The following is a portion of a series of reflections on the book Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands by Paul David Tripp. You may also want to read the first, second, and third reflection in this series.

John Calvin famously declared the heart “an idol factory.” There is enormous truth in those words; further, there are implications that are subtle. If the heart is an idol factory, then any attack on idolatry must necessarily attack the heart. Moral conformity, outward behaviorism, even accountability structures and God-oriented systems must be driven and controlled by counseling, reproof, and reorientation of the heart. Tripp, in Instruments, refers to this as change needing to “travel through the pathway of [the] heart” (62).

But there is more to dealing with idolatry than simply treating the heart. A factory produces products; an idol factory produces idols. If the heart is an idol factory, then, it does much more than house or even foster idolatry. Instead, the heart is the source of the idols; it produces the idol that then consumes the man or woman in idolatry.

Biblical treatment of idolatry must look at the heart not just as complicit in sin but as the source of that sin. “Change that ignores the heart will seldom transform the life” (63). Put another way, “people and situations do not determine our behavior; they provide the occasion where our behavior reveals our hearts” (64). What sin has arisen from the heart, and why? That is the inward sin that must be attacked and eradicated to “clean the plate,” using Jesus’ metaphor from Matthew 23:25-26:

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and the plate, that the outside also may be clean.”

The method of attacking this sin is important, and tools and accountability are a critical part of that treatment. However, sin must be recognized as stemming from the heart before any real life change can occur and be sustained.

There is a careful distinction that must be made when the heart is addressed, though. The heart is indeed representative of the inward man, but it is not synonymous with the spirit. While the heart and the soul are often interchangeable, the spirit is a different issue. Here, Tripp over-simplifies: “[the heart] encompasses all the other terms and functions used to describe the inner person (spirit, soul, mind, emotions, will, etc.) These other terms do not describe something different from the heart” (59). This over-simplification is dangerous in its implication.

Sinful natural man has a dead spirit. Ephesians 2:1 declares us dead in trespasses and sin, and is referring to the spirit (see Eph. 2:5; John 6:63; 1 Cor. 15:45). Still, the heart is very much alive, creating idols at will. That heart is called a heart of stone (Ex. 11:19; 36:26), but it is active, unlike the dead, inert, incapable spirit of a man apart from Jesus Christ. The saving work of God quickens that spirit–makes it alive–and weds it with the Spirit of God (again, Eph. 2:1-5 and 1 Cor. 15:45). This living Spirit then has the power to war with our fallen flesh, and even our heart. The Spirit never produces sinful idols, although the heart–even after salvation–does.

We must examine our hearts, then, and always appeal to the Spirit of God that dwells within us. We must appeal to God the Father through Jesus, via the Holy Spirit, and attack the idols our heart produces. We must make war with the inward man, not the outward man.

For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.
…
For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. — Romans 8:20-21, 24-25

Hope in the Biblical sense is a word and concept that has only a passing resemblance to the word “hope” as it’s used in 2010. We hope a check comes in the mail; or that a bill doesn’t. We hope the Saints win the Super Bowl; or that our children stay healthy. Hope for us is a desire in the face of uncertainty.

Biblically, though, hope is different. In Romans 8:20, the creation “was subjected to futility.” In other words, someone subjected–and that word, “subjected,” is connotating authority and intent–creation to futility. There is a purpose and power in view in this subjection. Who is the “him,” then? It takes little exegesis: “he” is the only One outside of creation; the only One with power over creation; the “him” who is God. (Specifically, this is God the Father acting through Jesus the Son, who upholds creation through his existence.)

What does “hope” mean here, then, when God does something–subjects creation to humility–in hope? Is it possible that God hopes for his purposes in the same way we hope for that check or for our team’s success? The question is silly. There is more than just logical supposition to confirm that Biblical hope is different, too. In Romans 8:24 and 25, we are saved in this hope; we wait for this hope; and we do that waiting with patience. If our salvation is real, then hope is real. If our waiting is not in vain, then hope is not merely potential. If we are to be patient, then this hope must be sure.

Scripturally, hope is: the purpose of God not yet consummated; the construct in which our salvation rests; something we wait for with patience because we are confident in its arrival. This last has implications: for God to tell us to wait for something is, by the very nature of God’s truthfulness, to assure that something is coming; or else, God is nothing more than a cosmic tease.

What difference would this understanding of hope make to your personal theology? What difference would it make to mine? What difference would a patient, assured waiting create, in opposition to our timid, unsure, bated-breath clinging to a weak god who cannot bring his purposes to pass?

And now, O Lord, for what do I wait?
My hope is in you. — Psalm 39:7

Why are you cast down, O my soul?
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God. — Psalm 42:5

My soul longs for your salvation;
I hope in your word. — Psalm 119:81

Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. — Romans 12:12

He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. — 2 Corinthians 1:10

For through the Spirit, by faith, we ourselves eagerly wait for the hope of righteousness. — Galatians 5:5

…but Christ is faithful over God’s house as a son. And we are his house if indeed we hold fast our confidence and our boasting in our hope. — Hebrews 3:6

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading… — 1 Peter 1:3, 4

Standing in Grace
Jonathan Edwards
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Edwards most oft-referenced work on grace begins in a somewhat rambling and confusing fashion. Edwards muses on grace and how it connects to–later concluding that it in fact primarily is–the Spirit of God in the believer. The first 10 pages are loaded with some conflated terms: grace and the Spirit, grace and love, grace and graces, etc. Edwards doesn’t lay out as clear a case as he does in many of his other writings for these conflations, and I believe that weakens the first section of this book.
However, reading on bears tremendous reward. The second section lays out Edwards’ theology of the Spirit and the workings of grace in the believer in a clear, systematic fashion. He defines this grace as “special or saving grace” and delves into exactly what is nature (natural) and what is spirit (spiritual). Repeated readings are rewarded here; the language is typically Edwards: confusing at time, always wordy, and somewhat repetitive. However, Edwards frequently refers to Scripture and identifies the Spirit of God as grace and in fact the source of all other graces, such as hope, patience, and so forth.

It’s the third and final section that is superb, though. Edwards considers the Spirit as equivalent to divine love. This stems initially from a close reading of love (sometimes “charity”) in 1 Corinthians and its equivalence with Spirit in parallel passages and arguments from Paul. Edwards goes on, though: through careful Scriptural comparison, he argues that the Spirit is actually the Person embodying the love of the Father for the Son, and the love of the Son for the Father.

The revelation here is an elevation of the Spirit to a vital part of the Gospel and in fact to Christ’s self-sacrifice. No longer is the Spirit merely the product of that sacrifice; instead, the Spirit is the love Christ demonstrated on the cross toward His Father, and His Father’s love toward Jesus. The Spirit then becomes a vital part of the believer’s life as it allows the believer to partake of that divine love and therefore love and Father and Son properly.

This isn’t a better-known work of Edwards. It’s in fact not that easy to find. However, it’s excellent, and as for pneumatology, required reading.

The following is a portion of a series of reflections on the book Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands by Paul David Tripp. You may also want to read the first and second reflection in this series.

“Humans need truth from outside themselves to make sense out of life” (45). This is a monumental statement from Tripp, bearing both spiritual and philosophical ramifications. If humans cannot define truth, then all of life is a decision-making process of the most important degree: who defines truth? There are numerous sources that would claim to provide truth: the news, religions, a pantheon of gods, spiritual beings, fellow humans, even espn.com and the iPhone. If truth must be received from outside of oneself, then the decision to listen to one source over another, or to amalgamate various sources, is the decision to believe one truth–or version of truth–over another.

Further, many of these information-providing sources do not themselves claim to define truth, but to pass on information that is true. The distinction is not merely worthy of academic argument. If a news source, for example, is only passing on truth, then the question is begged: where is the source of the truth passed on? Truth definition is left largely, then, in the realm of religion and philosophy. Some would claim tolerance and allow for relativistic truth. But this is nonsense; to state that all opinions are truth is to make truth an absurd contradiction. All that is left, then, is to choose one of the many conflicting truth claimants, like Christianity or Judaism or Buddhism.

But before that choice can be made, another realization dawns. Truth on its face is rarely enough. Humans beings are ultimately what Tripp calls “interpreters” or “meaning-makers” (41). It is not enough to look up and see a particular arrangement of cones on the retina. Humans must determine that what they see is sky, and the pigment is blue. In fact, there is interpretation in determining that “up” is in fact “up.” The question is not just one of truth, then, but what to make of that truth.

Tripp details Genesis 1 and 3 as primary instances where God purports to define truth, and then Satan seeks to interpret truth. God told Adam and Eve to not eat of a particular tree, or they would die. Satan–in Tripp’s words–interprets God’s truth to be something else. Here, though, Tripp pushes the boundaries of what can be seen as interpretation. Satan does not merely interpret God’s words; he denies them. He re-defines truth, or better, causes Eve to decide which truth-claim she will act upon: God’s or Satan’s. Satan certainly does provide an interpretation of what his truth-claim will provide–the ability to see and function as God–but Satan’s truth claim is in opposition to God’s.

This can all seem a bit philosophical and heady; theoretical, and best for writing but perhaps for not living. However, there is a practical and essential component of living wrapped up in these realizations. If humans must decide on a particular set of truths to truth, and then choose an interpreter for those truths, then man is deeply dependent upon the claimant and interpreter they choose. The Christian–choosing God for both truth-giver and truth-interpreter–is often inconsistent, believing God for some truths but rejecting him for many others. The pagan–choosing some other religion, and ultimately himself as at least truth-interpreter–must be shown the contradictions in their own beliefs. This all must occur before a particular relationship or need can be addressed. Truth must be determined before lives can be changed.

The following is a portion of a series of reflections on the book Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands by Paul David Tripp. You may also want to read the first and third reflection in this series.

“The Bible makes a poor encyclopedia” (27). Tripp’s words summarize the truth of God’s redemptive story: Scripture as a revelation of God’s plan was never intended to “fix” humanity. Instead, Scripture tells the story of God’s redemptive plan and purposes, leading to and pouring out from Jesus Christ. This is the consistent and continual message of Scripture from Genesis to Revelation.

Based on this supposition, then, any attempt to life a verse or passage from this context and apply it to a specific practical problem is necessarily abusing Scripture. Only within the overarching context of God’s story of redeeming mankind and creation itself can help be found for daily struggles.

The overarching story reflects that our problem as human beings is deeper than the individual sins we commit each day, creating the specific problems that complicate our lives. Our deepest problem is that we seek to find our identity outside the story of redemption. If the entire goal and direction of our lives are wrong, we need much more than practical advice on how to do the right thing in a particular situation. (27)

These are staggering words, at least in part because they are simple. Scripture would say that a problem in marriage; a struggle at work; repeated arguments with children; even depression and other mental imbalances; all these are at their root a lack of finding our identity in Christ. There may be practical considerations–there usually are–but these considerations are meaningless when cast outside of the context of the gospel saving us from sin.

Underlying this entire chapter is a reliance on Scripture. Tripp points out the inconsistency of a sermon being delivered on the back of hours of preparation in Scripture, compared to counseling being delivered on the back of, what? personal experience? positive or hopeful anecdotes? an outline ripped from a bestselling book? Personal interactions and counseling must be based on Scripture, and the whole of Scripture. Redemption must come through the redemption story, not a line of that story without the overall view.

The following is a portion of a series of reflections on the book Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands by Paul David Tripp. You may also want to read the second and third reflection in this series.

Every bit of good news must stem from a bad state or situation. News cannot be good if it is not relative to a state that is not good, or at the least, not as good. Humans strive and seek for better marriage, more money, greater happiness; all of these seekings, then, are for improvements in an initial condition. Tripp implicitly acknowledges this when he begins his treatment of the redemptive work in and through humans with an extended discussion of sin.

The gospel saves and redeems people. That is the Christian message. And the gospel is, by its nature and definition, “good news.” If good news requires a relatively worse initial state, though, what is the gospel saving from? Most Christians would point out their personal problems: abusive pasts, issues with anger, chemical imbalances, or consistently hurtful relationships. Tripp digs much deeper, though, and identifies one single common problem that all mankind faces: sin. Before the gospel can be effective good news, the bad news must be acknowledged: sin is present in all humans.

Tripp goes further, though. “Scripture [defines] sin as a condition that results in behavior” (10). Using this definition, there is no ability to shuttle sin into a corner of a particular area of life. Sin cannot be seen as “bad choices” or “trouble with the past.” Instead, sin is rightly pictured as an all-pervasive, all encompassing disease that affects all behavior. Tripp puts it this way: “Because sin is my nature as a human being, it is inescapable” (10). This is the bad news that must be accepted and recognized before the gospel can be seen as good news.

Tripp hammers this point home by explaining the effect of sin on behavior. He begins by acknowledging what most Christians would assent to: “sinners tend to respond sinfully to being sinned against” (11). There is no radical admission here; but Tripp goes further. If sin is inescapable, then it does not simply manifest in awful situations. It is pervasive. “Something is so wrong inside us that we can’t even handle blessing properly” (12). Sin causes us to sin not just in the face of being sinned against, but in the face of being loved and treated well.

The depth of sin is perhaps best seen in our inability to do right. Even in God reaching toward us, we sin. This malfunction “colors every situation and relationship of our lives” (15). We cannot reach out to God; we cannot respond in kindness. We are broken. Against this dark canvas, though, the gospel can finally be seen rightly. Only in deep despair can the gospel be received without dilution. Only when we cease trying to mix in man’s wisdom or systems can the gospel be effective.

On Revival
Jonathan Edwards
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Jonathan Edwards stands as a giant in Christian literature and history. Particularly among the Reformed Christian camp, he is mentioned in the same breath as Calvin and Luther. Fortunately, he wrote often, and there are no translation barriers to make his works less accessible in English.

On Revival is a collection of three works: “A Narrative of Surprising Conversions,” “The Distinguishing Marks of a Work of the Spirit of God,” and “An Account of the Revival of Religion in Northampton 1740-1742.” The first and last are letters; the middle is a treatise or long sermon (if by long you accept 75 pages!).

Edwards systematically details the amazing movement of the Spirit of God in Boston and on the east coast, focusing particularly on the years 1732 and following (in “Narrative”) and 1740-1742 (in the piece by the same name). In one sense, then, these are historical accounts, with Edwards serving as narrator, highlighting the movement of God among people he pastored and walked with daily.

More importantly, though, this is Edwards work on what revival meant to him, practically and especially theologically. He spends great time in “Marks” detailing not just what marks a revival, but what does <i>not</i> disqualify a revival from being true. In other words, he deals with diversities of how the Spirit of God moves; over-zealousness toward the lost; fear of hell; and errors in doctrine; and insists that all are not on their own enough to say, “Such-and-such is not really experiencing a revival.”

These works are immensely helpful in, first, illuminating what revival looked like 300 years ago; and second, detailing the various workings of the Holy Spirit throughout history apart from the works recorded in Scripture during apostolic times. You get a sense of Edwards’ being a continuist rather than a cessationist, at least to some degree; as well as his view on fear of hell being a useful device in moving a man or woman toward heaven.

The only drawback with this work is that, by the time you’re finished, you’re going to get some repetitive sections. 160 pages on revival, in three different works, can be at time a bit mono-themed. The repetition is good and profitable, and serves to reinforce Edwards points. However, there are definitely times when you’ll need to focus to not drift over a paragraph or two that are substantially the same as you’ve already read.

Sometimes it’s best simply to quote a much more expressive and gifted writer, than it is to paraphrase and butcher that writer’s eloquence. Here, then, is Jonathan Edwards in “A Narrative of Surprising Conversions,” from Jonathan Edwards on Revival:

Some, when in [the circumstances of a movement of revival by God], have felt that sense of the excellency of God’s justice, appearing in the vindictive exercises of it, against such sinfulness as theirs was; and have had such a submission of mind in their idea of this attribute, and of those exercises of it–together with an exceeding loathing of their own unworthiness, and a kind of indignation against themselves–that they have sometimes almost called it a willingness to be damned; though it must  be owned they had not clear and distinct ideas of damnation, nor does any word in the Bible require such self-denial as this.

This may sound horrible to you; can this be both a working and God and a state in which we’d desire our hearers to be? I think the answer is yes, given Edwards’ further explanation:

But the truth is, as some have more clearly expressed it, that salvation has appeared too good for them, that they were worthy of nothing but condemnation, and they could not tell how to think of salvation being bestowed upon them, fearing it was inconsistent with the glory of God’s majesty, that they had so much contemned and affronted.

This is a stunning recognition of the holiness of God and the depravity of man. Here is one more perspective on the matter:

Sometimes as the discovery of [God's justice], they can scarcely forbear crying out, IT IS JUST! IT IS JUST! Some express themselves that they see the glory of God would shine bright in their own condemnation; and they are ready to think that if they are damned, they could take part with God against themselves, and would glorify his justice therein.

The question is simple: what is of more value to you? Your salvation, or God’s glory? Can you imagine coming to the point where we would count ourselves condemned if that would most ratify and illuminate God’s glory? These are strong, difficult words. Praise be to our good God that we are not condemned, for and to His glory.

The following is a portion of a series of reflections on the book War of Words by Paul David Tripp. You may also want to read the first and second reflections in this series.

Tripp sums up the Biblical approach to relationships and communication on page 160: “We all need a redemptive perspective on our relationships.” The purpose of communication, then, is not to get a message across. It is not to make yourself heard, nor is it to achieve happiness, mutual understanding, or agreement on a controversial issue. The purpose of communication–and in fact, the message of the Gospel–is redemption. Tripp goes on to tell the agonizing story of a father and his son’s sin, ending with this comment about redemption: “[God] called [the father] to share in the suffering so that [the father] would share in the glory of [God's] work of change” (173).

Throughout Tripp’s final section on winning the war of words, there is no emphasis on achieving any goal other than God’s. Repeated focus is put on the heart. Further, the Christian is called to repent before speaking. That repentance is key in solving communication, rather than an established set of tips or techniques. “Repentance in Scripture is defined as a radical change in your heart that leads to a radical change in your life” (177). Heart change, then, leads to life change–and of course the words that are emitted from a Gospel heart will be aligned with the Gospel, rather than a personal agenda.

God’s mission through Jesus was and is to rescue sinful man. As part of that mission, every Christian is called to be a minister of reconciliation:

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. –2 Cor. 5:17-20

There’s a simple and logical conclusion here. If all Christians are called to reconcile, and to be agents of God, then our chief end must necessarily be rescue and reconciliation. Further, it is the message of reconciliation we are entrusted with. A message is ultimately a collection of words. How does a Christian win the war of words? They seek to reconcile others to God through Jesus Christ. Ultimately, this end has little to do with winning for the individual at all.

The following is a portion of a series of reflections on the book War of Words by Paul David Tripp. You may also want to read the first and third reflections in this series.

There are many sins named in Scripture: envy, wrath, adultery, murder, hatred, and of course, a biting tongue. There are also many titles for Jesus Christ: the Branch, the Son of God, the root of David, and of course, the Word. John in particular speaks of Jesus as the Word:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. –John 1:1

What may be most interesting is that there are only a few correspondences found between a list of sins, and then a list of titles of Jesus. One of those correspondences is between words–a biting tongue–and Jesus as the Word. (The other apparent correspondence is between hatred and Jesus, as God, being named as “love.”) The conclusion, then, is this: while Jesus is the solution for envy, wrath, adultery, murder, and hatred, He not only is the solution for sinful words, but He is in fact the Word.

Quite literally, then, Jesus is both the solution to sinful words through His enabling of the offer of the gospel, and He is the solution by being the embodiment of God-glorifying words. He saves us from our words by being the Word. This seems different than, for example, the fruit of the Spirit. Pressing into Jesus produces in the Christian peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, and so forth; but Jesus does not just produce God-glorifying words, but is in fact the Word itself (Himself).

Tripp puts this another way that is equally compelling: “words do not belong to us. Every word we speak must be up to God’s standard and according to his design” (15). What is God’s standard? Perfection and holiness, of course. But with regard to words, God’s standard is Jesus Christ Himself.

In an argument, this is a clear call to speak not just as Jesus would speak, but to speak Jesus Himself. Tripp addresses speech in confrontation this way: “The content of confrontation is always the Bible” (154). Our words in confrontation must be the Word, which is Jesus, the Word of God. “The truths of the gospel–both its challenge and its comfort–must color our confrontation” (155).

But it seems that there is more to this issue of communication that simple confrontation. There are often times when a word or phrase or tirade can easily be identified: that was sinful! that was not according to God’s plan! However, there is a wealth of speech that is not so clearly argument, confrontation, or ranting lecture. There is a wealth of speech beyond a God-ward sermon, beyond counseling from Scripture, and beyond exhortation. Taking Jesus–the Word–as an example, every word He spoke was in accordance with God the Father’s plan.

“Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own authority, but the Father who dwells in me does his works.” –John 14:10

This implies that every word Jesus spoke was in accordance with God’s plan. Jesus’ casual speech to his disciples were according to God’s plan; his requests for a place to sleep; his instructions regarding a location to eat His last meal; even passing comments to His mother were according to God’s design.

Is not, then, the necessary conclusion that beyond the “good” words that edify, and the “bad” words that we must correct, there are no neutral words? While Tripp suggests the following words in the context of confrontation, they can be extended to every situation:

We all need a redemptive perspective on our relationships. Before we speak, we need to ask ourselves what the Redeemer wants to accomplish in the situation, and we need to be committed to be a part of it. (160)

Before it is possible to take Tripp’s gospel-oriented suggestions and admonitions toward improving communication, this stunning realization must be made: every word matters. Every word either is submitted to, and is embodied by, the Word; or every word rejects the authority of the Word. Every word, just like every thought, must be brought into captivity to Christ.