The effects of sin in the world are not mistakes on God’s part, but means by which his glory will one day be fully displayed either in the salvation of some from their sin or the pouring out of his righteous wrath against unrepentant sin. That lack of mistake on God’s part, does nothing of itself to help us with the question of what is sinful and what is good. For that, we need other biblical data and other objective data from the world around us. Which perhaps means we need to be a bit more careful when and where we employ the God makes no mistakes argument because we might just be accidentally propping up a Pelagian worldview that will lead people away from the gospel, rather than towards it.

Yesterday, I took a swipe at the test of time argument. I don’t think we should use it. In my view, it isn’t a fair and proper test. Indeed, it proves very little if anything. It is a mere observation that something has been around a long time, it does not help us determine how good that thing actually is.
Well, that brought to mind another line that Christians like to throw around. A line that is factually true, but doesn’t necessarily get us very far in discussions. Which is to say, I’m not sure how helpful it is to employ it either. That line is, God doesn’t make mistakes.
Of course, taken at face value, that is true. God does not make mistakes. He is sovereign Lord of the universe who works all things according to the counsel of his good will. In other words, God makes no mistake. What is, is, simply because he has ultimately determined it would be.
The problem is that this tends to lead to a Pelagian calculation. If God makes no mistakes, then what God makes must be good. God made me. Therefore, the way I am must be good. As a basic syllogism, people think of this way:

God only makes what is good.
God made me.
Therefore, I am good.

In other words, God makes no mistakes and God made me like this, therefore I must be exactly as God intended me to be. It doesn’t take a genius to see how this sort of Pelagianism is applied to all manner of current cultural discussions.
In answer to some of those cultural discussions, believers sometimes argue that God makes no mistakes. So, if you believe you have been born in the wrong body, but God makes no mistakes, the body you have must be the body that God wants you to have. Which seems reasonable until somebody turns around and agrees, God makes no mistakes, and he has given me certain innate desires which must be the kind of desires he wants me to have. Therefore, things God says are not right in his Word are countered with a God-makes-no-mistakes Pelagianism to affirm as good what God calls not good. At which point, we are left spluttering that isn’t what we meant; we were talking about characteristics beyond our control. As the person insists such things are beyond their control, somebody else arrives, hearing that God makes no mistakes over our bodies, and begins to ask about their severe disability. If God makes no mistakes, are you suggesting my disability is good? We might quickly grasp hold of a line that it isn’t part of God’s original design but sin means our bodies don’t work as they ought, at which point the original person says ‘like being born in the wrong body, you mean?’
My point here isn’t to suggest that God does make mistakes. Nor that the argument that God makes no mistakes is fundamentally untrue. Rather, that it is a line that is so capable of misunderstanding and rests on a number of presumptions that we might be best not saying it. Or, if we do say it, only after we have given umpteen caveats about what we actually mean.
The real issue is not really whether God makes mistakes or not. We know he doesn’t, the issue is whether what we see in the world is good or not and, more to the point, how God intends to work through it for his good purposes. The cross, for example, appeared like a big mistake to Jesus’ disciples, but it was in fact God’s redemptive plan in action. Did God make a mistake when Jesus was crucified? No. It’s just that what his disciples expected God would be doing, what they assumed were his plan and purposes, were not actually his plan at all. God doesn’t make mistakes, but we don’t always grasp what he is actually doing.
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The power of the gospel is seen most clearly and fully when we have nothing in common with people we love and care for – and with whom we are genuinely friends in real ways – other than Jesus and his gospel. Then, we are community that has been founded on the gospel. Then, we are people who can only point to Jesus as the grounds of why we are even here and friends with these people. 

One of the points we frequently reiterate in our church is that the power of the gospel is seen more clearly in the fact that we are all different people, from different backgrounds, countries and ethnicities. For example, what do I – a white, British, postgraduate-educated man – have in common with a black caribbean lady who left formal education at secondary level other than we speak the same language? Even then, we don’t exactly use all the same words. We don’t look like each other, we don’t sound like each other, we don’t speak like each other, we’re not interested in the same things either and I’m pretty sure we both have very different myers-briggs personality test scores. By any measure, we have very little in common.
For others in my church, it gets even worse. Not only do we not look and sound like each other, and have very different interests, but we literally do not speak the same language. We are different ethnicities, nationalities and even language groups. We can do our best to communicate, but there’s no pretending that isn’t sometimes a struggle. Short of merely being people, what on earth do we have in common with each other on paper?
In both these cases – and in many more besides – I struggle to believe I would hang out and spend any time with these people if it weren’t for the church. I struggle to believe they would have any interest in hanging out with me if it weren’t for the church either. And not just the church, which is ultimately just a group of people gathering, but the gospel around which the church is built.
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If it isn’t a baby really, we should be telling the Ferdinands to get over themselves and stop making mountains out of mole hills. It is not different to having some skin peel off. It is a total nonsense to make such things national news: couple distraught at clump of cells no longer existing. If, however, it is a real human life, not only is their sadness justified, it is entirely right and well placed. And as justifiable and proper as devastation at the loss of a child is, so too ought we to be horrified by the wanton destruction and murder of such same unborn children. But it clearly cannot be both.

Last week, I saw the sad news that Kate and Rio Ferdinand had lost their unborn baby. It doesn’t matter who you are, such things are always an absolute tragedy.
I was surprised by two things in the article. First, and the less, but nonetheless still, surprising thing was that this hit the news at all. That isn’t to diminish it, just to say I don’t tend to expect national newspapers to bother running these sorts of stories. Certainly not the kind of broadsheet I happened to read it in. I was surprised it was deemed especially newsworthy for most people.
But the much more surprising thing was the headline and nature of the content. The headline was very clear: Kate Ferdinand announces loss of her and husband Rio’s unborn baby. The content was even clearer still. It referred to them as having ‘lost their unborn child’ and reported that it was announced because ‘our baby had no heartbeat in our 12 week scan and I had to have surgery.’ I was surprised because their baby was referred to clearly as a baby and an unborn child despite only being 12-weeks old.
This is notable because we are continually told that babies of such an age are merely ‘clumps of cells’. They are usually referred to exclusively as foetuses. They are rarely referred to as babies or children.
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Our process, in the church, typically protect us as leaders. Multiple leaders let us share the burden of responsibility. Proper discussions amongst the elders, and real consultation with the membership, mean that more people can be brought onboard with whatever it is we hope to do.

If you are all about efficiency, the fastest way to get most things done is get one bloke, with one thing to do, and let him get on and do it. He can okay his own work, he can crack on with whatever he wants to do, he can do it straightaway and get going on it. If speed is what you’re after, get one person without a committee and let them get something done.
But sometimes there are processes we need to go through. And let’s make no bones about it, sometimes processes can be clunky. Sometimes they are frustrating. But there is usually a reason why we need to go through them. It doesn’t mean the process can’t be refined, streamlined or (in some cases) done away with altogether. But there is typically a reason it is there.
In the church, the fastest way to get stuff done as a pastor is to take unilateral decisions. Decide everything, on your own and then get it done. If efficiency is the only concern, or speed is of the essence, that is the way to do it. But usually, speed and efficiency are not the only – or even the main – considerations. We have people to take into account. The church doesn’t exist merely as a vehicle to get stuff done, it is a group of people bounded together in Christ who serve together in the cause of the gospel.

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But what about us? We might not be calling evil good, but we do call what is good evil, do we not? For what is it when we call wine evil when God himself says it is a gift that gladdens the heart and is for us to enjoy? What is it when we sniff at people enjoying a nice meal in a restaurant to God’s glory when the Lord himself tells us food is his gift to us. Indeed, Jesus came eating and drinking and got called a glutton and a drunkard. Sounds rather like what many like to say about these things in the church today.

We had our annual church trip to Southport the other week. Despite all our warnings, there were still folks who had never been who were surprised that it was a seaside town where you can’t see the sea. There’s a lot of beach, but the sea is a long way out and is rarely seen very far in. We were there at high tide and even at the end of the pier, you still need binoculars to see the sea – the pier ends surrounded on all sides by sand. Admittedly, it sort of defeats the point of a pier – which was supposed to take you out to sea – but then it’s better than Wigan Pier, which isn’t anywhere near a beach or the sea!
We also had a good laugh when a dear sister came back with a big bag full of shells. We thought John Piper would be proud. As her pastor, I affirm it is absolutely fine for her to do so. She likes collecting shells and she did it to the glory of God. I am convinced she has not wasted her life, for it consists of more than shell collecting (even if she glorifies God as she does it).
We can be a bit gnostic about these sorts of things. “Spiritual” activities are not wasting our lives, non-spiritual things (whatever they are) might be. Collecting shells might be a bit frivolous and something of a waste, John Piper tells us. I don’t know what he would make of someone collecting shells and sharing the gospel with someone as they did it? Does it become valuable then? What if someone in your church loves collecting shells too, and you can go with them and disciple them while you do it? Have they wasted their lives or has the time been redeemed? These sorts of things get so confusing.
I am well schooled in this sort of thinking having grown up in a sabbatarian family and dealt with even stricter sabbatarians. Nowhere is the need to discern the spiritual from the profane more necessary than determining what activities may, or may not, be acceptable on Sunday. It can hardly be surprising that sabbatarianism pushes into a form of legalism so frequently because it roots itself literally in the Mosaic law. How can it end up being anything else?
But we push this gnostic thinking to all sorts of things. It’s fine to enjoy a walk in God’s creation but not enjoy his creation on a plate in a posh restaurant. We can enjoy reading the Bible, but if we read a novel that is profane. Watching a sermon on your smart TV is just about acceptable, but watching your favourite TV show is less acceptable.
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If we have any hope of nipping gossip in the bud, it rests in the gift of the local church. Those who would gossip ought to be called to account for the reputational damage they cause and those of us further away would do well to heed the judgements of the local church who see matters up close.

If you go into pastoral ministry, it is likely you will be on the receiving end of some unwarranted and untrue gossip. I remember speaking to one person who had been publicly and clearly caught indulging in such behaviour. Their defence was, ‘well, that’s just ministry!’ I suppose, in one sense, they were right. That is ministry. But it is an unpleasant and nasty part of ministry that does not justify the one doing the gossiping. If you become a pastor, it will happen to you for such has it ever been. but that doesn’t mean we have carte blanche to gossip about our pastor. Just as sin is always inevitable until Jesus return, that doesn’t give us any right to sin.
I have spoken about Jani Ortlund’s comments on this before. I haven’t heard better advice since. She says:
After almost fifty years in a ministry marriage, here is a piece of advice I wish I had understood from the early days of marriage to my beloved pastor: be willing to risk your reputation.
Leaders are always talked about. I found that hard to live with, because many times I disagreed with the current conversation. I wish someone had mentored me in what it looks like to release my reputation to the one who lovingly made himself of no reputation for us (Philippians 2:7–9).
Her whole article is worth reading on this very thing. But as sure as night follows day, church leaders will inevitably be talked about and their reputations often unfairly maligned.
With the advent of the internet, how much more prevalent these things are. There are issues about pastors that I would never have heard about, but I have heard about, because the internet has told me so. There are things about pastors I have filed away and believed, that I would never have heard about to begin with and have subsequently been shown to be untrue, because the internet has told me. Reputational damage can be done through our networks, through relationships, and now across the internet. I suspect very few of us in any sort of ministry role, and all the more those of us with an online presence, will escape. The rumour mill presses on unabated and one cannot unhear what one has heard. It is all but impossible, try as we might, not to form opinions on what we hear.

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People can get their tins of beans and get taught the alphabet in loads of places across the town; in very few of them will anyone tell them about the life-saving message of the gospel of Jesus Christ. That is what the church can uniquely offer. The gospel. We can help people see Jesus. We can teach them the Bible. We can encourage them to know and love Jesus. That is what the church fundamentally has to offer. If we’re not doing that, then what is the point of any of what we’re doing?

There are no end of people offering different services in our town. Food banks are plenteous, for obvious reasons, and yet still we don’t have enough of them. English classes exist locally, but demand far outstrips provision. Youth services exist but there are far too many needy children for our paltry services to handle.
The call, as you can so often imagine, is that the church ought to be doing all these things too. What about the youth, you have probably heard before. We also have questions about the poor, the hungry, the foreigner who can’t speak English, the jobless, the addict. What are we going to do about those people? Shouldn’t we, the church, be at the forefront of helping them?
Clearly, the Bible has lots to say about helping the poor and deprived. There is something to be said for helping the needy. And it doesn’t really matter where your church is, this applies to you too. If you aren’t doing anything to serve the poor an needy in your village, town or city you probably should ask yourself some hard questions about those bits of the Bible that are pretty clear about those things. It’s no good saying “but we’re in an affluent place” because I can guarantee you will be in the vicinity of poverty. It may be more hidden in your community, but I bet there are streets and areas people talk about in hushed tones or, worse, they use as a by-word for rough people we don’t mix with.
In communities like mine, the poverty is a bit more obvious. Everybody knows Oldham is deprived. It’s not like the South Oxfordshire village I mainly grew up in, that does have poverty in it, and people know there are people struggling, but the place is overwhelmingly middle class and so it’s easy to forget, ignore and overlook. But in places like Oldham it’s everywhere, not at all hidden. Much harder to ignore. And much easier to lose yourself in the forest of felt needs.
But there are others who can meet those needs too.
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When stacked against his holiness, Isaiah 64:6 says even our very best deeds are like filthy rags. They are not good enough to do anything to overcome the weigh of our sin. If there were a divine set of scales, on one side would be an infinitely heavy block of sin and on the other the weightless power of our good deeds. The grounds for entering Heaven is not more good than bad, but sinless perfection. That means all of us, by nature, stand to face judgement. Romans 3:10 is clear: there is none righteous, not even one.

I watched the Netflix documentary on Jimmy Savile the other week. The first episode – which dragged a bit for Brits familiar with Savile – was clearly setup for a wider international audience. For most outside of Britain, it would be hard to comprehend how this absolute weirdo managed to get on television in the first place. Not only get onto, but remain on television. And then to get himself into such positions of trust that allowed him to carry out hundreds of acts of sexual abuse. I can see why it was a necessary context setting exercise for most people around the world.
One of the interesting insights into the documentary came from Mark Lawson, the journalist and broadcaster. Lawson – like Savile – had also been raised in Leeds to a Roman Catholic family. He recalls even seeing Savile at mass growing up. But the key insight from him about Savile was this: you cannot understand him without first understanding the Catholicism that drove him.
The fact is, not every one of Savile’s charitable acts were designed to increase his abuse. Clearly many were. But there were some that did not give him that sort of access. Yet his answer in response to why he did so much charitable work remained resolutely the same, and I am inclined to believe it. He insisted that it is not easy for anyone to get in Heaven. He admitted openly that he had done many things wrong (though did not go so far as to acknowledge what we all now know that included). But he claimed that when he gets to Heaven, he’d be alright, because against all the wrongdoing would be his charitable activities which would far outweigh whatever he had done. That was his hope. That his good deeds – to which he was deeply committed – would suffice to overcome the bad.
Outside of a Catholic worldview, of course, that make absolutely no sense whatsoever. Most people in the post-Christian UK work more on an honour-shame basis these days. There are certain crimes for which there can be no grace and forgiveness. Though that list may be increasing in length and incorporating considerably less significant things, paedophilia has long been seen as so serious there is no coming back from it. For most post-Christian Brits, the scandal is that Savile might consider there could possibly be any hope of forgiveness for him. There are some crimes so serious, many believe, that nobody may escape righteous retribution.
On a Protestant, particularly an Evangelical, view things are a little different. The possibility of forgiveness – even for the most heinous of sin – exists. Indeed, Evangelicals would argue that though not all sins are equal in their seriousness, we have such a warped understanding of how infinitely offensive our sin is to a holy God that we fail to realise the extreme seriousness of what we would view as the vanilla end of sin. For the Evangelical, if we rightly understand our sin as God sees it, we would have no problem recognising the possibility of forgiveness for the likes of Savile because we would realise the distance between his sin and our own is much less than the distance between our lesser sin and God’s complete holiness.
That, of course, does not mean Evangelicals believe Savile was a forgiven sinner (for the record, I do not believe he was). For forgiveness only comes with repentance and there is no evidence whatsoever that Savile was ever repentant. Not only did he never make any effort to put right what he had done wrong (which, in the case of his crimes, would have minimally involved confessing to the police and bearing the just consequences), he continued to repeatedly indulge his sin over and over. His mocking tombstone – subsequently removed in the dead of night for fear of uproar and vandalism – insisted, ‘it was good while it lasted’. Such an unrepentant attitude, on a Protestant worldview, puts one beyond the bounds of forgiveness.
This is the real scandal of the Catholic worldview into which Savile bought. It is the scandal of the Catholic doctrine he was taught. If all that is required is enough good works stacked up against your bad, if you are committed enough, you may do what you want with impunity. The cleric that insisted, because of these things, that God would “fix it” for Savile to enter Heaven, not only blasphemed against Almighty God in misrepresenting his holiness and forgiveness this way, but left the door open for other heinous crimes to be committed the same way, so long as the perpetrator is committed to stacking up their good deeds to counterbalance them.
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Our sinful nature is not zapped away when we trust in Christ. But does that mean we cannot obey? No. We have God’s Word and God’s Spirit to guide and empower us to obey. Which means any time we sin as believers it is not because we are unable to do what is right but because we did not yield to the Spirit who dwells within us.

I wonder whether sometimes we give up on holiness before we even get started. We know that we are sinful. We know that this side of glory we will not be sinlessly perfect. We believe in the doctrine of Total Depravity. All stacked together, we can give up before we even get going.
We thank the Father that he sent Jesus to die for us. We are grateful that Jesus lived the perfect sinless life that we couldn’t. We trust in his atoning work on our behalf. We know that we are given the righteousness of Christ and rely upon that to see us made right with God. We believe all of this and know our salvation is secure because of it.
But we just don’t think we can obey. We are sinful, we think. Our old sinful nature remains with us. We thank Jesus that he came, died for us and transferred his perfect life to our account. And then we can think that we won’t be perfect until glory so we kind of give up trying. Sinners gonna sin, innit.
But the fact is, we can obey. Yes, when we were outside of Christ our hearts could only incline towards sin. But being made alive by the Spirit means that we are capable of obedience.
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There will be those who will insist on their view, or their accusations, irrespective of what the overwhelming majority of the church think. But in the end, we have to let go of our reputations. Ultimately, it is not before every accuser that we stand or fall, it is the judgement of Jesus that really matters. We cannot be in ministry and avoid accusations and, often, we will not find that we are ultimately able to make ourselves fully understood. Sometimes people will think badly of us and we will not be able to do anything about it. 

Everybody wants a good reputation. Nobody enjoys people speaking ill of them. And let’s face it, the Lord Jesus expects elders in his church to be ‘thought well of by outsiders’ (1 Timothy 3:7) and ‘beyond reproach’ (Titus 1:7). Reputation matters.
Of course, that doesn’t mean an elder must be universally liked. As Kevin DeYoung helpfully explains here:
If [outsiders] think my blog is whack, my views are repulsive, and they believe all kinds of nasty things about me (which I hope they don’t, and I think they don’t), that would not mean I have fallen foul of 1 Timothy 3:7. If, however, most of the outsiders who know me from school or from the restaurant or from the pool know me to be rude, untrustworthy, undependable, and hypocritical, then my church should take notice. The key, I think, is that even if a pastor cannot have a good reputation with outsiders everywhere (probably impossible for anyone with more than a handful of Twitter followers), he should be respected (even begrudgingly) by the outsiders who see him up close.
He argues the same is broadly true within the church too:
If the requirement to be “above reproach” focuses on the discernment of the local believers, the qualification to “be well thought of by outsiders” concerns the wider non-believing community. Again, knowing what we do about Jesus’ public ministry, the requirement must not be pressed to mean that the elder must be universally beloved by the unregenerate world. Rather, the issue for us, as it was for Ephesus, is that “the leadership of the church should bring no unnecessary disrepute upon the church through improper and immoral actions” (Mounce, Pastoral Epistles, 183).
Whenever people make accusations against elders, the reality is that these things need to be weighed and judged by the church. Independency demands that these things are not outsourced to others, but ought to be weighed and judged by the church, within the church itself. Being above reproach and well thought of by outsiders i.e. not a hypocrite is judged by the church itself.
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