It is true, brethren, as you well know, that in our day it is common for people to say, “Emphasizing doctrine so much only harms and hinders the kingdom of God, yes, even destroys it.” Many say, “Instead of disputing over doctrine so much, we should much rather be concerned with souls and with leading them to Christ.” But all who speak in this way do not really know what they are saying or what they are doing. As foolish as it would be to scold a farmer for being concerned about sowing good seed and to demand of him simply to be concerned about a good harvest, so foolish it is to scold those who are concerned first and foremost with the doctrine, and to demand of them that they should rather seek to rescue souls. For just as the farmer who wants a good crop must first of all be concerned about good seed, so the church must above all be concerned about right doctrine if it would save souls.
--C. F. W. Walther
I have never quite understood the antipathy for doctrine so prevalent in many modern, evangelical circles. The only way I can explain it is to assume that the "Gospel" in these circles is not about truth. It is solely about existential encounter. It is not about marriage or covenant. It is about a one night stand, a romance that is not meant to last, built upon sensations rather than solemn vows. I suppose I do not understand it, fundamentally, because I know what I need as a religious person, as a sinner, as an otherwise lost soul. I do not need gentle, pale Jesus, meek, and mild to make me feel better about my misery. I do not want to feel better about my misery. I want to be saved from it. I do not need a celestial buddy, and I most certainly do not need or wish to have a boyfriend to whom I can sing sentimental love songs. I need a loving Priest, a Savior, a Redeemer who is willing and able to save me from my sins, to save me from the judgment that surely awaits me, to intercede on my behalf before an all knowing and perfectly just God. I need a wise Prophet who deposits truth, tangible truth, communicable truth, in the context of a historical movement, which is the only vehicle able to protect this treasure over the shifting sands of time. I need a clarion call of reality, ringing like a pure note even amid the chaotic, ear piercing clanging that is worldly speculation. I need a manly, heroic, fell, and powerful King who is able to command respect and bring all things to their proper place and end, a King who is over all natural and moral law, while being Himself subject to nothing and no one. Anything less than this is a chasing after the wind. It may feel good, but, like romance, it is here today and gone tomorrow, a vapor.
Honor, Liberty, Truth!
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
The Horizon Ever Before Us
Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance.
--Will Durant
Will Durant is a wonderfully enjoyable philosophical character. I especially appreciate the humility he acquired toward the end of his life. Although he never regained his Christianity, he did assume a great deal of respect for it and repudiated his earlier hubris. Thus, I think he really believed what he is quoted as saying above. After all, it is true. The more we learn, the more we seek to buttress our own philosophy through erudition, the more we realize that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our imaginations, more things than we can comprehend, more nuances and difficulties simultaneously narrowing and widening the path of enlightenment. The horizon is ever before us and never overtaken. We reach a cleft in the mountain for respite only to find that the summit is still out of reach. Perhaps this is why knowledge will pass away when the end of all things is upon us. Perhaps this is why perfection of knowledge is ultimately found not in books but in the face of the Living Christ.
Honor, Liberty, Truth!
--Will Durant
Will Durant is a wonderfully enjoyable philosophical character. I especially appreciate the humility he acquired toward the end of his life. Although he never regained his Christianity, he did assume a great deal of respect for it and repudiated his earlier hubris. Thus, I think he really believed what he is quoted as saying above. After all, it is true. The more we learn, the more we seek to buttress our own philosophy through erudition, the more we realize that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our imaginations, more things than we can comprehend, more nuances and difficulties simultaneously narrowing and widening the path of enlightenment. The horizon is ever before us and never overtaken. We reach a cleft in the mountain for respite only to find that the summit is still out of reach. Perhaps this is why knowledge will pass away when the end of all things is upon us. Perhaps this is why perfection of knowledge is ultimately found not in books but in the face of the Living Christ.
Honor, Liberty, Truth!
Sunday, April 08, 2007
The Bells Are Silenced, Glory Be to God!
I
Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III
Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV
Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people- ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
--Edgar Allan Poe, "The Bells"
Life is about time, if nothing else. There is a time for merriment and laughter. There is a time for great joy and expectation. There is a time for dread and alarm. There is a time for death and the end of all things. This is fact. Yet, though it is fact, it does not follow that we should like it. I, for one, hate death. It should not be and should never have been. When the apostle mockingly proclaims "Oh Death, where is thy sting? Oh Grave, where is thy victory?" my heart joins the derision and rings forth with resounding, jubulant laughter. Christ is risen! Death has been slain! It is conquered! Damn the laughing and the scorning of the bells!
And you too can hear the bells--
Cursed bells!
In your heart of solitude, pure terror surely swells!
By your lonely bed at night,
In the darkness without light,
As you breathe in your despair an horrid moan!
Every day that passes,
(They roll in endless masses)--
Monotone.
Oh the mistakes, and the regrets,
A true repentant heart besets,
Were it stone.
But their pealing, pealing, pealing,
Like a deep, incessant drone,
Succeed well in this their sealing
In our hearts a hopeless groan.
Thus they discharge with no reprieve
A rotten emptiness they leave--
Damn them all:
Damn their clatter and their clang
As they bang, bang, bang,
Bang
Those wicked, evil bells!
Of our ruin each foretells
Damn the clanging of the bells,
Sounding spiritual death knells;
Sounding death, death, death,
With each issue of their breath,
Damn, the sneering of the bells
Of the bells:
Sounding death, death, death,
With each issue of their breath
Damn the jeering of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells—
Damn the laughing of the bells;
Sounding death, death, death!
And their knells, knells, knells,
With each vomit of their breath,
Damn the mocking of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells:
Damn the hatred of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells--
Bells, bells, bells—
Damn the scoffing and the scorning of the bells.
Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III
Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV
Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people- ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
--Edgar Allan Poe, "The Bells"
Life is about time, if nothing else. There is a time for merriment and laughter. There is a time for great joy and expectation. There is a time for dread and alarm. There is a time for death and the end of all things. This is fact. Yet, though it is fact, it does not follow that we should like it. I, for one, hate death. It should not be and should never have been. When the apostle mockingly proclaims "Oh Death, where is thy sting? Oh Grave, where is thy victory?" my heart joins the derision and rings forth with resounding, jubulant laughter. Christ is risen! Death has been slain! It is conquered! Damn the laughing and the scorning of the bells!
And you too can hear the bells--
Cursed bells!
In your heart of solitude, pure terror surely swells!
By your lonely bed at night,
In the darkness without light,
As you breathe in your despair an horrid moan!
Every day that passes,
(They roll in endless masses)--
Monotone.
Oh the mistakes, and the regrets,
A true repentant heart besets,
Were it stone.
But their pealing, pealing, pealing,
Like a deep, incessant drone,
Succeed well in this their sealing
In our hearts a hopeless groan.
Thus they discharge with no reprieve
A rotten emptiness they leave--
Damn them all:
Damn their clatter and their clang
As they bang, bang, bang,
Bang
Those wicked, evil bells!
Of our ruin each foretells
Damn the clanging of the bells,
Sounding spiritual death knells;
Sounding death, death, death,
With each issue of their breath,
Damn, the sneering of the bells
Of the bells:
Sounding death, death, death,
With each issue of their breath
Damn the jeering of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells—
Damn the laughing of the bells;
Sounding death, death, death!
And their knells, knells, knells,
With each vomit of their breath,
Damn the mocking of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells:
Damn the hatred of the bells
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells--
Bells, bells, bells—
Damn the scoffing and the scorning of the bells.
Monday, April 02, 2007
God and No Other
Unthinking respect for authority is the greatest enemy of truth.
--Albert Einstein
One often hears this quote, or something like it, thrown about in derision of appeals to authority. Yes, things like this are said with a guffaw in haughty dismissal of Christian claims, as detractors unthinkingly assume that there can be no such thing as a thinking respect for authority, as if authority in and of itself were irrational, as if unthinking disrespect for authority were a superior alternative. It seems to me that the first adjective in the quote above is rather irrelevant, rendering the remainder of the statement patently false. Whether or not the respect afforded results from thoughtful reflection or mere submission, the truth, as object, of any matter is not affected. The real question is whether the authority is true, thus commanding respect as a rational response, or usurped, thus deserving no respectful deference whatever. In fact, it would appear, the truth of Christianity does not stand or fall on the thoughtfulness of its adherents. It stands or falls on the authority of the Divine. The detractor can, therefore, find no solace in the human frailty of his opponent. It is with God that he has to do. It is with God that he must wrestle. God and no other.
Honor, Liberty, Truth!
--Albert Einstein
One often hears this quote, or something like it, thrown about in derision of appeals to authority. Yes, things like this are said with a guffaw in haughty dismissal of Christian claims, as detractors unthinkingly assume that there can be no such thing as a thinking respect for authority, as if authority in and of itself were irrational, as if unthinking disrespect for authority were a superior alternative. It seems to me that the first adjective in the quote above is rather irrelevant, rendering the remainder of the statement patently false. Whether or not the respect afforded results from thoughtful reflection or mere submission, the truth, as object, of any matter is not affected. The real question is whether the authority is true, thus commanding respect as a rational response, or usurped, thus deserving no respectful deference whatever. In fact, it would appear, the truth of Christianity does not stand or fall on the thoughtfulness of its adherents. It stands or falls on the authority of the Divine. The detractor can, therefore, find no solace in the human frailty of his opponent. It is with God that he has to do. It is with God that he must wrestle. God and no other.
Honor, Liberty, Truth!
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