Dr. Raymond A. (Randy) Blacketer

Reformation Historian, Historical Theologian

Author: Raymond Blacketer

Historical Theologian / Reformation Historian
Research: History of Biblical Interpretation, John Calvin, Post-Reformation Reformed Theology.

The Seed of Religion, The Christian Religion, and Religion as a Ruse

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On July 21, 2009

In Church History, Institutes of the Christian Religion, John Calvin, Religion

I’m reading Calvin’s Institutes, a new translation of the 1541 French edition, for a book review for Calvin Theological Journal. It’s a good opportunity to re-read the Institutes in a different form than the one I read in college a few decades ago. I just came across Calvin’s discussion, in the early pages of the first chapter, of the “seed of religion,” that sense of the divine that is in all people, no matter what their culture or civilization may be. All people are religious, Calvin says. And it’s a good reminder that “religion” is not a bad word, contrary to what we hear from many Christian writers, as well as many non-Christian writers. Religion really means: a person’s sense or perspective on the big picture. Religion has to do with what’s ultimately important in life, and in your life. Religion has to do with what drives you in life, what life is about, what life is for, what life means. For many, religion is about having a good life, avoiding pain, and trying to be as prosperous as possible, and trying not to hurt anyone in the process. For some, religion is about pretending you’re not religious, and claiming, instead, to be “spiritual.” For others, their religion is a profound faith in science and technology, together with the hope that humanity will evolve and progress and just get better and better. (It’s a good idea for those whose religion is scientific progress to avoid the reading of history, otherwise they might have a crisis of faith). I heard recently of a new science cult which adamantly denies that it is a religious movement, even as its followers zealously promote its utopian view of the future where humans and machines will merge. Sounds like evangelism to me. Sounds like a vision of heaven…or hell.

The Christian Religion, as Calvin rightly and boldly calls our faith, finds the meaning of human life in the story of God the Creator, who is also God the Savior in Jesus Christ, and God the Healer and Restorer, the Holy Spirit. This is the story of God who draws his broken and rebellious people, his runaway sons and daughters, back into relationship with him. “Religion” should never be contrasted with “relationship,” as popular Christian authors constantly do, pretending that they’ve actually solved some kind of problem, or said something profound. The catchphrase “personal relationship with Jesus” is too vague, too individualistic, to small to sustain the weight of what God is really doing in the world. He is transforming the whole creation in Christ. He is reconciling the world to himself. Of course he does this by transforming individual hearts and souls and lives, but he always does this in community. Richard Mouw of Fuller Seminary recently wrote an article for Christianity Today about the proper balance between the individual and the community in Christian consciousness. While liberal churches ignore individual conversion and transformation, Evangelical churches focus far too exclusively on the individual. He writes, “We evangelicals never downplay the importance of individuals—as individuals—coming to a saving faith in Jesus Christ. We never say that an individual’s very personal relationship to God is not important. What we do say is that individual salvation is not enough.”

Then Calvin says something that suprised me. I’m sure I read it many years ago, but I had forgotten. Calvin speaks of the universal sense of divinity, the awareness that there is a God in all people. Then he writes, “That is why it is false to say (as some do) that religion was long ago contrived by the art and clever ruse of a few people, in order to control the naive populace in decency even though the ones who were urging others to honor God had no idea of the divine. I certainly admit that some delicate and deceitful people among the pagans have forged many things in religion to make naive people afraid and  cause them scruples, so that they would be more obedient and easier to order around; but they would not have succeeded in this if people’s spirits had not first been fixed on the firm persuasion that there is a God. From that source came the whole inclination to believe what was said about religion.” (Institutes of the Christian Religion, 1541 French Edition, tr. Elsie McKee, p. 26). Calvin wrote this 300 years before Karl Marx claimed that religion was just a tool used by the powerful to control the weak. Calvin, by contrast, says that while religion might be misused in this way, such abuse of religion does not explain the universal prevalence of religion. Marxism itself was a secularized religion, complete with its own world-view, values, and vision of a utopian socialist future. Its interesting that 500 years after Calvin’s birth, the same issues are being debated. Today we have Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins touting a new atheism, and a return to “reason,” without the slightest clue that their “new” atheism is really quite old, and–even more embarrasing–it is itself a religion, a view of how things should be, an argument about the meaning of life (or lack thereof). Not only that, but their arguments against belief in God can’t even hold enough water to spawn a newly-evolved life form. Disbelief takes just as much faith as belief; the atheist is just as religious as the believer.

Imaginative Reading

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On July 14, 2009

In Books, Pastoral Ministry, Writing

I have not updated this blog for several weeks. Instead, I have been reconnecting with my family after nine weeks of separation. But I have also been participating in a class at Calvin Theological Seminary called “Imaginative Reading for Creative Preaching.” It is led by Calvin Seminary President Dr. Cornelius (Neal) Plantinga and Truett Theological Seminary Professor Hulitt Gloer. (Truett is connected with Baylor University,  a Baptist institution in Waco, Texas). This course is producing profound enjoyment, and hopefully, stirring up my brain to creatively and effectively tell the story of God’s love from the pulpit.

In the first week we read an American classic, The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. This is a story that many young American students are assigned to read in highs school or college, long before they are able to appreciate it. One enduring image is that of Ma Joad, who is the bulwark of strength, a citadel of endurance during times of extreme scarcity and trouble; she holds the family, including the menfolk, together when they are at the breaking point. It is a story of hope, and how persons can only thrive when they work together. The (ex-) preacher in the story, Jim Casey, is also very interesting, because he only truly discovers his calling after he gives up preaching in the conventional sense (in this case, whipping up the faithful into a frenzy of emotion and glossalalia). He begins to find the holy everywhere, and in everyday things. And ultimately he gives his life defending the rights of the poor Okie immigrant farmers. It’s no coincidence that he shares his initials with Jesus Christ.

Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy

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On June 22, 2009

In Books, Writing

“The world turns and the world spins, the tide runs in and the tide runs out, and there is nothing in the world more beautiful and more wonderful in all its evolved forms than two souls who look at each other straight on. And there is nothing more woeful and soul-saddening than when they are parted. Turner knew that everything in the world rejoices in the touch, and everything in the world laments in the losing.”
Gary D. Schmidt, Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy, 215-216.

This is the gist of a book I recently finished, alleged to be a children’s book, but moving to any moveable soul however old. It’s about a boy, Turner Buckminster, the son of a preacher, who moves to cold, hard Maine, and has his life changed in the meeting of a young black girl, Lizzie Bright. His life is transformed in the encounter with unchristian Christians who want to remove Lizzie and “her kind” from the island community in which they live, and who in fact did so (both in the novel and in fact, in 1912). His life is transformed by looking straight into the eye of a whale, and into the eyes of a father who in his last moment finally takes a stand for what is right. And he is transformed by the loss of all that is dear to him, or nearly all. There are important things he does not lose, an understanding parent, an enemy-turned-friend. This is a book that, though profoundly sad in a number of ways, is also hopeful, and definitely worth reading and discussing.

Gary D. Schmidt is also the author of The Wednesday Wars, which, though not quite as sad, moved me deeply as well.

Neerlandia Librarians…take note!

Kylemore Abbey, Connemara

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On June 19, 2009

In Ireland, Personal

On Wednesday, June 10, I got up and started driving north and west of Galway to Kylemore Abbey. It is a 19th century manor that was converted into an abbey for displaced monks from Ypres, Belgium. The abbey is etched in my mind as an archetypal image of Ireland, because my mother had a jigsaw puzzle of the abbey, which I still have. My mother loved the beauty of this place.

On the way, I was listening to Marilynne Robinson’s novel Gilead. I had the privilege of meeting Ms. Robinson at the Calvin Conference in Geneva just a few weeks ago, where she listened to the paper I gave. Gilead is a moving story, and for me, quite sad. It’s the kind of story that has been reminding me that what is important in my life is not what I put most time and effort into. It made me feel melancholy—an emotion that seems to be contagious here in Ireland. There is always pain and loss behind the smiles and laughs of the people here (who, by the way, are very hospitable and a joy to experience.) So when I saw Kylemore Abbey with my own eyes, I thought of my mother—which is something that I don’t often do. I don’t think about things that are painful.

But seeing this place forced me to remember. I walked around the main building (they allow you only a small view of it), then went outside to see the miniature gothic church. There I sat on a pew, surrounded by tourists who had no respect for a place of worship. I shut them out of my head and prayed. I prayed because it occurred to me that my mother’s fears are my own, and her shortcomings, her faults, her loneliness, her insecurities. In that little church I prayed, with German tourists milling around snapping photographs. And I felt the loss of my mother, which I have not allowed myself to feel for the past 14 years since she died.

I walked to the mausoleum of the woman who first lived in Kylemore when it was a manor, a castle of sorts. Her husband had built the miniature church in her memory, because she died young, at 45. Then I went to the walled gardens, which my mother would have loved. And I got in the car and drove to my next destination. And I wept. For the first time in a long time, I wept for my mother. My eyes welled up with tears, and I felt the grief, the loss, the regret.

I drove through the twisty, windy, sheep-strewn ribbons of asphalt they call roads here in the Irish countryside. The tears ebbed and ceased, and I felt that something very important had happened for me. I had honored my mother with my tears.

Murrisk

North of Kylemore Abbey I came across Louisburgh, which was the home base of sixteenth-century pirate queen Grace O’Malley, who could theoretically be a relative of mine. She was married to an O’Flaherty, the name of my ancestors. Down the road is Murrisk, where I saw three important things: Murrisk Abbey, a ruined church on the western Irish shore; Croagh Patrick (the Hill of Patrick), a site of pilgrimage, from which Patrick banished all the snakes from Ireland (not a huge challenge as miracles go, since there weren’t any snakes here to begin with); and the National Famine Monument, which depicts a coffin ship, one of the boats on which so many thousands of sick and starving Irish people sought relief and a new start in Ireland during the Great Famine, 1845-49. Many thousands died on those ships, more died soon after arriving in the USA and Canada. The monument depicts a ship of skeletons. It’s ghastly, but a fitting monument to the unspeakable horror of these people, whom the British government allowed to starve.

“Where is your God?”

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On June 16, 2009

In Personal

I have just returned from three weeks in Europe, and while it was beautiful and fascinating, one aspect was quite disturbing. The gates of hell seem to be prevailing over Christ’s church. Radical secularization and moral chaos seem to reign in the countries I visited. The churches are small  and declining. In Geneva, the regnant religion seemed to be prosperity. There’s not much left of Calvin’s reformation in the city as far as I can tell. In Germany, the churches are tiny and struggling to survive and to find their mission in a radically secularized society. Ireland was probably not as bad, but the (Anglican) Church of Irelands is struggling, and the Catholic church is reeling from abuse scandals and clueless bishops who fail to respond adequately to the crisis. But the worst experience I had was in the Netherlands. I went to church on Pentecost Sunday. Seven young women professed their faith. So far, so good. But no one in the church said a word to me, asked me who I was, or even said goede morgen. This could have been partly the fault of the relative who brought me, who didn’t bother to introduce me to anyone. But that relative, and his wife, his brother and his wife, are for the most part unbelievers. They go to church every Sunday, but don’t believe anything, and in fact some of them are outright hostile to the Christian faith. On that Sunday afternoon I endured an constant attack on Christianity and faith from these lifelong church members, who defend their hypocritical church attendance by an appeal to their enjoyment of singing, and the social aspect, and those specific parts of the Bible that they don’t find offensive. This experience sickened me for days and days, and even to remember it makes me feel ill.

This morning I turned to the daily lectionary (a list of Bible readings for every day) and there was my favorite lament, Psalm 42. Verse 3 struck me: …people say to me continually, “Where is your God?” That was the feeling I had with these relatives in Holland, attacking the faith, bashing the Bible, and derisively mocking those who still believed in the basic Christian message. It was an ugly scene, made worse by the reek of superiority and arrogance that is all too common among the Dutch. At Synod 2008, I voted in support of the Christian Reformed Church breaking ties with the Protestant Churches in the Netherlands, of which these relatives were members, and this experience did nothing to make me regret my vote. After these old people pass away, perhaps only the genuine believers will be left, and maybe they can rise from the ashes, if they seek after God like the Psalmist in Psalm 42.

To see the state of the church in Europe is a faith-shaking experience. It is also a warning, or should be, to the churches of North America. Don’t cave in to culture. Don’t compromise your principles. But for me, the sadness and questions outweighed the warnings. Why, O Lord, have you forsaken your church there? Why have they dwindled almost to nothing? Why do you not remember your promise to Peter, that the gates of hell will not prevail against the church? Is it because the gates of hell are outside the church, and the downfall of European Christianity has come from within? Why are you silent in Europe? Why do you seem to have abandoned the churches that were once so vital, so energetic to proclaim the gospel, so enthusiastic about transforming society by your Word?

The enemies say, “Where is your God?” And I wonder where you are as well. Is this your righteous judgment against a generation that has turned away from you? But your people are weak and foolish and fickle, and we always have been. Turn to your people in Europe again, and revive them. Socialism, which seems to have replaced you, which seems to have rendered you irrelevant to so many, has given them no answers to the big questions of life, so people just try to ease the pain with drugs and sex, or divert themselves with political activism. But why? For what purpose? Who says peace should be preferred to war, if there is no God? Why should human life be respected, if we are just highly evolved apes? While I was in Europe, I felt deeply your absence, O God. I was parched and dry, longing for the refreshing water of your Spirit.  Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.

Calvin and His Influence, Geneva

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On May 28, 2009

In Church History, Geneva, John Calvin, Reformed Theology

The international Calvin Conference in this anniversary year is the probably the biggest academic event I will attend in my lifetime.

I had the opportunity to meet Calvin scholars from France and Swtizerland whom I had known only by their academic writings. Like Olivier Millet, who specializes in Calvin’s rhetoric (how he uses language), Irena Backus from the University of Geneva, and Marilynne Robinson, author of Gilead and Calvin afficionado. Meeting Marilynne was a distinct pleasure. She gave a talk on Calvinism’s influence on New England literary scions, and she also hear my paper and made insightful comments.

And I saw old friends and colleagues again, persons who I see once in a few years, or in a decade. And there were books to buy. I restrained myself. Mostly.

Being in Geneva was a great experience, walking the streets where Calvin walked, though it seems he rarely left his room. We heard a talk entitled “Calvin the Workaholic” that described his grueling, even self-destructive daily routine, which included only one meal a day, working in bed before rising, etc. It was particularly interesting to see the cathedral St. Pierre, the largest church in Geneva, where Calvin frequently preached. There was his pulpit, from which he proclaimed the Word of God in a way that had not been done for centuries in the Christian churches, and with a perspective that had never been heard before in any church, since Calvin was at the vanguard of a new movement of reforming the church, bringing it back to the teachings of Scripture as mediated through the best of the early church fathers, as Calvin assessed them, and especially St. Augustine. Beside the pulpit stood his chair, in which he would have rested his frail and sickly body before the hour-long sermon. Nearby was the Museum of the Reformation, with all kinds of interesting artifacts from the life of Calvin and the Reformation, including books by the Reformers, portraits, Calvin’s cup, letters written in Calvin’s own handwriting, a doodling sketch of Calvin by a student—probably the only portrait of the reformer that was made “live,” that is, with Calvin actually present to the “artist.” There were interactive stations that attempted to convey a day in the life of Calvin: working before rising, going to consistory and rebuking a woman for dancing, burning Servetus—normal routine pastor stuff. Of course, Calvin didn’t personally burn Servetus, but he bore a lot of responsibility for the heretic’s execution, and suffered a great deal of personal anxiety and lasting damage to his reputation as a result. My friend Joy Kleinstuber, who specialized in that topic, gave a paper describing Calvin’s involvement in this notorious event. Comparing the trial records of Servetus with Calvin’s published defense of his actions in the Servetus case, she concludes that Calvin was not honest in his presentation of the facts. It’s disappointing to hear that, especially given the topic of my paper, on Calvin’s insistence that one must always tell the truth.

My hotel was near the Madeleine Church, where Calvin also preached at times, between streets named Hell and Purgatory! There are all kinds of special exhibits and events right now in Geneva to commemorate Calvin’s work there and the Reformation, but little real understanding or embracing of what he was really about. There seems to be a feeling that Calvin was somehow all about freedom or something vague like that. There is a Calvinus beer that is served around the city, though it is sweet and Belgian-like, which doesn’t really reflect its namesake. A beer named after Calvin should be bold, robust, with a bit of bite to it, and a lingering aftertaste.

Aside from these historical references, the city displays precious little remaining Calvinist influence. But I was only there for a few days, so that’s just an impression that I have. There is plenty of wealth in Geneva: expensive jewelry stores, Rolex watches, Montblanc pens, fashions by Louis Vuitton and Lacoste; I saw numerous exotic automobiles: Rolls-Royce, Maserati, Ferrari, Lamborghini. Who needs God when you’re living in the lap of luxury and prosperity?

My session went well, and my paper was improved by listening to and interacting with other speakers. I appreciated Marilynne Robinson’s presence and her comments. My paper, which was on Calvin’s views on lying (he says you can never lie under any circumstances, even to save a life or to thwart murderous persecutors), ended with a reference to Dutch Reformed believers who did not follow Calvin’s advice, and who instead lied to save Jews and help Dutch men escape from Nazi work camps or the Wehrmacht. She pointed out that whether or not they followed Calvin on this point or not, it was still their Calvinistic spiritual formation that motivated them to do the right thing, even in the face of consequences that could include imprisonment and even death.

Post tenebras lux, “After shadows, light,” is the motto of Geneva, referring to the protestant reformation, which the city embraced in 1536. Now the light that shines there is the gleam of capitalism, the shine of diamonds, the glitter of gold, the sheen of luxury. But for those who want to see evidences of that former light, they are there. The Library of Geneva had a great exhibition called “Post Tenebras…Liber,” after darkness…a book. There I saw all of Calvin’s books printed in his lifetime, many more portraits, including a very famous one of Calvin himself, and artifacts from Jean-Jacques Rousseau. I also wandered around to the site of the original Calvin College, which is undergoing renovations, but is apparently still used as a facility for the University of Geneva, founded by Calvin in 1559, and this year celebrating its 450th anniversary.

This part of Switzerland, which I have never before visited, is quite beautiful, both in terms of landscape (the Alps, especially) and the architecture. After three days I was just beginning to get familiar with the city, and which bus to take from the old city, where my hotel was, and the conference center (Bus #5), and now I’m off again, this time, to Germany, to visit an academic friends who studies Philip Melanchthon, Martin Luther’s right-hand man, and a dialogue-partner with Calvin. I’m just hoping I can figure out all the train connections, after twenty years of not speaking German, and 44 years of not speaking French. Whoa! I just passed a medieval castle on the way to Basel, Switzerland. Cool. The train glides by fields of wheat, and other crops I can’t identify, because they’re European and metric. I do see vineyards. Lots of them. Another castle, a wee one, a little citadel. A massive river to my right. This is the land of history and fairy tales. And cheese. I forgot to mention the cheese.

Princeton

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On May 18, 2009

In Institutes of the Christian Religion, John Calvin, Sabbatical

Princeton Theological SeminarySandy attended the Conference on Emerging Adulthood at Princeton Theological Seminary this past weekend. At the time of this writing (Monday morning) she is still trying to get back home, thanks to mechanical troubles with her plane. I met her up there, and while she was conferencing, I enjoyed Princeton’s considerable beauty, history, and library treasures. Princeton’s campus is a thing of beauty, especially if you love big old fancy buildings. There was also a great bookstore, called Labyrinth Books, on the main drag near the University, Nassau Street.

The most exciting event for me, though, was going to the Henry Luce III Library and spending some quality time with a first edition (1536) Christianae Religionis Institutio (Institutes of the Christian Religion) by John Calvin. DSC_0050

I was allowed to spend all the time I wanted with this treasure of the Reformation. I leafed through the pages, read significant passages, wrote my name in the margin…ok, I didn’t do that last thing, but I did take lots of pictures. Here’s a shot that highlights Calvin’s thoughts on Christian liberty:

 

LibertyPhariseesNever

“Thus we ought to temper the use of our freedom to allow for the ignorance of our weak brothers, but for the rigor of the Pharisees, never!”

In the Thick of It

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On May 8, 2009

In Biblical Interpretation, Church History, John Calvin, Reformed Theology, Sabbatical, Writing

This first week of my sabbatical I have been up and down like a roller coaster, trying to get back into the rhythms of being a scholar. It has been a while (like a decade) and things have changed…older books available online, the ability to scan microfilm and microfiche into computer-readable pdf files. The paper is expected (by the Academics in Geneva) to be done on Wednesday and a copy sent to the chair of my session. This gives me a bit of anxiety, and I have had a number of days in the Library (in the H.H. Meeter Center for Calvin Studies) during which I read a lot, but wrote not a word. Today was one of those days.

As of tomorrow (Friday, May 8 ) I will have an office in the Meeter Center that will help somewhat.

Martin Bucer

Martin Bucer (1491-1551)

But last night I had an epiphany; things started coming together; an outline formed in my head, and now I should be able to start making progress. I have a new introduction, which opens up the topic with a the story of how one of the leading Protestant princes in Germany, Landgrave Philip of Hesse–a man on whom many Reformers pinned their hopes–threw a wrench into things by getting married. That’s isn’t so bad, except when you’re already married. He took on a second wife. Because Reformers like Martin Luther, Philip Melanchthon, and especially the leader of the Reformation in Strassburg, Martin Bucer, had pinned their hopes on this guy, it presented them with a real problem. Luther said, basically, “Lie. Tell a boldface lie. A whopper.” Bucer, however, advised the prince to tell a “holy lie,” like the kind of fibs Abraham and Rahab told. Calvin would have never given the prince this kind of advice. Calvin was not in the Landgrave’s inner circle (Calvin was, after all, French, not that he had any say in the matter), but if he had been, he never would have counseled any kind of lie, deception, or cover-up. He would have demanded that the Landgrave admit that his second marriage was null and void, give up his seventeen year old second bride, and remain contented with his first and legitimate wife.

Beginning

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On May 5, 2009

In Biblical Interpretation, Church History, John Calvin, Sabbatical, Translating

“Don’t Panic” said the cover of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I’m trying to remember that advice as I work on writing my paper for the Geneva Conference to be delivered bright and early on Wednesday morning, May 27. The fact that most people won’t be fully awake at that hour might give me some comfort, but apart from that, the fact that I have a mere three weeks before delivering the paper causes more than a few waves of panic in my heart. There is so much I need to read, digest, analyze, and translate…way too much. I need to relax, take a deep breath, and just start writing the main outlines of the paper, and fill in the blanks as I go along. My natural tendency toward perfectionism stands in the way of this method, but I have no other choice. Time is short. In fact, I really should be delivering a copy of my finished paper to the chair of the session by next Wednesday. Fat chance!

In any case, once begun is half done, so said someone. Someone who had no clue. Someone who obviously wasn’t an academic, because once one starts to research a topic, all sorts of information comes to the fore which one can then chase down, and that’s exactly what curious scholars like to do. I have no time to do that, so I have to force myself to leave those curious and inviting trails unexplored for the moment.

I have discovered a few things. One, that I can’t read Latin worth a hoot anymore, not that I ever could. It took me an entire day to read 350 words of Latin. Not only that, but I was reading it from a sermon that I said, in an article published some years ago, didn’t exist. It’s a very interesting sermon by Calvin on I Samuel 16. In verses 1-2, God tells Samuel to go and anoint David king over Israel instead of Saul. Samuel objects that Saul will kill him. The Lord says, tell him you’re going away to make a sacrifice. In other words, mislead Saul about what you are going to do. Or at least, don’t tell Saul the whole truth. I always wondered how Calvin would deal with that passage, and I wrote in an article that he never did…oops…he preached on this text, but I forgot about these particular sermons, in part because they were never translated into English, while the sermons on II Samuel were. There’s a lot of interesting stuff in this little snippet from the sermon, many fascinating, unexplored trails, but I have to stay on the main path: How does Calvin deal with acts of deception in the Old Testament–and even more challenging: how does he deal with apparent instances of God himself either deceiving or commanding someone to deceive?

Here’s the snippet:

“But here another question may be raised: How can God either command or permit the prophet to employ a charade (simulatio)? For certainly such pretense is a form of deception; yet God is most delighted in the truth. Should such pretending be seen as a trivial matter, given that God has permitted it? Here is the answer: Samuel was never given permission to lie, but only to dissimulate about what he wanted to do, but while still speaking the truth. And besides, there is a distinction between feigning and dissimulating. For the one who dissimulates conceals his purpose so it does not become public, whereas the one who feigns employs trickery and fraud in order to deceive someone, and this is not permitted to anyone. Dissimulation, on the other hand, that is, not revealing one’s intentions in full, can neither be condemned nor categorized as wrongdoing—unless of course the intention of such dissimulation is to deceive, in which case it is always to be censured. Neither is God taken in by such subtleties that so easily fool human beings. For this reason the dissimulator cannot be condemned in the human arena, although before God he may be guilty of deception, if his intention is to mislead. For example, if someone withholds information about his merchandise, namely that his goods are fake and counterfeit, he nonetheless cannot be proven guilty of deception, nor accused of having misrepresented one thing as something else—unless however he is dealing with a simple-minded person, who is unable to perceive the defect in the merchandise. In that case it is fraud, and before God it is considered an act of robbery. Thus we must always keep in mind the goal of one’s deliberations, and not get so stuck on the external appearance; and we should not employ sneakiness or subtleties, in which people in their wickedness have become accomplished experts, because they have no notion of what just and good; and God wants matters to be rightly judged according to what is fair and good, not by what is cunning and crafty.

Now then we must also consider what Samuel did. It is to be observed that he did not feign, but declared what was in fact the case: that he was going in order to make a sacrifice. Further, he did not mislead anyone, or deceive anyone; he did not use any sinister tricks, but submitted to God’s command. For it was not necessary for God’s purpose to be publically proclaimed, since for the time being God wished to keep it hidden. He desired that David’s anointing remain secret until the appropriate time when it should be made public. For this reason there is nothing reprehensible in the counsel that he followed that he should conceal the anointing under the pretext of a sacrifice, seeing that there was no deception behind it, and the end was good, nor did it amount to any fraud or deception. Rather God willed that the anointing of David be kept as a kind of secret deposit, as it were, and a kind of pledge to be diligently guarded. That, therefore, was the Lord’s counsel with respect to the anointing of David, which he accordingly did not want divulged by the prophet, but rather commanded to be concealed under the pretext of a sacrifice.”  Sermon 58 on I Samuel, Opera Calvini 30:161-162, my translation, subject to improvement.

Surprised by Grace (and a Grant)

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On February 19, 2009

In Sabbatical

The regular-sized envelope came in the mail, and I hesitated to open it. I mentally prepared myself for disappointment. After all, over 400 applicants were seeking funding for their sabbatical projects; only 40 would be selected. I told myself that the process of applying and refining my sabbatical plan was worth it in itself, despite the fact that it was clearly a long-shot. I mean, who’s going to find the study of old dead interpreters of the Old Testament all that stimulating?

The Louisville Institute, based at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Kentucky, is a Lily Endowmentfunded organization that provides grants for enriching the pastoral ministry and Christian institutions. One of their grant programs is the Sabbatical Grant for Pastoral Leaders (SGPL), which is designed to help fund sabbatical projects for pastors.

I spent months writing and re-writing my proposal, reflecting on what the ideal sabbatical would look like, and how I could optimally refresh, renew, and rediscover my pastoral vocation. I had friends and colleagues read and critique various drafts. Finally, the deadline arrived, and all I could do was send it in and wait. In the mean time, I prepared myself for the statistically likely prospect of disappointment.

I held the letter in my hands, in the Neerlandia Co-Op, as people that I knew walked by and I tried to smile and wave and not look like I was tense, nervous, and distracted. But the letter was thick…quite a few pages. One page would be all it would take to inform me of my rejection. Quickly I ripped open the letter, and my eyes fell upon the words…”Congratulations…”

I still can’t believe it. It was a genuine moment of grace. In this blog I plan to record my reflections both as I prepare for and experience my upcoming sabbatical, which will take place from May through August, 2009. I am grateful both to the council of Neerlandia CRC and to the Louisville Institute for making it possible. But right now, I’m still in a state of pleasant amazement and surprise. Thanks be to God!

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