“If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.”
Most of the time I enjoy writing these posts.
Sometimes, not so much.
Like today.
Today, I feel the truth of what I heard a preacher say once: “When you point your finger at somebody else, there’s always three pointing back at you.” Or, as the scriptures would put it, “Not many of you should become teachers ... for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.”
Peter wrote his first epistle to saved Jews scattered throughout the Roman provinces of ancient Turkey. That should hardly be a contentious statement, since he declares it plainly in his introduction: “To those who are elect exiles of the Dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia.”
Elect = saved. Exiles = Jews. (Evidence forthcoming.) Of the Dispersion = Jews. Pontus, Galatia, etc. = Asia and Asia Minor, most of which is now Turkish.
As with any humanistic philosophy, Feminism and the Bible are starkly at odds. A woman can be both Feminist and Christian, but she will not be much good in either role.
As it permeated Western society, one of the ways Feminism has been most effective in creeping into our churches has been its claims to reasonableness, fairness and equality, all of which at least purport to be somewhat-Christian values. Claims are one thing, but the motive behind making them is very much another. In going back to do a little research on the history of the movement, I find myself fascinated by the “tells” the early Feminist writers gave us about their own true character and beliefs. The motivating force behind the philosophy was evident to any discerning person from its very beginning, regardless of its professed aspirations.
Feminism’s earliest promoters wore their shameless opposition to God right on their sleeves.
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“What does God say about avoiding sin just because we are scared of the consequences? Is resisting temptation meaningless if fear is the only reason we are godly?”
Jesus taught that love is the best motive for obedience, though he wasn’t the first to do so. Even the Law of Moses has the correct motive built right into it. When asked about the most important commandment in the Law, Jesus quoted two commands to love: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” and (in second place) “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
Then he said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” Love and avoiding sin go together better than chocolate and peanut butter.
The subject of giving to the Lord has come up a few times in the last year from different angles. One idea that I touched on briefly in a previous post is that some Christians believe we ought to do all our giving through the filter of local church leadership, who would distribute funds received as they see fit.
You’d have to know a little bit about my background to understand how foreign such an idea seems to me.
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The superscription to Psalm 5 reads “To the choirmaster: for the flutes. A Psalm of David.” I had to take a quick peek at the Hebrew for “flutes” in my Strong’s, as I don’t imagine what the Levite musicians played 3,000 years ago bore much resemblance to a modern wind instrument, especially one usually made out of nickel-silver alloys.
As it turns out, the word only appears in certain English Bibles. Some consistently omit the superscriptions for reasons discussed in this article. Even in the cases where it does appear, we have nothing else in the Old Testament with which to compare it. The usage is unique. Strong’s says it may refer to a musical instrument or simply be the name of a particular melody, which is a discreet way of saying the translators are guessing. Most modern translations go with “flutes”, though a few say “wind instruments” and the NIV goes with “pipes”.
It would be nice if we perfectly understood the etymology and popular usage of every ancient Hebrew word. This one we don’t. We can only imagine how this psalm sounded in full vocal chorus with accompaniment.
In which our regular writers toss around subjects a little more volatile than usual.
Tom: Quick quiz, IC: How many different local churches have you been part of? I’m not counting churches you’ve visited, but just those you would have considered “my church” for a period of time; churches in which it would have been notable to others if you weren’t there.
Immanuel Can: Um … rather more than most people, I suspect. I’ve been regarded, for some time, as a regular attendee of … I make it 14. I might be missing one or two. My youth and early adult years were marked by a lot of moving around, so it wasn’t a product of unhappiness in most cases. How about you?
So … what if atheists took themselves seriously?
So seriously, as a matter of fact, that they actually tried to live out the rational implications of their own rejection of all possibility of God or gods? What then?
As I said in yesterday’s post, getting answers to this question turned out to be more difficult than it might initially appear.
Persuading atheists to speak about what follows from the rejection of God was very hard. Not only did they generally refuse to press forward logically, but they often reacted with bitter, visceral hatred at any prompting to do so, making further conversation difficult.
“Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
— Jane Austen
“Things without all remedy should be without regard: what’s done is done.”
— William Shakespeare
“The past can’t hurt you anymore, not unless you let it.”
— Alan Moore
Guess what I’ve been thinking about this week?
I’ve been thinking about the value of word studies in the Bible’s original languages. There are definitely pros and cons.
There is a potential problem inherent in the style of platform ministry that commences every attempt at exposition by telling the audience which Greek or Hebrew words underlie the most significant words in your text, and to what extent their meaning differs from the closest possible English equivalents.
You probably identified that danger zone right away. Invariably, one of two things happens.
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“What is the great deception of the end times?”
The Bible portrays the final years of our present age as a period characterized by lies and deception, one in which truth will be very hard to find. Sometimes I wonder if we are getting close.
In Matthew 24, the disciples asked Jesus what signs will indicate the end of the age has come, and that the Lord Jesus is returning to earth as king. Among other things, he replied, “Many false prophets will arise and lead many astray”, including deceivers who claim to be the Christ. Paul would later write to Timothy, reminding him that in later times some will depart from the faith by devoting themselves to deceitful spirits and the teaching of demons. Numerous other passages say similar things.
If we had only the accounts in the four gospels from which to form an opinion about Pontius Pilate, we might find ourselves with a measure of sympathy for his plight. After all, he didn’t invite a crazed mob of angry Jews to show up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, threatening the peace, his person and his reputation. He didn’t ask to be accused of public disloyalty to Caesar. He didn’t ask for the job of judging Jesus.
He certainly doesn’t come across as hostile to the Lord personally. I’m quite sure he would much rather have been snugly tucked into his bed than making a life-or-death decision in a situation he didn’t understand.
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The superscription to Psalm 4 reads, “To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments. A Psalm of David.” It reminds us that no matter how personal any given psalm may appear, each was written with the entire body of believers in mind. Three thousand years ago, your new psalm did not get played on the radio in your car, revolve on the turntable of your stereo, or get discovered on Spotify. The average Israelite did not even have a copy of the words at home in a scroll to read and meditate on.
Psalms were for the congregation when it gathered, whether sung and accompanied or performed for worshipers by trained musicians.
In which our regular writers toss around subjects a little more volatile than usual.
Everybody’s favorite political football Bristol Palin has written a column on the subject of the Guinness Beer Company and its Christian origins.
Tom: This is not the first time I’ve come across this story, Immanuel Can. In another generation, a Christian brewer turns out to have been the voice of moderation and societal self control. But in some evangelical circles today, Arthur Guinness would be taken to task for corrupting the faithful. I mean, he sold alcohol for a living!
Is there a less cartoonish and more biblical position to be taken on the subject of alcohol consumption, IC?