I recently read a review of several children’s books and videos about the story of Jonah. The reviewer was incensed that children were not learning about a wrathful God. Storybooks that don’t portray the whale as “a terrifying sea monster” are “a lie we should quit telling our children,” he wrote. “We do not bring them to God by pretending that he is cuddly and not terrible.”

One can forgive him for losing sight of the reality that everything is learned this way, in stages. Does any rightminded person start his children on calculus before they can count? Do we demand they recite the doctrinal points regarding propitiation before allowing them to sing “Jesus Loves Me?” But by this reviewer’s logic, the proper thing to do when one’s children sing “Jesus Loves Me”, is to stand over them and recite after every verse something to this effect: He loves some of you, but others are children of the devil, as He Himself said, and will be cast down with the Evil One into a dark pit at some predetermined but unknown point between the resurrection of the dead and establishment of the New Jerusalem.

It’s a legitimate question nonetheless, this matter of what we teach our children about God, and when we teach it. The Bible is entirely true, and we know further that all of it is “profitable for reproof and instruction.” At the same time, it is filled with terrible things. When do we teach them, in detail, to our children? Mark Twain once quipped, after all, that whenever he heard about a library banning one of his books for its potential deleterious effects on the minds of children, he would chuckle at the thought that they were still free to check out the Bible.

I suppose the reviewer’s concern was that children who read these stories about Jonah will only ever get the edited versions. Perhaps his insistence on shocking them with the wrath of God is like one of those mega-doses of antibiotics, administered out of the doctor’s fear that their parents can’t be trusted to give them the full regimen. Or perhaps he’s someone who believes every mention of God’s love and mercy must be given equal time with his wrath. We can’t have people going about believing in a cuddly God, after all. They might start smiling.

I think it’s incontrovertible that God hates sin, and I think it’s important for teachers of the Word to teach the whole Word. But I reject this notion that people must be cowed into faith. It was on display in this particular essay, but we can find it throughout the Christian community. Consider those ubiquitous church marquees with slogans like: Jesus: Accept him now or regret it forever.

And I especially reject this tack when applied to children. They respond to love with love, and to fear with retreat. I certainly avoided God for twenty years in no small part from a conceptualization of him as angry and waiting to punish me unless I behaved better. And I know plenty of other adults with similar training. As an empirical matter, it doesn’t seem to work.

But more than that, it seems a gross mischaracterization of God. “Let the little children come to Me,” Christ said. He didn’t say: “Scare them my way. Dwell on how My Father punished wrongdoers, until they’re shivering in their little boots.” He drew them to Himself with love. Speaking as someone who experienced the reverse, I think hell and judgment ought to come later in a child’s education, not first.

To read Tony’s “Angry God,” part I, click here. 

When I was a new and callow Christian, someone told me never to sing “I have decided to follow Jesus” because it is Arminian. I had been tipped off about Arminians (though I had never encountered one in the wild) — persons who thought too highly of man’s capability, and who believed that man is able to thwart God’s will.

That one took a long time to get over. But now I sing “I have decided to follow Jesus,” and “Today (As for me and my House)” and “Just as I am I come,” and any number of other dicey hymns. I do it because I see that the Bible uses that kind of language in places, language that calls me to make a decision for Christ, language that warns of dire consequences of not doing so. So if it’s good enough for the Bible it’s good enough for me. (I also sing plenty of songs about grace and how God delivered me, which is also in the Bible.)

Nowadays I think of the teachings of Scripture as similar to the pixels of a picture. The contents of God’s mind would burst the seams of my wineskins. But he “translates” his mysteries into tiny components of the image, arranged side by side for me to read and meditate on each one. The more I read of his Word, the more pixels I gather, and the higher the “resolution” and sharper and more accurate the perception of Truth.

In his Letters from the Earth, Mark Twain wrote that he couldn’t understand why, in the instance of Onan, God was satisfied with punishing him alone. Why not set to “slaying all the inhabitants for three hundred miles around — they being innocent of offense, and therefore the very ones he would usually slay”? By this time embittered beyond repair toward the God of his childhood, Twain quipped: “If he had a motto, it would have read, ‘Let no innocent person escape.’”

Do you ever find, in a moment of contentment and satisfaction, when all seems right in your world, that something dark brushes across your thoughts, an expectation of disaster? Somewhere in the odd amalgam of angry Baptist and sterile Moravian sermonizing that comprised my religious upbringing, I acquired the sense that sooner or later, God is going to get me. Further, the odds of this vengeful God striking increase with my immediate happiness. If things are good right now, just wait — you’ll get your little red wagon fixed soon enough.

When I was older, I read Jonathan Edwards’s “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” which is partial Gospel at best, and on the lips of a closet sadist (some pastors are fond of delivering this sermon to their congregations), horrific. It crystallized my view of God for the next ten years — He is real, yes, but he’s really, really angry, and most of us in these pews are in big trouble when He finally satiates his need for vengeance by watching us — men, women, and children — writhe in agony for eternity. When I was still older, and just finally coming into a genuine knowledge of and faith in God, he let my daughter die.

So it’s been hard to see past these filthy windows — of my own heart as well as the twisted and half-baked theologies of men — to the God whose son promised: “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” It’s been hard to accept that God is not like H.L. Mencken’s Puritans, “haunted by the fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.” Just as the Prosperity Doctrine errs by assuming that the Lord’s overriding goal on this earth is my immediate comfort, I am wrong to assume that God wants me to suffer. He ordains pleasure and suffering in a manner beyond my reasoning, and when I cling to him, I am brought to a place where peace persists. It is just as Paul wrote: “In any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need.”

This is what I recall when I read the Bible, but that tacit theology of doom persists, the lingering scar that kept me away from church for fifteen years. It is the dark-winged thing that sweeps across the landscape when things are good, as they are now. But even our wounds have a purpose, I suppose, and the purpose of this is to bring me back to that great refuge from pernicious theologies, which is prayer.

Here are links to Tony’s first two posts in this series: “Tacit theologies,” “Tacit theologies II.”

This is theological post regarding matters within a particular denomination of the Presbyterian Church and as such may seem trifling to many of you. Nevertheless. Several months ago, we posted on the new “Report of the Ad Interim Study Committee on Federal Vision, New Perspective, and Auburn Avenue Theology” (for a primer on this theological issue, read this). The proponents of said theology have responded here, with an initial “24-theses” rebuttal by Dr. Peter Leithart of New St. Andrew’s College. His first thesis:

It’s long been a frustration that there is no forum for theological discussion and debate in the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA). Presbyteries sometimes devote time to such discussion, but that’s too rare. And General Assembly (GA) is simply not a place where theological debate can be expected to happen. The General Assembly debate on the Federal Vision (FV) was a case in point. Nearly two hours were devoted to the committee report, but virtually no theological claims were made or disputed. The Assembly quickly determined that justification by faith was the issue, on the assumption that some in the PCA are denying it (which is not true). Once the debate went in that direction, the outcome was predetermined, as we Calvinists like to say. We all know what we think about justification by faith; we in fact know all that needs to be known; no need to discuss; let’s vote.

For those with an interest in this debate, you will enjoy parsing out these points.

Another tacit theological belief I catch myself indulging is the notion that being extra-good will entice God to give me good stuff. Much as I despise Prosperity Doctrine, I preach it to myself at times. I’ll be diligent in prayer not because I want communion, but because I want a better job, or a relationship to be healed. I begin to tell myself that I have work to do, in order to get what I think I need from God. It’s just one of many ways we find to diminish Him, by making him a spiritual vending machine.

In times of fear I revert to the flip-side of this theology, imagining that if I don’t behave better, some dread sword poised over my neck will drop. My sick child will get worse. I’ll get fired from that job I complain about so often, but actually happen to need. So here I come again, quarter in my hand, to the Maker of heaven and earth, to drop in the slot and punch in my order. I beg and plead on my knees, and if anyone were to witness it he might well conclude that I am an earnest-hearted Christian. But what is going on, likely as not, is that I am acting on the false notion that I can, through dint of hard spiritual work, make God do my will.

It’s difficult, because there is the Biblical talk of blessings and curses. We certainly see them in the natural realm: lusts of the flesh (and I include here more than just the sexual ones) frequently destroy that same flesh, as well as the heart and mind hidden beneath it. But one could easily conclude that aside from natural consequences, God is supernaturally meting out additional punishments and rewards based on our conduct. I suppose that’s possible, even likely. But it works according to a mystery that is beyond me. This is why Donald Trump has a Mercedes-Benz SLR, and my pastor has a Ford. It’s why the Apostles were tortured and murdered almost to a man, while many a wicked person has lived high on the hog and died comfortably in his bed. When one surveys the sweep of history, it’s hard to hold to the notion that the physical things one receives supernaturally from God, in this life, are determined by one’s actions.

His purposes, after all, are greater than our immediate wants, which is insanity to the non-Christian, and perhaps to many a Christian as well. We are caught up in the great sweep of a history He shapes, and some of us are prospered while others are ground into dust. What fascinates me is that the latter are sometimes the ones praising Him the most earnestly. The faithful life, it seems, and in particular, prayer, has nothing whatsoever to do with getting a satisfactory result out of God, and everything to do with clinging so close to God that we can pass through the worst this world has to offer without losing the deep-seated sense that we are children in the hands of a loving Father.

Sometimes, when I pray, I actually remember this. Sometimes the sun settles on my skin, or I hear the laughter of my children, and I remember. And thankfully, He forgives me when I forget.

Here is a link to Tony’s first post in this series: “Tacit theologies.”

I’ve been thinking about the tacit theologies some of us develop without even meaning to. There is the thinking that informs our prayers, for example. I sometimes catch myself in a Genie Prayer. You know the stories — a lucky fellow happens upon a magic lantern, gives it a good polish, and finds himself in possession of three wishes at the hands of an irritated genie. The trick, of course, is that he has to get his wish just right. If he asks for a palace without specifying where he wants it, for example, he’s liable to find himself underneath its foundation. Sometimes I pray that way, getting very specific for fear that I’ll mess up my order, as if the Almighty is a surly French waiter.

The one advantage of the Genie Prayer is that I find out what I really want, despite my self-flattering illusions. I tell myself, for example, that I want a job change because I want work that has meaning, but of course I don’t pray simply for work that has meaning, because the Lord-as-genie might put me in the meaningful labor field of Zimbabwe. So I pray very specifically for a very specific job, which is more about my interests and comfort than anything else, but at the same time I pretend that my disaffection with my present work is born of a noble desire to have purpose.

Other times I’ll pray a Legal Brief Prayer, which is where I lay out all the wherefores and whys as to the Lord’s obligation to give me what I’m after. I’ll mentally tick through the various verses that support my request. I’ll meditate on how I’ve been faithful in the small things, of late, or on how I’ve been adding to the Lord’s storehouse. I’m owed, is how I feel in those times. Time to follow through, Lord. I try to remember, when I catch myself doing this, that Satan was the first attorney.

Sometimes I’ll fall into the Japanese Tea Ceremony Prayer. It’s when I’m feeling especially righteous, and so I strain to get all my thees and thous in the right places. You might notice people break this prayer out in public, as if we’re standing with the Lord on a street corner in Yorkshire. I’ll get formal and pretend it’s reverence, rather than lay my face down to the floor and call Him Abba.

And the worst of it is that I only catch myself doing these things; I never set out to do them on purpose. It makes me wonder how many other tacit theologies I’ve set up for myself, polluted as I am, as we all are. Once more I run headlong into a dichotomy of Christianity, how some brethren rely on the old rituals of the Apostolic fathers, for fear of blasphemous error, while others turn to nondenominational churches with the same end in mind, a purity of worship. What I’m finding is that neither does much good without the constant striving for a purity of heart.

Keep striving.

Many American evangelicals and fundamentalists like Jews.  This is mostly for two reasons: the theology of dispensationalism and the legacy of the theology of dispensationalism, which is to say, some American Christians are very much dispensationalists, and others are just stuck in a Christian subculture that still has a lot of that theological residue on it, even if they don’t really believe in it.  This article is a good primer on dispensationalism and why it’s led many Christians to support Israel.  And why American Jews don’t really support those who support them.

Evangelical Christians have a high opinion not just of the Jewish state but of Jews as people. That Jewish voters are overwhelmingly liberal doesn’t seem to bother evangelicals, despite their own conservative politics. Yet Jews don’t return the favor: in one Pew survey, 42 percent of Jewish respondents expressed hostility to evangelicals and fundamentalists. As two scholars from Baruch College have shown, a much smaller fraction-about 16 percent-of the American public has similarly antagonistic feelings toward Christian fundamentalists.

According to City Journal, though, American Jews need to embrace their Christian supporters.  It’s worth reading.

It’s no secret that most American Christians get harpooned on The Love Issue, which is to say: We are chided by the world for how we treat one another during theological disagreements and during encounters with the world.  We get so wrapped up in defending intellectual propositions that we negelct the pathos of Christian love that should accompany any healthy rhetoric.

This gem from the Touchstone archives discusses one 20th century man who endeavored to show love while holding many well-defended positions in the realm of the intellect.

Francis Schaeffer articulated a double-edged ethic which the Body of Christ sorely needs: the practice of purity within the visible church, with the simultaneous practice of love, especially toward Christian brothers, but also to non-Christian neighbors. “It will not come automatically,” he wrote. “It takes prayer. We must write about it in our denominational papers. We must talk about it to our congregations; we must preach sermons pointing out the necessity of standing for the holiness of God and the love of God simultaneously, and by our attitudes we must exhibit it to our congregations and to our own children.”

We see this failing all the time here at WMB.  I see it in my own conversations, especially during college and graduate school.  It’s something that will always be hard to do, to stand up for Love and for Truth.  But to stand only for one is to stand for neither.

The Christmas season — yes, I said it: “Christmas” — is a hot time for Bible sales, particularly kids’ Bibles. But what kind of kids’ Bibles? Some parents prefer kids’ Bibles that use friendly characters and accessible metaphor to communicate the truths of Scripture. Others prefer fewer talking cucumbers and more theological depth.

USA Today explores the thinking of parents, authors, and booksellers on what kind of Bibles are best for kids. What kind would/did you choose for yours?

HT:  Michelle

UPDATE: Just checked the comments on this thread. RR needs your help and advice on this very topic.

This was a question raised by J.P. Moreland at the Evangelical Theological Society’s meeting last week in San Diego, says Ted Olsen at Christianity Today.

The problem, [Moreland] said, is “the idea that the Bible is the sole source of knowledge of God, morality, and a host of related important items. Accordingly, the Bible is taken to be the sole authority for faith and practice.”

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