The Certainty of Faith

“God is not dead, not doth He sleep . . .”
-H.W. Longfellow

Night is coming. The pounding of door after door, the closing. There is no room. No room, and the woman great with child, her time nearly upon her. No room . . . the echoing, the haunting phrase, until a stable door lies open before them. God the Father makes a way, prepares a place, for His beloved Son. And the One in Whom He is well-pleased is born in the lowest place, a place for keeping donkeys and sheep and cows.

Nightime upon them and maybe there was fear . . . will we find a place? The hushed-aching-agony never spoken-will He make a way for us? The dread of not knowing, not understanding why. The closing . . . the pounding clenched fist upon door after door after door. Until an unlikely place lies open, a stable. The Glory of God wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

Was she afraid? Was she afraid when the world seemed so raw, so unflinching, hard as nails around her? Was she afraid to travel when her day of delivery loomed so close, when her swollen body moaned with each bump in the road?

They were poor, a poor, newly married couple with barely anything to call their own. They were poor and they were despised and the sting of rejection still hung a heavy weight. The whispers, the taunting, the wagging tongues and the sideways glances. The rumored whispers, it was his child, Joseph’s, although she wished everyone to believe that God had sent His angel to her. Was she out of her mind? What would become of all of this?

And the Roman tyranny hung a shadow over them. Hung like the men upon crosses that littered the landscape. Like a millstone around their necks, the Romans who shackled their freedom and taxed them to their clenched-jawed chagrin. It was an uncertain time, a time of change, a time of chaos and unrest in the world around them. A time of shiftiness and unease and distrust.

And here she was, great with child, ready to pour out the agony of her labor and to bleed heavy on the unfriendly straw, on the hard, crusty earth, and to wail the pain of childbirth that only a woman knows and that only a woman can understand and embrace and forget as soon as the new baby lies warm in her shaking arms, the tears of relief running down.

Could I even imagine, begin to taste? Was she afraid to give birth in a stable, with a man who she had barely begun to know? He was her first baby, the Son of God, the One who opened her womb. And the completion of her travail was the Salvation of her soul.

And I remember my own labor, the joy and the fear and the worry and the deep, soul-sigh of relief when it was over and a baby lay sleeping in my weary arms. And at the time I thought that I couldn’t do it, until the searing, indescribable pain became a dull ache and the final pushing began. And then it was over, and the uncertainty became a blur and a daydream as she lay sleeping, the tranquil hush of heaven, embodied in a tiny baby.

Peace. And the quietness of the hospital at night, the daybreak looming bright and steady in the distance. My husband, concerned, even his growth of beard a halo around his face, and our baby, asleep.

For a child of the living God, the most difficult times, the days of uncertainty, the nights of unrest and agitation ultimately usher in the most magnificent grace. He may bring us to that point of breaking, to the utter travail and agony of our souls before His deliverance comes. And often it comes with pain and with blood-agony and with the soul-body tearing and shaking. What will the child of our travail look like? Will he be a shriveled corpse, a tragic shadow of what our joy may have been? Or will our agony usher in the salvation of our souls, the gratitude of a heart filled with love toward our God, kissed by the grace of peace and the full arms of love and acceptance of His will?

What will my response to uncertainty in my life be? Will I trust Him when the future seems grim, when the culture seems to be crumbling all around me, when the “floods of ungodliness make me afraid” and the government control becomes constricting, unbearable, like labor pains that will not be quieted? Will I trust Him, or will I give way to my fears and allow them to control me? Will I let His peace wash over my heart and hope in Him “though all around my soul gives way,” or will I crumble at the sight of war and give up?

He is the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last . . . He will have the last word, and His people will be saved, though it be through fire and blood.

“My heart trusted in Him and I was helped . . .” (Psalm 28:7). And like Mary, may the Son of God be brought forth through our lives of trust and obedience, through His Spirit, by His shed blood, for His Name’s glory. And “He shall see the labor of His soul and be satisfied” . . . (Isaiah 53:11) in His blood-bought-ones, the travail of His heart.

Forest Brook

Softly,

My eyes gaze over the glad, rushing brook,

Dancing merrily, gaily through the forest.

How happy the smooth stones,

The waters gurgling in laughter over them.

I look up at the sandy banks-

To see the river grasses nestled there.

When will the forest creatures come to drink

Beside the cool riverbank?

When will the tiny birds

Hop down beside the welcoming waters?

At dusk,

When the sun

Dips her happy soul

Into the covering of the hills.

Then I will see the Robin,

The deer of the forest,

The nightingale.

For the Love of the Needy

“The firstborn of the poor will feed,

And the needy will lie down in safety . . .”

Isaiah 14:30a

It was a dismal day to begin with and the worn pet supply store looked unpromising. She was after bunny treats and Wal-Mart didn’t have them in stock, so we took a different turn in our travels and hoped for the best.

Lish and I waited in the car, and a few minutes later, my Mom emerged from the grimy building. The expression on her face said it all.

“What happened?" we asked and she told us about a white baby rabbit, alone in a cage, huddling in the corner, its entire ear chewed off, cowering. 

My Mom asked the girl who worked there, “What’s wrong with his ear?” and she replied sagely, in a hushed voice, “Oh don’t worry about him; he’s for feed.” 

So my sister and I ventured in, hearts pricked. We walked into the store, lights dim, stale music blaring. Over to the rabbit cages, packed on top of one another, and we saw him. Afraid, rejected, with mangy white fur and minus one ear. We said, “We’ll take him, that one,” and they tried to veer us away, but we were determined. We bought him, all 16 dollars of him.

The man at the desk gave us a discount, “because of his ear,” a discounted life handed to us in an old cardboard box and we hurried out of the pet store into the fresh air and the open wide sky that the One who values the sparrow made for His pleasure. 

And we take him home and we feed him and we give him a clean, fresh place to sleep, and we love him, because he’s one of God’s creatures. 

We take what was rejected, cast aside, because there is something in the redeemed heart that should ache for the low thing, for the thing that is despised, rejected, thrust out in a cardboard box, intended as food for a snake. 

And there is something craven about the person who doesn’t care, something hard and crusty, something amiss. 

I was never an “animal person” until I became saved and I still don’t innately feel a passion toward my four-footed friends. I remember when my understanding was opened and I knew the Holy Spirit stirring inside my heart. It began with our growing-old dog, Bonnie. I felt differently towards her, felt compassion towards her and began to pay attention to her, brush her, and talk to her more than I had in the past. The Lord continued to work in my heart and to give me a love for His creatures around me. He continues to teach me this grace, and I pray that my heart will continue to grow in sensitivity and genuine compassion. 

The prophet Nathan tells a story about the man who callously slaughtered and cooked another man’s pet lamb. Heavy judgement hovered over that man, and even though the analogy is to be drawn between David, Bathsheba, and Uriah, there is a principle that cannot be ignored. Callousness/cruelty of heart, whether toward a creature or toward a human being invokes judgement.  The Lord would have us show mercy in our dealings with other men as well as with His animal creation, as the situation and as conscience dictate. 

I am not speaking of animal-worship, puppy-princess, PETA nonsense here. I am talking about decency and compassion and caring for the Lord’s creatures in a way that honors Him—whether it be through humane slaughter for food, or through careful protection and preservation as a tangible example of His kindness and mercy towards that which is weak.  

Mephibosheth sat at the King’s table. Crippled, “discounted” Mephibosheth, and David took him in.  

Jesus was a “Man of Sorrows and acquainted with grief, and we hid, as it were, our faces from Him . . .” (Isaiah 53:3) Despised and rejected, nothing in His appearance that was desireable. And yet, He was the Chosen One, the God-Man, anointed with oil flowing down His beard--the compassionate, crushed, humble Servant who can have compassion on the wounded and the rejected because He also was and can sympathize with us in our weaknesses. 

Time and time again in the Word of God, it is the lowly, the outcast that the Lord takes pity upon. Not the ones who are beautiful and sleek and rich and well-clothed and well-fed. The outcasts, the poor, the ones who know their need. 

The funny thing is, that these are usually the ones who are the most grateful for this outpouring of mercy. Of all the animals that we’ve had (and we’ve had a lot) it is the ones who have been the most abused who appreciate being loved and taken care of the most. 

And that is how it is with us and with God. The one who has been forgiven much loves much. The one who has been maimed and discounted and chewed up by sin and then is drawn by the Father, is the one who stays near to Him in gratitude and love. 

He is gracious, to the sparrow, to the poor bunny huddled in a cage, to us. May we be gracious to the suffering too and show the love and mercy of Christ to the least of these.   

The Sands of Time

The sands of time are sinking, the dawn of Heaven breaks;
The summer morn I’ve sighed for—the fair, sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.
--Anne R. Cousin

Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk.
--George MacDonald

The sun is bright above me and I push her stroller up the old worn hill, the hill that’s been paved over and refreshed. The hill that my child and then adolescent and then teenager and now adult feet walk over. The hill that I used to patter down so many times to get to the Dairy Mart that used to be around the block. It’s not there anymore; things have changed in the neighborhood and somehow it’s just not the same, just not as simple as it was when I was little. Kids used to play outside then, used to ride their bikes and be happy and free in the sunshine. Now they’re all inside, humped over computers, staring vacantly at television screens. Things have changed; times have changed. A generation later, I push her sleeping quietness over the hill and the wind is gentle on our cheeks and she nods her head asleep and peaceful and I sigh and remember the days gone by.

The days gone by . . . some of them filled with golden, beautiful, silver-lined memories and some of them tear-stained and broken, etched with sadness. Life is like that . . . and so fleeting, like “the grass that withers and the flowers that fade.” We can’t cling to it too tightly; it slips through our fingers like water and we understand through the agonies of life that our hope is above, where Jesus is seated, “at the right hand of the Father.”

The Fall is coming . . . change is coming, into my life and I’ve always loved the Fall, sobered by the sadness of the dying, full of the wonder of the cycle of the seasons, the mystery of death and renewal and resurrection. I love the Fall because it signifies to me that before life comes death, the dying to self, the grain of wheat falling into the ground, into the darkness.

And then Winter when all is cold and bare and still and aching-cold, dying to be made alive, reborn and all flesh seems to wait in quiet expectancy, hushed by the crushing wind and the lingering snow.

And finally, Spring . . . and joy . . . my favorite season of all when Easter seems to be in the breath of the air and the dying has ended. Flowers that cover the earth and the mournful rejoice again and the birds sing the glory of the Father.

But for now, change, and there is a beauty to it and an ache, an ache when I think of leaving this place that I have called home for 31 years.

An ache when I realize that I’m growing older, that I’m not a teenager anymore; there are wrinkles and scars and stretch marks on the skin that used to be so unmarked by age and my stomach isn’t as flat anymore no matter how hard I try. I gave up walking on my treadmill—it used to be so important to me—now another life takes all of my time and if I walk, I walk with her. And there is joy. Joy as I realize that my home is not on this earth. Joy when I think of seeing Him and knowing Him in His beauty at last. Joy in leaving the old things behind, not because they were bad, but because the path is winding differently now, up another stretch, Glory ever before. The stretch of babies now and days filled with diapers and arms filled with a wiggly body and heart filled with love.

A peace comes over me as I walk up the hill, the final stretch home, the sun setting in the distance. And I think of Frodo Baggins and his words, ““How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep...that have taken hold.” And I think, that there are places and hurts and sorrows in this life that will linger, that only heaven can heal when He wipes every tear from our eyes. And the love of Jesus will fill us utterly, unspeakably, when we see Him, and swallow up change and tears. The healing waters and the trees, planted in His beautiful garden . . . the loveliness of Jesus, the Healer of our souls.

The Blessed

From prisons dark, in caverns deep-

They gather; round the world, they creep

To meet in hidden places

Tucked in silent alleys,

Tiny homes,

And fields.

They meet to rally round the Word-

Their bread, their life

For this they dared

To come

And risk their everything

On earth-

For this, the Word of Truth.

It burns within their hearts, their souls

With grace

And boldness

Sharpened like the angel’s sword

By troubles, persecutions, torture-

Great is their reward.

They are the blessed ones-

They come-

The world cannot conceive

What they believe and why

Each one would risk their all

For this Great One-

The Son of God,

His favor rests upon their heads . . .

“Blessed are those

Who are persecuted

For righteousness’ sake”—

For they will wake

In light-

Some with a martyr’s crown-

No frown will be upon them.

And they will cry before the everlasting throne –

“How long, O Lord?”-

And He will answer-

“Just a little while; wait-

Until the hour is complete-

For now, you sit here at My side-“

The glorified

Redeemed in love,

Refined,

And blessed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




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The Blessed

From prisons dark, in caverns deep-

They gather; round the world, they creep

To meet in hidden places

Tucked in silent alleys,

Tiny homes,

And fields.

They meet to rally round the Word-

Their bread, their life

For this they dared

To come

And risk their everything

On earth-

For this, the Word of Truth.

It burns within their hearts, their souls

With grace

And boldness

Sharpened like the angel’s sword

By troubles, persecutions, torture-

Great is their reward.

They are the blessed ones-

They come-

The world cannot conceive

What they believe and why

Each one would risk their all

For this Great One-

The Son of God,

For this pure pleasure,

Heaven’s Treasure

Full of grace and truth.

His favor rests upon their heads . . .

“Blessed are those

Who are persecuted

For righteousness’ sake”—

For they will wake

In light-

Some with a martyr’s crown-

No frown will be upon them.

And they will cry before the everlasting throne –

“How long, O Lord?”-

and He will answer-

“Just a little while; wait-

Until the hour is complete-

For now, you sit here at My side-“

The glorified

Redeemed in love,

Refined,

And blessed.

The Fellowship of Grace

More love to Thee, O Christ, more love to Thee!

Hear Thou the prayer I make on bended knee.

This is my earnest plea: More love, O Christ, to Thee;

More love to Thee, more love to Thee!

--Elizabeth Prentiss

We sat opposite each other at Warren Beach. Littered, unromantic Warren Beach and I was bashful and I was young, and Warren Beach was the only place that we could walk to from his house. The air was cold, and I wore a funny-looking sweater. I didn’t care much (about the cold or about my sweater). I was with the boy who would later become my husband. And when you’re 19 and you’re in love (or think that you are) you don’t care much about the details. 

Except for certain ones. 

I was a Calvinist, and he was most definitely, most vocally, not one. I remember that we talked that day about whether God could be just in rendering judgement if He had already elected certain of His chosen ones. Was it fair? Was God good? Did He have to be “fair” to be good? And then the train scenario—if a train is off the tracks and headed down a cliff and God reaches out and saves one or two but not everyone . . . Well, anyway.  

We always talked, always discussed, and I was usually quiet, until I thought that something really mattered and then I TALKED. And Bill was young and Bill was headstrong and Bill would get huffy until I stayed quiet and then he would back away from the subject at long last. 

And I thought, I like Bill, but he’s not a Calvinist, and how will this ever work? Until I realized that it wasn’t Calvinism, but Christ who holds a relationship together. Not a doctrine, but a Person. Not a cold, wingless creed, but a warm, rich and real God. 

 So we married, a Calvinist and an Arminian, both sinners, both saved by grace, both utterly dependent upon the Father for our salvation. And that is ultimately what matters. And that is the reason that we could be married and we could disagree amiably, lovingly, and yes, passionately. And we could look one another in the eyes, through the love of Christ outpoured in our hearts and know that it was and is His love that binds us together, that preserves our love and that seals our souls so that no one can snatch us from the hand of our Father. 

The funny thing is, over the years, we have realized that we agree on far more than we thought we did. Often, as my sister’s college professor used to say, “It’s about semantics.” And sometimes it’s not and there are valid debates within orthodoxy and it is good and right and commendable to search the Scriptures and to dig deep into the rich mines of the Word. We may come out of those mines disagreeing with our brothers and sisters about what the Word is saying and about how Christ would have us apply it to our lives. But we must never emerge from our study of the Scriptures to become a clanging gong, a loveless, doctrine-pounding Christian who leaves a stench wherever he or she goes. 

Because that kind of response to the Word is ugly and it is cold and I may end up alienating my brothers and sisters by pouring the icy water of doctrine without love down their backs. Because it makes me feel puffed up, because it makes me feel important that I think that I know better, because I want to gain the upper hand over my brother, and, in all honesty, to think of myself more highly than I ought. 

Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another; not lagging in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer; distributing to the needs of the saints, given to hospitality.

Romans 12:10-13

And above all things have fervent love for one another, for “love will cover a multitude of sins.”

I Peter 4:8

Love, the law of love, not a touchy-feely-anything-goes-Joel-Osteen “love,” but Christ-love, love for the brethren, love that is patient and kind and not easily angered, that isn’t puffed up, proud or rude. Love that doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. Love that persists in forgiveness, love that can act in humility when a brother disagrees with our particular interpretation of the Scriptures. Love that can reach out and pray with and for that brother. Love that can wash that brother’s feet and look him in the eyes and know that we will sit at the banquet table in Heaven together, when all mysteries will be revealed and John Calvin will bow before the Throne of grace right next to John Wesley. And Christ will be all and Christ will be worshipped and reverenced and every eye will be fixed on Him. Unfettered, undistracted by conflict, free to worship. 

Over the years, I’ve stopped calling myself a Calvinist.  I’ve stopped calling myself a Calvinist, because for me, in accordance with my own conviction, I believe that it divides the Church, divides believers, draws swords where there is no need for a sword to be drawn. Within orthodoxy, we don’t need to be at one another’s proverbial throats. There is enough heresy to fight together, enough Satanic deluge to contend with, without being distracted by whether or not our brothers and sisters in Christ are Calvinists or Arminians. 

Furthermore, through my own study of the Scriptures, I am not convinced that the Word of God can be so neatly pinned down into “isms.” There is a mystery, I have come to believe, within the context of the whole of Scripture that cannot be so easily explained and divided into five points, some of which, to my own understanding, seem to directly contradict many passages in the Scriptures.  As my sister says, “Belief  is not a work; belief is throwing yourself at the mercy seat.” And whether a person believes that someone who is “dead” in their sins can do this or not, the mystery of grace remains, and the fact that God is not pleased in the death of the wicked. (Ezekiel 18:23)

Warren Weirsbe recalls Vance Havner’s address to himself and to his fellow seminarians. “Some of you are more concerned about your dispensations than about your dispositions.” It was a phrase that stuck with Weirsbe, and it is a phrase that ought to stick with us. There is a danger in becoming too caught up with our particular “favorite” doctrines and not enraptured with the Lover of our souls Himself. I need to examine myself, examine myself often to make sure that my focus isn’t merely on what I believe, but on Whom I have believed. To make sure that the embers of love are burning bright in my heart. To know whether I am growing not merely in knowledge, but in love—love for Him and love for the brethren. 

Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. Not to the exclusion of knowledge, but to the inclusion of love. And the greatest of these is love... 

 I found this conversation between  John Wesley and the Calvinist minister Charles Simeon extremely interesting and helpful in conveying the unity that we may have through Christ with our brethren who differ with us on doctrine within orthodoxy: 

 [Simeon] Sir, I understand that you are called an Arminian; and I have been sometimes called a Calvinist; and therefore I suppose we are to draw daggers.  But before I consent to begin the combat, with your permission I will ask you a few questions.  Pray, Sir, do you feel yourself a depraved creature, so depraved that you would never have thought of turning to God, if God had not first put it into your heart?

 [Wesley] Yes, I do indeed.

 [Simeon] And do you utterly despair of recommending yourself to God by anything you can do; and look for salvation solely through the blood and righteousness of Christ?

[Wesley] Yes, solely through Christ.

[Simeon] But, Sir, supposing you were at first saved by Christ, are you not somehow or other to save yourself afterwards by your own works?

[Wesley] No, I must be saved by Christ from first to last.

 [Simeon] Allowing, then, that you were first turned by the grace of God, are you not in some way or other to keep yourself by your own power?

[Wesley] No.

[Simeon] What then, are you to be upheld every hour and every moment by God, as much as an infant in its mother’s arms?

[Wesley] Yes, altogether.

[Simeon] And is all your hope in the grace and mercy of God to preserve you unto His heavenly kingdom?

[Wesley] Yes, I have no hope but in Him.

[Simeon] Then, Sir, with your leave I will put up my dagger again; for this is all my Calvinism; this is my election my justification by faith, my final perseverance: it is in substance all that I hold, and as I hold it; and therefore, if you please, instead of searching out terms and phrases to be a ground of contention between us, we will cordially unite in those things where in we agree.

And finally, this quote, taken from an article written by Calvinist Justin Taylor on The Gospel Coalition’s website provides an excellent summary: 

By and large, Calvinists feel duty bound to attack Arminianism at every opportunity. And far too often the debate between Calvinists and Arminians has failed to glorify God, promote understanding or honor one another as fellow members of the body of Christ. It is our aim, however, to treat our Arminian brothers and sisters in Christ as we would want to be treated...

The Arminian Christian believes that Jesus Christ is God come in the flesh to save sinners and that the saving work of Christ comes to the sinner by way of the grace of God received through faith. Whatever issues relevant to salvation we disagree upon, let us agree on this: the Calvinist and the Arminian are brothers in Christ. Both belong to the household of faith. The issue of debate is not between belief and unbelief but rather which of two Christian perspectives better represents the biblical portrayal of the divine-human relationship in salvation and the contributions of both God and man in human history.

Christians may disagree with each other, and disagree profoundly over issues close to the center of the faith, yet affirm one another as fellow believers. For some on both sides, we are sure that this might seem to subtract from the seriousness of the divide between Calvinism and Arminianism. We do not seek to disvalue the issues of contention. They are real and important. . . . But neither do we want to overestimate the debate. In the division between Christianity and Islam, the Arminian is our brother...

With all of the foregoing in mind, we will seek to write under a number of self-imposed strictures that we hope will help us in addressing the issues of the contention without adding to the strife of the debate. Far too often, polemical works are not actually targeted at the other side of the debate. That is to say, they are not aimed at engaging the other side in discussion, or at seeking to persuade the other of the plausibility or truth of the author’s own position. Many of the discussions we have read—from both sides of the debate—seem to be written to those who already agree with the author. The point often seems to be one of arming one’s own troops, giving them ammunition for future firefights.

We will not follow this strategy. We write as Calvinists to Arminians, as persons who hold the Word of God precious and worthy of our most careful reflection to other believers who share that same commitment of the heart.

Bound by the law of love, we may hold our own doctrinal views and yet have deep and fervent love for our brothers and sisters who partake of Christ’s mercy with us. By grace, through faith, to the glory of the Father.