I used to write a TON of long books reviews. By that, I mean, I wrote at least one a week, every week, for about five years. I don’t do that anymore. Actually, I probably write more reviews now than I did then.
How? I write a bite-sized review of every book I read, every month. That’s the big idea behind my “what I read in…” series that I run, where I share a thought on the books I’ve been reading, and it’s a lot of fun. Here’s what I see as the benefits to me as a book reviewer:
It drives me to understand the book well. This probably seems like a given, but it’s worth mentioning. When I read, I’m looking to get a good sense of the big ideas of a book. I want to know it well enough that I can communicate it back simply.
It encourages me to share something of substance efficiently. I want to communicate something about the book and why it matters. I just want to do it in a sentence or two, instead of 1000 words.
It challenges me to discern what requires longer-form review. Some books just need more words than 50. They need 500 or 1000 to adequately express the key takeaways. So when I’m reading, I’m doing so with the idea that there might be a big idea worth exploring in greater detail (like this).
Writing a book review isn’t about the length of your post. It’s about the value you’re communicating. Writing smaller, bite-sized reviews has been really helpful in this area. Maybe it will be for you, too.
There’s a secret that everyone is looking for—everyone from scientists and cabbies, name-it-and-claim-it gurus and school teachers, and even homeschooling stay-at-home moms trying not to pull their hair out because the kids won’t give them five minutes of privacy.
What is the secret of the universe?
Everyone wants to be part of something bigger than themselves—to be a part of a bigger story. To know that there’s more going on than what we can see in our present circumstances. To know that life isn’t just a random series of events, but that there is a plan. There is something that makes sense of all that we see and hear and experience.
Scientists have long sought the answer in what they call the unified field theory, or the theory of everything: a single framework for understanding and tying together all known phenomena and explaining the nature of, well, everything.[1. A good and easy to understand definition of this theory can be found here.] This, they believe, is the secret that, once found, “will eliminate all the mysteries, satisfy all the longings, clarify all the misconceptions,” writes Jared Wilson in The Story of Everything (15).
But are they right? Kind of, yeah. There is an answer to the question everyone asks. There is a way to know the secret of the universe. So what is it?
The thing that makes sense of everything is the glory of God brought to bear by the grace of God. And God’s modus operandi, his plan to reveal this secret, is the proclamation of the message the Bible calls “the gospel,” the good news that the glorious God has sent the radiance of his glory to restore men who have sinned and fallen short of his glory (Rom. 3:23). (24)
This is the message Wilson shares in The Story of Everything, his most recent book from Crossway, as he shows readers how God is at work in everything—from history, art and science, to work, pain, fun and even evil—to reveal his glory to the us all. That the “theory of everything” starts and stops with him.
God’s is the point of everything (as he should be)
That really is the whole point of the book. And as Wilson explains the story and how God is at work in all things, not just in the beginning but right now in how he is restoring all things through the gospel, Wilson continually draws us back to God in all his glory. When we read that “God has embedded order, intelligence, and design into his creation. It’s not just the heavens that declare the glory of God, it’s the discarded seashells” (56), this isn’t written just to tell us a fact. It’s a reminder of God’s intimate involvement with every aspect of creation. That no detail is too insignificant to escape his attention.
And this, of course, begs the question: If discarded seashells proclaim the glory of God, how can we not do likewise? Or to put it another way, how can Christians do something as silly as point away from someone as glorious as God to themselves? We can’t. Or we shouldn’t. And yet, isn’t that exactly what we’re doing when we put our hope in spectacle on Sundays, or confuse our allegiance to Christ with a political party or nationstate?
When we do this, we’re pointing to the world as the answer to the problem. If we have enough lasers and smoke machines, we’ll win people to Jesus. If we have the right party or leader in charge, then we’ll turn our nation around. Great in theory, but remember: the world itself is part of the problem, so pointing to something that’s totally broken and saying, “Let’s be like that” just isn’t going to cut it, any more than it worked out when the Israelites spurned God as their king in order to be like all the surrounding nations (1 Samuel 8:1-9).
Instead, our role is to “to keep pointing away from the world for the hope of the world” (98), and instead always be pointing to Jesus who is the hope of the world. “While everyone else points to government, family, good deeds, and whatever else as The Secret, the church keeps pointing to the alien, heavenly power of grace as the hope for our problems and for our false hopes.”
The point of pain
This the kind of understanding that helps us make sense of all we experience—that even something like pain has a purpose.That evil and injustice aren’t random occurrences, but that they have a point. But sometimes Christians have been glib or dismissive about real struggles—we desperately want to try to offer the solution for why specifically we’re experiencing something, so we offer (nonsensical) platitudes like “choose to sin, choose to suffer,” or “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” But that’s not how we should approach issues like pain and suffering—we shouldn’t automatically jump to the suggestion that your suffering is the direct result of the sins you’ve committed, anymore than we should be offering a well-intended, but soul-sucking pep talk.
Instead, we should recognize that pain exists, in some respect, to remind us that this world is not the way it was meant to be. “Pain gets our attention on things that matter in a way that painlessness definitely does not. That is at least one of its benefits, an embedded mercy in the pain we were cursed with at the fall,” Wilson writes. “If we did not feel pain we would not know the very important truth that we are needful of help, rescue, and redemption” (152).
No new news (and that’s good news)
These truths should not surprise you—and hopefully they don’t discourage you. They are, after all, the old truths of the Bible, those we find in Genesis, Ecclesiastes, Habbakuk, John’s gospel, the Psalms, and in every other book of the Bible.
And to be honest, it’s really good news that there is no new news in The Story of Everything. We don’t need something new because God has given us everything we need already. What do do need, sometimes, is to be reminded of what’s already been given to us. And this Wilson does admirably in this book as he reminds us that there is good news to tell and to be seen—that God is making all things new, and “he commands us to behold him doing it” (224).
These five words are music to a parent’s ears (or at least this parent’s). When the kids are excited about a book, we definitely like to indulge them. My girls and I love the Chronicles of Narnia series, for example, and every time I finish a chapter, the request to read the next one immediately follows. (And they’re always disappointed when I say “no”, but I’ve got a good reason—it takes me 20-30 minutes to read a chapter out loud!)
A few weeks back, we started reading Kevin DeYoung’s latest, The Biggest Story: How the Snake Crusher Brings Us Back to the Garden. As we prepared to read it, I wondered what the kids would say about it—would it be one of those books they really enjoy or one they listen to because Mom and Dad want to read it to them.
I mean, this is a book that is kind of risky: it’s essentially a miniature biblical theology for children, a story connecting the dots from the garden of Eden to Jesus’ death and resurrection to the new creation, by an author not known for writing books geared toward children.
In other words, it’s the kind of book that people would never expect to work.
And yet, it does. Really, really well, in fact.
Honesty and accuracy can be child-friendly
One of the great difficulties I have with a lot of Bible storybooks is that, in an effort to keep things clear for kids, the author often winds up sanitizing the stories of the Bible. This is why there are so many board books with smiling Noah and a boat of happy animals. DeYoung doesn’t do this, thankfully. Instead, he strikes a very good balance, aiming for a child-friendly and entertaining read that also happens to be honest about what’s in the Bible. Combine that with Don Clark’s terrific artwork, and you’ve got a pretty cool book on your hands. Check it out the opening of the story:
Image source: Crossway
Pretty cool, right?
Clark knows what’s going to fit the subject matter of the book (which is harder than you’d think) and uses color, shapes, and negative space extremely effectively to communicate and connect with the reader. The opening pages of the story of the garden are lush and rich (as seen above), but when the story turns, the tone changes. Colors become muted. The page design gets a bit more sparse. And neither Clark nor DeYoung shy away from being honest about things like Cain murdering his brother:
Image source: Crossway
This is the kind of thing I want to see more of in children’s Bible storybooks—not that they become gruesome affairs, but that they don’t pretend things aren’t the way they are in the Bible. I don’t want my kids to experience a sanitized version of Scripture. I don’t want them assuming that everything is always happy all the time, because if they believe that they’re going to be pretty disappointed. They need to know that the Bible recognizes people as they are—a jacked up mess—and even so, Jesus still came to rescue us.
Did my kids like it?
We read the book over the course of about three days with the kids. The plan had been to use it to switch things up with our family Bible time as part ofour daily routine, doing a chapter a day, but we wound up flying through the first three or four chapters in about 15 minutes. The second night, we read all the way to the last one, and saved that one for the next night to build anticipation (more on that in a second).
And the kids loved it. I asked my oldest what she liked most about it, and her response was, “Everything.” When I pressed for more information, she kept going back to that answer: she really did like everything about the book and was only going to keep telling me that. (Maybe not the most helpful feedback, but still…) Our middle daughter is actually the one who made us wait to read the last chapter on its own—not because she didn’t like the book, but because she didn’t want it to end so quickly! (That, by the way, is about the highest praise you’ll ever get out of that particular child.) And our son was just happy to be there (he’s three, so the book was more or less just pictures to him—but he liked those, too).
If you’re looking for a book to introduce your kids to the story of Scripture, The Biggest Story is one you’d want to strongly consider. It’s honest and faithful to the Bible, but balances that well with a kid-friendly tone and beautiful illustrations. I’m glad to have been able to share this book with my kids. I hope you’ll enjoy doing the same.
Title: The Biggest Story: How the Snake Crusher Brings Us Back to the Garden Author: Kevin DeYoung (illustrated by Don Clark) Publisher: Crossway (2015)
In some ways, there has never been a scarier time to be a Christian in the West than right now. There has also never been a better time to be a Christian in the West than right now. Why? Because Cultural Christianity is dead, and the days of Christianity being a part of any moral majority are over.
See, it’s not exactly going to buy you any cultural cache to be a Christian right now. We increasingly seen as backwards and anti-progressive, desperately trying to use whatever remaining political power that remains to turn culture back to the 1950s, while risking winding up on “the wrong side of history”. When we’re living consistently what we say we believe, we are weird—really, really weird to the world. Am I the only one who sees that as potentially a very good thing?
Is the end of cultural Christianity a bad thing?
Thankfully not, at least not if Russell Moore’s latest, Onward: Engaging the Culture without Losing the Gospel, is any indication. Moore believes the “increasing marginalization of Christianity offers an opportunity for the church to reclaim a gospel vision that has been too often obscured, even within sectors of the church we think of as ‘conservative'” (61). We have, as he puts it:
…the opportunity to bear witness in a culture that often does not even pretend to share our “values.” That is not a tragedy since we were never given a mission to promote “values in the first place, but to speak instead of sin and of righteousness and judgment, of Christ and his kingdom. (10)
Onward is all about helping its readers reclaim that understanding—to move away from seeing ourselves as an embattled moral majority, and instead embrace our role as a prophetic minority wherever God has placed us.
Wars, rumors of wars, and culture wars
Careful readers will notice that Moore is not concerned with changing the content of our historic message—he is not advocating a revisionist alternative in order to gain favor with those who reject us—but encouraging us to consider our methodology. This is especially important when addressing concerns of renewed culture wars.
Christians of another generation (and many of the current one) grew weary of culture wars (and culture warriors). These Christians tired of hearing how the world was going to hell in a hand basket, and how whatever issue on the agenda would bring about the end of America. They weren’t interested in getting back to a Christian America (and whether or not such a thing ever existed is an entirely different matter). They just wanted to everyone to keep their opinions to themselves, and get along.
Moore is no advocate of an unrestrained culture war that sees gay rights activists and abortion proponents as our enemies. We are not to run around acting like some “protected class of victims.” Instead, “we ought to see that our culture is less and less connected with the roots of basic knowledge of Christianity” (180). And this viewpoint changes how we approach those who would disagree with our view of marriage, human dignity, sexuality, and so many other issues. We approach them with what he describes as convictional kindness:
This kindness is not weak or passive. In fact, kindness is an act of warfare.… Those who serve Christ must be kind to everyone, Paul wrote. Those who serve Christ must show honor to everyone, Peter wrote (1. Pet. 2.17).… The Spirit bears fruit in our lives, as Jesus lives out his life through us. This fruit consists of kindness and gentleness. This is not a break from the fighting. This is how we fight. (224–225)
The tension of fighting faithfully
No doubt many reading these words will struggle with this idea. I’ll admit, I struggle with it at times. I mean, show kindness to those who ridicule us? Yep. Show kindness to those who deny non-conformists the right to practice their religious beliefs without discrimination? You betcha. Why? Because they aren’t our enemy. They have believed a lie. Though they are responsible for their acts of rebellion against God, they are also victims of Satan’s schemes to defame God.
So to fight against them—to attack and demean, to fire all of our ammunition at those who are merely doing the bidding of the Serpent misses the point. Our war is not with flesh and blood, but powers and principalities. Our enemies are spiritual, not incarnate. It doesn’t mean we cower in a corner and merely “take” it when someone does us wrong. But it does mean we, like Jesus as he was dying on the cross, need to be prepared to say, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).
Where the future champions of the faith may be found
It’s also a recognition that the future leaders of the church might be among those working against us, just as Saul was there approving the death of Stephen (Acts 8:1).
The next Jonathan Edwards might be the man driving in front of you with the Darwin Fish bumper decal. The next Charles Wesley might be a misogynistic, profanity-spewing hip-hop artist right now. The next Charles Spurgeon might be managing an abortion clinic right now. The next Mother Teresa might be a heroin-addicted porn star right now. The next Augustine of Hippo might be a sexually promiscuous cult member, just like, come to think of it, the first Augustine of Hippo was. (255)
This is so important for us to get: Those out there in the world right now, those who might even be violently opposed to us right at this very moment—any one of them could be saved by God, redeemed by and through the death of Jesus, and used by God in order to further his gospel. Were it to suit his purposes, God could someday use the very same lesbian couple that sued a Christian baker for not baking their wedding cake to reach the gay community with the gospel of Christ as easily as he could use the president of Planned Parenthood as an advocate to end abortion, and as easily as he uses any of us according to his purposes.
And so if we do not show these people kindness, even as we decry many of the things they represent or currently participate in, we are missing the point. After all, “the path to peace isn’t through bellicosity or surrender, but through fighting the right war (Rom. 16:20). We rage against the Reptile, not against his prey” (231).
Embracing the strangeness of Christianity
This will seem strange to the world. Heck, it will seem strange to many Christians, won’t it? Honestly, it felt a little strange to even write it. But it’s true, and this is one of the beautifully strange things about Christianity. God isn’t out there looking for “good people” to do his will—he takes wicked, messed up people like you and me and calls us good. And that merely scratches the surface of the strangeness of Christianity.
Everything about what we believe is strange to a world like ours—it is totally incomprehensible. Sexual expression belonging only in the context of monogamous heterosexual marriage in a world racing toward polyamory? Bizarre. Having more than one child in a culture where children are more of a burden than a blessing? Peculiar. Believing “a previously dead man is going to show up in the sky, on a horse” (12)? Kind of nutty.
This is the sort of strangeness we need to embrace if we’re serious about truly engaging the culture—and that won’t happen until we are arrested by the strangeness of the gospel ourselves. Onward presents a captivating picture of the weirdness of Christian belief, of convictional kindness in a world of mudslinging and second guessing. The world needs “strange” Christians, and I hope all who read this book will recognize within themselves a desire to be exactly that.
When most people hear “Trinity,” they think to Carrie Ann Moss’ character in the Matrix movies. When many (most?) Christians hear “Trinity,” they think “concept of God I (maybe) affirm, but don’t get.” But how many think of the Trinity as practical—a source of encouragement and comfort when you’re at the end of your rope?
Born out of Thorn’s self-described “dark night of the soul,” Experiencing the Trinity was written because the author himself needed to be reminded of the truths found within. Working too hard for too long with too little rest left him burnt out and in need of help. And where he found the greatest help was in God’s Word, by preaching the gospel to himself.
Even as he writes to help us “reflect on God and the gospel and how they overcome our fear, failure, pain, and unbelief” (18), Thorn openly admits he’s writing because he needs the reminder, too. And this is something too many of us writer types forget too quickly: when we write, it’s really helpful that what we’re writing be something we’re living or working through ourselves, especially when it’s on issues of faith. It adds weight to what we’re saying for our readers to know our words aren’t theoretical. We don’t think this is maybe kinda sorta helpful possibly. We believe it’s helpful to you because it helped us.
So when Thorn writes a simple phrase like, “Your hope is not your own obedience, but the obedience of Jesus Christ” (73), it’s because he’s had to wrestle with it again and again (like hopefully all of us have). We don’t get away from this reality as we grow in our faith. If anything, we’re forced repeatedly to realize just how often we rely on ourselves instead of on Christ.
We try to make deals with God, or we make sweeping statements about all the things we do in service to him… but none of that brings us any true comfort. If anything, it leaves us in a bigger mess than before because we’re focused on the wrong thing. We’re looking at ourselves, rather than Jesus, because seeing him and knowing him—or, beholding him—changes everything:
You cannot feel your way to the glory of Jesus, for it is essentially the totality of who he is and what he has done. You must give yourself to not just knowing about him, but knowing him. And the more you know him, the less appealing the world becomes, the less painful your trials are, and the more you grow in contentment, because this glorious Christ is yours and you are his. (1o3)
That’s good news, isn’t it?
The right book for the right time in my life
Note to Self, Thorn’s first book, was a much-needed and timely encouragement. Experiencing The Trinity, likewise, came at just the right time in my life—a time when I’ve been really reminded that it’s easy for me to run on fumes, and carry on as though everything is grand for a fairly significant period period of time. And for the most part, people don’t seem to notice. (Which either says a lot about them or me, I’ll leave it for you to decide, dear reader.)
When I read his encouragement to “draw near to the Lord by faith,” and “set your heart on his promises and ask for his divine assistance,” (88) I really feel the pull—the way the Lord is using that encouragement as if to say, “Hey you, pay attention: that means you, too.” The Lord will indeed provide for those in need. When he writes that the comfort of the Holy Spirit that may not be relief from temporal discomfort but “rest for your soul” (119), it’s not just for other folks—it’s me, too. So maybe I shouldn’t forget that, huh?
Not your ordinary devotional
I’m generally not a fan of “devotional” books—the ones filled with pithy encouragements, designed to brighten your day. It’s not that they’re bad, because many are quite good, but I’ve found too many paint too small a picture of God. But I have a pretty simple rule: if Joe Thorn writes it, I read it. What he offers in Experiencing The Trinityis a book that blends appeals to the head and the heart they way they were always meant to be. As a result, it actually succeeds in what it aims to do: give encouragement for the weary, not through sweet sentiments, but by proclaiming our spectacular God. While you may still not “get” the Trinity (and if you don’t, you’re in good company), you will grow in your appreciation of the importance of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit—and find some relief for your weariness in the process.
If you’ve read more than one or two Christian marriage books, you may have noticed they tend to follow a pretty standard template. For a marriage to be successful, husbands and wives need to:
Understand how God has intended them to be (with some sort of discussion of Genesis 2);
Have frequent sex;
See how their relationship represents the gospel (as per Ephesians 5); and
Have frequent sex. Frequently.
And then Francis Chan went and wrote a marriage book. Or did he?
Chan and his wife, Lisa, give readers a decidedly different take, one suggests that as good as it is it try to make your marriage better, our main focus—whether in marriage or singleness—needs to be something bigger: God. This is the big idea behind You and Me Forever: Marriage in Light of Eternity. The Chans want readers to picture marriage as a vehicle for mission, an opportunity for Christians to carry out our mission to make disciples of all the nations.
Sounds pretty lofty, huh? So how’d they do?
Marriage problems are God problems
“As a pastor for over 20 years, I have come to the conclusion that most marriage problems are not really marriage problems. They are God problems,” Chan writes (20). “They can be traced back to one or both people having a poor relationship with God or a faulty understanding of Him.”
This, among all the many wonderfully helpful things you’ll read in this book, is probably the most important—and also the most contentious. While sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, certainly, many of us are too quick to call everything a cigar.
Or (to mix metaphors) we treat symptoms, but not illnesses. The problem with this is what happens when you leave an illness untreated? It only gets worse (and in some cases, eventually kills you).
So think about it in a marriage: if a husband is domineering, it’s because something is deeply dysfunctional in his relationship with God, if one exists at all. If a wife commits adultery because another man understands her and makes her feel special, it’s because something is deeply dysfunctional in her relationship with God, looking to other people for affirmation instead of the Lord.
The same can be said of virtually any problem we face. They all start with our relationship with God. And that’s what makes it so contentious. Chan’s tendency is to get to the heart of an issue right away, rather than easing his audience into that knowledge. And because of his, shall we say, abrupt style of springing such things upon us, it’s easy to be turned off. But the more you sit with what he says, the more you realize it’s true (most of the time, anyway).
Marriage is for mission
This theme continues throughout the book, as both Francis and Lisa continually remind readers that marriage is a tool for the spread of the gospel:
Beautiful people make beautiful marriages. Jesus is the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth. Your best shot at having a beautiful marriage is if both of you make it your goal to become like Jesus. (91)
Our mission does not call us to neglect our marriages. But a marriage cannot be healthy unless we are seeking His kingdom and righteousness first (Matt. 6:33). (97)
Whether as individuals or as couples, our mission is to make as many disciples as we can during our time on earth… We should be constantly asking ourselves the question: How can we free up more time and resources for making disciples? (98-99)
There is an urgency to the period of time in which we live—after Jesus’ resurrection and before His second coming. We have callings from God, and those callings are bigger than our marriages. Seeking His kingdom must be our first priority, and if we’re not careful, marriage can get in the way. (114)
This, again, is a necessary reorientation for many of us (even if there are some cautions I want to address). We should be examining our lives from the perspective of our clearly stated purpose: to make disciples. If we are in Christ, each and every one of us is called to this in some way, shape or form. There is no denying it.
And if we have children, mission starts at home. We want our kids to know the gospel, to see the beauty of Christ, to see Christianity as something more than just going to church for a couple hours on Sunday. We want them to see that it involves sacrifice, sometimes including sacrificing time with them for the sake of the gospel…
How much should mission disrupt marriage?
But we also want them to see something else: sometimes the sacrifice we make is saying “no” to a good opportunity in order to be with them. Chan writes:
I work a lot. And I definitely travel more than most. Hardly a week goes by where I’m not jumping on a plane, wishing I could just stay home with my family. Some would call this bad parenting. I would argue that. I don’t neglect my children by any stretch of the imagination, but there are many times when I know God has called me to serve Him in ways that disrupt the family routine. I genuinely believe that it’s good for my kids to observe this. (165)
I sympathize with this a great deal. There are times in our lives when our family routine is disrupted. Because of work commitments or speaking engagements, I’m away from home probably five to six weeks of the year. While that might seem light in comparison to the schedules of many authors, speakers and pastors, we take it very seriously. When I have the opportunity to speak somewhere, we consider not only the opportunity, but the cost for our kids who are all very young. And there have been many times when I’ve had to say no to really good opportunities because where I’m most needed is at home playing cars on the floor with Hudson.
(There was also the time I went to Nashville and back in 36 hours when Emily was days away from giving birth to the boy, but…)
The point here is simply this: sometimes where we will be most effective for the sake of the mission will be away from home. But this is not license to “take care of the ministry and let God take care of your family,” as so many of a previous generation advocated (with their lives if not their words). I fear for the one who neglects his family in the name of Christ, because I can’t see it going well for them. Instead, what we need to do is find the right balance (in as much as something as unbalanced as ministry is). While we might have good opportunities to be used effectively away, sometimes it’s still best to be right here.
A marriage book that’s not about marriage
You may have gotten to this point and thought, “Great, it sounds like Crazy Love: Marriage Edition.” As tempting as it might be to say, it’s not entirely true. Yes, it has all the emphases of “radical” Christianity that you see in Crazy Love, Radical and so many others. No, it’s not without it’s problems (personally, I do feel Chan’s explanation of disrupting the family routine could be better fleshed out). But in the end, You and Me Forever succeeds in giving us a different kind of marriage book—one that’s less about marriage and more about the gospel. And that, for me at least, is a welcome change of pace.
“The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul” (Psalm 19:7). David wrote those words to describe the first five books of the Bible—Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. These, he said, are “perfect.” These “revive” the soul.
Do we see the Law the way David did?
I’m guessing, probably not.
We tend to view the Law in one of two ways. The first is, we treat the Law merely as commands to be scrupulously obeyed in order to earn favor with God. We are trying to be “good,” which is moralism (or, legalism). The second option treats the Law as something to be rejected altogether; we are free in Christ and thus we become a law unto ourselves. This is licentiousness (which, arguably, is another form of legalism).
Neither view respects the Law. Neither exhibits a love for the “perfect” Law. Neither revives the soul, as David says the Law does.
But there is another option left to us, one that is better than anything moralism and licentiousness have to offer—delighting in the Law. This is the option available to all faithful Christians, the way the Lord wants us to see His Law, and what what Jerram Barrs wants us to see in his recent book of the same name.
Barr’s background teaching apologetics and outreach at Covenant Theological Seminary plays a significant role in the tone of Delighting in the Law of the Lord. Barr writes not as a typical academic, but one who is convicted that what he writes is true. He, like a good evangelist, wants to persuade us to see the goodness of the Law over the course of 24 chapters (which is, sadly, where he does become more of a traditional academic).
So how’d he do?
Well, here are a couple of the standout items from my perspective:
The law is the definition of true humanness. Barr’s connection of the Law to our being created as image bearers of God is perhaps the most helpful thing he describes in the entire book. The Law represents the character of God—and is therefore beautiful by virtue of this fact—which means it also shows us the nature of true humanity. With each commandment given, “It’s as if God is saying, ‘This is my character: I am just; I am merciful; I am kind; I am faithful; I am generous. You are to be like me'” (99). If humanity was intended to reflect God, it makes sense that the Law would show us what we were intended to be—and more importantly, that Christ would show us what it meant to be truly human in His perfect keeping of the Law.
Legalism is the enemy of outreach. Where legalism—whether in rigorous rule keeping or in defiant rule-breaking—reigns, the gospel is not preached. Barr writes:
We must sit at Jesus’ feet and recognize that all legalism is an implacable enemy of the gospel of grace. And we need to be prepared to fight against it, rather than bow to it or allow it to govern the life or outreach of our churches.… Attacking legalism is necessary to bring about the salvation of the legalists themselves by humbling them before the Lord, before his truth, and before his grace. Attacking legalism is also necessary in setting people free from the rules that legalists impose upon them.… This proclamation of liberty from legalism is one of the great friends of true proclamation of the gospel, both to the church and to the world. (210)
These are a couple of points from the book that, in hindsight are tremendously helpful, and if they’re all you walk away with from the book, you will be very blessed indeed.
However, I’ve got to be honest: I wasn’t terribly enamored with this book while I read it. Don’t get me wrong—it’s well written, it’s thoughtful, and there’s a lot I agree with… but you know how sometimes the best way to describe a book is simply long? That’s Delighting in the Law of the Lord. It took me five months to read—not because I’m a slow reader, but because it couldn’t hold my attention. As harsh as it is it say, for a book on delighting in the Law, I didn’t find myself terribly excited about what I was reading.
Maybe the problem is me. In fact, it’s a safe bet that at least some of the blame belongs there. But as much as I wanted to be riveted by the book, I just wasn’t. I love the Law, I love seeing God’s grace in the Law and recognizing how Christ came to fulfill the Law for me while also working it in me… But my time with this book didn’t help with that. Having had a fairly significant amount of time away from the book (I finished reading it about two months ago), there’s more that I appreciate from it, but it’s definitely not a book that’s for everyone.
The Bible is the most important—and most controversial—books ever written. Its message of world destroyed by human sinfulness and redeemed only through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ is an affront to our modern sensibilities.
So it’s no wonder this book is constantly under attack, is it? For centuries, skeptics of all stripes have done their level best to debunk the Bible’s reliability. And Christian scholars in kind have written many wonderful treatises expressing why the Bible can be trusted.
The problem is, most of those treatises aren’t written to the people who need them: average people coming to church on Sunday morning. For the average Christian, there aren’t a lot of good, engaging books on the reliability of Scripture. So, Kevin DeYoung decided to write one.
His latest, Taking God At His Word, offers readers an easily digestible look at what the Scriptures say about themselves and why we, as Christians, can and should trust them—and more than that, why we should love the Bible.
Why do we need to love the Bible?
Taking God At His Word begins with its conclusion: God’s people are not to simply assent to God’s Word, they are to love it. Our approach to the Bible is not to be one of dreary subservience, but of delighted submission, something illustrated in Psalm 119’s exuberant language. And this is DeYoung’s entire purpose in writing the book.
I want all that is in Psalm 119 to be an expression of all that is in our heads and in our hearts.… I want to convince you (and make sure I’m convinced myself) that the Bible makes no mistakes, can be understood, cannot be overturned, and is the most important word in your life, the most relevant thing you can read each day. Only when we are convinced of all this can we give a full-throated “Yes! Yes! Yes!” every time we read the Bible’s longest chapter. (16)
Note how careful DeYoung is to ground this delight: we’re not to come to the Bible with a subjective emotionalism; our feelings don’t guide how we are to view the Bible. Instead, because the Bible is true, clear, essential and authoritative we can feel an immense amount of joy and gladness!
But that’s easier said than done, isn’t it? After all, many of us don’t live there, or if we do, it’s not all the time. But getting there is possible—not easy, but possible. It means we have to understand what the Bible says about itself.
What does the Bible say about itself?
DeYoung’s knack for taking complex ideas and making them accessible is on full display as he unpacks what the Bible says about itself. In doing so, he outlines four essential truths about Scripture:
God’s Word is enough. The Bible is sufficient for all our needs and to grow us into maturity as believers.
God’s Word is clear. The Bible’s message can be accurately (if not completely) understood by ordinary people using ordinary means.
God’s Word is final. The Bible is our ultimate authority over all matters, and we are to sit under its rule.
God’s Word is necessary. We need the Bible in order to know God and to know the way of salvation.
Entire books can easily be written on each of these four subjects (and have), but DeYoung gives readers just enough to be grounded and certain in how the Scriptures speak to each of these truths. Of them all, the one we see near constant attack on is the Bible’s authority—and often this challenge is made by undermining its clarity.
Take homosexuality and same-sex marriage as an example. A number of well meaning professing believers want to believe homosexual practice is not in conflict with the Christian faith, and that this is not an issue clearly spoken of in Scripture. A few of the common arguments:
Maybe Paul wasn’t referring to monogamous homosexual relationships in Romans 1 and 1 Corinthians 6; maybe he was only speaking of nonconsensual acts.
Jesus didn’t really speak on the issue, so how can we know what Jesus would say?
Perhaps there is a trajectory that is set in motion through the gospel that would mean that even though Paul said it wasn’t acceptable, it is now.
Notice the common traits: each argument attempts to obscure the clarity of Scripture, either by questioning the author’s clear intent or arguing from silence. And as soon as we lose the clarity of Scripture, we lose its authority. It’s the old serpent’s trick once again: “Did God really say…?”
God’s word is final. God’s word is understandable. God’s word is necessary. God’s word is enough. In every age, Christians will do battle wherever these attributes of Scripture are threatened and assaulted. But more importantly, on every day we will have to fight the fight of faith to really believe everything we know the Bible says about itself and, even more challenging, to live accordingly. (93)
Can we take God at His Word?
Getting to the place of delight DeYoung advocates for is hard, but it’s necessary. We will continually be challenged from without and within on whether or not this book we claim is the Word of God is what it says it is. But we have good reason for confidence—not from external evidence (although we do), but from the Bible itself. Taking God At His Word does a wonderful job of reminding readers that this book is what it says it is: the knowable, necessary, authoritative and sufficient Word of God—the only place where we may learn of the One who has come to rescue us from our sin, and of the hope He offers for tomorrow.
Friends, if this is really true, how can you not delight in it?
Taking God At His Wordis one of the few books I want to hand out to everyone I know. It really is that helpful. Its punchy and powerful message is exactly what so many new and mature believers need, and I trust it will be a great benefit to all who read it.
The first time I heard Justin Wise speak on social media I was impressed.
It was the first session—actually the pre-conference workshop—at a conference for Christian creatives in Canada. Wise was speaking on how churches need to embrace their websites as their new front-door. And as he laid everything out, with tons of practical examples, I had two reactions:
People really need to listen to this guy
This is going to be really hard for some folks to swallow
Many of the people occupying the leadership roles in churches, non-profits, and for-profit entities are digital immigrants. They remember a time without Wi-Fi, Netflix, and Facebook. Many of them use social media, but struggle to understand how to do it. Others don’t bother with it at all, seeing it as a distraction, a fad, or a time-suck that gets in the way of getting real work/ministry done.
But, Wise argues, digital communication is not a good thing for a church to engage in—it’s necessary if they’re actually serious about reaching people with the gospel. And that’s really the heart behind his book, The Social Church: A Theology of Digital Communication, where Wise unpacks the “why” of social media, with a bit of how sprinkled in along the way.
Mission and ministry in social media
If you could boil the why down to one thing, it’s really this: Churches need to be engaging social media—blogs, Facebook, Twitter, whatever the next thing is that’s going to take the world by storm—not because it’s hip and trendy, but because it’s about mission and ministry. Where people are, Christians must be as well. But the difference, and maybe the most challenging aspect of it, is that mission and ministry in social media requires two-way communication.
“For many, many years, churches communicated in the same fashion you and I drive down a one-way street: traffic only moved one way,” Wise explains. “Churches broadcasted a message and never anticipated a moment where the congregation would start speaking back.”
But social media has changed this dynamic.…For the church, and virtually every other sector of society, the shift to social permanently turned the tables in the public’s favor. Social media gave people a voice, and they’re not going to give it up easily. (30)
This is the challenge many of us have when engaging social media. Because the expectation is two-way communication, you actually have to engage people. You have to talk to them when they talk back and share content that’s not all about you. And this is also where so many organizations—including some of the world’s biggest brands—fall on their faces. So if you’ve just realized that you’re doing the digital equivalent of shouting into an empty room, take heart: you’re not alone and you can change this.
But in order to do it, you have to know the values of a social media culture, what it likes and dislikes. What it thinks, how it feels… This is, essentially, the “nasty” business of contextualization, becoming all things to all people so that some might be saved. And even as we seek to understand—or humbly admit we can’t make the leap ourselves and bring in people to help us—we find more opportunities to push back.
Challenging a mediated world
Even as “online” and “offline” become increasingly blurred, we’re going to find ourselves having to confront the tendency to hide in the digital realm with more force. Humans were not meant to hide behind screens and smartphones (and yes, I understand the irony of me even saying this in a digital medium). Real relationships can form and be nurtured online, but the best kinds of relationships form in the real life.
I suppose the inherent danger of online communities is when there is a mistaken belief they can serve as a one-for-one replacement for in-person communities. They can’t (and shouldn’t). Offline trumps online.
Having said that, online community is definitely preferable to no community whatsoever. Lives have been changed, saved, and redeemed all because gospel-centered online communities exist. (155)
You can see the tension here, can’t you? I think Wise is certainly correct that “digital community is better than no community” to some degree, but the fact that this also points us to a legitimate issue in our context: that even as we develop a sound theology of digital communication, we must develop a robust eccesiology to compliment it. This is the difficulty many of us have with idea of online services—while streaming the service can certainly beneficial, how do we challenge people to engage in reality?
Years ago, I was part of an active hobby-focused online community. People would talk about the primary subject (comics), but would also delve into all kinds of other topics, including sharing deeply personal details about their lives (not in a TMI kind of way. Usually). Folks would meet at conventions for drinks. Users who lived in the same cities would get together every once in a while for a meal if the suggestion was tabled… But in the end, when someone stopped visiting the site, it was like they never existed. In an instant, those relationships were severed. The connections weren’t really all that deep.
This is the challenge we face when we deal with the implications of online ministry. How do we build real connections that aren’t easy to sever? This is something Wise doesn’t thoroughly address in the book because, honestly, I don’t know if he or anyone else is equipped to put forward an answer. But make no mistake: if we’re serious about being gospel-minded, gospel-centered people who want to engage the digital realm for mission and ministry, this elephant in the room must be named and addressed.
The beginning of a much deeper conversation
The Social Church is not the last word on social media and the church, nor should it be. Instead, it’s best to see this book as the continuation (or possibly the beginning) of of a conversation we’re not quite ready for: a much deeper discussion on how to do ministry in a simultaneously bigger and smaller world. But whether or not we’re truly ready, it’s a conversation we need to have.
About a year ago, I bought a new laptop, and the first time I turned it on it was magical. Well, maybe not, but it was pretty slick. It went super-fast, did everything I needed it to do… Then, a few months later, my new work computer arrived. And I started feeling a little bit of regret over my personal one. The “shininess” of my computer had worn off and it seemed kind of, well, average. It wasn’t nearly as rad in my eyes as it had been when I opened the box for the first time.
I wonder if some of us see the Easter story that way. We’ve heard so many sermons on it—or preached so many—that it seems like we’re going through the motions. We say, “yay, Jesus is alive,” but really we’re thinking “alright, and now to run some errands!” This should never be. Woe to us who can look upon the death and resurrection of Jesus and say, “meh.”
Thabiti Anyabwile is a man who has not lost his sense of wonder at the cross. He knows that beholding the glory of Jesus is something none of us can do without. This is the heart behind his latest book, Captivated: Beholding the Mystery of Jesus’ Death and Resurrection.
In its five chapters (which originated as sermons preached at First Baptist Church, Grand Cayman) Anyabwile invites us to behold the wonder of the cross as he examines several key passages of Scripture:
Jesus’ prayer in the garden (Matthew 26:42);
Jesus’ cry from the cross (Matthew 27:42);
Paul’s rejoicing over death’s impotence in the face of Christ’s victory (1 Cor. 15:50-58);
The angels’ matter-of-fact questioning of the disciples at the empty tomb (Luke 24:5); and
Cleopas’ gentle rebuke to his new travelling companion along the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:18)
“Is there no other way?”
Almost all of us at some point have asked the question, “is there no other way?” When we look at the cross, and all the events that lead up to it, we can’t help but wonder if God could have done things differently. If you’ve ever asked the question, fear not: you’re in good company. Jesus asked the same one as he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane.
“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.… if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.” (Matthew 26:39, 42)
Here is the Lord Jesus—the One who was with God and was God from eternity past—asking if He had to go to the cross. Jesus wanted the cup to pass. But more importantly, He wanted the Father’s will to be done. So, could it pass from Him? No. And this is such good news, Anyabwile reminds us. In fact, we should be glad the Father said no. He writes:
Because the Father answered no, sinners have a merciful and faithful High Priest perfectly intimate with all their weaknesses. We have One we can approach for grace. Because the Father answered no, we have One who stands between us in all our ungodliness and God in all His holiness to reconcile us and reunite us as friends rather than rebels. Because the Father answered no, those who have faith in Christ need never fear the Father’s wrath again; His anger has been fully satisfied in the Son’s atonement. Because the Father said no, we stand assured that our acceptance with God happened on completely legitimate grounds—no parlor tricks, no loopholes, no legal fiction, no injustice to threaten or question the exchange of our sin for Jesus’ righteousness. Because the Father said no, we will forever enjoy and share the glory of Father and Son in the unending, timeless age to come.
I am so glad the Father said no.
Insightful, gospel-saturated meditations
Do you see the good news here? Anyabwile doesn’t resort to cheap parlor tricks or emotional platitudes to whoop readers up. Instead, he presents the gospel in all its glory. Over and over again, on page after page, the gospel shines through. And as you read the book, you can’t help but be caught up by its sermonic rhythm (appropriate, since it began as sermons). This makes for a captivating and fast-paced read—to some degree, almost a too fast one!
Indeed, that might be my only complaint about this book. Because it’s a series of gospel meditations, readers should not expect an in-depth treatise on any of the texts examined, which would work against Anyabwile’s purposes anyway. But this is not to say that deeper examination and application isn’t encouraged—it’s just left in your hands, thanks to the book’s reflection questions (which you really need to use—they add so much to the reading experience!).
Because we’re constantly inundated with “new,” we risk becoming a people who fail to take the time to enjoy what really matters. The gospel should never be something we move past, or shrug our shoulders at. This just won’t do. Whether you’ve struggled with familiarity or you’re consistently amazed at the cross, Captivated is a book that will be a great blessing to you.
About a year ago, I bought a new laptop, and the first time I turned it on it was magical. Well, maybe not, but it was pretty slick. It went super-fast, did everything I needed it to do… Then, a few months later, my new work computer arrived. And I started feeling a little bit of regret over my personal one. The “shininess” of my computer had worn off and it seemed kind of, well, average. It wasn’t nearly as rad in my eyes as it had been when I opened the box for the first time.