Not a Beatific Vision, But . . .

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away" (Revelation 21:4).

I had a dream that I was in Heaven, at least I think it was a dream, maybe it was a daydream.  I found myself in the midst of a great multitude.  At a distance, maybe a hundred yards or so from where I was standing, there was an uproar in the crowd.  At first, I had no idea what was happening, but then it dawned on me that Christ Himself was moving through the people, and His presence was causing an emotional reaction by those near Him.  Of course, you would think I would run to see Jesus, but after a moment of reflection, I hunched down and turned to walk the other way.  Because even though I had called upon Christ many, many times in prayer, to look directly at his face seemed more than I could bear.  In Heaven or not, I was still ashamed.*  Yet as I started to turn away, the crowd near me parted, and there He was directly in front of me, looking at me.  I'm not sure how I knew it was Him, and I don't remember Him saying anything.  Rather, He embraced me, and I wept.  I think I said to myself, “He knows me."  And that's all I remember.

*David said in Psalm 51:3, “My sin is ever before me.”  Likewise, Paul in Romans 7:24 cries, “O wretched man that I am!”  And Peter speaking directly to Christ in Luke 5:8 said, “Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord."

The Yocona River

Yocona River, Old River Road, Anchor/Taylor, Mississippi.

In northern Mississippi, running across the southern part of Lafayette County, the Yocona River is the principal tributary for Enid Lake.  Pronounced YOCK-NEE by the locals (based on an earlier variation of the name), William Faulkner called it the  Yoknapatawpha River in his novels (from which he seems to have extrapolated his Yoknapatawpha County).  It's my understanding that not far upstream from the place pictured above, a military battle took place during the Civil War.  That battle is particularly noteworthy because the Union forces were commanded by none other than Ulysses S. Grant.

In my younger years, I swam* in this river, fished from its banks, and when the water was up, even rode a boat up and down into Enid Lake (from Jones Crossing, south of Grinder's Switch).  Using various bridges, I've driven over this river thousands of times.  I've repeatedly seen it flood its banks, but I've never seen it run dry.  Over the years, I've heard both funny and sad stories associated with the river.  I've even dreamt about it.  All that said, I'm not really a fan of bodies of water, moving or still.  And yet for some reason, this old river - the Yocona River - seems always to run through the recesses of my mind. 

But there is something else about this river.  I have a strong intuition that the Yocona River works symbolically for me as a type.  To explain from the Bible, Simon Peter identified Noah's Flood as a type (or picture) of baptism (1 Peter 3:21).  The brazen serpent that was lifted up in the wilderness was identified by Christ as a type representing His crucifixion (John 3:14-15).  So for me, the Yocona River can also serve as a type.  How?  Because it typifies the Bible itself.  The Bible is the metanarrative that runs through and beneath Southern culture in general and my life in particular.  I don't mean that Southerners even come close to living up to biblical precepts.  Rather, I mean the Bible acts as a theological structure that underpins Southern culture.  Here I defer to the late Southern writer, Flannery O'Conner, who said:

Whenever I'm asked why Southern writers particularly have a penchant for writing about freaks, I say it is because we are still able to recognize one. To be able to recognize a freak, you have to have some conception of the whole man, and in the South the general conception of man is still, in the main, theological. . . .  I think it is safe to say that while the South is hardly Christ-centered, it is most certainly Christ-haunted. The Southerner . . . is very much afraid that he may have been formed in the image and likeness of God.

And just like the Yocona River, I've never known this metanarrative to run dry.  It's always there, and sometimes it still floods its banks and overwhelms everything in its path.  I leave it to the reader to decide whether this is a good or bad thing.**  I can only attest that in my life, it is undeniably true.

*We called it "swimming," but it was really nothing more than wading and splashing around in the river when the water was low.  

**There is a debate even among Christians about whether cultural Christianity is desirable.  And while that might be a worthwhile discussion, the emphasis of this post concerns only what is, not what should or should not be.

Why Stump Slung Chitlins?

According to the telephone book, we lived on Pleasant Ridge Road, a cutoff road of about six miles between Mississippi Highways 7 and 9W.  For much of my childhood, it was a gravel road and sparsely populated, particularly the eastern section running from Duke’s Mountain on.  We were so far out, you could not even see the lights from another house at night.

But we did have neighbors.  On the other side of a sizable stand of Loblolly pines and assorted hardwoods, there was an elderly couple named Buck and Mrs. Brown.  (Growing up, I didn’t know Mrs. Brown's first name, so I always referred to her by her last.)  Together they owned a general store a few miles away called “Buck Brown Store,” but most folks around there just called it “The Store.”

“The Store” was a typical general store for Mississippi in the 1960’s.  It was not only a place to buy a variety of goods, but also a social gathering spot for old white men.  When you’d go in, there were always several men sitting around in chairs and on old barrels.  Often they were playing checkers or cards.  And there was a lot of talking and laughter.  Mrs. Brown was usually there at the register, and it seemed she was always in the midst of whatever was going on.

I remember one specific occasion when the Browns invited us over for supper.  That night the main course was chitterlings.  (For those of you who may not know, chitterlings, or chitlins for short, are cooked swine intestines, pig guts.)  Of course, before you cook them, you have to clean them.  Specifically, you have to get what’s naturally inside the intestines out.  It’s my understanding that one way people used to remove the intestine contents was by slinging them up against something solid like a stump, thus the phrase “stump slung chitlins.”  Now, I don’t know how Mrs. Brown cleaned hers.  But I do seem to recall a putrid odor wafting through the woods toward our house.  I want to believe this was her boiling the chitlins outdoors, attempting to clean the last remnants of foul matter from what was to be our food. 

Now I would like to tell that the chitlins were delicious, but I wouldn’t know.  Once I found out what chitlins were, I refused to eat them.  However, everyone who did indulge seemed to greatly enjoy them.

My point in relaying this story is that when we consider chitlins in their natural state, they are nothing but the contemptible entrails of an animal the Old Testament calls “unclean.”  Yet when properly prepared, through boiling and beating them on a stump, they can become useful, edible, even a delicacy.  Likewise, in my natural state, I too am vile, but worse. Why?  Because chitlins only do what they were created to do, but that’s not true of me.  I have rebelled against my Creator.  I am a great sinner.  Consequently, my single hope is that through the Father’s merciful, painful chastisements, being stump slung so to speak, He will make me useful and conform me into the image of His Son.

- This blog post was originally posted on October 18, 2012

My Only Hope is Aslan

“I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it.”    - Puddleglum in C.S. Lewis' The Silver Chair

If I haven't already made it crystal clear in this blog, let me make it clear right now – I am a great sinner.  Not I was, but I am (Romans 7:19).  Sometimes I even hesitate to identify myself publicly as a Christian, not because I'm ashamed of Christ's cross; but rather, because I feel everyday that I'm flirting with disaster.  I'm just one word or one act away from humiliating myself, hurting my family, and bringing disrepute upon the gospel.  I've had too many razor-thin close calls to think otherwise.  Consequently, my prayer is that God would grant me grace (and wisdom) to get through each day without causing too much damage.

So, although I would be on Aslan's side, I'm not confident enough in myself to make that assertion.  I'm just too weak.  Regardless, I still hope He's on my side.  Thus my version of the Puddleglum quote above would be something more like this: “I limp after Aslan.  Even if He rejects me or it all turns out to be an elaborate hoax, still I struggle on after Him.  Because Aslan and Aslan alone is my hope."  Or to put it another way, using non-Narnian terms, if God does ultimately pluck this brand out of the fire (Zechariah 3:2), it will be sola gratia, propter Christum - by grace alone, because of Christ.  

A Not-So-Subtle Allusion to Tolkien

I'm not a prophet or the son of a prophet, yet I can't help but draw conclusions from what is right in front of my face.  American evangelicalism is in full melt down.  Even more alarming, Fangorn Forest is awakening, and it is seething with anger.  The reason for this is because the white wizard, Saruman, who once walked in the forest's shade has committed treachery.  In order to gain the favor of Sauron, the ruler of Mordor, Saruman has despised and betrayed the forest to its enemies, and the forest knows it.  At minimum, as Fangorn continues to shake off its slumber, it will never again trust or follow the white wizard.  Of course, I could be wrong about all this, but I don't think so - because I live in the forest.  I hear the rustling of leaves as a cold bitter wind blows through the trees, and it makes me shutter.  To me then, the sobering question is:  If not Saruman, who might the forest follow?  

The Situational Application of Ethics is NOT the Same as Situation Ethics

Being somewhat of a contrarian, I submit the following to those who question the use of lesser evil/greater good paradigms in making ethical decisions:

"[The responsible man’s] conduct is not established in advance, once and for all, that is to say, as a matter of principle, but it arises with the given situation.  He has no principle at his disposal which possesses absolute validity and which he has to put into effect fanatically, overcoming all the resistance which is offered to it by reality, but he sees in the given situation what is necessary and what is ‘right’ for him to grasp and to do.  For the responsible man the given situation is not simply the material on which he is to impress his idea or his programme [sic] by force, but this situation is itself drawn into the action and shares in giving form to the deed.  It is not a ‘absolute good’ that is to be realized; but on the contrary it is part of the self-direction of the responsible agent that he prefers what is relatively better to what is relatively worse and that he perceives that the ‘absolute good’ may sometimes be the very worst." - Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Ethics (Translated from German by Neville Horton Smith)

The point here is that while God's moral law does not change based on the situation (contra situation ethics), how and when we apply a moral precept certainly does.  No doubt, in many situations the application of morals or ethics is clear-cut and unambiguous.  However, in other situations - more than we would care to admit - what to do is murky and confusing.  A concrete example of this comes from Richard Baxter's Christian Directory.  He says,

“Suppose that I swear to God that I will cast away a shilling . . . here I take perjury to be a greater sin than my casting away a shilling . . . but when I question whether the oath should be kept or not, I have greater suspicion that it should not than it should, because no oath must be the bond of the least iniquity.”

Notice that by referring to perjury as the "greater sin,"* Baxter is making a judgment that perjury and the casting away of a shilling are both sins, but of the two, the casting away of a shilling is the lesser evil. Additionally, he has a  “greater suspicion” (not certainty) that the oath itself might be sinful and thus, if sinful, should not be kept. So is the answer to Baxter's conundrum here (concerning what he should do) clear and self-evident or are the lines a little blurred?  If blurred, then apparently all the wisdom we need is not simply baked into the commandments themselves.  This is because the principal function of God's law is not to provide us with the power or wisdom to obey, but rather its function is to show us what we are.  This is what Martin Luther was referring to in his Bondage of the Will when he wrote:

“'By the law is knowledge of sin,' says Paul (Romans 3:20).  He does not say: abolition, or avoidance, of sin.  The entire design and power of the law is just to give knowledge, and that of nothing but sin; not to display or confer any power; but it teaches and displays that there is here no power, and great weakness.  What can 'knowledge of sin' be, but knowledge of our weakness and badness?” (Translated from German by J. I. Packer and O. R. Johnston)

So in our attempts to make ethical decisions, it is imperative that we beseech the Lord to grant us wisdom (James 1:5) so as to apply His law as a situation warrants.  And frankly, how such applications can be made without some understanding of lesser evils and greater goods is beyond me.

Again from Bonhoeffer's Ethics concerning ethical situations:

"Our responsibility is not infinite; it is limited, even though within these limits it embraces the whole of reality.  It is concerned not only with the good will but also with the good outcome of the action, not only with the motive but also with the object; it seeks to attain knowledge of the given totality of the real in its origin, its essence and its goal. . . . One must risk looking into the immediate future; one must devote earnest thought to the consequences of one’s action; . . . Responsible action must not try to be blind."

*The modern-day trend of leveling sins, where all sins are said to have the same weight, defies both Scripture and reason.  Even Christ Himself spoke of “greater sin” (John 19:11).  And while some may fear that degrees of sin necessarily lead to categories of mortal and venial sin, that conclusion, in my estimation, is a non sequitur.

Addendum (12/28/20):  In true ethical dilemmas where a decision is unavoidable, I believe the lesser evil paradigm is often preferable because it has no need to “strain out the gnat” (Matthew 23:24) looking for some scheme to justify a decision made or action taken.  In other words, there is no attempt by the decision-maker to claim his/her action has some kind of moral virtue.  It is understood that the decision made is questionable at best and possibly even a sin, but still in the prayerful judgment of the decision-maker, it is likely a lesser evil than the other choices contemplated or understood.  And thus the decision-maker, while knowing all sin deserves God's wrath, does not lie “to his own conscience in order to avoid despair" (as Bonhoeffer elsewhere puts it).  Rather, he/she hopes in nothing but God's mercy for Christ's sake.  In fact, this may explain the stalwart action of the midwives of Israel in Exodus 1:15-20, who did not hesitate to both disobey and lie to Pharaoh in order to save the lives of male Hebrew newborns, one of whom was Moses (Exodus 2:1-10) and all of whom Pharaoh wanted dead.  And while the midwives likely did not have a formal ethical system to follow, it seems obvious they regarded lying and disobedience to authority as far lesser evils than being complicit in the intentional murder of babies.

My Walking With Christ

Recently, a man with whom I correspond asked me about my walk with Christ.  While he didn't use those exact words - "walk with Christ" - that's what I took him to mean.  So I thought about it for a few days, mulling it over in my mind.  Below is my response:

“. . . in my mind's eye when I think about walking with Christ, I've learned by experience it's not wise to walk in front of Him (even though I stupidly do it quite often) because I don't know where I'm going.  And frankly I don't like to walk beside Him because I'm usually ashamed of myself for this or that.  No, in my mind's eye, I see myself walking behind Him, following Him, crying out to Him like those in the Gospels, 'Son of David, have mercy on me!'”

The Gospel Proper

“Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and in which ye stand; By which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain.  For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; And that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures; And that he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve.  After that, he was seen of above five hundred brethren at once, of whom the greater part remain unto this present time, but some are fallen asleep.  After that he was seen of James; then, of all the apostles.  And last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due time" (1 Corinthians 15:1-8).

I detest arguing about holy things.  Even when I am convinced of my position and speak ever so respectfully, I almost always leave “the field of battle” feeling exhausted, dejected, and introspective for days.  And yet, for reasons I don't quite understand, I sometimes feel compelled to enter the fray.  This occurred recently when I got into a dispute with a man about the nature of the gospel.  His contention was that we preach the gospel both by how we live and by what we say.  At first, I hoped he had simply misspoken.  So I interjected by saying that while it is important to be kind, moral, etc., preaching the gospel should in no way suggest, either directly or indirectly, that someone should imitate us even as we are attempting to imitate Christ.  In other words, we must be extremely careful to distinguish the gospel proper from its consequences.  And while I recognize that preaching the gospel by how we live is a popular construction today, it is, to me, a clear mixing of law and gospel.  (By law, I mean anything we ought to be or do with or without the assistance of grace).

From 1 Corinthians 15 quoted above, note how Paul defines the gospel he preached, namely, “that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; And that he was buried, and the he rose again the third day according to the scriptures.”   In other words, the gospel proper is only about what Christ alone has done for us.  It is not about our response to it nor the fruit it might bear through us.  To put it another way, it is not about the work of the Holy Spirit in us.  The gospel proper is a message - it's good news.

Paul further presses the Corinthians to keep this gospel “in memory . . . unless ye have believed in vain.”  Thus, it appears not only is the gospel of ultimate importance but its composition can be easily distorted.  As the Australian biblical scholar, Graeme Goldsworthy, once said:

“A pivotal point of turning in evangelical thinking which demands close attention in my mind is the change that has taken place from the Reformation emphasis upon the objective facts of the Gospel in history to the Medieval emphasis on the inner life.  The evangelical who sees the inward transforming work of the Spirit as the key element of Christianity will soon lose contact with the historic faith and the historic gospel (underlining added).” 

So how does focusing on the inner life distort the gospel?  Answer: the moment the gospel proper becomes about you being this or doing that, it is transformed from gospel into law.  Helmut Thielicke, the noted German theologian, explains:

“This is what would happen, for example, if the Gospel were thought to require an 'imitation of Christ,' and thus to be 'good news' only insofar as I fulfill this lex evangelica.  In this case the Gospel would again cease to be an expression of the free and unconditional grace of God, since it would be linked with certain presuppositions, with certain acts of obedience and sanctification.  It would no longer protect me against that torturing and enslaving inversion of outlook which must arise the moment I have to go on taking stock of myself and at the same time running my life on the basis of whether I have fulfilled the required conditions, whether I have met the demands, and whether I may consequently (!) apply to myself the promise of the Gospel.  Here it can no longer be a matter of ‘grace alone,’ but only of explicit ‘cooperation’ and ‘conditions.’"*  (Translated from German by John W. Doberstein)

But why is this so dangerous?  Because, like God's law in its purest form, a mixture of law and gospel leads to despair for the serious minded.  And because it is passed off as the gospel proper, it is faith-crushing and soul-destroying.  Thielicke continues,

“this . . . leads to assaults of doubt [Anfechtung], to uncertainty of faith, and to a stress on mastery of self.  In place of the glad and sure acceptance of a filial relationship which is granted to me sola gratia, the best that this . . . form can offer me is a sublimated form of servile fear which forces me constantly to produce evidence that I am – not a son but – a good servant who may remind God of the reciprocal obligations of the contract and of His covenant faithfulness.  The profoundest mystery of justification, namely, that God protects me against myself and the accusation of my own heart and conscience, that he is Deus defensor against the cor accusator, is quite inexplicable along these lines.  Instead of receiving comfort and assurance afforded me in the miracle of divine mercy, I am condemned to permanent assaults of doubt.”

None of this, however, means that how we live or treat others is irrelevant to the mission of the church or our own pursuit of holiness.  Part of our responsibility, our penultimate goal with respect to the Great Commission, is to “Make straight the way of the Lord” (John 1:23).  That is, we must be diligent not to hinder the gospel but rather do all we can to advance it.  For example, if a man is hungry, we feed him.  If he is naked, we clothe him, etc.  This is necessary because how can a hungry, naked man really focus his mind on the message of forgiveness or believe we have his best interests at heart if we ignore his pitiable state.  No doubt, our God can “break in pieces the gates of brass, and cut in sunder the bars of iron” (Isaiah 45:2), meaning He can and sometimes does overcome any and every obstacle without any help from us.  But in the main, He chooses to use us as his co-laborers in the ministry of reconciliation.  And yet even with our legitimate attempts at making “straight the way," this is not preaching the gospel.  No man has ever been reconciled to God because he was fed, clothed, or given a job.  He has never intuitively figured out the way of grace by looking at our “good example.”  No, every sinner must still hear the preaching of the cross.  As Paul asked in Romans 10:17, “How shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard?  And how shall they hear without a preacher?”

*If you think this formulation of the gospel is antinomian, consider the words of Martyn Lloyd Jones, preaching from Romans 3:3.  He says,

"The Gospel, you see, comes as this free gift of God – irrespective of what man does. . . . You see – what is not evangelical preaching is this: It’s the kind of preaching that says to people, 'Now, if you live a good life; if you don’t commit certain sins; and if you do good to others; and if you become a church member and attend regularly and are busy and active you will be a fine Christian and you’ll go to Heaven.' That’s the opposite of Evangelical preaching – and it isn’t exposed to the charge of Antinomianism because . . . it is telling men to save themselves by their good works . . . And it’s not the Gospel – because the Gospel always exposes itself to this misunderstanding from the standpoint of Antinomianism.  So, let all of us test our preaching, our conversation, our talk to others about the Gospel by that particular test . . . If you don’t make people say things like that sometimes, if you’re not misunderstood and slanderously reported from the standpoint of Antinomianism it’s because you don’t believe the Gospel truly and you don’t preach it truly."

R.C. Sproul (1939 – 2017)

“Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?” (2 Samuel 3:38)

I once personally spoke to R.C. Sproul.  The words that passed between us were inconsequential, but the event stuck in my memory.  It occurred approximately twenty years ago at a regional Ligonier Conference in Memphis, Tennessee, where Sproul was the featured speaker.  They had books available for purchase, so I bought a children's book for my daughters entitled The King Without a Shadow that Sproul himself had written.  During an intermission, Dr. Sproul made himself available to sign books, so I took the book to get it autographed.  But as I approached the man of God, I became unnerved.  For some reason, I imagined he could see sin and unrighteousness hanging off me like leprosy.  So by the time I actually asked for his signature, I could barely speak the words.  Of course, he didn't know anything about me, and the encounter was over in a few seconds.

Robert Charles Sproul, Sr., died on December 14, 2017.  He was a Christian theologian, pastor, philosopher, and apologist.  Although I did not know him personally, I still considered him a dear brother, even a father in the faith.  I've read several of his books and listened to many of his sermons.  I do not agree with everything he said – infant baptism for instance – but his teachings nonetheless have had a profound impact on my thinking.  Sproul was a tireless defender of sola scriptura and a champion of the Reformation gospel.  More than that, he had the rare gift of being able to take lofty theological concepts and communicate them at a level where even a redneck like me might understand.  For example, I remember once hearing him preach on God's Providence.  My head is still spinning.  Indeed, Sproul was a prince and a great man.  I will miss him.

P.S.  Ironically, Sproul's ministry likely had a greater impact on Baptists than on the denomination of which he was a member, PCA Presbyterians.  My anecdotal evidence comes from a national Ligonier Conference I attended in Orlando, Florida, back in the mid-1990s.  To be clear, Ligonier Ministries was founded by R.C. Sproul and the connected conferences always featured him along with whomever else he invited to speak.  At this particular conference I would guess there were around 2,500 people in attendance.  Then one of the speakers asked us to identify ourselves by denomination – Baptists, Methodists, Lutherans, Presbyterians.  The response was shocking and overwhelming.  I would estimate that something like 95% of the attendees self-identified as Baptist.

Talking to God Without Saying a Word

I've long believed that the best prayers I've ever prayed were either wordless or nearly so.  Yet when I've expressed this to other people, even to other Christians, I don't recall ever getting an affirming response.  Maybe they think I'm saying that I pray without purpose, that I simply take some posture of prayer - kneeling, bowing, etc. - and remain silent without a specific aim in mind.  But that's not what I mean.  Rather, I mean when I'm afraid or hurt or anxious or ashamed or trying to make a decision where I don't like any option, many times the best I can do is to bow my head and groan or cry before the Lord.  I really don't know what to say and often don't know what to ask for.

Below is a quote from Charles Haddon Spurgeon.  It has greatly encouraged me concerning my wordless prayers.  He said:

“Often a poor, brokenhearted one bends his knee but can only utter his wailing in the language of sighs and tears.  Yet, that groan has made all the harps of heaven thrill with music.  That tear has been caught by God and treasured in heaven.  The suppliant whose fears prevent his words will be well understood by the Most High.  He may only look up with misty eyes.  Tears are the diamonds of heaven, and sighs are part of the music of Jehovah's court.  They are numbered with the sublimest strains that reach the Majesty on high.  Do not think that your prayer, however weak or trembling, will be unregarded.  Jacob's ladder is lofty, but our  prayer will climb its starry rounds.  Our God not only hears but also loves to hear it.  “He forgetteth not the cry of the humble” (Psalm 9:12).  . . . wherever there is a heart big with sorrow, a lip quivering with agony, a deep groan or penitential sigh, the heart of Jehovah is open.” 

Why I Pray in Christ's Name

“But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear” (Isaiah 59:2).

A while back I was turning into the driveway of my house when the driver behind me started honking his horn.  This is not the first time someone has honked at me.  I live on a fairly busy two-lane state highway that many apparently believe is the German Autobahn (I've long lost count of the number of times I've seen the highway patrol with someone pulled over right in front of my house).  But why people blare their horns when I'm signaling a ninety-degree right turn is a little confusing.  I guess they think I should make that turn at full speed.  I don't know.  But on this particular occasion, the guy behind me just kept blowing his horn, and something inside me snapped.  After I turned into the drive and was off the road, I jumped out of my car.  I started yelling who knows what at the driver who was now probably 75-100 yards on down the road.  My next thought was “What in the world am I doing?!?”  It's not that I'm a little man – I weigh 210 lbs. - but I'm certainly no fighter.  Thankfully, the car kept going and was out of sight in seconds.

"Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble."

- The three witches in Shakespeare's MacBeth

Both Scripture and personal experience have convinced me that my heart is very much like a bubbling cauldron of filth which usually just simmers so that it looks harmless enough, but when the fire beneath that cauldron is stoked by the right circumstances, like a horn honking at me, then the cauldron boils and up comes some really vile stuff.  The Lord Jesus said, “But those things which proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile the man.  For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies: These are the things which defile a man” (Matthew 15:18-20a).

I fear what many call sanctification is nothing more than an attempt using various means to keep the temperature on filthy cauldrons (defiled hearts) as low as possible so that the worst of the contents rarely surface.  And while I agree that it's far better to suppress such things as lust, anger, and envy than to allow them full reign, I do not agree that such suppression makes a man holy.  Why?  Because the cauldron (heart) is still putrid.  As Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?”

So if suppressing the outward manifestations of my sin doesn't make me clean, how is it that I can approach a holy God in prayer without presumption?  Remember Isaiah 59:2 teaches that my iniquities have separated me from my God so that He will not hear.  Not that Jehovah is unaware of what is being asked – He knows all things - but God as God does not grant an audience to the wicked.  Isaiah 59:3 further explains this by saying, “For your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers with iniquity; your lips have spoken lies, your tongue has muttered perverseness.” 

Now upon reading such words, a convinced sinner will undoubtedly be slain.  His conscience will bear witness against him saying, “Thou art the man!” (2 Samuel 12:7).  And like the patriarch Job, he will cry out to God, “Thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth” (Job 13:26).  In other words, he knows that passages like Isaiah 59:3 are describing him.  Nonetheless, he still trembling prays.  But on what basis could such a one have confidence that his prayers are being heard? 

“When thy conscience is thoroughly afraid with the remembrance of thy sins past, and the devil assaileth thee with great violence, going about to overwhelm thee with heaps, floods, and whole seas of sins, to terrify thee, and to draw thee from Christ; then arm thyself with such sentences as these: Christ the Son of God was given, not for the holy, righteous, worthy, and such as were his friends; but for the wicked sinners, for the unworthy, and for his enemies.”  - Martin Luther (as quoted by Edward Fisher in the Marrow of Modern Divinity)

As Isaiah 59:2 makes clear, God as God will not grant an audience to miserable wretches like me.  But in the person of Jesus Christ, the God/man, not only is an audience granted but an invitation extended (Hebrews 4:14-16).  And so it is that I pray in the name of Christ.  But let me be clear - I'm not referring here to simply adding His name as an appendage to my prayers or specifically mentioning His name at all.  Rather, praying in Christ's name is me being conscious that if my prayers are received in heaven, it is only because of Christ's blood shed for sinners.

An Anchor For My Soul

In Mississippi, cotton was still king. Even in the red clay hills of the state's north central region almost all cultivated land grew cotton. One such field laid halfway between Oxford and Water Valley on Mississippi Highway 7. It grew behind and along side a small white frame building known as the Anchor Baptist Church.* At the rear of the church was a nursery for infants and toddlers with a screen door that led out back to the foot of that cotton field. My earliest memory of being at church is one where I am looking out a screen door at fluffy white bolls of cotton.

Anchor Church was a typical rural Southern Baptist church at the time. The membership was comprised primarily of farmers, carpenters, and assorted other blue collar workers. Most of the members had only high school educations, the exception being a handful of school teachers.

Many descent people attended Anchor, but there were a few that stood out in my mind as pillars – Mr. Jack Williams (who often wore overalls to services), Mr. Elvin Hensley, Miss Lillie Pearl Williams (Jack's sister), Mr. Winfred Cook, Sr., Mr. Robert Linder McCain, Mrs. Maudeen McCain, and Mr. Johnny Brown, Jr.  I can't speak for anyone but myself, but the Lord even now blesses the memory of them to me. Not that their lives preached the gospel because the gospel is not how we live. As Martin Luther believed, the gospel is extra nos – something outside of us. It is a message proclaimed about what Christ alone has accomplished for poor sinners. But that being said, their lives certainly did not hinder the gospel, at least not with me.

It has been over twenty-five years since I was a member of that church, but I am still thankful for it. Many doctrines were discussed and bandied about there, but three things were insisted upon – the Bible is true, Hell is real, and Jesus alone saves sinners. And those three things have been pivotal in my spiritual pilgrimage. They have been, so to speak, an anchor for my soul.

*Anchor Baptist Church still exists, but the white frame building was replaced circa 1970.

My Third Conversion (Closing With Christ) - Part 2

"Only he who has felt the heavy sword of the law hanging over him has learned to confess, 'Christ my righteousness.'" - E. J. Carnell

Not only did I believe in God, I believed in judgment.  And the question of how I would stand before God on the Day of Judgment was a question that weighed heavily on my mind.  What would be the basis for my acceptance before God?  What would be my plea before His throne?  Had I built my life on sand or upon a rock (Matthew 7:24-27)?

To answer these questions, I knew I had to examine myself.  I had to determine if my faith was real because Hebrews 11:6 says, “Without faith it is impossible to please God” (NIV).  And yet I had no idea how to discern with any certainty whether my faith was saving or merely the faith of demons (James 2:19).

Fortuitously (or maybe not), another avenue of self-examination came to my mind.  I had been told that repentance and faith were two sides of the same coin.  It seemed reasonable to me that if I could somehow determine my repentance was real, then I would know my faith to be real also.  So I began to examine my repentance by looking for its fruit as mentioned by John the Baptist in Matthew 3:8. 

But more than just examine the fruit I could discern, I also made a conscious effort to bring forth even more fruit.  I did this primarily by making an inventory of past wrongs, then apologizing and making restitution when necessary.  For example, I remembered having eaten with some friends at a local restaurant years earlier.  During the course of our conversation, we began to talk about a man named Heath (not his real name).  I’m not sure how he became the topic of conversation, but I said something derogatory about him.  What I didn’t realize was that his wife was our waitress that night.  I found this out only after the fact.  So during the course of my self-examination, this arose in my memory.  It bothered me that I had made this unjust comment, particularly within earshot of his wife.  I had no idea if she heard me or knew it was her husband we were talking about.  But the possibility was definitely there that I had offended her, and maybe him.

At first, I wrote them a letter to apologize and asked them to respond.  After a few days, when I hadn’t gotten a response, I became very anxious.  I needed to know if they had gotten my letter.  I needed to know if they had forgiven me.  So I convinced a friend to go with me to their house, but when we got there, neither Heath nor his wife were home.  Someone, maybe one of his children, told me that Heath was at his brother-in-law’s house a few miles away.  At that point, I just couldn't wait any longer.  I immediately went to his brother-in-law’s, knocked on the door, and asked for Heath.  When Heath got to the door, as you might imagine, he was both surprised and confused.  He said they had gotten my letter and were going to write back but just hadn’t had time.  He assured me that neither he nor his wife remembered anything about being offended by me.  Regardless, I asked for his forgiveness, and he graciously forgave.* 

Now, you would think I would have felt better, but I didn’t.  On the one hand, I was glad I had asked for forgiveness, but on the other hand, it was just another thing to check off of my very long “making amends” list.  You see, every time I checked something off, where I had gone and tried to right a wrong, it was like the Holy Spirit would just put something new on the list, something I had long forgotten but now it was brought back to my remembrance.  It was a never ending cycle.  I was never finished.  It was like an albatross around my neck.

Making amends also required a lot of wisdom.  It is surprisingly much more complicated and delicate than you would think.  Why?  Because often you can make things worse, or you can bring in other people inadvertently who are innocent in every respect and yet they suffer for it.  As Richard Baxter wrote in his Christian Directory,

“It is no duty to confess our sin to him that we have wronged, when, all things considered, it is like in the judgment of the truly wise to do more hurt than good: for it is appointed as a means to good, and not to do evil.”  

So you have to be very careful.  I learned that the hard way because I wasn't always careful.  When I tried to make amends for the past, I so wanted to know my repentance was real that I was reckless about what the consequences might be for others. Thankfully, the Lord kept me from doing any real harm, as far as I know.

But my efforts at amendment made me more and more miserable because I still could not discern if my repentance was genuine.  At times I was so distraught and distracted I would forget to eat.  I would lose weight.  I would have difficulty concentrating on even the simplest everyday tasks.  My prayers became more groans, sighs, and tears than words.  And like the Psalmist, I could say, "My heart has been smitten like grass and has withered away, indeed, I forget to eat my bread" (Psalm 102:4, NAS).  You see, I well knew of the faulty repentance of Saul, Esau, and Judas.  Remember Saul was aggrieved because of his sin.  Esau sought repentance carefully with tears.  And Judas even tried to undo what he had done.  Yet all their efforts at repentance were insufficient.  So by what objective standard was I to know if mine was real?

All the preaching I had ever heard about examining ourselves or making our calling and election sure never gave an exact standard.  They would tell you to look for certain fruit, but they never made it clear how to know if said fruit was real or artificial, that is, whether it came from a regenerate state.  You would think this would be important since much of what passes as fruit can be and often is found in the lives of those who make no pretense whatsoever about being Christians.

Frankly, having no clear standard made self-examination an exercise in futility.  To illustrate, I once heard a preacher say, when examining your repentance, that your repentance doesn’t have to be perfect.  Now, I believe he was trying to be helpful, but he really wasn’t.  Because how close to perfect must it be?  99%?  90%?  63.2%?  3%?  Without a clear line of demarcation, it’s just a guessing game.  I wanted to ask this preacher if his repentance was real, and if so, how could he know that?   

So slowly, by experience and a lack of any true alternatives, I became convinced that working your way to Heaven and working to prove that you’ve been saved by grace are, for all intents and purposes, the same thing.  Both are a heavy weight; both lead ultimately to despair because both are law and both have to be perfect.  The pastor, Torvik, in the novel Hammer of God, was right when he said “it was an altogether hopeless task to search out all sin and make amends for it.”  You might as well demand that I flap my arms and fly to Heaven.  It was and is hopeless. 

About this same time I became conversant with an older man named James Webb.  He was some kind of preacher, although at that time not affiliated with a particular church.  As far as I could tell, he just talked to people about the Scriptures, and he had started calling and coming by to see me on a regular basis.  I had told him a little about the turmoil that I was going through, so one day out of the blue, he asked me if I loved God.  I was stunned - not because he asked me about my love to God, but because I had such difficulty answering his question.  I knew what it meant if I said no, but I couldn’t honestly say yes.  The best answer I could muster was “I want to love Him.”  At the time I was not aware of Martin Luther’s reply to a similar question.  At a point in his life when he too was trying to please God by his efforts and yet felt condemned, he was asked if he truly loved God.  Luther's reply was much more blunt and honest than mine.  He said, “Love God?  Sometimes I hate Him!”

I cannot overemphasize the jolt that Mr. Webb’s question gave me.  Because how can you, by an act of your will, choose to love something or someone you don’t love?  To illustrate, as far back as I can remember, I have always detested peas.  Not only can I not stand to eat them, I can’t stand to smell or even see them.  To me, they’re nauseating.  So if someone told me I had to love peas in order to go to Heaven, I would be at a loss.  The very best I could do would be to choke them down, gagging all the way.  But no force of my will could ever make me love them.  I just couldn’t.  The same is true with loving God.  If I could not honestly say to Mr. Webb that I loved God, how could I force myself to love Him?  The law was condemning me at every turn. 

Finally, I got to a place where I was numb on the inside.  I stopped trying to do anything because I just couldn’t.  I began to pray in my heart something like this: “Lord, if you want to condemn me to Hell, I deserve it.  I am a great sinner, and if you damn me, so be it.”  I stopped contending with God that I deserved anything but Hell.  It was settled.  Ironically, I now believe that’s what the beatitude means, where our Lord says, “Blessed are the meek.”  Meekness as described by Jesus has nothing to do with a milquetoast personality or a kind of mousy disposition.  Rather, it is when someone quits contending with God and honestly says, “If you damn me to Hell, it’s right, good, and just.”  And that’s where I was.  But understand, it wasn’t something I chose to do.  It’s wasn’t a work I performed.  It’s just something that happened because the law had slain me.  I had no righteousness, real or pretended. 

Yet, one verse of Scripture kept me hanging on.  Isaiah 42:3 says, "A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out" (NIV).  If nothing else, I knew I was bruised and smoldering.  So I hoped, albeit faintly, that the Lord would yet somehow deliver me.

In this state of numbness, I didn’t know what to do with Christ or His gospel.  Yes, I wanted to go to Him for forgiveness, but I felt it necessary to have true repentance first, and as stated above, I couldn’t find that within myself.  In a blessed old book I’ll discuss below, Thomas Boston made the following observation:

“To tell sinners, that none may come to Christ, or have warrant to believe, but such as have a true repentance, must needs, in a special manner, entangle distressed consciences, so as they dare not believe, until they know their repentance to be true repentance.  This must inevitably be the issue in that case; unless they do either reject that principle, or else venture to believe without seeing their warrant.  For, howbeit they hear of Christ and his salvation offered in the gospel, these will be to them as forbidden fruit, which they are not allowed to touch, till once they are persuaded, that they have true repentance.”

How right Boston was!

Then one night in my study, I began looking at a book called The Marrow of Modern Divinity written by Edward Fischer (at least he is believed to be the author).  I didn’t know it at the time, but The Marrow had caused quite a controversy among Presbyterians in Scotland a few centuries back.  The famous preacher Thomas Boston had accidentally discovered this book and found it to be very helpful.  He defended it and was apparently involved in having it republished during his lifetime.  The copy I acquired contained notes that Boston had written which served as a running commentary on the contents of The Marrow.

Like Boston, I too discovered the book accidentally.  I had gone to a conference at the Reformed Theological Seminary in Jackson, Mississippi.  They allowed attendees at the conference to purchase books in their bookstore at half-price, so I bought anything and everything that looked even remotely interesting.  The Marrow was just one out of many books I purchased.  I perused it a couple of times, but it mostly sat on my bookshelf.  It wasn't until I was broken and without hope that I really started to read it.  (This is just one reason I believe in God’s providence.)

In The Marrow the author liberally quotes Martin Luther and other Reformation theologians, but the book itself is actually a theological novel about an evangelist who is dealing with someone who is a legalist, another who is an antinomian, and another who is a neophyte (a genuine, unprejudiced seeker).  In the story, the evangelist goes back and forth talking to all three men, but it gets to a point in the discussion, after the evangelist has cleared away many objections, where the neophyte wants to believe upon Christ but feels he lacks the strength to do so.

The Evangelist asks him, “But tell me truly, are you resolved to put forth all your power to believe, and so to take Christ?”

Neophyte responds:

“Truly, sir, methinks my resolution is much like the resolution of the four lepers, who sat at the gate of Samaria; for as they said, ‘If we enter into the city, the famine is in the city, and we shall die there; and if we sit still here, we die also; now, therefore, let us fall unto the host of the Syrians; if they save us, we shall live, and if they kill us, we shall but die,’ 2 Kings vii. 4 . . . now, therefore, though I be somewhat fearful, yet am I resolved to go unto Christ; and if I perish, I perish.”

I thought something like this as I read Neophyte’s words:

“This is me.  I can’t make myself one iota better.  Despite all my efforts to ‘prove’ my repentance and thus my salvation, I have found myself to be a spiritual leper.  Yet if I just sit in this stupor, I’ll perish.  But If I attempt to go back to my own efforts to earn or prove my salvation, I’ll also perish.  So like the lepers, I too am resolved to go to Christ just as I am and hope in His mercy.  And if I perish there, I will perish at the foot of the cross.”

Surprisingly, the evangelist’s next words were:

“Why, now I tell you the match is made; Christ is yours, and you are His, ‘this day is salvation come to your house,’ (your soul I mean:) . . . O therefore, I beseech you, stand no longer disputing; but be peremptory and resolute in your faith, and in casting yourself upon God in Christ for mercy; and let the issue be what it will.  Yet let me tell you, to your comfort, that such a resolution shall never go to hell.”

Startled, I said, “That’s it!  That’s it!  The match is made.  Christ is mine, and I am His!”  I had closed with Christ.

Now, I need to cautious about what happened next.  It was not a vision or some extra-biblical revelation.  I suppose it was more like what you see in your mind’s eye when someone speaks about Christ’s crucifixion, or you hear of His feeding of the five thousand or running the money changers out of the Temple.  You see something like a vague picture in your mind.  At that moment, I was thinking of Revelation 22:17, where it says, “Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.”  It was then that I saw Christ standing before me extending to me a golden chalice full of water, specifically, the water of life.  This water contained everything pertaining to life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3).  It was righteousness (that imputed righteousness that Dr. Mahoney had spoken about years before).  It was repentance and the forgiveness of sins because Christ has been exalted to “give repentance and forgiveness of sins to Israel” (Acts 5:31).  It was also love to the brethren, love to God, adoption, the Holy Spirit, and even Christ Himself. 

Christ was offering all of this to me, freely, without cost or effort or conditions.  I didn’t deliberate as to whether I already had these things to some degree or another.  It was being offered to me now in totality.  So I took the cup, and I guzzled it down like a man dying of thirst.  It went up my nose and ran down my neck.  I now think I know what our Lord meant when He said, “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled” (Matthew 5:6).  I had no righteousness of my own, but Christ gave me His.  He is my righteousness.

I don’t recall the exact date this happened, but I was in my early thirties. You would think I would have been dancing, shouting, and skipping about.  But instead I went straight to bed and fell asleep.  For the first time in years, I laid my head down on a pillow without the sting of conscience reminding me of this or that sin.  And I slept.  As Psalm 127:2 says, "He giveth His beloved sleep."

*May the Lord remember Heath’s kindness to me that night and the kindness of others who likewise showed me mercy.
                                                                                                               
Note: This was the final installment of a four-part series. To view the first three parts, click on the links below.

My First Conversion
My Second Conversion
My Third Conversion (Closing With Christ) - Part 1

The Terrible City

I sometimes visit a terrible city called Anfectungen. I’ve been there many times, more times than I care to remember but never intentionally.  It is a fearful place laden with seeming contradictions.  For example, to enter its gates you first must strive to keep away from them.  And once inside, I become a criminal pursued by justice, especially when I endeavor to obey the law.  The city has a large population, but I never see anyone.  I do, however, hear voices.  Some seem intent on guiding me, but their words are nonsensical and leave me groping about.  Other voices sound more like screams from Hell that make me tremble.  The sun is always shining in Anfectungen, but the streets are as dark as night.  There is no happiness or joy there.  Hopelessness and despair lurk around every corner; and yet, the city seems ordained of God, holy, even blessed.  Anfectungen is everywhere but nowhere in particular.  And the only way of escape is hidden in plain sight.  It’s a crooked old tree covered with blood.  Outside the city, it would be repulsive.  Even inside, it seems odd.  One needs only to touch it.  

In Memory of My Friend

My friend, James Odis Webb, went to be with his God on September 19, 2013.  He was 77.  A longtime resident of Lafayette County, Mississippi, his remains are buried southeast of Oxford in the Yellow Leaf Cemetery.  He was a man of many faults and failures.  Yet as long as I knew him, he confessed that he had no hope but the blood and righteousness of Christ alone.

He once asked me to read the following Scripture at his funeral:

“Who shall lay anything to the charge of God`s elect? It is God that justifieth; who is he that condemneth? It is Christ Jesus that died, yea rather, that was raised from the dead, who is at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us” (Romans 8:33-34).

Below are a few quotes from Mr. Webb.  Some are not original to him, nor did he ever claim originality.  It’s just that I heard him say these things so often they are irrevocably tied to him in my mind.

“Faith in the heart is life in the soul.”

“We are born into this world with our hearts cast down to the earth and our feet kicking against heaven.”

“'Once saved, always saved' is dime store theology.”

"Does a man believe with the old heart or the new heart?"

“Salvation is the revelation of Christ to the soul.”

“We have been saved; we are being saved; we shall be saved.”

 "If you listen long enough, an uncoerced man will always confess what he truly believes."

“It took more of God’s power to save one sinner than to create the heavens and the earth.”

“How can you believe that God loves you and Christ died for you and not be saved?”

The Sacrifice of Cain and Giving Our Hearts to Jesus

"Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto Jehovah. . . . but unto Cain and to his offering he [Jehovah] had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell" (Genesis 4:3,5).

In a wonderful novel entitled The Hammer of God by Bo Giertz, one of the main characters is a young pastor named Fridfeldt.  Fridfeldt is extremely zealous to live a holy, Christian life.  But when he tells an older, wiser minister that he has “given his heart to Jesus,” we find this amazing exchange:

"The older man’s face became suddenly as solemn as the grave. 'Do you consider that something to give Him?'

 By this time, Fridfeldt was in tears.  'But sir, if you do not give your heart to Jesus, you cannot be saved.'

'You are right, my boy.  And it is just as true that, if you think you are saved because you give Jesus your heart, you will not be saved.  You see, my boy,' he continued reassuringly, as he continued to look at the young pastor’s face, in which uncertainty and resentment were shown in a struggle for the upper hand, 'it is one thing to choose Jesus as one’s Lord and Savior, to give Him one’s heart and commit oneself to Him, and that he now accepts one into his little flock; it is a very different thing to believe on Him as a Redeemer of sinners, of whom one is chief.  One does not choose a Redeemer for oneself, you understand, nor gives one’s heart to Him.  The heart is a rusty old can on a junk heap.  A fine birthday gift, indeed!  But a wonderful Lord passes by, and has mercy on the wretched tin can, sticks his walking cane through it and rescues it from the junk pile and takes it home with Him.  That is how it is. 

'And now you must understand that these two ways of believing are like two different religions, they have nothing whatever to do with each other.  And yet, one might say that there is a path that leads from the lesser to the greater.  First one believes in repentance, and then in grace.'" (Translated from Swedish by Clifford Ansgar Nelson)

You see, there are really only two grounds upon which men try to approach God.  One way is a way of grace based upon the cross of Christ alone.  The other, much more popular way includes a way of merit, which encompasses any and every way by which men attempt to establish some kind of connection with God based upon their own personal value or worth - a value demonstrated either by what they’ve done, what they are, or what they’ve experienced.  Cain, who is typical of most religious people, falls into this second group.  He offered to God the fruit of his labors, that is, he offered something that assumed his own particular value.  In a sense, he was offering himself.  And yet the Scriptures say concerning both Cain and his offering that Jehovah “had not respect.”

Likewise, people talk and sing about giving their hearts to Jesus as if they are offering the Lord some noble, wonderful gift.  But Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.”  Proverb 28:26 says, “He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool.”  In light of such Scriptures, it appears that if we offer our hearts to God as some noble sacrifice, we are really presenting the offering of Cain.

In truth, the only offering/gift/sacrifice God will embrace must be perfect and without blemish.  Accordingly, that gift has nothing to do with us – what we are, what we’ve done, what we can do, what we’ve experienced.  Rather, it is totally outside of us.  In other words, we must give to God what he has given to us - the spotless Lamb of God bleeding and dying upon a cross.  Let us offer that to Jehovah and rest in the knowledge that it alone is sufficient.

King of the Dirt Clods

When I was a boy, a large part of my summers was spent outside.  Considering back then we didn’t have video games, internet, or cable television, there wasn’t much to do inside anyway.  So my friends and I spent many hot humid Mississippi days riding our bikes, climbing trees, and squaring off in dirt clod fights.  In our epic battles, we would first locate our fortifications - trees, ditches, and old buildings - then spend countless hours bombarding each other with balls of dirt and sometimes rocks, sticks, and even cow manure (because our fights were normally in or near cow pastures where "meadow muffins" were ubiquitous).  It was great fun, unless you got hit in the head, especially the face.

In Psalm 103:14, it says God “knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.”  There are several things we could note from this passage, but what I want to focus on is the phrase “we are dust.”  This verse is teaching that physical humanity is nothing more than animated dirt.  Our bodies are dust particles stuck together in moving clods.  Maybe this is part of what King David had in mind when he asked the Lord in Psalm 8:4, “What is man, that Thou art mindful of him?”  What could be a greater condescension than the Lord of glory to think upon dust?

So if we are in fact dust, how senseless is it to be always comparing ourselves with and desiring to be better than other dust?  It may seem important now, but in the end, all our fretting and striving to be the king of the dirt clods is simply a waste of time.  As King Solomon said in Ecclesiastes 2:11, “I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that I had labored to do: and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun.”  And again in Mark 8:36, “For what doth it profit a man, to gain the whole world, and forfeit his life?”  Instead of wasting our lives pursuing the throne of the dirt clods, let us pursue Him who alone is worthy to be pursued, the crucified Lamb of God.

P.S.  I assume some could be offended at being called dust or animated dirt clods.  Ironically, many of these same people would have no problem saying they are evolved from tiny brainless amoebas.  How they could think one is much better than the other is beyond me.

P.P.S.  Despite the emphasis of this blog entry, Scripture teaches that humans are not mere physical bodies.  At minimum, human life is a dichotomy.  That is, men possess a material existence (their bodies), but they also have an immaterial existence (their souls).  Genesis 2:7 reads, “And Jehovah God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.”  And it is with this immaterial soul that men pursue God, because “God is a Spirit’ (John 4:24) who “dwelleth not in temples made with hands” (Acts 17:24).

Thank God for Paxil

There is an undercurrent in some corners of Evangelicalism that says anyone who takes antidepressants, whether for depression proper or anxiety (both of which could be called a form of melancholia), is simply masking over a sin problem in his life.   If he would simply repent, then these “crutches” would not be necessary.  In the last couple of years, I’ve heard at least two preachers say that while there are some people who have medical conditions that warrant the use of antidepressants, most mental health problems are related to unresolved issues of guilt in people’s lives.  Whether this is true, I am not qualified to say.  But I strongly suspect that neither of these preachers was qualified to make this judgment either.  More likely than not, they were parroting what they had heard some nouthetic counselor say - with one unintended consequence being that anyone known to be taking these meds automatically is brought under suspicion of being unrepentant.

No doubt, there is a kind of anxiety that is always sin, such as worrying about the necessities of life (Matthew 6:25).  But there is also anxiety that comes with the acknowledgment of sin (Psalm 38:3).  Likewise, there is depression which flows from a discontentment with the way God disposes of us, and then there is depression that is a discontentment with being alienated from God (or feeling this to be the case).  And although a person needs to turn to Christ in each of these cases, this doesn’t immediately alleviate the symptoms of depression or anxiety.  Why?  Because even a believer often struggles to believe.  Roland Bainton in his famous biography of Martin Luther rightly said:

“. . . faith in Christ is far from simple and easy because he is an astounding king, who, instead of defending his people, deserts them.  Whom he would save he must first make a despairing sinner.  Whom he would make wise he must first turn into a fool.  Whom he would make alive he must first kill.  Whom he would bring to honor he must first bring to dishonor.  He is a strange king who is nearest when he is far and farthest when he is near.”

Add to this that in many cases melancholia has an organic component.  Such people have a mental illness or defect.  Granted, the illness may have some connection to sin, either personal or the sin of Adam, yet that in no way precludes medicine to help the person function again.  To argue that would be the equivalent of prohibiting chemotherapy to someone who once smoked cigarettes or prohibiting heart surgery to someone who had been a couch potato.  Neither logic nor compassion can go there.

Consider the counsel of Richard Baxter in his Christian Directory to those prone to melancholia.  He said:

“. . . commit yourself to the care of your physician, and obey him; and do not as most melancholy persons do, that will not believe that physic [medicine] will do them good, but that it is only their soul that is afflicted; for it is the spirits, imagination, and passions, that are diseased, and so the soul is like an eye that looketh through a coloured glass, and thinks all things are of the same colour as the glass is.  I have seen abundance cured by physic; and till the body be cured, the mind will hardly ever be cured . . .”

Now, I’m sure there are people that abuse antidepressants and doctors who over-prescribe them.  But what is there in this world that’s not abused by sinners?  Even justified, sanctified sinners?  We sometimes eat too much, drive too fast, or say things we shouldn’t say.  But does that mean because these things can be abused that anyone who eats or drives or talks should have a cloud of suspicion hanging over their heads?  Of course not.  But why the distinction between these activities and the taking of legal, often helpful medications?  Because people who are prone to deep debilitating depression or anxiety are strange, sad people.  And although their deformity isn’t physically manifest, it might as well be because it makes “normal people” feel uncomfortable.  The deeply melancholy are a small minority, and the majority simply cannot comprehend why these people don’t just pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and get on with living.  Or to make it sound more “spiritual,” they wonder why these sad ones can't just repent and trust God.

Note: For further reading on this topic, see D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones’ book, Healing and the Scriptures, particularly the chapter entitled “Body, Mind, and Spirit.”

If Not a Christian, Then an Atheist

In my opinion, the two most hopeful metaphysical prisms through which to view death and judgment are the Protestant gospel and atheism, in that order. When I say “Protestant gospel,” I do not mean the teachings of any and every group that might have broken off from the Roman Catholic Church. Nor do I mean all the teachings of any group in particular. Rather, I mean the gospel of justification by the death (and life) of Christ alone as formulated by the best Lutherans, many of the Reformed, a number of Baptists, and a few others. That Protestant gospel says that it is the Son of God’s substitutionary death alone that saves sinners, not some action or actions on our part - being religious, being moral, being a part of some church, nothing. When a person believes this, he is justified from all sin. Regrettably, even in churches that agree with this gospel, it often gets obfuscated by other emphases.

The late atheist writer, Christopher Hitchens, understood the heart of the Protestant gospel better than many self-identified Christians, who regrettably see the death of Christ as necessary but ancillary to what they believe is the more pressing issue of “living the Christian life.” Yet it is the heart of that gospel that Hitchens attacked as unconscionable, the idea that someone else would be held responsible in any sense for his sins and punished in his stead. However, what Hitchens saw as unconscionable and even “immoral,” I see as the sinner’s best hope.

Before I go further, it’s probably necessary here to clarify what I mean by the term “sinner.” In one context “sinner” refers to each and every one of us. In Ecclesiastes 7:20, it says, “There is not a just man upon the earth, that does good, and sins not.” Again in Romans 3:23, “All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” Both these verses teach that every human being is a sinner. But in another context, the word “sinner” is used with more specificity. It refers not to everyone, but to the one who acutely feels his sinfulness. He is weighed down with guilt, shame and a sense of pending judgment. He rightly sees sin in everything he does. This kind of sinner is what Christ was referring to in Matthew 9:13, when he said, “I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” Even though all men are in truth sinners, some don’t see themselves that way. Imperfect maybe. Weak maybe. But not rebels against God and his law. So Christ here narrows the meaning of that word “sinner” to those who are made to feel and know their wretched, guilty condition.

So when I say that the two most hopeful metaphysical prisms to view death and judgment are the Protestant gospel and atheism, I believe I do so as a sinner of the second category - one who feels a great weight of sin hanging around my neck. To me, any religion that says my salvation is based in whole or in part upon my goodness or my obedience to a certain standard is altogether hopeless. After many years of trying and failing, I confess with the Apostle Paul, “The good that I would, I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do” (Romans 7:19).

Atheism offers some hope in this respect because it denies both a Creator and his judgment (and thus a need to meet any standard at all). The atheist only sees this life and can say, “Let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we die” (1 Corinthians 15:32). Notice, however, I did not say atheism is a good choice. I cannot with a clear conscience just set aside the moral, teleological (design) and cosmological (first cause) arguments for God’s existence. More than this, my feelings of guilt overwhelmingly argue for a judge to whom I will be held accountable. My only assertion here is that next to the Protestant gospel, atheism is more hopeful with respect to death and judgment than any other metaphysical or religious view.

All things considered, the Protestant gospel stands out as clearly the most hopeful choice. The standard was met perfectly by Christ in my place, as my surety. I believe on him and am justified from all sin. Romans 4:5 says, “To him that works not, but believes on him that justifies the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness.”

My Third Conversion (Closing With Christ) - Part 1

“Regeneration can occur but once in the experience of the same soul; but conversion can occur many times.” - George Lasher, The Fundamentals

When I was in my twenties, I often hoped that turning thirty would be a special age. After all, that was the age when the Lord Jesus entered into His earthly ministry. It was also the age when Joseph was exalted by Pharaoh to rule over Egypt. Hence, my secret desire was that the Lord would bestow on me a special measure of grace beginning at my thirtieth birthday – grace to overcome sin, grace to drink deeply from the Scriptures, grace to boldly serve God and His Christ. But as I approached the end of my twenties, instead of sensing an outpouring of divine grace, I became more and more afraid to die, or more exactly, I increasingly feared the Day of Judgment. Why? Because even though I was by this time an ordained Southern Baptist minister and outwardly moral, I knew that such things would not and could not commend me to God. Scripture passages like, “Brethren, give diligence to make your calling and election sure” (2 Peter 1:10) and “Examine yourselves , whether ye be in the faith” (2 Corinthians 13:5) were continually in the back of my mind. Yet, how does one make his calling and election sure? And by what rule does a person examine himself?

I had heard other preachers say that once you accepted Christ, you should drive a stake in your back yard with the date of that acceptance on the stake. Afterward, if you ever doubted your salvation, you should go out and look at that stake and say something like, “Devil, leave me alone. This was settled on such and such a date.” But this advice, although well-intentioned, seemed wrong-headed to me for three reasons.

First, it directly contradicts the scriptural admonitions cited above. Notice, it's not the devil, but the Apostle Paul, who commands professed believers to “Examine yourselves, whether ye be in the faith” (2 Corinthians 13:5). If he didn't want them to be concerned about the genuineness of their salvation, why would he ever make such a statement?

Second, what does it mean to accept Christ? Ask ten different Evangelicals what that means and you'll likely get ten different answers. Why? Because the Scriptures are silent about “accepting Christ.” In the King James Version, the two words “accept” and “Christ” never appear together in any verse in any order. In the New American Standard, they are only found together in Romans 15:7, but that verse has nothing to do with our accepting Christ. It says, “Wherefore, accept one another, just as Christ also accepted us to the glory of God.” Consequently, because there is no biblical definition for “accepting Christ,” its meaning lies in the eye of the beholder. It could be defined as anything from “praying the sinner's prayer,” to “being baptized,” to “asking Jesus into your heart.” And yet all of these meanings are defective with respect to conversion. For example, is it possible for a person to simply mouth the words of the sinner's prayer with little or no sincerity or even without understanding what is being prayed? Sure. Is being baptized a sure mark of being converted? No. Simon the Sorcerer was baptized in Acts 8:13; and yet, the Apostle Peter said to him in Acts 8:21, “Thou hast neither part nor lot in this matter: for thy heart is not right in the sight of God.” And what on earth does it mean to ask Jesus into your heart? Now granted, someone may say that by “accepting Christ,” they mean “repentance toward God, and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ” (Acts 20:21). And that's good - it's biblical. But my response is why not just say “repentance and faith?” Why add needless ambiguity by talking about “accepting Christ?”

Third, I am convinced that it is fundamentally flawed always to be looking back for something you did at such and such a time as the ultimate proof of your salvation. That's like saying in order to prove that I was born physically, I have to remember something I did as I was coming out of the womb or when I was two years old. No, all the proof I need of being born is that I'm alive now. Likewise, although true saving faith begins its manifestation at a specific point in time, it will continue to manifest itself throughout a Christian's life. In John 3:18, it says, “He that believeth on him [Jesus] is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already . . .” In both instances where we find the word “believeth,” the Greek text indicates that these verbs are linear, meaning that the activity of believing is not something simply done at a point in time. No, the believing is continuous. John 3:18 actually carries this meaning: “He that is believing on him [Jesus] is not condemned: but he that is not believing is condemned already.” Therefore the real question is not “Did you believe or 'accept Christ' at a certain time?” Rather, the real question is “Are you believing now?” By the way, this takes the emphasis off of something that you did (a work) and places it on something you possess (faith), which is the life of God in your soul. This is vitally important because we are justified by faith and not by works (Galatians 2:16).

None of this, however, means that there is anything wrong with reflecting upon a conversion experience. Rather, we shouldn't make the recollection of our conversion the sole basis for making our “calling and election sure.” Remember what the Lord Jesus said concerning hearers of the Word who are like stony ground. In Mark 4:16-17, He said, “And these are they likewise which are sown on stony ground; who, when they have heard the word, immediately receive it with gladness.” This is their conversion. So far it sounds fine. But then the Lord says they “have no root in themselves, and so endure but for a time: afterward, when affliction or persecution ariseth for the word's sake, immediately they are offended” or as the New American Standard translates that last phrase: “immediately they fall away." While they had a “conversion experience,” they did not continue to believe. Their falling away revealed that their conversion had “no root." In other words, it did not precede from a regenerated heart. The life of God was not in them. So again, the question is not so much, “Did you believe?,” but “Are you believing?” Incidentally, a stony-ground hearer could easily use the stake-in-the-back-yard approach to gain assurance of salvation, but plainly, it would be an exercise in self-deception.

The only method of self-examination that sounded sensible to me was to look for evidences of repentance and faith, which as mentioned earlier, are biblical indicators of salvation. My only problem was that I wasn't altogether sure how to ascertain whether I possessed those qualities. No doubt, I had a kind of faith, but was it the faith that actually saves? In John 2:23-24, one reads that when Jesus was in Jerusalem for the Passover “many believed in his name, when they saw the miracles which he did. But Jesus did not commit himself unto them, because he knew all [men].” In other words, although many believed in Christ's name, the Lord rejected them and their faith because He could see their hearts, specifically, that their faith proceeded from a natural principle and not from the life of God in them (just like the stony-ground hearers mentioned above).

Numerous examples from Scripture could be cited here as evidence that not only does inadequate or non-saving faith exist, but that it is quite prevalent among religious people. Remember Christ's words in Matthew 7:13, where He said, “Wide [is] the gate, and broad [is] the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat.” Note that these “many” are not irreligious people. Irreligious folks wouldn't bother to “enter” any gate. They have neither faith nor concern about spiritual things. But the “many” mentioned here have made a conscious decision. They deliberately “go in” at the wide gate. Clearly, they would not have entered here without some kind of faith that they were on the right path. Yet their faith is non-saving because this way leads “to destruction.” As Proverb 14:12 says: “There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof [are] the ways of death."

But what kind of faith seems right but is non-saving? Faith in religion. Faith in the church. Faith in baptism. Faith in prayer. Faith in a knowledge of the Bible. Faith in loving God and doing good to your neighbor. Even faith in faith. All of these things miss Christ.

Needless to say, this only intensified my anxiety concerning the Day of Judgment. I knew I could never offer any works to God because as it says in Galatians 2:16, “A man is not justified by the works of the Law but through faith in Christ Jesus” (NAS). Yet I couldn't simply be content with offering to God what faith I had, considering the Scriptures indicate that many possess a non-saving faith. To me, being close was not good enough. I wanted to make my calling and election sure. So in desperation, I remember praying, asking the Lord to take away my fear of dying. Little did I know what that entailed. I'm reminded here of one of John Newton's hymns. He wrote:

I asked the Lord that I might grow

In faith, and love, and every grace;

Might more of his salvation know,

And seek more earnestly his face.

['Twas he who taught me thus to pray,

And he, I trust, has answered prayer;

But it has been in such a way

As almost drove me to despair.]

I hoped that in some favored hour,

At once he'd answer my request;

And, by his love's constraining power,

Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, he made me feel

The hidden evils of my heart,

And let the angry powers of hell

Assault my soul in every part.

Yea, more, with his own hand he seemed 

Intent to aggravate my woe;

Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,

Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried;

"Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?"

"Tis in this way," the Lord replied, 

"I answer prayer for grace and faith.

"These inward trials I employ,

From self and pride to set thee free;

And break they schemes of earthly joy,

That thou mayst seek thy all in me."

My Second Conversion

In a previous blog entry, I mentioned my baptism when I was eight years old. Actually, I think of that first baptism as my conversion to religion. But when I was sixteen, I had another conversion. Due to the gnawing guilt that burdened my conscience, I began to question whether I was really “saved.” Sunday after Sunday, I would silently pray the so-called sinner’s prayer during the invitation, but to no avail. It didn’t seem to matter how sincere I was or how often I prayed this prayer, the burden of guilt remained and increased because I was still rather profane. Finally, during a Sunday evening worship service, our pastor asked a visiting preacher to deliver the sermon. In his sermon, he spoke of people who were baptized church members, but who weren’t Christians. His words, a fear of Hell, and the terrible burden of guilt that weighed upon my conscience drove me to go before the church that night and confess that I was a lost sinner. I remember saying to our pastor, “I want to be saved. I’ve got to be saved. I’m not leaving here until I know I’m saved.” He led me again in the “sinner’s prayer,” and this time it seemed different. I was rebaptized into the church and began to labor to set my life right. Many outward sins (or behaviors I was told were sinful) I gave up quickly. Other external sins I fought to overcome with varying degrees of success. I slowly gave up my old companions. I began to speak openly of my conversion and was asked to speak at different churches. Indeed, something had happened to me, and I believe it was a work of the Holy Spirit. However, for reasons I will mention in a later entry, I believe this was a legal work – I was converted to morality (or to the law).

Three noteworthy events occurred over the next ten years. The first was that I was introduced to Calvinism for the first time. I can only remember one instance in my youth when Calvinism had ever even been mentioned. In response to this, I asked my grandmother what Calvinism was. She told me that Calvinism teaches God has predestined certain people to Heaven and certain people to Hell. I have to admit, this characterization didn’t appeal to me at all, so I quickly put it out of my mind. Yet, by the time I was in my early twenties, I was increasingly being weighed down with the burden of my own depravity (something that Calvinism unambiguously asserts). This depravity was different than the guilt I experienced when I was sixteen. Then, I was living a profane life, albeit playing the religionist on Sunday. But now I had largely reformed my behavior to match my profession. I was striving for righteousness, but it was a righteousness of my own making. Consequently, I felt the import of Isaiah 64:6, “All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags.” It did not seem to matter what standard I set for myself, whether it was God’s law or some other sort of “rules to live by,” I did not live up to any of them. Oh yes, I maintained the outward appearance, but only “man looketh on the outward appearance. . . the LORD looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16: 7). This truth disturbed me greatly and made me ripe for Calvinism.

Calvinism per se did not stay my fears or give me any assurance, but its doctrine of Total Depravity made it clear to me what I was going through. In contrast to what many believe, total depravity does not mean that men are as bad as they could possibly be; but rather, it means that everything a man does is tainted with sin. The Great Commandment is “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all they strength, and with all thy mind” (Luke 10:27), but who actually does that? And what works have we performed that are motivated purely by that supreme kind of love? If not, then no matter what we do – pray, preach, give, sacrifice, etc. – it is all tainted with sin and is worthy of condemnation. This is why I have said on more than one occasion that if God gave me the option on the Day of Judgment to examine my life and pick just one work that I’d performed, then have my salvation stand or fall based upon that one work, I could not, no, I dare not do it. Job 4:18 says, “Behold, he puts no trust in his servants; and his angels he charged with folly.” If the Lord’s very best servants (the prophets and apostles) and even the angels cannot justify themselves before him, how could any of my pathetic works procure God’s favor for me?

Now, don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. Depravity is not just the failure of my works to meet God’s righteous standard. Rather, our very hearts and minds are the problem. Jeremiah 17:9 says, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” Romans 8:7 says that the “carnal mind is enmity against God.” That carnal or fleshly mind is the one we have by nature, the one we are born with. Considering then that our hearts are naturally wicked and our minds are enmity against (opposed to) God, how can we possibly do anything to please God? The fact is we cannot. As the Lord Jesus said in John 6:63, “The flesh profiteth nothing.” We are not simply helpless victims, doing our best and falling short. No, our hearts, minds, inclinations, and motives fight against God and his Christ. Romans 8:8 says, “So then they that are in the flesh cannot please God.” No matter how beautiful our external acts may appear to men, they are worthless because inwardly they oppose God. As the Lord Jesus said, “Ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness” (Matthew 23:27).

My intention in this entry is not to give a defense of or discourse on Calvinism. I will, however, say that if a person experientially understands total depravity, that is, if he is made to feel the sinfulness of his own heart, the other major tenets of Calvinism generally fall into line. For example, concerning the doctrine of Election, the historic Abstract of Principles from the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary says unequivocally, “Election is God’s eternal choice of some persons unto everlasting life – not because of forseen merit in them, but of his mere mercy in Christ – in consequence of which choice they are called, justified, and glorified.” If total depravity is true – that all our works, actions, and motives of every kind are tainted with sin and therefore damnable – salvation must be based on something other than our own actions or even our own initiative. Election teaches that God, from all eternity, took the initiative by mercifully and sovereignly choosing to save a certain people via calling, justifying, and glorifying them. Moreover, because men’s hearts and minds are so opposed to God, no one would ever be saved apart from God taking this action. Speaking to his disciples in John 15:16, the Lord Jesus said, “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you.” And in Romans 9:16, it says, “It is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy.”

The second noteworthy event was my introduction to the doctrine of Imputed Righteousness. I had been attending Mid-America Baptist Theological Seminary for about two years, and because I was especially feeling the sinfulness of my own heart, I went one morning to class feeling like the miserable wretch that I was. The class was a survey of the New Testament. During the course of the lecture that morning, my professor, Dr. John Mahoney, began to speak about different kinds of righteousness. The one that really caught my attention was something called “imputed righteousness.” I had never heard of this before, or if I had, I didn’t understand it or had forgotten all about it. Yet, on this particular morning, it was like light shining in the darkness. It wasn’t the main point of my Dr. Mahoney’s lecture by any means, so he didn’t dwell on it for long. But I thank God for that morning.

During the lecture, he explained that imputed righteousness was the perfect righteousness of Christ given to the sinner who has no righteousness of his own. Standing in this righteousness, the believer, though having no good thing in himself, appears blameless and without spot before God. This righteousness really belongs to the believer, so much so, that God esteems him as having perfectly fulfilled the law; and therefore, rewards him for the same. Now, I don’t actually recall what anyone else’s reaction was to this idea, but my eyes filled with tears. It was all this poor sinner could do to keep from weeping openly. Little did I know at the moment, but I had just heard the gospel clearly articulated for maybe the first time. I remember going back to my rental house and telling one of my roommates what Dr. Mahoney had said. I will never forget his reaction. Like me, he was startled and somewhat excited.  Then he exclaimed, “It’s too good to be true. It’s just too good to be true!”

Well, I didn’t hear much else about this imputed righteousness while in seminary. Consequently, it slowly faded from my thoughts. But thanks be to God, that holy gospel seed was implanted in my memory so that I could recall it in due season.

The third noteworthy event occurred in the spring of 1991. We had a campus revival scheduled at the seminary, and our speaker for the week was Dr. Tom Elliff, who later served as president of the Southern Baptist Convention. He began the revival from the text of Proverb 28:13, which reads, “He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.” He then stressed the need for a clean conscience before God and gave students the opportunity to publicly confess sins that God was dealing with them about. At first, it was very awkward. A couple of students went to the podium and confessed various sins. Other students began to cry. Some more got up and confessed sins. Soon there was a line at the podium. Everywhere you looked, grown men were weeping.

After about thirty minutes of this, it was clear that something unusual was going on. What normally would have been, at most, an hour service, lasted for about three hours. I would guess that I’ve attended or been a part of over fifty planned “revivals” in my life, but none ever even approached what happened on that day in 1991. If it wasn’t a genuine revival, it surely was the closest I have ever been to one.

Initially, my reaction to all of this was one of consternation. Why? Because as the service continued on, and I became more and more convinced that it was indeed a work of God, I feared that if God dealt with me in justice, He would surely pass me over. The unspoken prayer that raced through my mind was something along the lines of one of Fanny Crosby’s hymns, which says, “While on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by.”

Thankfully, by God's grace, I too got up and confessed some sins. Our speaker had warned us from the outset that we should be very careful about what we confessed. If our sin was against God alone, then confession should be made to God alone. If our sin was against a specific person, we were to confess it to that person alone. If we had committed a public sin, then we were to confess it publicly. I have to admit that some of the sins that weighed on my conscience did not fit neatly into any of those categories, but I and most of the other students abided by the guidelines reasonably well. In fact, to my recollection, most of the sins confessed had to do with the seminary's honor code, or more accurately, violations thereof.

Nonetheless, my confession that day wasn't the end of the revival's impact on my life. I knew there were other long-ignored sins that had been eating at my conscience for years. So I purposed with God's help to deal with them one by one. I decided that I would confess them and make restitution or satisfaction in cases where that was necessary. This put me on a nearly five year spiritual journey that literally shook my soul. It was like the more I confessed, the more sins God's Spirit brought to my remembrance - sins long buried deep within my sub-conscious. It was as if there was no end to the blackness of my heart. Through it all, I came to experientially understand the Apostle Paul's words in Romans 7:18, when he wrote, “For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing.”