in fact, his rising age seem to heighten the need to grab a piece. The running joke was that his name-value replaced the art-value, and the old man spent more time on his signature than his craft. Behind every painting was the message: Fooled you!

One wonders if this is the mischievous plot behind Shrigley's art. Doodling about "death, weird sex, and cruelty" changes refrigerator art to avant-garde, and every time someone says, "Mmm . . . stunning," at his Hayward Gallery exhibition in London, Shrigley snorts a little of his champagne back into his glass.

But I think there is something deeper going on.

John Updike once mused that modern art, like "pornography" or "literary fiction," is hard to define, though we all feel we know what it means. We have a sense that Shrigley's doodles should be categorized as Modern Art, but we may not be able to articulate why a 6-year-old's doodles from Sunday School can't be, also.

Let me help apply language to what we feel. A 6-year-old can't produce the irony a trained artist can. A 6-year-old can only produce art that shows her inexperience. Her art shows a desire for creativity, despite her immature sense of composition. Shrigley's art depends on a sophisticated understanding of composition and human form. It's a subtle message: I could create good art, but I won't.

But the side that Shrigley doesn't seem to notice---or doesn't care to notice---is that the very nature of his work is second rate. In other words, his deliberate "bad" art depends on the fact that "good" art exists.

At this point Christians may get a bit uncomfortable about saying anything further. We don't want to christianize the problem. Bad art is bad art and that's all there is to it. But I want to take the risk and offer some theological reflection.

Creativity and art are byproducts of men and women being created in the image of God. Andy Crouch has said that the imago dei is expressed in the fact that men and women have the power to create in a way that no other creature does. For sure, we don't have the power to create ex nihlio, but like God who created the world without becoming less of himself, Crouch argues, we can "create culture" analogously.

He gives the example of a musician giving music lessons. A musician who gives music lessons doesn't become less of a musician by helping another become more of a musician. Instead, he creates something in another person without losing something of himself.

Art is a byproduct of this reality. The ability to reflect on reality and express how you make sense of it depends upon the creative power of the imago dei. To express reality better, or at least in more ways than one, artists develop "technique." For example, Leonardo da Vinci used a sfumato technique in his famous painting "The Mona Lisa." Sfumato is a technique that resists the use of clear lines or borders. Da Vinci was expressing how we see reality and the nature of it.

In other words, art is never simply for art's sake. It is a symbol pointing to something greater than itself. But for Shrigley, his technique resists technique altogether, depreciating any greater meaning. As he puts it, "I'm just trying to draw without any consideration of craft."

But this won't work, and Shrigley knows it. Philosophers will tell you that no one who takes a pass on thinking philosophically can be exempted from making philosophical decisions; it just makes that person a bad philosopher.

Shrigley doesn't just make aesthetically irritating images. His work comes from menacing motives. This is his underlying message: I could do some good art here, but I won't, and you'll like it. Shrigley's art depends on the fact that better art exists. The institution he mocks is the ground on which he stands. Worse, though his doodles are conditioned upon the imago dei, he refuses to acknowledge it. In the end, his work tell us, "Read Romans 1."

You and I are creatures of desire. Everything you ever choose, do, or say is the product of desire. Desire not only directs your choices, it also shapes your dreams. Desire forms your moments of greatest joy and darkest grief. Desire makes you envy one person while being glad you're not another. Desire keeps you awake at night or puts you soundly to sleep. Desire makes you willing to get up in the morning or causes you to be frustrated at the end of the day. Desire makes you expectant and hopeful in one moment, and demanding and complaining in the next. Desire sometimes makes you susceptible to temptation and at other times defends you against it. Desire can lift you up to God or it can make you a willing friend of the Devil. Desire can make you celebrate or drive you to the pit of depression. Desire can make you the best of friends or cause you to drive people away. Desire can cause you to lovingly edit your words or make you let it rip with little regard for the damage your words will do. Desire will make you willing to give or cause you to hoard everything you have. Desire will cause you to submit to the King or set yourself up as king. Desire can cause you to fight for freedom or can be the very thing that causes you to be addicted. Desire can give you power or rob you of the power that could be yours. Desire is your biggest problem and one of God's sweetest graces. There is one thing for sure: your life and your ministry is always shaped by desire.

The great spiritual war being fought for control of our hearts is a war of desire. (See James 4:1-4 and 1 Peter 2:11.) Remember this biblical principle: whatever rules your heart will control your words and behavior. We do not live by instinct. We have been designed by God with the capacity to desire. This means that everything you do or say is done or spoken out of the want for something. You and I are always seeking something. You and I are always living for something. Beneath everything we do is the desire for something. Here the war of right and wrong is fought. Here the direction of our lives will be shaped. In your personal life and in crucial moments of ministry response or decision, you cannot let yourself think that the war for what is right is a war of behavior. If you fight the battle of behavior alone, the battle will not be won. You must be willing to fight the spiritual fight at the place where your behavior is formed: in the desires of the heart.

You must humbly realize that every day, in all the situations and relationships of your life, this war rages. It is about whether you will minister out of fear of man of fear of God. It is about whether you will live to possess some part of the creation or live to please the Creator. It is about whether you will minister to achieve some personal success or live in the way the Creator designed you to live. This war is about what in ministry you treasure the most. This war is about what set of desires will set the agendas for the way you respond in the pastoral situations and relationships where God has placed you.

What Do You Really Want?

I invite you to be humbly honest in this moment. What do you really want? If you were to respond to the following, how would you fill in the blanks? "If only I could have ______________ then my life would be ______________ ." It is so easy for us to say that we are living and working for God, when, in fact, at the street level our lives are often shaped by the anxious pursuit of other things. Perhaps your desire to realize ministry dreams preoccupies too much of your thinking and shapes too many of your choices. Perhaps the desire to be successful has eaten your schedule with frantic workaholism. Perhaps the desire for physical things has left you empty and in debt. Perhaps the desire to avoid ministry failure has made you more demanding and controlling than you thought you would ever be. Perhaps the desire for physical health has reduced you to fearful body self-consciousness. Perhaps the desire for control has turned you into more of a mini-messiah than a servant. Perhaps the desire for comfort and ease has caused you to be self-absorbed. Or maybe the desire to be affirmed and respected causes you to ride the roller-coaster of people's responses. Where does the war of desire rage for you?

Could you say with the psalmist, "There is nothing on earth I desire besides you"? Does this sound ethereal and impractically super-spiritual to you? Does it feel like a moral impossibility? In fact, he is expressing in a phrase exactly where God wants each of us to be. It is the reason each of us was given life and breath. We were made for God. We were created to love him above all else. We were designed to live with his glory as the single motivator of all that we do. It is why we have been called to ministry and what God wants to create in the hearts of others through us. Desire for him was intended to shape all the other desires.

It is not wrong to desire comfort, acceptance, peace, success, order, health. In fact, there would be something wrong if you did not desire these things. But these desires must never rule you, because when they do, they replace God as the ruler of your heart. Even in gospel ministry, the move from desire to idolatry is a shockingly short step.

So we all need to cry out for help once more, we all need to seek God's rescue and his power. We must all humbly admit there is evidence in our daily lives and ministries that the war of desire still rages in our hearts. There are times when Jesus is our priceless treasure, but there are other times when we would rather have other things. This means that we cannot quit seeking his help until the day when we can say with complete singleness of heart, "There is nothing on earth I desire besides you."

But controversy can also provide a teaching moment, not least because the interest of many people is focused on the disputed issues. It is hard to deny that such a moment has arrived. We would like to offer some theological reflections on six conceptual pairings. We have learned over the past few decades that clear thought about the six pairings we are about to comment on is not easy. Others may be able to improve upon our musings, or even correct them. Still, we hope that the following theological reflections will clarify at least a few issues for some people.

1. Persons and Manifestations

What is at stake in the distinction? Toward the end of the second century and right through the third century, a number of thinkers defended a modal Trinity: the one God disclosed in three modes or manifestations. These people were variously called Unitarians, Patripassians (because they believed the Father suffered), or Sabellians (after Sabellius, a presbyter in Ptolemais, c. AD 250). They defended the deity of Christ (and on this one point aligned with historic Christian belief), but they denied personal distinctions in the Godhead. In their view, the one and the same person is simultaneously Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. These labels express the different relations that God sustains with the world and the church, just as do other labels (e.g., Creator, King, Sustainer). But one cannot say that God the Creator addresses God the King: there is only one person. So on this view, the one person, God, has revealed himself in various manifestations or modes (hence this view is sometimes called modalism); we are not dealing with one God who has disclosed himself to be three persons, each of whom can and does address the other. It was not long before the church roundly condemned modalism, not least because Scripture is replete with passages in which, for instance, the Father addresses the Son, and the Son the Father.

When orthodox believers sought language to summarize the idea that each person of the Godhead is a self-conscious agent (the Latin category is suppositum intelligens), in the Greek part of the ancient world they first settled on prosōpon ("face"). But the Sabellians understood the same word to mean something like "aspect," and they defended the view that God revealed himself under a threefold aspect. Eventually the orthodox settled on hypostasis. Among the Latin speakers, Christians settled on substantia or persona---and hence our English word "person." (See chart below.) Christian thinkers have argued for centuries exactly how we should understand persona in Latin and "person" in English, but the very least that had to be affirmed was the deeply entrenched biblical reality that the "persons" of the Godhead interact with one another, address one another, love one another, in a "personal" way.

Terms Expressing God's Oneness and Threeness

(This chart is from John M. Frame, The Doctrine of God, A Theology of Lordship [Phillipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian & Reformed, 2002], 697; see pp. 696-705.) Of course, the doctrine of the Trinity is much richer than these few lines suggest. As Christians in the third and fourth century studied the biblical evidence, they insisted that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit express necessary, internal, and eternal relations in the Godhead. Today, of course, we sometimes quickly summarize the doctrine of the Trinity: the Father is God, the Son is God, the Holy Spirit is God, and there is but one God. That is true as far as it goes, but it does not guard very well against modalism. The early church taught "that the Father eternally, necessarily, and incomprehensibly communicates the divine essence to the Son without division or change so that the Son shares an equality of nature with the Father yet is also distinct from the Father" (this is the careful summary of Keith E. Johnson, "Augustine, Eternal Generation, and Evangelical Trinitarianism," TrinJ 32 [2011]: 141-163). The language of "communication" was judged crucial: the essence is absolute and communicable, and the early church fathers spoke of this communication in terms of the eternal generation of the Son, while the person is incommunicable, i.e., it cannot be shared. So while one joyfully confesses that the Son is God and the Father is God, the church throughout its history has equally insisted that the Son is not the Father and the Father is not the Son. The church needs a robust Trinitarianism to avoid modalism on the one hand and tritheism on the other.

Had we the space and time, it would be delightful to justify this synthesis by providing the exegesis of many passages, and then extend the discussion from Father and Son to the Spirit. Someone might ask, "But what does it matter?" The answer is twofold: (1) If this summary accurately captures at least some of the glorious truth of the nature of the Godhead, to abandon it is to abandon a true understanding of God. If we are to worship God aright, we must worship him as he is, as he has disclosed himself to us. The only alternative is to worship a god who is progressively false as our understanding skews away from the truth. (2) Various truths connected with the gospel itself become incoherent if one abandons robust Trinitarianism. The Father sends the Son; the Son demonstrates his love for the Father by obeying him all the way to the cross; the Son addresses his Father in the anguished cry, "My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?"; the Father gives the elect to the Son; in the plan of God, the Son propitiates the wrath of God and expiates sin; in the wake of his ascension and session at the Father's right hand, the Son reigns as the Father's mediatorial king until he has crushed all opponents, when he will turn the entire scope over to his Father; indeed, when the Son "offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death . . . he was heard because of his reverent submission" (Heb 5:7). None of these relational displays---and there are many others in the drama of redemption---is coherent under modalism. These relations are tied up with the nature of the Godhead. It is not surprising that those who adopt modalism habitually slide toward a diminished gospel.

In his Institutes, John Calvin sums it up: "Say that in the one essence of God there is a trinity of persons: you will say in one word what Scripture says, and cut short empty talkativeness." He then adds that, in his experience, those who "persistently quarrel" over these words "nurse a secret poison" (I.13.5).

2. Biblicism One and Biblicism Two

In the recent Elephant Room (hereafter ER2), T. D. Jakes says that he affirms that God is three persons, but he prefers to speak of three manifestations---and then he provides a text to justify this conclusion: "God was manifest in the flesh" (1 Tim 3:16 KJV). As Pastor Jakes points out, that is what Paul says, and surely we do not want to write Paul off as a modalist, do we? Isn't Pastor Jakes making a biblical argument? Don't Christians want to defend such committed biblicism?

It is important to untangle this argument in two steps.

First, Pastor Jakes says that he affirms that God is three persons. In ER2, he affirms it again, somewhat laconically, when asked the question directly. We are delighted to hear it. Moreover, he states that some Oneness Pentecostals now think him a heretic because of it. Of course, the Oneness Pentecostal movement has various strands. Some think of him as a heretic, while others in the movement think he is acceptable, even heroic, because at the same time he says he prefers to speak of three manifestations. That must be very reassuring to "soft" Oneness Pentecostals. But the response is deeply disturbing. What does Pastor Jakes mean?

He might mean one of several things. We'll mention three. (a) He may mean, "Words don't matter very much; I can go with 'persons' or 'manifestations,' and I prefer the latter." As one commentator has put it, "It's just semantics." But words do matter, because they are used to express truth and falsehood. In our first pairing, we tried to show that our very understanding of God is bound up with these words, and with it the gospel. Historically, the expressions have not meant the same thing. If Pastor Jakes can use either expression, which one does he mean? (b) He might mean that he is a Trinitarian, but that he prefers the language of manifestations. But why does he prefer the latter terminology? Because he is unaware of the historic debates and their doctrinal significance? Because he wants to appeal to the "soft" Oneness folk? And if the latter, how is he weaning them away from false doctrine if he continues to use the terminology that is associated in their minds with Oneness theology? (c) Or is he really a modalist who concedes "person" language now and then, even though he prefers "manifestations," in order to be acceptable in a wider circle?

The short answer is, we don't know.

In a much-quoted statement deriving from 2000, Pastor Jakes says he believes that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit have "distinct and separate functions. . . . [E]ach has individual attributes." Let's give him the benefit of the doubt for a moment. It would be good to ask him some other questions, such as, "Do you think the Son existed, as the Son, before he was sent by his Father into the world [John 3:17]?" Just when our sense of charity hopes that Pastor Jakes really is Trinitarian in his thought but sadly untaught, he adds (in that same 2000 interview) that the discussion is guilty of "splitting hairs" and "semantics": no one is dying for lack of theology---they die for lack of love. Suddenly all our questions surface again. Of course people can die for lack of love; but they can also die for lack of theology. If our theology of God is very wide of the mark, we are believing in a false god. And Paul knows that a "gospel" that is no gospel at all is dangerous, and even dares to pronounce an anathema on those who preach a false gospel (Gal 1:8-9). We no more dare excuse bad or slippery theology in the name of love than we dare excuse brittle lovelessness in the name of orthodoxy.

Meanwhile, we remain uncertain if Pastor Jakes holds to a robust Trinitarianism or not. Sometimes he seems to, as when he observes, quite rightly, that the Father addresses the Son at his baptism. But then again, he prefers to speak of manifestations.

That brings us to the second step: his appeal to 1 Timothy 3:16. "God was manifest in the flesh" (KJV): apparently Pastor Jakes, not to mention some of his post-ER2 supporters, thinks this line supports his preference for three manifestations rather than three persons. It does no such thing; this is scandalously bad exegesis. Note: (a) For this verse to support the preference for manifestations terminology, it would have to support the proposition that God was manifest in the Father, God was manifest in the Son, and God was manifest in the Spirit---for that is what the "manifestations" terminology, applied to the Godhead, is all about. (b) In other words, the "manifest" verb in 1 Timothy 3:16 is not a technical expression justifying three "manifestations," but common language that means God displayed himself in the flesh or expressed himself in the flesh or appeared in the flesh. That is why the NIV renders the passage, "He appeared in the flesh." Should we conclude that this rendering, perfectly accurate, justifies a theory of three appearances?

Now we are getting to the nub of the issue in this second pairing. There is a kind of appeal to Scripture, a kind of biblicism---let's call it Biblicism One---that seems to bow to what Scripture says but does not listen to the text very closely and is almost entirely uninformed by how thoughtful Christians have wrestled with these same texts for centuries. There is another kind of biblicism---let's call it Biblicism Two---that understands the final authority in divine revelation to lie in Scripture traceable to the God who has given it, but understands also that accurate understanding of that Scripture is never supported by bad exegesis and always enriched by the work of Christian thinkers who have gone before.

Here is where the distinction becomes interesting. Neither the terminology of "manifestations" preferred by Oneness Pentecostals and other modalists nor the terminology of "persons" supported by historic creeds is directly used in Scripture. Where does it come from? It comes from thinkers two or three centuries after the New Testament was written who were doing their best to summarize large tracks of biblical themes and texts in faithful, accurate summaries, even if the terminology was not directly dependent on the terminology of a specific verse or two. History has shown, for the reasons briefly set forth in our first pairing, that the terminology of "manifestations" was soundly trounced and declared heretical: it simply could not be squared with what the Bible says. The "persons" terminology prevailed (along with words like "subsistence") not because it derived directly from usage in the biblical documents themselves, but because it could be shown that this terminology did a great job of summarizing what the Bible actually says.

If you don't like this example, it is easy to find others. The doctrine of justification, for example, was not invented in Reformation times. Tom Oden (The Justification Reader [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002]) has amply demonstrated how justification was discussed in the patristic period. Nevertheless, in God's providence the disputes of sixteenth-century Europe provided much more intense study of these matters than what was undertaken in previous centuries. The result was much more exegetical rigor and theological synthesis. Just as the Christological and Trinitarian disputes of the third and fourth centuries generated syntheses that were actually grounded in the Bible and designed to reject false teaching, so the justification debates did something analogous in the sixteenth century. Just as the Christological debates generated theological terms like "essence" and "person," belonging to the domain of systematic theology yet actually reflecting faithful biblical synthesis, so the justification debates generated theological terms that analyzed "faith" under rubrics like notitia (the content of faith), assensus (confidence that this faith-content is true), and fiducia (trust in the true content of faith such that it changes how you live).

To attempt theological interpretation without reference to such developments is part and parcel of Biblicism One; to attempt theological interpretation that is self-consciously aware of such developments and takes them into account is part and parcel of Biblicism Two. We hasten to add that both Biblicism One and Biblicism Two insist that final authority rests with the Bible. All the theological syntheses are in principle revisible. Yet the best of these creeds and confessions have been grounded in such widespread study, discussion, debate, and testing against Scripture that to ignore them tends to cut oneself off from the entire history of Christian confessionalism. The Bible remains theoretically authoritative (Biblicism One), but in fact it is being manipulated and pummeled by private interpretations cut off from the common heritage of all Christians.

Some months ago, James MacDonald wrote:

I affirm the doctrine of the Trinity as I find it in Scripture. I believe it is clearly presented but not detailed or nuanced. I believe God is very happy with His Word as given to us and does not wish to update or clarify anything that He has purposefully left opaque. Somethings [sic] are stark and immensely clear, such as the deity of Jesus Christ; others are taught but shrouded in mystery, such as the Trinity. I do not trace my beliefs to creedal statements that seek clarity on things the Bible clouds with mystery. I do not require T. D. Jakes or anyone else to define the details of Trinitarianism the way that I might. His [Jakes's] website states clearly that he believes God has existed eternally in three manifestations.

This, of course, is Biblicism One. As a statement about the location of final authority, it is as admirable as Biblicism Two. The thing to note is that it uses the language of "three manifestations," which is not found in Scripture, so while claiming the authority of Biblicism One it is nevertheless sanctioning post-biblical categories. We simply cannot escape the fact that our linguistic labels are shaped by prior discussion. But if the statement had taken into account the detailed discussions about "manifestations" that have informed Christian reflection since the fourth century, the author would have insisted that "manifestations" is not an acceptable way to talk about the Godhead, and that there are detailed reasons for preferring "persons"---reasons that are grounded not in arbitrary or personal semantic preference, but in words that have been used to summarize large swaths of Christian teaching about God and which are faithful to this synthesis.

Several Christians challenged James on these matters, and James accepted the correction with humility and grace, and soon came down off that ledge. We want to give him full credit for that. Not all Christian leaders could have accepted the correction as well, and we are only bringing it up as an instructive example. Yet that is the ledge on which T. D. Jakes seems currently to be perched. His commitment to Biblicism One does not mean that he is, in the best sense, "biblical," and his handling of 1 Timothy 3:16 on a topic of this importance is not reassuring.

3. Prosperity Gospel and Empowerment

ER2 addressed many pastorally interesting and useful topics. Quite a number of commentators, however, have expressed disappointment that no one pushed T. D. Jakes on his apparent support for the prosperity gospel.

Pastor Jakes prefers to think that what he is preaching is a kind of empowerment to oppressed people rather than a prosperity gospel. The distinction is an important one. The Bible supports a certain kind of empowerment; indeed, one and the same gospel tends to build up the oppressed and slap down the haughty. On the one hand, James 1:9 says, "Believers in humble circumstances ought to take pride in their high position." Believers who are dirt poor, ill, dismissed as nothing in society, are nevertheless already children of the King of kings, and will, with Lazarus, one day lie on Abraham's bosom (Luke 16:19-37). On the other hand, James 1:10-11 says, "But the rich should take pride in their humiliation [Isn't that a delightful phrase, worthy of much reflection?]---since they will pass away like a wild flower. For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich will fade away even while they go about their business." At least some applications of the gospel will be a little different where there is a congregation of broken, indigent people as compared with where there is a congregation of wealthy, successful people.

Yet it is easy to hide a prosperity gospel under the much more acceptable banner of merely empowering the broken. There are two ways to tell. First, discover whether the eternal and universal realities of the gospel "once for all entrusted to God's holy people" (Jude 3)---not just some of them---lie at the center of what is being preached. Second, find out how much of the "empowerment" focuses on material health and prosperity in this life. Since his breakthrough book, Woman, Thou Art Loosed, Pastor Jakes has left an impressive trail of books and downloads to enable you to assess such matters for yourself. Moreover, the 9Marks website offers penetrating and careful reviews of most the books that Pastor Jakes has written. As far as the evidence goes, we do not see how it is unfair to characterize the burden of much of his ministry as a combination of prosperity gospel and moralizing personal improvement.

4. Love and Truth

A fair bit has been posted on the lovelessness of TGC in general and of some of its members in particular. We cannot help but notice that there are two categories of charges that contradict each other somewhat. On the one hand, we love issues more than people; we should be reconcilers, not haters; we are called to love one another, and we are failing in this regard. On the other hand, quite a few bloggers have criticized TGC for being too silent: in a word, we are cowards instead of standing up for the truth, caving in to megachurch pastors instead of speaking the truth.

We are not above reproach in either direction. All of us will answer to God on the last day; on a much shorter scale, the Council of the Coalition will certainly weigh very carefully at our May meeting what we have and have not done. What we are quite certain of, however, is that the apostle who so movingly writes 1 Corinthians 13 also writes many things about the non-negotiability of the truth of the gospel. He can be surprisingly patient with preachers with bad motives provided that what they preach is the gospel (Phil 1), but when the Jesus who is being preached is "a Jesus other than the Jesus we preached," Paul can label the preachers "false apostles" who are "masquerading as apostles of Christ" (2 Cor 11) and insist that the Corinthians expel them.

What that means, of course, is that Christian leaders are charged with discerning when and how the tough line must be taken. Even when discipline is demanded, it should never be vituperative. But to appeal to the many passages that exhort us to love without simultaneously thinking through the many passages that bind us to uphold the truth is not only one-sided, it is in danger of being manipulative: if you do not agree with me, you are unloving. Of course, the manipulation can run the other way: if you do not reject this person or this position, you do not care for the truth.

The most recent biography Iain Murray has written is the life of Archibald Brown, one of the successors of Charles Spurgeon. Murray gives us a thumb-nail sketch of the Downgrade controversy (something he filled out in more detail in his earlier volume, The Forgotten Spurgeon). Spurgeon, Brown, and others were increasingly concerned by the effect of German rationalism on Baptist churches in England. What is so striking is how often their opponents charged Spurgeon and his friends with lovelessness, arrogance, old-fashioned small-mindedness---often in a singularly unloving way---without ever engaging the matters of substance. Here, for example, is the Nonconformist and Independent for 17 November, 1887: "Mr Spurgeon and those who follow him seem to be intent upon accentuating the differences of Nonconformists, instead of seeking to draw nearer to each other by unity with their Lord." So the issue Spurgeon thought important is not taken up, but Spurgeon himself is divisive. It is easy to multiply historical examples of this sort.

Those who take up important theological issues must do so in love, examining their own hearts, avoiding snarkiness and oneupmanship; those who appeal to love and unity need to actually engage with the issues, refusing to duck them.

5. Racism and Playing the Race Card

Doubtless this is the most delicate, sensitive, and complicated of the issues that have arisen, and we do not want to add to the confusion by saying too much or too little, or by writing with the wrong tone. But it would be irresponsible if we said nothing.

About three weeks ago the majority of the African American Council members of TGC made it clear that they felt the white members, not least the leadership, were more sensitive to white theological issues than to black theological issues. After all, TGC had mounted an informed, careful, and bold response to Rob Bell when the incipient universalism of his latest book started to receive national attention and threaten the truth of Scripture and the nature of the gospel. Our African American brothers pointed out, however, that Rob Bell is not perceived to be a great threat in African American circles. But these brothers felt pretty strongly that T. D. Jakes is a huge issue in their circles. On this issue, they thought, TGC was insensitive to what they thought of as a much greater threat.

There were about ten of us involved in those discussions. As soon as matters were articulated like that, the white men among us could not help but see that the charge was justified. Insensitivity on matters of race can be such a subtle thing. By and large, white Christian leaders tend to think that racism is no longer a huge issue, while black Christian leaders tend to think it remains a huge issue: even our perceptions of the significance of the problem are not on the same page. But in this case we caught a glimpse of something that we knew theoretically, but were now seeing up front: there is still a lot of hidden culpable insensitivity around until we are no less eager to engage the "other's" concerns than our own.

Of course, the issue was complicated by at least two other factors. First, not all African American members saw things the same way. But why should that surprise us? Not all white Christians see things the same way, either. Still, the clear majority of our African American brothers on the Council let us know, rightly, that they were upset. And we judged we had clearly been in the wrong. Second, in one way, of course, this issue was different from Rob Bell's book, in that there had been no member of the Council who was committed to exploring how acceptable Rob Bell's theology might be within historic confessionalism, but there were some members of the Council who were committed to exploring T. D. Jakes in this way. But that meant, of course, that the racial insensitivity issue that the majority of our African American brothers on the Council brought up was linked with Jakes's modalist heritage and his prosperity gospel, which in the words of a couple of them, was "ravaging" the black churches. From their perspective, some of them had paid considerable cost for publicly standing against Pastor Jakes. They had done so precisely because their minds and hearts had been captured by the glorious gospel of the blessed God---and when they needed the most support, the white brothers were letting them down. Suddenly all the theological "pairings" we have articulated in this blogpost were linked together.

Subtleties and ironies surfaced everywhere in the subsequent developments. Some wanted to give T. D. Jakes a pass on the ground that African American churches are more interested in redemption than creeds. That's a bit like giving Jonathan Edwards a pass on slavery because he was a man of his own time and class. All of us must hold one another to the standard of God's most holy Word. In fact, it is a kind of insult to Pastor Jakes to give him a pass because of his ethnicity.

It will serve no good purpose to provide a detailed step-by-step account of all that unfolded from that point on. But we must insist in the strongest terms that the white Council members acted not only out of doctrinal and pastoral concerns, but newly aware that we had flubbed the racism test and were trying to make things right. Equally, the African American Council members, far from kowtowing to white concerns, were themselves acting out of their deepest doctrinal and pastoral commitments---commitments for which some of them had already paid a considerable price. It does them---not to say historic Christian confessionalism---an enormous disservice to charge them with betraying their ethnicity. Historic Christian confessionalism is not the private playground of middle-aged white guys. Have we forgotten that the most brilliant and influential thinker in the fourth century when many of the Trinitarian controversies came to resolution was a North African by the name of Augustine?

6. Private and Public

For our purposes, this topic has at least three dimensions.

First, talking with T. D. Jakes in ER2 has been cast as listening to someone first before we say anything critical of him. Relationships precede evaluation. Anyone who ventures a critical evaluation of Pastor Jakes before ER2 is simply being judgmental. With respect, this argument does not hold up to either Scripture or reason. Pastor Jakes is not a private individual about whom some people might have heard a few negative things. If that were the case, it would be imperative to uncover the truth before passing on what would in that case be nothing more than gossip. Pastor Jakes, however, is a public individual. He himself publishes his views in various media; they circulate widely. He is read and heard around the world. Not long ago in a Christian bookshop in South Africa, one of the writers of this article discovered that the author with the greatest number of books on the shelf was T. D. Jakes. It is the responsibility of Christian pastors to become aware of such a preacher and teacher if his works are significantly influencing their own flocks. To imagine that no fair evaluation is possible before an ER2-type public event does not square with apostolic practice. When in 2 Corinthians 10-13 Paul learns of interlopers who are preaching another Jesus, he does not begin by arranging a fireside chat. The content and direction of the interlopers' ministry is already public, and Paul confronts it.

Second, one might well ask, "But isn't it different when someone seems to be leaving the camp of a demonstrably false theology, and becoming more orthodox? Isn't this sort of public discussion in that case very helpful?" Perhaps. In our view, however, there is a better way. A quarter of a century ago, one of us was involved, with other Christian leaders, in several intense, probing discussions with leaders of a major cult. Neither side wanted these discussions to be public; they took place behind closed doors, without cameras or reporters. The cultists were wanting serious discussions with us because their own reading of Scripture was gradually bringing them around to historic confessional orthodoxy. In due course they went public on their own terms, and brought out many of their followers into evangelicalism. That development would not have taken place had the discussions been held in the open.

It is surely a wise and strategic thing to engage in probing conversations with many people with views very dissimilar to our own---not only Christians, but non-Christians, too. And many of our Council members are involved in such discussions, partly in function of normal human friendships, partly in function of Christian witness. Sometimes discussions take place with gifted orators whose theology is still a bit wonky: there is always a place for a Priscilla and an Aquila to teach an Apollos to understand the way of God a little better than he has understood it so far, and there is always a place for a Paul to reason with pagan philosophers in the Areopagus. Many of us are so involved. But that is a bit different from trying to reform another's theology in a public setting where the trappings and attitudes largely suggest everyone is already on the same side.

Third, as useful as it is on so many fronts, the internet is not notable for fostering discretion in this arena. Bloggers who have no idea of how many hours have been spent in private conversation to win someone to a better way often write with instantaneous public appraisals and unfettered language. They invariably think they write with prophetic insight; sometimes, at least, the contempt displayed is simply sinful. A colleague recently reminded one of us how Calvin set up four organizations in Geneva: the Company of Preachers, the Congregation, the Ordinary Censure, and the Consistory, each with its own responsibilities and assignments. It is the third that is of interest here: the Ordinary Censure brought together the area pastors four times a year, behind closed doors, where they addressed one another with their perceptions of another's false teaching, dealt with personality conflicts, and the like. The aim was to work things out, hold one another accountable, and bring correction and healing. Each of those four meetings was scheduled one week before the quarterly celebration of the Lord's Table. The accountability was remarkable---and it was possible, at least in part, because of the regularity and privacy of the Ordinary Censure. This was not designed to skirt the biblical instruction that where there is public accusation against an elder that is found to be justified, the elder is to be reproved before everyone (1 Tim 5:19-20), but it was designed to be a mutually correcting and restorative venue before matters had progressed that far.

We conclude by reiterating what we said in the opening lines. The purpose of this post is not to provide a re-hash of recent events, still less to assign blame. It is to provide some theological and pastoral reflection on the interlocking issues with which we have been wrestling.

Now the LORD God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden; and there he put the man he had formed (Genesis 2:8).

Ever since the events of Genesis 3, we've hungered to return home. It's the impulse that sent explorers out to the ends of the earth. It's what Ponce de Leon looked for in Florida, what Cortez searched for amongst the Aztecs, and what sent Cheng Ho out from China into the Indian Ocean. It was promised to Israel as a land of milk and honey, and promised again to the church as the city of God.

Paradise.

It's a resonant idea in pop culture. Lost's island was like a character unto itself, haunting the castaway's minds with a sense of mystery and hope. "We have to go back," Jack cried when he realized what he'd lost. We all want to go back. We want paradise.

Paradise is the backdrop for the Oscar-nominated movie The Descendants, a drama starring George Clooney that recently won the Golden Globe for best picture. It's a strangely gentle and beautiful story of tragedy, set amidst the dreamy backdrop of Hawaii.

(Two warnings are in order: First, the movie is rated "R" for realistically rough language, and second, there are what some may consider "spoilers" ahead.)

Clooney plays Matt King, a hard-working lawyer, husband, and father of two. His wife, Elizabeth, suffers a traumatic brain injury after a boating accident. A doctor tells Matt that she'll never revive from the resulting coma, and a living will specifies that they can't keep her on life support indefinitely, leaving Matt to break the news to his children, family, and friends. He takes his youngest daughter, Scotty, to pick up his oldest daughter, Alex (Shailene Woodley), from a boarding school on a neighboring island, wrestling internally with how to break the news.

Alex is a classic "troubled teen" with a history of bitter feuding with her mother and a penchant for wild behavior. As the movie progresses, Matt tells Alex, and asks her to help him tell the others, including Scotty, who is only 9 or 10 years old.

Ordinary People, Terrible Trauma

As he breaks the news to Alex, the plot thickens. Why did they fight so bitterly? What was the rift between them? "Dad, she was cheating on you." Alex had witnessed her with her lover, and when Alex confronted her, the war between them erupted.

Clooney and Woodley are both at the top of their game in the film, with heartbreaking and subtle performances as ordinary people in the midst of a horrible trauma. They find a kind of solace together, even as Alex introduces to the family drama her dumpy boyfriend, a spaced-out surfer kid whose presence only makes sense late in the story, during a midnight talk with Matt. Their humanity shines through---in all of its beautiful brokenness.

In the film's opening sequence, Matt talks about how most people view life in Hawaii, imagining it to be life in paradise. Juxtaposed with images of Hawaii's gorgeous green landscapes and sapphire seas are faces of the homeless, tumbledown shacks, and glimpses of poverty and suffering. "Do they think we're immune to suffering?"

It's that juxtaposition that makes The Descendants a powerful story. The beauty of the islands is otherworldly, something once pure and undefiled, now littered with tourist traps and resorts, broken homes and broken lives.

Hanging Like Ghosts

Parallel to Matt's own crisis is the journey of the King family. They're descendants of an American settler and an indigenous Hawaiian princess, and the family owns land all over the islands, including a massive beachside acreage that is still undeveloped. Matt is one of the only descendants who remains wealthy, having never spent his inheritance, and is the only trustee living who has decision-making authority over the land they co-own. The others want him to sell the undeveloped property, knowing that they'll all stand to become incredibly wealthy in the process.

As Matt's family unravels, his reservations about the sale grow. Photos of his long-dead relatives hang like ghosts around his home, hearkening back to a misty and idyllic past---a paradise lost to the sprawling commerce on the island and the creeping shadow of betrayal, failure, and death. He never loved his wife well. He wasn't present with his children. He isn't what he thought he was. Nothing is what he thought.

The only place he sees hope is the land. He refuses to sell, infuriating his relatives, but settling something in himself. It seems, perhaps, his clawing attempt to stop the plaguing spread of sin and death.

Palpable Emotion

In one of the closing scenes of the film, Matt is in the hospital room with his wife when Julie Speer walks in. She is the wife of Elizabeth's lover. She knows that there had been an affair, and she comes to offer her condolences and forgiveness. It's a painful and awkward scene, brilliantly acted by Judy Greer. The emotion is palpable as she offers forgiveness to the nearly lifeless body, alternatively weeping, wailing, and shouting through gritted teeth.

Confused and convoluted as all that emotion may be, Julie knows that the only thing that can heal the trauma to her family, to Matt's, and perhaps to all of us is grace. It's cathartic for her, and catalytic to Matt, who only afterward can extend grace to Elizabeth, offering loving words to her dying frame while saying a heartfelt and pain-filled goodbye.

The Descendents is a rare movie. Though it fails to see the ultimate hope for paradise lost in Jesus, who prepares a paradise for his people even now, it sees the loss and hints at the solution. It's beautifully acted by Clooney, Woodley, and Greer, opening the door on a troubled family in the midst of crisis. The soundtrack---elegant and understated excerpts of Hawaiian slack-key guitar and traditional music---works with the stunning backdrop of the islands to show that beauty and tragedy are held together in our gorgeous and broken world.

There is no paradise on Earth, no corner where the curse's cruel tentacles haven't spread. But in Christ, there is hope for such a place. In him, we can all go back.

"I love you, but you need to obey."

Every English-speaking parent has said that phrase at some point or another. It's our attempt as parents to express commitment to our children even as we require them to obey: "I love you despite anything you do, but you also need to obey what I tell you." I'd like to take issue, however, with using the conjunction but between these phrases. Using but may be communicating something we don't want to say---namely, that there is some kind of conceptual opposition between "I love you" and "You need to obey."

You may be dismissing me as a sharp-nosed grammarian at this point, but let me explain why this is important. I grow concerned when I see well-meaning parents who, in an attempt to practice gospel-centered parenting, do not readily insist on obedience because they want to display that their love for the child does not depend on obedience. Unfortunately, parents take on an apologetic air when wills begin to collide. They hesitate to subdue disobedience out of fear of transgressing the unconditional part of love. Insisting on obedience from children feels legalistic or repressive. They fear that they'd slowly stiffen into the hawk-eyed disciplinarians of a bygone era with timorous children arranged silently around the dinner table.

God is not an unreasonable parent. But he is not a permissive one, either. He demands obedience from his children not in order to love them but because he loves them. Consider the relationship between the Father and the Son. Jesus' sonship and God's insistence on obedience were not contrary facts. Jesus proved his obedience in suffering (Hebrews 5:1-8) so that "being made perfect he became the source of eternal salvation to all who obey him" (5:9). Jesus' obedience secures God's love for us, and (notice I didn't say but) enables our obedience. Being called to obey is a sign of our adoption. "It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline?" (Hebrews 12:7) Discipline for the purpose of obedience is a privilege of being a son or daughter of God. Obedience and sonship are complementary, not oppositional.

The but has to go. Try so instead. "I love you, so you need to obey."

This conjunction more effectively communicates the logical relationship between the two concepts. It's not a relationship of opposition, but of grounding. The reason you are to obey me is because I already love you. This is how parents can be grace-based while insisting on obedience. We should never communicate even a hint of opposition between parental love and children's obedience.

Thinking Practically

A necessary part of loving a child is discipline.  

You'll often hear the parental advice, "Just make sure your kids know you love them." Okay. The only ones who would disagree with this are ogres, and they don't exist. But this universally held principle can mean extremely different things. It often means merely making clear to the child your affection for him as you watch him determine his own way in life. This falls short of the complex parental love we're called to.

Rather, we show parental affection in hugs and affirming words as well as discipline and words of warning. Proverbial wisdom equates discipline of children with love for them (Prov. 13:24), hope for their future good (Prov. 19:18), and delight in the parent-child relationship (Prov. 29:17).

So we should also avoid saying things like, "I love you, but I need to discipline you." We've all said that a thousand times. It's much clearer theologically to say, "I'm disciplining you because I love you."

Punishing disobedience is not anti-gospel; in fact, it prepares children to understand the gospel.

No one enjoys disciplining a child. Well, no one in his right mind does. Not only does it require us to get up from the recliner, it also makes us sad. We feel like ogres ourselves when we hear the desperate wails of a child undergoing the various sanctions we just placed on them. But think about it this way: Parents are preparing children to know how high-stakes the Day of Judgment will be by giving them low-stakes days of judgment now. You prepare them to understand experientially just how much they should desire mercy from one's judge. It is a part of teaching children that they should obey a Father who judges impartially (1 Peter 1:14-17) but provides a ransom through Christ (1 Peter 1:18-21).

Children should know that disobedience will be confronted quickly and patiently. 

My mother always said to her six children: "To delay is to disobey." And she was right. She knew that God is not an annoyed parent excising obedience from his children with sharp words of disapproval. But he is undaunted in his patient insistence that they submit to his design for human flourishing.

He will not be annoyed, nor will he be ignored. We should be the same. No children should feel the freedom to ignore a parent's direction, nor should they feel like the parent's quickness is motivated by personal annoyance. That may be hard to compute for those raised by angry parents whose rebukes proceeded largely from personal exasperation. But it is possible. Parents must ask for grace to deal patiently with sin, as well as to distinguish the varying degrees of culpability as the child develops. But deal with it they must.

We cannot attain perfect obedience from our children, nor should we want to.

Our children will fail to obey. Our goal is not to produce perfect obedience, but to provide regular demonstration that sin has consequences. The point of discipline is to show need for the gospel of Jesus Christ, not to hone children to the point of not needing it. Not only is that goal of perfection impossible, it also makes for a rigid and performance-based relationship between parent and child. Knowing the frailty of the human heart will allow parents to shepherd patiently with realistic expectations.

Discipline is concerned with behavior as a display of the heart. 

We do not wish merely that our children would obey, but that they would want to obey from within. The desire to obey comes from being redeemed by the love of God (1 John 4:17-5:5). So in every confrontation of disobedience and commendation of obedience, a child should be reminded that behavior merely points to the greater issue of the personal need for God's redemptive love.

I've learned from wise parents who reinforce this in two kinds of situations. When punishing their children, they say, "Even though your disobedience makes me sad, I love you just as much now as when you obey me." And, perhaps more brilliantly, when commending their children for pleasing them, they point out, "Even though your obedience makes me glad, I don't love you more because of it." What a picture of God's unflappable love for his children.

Maybe along the way we'll learn a thing or two ourselves about responding to the unfaltering love of our own Father with, "I know you love me, so I will obey."