Powlison, David. Good and Angry : Redeeming Anger, Irritation, Complaining, and Bitterness. Greensboro, NC: New Growth Press, 2016.

I use to think I was a patient person… and then I had kids. They are able to find buttons I didn’t know I had and press them over, and over, and over again! As a result, there are days when I am little better than a bear with a sore head in my relationship with them. Why is that? How could it be that I could get so cranky with these little people I love so much?

In his book, Good and Angry: Redeeming Anger, Irritation, Complaining and Bitterness, David Powlison takes us on a guided tour of anger and its cousins. Drawing on his experience as a counsellor, together with biblical insights, Powlison presents anger as being capable of both good and bad expression. Insofar as it emanates from a worldview that is God-centered, as exemplified by Jesus Christ, it is constructive and good; but where it issues from selfishness and idolatry it causes great harm.

The strengths of Powlison’s book include his careful differentiation between righteous and unrighteous anger; the way he identified unrighteous anger as a sin problem; and his clear presentation of how the sin problem can only be overcome by means of the gospel and not some twelve-step program. On the other hand, I felt that he could have spent more time rooting what he was saying in Scripture so that people could feel the force of this biblical worldview.

As for me and my kids, Powlison’s analysis is spot on: “Your buttons say something very significant about what rules you.” May God grant me the grace to be gracious!

Few authors are as consistent in their message over a long period of time as John Piper. For nearly 4 decades, Piper has been working out a theology that emphasises the glory of God with laser focus and crystal clarity. His latest offering, Walking in the Light, is no exception.

In this work, Piper identifies three areas of human existence – money, sex, and power – that can be used to either uphold or detract from God’s glory. He works this out in the terms of Romans 1:23, with each holding potential for an exchange of the glory of God for a lie. Where God is most valued, he will never be exchanged for things of lesser value such as influence, a salary, a spouse etc. Thus, they can be used in service of God. However, where they are valued more highly than God, an exchange is made, with something perceived to be lesser value (God) exchanged for something perceived to be of greater value (sex, money, power).

The key, then, to appropriate appreciation of power, sex, and money lies in properly appreciating the glory and worth of God, particularly as appreciated in the person and work of Christ. Piper uses the analogy of a solar system set up to orbit around the moon rather than around the sun; the solution is to restore the sun (the Son!) to the centre, live in ‘the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ’ (2 Cor. 4:6).

Piper’s analysis seems sound, and it is refreshing to have an approach that does not flee too quickly to labelling everything ‘idolatry’ (even though that is what it is), but dwells on the implications of that (God is neither valued nor glorified). I highly recommend this short book to Christians at all stages of their journey.

Tice, Rico. Honest Evangelism: How to Talk About Jesus Even When it’s Tough. The Good Book Company, 2014.

This short volume may best be thought of as an encouragement to do evangelism. Tice freely acknowledges that evangelism is hard (an acknowledgment that contributes the ‘honest’ in the book’s title). I was personally challenged by Tice’s approach to 1 Peter 3:15. For many years, I have been one of those with a ‘passive’ approach to evangelism, based largely on this verse. Yet Tice correctly points out that 1 Peter sets out a context of Christians suffering for being Christians. We ought to be prepared to share the gospel even in the face of opposition and suffering.

Yet, he says, opposition is only half the story, for there is also a hunger for the gospel.

We must be honest about the hostility, or we’ll have wrong expectations and give up on evangelism. But we must also be excited about the hunger, or we’ll have no expectations at all, and never start evangelism.
Chapter 1

That hunger ought to motivate us. But the hunger must also exist within us – a desire for Jesus as our greatest love.

So for as long as Jesus is not my greatest love, I will keep quiet about him in order to serve my greatest love, my idol. I will keep quiet about him because I am afraid of losing my greatest love, my idol.
Chapter 3

Having outlined some of the motivations for why Christians ought to evangelise, Tice devotes the balance of the book to practical discussions of how to evangelise. He explores the content and presentation of the gospel, giving many practical tips on how to communicate with clarity and honesty. These chapters will prove helpful to newcomers to the work of evangelism. At times, however, I found the material sacrificing depth for the sake of clarity. This is not necessarily a bad thing, of course, but some footnotes highlighting related resources might have been helpful. For example chapter 7 gives a cursory overview of issues of contextualisation, and it would have been good to see this developed further (how do I work out how to approach my culture?) or at least some pointers on other resources which could be used to go further. Similarly, some of the mnemonic schemes (Identity/Mission/Call, Character/Conviction/Competence/Courage) could have been fleshed out a bit further, particularly with respect to how they are grounded in Scripture.

In all, Rico Tice has offered an accessible primer on evangelism that helps us to have correct expectations about both the challenges and joys of the task. I pray that it will be used by the Holy Spirit to prompt and encourage more and more ‘lay’ Christians to share the gospel in their own context.

Sunukjian, Donald R. Invitation to Philippians: Building a Great Church through Humility

Donald Sunukjian is well known to a generation of seminary students for his influential homiletics textbook, Invitation to Biblical Preaching (Kregel Academic&Professional, 2007). The present volume is part of a series intended to complement that book by providing concrete models for the principles presented therein. Let me say straight away that I have not read Invitation to Biblical Preaching , so am not qualified to judge Sunukjian’s success (or otherwise) in achieving this stated aim. Nevertheless, I found there was much to appreciate in this volume.

Invitation to Philippians is constructed as a series of sermon transcripts, lightly edited for presentation in written rather than oral form. This means that much of the original freshness of presentation is retained, and this is helpful for a young preacher trying to get the flavour of Sunukjian’s preaching style. The alert reader will pick up tips on how much and what repetition is required, both within one message and from one week to the next. However, this can also become somewhat tedious, particularly if (as in my case) the book is read within a short space of time. I also found some of his material was heavily contextualised this his (American) context – perfectly reasonable, given that was the context in which he was preaching, but occasionally difficult for a non-American to appreciate.

Sunukjian’s treatment of the text is sensible and solid. Obviously this is a series of sermons, rather than an exhaustive commentary, so his goal is to expound and apply the text. His intention is to model some of the ways a book like Philippians might be preached. In this light, he offers good insights on portions of the text, and some thoughtful challenges, presented with clarity. For me, one of the most valuable parts was seeing how he connected themes from one week to the next, building on the previous message and preparing for the next, though never at the expense of the current text.

Like many Christians, I suppose, Philippians holds a special place in my heart – much as the Philippians themselves did in Paul’s. Thus it is a joy to see this new volume appear expounding this wonderful text. Yet, in the end, I did not feel that the models of preaching presented herein were so compelling that I need to find out more about the method and principles that underpin them.

In the not too distant past I worked in a team responsible for dealing with software defects (also known as ‘bugs’ or ‘unintended features’). As this was all we did, day in and day out (other teams developed the new features), it was very easy to fall into bad pattern of thinking about our product and those who produced it: ‘How did this ever work?'; ‘What were they thinking??’ etc. When you only ever see something in a broken state, it is easy to assume that it is always, and has always been, broken.

Why do I tell you this? I fear the same thing has happened to Christopher Bogosh in writing Compassionate Jesus: Rethinking the Christian’s Approach to Modern Medicine. Bogosh works as a nurse in an American hospice organisation, which means that he spends a lot of time with those who are terminally ill. As a result, though his book purports to ‘rethink modern medicine’ at large, his focus seems much more directed toward this specific aspect of the medical system and, unsurprisingly, he finds much to critique.

Bogosh’s main thesis is that modern medicine as a philosophy (distinct from medical science, a methodology) represents a form of idolatry that places hope in man’s accomplishments rather than in God. In particular, he takes issue with the belief that people should seek to live as long as possible. To hold this belief is to place one’s mortality in the position supreme good. ‘In the twenty-first century, hospitals, not churches, have become the places most people in the United States look to for healing and hope. This is tragic, because the church provides the only answer for everlasting healing and hope’ (10). This, if true, is a telling indictment. In support of this, he offers many examples of people who have exhausted all possible medical alternatives, incurring great physical, relational and financial stress for the sake of a few months more.

As an alternative, Bogosh proposes what he calls ‘compassionate care’. Medical science may be used, but only in a way that expresses one’s faith in God and brings glory to him. ‘Life at all costs’ has no part in a Christian worldview; indeed Jesus himself neither healed everyone he met (though still obeyed the Sixth Commandment perfectly), nor did he seek to avoid an early death at the age of 33. He also develops a similar argument from Job, noting that Job desired death in order to avoid the unfaithfulness that prolonged suffering might bring (Job 6:8-10). Bogosh goes on to apply these principles to various end-of-life care situations: terminal cancer, persistent vegetative states, euthanasia and so on. He summarises: ‘Compassionate health care seeks to promote the restoration of human wholeness that is spiritual in nature at present and physical in the future, and it recognizes the limits of trying to eradicate illness and disease through human intervention here and now. The timeless teaching of Scripture has always been that there is hope and healing in Jesus Christ, not in Asclepius, medical science, and certainly not modern medicine’ (38).

Insofar as he has challenged a prevailing worldview that life should be pursued ‘at all costs’, Bogosh has done a great service. But, as noted above, his focus on medicine’s role at the end of life leads to an unbalanced assessment of medical science. Whilst he draws a distinction between the worldview (‘modern medicine’) and the mechanism (‘medical science’), Bogosh does little to develop how Christians may validly use the latter within the will of God to prolong life. One wonders, for example, whether the Apostle Paul might have utilised today’s medical science as part of his resolve to live for the sake of his converts (Phil 1:21-24)? What of those Christians who have fought for life and gone on to live productive lives for Christ, or non-Christians who have come to faith as a result of their reprieve.

In summary: Christopher Bogosh has offered a thoughtful reflection on modern medicine as it applies to those at the end of their life, and gives pause for thought on one’s motives in seeking medical intervention. Yet those looking for a ‘Christian Approach to Modern Medicine’ in general will be left wanting more.

Burroughs, Jeremiah. Contentment, Prosperity, and God’s Glory. Edited by Phillip L. Simpson. Kindle ed, Puritan Treasures for Today: Reformation Heritage Books, 2013.

Jeremiah Burroughs (c. 1600 – 1646) was an English non-conformist writing in the 17th century; that his words retain their relevance in 21st century Australia speaks to his pastoral insight and wisdom.

The book being reviewed, Contentment, Prosperity, and God’s Glory, is an amalgamation of the original appendix to The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment (1651) and a sermon preached to British Parliament in November 1645. Whilst I have not read Rare Jewel, Burroughs explains in his introduction that the starting point for both works is Philippians 4:12:

I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.

In Rare Jewel, Burroughs addressed the concept of being abased and suffering need; here he takes up the subject of ‘abounding’ – of knowing how a Christian should live in the midst of prosperity.

Whilst the language has been thoroughly and carefully updated by editor Phillip L. Simpson, there is no disguising the fundamentally Puritan methodology that underpins the study: identify the major areas of the topic, then enumerate each subtopic, leaving no stone unturned. Thus, there are 10 evidences that a man has learned to be full, 5 difficulties of learning this lesson, 4 evidences that demonstrate the difficulty of learning etc. Lists, lists and more lists! Having said that, the argumentation is much less dense than, say, John Owen or Richard Baxter.

Overall, Burroughs issues a challenge to those of us living in relatively prosperous circumstances to avoid taking our prosperity for granted. Rather, we must be careful to ensure that we are not ensnared by our wealth and contentment and start following idols (as did both the Israelites and Solomon). As he writes, ‘The devil can prevail more in his temptations with fullness than with want and emptiness. Why? Because although there are temptations in a poor condition, they are not so pleasing to a man’s own nature as the temptations of a full condition’ (40). This is a message that ought to be heard today.

N.B. a copy of this ebook was supplied for me to review, but the opinions expressed above are my own.

Volume being reviewed: Bock, Darrell L. A Theology of Luke and Acts. Edited by Andreas J. Köstenberger, Biblical Theology of the New Testament. Grand Rapids, Michgian: Zondervan, 2012.¹

Readers of Darrell Bock’s A Theology of Luke and Acts who are not familiar with the tenets of Biblical theology (as distinct from, say, commentaries or systematic theology) are fortunate indeed, for they have stumbled upon an examplary instance of the breed.² After discussing a number of preliminary matters such as the case for the unity of Luke-Acts and a ‘narrative survey’ of the two volumes, Bock surveys a number of the major theological themes that span Luke’s two volumes. His general method is to present a pair of chapters on each theme: the first chapter in each pair surveys the evidence relating to the theme in the narrative order in which it is presented; the second chapter then synthesises this evidence into a more systematic form. Whilst this inevitably leads to some overlap in material, Bock’s precise, cogent prose is always engaging.

For example, chapter 7 explores Luke’s Christology, and the various roles and titles that Luke ascribes to Jesus. Bock arranges his material under three categories: the infancy narratives; the body of Luke’s Gospel; and Acts. The division between infancy material and the remainder of the Gospel seems more or less arbitrarily chosen, but is common across all of the survey chapters. By proceeding in narrative order, Bock allows some insight into the narratological development intended by Luke; it also ensures that all the evidence is tabled before categories are applied, so avoiding pre-judging material.

In chapter 8 Bock draws together and rearranges the material adduced in chapter 7. He re-presents the data under headings familiar to readers of systematic theologies: the person of Christ; the titles of Christ; and the work of Christ. Here he compares, for example, the various titles ascribed to Jesus throughout Luke and Acts as Luke uses them in different contexts. He also draws comparisons with external sources (the Synoptics, rabbinic material etc.) to help underscore both the similarity and dissimilarity of Luke’s presentation.

Bock’s exegesis is obviously based on the Greek text, though all of the (frequent) Greek and (occasional) Hebrew / Aramaic snippets are transliterated for those unfamiliar with the original languages. On the other hand, the occasional grammatical arguments advanced may be somewhat difficult to follow. Similarly, readers unfamiliar with terminology such as ‘eschatology’, ‘christology’, ‘ontology’ etc. may wish to keep a theological dictionary handy. Bock engages regularly with secondary literature in the footnotes, though only rarely in the main text. Each chapter (or pair of chapters) includes a brief bibliography pointing to the most significant secondary literature for the topic, with a more comprehensive bibliography included at the end of the volume. As such, I judge that the target audience is probably beginning to intermediate theological students, though lay people with the appropriate aids will find it readable.

The volume as a whole is neatly presented, with a layout to warm the hearts of the most avid margin-scribblers. There are scripture, subject and author indices, though the subject index seems a little perfunctory. Overall, I found it eminently readable and am happy to recommend it as a worthwhile addition to any theological library. I will certainly be keeping my eyes open for future additions to the series.

Endnotes

1. With thanks to Zondervan for supplying a review copy as part of their blog tour.
2. Another master of this relatively new way of doing theology is David Peterson, as demonstrated in his Engaging with God.

Once again, I am pleased to have the opportunity to review a book from Zondervan as part of a blog tour, this time for Michael Williams, How to Read the Bible through the Jesus Lens. Sadly, my review copy arrived after the blog tour dates were already complete, so I am a little behind the times… ah well, never mind.

This is the third in a series of “How to Read the Bible” books, joining volumes jointly written by Gordon Fee and Douglas Stuart. Having benefitted greatly from the first two volumes in the series, and incorporated much of the material from the first volume into my own teaching, I was excited to read this newest addition.

In order to understand what How to Read the Bible through the Jesus Lens brings to the table above and beyond the earlier volumes, I decided to do a case study, and see what I learned about the book of Revelation from each of the three volumes. The first volume, How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth (hereafter For All Its Worth) offers an overview and introduction of the methodology of Bible reading. Fee and Stuart introduce the concept ‘exegesis’ (understanding a text in its context) and argue strongly for the necessity of exegesis before moving to interpretation and application. They emphasise understanding authorial intent as a means to finding the ‘primary meaning’ of a text. They then go through each of the major genres of biblical literature, offering guidelines for how to read and interpret each. So, for example, we are enjoined to read Revelation with a view to the author’s intent (to comfort those who were facing suffering and persecution under the Romans); to use the author’s interpretation of his own images serve as a starting point for understanding other (uninterpreted) images; to read for the whole rather than allegorically pressing details; and to keep our Old Testaments open to understand John’s OT references. These guidelines assist the layperson in finding manageable starting points for understanding what is often shunned as ‘too difficult to understand’. Each is illustrated with relevant examples from Revelation.

How to Read the Bible Book by Book (hereafter Book by Book) follows up on the work done in For All Its Worth by working through the Bible book by book and applying the principles taught in the earlier volume. This is helpful where multiple books fall under one genre (i.e. one chapter in For All Its Worth), but a little redundant in the case of Revelation, which has a one-to-one mapping with the genre of apocalypse. Nevertheless, a sequential presentation of the material at a high level (approximately one or two paragraphs per chapter of Revelation) is helpful. As Fee and Stuart write in their introduction, ‘The concern of this book is to help you read the Bible as a whole, and even when the “whole” is narrowed to “whole books,” it is important for you always to be aware of how each book fits into the larger story.’ (14) To this end, in the chapter on Revelation they offer, in summary (dot-point) form comments on provenance and theological themes and emphases, followed by an overview of the structure and message of the book. They then go through the book section by section, with brief comments on how the section contributes to the message of the book, and the book to the message of the Bible.

These volumes are, in my view, a tough act to follow. For All Its Worth is my immediate recommendation to anyone who is looking to make the first steps toward structured Bible reading and study. Williams has some big shoes to fill.

How to Read the Bible through the Jesus Lens (hereafter Jesus Lens) seeks to offer an explicitly Christological (i.e. Christ-focused) reading of every book of the Bible. In his Introduction, Williams writes,

Reading the Bible through the Jesus lens is reading it the way it was intended. It keeps our reading, understanding, teaching, and preaching properly focused on God’s grand redemptive program that centers on his own Son. Seeing how each biblical book makes its own unique contribution to that redemptive focus enables us to use these diverse materials with much more confidence and accuracy. The Jesus lens ensures that our exegetical bowling balls stay within the lane and don’t go crashing over into areas where they can cause a lot of damage to the faith of believers and to our ability to use the Bible fruitfully in our service to God. (9)

If ever there were a book of the Bible where bowling balls were prone to leave lanes it is surely Revelation! So what advice does Williams offer on reading the book of Revelation ‘through the Jesus lens’?

He starts by offering a brief overview of the situation which prompted the writing of the book of Revelation (though in less detail than Book by Book). He states the theme of the Book: ‘God enables his people to stand fast against Satan and his forces until God brings about the ultimate and sure victory’ (263). The section on ‘The Jesus Lens’, where you would expect Williams to focus (no pun) his attention, is a mere 3 brief paragraphs (approximately 2/3 of a page) that effectively points out that it is the Lamb who brings about salvation, and that though appearances suggested that Jesus was overpowered by evil, Revelation overturns this false impression by depicting a God who is in control and a Lamb who, though slain, is ultimately victorious. Williams closes the chapter by offering some contemporary implications (though sin is rampant, we live with hope) and ‘hook questions’ (discussion starters, suitable for a group Bible study).

Whilst I generally try to avoid criticising a book for what it is not, in this case I feel it is warranted: for a book entitled How To… it contains very little instruction. There is no discussion of how Williams arrived at the ‘Jesus lens’, nor of how to use it. True, Williams demonstrates his own usage, thus modelling a method, but we end up with his finished product without any real insight on how he arrived at it. As a result, if asked to look at portions of Scripture smaller (or larger!) than a canonical book, the student would need to start from scratch. In addition, whilst I appreciate Williams’ desire to write ‘a book that one doesn’t need a wheelbarrow to carry around’, I fear that his brevity necessitates gross generalisations. As a summary, his chapter on Revelation offers considerably less detail than Book by Book.

The strength of Williams’ book is the way it reminds us that all the Scriptures speak of Christ (John 5:39), a reminder sorely needed today as any day. But in its current form it is hard to see that it serves any particular audience – certainly it is too brief and lacking in methodological detail to be an instructional (How To!) manual. I will continue to recommend For All Its Worth.

Bibliography

• Fee, Gordon D., and Douglas K. Stuart. How to Read the Bible Book by Book : A Guided Tour. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002.
• Fee, Gordon D., and Douglas K. Stuart. How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth. 3rd ed. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2003.
• Williams, Michael James. How to Read the Bible through the Jesus Lens : A Guide to Christ-Focused Reading of Scripture. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2011.

This is part II of an ongoing discussion of Jonathan Edwards’ A Treatise Concerning Religious Affections. In case you missed it, please see Part I. Also see the contributions from my friend and conversation partner Andrew Starkey: Part I and Part II.

Q: What is this section about as a whole?

In Part 1, Edwards argued that true religious affections are a necessary component of true religion. However, this raises a question: how may one determine whether such religious affections are ‘true’ or not? Edwards begins to answer this question negatively in part 2, outlining many possible methods for making such a determination, but concluding that each of them is ultimately deficient. In this way, Edwards is clearing the detritus from the building site in order to lay a firm foundation.

Q: What is being said in detail, and how?

Edwards traces 12 possible, but ultimately faulty, rubrics for assessing religious affections. These twelve are surveyed one by one, particularly in the light of Scripture and practical reason, and each is finally rejected. The twelve possibilities are:

1. The magnitude of the affection;
2. The magnitude of physical effects upon the body of the one affected;
3. The affectee is fluent and fervent in talking about religion;
4. The affection is apparently from an external source;
5. The affection is accompanied by Scripture texts being brought to the mind;
6. The affectee presents an appearance of love;
7. Many affections are intertwined and accompany one another;
8. Comfort follows conviction;
9. The affectee is zealously engaged in religion;
10. The affectee praises and glorifies God;
11. The affectee is convinced that their experience is divine; and
12. The affectee has the approval of other saints.

These are not ordered according to any discernible system, though one notes a certain overlap particularly between 3, 9, and 10. Edwards’ method on each point is commonly to argue that the sign is consistent with either true or false religious affections. So, an overwhelmingly large affection may well be a component of a ‘true’ affection; but likewise a ‘false’ affection may be exceedingly powerful in its impact for our enemy is able to simulate such things. Thus, since the sign is consistent with either true or false affections, its presence is insufficient evidence in either direction. What is not clearly discussed is whether the sign’s absence is evidence against the truth of the affection, a point I will return to in the next section.

This idea of ‘counterfeit’ runs like a thread through many of the points Edwards makes. He writes:

It may be observed that the more excellent anything is, the more will be the counterfeits of it. Thus there are many more counterfeits of silver and gold, than of iron and copper: there are many false diamonds and rubies, but who goes about to counterfeit common stones? Though the more excellent things are, the more difficult it is to make anything that shall be like them, in their essential nature and internal virtues; yet the more manifold will the counterfeits be, and the more will art and subtlety be displayed, in an exact imitation of the outward appearance. (969)

Thus, since it is ultimately to the enemy’s advantage to influence the church by means of his own ‘false’ affections, he will work very hard to imitate – in as many particulars as he can – ‘true’ affections. After all, ‘Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.’ (2 Cor 11:14 NIV) But this leaves us with a question that I hope will be answered in the rest of Edwards’ treatise: what are the attributes of true religious affection and experience that cannot be counterfeited?

Q: Is the section true, in part or in whole?

Edwards’ method is sound, and his conclusions seem supported by the evidence. I thus consider that this section is true. However, as mentioned above, I am left to wonder whether the absence of any of these signs should be taken as evidence against the authenticity of the experience. In particular, if the affectee has no appearance of love (6) or is disapproved by other saints (12) shouldn’t these tell against authenticity?

Q: What of it?

I need to go back and consider my own practices of spiritual discernment. As we have previously discussed, the signs listed above are generally external (although some require revelation by the affectee to become so, such as where certain texts of Scripture are brought to mind), suggesting that the focus is on discerning the affections of others, but I believe that they ought to be practiced on oneself first, and only secondarily on others. As I think over my own life and experience of God, what criteria am I using to evaluate? If any of the points listed above, then that should trigger alarm bells and a closer scrutiny.

My friend Andrew Starkey and I have decided to read through Jonathan Edwards’ A Treatise Concerning Religious Affections. This post contains my reflections on Part I.

The questions that are being used as a framework for discussion (and are the headings in this post) are taken from Mortimer Jerome Adler and Charles Lincoln Van Doren, How to Read a Book, Rev. and updated ed. (New York,: Simon and Schuster, 1972), 46.

Numbers in parentheses are location numbers in the Kindle text referenced above.

Q: What is the section about?

The problem facing Edwards is clear, and he outlines it in his introduction: In the midst of the Great Awakening, he recognises that there is a great ‘mixture of counterfeit religion with true, not discerned and distinguished’ (48). In Part I, therefore, he argues that true religion is characterised by the presence of ‘holy affections’ (144). He mounts his argument from the imperatives of Scripture, the nature of the world, the history of the church and particularly the example of Christ. He then draws a number of inferences from this proposition, namely that (1) those without religious affections are spiritually dead; (2) we ought properly to desire those things that move the affections; and (3) we ought to be ashamed that ‘we are no more affected with the great things of religion’ (606).

Q: What is being said in detail, and how?

Edwards starts by considering 1 Pet 1:8: ‘Whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.’ He argues that persecutions and trials (referred to in the previous verses) ‘above all other things, have a tendency to distinguish between true religion and false’.

True virtue never appears so lovely, as when it is most oppressed; and the divine excellency of real Christianity, is never exhibited with such advantage, as when under the greatest trials: then it is that true faith appears much more precious than gold! And upon this account is “found to praise, and honor, and glory.” (111)

In particular, true religion will result in love to Christ and joy in Christ. From this, Edwards states the main premise which he will spend the rest of the section (perhaps the rest of the book) developing and defending: ‘True religion, in great part, consists in holy affections.’

Strictly speaking, this does not seem to be a logical deduction from his evidence up to this point. It would, perhaps, be more accurate to say that ‘true religion responds to persecution with holy affections’. After all, maybe affections are not required when not under persecution, or perhaps affections are just one among many symptoms of ‘true religion’. But the rest of section goes on to develop this fuller premise.

Edwards’ working definition of ‘affections’ is as follows:

The affections are no other than the more vigorous and sensible exercises of the inclination and will of the soul. (152)

He is careful to join affections to the will. This seems somewhat strange to the modern reader who would naturally associate ‘affections’ with ‘emotions’, which are considered beyond our (conscious) control. I believe this fact will be important to bear in mind as we continue through the book, and I am sure I will regularly need to remind myself of it.

Having defined ‘affections’, Edwards proceeds to draw the link between ‘affections’ and ‘true religion’. As the first step towards this goal, he marshals a number of Scriptures that command particular affections: fervour (Rom 12:11), love and fear (Deut 6:4, 6; 10:12) etc. His emphasis here is not so much on the affections themselves, but on their magnitude. His conclusion is that,

everyone that has the power of godliness in his heart, has his inclinations and heart exercised towards God and divine things, with such strength and vigor that these holy exercises do prevail in him above all carnal or natural affections, and are effectual to overcome them. (229)

Edwards also notes the central role that affections have in prompting actions; in other words, he argues that ‘the affections of men are the springs of… motion’ (241). The logic here is an enthymeme, with the unstated minor premise that true religion consists of actions, which may be readily granted. Thus the argument is that:

Affections are necessary for actions.
[Actions are necessary for true religion.]
Therefore affections are necessary for true religion.

The third argument Edwards offers in favour of linking affections and true religion is that ‘the things of religion take hold of men’s souls, no further than they affect them’ (250). This is an inductive argument, based on Edwards’ observations of human behaviour. As such, it is not as strong as some of the other arguments put forward, but in conjunction with the others it has a cumulative force.

Argument 4 is, in some ways, similar to the first argument but in greater depth. Edwards here traces such specific affections as hope, hatred for sin, holy desires and longings, joy, sorrow, mercy and zeal. He then builds on this argument by noting the central place given in the Scriptures to love as the ‘fountain of all other affections’ (335).

Having considered the indicatives of Scripture pertaining to affections, Edwards turns in argument 6 to the example of specific biblical characters: David, Paul and John. From there, it is only natural to consider the example of the Lord Jesus, who ‘was a person who was remarkably of a tender and affectionate heart; and [whose] virtue was expressed very much in the exercise of holy affections’ (422).

Argument 8 rests on Edwards’ interpretation of the ‘heavenly state’, and owing to its speculative nature this is the weakest of the arguments he advances. Certainly, the intent is admirable: ‘The way to learn the true nature of anything, is to go where that thing is to be found in its purity and perfection’ (471); it is just that the available evidence doesn’t allow confidence in the sweeping generalisations that Edwards makes.

Edwards then notes the affective nature of the ‘ordinances and duties, which God hath appointed, as means and expressions of true religion’ (477). In particular, he considers prayer, singing praises to God, the sacraments and preaching. Each of these, according to Edwards, is designed with a view to raising the affections.

Finally, Edwards points out the frequent correlation in Scripture of sin and ‘hardness of heart’. The reasoning is that if sin is to be equated with hardness of heart, then the negation of sin (true religion) is to be equated with the negation of hardness of heart (affections).

With these arguments expounded, Edwards concludes: ‘Upon the whole, I think it clearly and abundantly evident, that true religion lies very much in the affections’ (541).

From this conclusion, Edwards draws three specific inferences. Firstly, those who devalue religious affections as insubstantial are wrong; indeed, affections are (at least) as essential as doctrine. There is a balance to be maintained, and falling into either extreme is equivalent to death: ‘As there is no true religion where there is nothing else but affection, so there is no true religion where there is no religious affection’ (575). The second inference is that we should desire means of moving the affections. Such means might include ‘books… preaching the word… administration of ordinances… worshipping God in prayer, singing praises’ (595) etc. Edwards’ third and final inference from his conclusion that true religion and religious affections are essential to one another is that we ought to be ashamed for our general lack of affections.

Q: Is the section true, in whole or part?

Edwards offers a strong argument. Once we accept his definition of ‘affections’ (over against more modern interpretations) his examples from Scripture are compelling. As noted previously, some of his arguments from his speculative construction of the ‘heavenly state’ are misguided, but these form only a minor plank in an otherwise very sturdy bridge.

Q: What of it?

As mentioned earlier, the topic of this section seems of immediate importance to the author, placed as he was in the midst of the Great Awakening. It was very important to him to be able to distinguish between religious affection and psychological hype. No doubt he was forced to defend against the naysayers who declared the movement he was a part of to be the latter rather than the former.

For us, too, there is a tendency to reject the emotions in favour of the mind. I can trace this tendency in myself all the way back to my conversion. I became a Christian at a holiday camp run at Stanwell Tops. Picture, if you will, a 6 foot tall 10 year old at a camp called… ‘Mini Midgets’! This was my first real exposure to Christian camping, or ‘contemporary’ Christian music. I didn’t know you could have church music played on electric guitars and drums! One night during the week, we were singing a praising God, and I felt the immediate presence of God in a way I never had before. Yet I refused to say anything or do anything about it until I’d had a chance to think it over. Even at that age, I had a suspicion of anything that was driven in the first instance by emotion; I needed to make sure that it made sense. That’s the way I’m wired.

To this day, I am suspicious of a certain kind of music, a certain kind of prayer, a certain kind of preaching etc. But I am also learning, slowly, that it is OK – no, as Edwards points out, it is right! – to be affected by things. We had a men’s weekend away just recently, and a number of people shared from their life stories. In a couple of cases the stories were tragic indeed, and once I found tears pouring down my cheeks as a man described sitting on the floor after school explaining to his kids (aged 11 – 4) that their mum had passed away from cancer while they were at school. There was a time when I would have been ashamed of that response, but I am learning that it is both the privilege and the responsibility of Christians to ‘Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn’ (Rom 12:15).

What Edwards teaches me in this section is that this is to be more than just a passive response; the affections are to be active. They are ‘vigorous and sensible exercises of the inclination and will of the soul’ (152). We are to incline ourselves towards being ‘affected’ by the things of God, and the things which ‘affect’ God (or, more precisely, which God allows to affect him). Paul offers an imperative – rejoice! mourn! – not just an invitation.

Further, I find that I am ashamed (as Edwards says I ought to be) that I am too little affected by the things I ought to be, and too much affected by other things. One is reminded of C. S. Lewis’ observation in Weight of Glory:

It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Even today, I have worked extra hours to derive satisfaction from having done my job well… but at what expense? I got to see my kids for all of 10 mins at either end of the day. I admire my friends’ passion for social justice, but find it difficult to be similarly affected. I read my Bible and am often left unchanged because I do it as an exercise in discipline or academics instead of a meeting with the Creator and Saviour of the world.

I look forward to reading what solutions Edwards has to offer, but I know – I know! – that the starting place is prayer. Please God, give me first the desire coupled with the will to pray, so that as I peer into your heart mine will be drawn along to the same place!