Being a good person

I often hear from non-religious folk that what really matters in life is being a good person. Whatever you believe about God, humanity, and the world, what really counts is being kind to one another. After all, if there is a good God, He should care about our being good persons above all else. As Christians, how do we respond to such notions?

The problem with this reasoning is not that it's wrong. Far from it. During His earthly sojourn, Jesus taught us that the two greatest commandments are to love God and to love our neighbors as ourselves. Indeed, He even called us to love our enemies. He was also very clear, along with the rest of the scriptures, that God will judge all people according to their deeds, the righteous inheriting eternal life, and the wicked eternal death. It could be argued that the central message of the Christian gospel is the message of serious and all-inclusive love, a love that is willing to give it all, even to the point of death on a cross. God is love, and God calls us to be like Him and His Son, Jesus.

The problem with this reasoning is not that it's wrong, but that it's actually right, which puts all of us in a very precarious situation. Who of us is really a good person? The Bible tells us that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God- and if you don't believe the Bible is a source of truth, how about universal human experience? Do we not all have a strong sense of guilt for certain things we have done wrong, things that we knew very clearly were evil and against the good, yet we went ahead and committed such actions anyways - willfully, openly, even gladly? Perhaps we often feel regret or remorse for these things, but do we ever go down the painful and purgative road of repentance and emendation of life? Or when that same temptation rolls around, do we simply continue doing that which our conscience forbids in no uncertain terms? Maybe we have sincerely tried to stop. Yet, though we may have a strong desire to choose the good and avoid the evil, do we not by nature find ourselves utterly powerless to stop? We pull on the chains to break free, but once they go taut, we feel the bondage of evil and sin unmistakeably and all-too-intimately. Wracked by guilt and under the power of sin, how can we claim to be good people? Once more, the scriptures' veracity is proven by experience: there is none good, no not one...

You see, God's love is very serious. It's a holy love, a love that is too pure to behold that which that which is sinful precisely because sin is destructive of human relationships. One cannot divorce God's love from His holiness. Indeed, God's holiness circumscribes and purifies His love; it keeps it from being indulgent, cheap, and sentimental. Sin is an affront to God's morally perfect character, and God loves us too much to be indifferent towards that which sleights and destroys persons. It angers Him not only because He cares deeply about His creation, but also because it is a personal offense to Him. Sin is a clenched fist and a blow to the face of God. It is our spitting in His face, a rejection of His loving and gracious rule over our lives. And if the omnipotent, omniscience, and omnibenevolent God is not allowed to reign over our wills, we have no hope in having healthy and successful relationships among our fellow humans. In order to love our neighbor, we must first love God. In order to be a good person, we have to let God make us good by faith in His son Jesus Christ. We need His forgiving, transforming, and empowering grace in our lives. We need to own up to our guilt, turn from our evil ways, and let God bring us to freedom - freedom to love, freedom to be good as God calls us to be.

Most of my family and friends have always thought I was a pretty good person. I have never been drunk, never done drugs, never had extra-marital sex, never murdered anybody. I have always done pretty well in school, kept my nose clean, and hung around with a good crowd. I was a decent kid in most people's eyes, keeping myself generally free from public and extravagant evil.

Nevertheless, my heart was black. I was often filled with vitriolic hatred at family members and peers. Whenever my mother screamed at me, I would scream back with unmitigated fury. I had no self-control whatsoever, and hate spewed out of me. I was also filled with lust, giving full reign to it in my body as I viewed pornography and engaged in behaviors I am now very ashamed of. Whenever temptation rolled around, the blackness of my heart would manifest itself in the most unholy and filthy kinds of behavior that I could only keep private so much. I was a sinner to be sure, under the dominion of evil such that I could not avoid the evil and choose the good. Sure, I didn't spiral down into the depths of depravity as some people do, but I was evil nonetheless. Sure, my evil wasn't fantastic and showy, but it was still pure evil, evil that had the full consent of my will and my heart.

It took years under the baseball-bat conviction of the Holy Spirit for me to finally hand my life over to Christ. At first, sensing condemnation for my sin, I tried to clean myself up. I exerted as much effort as I could to stop doing evil. Mind you, I'm not just talking about habits that steal upon you like cursing or something of that sort, I'm taking about full engagement of the will. I succeeded fairly well in suppressing my depravity in some areas of my life, but it would continue to pop up in others. I couldn't stop screaming with uncontrollable wrath at my mom. Funny how we will try anything short of handing ourselves over to God? Anything is easier than admitting and fully owning the fact that we are utterly, totally, and completely lost without the grace of God. That takes far too much humility, far too much faith, far too much death to self. Well, eventually I came to the end of my rope and owned the fact that I couldn't keep trying to live the Christian life without Christ. I finally gave up the lie that I was a Christian, that I was in a living and transformative relationship with Christ, and at that very moment I actually entered into one. At that very moment the spiritual darkness was lifted, I knew I was forgiven, and I had a keen awareness of a new power available in me. Suddenly, sin lost its power over me. Like waves pounding against a strong tower, they would billow and rage, but I would not cave. Union with Christ in faith enabled me to say no, and consequently to say yes to loving my neighbor. Freedom from the bondage of self-curvative opened me up to truly giving of myself to others.

We can't be good as God requires without grace, and we can't receive grace apart from placing our faith in Christ. There is still goodness in fallen humanity, to be sure, but we are in bondage to sin without God. We stand guilty and powerless before a holy and loving God, utterly unable to save ourselves from sin's guilt and power. Yes, God requires of us that we be good people, but we cannot be good people without Him.

Infant Baptism and Households?

I recently heard an initially plausible argument for infant baptism based upon the 4 household baptisms found in Acts. I used to hold infant baptism, and in fact I'm still open to it, but the biblical case I used to have for it seems to be falling apart under the weight of new evidence that I am encountering. While the household argument seems good at first, it seems to me that upon further reflection it actually doesn't hold water, and in fact it ends up begging the very question it intends to answer. Listen to my reasoning and tell me what you think.

So the argument as far as I understand it is that the 4 household baptisms in Acts are representative of many household baptisms in the early church, and thus it is highly unlikely that none of them had no infants or small children in them. So, odds are that some infants and small children got baptized. Much of this is true: at least half or maybe more of households in the ancient world must have had children, and "household" always means the whole she-bang - slaves, children and all.

But this is still an argument from silence. Why? Because we don't know whether or not the early evangelists were discriminatory in their execution of household baptisms. It is equally likely that the apostles only baptized households in which all were believers and thus had no children. Obviously, if you indiscriminately pick 4 households on any street, it is very likely that some will have children, but how do we know that the apostles did this? For all we know, the apostles only baptized believers and thus only baptized whole households in which there were nothing but believers - indeed, some of the biblical material seems to suggest that these households were actually made up wholly of believers (All people in Cornelius' household, for instance, are said to fear God, and this clearly rules out the possibility of there being infants or small children in at least this instance - Acts 10:2). This is the problem with arguments from silence: they merely render something possible but not at all plausible.

So we are left with the same question - did the apostles aim to baptize infants in the households of believing adults or just disciples and households of disciples (which seems to be Jesus' command in Matt 28:19)? If the former, they would have baptized households of new believers that had infants or small children in them. If the latter, they would have only baptized households in which all simply became believers. Otherwise they only baptized the believers. The examples of household baptisms does not offer any support for the practice of infant baptism as far as I can see.

Where am I wrong?

Your blossoming credo-baptist,

Kyle

What is faith?

What is faith, and what is its relationship to works? Is it right to understand faith as including works, as leading to good works as a fruit, or perhaps as simply belief and works?

Faith seems to be a hard to put into words. We have Pauline material that tells us that salvation is not the result of works (in Romans and Galatians, he has works of the law or just works in general in mind, in Ephesians he seems to have Pagan works of piety in mind), but the result of faith. James tells us that we are in some sense "justified" by our works, even though Paul says we are justified by faith and not by works. So either they are talking about different works, or the Greek word for justification is being used differently. I think it's the latter, for Paul seems to be referring to the faith with which one is made right with God (justifying faith), whereas James is saying that the believer is vindicated ("justified") by His good works that prove His faith to be a living one. Paul even talks about "justification" on the last day ("for it is not the hearers of the Law who are just before God, but the doers of the Law will be justified" - Rom 2:13). Paul here seems to have in mind the Final Justification that James has in mind. Indeed much of the tension of the biblical material seems to circle around to two foci of initial and final justification.

Ephesians 2:8-10 seems to give the most balanced depiction of faith and works:

"For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them."

In other places, Paul talks about how we gain entrance into the Christian life by faith (Rom 5), and once we are grafted in, good works are the natural and inevitable result of a life transformed. Indeed, the language of grafting is very helpful: we are grafted in by trust/faith alone - God places us on the tree when by faith we allow Him to. Then, being attached to the Vine, God's spiritual sap enables us to do good works, works that flow from that faith-connection (which is distinguishable from the sap that flows through that connection). It's a crisis moment, a moment where you just cast yourself on the work of Christ on your behalf to get you out from under sin's guilt and power by faith (and eventually being in entire sanctification). If you tell someone who is in chains that they have to do some work either to earn freedom or to bring it about by their own autonomous effort, you are feeding their false perception that they can and must do it themselves. Even if you tell those who lack saving faith that God will give grace to assist you do perform good deeds to accomplish redemption, still, apart from a wholesale trust in Jesus and orientation towards His power alone, adding works to mere belief as if the two together equal faith will only result in trust in your own efforts to commend you to God. Faith looks beyond itself and trusts in nothing but the work of God to deliver. If you tell them they have to begin to love God and neighbor, that they need to do pious works before they are made right with Him, then they will be forgiven and cleansed, you are propping up the natural propensity to autonomy and independence from God that we all have. But if you tell them they are to stop trusting in themselves and relying upon themselves to deliver and instead hand over themselves in radical trust in Christ to do it, you are giving them the right answer. And here I truly think there is an absence of human working, since it is after all God who does the justifying, the sanctifying, the saving. Faith is just a word for letting God be God over our wills, over our lives, and just placing our complete confidence in Him. I think that we do this before any good works occur. Works before justification do not help us receive the grace of reconciliation. If they did, again, we would be trusting in them. The temporal order is important because of the theological advice that flows from it, even if saving faith and works are never apart from each other (since exercising faith gives God control, and if God takes control, you will most certainly do good works immediately).

Maybe another analogy can highlight the need for the work of God alone and faith alone at certain junctures in salvation. I think sinners who are buried under the guilt and power of sin are like someone who has fallen down a hole and broken two arms. He cannot even begin to fix himself! He has no resources whatsoever. Someone needs to act alone in restoring both of his arms, and really all he can do is accept this work, trust in his ability to do it, and stop trying to do it himself (obviously this is kinda silly because no one would try do to this themselves, but humans do indeed try to do redeem themselves by their own power and work because it means they don't have to place their faith in another and can remain autonomous). He stops working, lets the healer heal, then he can begin to crawl his way out. The inability that sinners have in various ways is similar. At some points in the path of salvation, all they can bring to the table is faith without works. They can't do anything to bring about salvation from sin's guilt and power, so they simply and solely trust in the finished work of Christ for forgiveness and renewal. That is faith alone, my friends, pure gospel. You don't tell them to start "living as if it were true," or to add works to their belief. You tell them to trust radically, give up all of your efforts and ability to be delivered, to do works to accomplish the task, to simply and solely cast yourself on Christ by faith alone.

I don't think it's true that faith is belief+works, or that it includes works. I think it produces works as God works in and through you, but that's very different. If faith were just belief plus works, a sinner who is otherwise doctrinally orthodox would simply need to be told to start doing good works to get into right relationship with God. Add good works to belief, and presto, you have faith. But that's not true. Faith is trust, a radical reliance upon God's work alone both to forgive and empower. It is a complete ceasing of trusting in your own righteousness and your own works to get the job done, even to contribute to the job, really. At certain points in the ordo salutis, we contribute nothing but the open hand of faith - a faith that is the absence of human working, but merely the openness for God to work.

Now, we do need to cooperate with grace in order to get to these points where we are finally open to the work of God alone. This is where works come in and are necessary - works in cooperating with prevenient grace until we are prepared to receive further grace, in cooperating with sanctifying grace begun in the new birth in order that we may be prepared to receive the fullness of sanctifying grace. And here is where it is very helpful to distinguish between receiving and responding grace, or free and cooperant grace. The first involves no human contribution beyond allowing God to work almost passively (faith), whereas the latter involve an active contribution of effort and work. It's not that we are saved on the basis of good works, even good works that flow out of a right relationship with God. It's more that doing works of love and works of piety can be means that open us up to further works of grace of God in us. In the end, at the most crucial junctures (justification, regeneration, entire sanctification), it's God working alone and us receiving this work by faith alone. In between these crises, there are processes that involve human cooperation.

So works are a necessary part of some parts of the process. But the radical trust in God that allows God to work rather than us to work really is faith alone (when we are reconciled with God through the forgiveness of sins - justification, and when we are born again, through the new birth. We don't really contribute to either of these works, they are sheer gifts). It's not belief+works, it's just an active trust and passive openness to God's work. The importance of separating faith and works theologically, as I believe many biblical authors do, is to make sure we don't put a human contribution (work) where it doesn't belong such that we replace the work of God with our own work. Faith does not always include works. Sometimes it is the sole condition for God to do works of grace in us, works we simply receive. Now the faith that doesn't actually open itself up to God to take control and do work is obviously dead, and that is James' point, I think, not that faith = (belief + works) or that faith itself includes works.

Some would say that "one does not possess faith until one commits works," but I would rather say that one does not possess faith until one is willing to do works. Faith and works may be inseparable, but they distinct nevertheless. Faith is a disposition of the will, it's confidence in the promises of God. You can have this without having love in you (as a sinner does when he is justified by faith), and you can have this before you do any works and even while you are not doing any works, similar to someone possessing courage before he has the opportunity to actually do a courageous act. Now, unless you do works at those opportunities when faith is put to the test, you of course don't have faith, but you still have faith before you do works - indeed you can possess faith without even having the opportunity to do anything as the fruit of your faith. You can trust in God, die before you do any good works, and be saved. Hebrews 11 speaks of works of faith, people who, by faith, do X and do Y. But notice even here that faith and works are distinct, though inseparable. Faith is an internal thing, it is trust, it is a reliance upon God's promises. Works are the fruit and result of such a disposition, when time and opportunity calls. We are not right with God because of what we do, but because we have faith. And because we have faith, we do good things. It's head-spinning, but it's coherent.

We are not right with God on the basis of good deeds, even good deeds that flow from faith and help to keep faith alive. We work to keep ourselves in a posture of faith, not to do things in order that we might be rightly related to God on that basis. I don't care if you say that God's grace empowers us to do good works on the basis of which we are in right relationship with God, that still doesn't cut it biblically, for it still prompts us to look to ourselves as having achieved salvation on the basis of what we have done - and that brings us to that un-biblical place of merit. It gives us a reason to boast, for our works are the basis upon which salvation is given. But faith alone gives no reason to boast, for faith is the realization that anything we do, regardless of whether or not God is enabling us to do it, is not good enough to receive the grace upon grace that comes to us in salvation - the grace of initial justification, sanctification, and glorification. True faith works, but it's the faith itself, not the works that flow from it, that is the condition of continued right relationship. If the latter, we'd constantly have to ask each day if we have done enough to be or stay right with God.

So what do you think of my ramblings? What is faith, and what is its relationship to works?

Feedback post

Okay folks, I'm issuing a poll on a few questions. Answer them, then give a little paragraph backing up your opinion. I'll then grade you with the truth answer sheet (kidding).

Are passions inherently bad when it comes to debate? Is it morally superior to be irenic, calm, and dispassionate? Will more people necessarily hear you this way? Do the folks who get worked up need to "reform" and calm down, either for the sake of holiness or for being heard more widely?

We haven't had a discussion on here in a long time, so let's open it up a bit. As my exegesis teacher says, as short as possible but as long as necessary! =)

Needs

Ever have a need that's not really a need?

I have some of those. They are imprisoning.

For instance, I feel like I need to convince others to have accurate opinions about me in order to be secure. My self-knowledge and the knowledge of God's approval do not feel like enough.

There really is no rational reason to care as much as I do about the opinions of others, nor to feel as though I need them to be secure in my own self and opinions. It's of course good to listen to people and not be so close-minded that you cannot hear arguments and perspectives for what they are, but it's not good to require the positive opinions of others to be secure. Who is man that I am to cower before him, to fear him, to be threatened by him? Is there a lack of faith here, some deficiency of letting God's word be the final word in this part of my life? It's something. It's fear, and it's vain.

Disney movies

What is it about Disney movies that makes me feel strangely and strongly nostalgic? There is something pure about Disney flicks, especially classic ones like Beauty and the Beast, Little Mermaid, Lion King, and Aladdin (yes, I consider Aladdin classic). They are so pristine, so joyful, so otherworldly even - maybe because the world in which we live is so often not this way in its fallenness. There is conflict and evil in them, but it's the goodness that stands out (and always wins triumphantly!). Even the romance vignettes in Disney movies are larger than life, capturing heights of rapture for which we so often yearn in our own bumbling endeavors of love.

These movies remind me of the warmth of my childhood (when I first watched them) and the satisfaction that came with knowing I was home safe in the loving arms of my parents. But as I began to get older, my heart began to long for more - for a relationship with an eternal and infinite Father of which earthly relations are merely a type. It makes me feel homesick, longing for eternal and infinite arms of love to embrace me forever. Once again, I am provoked to longing, to yearning, to desire for union. It makes me feel insufficient for my own happiness, a finite creature in utter need of an infinite good to satisfy my soul. The Stones had it right - we can't get no satisfaction. No earthly good is enough for a heart carved out for infinity. The cost is great - crucifixion, death of the sinful self, and radical abandonment to God. But the reward promised is eternal life, the fulfillment of our true self, eternal happiness, the Summum Bonum Himself. God is our great reward.

At conversion I was given the privilege of wrapping my arms tightly around God. I had never felt such a level of joy in my entire life, and I have never been at that point since. There have been times when the joy swells up to a point very close to those transports of joy, but for some reason I am only allowed to peek into the holy of holies for now. I am compelled to conclude that I must not be quite ready to enter in joy fully and finally. Standing between me and eternal joy is pain, suffering, death to self - in other words, means to further transformation.

Disney movies make me both happy and sad. It's like taking a bite of a delicious meal but being denied the rest. Please sir, may I have some more?

Recapitulation reflections

So I went to a Halloween dance tonight put on by a local college Christian group, and it was pretty fun. In some ways it reminded me of high school, which brought back some bad memories (and a few good ones). It's still very difficult for me not to succumb to self-pity in such social situations because of my past. I remember year after year going to dances and just wishing I didn't feel invisible. I still feel invisible very often. I often get the sense that I'm on the outside looking in no matter where I go. I feel like people are just tolerating me out of bare human decency or even pity. I don't want to go into a corner and mope because I don't need the false attention and sympathy that often garners. So I try to be myself and break out of my shell, attempting to throw caution to the wind...but then I realize that I don't even know who I am in some ways anymore. I spent so many years trying to fit in and alter my personality that I don't know what is really me and what is my false self trying to gain validation in the eyes of others. And I hope my typing this doesn't engender false pity in others. I'm not typing this for attention. I don't even know why I am typing it. I am putting it out there so God can take it away.

Who am I? I was always whacky and high-strung as a kid, and I still have much of that edginess. I was fun-loving and fearless too, traits that I know are buried deep down there somewhere underneath the fear of man that has built up over the years. The dichotomy that is within me manifests itself in funny ways. I'll be relentless in some situations - intense, crazy, passionate. But then in others I will be incredibly timid, usually situations that involve new people, my peers, or girls I don't know well. I think the edgyness, the craziness, the intensity is my true self, and the timid side is the result of vain fear and anxiety.

I know I am God's son and that I am filled with the Holy Spirit. The joy, peace, and love that this brings is unmistakable, and it really does uphold me when I feel alone in a way I did not experience in high school or even college for that matter. I sometimes feel anger, frustration, worry, nervousness, anxiety, sadness, helplessness, depression, dread, despair. I struggle with trusting others because of how often I have been hurt and abused by peers in the past. Maybe this is why it was so hard for me to finally surrender my life to Christ in trust - how could I trust God? Thankfully, I got to the point where I had no other choice but to throw it all at His feet, and God took me on those terms. That's so God, isn't it?

When I am overcome with any of those negative feelings, I find refuge in abandoned prayer to God. I just go for a walk and chat with God, talking things over and affirming His truth. It helps me think more clearly and takes away my burdens. God is here now, I can feel Him. The satisfaction that comes to my soul is wonderful, and it sustains me. I still desire deeply a relationship with a special lady, but it really all comes down to trusting that God will provide when I am ready and when the timing is right. I also wish I had a regular group of friends. I wish this 20 page paper would finish writing itself. I wish my insecurities would disappear. I wish I wouldn't feel so frustrated and angry in certain situations. I wish I were in love. I wish my mornings weren't so often plagued with dreadful feelings. I wish I could get to sleep more easily. I wish I felt like I mattered in the circles I run it - that my gifts were highly valued and useful for people around me. I wish my dog wouldn't be so aggravating (although I love him). Now is a time of trial, evidently, and I have to just trust that there's a reason for it. In the end my Christian friends can only show me as much love as I allow them to show me. God is working on me.

Christ in me, the hope of glory.