Here in Rome, Italy, near the heart of Roman Catholicism, it is not unusual to pass by one of the city’s countless Catholic churches and see people prostrate on the floor or on bended knee as the priest carries around the bread of the Eucharist.

This is a pinnacle moment in the life of Catholics. They claim to be worshiping the actual body and actual blood of Christ, which have taken over the elements of the bread. As The Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) reads,

In the liturgy of the Mass we express our faith in the real presence of Christ under the species of bread and wine by . . . genuflecting or bowing deeply as a sign of adoration of the Lord. The Catholic Church has always offered and still offers to the sacrament of the Eucharist the cult of adoration. (CCC, 1378)

In the Eucharist, they believe, Christ’s sacrificial work on the cross is made present, perpetuated, and reenacted. This understanding of the Eucharist depends on the Catholic Church’s teaching of transubstantiation, which has a central place in the Catholic faith.

What Is Transubstantiation?

The Catholic Church teaches that during the Eucharist, the body of Jesus Christ himself is truly eaten and his blood truly drunk. The bread becomes his actual body, and the wine his actual blood. The process of this change is called transubstantiation:

By the consecration of the bread and wine there takes place a change of the whole substance of the bread into the substance of the body of Christ our Lord and of the whole substance of the wine into the substance of his blood. This change the holy Catholic Church has fittingly and properly called transubstantiation. (CCC, 1376)

To explain this phenomenon, Catholic theology presses Aristotelian philosophy into service. A distinction is made between substance and accidents. The substance of a thing is what that thing actually is, while accidents refer to incidental features that may have a certain appearance but can be withdrawn without altering the substance.

During the Eucharist, then, the substance of the bread and wine are changed into the body and blood of Christ, while the accidents remain the same. The bread and wine actually become the body and blood of Christ, it is claimed, but maintain the appearance, texture, smell, and taste of bread and wine. The Catholic Church does not claim that this is a magical transformation, but that it is instead a sacramental mystery that is administered by those who have received the sacrament of order.

Where Did Transubstantiation Come From?

Like many aspects of Roman Catholic theology and practice, it is difficult to point to one definitive person or event to explain how transubstantiation entered into Catholic Church. It was more of a gradual development that then reached a decisive moment at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, where the teaching and belief were officially affirmed. However, by the second century, the view that the bread and wine are in some unspecified way the actual body and blood of Jesus had already surfaced. This is evidenced, for example, in the writings of Ignatius of Antioch (died around AD 108) and Justin Martyr (died AD 165), though their references to the nature of the Eucharist are somewhat ambiguous.

It is also true, however, that the early church fathers were countering certain gnostic teachings that claimed that Jesus never had a real human body but was only divine in nature. It was not possible, said the critics, that his body was present during the Eucharist. In response, some early church fathers insisted on the real presence of Christ’s body and blood in the sacrament. Moreover, both Origen (185–254) and Cyprian (200–258) spoke of the sacrament as a eucharistic sacrifice, thus unhelpfully introducing sacrificial language into the Lord’s Supper. Ambrose of Milan (died 397) understood the Eucharist in these sacrificial terms, as did John Chrysostom (died 407). Jesus’s words in John 6:53–56 appeared to provide the biblical framework they needed to make their argument: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you” (verse 53).

Over the centuries, this belief developed until it eventually became official church dogma. It would not be without its challengers, however. Ratramnus (ninth century) and Berengarius (eleventh century) are notable examples of those who did not accept the claim that the substance of the bread and wine change in the Supper.

“To say that transubstantiation teaches that God is eaten is not an exaggeration or a misrepresentation.”

Transubstantiation would receive its greatest challenge in the sixteenth century from the Protestant Reformation. During the Council of Trent (1545–1563), which was the Catholic response to the Protestant Reformation, the Roman Catholic Church renewed with great enthusiasm its commitment to the doctrine, and thus to the conviction that during the Eucharist, God incarnate is indeed eaten. Matteo Al-Kalak — a professor of modern history at the University of Modena-Reggio in Italy — affirms that this concept is still fully embraced in a recent book titled Mangiare Dio: Una storia dell’eucarestia — Eating God: A History of the Eucharist. To say that transubstantiation teaches that God is eaten is not, then, an exaggeration or a misrepresentation.

His Sacrifice Cannot Be Repeated

The Protestant Reformation rightly rejected the Roman Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation. In the Old Testament, the priests entered the tabernacle repeatedly in order to offer blood sacrifices for the sins of God’s people. Christ, however, by means of his death and resurrection, entered into heaven and mediates on our behalf once and for all (Hebrews 7:27). His is not a sacrifice that needs to be or even can be repeated (Hebrews 9:11–28). It is sufficient. It is final (John 19:30). If, however, the bread and wine of the Eucharist indeed undergo a change of substance and become the real body and blood of Christ, Christ’s sacrifice on the cross is neither sufficient nor final; instead, it is continually re-presented and made present. Thus, transubstantiation undermines the clear teachings of Scripture.

“Christ’s is not a sacrifice that needs to be or even can be repeated. It is sufficient. It is final.”

In response, Martin Luther (1483–1546) proposed a somewhat confused alternative with his doctrine of what came to be called consubstantiation. He taught that Christ’s body and blood are substantially present alongside the bread and wine. This was different from transubstantiation in that there was no change in the substance of the bread and wine itself. Luther’s theory, however, was susceptible to similar objections to those of transubstantiation. Huldrych Zwingli (1484–1531), another Reformer and contemporary of Luther, promoted the idea that the Lord’s Supper is symbolic and is solely a memorial of Christ’s work on the cross. Zwingli’s view is widely accepted in many evangelical circles today.

Transubstantiation receives its most helpful answer and alternative, however, in the classic Reformed view of the Lord’s Supper, deriving from John Calvin (1509–1564). The Reformed view promotes the understanding that while there is no change of substance in the sacrament, Jesus Christ is nonetheless present in a real way by means of his Holy Spirit. In observing the Lord’s Supper, Christ does not come down to the faithful in his body and blood; instead, the faithful are lifted up to him in spirit by the Holy Spirit.

As truly as the faithful eat in faith the bread and drink the wine, so they spiritually feed on Christ. The physical and spiritual are not merged, as they are in transubstantiation, nor are they completely separated. Instead, they are distinct but at the same time, through the ministry of the Spirit and the exercise of genuine faith, inseparable.

On the night our Lord was betrayed, he prayed “that they may all be one” (John 17:21). As his cross loomed before him, our unity was on his heart. And the unity he was praying for must be visible: “. . . so that the world may believe that you have sent me.” Something glorious is at stake in our public unity as Christians: our witness to Jesus as the One sent by God.

Our diversity as Christians is also glorious. We rally around Christ our Lord as Anglicans and Baptists and Presbyterians and many others, with our wide-ranging musical styles and liturgical practices and missional emphases, with fascinating splashes of human color and variety, each enriching the whole body of Christ (Revelation 7:9–10).

“Something glorious is at stake in our public unity as Christians: our witness to Jesus as the One sent by God.”

Nearly fifty years ago, in 1974, I remember seeing the worldwide church on display at the Lausanne Congress on World Evangelization in Switzerland. Christians from all over the world came together, as they were, true to themselves and true to Christ. It was a foretaste of heaven. And whoever you are, I hope you feel fully authorized in Christ to be yourself, in your culture, standing tall in Christ by his grace. If you love him, you belong. Amazingly, so do I.

But it is our unity — our surprising solidarity, our heartfelt oneness, our tenacious stick-together-ness, our shared beauty together — that makes it easier for others to believe in Jesus as sent from God. And I don’t think many of us prize our unity as much as we should.

Unity Is A Doctrine

Is our unity as Christians a hill we’ll die on? I look at us on social media, in our churches and denominations, in our marriages and families and friendships, and I have to wonder, Do we revere our unity — or do we vaporize our unity as a creedal abstraction? In practical reality, are we “eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:3)? Sometimes it appears we might even be suspicious that “unity” is theological compromise sneaking in to ruin us.

“The unity of the church does not threaten doctrine; the unity of the church is a doctrine.”

Let’s settle one thing right now. The unity of the church does not threaten doctrine; the unity of the church is a doctrine. The Bible teaches, clearly and emphatically, “There is one body and one Spirit . . . one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all” (Ephesians 4:4–6). Our unity bears witness to the gospel, because our unity is part of the gospel. Are we as doctrinally pure as we claim to be?

Isn’t Unity Essential?

What else does the Bible say? Notice how the little word all is sprinkled through the New Testament, nudging us toward a shared mentality:

May the God of peace be with you all. Amen. (Romans 15:33)

To those sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints together with all those who in every place call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and ours. (1 Corinthians 1:2)

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all. (2 Corinthians 13:14)

Grace be with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ with love incorruptible. (Ephesians 6:24)

Think too of the New Testament’s explicit appeals that we come together, strongly and decidedly, in unified resolve:

I appeal to you, brothers, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment. (1 Corinthians 1:10)

Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace, and the God of love and peace will be with you. (2 Corinthians 13:11)

Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that whether I come and see you or am absent, I may hear of you that you are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind, striving side by side for the faith of the gospel. (Philippians 1:27)

Complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. (Philippians 2:2)

Isn’t our unity, therefore, essential to biblical Christianity?

Warnings Against Divisiveness

Let’s not overlook the biblical warnings against division and faction and aloofness:

If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. (Matthew 5:23–24)

(Maybe the most disobeyed verses in all the Bible every Sunday!)

I appeal to you, brothers, to watch out for those who cause divisions and create obstacles contrary to the doctrine that you have been taught; avoid them. (Romans 16:17)

As for a person who stirs up division, after warning him once and then twice, have nothing more to do with him, knowing that such a person is warped and sinful; he is self-condemned. (Titus 3:10–11)

And from the Old Testament, the wise old voice of Proverbs alerts us to the sickened revulsion God feels about our violations of unity:

There are six things that the Lord hates,     seven that are an abomination to him:haughty eyes, a lying tongue,     and hands that shed innocent blood,a heart that devises wicked plans,     feet that make haste to run to evil,a false witness who breathes out lies,     and one who sows discord among brothers. (Proverbs 6:16–19)

When the Old Testament uses this literary pattern, X // X + 1, “six // seven,” it is the last item added at the end of the list that explains the others. So, what the Lord detests about haughty eyes, and all the rest, is how they sow discord. Our Lord above hates it when we so betray trust that we destroy friendships, often permanently. He abominates such destructive evils among us. How could it be otherwise? If Jesus died to bring us together in harmony, then our sowing discord says to him, “You don’t matter. What matters here is my grievance. Get out of my way, Jesus, while I make these wretched Christians feel the pain they deserve!”

Disagreeing for God’s Sake

Naturally, you might already be objecting, “But Ray, what about the biblical calls, like 1 Timothy 4:2, to rebuke people as part of legitimate gospel ministry?” Good point. (Indeed, this article is something of a rebuke!) Here are three ways I would respond.

One, if a Christian is guilty of serious evil, and his or her guilt is a properly established fact, then a heartbroken and even angry public rebuke, to preserve Christian integrity, might be right and re-unifying. We are morally serious people, following a morally serious Jesus.

If a powerful Christian is found to have abused someone, for example, it is right for abuses of power to be called out. Silence could add a layer of hypocritical complicity on top of the already heinous sin. I don’t see enough of this kind of careful, solemn rebuke. But just blurting out grievances, especially online — we do too much of that. We would be more compelling as a Christian community if the mature among us would stick their necks out and bravely guard our integrity with appropriate rebukes. To those of you who do so, thank you.

Two, before we vent our personal frustrations, let’s be humble enough to stop and ask, “Who is even asking for my opinion? Is this urge to speak up just me being pushy?” Arrogance doesn’t ask, “Why does my pronouncement even need to be heard?” On the other hand, I am sure that the body of Christ in our generation is far less injured and divided than it could be, because so many humble Christians really are being modest, self-aware, restrained.

Three, I am myself rebuked and helped by this wise caution from Francis Schaeffer:

We should never come to [differences] with true Christians without regret and without tears. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Believe me, evangelicals often have not shown it. We rush in, being very, very pleased, it would seem at times, to find other men’s mistakes. We build ourselves up by tearing other men down. This can never show a real oneness among Christians.

There is only one kind of man who can fight the Lord’s battles in anywhere near a proper way, and that is the man who by nature is unbelligerent. A belligerent man tends to do it because he is belligerent; at least it looks that way.

The world must observe that, when we must differ with each other as true Christians, we do it not because we love the smell of blood, the smell of the arena, the smell of the bullfight, but because we must for God’s sake. If there are tears when we must speak, then something beautiful can be observed. (The Mark of the Christian, 26–27)

Do We Really Want Unity?

Whatever the controversy of the moment might be, do we express our differences with such care that a reasonable unbeliever could say, “There is no bloodlust here. This is different. There is sincerity of heart here, even beauty”?

But if we are so angry and so sure of ourselves that we don’t even want to be the answer to our Lord’s prayer for unity, then let’s admit it. And let’s have the honesty to stop attaching ourselves to the name of Jesus. We don’t love him.

But if we do love him, then let’s join him in his heartfelt prayer for unity. And let’s go do something about it — starting with that one Christian we have been avoiding.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15568824/pauls-extraordinary-affection-for-believers

Audio Transcript

We end week number 500 on the podcast today, and we end it with a sharp Bible question from a listener named Derek, who lives in Seattle. “Pastor John, hello! I have a Bible question for you about the new birth. Peter wrote that believers are born again ‘not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God’ (1 Peter 1:23). In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, ‘Unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God’ (John 3:5). Can you help me understand the truth that these verses are totally compatible? Romans 10:17 and James 1:21 also mention the saving power of the word heard and implanted, but surely not in a way that minimizes the work of the Holy Spirit. The question then follows: How do the Holy Spirit and the word of God collaborate in the new birth?”

Great question. Well, let’s start by reminding ourselves that the reason we must be born again in order to see the kingdom of God, like Jesus says, is because by nature, by birth, we are all spiritually dead. This is the way Paul describes it in Ephesians 2:5: “Even when we were dead in our trespasses, [God] made us alive together with Christ.” Now, that making alive is the same as the new birth, said in different language.

Every human being has fallen in Adam and comes into the world without any saving spiritual life at all. We are dead. We are by nature resistant to God. We do not submit to him by nature. We value things that he has made more than him by nature. And we do not have the spiritual capacities to see Christ as supremely valuable and true and better than anything in the world. Nothing of that do we have by nature.

Unless we feel the weight of the lostness and fallenness and deadness of all humans, especially ourselves, nothing about the new birth is going to make sense in the New Testament. So, all of that means that if we’re going to live, if we’re going to know God, if we’re going to be happy forever, we must have new life — that is, new birth, new creation.

Born of the Spirit

So what Derek is asking now is how the Spirit of God and the word of God function together to bring us out of this deadness into the new, eternal life of knowing and enjoying God forever. And Derek refers to the words of Jesus in John 3:3, 6–8. Jesus said to Nicodemus,

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. . . . That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not marvel that I say to you, “You must be born again.” The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.

So, to be born of the flesh is the first birth that we’ve all experienced. If you are alive, you were born. And he says that to be born first in that way is to be no more than a fallen human being. “That which is born of the flesh is flesh.” That’s all it is. Something more must happen for us if we are to enter the kingdom of God, and Jesus describes that more as a birth by the Spirit.

And then he compares the work of the Spirit in the new birth to the blowing of the wind (John 6:8) , which means the Spirit is as free and as mysterious in his regenerating new-birth work as the unseen wind. You don’t control the wind. You don’t make the wind come. You don’t make the wind go. It just comes. It goes. It does what it does, and that’s the way it is with God’s sovereign Spirit in whom he makes alive and gives new birth.

“We didn’t make our first birth. We don’t make our second birth.”

We didn’t make our first birth. We don’t make our second birth. We don’t raise ourselves from the dead. We don’t create new life in our souls. It is a gift. It’s a miracle of God. We don’t initiate it. We don’t control it. It’s the sovereign mysterious work of the Holy Spirit of God.

First Cry of Faith

Our first conscious experience of this new birth is the arising in our hearts of faith in Christ. You might say that the first cry of the newborn Christian infant is the cry of faith. Instead of “waa, waa,” the heart feels, “I see him; he’s beautiful. I love him, I want him, I need him. He’s my Savior!” That’s the cry of the new birth. And Paul says, “No one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except in the Holy Spirit” (1 Corinthians 12:3). So that baby cries, “Jesus is my Lord!” And he says that the evidence of the Holy Spirit coming into our lives is that we cry, “Abba, Father!” (Romans 8:15; Galatians 4:6).

So, even though the work of the Holy Spirit is unseen and outside our control, the evidence of his work is manifest. We see the glory of Christ as desirable and believable, and we embrace him as our Savior, our Lord, our treasure. That’s the evidence of the new birth in our life. Christ is now real, and precious, and trustworthy to us, and authoritative for us. We have been made alive, born again. That’s the work of the Spirit.

“Even though the work of the Holy Spirit is unseen and outside our control, the evidence of his work is manifest.”

But now you can see right away, by the very nature of what’s happened, that this implies something about the word. If we are now believing in Jesus because of our new birth, and that’s the first cry of the newborn, and we are seeing him as true and real and valuable, where do we see him?

Born Through the Word

The Holy Spirit does not whisper the gospel in our ear. We have to hear about him in the gospel. Paul says in Romans 10:17, “Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.” What we learn then is that faith is a work of the Holy Spirit in new birth (Ephesians 2:8–9), and faith is the effect of hearing the word of God. Faith comes from the new birth by the Spirit, and faith comes from the word.

And that’s where 1 Peter 1:23 comes in to connect word and Spirit in the new birth. Peter says, “You have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable [that’s the Spirit of God], through the living and abiding word of God.” Born of the Spirit, born through the word. So, what we see is that the sovereign Spirit of God binds himself to the word of God because his primary work (as Jesus said in John 16:14) is to glorify the Son of God, who is manifest in the preaching of the word of God.

The Holy Spirit does not move willy-nilly, randomly, through the world, touching random people with the new birth who have never heard the gospel, without any reference to the word of God at all. No, he doesn’t do that. He moves in tandem with the preaching of the gospel. And the reason he does is that his primary mission, according to John 16:14, is to glorify the Son of God. And if he just made people alive who’ve never heard of the Son of God, they wouldn’t be glorifying the Son of God with their new life. New life is bound to the word of God because new life is meant to glorify the Son of God, and we hear about the Son of God in the word of God, the gospel.

We see an example of this in Acts 16:14, where Paul is preaching to Lydia and the other women there by the river. It says, “The Lord opened her heart to pay attention to what was said by Paul.” So, you have the word spoken, preached by a human being (Paul), and you have the divine work of God opening the heart to give heed and to give new life so that she can understand and receive the preciousness of the gospel.

Speak the Word Faithfully

So, the implication for us is that our essential role in salvation is to speak the word of God and then trust the Spirit of God to do the work, the heart-work called the new birth. We don’t cause the new birth in ourselves or in anybody else, and we don’t cause it in those we are preaching the gospel to. The role we have — and it is an absolutely essential role — is to speak faithfully the word of God.

Paul asks in Romans 10:14, “How are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching?” He answers, “So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17). So, my prayer for us is this: may the Lord give us great boldness and faithfulness and confidence that when we speak the word of God, the Spirit of God will give life and glorify the Son of God through the awakening of faith.

In the summer of 1782, Charles Simeon (1759–1836) was invited to fill the pulpit of St. Edward’s, Cambridge, for the vacationing Christopher Atkinson. At the time, Simeon was only 22 years old, had come to faith in Christ just three years before, and, by his own admission, “knew not any [sincerely] religious person.”1 Despite these limitations, God used Simeon to pack the pews of St. Edward’s, rivet his hearers, and lead the venerable John Berridge of Everton to compare the sight of this weekly phenomenon to “opening night of a London play.”

That summer was one of adulation and affirmation for Simeon. So one would expect both to follow him to his new appointment just blocks away at Holy Trinity. But they didn’t. For Simeon, the first twelve years there were filled with stiff and steady opposition from the leaders as well as the laity. And over his remaining years at Holy Trinity, 54 in total, Simeon faced a barrage of other challenges, each one formidable enough to potentially end his ministry. Through these very challenges, however, God shaped Simeon into the great gospel influence that he was then and remains now.

Appointment and Opposition

While still a Cambridge undergraduate, Simeon was named a fellow at King’s College, ordained as a deacon in the Church of England, and blessed with his blockbuster summer at St. Edward’s. In November of that year, the pastor of Holy Trinity, Henry Therond, died. Soon thereafter, the Bishop of Ely, James Yorke, appointed the young Simeon as Therond’s successor.

Despite Simeon’s triumph earlier that summer, the people of Holy Trinity quickly rose in opposition to the bishop’s choice. Their man of choice was the more experienced and politically savvy John Hammond. The bishop would not budge in his selection of Simeon, but neither would the people in their preference for Hammond. So, exercising their prerogative, the people hired Hammond as their afternoon lecturer.2 Then, those parishioners with rented pews locked them so that any Sunday-morning churchgoers (those who wished to hear Simeon preach) had to sit on benches rented at Simeon’s expense.3 Finally, after multiple attempts by Simeon to start a Sunday-evening service, the church wardens locked the building altogether, thereby prohibiting any kind of nighttime gathering within the walls of Holy Trinity.

After five years, Hammond left his position as afternoon lecturer. But instead of appointing Simeon as Hammond’s replacement, the congregation hired Butler Berry. Ultimately, in 1795, the people of Holy Trinity replaced the departing Berry with their pastor of twelve years. Simeon was now the minister of Holy Trinity in name as well as in spirit. More than a decade of deep-seated opposition was over. But Simeon’s challenges were not.

Ongoing Challenges

The list of Simeon’s ongoing challenges ranges far and wide, from Cambridge, community, and church to illness, loss, and battles with his own indwelling sin.

Even though Simeon worked for the University of Cambridge, he faced opposition from the university at large,4 as well as members of his own college.5 On at least three different occasions, Simeon was stridently opposed from the pulpit and in print for matters relating to biblically orthodox sermons he had preached before the university.6

Simeon faced opposition not only from inside the university, but from outside of it as well. In 1812, Simeon wrote to Thomas Thomason about two men who were disturbing a pair of religious societies for which Simeon was responsible.7 Five years later, Simeon again shared with Thomason about “a most malignant attempt to injure my character”8 from those in the community.

While Simeon was deeply devoted to the Church of England, he also faced opposition from some within it. In 1808, Bishop Yorke, the one by whom Simeon was appointed pastor at Holy Trinity and with whom he very much got along, died. From that time on, Yorke’s replacement, Bishop Dampier, became a perennial opponent to Simeon.

Simeon was saddled with a pair of enduring physical challenges. He struggled with his speaking voice from his late thirties to his early sixties — at one point leaving him with the feeling that he was “more like one dead than alive.”9 As Simeon was finally resolving his vocal issues, he began struggling with gout, a condition that he first described as a “bruised foot,” but later as “a very long step towards the eternal world.”10

Simeon bore up under the emotional challenges that come with the death of close family and friends — his brothers Richard (1782) and Edward (1813), as well as his close friends and former curates Henry Martyn (1812) and Thomas Thomason (1829). By 1817, Simeon himself was much aware of his own mortality, writing, “I feel that I am running a race against time; and I want to finish my work before ‘the night cometh, in which no man can work.’”11

Finally, Simeon faced lifelong challenges against his own anger and pride. These two tendencies were well-known both to others12 and to Simeon himself.13 As late as 1827, less than a decade before his death, Simeon admitted that he was still working on matters related to his temper.

Example and Lessons

What are some ways Simeon endured these challenges — such that he not only remained in ministry, but did so for 54 years and left a legacy that still bears fruit today? And what lessons might his example have for pastors today?

Attend to your own soul.

In the first place, Simeon endured his many challenges by attending carefully to his own soul. He learned a dictum early in his life that “to soar heavenward” one must “grow downwards in humility.”14 So, Simeon spent long hours every day in God’s word and prayer. In fact, he went to bed early so that he could get up early and give unhurried time to his Lord in these ways.15 He referred to prayer as the “grand means” for one’s “growth in grace,”16 while “a devout reading of Scripture . . . qualifies [one] to speak to others.”17

“Simeon endured his many challenges by attending carefully to his own soul.”

Simeon also attended to his soul by engaging in rich fellowship with others. For example, he was sincerely and deeply devoted to the Reformed content and rhythms of the Church of England, and the weekly worship of his church greatly sustained him. He was also an active part of the Eclectic Club, a group of pastors who regularly met for mutual theological edification. Finally, Simeon convened an annual weeklong retreat for ministers and their wives that was devoted to rest, Bible reading, and extended times of conversation and fellowship. These retreats were of such spiritual encouragement that he reflected on one as follows:

For half a day perhaps I have often known times as precious; but never for nearly three days together. The solemnity, the tenderness, the spirituality, and the love were equal to anything I have ever seen. God was truly in “the midst of us.”18

By diligently pursuing these means of grace, Simeon remained spiritually nourished and up to facing the challenges of ministry.

Attend to the souls of others.

Simeon endured his many challenges by attending not only to his own soul but also to the souls of others. He devoted himself to many projects — all focused on Scripture — that no doubt kept his personal challenges in perspective.

Simeon’s aim for Holy Trinity was to nurture his people by regularly and faithfully preaching the Bible. His aim for Cambridge undergrads was to teach them how to reason according to Scripture (which he did at Friday-night tea parties held in his rooms), as well as how to faithfully exposit the Scripture (which he did at Sunday-afternoon sermon classes also held in his rooms). Simeon’s aim for Britain and beyond was to put the Bible into the hands of as many people as possible. This led to his part in the founding of the British and Foreign Bible Society.

Simeon also worked to send faithful Bible teachers to as many places as he could. So he established the Society for Educating Pious Men for Ministry, of which William Wilberforce was a trustee.19 He also established a trust dedicated to purchasing pulpits throughout England into which biblically orthodox preachers could be placed.20 Finally, Simeon played an integral part in founding the Church Missionary Society21 as well as the Society for the Promotion of Christianity Among the Jews.

“Simeon’s long-term investment in a variety of Bible-focused projects led to a life of ministry stability.”

Simeon’s long-term investment in a variety of Bible-focused projects led to a life of ministry stability. So, for example, instead of being entirely consumed by his early difficulties at Holy Trinity, Simeon spent those years also initiating and developing his missionary interests in India, his sermon classes among undergraduates, and his earliest printed edition on preaching. These efforts beyond the parish kept the challenges at Holy Trinity from holding Simeon back in his overall desire to spread the word of God. Throughout the years, as Simeon faced setbacks in one area of ministry, his progress in others provided encouragement to press on.

Endurance in Every Challenge

Throughout his five-and-a-half decades of pastoral ministry, Simeon’s character was shaped by many of the same challenges that pastors face today. The following questions, each forged on the anvil of Simeon’s life and ministry, can help pastors reflect on our own work and, in doing so, further build up our endurance for a long life of effective ministry.

Like Simeon, do I habitually give myself to the word and prayer? If not, then am I doing what it takes to make the word and prayer a priority in my daily life?

Like Simeon, do I sincerely view my church’s liturgy (whatever form that may take) as a source of spiritual nourishment? If not, then what measures can I take to be fed by it rather than merely preside over it?

Like Simeon, do I regularly take time away for personal edification and encouragement? If not, then with what group of like-minded pastors or gospel workers can I associate for spiritual development and refreshment?

Like Simeon, do I creatively leverage my work in a variety of ways? If not, into what added areas could I extend my gospel burden, my sermons, and my experience?

As long as we pastor imperfect saints, in a fallen world, from a broken body and embattled soul, we will face challenges — some of which may tempt us to give up ministry altogether. But as with Simeon, God has more than enough grace to sustain us as we attend carefully to our own souls, the souls of others, and the Christ who saves us both.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15560308/has-wrath-come-upon-israel-forever

In 1977, California pastor Jack Hayford and his wife visited England during the Silver Jubilee (25th anniversary) of Queen Elizabeth’s accession to the throne (1952). They were struck by the grandeur of the celebration, and the manifest joy of the people in their monarch. While there, they visited Blenheim Palace, birthplace of Winston Churchill, and famous for the magnitude and stateliness some Americans today know only through watching Downton Abbey.

Driving away from the palace, overcome with awe, Hayford found himself reaching for words — language that would transpose the weight of the earthly experience into the key of heaven. As he stretched, the word that seemed most fitting, both to describe the stunning magnificence of the palace, and how it pointed to the superiority of the reigning Christ, was majesty. According to a California newspaper’s retelling of the story,

As the Hayfords pulled themselves from that regal palace and drove away, Dr. Hayford asked his wife to take a notebook and write down some thoughts that were coming to him. He then began to dictate the lyrics, the key, and the timing to a song now being sung by Christians worldwide. (“Story Behind the Song: ‘Majesty,’” St. Augustine Record, August 13, 2015)

Hayford’s impulse to reach for the word majesty, however much he knew it at the time, was profoundly biblical. Majesty is indeed a frequent, and carefully chosen, attribute in Scripture of the living God — a trait often overlooked in studies of the divine attributes, but an important witness of both the prophets and apostles, one that sheds brilliant light on other well-rehearsed attributes, and one that is truly, deeply, wonderfully fit for worship, as Hayford intuited:

Majesty! Worship his majesty!Unto Jesus be all glory, honor, and praise.Majesty! Kingdom authority,Flow from his throne, unto his own;His anthem raise!

Purple Mountain Majesties

Those, like Hayford, who reach for the word majesty often find themselves standing before, or remembering, some natural or manmade wonder that is both imposing and, at the same time, attractive. In our language, as in biblical terms, the word captures not only greatness but also goodness, both bigness and beauty, awesome power together with pleasant admiration.

Mountains might be the quintessentially majestic natural feature. Psalm 76:4 declares in praise to God, “Glorious are you,” and then adds, “more majestic than the mountains.” Alongside the illustrious plain of Sharon, which had its own peculiar glory, Isaiah’s hope-filled prophecy of future flourishing for God’s people hails “the majesty of [Mount] Carmel” (Isaiah 35:2). Yet alongside mountains, we also might attribute majesty to gold, or some precious material or gem, fit for a king, that dazzles the eye with its beauty, as Job 37:22 links God’s “awesome majesty” with “golden splendor.”

Not only natural phenomena, but also the work of human hands, when on a grand scale, might have us reaching for majestic. Lamentations 1:6 mourns the loss of such civic majesty after the destruction of Jerusalem by Babylon, and not long after, Nebuchadnezzar, Babylon’s king, professes to have built his city “by [his] mighty power as a royal residence and for the glory of [his] majesty” (Daniel 4:30) — this, just before his great humbling.

How, then, does the common use of majesty for mountains and mansions, gold and cities, relate to attributing majesty to God?

What Is Divine Majesty?

In bringing together both greatness and goodness, both strength and beauty (Psalm 96:6), majesty is not only a fitting term for mountain majesties but a particularly appropriate descriptor of God, who is, above all, “the Majestic One” (Isaiah 10:34).

At a critical juncture in the history of God’s first-covenant people, as they assemble under the leadership of Solomon, to dedicate the temple, the king prays, in his great wisdom, “Yours, O Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty.” Consider those first three — greatness, power, and glory — often associated with majesty elsewhere, as revealing angles into the attribute of divine majesty.

His Is the Greatness

First and foremost is greatness.

The opening verse of Psalm 104 declares, “Bless the Lord, O my soul! O Lord my God, you are very great! You are clothed with splendor and majesty.” Likewise, after their dramatic God-wrought exodus from Egypt, God’s people sing, “In the greatness of your majesty you overthrow your adversaries” (Exodus 15:7). Later in Babylon, as Nebuchadnezzar tells of his great humbling, and restoration, he speaks of his “majesty” returning to him “and still more greatness was added to me” (Daniel 4:36; see also 5:18). Micah’s famous Bethlehem prophecy tells of a majesty that is greatness in one coming who will “stand and shepherd his flock in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God. And they shall dwell secure, for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth” (Micah 5:4).

“God has not only the might to rule, but also the right.”

Majesty often connotes some greatness in size, as with mountains and mansions: Ezekiel speaks of “majestic nations,” once numerous and powerful, but now humbled by God (Ezekiel 32:18). But that greatness also can include God’s divine right and prerogative, as God, to rule and do as he pleases. As Solomon prayed, “Yours, O Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty, for all that is in the heavens and in the earth is yours” (1 Chronicles 29:11). God has not only the might to rule, but also the right.

His Is the Power

Majesty also is tied to God’s power and strength. “Yours, O Lord, is . . . the power.”

Not only does Micah 5:4 connect God’s majesty with divine strength in shepherding his people, but Psalm 68:34 forges the bond even stronger:

Ascribe power to God,     whose majesty is over Israel,     and whose power is in the skies.

“Awesome,” says David, “is God from his sanctuary.” He is majestic not only in the power he possesses, but also in the power he generously gives: “He is the one who gives power and strength to his people” (Psalm 68:35). So also in Psalm 29:4, we hear,

The voice of the Lord is powerful;     the voice of the Lord is full of majesty.

While his powerful, majestic voice relates to the audible, the apostle Peter testifies of it becoming visible in God’s incarnate Son: “We did not follow cleverly devised myths when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but we were eyewitnesses of his majesty” (2 Peter 1:16).

His Is the Glory

Third, as Solomon prayed, “Yours, O Lord, is . . . the glory.”

Of greatness, power, and glory, ties are deepest with the third. Psalm 8, Scripture’s signature celebration of the majesty of God, manifestly sings of glory — God’s glory, set above the heavens (verse 1), and man’s glory, from God, as one he has “crowned . . . with glory and honor” (verse 5). And so that memorable opening line, reprised as the final note, hails the majesty of God’s name:

O Lord, our Lord,     how majestic is your name in all the earth! (Psalm 8:1, 9)

As we’ve seen in Psalm 76:4 (“Glorious are you, more majestic . . .”), divine majesty is so closely connected to divine glory that we might even see the word majesty as providing God’s people with further language for expressing, commending, and marveling at his glory and beauty. Along with splendor (frequently paired with majesty), the term expands our vocabulary for glory.

Our God is so great, so admirable, so wonderful, so awesome in the eyes of his people, and so fearsome to his enemies, that the Hebrew kavod, Greek doxa, and English glory will not suffice. That is, not for his worshipers. We need more terms. We press more words into service. As we seek to keep speaking of him in his beauty, his power, his greatness, his glory, we grope for language: dominion, authority, splendor, majesty. At times, we even pile words upon words, as Psalm 145:5 does with “the glorious splendor of your majesty.”

Majesty, in particular, is emotive, or affective. It indicates greatness in sight or sound that is also wonderful. Bigness that is beautiful. Imposing size that is viewed with delight, imposing power received as attractive. While having significant overlap with divine dominion or lordship, majesty does more. Dominion and lordship are more technical and prosaic; majesty rings more poetic, with the awe of worship.

Meditate on His Majesty

In the end, it may be majesty’s poetic ring that makes it such a precious word, and fit for worship. As Jack Hayford groped for language to voice the wonder rising in his soul far beyond the legacy of English tradition and the largesse of its palaces — that is, reverence for the living God — majesty came not as a technical, functional, denotive term. It had a feel. It communicated soul-expanding awe. It was a mouthing of worship.

“God is not only great but good — good in his greatness and great in his goodness.”

The choice of the word majesty, then, says something about the speaker. Majesty attributes not only greatness, power, and glory to some object, but signals awe and wonder in the one who chooses the word. God’s friends, not his foes, declare his majesty. In Egyptian eyes, God was not majestic at the Red Sea but horrific. His striking size and strength were not for them but against them. But in the eyes of Israel, in the sight of his people, their God was indeed majestic in his greatness and power, and worthy of praise for terrifying and wiping out their enemies (Exodus 15:7, 11).

Perhaps you find yourself in need of fresh language for attributing greatness, and power, and glory to the God whom you worship in Christ. He is not only great but good — good in his greatness and great in his goodness. He is not only big, strong, imposing, indomitable, omnipotent; he is beautiful, attractive, stunning, compelling, glorious. He is the Majestic One, who delivered Israel at the Sea, and his church at the cross. And so, we say with the psalmist, “On the glorious splendor of your majesty, and on your wondrous works, I will meditate” (Psalm 145:5).

And we worship his majesty.

ABSTRACT: As a young pastor, Jonathan Edwards yearned for revival — and in time, God was pleased to bring revival, first in 1734, and then into the 1740s as the Great Awakening spread through the Western world. Edwards watched hundreds of formerly apathetic neighbors become earnest seekers of God; he saw evening revelries become gatherings for singing and prayer. Along the way, however, he also observed many spurious signs of spiritual life. His ministry yields insight into both the spiritual means of revival and the genuine marks of revival, and it also gives hope that God might be pleased to bring similar revival today.

For our ongoing series of feature articles for pastors, leaders, and teachers, we asked Douglas Sweeney, professor of divinity at Beeson Divinity School, to draw lessons on revival from the ministry of Jonathan Edwards.

The young Jonathan Edwards (1703–1758) longed for nothing more than revival. He viewed special works of the Spirit as special tokens of God’s blessing, and he hoped beyond hope that he would receive some himself. He had moved to Northampton while in his early twenties to assist his aging grandfather, Rev. Solomon Stoddard, at the only church in town. Stoddard had led the congregation in occasional seasons of grace, but soon after he passed away, leaving Edwards by himself as the town’s only pastor, the church’s spiritual life began to go downhill. The young people, especially, started sowing wild oats, partying especially after corporate worship services. They seemed deaf to their Lord. Edwards wondered what would become of his ministry.

After five years of anxiety, hard work, and prayer, signs of spring began to appear. Early in 1734, a revival started to stir the nearby village of Pascommuck, roughly three miles from town. Then in April of that year, Northampton’s youth were faced with the unexpected deaths of two of their friends — the first “a young man in the bloom of his youth,” who was “violently seized with a pleurisy and . . . died in about two days”; the other “a young married woman, who had been considerably exercised in mind about the salvation of her soul before she was ill, and was in great distress in the beginning of her illness; but seemed to have satisfying evidences of God’s saving mercy to her before her death; so that she died very full of comfort, in a most earnest and moving manner warning and counseling others.” As Edwards noted of her passing, “This seemed much to contribute to the solemnizing of the spirits of many young persons: and there began evidently to appear more of a religious concern on people’s minds.”1

“The young Jonathan Edwards longed for nothing more than revival.”

Leaning into this concern, Edwards spoke to the youth that fall, recommending that they turn their Thursday evening revelry into a time of “social religion,” meeting in homes throughout the town for Christian fellowship and prayer. No sooner had they done so than the town was forced again to deal with a strange, surprising death — this time of a senior citizen. “Many were much moved and affected” by this tragedy.2 The adults in town followed the lead of their own children, meeting on Sunday nights for fellowship, prayer, and hymn-singing. Soon these spiritual practices led to transformation. Revival roared through town, spreading up and down the Connecticut River Valley.

God’s Surprising Work

Edwards, of course, was biased, but his testimony regarding this revival’s holy fruit suggests a massive outpouring of the Spirit in Northampton. “This work of God . . . soon made a glorious alteration in the town; so that in the spring and summer following [1735] . . . the town seemed to be full of the presence of God: it never was so full of love, nor so full of joy; and yet so full of distress, as it was then.”3

In addition to the changes wrought in individual souls, this revival changed the nature of corporate worship in Northampton. “Our public assemblies were then beautiful,” as Edwards later recalled. “The congregation was alive in God’s service, everyone earnestly intent on the public worship . . . ; the assembly in general were, from time to time, in tears while the Word was preached; some weeping with sorrow and distress, others with joy and love, others with pity and concern for the souls of their neighbors.”4

It amazes one to consider that Edwards was barely 31 years old when he led this great revival. His wife Sarah was 24. Even contemporaries stood in awe of what was taking place. Edwards scribbled a breathless report to a senior colleague living in Boston, who in turn spread the word along his own social network. Soon the news reverberated all the way to England. A detailed account was in demand across the sea, and Edwards stepped up to supply it in the form of his first book, A Faithful Narrative of the Surprizing Work of God in the Conversion of Many Hundred Souls in Northampton, and the Neighbouring Towns and Villages (1737). Within three years, this book was printed both in Edinburgh and Boston, and translated and republished in both German and Dutch editions. It inspired other ministers to work toward revival. It compelled George Whitefield to resume his work in the colonies, encouraged John Wesley to practice outdoor preaching in England, and exerted a powerful force on the spread of the Great Awakening, which would crest during the early 1740s.

Edwards gave the credit to the work of his sovereign God. But he knew that God is wont to work through prayer and gospel preaching. In 1747, Edwards published a lengthy treatise on the need to pray for revival. He preached for many years about the importance of praying persistently. Late in 1734, he also began, prayerfully, to preach a gospel series on the sinner’s justification and conversion by faith alone — a series used by God to effect the work of redemption in Northampton.

He commenced this series in November of that year, attributing his church’s own revival to its contents. It began with a talk on “Justification by Faith Alone,” based on Romans 4:5: “To him that worketh not, but believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness.” He took from the text this doctrine: “We are justified only by faith in Christ, and not by any manner of virtue or goodness of our own.” And he expounded this doctrine with passion, making it clear that justification comes as a gift of God’s free grace, not for anything we do, but because of what God effects when he unites us to his Son, by the power of the Spirit, making us part of his holy church, the mystical bride of Jesus Christ. Our faith is that by which we cling to Christ in spiritual union. God brings it to life in us; we merely exercise it “actively.” And as we cling to Christ and trust in his merit for salvation, God sees that we are one with him and reckons his merit as our own. “What is real in the union between Christ and his people, is the foundation of what is legal,” Edwards postulated famously.5

Marks of the Spirit

Like the Puritans before him, Edwards placed a high premium on the Christian’s union with Christ as the basis of salvation. We are saved, he taught, not merely by assenting to the gospel; even “the devils . . . believe, and tremble” (James 2:19). We are saved, as well, because the Holy Spirit inhabits our bodies, reorients our souls by uniting them to Christ, makes us sharers in the Lord’s righteousness, and bears fruit in our lives.

“This teaching about the Spirit’s role in salvation might have been the defining feature of Edwards’s ministry.”

This teaching about the Spirit’s role in salvation might have been the defining feature of Edwards’s ministry. He lived in a setting where everyone had to go to church and almost everyone affirmed the basic truths of the Christian faith. He worked as a tax-supported servant of his colony’s state church, an institution that he knew was full of merely cultural Protestantism. He loved his people dearly and believed that he would have to give an account someday for his ministry. So he labored tirelessly to help his hearers understand that there is a wide, eternal difference between authentic faith in Christ and perfunctory religion, or nominal Christianity. That difference, furthermore, has to do with the Holy Spirit and his work of regeneration, of quickening the soul, giving it spiritual life in Christ.

After struggling with his predecessors’ doctrines of conversion, Edwards came to see that God does not convert us all in exactly the same way, that the substance of conversion matters much more than the form. He also saw that true conversion was primarily supernatural. It is not something sinners effect by taking the right steps. They can (and should) certainly prepare for conversion, availing themselves of God’s means of grace and praying for mercy. But they cannot make it happen by their practice of religion. God effects conversion. And the main thing he does when he converts penitent sinners is give them a new heart, reorienting their “affections.” He fills them with his Spirit. He engenders in the soul a deep longing to walk with him, to know him better, and to honor him in everything. So when Edwards counseled sinners, he asked about their hearts. He wanted to find out what they loved, how they wished to spend their time, what they aspired to in life. Moreover, his burden during the rest of his revivalistic ministry was to help others discern the Spirit’s presence in their lives — to “try the spirits” (1 John 4:1), distinguishing God’s Spirit from counterfeits.

Edwards’s strategy was to point people away from what we might call externals of religion, red herrings of the faith, qualities he labeled “negative signs” — they neither confirm nor disprove the Spirit’s presence and activity — and toward what he referred to as the “positive signs” of grace, qualities the Bible says result from true revival and conversion. The negative signs included strong emotions, loss of control (either physically or spiritually), and irregular worship practices. Such qualities had often attended God’s regenerating work, but they could also be the products of religious “hypocrites” (a term Edwards used quite frequently), or even of the devil.

Edwards’s positive signs, by contrast, included esteem for Jesus, opposition to the devil, greater regard to the Scriptures, and a spirit of love to God and man, qualities that guarantee that God is active in one’s life. They cannot be fabricated. They are supernatural gifts. And the “chief” of all these gifts, the sign most clearly taught in Scripture as an indicator of grace, was the sign of “Christian practice,” or biblical holiness. This was no red herring. It was the sum of true religion and, in Edwards’s estimation, it had characterized Northampton for a period of several months — like never before in local history — from December of 1734 through summer of 1735.

Whitefield Visits Northampton

Unfortunately, however, this revival of the Spirit and its signs of grace would fade — nearly as fast as they had appeared — during the dog days of summer. Despite (or rather because of) these positive signs of saving grace, the devil was haunting the town by spring, trying to thwart the work of God by spreading melancholy, doubt, and even suicidal urges. The revival came to a halt that summer.

The good news is that Edwards continued grow in grace through the late 1730s and taught his people to do the same, preaching some of the best sermons in the history of the church. This faithfulness contributed to even larger revivals, which culminated regionally in the early 1740s and were tied to the preaching of Edwards’s friend George Whitefield, thought by some to be the greatest preacher in history.

Only 26 years old at the height of this work of God, Whitefield spoke to larger crowds than anyone else in colonial history — at times to tens of thousands — long before the invention of microphones and amplifiers. A poor man from England with distinctly crossed eyes, he was blessed by God with a booming voice, a flair for the dramatic, and a remarkable gift of extemporaneous speech. He preached a basic gospel message from all over the biblical canon. He told stories with charisma. The most compelling stories he told as he progressed from place to place had to do with the spread of revival through the Anglo-American world. He personified the Awakening and its international scope.

During his second trip to the colonies, Whitefield sent a letter to Edwards asking permission to visit his church. Edwards replied warmly. He knew of Whitefield’s record as a winsome gospel preacher, and he longed for help renewing the work of revival in Northampton. By the spring of 1740, Edwards’s parish started to show the signs of another work of God, especially among the youth. Then when Whitefield finally arrived — on Friday, October 17, eleven months after he had written to Edwards — these sparks were fanned into flame.

Whitefield stayed for three days. He spoke twice on the day he arrived, once in church and once at the manse; once the following afternoon (after another sermon in Hadley, nearly five miles away); and twice more “upon the sabbath.” Edwards reported to a friend that his “congregation was extraordinarily melted by every sermon; almost the whole assembly being in tears for a great part of sermon time.” Edwards “wept” as well, “during the whole time” of the Sunday morning service, according to Whitefield. God’s Spirit was at work, as nearly everyone could tell. While in town for only three days, Whitefield played a crucial role in drawing Edwards’s flock back into the Great Awakening.6

Whitefield was impetuous, at times spiritually arrogant. He had earned a reputation for judging other pastors rashly, claiming that many — maybe most — were unconverted. So as Edwards traveled with him to his next few preaching stations, he advised the young star that it could be dangerous to rely too much on spiritual impulses without help from the word of God. He also said that, while he affirmed Whitefield’s emphasis on the need for clergy themselves to be converted, he believed it inappropriate to judge precipitately which of their colleagues were regenerate — and which were not. Edwards listened to Whitefield preach to several thousand in the fields, thanked him heartily for his labors, and returned home hopeful for the future. Right away, he preached a series on the parable of the sower (Matthew 13), exhorting his people not to be starstruck by Whitefield’s obvious eloquence, but to live as the kind of soil in which the word bears fruit.

Within the next couple of months, Northampton bore abundant fruit. “There was a great alteration in the town,” Edwards testified, particularly among the local children. “By the middle of December a very considerable work of God appeared among those that were very young, and the revival of religion continued to increase; so that in the spring, an engagedness of spirit about things of religion was become very general amongst young people and children, and religious subjects almost wholly took up their conversation.” Even Edwards’s own daughters had come under the work of the Spirit. Many other children, as well, had been affected by the gospel. Edwards later described this time as “the most wonderful work among children that ever was in Northampton.” It rekindled his flame for revival and conversion in New England.7

Pastor as Watchman

During the following spring and summer, Edwards himself was called upon to serve as a traveling gospel preacher. Inspired by Whitefield’s example, he did more of this than ever during 1741. He is best known for a sermon he preached in Enfield, near the border with Connecticut. He had preached this sermon before to his own congregation. As he preached it on the road, however, amazing things happened. Edwards’s text was very brief: “Their foot shall slide in due time” (Deuteronomy 32:35). His doctrine somewhat longer and more memorable today: “There is nothing that keeps wicked men, at any one moment, out of hell, but the mere pleasure of God.” He applied this doctrine at length, in words that have gone down in history:

The wrath of God is like great waters that are dammed for the present; they increase more and more, and rise higher and higher, till an outlet is given, and the longer the stream is stopped, the more rapid and mighty is its course, when once it is let loose. ’Tis true, that judgment against your evil works has not been executed hitherto; the floods of God’s vengeance have been withheld; but your guilt in the meantime is constantly increasing. . . . Thus are all you that never passed under a great change of heart, by the mighty power of the Spirit of God upon your souls; all that were never born again, and made new creatures. . . . You are thus in the hands of an angry God; ’tis nothing but his mere pleasure that keeps you from being this moment swallowed up in everlasting destruction.

So goes the famous sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” a truly frightening piece of work, but one that is also full of love and passionate literary artistry.8

Edwards preached dozens of hellfire sermons during his ministry, many of which survive. Like the Puritans before him, he did so in the manner of the “watchman” of Ezekiel, whom God held responsible to sound a trumpet clearly when his people were threatened with danger. This was serious business. Edwards believed, as he proclaimed at one of his colleagues’ ordinations, that “ministers of the gospel have the precious and immortal souls of men committed to their care and trust by the Lord Jesus Christ.” He believed that he would give an account on judgment day for his ministry. So he preached from time to time on the dangers of damnation. “If there be really a hell,” he wrote in 1741,

of such dreadful, and never-ending torments, . . . that multitudes are in great danger of, and that the bigger part of men in Christian countries do actually from generation to generation fall into, for want of a sense of the terribleness of it, and their danger of it, and so for want of taking due care to avoid it; then why is it not proper for those that have the care of souls, to take great pains to make men sensible of it? Why should not they be told as much of the truth as can be? If I am in danger of going to hell, I should be glad to know as much as possibly I can of the dreadfulness of it: if I am very prone to neglect due care to avoid it, he does me the best kindness, that does most to represent to me the truth of the case, that sets forth my misery and danger in the liveliest manner.9

Such preaching saw success at the apex of the Awakening. Thousands were converted — in America alone — during 1741. The Great Awakening was divisive, but it also crystallized the crucial importance of conversion and of living with eschatological urgency.

Ten Lessons from Edwards’s Ministry

What might we learn from Edwards and his work on revival? Let me conclude by offering ten brief lessons.

First, Edwards and his colleagues show what God has often done — and still wants to do today — by means of urgent, vivid, preaching framed by the doctrines of grace. How many preachers can you name who share Edwards’s ability to render Bible doctrine urgent and Edwards’s commitment to write sermons that leave a beautiful, intellectually compelling, and enduring impression on their hearers?

Second, Edwards and his colleagues demonstrate the great promise of preaching to people’s hearts. As Edwards wrote in Some Thoughts Concerning the Present Revival (1743), “I should think myself in the way of my duty to raise the affections of my hearers as high as possibly I can, provided that they are affected with nothing but truth, and with affections that are not disagreeable to the nature of what they are affected with. . . . Our people don’t so much need to have their heads stored, as to have their hearts touched; and they stand in the greatest need of that sort of preaching that has the greatest tendency to do this.”10

Third, Great Awakening Christians showed that testimonies matter. I cannot do justice to this topic in this essay. Suffice it to say that what they often called “religious intelligence,” or news of the work of God and the spread of the gospel both at home and abroad, played a central role in spreading the revival. This news was shared orally in evangelistic services. It was also published in Christian magazines and newspapers, used by God to expand people’s horizons and make them feel part of the global cause of Christ.

Fourth, Edwards and his peers showed that prayer matters even more. Edwards preached for many years about the importance of praying persistently. He published a major treatise on the need to pray for revival, An Humble Attempt to Promote Explicit Agreement and Visible Union of God’s People in Extraordinary Prayer for the Revival of Religion and Advancement of Christ’s Kingdom on Earth. And he exhorted all who listened to participate in transatlantic concerts of prayer for revival.

Fifth, Edwards and pastors like him demonstrated the importance of preaching what the apostle Paul called the whole counsel of God — even the parts about hell and the consequences of sin. God used such preaching to draw thousands to himself. Do we have the wisdom, faith, courage, and spiritual sensitivity to preach this way today, to the honor and glory of God?

Sixth, Edwards and his peers modeled pastoral wisdom in the midst of signs and wonders and spiritual intensity. They often failed to discern rightly. But they tried their best to open their Bibles and interpret the signs of the Spirit all around them, teaching the distinguishing marks of a work of the Spirit of God.

“Edwards and his peers demonstrated that word and Spirit always go hand in hand.”

Seventh, Edwards and his peers demonstrated that word and Spirit always go hand in hand. Against those who taught the word without spiritual vitality, they called for real conversion and walking with the Spirit. Against those who made claims to immediate revelation, or to spiritual impulses not grounded in the Scriptures, they called for theological accountability.

Eighth, Edwards and his peers modeled evangelical ecumenism. They avoided spiritual rashness and judgmental attitudes toward serious Christians, at least when at their best. Some did prove divisive from time to time. But again, when at their best, they showed that Anglicans, Congregationalists, Presbyterians, Baptists, and others can work together for the gospel — giving rise to modern evangelicalism.

Ninth, Edwards and his colleagues did not let anyone despise them for their youth, as Paul said to Timothy (1 Timothy 4:12). Edwards was in his thirties at the height of the Great Awakening. Whitefield was in his twenties. God used them remarkably in spite of themselves.

Finally, the early evangelicals demonstrated the crucial importance of “social religion”: Christian fellowship, Bible study, testimony, prayer, and spiritual singing in small-group contexts. Indeed, they put these practices on the church-historical map. Millions have come to know Jesus as a result.

May God help us all make good use of their example, facilitating revival and renewal in our time.11

Audio Transcript

Well, yesterday we started this five hundredth week on the podcast looking at Christian love and how that love differs from the love of the world. And I want to carry that discussion over to today because there’s another key factor that distinguishes our love. And it’s about the fear of money: specifically, the fear of not having enough money. Money fears kill our love. And money fears kill our worship. These are key points made by John Piper in a 1997 sermon on Luke 12. Here’s Pastor John to make those connections.

So Luke 12:32–34, of the dozens of texts I could have chosen, is all about worshiping God with your money. There are four points I want to make. Many more could be made: I think I counted about ten sermons I’d like to preach on these three verses. But I’ll preach one and make four points.

“When you magnify God through not being afraid about money, you worship.”

In verse 32 in particular, the first point is that God commands us not to be afraid about money, not to have fear about money. When it comes to money things, we’re not supposed to be anxious. Don’t worry. “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32 NASB 1995). That little verse is sandwiched before and after with money. Verses 22 and following are all about money: things, clothing, house, and whether you’re anxious about them. And then it’s followed by selling possessions and giving alms and laying up treasures in heaven instead of on the earth. So the first point of this little verse — this beautiful, magnificent promise verse — is don’t be anxious. Don’t be afraid.

Five Ways to Magnify God

But now there’s a deeper point in this verse. And the deeper point is that when you’re not afraid concerning money, you magnify five things about God, and that’s worship. When you’re not afraid or anxious or fearful about money, you magnify five things about God (in this one verse). And when you magnify God through not being afraid about money, you worship. Here are the five things. These are precious things that we want to magnify about God.

1. Magnify him as shepherd.

When we’re not afraid about money, we magnify God as our shepherd. “Fear not, little flock” (Luke 12:32). The word flock means we’ve got a shepherd, and we are sheep. And therefore, Psalm 23 kicks in: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want” (Psalm 23:1). That word is the old Elizabethan word for lack: “I shall not lack. I shall not be in want.” That is, if I have a shepherd like this, who loves to give me the kingdom, I will not lack for what I need. Therefore, if I believe that and thus exclude fear, I will magnify his shepherd-love.

2. Magnify him as Father.

If I do not fear concerning money, I show that I treasure God as my Father. “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32 NASB 1995). So not only are we sheep who have a shepherd; we are children who have a Father. He’s multiplying images for us here to get rid of fear. Don’t be afraid — you are sheep who have a shepherd. Don’t be afraid — you are children who have a Father.

“Don’t be afraid — you are sheep who have a shepherd. Don’t be afraid — you are children who have a Father.”

Now, what does that imply? Well, verse 30, two verses earlier, makes plain what it implies. “All these things [eat, drink, wear, money] the nations of the world eagerly seek; but your Father knows that you need these things.” Now, he didn’t say that to mock us. He said that because, knowing that we need these things, he’ll work to provide what we need in order to magnify his Fatherhood. But now be careful. Do not come to God with an agenda defining for him what you need. Come to God and learn from him what you need. The word need today in America is so inflated that it scarcely has any meaning in a universal context anymore.

So, if we are fearless about money, we magnify him as shepherd, we magnify him as Father, and that is worship.

3. Magnify him as King.

If we’re not afraid concerning money, we show that we treasure God as our King. “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32 NASB 1995). Who has right and authority to give us the kingdom? No peon disposes of the kingdom. The king disposes of the kingdom. And therefore, not only is he a shepherd loving us as sheep and our Father loving us as children; he is King ruling over us, providing for us, exerting sovereignty and power on our behalf as subjects against our enemies, including the lack of things we need. If we trust him as King and shepherd and Father, and thus overcome our fear of not having enough money, then we magnify him, and he is worshiped.

4. Magnify him as generous.

If we are fearless with regard to our money, we magnify him as free and generous. “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32 NASB 1995). Not sell you the kingdom, not rent you the kingdom, not lease you the kingdom for payments — mortgage payments, rent payments, lease payments. He will give you the kingdom. He loves to give you the kingdom, which means he’s generous. And therefore, we let his shepherd-like, fatherly, kingly generosity work on our fear, our anxieties.

Now I’m talking a battle here. We’re not talking about something that happened yesterday and doesn’t happen tomorrow. We’re talking a weekly thing, a paycheck-by-paycheck thing, or unemployment check by unemployment check. We’re talking about a battle. The way we battle is by preaching to ourselves what I’m preaching right now. That’s the way I do it. It’s not automatic for John Piper to be fearless about money, though I get paid plenty. It isn’t automatic for me. It isn’t automatic for you.

We are battling fear and anxiety every day, not to mention greed. And we do it by saying, “He’s shepherd to me. He’s Father to me. He’s King to me.” And he’s not — as shepherd, Father, and King — folding his arms, standing off in the corner, saying, “Maybe you’ll get the kingdom. I’ll watch your performances.” That’s not the way he does it. Give, give, give, free, free, free is what the Lord does.

5. Magnify him as happy.

And when we overcome our fear and live free of fear, we magnify our God as happy in his giving. “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has chosen gladly to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32 NASB 1995). Or another version says, “it is [his] good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (NKJV) — or another version, “it pleases him” (NIV). He is pleased to give you the kingdom. He wants to do this. He is not selfish. Simony is not his virtue (or vice). He is a generous God.

Trust Your Providing God

So the first point of this message is to trust him as shepherd. Trust him as Father. Trust him as King. Trust his generosity. And trust the fact that it’s lavish because he loves to do it. Preach these things to yourself, and attack fear and anxiety in your life with these truths — so that when you overcome fear about money, God gets the glory as these five glorious things shine out of your life.

And if anyone asks you, “I know that you’re in financial straits, and yet at work you seem to be caring about others and happy. How is that?” Then you say, “Can I share five things with you about my God?” And he is worshiped.

Years ago, my husband and I met a retired sociologist in Ontario who had studied groups of immigrants now in Canada. He told us, “In all my research, I have never seen an ethnic group that has thrived as much as the Dutch Canadians. In general, they have multigenerational nuclear families and success in their work. They are contributing to their communities, and they are content.” When I asked him how he explained their thriving, he said, “It’s from their Protestant work ethic; their dedication to God, family, and church; and the blessing of the Lord.”

What is the Protestant work ethic? Max Weber coined the term in his 1904 book The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. He stated that since the Reformation, Protestants have lived out their faith by diligently working in the vocation God has assigned to them. Weber believed Protestants worked efficiently and lived with discipline and frugality in order to give evidence of their salvation. Protestants themselves, however, would say they work to glorify, thank, and obey God.

But the so-called “Protestant work ethic” goes back further than 1904, or even John Calvin and the Reformation. It is really the biblical work ethic, and it goes back to creation.

Our Enduring Mandate

In paradise, Adam and Eve tended the garden of Eden. After the fall, sweat and pain entered the story. But even though some of our work is now burdensome, God gives blessings, joy, and fulfillment also. The creation mandate to be fruitful and multiply, to replenish and subdue the earth, and to exercise dominion over the earth still holds (Genesis 1:28).

Throughout most of human history, parents and children worked hard simply to survive, to have food on the table and a roof over their heads. It’s the same in much of the world today. But in the West, we have a more comfortable lifestyle; we have technology and machines that do many of our everyday tasks.

So, does this mean that we and our children can take it easy? No, the biblical work ethic still applies. God designed us to follow his pattern in working six days a week and resting one (Exodus 20:8–11). He still calls us to do whatever our hand finds to do with all our might (Ecclesiastes 9:10). He still says if we are able-bodied but don’t work, we shouldn’t eat (2 Thessalonians 3:10).

Teaching Our Children to Work

How do we as parents instill this biblical work ethic in our children? What might diligence look like in their lives? Let’s approach this task by answering the why, when, how, and what.

Why

First, why do we teach our children to work diligently? Because they too will be called to fulfill the creation mandate, and we are assigned to train them. We have approximately eighteen years to prepare them for adult life. It’s a gradual process that requires patience, repetition, wisdom, and prayer. Our goal is to equip them to provide for themselves and their family, and to contribute to the well-being of their community by loving and serving their neighbors, all to God’s glory. Then they will experience the by-product of a peaceful conscience and a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

When

Second, when do we start? Start very young with a few little tasks. Bless them such that they never remember a time that they did not work. Help them realize a big part of life is work, and that work is good. Fan the sense of excitement in very small children when they do what mommy and daddy do. So, involve them in the everyday tasks of running the household — running to get a diaper for mommy to change baby, picking up trash, loading and unloading the dishwasher. Buy toys that relate to work, like a toy lawn mower or kitchen. Ride that wave of excitement as it lasts, and then continue to require the work even when it’s not as fun.

That’s when they learn another lesson — perseverance. Remember, if they are able to toss their toys about like a tornado, then they are able to gather them into a bucket. Play is a huge part of childhood, and it’s valuable for learning about the world all around them, but between birth and adulthood, they learn to gradually decrease play-time and increase work-time. Sitting in front of a screen numbs them and stunts their mental growth, whereas creative play and work develop their minds.

How

Third, how do we accomplish this task? It’s not easy. Some children are naturally diligent, but most are inclined to resist at times. You can’t do it alone. Rely on God — find his wisdom in the Scriptures, especially in Proverbs, and pray for discernment and love. Pray for his guidance as you plan with your spouse. Decide what work is reasonable to expect from each child according to his or her age and ability. Set an example of diligence yourselves. Have the expectation firmly planted in your mind, “Our children will work,” and let your attitude and words convey this.

“Have the expectation firmly planted in your mind, ‘Our children will work.’”

Also have a plan in place to deal with resistance when it happens. Implement natural consequences, such as, “If you don’t put your dirty clothes in the hamper, they won’t get washed.” Then carry through with the warning. Stay calm, firm, and positive. Discipline your children when they are young so that they learn self-discipline as they grow up. Persevere; you are in this for the long haul. Remember, hard-working children, like Rome, are not built in a day.

What

Finally, what are some practical ways to instill a biblical work ethic in our children? The word together comes to mind. We are a family; we live, eat, work, play, and worship together. We serve each other. Working together is great “together time.” We have our little ones alongside us when we do dishes, take care of the yard, and clean the house. We teach them as we go.

At first it takes more time, because they are learning. Don’t expect perfection, but do expect effort and gradual improvement. If and when our children show the smallest shadow of defiance or disobedience, deal with it immediately. This is foundational for teaching children to work. And it’s foundational for life itself.

“We are a family; we live, eat, work, play, and worship together. Working together is great ‘together time.’”

Before long, the kids are contributing to the well-being of the family. When they are little, praise them and celebrate success, so they develop a positive attitude to work. As they grow older, continue to show age-appropriate affirmation and appreciation.

In Due Season

From my years of teaching and mothering, there are a handful of lessons and principles I would want to make sure our children learn. Many of these may take years to instill in them!

Teach them values as you teach them to work, such as honesty, purity, and humility (to name a few).
They need to take responsibility for their space and their stuff; tidiness and organization make life a lot less stressful.
Nurture perseverance so that they can approach a task involving multiple steps confidently, not getting overwhelmed.
Provide them with boring and repetitive tasks, because that’s just part of life.
Set goals. Picture the end product — a clean room, a repaired toaster, or a delicious meal.
Give them a variety of experiences in different subjects — mechanics, science, gardening, art — so they can learn life skills and find their talents. Teach them to love learning.
Instill confidence to overcome obstacles. Teach them that failure can be used for good when they learn from their mistakes. Encourage them by saying, “You can do this!” Celebrate successes.
Nurture excitement to start a new project or build something. Then make sure they finish.
Pay them for some of their work (except for the work expected of family). Then teach them how to tithe, save, and spend their money, so they understand, “No effort equals no pay. Extra effort equals extra pay.”
Provide the joy of service — of giving to others with no expectation of a reward, of helping someone in need.

As a final reminder, the work of salvation is one type of work that neither parents nor children can do. But the good news of the gospel is that Jesus Christ died for sinners like us, so that we can be saved. Pray for the Holy Spirit to work faith and repentance in all of our lives, either for the first time or afresh. Then we can truly enjoy our work. We will see it as the gift of God. We get great joy from glorifying him. And in due season, we and our children can enjoy the fruit of our labors and rest with peace in our hearts.