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Review: “Ownership: The Evangelical Legacy of Slavery in Edwards, Wesley, and Whitefield”

By Jonathan Peters — 5 months ago

But even with this, McGever disregards scriptural passages on guilt, justice, repentance, and forgiveness (such as Deut. 19:15, 24:16, Lev. 19:15, Ez. 18:4, Matt. 18:21-35, Luke 19:1-10, Eph. 4:32). He also ignores the fact that while God uses various (and often imperfect) agents to draw men unto Himself, the spiritual genealogy of every evangelical originates with Christ (I Cor. 3:3-23, Eph. 2:8-10), thus bringing a unity to all believers across time and space (Gal. 3:28, Col. 3:11).

McGever, Sean. Ownership: The Evangelical Legacy of Slavery in Edwards, Wesley, and Whitefield. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2024. 240 pp. $18.00
Sean McGever joins the evangelical deconstruction project[1] with his most recent book, Ownership: The Evangelical Legacy of Slavery in Edwards, Wesley, and Whitefield. Like the other books in this genre, Ownership denounces white evangelicals for “their” theology and practice, but not on the basis of Scripture.[2] McGever tells them right at the outset of his book that even if they deplore the black slave trade of the early modern era,[3] they are still mistaken in their view of slavery in general, among other things. If they want to learn the truth, they must listen to and affirm the so-called singular black perspective and their white allies (6-8, 10).[4]
According to this purported position, all slavery is a sin which “God hates” (184). To support this claim, McGever briefly describes early accounts of slavery in Genesis and the beginning of Exodus. He then notes that Exodus 21:1-11 regulates slave acquisition, but he then glosses over the rest of the Old Testament to say that it “imagines slavery as a common component of human societies that is utilized for communal and personal gain and a negative experience that the enslaved person seeks to escape” (34-35; incidentally, McGever does not discuss the stipulations in Exodus 21:5-6 for slaves who “love” their masters and do not want to go free). McGever does not exegete any of the passages on slavery in the New Testament either, but rather cites John Anthony McGuckin (an Eastern Orthodox priest) to say that it has “considerable tension in regard to the issue of slavery: never quite feeling confident enough to come out and denounce it explicitly, since to do so would have been tantamount to a declaration of social revolution” (36).[5] But God, McGever implies, wanted believers to infer that slavery was 1) wrong and 2) to be peaceably abolished.
For the next eighteen hundred years of Church history (from Ignatius to the Puritans), most Christians did not see it that way or seek its total eradication. Rather, to McGever’s dismay, a number of them sought to put limits on slave acquisition and treatment, citing Scripture. The Great Awakening preachers accepted this reasoning and tried to apply it to the African slavery already in their contexts. From this group of ministers, only John Wesley questioned the institution of slavery later in life due to the influence of the egalitarian Quakers, and then, he only used “natural law” to condemn it (141).
In the concluding chapters of Ownership, McGever returns his gaze to modern white evangelicals whose “spiritual genealogy . . . originates” with eighteenth century “enslavers” (170). He exhorts these descendants to own, repent, and learn from the mistakes of the Great Awakening preachers (171, 173).[6] This repentance, he says, must include “a posture of open arms to people of all races who have every right to navigate our open arms on their own terms and in their own timing” (173). But even with this, McGever disregards scriptural passages on guilt, justice, repentance, and forgiveness (such as Deut. 19:15, 24:16, Lev. 19:15, Ez. 18:4, Matt. 18:21-35, Luke 19:1-10, Eph. 4:32). He also ignores the fact that while God uses various (and often imperfect) agents to draw men unto Himself, the spiritual genealogy of every evangelical originates with Christ (I Cor. 3:3-23, Eph. 2:8-10), thus bringing a unity to all believers across time and space (Gal. 3:28, Col. 3:11).
McGever continues his admonition to white evangelicals by exhorting them to listen to “unlikely voices (like the Quakers for Wesley)” (181) outside of their formative “religious influences” (176) to bring about change that pleases God. He cites himself as an example of a man who experienced such an alteration:
To question the established norms of my Christian upbringing was something I feared to do out loud. Instead, I had to do it in private, through hushed personal conversations and quietly learning alternate views wherever I could find them. Most often, and even in most of my seminary experiences, I had to guide myself if I wanted to consider a different perspective. Nearly all the Christians I was around tended to provide the best version of their view and the worst (or no) version of alternate views. It took me quite a while to realize that the church past and present has plenty of beliefs about which faithful Christians disagree, and that there are some things that Christians have come to realize they once believed wrongly – most notably (now), the institution of slavery (181-182).
He then asks: “What alternate voices along the shore of my stream should I listen to? How should I navigate my own internal questions and instincts about how to honor God? What are good, less good, and flat-out bad ways to process all of this?” He says nothing about turning to the Scriptures (Is. 8:20; Acts 17:10-12; I John 4:1), but claims: “These answers require the precious and usually decades-acquired virtue of wisdom” (182).
Since McGever’s own faith was built on a mixture of doubt, instinct, and multiple theological perspectives, he eventually began to:
depart from what I learned in my formative years. With all due respect to my formative influences, I changed how I balance my time and focus between ministry, family, and personal health. I changed who I choose to relate to – I have more friends and peers who are women and those who don’t look like me or have the same beliefs as I do. I changed my views on the roles men and women undertake in the home, community, and church. Each of these changes came slowly and after much thought and reflection. Each of these changes represents a departure from what I once believed and how I acted several decades ago (182-183).
McGever now believes that he “cannot predict what specific changes [he] might adopt in the coming decades” (183). Considering where other deconstructionists have gone before him, it may not be too hard to guess what changes could come next.[7]
Jonathan Peters is an administrative assistant at Reformation Bible Church and Harford Christian School in Darlington, MD.

[1] For a listing of some of the books in this project, see Jonathan Leeman, “Defending Sound Doctrine Against Deconstruction of American Evangelicalism,” 9Marks (October 14, 2021): https://www.9marks.org/journal/sound-doctrine-the-foundation-for-faithful-ministry/editors-note/.
[2] See also Jonathan Peters, “Review: Alisa Childers and Tim Barnett, The Deconstruction of Christianity: What It Is, Why It’s Destructive, and How to Respond,” Journal of Biblical Theology & Worldview 5, no 1 (Fall 2024): 109-111.
[3] Many may do so on the basis of Exodus 21:16, James 2:1, etc.
[4] Deconstructionists at times fail to recognize that there is no monolithic black perspective, just as there is no monolithic white, Asian, indigenous, male, or female perspective. There are, however, biblical and unbiblical theologies which anyone may embrace.
[5] McGuckin (and McGever) are more or less saying that Christ and His Apostles were moral cowards, contra John 16:8, Acts 5:29, Acts 17:6, etc.
[6] Interestingly, McGever makes no mention of non-white Christians who count the eighteenth century “enslavers” as a part of their spiritual heritage. One may wonder if McGever would also hold them “responsible” for their spiritual ancestors’ mistakes. Phillis Wheatley, “An Elegiac Poem On the Death of that celebrated Divine, and eminent Servant of Jesus Christ, the Revered and Learned Mr. George Whitefield,” Phillis Wheatley Historical Society: http://www.phillis-wheatley.org/mr-george-whitefield/, Thabiti Anyabwile, “This Black Pastor Led a White Church – in 1788,” Christianity Today (May 3, 2017): https://www.christianitytoday.com/2017/05/lemuel-haynes-pioneering-african-american-pastor/, Sherard Burns, “Trusting the Theology of a Slave Owner,” in A God Entranced Vision of All Things: The Legacy of Jonathan Edwards, ed. John Piper and Justin Taylor (Wheaton IL: Crossway, 2004), 145-17, and Samuel Sey, “Cancel Culture and Christian Culture,” Slow to Write blog (July 3, 2020): https://slowtowrite.com/cancel-culture-and-christian-culture/.
[7] Neil Shenvi notes that the “‘deconstructive’ approach to theology is necessarily a universal acid. Even if [deconstructive authors] weren’t explicitly committed to challenging evangelical doctrine broadly, their methodological approach makes such an outcome inevitable. This erosion is, perhaps, one of my greatest fears. I worry that pastors will embrace these books thinking that their application can be confined to, say, race alone. But once a white pastor endorses the view that he — as a white male — is blinded by his own white supremacy, unable to properly understand relevant biblical principles due to his social location, and in need of the ‘lived experience’ of oppressed minorities to guide him, how long before someone in his congregation applies the same reasoning to his beliefs about gender? Or sexuality?” Neil Shenvi, “Sociology as Theology: The Deconstruction of Power in (Post)Evangelical Scholarship,” Eikon (November 21, 2021): https://cbmw.org/2021/11/21/sociology-as-theology-the-deconstruction-of-power-in-postevangelical-scholarship/.

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Who Wrote the Bible?

By Robert Cara — 5 months ago

God did not treat the human writers as inert objects (non-organic) but as living beings (organic) with their own unique traits. Yet at the same time, every single word was what God wanted written down.

Who wrote the Bible? God did. To put a finer point on it, God is the divine author who used various human authors to write exactly what He wanted written. That is, God is the primary author and the humans are secondary authors. This type of dual authorship is assumed throughout the Bible. For example, “All this took place to fulfill what the Lord [primary author] had spoken by the prophet [Isaiah, secondary author]” (Matt. 1:22; see also Mark 12:36; Heb. 3:7 with 4:7; 2 Peter 1:21). Traditionally, God’s effecting the Scriptures to be written is termed inspiration, which means that God breathed out the Scriptures (2 Tim. 3:16).
Primary Authorship
In addition to straightforward passages that declare God as the author of Scripture (2 Tim. 3:16), there are other types of intriguing biblical passages confirming divine authorship. Let us look at three.
There are passages where the Scriptures are functionally equated to God. In Romans 9:17, Paul is quoting from Exodus 9:16, where Moses is told to declare God’s words to Pharaoh. But Paul does not write, “God says to Pharaoh,” but instead, “Scripture says to Pharaoh.” Obviously, Paul means that God spoke to Pharaoh, but God’s speaking and Scripture’s speaking are intimately related to each other in Paul’s mind. Similarly in Galatians 3:8, within an argument showing that the doctrine of justification by faith existed in the Old Testament, Paul notes the forward-looking aspect of Genesis 12:3 intended by God. But in referring to this, Paul does not write, “God foreseeing,” but “Scripture foreseeing.” Again, God and Scripture are intimately related.
There are also Old Testament passages where God does not appear to be the speaker, but He is denoted as the speaker by a New Testament writer. Hebrews 1:5–13 includes seven Old Testament quotes. These quotes include passages in which God is the direct speaker but others in which He is not. However, all the quotes in Hebrews are prefaced by some form of “God says” or “he says.” Thus, whether the Old Testament context includes God’s explicitly speaking or not, the author of Hebrews considers all of Scripture to be God’s speaking on some level.
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The Honour of Being God’s Servant

By Alexander Wedderburn — 5 months ago

We must not lay stress on our service, as if it deserved our hire. When we have done all, we are unprofitable servants. Indeed, though He say, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” yet our reply ought to be, “When saw we thee hungry, and fed thee?”

Moses, the great leader of God’s people in the Old Testament, was characterised above all by his meekness. His brave leadership in exceedingly testing circumstances was marked neither by harshness nor self-aggrandizing. Although it subverts worldly ideas of what a strong leader looks like, those who want to be the greatest in Christ’s church have to be servants, and serve God by serving others. In the following excerpt from one of his sermons, the godly pastor Alexander Wedderburn explores the huge dignity that belonged to Moses when God called him, after his death, simply, “My servant.”
Commendations for God’s servants.
The great testimony of God to Moses is, “my servant.” It is the highest commendation of a man after his death, that in his life he was God’s servant. It is true, all the creatures are in their kind subservient, and God’s greatest enemies do His work. But to be “His” by way of distinction or propriety, as Moses is said to be, is a man’s greatest eulogy in death.
In Scripture, “servant” is the name given to the most eminent saints as their title of greatest honour. Think of “Abraham my servant,” “Job my servant,” “Jacob my servant,” “David my servant.” The greatest prophets and apostles glory in it; Paul, for example, prefixes it to some of his epistles, “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ.” This name is also given to the greatest princes, such as Nebuchadnezzar, head of the Assyrian empire (Jer. 25:9) and Cyrus, head of the Persian empire (Isa. 45). It is given to the excellent martyrs (Rev. 19:2), to the saints in glory (Rev. 22:3), and to the blessed angels (Rev. 19:10). Lastly, this name is given to Jesus the Mediator, “Behold my Servant …” (Isa. 42:1). When you see all these uses of the name laid together, it shows what an eminent testimony of honour it is.
Many things are fixed on in the world, as things which commend people after their death, according to the diversity of their lives. Some have been commended for their honour, some their courage, some their wisdom, some their riches. Where there is a concatenation of these, how eminently commendable that person must be! Well, in spending your life in service to God, a multitude of these concur. How deservedly then is a servant of God commended!
There is wisdom in being God’s servant.
It is the highest wisdom. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and a good understanding have all they that do His commandments. Moses is brief in determining what wisdom consists in. “Keep his statutes, for this is your wisdom” (Deut. 4:6). Yea, where His service is absent, the Scripture speaks of men as fools. Since they have rejected the word of God, what wisdom is in them? (Jer. 8:9) The foolish virgins are foolish indeed, to make no provision for the time to come. Though they should be able, with the philosophers, to dispute de omni re scibili (about every knowable thing), or, with Solomon, to traverse nature from the cedar to the hyssop (1 Kings 4:33), yet he who does not walk circumspectly is a fool (Eph. 5:16).
There is honour in being God’s servant.
There is no trade of life so honourable as to serve God. “The way of life is above to the wise” (Prov. 15:24). There are four things which show how honourable a service it is.
First, they are taken up with the noblest objects. Philosophers call their metaphysics the most noble science, because it deals with the highest beings. God’s servants, like Caleb, constantly follow Him (Num. 14).
Next, they act from the noblest principles. Love constrains them, and indeed, by regeneration, they partake of the divine nature (2 Pet. 1), which elevates the spirit far above what the most famous among the Greeks or Romans could ever reach.
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The Church Faces the Challenge of Pro-Abortion America

By Carl R. Trueman — 5 months ago

Written by Carl R. Trueman |
Wednesday, October 16, 2024
As America’s secularism becomes obvious, we who are Christians and church people need a strategy for the future. Strange to tell, such is nothing more than what should have been our strategy all along: a focus on things above, of the things of eternity, exactly that for which the Apostle Paul called in his letter to the Colossians.

With the Republican Party’s shift on abortion and the exultancy of Democrats concerning “reproductive freedom,” one thing should now be clear to American Christians: Whoever wins in November will represent to some degree a deeper, more significant victory. That victory is not merely the triumph of the sexual revolution, where the popular imagination is gripped by the idea of sex as recreation, free of any obligations or commitments. It is the victory of a deeper vision of what it means to be human—to be radically free, autonomous, and responsible for self-creation. That is one lesson we can draw from the fact that most Americans are to varying degrees in favor of abortion.
It was clear in the aftermath of the fall of Roe v. Wade that the pro-life movement had no real strategy for addressing the way forward from that point. It was caught off guard by the comprehensive nature of the backlash so that in retrospect the victory now seems a Pyrrhic one, followed by nothing but defeats and setbacks everywhere the question has been put on the ballot. American churches now face an analogous question:
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Gone Are the Dark Clouds

By Timarie Friesen — 5 months ago

The gospel allows us to know the God of the universe because of Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection—but it takes courage to explain. Specifically, courage to preach repentance and forgiveness of sins. The gospel must include the larger story of why we rebels need good news granted solely through Christ Jesus.

My dad left his girlfriend’s apartment, confused by the sudden breakup. She had a newfound faith. He thought Christians were deluded. Their Bible reading baffled him. A world-wide flood and Noah’s Ark? he scoffed. Yet when alone on a Halloween night in 1973, he ventured into the light of a church service and took a seat.
The following morning, my dad heard the Johnny Nash song, “I Can See Clearly Now.” He hummed along to the line, “Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind,” and credited God for lifting the cloud of unbelief—for setting his gaze on Christ.
Had the preacher spoken without highlighting the actual message of the gospel, my dad would not have this story to tell, as he often does.
I thought of his experience as I read through J.I. Packer’s Evangelism and the Sovereignty of God. Packer writes, “There is no evangelism when this specific message is not declared” (45). To explain the “specific message”—the gospel in its entirety—courage must overcome timidity (Rom. 1:16; 2 Tim. 1:7).
In what sense? “The world is full of people who are unaware they stand under the wrath of God,” Packer writes (97). God, our Creator, is fully good, as is his creation, but our condition was altered after the fall. We are born rebels—condemned and separated from God. Yet in hopeless depravity we are met with good news (John 3:17). Good news for everyone—news too good not to share.
Jesus told his disciples to preach repentance and forgiveness of sins to prepare people for the good news (Luke 24:47). Perhaps it seemed too large a task as they pondered the risen Jesus and the hostile people who recently crucified him. Could they do what Jesus asked? They did. The book of Acts shows the Christian faith flourishing as disciples related the message Jesus commissioned.
The word “evangelism” in its Greek form derives from the term “to publish the good news.” Thus evangelism must entail the full story—creation, fall, redemption through Jesus’s life, death, resurrection—and the beautiful grace that allows us to respond to God who loves his creation.
If communicating the gospel appears daunting, remember that Christ commissions and accompanies us. Through Jesus’s work on the cross we are reconciled to God, not abandoned. We can talk about this with genuine care and love for people.
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Shifting Sands and Stable Hope

By Aaron Edwards — 5 months ago

We hope, pray, and preach that out of our present chaos, many will find their way not merely to a forgotten cultural heritage carved into the side of the rock, but to the rock itself. As Spurgeon famously said: “Oh blessed hurricane, that drives me to the rock of ages.”

So much has changed, so many opinions altered, so many illusions undone, so many institutions exposed, so many alliances broken and made. The old certainties have shifted. So many people now say and do things they could not have imagined saying or doing before, both for good and for ill. And all in such a short space of time…
Does anyone else feel like the last half-decade feels longer than several decades put together?
So much has happened in the social and political and religious spheres, it’s hard to believe it fits into less than half a decade. The consequences of all that has been crammed into these historic years will likely remain imprinted upon us for decades to come.
So much has changed. So many opinions altered. So many illusions undone. So many institutions exposed. So many alliances broken and forged. So many people moved to say or do things they previously could not have imagined saying or doing before. And all in such a short space of time. All experienced so fast, as if we’re sat on a train watching the world we knew speed past us.
Rarely do we have sufficient time to reflect and take stock because as soon as something has happened or been spoken about, there are already several other paradigm-changing things apparently demanding our immediate attention or interpretation.
If someone was in a coma for four years they would think they had woken up to a new world altogether, where so many of the previously reliable “certainties” have been substantively and irreparably undermined. Things just don’t work the way they used to anymore. You can try to ignore it, but the world—and the way people think and talk about it—is nonetheless changing the way it’s changing.
Historians will surely analyse this as a time which substantially shaped the course of the next half-century at least, one way or another. There are, of course, noted parallels between the digital revolution (and its effects on the socio-political world) and the impact of the Renaissance, the Reformation, and the Industrial Revolution.
But it’s not merely an issue of technological innovation and access to information. It’s also a revolution in how people think and act (no doubt in part due to the way people’s minds have been shaped by the digital revolution). But unlike many modern political revolutions, the revolution of thought we are currently experiencing also involves people returning to older ideas which they did not know they were “allowed” to think about.
The Changing of the Ground
There is a creaking in the floorboards of what we thought we knew, of what we thought was not ok to say or do. The pull is in both directions. As the liberal elites become more progressively intoxicated with their empowered derangements, those who see the poverty of their thinking began to realise that even the ground on which they were holding firm was already indirectly “held” by the progressives.
Gradually and imperceptibly, we had already begun to contribute to the downfall and were heading in the same direction, albeit at a slower pace. We had already given away too much ground, and much of the ground we thought needed defending was already compromised as it was.
However you describe it—whether via the effects of the “red pill” movement or the reactions to the societal forest fire that is “Woke”—for many people it now feels impossible to go back to talking the way we did about socio-politics, theology, mission the way we did even half a decade ago. Things have changed.
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Outsourcing Discernment in an Age of Mass Information

By John Stonestreet and Timothy D Padgett — 5 months ago

How can we possibly make sense of news firing at us all the time and from every direction? The answer is, we don’t. In fact, many don’t even try. We prefer our “news” pre-digested and delivered to our feeds. In other words, we have outsourced the hard work of discernment to others.

Elon Musk recently found himself fighting the government of Brazil after his X social media platform was briefly banned there. Ironically, the censorship was marketed as a defense of democracy, i.e. the government “graciously” stepping in to save the people and the voting process from harmful disinformation.
Of course, claims of disinformation is a common tactic often employed by the powerful to silence critics. Once limits are placed on what can be written and spoken, many other liberties are at risk. Indeed, there are real dangers of an unchecked flood of information, too. In the introduction to Amusing Ourselves to Death, Neil Postman described this tension by comparing Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World and George Orwell’s 1984:
Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance.
In the end, the explosion of information everywhere, all the time, has made us believe everything and nothing at all.
And our reputation precedes us. There’s been understandable concern about Russian interference in the last few U.S. Elections, but their strategy reveals as much about us as it does them. Imagine a group of operatives from Moscow planning and scheming how to dismantle America, and finally one of them announces, “I’ve got it! Memes! We’ll use memes to interfere with their democracy.”
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A La Carte (October 16)

By Tim Challies — 5 months ago

The Lord be with you and bless you today.
Today’s premier Kindle deal is a daily devotional by David Powlison. There are some other good picks too, like a study guide for Ephesians and a commentary on Proverbs.
And now, a few recommended reads for the day.

Conrad Mbewe addresses one of those biblical phrases that gets terribly misused.

This is helpful counsel on the ways that our desire to be approved by others can blind us to our sin.

Reagan Rose: “I recently wrote about the blessings and temptations of remote work, offering some cautions for Christians to be wary of laziness. While many found it helpful, I also received some gentle pushback from readers who said they actually have the opposite problem. They feel guilty when they’re not overdoing it.”

“I love meeting with Latter-day Saints, especially the young men and women who are serving on their mission. I often invite them to my house to discuss their beliefs and ask questions about what Joseph Smith taught. After a few meetings, they usually ask if they can bring their bishop along with them to help answer some of my questions. I always say yes.”

There are a few themes that pervade Randy Alcorn’s writing and one of them is happiness. Here he explains why happiness should matter just as much to all of us.

Trevin Wax looks at some of the grand theories of why people deconstruct and leave the Christian faith and shows that often these theories don’t hold up under scrutiny.

If God utters any complaint at all, it is merely that we should have approached more often and more earnestly, that we should have drunk more freely of the waters and drunk more deeply.

It is better to go with difficulty to heaven, than with ease to Hell.
—Thomas Watson

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Memorizing Scripture and Various Other Topics

By James White — 5 months ago

I’m doing three programs today, one up in Canada, then the DL, and then Marlon Wilson’s show on YouTube. Hope the voice holds out! Talked about memorizing Scripture in my youth, the value of paper Bibles, the value of a Christian home. Then talked a bit about the craziness in our political scene right now, then talked a bit about Jacob Brunton, and then Leighton Flowers.
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Do You Feel Forsaken? Our Hidden Hope in Darkest Pain

By Dan Cruver — 5 months ago

In the days leading up to the death of my three-year-old son, Daniel, God deeply assured me of his gracious care for my family and me. One late night, I sat alone with my son in the intensive care unit, my Bible in hand. Knowing he had only a few days left, my heart was overwhelmed with grief. My chest felt constricted, as if the weight of impending loss were pressing down harder with each passing moment. I was desperate for a word from God.

Not knowing where to turn, I flipped open my Bible and found myself in Isaiah 53. My eyes immediately landed on these words: “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows” (Isaiah 53:4). Isaiah’s words washed over my anguished heart like gentle rain on parched soil, bringing much-needed relief and a renewed sense of God’s comforting presence in my distress.

But that late-night mercy didn’t last.

Several days later, when the hour of Daniel’s death arrived, my wife and I knelt by his bed, praying and seeking to comfort our son. My heart was heavy with grief, yet I trusted in God’s providence as I held Daniel’s arm and softly ran my fingers through his hair. But when his heart beat for the final time, I was shocked to find my comfort gone, leaving me “so utterly burdened beyond [my] strength that [I] despaired of life itself” (2 Corinthians 1:8). In the hours that followed, I wrestled with how the feeling of God’s nearness could so quickly give way to a sense of God-forsakenness.

How are we to interpret such paradoxical experiences? Assurance seems inseparable from God’s comforting presence, while doubt appears inevitable when we feel abandoned by him.

Always a Light

In The Lord of the Rings, as Sam and Frodo trudge through the desolate land of Mordor, burdened by the Shadow and on the brink of despair, J.R.R. Tolkien reveals a profound truth hidden within their hardship:

There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark [peak] high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach. (922)

The lesson is clear: just as Sam found hope in the distant, once-hidden twinkle of a star, there is always a light — often beyond our immediate view — that points to a greater reality. Though sometimes concealed in “the forsaken land,” this light is no less real for being hidden. Like the star that pierced Sam’s despair, it reminds us that our suffering, though real and painful, is not the final word.

In the last days of my son’s life, I experienced what Paul calls “the sufferings of this present time” (Romans 8:18) — deeply harrowing trials that, though shrouded in darkness, are held within the sovereign care of a God who promises that “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

Hidden Hope, Present Pain

Twice in Romans 8:18–19, Paul uses the word revealed. He first speaks of a glory that is not yet visible to us — a promise that remains hidden beyond our present sufferings (Romans 8:18). Then he describes creation eagerly awaiting the moment when the true identity of the sons of God will be made manifest (Romans 8:19). This dual emphasis on what is still concealed highlights the profound reality of a future glory we cannot yet see.

Paul tells us that both creation (Romans 8:19–22) and we ourselves (Romans 8:23) groan with longing for this unseen glory to be revealed. Our current suffering intensifies our yearning as we wait for the day when our identity as God’s children will be visibly manifested in glory.

What makes “the sufferings of this present time” particularly challenging is the tension between our current experiences and our hidden identity as God’s children. As believers, we are already adopted into God’s family (Romans 8:14–16), but the full revealing of who we are in Christ remains unseen (Romans 8:23–25). We live in an in-between, tension-filled time where our true identity as sons of God is veiled.

“Even when God feels distant, our secure standing before him remains unchanged.”

This hiddenness, coupled with our ongoing struggles with indwelling sin (Romans 7:13–25), can make the trials we face — tribulation, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, danger, and sword (Romans 8:35) — feel overwhelming and at odds with the truth about who we really are. The felt realities of our suffering, combined with our internal battles, constantly try to persuade us that we are less than what God has declared us to be. They work to strip away the assurance that God is truly our Father.

When God sent Moses to announce his promised deliverance, the people were too broken in spirit to listen (Exodus 6:9). Their harsh reality overshadowed their hope. What are we to do when we find ourselves in a similar place, where the promise of deliverance seems distant, and our hearts struggle to believe?

Our Durable Assurance

Paul doesn’t leave us without an answer. He frames his entire discussion of the already–not yet tension in our Christian lives with one great enduring reality.

He begins Romans 8 with our unshakable confidence: “There is . . . now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). There is no condemnation, now or ever, for those united with the one who was made to be sin, though he knew no sin, “so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21). God himself has graciously given us a righteousness that forever frees us from the most horrific circumstance imaginable: the just judgment of God against us because of our sin.

As Paul concludes Romans 8, he asks, “Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died — more than that, who was raised — who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us” (Romans 8:33–34). Robert Haldane writes,

Among the temptations to which the believer is exposed in this life, some are from without, others are from within. Within are the alarms of conscience, fearing the wrath of God; without are adversity and tribulations. Unless [the believer] overcomes the first, he cannot prevail against the last. It is impossible that he can possess true patience and confidence in God in his afflictions, if his conscience labours under the apprehension of the wrath of God. (Romans, 412)

Confidence in the face of adversity begins with the unshakable assurance that Christ, who died and was raised, intercedes for us. In our darkest moments, when God’s comfort seems to vanish and suffering threatens to overwhelm us, we hear again the gospel’s good news: the God who justified us in Christ will not allow any accusation to stand. Even when God feels distant, our secure standing before him remains unchanged.

Our hope rests not on fluctuating emotions or our sense of his presence but on the unshakable truth that Christ is our righteousness — our “light and high beauty” — ensuring that nothing, neither internal fears nor external trials, can separate us from the Father’s love (Romans 8:35–39).

Righteousness for Real Life

During the last three weeks of my son Daniel’s life, which he spent in the hospital, I found great help in Jerry Bridges’s The Gospel for Real Life, a book that had just been released. As I write, the same copy I read during that severe trial sits before me. One highlighted passage particularly resonated with me, both during his illness and in the dark days that followed. Bridges writes about Paul’s daily joy in God’s gift of justification, stating, “By faith he looked to Jesus Christ and His righteousness for his sense of being in right standing with God today and tomorrow, and throughout eternity” (111).

When I struggled with my sense of God’s absence, I was tempted to gauge his acceptance by how vividly I could feel him near. Yet Robert Critchley’s hymn “On Christ the Solid Rock” counsels us not to “trust the sweetest frame but wholly lean on Jesus’s name.” My emotions were not the measure of God’s acceptance. What mattered was Christ’s righteousness, declared to be mine through faith alone. To paraphrase Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 1:9, my dark night of the soul taught me to rely not on my experiences, no matter how sweet they may seem at times, but on Christ, my righteousness. He alone is the deepest rest for our souls.