Puritan thinker William Gurnall shares this insight:

“Joseph’s coat made him finder than his bretheren, but it caused all his trouble; so great gifts lift a saint up a litter higher in the eyes of men, but they occasion many trials, from which thou who are low are exempt.”

It sort or reminds me of Spiderman’s “With great power comes great responsibility”. Gurnall is right. There is an absolute correlation between the intensity of a person’s gifts and the trials they will face because of them. For example people with trucks are constantly asked to haul stuff around for those without them. Or people with huge amounts of money have to constantly consider the motives of those around them.

And in the spiritual economy it’s barely different. The man with an exceptional insight, or prophetic bent, will undoubtedly stir the pot and earn some resentment from those who oppose his opinions. Or the one gifted as an evangelist will eventually have to flee for his life for exercising that gift.

I remember, as a new Christian feeling envious of those that I felt had greater spiritual gifts. Gurnall’s sentiment goes a long way to remind us that our gifts are tailored to each of us. Everyone’s gift comes at a cost and God has been deliberate to give each of us gifts of which we are able to carry the cost.

Thomas Watson, one of my favorite Puritans, writes this simple yet inspiring thought:

Read the scripture, not only as a history, but as a love-letter sent to you from God.

Some read the word solely as a means to understand and develop theology. Others, as a means to know what they should and shouldn’t do. Others, only to know what has happened in the past, according to Christian and Jewish tradition.

The intention of the Word isn’t less than these, but it is also a great deal more.

We should approach it, as Watson says, like a ‘love letter’. Not necessarily in the literal sense, but in spirit. What we read, was not only an intellectual work to be studied—a textbook. But it was intended for us so that we would be deeply affected and moved in the most sensitive regions of our soul. If we accept it as anything less than it really is, we miss more than we are gaining.

Puritan writer and thinker Vavasor Powell writes about the act of death:

“Pray that thy last days, and last works may be the best; and that when thou comest to die, thou mayest have nothing else to do but die.”

Being that it is Good Friday, as I read this tonight from my Puritan Golden Treasury, I couldn’t help but think of how Christ was the most perfect example of this principle.

He came to earth to die, but before doing so, to preach the coming kingdom of the Lord and call all to repentance. When his time came on Good Friday to suffer at the hands of the people he longed for and loved, his mission was complete. All that was left for him to do was surrender himself to his Father’s will—suffer and die for his stubborn people.

Christ, not only in this, but in everything, showed us perfectly the way to walk, live and die. After God, for God, and having served God’s will completely.

Just my granule of thought-food for a good Good Friday.

It is no secret that I have many grievances with the institutional church. I have few reservations in saying that I think it barely breaks even in doing good, versus doing harm to its own and the world who needs to hear the Gospel.

As I read in Romans 15 tonight, Paul talks about his freedom to now come and visit the church in Rome since his doors for service in his own region were coming to a close. So, to better understand the passage, I read from Matthew-Henry’s classic commentary on the text. And one short phrase stood out and left a very bitter taste in my mouth.

It is justly expected from all Christians, that they should promote every good work, especially that blessed work, the conversion of souls. Christian society is a heaven upon earth, an earnest of our gathering together unto Christ at the great day.

Christian society is a ‘heaven upon earth’. In other words, the corporate church is a heaven upon earth.

Well, yes, perhaps in isolated places. Perhaps even in Matthew-Henry’s time this was true. It’s hard to say, really. But for me, in my experience and the experience of many others, this sentiment does not resonate whatsoever. There is little more charity in the institutional church than in the world at large. But, in the church, there is far less acceptance or ‘love’—even patience or forgiveness.

But I do notice that Matthew-Henry deliberately uses the word ‘a’ in order to describe this present ‘heaven’. Of course we cannot attain here what we will truly have with Christ, there.

Nonetheless, the church ought to be something like a heaven on earth, in certain respects. And while the institution will never be perfect, we cannot accept the flaws by that virtue. Much like our own personal pursuits of Christ, we have to continue to tear down the flawed structures and at least attempt to rebuild stronger, more effective ones—regardless of the ‘cost’.

Twice in Genesis (Gen. 12 & Gen. 20), Abraham fails to trust God and, in fear of the countrymen who’s land he was visiting, tells them that Sarah is not his wife, but his sister.

There’s a level of redundancy in his actions that’s borderline comical.

But, what’s even more than that, many years later, Abraham’s son Isaac  sojourns in Gerer (the second place Abraham lied about Sarah). And, get this, when he’s asked about his wife Rebekah, he does precisely the same thing his father Abraham did. (In fact, the author of Genesis tells the story with almost the same words.)

He tells them that Rebekah is his sister because he feared the countrymen.

Listen to what Matthew-Henry has to say about it:

The temptation of Isaac is the same as that which overcame his father, and that in two instances. This rendered his conduct the greater sin. The falls of those who are gone before us are so many rocks on which others have split; and the recording of them is like placing buoys to save future mariners.

It’s one thing for us to fall into some unseen crevasse. It’s another thing for our children to fall into the same crevasse—or for us to fall into those of our fathers.

Interesting how difficult it is day-to-day to learn from other people’s mistakes. Instead, most of us fall, in one way or another, into the same holes as our parents before us.

Abraham had this unfortunate habit of telling people that Sarah was his sister, not his wife. Twice in scripture he allows the people of the land that he is dwelling in to believe this. Because of Sarah’s beauty, both times a ruler took Sarah as his wife and the wrath of God began to fall on that leader and nation.

In this case, it was Abimelech, the king of Geber. But listen to what happens. Genesis 20:4-6:

[Abimelech] said, "Lord, will you kill an innocent people? Did he not himself say to me, ‘She is my sister’? And she herself said, ‘He is my brother.’ In the integrity of my heart and the innocence of my hands I have done this." 6Then God said to him in the dream, "Yes, I know that you have done this in the integrity of your heart, and it was I who kept you from sinning against me. Therefore I did not let you touch her.

Abimelech did something wicked in ignorance. Honest ignorance—and God took note. He kept Abimelech from consummating their marriage and it was merciful. Matthew-Henry says it well.

If our consciences witness, that, however we may have been cheated into a snare, we have not knowingly sinned against God, it will be our rejoicing in the day of evil. It is matter of comfort to those who are honest, that God knows their honesty, and will acknowledge it. It is a great mercy to be hindered from committing sin; of this God must have the glory.

God was merciful on Abimelech when his wrong doing really was an honest mistake. I wonder, why does the church have so much difficulty extending that kind of mercy?

God is gracious for no reason outside of himself. Whatever it is that drives his desire to forgive sinners is imbedded somewhere within his being and it isn’t for us to understand. At least not now, not fully.

God forgives to satisfy his desire to forgive. It is as William Gurnall describes:

You know the reason why God stands so long waiting on sinners, months, years, preaching to them; it is that He may be gracious in pardoning them, and in that act delight himself. Princes very often pardon traitors to please others more than themselves, or else it would never be done but God doth it chiefly to delight and glad His own merciful heart. Hence the business Christ came about (which is no other but to reconcile  sinners to God) is called “the pleasure of the Lord.”

I discover profound encouragement knowing that God has forgiven my sins because it pleases him, and not because I have in some way convinced him to do so.