Audio Transcript

Well, this week is exciting for me. It’s the scheduled launch week for my new book: God, Technology, and the Christian Life. I have been wanting to write and publish this book for several years now. It’s a dream of mine. Back when I wrote my book 12 Ways Your Phone Is Changing You, it proved to be harder to write than I expected. It was hard because I couldn’t find a baseline theology of technology that would orient my thinking toward the smartphone specifically. I came to see that there’s a theological gap, a lacking foundation, in how Christians think about modern-day technology — digital technology, big-tech, Silicon Valley — which surprised me.

Without that foundation, I had to build as much of it as I could myself. So, I wrote a ten-page introduction in my smartphone book. I called it “A Little Theology of Technology,” and it was published there on pages 29–39. Very little, indeed. But I knew this little theology of technology would need to become a larger theology of technology. And I knew if I could pull this off, it would serve a real need in the church.

In other words, we need to ask, What is God’s relationship to big tech? What does he think of space travel, nuclear power, and the big agricultural innovations we depend on for food every day? That’s what I’m trying to figure out, because only once we can answer this question can we figure out our relationship to tech. So, I’m thrilled to announce that my theology of technology is written, done, printed, and out. Pastor John kindly took the time to read it, and he liked it, and wanted to use this Wednesday slot in the podcast to share his thoughts with you about my book, which is a little awkward for me as the host of this podcast, but it’s super kind of him. Here’s what he had to say.

If you can see me and hear me, you are among the most technologically advanced human beings in the history of the world. Yes, you are. And probably, like me, you take that for granted, and we’ll be taking for granted very soon, probably, self-driving cars, and artificial intelligence, and robots, and human genetic engineering — all of them as if they were just as normal as an iPhone.

Penetrating Book on Big Tech

There are only a few people in the world who are asking the question, How does a big God relate to big technology? — especially Bible-saturated people. Thoughtful people. Especially also given the fact that the word big in “big tech” and “big God” are infinitely disproportionate.

“I don’t think there is a more sweeping treatment of technology so tethered to the infallible Scriptures.”

You may know the name Tony Reinke from being the host of Ask Pastor John, or you may know him as the author of 12 Ways Your Phone Is Changing You. Tony has written a book called God, Technology, and the Christian Life. It is a panoramic and penetrating book. I don’t think there is a more sweeping treatment of technology so tethered to the infallible Scriptures, and therefore, so realistic and so hopeful. Tony’s not anti-technology. He calls himself a “tech optimist,” in fact. He’s glad he lives in the computer age. In fact, let me read to you a quote that was amazing to me:

Our safe jets, reliable cars, intelligent phones, medical options, household appliances, streaming video, digital music, have upgraded each of us to a tech wealth beyond Rockefeller’s wildest imagination. . . . “Nearly every middle-class American today is richer than was America’s richest man a mere 100 years ago.” (150)

God Bigger Than Big Tech

But Tony’s tech optimism doesn’t flow from confidence in Elon Musk, or artificial intelligence, or human genetic engineering. It flows from the fact that in the Bible, Tony finds the reality of a sovereign, massive, glorious God of providence, infinite wisdom, and infinite knowledge that simply dwarfs all the powers of big tech. That’s what he finds. That’s where his confidence comes from.

“Is your God big enough to make the greatest technological marvel look like a first-grade arithmetic book?”

What happens when you read this book is that your theology is exposed. You discover whether or not your feelings and thinkings about the greatest technological marvels cause you to see God as vastly greater. Is your God big enough to make the greatest technological marvel look like a first-grade arithmetic book — or not? For me personally, reading this book was a worship experience, because the bigger technology became — and Tony makes it big — the more beautiful Christ became.

Tony says this: “The angels in heaven are not bowing down to the wonders of Silicon Valley. The angels in heaven are bowing down to the glories and the agonies of Jesus Christ” (278). It was a worship experience, so my prayer is that that’s what it will be for you when you read God, Technology, and the Christian Life by Tony Reinke.

For the greater part of church history, Christians have viewed the Psalms through the lens of fulfillment in Jesus Christ. In particular, they have read the Psalms as the songs of Jesus — songs sung by Jesus in his life on earth, and songs in which the risen and ascended Jesus still leads his church in singing on earth.

Imagine you are sitting in a grand concert hall. On the stage is a vast choir, and in the center, one man conducts and leads the choir in song. You listen for a while as they sing psalms. Then the conductor looks at you and invites you to leave your seat, come on stage, and join the choir. And you do. You are converted from a mere listener to a singer. But you do not take the microphone.

Jesus Christ is the lead singer and conductor of the choir, which is his church through the ages. Jesus has the microphone. When you come to Jesus, you join his choir. You sing and say all your prayers and praises under his lead. You learn to sing the Psalms led by him.

Rather than just being an attractive fancy, this picture conveys something wonderfully true. The Psalter (the five books of psalms) centers on the figure of the Davidic king and is incomplete without the presence of “great David’s greater son,” the Lord Jesus, the Messiah. Moreover, Jesus the Messiah speaks not only the psalms of David, but — in one way or another — all the Psalms. The New Testament quotes and echoes the Psalms in such a way as to encourage this conclusion.

I have examined the reasons for reading the Psalms like this in the introductory volume of my recent Psalms commentary. Simply put, however, a proper theology of prayer and praise grasps that we can speak to God only in and through Jesus Christ, our Great High Priest who brings us to God.

Songs to Savor

Consider, then, some of the great benefits of reading the Psalms as the songs of Jesus. I paint these blessings with a broad brush, and not without acknowledging that there are puzzles to wrestle with. Some psalms, for example, pray for God to punish the wicked (the so-called imprecatory psalms), and sometimes psalmists confess their sins (notably Psalm 51). There are other complexities as well, for the Psalms are like a jewel with many beautiful facets. I have tried to address the puzzles in detail in my commentary, but here I offer some broad-brush blessings to savor as you sing the Psalms in and through Christ.

1. You can sing in tune with the gospel.

A Christ-centered reading of the Psalms grasps that these songs are saturated with the gospel of Christ. Without Christ, I read Psalm 1 and think, “I must try harder to be like this admirable man if I am to hope for his blessing.” Without Christ, Psalm 15 tells me that only if I perfectly do what is right can I hope to dwell in the presence of God. So, I must pray and try harder. Psalm 24 tells me that only when I have a pure heart will I ascend the hill of the Lord to stand in the presence of his holiness. So, I must pray and work harder to purify my heart.

Because I want these blessings, I must bend my zeal with unflagging effort to attain them (even though I can never succeed), just as the troubled Martin Luther did before his rediscovery of justification by faith alone through grace alone. (Incidentally, it seems likely that Luther rediscovered this ancient truth in the Psalms before he found it in Galatians, Romans, Hebrews, and elsewhere.)

“The Psalms set before us unnumbered blessings. Each one of them is yours and mine in Christ.”

But with Christ, I rejoice that, first and fundamentally, Christ himself is the blessed man of Psalm 1; Christ is the righteous man of Psalm 15; Christ has the pure heart called for in Psalm 24. It is Christ who fulfills the high calling of the Psalms, Christ who can sing them with perfect assurance, Christ who ascends to the Father, and Christ alone who brings me there. The Psalms set before us unnumbered blessings. Each one of them is yours and mine in Christ.

The same is true of my praises. “Every day I will bless you,” says Psalm 145:2. But I don’t. So — without Christ — I must try harder to raise my life of praise to a higher level. And of course, it will never be good enough. But when I grasp that Christ speaks these words to the Father and did exactly this every day of his life on earth, then I rejoice that I can praise in and through Christ, who leads the choir.

2. You can sing every line of every song.

A Christ-centered reading of the Psalms rescues me from having to pick and choose which parts of the Psalms I will make my own. When someone says, “I love the Psalms,” I want to ask, “Which psalms?” and “Which sections from those psalms?” It is all too easy to isolate the parts that resonate with my experience and the parts that bring me comfort, and then quickly skim over the other parts (of which there are many).

But God did not give us the Psalms mainly to resonate with us, but rather to shape us — to shape our desires, our delights, our affections, our hearts, our minds, our wills, our emotions. In Christ, I can read every verse of every psalm and discover its true and full meaning as Jesus Christ sings it and gives it to me to sing as part of his choir.

A closely related blessing is that a Christ-centered reading encourages me to sing the Psalms as a member of Christ’s worldwide church. When I try to make each psalm speak directly to me, I struggle. But when I read a psalm as speaking for the whole church — what Augustine often spoke of as “the whole Christ, Head and members” — time and again, it comes into clear focus and makes sense. I no longer sing as a solitary individual but as a member of Christ’s body, his universal choir.

3. You can sing for joy in Jesus.

Another blessing is that the Psalms settle me into an assured faith in Christ and a glad enjoyment of his benefits. For example, the wonderful promises of Psalm 91 are given supremely to Christ, which is why the devil prefaces his quotation of this psalm by saying, “If you are the Son of God . . .” (Matthew 4:6). “If you are the Son of God, then this is promised to you.” Jesus declines to do what the devil says, but he implicitly agrees that these promises are his by right and he could act on them if he so chose.

So, I cannot delight in Psalm 91 as if it were written simply for me, because it wasn’t. And yet, mysteriously, in Christ these blessings are all mine.

4. You can sing centered on Christ.

Perhaps the greatest blessing of a Christ-centered reading is that it frees me from being imprisoned into thinking that the Psalms are all about me. No, they are not all about me! They are all about Jesus Christ in his flawless human nature and his incomparable divine nature. They revolve around Jesus, who sang the Psalms as a significant part of his life of faith and prayer and praise on earth.

I remember seeing on the wall of a church the words of Psalm 20:4: “May [the Lord] grant you your heart’s desire and fulfill all your plans!” How wonderful, you might think. The Bible promises me all that my heart desires. Until you read the psalm and realize that Psalm 20 is a prayer for the king in David’s line. Ultimately, it is a prayer that Jesus will have his heart’s desire granted and that his plans will be fulfilled. And they will!

The Psalms are not all about me. If I think they are, I will end up disillusioned. But when I grasp that they are all about Christ, my heart lifts in joy that he is the blessed Man and I belong to him.

In a season that focuses on gifts, I often overlook one of the most priceless ones. It’s a gift I’ve dreaded, refused, and longed to give back, but it has been invaluable in shaping me and drawing me to Jesus. It’s the unwelcome gift of suffering.

Suffering does not seem like a good gift. Job’s friends saw it as punishment for an unrighteous life. Most people, including me, avoid it whenever possible. Even thinking about it can fill me with a sense of fear.

Yet the Bible shows us that suffering is an intentional gift. Though we are never told to seek it out, we can know, if we are in Christ, that God gives us suffering for our good.

Comfort Can Make Us Forget

God used the wilderness to shape the wandering children of Israel, so they would learn to trust him for all their needs and live by his word (Deuteronomy 8:3). In the wilderness, God’s presence was unmistakable; his direction, clear. He provided for the Israelites what they could not provide for themselves and fulfilled all his promises to them (Joshua 23:14).

God wanted his people to remember how he delivered them in those difficult days — he knew how important the wilderness was to their faith. He wanted them to remember his tender care, and he knew that when they were prosperous, they would be tempted to forget him. They would assume they could provide for themselves and would turn away. So he says through Moses,

Take care lest you forget the Lord your God . . . lest, when you have eaten and are full and have built good houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks multiply and your silver and gold is multiplied and all that you have is multiplied, then your heart be lifted up, and you forget the Lord your God . . . who led you through the great and terrifying wilderness, with its fiery serpents and scorpions and thirsty ground where there was no water, who brought you water out of the flinty rock, who fed you in the wilderness with manna that your fathers did not know, that he might humble you and test you, to do you good in the end. Beware lest you say in your heart, “My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth.” (Deuteronomy 8:11–17)

In essence, God told them that in times of plenty and abundance, they needed to reflect on past times of struggle and remember how he met them in it. The great and terrifying wilderness with its fiery serpents and thirsty ground was the place they learned of his faithfulness and provision.

This is the opposite perspective of the world, which urges us to look back and focus on the good times and to work for future success and comfort. But God knows the gifts of success and comfort are temporal, only to be enjoyed while we have them. Apart from God, they don’t foster lasting joy and often lead to bitterness when they are taken away.

Where Great Prayers Were Prayed

God never promised to give us thriving ministries, perfect marriages, obedient children, healthy bodies, comfortable bank accounts, or protection from painful trials. But he has promised to be with us in trouble, which can be a greater blessing than the absence of trouble.

“God has promised to be with us in trouble, which is a far greater blessing than the absence of trouble.”

His presence feels nearer. His embrace tighter. And when the trial is removed, we have a deeper faith, rooted in God’s character and love. Just looking back at God’s faithfulness in trials anchors us. The memory of the presence of God in our pain is enough to make us love Jesus more, long for heaven, and fall to our knees in gratitude.

Joseph Parker, a British pastor in the mid-1800s, speaks of the value of the great and terrible wilderness. He says, “The ‘great and terrible wilderness’ was the place where our great prayers were prayed. . . . You do not know what you said in that long night of wilderness and solitude; the words were taken down; if you could read them now, you would be surprised at their depth, richness, and unction. You owe your very life to the wilderness which made you afraid” (The People’s Bible, 80).

Suffering Deepened My Faith

I owe the depth of my faith and my love for Christ to the wilderness that made me afraid. I learned to lament, to press into God, to depend on him completely in the wilderness. I don’t remember what I cried out to God in the dark, but I do remember that God answered with himself.

“I owe the depth of my faith and my love for Christ to the wilderness that made me afraid.”

Friends were around me, but no one could touch the deepest parts of my pain. I couldn’t even articulate how I felt. The emotions often seemed bigger than I was. It was in crying out, in throwing myself on his mercy, and in praying desperate prayers, that I met God most intimately. He knows that our experience of him and his unmistakable provision in suffering can mark and ground our faith. If we truly are comforted by God in our pain, we likely will never forget it.

That is why suffering is a gift. Not the suffering itself, but the turning to God in suffering, because that is where we encounter him. The greater the pain, the closer God comes. And the closer he comes, the more joy he offers. In his presence is fullness of joy (Psalm 16:11), and he offers joy for those he chooses to bring near (Psalm 65:4). This otherworldly, counterintuitive, overflowing joy assures us that heaven is real, God is good, and glory awaits.

Tearing Wrapping Paper

I have come to see that this life is like wrapping paper and ribbons. We want our lives to look beautiful, and we spend most of our energy making sure they are. This wrapping is what we can see and touch and experience, both the tangible and the intangible. It includes our families, our friends, our homes, our accomplishments, our physical appearance, our money, our gifts — all the pursuits we spend time on, appreciate, and invest in. God wants us to enjoy these gifts which are from him, though none is permanent or indestructible.

Suffering tears that wrapping paper, and the process permanently changes us. Life as we knew it may never be restored, and we appropriately mourn what we’ve lost. We look at the torn paper longingly, wishing that we could at least tape it back together. We look at other people’s intact paper and shiny ribbons and wonder why only ours have been damaged, sometimes almost shredded. It doesn’t seem fair. We’re tempted to wonder what we’ve done wrong.

But as we sit with our torn paper, we begin to realize that the paper wasn’t an end in itself. It was only temporary, never meant to last forever, like our earthly tents, which are not our permanent dwellings. We know we will deal with pain and loss until our true home in heaven (2 Corinthians 5:1–4).

While the paper was once our focus, when it rips, we notice that there is something more. We see that the paper, whether beautiful or plain, was just there to enfold a gift. The gift is the item of supreme value, and the torn paper enables us, perhaps for the first time, to notice it. Even a glimpse of the gift is breathtaking. While the wrapping paper had an important purpose, it fades when we see the unparalleled beauty of the gift. The gift is God himself — the only treasure that will last.

Gift of Suffering

We’ll delight in Christ endlessly in heaven, and encountering his beauty and comfort on earth gives us a small foretaste of that eternal happiness. For me, experiencing God in my suffering is the closest I’ve come to pure joy.

Suffering has taken my eyes off the temporary and fixed them on the eternal. My faith is not theoretical, not a set of doctrines and principles that others have adopted; it is personal and real. As my outer nature is wasting away and my paper has ripped, I have glimpsed a weight of glory beyond all comparison.

So this Christmas, if your paper is ragged and torn, don’t despair. Look carefully to find the gift of supreme value, that can never be taken away and will last throughout eternity. It is the matchless gift of our Savior, who is Christ the Lord.