My Anchor Holds
My faith, my anchor, has held, but not because I have been rowing hard, not because I have been steering well, not because I am made of rugged stuff, not because I am a man of mighty faith. It has held fast because it is held firm in the nail-scarred hands of the one who died and rose for me. He, by his grace, has held me safe thus far, and he, by his grace, will hold me to the end. I have every confidence that my anchor will hold—that my anchor will be held—until he at last delivers me to that safe harbor far across these troubled seas.
At one of the many shipyards dotting Canada’s East Coast, another great oceangoing vessel is very nearly complete, and in just a few weeks it will begin to transport containers across the Atlantic. But before it can embark on its maiden voyage, it must endure a strict regimen of tests. Waters flood the dry dock and, for the first time, the great ship floats. Its propellors rumble to life and it slowly steers into deep waters where it can test its mighty engines, its mechanisms for steering, its systems of navigation. It must also test its anchors, for no ship can safely venture to sea that does not have working anchors. Yet the captain knows that the anchors can only truly be tested in a storm. It is when the storm is rising, when the winds are howling, when the waves are crashing against the hull, that the anchors are put to their fullest test.
I first professed Christ in sunny days, first claimed his promises when all was calm and still. I cast my anchor and latched it onto the rock on a day when the surface was undisturbed by the least wind or wave. And at many times I have marveled at how easy my life has been, at how little suffering and sorrow I have experienced along the way. The anchor of my faith has held fast, but I’ve always known it has never faced more than a mild pull, a gentle strain. I’ve always wondered if it could withstand much more.
As a ship’s anchors are put to the test in a storm, my faith has been put to the test in these days of sorrow. The moment Nick died it was like a great hurricane struck my life. The winds suddenly blew hard, the rains poured down, the waves rose fierce and strong. The chain pulled taut, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it might break free.
The hymn-writer Edward Mote once considered the nature of faith in times of trial and decided to compose a hymn on the theme. Taking inspiration from the parable of Jesus, in which he contrasted the futility of building a house upon the sand with the wisdom of building a house upon a rock, he wrote:
My hope is built on nothing less
than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame
but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
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The Eagle has Landed: 3 John and Its Theological Vision for Pastoral Ministry
We must affirm the deeply theological character of ministry. We cannot properly understand or navigate the complexity and controversies of church life without reference to the Father, Son, and Spirit, the nature of their action in the world; nor can we understand the character of the world’s reaction without John’s anthropological and demonological insights. On the other, it means that theologically-educated ministers must not wistfully pine for a life soaring two hundred feet from the ground. The eagle must land.
Third John feels a long way from John’s Gospel, and not just because they are separated by Acts and the Epistles in our Bibles. The Fourth Gospel is rightly regarded as a soaring work of theology; John is known as “the Divine”—that is, the theologian—and his Gospel is a rich source of Trinitarian and Christological reflection; it is a “spiritual gospel” in the view of Clement,1 and he is symbolized by the eagle in Christian tradition, amongst other, more earth-bound evangelists.2 That distinctive ability to reach theological heights in the beguilingly simple language of Father and Son, life and light, truth and love, endures as far as 1 John and 2 John. But by contrast, 3 John is thin on theology (as the shortest NT document, with no mention of Jesus by name) and thick with the dirt and dust of everyday life. Its concern is with hospitality to travelers and it depicts church life mired in strife and conflict.
At first glance, therefore, 3 John makes a curious terminus for John’s letters in the New Testament.3 Indeed, as Fred Sanders has pointed out, one could have justifiably anticipated a trajectory towards evermore concentrated and compact statements of truth. John’s Gospel itself has distilled more material than the world could contain into twenty-one chapters (21:25); in 1 John 1:1–4 we can recognize something of a summary of those twenty-one chapters; and the distillation continues in 1 John 1:5 where “the message we have heard from him and declare to you” can be boiled down to a single sentence: “God is light; in him there is no darkness at all.” Those compact summaries rely on the longer forms to fill out their meaning but they demonstrate the remarkable capacity of the Christian good news to be expressed in simple and sublime ways.4 And so one can imagine an alternate version of 3 John as the most distilled version of the Johannine material: perhaps a one verse summary of the 1 John 1:5 sort, or perhaps simply the fabled exhortation of John’s latter years “Little children, love one another.”5
Even without such hypotheticals, turning to the substance of 3 John can feel like a move from the sublime to the pedestrian. And yet the burden of this article is that 3 John is the fruition of so much that is anticipated in and resourced by John’s Gospel. Taken together, there emerges a strikingly theological vision for pastoral ministry. John remains the eagle, and here in 3 John we glimpse what happens when the eagle lands in the day-to-day trenches of life and ministry.
1. The Ordinary Ministry of Christian Believers
The first observation to make is that 3 John navigates the transition to the post-apostolic age. We move quite seamlessly into the world of Gaius and Demetrius, a new generation of believers and an extending cast of co-workers in the truth. John’s stance within that transition is noteworthy. He does not present himself as the landmark apostle, an eagle amongst pigeons. Rather he presents himself as the elder writing to one who shares in his ministry. Gaius is loved in the truth (v. 1), is walking in the truth (v. 3) and is a co-worker in the truth in acts of hospitality (v. 8). Likewise, the unnamed brothers in verse 3 who testify approvingly concerning the loving ministry of Gaius take their place alongside those who testify concerning Demetrius, and John himself as he testifies to the quality of Demetrius. The language here provides a strong link back to John’s Gospel, which is characterized as John’s testimony (John 18:35, 21:24) and in which testimony to the truth and the identity of various figures is so central.6 In one sense, John is the witness par excellence, and we receive in his testimony what he heard, saw, and touched, but 3 John also reflects the ways in which every believer is called to be a witness to the truth and to identify and affirm the ministry of those who walk in the truth.
Accordingly, John’s Gospel anticipates the ministry of many more than just the twelve. It is an exaggeration to say that John ignores ecclesiology or presents a radically egalitarian or individualistic vision of the church,7 but nevertheless, these are features of the Gospel: there is a call to acknowledge and love all fellow believers within the household of God,8 and the prominence of individual encounters with Jesus in John’s Gospel is noteworthy, especially relative to the other Gospels. The Samaritan woman and the man healed of blindness are especially vivid examples of those who go on to a life of testifying to what they have experienced. Both of these themes are fleshed out further in 3 John. The welcome and affirmation of brothers is emphasized in verses 5–8 as a hallmark of walking in love. And in 3 John, Gaius and Demetrius take their place alongside the Samaritan Woman and the man healed of blindness as models of ministry within their communities and within the Johannine writings.
2. The Contested and Ambiguous Nature of Ministry
John’s Gospel also previews and accounts for the contested nature of ministry and identity in 3 John. Life within those churches receiving and sending on the traveling workers is tense and ambiguous; the efforts of Diotrophes cast doubt on the ministries of the visiting brothers and of the elder himself. To be sure, many brothers, and the truth itself, commend Demetrius (v. 12) but in the present time the ambiguity of claim and counter-claim must be endured. In pastoral ministry this is a deeply painful and frustrating reality; in some cases the truth of the matter will be known to us but obscured and denied by others; in others, the truth will be less clear and we will have to live and act and persevere in the absence of clarity.
None of this is foreign to the Gospel of John, where contested identity is such a significant theme. The blind man’s identity as well as his healing is contested in John 9 and so is his character as a truthful witness. The way in which his experience echoes that of Jesus (both are dismissed as sinners [9:16, 34] and both affirm their identity with “I am” statements [Jesus, famously and frequently; the blind man in 9:9]) means that John’s Gospel has more to offer than sympathy. It offers a theological account of the claim and counterclaim, grounded in the darkness and its unwillingness to receive the truth, its recourse to lies, and its culpable blindness. With that account also comes a measure of comfort: the ambiguities that beset the church of Gaius and Demetrius or, for that matter, the contemporary church, are not signs that the church has fallen into crisis, but rather that crisis is always the atmosphere when light collides with darkness. In this regard, 3 John serves to highlight the reality that light and dark will commingle within the church.9
3. The Centrality of Hospitality
The third major way in which 3 John relies upon and grounds the theology of John’s Gospel is in its emphasis on hospitality for those who come in the Lord’s name. The theme is often observed in 3 John, which explains its popularity as a text by which to encourage churches in their support of mission.10 This use is entirely fitting, given John’s language in 3 John 7, where those who go out “on behalf the name” echoes the description of those who have suffered for Jesus’s sake in Acts 5:41, 9:16, 15:26, 21:13,11 and, perhaps more significantly, evokes John’s Upper Room where their identification with the name of Jesus is the cause of the disciples’ suffering (15:21) and the source of their safety (17:11–12). Likewise, John’s note about their lack of support from unbelievers in 3 John 7 calls to mind both Paul’s unwillingness to depend upon those he seeks to reach (1 Cor 9:15–18) and Jesus’s instructions to his disciples that they should entrust themselves to God’s provision amongst those who receive them.
3 John places a very high premium on such hospitality. Although 3 John 11 contains the only formal imperative in 3 John, verse 8 also has that force: “we ought therefore to show hospitality to such people.” And in the elder’s earlier remarks, hospitality of that kind is a defining mark of what it means to walk in the truth.
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Light in Your Darkness (Is. 9:1-7)
He shines His light on us, but there are still dark shadows. At this very time those trust Him can celebrate His full and free forgiveness. At this time those who trust Him can be comforted that He guides us and fathers us in love. But we too look forward. For one day he will return. He will bring judgement on all who have refused to live for Him. He will wipe away all tears from those who have trusted Him. He will be the very light of our existence.
What darkness are you passing through? This year may have been one where you travelled through the valley of the shadow of death. Maybe you have struggled with the darkness of depression and despair. Maybe you feel that uncomfortable feeling of guilt for some sin that haunts you. Jesus has come to shine His light into your darkness!
Isaiah means ‘God saves’.
The key to understanding the book of Isaiah is found in the prophet’s name. Isaiah means ‘God saves.’
It is the eighth-century before Christ. God’s people had been divided into two kingdoms—Israel/Ephraim in the north and Judah in the south. Isaiah is speaking to the southern kingdom, whose king, Ahaz, is a descendant of the great king David.
The super-power of the day is the Assyrians. Ephraim/Israel had formed an alliance with a place called Aram to protect themselves against the Assyrians. Now Ephraim and Aram are threatening Judah: ‘if you do not join with us we will invade you.’ Rather than trust God, Ahaz forms a pact with the Assyrians. The Assyrians had no plans to do them God.
In short, Ahaz and his people are not trusting God, and the result is going to be disastrous. But God saves. He is going to rescue a people who will be guided by His words.
Light from a surprising place.
The light is going to come from the region around Galilee—Zebulun and Naphtali were in the north. When Israel and Judah were attacked this was the first place to be toppled. The Galileans knew plenty of slavery and despair. But God loves to turn things on their head. From this place of darkness and oppression comes the light of freedom. Matthew picks up these verses as he introduces the ministry of Jesus (Matthew 4:15-17).
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Does the PCA Have a Position on If Adam Had a Belly Button?
The AIC Report wishes to exclude is any idea that kinds become other kinds. While there is certainly variation that happens within a kind of animal (as birds or dog breeds and other examples of speciation illustrate), the problematic issue is macro-evolution’s teaching that a kind can become another kind. Hence, when we read that God created “each according to its kind,” this would not mean that kinds turned into other kinds (e.g., molecules-to-man evolution), but that each kind was a separate creation of God in lineage.
Perhaps you have heard the question before: “Did Adam have a Belly Button?” Perhaps a related question once asked in a presbytery exam would reveal the issue more clearly: “Was Adam nursed by a physical mother?” Particularly in view in these questions is the topic of theistic evolution in various forms and – in particular – the question of whether Adam could have come from a pre-existent being or lifeform (often called a hominid). An officer or officer candidate in the PCA holding such a view would have to declare his position as a stated difference (thereby allowing the examining court to consider granting an exception) to Westminster Larger Catechism Question 17.
What follows is an analysis of the theology and history of the PCA in regard to this question through the doctrinal statements that are relevant to the question of Adam – and rational ensouled humanity as a whole – coming from previous irrational life forms.
Westminster Standards – Larger Catechism 17
The first relevant section to explore is the answer to Westminster Larger Catechism Question 17, which states:
After God had made all other creatures, he created man male and female; (Gen. 1:27) formed the body of the man of the dust of the ground, (Gen. 2:7) and the woman of the rib of the man, (Gen. 2:22) endued them with living, reasonable, and immortal souls; (Gen. 2:7, Job 35:11, Eccl. 12:7, Matt. 10:28, Luke 23:43) made them after his own image, (Gen. 1:27) in knowledge, (Col. 3:10) righteousness, and holiness; (Eph. 4:24) having the law of God written in their hearts, (Rom. 2:14–15) and power to fulfill it, (Eccl. 7:29) and dominion over the creatures; (Gen. 1:28) yet subject to fall. (Gen. 3:6, Eccl. 7:29).
The Larger Catechism here, quoting Scripture, clearly understands Genesis 2:7 in the plain meaning of the text as the creation of Adam from dust on the sixth day of creation. Some, however, have advocated for something other than the plain meaning of these words. Such interpretations have been seen in theologians as notable as B.B. Warfield. This has led some men to reinterpret this phrase “from the dust of the ground” as the dust being the primordial mud, or from previously existing material (hence a hominid).
Adam in the Courts of the PCA
In the historical context of the PCA, a Study Report on Creation was commissioned nearly a quarter century ago due to the variety of exceptions being taken on the topic of creation in ordination and licensure exams in the PCA. On this subject, the PCA’s Study Report considered and answered one such conjecture:
A kind of “theistic evolutionary” view that has important historical relevance for confessional Presbyterians is the one that allows that Adam’s body was the product of evolutionary development (second causes working alone under divine providence), and that his special creation involved the imparting of a rational soul to a highly-developed hominid. This view has been associated with James Woodrow and Benjamin Warfield (at least early in his career).
We can supply a strong critique of such a construct from exegesis of Genesis 1— 2, where, as John Murray observed (Collected Writings, 2:8), in Genesis 2:7 the man became an animate being by the in-breathing, and by implication was not one beforehand (for his body to have had animal ancestry, the man’s ancestors must have been animate beings).
We may also critique the view from the anthropology involved: man is a body soul nexus, and the body must have the capacities to support the expression of God’s image; such a body cannot be the product of second causes alone.
Finally, we should note that this kind of “theistic evolution” is an unstable metaphysical hybrid: it tries to combine the naturalistic picture of the development of the capabilities necessary to support the human soul, with the supernaturalist acknowledgment of the divine origin of what distinguishes us from the animals. This combines elements from incompatible metaphysical positions.[1]
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