My latest at First Thoughts has caused a bit of a ruckus. Check it out here: “Why Lutheran Predestination isn’t Calvinist Predestination.”

The disparity between the identification of Calvinists with predestinarian doctrine vis à vis Lutherans is precisely because the concept of predestination that exists in the public mind is Calvinist, not Lutheran. People hear the word “predestination” and think of the Calvinist doctrine of double-predestination—the idea that God has chosen some to be saved and chosen others to be damned (or, put in less inflammatory language, that God has chosen some to be saved and others he has not so chosen). Either way it amounts to the same thing: those who are damned are damned because of God’s (lack of) choice. Calvin himself writes, “We assert that by an eternal and immutable counsel, God has once for all determined both whom he would admit to salvation and whom he would condemn to destruction” (Institutes 3.21.7).

Such a doctrine is abhorrent to Lutherans. And, indeed, contemplation of such a doctrine was abhorrent also to Luther.

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August 15 is the traditional date when the Church celebrated the Dormition (ie, the “falling asleep”) of Mary. But surely, you say, that’s just a Catholic thing. Why should Protestants care?

I answer that question in this post at A Christian Things: “‘All generations shall call me blessed’: Even the Protestants.”

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“Some time ago my friend Churl began a series of posts here on A Christian Thing discussing his frustration at the Evangelical tradition in which he was raised and his attraction to Roman Catholicism. Of course, Churl has always recognized these are not the only options: there is Orthodoxy, of course; and on the Protestant side, there are options like Anglicanism and Lutheranism. Alongside Churl’s posts, Chinglican has been chiming in with his defence of Anglicanism, but the Lutheran on this blog has been remarkably silent. That’s not to say I haven’t any opinions on the subject. I do. In fact, Churl and I have discussed the topic on a number of occasions outside of the blog (you know, in real life). But while I have many opinions, I have much less time in which to write them down.

Part of what has delayed an online response from me has also been the recognition that it would necessarily mean examining Catholic doctrine in detail. Indeed, talking about joining any church must, by definition, include a very real hashing out of doctrine, because it is doctrine that distinguishes one church from another. Such discussions can be very confusing to many people. They also, by definition, tend to make people angry, because if you say you believe X, you must also say you reject Y.

But I have told Churl I would write a response for the blog. So I will. And this is my response: I’m too damn Catholic to be Catholic.

That might sound flippant or even nonsensical. It isn’t intended to be. “But what does it even mean?” you ask…”

Read the rest over at A Christian Thing.

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From my post “You Probably Think This Psalm is About You” at First Things.

And yet we still can’t help but read ourselves into the text from time to time. It seems to me that some of this might be attributable to our desire to examine our own lives and beliefs (and test out other potential lives and beliefs) through literature; we take Bunyan’s advice and lay our head and heart together with the book. We know it’s not about us literally; and yet we believe, innately, that it has the capacity to become “about us.”

But there is one book (or series of books) that Christians have throughout the ages repeatedly affirmed is “about us:” the Bible. And no book in this library is declared “about us” more often than the Psalms. St. Basil the Great explains the idea well: “The Holy Spirit composed the Scriptures so that in them, as in a pharmacy open to all souls, we might each of us be able to find the medicine suited to our own particular illness… But the Book of Psalms contains everything useful that the others have. It predicts the future, it recalls the past, it gives directions for living, it suggests the right behaviour to adopt. It is, in short, a jewel case in which have been collected all the valid teachings in such a way that individuals find remedies just right for their cases” (Homily on Psalm 1).

While this is a valid and important way of reading the Psalms, it should not become the sole way we read them—something Jonathan Kraemer discusses in his article “Praying the Psalms with the Body of Christ.” After all, while this or that Psalm may seem to fit how we’re feeling on any given day, there are many more which will not. What good is it then to read “Psalms that have us lamenting when we feel like praising; and praising when we feel like lamenting?”

Read the rest at First Things.

I’ve mentioned before that I did a radio interview on visiting the Holy Land and wrote a few blog posts during the trip at The Canadian Lutheran. That material was fodder for a larger article I was working on, which appeared in the March/April issue of The Canadian Lutheran. The article is entitled “Where Jesus walked,” and reflects on the experience of visiting the Holy Land as a catalyst for understanding what it means that God became Man. [See the web version here or download the (better version) pdf here.]

Visiting the Holy Land drives home for us the mystery of the Incarnation—not just because this is where Jesus was born, but rather because this is where Jesus lived. We go to Nazareth, where He grew up. We go to Nazareth, where He grew up. We see Capernaum, the village He moved to once He began His ministry. We travel by boat on the Sea of Galilee, the place where He once walked upon the waters, where He calmed storms and granted faith to a doubting heart. We see the land in which He walked, in which He taught, in which He lived and interacted with family, friends, strangers, and enemies… This is the place God became Man—where “the Word became flesh,” as John writes, “and made His dwelling among us” (John 1:14).

Note carefully that last word: us. We too are part of this story. Though we did not live when Jesus walked the hills of Galilee, we too are the people with whom He made His dwelling.

I go on to explain just how exactly we are part of Christ’s story. Along the way, I discuss the Herod the Great’s beneficence in Caesarea and maleficence in Bethlehem; the relationship between God-acting-then and God-acting-now; Zeus and the crumbled Gates of Hell; the presence of God at the Mercy Seat in the Temple; and the empty tomb.

As you can tell, the article is as more theological/devotional than news reporting. But I also wrote something for First Things recently where I discuss current events in relation to the Holy Land. Specifically, I look at the plight of Christians Israel and Palestine—a situation which is surprisingly more fragile than many Christians seem to realize.

A few months ago when I traveled to Israel with the Canadian Church Press, I visited the Western Wall only to learn the area had been the scene of violence earlier that morning. The Jerusalem Post reports that a number of Muslims gathered for afternoon prayer at the Temple Mount March 8 began throwing rocks at Israeli officers on the bridge which leads to the Western Wall plaza. The event ended with Israeli police entering the Muslim area, using stun grenades to disperse the rioters who were throwing stones and Molotov cocktails. When we arrived at the nearby Western Wall later in the day, a very large number of police officers were still on site.

That is often the way the rest of the world views disagreement in the Holy Land: as conflict between Jews and Muslims. Less often remembered are the Christians of Israel and Palestine.

I go on to discuss the difficulty Christians face in both Israel and Palestine as a result of extremist Jewish and extremist Muslim groups—which range from psychological intimidation, to arson, to physical violence. “Christian visitors to the Holy Land have little reason to fear for their own safety; their security is well-established, as I write in my conclusion, “but the situation for indigenous Christians is another matter. How to reverse anti-Christian sentiments among extremist groups in both Israel and Palestine is not clear; what is clear is that the Christians of the Holy Land need our prayers. They also need us to speak for them, to petition Israel and Palestine to ensure the safety and freedom of Christians within their borders.”

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I’m late to the party on this one, but I still want to take the time to note the important discussion of sanctification that took place last month on “Strange Herring,” a blog by Lutheran writer Anthony Sacramone. His question (and one too many of us are left sharing) is why so much of contemporary Lutheranism seems soft on discipleship. It’s certainly not Scripture’s fault; Christians are clearly called to live life differently as a result of their salvation through Christ. It’s certainly not something we can blame on Luther either; he’s the one who first named the heresy of antinomianism, after all. Nor is it the fault of our confessions; there’s that whole “third use of the law” thing. And the early Lutheran fathers were similarly clear on the importance of holy living. (See more on all this here and here.

And yet, some contemporary Lutherans seem to have abandoned any discussion about what the “inner man” accomplishes as the Holy Spirit works in us to kill the “outer man” (ie, “the Old Adam”). Too many influential works seem infected with an almost antinomian strain. One prominent example: Gerhard Forde’s On being a Theologian of the Cross. While good in many ways, this book explicitly contradicts the Lutheran confessions by denying the Third Use of the Law. It worries me, therefore, that so many quote-unquote “confessional” Lutherans recommend it so unreservedly.

I recently discussed Luther’s On the Freedom of a Christian over at First Things, focusing on the subject of good works in the Christian’s life. I’ve also broached the subject of modern-day Lutherans being slack on sanctification on this blog in the past too. But I’m glad to see it under discussion in the wider Lutheran blogosphere. The impetus for the most recent sanctification-debate was Anthony Sacramone’s reading of a Gospel Coalition review of Rev. Jonathan Fisk’s recent book Broken: 7 “Christian” Rules that Every Christian Ought to Break. That led to Sacramone’s important post “Is Lutheranism Broken?” Go read it. The next day, he put up his own review of Broken. It’s likewise insightful and worth reading. While you’re at it, read his 2012 post on “Lutherans and Sanctification” too.\

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A few weeks back I was asked to lead devotions for Lutheran Church–Canada’s Board of Directors meeting here in Winnipeg. Here is, more or less, what I spoke about that morning.

Reading: 1 Peter 1:3-9

In this letter from Peter, we see the paradox which so often accompanies the people of God: our faith is filled with joy; but it is also filled with suffering. We rejoice in the salvation won for us by Christ; but at the same time we suffer griefs and trials.

We rejoice in the salvation won for us by Christ; but at the same time we suffer griefs and trials.

In this book, Peter is writing words of encouragement to the faithful in Asia Minor. We learn in this letter that the Christians there were in some state of suffering.

At the point at which he’s writing, it doesn’t seem that outright persecution is the problem. That will come, but for now it may be that they are merely facing increased societal disapproval for being Christian. They are becoming Pariahs. Scapegoats. Outcasts. For this reason, Peter encourages the faithful not to be discouraged when they are insulted for being Christians. Instead, they ought to do their best to make peace with their neighbours. They ought to live such good lives that no one can accuse them of wrongdoing. They ought to be good citizens, obeying their rulers and authorities.

All good advice. But within a few decades, this social disapproval of Christians would transform into outright persecution. The Romans would begin executing the faithful for the simple “crime” of bearing the name “Christian.” During that time, this area of Asia Minor would come under the authority of a new governor: Pliny the Younger. What’s particularly interesting about Pliny is that he wrote a letter to Emperor Trajan describing the prosecution of Christian, and his letter survives to this day. In it, Pliny describes how he treats Christians when they are brought to trial: he gives them three opportunities to recant their faith. If they refuse all three times, he sentences them to death.

It is in this context of growing persecution of the Church in Asia Minor that Peter writes his letter. And it is Easter hope in the midst of this suffering that he offers.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,” he writes. “In his great mercy, he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” Right from the beginning of the letter, we are reminded that our hope as Christians is not found in our earthly comfort, but rather in the sacrifice of Christ. We don’t have a “living hope” because we have good jobs, or because we’re healthy, or because we are well-liked in this world. We are often the opposite of these things: we are poor, we are sick, we are despised.

But our hope looks up to God. We can have a “living hope” because Christ has been raised from the dead. His suffering makes us able to bear our own suffering. It’s a hope not in earthly things but a hope, Peter writes, of “an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade”—an inheritance “kept in heaven” for us. When things look difficult in this world, we look to the One who has overcome the world. We look to Christ. And though our earthly situations may be grim, we see in Christ God’s eternal goodness to us. And we can bless the Lord for that, “though now for a little while we suffer grief in all kinds of trials.”

The medieval theologian Bede writes well of this passage: “It is right for us to bless God,” he says, “because, although on the strength of our own merits we deserve nothing but death, he has regenerated us by his mercy to a new life. He has done this by the resurrection of his Son who loved us so much that he gave himself up to death for our sake. When that death was overcome by his resurrection, he offered it to us… to give us hope of rising again ourselves. For he died in order that we should no longer be afraid of death, and he rose again so that we might have a hope of rising again through him.”

He died in order that we should no longer be afraid of death.

“He died in order that we should no longer afraid of death.” And if we need not fear death, neither need we fear trials in this world. The situations Peter is addressing in this book are ones we in Canada are beginning to understand a little. In the past, Christianity and Christians were respected in our society. Today, we are reminded only too often that our faith is not welcome in the public sphere. We begin to face, as Peter’s audience in Asia Minor faced, “insults” for being Christian. We are accused of intolerance for confessing the Word of God—for proclaiming the reality of sin and the need for a Saviour. Prominent politicians label such beliefs “unCanadian.” More and more people are convinced faith should be restricted to the home and not be brought out in public.

And we face other trials too, as a church. Our membership numbers have dropped; we have less and less resources to do the work we are called to do. But in all of these things, we have Peter’s words of comfort: “These trials have come so that your faith… may be proved genuine, and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” Joy is coming. In the meantime, Peter tells us, we are “shielded by God’s power” “through faith” “until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time.”

Do we in Canada suffer to the same extent today that the early Church did? No, and God-willing, we won’t anytime soon. But when we face difficulties as Christians—be they griefs in our personal lives, concerns over the future of our churches, or increased resistance to Christianity in wider society—when we face these trials, we must look back to the light of Easter and look forward to the return of Christ.

At present, we live between the two moments: Easter happened two thousand years ago; Christ’s return is still to come. But while we wait, while we live between Easter and the coming Kingdom, we do so with a living hope. “Though we have not seen him, we love him; and even though we do not see him now, we believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy. For now, right now in these present days, we are receiving the goal of our faith: the salvation of our souls.

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