Despoiling the Egyptians

2 March 2024

“Moreover, if those who are called philosophers, and especially the Platonists, have said aught that is true and in harmony with our faith, we are not only not to shrink from it, but to claim it for our own use from those who have unlawful possession of it. For, as the Egyptians had not only the idols and heavy burdens which the people of Israel hated and fled from, but also vessels and ornaments of gold and silver, and garments, which the same people when going out of Egypt appropriated to themselves, designing them for a better use, not doing this on their own authority, but by the command of God, the Egyptians themselves, in their ignorance, providing them with things which they themselves, were not making a good use of; in the same way all branches of heathen learning have not only false and superstitious fancies and heavy burdens of unnecessary toil, which every one of us, when going out under the leadership of Christ from the fellowship of the heathen, ought to abhor and avoid; but they contain also liberal instruction which is better adapted to the use of the truth, and some most excellent precepts of morality; and some truths in regard even to the worship of the One God are found among them. Now these are, so to speak, their gold and silver, which they did not create themselves, but dug out of the mines of God’s providence which are everywhere scattered abroad, and are perversely and unlawfully prostituting to the worship of devils. These, therefore, the Christian, when he separates himself in spirit from the miserable fellowship of these men, ought to take away from them, and to devote to their proper use in preaching the gospel.”

-Augustine, On Christian Doctrine

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Posted by Tim Nichols

Not Exegesis

27 February 2024

Explaining what a passage doesn’t mean is not exegesis.

I don’t think this should be controversial, but apparently it is.

One way this shows up is a misguided application of a concept called “the analogy of faith.” Suppose we’re exegeting Passage A, and it looks like it might be saying something dangerous. Somebody in the room will immediately resort to the following argument: Scripture can’t contradict Scripture; Passage B says X (which precludes the Dangerous Idea), and therefore Passage A cannot be saying not-X (the Dangerous Idea). The argument is valid, as far as that goes, but there’s room for a multitude of mistakes in the definitions of X and not-X. Once upon a time, back when they were working out the hypostatic union, you could have applied this strategy thus: We all know that humans can’t be God; Passage B says Jesus is really God; therefore, whatever it is that Passage A might be saying, it can’t be saying that Jesus is really human. Of course the problem with that argument is that while it’s true that humans can’t ascend to deity, God can condescend to humanity–and did! I could do a whole treatise on proper and improper applications of the analogy of faith argument, but my point today is much narrower: that argument is not exegesis of the passage at hand.

See, when Passage A seemed about to say something threatening, we ran off to Passage B and exegeted that instead. And since Passage B is our very favorite passage on the (presumed) matter at hand, we may well have exegeted that passage in loving detail. But that doesn’t actually tell us anything about the meaning of Passage A. We don’t know what Passage A tells us to think or believe or feel. We don’t know what it calls us to do. We claim to believe that all Scripture (Passage A included) is the very word of God, profitable for doctrine, reproof, correction, and instruction in righteousness. But what we’ve actually done is wad Passage B up and stuff it in our ears to prevent us from getting the wrong idea when Passage A is read.

It works, too. But it also keeps us from getting the right idea when Passage A is read. God wrote that passage for a reason, and even if we’re right that it’s not saying the Dangerous Idea, it certainly is saying something. Shouldn’t we want to know what?

There’s a better way. Dig in. Learn what Passage A actually says. When you know what it really says, that will be the sole and sufficient refutation for all the dangerous misinterpretations out there. You’ll be able to handle them, and more importantly — and I can’t emphasize this enough — you’ll know what the passage actually says. You can trust what it’s telling you, and apply its lessons to your life, and you’ll be far the richer for it.

And anyway, if you’re actually sure, based on the analogy of faith, that Passage A really can’t be saying the Dangerous Idea, then what are you afraid of?

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Posted by Tim Nichols

The Hidden Costs of Disobedience

20 February 2024

Well over a decade ago, I was challenged by another pastor to become a psalm-singing Christian. The New Testament said to (Eph. 5:19, Col. 3:16, Jam. 5:13), and I wasn’t one, which seemed like something I should fix. I had no idea where to start, but I dug around and found a few resources. Armed with a few CDs (remember those?) and a psalter/hymnal, I dove in. Not being much of a musician myself, I shared the idea with some friends who were, and the result was a partnership that invested long-term in singing the Psalms, and doing it well. We’re still at it.

Back in those early days, we had no idea what the benefits of psalm-singing would be. We just knew that God said to do it. As we shared the idea with other people–especially worship leaders–a pattern quickly emerged. They could see the obstacles and costs of adding the Psalms to their repertoire, and they could see the benefits of continuing to do what they were already doing. But they had a hard time seeing the benefits of psalm-singing, and an even harder time seeing the costs of their current practice.

Anytime you’re contemplating a change, you are not contemplating it from some blissfully neutral limbo. What you’re doing now has costs. If those costs are so baked into your thinking that you can no longer see them, you won’t be able to make an honest assessment of the proposed change. When that’s the case, it’s time to get fresh eyes on the problem.

But when we’re talking about direct instructions from God, fresh eyes are kind of a moot point. You should be obeying because God told you to. You don’t need to assess whether obedience is worth the costs; by obeying, you’ll be doing better than you could know. But obedience is hard, and there are times when you’ll wonder, “Why am I doing this?” At those times, it can be helpful to look back and ask yourself if you can see the costs of your former disobedience.

In the case of psalm-singing, I can tell you that I’ve come to pray more often and more deeply, I’ve grown more emotionally honest, and I know how to talk to God and other people in ways I couldn’t before. Leithart was right: “Worship is language class.” You learn how to talk.

Sometimes, the Scriptures themselves will peel the scales off your eyes. I had this happen to me a couple decades ago reading Hebrews 3. “Exhort one another daily, while it is called ‘Today,’ lest you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.” The straightforward command is that believers should encourage one another every day. I remember thinking to myself, “I don’t even see another Christian some days.” I realized that in modern life, we are more separated from one another than they were back in the day, and despite all our communication technology, it’s harder to connect.

Well, so much the worse for modern life! Since when do we accept “We don’t really live like that now” as a valid reason to ignore a command from God? If we need to modify our form of life so that we are able to obey, then we should do so, trusting that God will make it worth our while.

I’ve been at it for a couple decades now, and I can tell you: He has. Lack of fellowship was hurting me more than I knew back then. I was lonely, in my own head too much, immature. It was hard to see that at the time, because I was used to it. Two decades later, I’ve been blessed with a place in some of the best communities I’ve ever seen, or even heard about. From my current perch, it’s easy enough to see what I was missing back then.

Far more than these two specific items from Hebrews and the Psalms, though, the point I want to make here is…what else is there? How many direct biblical instructions are out there that we could merely obey, and reap the blessings? Let’s go find them!

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Posted by Tim Nichols

Supernaturalism

19 February 2024

Check out this post from Douglas Wilson, talking some hard sense about the supernatural. Money quote: “The first point is that while the Bible teaches us the reality of the spiritual world, it also teaches us that that world, like the physical world around us, is filled with liars. When we enter the spiritual realm, the need to have every fact established with two or three witnesses, and confirmed as being in line with the Word, does not go away.”

Amen.

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Posted by Tim Nichols

“Not A Young Man”

30 January 2024

Among the list of qualifications for eldership is “not a novice” (1 Tim. 3:6). Depending on the translation you read, it may say “not a new convert” or “not a recent convert” or “not new in the faith.” The words “convert” and “in the faith” are simply not in the passage here. The word is νεόφυτος, and it means “young man.”

So why did some translators add the extra words? For the same reason they usually do: for clarity in English translation. There are two possible meanings: a literal reading (“not a young man”) or a metaphorical extension (“not young in the faith”). Translators who favor the metaphorical interpretation have often chosen to clarify their meaning by adding the additional words. In this case, that is a mistake.

First, let’s start with the vocabulary. Paul uses two different words in his writings to refer to the office under discussion here. The one in this passage means “overseer,” and the other word literally means “old man.” So when Paul says that the appointee should not be “a young man” — well, I ask you. The word Paul chose for this qualification refers to a new-growth plant in Job 14:9 and Isaiah 5:7; it’s applied to the younger generation in Psalm 127:3 and 143:12. In other words, Paul’s Greek OT source material uses the word literally.

Does that mean it can’t be metaphorical here? Not at all. Paul could be crafting a novel metaphor by applying the literal term in a new metaphorical context. As Christians, we already refer to conversion as being born again; calling a new convert a “young man” regardless of his chronological age would make a certain sort of sense. (In fact, that’s exactly the process by which new metaphors enter language.) But is Paul doing that here? If he were, how would we know?

One obvious way would be for Paul to add the extra words himself. If he’s crafting a novel (if fairly obvious) metaphor, it would be fitting to specify it: “not a young man in the faith.” But he doesn’t do that. Another way would be for the context to make it otherwise obvious that’s what he must mean. Proponents of the metaphorical view will argue that this is the case, because Timothy himself is a young man. Surely Paul can’t be giving young Timothy the job of appointing elders, and then telling him, “Don’t appoint someone your own age.”

Ah, but he could! In fact, we already know that Timothy doesn’t meet all the criteria in the list of qualifications. Being unmarried, Timothy isn’t the husband of one wife (for that matter, neither is Paul). Timothy doesn’t have a household to rule well. We don’t need to claim some special spiritual meaning for these terms, as if “husband of one wife” would refer to Timothy’s fidelity to the Church, the Bride of Christ, or that “rules his household well” must mean that Timothy functions properly in the “houselold of God.” No, “husband” and “household” have their ordinary meanings, and Timothy is a valid exception.

How is Timothy supposed to function in that situation — appointing people that meet qualifications he doesn’t? He’s exemplary. The overriding qualification is blamelessness. Paul has that, despite not being a husband. Timothy also has that, despite being young. When we’re evaluating elder candidates, if a man gives us reason to doubt his faithfulness to his wife, he’s not qualified. If we look at his household and think “yikes!” he’s not qualified. And if we look at him and see that his youth is a drawback, he’s not qualified. If, in contrast, we look at him and think “I wish I was like that” — if he’s exemplary despite being young — then he is qualified, in the same way that Timothy was qualified.

The older men who are married and running households are wishing they were like Timothy in word, conduct, love, spirit, faith, and purity. He’s setting an example for them, not the other way round. Because Timothy is exceptional, Paul has recognized him as an exception. And thus we can see that “young man” refers to age in the same way that “husband” refers to marital status and “rules his household well” refers to familial and business affairs — all the terms have their ordinary meanings in the context.

So how do we apply the criteria like Paul would? Clearly it’s not the case that no young man would ever serve as an elder, but it would be rare, and with good reason — chronological age actually is a concern. On the face of it, this ought to be obvious just from the terms chosen for the office: one means ‘overseer,’ but the other literally means ‘old man.’ Maturity matters, and most young men haven’t taken sufficient advantage of the scant time they’ve had, or haven’t had enough experience, to season them out. Life experience and maturity are simply more common in older men, thus most of your elders will be, well, elder men.

If the candidate you’re looking at strikes you as a greenhorn in any sense, you probably shouldn’t pick him. On the other hand, if he’s been raised in the faith from childhood, as Timothy was, and he presents himself as exemplary in word, conduct, love, faith, and purity, as Timothy did — sure, go with that guy.

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Posted by Tim Nichols

Coming Soon!

20 January 2024

I’ll be joining Chris Morrison of Gulfside Ministries for a special live podcast on Hebrews 6 on January 27th at 10 am Mountain Time. Come join us!

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Posted by Tim Nichols

Two Books That Changed My Teaching

9 January 2024

When someone comes to me for discipleship, I tell them that I only teach four things: how to read, how to pray, the story of our people, and fruitful living. (I have a specialty in practical doctrine of creation and dust-and-breath anthropology, but that falls under the heading of fruitful living.) Today, I’d like to highlight two books that have changed my approach to teaching the more recent parts of the story of our people.

The historical development of science is a bit of a puzzler for most people. Modern science was created by Christians, and arguably couldn’t have been created by anybody else. If you rewind a few centuries, you find people like Robert Boyle, Matthew Maury, Michael Faraday, Lord Kelvin, and many more–faithful Christians moved by their Christian worldview to investigate the world God made. They would be shocked and puzzled to discover that today everybody “knows” that science and Christianity are in conflict; they never found that to be true. I had long been aware that the “conflict thesis” was nonsense, and worse, carefully constructed propaganda (about which, see Of Popes and Unicorns for the riveting tale, but that’s not why we’re here today.) But the history around Draper and White and their promotion of the conflict thesis never quite explained the speed with which Christians adopted it. 

Paul Tyson’s A Christian Theology of Science has filled that gap. Tyson shows how the roots of the conflict thesis lay, not in 19th-century academia, but in currents of thought that run back to the medieval European church. He also shows how deeply we’ll need to repent to come back to a proper understanding of science’s place in the world. (I’m not with him in his largely negative appraisal of young-earth creationism, but he’s fair, and offers a rare compliment on pp.145-6. I’d love to buy the guy a beer and chat about it for a couple hours.) It’s not a thick book, but expect to expend a little skull sweat getting through it. It’ll be worth it. You’ll find that it inspires you to think differently — and harder — about contemporary discussions in which both religion and science have a stake.

In a similar vein, American Nations: A History of the Eleven Rival Regional Cultures of North America by Colin Woodard sheds light on the development of American political thought and practice. It’s obvious enough from a glance at the news that today, the people of the United States do not have a single dominant conception of what it means to be American, what the good life is, or what good government should look like. Woodard’s thesis it that we never really had that, and he starts in the 1500s to demonstrate his point.

I was raised at a history teacher’s knee, and my father would often contrast the Plymouth Bay Colony and Jamestown, pointing out their rival religions, attitudes, and forms of life as a key lens through which to view the development of the early American republic. Woodard takes that observation much further, and his historical unfolding of the American founding is really helpful. We frequently talk about the “Founding Fathers” as though they were a single group of people with a single shared set of values; that is simply not the case. Rather, the documents of the American founding represent a struggle to hammer out a working synthesis among multiple competing visions. I would argue that synthesis, despite its notable imperfections, was largely successful, and remains an important guiding light for us today.

Woodard maintains that the eleven distinct and competing cultures he describes continue to operate today (here’s a county-by-county map), and offers his synthesis as a broadly useful lens through which to view and explain current cultural battles. That claim seems to be where he has garnered the most criticism. You’ll have to make your own determination about that. I will say that I’ve found his eleven nations a helpful filter in considering some interpersonal conflicts. If you’d like a quick overview, this podcast is a good place to start.

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Posted by Tim Nichols

The Great Resignation Might be Good

2 January 2024

Pastors are leaving the church in droves. Why? This week, I spent some time reading one man’s answer. It would be worth your time to skim his account. As Rev. Lang articulates his reasons for leaving, not just that particular church, but the pastoral vocation altogether, I find myself sympathetic. There’s a lot in the article that I don’t agree with, and some of the things he says cause me to wonder if he’s called to the pastorate at all; good shepherds have to be tough, and I don’t think he is.

But his list of the seven proficiencies expected of a pastor really struck me. That’s true in most churches. I don’t have any trouble seeing why ten years of his job left him burned out. I’m surprised he made it that long.

“This thing Rev. Lang was doing, that also calls itself ‘pastoral ministry?’ It’s not.”

You know what’s missing in it all? Any sense of what biblical shepherding ministry actually is. Rev. Lang tells us why he stepped into the role which church culture defined for him, and why, some years later, he stepped out of it again. That’s worthwhile information for a church to absorb, but one of the things it’s missing is, well…the Bible. There is no such biblical position as the one his church asked him to occupy. He shouldn’t have been doing that job; no one person should have been doing that job. More importantly, no church should be trying to hire one person to do that job.

I’m hoping that the masses of men leaving the ministry will provoke some soul-searching in congregations. We need — all of us — to be stepping into the work of the ministry. Every Christian should be a disciple, and every disciple should be a disciple-maker at the level they’re able to be. Those who are called to equip congregations to do that work are the leaders we need. More and more of them are bivocational, in part because it gives them greater freedom to do what they’re actually called to instead of getting sidetracked into various backwaters of institutional trivia. Back when I was on staff at a mid-sized church, I used to keep track of how much time I spent on different activities. When I left that position, I continued keeping track for a while. You know what happened? Fewer people wasting my time, and more disciple-making.

This thing Rev. Lang was doing, that also calls itself “pastoral ministry?” It’s not. For any young man who finds himself in the unfortunate position of being hired to do that job, I recommend that he resign forthwith and get involved with a ministry where he can heed the Bible’s counsel rather than flouting it as a necessary condition of his employment.

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Posted by Tim Nichols

What’s in the Manger?

27 December 2023

So Christmas just happened. It’s grown popular in the evangelicalism of our time to get cranky about the crass commercialism of it all. You know what? I’m tired of the crankiness. Christmas Day is a time for raucous celebration: blinking lights, flying wrapping paper, egg nog and good chocolate, viewing our gifts through the delighted eyes of the receiver. It is good.

It is very good. I hope you enjoyed it to the hilt.

And now, let’s reflect a bit, because Christmas isn’t over. December 25th isn’t Christmas; it’s the first day of Christmas (yes, like the song). The Christmas season continues for 12 days; the evening of January 5th is Twelfth Night — the end of Christmastide — and January 6th is Epiphany, the feast where we celebrate the revelation of Jesus for who He is. On Epiphany, we remember both the Transfiguration and the Wise Men finding Jesus (about which more anon). For this week, let’s focus on the thing we’re celebrating at Christmastide: the incarnation of God.

Bless the LORD, O my soul;
And all that is within me, bless His holy name!
Bless the LORD, O my soul,
And forget not all His benefits:
Who forgives all your iniquities,
Who heals all your diseases,
Who redeems your life from destruction,
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and tender mercies,
Who satisfies your mouth with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.
(Ps. 103:1-5)

Did you eat anything good in the past month? That was Him satisfying your mouth with goodness. You’re welcome. Take it as a downpayment on the rest of the psalm, a tangible sign that He is giving you all these things. All your sins are forgiven. All your diseases will be healed. Your youth and vigor will be renewed.

That’s who was in the manger. The God who forgives all our sins. The God who heals all our diseases. Who redeems us from destruction. Who pours mercy on our heads. And who gave you that salted caramel.

Taste and see that the Lord is good!

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Posted by Tim Nichols

Right Between the Shoulder Blades

19 December 2023

In case you’ve missed it, there seems to be a bit of a furore about Christian Nationalism all of a sudden. The thought seems terrifying to the secular media, and they seem to be joined in their terror by all the Best Christian Thinkers. (You know, the same ones that thought “Do not forsake assembling yourselves together” was optional if Caesar has any objections to it.)

Some of us are wondering what the big deal might be. Me, I love my country as I love my mother: not because everyone else’s is trash, but because in God’s good providence, this one is mine, and has been a blessing to me. Mixed blessing, to be sure, but how are we to make it better? Why, by seeking to live according to what is true, good and beautiful.

“Ah,” they say, “But who is to say what is true, good, and beautiful? After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Everybody has a different idea of good. And truth?” They shrug, Pliate-like. “What is truth?”

Right. So don’t give the steering wheel to those guys. And in case you haven’t noticed, those guys seem to be the ones doing most of the steering in our culture right now. They’re happy to let us all continue to celebrate Easter, continue to think of Jesus as risen from the dead, and like that, just as long as we think it personally and privately, and don’t attempt to insert it into any discussion that matters. You want to believe in Jesus? Fine. You want a baby in the womb to be legally protected from murder, because Jesus? Oh no, that just won’t do. That’s Christian Nationalism, you see.

Also in case you hadn’t noticed, those guys aren’t just steering the culture. They’re also steering the Best Christian Thinkers. As it turns out, the Best Christian Thinkers are all afraid to be called Christian Nationalists, and that fear causes a little steering wheel to grow right out their backs, right between the shoulder blades. Periodically, the powers reach out and turn that wheel just a little. There was some Christian Nationalism in the road ahead, you see. A little to the left…there we go! Missed it! Phew! What a relief.

Again, do not let those guys have the steering wheel.

Here’s what’s actually happening: there’s at least two different kinds of Christian Nationalism. There’s Bugbear Christian Nationalism, which is what the talking heads at NPR (and the talking heads who listen to them) will accuse you of advocating if you want your Christian beliefs to have any impact in the public square—if, for example, you want to outlaw murder (like, say, dismembering babies in utero, you misogynist), or if you want to enshrine liberty of conscience, or any other Christian value, in law. Every discerning Christian is guilty of these charges—haters, every one a’ youse—and there’s no point in quibbling about the label; might as well hold our heads high and ask “As opposed to what?” Molochian Nationalism? Liberte, Egalite, and Guillotines? The Five Year Plan to reach true communism? Looting liquor stores for racial justice? The options just keep getting better. It’ll work next time, you’ll see….

Then there’s a second kind: Wierdbeard Christian Nationalism, which is all prairie muffin dresses and fines for wearing clothing of mixed fibers, or some such thing. In a nation of 350 million people, there are literal fives of people holding this view, and the talking heads are hoping to steer the rest of the Christians by making us afraid to be associated with them. Now, to be fair, they really do have some things I don’t want to associate with—I like my poly/cotton shirts and my dental care, ya know? On the other hand, the nice folks in button-down shirts are selling baby parts in bulk. Compared to them, the wierdbeards are starting to look downright civilized. If the choice is between high-end necromancy and square dancing, swing your partner!

This really doesn’t have to be complicated. I love my neighbors and I want good things for them. I want their faucets to run with clean water, their neighborhood streets to be smooth and pothole-free, the cracks in their sidewalks to be repaired promptly, their toilets to be a one-way system. Even for the poor families. I want their children to live free of the danger of being abused, mutilated, or murdered by anybody, including their own parents. I want them to have public order, that they might lead quiet and peaceable lives, and I want them to have the freedom to worship in accord with their consciences.

You don’t have to be Christian to want clean water for yourself, but wanting clean water for your neighbors is another matter. Historically, that ‘love your neighbor’ thing gets very limited play in places where the gospel hasn’t seriously penetrated the culture. All these things—every one of them—are Christian values, and I vote in support of them, because Jesus thinks I should. If that makes me a Christian Nationalist…what the heck? Ain’t the worst thing I been called this week.

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Posted by Tim Nichols

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