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“Will we eat food in our glorified bodies?”
The glorified human body is very much on my mind these days. My mother is in her mid-nineties after decades of serving the Lord Jesus, and her mind and body are in the process of demonstrating the truth of the Second Law of Thermodynamics: things fall apart. Her inexorable deterioration may plateau, but it will not cease until the Lord returns for his Church.
When I’m praying for Mom, I sometimes wonder what that glorified body will look like.
“Run to and fro through the streets of Jerusalem, look and take note! Search her squares to see if you can find a man, one who does justice and seeks truth, that I may pardon her.”
As I study the scriptures, the magnitude of God’s grace never ceases to amaze me. This passage is just one in an almost-endless list of examples.
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Psalm 9 is the first acrostic psalm, a structural poetry convention in which each line begins with a consecutive letter of the Hebrew alphabet. (Psalm 119 is the most famous example of this technique.) As others have noted, this one is an imperfect acrostic: some letters are missing. The pattern of starting each line with the next letter continues into Psalm 10, leading analysts to conclude they were originally two movements of the same psalm.
Jewish tradition suggests David wrote this psalm after his victory over Goliath.
In which our regular writers toss around subjects a little more volatile than usual.
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| God, cash & prizes: a winning combo! Or not. |
Tom: How Do You Read It? is kind of a series within a series, in which Immanuel Can and I discuss common misinterpretations of some very familiar verses. IC, have you got one for me?
Immanuel Can: What about “Whatever you ask in my name …”?
Tom: Whoa! That’s opening a can of worms. That one question might do for an entire topic.
In one of the towns in which I lived as a child there was a church that called itself “Berean”. I’ve noticed quite a few such establishments, and I wonder if many people know what that word actually means.
It’s a reference to a group of ancient Jews who lived in a town called Berea, and who were among those who experienced the early ministry of the apostle Paul. They listened to the gospel Paul preached; and yet they didn’t just trust it. They checked it out for themselves, comparing his New Testament teaching with the word of God in the Old Testament. Acts says that they “received the message with great eagerness and examined the scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true”.
George Orwell was not a Christian.
His biographers describe him
as agnostic or even an atheist. His dystopian classic 1984 contains the occasional anti-Catholic comment and a plethora
of
Bizarrely, 1984 is also (in some mysterious way I was unable to ascertain) “unacceptable by today’s standards”.
“Should we not consider that an eschatology that teaches ‘we lose down here’ is an eschatology that may have had something to do with why we are, you know, losing down here?”
The quote comes from Doug Wilson’s introductory comments to a recent round table discussion about Christian nationalism. In case it’s insufficiently clear outside of its original context, the point he’s making is that our expectations often determine how much we are able to accomplish.
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“How should Christians think about making reparations for slavery?”
Scripture appears to give a qualified nod of approval to efforts to compensate one generation for the losses of another, but I’m not sure it’s the type of compensation any modern, Western government should feel terribly comfortable emulating. I’m thinking of the time the Gibeonite survivors in Israel raised a legitimate claim against Saul’s family for unsuccessfully attempting to exterminate them.
The “reparations” requested and received by the Gibeonites involved hanging seven relatives of Saul for the sins of their family.
I’ve been thinking a little about why we do the things we do: low motives, high motives and every type in between. Sometimes we act for a multiplicity of reasons and with several different objectives in view.
For Christians, the goal is always to operate from the highest motives rather than the lower impulses, though even these may inadvertently produce what God is looking for. I think of Samson as an example of that. The Lord used his lust for a Philistine woman, a wholly inappropriate matchup, as an opportunity to judge Israel’s oppressors not once but twice.
At the top end of the motive spectrum, of course, sits love. When we do all things from a heart full of love, we have really come to know God.
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The sovereign God delights in delegating his own infinite power. We find the earliest scriptural instance of such delegation in Genesis 1:16-18 when the Lord makes the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night, then casually throws in the stars as a bonus. The Hebrew word translated “rule” in that passage is elsewhere translated “dominion”, “power” and “government”. The OT writers use it to describe God’s own sovereign power and authority.
Delegated authority is the principle on which God’s creation operates.
In which our regular writers toss around subjects a little more volatile than usual.
We had a good time with this last week, so Immanuel Can and I have agreed to revisit our growing list of commonly misinterpreted Bible verses and discuss three more examples.
Tom: How about this one?
“For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them.”
How do you read that, IC?
Immanuel Can: I think the first question has to be “two or three whats”, or “two or three of whom”?
Her voice on the end of the phone was shaky. Clearly she was very, very upset about something. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell me what. Her words came out in a kind of extended groan that seemed to swell up from inside the depths of her heart, but could only leak past her lips. Something very bad had happened.
As our conversation continued, I gently drew more details out of her broken responses, and it became clearer. Not only she, but all her friends and her church, had been betrayed. A leader in their circle, much loved and widely admired, had turned the corner of a disastrous course. The first of the news had just broken; and she had called me less to tell me than to seek some kind of soothing for her aching soul.
C.S. Lewis called pride “the essential vice, the utmost evil … the complete anti-God state of mind”. Solomon wrote, “Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord; be assured, he will not go unpunished.”
Obadiah is the shortest book in the Hebrew Bible, so it doesn’t take the prophet more than two verses to get to Edom’s problem. Yes, it’s pride. Pride that metastasized into hatred of their brothers. Pride that pulled the wool over their own eyes and made the Edomites believe they were untouchable. Pride that convinced them they could put one over on the God who had decreed “the older will serve the younger”. “Not so,” said Edom.
It was the word of God. Of course they were wrong.
“I am the Lord; in its time I will hasten it.”
A friend and I were talking recently about societal decline and the speed with which it occurs. One writer at least has used the phrase “gradually, then suddenly” to describe it. It’s rather like years of erosion followed by an earthquake. First comes a long period in which the foundations are quietly destroyed one after another, then, with alarming speed, the entire house collapses at the tiniest temblor.
God sometimes accomplishes his purposes similarly: gradually, then suddenly.