Martin and Me

Yes, work and life intertwine often when you’re employed at an organization that reflects your beliefs and values. I received a copy of this book from the publisher for review in Disciple, but I found it so refreshing and encouraging, that I am posting it here too.

Luther on the Christian Life: Cross and Freedom, Carl R. Trueman, 2015, Crossway, Wheaton, Ill., ISBN 9781433525025, 214 pages, $17.99, softcover.

In the realm of Christian biography, we often look to those who have done great deeds in obedience to Christ—missionaries, martyrs, and evangelists—for inspiration and encouragement as we follow Him. Less often, perhaps, do we consider theologians as role models for our Christian walk. We read their work and their ideas impact us, but the Theologians on the Christian Life series from Crossway is taking this to another level. Each book in this series explores the great thinkers of the faith in their personal life and the development of their theology, mining it for wisdom for today’s Christians.

The latest installment in the series is Carl Trueman’s work on The Great Reformer, Martin Luther. Trueman, a professor of church history at Westminster Seminary, has studied Luther for the better part of his career and writes about him with affection and admiration (without sugar-coating his sins and shortcomings). As a scholar, he draws on thorough reading of Luther’s works, and as a Presbyterian standing apart from Luther’s tradition, he provides an instructive introduction to his life and thought from an outsider’s perspective.

This short volume is richly packed with scriptural and practical insight. Trueman begins by briefly summarizing Luther’s biography, illuminating the personal and cultural contexts that influenced his study, teaching, and actions. In this, he reminds us that theology never happens in a vacuum, and that there are very real consequences to our belief and our choices. Notably, Trueman urges readers to consider all of Luther’s life and work, not just his exuberant, bold pre-1525 writings (before which he had not had to wrestle extensively with the need for liturgical and ecclesiological precision in order to protect church order, among other things).

Over seven other chapters, Trueman unpacks several key concepts in Luther’s thought. The first is his distinction between theologians of glory (who see God’s character as a reflection of the way the world works) and theologians of the cross (who see God working in ways the world deems foolish, subverting the sinful order). Importantly, Trueman points out that these are not “theologies” but “theologians”, that is, attitudes of approaching God and His Word rather than organized systems of thought.

Trueman also spends a great deal of time exploring Luther’s views of baptism and the Lord’s Supper, pointing out that he would have viewed most modern evangelicals as outside the bounds of orthodoxy for seeing these sacraments as symbols only (rather than understanding baptism as a seal of grace and communion as containing the real, physical presence of Christ). Instead of explaining away these differences as unreformed holdovers from Luther’s medieval Catholic theology, Trueman endeavors to show how Luther came to these positions through careful study of the Word and a fervent commitment to justification by faith. In this way Luther reckoned the sacraments as tangible gifts from God to remind His people that their salvation came wholly from outside themselves.

On justification, Trueman delves into Luther’s statement that “The Love of God does not find, but creates, that which is pleasing to it.” In this idea and the reasoning behind it, we see a radical departure from the worldly view that we love that which pleases us, and, by implication, that we must somehow make ourselves acceptable to God before He will love us. In this, as in every area of his theology, Luther is adamant that man is helpless to save himself, thus magnifying God’s glory in the work of salvation.

In all, this book was a tremendous blessing to me. Trueman’s winsome writing style brings depth of content to bear on the reader with application as the goal. The result is a historically enlightening, theologically challenging, and profoundly pastoral work. Martin Luther has clearly been used by God to advance the spread of His truth, and Trueman engages him “as one of us,” a man whose “strengths were his weaknesses” but who was faithful to strive after humble obedience to his Heavenly Father.

Tolle lege et benedicentur.

Poetry in Motion. Blog in Neutral.

It’s been a busy few weeks ’round up in here, mostly due to hosting this. Still, in effort to keep the blog “fresh”, I’m posting a sonnet I wrote about a year and a half ago after studying through 1 & 2 Timothy in Disciple and in our Sunday school class.

θεόπνευστος

But one tale, by a single Author writ
Speaks all, breathes form, life, to the world entire.
Not of man, yet man must comprehend it
To meet Him; saving, purifying fire.
From this fly our peregrine hearts, chasing
Tickles, myths, ashes; vain salve for sin’s throes.
The Tempter’s counterfeits our ears catching,
The self-unbuilding Gospel to depose.
Forged yarns weave ruin, despair. Lust negates love,
Avarice throttles hope, debts crushing joy.
But darkness must retreat. Light, as a dove
Descends, cuts straight, truth itself to deploy.
God’s own Word, own Son, come with us to dwell.
His blood opens Heaven, dooms lies to Hell.

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Theology and Story: Marilynne Robinson

If you know me, you know that I am an unrepentant bibliophile of the highest order. You’ll also discover quickly that I freely recommend books to friends (and the odd stranger) across genres and generations. Yes, my wife and I even attained the recovering English major’s dream of launching a book club. All of this should be roughly as surprising as rain in April. “A wannabe writer who reads all the time? Gasp!”

Of the mountain of paper and ink (or e-ink—no hate for the Kindle here) that passes my eyes each year, novels make up a healthy proportion. I thoroughly enjoy well-wrought nonfiction on almost any subject, but the best fiction brings me back time and again. I seldom re-read nonfiction; good novels, like last night’s lasagna, are always better the next time around.

Why? The best fiction is true even in the made-up details—novels, short stories, and poetry plumb the depths of thought and  experience, giving them voice, teaching, reading you back. Aristotle said that poetry (a broader term then than now—we get our word “poem” from the Greek “ποιέμα”, which means “workmanship”) was better than either history or philosophy alone because it could articulate a principle (like philosophy) by showing an example of how it is lived out (like history).

In a previous job for a small (now-defunct) magazine, I reviewed lots of books, but didn’t have the opportunity to review works of fiction there. Our readers expected recommendations to equip them for preaching and ministry, making literature a low priority. Taste was also a consideration, as the quality of such works is somewhat “in the eye of the beholder” and it can take decades for the cream of a generation’s literary crop to rise. Continue reading

Moviegoing and Ministry

Originally from my blog at Disciple Magazine.

American culture thrives on the grandiose. “Bigger is better,” “Go big or go home,” “Too big to fail,” and the like are our taglines of choice. Anything we do is bound to be better if you toss a “mega”, “super”, or “hyper” out front.

Neither is the Church immune to this phenomenon (witness “megachurches” and “celebrity pastors” in case you have any doubts). It cuts across theological and denominational lines, to the point that we are not even aware of it or how it colors our witness. An implicit code demands every event or project we undertake be thoroughly planned, promoted, hyped, executed, well-attended, and measurable. If any step of that procedure is given short shrift, we question whether anything “really” happened.

Over 50 years ago, novelist Walker Percy fingered the wrist of post-WWII America to find this idea pulsing within.

In The Moviegoer, Percy paints his protagonist, Binx Bolling, as a dislocated individual—lost in suburbia and the art of moneymaking, yet oddly ill at ease with nearly every aspect of existence. Binx seeks significance and transcendence in watching and re-watchiyoung_moviegoerng popular movies; the shared world of mass culture is more real to him than anything else. Through Binx (and one scene in particular where William Holden’s presence brightens an otherwise dull afternoon in the French Quarter), Percy describes how people and places are authenticated, not by their actual nature, but only when they are acknowledged by the transcendent reality of Hollywood.

This desire for worldly significance, to be on the radar of the kingmakers of politics and mass media, afflicts almost all Americans, and it has only metastasized since Percy first diagnosed it. Only rarely do we see it outright; more often it seeps into our thoughts and actions with hidden designs for otherwise innocent and noble work. Continue reading