Mark Gilbert: Evangelicals, in general, are very good at explaining the differences between Catholic and Protestant teaching. We have done a good job at this and many Catholics appreciate this. They appreciate how clearly we are able to explain the Gospel, and can usually see that what we are telling them is different to what they have been taught. There are also a number of excellent resources available to help Christians to do this even better—Ray Galea’s Nothing in my Hand I Bring and Tony Coffey’s Answers to Questions Catholics are Asking are two of the best.

However, when I looked at the sort of books Catholics write to ‘evangelize’ Protestants, I realized that the resources they produced were quite different. For example, Patrick Madrid’s Surprised By Truth series is one of the most popular books that Catholics give to Protestant friends. It’s a collection of stories from Protestants who have joined the Catholic church. This got me thinking: are we mainly writing for our own audiences? I suspect many evangelicals would be persuaded by the way Nothing in My Hand I Bring is written, and many Catholics would be persuaded by the way Surprised by Truth is written.

I wanted to produce a resource that was written in a style that was more familiar for Catholics.

SF: Ok, so they’re familiar with the format. But aren’t there big doctrinal issues with Roman Catholicism that we should be helping people understand in place of personal testimonies?

MG: When we want to explain the Gospel to someone, especially people with a religious background, we need to deal with both what they are taught about God and how they are taught about God. The apostle Paul did this well when he spoke to the Greeks in the Areopagus in Acts 17: he presented the gospel in a way that was familiar to them. This principle is motivated by love for the person we are seeking to reach. Jesus’ own ministry is full of this sort of thing: the way he relates to Zacchaeus, for example, shows this other-centred love; even how he treats the Pharisees reflects this approach. Indeed Jesus’ life, death and resurrection itself is an expression of God’s love to meet us where we are, as sinful humans, in order to bring us into a relationship with Him.

Catholics are taught to know God through their experiences—the sacraments are the most obvious example of this. Through the sacraments
Catholics are taught to literally experience God: to eat his flesh and drink his blood; to be cleansed by the water of baptism; to receive the Holy Spirit by the anointing oil at confirmation. Christians too have a genuine experience of God, but it involves living a life trusting him at his word. We call this our testimony or story, which turns out to be a great way to explain the gospel in a way that takes account of how Catholics normally think about God—through their experiences.

These days exclusive faith claims are viewed in a very negative light in pluralistic Western society. Everyone’s own personal story, on the other hand, is seen as valid. This means that while it might be difficult to have a discussion about doctrinal differences, it is much easier to share a story with someone. We need to be careful about this, because in the end we do want people to trust in God’s promises exclusively, but telling a story is a good place to start.

SF: What opportunities are there at the moment to talk with Catholic people about their relationship with God?

MG: It’s always a good time to talk with people from a Catholic background about God, however at the moment it’s even easier.

The abdication of Joseph Ratzinger and the election of Pope Francis means that Catholic matters are the topic of public conversations. It is not too hard to move from a conversation about the Pope to a question about how these things effect a Catholic’s faith. In many countries the scandals surrounding priests and brothers abusing children and the leadership’s failure to deal with this properly also invites a question about how your Catholic friend’s relationship with God is going. The statistics show that throughout the Western world many Catholics are giving up on any regular commitment to the Catholic Church. The sad thing is they tend to give up on a regular commitment to any church. Wouldn’t it be great if some of these disillusioned Catholics heard the gospel through us?

SF: What relationship does this book have to your previous one, The Road Once Travelled?

MG: I wrote The Road Once Travelled as an ex-Catholic to get alongside Catholics who were struggling in their faith with issues of guilt, frustration with the leadership, and feelings that their religion was disconnected with their daily lives. I wanted to say that the answer to all these frustrations is Jesus. I think it is important to explain the gospel first before calling Catholics to leave the Catholic church.

However leaving the Catholic Church can be a difficult thing for converted Catholics to do. I hope Stepping out in Faith is helpful in, well, taking this step. If you have a Catholic friend or family member who you think might be a Christian, give them a copy of Stepping out in Faith. If you aren’t sure, give them The Road Once Travelled first.

SF: You mention that becoming a Christian was a very lonely and isolating experience for you. Is that a common reaction?

MG: It varies, though many people in this book describe leaving the Catholic church as very difficult. For me it was hard to imagine that I and my bunch of evangelical friends could be right and the massively impressive Catholic church could be wrong. No-one in my life experience had ever done what I was thinking about doing—a book like this would have been very helpful for me.

SF: Is there any one episode of one of these stories that resonated particularly with you?

MG: Almost all these stories brought tears to my eyes as I read them. It is wonderfully encouraging to read the way God works in people’s lives: the way, for example, that God used Eddie’s guitar teacher, or the women who cared for Alex as her husband died of cancer, or that street preacher that God used to change Matt’s life—I don’t think I can single out just one.

SF: Is this a book for me to read to better understand my Catholic friends, or to give to them?

MG: A lot of people that don’t come from a Catholic background have said they have found this book helpful to understand their Catholic friends, family or neighbours better. I didn’t gather these stories together for that reason but I can see how it would be useful. By all means read it first and then give it away. It will help you to have better conversations with the people you give it to.

SF: What if I don’t know any Roman Catholics?

MG: Pray for opportunities, and get out more—they are everywhere and they desperately need what you have.

SF: In a perfect world, where your book achieved exactly what you hoped it would in a reader, what would that be?

MG: I hope this book will encourage more Protestants to talk with their Catholic friends, family and neighbours about Jesus. I hope that lots of Catholics get to read this book because lots of Protestants give it to them, and I hope the Catholics who do read this book will hear the gospel clearly, believe it, and find their way into a church that teaches the Bible clearly. It was the best thing that ever happened in my life.

There was no eulogy at Margaret Thatcher’s funeral.

Some would say there was no good word to be spoken about her, but that was not the reason. Rather it was the funeral of a woman, not the celebration of her life. And a funeral is not a celebration.

Over recent decades there has been a steady movement away from traditional funerals in black to celebrations in colour. Instead of mourning our loss we are celebrating our loved one’s life. Instead of a casket we have a photograph. Instead of a burial we release balloons and doves. Instead of a sermon we have a eulogy. Instead of the congregation singing hymns, the sound system plays the deceased’s favourite songs. Instead of the Bible we read a poem.

Death is a dreadful thief. It is not just that it reduces us to dust and ashes, it also robs us of nearly all that we value. It not only takes our health, strength and our life, it also destroys the people we love. It destroys our friendships and family, it brings such sorrow and grief which can even be experienced as physical pain.

Our culture’s pursuit of happiness does not prepare us well for pain, grief, or mourning. We anaesthetize ourselves against all discomfort and disappointment. We are in denial about the ravages of death—with collagen to keep our skin taught and steroids to keep our muscles bulking we research the possibilities of anti-ageing medicine and if all else fails; cryonics. Generally we will not discuss death or dying except to promote euthanasia—yet another attempt to avoid reality. Animals are no longer killed or ‘put down’ now they are ‘euthanized’.

So, when the reality of death is finally upon us, we try to accept it by muttering the formulaic inanities: “He had a good innings”, “It was her time to go”, “She put up a great fight”, “He’s better off now”. We know we have to say something but we do not have much to say, in the face of manifest failure and defeat. And we are busily creating new rituals to deal with the pain. Funeral directors in white (I wonder whether they dress in black for Chinese funerals?), mourners in bright colours, no sign of a coffin even in the crematorium, and happy people rejoicing in the life well lived.

However, none of this really works. It just postpones the grieving for another day when there are no friends around with whom to cry. Furthermore, it denies the reality—not just of death but also of life; for it minimizes what we have lost in the death of one so dear to us. Talking up how wonderful he or she was only heightens how sad we should be feeling—but we are not allowed to feel sad because we don’t want to break the mood of the balloons and doves and puerile jokes; we don’t want to upset other people.

Grieving does not finish with the funeral or the celebration; it goes on for weeks and months and even years. Death is awful and our loss of relationship, love, intimacy and friendship should never be minimized. We mustn’t be made to feel guilty because we have difficulty putting our life back together again when one of the most important parts has been removed, never to be returned, never to be spoken to or heard from again.

Funerals confront death and our loss and help us process what is happening to our world. The coffin and disposal of the body show the reality of death and remind us of our own mortality. We need to hear from God about life and death; eternity and the resurrection. The resurrection can lighten the colour of black so that we do not mourn as others who have no hope (1 Thess 4:13ff). Yet it does not remove mourning and grieving—it only enables us to face its reality without flinching. Death has been defeated at Calvary but death still continues to rob us of life and of each other. The Lord Jesus knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the grave, yet in his love for his friend he still wept (John 11:35).

Confronting death is only one part of grieving. We also need to have some way of talking about the one we have lost. Most people want to remember together the person who has died and to share with each other the loss they are now feeling. This is not the same as a funeral. In fact, in some ways, it is the opposite of the funeral, which is why eulogies are so counterproductive at funerals. It is the celebration of life or as Christians would say a thanksgiving for the life—for unlike those who face death without hope we have somebody to thank for the life we are celebrating.

In years gone by the refreshments after the funeral gave family and friends the time and opportunity to talk and laugh and cry together. But in the busyness of life, people don’t want to go from church to graveside, let alone return to somebody’s house for sandwiches and a cup of tea after that. Now we want everything done quickly in one gathering, so we can get back to work or to the superficialities of living.

I suspect we need to have two gatherings not one: the funeral shortly after death to dispose of the body and face the reality of death; the thanksgiving some weeks later, to honour and remember with gratitude the life, love and work of the person whom death has stolen from us. And in both of these gatherings Christians have the word of God, for in life and in death we can honour our saviour just as ‘neither death nor life’ can separate us from his love (Rom 8:37ff).

Speakers are Phil Campbell (Mitchelton Presbyterian, Brisbane), Gary Millar (Principal Queensland Theolgical College) and R W Glenn (Redeemer Bible Church, Minneapolis, USA).

There will be a round-table discussion chaired by Simon Manchester, input on preaching well from the Old Testament, and also practical advice on how to avoid putting people to sleep while you preach.

We will also be launching Gary and Phil’s new book, ‘Saving Eutychus‘.

Date: Thursday, June 20, 2013
Rego: $30 (including morning tea). Please pay on the day.
RSVP: via Facebook or to gavin@cornhillsydney.com.au
Location: St Thomas’ North Sydney

More details

But Paul’s main point was to ponder the strange business of Sydney’s imminent election of a new Archbishop. His perspective was that of a slightly bemused outsider, and I can hardly blame him for that. I sometimes find the culture of Sydney Anglican evangelicalism bemusing, and I’ve been here for all of my adult life. I thought it might be helpful for our many friends around Australia and overseas to provide an insider’s guide to the forthcoming election.

First, you must understand that the Archbishop is the chief denominational official and spokesman for the 300 or so local Anglican churches in Sydney. He has an important role in managing and leading what we do together as a fellowship, although his power over individual churches is limited. So for example, the Archbishop is involved in the process of choosing ministers for local congregations but does not dominate it. The local congregation itself drives the selection process.

Also, the Archbishop doesn’t make up the rules that govern the ministry and life of the churches in our fellowship. That authority resides in the annual synod (or assembly), made up of clergy and lay representatives from all the local congregations (about 800 or so people in all). The Archbishop chairs the synod, as well as the Standing Committee that carries on the work of the synod throughout the year. He also has a right of veto over synod legislation.

In many ways, the Archbishop’s real power is threefold: he can have a significant influence over direction and policy through his leadership of diocesan committees and processes; he can shape the direction of the diocese through the numerous key appointments that are in his power to make; and (perhaps most importantly) by his teaching of God’s Word  he flies the flag for what we stand for, both to lead the diocese forward in the gospel and to interact with the wider society (often through the media).

The Archbishop is elected by the synod, and must secure a majority of both clergy and lay representatives (referred to as the two ‘houses’). Candidates for the position are nominated a few months in advance, and do not attend the election synod. Given that it is a significant decision, often with long-term implications (most Archbishops continue in the role until they retire), the synod representatives usually take it upon themselves to do some homework in advance as to the merits of the various candidates.

And this in turn leads to the mini ‘election campaign’ that Paul Levy commented upon in his piece at Reformation21.

While it is perhaps inevitable that some silly things will be said and done during this ‘homework’ period, it is still a necessary and good process in my view. There has to be some means of weighing up the pros and cons of different candidates, and to do so openly and honestly in advance, in fellowship with another, seems both wise and necessary. The synod electors need to think carefully about the positive reasons for electing various candidates, as well as the factors that make one or other candidate less suitable—given the significant impact the appointment will have on our fellowship over the coming decade.

So far, two candidates have been nominated: Glenn Davies and Rick Smith. Both are godly evangelical men, and both are widely respected and supported around the diocese. Here is a quick summary of the discussion so far surrounding these two men.

Glenn Davies is a 62-year-old Westminster-trained former Moore College lecturer and pastor, who has been a local bishop for the past decade. The positive arguments for Glenn are that he is a very winsome, intelligent and able leader and speaker, with runs on the board as a bishop, and solid experience with the media and in relating to other Anglican leaders around the world. He is seen as a safe pair of hands while the longer-term future leadership of the diocese is worked out. The arguments against Glenn are that he would be perhaps less dynamic as a ‘mission leader’ for the diocese, and that his theology, while Reformed, is at various points less representative of majority Sydney Anglicanism.

Rick Smith is a 49-year-old pastor and church planter, theologically sharp and conservative, with an impressive record of evangelism, ministry and leadership. The positive arguments for Rick are that he matches Glenn for intellect, character and the ability to lead an organization—but is a younger man with a more creative, evangelistic mindset, has a theology somewhat more representative of the diocese as a whole, and would be more likely to build the momentum for mission that has begun under the leadership of Peter Jensen. He is seen by many as the leader for the future. The arguments against Rick are that he is younger, untested in denominational leadership, and could be in the role for a long time (up to 21 years if granted an extension)*. He also has less experience with the media and with international Anglican relations.

I have friends on both sides of the discussion, and can appreciate the good cases that are being made for Glenn and Rick. My own view is that Rick would be the wiser choice, given the current challenges we face to reach our city with the gospel.

The final thing to say is that all of us Sydney Anglicans would appreciate your prayers as we wrestle through this together. Pray that the synod reps would weigh up the issues in a godly and thoughtful way, and make a wise decision. Pray that we would argue and differ as Christians should—with honesty, graciousness and a desire for the common good. And pray that when the dust settles, we will work together on the really important task of taking the gospel to the lost millions all around us.

—

* Edits: Added and then adjusted this point about length of tenure. Also adjusted Glenn’s age to 62 (sorry for wrongly making you a year older Glenn!).

Modest: Men and Women Clothed in the Gospel

R W Glenn and Tim Challies , Cruciform Press , 2012, 106 pp.

~

If the Holy Spirit was my personal shopper I wouldn’t have a problem. Long pants: modest. Short shorts: immodest. Long sleeve shirt: modest. Plunging neckline: immodest.

Modesty seems obvious, and would be simple if I could just get the right skirt length and be done with it—unfortunately the heart issue is more complicated. This is what Tim Challies and RW Glenn explore in Modest.

The key shape of the gospel that Challies and Glenn highlight is that Jesus brings comfort and call (p. 39). He brings comfort, because in Christ there is no condemnation. His grace is soothing balm like no other. He heals sin, guilt and shame. There is absolute certainty of his love and acceptance. Jesus also calls, with a grace that transforms us, teaching us to say no to ungodliness (Titus 2:11-14). So, should we go on sinning? The logic of the gospel demands an emphatic, “By no means!” Jesus Christ is saviour and Lord.

Simple.

Well, except for my idolatrous heart. Modest diagnoses a worship problem at the heart of immodesty. Idolatry is the underlying sin behind all sin. Outward disobedience is the fruit not the root of the problem. Idolatry makes empty destructive promises abhorrent and hurtful to God. Without the gospel my innate idolatry will distort any attempts at obedience.

Idolatry is at the root of immodesty, because we replace God with ourselves, or other’s approval, or…, well, anything really. The solution is not simply to obey a set of commands, but we need to have the gospel of the Lordship of Jesus transform our lives to bring about obedience.

This book helpfully points out that modesty exceeds the scope of my wardrobe. Modest seeks to give the gospel maximum impact. Modest attire for a tropical holiday will not be the same for a job interview. Modesty can be expressed in all times and all circumstances by all people, regardless of your gender and wardrobe taste. It’s an issue for all of us (not just pretty girls!), because love must always be expressed appropriately for the situation. This book defines modesty as a form of love and respect for my neighbour, sensitive to her cultural and situational context.

This means, of course, that cultural engagement is a critical element of working out what modesty is. Modest outlines three false paths that try to engage culture: first, demonization, a rejection of all culture as corrupt; second, idolization, the selection of one particular moment in geography and history as acceptable culture; third, divinization, the acceptance of all culture. Challies and Glenn want to tread a middle path that neither whole-heartedly embraces culture nor rejects everything. Culture is simultaneously broken and beautiful, but is to be entirely transformed by God’s redeeming work.

So I thoroughly appreciate the insistence that the ultimate arbiter is the revealed word of God: “There are some biblical lines we ought never to cross” (p. 70). As it critiques a divinization of culture Modest tells me there are “biblical standards for decency, propriety, lewdness and sexual intimacy” (p. 47). Respect for culture—modesty—is not permission to slip into other areas of transgression. One can be entirely modest yet unchaste or impure or proud, none of which are acceptable.

Yet I found the statement that “culture around us will be wrong more often than it is right” (p. 73) a little confusing in the context of affirming respect for culture as a virtue.

Modest appeals to biblical foundations to justify respect for culture as virtue. 1 Timothy 2:9-10 is the key text:

Likewise also that women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel, with modesty and self-control, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly attire, but with what is proper for women who profess godliness—with good works.

Paul is not condemning physical beauty as such, but “adornment that struts its stuff so as to call attention to itself” (p.19). The authors are also at pains to show that “our culture determines the way that modesty and discretion express themselves” (p.18). Culture controls the expression of modesty. In the same way that I love you differently depending on whether you’re my friend, husband, or boss, my modesty will express itself differently at home, at play and at work.

This is well and good, but then culture sneaks into the definition of modesty and not only its expression:

“Modesty is that virtue which is respectful of a culture’s rules for appropriate and inappropriate dress, speech, and behavior in a given situation.”(p. 23, bold italics original)

This seemed a little shaky to me. Glenn and Challies point out that the word translated ‘modest’ in the ESV appears nowhere else in the New Testament, but considering other translations (and the underlying Greek) I noticed some related ideas: decency and propriety for starters. At the very least, there is more to explore in understanding biblical modesty. A single word need not exhaustively define a biblical concept when others contribute to the field.

I won’t burden you with the details of the Greek lexical study I went through;¹ suffice to say that Paul’s letters to Timothy and Titus use related words to explain the concept of appropriate and respectable conduct on more than one occasion. For example, the list of characteristics required of an overseer in 1 Timothy 3:2 include self-control and respectability, using (and mirroring) the virtue words related to modesty from 2:9. Similarly, Titus includes self-control not only in the list for overseers (1:8), but also for older men (2:2) and older women for the instruction of younger women (2:5). ‘Self-control’ seems to be sometimes, but not always, related to modesty in feminine contexts. It’s a right-mindedness that trains and disciplines itself in right behaviour; a reasonable, sound judgement resulting in prudence and moderation.

1 Peter 3 gives another account of feminine virtue with a word of comfort and hope for women vulnerable in their marriages: doing good lets these women beautify the gospel in a particularly feminine way:

Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewellery, or the clothing you wear—but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God’s sight is very precious. For this is how the holy women who hoped in God used to adorn themselves, by submitting to their own husbands.” (1 Peter 3:3-5)

These brief excursions suggest that this virtue does not find its primary context in cultural norms. Modesty comes not from the expectations of society, but from the behaviour that is fitting for saved people. Modesty strikes at pride and idolatry head on, not obliquely through culture.

Modesty sits among virtues that adorn the gospel and beautify Christ. We’re modest when we’re aware of our dependence on God for every breath, every ability, every finger, toe and, curve in between.

Thinking about modesty in these terms challenges me to wise up and get my priorities straight, to value God’s approval before the approval of others, to value Jesus’ reputation before my own. This will transform how I use my body and my abilities. I won’t flaunt my grades, nor athleticism, nor the latest gadgets, nor the promotion in order to put others down and draw attention to myself. I won’t seek attention of men who are not my husband. I won’t boast of home or children or talents that are mine only as a gift from my Father. I will discipline myself to avoid the excesses that might tarnish my Lord’s holy name.

My frustration is that it feels like, in the end, despite all the talk of grace and gospel obedience Modest has simply shifted the goal posts from an arbitrarily drawn hem line to a limit drawn through cultural standards. There’s plenty to like about this book: it’s really helpful to set obedience in the context of the gospel not rules; it’s a call to love whole-heartedly and be transformed by Christ. This book highlights that modesty must be culturally appropriate or it may not be modest, and very usefully expands it beyond dress sense. But I’m unconvinced that the biblical concept of modesty is fully explored.

“It’s not you, it’s me”

It’s easy to blame the listener. Maybe it’s the seven-minute attention span of ‘the Sesame Street generation’. Or of those multi-tasking time-slicing you-phone i-tubers. Someone said to me just last week, “People these days just can’t follow an intelligent argument”. And, of course, there’s some truth in that. Our culture has changed. Attention spans are shorter. We multi-task. We skim. We click, we like, we share, we move on to something else.

Jesus warns us to be careful how we listen, to avoid the fate of the ever hearing but never listening Israel (Matt 13:10-15). Sadly, some people just won’t pay attention to God’s word. And that’s their problem.

But that wasn’t the problem with my early sermons. I knew how hard it was to be a listener myself, and I knew how much more fun it was to count the bricks in the front wall of the church than to listen to a dull preacher. So I was convinced that it was my job to help my church family listen well… by working harder at keeping them awake. No more excuses. So one Sunday afternoon, I decided to make it my business to learn how to communicate.

I know some of you will think you’ve spotted the problem already. Preaching from a written script, you’ll say, is guaranteed to be dull. There’s no connection with the congregation, there’s no spontaneity. How can you expect the Spirit to move your listeners when you’re preaching from a prepared text?

Let me share a little secret. I’m convinced that planning and preparing what you’re going to say is not the problem—in fact, if you do it right, it’s more often a solution.

I’m not claiming this is the only way to preach—there are other models that work just fine. And I know it gets bad press. But if you master the art of natural scripting—writing exactly the words you’d naturally speak, exactly the way you’d naturally say them—then you can eliminate the downsides of scripted public speaking.

The first thing you need to realize is that natural scripting is completely different from writing an essay or a term paper. That was my problem. I didn’t know the difference. But I soon learned, and most of what I learned will apply equally well to all sermon preparation—whether you’re scripting your sermons or not.

Okay. Where did I start? My first step was to call my friend David Ritchie. Dave was a couple of years ahead of me at Sydney’s Moore Theological College and an excellent natural communicator.

“Help!” I said. “I’m killing people. What am I doing wrong?”

Dave looked over my notes and saw the problem straight away. “You’ve got way too many ideas; too much content and too little repetition”, he said. “I always repeat the first sentence of a new idea three times, to make sure people stay with me.”

My next sermon was already in draft form, so I looked it over with new eyes. The process was painful. Ideas. Deleted. Topic sentences. Repeated. And repeated again. (“Not slavishly”, said Dave. “Vary the words each time, but make sure you don’t add any new information.”)

More help came from Clifford Warne, veteran host of Australian Christian Television spots for kids, and master storyteller. When I asked him for tips, the answer came in the gift of the book Say What You Mean by Rudolf Flesch.^[1] Oddly, it’s a book about writing business letters in natural spoken style. But it was the breakthrough I was looking for. It’s okay to use contractions like ‘can’t’ and ‘don’t’ and ‘won’t’. And it’s okay to start sentences with conjunctions like ‘and’ and ‘but’, too. Even partial sentences are okay. Go on a ‘which hunt’, writes Flesch, and get rid of the ‘thats’ while you’re at it. Simplify sentences. It was all about making communication clear, simple and direct. Between reading this book and taking Dave Ritchie’s advice, my preaching changed overnight. (And my business letters did, too!)

So did it help? It still brings a tear to my eye as I remember the old guy who gripped my hand on the way out of church the next Sunday. “Young fella”, he said warmly, “this morning I was with you every step of the way. Well done.”

Louise was smiling too.

The new black

Perhaps the biggest benefit of all in scripting your sermon is that it can help you make things crystal clear. Clarity is ‘the new black’. Just ask anyone with an iPad or an iPhone.^[2] Apple designer Jony Ive explains it this way to L’Uomo Vogue magazine:

The way we approach design is by trying to achieve the most with the very least. We are absolutely consumed by trying to develop a solution that is very simple because as physical beings we understand clarity, we’re comfortable with clarity.^[3]

At the end of his letter to the Colossians, Paul asks his friends to pray that God will equip him to preach. Look at his words:

At the same time, pray also for us, that God may open to us a door for the word, to declare the mystery of Christ, on account of which I am in prison—that I may make it clear, which is how I ought to speak. (Col 4:3-4)

Paul’s goal is clarity. Paul asks the Colossians to pray that through his plain words, the previously hidden mystery of Christ would be plain and obvious to all. He’s not trying to be more eloquent; he’s not longing to be wittier or more entertaining. All he wants is to be clear.

JC Ryle (1816-1900), the 19th-century Bishop of Liverpool, was a smart guy. Schooled at Eton, he took first-class honours at Oxford and was invited to join the faculty. But his goal was ministry. When Ryle realized that he had affected a certain ‘eloquent’ style as a curate in Hampshire, however, he went about trying to crucify this pretension. What he had thought impressive was in fact completely counterproductive to gospel preaching:

In fact, to use very long words, to seem very learned, to make people go away after a sermon, saying, “How fine! how clever! how grand!” all this is very easy work. But to write what will strike and stick, to speak or to write that which at once pleases and is understood, and becomes assimilated with a hearer’s mind and a thing never forgotten—that, we may depend upon it, is a very difficult thing and a very rare attainment.^[4]

Clarity. Being comprehensible without being condescending. Being simple without being simplistic. As Einstein put it, “Everything should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler”.

I want to challenge you to work harder at preaching more clearly. I want to push you to prepare in a way that combines your heartfelt passion with hardheaded clarity, in a package that’s well planned, conversational and clear… and not too long. Are you ready for the challenge?

Top ten tips for being clearer

Paul asked the Colossians to pray that he’d preach with clarity, because he knew that it’s hard to do so. As preachers, we should be praying that Colossians 4 prayer regularly and asking others to pray it for us. And then, like Jony Ive, we should be absolutely consumed by trying to design sermons that are simple without being simplistic, that are understandable and clear. We should try very hard to avoid unnecessary complexity.

Clarity comes from what you leave out. Clarity comes from focus. Usually, complexity comes from ‘over-inclusion’. Over the years, I’ve developed a toolkit that I’ve passed on to a generation of students in my preaching classes. For those of you Letterman fans who were hoping for a top-ten list of tips, here you are.

1. The more you say, the less people will remember

It’s a fact of life. Why do most preachers want to talk longer than most people want to listen? The quote on my desk calendar tells me, “Biscuits and sermons are improved by shortening”. In his song ‘Long Sermon’, country singer Brad Paisley bemoans the way long sermons on a pretty Sunday are a test of faith. Ecclesiastes 6:11 agrees: “The more the words, the less the meaning, and how does that profit anyone?” (NIV).

So for how long should you preach? The answer for me is around 23 minutes. The answer for Tim Keller is as long as he likes. The answer for all of us? Plan to stop a minute or two before people start wishing you would. (And stop thinking you’re Tim Keller.)

2. Make the ‘big idea’ shape everything you say

Here’s the best way to trim an overgrown sermon. Apparently, a presidential speechwriter was once asked how he wrote such great speeches. “It’s easy”, he said. “First, I write a speech—then I take out all the bits that ain’t great.”

That’s one of the best reasons to preach from a full script—you get to edit before you speak. You get to choose what you’re going to say and what you’re not. You get to take out all the bits that ain’t going to be great.

And how do you decide what to take out and what to keep? Simple. Haddon Robinson says every sermon should grow from a big idea that you discover through hours of exegesis. You capture your big idea in a single sentence summary that states the essence of a passage and its application.^[5] Robinson is right, and I know plenty of preachers who agree with him. The problem is, even after they’ve done the legwork and found the big idea, they usually don’t stick to it. If you’re anything like me, you’ll find that other ideas scream for your attention like Siren-rocks; if you let them divert you, it won’t be long until your once-clear big idea is sunk at the expense of every lesser idea that came to mind. These other ideas might even be noble ideas. And true. But leave them for another day and keep heading for your target.

Here’s the tip. Once you’ve got the big idea, don’t let go. Build your structure around it, then weigh every word and sentence to make sure it’s pushing in the right direction. Don’t be distracted by sidetracks when you’re preparing, and your listeners won’t be distracted while you’re preaching. And, whatever you do, don’t fall in love with your first draft—make every word and paragraph earn its place.

3. Choose the shortest, most ordinary words you can

It took me a while to realize thateventhe sharpest thinkers prefer simple, clear communication. And clear communication uses the simplest and clearest words you can find. This is one of the differences between written and spoken communication; we tend to use shorter words when we speak. Some words—like ‘utilize’—are nothing but fancy, padded versions of a simpler, shorter word—like ‘use’. When there’s a choice, always use the shorter, simpler word.

I’m not just talking about not using jargon. I’m talking about syllables and the rhythms of natural conversation. I’m talking about using words that are easy to get your mouth around. I’m talking about using the words that you’d use in the kitchen or on the bus. I’m talking about choosing the clearest, least stilted words you can. Listen to yourself sometime. And then eschew utilizing cumbersome terminology when a less pretentious vocabulary would adequately suffice.

4. Use shorter sentences

We package ideas in sentences. Listeners can’t process an idea until they catch the sense of the sentence. So keep sentences short. According to the Reader’s Digest style guide, the ideal average sentence length for a typical Digest reader (enriched word power and all) is between 17 and 20 words. That’s surprisingly short—and it works quite well for sermons too. Take a moment to check the average sentence length in your last sermon. And find the ‘readability score’ of your sermon, too.^[6] Aim for a score of 70 to 80 on the Flesch-Kincaid Reading Ease scale (yes, there’s Rudolf Flesch again!), or 6.0 to 7.0 on the Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level calculator (this paragraph, for example, scores 73.5 and 5.7, respectively). The higher the score on the reading ease scale, the easier the text is to read. The highest possible score is around 120 (the Harvard Law Review has a score of around 30).

Don’t be fooled. This isn’t about ‘dumbing down’ your content. It’s about communicating complex content clearly. (But keep in mind that alliteration is no longer considered tasteful.) More importantly, it’s about sounding like a normal, conversational you. Figure out what size sentences sound most like you—although if it comes out at over 127 words, it’s time to revise your personality. Trust me. Between 17 and 20 is just fine.

5. Forget everything your English teacher taught you

“Remember”, said Bishop JC Ryle, “that English for speaking and English for reading are two different languages; and that sermons which preach well, always read ill”.^[7]

It’s true. Which means if you’re scripting a sermon you should expect it to read badly. It should break almost all the norms of good written expression and follow the rules of informal speech instead.

Listen to yourself in a normal conversation sometime and you’ll realize that the order, sequence and styling of your words break all the rules of formal writing. The formal rules of essay writing taught by old-school English teachers are the conventions and rules that are most likely to make a scripted sermon sound artificial and stilted.

Remember, your goal is to script your sermon in exactly the way you usually speak. So try these naughty tricks:

• Boldly start sentences with ‘And’ or ‘But’. Or even ‘Or’. It’s usually considered bad form for writing, but it’s great for speaking. Listen to yourself sometime… we almost always do it when we’re chatting.
• Contract. Use contracted forms such as ‘can’t’, ‘don’t’, ‘won’t’, ‘aren’t’… along with all the other abbreviations we naturally use in daily speech. The only exception I can think of is that sometimes you might choose to use a fully formed ‘not’ for impact and emphasis. Gleefully write the contractions into your text in exactly the way you’d talk to a friend, all the while ignoring the scolding of your old English teacher in your head. And, if you compose onscreen, turn off the spell and grammar checks if those wrist-slapping underlines distract you from writing the real you. (Although I tend to read the squiggly lines now as a sign that I’m on the right track!)
• Avoid complex, multi-clause sentence structures. We usually speak in simple, direct sentences. Sometimes not sentences at all! Can you learn to write like that? That’s why Rudolf Flesch was so keen to get rid of ‘thats’ and ‘whiches’—they always introduce subordinate clauses, which are harder for listeners to process.

6. Am I repeating myself?

In natural spoken communication, we repeat ourselves often. It’s vital. If you’re reading, you’ll create your own repetitions by re-reading a difficult section until you’re ready to move forward. (Why not go back and read that last sentence again?) When you’re preaching, listeners don’t have the same luxury, and it’s up to you to anticipate where they’ll need help. As I said earlier, Dave Ritchie taught me that as you’re introducing a new idea, it’s incredibly helpful to restate the first sentence three times, rephrasing it each time but adding no new information. Effectively, the first statement signals that you’ve changed tack, the second helps the listener to start processing the new idea, and the third time begins the next part of the journey.

Repetition is also the way you’ll emphasize key points, and it’s a great tool for breaking up those long, multi-clause sentences. For instance, “It’s awful to sit through a long, dull, repetitive sermon” has loads more punch when you’re speaking if you replace it with, “It’s awful to sit through a long sermon… It’s awful to sit through a dull sermon. It’s awful, really awful, to sit through a repetitive sermon.”

Why does repetition help? Because, more than anything else, repetition regulates the information flow. Too much information, flowing too quickly, makes people feel like they’re drinking from a fire hose. Avoid giving too much information and learn the difference between the pace of your speech (in ‘words per minute’) and the pace of information (in ‘ideas per minute’). Getting a feel for the right balance between repetition and forward movement is the key here. Too many ideas per minute, and people will feel it’s too complex—slow it down by adding some strategic repetition and explanation. Slow down the idea stream too much, though, and you’ll sound condescending—you’ll be ‘labouring the point’. It’s difficult to find the right balance, but the first step is to be aware that you need to.

Words per minute versus ideas per minute

What do I mean? Below, you’ll see 223 words from a sermon I preached on Saul’s conversion in Acts 9. At my usual speech rate of around 150 words per minute, these paragraphs would take around a minute and a half to deliver. In those 223 words you’ll find a grand total of two ideas. See if you can spot them…

I want you to think for a minute about the person in your life who’s the least person likely who you know to ever become a Christian. The person who’s the most hostile to the Christian faith. Most disparaging. The one who laughs loudest at the idea of God. At the name of the Lord Jesus. And now I want you to double it. Double… the derision. Double… the disdain. Double… the barbed remarks and the cynicism. Until you’ve got the worst-case scenario. And then… you’ve got Saul. Who we first met at the very start of Acts chapter 8.

If you’ve been watching the tennis on TV lately you’ll be noticing the ball boys and the ball girls. Pumped up and ready at each end of the court to dash after the ball. They’re the kids who’d love to one day be out there on centre court. They’re looking on in admiration, helping however they can in the hope one day they’ll make the big time. Saul, when we last met him, was like that. Except it wasn’t tennis they were playing… but stoning. And Saul was the little guy on the sidelines looking after their coats. Helping. However he could. While they stoned Stephen to death.

After all that repetition (which is annoying to read on the page, I know), I hope you picked up the first idea: “Saul is twice as unlikely as anyone you know to become a Christian.”

The second idea flows straight on from the first: “When we first met Saul in the book of Acts, he was helping to stone Stephen.”

I could have delivered those two ideas in just 29 words, and then used my spare 194 words to squeeze in 13 more ideas. If you’d been there listening, you would have been glad I didn’t. Repetitions like “most hostile”, “most disparaging” and “laughs loudest” are all making exactly the same point but, like the tennis illustration, they’re slowing the flow of ideas to the point where a listener can easily absorb them.

7. Translate narratives into the present tense

This tip is great. It works. I love it. I’ve regularly had people tell me I’ve brought a biblical narrative to life… and I give a wry smile, knowing that all I’ve done is translate the text into present tense. It looks odd when you put it on paper, but have you ever noticed how often jokes are told in the present tense? (“Did you hear the one about the Irishman and the Australian who walk into a pulpit…?”) The same often applies to TV news reports, especially in headlines and video voiceovers. (“Riots erupt on city streets today as ice cream supplies run low.”)

Odd as it seems, translating narrative into the present tense makes a story seem real and immediate—it’s just like being there. Retell a biblical narrative with present tense verbs, and something refreshing happens. The same applies to illustrations. You can take your listeners back in time and put them right inside the action just by adjusting the tenses… they look, he whispers, he says. It’s alive! Keeping narratives in the past tense coats everything with dust.

As a side note, this tool works for retelling content from the epistles as well. Put yourself right beside Paul as he writes, and relay what he’s saying in the present tense. (You probably do this already, because you’re convinced the Bible is a living book. For example, I would naturally say, “The apostle Paul says, ‘The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God’.” That’s because he didn’t ‘said’ it. He still ‘says’ it.)

8. The six-million-dollar secret of illustrating

Illustrations are great for explaining complex ideas and touching emotions and applying your main point. But they’re also a great way to keep your listeners fresh by giving them a break. If you’ve ever struggled to find just the right illustration, this tip is solid gold.

Here it is: Don’t sweat over illustrating the complicated stuff—just illustrate the obvious!

When the pressure is off, illustrating becomes incredibly easy. The simple images and ideas in your passage will trigger all the stories and associations you need; you’ll be swamped with possibilities, and you can use them when you need them. As an exercise in my preaching class, I give students two minutes to think of a real-life story to illustrate Amos 8:2:

“What do you see, Amos?” [the Lord] asked.

“A basket of ripe fruit”, I answered.

Then the Lord said to me, “The time is ripe for my people Israel; I will spare them no longer”. (NIV)

Try it yourself. Ripe fruit. In fact, Israel is overripe. Remember the banana you left in your school bag for a few months? Or that orange at the bottom of the fruit bowl growing a coat of blue-green mould? The peaches on the tree at the bottom of the garden, ready to be plucked? Every student in the class could think of a story like that in moments. Start illustrating the obvious and you’ll find so many ideas for rest-stop illustrations that you’ll find it easy to keep your listeners bright and fresh. The secret? Illustrate the obvious, and the complex ideas will take care of themselves, because your listeners will be fresh and focused enough to stay with you. It’s kind of like taking breaks with kids on a car trip. Sometimes it’s smart to stop where there’s a restroom whether they need it or not—the kids may not thank you, but on the next stage of the journey they’ll be glad you did.

9. People love to hear about people

Take a look at the front page of a newspaper sometime. Are interest rates rising? Then you’re almost sure to see a photograph of an affected family. Graphs and statistics can come later. The journalist’s rule is this: if there are no people, there’s no story. So populate your preaching with real people. Use people-based illustrations and people-based application. Where you can, talk about real people and real situations, instead of just talking about abstract ideas. Typically, I’ll scour the newspaper, internet news sources and TV for fresh material. Incredibly, there always seems to be something useful. Of course, if the story involves a member of your congregation then you’ll need to ask permission first.^[8]

10. Work towards your key text

Here’s my final top-ten tip. But it’s probably the best. Here, I’m happily assuming a commitment to expository preaching, which means that week by week you’ll be bringing your congregation face to face with the text of Scripture.

That’s going to involve highlighting and explaining key texts from the passage as you speak. Here’s the tip. When you’re quoting a verse, help out the listener by setting it up before you read it, rather than after.

In other words, lead your listeners towards the text. Instead of quoting it then explaining it, do the reverse. Explain and then show. Prepare them for the logic of what they’re about to see for themselves in Scripture by raising the question the text is about to answer, or by building the logic of the argument that the text itself is about to resolve, or by explaining anything complex that they’ll need to understand to make sense of it. Then, let the words of Scripture close the deal.

When you work in the other direction, reading the verse then unpacking it, you’re asking your listeners to hold the words of Scripture in their heads while you go on to explain them. It’s tough work for the listener, and disengaging. Try it the other way around.

SO THERE THEY ARE—my ten top tips for preaching more clearly. My guess is that at least eight out of these ten tips are familiar to you already. In fact, I’ve noticed that most natural communicators—whether scripted or not—tend to do most of these things by instinct. But even if you think it’s obvious, we need to keep in mind the even more obvious fact that communication hasn’t happened until the message has been received at the other end. I’ve sat through sermons where it feels like the preacher is talking on the phone before he’s dialled the number; there’s nobody on the other end of the line. I’ve heard sermons like that? To be honest, I’ve preached sermons like that! And as Louise still sometimes reminds me at the door, it’s usually because I’ve forgotten something obvious. Sanctifying as it is to be reminded you’re far from perfect by pseudo-polite parishioners at the door (and an honest wife on the car ride home), it’s far nicer to see a smile and hear a “Well done, young fella, this morning I was with you every step of the way”.

~

This article is an edited extract of the new Matthias Media book on preaching, Saving Eutychus, available April in the USA and June elsewhere. This article is available online for comment: 3 June 2013.

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^[1]             HarperCollins, New York, 1972. I recommend this, or any of Flesch’s excellent books on clear communication and writing.

^[2]             It’s also ‘the new white’—depending on your choice of colour.

 ^[3]             J Dalrymple, ‘Jonathan Ive gives some insight into his designs’, The Loop, 11 June 2009 (viewed 11 January 2013): www.loopinsight.com/2009/06/11/jonathan-ive-gives-some-insight-into-his-designs/

 ^[4]             JC Ryle, ‘Simplicity in Preaching’, The Briefing, vol. 296, May 2003 (first published 1882), p. 16.

 ^[5]             HW Robinson, Biblical Preaching: The development and delivery of expository messages, 2nd edn, Baker, Grand Rapids, 2001.

 ^[6]             You can paste your text and check your readability score at www.readability-score.com.

 ^[7]             JC Ryle, A Sketch of the Life and Labors of George Whitefield, Waymark Books, Michigan, 2012, p. 50.

^[8]             In fact, even if it’s about one of your kids make sure you ask permission first! Being a pastor’s kid carries enough baggage without growing up in church where everyone can recite the ‘cute stories’ of your childhood.

 

For I know that the Lord is great,
and that our Lord is above all gods.
Whatever the Lord pleases, he does,
in heaven and on earth,
in the seas and all deeps. (Psalm 135:5,6)

flickr: Nouhailler

I write this post with a heavy heart, because we are neck-deep in this particular season of suffering. It’s not showing any signs of letting up, at least for now. It’s only bearable because God no longer seems like a stranger.

Of all the effects of suffering, this is one of the most disquieting: the God I meet in suffering is different from the God I thought I knew. It’s as if you turn to a friend and catch an expression on their face that you never expected to see there. Your wife of twenty years does something so completely out of character that you wonder if you really know her. Your father turns out to be fundamentally different to the man you loved and respected all these years.

The fault, of course, doesn’t lie with God. It never did. It’s that we live with unconscious assumptions about God and his dealings towards us, beliefs that would probably horrify us if we pulled them into the light (“I am exempt.” “God will do what I ask.” “That would never happen to me.”). So we leave our assumptions hidden and unquestioned, where they lend us a kind of empty comfort. The worst will never come, because… (here we fill in our own A, B and C).

This can happen even if we are well-prepared, our theology of suffering carefully laid down. In my early 20s, I read How Long O Lord, because we were told that those who read this book would be ready for suffering when it came. There was great truth in that. I still repeat this lesson to those younger than me. I don’t know how I would have weathered this storm without a strong doctrine of God’s sovereignty and goodness in suffering. But it doesn’t matter how prepared you are, suffering always comes as a surprise.

The storm front approaches, but you don’t see it coming. The world crumbles, the earth shakes, and you cry out in shock. Cracks appear in your theology. Suffering forces its way in and wedges them apart. They grow bigger and bigger, until your view of God threatens to collapse like a house on the sand. Suffering shows you the weak points. It enlarges them and says, “There!”.

I’m sure the weak points are different for everyone, but in my case, as I watch my son trudge through days of pain, it doesn’t take long to realise there’s something odd about my view of God’s providence. I can’t understand why medicine helps but God, it seems, doesn’t. Is it that he can’t? Or that he won’t? I know it’s not the first, but I can’t quite get my head around the second.

My son’s doctors, on the other hand, seem eager to help. They can’t do much, but what they can do, they do. It’s the same with the people around me. So why does God seem so unwilling? Why is he depending on medicine, when he could heal with a single thought? At some level, a level I barely dare to acknowledge, I ask, “Doesn’t he want to? Is he powerless? Does he care?”

So I turn to the same place I turned to all those years ago. I open How Long O Lord and struggle through those last, difficult chapters on God’s providence. I begin to read Joni Tada Eareckson and Stephen Estes’ When God Weeps, and Paul Grimmond’s Suffering Well. I search the Scriptures, and painstakingly rebuild my theology, brick by brick, starting with these words by Don Carson:

A miracle is not an instance of God doing something for a change; it is an instance of God doing something out of the ordinary. That God normally operates the universe consistently makes science possible; that he does not always do so ought to keep science humble.¹

An odd paragraph to bring so much comfort; but comfort me it does. I begin to see that the God who made and sustains the universe works through medicine as well as what we call “miracles”: they are both gifts direct from his hands. Health slowly and painstakingly regained, or never regained at all, is as much an indication of his love as instant healing. What he wants to do in us may take time and hardship. His plans for us are bigger and better than the ones we make for ourselves.

The God I am getting to know is no cheap-and-easy vending machine: put in a dollar, get out a chocolate bar. He’s our Father, wise beyond knowing. His mercy is severe and his love relentless. He may never give us what we ask for, and we may never know why; but this God, who gave his only Son to die for us, who knows suffering from the inside out, can be trusted to be just and loving and good. As my knowledge of him deepens, he no longer seems like a stranger. I run into his arms and find comfort and strength and a secure refuge (Ps 46:1).

The God I meet in suffering isn’t the God I thought I knew. He’s better.

I hope you are well in the grace and peace of God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Recently, at our church, where I serve as Senior Minister, the preacher on the day suggested in his sermon on Colossians 1:1-14  that we should be full of thankfulness for those who taught us the gospel of Jesus, like Epaphras had done for the Colossians:

You learned it from Epaphras, our dear fellow servant, who is a faithful minister of Christ on our behalf (Col 1:7 NIV)

Thankfulness is a big theme in Colossians, and I am thankful!

In my case, I understood God’s grace in all its truth from my Sunday School teachers – firstly at St James’ from pre-school till about Year 4 at school, and then at Castle Cove, from Year 5 onwards.

Of course, I’m incredibly thankful to God for my parents who took me to church (or still sent me on those occasions they slept in – let’s hope they’re not reading too closely!) But they weren’t especially well equipped back then to talk lots about God, beyond saying grace at dinner and perhaps the simpler childhood prayers.

So I learned the gospel from my childhood Sunday School teachers. I don’t recall any lesson in particular, but I can still picture (dimly!) the classrooms and I know they cared for me. And I know it was from that young age I realised I needed Jesus on my side as my Friend and Saviour and then Lord.

(And I also remember the songs. “God said to Noah, there’s going to be a floody, floody…”, “If I were a butterfly…” This was BC – the “before Colin” era! I was a very silly boy, mucking up songs like “I cannot come to the banquet, don’t trouble me now, I have married a cow and bought me a wife” and not getting into too much trouble.)

We were always learning the meaning of stories from the Bible, and I cannot remember having much to ‘un-learn’ later on from any grossly moralistic or misleading early approaches either.

And so I thank God for my Sunday School teachers like Mrs Fowler and Mrs Boudekain (spelling uncertain, but name remembered!) and Mr and Mrs Larsen, and others whose names I’ve now forgotten. Some of them have now died without ever perhaps knowing how much they did for me. As Paul said of Epaphras, they were “faithful ministers of Christ”!

And then there’s Pete Miller who was not only my senior Sunday School teacher but also the youth fellowship leader (concurrently for a fair while, one on Sunday morning, one at night!) who – along with other great leaders – modelled 1 Thessalonians 2:8 to me:

We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well, because you had become so dear to us. (NIV)

But praising youth leaders is a story for another day.

Anyway, I’ve written to some of them this week, inspired by that sermon on Colossians 1. Maybe if you’ve been blessed by your Sunday School teachers, you might like to do the same.

I am sure God answers our prayers, including for you.

But whether he does what we want is another question. I know that a dad does not always give their kids lollies every time the kids ask, because even though it’s what the kids want, the dad knows it’s not good for them to eat too many lollies too often.

A preacher once said that God answers our prayers three ways: No, Slow, or Go.

Sometimes God says ‘No’ to what we ask for.

Presumably because it would not be for our good in the long run, and he knows more than we do. Or maybe it’s sometimes because we ask with wrong or selfish motives. (See James 4:1-4 for that warning!)

Sometimes God says ‘Slow’ to our requests. That is: yes, you can have it, but not yet.

You’ll have to be patient. Maybe God wants us to learn patience and endurance, good qualities to develop. (See for example, James 1:2-4) Or maybe we need to be more mature, before we are ready to receive what we want.

And sometimes God says ‘Go’! He gives us the desires of our hearts and quite quickly. Or what we asked him is already revealed as being in line with his will. (See James 1:5!)

It’s easy to see God’s generosity in this later example of ‘Go’. But it’s important to see God is being kind to us even when he says ‘No’, or ‘Slow’. He has better things in mind than we sometimes realise. He only gives good gifts (James 1:17).

That’s why it’s also wise to remember to preface our prayers (attitudinally, if not verbally), and not only our plans, by saying, “If it’s the Lord’s will” (see James 4:15).

We’ve seen a people whose hostility to the word of God was so ingrained that gospel preaching only made things worse. Their identities were so bound up in being independent from God that they could not have submitted to his lordship even if they had wanted to. They were beyond forgiveness, their relationship with God irretrievably broken down.

But God loved his faithless children to the edge of reason, and he promised to intervene so radically in their lives that it would be like a new creation. Specifically, God’s intervention would take the form of a new type of forgiveness. This was not just a wiping of the slate, but a new and powerful expression of God’s character, a giving of himself that breaks in and transforms someone from within. Perhaps the most amazing aspect of this is that God did not just offer his transforming forgiveness as a special concession. He decreed that it would become the foundation of a whole new covenant, so that from now on it would be normal for every one of his people to be bound to him in faithful love.

We now follow the thread of Jeremiah’s teaching about forgiveness through to the end of his book. We’ve only just begun to mine the riches of God’s new covenant forgiveness, and to go deeper we need to discover why Jeremiah holds two other acts of God alongside God’s act of forgiveness, and why he cannot think of forgiveness without them.

Judgement accompanies God’s forgiveness

Today’s tour begins with the third song of restoration, which looks forward with joy to returning and rebuilding under the rule of a royal prince who will draw near to God—a priestly activity—with a directness that would normally be impossible. Through the mediation of this priest-king, a covenant relationship will be sustained:

This is what the LORD has said:

 

Look—I am restoring the fortunes of Jacob’s tents,

and on his homes I will show compassion.

Each town shall be rebuilt upon its hill,

and each citadel on its proper site shall stand.

Out of them shall come thanksgiving,

the sound of laughter.

I will increase their number,

they shall not dwindle;

I will cover them with glory,

they shall not be disdained.

Jacob’s children shall be as in ancient times,

his assembly founded firm before me;

I will punish all his oppressors.

His prince shall be one of them,

his ruler from among them shall emerge;

I will let him draw near and approach me—

for who is he who would risk

his life to approach me? says the LORD.

And you shall be my people,

and I will be your God. (Jer 30:18‑22)²

Like the other songs, this one cannot rest content with a simple word of restoration, and it continues in a more disturbing vein as it reveals the intent of God’s heart:

Look, the storm of the LORD!

Wrath is in the air;

a tornado swirling

about the head of the wicked shall whirl.

It will not return, this burning anger of the LORD,

until he has done, and until he has established

the intent of his heart.

In days to come

you will understand this.

At that time, says the LORD, I will be the God

of all the families of Israel,

and they shall be my people. (Jer 30:23–31:1)

What is the intent of God’s heart? Yes, certainly judgement, but his deepest intent according to the whole song cycle is the restoring of fortunes (v. 18) and the establishment of a covenant relationship. The bracketing of this word of judgement by covenant promises (“you shall be my people, I will be your God”, in 30:22 and 31:1) is a strong clue to this. Somehow, it doesn’t say how, God’s wrath will accomplish the restoration of a relationship with his covenant people. The message of this song seems to be that while God will bless his restored people with the mediation of a priest-king, that alone will not be enough to create and sustain a covenant relationship. On the other hand, God’s wrath might be.

The fifth song paints a picture of the recipients of God’s love. In its first stanza we hear the sound of Jacob returning from exile. God’s promised great salvation is bestowed upon a very unusual gathering. A normal assembly in Israel consisted of priests and leaders and warriors, but not this one:

For thus says the LORD:

 

Sing out for Jacob joyfully,

whoop among the heads of nations!

proclaim, praise, and plead

“Save, O LORD, your people,

the remnant of Israel.”

 Watch me bring them from a northern land!

I will gather them from earth’s edges.

Among them, the blind and lame,

the pregnant and new mothers as well;

a great assembly, they’ll return here.

Weeping they shall come,

as they pray I will bear them,

I’ll lead them to brooks of water,

by a level path where they won’t trip;

for I am Israel’s father,

and Ephraim is my firstborn. (Jer 31:7-9)

The returned exiles in this song are a collection of males whose disabilities excluded them from public worship, together with women at their most helpless and vulnerable. These lowliest of condemned exiles return with weeping. The nature of God’s love is that he pours it out on people such as these. God gives his living water to the condemned, the weak, the contrite; he preserves them from ever stumbling again, these he adopts, nurtures, honours. The central message of this song is that only the judged can know what it is to be forgiven. In the context of these two chapters, it works the other way around as well: God’s word of new covenant forgiveness transforms only those who are broken by his word of judgement.

It is important to reflect on this, because it is a profound truth of the gospel we preach and of the Christian life. We must be careful that we don’t preach judgement as a prelude that we move on from to forgiveness. At its worst this can lead to a thoughtless triumphalism in which life becomes a series of victories accompanied by loud barracking and cheering. What a travesty of Christian joy that is! The joy of the forgiven person is the inexpressible joy of the judged and weeping exile. That’s why we never tire of singing songs like:

And can it be that I should gain

an interest in the Saviour’s blood?

Died he for me, who caused his pain?

For me, who him to death pursued?

Amazing love, how can it be

that thou, my God, shouldst die for me!

Just as God’s goodness is revealed equally through his judgement and his forgiveness, so there are two sides to our identity in Christ. To think of yourself as forgiven without remembering you are judged is as distorting as thinking yourself judged without remembering you are forgiven. To appreciate the dimensions of new covenant forgiveness, we must remember that God’s powerful word of forgiveness transforms only those who are broken by his word of judgement.

Most of the remaining chapters of Jeremiah are concerned with the power of the word of God to judge. After preaching to no avail for 23 years, Jeremiah preached for another 20, and, though he saw his words of judgement vindicated when Jerusalem fell to Babylon, he never saw God’s future forgiveness materialize. I suspect he realized the fall of Jerusalem had one immediate positive effect: it scattered not only Judah but also the word of God among the nations, where it began to take root in people beyond the borders of Israel, such as Ebed-Melech the Ethiopian (Jer 38:7-13; 39:16) and Nebuzaradan the Babylonian (Jer 40:1-5). The age of the Gentiles was dawning, and the climax of Jeremiah’s book is the series of oracles to the nations of the world, beginning in Egypt (Jer 46) and culminating in Babylon (Jer 50–51).

It’s not until the final oracle against Babylon that Jeremiah really picks up the theme of forgiveness again, and it’s here that we see the second act I mentioned at the start, which always accompanies God’s promised new forgiveness: God’s act of returning his people from exile.

A return from exile accompanies God’s forgiveness

As soon as Jeremiah gets started in his poetic description of Babylon’s fall, the judged and weeping exiles reappear:

In those days and at that time, declares the LORD,

the people of Israel shall come,

they and the people of Judah together,

weeping as they go,

and the LORD their God they shall seek.

Of Zion they shall enquire,

faces turned to this road.

“Come, let us bind ourselves to the LORD

in an eternal covenant that will never be forgotten.” (Jer 50:4–5)

The language of the song cycle is everywhere, but this time we are also shown the circumstances of Israel’s return. Babylon is pictured as a predator slain by God so that Israel could be drawn, alive, from its belly:

A hunted sheep is Israel,

lion-driven.

The first to devour him:

the king of Assyria.

This last to crush his bones:

Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon.

Therefore, this is what the LORD of Armies, the God of Israel, says:

I hereby punish the king of Babylon and his land

as once I punished the king of Assyria,

and I will return Israel to his pasture,

where he shall graze on Carmel and Bashan,

on the hills of Ephraim and Gilead

to his heart’s content.

In those days and at that time, declares the LORD,

Israel’s iniquity will be sought

but there won’t be any,

also Judah’s sins,

but they won’t be found.

For I will forgive

those I made into a remnant. (Jer 50:17-20)

In a great reversal, Israel the profane sheep has ended up holy again, and somehow the death of Babylon has been instrumental. This is not just a historical statement about the physical return—the theological consequences of the final verses suggest that something spiritual is going on here, that somehow out of Babylon’s death comes a life for Israel purified of iniquity and sins. Once again we see that this new life is the product of forgiveness, but now we also see that God’s life-giving forgiveness comes through death. How does the death of Babylon result in the removal of Israel’s iniquity? There is no reason it ought to, no reason the death of the beast must be followed by the sheep’s extraction, dead or alive.

Already Babylon is beginning to emerge in this oracle not just as an ancient power but as a symbol of judgement, of death itself, and it may be that Israel’s return from the death of exile causes death itself to be destroyed.

The further we get into this vast oracle, the less Babylon looks like the historical Babylon and the more she looks like a cosmic symbol, a universal enemy who stands for death and everything in creation opposed to God. By the end of chapter 51 she is given the code name Sheshak; her fall is described in almost apocalyptic terms:

How Sheshak has been captured!

Seized—the praise of the whole earth!

How Babylon has become

a wasteland among the nations!

Over Babylon the sea has risen;

by its roaring waves she is engulfed.

Her cities are become a wasteland,

a desiccated, desert land;

a land in which nobody lives,

across which no human travels.

I will punish Bel in Babylon,

and force what he swallowed from his mouth.

No more to him shall nations stream;

even the wall of Babylon falls…

The heavens will shout for joy over Babylon;

and the earth, and everything in it

for from the north will come to her

despoilers, declares the LORD.

Babylon is to fall

because of the slain of Israel

just as because of Babylon

the slain of all the earth have fallen. (Jer 51:41-44, 48-49)

Those last four lines seem to suggest that the judged and exiled Israelites are the instrument of Babylon’s fall. It’s like the image of the beast ripped open so Israel could emerge alive. This time, because Babylon is pictured as the universal cosmic enemy, verse 49 suggests that, in restoring his people to a new covenant life free from iniquity and sin, God will destroy death itself. In symbolic terms, Israel’s resurrection will be the death of death.

We’ve not had time to do more than lift the corner of Jeremiah’s vision and peek inside, but something as sweeping as the death of death is hard to conceive of except in the resurrection of Jesus. Jeremiah presents this defeat of evil and death as the consequence of God’s self-giving forgiveness. Does that mean God ‘forgave’ Jesus when he raised him from the dead? No, not in the way that he forgives us. Yet what he did in Jesus is precisely what his forgiveness does in each of us.

God’s transforming forgiveness does not just recreate us inwardly, and it doesn’t simply bring us back to life spiritually. It forges a completely new type of life inside us by breaking death’s power over us. There is no forgiveness without judgement, for only the judged can be forgiven. But the act of forgiving us changes the world.

We have seen what it looks like, this life that forgiveness forges, in the brief sojourn of the resurrected Christ among his disciples. The life he now possesses cannot be contained within the borders of a decaying universe, and the blow God dealt to death by raising his Son to new life was a universal coup de grâce whose effects will not be completely felt until the heavens and the earth themselves have been remade.

The logic of new covenant forgiveness—that once unleashed there will be no stopping it until it unmakes the world—is the logic that determines the end-point of Jeremiah, the New Testament, and world history. The return from exile begun at the resurrection is completed in John’s vision of an Israel from every nation guided to springs of living water, their weeping eyes dried:

“Therefore they are before the throne of God,

and serve him day and night in his temple;

and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence.

They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;

the sun shall not strike them,

nor any scorching heat.

For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,

and he will guide them to springs of living water,

and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Rev 7:15-17)³

John turns to Jeremiah 50–51 for his description of the end of human society as we know it. With the fall of Babylon in Revelation 18—symbolic of Rome, every society opposed to the rule of God, and the forces of evil and death that rule in God’s stead—the prophets and saints whose blood was found in her are raised to join the heavenly triumph (Rev 18:24–19:4) and the way is paved for a new heavens and a new earth.

So we reach the end of our tour. Like Jeremiah we are called to boldly proclaim this prophetic word. Jeremiah preached his Babylonian oracle in the fourth year of king Zedekiah (Jer 51:59), at a time when Babylon was at the height of her power and Jeremiah’s words must have seemed like escapist fantasy. The gospel of judgement and forgiveness that we preach is just as disturbing today. It is an announcement of the total destruction of society as we know it, that its fabric and everything in it, good and bad, will be dissolved and history ended with a finality that is completely unpredictable by science or philosophy or common sense.

What has the power to open the eyes of this generation to such impossible truths? To bring them to the impossible admission of their guilt, and to the impossible recognition of their Lord and their God? The word of forgiveness that we call the gospel has this power, and its power to bring the dead to life is released in its fullness when the word is spoken. The act of power by which history will end and a new creation descend is nothing more or less than the very same word of judgement and forgiveness already spoken: Christ.

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. (Heb 2:14-15)