Recently, my family and I had the privilege–great blessing really–to visit and serve saints in Brazil.  We had opportunity to visit Rio de Janeiro and the Sao Paulo areas.  In Rio, I preached at a wonderful Presbyterian church who warmly received the word of God as preached from Genesis 50.  And they warmly received me and my family.  It was a rich time with Pastor Leo, the elders, their families and the saints.

Then we spent several days at the pastors’ conference sponsored by FIEL.  What a rich time in the word and in fellowship with our Portuguese-speaking brethren in Christ.  The work Rick Denham and the FIEL team are continuing deserves encouragement, support, awareness and praise.  Editora Fiel, the publishing house birthed by the labors of the Denhams in Brazil, translates some of the best evangelical and classic Christian literature into the Portuguese language.  While we were there, we had the wonderful privilege of participating in a celebration in honor of the Denhams’ more than five decades of faithful missionary labors in Brazil.  The following from their website gives you a brief gist of how it all began:

A heart for missions led James Richard Denham, Sr. and his wife Aletha to spend a year in China following the end of World War II. When China closed its doors to foreigners, they went to Argentina for a year to study missions. To return to the States, the Denhams chose the inland route which required traveling 600 miles by boat up the Madeira River, followed by some 900 miles down the Amazon. They inquired about Christians at every port along the Madeira River, but not a single Christian was reported by the locals. The vision of a mission to Amazonia was born out of a burden for that vast, spiritually barren field. In 1952, God having arrested Rich (James Richard Denham, Jr.) and Pearl’s hearts with the same vision, they sold their few possessions, left the pastorate of a church in Oregon, and purchased air passage to accompany Rich’s parents as the first missionaries of the new mission.

Today, some 1,500 persons from theologically sound and vigorous churches gathered for the FIEL conference in an overwhelmingly Roman Catholic country.  The Protestant Reformation continues and the Lord is advancing His gospel!

Another encouraging sign was the involvement of young people in the gospel trenches.  I had the privilege of meeting with several young men who operate an online ministry called iProdigo.  We did a couple video interviews encouraging young Brazilians, addressing Islam, and other matters facing the church.  It was so life-giving to see their love for the Savior, their love for the church, and their creativity in attempting to make Jesus known.  Check out their site and see what the Lord is doing in Brazil among younger saints.

I’m afraid that the mental image many of us carry around when we think of the Protestant Reformation is of old bearded white guys, hunched over rare parchments, reading and writing by candle light, and concerned with only the most narrow of issues.  But I’m grateful to the Lord that that’s not the reality.  The Reformation continues to advance in seemingly every habitable corner of the world, among young and old, addressing big issues and small, full of life, strength, and joy!  In God’s kindness, I’ve been allowed to witness it among church planters from South African townships, among Brazilian pastors from major cities and the Amazon, to family conferences in wonderful beach-side towns.  Praise God the gospel reigns and is spreading!

And then there were the wonderful family moments.  Here’s one:

This is the rootinest, tootinest, shootinest hombre to ever mount a Brazilian stallion!  Maybe he’ll grow up and be a circuit rider, bringing back the days of preachers on horseback taking the gospel to every hamlet!  But as he put it, “I don’t speak pork-a-cheese.”  That’s my favorite line from the entire trip!

The Economist thinks so.  The magazine features an article entitled “The New Calvins: Tensions Inside One of America’s Most Successful Churches.”

A warning: The article is not well-informed theologically, so like a lot of people, it misrepresents the issues.  An example:

Calvinism emphasises that Jesus died only for the elect; Baptists believe Jesus died for everyone. Baptists, by definition, believe that baptism must be an informed choice by the individual, therefore limited to adults; Calvinists believe infants may be baptised. Calvinists think that God selects certain people for damnation; Baptists are more easy-going.

I don’t know any Baptists (I’m one) who would describe what it means to be a Baptists in these terms.  And judging by the statistics from the SBC, where baptism ages are dropping like bolders off cliffs, adult baptism is no longer the norm in most SBC churches.  And at least among Reformed Baptists, there would not be support for infant baptism.  To associate the “new Calvinists” with declining baptism ages in Baptist churches is just journalistic foolishness.  To equate the denomination with “the church” is to misunderstand even that local spirit and autonomy that Baptists love so fiercely.

By the way, when did Southern Baptists become known for being “more easy-going”?  More easy going than who?  We’re the “don’t dance, don’t smoke, don’t chew, don’t hang out with those who do” crowd.

The article does capture the alarmism that sometimes flavors these discussions.  There are those who are up in arms with fear because they neither understand nor have attempted to understand what “Calvinists” or “Reformed” persons believe.  So, a lot of fear and “boogey-man” misrepresentation exists.  On the other side, there are those Reformed types that turn everything into a battle over this or that pet doctrine and misrepresent the understanding of their Arminian brethren.  Nearly all of this takes place without an open Bible.  It’s a real shame, because such approaches are clear failures to love one another.  On both “sides” are godly, humble people desiring to follow the Lord faithfully with the light they have.  Much could be learned from one another.

The article labels Dr. Albert Mohler “the denomination’s best-known Calvinist.”  That, too, is misleading.  Among Southern Baptist Calvinist, “the denomination’s best-known Calvinist” is the apostle Paul (if you’ll pardon the anachronism).  But more to the point, the article doesn’t even mention Dr. Mohler’s effort, along with Arminian leaders like Dr. Paige Patterson, a key leader in the conservative resurgence and President of “the denomination’s flagship Arminian seminary.”  The two of these gentlemen met and amicably discussed the issue in a public forum as a means of quieting tensions that should not be there.

What the article does allude to is something of a generational divide on this topic.  Determining all the sources of that divide requires thinking beyond that featured on this blog.  But on some level, it seems to be there and it’s either a cause of worry or rejoicing depending upon your position.

At the end of the day, Southern Baptists and local church leaders had better be sure that the alarmists and the activists on either side are denied the loudest voice in these discussions.  We need to hear the Bible, believe the Bible, preach the Bible, and live the Bible.  God’s voice casts the decisive vote, not secular media or advance scouts from the tribalists among us.  Those who really care about their local churches must be those who listen long, listen well, speak sparingly, pray much, and follow the Word.

Yesterday, Team Pyro offered a post entitled, “Filthy Calvinists, and the People Who Love to Hate Them.”  Basically, the post contends that people love to hate Calvinists and Calvinism and offers non-Calvinists opportunity to explain why.  254 comments later, the conversation still rages.

I read the post yesterday and shrugged.  I glanced at about 5 comments thinking, Why do we work ourselves up over this stuff?  Nothing new here.  Get back to the sermon.

Then last night I curled up with a couple titles given to me for my birthday while in South Africa at Easter.  One is by a South African former educator, corporate type, writer and satirist, Ndumiso Ngcobo (who kinda looks like Randy Jackson from American Idol), entitled, Is It Coz I’m Black?

And what should be the title of the night’s essay?

“No Sex, Please!  We’re Calvinists.”

Huh?

Like the other essays in the book, this one is a half-serious, half-humorous look at life in South Africa from an admittedly warped perspective.  In this case, the essay offers a rather honest look at condom use–or lack thereof–and calls for some much needed honesty in South African hook-up culture (though that’s needed in every place in addition to South Africa).

Anyway, the jab at Calvinists was curious indeed.  And, as is far too often the case, historically and theologically just plain wrong.  But in honor of the claim over at Pyromaniacs, I offer Ngcobo’s paragraph (the only one touch Calvinism in the article) as exhibit 255 in the “why they love to hate Calvinism and Calvinists” discussion:

Sex is a beautiful, beautiful thing–despite what John Calvin thought.

For the uninitiated in the constipated thoughts of John Calvin, he was the anally retentive bearded fellow who right royally screwed up many societies across the world with his 16th-century theological opinions.  He convinced many followers that Jesus wants us all to be miserable and to resist the temptation to partake in any activities that might bring us pleasure.  Such as sex.  If I were president of the world for a day I’d have his body exhumed, subjected to a firing squad and hanged upside down by his nads on Mary Fitzgerald Square.  Him and a succession of those purple-robed pious men with tiny hats from the Vatican (p. 109).

There you have it.  Calvin and Calvinists love misery and hate pleasure, including sex–unless, of course, it’s miserable sex.  Wow.  And this guy managed to put Calvin at the head of a firing line with a succession of Catholic priests!  That’s no small feat.  To be sure, this is the only way to get Calvin and men from the Vatican in a line-up together.

Anyway, to correct such a warped view of that theology which did indeed change the world, you might try the following talks:

Mark Dever, “Christian Hedonists or Religious Prudes?  The Puritans on Sex” (2004 Desiring God National Conference)

John Piper, “Sex and the Supremacy of Christ” (Part one and part two)

Ben Patterson, “The Goodness of Sex and the Glory of God“

I don’t know how long I’d been what’s popularly called a “Calvinist” before I realized some people were afraid of me for being one.  I was bouncing along through the Bible enjoying what I was learning there about God, about myself, about His grace in salvation, and then somewhere along the way someone described me as a “Calvinist.”  I remember asking one brother what he thought about election and predestination; I was just discovering what the Bible taught about those things.  He responded, “Doctor… that’s that Reformed theology stuff.  I don’t mess around with that, man.”  His tone of voice made it sound stinky… or at least sticky and ickey.

Well… I’m happily a “Calvinist,” though I’m pretty sure I’m not what many people afraid of Calvinism think of when they hear the term.  That’s why I really enjoyed Phil Ryken’s piece called, “Hearts Aflame: Reformed Piety.”  In short compass, I think he effectively addresses some common misconceptions and shows why a proper biblical understanding of some key themes should work itself out in vibrant zeal and love for God.  It’s a great short read.

Related Posts:

Calvinist Confessions, 1
Calvinist Confessions, 2
Calvinist Confessions, 3
Calvinist Confessions, 4
Calvinist Confessions, 5

Kevin DeYoung has a great post on Theodorus Jacobus Frelinghuysen, a little known Dutch Reformed pastor serving at the dawn of the great awakening.  I’ve only had the slightest taste of Frelinghuysen, but I’ve enjoyed what I’ve tasted.  This was a great introduction to the man and seven lessons from his ministry.  DeYoung writes:

Frelinghuysen, with his gifts and guffaws, has something to teach all of us, the conservative formalist, the liberal traditionalist, the passionless preacher, and the professional pugilist. Most of all, we ought to give thanks for this man used by God to light a spark that the Spirit fanned into the flames of the Great Awakening. As a pastor in the same denomination as Frelinghuysen, I am especially grateful for his commitment to Calvinist doctrine and evangelical proclamation. I encourage all Christians, especially those in the Dutch Reformed tradition, to listen to the forgotten voice of this neglected forerunner.

Here are the seven lessons:

1. Dead orthodoxy is deadly.

2. Tradition is a wonderful servant but a terrible master.

3. God blesses preaching that is scriptural, personal, and evangelical.

4. Do not neglect the third mark of the church.

5. Fear God, not people.

6. Doctrinal fidelity and evangelistic fervor do not have to be at odds.

7. Passion and courage are no excuses for a harsh spirit.

Read the entire article for the meat of these lessons and to get a sense of the man.

Josh Harris’ new book, Dug Down Deep, comes out today.  I’m looking forward to reading it in due course, and thought I’d pass along a few of the endorsements:

“More than forty years of quadriplegia has underscored to me the matchless value of knowing – really knowing – the doctrines of the Christian faith. Dug Down Deep reveals how biblical doctrine provides a pathway to understanding the heart and mind of God. If you’re looking for ‘that one book’ that will push you farther down the road to faith than you’ve ever journeyed before, Dug Down Deep is it.”
- Joni Eareckson Tada, author; founder and CEO, International Disability Center, Agoura Hills, CA

“Humble people are fearless. They have the courage to stand up for truth humbly. I love the term ‘humble orthodoxy,’ and I love Josh Harris. When they come together (Josh and humble orthodoxy), as they do in this book, you get a humble, helpful, courageous testimony to biblical truth.”
- John Piper, author of Desiring God; Pastor for Preaching and Vision, Bethlehem Baptist Church, Minneapolis

“In Dug Down Deep my longtime friend Joshua Harris explains the basics of Christian theology in a way all of us can understand. He is a humble man and teaches humbly. If you are tired of hyped promises and want essential truth, this book is for you. As religious fads come and go, the truths in this book will last.”
- Donald Miller, author of Blue Like Jazz

“[A] defense of the importance of theology and, at the same time, an introduction to it…my mind immediately began to go to how I could use this book. Josh has given me a new tool! It is interesting, well written, and excellently illustrated. Josh has succeeded again in giving us a book that is clear, engaging, direct, solid, easy to read, sound, God-centered, balanced, [and] humorous.”
- Mark Dever, Senior Pastor, Capitol Hill Baptist Church, Washington DC

I am a Calvinist.  I love the glorious truths of God revealed in His word.  I praise God for His mighty works in creation, redemption, and providence.  I live, I trust, for the glory of God in all things.

I am a Pharisee.  I shouldn’t be.  How can anyone claiming to be a Calvinist living for the glory of God also be a peevish, joyless, and fearful little Pharisee?  It’s a shame.  But I’m a Calvinist and I’m a Pharisee.

Narrowness for the letter and not the spirit, suspicion of joy, and fear are not the only things that make it possible for me to be a Calvinist and a Pharisee.  There is a fourth reason why these two things blend together more often than they should, and why they blend together in my heart.  Anger.

I’m an angry man.  I don’t want to project on anyone else.  This is about my heart.  But I think there’s a lot of anger among us “Reformed” types.  So much so, some of us–let me just say I–need to be sent to reform school.  No I don’t mean Westminster or some place in Scotland.  I mean we need to be sent to a school that helps us deal with our anger, that makes us “positive members of society.”  We need help.  I need help with my anger.

You don’t believe it?  I have one word for you.  “Blogs.”  That’s exhibit A for the rampant anger in Reformed circles.  What a naked display of raw and random anger splattered across the virtual world landing on anyone with a keypad.

I’ve had my part in that.  Oh, you couldn’t tell?  Or only occasionally?  You see, really, more problematic than the displays on blogs is the respectable anger I nurse.  I’m not given to loud outbursts.  If that happens, we’re at Defcon 1.  We don’t go there.  We try never to use the red phone.

But beneath the poker face lives a small volcano regularly seeping lava over the lip of its opening.  That’s in the heart.  While on the outside… the slightly reserved and seemingly dispassionate face of the Pharisee.

Anger comes in many colors.  There is red magma of violent outburst.  As I said, that’s not my style as a Pharisee.  Resentment is a kind of anger.  It’s the warm orange anger that comes from the blend of disappointment, self-righteousness, and entitlement.  The anger of stinging words wrapped in religious jargon.  There is the parakeet yellow of angry backbiting and gossip, tale bearing and kindling strife.  James tells us this is murderous.  There is the green of jealousy and evil eyes.  There is also the swooshing blue of those who run when angry.  That’s the flight response.  There is the indigo of depression, which is sometimes a symptom of deeper anger.  Next is the violet of grudges and “silent treatments.”  Then there is the icy white of “cold war” anger.  Violet is close to “cold war,” except “cold war” arms itself for more serious retaliation.  I’m a good Pharisee.  I think I hang out somewhere between violet and orange, silent anger and resentment with occasional depressive moods.  Any of these sound familiar?

Of course, resentments and silent treatments are the preferred combination because it maintains the semblance of respectability.  I am, after all, a Pharisee.  I’m wearing expensive robes, long tassels, wide phylacteries, and I sit in the best seat in the house, where I may be seen.

I know there is such a thing as righteous indignation.  I know we’re to be angry and not sin, neither let the sun set on our wrath.  But the Pharisee that I am has lost count of the sunsets.  And isn’t there a difference between righteous indignation and being indignant because our “rights” have been trampled?  Too often, I don’t always see that difference.  That’s what makes me a Pharisee.  That’s what makes me angry.

As a Pharisee, I know it’s not polite to talk about anger.  Even now, there’s the sense that admitting anger is unpleasant.  Respectable people don’t get angry.  They’re cucumber cool, calm, and collected.  But Pharisee-ism is about wearing masks that hide inner realities.  It’s about pretension and show, being seen and applauded by men.  There’s no way to stroke that beast without becoming victim to it.  The voice in my head screams, Don’t tell on us!  Don’t remove the mask! But the High and Lofty One says, “I live in a high and holy place, but also with him who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite” (Is. 57:15).

If the truth were told, I’ve been angry for a long time.  I’ve been angry about a lot of things and angry about nothing in particular.  I grew up in an angry-sounding house.  With eight children, somebody somewhere was always angry.  I was angry when my father left the family.  I was angry when arrested as a teenager.  I was angry with “friends” who distanced themselves after my arrest.  I’ve been angry about all the “racial” mistreatment I’ve experienced.  Then I was angry that so many people denied it.  I was angry as a Muslim.  I played basketball angry–but we called it “intensity.”  I’ve been influenced at points in my life by angry men, some of them prominent political and historical figures. Worked for a while in state government, where many of the longest-serving people were simply masters of anger.  That patient, slow boil, I’ll-out-live-and-out-scheme-you-because-I’m-a-civil-servant-and-you-can’t-fire-me anger.

Would you be surprised if I told you that somewhere along the way, Anger became a companion?  Not the kind I’d walk with in public.  Most of the public can’t handle angry black men.  I’m angry about that, too.  Instead, Anger became a secret confidant.  The friend I’d call up when threatened.  The friend most ready to reassure me when I felt inadequate or insecure.  The friend that kept others at a distance or bullied them into submission.  A body guard of sorts.  I could control Anger; summon him at will.  I could justify Anger.  Someone did this or someone did that.  This was threatened or that injustice committed.  Something had to be done.  I had to strike back.  Pharisee.

There is such a thing as righteous indignation.  Absolutely.  We must oppose injustice, of course, because God uses means.  Pharisee.

God uses means, not mean people.

God is sovereign.  He even uses mean people.  Of course he does.  Pharisee.

But is that justification for your anger?  The anger of man does not work the righteousness of God.

You can control your anger.  Everyone gets angry.  ‘Tis true.  Pharisee.

Wouldn’t it be more godly to conquer your anger rather than coddle it?

I’m aware of the conquering presence of God’s Spirit in my life.  When the Lord saved me, one of the things He graciously did was rid me of so much anger.  He freed me from so much bitterness and even hatred.  It’s one Ebenezer I raise in remembrance of God’s gracious redemption.  Yet, sanctification is progressive.  He’s still working.  And the Pharisee is kicking and screaming, “Leave me this little anger!  Let me hold onto this grudge, this charge, this resentment!”  Old friends tend to stick around the longest.  They’re often the most difficult to ditch.

But I’m reminded of another Calvinist Pharisee (speaking anachronistically, of course) who did battle with his Pharisaical anger.  He writes to me: “In this [new birth, coming salvation] you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials.  These have come so that your faith–of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire–may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed” (1 Pet. 1:6-7).  What is greater than the trials of this Pharisee’s anger?  The glories and power of my God’s salvation.

Oh Lord whose anger is holy and righteous, make us more aware of and dependent upon the great power of your salvation.  Nail afresh the sin of my anger to the cross of your wrath, that I might be freed from its power, pull, and guilt.  We need Thee every hour.  Amen.

Bob Kellemen at RPM Ministries offers a gracious review of Glory Road: The Journeys of Ten African-Americans into Reformed Christianity.  Kellemen is a good student of African-American theology and church history and offers a warm critique of Glory Road.

For my part, I think Glory Road could be one of the most important, helpful, and encouraging books published in the last ten years on African-American Christianity.  I think its warmth, humor, honesty, and theological integrity

could be a winsome tool in capturing the hearts of many people who have not come to know the wonderful truths and history of the Reformed tradition.  If you haven’t read this book, rush out and make it a stocking stuffer or New Year’s read.  It’ll reward you.

HT: Phoenix Preacher

I am a Calvinist. And I am a Pharisee. This shouldn’t be the case, but it is. Admitting you have a problem is the first step in getting better.

Last time I tried to reflect on how a certain “bent” toward precision, accuracy, concern for detail seems to blend together with the rich exacting resources of Reformed theology and history to make Pharisees of those who lose sight of the object of our attention and affection: Jesus. If you care more about “getting it right” than you care about “getting close to Jesus,” then you’ll drift toward the Pharisees. You’ll swallow a camel and strain a gnat.

But let me not project onto you the things that happen in my heart and head. I am bent toward all those things, and I lose sight of Jesus too often and for too long.

I’m a Pharisee. And I’m a Calvinist. And I’m told and believe those two things don’t belong together. But why do they so often come together, like a dark prize hidden in the Cracker Jacks of the faith?

Here’s the second reason I’m a Pharisee and Calvinist, or, another reason why those two things happen together far more often than they should. The Pharisee and the Calvinist are both suspicious.

Now I’m suspicious of a lot of things, but I’ll just mention one. I’m suspicious of joy. Yep. Now, not my joy. That’s another problem.

No. Like a good Pharisee, other people’s joy makes me nervous. Not all people. Just those people who don’t express their joy the precise way I think they should. You see, without the “appropriate bounds” their joy just may make them careless, lead them to error, hurt the church and cause of Christ. Their joy is combustible; it’s dangerous. It’s enthusiasm and flights of fancy that need to ballast of sobriety and sound theology.

You see, that bent toward intellectual and precise things, that concern to “get it right,” sometimes leads us to suspect and question mirth, lightness, or merriment because those emotions appear too close to “trivial” for the Pharisee. If I’m serious about the truth, how can I be joyful?

I say to myself, perhaps you say to yourself, not out loud, of course: “All these happy people–happy about everything but the Truth, giving themselves to their happy little pursuits, singing loudly and clapping their hands, enthusiastic about everything–can’t be trusted. They are to be suspected. They’re to be watched carefully and ‘taught’.”

I know. I know. Teaching is good. Teaching is essential. Teaching guides the emotions. Teaching is commanded. Pharisee.

Didn’t Jesus warn us of the Pharisee’s teaching? For good reason. I wonder if for some of us “teaching” is simply another word for “behavioral modification,” for “rehabilitation,” for “re-education,” for “concentration camp.” People must be “taught”–by which we mean made to see everything just as I do. Pharisee.

I am a Calvinist, and I am a Pharisee. I’ve been “taught”. Sometimes “taught” right out of joy.

Don’t get me wrong. I know that joy may be expressed in all kinds of ways. I know the strong, silent type doesn’t express his/her joy like the naturally outward and gregarious type. And I know that joy itself has many flavors–jubilant, quiet, solemn, tearful, and so on. But Pharisees like me only trust the quiet, solemn types. If joy gets too loud, it needs to be silenced. Pharisees like it quiet.

But then there is my good friend, C.J. Ah… there’s “Reformed” spelled “p-a-r-t-y!” I love that brother! He dots all my “i’s” and crosses all my “t’s”. So, his joy is okay. Cool, even. But he is an exception, of course, because I’m a Pharisee.

Also there is my good friend, Mark. If you think C.J. is the life of the party and Mark is a sour puss, you don’t know Mark. About as silly, giddy, happy, optimistic, bright and joyful a man as you’ll ever meet. Don’t let the “SBC” or “Calvinist” labels fool you. Those labels are like the FBI warnings on your rented video or the “do not remove” tags on your mattress. Mark is a big… excuse me, slim ball of joyful energy. His love for the truth, like C.J., and Al and Lig’ and Piper and R.C. and so many others, leads them to joy! Have you ever heard these men laugh? It’s rowdy! They’re serious men. And (I almost wrote “But”; you see the problem?) they’re joyful men.

But not me. Not the Pharisee.

When did I become suspicious of joy? I mean joy is what the angels announce for crying out loud! (Luke 2:10)

Some of my oldest friends, going back to high school and college, would describe me as “silly.” I know. I know. What happened to that guy?

Well, he got saved and he started with joy; then he turned into a Pharisee.

Now, I’ve always been serious. Really. Always. Ask my mom. She still tells family and friends about how my friends used to come over to play, and rather than play with them, I’d connect the Atari (now that’s ol’ school) to the TV and then go into my room and read. From my early teens, I’ve been the family counselor. I’m an old soul, born with a veil over his face (little family superstition, there), and serious.

But I used to be fairly joyful, too. I think. Maybe. You see… I can’t remember. Perhaps you’re like me. It’s been so long since you’ve had a sustained life of joy, you can’t remember the last time you were joyful. As a disposition not an episode. Do you remember? Having a joyful disposition for a long time?

Maybe you’re a Pharisee, or a Pharisee in the making. Stop before it goes too far. Get happy. Now don’t get serious about joy. Just get joyful. Or else you’ll be a Pharisee. Like me.

The Pharisee lacks joy because he lacks Jesus. I don’t mean Pharisees like me aren’t Christians. I am I trust. I mean “the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field” (Matt. 13:44). There’s something implicit in this parable that if not made explicit leaves room for my inner Pharisee. What do you suppose the man did after he bought the field? The Pharisee doesn’t go on to imagine the answer. The joyful do. In his joy the man sold all and purchase the field so that he might possess and enjoy the Treasure therein. We may lack Jesus by not enjoying Jesus, by not coming into His presence where there is fullness of joy and pleasure forevermore.

The Calvinist knows this. The Pharisee forgets this. Feed the Calvinist and strangle the Pharisee.

There once was a Calvinist (speaking anachronistically, of course), who was not himself a Pharisee but dealt with them a lot. He prayed for joy–my joy and yours. Here’s how He prayed, “I am coming to you [the Father] now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them” (John 17:13). Let that sit with you. The Savior prayed for what the Calvinist Pharisee needs: the full measure of His joy.

Dear Sovereign Lord, the Joy of the world, let us know you, and thereby grant our heavy hearts liberating joy.