If you look deep inside yourself, you may notice, to your dismay, the presence of a singularly unattractive creature. You’ll need to look carefully, because he doesn’t move quickly (or sometimes at all). He camouflages under bed covers. He prefers the mumble over the clear word. His eyelids droop half open; his mouth holds back a dribble of drool. His name is sluggard.

We may prefer to keep the sluggard at a distance, to view this lazy creature only through binoculars or zoo glass. But somehow, he finds a native habitat in every soul, even the most hardworking. When the alarm buzzes, he paws the snooze. When a work project calls for relentless focus, he quietly opens a new browser tab. When some unwelcome duty faces us, one we’ve already put off too long, he nevertheless counsels, “Tomorrow.”

We may hesitate to study the sluggard, preferring to spare ourselves such an unseemly sight. But sometimes, our lazy self dies only when we take a long and careful look at him. “I passed by the field of a sluggard, by the vineyard of a man lacking sense,” the wise man tells us. “Then I saw and considered it; I looked and received instruction” (Proverbs 24:30, 32).

As we listen to the sluggard’s mutterings and consider the outcome of his laziness, we learn, by contrast, about a life of labor under the fear of the Lord. So, what instruction might the wise receive as they consider their inner sluggard?

1. ‘A little’ adds up.

A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest . . . (Proverbs 24:33)

The candy wrappers strewn around the sluggard’s bed, nearly ankle high now, all have one thing in common: in the moment, they were each “a little.” A little snack, a little break, a little reward, a little treat. He squandered his parents’ allowance in much the same way. Just one more in-app purchase. Just a little more takeout.

The wise hear and receive instruction. “A little,” it turns out, is anything but — at least when joined to a thousand other littles. Many little raindrops make a lake. Many little chops fell a tree. And therefore, how we handle little — little temptations, little decisions, little opportunities for self-denial — matters a lot.

Solomon points us to one of God’s littlest creatures as evidence. “Go to the ant, O sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise” (Proverbs 6:6). Yes, ants are tiny, this one carrying a speck of dirt, that one a bit of leaf, a third a crumb of bread. An ant cannot accomplish much quickly, but over time, by little and little, an anthill rises from the dirt; a network of underground tunnels takes shape; a colony is warm and fed.

Too often, in fleeing from my inner sluggard, I have tripped from trying to run too fast. Reckoning with how destructive the sluggard’s littles can be, I have thought, “Much! I must do much!” I will finish ten projects this week — no, twenty! I will work out Monday through Friday without exception! I will lead thirty-minute family devotions every night!

Sometimes, indeed, the path from the sluggard’s home rises steep and takes a running start. But most of the time, we are wiser to walk, exchanging little follies for little wisdoms, developing modest, ant-like resolutions and then building upon them. Along the way, we refuse this little compromise for that little obedience; we shun this little laziness for that little labor. We lay each little difficulty before our Father in heaven. And little by little, we receive from him the strength to work more diligently.

2. Neglect grows weeds.

I passed by the field of a sluggard . . . and behold, it was all overgrown with thorns. (Proverbs 24:30–31)

As he rolls over on his bed, or goes for thirds at lunch, the sluggard hardly imagines he is doing any harm. What damage can a little more snoozing do? What’s the problem with a few more mouthfuls? But while he sleeps and snacks and sings a little tune, thorns quietly take over his yard. The sluggard didn’t plant the thorns himself, of course — but by not working, he might as well have. If we do not furrow and plow, and sow good seed, by default we prepare the ground for other purposes. Neglect grows weeds.

Imagine, then, that along comes one of those little moments: Keep working on homework, or watch last night’s highlights? Read the Bible and pray, or enjoy nine more minutes of pillowed bliss? Focus hard for the next hour and finish the project, or check email (again)? We may think such little indulgences are merely neutral, harmless parentheses in the midst of our labors.

“The home of the lazy man and the destroyer end up looking the same. The only difference is speed.”

But whenever we allow the sluggard to grasp our hand, we not only pause from good work, but we produce weeds. Perhaps, for the moment, the weeds appear only in our own soul, as we tutor ourselves in the school of sloth. Or perhaps the weeds grow up for all to see — in half-done work and broken commitments, silly excuses and abandoned responsibilities. Either way, as another proverb puts it, “Whoever is slack in his work is a brother to him who destroys” (Proverbs 18:9). The home of the lazy man and the destroyer end up looking the same. The only difference is speed.

The sluggard, then, often looks innocent. Surely we could think of more harmful creatures than this smiling sloth, drooped upon his branch. But the wise see through him. “If I don’t disciple my children today, I simply welcome the world to do so.” “If I don’t initiate this hard conversation, I jeopardize this relationship.” “If I don’t finish this work while I have the chance, I will lay the burden on another’s shoulders.”

We are not doing nothing when we play the sluggard. We are growing weeds, toppling walls, chipping foundations, and cultivating thorns, even if ever so slowly.

3. Our desires often deceive us.

The desire of the sluggard kills him. (Proverbs 21:25)

The sluggard’s desires feel like his closest friends, his wisest aids. Their counsels sound so pleasing: “No, don’t mow the lawn now. Looks like rain anyway.” “No, don’t speak of Jesus today, not in this conversation. The time will come (maybe).” “Let your wife change the baby’s diaper. You’re recuperating.” Such wonderful suggestions. Such seductive assassins.

Wisdom puts the matter bluntly: “The desire of the sluggard kills him” (Proverbs 21:25). Kills offers a bit of hyperbole, perhaps, but only a bit. In that culture and time, survival depended on labor, on calloused hands and plowed fields and harvested crops and long days. The world was once a harsher place for sluggards.

Laziness is not so lethal today, at least not in many places. But the wise know that even if “the desire of the sluggard” does not take his life, it takes almost everything else. It takes the joy of a good day’s sweat. It takes the peace of relationships carefully kept. It takes the reward of talents well stewarded. The sluggard may enjoy an easier existence — for a few days, or a few minutes. But then every part of life becomes more painful.

So, when sluggardly desires approach, in all their seeming loveliness, the wise anchor their desires somewhere sturdier than the short-term pleasures of sleep, food, or entertainment. They listen instead to the Lord Jesus; they consider the counsels of his Spirit and his promises of strength. Then, with a hearty, “Get behind me, sluggard!” they get up and do their work.

4. Hard work flows from the heart.

The sluggard is wiser in his own eyes than seven men who can answer sensibly. (Proverbs 26:16)

Till now, our weapons against the sluggard have been fashioned mainly from common sense —and understandably so, given that the sluggard is “a man lacking sense” (Proverbs 24:30). But now we come to the heart of the matter, which is the matter of the heart.

When Proverbs tells us that the sluggard is “[wise] in his own eyes,” it places godly labor within the realm of wisdom, a realm where God reigns as Lord. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is insight” (Proverbs 9:10). Why does the sluggard sleep in and arrive late? Why is he dominated by distraction and procrastination? Ultimately, because he does not have the wisdom that flows from the fear of the Lord.

“Laziness reveals a lack of allegiance; sluggishness shows not just a body but a heart asleep.”

God does not occupy a significant place in the sluggard’s frame of reference — not nearly so significant a place as the cupboard and the couch. The wise, by contrast, remember that “a man’s ways are before the eyes of the Lord” (Proverbs 5:21), and they love to have it so. God fills their outlook as blue fills a cloudless sky; he is their beginning and their end, the alpha of their mornings and the omega of their evenings, the one in whom they live and move and labor. He is the God who, in Christ, sanctified our labors in human flesh and now fills us with his hardworking Spirit.

So, when the wise feel themselves drifting toward the sluggard, they know that hard work is far more than a matter of common sense and self-control. Laziness reveals a lack of allegiance; sluggishness shows not just a body but a heart asleep. And therefore, they take up the dagger that cuts a deeper wound in the sluggard’s heart: “Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him” (Colossians 3:17).

In Christ, whatever we do holds spiritual significance, from secret prayer to rising at our alarm, from fellowship to doubling down on our work. We live and labor before the eyes of our good Lord Jesus. His kingdom calls us. His Spirit fills us. His promises empower us. And his strength compels us to daily lay the sluggard to rest.

The early months and years of marriage are a time of significant change. Marriage involves at least one or both people moving to join as husband and wife under one roof. A young wife changes her name to show she now belongs to her husband as the two form a new family. Both the new husband and new wife are stepping into new callings they have never had before! With all the change and transition, it shouldn’t surprise us when conflicts, disagreements, or misunderstandings arise.

If you’re a young woman preparing for marriage, you need not fret that marital conflict will spoil the first years, nor should you assume that you and your husband won’t deal with any bumps or tense times. Rather, you can prepare to be the kind of wife who handles conflicts with maturity, charity, and inner peace. Which is to say, you can prepare to be a Christian wife.

He’s Not You

The profound mystery of marriage is that two become one — a man and a woman, distinct and different, joined together in a one-flesh union. Yet in that bodily joining, the two minds do not meld into one. You will think about things much the way you’ve always thought about them; so will your new husband.

Over lots of time and with lots of effort, you will begin to think together — to think alongside your husband, to let him know how your thoughts are developing, and also to understand and appreciate that he will always think differently than you do, no matter how well you both may communicate. This is one grand blessing of marriage: he’s not you!

Quick to Hear, Slow to Speak

Because of these natural and good differences of frame and mindset, a new wife can prepare for moments of disagreement by cultivating patience when her husband’s opinion or decision doesn’t make immediate sense to her. Remember, he’s not you. He may have many good reasons for how he thinks, talks, acts, and leads. Perhaps he sees an angle you don’t see; perhaps he has a priority you haven’t considered.

James says, “Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God” (James 1:19–20). If I could give you one very important piece of premarital advice, it would be this: slow down and listen before you answer or react.

I would guess that the sin for which I’ve most regularly needed to ask forgiveness in marriage is making a snap judgment over some innocuous (or even good) way that my husband was thinking or leading. I would mistake and challenge his choice or initiative because I thought my way of thinking was right and normal, and his way was abnormal and therefore wrong. I was routinely caught off guard by just how different we are.

Now, after 21 years of God’s helping me to slow down and listen, I can say that I am more thankful than ever that my husband’s frame and mindset are different from mine. It is a gift from God to be married to a godly man, who is not me. Don’t try to make your husband be like you or like your closest girlfriends. Praise God for the differences, and practice patience as you grow in appreciation for him.

Whispers Singe Marriage

Proverbs 26:20 says, “For lack of wood the fire goes out, and where there is no whisperer, quarreling ceases.” This bit of God-breathed wisdom pictures quarrels as a fire. And what is the fuel for the quarrel-fire? A whisperer — that is, one who shares information or secrets or private matters with someone who shouldn’t know them.

A young wife must realize, from the get-go, that her marriage is a sacred trust. The Golden Rule can go a long way in helping us grasp what we ought, and ought not, to share with others: Would I want my husband to share [blank] about me? As Proverbs 31:11–12 tells us, a husband’s heart trusts his godly wife. As he confides in her, she does not harm him but does him good all his days.

In the early years of our marriage, I realized that some women wanted to turn conversations into complaining about their husbands. In the process, they almost relished the misery of others alongside their own. Others simply grasped to know more than they ought to know about the intimate details of another’s married life.

What might not be obvious to you yet is that joining in this sort of indiscrete “whispering” can cause conflict in your marriage. When you complain about your husband to friends or overshare the intimate details of your life together, you can expect that your regard for and treatment of your husband will begin to lack honor and respect. And don’t be surprised when the things you “whispered” about him make their way to his ears.

Decide now not to engage in that sort of talk. Be the kind of wife whom your husband can trust in every way. If there is some private matter with which you and your husband need outside help, go to a trusted pastor or godly couple for guidance. But don’t denigrate the sacred bond of trust that you have with your husband through indiscretion or gossip.

Disagreeing with Submission

Even when we avoid hasty speech and practice discretion, and even when our husband is loving us as Christ loved the church, legitimate disagreements will still, at times, arise. When they do, the overarching posture of the wife will often determine whether her input is a welcome counterpoint for consideration or a difficult hurdle to get past.

When a trustworthy wife pursues godliness, seeks good for her husband, and submits to him, a Christian husband will not balk or be threatened by her sincere (and respectfully offered) disagreement. You may even be surprised at how eager he is to gather your input and how seriously he takes it, even though he isn’t bound by it (nor would you want him to be!). You want him to be a man who fears God and acts as one who will give an account for the way he led his wife and family.

When a young wife looks to “the holy women who hoped in God,” such as Sarah — who submitted to Abraham, even “calling him lord” — she can have inner peace through marital disagreements (1 Peter 3:5–6). Why? Because, as Peter tells us, her hope is in God, not in her desired outcome or in her husband’s ability to make the perfect decision. When a young wife’s hope is in God, she can trust his work in the heart of her husband and in herself.

Audio Transcript

Christ is our Sabbath rest. We celebrate this beautiful truth every Lord’s Day, every Sunday. But what about on a day like today, on Monday? Is Christ my Sabbath rest today, at work? That’s Pam’s question for you, Pastor John, a good one. “Pastor John, hello,” she writes. “Christ is our Sabbath rest. A hearty amen to that wonderful truth — to the degree that I understand it, and I don’t think I fully understand it quite yet! This seems to mean a lot more than Christ has set apart one day of rest for us, the Lord’s Day, Sunday. At the very end of APJ 658, you called Christ our ‘eternal rest,’ and that means, you said, ‘pervading all our work . . . we are restful in Christ.’ Can you explain this to me? How is Christ our Sabbath rest even while we are working?”

If we had time, we would dig into Hebrews 3 and 4, because there, that amazing author presents an argument for the present rest of the people of God and the future eternal rest for the people of God. He urges us in Hebrews 3:19 and 4:1 to “fear lest any of you should seem to have failed to reach it [the rest]” — meaning, “fear unbelief,” because belief is the only way into the rest of Jesus Christ, both now and in the future.

“The burden and the yoke of the lordship of Jesus is easy and light.”

But we don’t have time to do that — as much as I’d love to — and I want to go straight to Pam’s main question: “How do we experience the Sabbath rest of Christ at work?” In other words, what meaning does it have, while we’re expending great energy, to speak of enjoying the restfulness of Christ in that very moment of wearying exertion?

Christ’s Easy Yoke

The text that I have in mind now is not Hebrews, but Matthew 11:28–30, where Jesus says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” The burden and the yoke of the lordship of Jesus is easy and light.

In the midst of our labor — our strenuous efforts to do our very best in our vocation — the submission at that moment to the demands of Jesus is called a restful experience. “You will find rest for your souls” precisely in the midst of your exertions to do your job with excellence for his glory. What is that experience like? I think that’s what Pam’s really asking. What is it like working as hard as you can and, in the very doing of it, experiencing Christ as our soul’s rest? Not just after it, not just before it, but in it — in the very exertion of our life’s work? Here are four ways that we can experience the soul rest of Christ as we are doing our work.

1. Justified by God

First, we work with the sweet assurance that we stand already justified before God — not on the basis of our work, but on the basis of faith alone in Christ’s work — even as we work. How sweet are these words: “Now to the one who works [and he has in mind working for justification, working to get right with God], his wages are not counted as a gift but as his due. And to the one who does not work [for justification, to get right with God] but believes in him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is counted as righteousness” (Romans 4:4–5).

If we don’t get this right, nothing will be right. Our souls enjoy the glorious, precious, sweet restfulness of knowing that we are right with God through faith alone and that the work we are doing — sweat on our face, weariness in our bones, exhaustion in our minds — is not done to get right with God. We are delivered from the horrible torment of soul that thinks, “I must work. I must do a good job so that I can get right with God, or so that I can get a right standing before God.” That kind of restlessness, anxiety, and striving is over. The verdict has been rendered by the King of heaven: “Not guilty, my son.” “Not guilty, my daughter.” So, go about your work with a deep restfulness of soul.

2. Loved by God

In Christ, we work hard with the thrilling energy that we are loved by God very personally and forever. Ephesians 2:4 is an amazing verse. Paul says that God’s “great love” — I think it’s the only place in his letters where he uses that very phrase — “made us alive together with Christ” (Ephesians 2:4–5). That means we were dead, and he made us alive because of love before we did anything to get that love. We do not work with the restless, nervous anxiety of trying to win the affections of a lover that we’re not sure of. If we’re alive in Christ, it was great love that put us there already.

Picture this analogy to feel what it means to work out of the thrilling energy of being loved. Suppose I have been dating Noël — who’s now been my wife for 54 years, but this was true once upon a time — for just several weeks, and I feel very strong affections welling up in me. I’m thinking, “This is the woman I want to marry,” but I’m not sure what her affections are yet. Then the day comes when she needs some heavy lifting done for her as she moves — a dozen boxes or so, books, furniture — from one apartment to another.

I go to her apartment to help her move, and as I start to go down the stairs to where she has everything packed up, she puts her hand on my arm, and I turn to look at her, and she says right into my eyes for the first time, “I love you, Johnny.” What happens to my exhausting work that afternoon? Oh my goodness, there flows into it a thrilling energy of being loved! There is in the exhaustion of the heavy boxes a restfulness of soul, of not wondering anymore, “Am I loved?” I am loved. I am loved!

Of course, the analogy breaks down a little bit because God doesn’t need any help with lifting heavy boxes. I get that, but the principle is the same. He gives me the privilege of serving his purposes in the world, and he takes away all of its burdensomeness by saying, “I love you. I’ve got you. I love you! I choose to love you.”

3. Helped by God

The analogy of Noël’s love, however, is not nearly good enough to capture the point. God’s love doesn’t stand by, like Noël stood by, and watch us lift the boxes of life — watch us do our job at work. He doesn’t stand by and watch, counting on us to muster the energy because we’re loved. His love commits him to help us. He steps into our lives by his Spirit within us and becomes the kind of energy that turns our work into something far greater than mere human achievement, even in response to love. It becomes a kind of God-wrought miracle that gets him praise and touches other people in ways we can’t begin to explain when we’re operating in the strength of God.

“There is a restfulness in work because God is an inexhaustible helper in our work.”

I say this because in 1 Peter 4:11, Peter says, “[Let] whoever serves [you could say works], [serve or work] by the strength that God supplies — in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.” In other words, there is a restfulness in work because God is an inexhaustible helper in our work, so that our energy is really — in a profound sense — his energy supplied to us.

4. Peace in Christ

Therefore, the obstacles that always meet us in our work and that formerly robbed us of peace and restfulness, and filled us with anxiety don’t have that effect anymore, because now we know that “nothing is too hard for [the Lord]” (Jeremiah 32:17). Nothing. He works everything together for our good (Romans 8:28).

For at least those four reasons, we can speak of Christ being our rest — rest for our souls — even in the very exertion of our daily work.

During my lifetime, I probably have read every major classic Reformed book on the Christian ministry. I am grateful for the wealth of resources that ministers and ministerial students have for their instruction and growth today.

We are blessed to have William Perkins’s The Art of Prophesying (Preaching) and The Calling of the Ministry, Richard Baxter’s The Reformed Pastor, Gardiner Spring’s The Power of the Pulpit, John Brown’s edited volume The Christian Pastor’s Manual, Charles Spurgeon’s Lectures to My Students, Thomas Murphy’s Pastoral Theology: The Pastor in the Various Duties of His Office, and D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones’s Preaching and Preachers. We also have the model and counsel of godly ministers of past ages, such as that of Samuel Miller in James Garretson’s An Able and Faithful Ministry. To this might be added many helpful books by or about more contemporary pastors of God’s flock.

If, however, I had to choose only one book on pastoral theology to have in my library, I would pick The Christian Ministry by Charles Bridges (1794–1869). It is an amazing book in its thorough coverage of all the practical aspects of ministry, and that in a most biblical, experiential, and searching manner. It was written not as theory, but as the hard-won personal experience of Bridges, who was a diligent and gifted pastor.

Birth of a Pastoral Classic

Bridges was an evangelical minister in the Church of England, serving for more than four and a half decades as vicar (pastor of a parish church) at Old Newton near Stowmarket, Weymouth, and Hinton Martell, Dorset. What Spurgeon said of Bridges’s exposition of Psalm 119 can equally be applied to his book on Christian ministry: it is “worth its weight in gold,” especially “for its surpassing grace and unction” (Commenting and Commentaries, 149). Bridges also wrote expositions of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes that continue to be read and valued today.

“If I had to choose only one book on pastoral theology to have in my library, I would pick ‘The Christian Ministry.’”

The origin of The Christian Ministry lies in a letter that Bridges wrote to a friend about reasons why Christian ministers lack spiritual power. This letter stirred up interest, and Bridges’s friends asked him to write a larger treatment of the whole work of the ministry. Thus, in 1830 the book was born. The Christian Ministry was well received at the time, going through eight editions by 1854. As it approaches its two hundredth birthday, the book continues to be treasured as a standard text for pastors and preachers. Though its language is occasionally a tad quaint, the principles it presents are timeless.

For Men Called to Ministry

In the first part of the book, Bridges wastes no time but gets right into the trials and difficulties of ministry as well as its encouragements. He offers counsel on good habits for ministry — habits best developed before entering this sacred vocation. For example, while he commends the use of biblical commentaries, he also urges the preacher and teacher to give priority to studying the Holy Scriptures himself, lest the bias of the commentator control how he reads the word rather than the truth of the word forming his convictions (55–57).

In this part, he also addresses the qualifications for ministry, including godly character, a clear understanding of sound doctrine, and spiritual gifts to teach and exhort. This is a great section for men who sense that they may be called to the ministry and are struggling with how to respond.

THE OBSTACLES TO MINISTRY

The second part of the book presents fundamental reasons why the ministry is not successful. Bridges stresses our dependence on the Holy Spirit, the Lord and Life-giver. Without the divine influence, no one can come to Christ (John 6:44, 65). He also notes the opposition of fallen human nature, the power of Satan’s devices, and the challenges of particular communities, as well as sometimes the lack of a personal, internal call to ministry.

Part three talks about the reasons why we can lack power in the ministry due to our personal character. This section is deeply convicting, yet also a treasure trove for the minister’s repentance and spiritual growth. Bridges covers problems such as our lack of self-denial, fear of man, conformity to the world, and spiritual pride. He recalls the lament of Henry Martyn: “too much time to public ministrations, and too little to private communion with God” (150). It would be good for ministers to read this part of the book once a year for the sake of self-examination.

THE WORK OF PREACHING

The fourth part is really the meat of the book, titled, “The Public Work of the Christian Ministry” — that is, the work of preaching. Bridges is very enlightening on how to preach both law and gospel, and the connection between the two. The 45-page section on doctrinal, applicatory, and discriminatory preaching, called “The Scriptural Preaching of the Gospel,” to me is the highlight of the book.

Bridges says, “Christian experience is the influence of doctrinal truth upon the affections” (259), and sermons enriched by the experiential element “flow directly to the heart with a warmth and impressiveness, like the enlivening glow of the sun, as contrasted to the cold clearness of moonlight” (261). Bridges agrees with John Newton’s assertion that many preachers “seem to lay too much stress upon a systematical scheme of sentiments, and too little upon that life and power, that vital, experimental, and practical influence, which forms the character, and regulates the conduct, of an established Christian” (259).

In this fourth part, Bridges also argues persuasively for a method of “perpetual application” in preaching, applying each exegetical point made with “suitable exhortation, warming, or encouragement” (275). His subsequent four pages (277–80) on discriminatory preaching are packed full of wisdom, stressing that there are three lines of demarcation in preaching: (1) “between the church and the world,” (2) “between the professing church and the true church,” and (3) between “the different individualities of profession within the church” — such as different degrees of faith, strength or weakness, and so on.

“I cannot recommend ‘The Christian Ministry’ by Charles Bridges highly enough. Read, pray, and grow.”

Bridges then goes on to discuss topical and expository preaching, providing invaluable advice for each, as well as extemporaneous and written sermons. Both sections are page-turners. In the last section of the fourth part, Bridges addresses seven qualities manifest in scriptural preaching and expounds each of them as only a mature preacher could do: boldness, wisdom, plainness, fervency, diligence, singleness, and love. I know of nothing in any other book on this topic that so succinctly and beautifully unpacks the preaching of the word as Bridges does in under 150 pages.

THE CARE OF SHEEP

The last section of the book, concerning the pastoral work of Christian ministry, is priceless. Bridges highly commends the shepherd giving individual attention to the sheep. He notes the great advantage of personal work in cases where even solid preaching does not impact individuals, for “the word is brought to them in small parcels, and with the most direct applications” (350). Bridges’s pastoral treatment of different cases in his flock, such as the self-righteous, the false professor, the young Christian, the backslider, those lacking assurance and those who have it, as well as how to distinguish natural and spiritual convictions, is simply superlative.

Read, Pray, Grow

No minister of the gospel should pass by this book. He will be enlightened and helped in his personal life and his public ministry immensely. Take ownership of this book as you read it. Read it slowly. Mark it up. Put your notes in the margin. Examine yourself as you read it. As the Spirit illuminates and convicts you, pause your reading to seek the Lord in prayer. The Christian Ministry would also be a great book for ministers to study and discuss together, a portion at a time.

I cannot recommend The Christian Ministry by Charles Bridges highly enough. Read, pray, and grow.

Jesus has a popular reputation with many as a gentle, lowly teacher and healer who calls the sick, the shamed, and the sinners to come to him and receive his grace and kindness. And for good reason: Jesus is the most fundamentally kind and gracious person you’ll ever encounter.

But if you come to him only expecting to experience the comforting side of his grace and kindness, you may be in for a shock. Because Jesus is also the most discerning and honest person you’ll ever encounter. And by “honest” I mean that he’s often more honest than you want him to be. He can be ruthlessly honest — to the point that he can sometimes seem cruel, not kind.

Jesus has an unnerving ability to slice through all of your misconceptions, delusions, and self-deceit with a simple phrase that exposes the secret thoughts and intentions of your heart — ones you hardly knew you had. He wields his discernment with the innocence of a dove and the wisdom of a serpent, which can make him unpredictable. Sometimes he can be severe when you expect him to be gracious, and gracious when you expect him to be severe. You often don’t see his exposing statements coming.

So, when you come to Jesus, certainly expect to receive his grace and kindness. But don’t expect them to always feel comforting. Because sometimes his kindness is severe and feels anything but comforting.

Come for Rest or Death?

In the Gospel accounts, Jesus invites people to come to him a number of times. But sometimes, these invitations sound radically different. Let’s examine two of them.

We’re all familiar with the first one, because it’s one of the most well-known, beloved, comforting statements Jesus ever uttered:

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:28–30)

This invitation explicitly reveals the gentle and lowly Jesus we, for good reason, find so attractive. It aligns with the Jesus of much popular imagination, who bids weary souls to come to him to receive restful, reviving grace.

But the second invitation reveals a different dimension of Jesus’s grace, and it has a very different effect on his hearers:

If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. (Luke 14:26–27)

This invitation doesn’t align so well with Jesus’s comforting reputation. In fact, it sounds more like a dis-invitation. Instead of comforting, we find it disturbing.

If this invitation is disturbing to us who have heard it many times, imagine how offensive and disorienting it would have sounded to his original Jewish audience who heard it from his lips — most of whom thought they really wanted to follow him. They had been taught since childhood to honor their father and mother if they wanted God to bless them with long lives (Exodus 20:12). Now Jesus commanded them to hate their parents (as well as their siblings and children) if they wanted to follow him. And far from promising them a long, blessed earthly life, Jesus required them to embrace a death sentence if they wanted to be his disciples — the worst death sentence imaginable, in fact: Roman crucifixion.

This second invitation is as relevant to us disciples today as the first. So, where is the kindness of Jesus in this severe invitation?

What Jesus Came to Reveal

We could consider many other disorienting words of Jesus. Like when he told us not only to hate those who love us (as in Luke 14:26–27), but also to love those who hate us (Matthew 5:43–45). Or when he told a would-be disciple to sacrifice the needs of his ailing father (Luke 9:59–60). Or when he told another would-be disciple to abruptly leave all those he most dearly loved — and to endure the misunderstanding, hurt, and scorn they would feel for him (Luke 9:61–62).

In order to perceive Jesus’s kindness in his severe, discomforting, disturbing invitations, we need to keep in mind what he is doing through his words and works:

First, Jesus is revealing what God is like in his full triune nature.
Second, Jesus is revealing what we are like in our full fallen nature.

I think it’s accurate to say that Jesus was doing both kinds of revealing in everything he said and did, though some of his words and works reveal more of one than the other. But both revelations are gracious and kind, and both are necessary for his gospel to make sense to us.

What God Is Like

In the teaching and deeds of Jesus that have rightly earned him the reputation as loving, gentle, and forgiving — typified in his beautiful, comforting invitation to the weary and heavy laden (Matthew 11:28–30) — he is revealing God’s fundamental nature: “God is love” (1 John 4:16). The primary reason Jesus came was to reveal this love:

God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. (John 3:16–17)

Jesus came to announce the good news that God — because of the fathomless, merciful love pouring out from the core of his triune being — is offering to every one of his enemies full forgiveness and reconciliation. And Jesus came to accomplish all that was required to make that forgiveness and reconciliation possible by receiving, through his own death in our places, “the wages of sin” we’ve accrued (Romans 6:23). That is what God is like: willing to so love his enemies that he’ll die in our place to make us his children (1 John 3:1).

“When Jesus spoke severely, he did so, ultimately, for kind, gracious, servant-hearted reasons.”

This, above all else, sets Jesus apart from abusive, narcissistic leaders who might use both kind and harsh words to manipulate and deceive people for their own benefit. For he did not come “to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:28). When he spoke severely, he did so, ultimately, for kind, gracious, servant-hearted reasons — one of which was to help us see more clearly our own sinful thoughts, intentions, and idolatrous loves.

What We Are Like

When Jesus disturbs and disorients us, when he offends us and makes us cringe, it’s helpful if we read his words through the lens of John 3:19:

This is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.

Jesus didn’t come only to reveal God’s love to us; he was also “appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel . . . so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed” (Luke 2:34–35). He came to reveal our hearts to us.

This is often what’s taking place when Jesus issues his offensive invitations and responses. This is why we hear him make bewildering, even repulsive claims, like he did after he fed the five thousand and then said, “Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life” (John 6:54). This provoked many to respond, “This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?” (John 6:60). Jesus wields an otherworldly discernment and wisdom as he calls out his sheep (enemies who will receive his gospel offer of forgiveness and reconciliation) in the midst of wolves (enemies who won’t). The Lord, “who know[s] the hearts of all” (Acts 1:24), was revealing those hearts.

And through his sometimes cruel-sounding words, Jesus is still revealing our hearts, what we really, truly treasure. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21).

Behold His Severe Kindness

In Romans 11:22, Paul, speaking of God’s mercy and his judgment, writes, “Behold then the kindness and severity of God” (NASB). But in speaking of Jesus’s hard words, we can say, “Behold the severe kindness of God.” Because if Jesus doesn’t reveal to us the deceitfulness of our sin, we may continue to be ensnared by it and never “obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God” (Romans 8:21).

So, when Jesus, on one hand, extends to us his comforting invitation to come to him and find rest for our souls (Matthew 11:29) and then, on the other hand, issues to us his discomforting warning that unless we renounce all that we have we cannot be his disciples (Luke 14:33), he is not speaking out of both sides of his mouth. He is speaking out of his one gracious and kind heart by revealing both God’s incomparable love for us and whether or not we love God. The former is intended to comfort us; the latter is intended to test us.

But to all who receive him — who hear his offensive words and ultimately say, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” — Jesus gives “the right to become children of God” (John 1:12; 6:68). And these children discover that Zion’s great “stone of stumbling [and] rock of offense” (Romans 9:33) was, in every word and work, always pursuing them with goodness and mercy so they might dwell in his house forever (Psalm 23:6).

And these will then fully know what Jesus means when he says, “Blessed is the one who is not offended by me” (Matthew 11:6).

I know nothing greater in human language than the eighth chapter of Paul’s letter to the Romans. It is the towering chapter of the towering book of the towering apostle. The God of Romans 8, the Christ and cross of Romans 8, the salvation of Romans 8, the love of Romans 8, and the hope of Romans 8 are unsurpassed in greatness and worth in all the world. Even the logic of Romans 8 is more precious than life.

There is a connection between the beauties of the salvation and logic of Romans 8 and my relationship with Daniel Fuller. Fifty-five years later, I can still feel the spell that I came under in the fall of 1968 in Daniel Fuller’s hermeneutics class.

Most of my fellow students did not fall under this spell. When he announced a special elective to be held at his home, only six of us signed up. Dr. Fuller was not what you’d call “spellbinding.” Sometimes, in an almost painful sense, he was bumbling. There were students who would have said just what Paul’s adversaries at Corinth said: “His letters are weighty and strong, but his bodily presence is weak, and his speech of no account” (2 Corinthians 10:10).

But there were some who felt the spell that was cast by this weak, bumbling, incomparable teacher. I recall one day in a seminar on Galatians when he walked into the room with his arms full of books and papers. He looked frazzled. He was no doubt overworked. He was the academic dean in those days, as well as professor of hermeneutics. He put the papers down and stood between two overhead projectors, one for arcing and one for diagramming, and said, “Somebody ask me a question so that we can get started.”

Some students rolled their eyes at that. Me? It was like a catapult into academic heaven. I think I had been waiting all my life for someone who would show me that asking questions is the key to understanding — and someone who had enough humility that he would make himself vulnerable to students twenty years younger than he.

I recall the beginning of a class with Leon Morris, visiting professor from Australia, in which I raised my hand with a question, and he awkwardly paused, turned red in the face, and communicated by his terse answer that questions were not welcome during his lecture. I dropped the class. I had come under another spell. What was it, and what did it have to do with Romans 8?

From Pieces to Panorama

As with every spell, it’s hard to put into words — like the spell I came under when I met my wife, or the one I felt in the medical center of Wheaton College in September 1966, when God called me to the ministry of the word. These have never left, but to put them into words is not easy. Here’s my best effort to express the spell Daniel Fuller cast over my life starting in the fall of 1968 and continuing to this day.

Part of it was this: the combination in one person of intense, rigorous, detailed, meticulous observation of words and phrases and clauses and sentences, together with a comprehensive, coherent vision of everything that exists. It was the excitement of discovery by breaking things into their parts, mingled with the even greater excitement of seeing them come together in a beautiful, all-encompassing fullness.

I might have expected to find a professor with exegetical eyes like a microscope, who sees the text of Romans 8 broken out into a hundred exquisite pieces, and I might have expected to find a professor with theological eyes like a telescope, who sees the whole panorama of reality as a unified whole.

But I did not expect to find them in one person — the microscope and the telescope, the meticulous exegete and the comprehensive theologian, the hundred pieces of Romans 8 and the breathtaking beauty of a unified whole. That almost never happens. William Wordsworth said,

Our meddling intellectMis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: —We murder to dissect.

But not everyone. Not Daniel Fuller. For him, the meticulous observation of the smallest parts of Romans 8 was the assembling of the building blocks of a great temple of wonder and worship. I have lived in that temple for five decades and have found it to be an inexhaustible source of awe and strength. The only thing that gets murdered is pride.

Illustrated Glory

There is another aspect of the spell that Dr. Fuller cast over me. It was the use of homespun, almost childish illustrations of glorious truth that somehow did not trivialize the glory. I have heard many preachers and teachers over the years connect glorious truth with ordinary-life illustrations, and so often, instead of the truth shining with greater brightness, it disappears into a movie scene or a sitcom.

It didn’t work that way in the spell that Dr. Fuller cast over me. He came to Psalm 23:6, that great precursor of Romans 8:28, which says, “Goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” and he pointed out that the verb translated “follow” is radaph in Hebrew, which virtually always means “pursue” or “persecute.” He said,

God’s goodness and mercy are pursuing us. Like a highway patrolman with his red lights flashing behind you to run you down and say to you, “‘All things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future — all are yours, and you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s’ (1 Corinthians 3:20–23). ‘The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is whole toward him’ (2 Chronicles 16:9). ‘I will rejoice in doing them good . . . with all my heart and all my soul’ (Jeremiah 32:41). I will never stop pursuing you for your good.”

I suppose I could have reacted to that illustration of the highway patrolman by saying, “Well, that’s mundane, trivial, goofy,” but that didn’t happen. Instead, I have been trying for fifty years to climb up into that glory, that the Creator of the universe is pursuing me with perfect goodness and omnipotent mercy all my days, like a highway patrolman, lights flashing, who wants to give me a ticket with the words, “You have been made an heir of the world!” (Romans 4:13).

Why didn’t I scoff at that illustration and roll my eyes? Why did I worship? I don’t know. It was the spell. I walked into Daniel Fuller’s spell and never left.

That Great Verse

The house he built in the spring of 1970 in the class on Romans 1–8 is the house I will live in forever, and I expect the wonders of chapter 8 to be as inexhaustible in a million years as they are today. The reason I say this is found in what may be the greatest verse in the Bible, Romans 8:32 — a verse that Daniel Fuller loved, a verse that was the fulcrum of his theology.

It is perhaps the greatest verse because no other verse is as clear in putting together the infinite depth of the foundation of our salvation with the infinite height and expanse of its blessings and happiness: “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”

Dr. Fuller loved this verse because it is the great, irrefutable a fortiori in the Bible, an argument from the greater to the lesser, from the hard to the easy. If God has done the hardest thing imaginable to make us happy, then certainly, beyond any doubt, he will do the rest — whatever it takes — to make us supremely happy in him forever.

Paul loved the gospel-glory of the a fortiori argument. He used it in Romans 5:9: “Since . . . we have now been justified by his blood [impossible for the ungodly!], much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God.” How easy it is for God to save from wrath those who at infinite cost have been declared righteous by God himself!

And he used the great a fortiori again in Romans 5:10: “If while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son [enemies of God, reconciled? Unthinkable! And yet he did it], much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life.” How easy for God to save those who are reconciled to him by the infinite cost of his Son’s blood!

Then comes the greatest of all — the great a fortiori of Romans 8:32: “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all [unthinkable! Giving up his own Son to spitting, mocking, torture, and death? Yes!], how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” If he did the hardest, how easy then to give us all we need to be happy in him forever!

Inexpressible, Inexhaustible Riches

In the very center of his book Unity of the Bible (because it is the fulcrum of the whole), Dr. Fuller exults over the inexpressible implications of this verse. Very rarely did Dan Fuller resort to the inadequacy of human language to make a point, but on page 218 he says, “Words become inadequate as Paul describes these riches” — the riches of the “all things” in Romans 8:32. Because he gave his Son, God will give us all things in him.

Dr. Fuller echoes the heart of the great apostle: “Though I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given, to preach to the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ” (Ephesians 3:8). The “all things” are unsearchable. He explains, “‘Unsearchable,’ or (lit.) ‘not capable of being traced out.’” The “all things” of Romans 8:32 are unsearchable not because they are confusing, but because they are endless.

And not only endless, but as he says on the next page, immeasurable. “God . . . made us alive together with Christ . . . and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:4–7).

It will take an infinite number of coming ages for the infinite God to exhaustively show the riches of his grace toward us, because they are inexhaustible, unsearchable, immeasurable. They are the “all things” of Romans 8:32. They are as infinitely certain for us in Christ as the worth of God’s Son was infinite when God did not spare him but gave him for us all.

His Portion Now and Forever

This was the fulcrum of Daniel Fuller’s theology and the fulcrum of his life: “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things” — everything we need to enjoy God fully and forever? The lever of infinite cost catapults us into infinite joy.

Here is how Dr. Fuller stated the unity of the Bible: “The one thing that God is doing in all of redemptive history is to show forth his mercy in such a way that the greatest number of people will, throughout eternity, delight in him with all their heart, strength, and mind” (454).

That delight is Daniel Fuller’s portion now: no longer embattled, no longer bumbling — but overflowing. And it will be ours through faith in Christ. If Dan could have the last word, I think it would be this: “Let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price” (Revelation 22:17).

Anyone who has led a Bible study for long has encountered one of those horribly awkward moments when some well-meaning person passionately points out something in a verse that simply isn’t there.

Years ago, I was leading a memorable small group discussion of Romans 9. John Piper once described these 33 verses as “a tiger going about devouring free-willers.” “He has mercy on whomever he wills,” the apostle Paul writes, “and he hardens whomever he wills.” The chapter is a captivating, sobering mountain range of the sovereignty of God and unconditional election. When we finished reading it out loud as a group, I opened the floor for initial responses, “So, what immediately sticks out to you from these verses?”

After a short pause, a sweet, well-meaning woman (who had just started coming to our church) dove headfirst into an uncomfortably long celebration of human free will. It started something like this: “I just love that God gives us the freedom to believe or not, that he doesn’t make the decision for us, that he leaves the choice up to us. I mean, it wouldn’t be right for him to choose some people and not others.” It was as if she had done a belly flop into what we just read. But it was more like twenty belly flops, because she just kept going and going. She wrapped up the wild splashing with a bow: “So, yeah, that’s what I saw.”

Everyone else in this particular circle knew enough to see she had missed the point entirely; they knew she was staring at apples and somehow seeing a longer, thinner yellow fruit with a peel. Unfortunately, all their fumbling twenty-something leader could manage to say in the moment was, “Well . . . those . . . are . . . some thoughts.”

What Does Meaning Even Mean?

The distance between that young woman’s “thoughts” and what Romans 9 actually says holds a critical lesson for ordinary Bible reading. Every book and verse in Scripture has a specific, original, and unchanging meaning. Behind every chapter we read is a real man with real convictions and real objectives, writing to a real audience with real needs and real problems, at a real time in history. And what it meant then, it still means now. Joe Rigney writes,

Whenever we talk about meaning, we are talking about persons. . . . If there is meaning, there must be a mean-er. Meaning exists only when someone has meant. (“Do Unto Authors”)

The Bible doesn’t say what we want it to say, or mean what we want it to mean; it says what it says, and it means what it means. Good reading, then, begins with recognizing and embracing that meaning, whatever it is. That means we don’t start our devotions by asking, “What does this mean for me?” We start with the harder question, “What does this mean?”

Many read the Bible searching for little sayings that inspire, a verse or even phrase to hold onto for the day, and in the process they end up missing what the authors are actually saying. In other words, they almost read the Bible. They open the pages and recognize words, phrases, and sentences, but they never actually get to the meaning. As a result, they often misinterpret (and misapply) what they read — and they miss the golden wisdom, warnings, and encouragements lying right in front of them.

Eight Questions for Better Reading

How do we grow in our ability to understand what authors really mean? What tools could we use to go deeper and see more in our Bible reading? I recently read Mortimer Adler’s classic, How to Read a Book, and while it’s not a distinctly Christian book, its principles offer some precious guidance for those whose God has written a Book.

Advances in technology have sadly left many of us infants in reading. Adler is a timeless beginner’s guide to reading better. As he trains students to read well, he lays out eight driving questions that help us uncover meaning. None of these relates to applying what we’re reading, but they’re valuable tools for understanding, and all good application begins with understanding. I’ll model how to work through each of his questions using one of the most familiar and beloved chapters in all the Bible: Psalm 23.

1. What kind of chapter am I reading?

In Adler’s words, “Classify the book according to kind and subject matter.” In terms of the Bible, am I reading a history or a letter or a poem or something else? Who wrote what I’m reading, and when did they write it? What was happening at that time in the Bible’s story? Did the author write before or after Jesus came? Not all books and chapters in Scripture are alike. They cover a wide range of centuries, geographies, genres, problems, and objectives.

Psalms, for instance, is a collection of songs that the people of God memorized and sang together in worship. They represent a wide range of experiences and express a wide range of emotions. As we read, we need to remember that these were written to lead the gathered people in worship. Also important to note is that they were written by a number of different authors, so we need to identify who wrote the one we’re reading (in Psalm 23, King David), and if we know anything about the circumstances of the psalm (for instance, we know that David had been a shepherd).

2. How might I summarize the chapter?

Again, in Adler’s words, “State what the whole book is about with the utmost brevity.” When it comes to Bible reading, can you summarize the overall point or theme of this chapter in a sentence or two? If someone asked you what you read this morning, how would you answer? How would you try and sum up the meaning for someone who has never read what you just read?

How might you try and summarize the six verses in Psalm 23? Your summary doesn’t need to be clever, unique, or poetic — it doesn’t need to be Instagram-worthy — it just needs to be true. I might summarize it like this: If God is your God, he will lead, protect, provide for, and satisfy you — even when it feels otherwise.

3. What big pieces do I see?

In this step, having summarized the big picture, we look for the big puzzle pieces in that picture. During this stage, think a puzzle for 3-year-olds, not one with a thousand pieces. We’re looking for a few bigger points in the author’s argument, and then trying to see how those big glaring pieces fit together.

When you look at the six verses of Psalm 23, do you see any big, distinct pieces that make up the psalm? In verses 1–4, David describes God as a shepherd, who leads his sheep into green pastures and beside still waters, who protects and comforts through danger. In verses 5–6, God’s not a shepherd anymore, but a dinner host, preparing a table for his people and welcoming them to stay in his house forever. So, how might those two big pieces fit together? They’re two complementary pictures of the goodness of God that both borrow imagery from ordinary, familiar aspects of life at that time.

4. What problem(s) does this solve?

As you read the chapter, what issue or dilemma is the author trying to address? What tension is he trying to resolve? What need is he trying to meet? The apostle Paul tells us, “All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable . . . that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work” (2 Timothy 3:16–17). So, what makes these verses profitable? How, in particular, do they teach, reprove, correct, train, or encourage us?

What problem inspired David to write Psalm 23? What sends him searching for words and drives him to think about green pastures and full tables? Because he knows life doesn’t always feel like green pastures, or still waters, or full tables. He’s reminding himself (and all the others) that God draws near even when he feels far away, that he vigilantly protects us even when we feel fragile and vulnerable, that he opens wide his table even in the moments when we feel hungry and unfulfilled. In other words, the psalm unveils the reassuring light of God’s steadfast care for us in the disorienting darkness of our fears.

5. Can I explain the key words?

Are there words in this chapter that seem especially important to the author? Maybe he repeats a particular word, or maybe the word appears in an especially important verse, or maybe the word itself simply carries unusual weight or significance for the author. We often fail to understand the meaning of sentences and paragraphs because we’ve failed to come to terms with the author. We’re not hearing or using words the same way he does.

As you look for key words, are there any words you can’t define or explain? If so, then you cannot fully understand the meaning of this verse or passage. It’s easier than ever to look up a definition (even better, search the word in the Bible to see how this author, or others in Scripture, use it). Make sure you can first define all the words, and then try to identify the ones that seem most significant to the author in this particular chapter.

What words might that be in Psalm 23? If I had to pick one, it would be shepherd. And before you assume you know what that word meant for David, you might give it a second, longer look. Many of us today are extremely far removed from the harsher realities of shepherding. David wasn’t. Yes, he was well-acquainted with green pastures and still waters, but he also knew valleys dark and dangerous enough to be called death. He knew lions and bears and wolves. So, for him, the shepherd wasn’t merely a gentle, peaceful man petting sheep, but also nature’s great warrior. In other words, he saw strength and courage in the shepherd that we might miss today.

6. Which sentences seem most important?

Similar to the previous point, now try to identify the key sentences in this particular chapter. The most important sentences can appear at the beginning of a passage, or at the end, or somewhere in the middle. Where does the author’s burden or aim come into greatest focus? Which sentences help make sense of all the others?

In the case of Psalm 23, I submit the two most important lines in the poem are the first and the last:

“The Lord is my shepherd.”

“I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

You can almost hear David saying, “If you only hear two things in these six verses, I want you to hear this: The Lord is my shepherd, and I will live in his house forever. Every other line is supporting those two lines, trying to help us understand those two promises and realities. God will protect and provide for me, and he will bring me home with him.”

7. How do the sentences build on one another?

Having identified the most important sentences, now try to discern how the rest of the chapter supports those sentences. Before, we worked with the bigger puzzle pieces. Now, we’re breaking them into smaller pieces and fitting them together. In this step, it’s particularly helpful to stop and study the words many of us overlook completely: for, and, but, if, unless, then, therefore, and so on. We might rush right by these connecting words, but they’re often giving us the answers. They’re telling us how the pieces fit together.

For instance, in Psalm 23, “I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” How can David live without fear even when he’s surrounded by fearful enemies and dangers? Because (for) he knows God is with him and stays with him, even in the valley. As another example, you can also see how the first several lines clearly build on the first verse: “The Lord is my shepherd.” David uses the next sentences to fill out the metaphor: “The Lord makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. . . . He restores. . . . He leads. . . . He comforts — like a shepherd.”

8. What questions do I still have?

Lastly, Adler encourages us to ask what problems the author didn’t solve. When it comes to merely human authors, they might not succeed in addressing the question or tension they set out to address (or they might create whole new problems in the process). The word of God, however, is perfect. “It shall not return to me empty,” God says, “but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it” (Isaiah 55:11). So, these words are never inadequate or problematic.

That doesn’t mean we won’t have questions. We’ll have lots of questions. For instance, in Psalm 23, it’s one thing to know that God is near even when he feels far, that he’ll protect us even when it seems like he won’t, but why does God allow us to walk in the valley at all? Why might he let us wander into brown pastures and raging waters? Why does he sometimes let us feel hungry and deprived and abandoned? Why do we ever need to feel need?

There are plenty of good answers to those questions (and they’re all in the Bible), but those weren’t the questions David was focused on in this particular psalm. Part of good reading, though, is learning to ask those questions and then patiently looking for answers (maybe over years). Fortunately, when it comes to this book, God can handle even our deepest, hardest ones. He’s never left without an answer.

How to Hear God

These aren’t the last questions we ask about a chapter or passage in the Bible — we need to press through and ask about what this means today, what God wants us to feel and do in the twenty-first century. But they should be the first kinds of questions we ask.

If we try to make the Bible meet our immediate needs or make sense of our day before trying to understand the Bible on its terms and in its day, then we’ll inevitably twist and distort what it says. We’ll try to make it say things it doesn’t. But if we’re willing to slow down and listen — to recognize its real meaning — then we’ll get to hear God speak, with authority and wisdom and love, into everything we need and face today.

Evan Jones, a Baptist missionary to the Cherokee Indians, was one of the most steadfast missionaries in American history. Though largely forgotten today, the legacy of his labors through incredible turmoil and danger deserves a place among the annals of Baptist missionaries.

Born in Wales in 1788, Jones spent his early years as part of the Methodist Church. In 1821, however, he immigrated to Philadelphia, and soon after his arrival, he adopted Baptist principles and eventually became a teacher at a Baptist mission school among the Cherokees in North Carolina.

Inspired by the work of British Baptist missionary William Carey in India and the American Baptist Adoniram Judson in Burma, Baptists and other evangelicals began sending substantial numbers of missionaries to Native American groups in the 1810s and ’20s. Missionaries focused especially on tribes such as the Cherokees who showed interest in English-language education.

Jones took up this missionary endeavor, in 1824 becoming the leader of the Baptist mission to the Cherokees, a position he would hold for forty years. He soon found, however, that ministry to the Cherokees was complicated by cultural and political conflicts between the US and Indian tribes.

Friend of the Cherokees

Jones and his coworkers were appalled at the violent racism of whites in North Carolina and Georgia toward the Cherokees. Many local whites vehemently opposed efforts to educate or evangelize Indians, believing that Native Americans were incorrigibly dishonest and brutal. Typical of the era, Baptist missionaries had their own cultural biases. They often assumed that the Cherokees needed not only the gospel of salvation through Christ, but also “civilizing” in order to live decently as Christians.

Many southern whites opposed the mere notion of Indians becoming Christians. Jones claimed that some whites went so far as to tell Cherokees that the gospel of Christ was untrue and had nothing to do with Indians. Whites spread horrible rumors about Jones and his family whenever possible. Jones also met resistance from traditional Indian “conjurers” who warned the Cherokees not to betray their traditional animistic beliefs and rituals.

In contrast to his white detractors, Jones showed exceptional confidence in Cherokee assistants. Cherokees who became Christians helped him translate sermons and the Bible. Some of them became licensed Baptist preachers themselves. A key Cherokee pastor was Jesse Bushyhead, who converted to the Christian faith in 1829. Bushyhead, fluent in both Cherokee and English, became the pastor of a Cherokee Baptist church in 1831. In 1832, Jones met Bushyhead and was highly impressed with his aptitude for ministry. Jones convinced the national Baptist mission board to put Bushyhead on a regular salary as a missionary and evangelist.

Against Jackson

The conflicts between the US and the Cherokees culminated in the 1830s. In 1830, Baptists and all denominations serving among Native Americans began to confront the threat of Indian removal. President Andrew Jackson, elected in 1828, had fought Indians in the southern states as a military leader in the 1810s. He was determined to have all the remaining tribes in the southeast removed beyond the Mississippi. Proponents of Indian removal, including a number of white Baptist leaders, argued that whites and Indians could never live in peace, so it was better for everyone if Native Americans were moved to Indian territory (in Arkansas or Oklahoma).

The expansion of the southern Cotton Kingdom increased pressure to make all farmland in the Deep South open to white farmers and their enslaved African-American laborers. Most leaders of the Cherokees, headed by Principal Chief John Ross, opposed removal. Ross, Bushyhead, and Jones became close allies through the removal crisis. But even some Christian (though not Baptist) Cherokees believed that removal was inevitable, and that it was better to cooperate with the Jackson administration rather than risk violent removal.

Jones adamantly opposed the Jackson administration’s schemes. As a matter of Christian conviction and simple fairness, he believed that the Cherokees had a right to stay on their land. The number of Cherokee Baptists was growing rapidly in the early 1830s. Most white missionaries to Native Americans had seen only a few converts, but the Baptists saw the total of Cherokee converts grow from 90 to over 500 between 1830 and 1838. Jones not only worried about the physical danger to the Cherokees posed by removal, but he feared that it could devastate the burgeoning Cherokee churches.

Trail of Tears

A small group of compliant Cherokees signed the notorious Treaty of New Echota in 1835, committing the Cherokee nation to removal. Jones saw the treaty as a fraud, and he was briefly arrested for refusing to cooperate with federal officials sent to the Cherokee nation to arrange for removal. Jones and Bushyhead kept preaching to the Cherokees and baptizing dozens of new converts, even as government agents and militia moved in to orchestrate the deportation.

By spring of 1838, it was clear that forced removal was going to happen. John Ross reluctantly began to divide Cherokees up into regiments to make the deadly trek west. He chose Jesse Bushyhead to lead one of the contingents and made Jones the assistant commander of another. In June 1838, Jones wrote that government troops had dragged Cherokees from their houses, had rounded them up at detention camps, and had given them no opportunity to take anything but the clothes they wore.

Jones also reported that Cherokee believers were going on with their “labor of love to dying sinners,” continuing to baptize new Christians on the eve of deportation. Jones estimated that 175 Cherokees received baptism at the pre-march detention camps alone. The Baptist Missionary Magazine related that due to a “sudden outpouring of the Spirit,” Jones and Bushyhead baptized 55 converts on just one day during this scourging time.

Jones was one of a few white missionaries who accompanied the Cherokees on the forced trek to Oklahoma, which became known as the Trail of Tears. Bushyhead and Jones kept track of the Baptist Cherokees along the march and did their best to hold regular worship services. The fifteen thousand Cherokees forced to move to Oklahoma had disastrously poor supplies, and more than four thousand of them died on the Trail of Tears.

Scripture in Cherokee

In 1839, federal officials expelled Jones from Indian Territory due to renewed complaints and rumors about him spread by pro-removal Cherokees. But the indefatigable Jones successfully petitioned to return to the Cherokees after a two-year absence. Jones proved to be one of the most successful white missionaries ever to work among Native Americans, with some two thousand Cherokees joining Baptist churches under his ministry across the decades.

Bible translation into native dialects had long been a hallmark of Protestant missions. Jones and his son John translated the Bible into Cherokee using the new Cherokee alphabet developed by the linguist Sequoyah in 1821. As the Bible translation developed, Jones insisted on using the Cherokee version instead of the King James Bible in his mission schools, despite some opposition from Baptist missionary officials who thought it better for Cherokees to learn the Christian faith in English.

This openness to the Cherokee language was a key reason for Jones’s success. His translation of the Bible into Cherokee was a landmark of Cherokee linguistics and evangelization. John Jones had sufficiently mastered Hebrew and Greek to be able to translate the Bible directly from those languages into Cherokee, which removed much of the influence of English prose on their Cherokee translation. The Joneses also sought input from Cherokees to use Cherokee terms that best captured the meaning of the Greek and Hebrew words. Unsurprisingly, most Cherokee Christians were delighted with this work.

Bearer of Light

The last great controversy of Evan Jones’s career was over slavery and the Civil War. The Joneses came from the generally antislavery milieu of Northern Baptist life. In the 1850s, they appealed to Cherokee Baptists to oppose slavery and, where applicable, to free their slaves. (A number of wealthy Cherokees owned African-American laborers.)

Slave-owning Cherokees came to see the Jones family as troublemaking abolitionists, and they had John Jones expelled from Cherokee territory. Evan Jones, fearing for his safety, eventually left the Oklahoma territory again for the friendlier climes of Kansas. The Cherokees split over the Civil War, and the Joneses worked to support pro-Union Cherokees. Astoundingly, despite failing health and limited financial means, Evan Jones came back yet again to the shattered Cherokee nation once the war was over, laboring to restore and strengthen Cherokee Baptist churches.

At the end of the Civil War, Unionist Cherokee leaders took the unprecedented step of making Evan and John Jones full citizens of the Cherokee Nation. The Cherokees noted that the Jones family had served among the Cherokees for forty years. “When the Cherokees were poor and covered with darkness,” the Cherokees’ decree read, “light with regard to the other world was brought to us by Evan Jones.” Jones died in 1872, and was buried in Tahlequah, Oklahoma.1

Audio Transcript

You might remember, a couple of weeks back, we looked at ten reasons why we need the doctrine of unconditional election (that was in APJ 1969). One of those reasons was found in 1 Corinthians 1:27. God’s design for unconditional election is that God gets praised, and we get humbled. The doctrines of grace are fundamentally humbling, ideally, though sometimes that’s not what happens. If we’re not careful, a wrong understanding of Calvinism can breed pride.

That’s Nathaniel’s dilemma. He lives in Tennessee. “Hello, Pastor John and Tony! Thank you both so much for the APJ podcast. It has helped me love Jesus more and to long for his return — to love his appearing! I’m a five-point Calvinist. I believe that God chooses a people for himself before the foundation of the world to be his children, as Ephesians 1:4–6 teaches. I know that God chooses people, owing totally to his free grace and wisdom, and not owing to anything within the people whom he chooses.

“However, sometimes as I begin to overflow with thankfulness to God for choosing me and saving me by his sovereign grace, I sense some arrogance in me in thinking that I am ‘special’ to God because his ‘special grace’ has been extended to me, and not to others. I know that my arrogance is wrong. I did nothing to save myself, and I don’t deserve to be saved at all. My saving faith in Christ is a total gift of God, as Ephesians 2:8–9 says. So, I have no grounds for boasting. I have seen God do some work on my heart in this area recently. So, I am hopeful that he will bring the good work that he started in me to completion (Philippians 1:6). But in the meantime, in addition to swimming in God’s word daily, are there any helpful pointers you might have for me in how I can become a humbler Calvinist?”

Well, not just for Nathaniel in Tennessee, but for me, and for all of us, here’s the frightening thing about the human heart. There is no doctrine, no theology, no set of ideas, no creeds that can provide an infallible protection against the pride and boasting of the human heart — period. The heart can find a way to distort the most humbling circumstances into ego-enhancing circumstances. And the heart can make even the most humbling doctrines a stepping stone to boasting. It can. It does.

The heart is deceitful above all things,     and desperately sick;     who can understand it? (Jeremiah 17:9)

Jesus said, “From within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts . . . pride, foolishness” (Mark 7:21–22). Pride. That’s the deepest disease of the human heart. And even in the saved, blood-bought, Spirit-indwelt, mature — yes, mature — saint of God, the disease of pride can raise its head from the grave of mortification and make us ashamed.

Five Points of Humility

The doctrine of unconditional election is designed by God to destroy human boasting. Yes, that’s right. It is.

God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. (1 Corinthians 1:27–29)

It’s the same thing with the doctrine of irresistible grace — saving faith is a gift, not an achievement; it’s designed by God to destroy boasting. “By grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:8–9).

“The doctrine of unconditional election is designed by God to destroy human boasting.”

It’s the same with the doctrine of total depravity — it’s designed to crush us all to the common ground of hopeless beggars and remove boasting. “If you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast and be false to the truth” (James 3:14).

It’s the same thing with the doctrine of God’s all-pervasive providence over the smallest details of our lives — it’s designed to blast boasting out of our lives.

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit” — yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil. (James 4:13–16)

And on and on it goes.

Four Paths away from Pride

The doctrines of grace — the biblical doctrines, the biblical story, the biblical truths — are designed to show God’s rights and God’s prerogatives and God’s power and God’s authority and God’s utterly undeserved grace poured out in our lives. All of them are meant to have this double effect: (1) let no one boast in self, and (2) let him who boasts boast in the Lord. So, what can we do if we find ourselves actually twisting such truths into a platform for self-exaltation?

1. Grieve your sin.

Bemoan our present, ongoing sinning — not just past sins, not just sins in principle, but the ones in my daily life that don’t yield to warfare. This is what caused Paul to cry out, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24–25). We must be painfully aware of indwelling sin, grieve over it, and with trembling cleave to grace.

2. See your sin in Christ’s sufferings.

We can keep before us the agonies of Christ — and I mean the real, horrible torture and sufferings of Christ — with the awareness, “This is how bad I am. This is what I deserved. This is what it took to save me, this much horrible suffering.” James Denney said, “No man can give the impression that he himself is clever and that Christ is mighty to save” (quoted in Between Two Worlds, 325). In other words, self-exaltation and a sense of Christ’s greatness in saving us can’t go together.

3. Shudder at pride’s subtlety.

Let the story of the Pharisee and the tax collector shock us, because the Pharisee prays like a Calvinist: “God, I thank you that I am not like other men” (Luke 18:11). He’s giving God the glory for his sanctification. But even though he prayed like he wanted to give God glory for his holiness, it was all a subtle way of self-exaltation. That’s why the story ends, “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Luke 18:14). This should shock us and make us vigilant.

4. Plead for humility.

We should plead to God for the miracle of humility. It’s a miracle. It’s a miracle because it cannot be achieved by us. If we achieve it, we’ll be proud of achieving it. It’s a gift, and the nature of the gift is peculiar. It’s a gift of self-forgetting; if we are conscious of being humble, we’re on the way to losing it.

So, let us pray desperately that good theology would bear good fruit. Let’s pray for this beautiful reality described by Jonathan Edwards. I love this quote of what we’re really after:

All gracious affections . . . are brokenhearted affections. A truly Christian love, either to God or men, is an humble, brokenhearted love. The desires of the saints, however earnest, are humble desires: their hope is an humble hope; and their joy, even when it is unspeakable, and full of glory, is an humble, brokenhearted joy, leaving the Christian more poor in spirit, and more like a little child, and more disposed to an universal lowliness of behavior. (Religious Affections, 339)

Maybe you’ve had this experience while reading the Bible. You turn to Psalms for encouragement. You begin to read, say Psalm 139, and find a warm blanket for your soul.

O Lord, you have searched me and known me!You know when I sit down and when I rise up;     you discern my thoughts from afar.

Are you standing or sitting? He knows. He sees. He cares. Amazing. Your happiness soars as you read how he surrounds you, intervenes in your life (vv. 2–12), how he knew you before there was a “you” to know, knit you together in your mother’s womb (13–16). You seem to climb Jacob’s ladder to golden gates, praising God that the sins of yesterday and last week and last year have not driven him away: You awake, and he is still with you (17–18).

Then you stumble upon verse 19:

Oh that you would slay the wicked, O God!     O men of blood, depart from me!

You pause and reread. You stop and check if you’re still in the same psalm. This verse, so abrupt, comes with violence. Slay the wicked? Hate them with a perfect hatred? What do you do with these lines? Pretend you didn’t see them? What about when you notice more?

Break the arm of the wicked and evildoer. (Psalm 10:15)
Let their way be dark and slippery, with the angel of the Lord pursuing them! (Psalm 35:6)
Let burning coals fall upon them! Let them be cast into fire, into miry pits, no more to rise! (Psalm 140:10)
Let death steal over them; let them go down to Sheol alive. (Psalm 55:15)
Let them be like the snail that dissolves into slime, like the stillborn child who never sees the sun. (Psalm 58:8)
Let their eyes be darkened, so that they cannot see, and make their loins tremble continually. (Psalm 69:23)
May his children be fatherless and his wife a widow! May his children wander about and beg, seeking food far from the ruins they inhabit! (Psalm 109:9–10)

How do you explain curses like these? How do you answer your atheist coworker? How do you pray them in family worship? How do you quiet your own discomforts? What do we do with them as Christians, on this side of the coming of Christ?

Devilish Psalms?

C.S. Lewis, perhaps the greatest Christian apologist of the twentieth century, offers us this advice:

We must not either try to explain them away or to yield for one moment to the idea that, because it comes in the Bible, all this vindictive hatred must somehow be good and pious. . . . The hatred is there — festering, gloating, undisguised — and also we should be wicked if we in any way condoned or approved it, or (worse still) used it to justify similar passions in ourselves. (Reflections on the Psalms, 26)

Devilish, terrible psalms, he goes on to call them, authored by “ferocious, self-pitying, barbaric men” (27). Is he right?

How do we interpret these “imprecatory psalms,” these psalms of curse (more generally, Psalms 55, 59, 69, 79, 109, and 137)? As a brief introduction, consider such curses in four spheres: in the Old Testament, in the New, in heaven, and curses today.

Curses in the Old Testament

First, we’ve already seen curses in the Psalms.

How do we answer the objection that these psalms — mostly written by David — are personal and vindictive? We could spend time looking at David, wondering aloud if he who cut the garment instead of stabbing the back of Saul (not to mention his patience with Doeg, Absalom, and Shimei) was really a vengeful spirit. Instead, notice three threads in the imprecatory psalms.

1. David isn’t cursing directly.

Curses are pronouncements of harm over others, often involving a ritual or sacrifice. May your fields rot, or your wife be barren. “In the ancient Near East in general, life was dominated by the need to cope with the terrifying threat of curses and omens” (New Dictionary of Biblical Theology, 397). The ancient world often saw these pronouncements as powerful in themselves.

Israel was different. They knew no curse had decisive power apart from the one true God. Balaam, borrowing an Israelite conception, says, “How can I curse whom God has not cursed? How can I denounce whom the Lord has not denounced?” (Numbers 23:8). The imprecatory psalms, then, are not direct curses upon the wicked apart from the Almighty. They are prayers offered and entrusted to the wisdom and enforcement of the psalmist’s covenant God.

2. David often prays Scripture.

David wasn’t brooding in his room, writing hate-poems in his little black book. As the king, David meditated day and night on God’s blessings and curses found in the Torah (Leviticus 26; Deuteronomy 27–28). How should any Israelite feel about the curses? The Lord’s catechized people say, “Amen” (Deuteronomy 27:15–26).

Likewise, David in the Psalms often takes statements of fact about God’s judgments and simply prays them. “In almost every instance, each expression used in one of these prayers of malediction may be found in plain prose statements of what will happen to those sinners who persist in opposing God” (Hard Sayings of the Bible, 280–282). Thus, as one example of this, the statement of fact given in Psalm 1, “The wicked . . . are like chaff that the wind drives away” (Psalm 1:4), becomes for David, “Let them be like chaff before the wind” (Psalm 35:5).

3. The psalmist’s enemies are God’s enemies.

Whose enemies are they in Psalm 139:19–22? “Against you,” “your enemies,” “your name,” “those who hate you,” “who rise up against you.” These men became David’s enemies by proxy — “I count them my enemies.” Here we find another crucial element about the imprecatory Psalms: They often stem from righteous indignation about how the wicked treat God, God’s people, and God’s Anointed King.

David’s epic showdown with Goliath illustrates this. What was his personal history with the giant? Goliath hadn’t killed David’s father, like the six-fingered man in The Princess Bride. He had no ill will but this: Goliath dared to defy the armies of the living God.

Do we ever grow warm with righteous anger? Not because we are insulted, but because God is? In 1945, communist Soviet Union occupied Romania. To pay tribute to the new state order, the communists convened a congress comprised of four thousand Christian leaders and broadcasted it to the country. Richard and Sabina Wurmbrand were in attendance. One after another, Christian leaders stood and hailed the atheistic state and promised church allegiance.

Sabina leaned over to her husband, “Richard, stand up and wash away this shame from the face of Christ! They are spitting in his face!” “If I do so,” he replied, “you lose your husband.” “I don’t wish to have a coward as a husband,” came her reply. And so he did. He later wrote, “Afterward I had to pay for this, but it was worthwhile” (Tortured for Christ, 10).

Do we ever take our occasions, however much smaller, to wipe the spit from the face of Christ? Have we become insensible to hearing Christ’s name dragged through the mud? John Stott comments,

[The psalmist] has completely identified himself with the cause of God, [and] hates them because he loves God. . . . That we cannot easily aspire to this is an indication not of our spirituality but of our lack of it, not of our superior love for men but of our inferior love for God, indeed of our inability to hate the wicked with a hatred that is “perfect” [as in Psalm 139:22] and not “personal.” (The Message of the Sermon on the Mount, 116–117)

Do we ever say anything uncomfortable in the presence of evil — or worse, do we even care? The psalmists did. We accuse them of cruelty; they accuse us of a twisted sentimentality. We accuse them of not considering man; they accuse us of not considering God.

Curses in the New Testament

Do we have curses in the New Testament? Yes.

Peter exclaims, “May your silver perish with you!” (Acts 8:20). Paul hands people over to Satan and curses anyone to hell who preaches a different gospel or refuses to love Jesus Christ (Galatians 1:8–9; 1 Corinthians 16:22). Even Jesus curses a fig tree — and blasts the Pharisees with mighty woes (Matthew 23:13–36).

But more to our consideration: How did Jesus and his apostles view imprecatory psalms?

The New Testament authors, from John to Paul to Peter to Jesus himself, quote unhesitatingly from these psalms. The apostles did not have the qualms of so many modern scholars. Not one New Testament author gives the kind of preface we do when recommending a good television show: “It is really good — except that one part.” They treat such psalms as we should: with reverence as sacred Scripture.

Consider the New Testament’s usage of Psalm 69, which includes one of the longest sustained imprecations (Psalm 69:22–28) and the most severe imprecation in the Psalter: “Add to them punishment upon punishment; may they have no acquittal from you” (verse 27). Keep the blows coming. No mercy. No forgiveness. Let them be damned. Surely the New Testament would avoid such sentiments, right?

The psalm is actually one of the favorites of the New Testament, including citations from the imprecations themselves (Romans 11:9; Acts 1:20). Let’s limit the quotes here to the beloved and gentle apostle John. He takes up this psalm to explain the temple-cleansing incident with Jesus and the whip: “zeal for your house has consumed me” (Psalm 69:9; John 2:17). He records Psalm 69:4 upon Jesus’s lips in the upper room, as the Lord explains how the Jews “hated me without a cause” (John 15:25). And most stunningly, upon the cross itself: “Jesus, knowing that all was now finished, said (to fulfill the Scripture), ‘I thirst’” (John 19:28) — a reference to verse 21, “They gave me poison for food, and for my thirst they gave me sour wine to drink.”

John Piper comments,

According to the apostle John, Jesus died fulfilling Psalm 69. What more glorious tribute could be paid to a psalm? The very psalm that we tend to think is a problem because of its imprecations was the one Jesus lived in and the one that carried him to the cross and through the cross. (Shaped by God, 61)

Here we find the foundational reality. God allows curses into this world for the glory of Jesus — to paint a dark and bloody and beautiful picture of his sacrificial love. Sodom and Gomorrah, the flood, Korah’s rebellion, Canaan’s ban, the cry over Egypt’s firstborns — all shadows compared with the tremendous doom of this one who cries, “I thirst,” from the cross. He plunged into the depths of hell itself. Curses exist to explain this good news to you:

Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us — for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.” (Galatians 3:13)

Christ became a cursed one, a doomed and condemned man — why? For us. The bread, broken — for you. The wine, poured out — for you. The judgment drank to the bottom — for you. The history of all curses for every human on the planet ends here, at the cross, or in hell. Nowhere else.

This clarifies our call in evangelism:

“Sir, can I speak with you about Jesus?”“Why would I need to hear about him? — I’m happy enough.”“Because, sir, sin has placed you under God’s curse, whoever does not believe is condemned already, the wrath of God remains upon you, and only Christ, who became a curse for all who would repent and believe, can remove it.”

Curses in Heaven

Now, a question you may not have asked: Are there imprecatory prayers in heaven? Yes.

John records the voices of martyrs slain for God’s word, crying out in a loud voice,

“O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?” Then they were each given a white robe and told to rest a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and their brothers should be complete, who were to be killed as they themselves had been. (Revelation 6:10–11)

The martyrs — perfected and with the Lord in glory — pray for their blood to be avenged on earth. Or again in Revelation 18:6, against spiritual Babylon:

Pay her back as she herself has paid back others,     and repay her double for her deeds;     mix a double portion for her in the cup she mixed.

And as God’s enemies fall, how does heaven respond? God’s vengeance on the wicked fuels their hallelujahs,

“Hallelujah! Salvation and glory and power belong to our God, for his judgments are true and just; for he has judged the great prostitute who corrupted the earth with her immorality, and has avenged on her the blood of his servants.” Once more they cried out, “Hallelujah! The smoke from her goes up forever and ever.” (Revelation 19:1–3)

Don’t our own children’s stories reveal that we know this is good? They end the same: the witch is cursed, the monster slain, the evil king dethroned and punished. Do we weep when Scar is fed to hyenas? No, not even our children. Why? Because we know, even at a young age, the rightness of villains being punished. What is hard for us to bear is that, outside of Christ, we (and those we love) are the villains.

Curses Today

Psalms of curse were prayed in the Old Testament, approved in the New, and this same heart has its counterpart in heaven. But what about us today? Should we pray them?

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. . . . Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. . . . Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” (Romans 12:14, 17, 19)

Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. (Matthew 5:44)

These texts clearly teach that we leave personal grievances with God to repay. They teach that God’s wrath — exhausted at the cross or in hell — frees us to love those who have hated us and bless those who have cursed us.

But are they incompatible with praying the imprecatory psalms? Personal vengeance, after all, is outlawed in both covenants (Leviticus 19:17–18). That vengeance belongs to God was not new (Deuteronomy 32:35; Psalm 94:1). The next verse in Romans 12 is a quote from Proverbs 25:21: “To the contrary, ‘if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head’” (Romans 12:20).

Some evil is so pronounced and prolonged (especially against the global church) that we are right to pray that if the wicked are not stopped by converting mercy (the kind of mercy that stopped Saul), that God stop them by any other means. As James Hamilton exhorts Christians today,

Pray that God would either save those who destroy families and hurt little children or thwart all their efforts and keep them from doing further harm. . . . Pray that God would either redeem people who are right now identifying with the seed of the serpent, or if he is not going to redeem them, that he would crush them and all their evil designs. (Revelation: The Spirit Speaks to the Churches, 201)

Whether you conclude that mercy should silence these prayers today or not, be assured, it isn’t because judgment isn’t coming, and at any moment. The pressing question, then, in conclusion, is not why judgment and curse exist, but why aren’t we all drowned beneath it every moment?

That was the angel’s perplexity: generation after generation of mercy to sinful men — but how? The blood of goats? Until they saw it, a greater enigma still: The only blessed Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords who took on human flesh, earned every blessing by perfect obedience, now exhausting every curse for his people upon the tree. In this Christ has arrived the day of salvation for all under the curse. “Blessed are all who take refuge in him” (Psalm 2:12).