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Archives For November 30, 1999

Personal belief, salvation, spiritual disciplines, formation

When Proverbs 22:6 isn’t a guarantee

Meredith Flynn —  September 13, 2012

COMMENTARY | Mark Coppenger

A number of years ago, I got a Sunday night call from a pastor who was facing backlash from a prominent deacon in his church. The critic was taking exception to his statement that Proverbs 22:6 wasn’t a guarantee – “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.”

The layman was “claiming the promise” that his wayward son, having been brought up in a seriously Christian home and church, would eventually straighten up and fly right. When the pastor ventured to suggest the verse wasn’t an ironclad warranty, the distraught, indignant dad said he was denying the truth of Scripture, and was threatening to take his complaint to others in the church.

What can one say to this?

Well, a not-so-impressive approach is to suggest that it might well be the case that the man and his wife hadn’t “trained him up in the way he should go” after all. If they had, the boy wouldn’t be on the wrong path. In other words, the proof was in the pudding.

Or, we could say, “Just wait. It’ll all work out, just as the Bible promises.” But we can all think of Christian families where all but one of the kids turned out well, and where it is hard to say how the one child was trained significantly more poorly than the others.

A much better approach is to see Proverbs as a divine book of moral generalities, of rules of thumb, rather than a book of pointed prophecies, physical laws or contractual obligations. That’s just what proverbs or aphorisms are meant to be, whether we’re talking about such secular versions as “a stitch in time saves nine” and “absence makes the heart grow fonder” or the inspired, biblical counterparts, “A gracious woman gains honor” (Proverbs 11:16) or “wealth obtained by fraud will dwindle” (Proverbs 13:11). Though we can think of exceptions to these rules, there is deep and life-important truth in them.

Proverbs 22:16, the verse in question, teaches us that sound religious and moral upbringing is a wise investment of time and energy. It’s the sort of thing that pays off in a big way. And to neglect it is to flirt with disaster.

With this view of Proverbs, you don’t lose trust in Scripture when the skeptic says, “Aha, I know a lazy man who lived like a king all his life on his inheritance” as a way to refute Proverbs 24:33-34 (“A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest, and poverty will come upon you like a robber, and want like an armed man.”) The problem would arise if, in general, laziness proved to be a better path to success than hard work. Which it won’t. And neither will laissez-faire parenting, where the kids are allowed to run wild and ignorant.

Mark Coppenger, former pastor of Evanston (Ill.) Baptist Church, is professor of Christian apologetics at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky.

-Excerpted from Baptist Press

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A lamp in the dark

Meredith Flynn —  September 10, 2012

HEARTLAND | Esther Eggley

You are my lamp, O Lord; the Lord turns my darkness into light. (2 Samuel 22:29, NIV)

One year, my parents, sister and I took a camping trip traveling through the Southwest. Our first night in the Rocky Mountains, we pitched our tent in a small campground. The restrooms were on the other side of a small wooded area. And the cloud cover made for an extremely dark night.

Some time late in the night, my Dad and I decided to make a trip to the restrooms. We carried a flashlight, taking the longer route on the paved road to avoid meeting up with any unknown critters in the woods.

On our return trip, I heard a voice speaking in a loud whisper coming from the woods. It was calling my name. I couldn’t see anyone, and I didn’t recognize the voice. My heart started beating fast. I knew my dad was startled too, because he stopped suddenly and aimed the light into the woods. As the light came around, we saw a figure robed in white, beckoning me. When the light revealed the whole being, there stood my mother in her white housecoat. She had decided to meet us at the restrooms but didn’t want to wake the camp by calling my name too loudly. My father was quick to point out how unwise it was to be traipsing through the woods in the mountains in the middle of the night with a flashlight, but even worse, without one.

Life sometimes makes my heart race. Confronting unknown voices, obstacles and situations is frightening. When I remember that as I study God’s Word, He turns my darkness into light through understanding.

Let this be our prayer: Thank you God, that you have not hidden yourself from us. You sent your son so we could see you. You gave us the Bible to reveal the things we need in our walk with You.

Esther Eggley serves on IBSA’s Church Planting team.

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What’s in a (hurricane’s) name?

Meredith Flynn —  August 30, 2012

COMMENTARY | Southern Seminary’s Russell Moore blogged about home and hurricane names as Isaac waged war on the Gulf Coast. Isaac means “laughter,” and as Abraham’s promised son, isn’t his name more fitting for a joyous occasion than a hurricane? Moore writes:

Hurricane Ishmael, now that would be more appropriate, I think to myself. Ishmael is, after all, the son of exile, the son of the “will of the flesh” seeking to accomplish God’s work on its own.

But, the more I think of it, maybe Isaac is the right name. Isaac’s story, after all, seems horrific and tragic. In order for Abraham to receive God’s blessing, he must lay on the altar every hope that he can see of being blessed: including God’s promise of this son. God doesn’t accept that sacrifice, we know. But Isaac ultimately dies, and so do all of his children. And, in the biblical story, erased also is the very Promised Land itself. The people of God are left without patriarchs, without kings, and without even the security of home.

As I watch the hurricane Isaac bounce around the weather maps, that’s what I fear, I suppose: the loss of home.

Read his full post at RussellMoore.com.

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‘A reason to sing’

Meredith Flynn —  August 27, 2012

HEARTLAND | Meredith Flynn

Does the world seem a little more broken these days? Words are uglier, crimes are, if possible, more senseless, and things just seem darker. Of course, there’s hope, and an answer, and we know exactly where it comes from. Christ is the only redemptive factor in a broken world. But when we as Christians are dulled by what we see and hear, how can we communicate the hope Jesus brings to those who desperately need to know it? Check out this song by worship duo All Sons & Daughters, and reflect on the reasons He’s given you to sing.

Video courtesy of All Sons & Daughters and Integrity Music.

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Yard work is terrible, but God is good

Meredith Flynn —  August 20, 2012

HEARTLAND | Meredith Flynn

Just when I thought I’d gotten them all…

Do household chores ever teach you lessons? Mine do. Especially the ones I don’t do very often or very well, and as a newlywed and new homeowner, that’s almost everything.

For instance, I just spent two years hours weeding the yard. A summer’s worth of busy weekends coupled with Central Illinois’ desert-like conditions have left us living on a brown, scratchy rectangle of something that used to be grass, I think. Nothing has grown for months – except weeds. Tall, scraggly, thorny and thriving. I told myself I’d spend an hour pulling as many as I could.

And for a few minutes, it went well. I felt hearty and worthwhile, like a real Midwesterner working her land. But it all went south when I looked around and realized it looked the same as it had 20 minutes ago. I quickly spiraled into this cycle: see a weed (“this is bad”), bend down to pull it (“this is really bad”), somewhat successfully get it out of the ground (“well, OK, that was a good one), see the next one (“this is bad”).

I went on like that for a few minutes before an even more dangerous thought crept into my head: How did we ever let it get this bad?

You know where I’m going with this. I knew it right there in the yard. My morning of manual labor runs pretty parallel to my spiritual life (and maybe yours too). We see something we don’t like, try to get rid of it, have some success in overcoming it, right before we see the next thing. And all the while, the question haunts us: How did it get this bad? Without me even knowing it? It might be one nagging sin, or a mindset, or a bad habit. But, when looked at through the lens of trying to extinguish it forever, it can be enough to send us running indoors.

And I thought about it plenty of times that morning, just turning in my work gloves and moving on to the next, hopefully easier, task. What kept me there was that God was talking. Not audibly, but the lesson was clear, and here’s what He was saying: I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. Not necessarily to help you weed the yard, but as you see things in your life that shouldn’t be there, I’m here. And as you work on removing those things, I’m here. On the good days and the bad ones too. And when you see the next thing we need to work on, I’m here.

Sanctification isn’t done in an hour, as much as I wish it could be. But God is a patient and present gardener, much more patient and present than I’ll ever be. He sticks with His task of transforming us, and even lets us have a part in it. What area is He showing you that needs some work? And how is He sustaining you in the process?

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Two Americans in Paris

Meredith Flynn —  August 9, 2012

COMMENTARY | Serena Butler

There are certain things in life that bring comfort to us during times of trouble. Hugs, a cup of hot chocolate, a smile from a friend, knowing someone is praying for you – those are just a few of the things that come to mind. Recently I found comfort from something I never expected.

I was finishing up a mission trip to the Olympics in London when something went wrong. Our team had decided to end our trip with a day in Paris. We boarded the train and headed into Paris to see whatever time would allow. Crowded subways to us to Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, and a boat ride on the Seine. Then we headed back to the subway that would take us back to the train back to London. When we got off the subway, one of our team members discovered that her wallet, which contained her passport, credit cards, and money, was missing. (We assume she was the victim of a pick pocket.)

Without a passport, you can’t leave France. So, the rest of the team boarded the train to London, leaving two of us behind. We made phone calls to the States, filed a police report, and found a hotel. This all happened on Friday evening, and the US Embassy wouldn’t open until Monday morning at 8:30 am. So we found ourselves in Paris, with a lot of time to get all our papers in order for our visit to the Embassy.

We arrived at the gate at 7:20 am Monday morning to find 13 people ahead of us in line. We later learned that they were most likely French citizens applying for Visas to the US. At about 7:30 they opened the gate and we stood in line to go through security. As soon as I showed my US Passport we were put into a different line that put us ahead of everyone else. We were the first admitted to the Embassy and were sitting inside by 7:35, being smiled at by portraits of President Obama and Secretary of State Hilary Clinton.

Now comes the surprisingly comforting moment: I’ve heard others say this, but this morning I experienced for myself the peace and comfort that comes from knowing you are on American soil in a foreign country. I don’t think you fully understand it until you have experienced it. I felt a little bit of home and, most importantly, I felt safe. There were at least 13 other Americans there who had lost passports over the weekend and we spoke to them, joined together by the same circumstances.

As I sat waiting, I thought this might be something like the feeling we will have when we found ourselves ushered into heaven. Instead of the President, Jesus will be smiling at us. Instead of a portrait, He will be standing right in front of us. Instead of showing a passport, they will see our names in the Lamb’s Book of Life and they will point us to the open door. We will not have metal detectors or scanners to walk through, but will be greeted with open arms.

After a lifetime on earth, a place that is not our eternal home, we will finally feel at rest and at home, safely in the land of our heavenly citizenship.

Serena Butler blogged here about her adventures in London, and also will be featured in the August 13 issue of the Illinois Baptist. Sign up for your free subscription at IBSA.org/IllinoisBaptist.

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When church isn’t safe

Meredith Flynn —  August 8, 2012

COMMENTARY | Daniel Waters

Editor’s note: Just two weeks after a mass shooting at a Colorado movie theater, the country was rocked by a similar crime when a gunman opened fire in a Sikh temple in Wisconsin Sunday, killing six people and wounding four others. In this column, Daniel Waters shares his experience in another place of worship – a Baptist church in Texas – that was devastated by violence, and how God has answered a really big question in his life: How could a good God let this happen?

The recent, terrible shootings have left many asking, “Where was God?” and “How can a good God allow such a terrible thing to happen?” I know that, regardless of the correct theological answer, for people who go through an ordeal like that, the pain will not soon dissipate.

I asked the same questions when as a young man I went through a similar tragedy. At the beginning of my senior year of high school, I attended a city-wide worship service at Wedgewood Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas, to celebrate See You At The Pole. This was September 15, 1999. That evening, while we worshiping and reflecting on that morning’s success, a gunman entered the sanctuary and started firing. Seven people were killed and more were injured. I was devastated.

When I returned home that night I asked God those questions, and He led me to open my Bible to Psalm 27. “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life of whom shall I be afraid?” God was telling me that He holds my life and the only safe place is in His hands. If I had given the lordship of my life to God, I had to trust Him even when everything around me was failing.

This word from God comforted me. But the question, “Why would a good God allow this terrible thing to happen to me?” still had to be answered, and I had to grapple with His sovereignty in order to ever move on from that night. My journey to answer that question showed me a lot about God’s character, my relationship with Him, and the state of our fallen world.

Here’s what I determined: When I asked God, “How could You, a loving God, allow this to happen?” He showed me the problem has to do with the nature of love. If love can’t be chosen, it doesn’t exist. Under the umbrella of His sovereignty, God has allowed men relative freedom to be stewards of his creation and to choose to follow Him.

But if you can choose love, you can also chose hate, which is really only love of the wrong object – usually one’s self and one’s desires.

God showed me we suffer because we all choose to love things other than God. Because God loves the world, this suffering is only temporary; His sovereignty is displayed in his authority to judge everyone by His standard, to punish the wicked and make all things right. In Revelations 21:4, God tells us that, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”

When we face such heartache, it seems impossible to move forward. But thank God there is hope and healing when you place your faith in a God who makes the impossible, possible, and can answer even the hardest questions in our darkest hours.

Daniel Waters is associate pastor of Living Faith Baptist Church in Sherman.

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When God says no

Meredith Flynn —  August 6, 2012

HEARTLAND | Meredith Flynn

Have you ever run across something in Scripture that you’re pretty sure wasn’t in there before? Like maybe it’s new since the last time you read that particular book? I know the Word of God is a two-edged sword, and dynamic in the ways it applies to our lives depending on the season, but I recently ran across a story that was completely new to me.

It’s in Deuteronomy, when Moses is reviewing with the Israelites all that God has done for them. He takes them through their history, pausing for this one moment of personal reflection:

“And I pleaded with the Lord at that time, saying, ‘O Lord God, you have only begun to show your servant your greatness and your mighty hand. For what god is there in heaven or on earth who can do such works and mighty acts as yours? Please let me go over and see the good land beyond the Jordan, that good hill country and Lebanon.’

But the Lord was angry with me because of your and would not listen to me. And the Lord said to me, ‘Enough from you; do not speak to me of this matter again. Go up to the top of Pisgah and life up your eyes westward and northward and southward and eastward, and look at it with your eyes, for you shall not go over this Jordan.'” (Deuteronomy 26: 23-27, ESV)

How disappointed Moses must have been. Not only does God say no, He closes the subject – forever. This is Moses’ last request, after a lifetime of service to God’s people, and the answer is still no. I can think of three possible (and probable) responses:

1. What he could have done: Go and die, probably in bitterness. I imagine the disappointment was heartbreaking, and Moses was at the end of his life anyway. He could have let it end with God’s no.

2. What I probably would have done: Kept on going, but without the energy and purpose I had before. How easy is it to do just that? To meet disappointment, be disappointed by it, and then call yourself moving on, but all the while you’re still wallowing in it.

3. What Moses did do: In the very next breath (well, the beginning of the next chapter), Moses completely changes his posture. After this very personal confession about his conversation with God, he’s back as the authoritative, instructive leader of the people:

“And now, O Israel, listen to the statutes and the rulesthat I am teaching you, and do them, that you may live, and go in and take possession of the land that the Lord, the God of your fathers, is giving you.” (Deuteronomy 4:1, ESV)

How incredible is it that Moses is able to muster that reaction? Granted, we can’t quite tell from the text when all of these small events and conversations happened in relation to one another, so it could have been a while since the initial disappointment of God saying no. But still, he has just described a wrenching moment, when he asked God for the thing he wanted most and was denied it. And still, God is good, and Moses knows the people’s best course of action is to follow the plan He’s laid out for them.

When I run into disappointment, I want that reaction. And I think it starts with a knowledge and a remembering of how God has forgiven and redeemed before. Moses had seen God love and renew and forgive His people (and then do all of those things over and over again), and he also understood how God had forgiven him personally. So that even when God said no, Moses trusted Him enough to move forward. With Him.

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A new branch on an old tree

Meredith Flynn —  July 23, 2012

HEARTLAND | Lisa Sergent

I’m amazed and even jealous when I hear people talk about their family’s Christian heritage. They recall learning about Jesus from their grandmother, hearing about their great-grandfather’s dedication to tithing as a child, and listening as their father led Bible study each evening before they went to bed. Others talk about holding Sunday morning services at family reunions. Their children are raised in church and make professions of faith before they are out of elementary school. All of their family members know Christ.

My family doesn’t have a rich Christian heritage. I didn’t grow up in a bad home; my parents were and still are very loving and, I believe, quite wonderful. I am blessed to call them my mom and dad. I just didn’t grow up surrounded by a Christian family.

My father’s parents were not Christians, but thought if they were “good” people they would go to heaven. My mother’s parents argued about religion from the very start of their marriage, he being Catholic and she, a member of the Christian Church. Because of their arguments my mother and her sister were not allowed to go to church. They rarely if ever talked about God in the home.

Thankfully, my branch of our family tree “branched out” from tradition. My mom became a Christian shortly after I was born, and my father when I was 12. (I met Christ three years earlier). My brother and sister came to believe in Him, too. But many of our family members still don’t know Him.

I have one relative who dismissively calls the story of Noah and the flood, “that old myth.” Another steadfastly maintains, “As long was we are good, God will send us all to heaven.” My heart aches for my paternal grandfather who died without making a commitment to Christ (to our knowledge).

So, with my parent’s generation, my family is just beginning to start its Christian heritage. Now, I see my parents teaching my nephews and niece about Jesus. I listen as they sing songs about Him and are eager to pray. My sister-in-law became a Christian after their first child was born and joins my brother in raising their children in church. My brother-in-law knows Christ, and I married a wonderful Christian man. It is my hope that my nephews and niece will one day have their own children who will reap the joy of being part of a Christian family and become Christians themselves.

If you are a product of a Christian heritage – rejoice and thank God for that heritage. Pray for new Christians and those Christians who do not have such a heritage and that they will be start of generations of their family living for Christ.

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