There's this fascinating exchange between Paul and his colleagues in Acts 21 that I reflect on every now and then in ministry, especially when I receive a "word from the Lord" delivered to me by a well-meaning brother or sister in Christ.
Now, I am not a cessationist, and I believe that the gifts of the Spirit are for today as much as they were in the Apostolic era, including the gift of prophecy. Even so, I can't help but notice that in Acts 21, the disciples urge Paul not to go to Jerusalem, out of concern for his safety, and in 21:4 it specifically notes that these disciples were speaking "by the Spirit" in their efforts to dissuade him.
This is especially interesting because earlier, Paul had said it quite plainly that it was the Holy Spirit who had told him to go to Jerusalem (20:22-23). The tension increases in verse 21:11, when a prophet named Agabus does this prophetic object lesson, where he takes Paul's belt and binds his own hands and feet with it. Speaking by the Holy Spirit, he says "this is what will happen to the owner of this belt when he gets to Jerusalem." When the disciples hear this they redouble their efforts to talk Paul out of his travel plans.
So what's going on here? Is the Spirit actually saying opposite things to different people? Are the disciples not hearing the Holy Spirit right on this one, or maybe Paul isn't? Or is the Holy Spirit simply firming up Paul's resolve to go, by telling him not to go through the mouths of other people?
It's hard to say, for sure, but whatever else they do, these verses should give us all serious pause the next time someone tells us, "God told me to tell you this..." It may be true, but what we're to do with the message is another matter.
God told me to tell you ... a devotional thought
3 Minute Theology 4.3: Filled Full
It was the Greek philosopher Aristotle who first argued that “Nature abhors a Vacuum.” He observed how matter seems to fill up whatever space it’s given, and inferred from this that it is impossible for a vacuum to exist, that the surrounding material would always move in to fill any empty space.
Thousands of years later, scientists have developed much more sophisticated ways of studying vacuums, but even so they have discovered that no vacuum is ever perfectly free of matter.
So perhaps Aristotle was right after all.
This explains, incidentally, why a balloon is never really empty: as air leaves the balloon, rather than leaving an empty vacuum behind, the air pressure pressing in on the balloon from outside forces it to collapse so that the remaining air inside the balloon fills it evenly again. Even when it is completely empty, still there is air inside it, evenly distributed throughout the space.
Whether or not nature truly does abhor a vacuum, the fact that a balloon is always full of air, regardless how much air it’s full of, is a useful image for one the central aspects of the Christian life: the idea that Christians can, and should be filled with the Holy Spirit.
To be filled with the Holy Spirit is to have the life of Jesus alive in us, by his Holy Spirit, in a real and concrete way, so that he is prompting and guiding and directing us from the inside out. And the Bible is quite clear that this is supposed to be a normal part of the every-day Christian experience.
What is not clear is how, exactly, this filling by the Spirit happens. Does it happen spontaneously, when we first believe in Jesus as our saviour? Does it happen when we are baptized? Does it happen in a special moment after we’ve believed? Or does it happen as a result of our own special effort and obedience to the teachings of Jesus?
Interestingly enough, there are bible verses that suggest that the answer is “yes” to each one of these things: In one place it says we received the Spirit through faith; in another place it says we should be baptized and receive the Holy Spirit; in another place it says God gives the Holy Spirit to those who obey him. In still other places it describes Christians being filled with the Spirit after they believed.
So which is it? Faith? Obedience? Baptism? A one-time-event, or an on-going experience?
And this is where the analogy of the balloon may be helpful. Because whether or not nature actually abhors a physical vacuum, the Holy Spirit, it seems, abhors a spiritual vacuum; he is always ready to fill up as much space as is available to him in our lives.
In this sense, Christians are like the balloon that is always full, regardless how much air is in it: When we first come to faith, even though we don’t yet have much experience with the Holy Spirit, still, inasmuch as no one can say Jesus is Lord except by the Spirit, we are filled with the Holy Spirit.
And when we are baptized, and our experience of God expands through our experience of baptism, the Holy Spirit fills that new space he’s opened in us; and we are, at baptism, filled with the Holy Spirit.
And later, as we have special moments where we experience God’s grace, or take steps of obedience with him, and our life with Jesus expands because of it, the Holy Spirit fills that new space, too.
Like the balloon that is full after one puff, but can still be filled after 20, we are filled with the Spirit when we first believe, and still need to be filled through God’s on-going work in our lives.
Of course a balloon isn’t much of a balloon until it’s filled full; and neither are Christians much in their faith until they’ve experienced deeper and greater fillings of the Holy Spirit. But even so, this filling starts to happen the moment we believe. Like the Bible says: we are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in us, whom we have received from God.
3 Minute Theology: It's in the Genes
Do you sneeze when you look at the sun? Are your earlobes attached or detached at the side of your head? When you clasp your hands together do you put your left or your right thumb on top?
Scientists have discovered that each one of these traits—earlobe attachment, hand-clasping preference, the photo-sneeze reflex—all of them are genetic traits that you inherited from your parents’ DNA.
DNA is a special nucleic acid found in each one of your body’s cells. It’s made up of two strands of molecules called “nucleotides,” that spiral around each other in a shape called a “double helix.” DNA contains all the genetic information you inherited from your parents, determining how you will form and grow and function. It’s the genetic blueprint that makes you you.
The individual sections of DNA that determine individual traits are called genes. Scientists have discovered how to extract individual genes from the DNA of one organism, and insert it into the DNA of a new organism, so that the new organism will express the genetic trait of the donor as it grows and matures.
This process is called genetic engineering, and it has produced all sorts of fascinating genetic hybrids, like drought resistant plants, or pigs that are more environmentally friendly.
While it is a very controversial field of study, genetic engineering can serve as a useful analogy for a central, but somewhat controversial theological concept that describes the role the Holy Spirit plays in bringing us to salvation.
The concept is: regeneration. Literally, regeneration means “being born again,” and it refers to the idea that, if and when we come to faith in Jesus, something fundamental must change in us from how we were before we came to faith. Almost as if we need to be reborn, a second time, as a brand new person.
This is, in fact, how Jesus himself describes it: “No one can see the Kingdom of God,” he said, “unless they are born again.” In another place, the Apostle Paul is talking about our salvation, and he says , “he saved us ... through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit.” The Apostle Peter agrees, “he has caused us to be born again to a living hope.”
All the writers of the New Testament agree, actually, that coming to faith involves becoming a brand new person, a change so fundamental that it can only be described as “rebirth.” The controversy is about when, and how this change happens. Does it happen when we believe, or after we believe? Does it have to happen before we believe, in order that we might believe?
And what exactly does this “new birth” look like? Do we instantly become a brand new person, and if so, what kind of change is it? And what about areas of my life that don’t change?
And this is where the analogy of genetic engineering may be useful.
Like the geneticist who initiates the process of genetic transformation, the Holy Spirit initiates our coming to faith through his prevenient grace; and just like no organism can initiate its own genetic transformation—it can only receive genes from the host—neither can we initiate our own rebirth.
However, if and as we receive God’s grace and don’t reject it, the Holy Spirit does a work of regeneration in us. Like a geneticist who takes the genes of a donor organism and inserts it into a host organism, so that the traits and characteristics of the donor show up in the host as it matures, so too with the Holy Spirit.
He takes the character, spirit and qualities of the Resurrected Jesus and spiritually “inserts them” into our heart, so to speak, so that as we mature in the Christian faith, our lives will exhibit his characteristics more and more.
In this sense, we are born again, with the DNA of Christ.
The change may not be immediate—sometimes genetic traits take a while to appear—but the New Testament insists that it has happened when we are saved. Like it says in one place: “Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ has been born of God.”
Three Minute Theology 4.1: The Power of Choice
In the 1970s, a neuroscientist named Benjamin Libet conducted a fascinating experiment that shed new light on the age-old question of whether or not we really do have Free Will.
He had his test subjects flex their fingers at a moment they personally chose to, and he carefully measured three different things: the moment the subject consciously “chose” to flex, the moment an electrical charge occurred in the brain, indicating that the brain was initiating the action, and the moment the charge registered in the muscles, indicating that the voluntary flex was occurring.
Most people would expect these three events to occur in that order: The person “decides” to flex, the brain tells the fingers, and the fingers move.
But what Dr. Libet discovered was that the brain actually initiated the flex about 350 miliseconds before the person had consciously decided to do it. IN other words: Your brain has actually started an action before you are consciously aware of having chosen it.
While this may look like a decisive argument against free will, Libet took his experiment one step further. This time he had his subjects resist the urge to flex the fingers when they first became aware of it, and he found that there was a window of about 150 miliseconds in which they could abort the motor plan that the brain had sent to the hand, if they chose to do so.
Libet’s conclusion: “We may better think of volitional action ... not as “freewill” but as “free won’t,” in that we can consciously stop an action initiated by our brain nonconsciously.
The idea of “Free Won’t” is a helpful way to think about a concept that theologians sometimes use to explain the role the Holy Spirit plays in bringing us to faith, a concept called “Prevenient Grace.”
The word “Prevenient” comes from a Latin word that means “going before” or “going ahead of” and the idea is that when we come to faith—even before we choose to accept Jesus as our Saviour—God’s grace has already gone before, opening our hearts to receive him.
As a theological concept, Prevenient Grace is a way of holding together two apparently contradictory truths.
On the one hand, the Bible teaches that we are all naturally turned away from God, and it is impossible for us to choose to love and follow God on our own. We are saved by God’s grace alone and not because of our own choice or merit.
But on the other hand, the Bible also teaches that God freely offers the gift of salvation to anyone who will receive it, that who ever believes in him will be saved
Put bluntly, if we could genuinely choose to believe in God, then our salvation would not be a matter of God’s grace, but our will; and yet, if it’s God’s grace that saves us, and not our choice, then what about those who aren’t saved: did God withhold his grace from them, and if so, why? And what kind of God would save only some and not others?
Prevenient Grace resolves this dilemma by pointing out that for everyone, God’s grace has already gone before any conscious decision we may have made to receive him; that for those who have received him, it’s only because his grace first enabled them to do so; and for those who have rejected him, it’s only because they have freely chose to do so.
Think about it, maybe, like Libet’s concept of Free Won’t, where the decision to flex your fingers is like the decision to receive God’s grace, and the brains non-conscious initiation o the action, is like the Holy Spirit’s Prevenient Grace.
Just like the brain initiates the decision to flex before we are consciously aware of it, so that our freedom is really a matter of vetoing the decision, so too with God: he initiates our decision to receive his offer of salvation even before we are aware of it, so that our Freedom is really just the freedom to resist or reject his grace.
In this way, our salvation is entirely dependent on God’s grace, but still a matter of our free choice. The Bible, of course , puts it more simply: We love him, it says, only because he first loved us.
Singing a Songful of the Holy Spirit, a devotional thought
What stands out when you read closely, however, is that this filling-with-the-Holy-Spirit happens only after he obeys the Lord, and, more importantly, it happens immediately after his obedience. In v. 61-62, they were trying to figure out what to name baby John the Baptist, and because Zechariah was mute (a result of his disbelief back in v.19), no one's quite sure what to call him. Zechariah, it says, "motioned for a writing tablet and wrote out, 'His name is John.'" Notice that this is in direct obedience to what God told him to do back in verse 13, even though no one in his family is named John, and it would have been a radical break from the cultural custom (see v.61).
The point is: Zechariah's being obedient here, and in verse 64, it says, "Immediately after this his mouth was opened and he started praising God." The way it's worded it sure sounds like the song in verses 67-79 is the "praising" he offered up immediately after his mouth was opened-- he was filled with the Spirit (v.67) and the first thing he said was, "Praise be to God!"
When you connect all these dots, you can't help but notice that: 1) for Zechariah, filling with the Holy Spirit depended on his obedience, and 2) his filling with the Spirit followed immediately and irresistibly after his obedience. Anyone who really wants a deeper and fuller filling with the Holy Spirit in their life would do well to give Zechariah's Advent Song a careful, reflective listen. If Zechariah's example is any indication, we will only be filled with God's Spirit if, and when, and to the degree that, we are obedient to Him.
May God give grace for us to be so.
Three Minute Theology 1.8: I Live God
On Oaths, Vows and Spiritual Formation
A New Years Resolution, of course, is kin to making a vow or taking an oath. Admittedly, it's not nearly as solemn, nor as binding, but the kinship is real, which is perhaps why it struck me so forcibly the other day when, right at the height of New Years Resolution season and all, I was reading this book about Christian leadership that pointed out the deep connections between spiritual bondage, spiritual formation and vow-making.
This book (Mentoring Leaders, Carson Pue) unpacked Leviticus 5:4, where it says that anyone who "thoughtlessly takes an oath to do anything, whether good or evil, in any matter one might carelessly swear about" is guilty of sin and must go to the priest with a sacrifice for atonement. I've read this verse a few times before and, aside from deeply appreciating how Christ is the atoning sacrifice who fulfills and transforms the Old Testament Law for us, I've never really thought much about how this specific injunction against thoughtless vows might play out in a contemporary Christian context.
The book I was reading, however (and have been mulling over ever since) suggested that thoughtless vows can actually be a source of spiritual stuntedness, even bondage in our lives, and that identifying and renouncing such vows can be an important piece of our spiritual formation.
Let me be clear: we're not talking about New Years Resolutions here, and more importantly, we're not talking about those solemn vows that Christians take in Christ's name and are actually essential to our maturity in the Faith-- baptismal vows, child dedication vows, wedding vows, ordination vows and the like. In a different post I'd talk about how such vows as these are humanizing, how they enlarge our spirits and how they deepen our discipleship.
But that's a different post for a different kind of vow. What we're talking about here are those hasty promises we make to ourselves in moments of fear, resentment, hurt, bitterness or pride, often without ever realizing we've done so, and usually without ever considering that we have, in fact, sworn a vow. And we're talking about how such vows stunt our spiritual growth because they close areas of our lives off from the healing work of the Holy Spirit.
Some examples will probably help. Who has ever heard someone say, or said perhaps themselves, something along these lines: "I'll never to talk to them again." or "I'll never forgive him for what he did." or "That's the last time so-and-so will get the upper hand on me." or "I swear I won't grow up to be like him (or her or them)." or "I promised myself I wouldn't cry (or 'go there' or go back to 'that' again)." or "I'll get even."
It's hardly blood-oath material, to be sure, but such statements have an oath-taking ring to them, at least, and whether we realize it or not, when we make determinations like these in our hearts, whatever else is going on there, we've made a thoughtless vow.
God's Torah says that anyone who has made a thoughtless oath "about any matter one might carelessly swear about"-- is in need (in sacrificial need) of atonement.
I won't speculate a lot on why, except to point out that when we vow such things to ourselves (I'll never forgive so-and-so ... deal with such-and-such ... become like so-and-so ...); when we make these inner self-commitments out of hurt, fear, resentment or pride, whatever else is going on when we do that, we are actually setting our wills against the possibilities of God's sanctification in our lives. Consider it this way: Saying "I'll never grow up to be like 'her'" (or "him" or "them" or whomever) shuts you off from the possibility that there may in fact be something in "her" (or him or them or whomever) that God wants you to grow in or learn from or redeem.
Promising myself "I won't go there," is actually closing my heart to God's healing in that particular area of my life.
Vowing "never to speak to so-and-so again" is vowing unforgiveness.
I need to stress some things. Forgiveness doesn't mean allowing someone to hurt us again; nor does "dealing with the past" mean accepting the dominant narrative about the past; there may be patterns of relating or cycles of behaviour in those around us that we personally want to break free from, and it's altogether appropriate to articulate that; there are times when genuine reconciliation is not possible this side of eternity. It's not wanting things to be different or better or whole or safe that's in question here. It's the act of exerting our wills over our lives-- taking matters into our own "emotional hands"--in such a way that it excludes or precludes the sanctifying work of God precisely there, in that area of our lives. That's what's in question.
And maybe it's because thoughtless vows have this dangerous edge to them that Leviticus 5:4 prescribes a sacrifice of atonement for the guilt of swearing such oaths. Which leads me to appreciate all the more deeply still that Christ is the atoning sacrifice who fulfills and transforms the Old Testament Law for us. Because in Christ we have a saviour who not only atones for those thoughtless acts of self-exertion that cut us off from the sanctifying work of God, but in him we also have the Spirit who can answer the fears, heal the hurts, redeem the resentment or humble the pride that led us into the vow in the first place.
In Christ we discover not only the invitation to stay fully open to the possibilities of God's redeeming work in our lives, but also the grace to answer "yes."
A Stumper of a Sign
Last night I was reading from Paul's letter to the Corinthians, and I finally stopped to try and figure out something that has stumped me for many years. In 14:22, after a long discourse on the role and meaning of "speaking in tongues," Paul goes on to say: "Tongues, then are a sign not for believers, but for unbelievers."
For the record, I am not a "charismatic" nor a "cessationist" per se, but the stump for me is just this: in what way is speaking in tongues a sign for unbelievers? A sign of what? And how, exactly does speaking in unintelligible languages function as said sign? And the stump gets stumpier, because in verse 23-25, Paul goes on to describe a scenario (ostensibly as evidence that tongues are indeed a sign for unbelievers) where the "sign" of tongues actually draws the scorn of unbelievers, and it's the sign of prophesy (which according to v. 22 is meant as a sign for believers) that convicts unbelievers and elicits from them a response of faith.
I've been stumped over this for a long time: Paul says tongues are a sign for unbelievers, and then (it seems) he goes on to say that tongues do not bring unbelievers to faith at all, rather prophesy does.
But yesterday, I noticed that the "therefore" clause of v. 22 actually connects Paul's argument to the prophesy from Isaiah he quotes in v. 21: "Through men of strange tongues and through the lips of foreigners I will speak to this people, but even then they will not listen to me." And when you look up Isaiah 28 in context, you see that it records God's indictment against Israel for its religious apostasy and corruption, and his announcement of pending judgement in the form of Assyrian invasion (the "men of strange tongues" in question are the Assyrians, and the "strange tongues" in question is a reference to the language of the Assyrian invaders).
In Isaiah, then, Assyrians speaking in "incomprehensible languages" as they invade is a sign to unbelieving Israel that they are indeed guilty of corruption and apostasy (as charged) and that God's verdict against them is just. And, of course, Isaiah's Israel failed to feel the portent of this ominous sign, and, in verse 14 are accused of being blind scoffers who, in their unbelief, are unable to heed God's Word.
In this context the Assyrian invasion (and by metonymy, Assyria's "strange tongues") is an incomprehensible sign to unbelieving Israel of God's judgment on their disobedience.
Flash forward now some 750 years, after the death and resurrection of Jesus has recapitulated and fulfilled the story of judgment, exile and return for the people of God that Isaiah is telling here, after the gift of the Holy Spirit that Isaiah promised has been poured out lavishly on the reconstituted "Israel of God" (i.e. any and all who confess the crucified and resurrected Christ as Lord). Now Paul's claim that "tongues" are a sign to unbelievers makes perfect sense.
Obviously the charismata of tongues is a sign to unbelievers that God has punished and forgiven Israel's sin once and for all in the cross of Christ, because the promised "sign of tongues" (prefigured by the Assyrian invasion) now obtains in the Community of Faith that confesses this crucified Christ as Lord; and, further, it's a sign to unbelievers that such communities of Faith actually now comprise the reconstituted people of God, because the "sign" of Assyrian invasion that Assyria's "strange tongues" once announced to apostate Israel is now being announced (through the charismata of tongues) in the Spirit-filled Christian community; and further still, just like the Assyrian invasion once showed the world that Israel's sin has indeed been judged, so too the gift of tongues is a sign (albeit an incomprehensible one) to us that our sins have been judged through the cross of Christ.
And for those who disbelieve this inexpressibly good news, the sign of tongues not only remains inpenetrable, but actually points them out as unbelievers by their inability to understand or accept the phenomenon of tongues for what it is.
So no wonder that unbelievers in 1 Corinthians 14:23 scoff at what is, to them, an incomprehensible sign. The unbelievers in Isaiah 28:14 before them scoffed at the signs of judgment Isaiah promised, too. And I can't help but think of Babel's architects before them all as Paul's point slowly sinks in on me: the confusion of incomprehensible tongues is a sign to unbelievers that their unbelief stands judged by almighty God.
The Laughter of Heaven
I wrote this song about six years ago now, in response to the meeting with the "modern day Simeon" I described in last Sunday's sermon. Listening to it today, I'm sure I'd nuance some of the sentiments differently if I were to write it again. The hyperbole of the opening verse seems a little too grandiose to me today, and lines like "I will worship with abandon" sound as though "he doth protest too much..." But I still stand by my work. It's a wise man who can grow spiritually without denying where he's been.
I offer it here as a follow-up to last Sunday.