Recently my two year old daughter entered this wonderful developmental phase where she wants to do everything by herself. Whether it’s putting on her shoes, brushing her teeth, buckling her seatbelt, or even changing her diaper, she simply must do it (or try to do it) on her own.

Now this is certainly normal and unsurprising. But what startled me was how she chose to communicate this desire for independence. Two simple words: “My do.” Its amazing how a toddler’s poor grammar can reveal the heart of the matter. The focus is on her. She wants to own the action; daddy or mommy are not needed.

The unfortunate thing in this cute scenario is that the phrase translates quite nicely to similar situations in my own life. When it comes to success at work, I want it to be “my do,” not God’s. If I’m struggling to figure out a relational problem, God is not needed, it’s “my do.” The list could go on.

Such realizations should spark one important question, namely, why is God suddenly out of the equation? Do I want the satisfaction of doing something on my own. Do I want the credit and the glory? Am I tired of having to ask for help and rely on someone else? Do I distrust Him and His provision for me? Am I afraid that if I call out for Jesus, He won’t answer? Those are tough questions and answers may not come quickly, but I do know one thing. I hope to keep learning valuable lessons from my little girl!

The verdict is in, the judgment spoken

For hearing ears and seeing eyes:

Donning chains unbroken I exchanged

The Eden Garden for a dungeon of ease.

Blinded by the darkness of ephemeral green

I see no pain, understand no sorrow.

As if in Plato’s cave I know only shadows,

Dancing figures of health and liberty.

Do you see the poor, the lost, the homeless?

The orphaned, widowed, impoverished, broken?

The helpless, abused, outcast, worthless?

The despised, rejected, and countless unspoken?

Neither do I.

With this grim state I’ve only one hope:

The Light of the world who took my lot,

Discovered my sorrow and revealed my pain.

Only then can I see need as I ought.

Let the Light of Christ’s suffering expose

Our deepest need, and every need besides.

See Him, then us, then, and only then,

With compassion see them.

Follow this threefold order with great care

Or we may never see, and thus never love

Those who hurt and abound as the air.

God’s be the glory, whose grace from above,

Opens our ears and eyes and hearts and minds

To see and love sufferers of every kind.

I was “converted” to reformed theology over the period of a few years ranging from late high school to the middle of college. It took time to learn all the new terminology and phraseology, and I am still learning. One phrase that took more time to understand is “means of grace.” I know I am not alone in this; I have spoken with many people, most of them not reformed, for whom the phrase is confusing at best and blasphemous at worst. Some have even equated the phrase with the Roman Catholic doctrines of baptism and the Mass.

I’ve been thinking for a while about how to make this phrase more intelligible. A good place to start, I’m sure, is to simply define terms. What does “grace” mean? What is meant by “means”? But I came across a sentence from John Owen that was incredibly helpful, perhaps more in proving the idea than explaining it. But hopefully the defense will help to explain. The broad context is on the doctrine of regeneration. Here it is (from The Works of John Owen vol. 3, p. 325):

“[Believers] may yet [presently] pray for those things which God promiseth to work in their first conversion. And this is because the same work is to be preserved and carried on in them by the same means, the same power, the same grace, wherewith it was begun.”

If I can paraphrase, at conversion God regenerates and sanctifies us by means, power and grace, and then God continues that work (i.e. progressive sanctification) by the same means, power and grace. We could say that God regenerates us by grace working through means, and he sanctifies us by grace working through means. Here are a couple verses on God’s word as a means of grace to demonstrate this:

I Peter 1:23: since you have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God.

Here we see that God brings about the new birth through the means or instrumentality of the Word. In this sense the word of God, specifically the gospel in this context (v. 25), is a means of grace at our conversion.

John 17:17: Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth.

You could translate this, “sanctify them by the truth” (as I believe the NIV does). Truth, which is God’s Word, is a means by which God sanctifies us. It is a means of grace in our ongoing lives as believers. (See Acts 20:32, Rom 1:16, 2 Tim 3:15-17, Matt 4:4, Psalm 19:7, Heb 4:12)

What we see in both of these realities, regeneration and sanctification, is that God uses means to accomplish his purposes in our lives. He doesn’t just make us new and change us by divine fiat, “Let there be holiness!” Clearly he regenerates and sanctifies us by his power and grace. But that power and grace come through things which God has ordained to be instruments of his grace. It’s like using a hammer to drive a nail into a wall. God could simply speak to the nail and say, “Go into the wall!” Instead he (normally) uses a hammer to direct, apply and focus the power of his grace.

God communicates grace to us, this we believe. Sometimes he does do this directly, or immediately (without means). But ordinarily he communicates grace to us mediately, through means. Thus the phrase “ordinary means of grace.” What specifically are the means of grace according to scripture is a much debated topic. But surely we know that God has given us means of grace, things which we must attend to and exercise to receive God’s grace for every day life.

One of the benefits of going to bible college for me was learning what makes good preaching good. It’s important to know both as a listener and a preacher. But one of the downsides of having that knowledge is listening with an over-critical ear. It is very easy to always be asking the question, “Is this sermon good?” and the many other forms that question takes.

I’ve been recently helped by a comment from John Owen in this regard. For those of us who might be deemed “preaching connoisseurs,” who regularly listen to sermons on podcast, who put preaching at the top of their non-negotiables for picking a church, there can be an emphasis on intellectual listening. Listening intellectually is good, but only if we don’t stop there.

Owen writes (in Vol. 3 of his works, On the Holy Spirit, p. 389):

“One principal advantage which we have by attendance on the dispensation of the word [i.e. preaching] in a due manner [is]…that by presenting those spiritual truths which are the object of our faith unto our minds, and those spiritual good things which are the object of our love unto our affections, both these graces [faith and love] are drawn forth into frequent actual exercise.

And we are greatly mistaken if we suppose we have no benefit by the word beyond what we retain in our memories, though we should labor for that also. Our chief advantage lies in the excitation which is thereby given unto our faith and love to their proper exercise.” (italics mine)

So the question I must ask myself when I am listening to the preaching of the word is, “Am I believing what’s being said? Am I allowing the preacher’s words to draw me to faith and love for God, in this very moment?” Owen goes on to describe that as we listen to the word, we have the opportunity to exercise “many thousands of acts of faith and love.” What a statement! That is how to grow through the preaching of God’s word.

In reading through the Gospel of John I was hit with an amazing contrast in ch. 18. Jesus has just finished the “Upper Room Discourse” with his disciples and travels to the garden of Gesthemane where he is betrayed by Judas. This is where John’s passion narrative starts, and you could say that the reality of the cross suddenly looms large. Jesus knows what Judas and co. are coming to do and he faces it head on.

I think we may, as it were, picture these men coming to Jesus with a cross. Jesus sees it, and before they can even declare their intent, he asks, “Whom do you seek?” (v.4). He doesn’t ask this because he doesn’t know; he knows that they have come for him (18:4, 6:64, 71; 13:11, 21). His question is somewhat of a rhetorical way of initiating this devilish episode. This is also brought out by the fact that he “stepped forward” (v.4). He didn’t wait for them to encircle him and his disciples and force his arrest. They do not even have a chance to use the force they apparently thought would be necessary (a “band of soldiers” [v. 3]). They don’t take Jesus, he offers himself. Before he even gets to Golgotha Jesus is sovereignly initiating the dark road to the cross.

Furthermore, the men say that they have come for “Jesus of Nazareth” (v. 5). Jesus simply responds, “I am he” (literally “I Am”). This declaration is repeated two more times, once by John quoting Jesus and once more by Jesus himself. This threefold “I Am” is certainly not accidental. As the cross comes for him Jesus does not shrink back but boldly steps out and says, “I am the man, it is I whom you have come for!”

The contrast comes in the account of Peter’s denial. Three times Peter is asked if he is a follower of Jesus, and three times he denies it. Two times John records the explicit statement, “I am not.” In this context Peter, too, is confronted with the reality of the cross. As he sees his beloved rabbi arrested he faces a predicament: to accept the apparent downfall of Jesus and remain faithful to his messiah, or to reject Jesus and any shameful association with him.

A cross will come to all true followers of Christ. In the famous words of Bonhoeffer, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” We must follow in the steps of our master. But will we follow the example of Jesus or the example of Peter? Will we say, “I am the man you are after” when faced with shameful conditions, the prospect of unfulfillable desires, hostile work conditions, and any of the myriad forms our crosses take? Or will we say, “I am not,” I am not your man, you have not come for me, you are mistaken.

Jesus has shown us the path to take, and he has given us the strength by which we can boldly step out and face our captors. For they ultimately are not in service to their own plans but to One who is using them for our good so that we can say with Paul, “May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Gal 6:14).

I am currently reading a book by John Owen titled The Nature of Apostasy from the Profession of the Gospel and the Punishment of Apostates Declared. Not a very gripping title nor an exciting topic, I’ll grant you. But for all his denouncement of false believers and other seeming negativities, his heart was always bent toward strengthening the faith of sincere Christians. So I came upon some helpful directions he gives which in context are directed towards helping us keep the faith, as it were, or stand firm in the doctrines of the gospel. Coming as they are from a man whose collected works take up 23 volumes, I find them to be very helpful and humble. I think they are widely applicable to any pursuit of biblical knowledge and truth. As I am planning on pursuing masters level education in bible and ministry, I plan on keeping these posted as continual reminders and guidelines to keep me fixed on what God calls us to in the knowledge of His word. (These are taken from pp. 112-114 inVol. 7 of his collected works, The Banner of Truth Trust. All that follows are direct quotes with some re-paragraphing by me.)

1. Pray earnestly for the Spirit of truth to lead us into all truth. For this end is he promised by our Savior unto his disciples; and there are no teachings like his. The least spark of saving knowledge inlaid in the minds of the poorest believers, by the gracious operation of the Holy Ghost, will be more effectual unto their own sanctification, and more prevalent against oppositions, than the highest notions or most subtile reasonings that men have attained in leaning unto their own understanding.

2. Rest not in any notions of truth, unless you find that you have learned it as it is in Jesus [Eph 4:20-24]. This it is to learn the truth as it is in Jesus, – namely, together with the knowledge of it, to have an experience of its power and efficacy in the mortification of sin, in the renovation of our nature, and transforming of the whole soul into the image of God in righteousness and the holiness of truth. The immediate end (with respect unto us) of the whole revelation of the mind and will of God in the Scripture is, that it may put forth a spiritual, practical power in our souls, and that we may do the things which are so revealed unto us. [L]et us not rest in any apprehensions of truth whose efficacy we have no experience of in our hearts, nor think that we know any more of the mysteries of the gospel than we find effectually working in the renovation of our minds.

3. Learn to esteem more of a little knowledge which discovers itself in its effects to be sanctifying and saving, than of the highest attainments in notions and speculations, though gilded and set off by the reputation of skill, subtilty, eloquence, wit, and learning, which do not evidence themselves by alike operations.

4. Be not satisfied [in any knowledge of biblical truth] without a discovery of such a goodness, excellency, and beauty in spiritual things, as may attract your hearts unto them, and cause you to cleave unto them with unconquerable love and delight. This is that necessary, inseparable adjunct, property, fruit, or effect of faith, without which it is not essentially differenced from the faith of devils.

I’ve heard this phrase a few times over the years, but never really thought to figure out where it came from. I always assumed that it was just some rough metaphor for a sort of ubiquitous, sweeping change. But when I came across it while reading about a Danger Mouse album (of all things) I decided to look it up.

Lo and behold, it’s actually from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, which is is at once both crazy and completely unsurprising to me. A huge number of English idioms can be traced back to either the Bard, or to the Bible (or both), but while I have yet to read The Tempest I was surprised that I had never come it as the source for this phrase. Specifically, it is found in a song being sung by the spirit Ariel while he is enchanting Ferdinand, the King of Naples’ son:

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.

What a queer and evocative piece of verse. The idea of “sea change” is therefore not necessarily some wave-like rippling change, but a transformation, that is organic and in some way different or “other”. And more specifically a transformation into something uncanny but also deep and interesting.

I was struck by how well this idea describes the sort of change the is characterized by the kingdom of God. It is both strange and otherworldly, because it is, in fact, of another world, and yet it is good. Its strangeness is welcoming and stirring, and despite being otherworldly there is a sense that the change taking place has an aroma of homecoming.

Furthermore the kingdom of God is, in its other-worldliness, much like the sea. Inhospitable to man in his natural state, but thrilling and adventuresome to reach and experience, and yet despite how much one might want to dwell there he cannot, without a sea-change.

The drip drip of the water drops

Into the bucket, already full

Of desires, deeds and idols.

Slow but incessant, this stream is

No sleeping aid or torture device

Even if at times its painful pace

Tortures onlookers (mockers all!)

This flowing water – clear as

Polished glass – dives joyfully in

And bit by bit drives impurities

Up, out, over the edge and onto

The floor. Look there, you can see

Lust, greed, unbelief, dead or dying

To thrive no more. The water will

Never stop, for the faucet knows

That to be pure, clean and clear

The bucket must forever overflow.

Death’s darkness calls,
Though his sting removed,
Casting his shadow tall
Over all that may by lost or loved.
His appeal rings with clarion clarity
To doubt what we trust as certainties

For the redeemed he is a servant
Saying to those with ears to hear,
God makes no promise of eighty years.
This message through many means he merchants
That we would from self break free
And fiercely love in word and deed.

Green helmets pop up to peer out
Over the blue battlefield as
The pilots steer, weaving a pattern
Of dodges, rolls and dives, determined
To evade the anticipated shot.
So effective they are, these silent fighter pilots,
At evasion, it does not even matter
That they have no bullets.