A theology that traces promise across the contours of human history and misery, sees that its trajectory ends in a genuine hope which is of greater gravity and density than any merely topical words of comfort. Biblical theology arms the pastor, sitting by a death bed, sitting in the ruins of relational betrayal, occupying the hinterland of doubt and complexity, with the one Story whose ending is joyous without being artificial.

If a theology is true and good it will live well outside of the textbook and the classroom. If a body of scholarship fairly represents the word of God and the God of the word, then its impact will be felt beyond the pulpit and the more obvious didactic activities of the local church. A theology which has the Incarnation at its heart but that fails to land in everyday life is an inadequate and anaemic parody of divine revelation. Not all theology is experiential in content but it must be experiential in impact, the truths the theologian handles are not lifeless pinned butterflies but live specimens whose beauty and benefit should be seen and felt in the world, with the weight of God about them.
The work of a local church pastor is one of the most obvious interfaces for theology and practice, for doctrine and experience. Taking Biblical Theology as my starting point (I hope to write on Systematics at a later stage) in this post I want to share three ways in which this discipline has helped me in the caring aspect of my work as a local church pastor:
1. The Big Story gives me a book that travels well.
One of the things that can mark out a pastoral visit to a home from those made by other members is that such contact provides an informal opportunity for word ministry. This is the ‘house to house’ element of Christian service that Paul was keen to highlight to the elders in Ephesus (Acts 20:20), the ministerial priority that Richard Baxter so heavily emphasised in The Reformed Pastor, and an unseen work that forms the backbone of individual and family discipleship within the local church. Whether it is to the hospital ward, a care facility, or a home, bringing the Bible with me and leaving a word from it behind me is one of the rich privileges of being engaged in Christian service.
In this forum Biblical Theology comes into its own. Many (but by no means all) of the people whom a pastor visits are suffering from ill health, or have faced other setbacks in their Christian walk. This means that many of the texts shared in this environment are Bible promises: the consolation of the Psalms, the tender ministrations of the major and minor prophets, the pastoral heart of Jesus, or the loving counsel of the apostles. The dynamic of a broken heart or stricken health coming into contact with the living word of God can be an electrifying experience. This is often where the real conversation begins, with the word softening the reader’s and hearers’ hearts and opening a door for the mercy and goodness of God to be ministered. The danger of this, however, is that texts can be atomised or psychologised, and the insistence on context that garrisons the pulpit on a Sunday can be lost in the side ward or living room during the week.
This is where the Big Story of Biblical Theology is so beneficial. It has become common to sneer at Jeremiah 29:11 as the anthem of a therapeutic Christianity, but its counsel can be shared with those in crisis merely by disclosing something of the movement of redemptive history that gave dimension and pathos to the prophet’s words. Sections of the Psalter can be ripped away from their moorings, but Biblical Theology insists that the setting is what allows a gem to show its lustre. Having the imprint of the drama of redemption, the sweep and line and arc of what God was doing when this text was written, allows the pastor to speak hope that is real and tangible, textual and contextual. Where appropriate, and where the capacities of those visited allows it, brief context can be given to what is being read, opening up the conversation to be a teaching moment rather than a textual extraction/abstraction. It is hard not to believe that the Holy Spirit can honour the word of God when shared in this way.
2. Small stories are where the Big Story happens.
Aside from direct teaching of Scripture, Biblical Theology helps with pastoral visitation because of its esteem for history and narrative as the channel through which we come to know the mind and ways of God.
Read More
Related Posts:

Many people can dread a pastoral visit because they don’t know what they will talk about. If the visitor is their regularly preaching Pastor they may fear that the visit will be a kind of doctrinal or scriptural test that they are doomed to fail. They may fear that the conversation will be abstract or academic, or solely about spiritual things. A good pastoral visitor will not bring this dynamic into your home. Small talk is a common grace, a kind of hallway that can ultimately lead into the heart of matters, and is often a powerful way of building a bridge between people.

Pastoral visitation is a powerful means of spiritual encouragement and a tangible demonstration of the love of Christ to his people. It is a ministry which can reap slow but rich dividends in the lives of individuals and the life of the church and provides an opportunity for genuine fellowship between Christians. While I have written before about the benefits of visitation to the life and work of a Pastor, this post will seek to lay bare some of the basic principles of visitation which could be of help to those on the receiving end of it. Not everyone who is engaged in pastoral visitation is an ordained Pastor, and so this post shares more widely about those men and women gifted for and engaged in caring for God’s people (as well as those in full time Pastoral ministry).
Below are five things to bear in mind if and when you receive a pastoral visit:
1. We Want to Be There
Of all of the opening phrases that I have ever heard in conversation during a pastoral visit, one of the most common is an apology that my time is being used in this way. Pastoral visiting is an unusual thing in many ways, especially given the isolation and individualism of our wider society. As the person being visited it is easy to feel that you are asking something out of the ordinary or unreasonable to have someone come to your home and hear your story. If you are an empathetic and caring person yourself you may fear that a largely one way conversation is in some way selfish, or that it reflects badly on you in some way. None of these things are true. Your visitor, be they your Pastor or a valued member of a visitation team, have chosen to make this ministry part of their life. They are glad to be with you, and these kinds of conversations are not strange to them or an inconvenience. In actual fact, even as you share about your life and faith – be it struggle or joy – they will be blessed and challenged to grow in their own Christian life. Your visitor wants to be with you, and recognising this might just allow you to share more freely and with less fear.
2. We Won’t Inspect Your Home
If having people in our homes is not a regular occurrence then we may feel self-conscious about the condition of the place we are bringing a relative stranger into. Many of us feel that an untidy house, a shelf of unwashed dishes, or decor that is not ‘show-house ready’ is a bad reflection on us as people. The truth is that most of the pictures of people’s homes on Facebook are carefully curated, and the homes we go to for entertainment are often sparkling in the wake of a day’s anticipatory cleaning. Your visitor is there to see you, not to inspect the condition or tidiness of your home. I once met someone the day after a visit to their home who highlighted something they were embarrassed about in the condition of their home. I had to inform them that if they hadn’t mentioned I would never have known!
Read More
Related Posts:

Spending an hour with Sam and Sadie was a privilege that few people get to enjoy. To be in the presence of a relative stranger who stepped up and spoke up for Jesus to a late loved one is most likely not a common experience. At the end of my visit I got a photograph taken. As I crouched on the floor in front of Sam’s chair he laid his hand on my shoulder. Afterwards, reflecting with no small amount of emotion on the meeting, I realised that his hand has been there right throughout my life. The moment that he reached out with Jesus to my Dad his impact and importance to my own story was sealed. 

Leading another person to faith in Jesus Christ as Saviour is one of the greatest privileges that a Christian can enjoy. More often than not this kind of moment represents the maturing of many hours of prayer, of consistent witness and unconditional friendship, of feelings of inadequacy and fear in bearing testimony. To be present or instrumental in such a step of faith being taken leaves an indelible mark on both parties involved.
Seeing the long term impact of such a step, however, is often obscured from our view. Friends move from our city or our circle, the current of life carries us downstream from one another and, while we rejoice in the moment of salvation, we seldom see the momentum that such faith in Jesus brings to families and communities.
My father came to faith in a classroom in Newtownards Technical College in the late 1950s. As a 17 year old he had enjoyed little gospel privilege in his background, and had never before heard a clear explanation of what becoming a Christian meant. His geography and economics teacher, Sam Doherty, had established a Scripture Union in the college and on one fateful afternoon, standing beside one of the desks, he led my Dad to Jesus. Apart from on one occasion that I know of, my Dad never spent any time with Sam once he finished college.
That was approximately twenty years before my birth, but my Dad’s story resonated through my childhood, as did the almost legendary name of Sam Doherty. At the age of 62 my Dad died after a brief battle with cancer. I was 26 years old. At my Dad’s funeral service Sam Doherty’s name was mentioned with gratitude for his clear and courageous witness, the name of a relative stranger making it in to a brief eulogy.
For me, that was it. The only times I heard Sam Doherty’s name in the intervening years was with reference to his significant ministry with CEF – such mentions always tugging a little on my heart at how he had been used by God in my Dad’s story.
Then, in November of last year, I got to spend an hour with Sam and his wife Sadie in their home. The emotional and spiritual impact of that meeting with two people in their 90s is hard to sufficiently quantify, but there are three abiding impressions which could be useful for me and for others as we think about sharing our faith.
Immediate Faithfulness and Ultimate Usefulness go Hand in Hand
Sam Doherty came to faith from a background of resolute commitment to an evolutionary explanation for the universe. Hot on the heels of his own conversion he was advised by the man who led him to Jesus that he now had a job to do for Jesus. Sam taught in Newtownards Technical College, cycling in from his home 7 miles away, and then cycling a further 8 miles to Comber one day per week. In his own words, the teaching came second to his witness for the Lord.
Read More
Related Posts:

The simple defiant acts of gathering in a community of truth and securing textual truth may eventually seem like moderate or minor measures in view of the challenges that AI will bring. They are, however, priorities we can pursue now, coordinates we can set to navigate the brave new world that lies ahead of us.

It is difficult these days to know if the news around AI is alarmist or alarming. Experts differ, arguments and counter arguments are put forwards, and those of us in the non-specialist world are left somewhat adrift. Is AI tech an existential threat to the welfare of humanity or a virtual storm in an online teacup?
Regardless of where we land on the spectrum of concern, it is clear that major changes are in the wind with regard to our relationship to tech and our relationship to truth. There is a possibility that tech jobs, once a surefire arena for well-qualified people to be well paid, could be changed utterly by the terrible beauty of AI. Perhaps even more concerning is the fact that our relationship with truth, disturbed twenty years ago by postmodernism, could finally disintegrate thanks to its technological incarnation. For a ‘consult Google’ generation the concept that we could eventually be asking for the answers to life’s big questions from the echoes of yesterday’s ignorance is frightening indeed. Our base of knowledge could eventually be reduced to the aggregate of relativism’s unknowing.
There are many angles from which these discomforting possibilities can be viewed, but from the perspective of faith their impact on belief and theological knowledge are groundbreaking. Whether it is the final one, or one in a long succession, this latest ‘strong delusion’ is frightening in its proportions. How can believers think clearly about the issues of faith and AI? What priorities should we be setting now to prepare for what is ahead. Below I suggest two things that we will need to navigate the unknown path before us. Much more could undoubtedly be said.
You Will Need the Local Church
Medium and message have always had a complex relationship. Whether we think of the relative degrees of fidelity that manuscript culture attached to texts, or the seeming certainty and stability of meaning that the printing press introduced, how something is communicated matters enormously.
Until the late twentieth century, truth, text and meaning had physical embodiments. The great theological movements of church history depended on meetings, councils, encounters, premises, and argument, to reach consensus and resolution. The outcomes of those physical meetings was codified in multiple iterations of manuscripts that allowed access to what had been argued and decided.
The internet has at once democratised and relativised what we know as human beings. Ours is a wiki world, with editable data of debatable origins.
Read More
Related Posts: