While friends do (and should) encourage and uplift us, they should also create edifying wounds. These wounds aren’t meant to break or destroy us but, through their pain, lead us to growth. Like a vinedresser cutting away the dead vines or the sculptor carving away imperfections, our friendships should sharpen us—but such sharpening isn’t always comfortable.

“I have good news and bad news. God has called us to move back home.”
Our friend’s words stunned me. He told us God was leading him and his family, whom we had grown to see as our own family, to move back to his hometown.
My emotions moved like the sea line. One hour I fought sadness, another I struggled with loneliness, another moment fear surged through me, and yet another anger boiled in me. Though I initially directed my feelings at my friends, I later saw they were truly directed at God.
Why did you give us these close friends? I cried out to him. Why did you bring us together in such deep friendships only to tear them away from us two years later?
In the wake of that announcement, I’m not sure I loved my friends as well as I would have said I did.
Love Grows with Knowledge and Discernment
On earth, we will never reach a point of loving one another perfectly (because we are each still in our sinful flesh), yet we can always be growing in our love for one another.
The Thessalonians modelled this. In his first letter to them, Paul exclaimed his gratitude for their labor of love (1 Thess. 1:2–3), and in his second letter he declared that their love had grown ever greater (2 Thess. 1:3). Could someone say the same of your love for others? Has your love grown ever greater?
Perhaps we must first consider: How does our love grow? It grows in knowledge and discernment, which can only be produced from Scripture. As Paul wrote to the Philippians, “And I pray this: that your love will keep on growing in knowledge and every kind of discernment, so that you may approve the things that are superior and may be pure and blameless in the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ to the glory and praise of God” (Phil. 1:9–11).
Our love should be based on knowledge—our knowledge of how we were first loved by the Savior (1 John 4:19). It’s according to this love by which God covered us that we love others—with grace, selflessness, and truth. We love one another with knowledge of the truth, always seeking to encourage them in further holiness.
Is your love founded in this kind of knowledge and discernment? What does it look like to live this way?
Allowing God to Lead Them
A week after my dear friend told me they were moving, God led me to a passage in Acts:

While we were staying [in Caesarea] for many days, a prophet named Agabus came down from Judea. And coming to us, he took Paul’s belt and bound his own feet and hands and said, ‘Thus says the Holy Spirit, “This is how the Jews at Jerusalem will bind the man who owns this belt and deliver him into the hands of the Gentiles.” When we heard this, we and the people there urged him not to go up to Jerusalem. Then Paul answered, “What are you doing, weeping and breaking my heart? For I am ready not only to be imprisoned but even to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.” (Acts 21:9–14)

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Written by Frank J. Smith |
Monday, September 4, 2023
Dr. David C. Lachman (27 October, 1939 – 27 August, 2023) went to be with the Lord at the age of 83, after a period of slow decline beginning in 2018. He died peacefully in his own bed at his home of 41 years in Wyncote, PA, surrounded by his wife and three children. He is survived by his wife of 51 years, three children, and 12 grandchildren, his sister and brother, and relatives.

David was a gentleman in so many ways—polite, respectful, calm, quiet, peaceful, unflappable, and indeed gentle.  At an early age—when he was six years old—he had been conquered by God’s grace, and the resulting Christian character shone through for more than seven decades.  His care for those in need was demonstrated when he was a caseworker, walking without fear on streets in dangerous neighborhoods in Philadelphia.
David was also an eminent scholar.  He earned five academic degrees from four institutions: B.A. (Houghton College), M.A. (University of Pennsylvania), B.D. and Th.M. (Westminster Theological Seminary), and Ph.D. (University of St. Andrews in Scotland).  His dissertation on the Marrow Controversy was published by the Rutherford House.  He was one of the general editors of the Dictionary of Scottish Church History & Theology.  And he co-edited Worship in the Presence of God: A Collection of Essays on the Nature, Elements, and Historic Views and Practice of Worship, published in 1992.
Producing that 400-page book took a decade, taken up with recruiting authors, cajoling them into turning in their chapters, and a painstaking, word-by-word and comma-by-comma reviewing of their submissions.  I was the other co-editor of that volume.  It was my brainchild, but without David’s careful editing work and patient dealing with other authors, coupled with the intellectual respect he commanded, it would never have come to fruition.  This book was the first one in the twentieth century that promoted not just certain elements of worship (such as Psalmody) but the whole doctrine of worship from the perspective of the Westminster Confession of Faith.  Perhaps the best way to illustrate the work’s significance is the fact that a noted writer who has vehemently rejected the regulative principle of worship felt compelled to write a whole book attacking Worship in the Presence of God.
In addition to this collection of essays, David’s other major contribution to the literature of the doctrine of worship was a 2005 article he co-authored for The Confessional Presbyterian, “Reframing Presbyterian Worship: A Critical Survey of the Worship Views of John M. Frame and R. J. Gore.”
David’s academic prowess was put to good use in the classroom, as he taught courses at Westminster Theological Seminary and Puritan Reformed Theological Seminary.  But his church history expertise also came in handily in his chosen profession, which was that of antiquarian bookdealer.  For almost half a century, he transported treasures of the British Isles to America, importing tons of tomes—duty free, he would gleefully note, as antiquarian collectibles are not subject to tariffs.  What made him particularly successful was his virtually encyclopedic knowledge of books and Bibles.
Another aspect of his scholarship was his writing introductions to various reprint editions of old books.  Examples include two works by James Durham, The Dying Man’s Testament to the Church of Scotland, or, A Treatise Concerning Scandal; and A Commentary upon Revelation; a book by Thomas Murphy, Pastoral Theology: The Pastor in the Various Duties of His Office; and a magisterial volume by George Gillespie, Aaron’s Rod Blossoming; or, the Divine Ordinance of Church Government Vindicated.  He wrote three entries for the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, and contributed a chapter to The Doctrine of the Church, an audiobook featuring Westminster Seminary faculty members.
David became one of the key suppliers of rare Bibles to multiple prominent displays, private and public.  Again, another example of his scholarship being put to practical use.
And there was another dimension where his scholarly ways served a public good, which was his life as a churchman.  Ordained as a ruling elder in the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA), he took his churchly duties seriously.  He often attended presbytery and General Assembly meetings.  He served as a parliamentarian of Philadelphia Presbytery, and also on the Assembly’s Committee on Constitutional Business.
And he was not afraid to engage in ecclesiastical battle, when such became necessary.  Like the founder of Westminster Seminary, J. Gresham Machen, a minister who was known as “Mr. Valiant-for-Truth,” and an academic who was no ivory-tower theologian, David was willing to fight for what he believed.  As acknowledged by everyone, he was principled, and not hesitant to do what he thought was right, no matter the cost.
David employed his intellectual and writing talents in ecclesiastical journalism.  For several years, as part of a reform movement within the PCA, he edited a magazine called The Presbyterian Advocate.  In a way reminiscent of the efforts of the Presbyterian Journal, which had exposed doctrinal decline in the Southern Presbyterian Church, The Presbyterian Advocate tirelessly targeted bureaucratic gibberish.  Consideration of his journalistic efforts leads me to note that though he was respected, he was not always loved—in point of fact, many times, he was feared by churchmen, not because he was mean-spirited, but because they instinctively understood that he had a better grasp of the principles at stake.
His going on the offensive theologically speaking should not be viewed as being contradictory to his general genteel nature.  David was like a Medieval noble knight who respects women, is kind to children, and can even be compassionate toward his opponents.  At the same time, with lance-like accuracy, David punctured pomposity and skewered inconsistency.  One memorable editorial, which pointed out the nonsense in a particular denominational publication, ended with words from Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky”: “’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.”
That last anecdote illustrates another side to David, which was his sense of humor.  He enjoyed a good joke—and he could laugh at himself, too.
I would be remiss if I did not mention that in addition to everything else, David was a friend.  I knew him for four decades.  He often lent a sympathetic ear to me as I wrestled with various struggles, whether personal or in the ministry.  Many a time during the period when we were putting together that book on worship, and even after we had completed it, I would call him at, oh, around midnight, and talk into the wee hours of the morning.  I thereupon was anointed by the Lachman children of having attained, along with others, the honorable status of being one of the “lunatic fringe.”
David C. Lachman was a good man and a great man.  He may not be known as widely as some of today’s PCA superstars, but his contributions to church history will be celebrated in generations to come.  At times, it takes the fog of war to dissipate before we can see clearly who the true heroes and the truly significant figures are.  I can think of at least three ways that his work will be seen by historians as impactful.
One, he set a pattern of faithfulness—of commitment to principle—which can encourage others to follow.
Two, he was fundamentally correct on the principles for which he contended.
Three, his actions demonstrate both tactical and strategic positioning.  For example, David’s journalistic endeavor was a harbinger of today’s bloggers—largely laymen—who are active in the current reform efforts in the PCA.  Also, his writings on worship helped lay the foundation for a rediscovery of historic Presbyterian worship.
A gentleman and a scholar.  A churchman and a friend.  Dr. David C. Lachman lived a full life.  I will miss him.  I already miss not being able to pick up the phone and give him a call (even if, in recent years, doing so was at more reasonable hours!).  But I look forward to seeing him again, robed with the Redeemer’s righteousness, and engaging with him in perfect worship that will be pure and entire, throughout all eternity.
Sometimes, in reflecting on heaven, David would say that he didn’t know exactly what it would be like, except that it would be far more wonderful than we could imagine.  Indeed.  May God give all of us that childlike, wonder-filled faith and hope on our pilgrimage toward the Celestial City.
Frank J. Smith is Pastor of Atlanta Reformed Presbyterian Church.

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While being a wise steward of what God’s entrusted to us is a virtue, increased wealth isn’t a sign of God’s blessing. It’s possible that we’re putting our identity in the wrong place, finding our value in what moths will destroy than in the One who provides for our every need.

At the beginning of 2022, my church began studying the book of James. This book is so helpful and practical in many ways. But one of the ways that it helps me personally is helping me to see when I’m focused on the wrong things.
Or maybe a better way to say it is, when I’m focused on what won’t last.
The Perennial Issue
James 1:9-11 introduces a perennial issue: our relationship with wealth. More specifically, it challenges the all-too-frequent assumption in a western society that wealth equates blessing or value. But James flips this assumption entirely, writing:
9 Let the brother of humble circumstances boast in his exaltation, 10 but let the rich boast in his humiliation because he will pass away like a flower of the field. 11 For the sun rises and, together with the scorching wind, dries up the grass; its flower falls off, and its beautiful appearance perishes. In the same way, the rich person will wither away while pursuing his activities.
The poor, he says, have cause to boast—to be proud in a godly sense, because they have a special place in God’s kingdom. They know that all they have is from God. They don’t hear the words of Jesus’s example of how to pray, saying “Give us today our daily bread,” as a truism (Matt. 6:11). It’s a way of life. Every day, every moment, is lived by faith. This is the faith of the majority church, not just throughout history, in places like Ethiopia, in Nicaragua, in Haiti, Honduras, El Salvador, China and dozens of other nations, it’s what faith looks like right now.
It’s the kind of faith that looks at their circumstances as an opportunity to boast in God, in His provision; glorifying Him with great joy in all things.
But to our cultural ears, that is strange.
When We’re Focused on What Won’t Last
In our society, the wealthy are exalted. They are our cultural icons whether they became wealthy through their ingenuity, abilities, or good old-fashioned dumb luck.
Jeff Bezos, Richard Branson, Elon Musk… While all have different stories of gaining wealth, they’re all primarily known to us today for one reason only:
They’re weird rich guys who built themselves spaceships.
But we still esteem them. We still exalt them. And, let’s be honest, if you were as insanely wealthy as them, you’d probably build yourself a spaceship, too.
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