The Love of God and the Love of Our Neighbor in God

"All God's commandments, one of which is, 'Thou shalt not commit adultery,' and all those precepts which are not commandments but special counsels, one of which is, 'It is good for a man not to touch a woman,' are rightly carried out only when the motive principle of action is the love of God, and the love of our neighbor in God" (Augustine, Enchiridion, 139–140).

The Forgotten Demographic in the Church

With all the buzz about doing evangelism in the church today, it would be helpful if the church exercised a bit more insight and genuine neighbor-love instead of doing what is most comfortable and what boosts the right kind of numbers. This piece by Gene Veith points out the uncomfortable truth for many upwardly-mobile white egalitarian-leaning evangelicals with feminist assumptions: the most unchurched demographic is the white working class.

Well, let's develop church strategies to go after them. No? Why not? Doesn't love call for it?

Christian Love

"Love of benevolence is that disposition which a man has who desires or delights in the good of another. And this is the main thing in Christian love, the most essential thing, and that whereby our love is most of an imitation of the eternal love and grace of God, and the dying love of Christ."

—Jonathan Edwards, Ethical Writings (vol. 8 in the Works of Jonathan Edwards; ed. Paul Ramsey; New Haven: Yale University, 1989), 213.

Christian Kindness

"To be kind is to have a disposition freely to do good. Whatever good is done, it is no proper kindness in the doer of it unless it be done freely."

—Jonathan Edwards, Ethical Writings (vol. 8 in the Works of Jonathan Edwards; ed. Paul Ramsey; New Haven: Yale University, 1989), 211.

Christian Long-suffering

Edwards on Christian meekness, from a sermon on 1 Cor. 13:4 in his justly famous series Charity and Its Fruits:

If men after they are offended and injured speak reproachfully to their neighbor, or of him to others, with a design to make others think worse of him, to the end that they may gratify that bitter spirit which they feel in themselves for the injury their neighbor has done them, that is revenge. He, therefore, who exercises Christian long-suffering towards his neighbor bears injuries from him without revenging or retaliating, either with revengeful deeds or bitter words. He bears it without doing anything against his neighbor or gratifying a bitter resentment, without talking with bitter words to him, without showing a revengeful spirit in the manner of his countenance, or air of his behavior. He receives all with a calm, undisturbed countenance, still manifesting the quietness and goodness in his behavior towards him, both to his face and behind his back.

—Jonathan Edwards, Ethical Writings (vol. 8 in the Works of Jonathan Edwards; ed. Paul Ramsey; New Haven: Yale University, 1989), 189.

The Soul Itself Becomes a Precious Jewel

The meeting house where Edwards
preached "Charity and Its Fruits"

Jonathan Edwards' sermons on 1 Corinthians 13, preached in 1738, in Northampton, MA, shortly after the fervors of the first "Great Awakening" had passed, are a precious treasure for the Christian Church. Whenever I return to Charity and Its Fruits, I find myself simultaneously devastated and invigorated. I say "devastated" because Edwards' preaching on what real faith looks like as it works itself out in love leaves me feeling my shortcomings considerably more than the much less probing preaching common in the church today, preaching that rarely disturbs the comfortable, and comforts the disturbed. And I say "invigorated" because of how life-giving and renewing and refreshing is Edward's vision of the Christian life. It is beautiful, excellent, altogether lovely. It is life-giving, since it is itself swallowed up in the life of God.

And so I wish in this place to give my reader a flavor of what I'm talking about. The following excerpt comes from the second sermon in the series, entitled: "Love More Excellent than Extraordinary Gifts of the Spirit." And here Edwards is distinguishing between the "ordinary" (by which he means what all Christians are ordinarily given in the gift of the Spirit) and "extraordinary" (by which he means "miraculous") gifts of the Spirit. One paragraph ought to be enough to send you off longing and panting for more. Note especially the last two sentences of the quoted material below, where Edwards is illustrating his point.

This blessing of the saving grace of God is a quality inherent in the nature of him who is the subject of it. This gift of the Spirit of God, working a saving Christian temper and exciting gracious exercises, confers a blessing which has its seat in the heart; a blessing which makes a man's heart and nature excellent. Yea, the very excellency of the nature consists in it.  

Now it is not so with respect to those extraordinary gifts of the Spirit. They are excellent things, but not properly the excellency of a man's nature; for they are not things which are inherent in the nature. For instance, if a man is endued with a gift of working miracles, that power is not anything inherent in his nature. It is not properly any quality of the heart and nature of the man, as true grace and holiness are. And though most commonly those who have these extraordinary gifts of prophecy, speaking in tongues, and working miracles have been holy persons, yet their holiness did not consist in their having these gifts; but holiness consists in having grace in the heart; grace and holiness are the same thing. 

Extraordinary gifts are nothing properly inherent in the man. They are something adventitious. They are excellent things; but they are not properly excellencies in the nature of the subject, any more than the garments are which he wears. Extraordinary gifts of the Spirit are, as it were, precious jewels, which a man carries about him. But true grace in the heart is, as it were, the preciousness of the heart, by which it becomes precious or excellent; by which the very soul itself becomes a precious jewel.

—Jonathan Edwards, Ethical Writings (vol. 8 in the Works of Jonathan Edwards; ed. Paul Ramsey; New Haven: Yale University, 1989), 157–158.

Wise Love No Simplistic Pursuit

"The challenge of love, of course, is that it is so multi-faceted. It runs the gamut from taking a bullet for someone to kicking them out of your house."

—Ed Welch, "Boundaries in Relationship," in JBC Must Reads: On Relationships (CCEF: 2013), 63.

Heartbeats Cannot Be Hoarded

N. D. Wilson:

Death is now. The choice is here. 

Lay your life down. Your heartbeats cannot be hoarded. Your reservoir of breaths is draining away. You have hands, blister them while you can. You have bones, make them strain—they carry nothing in the grave. You have lungs, let them spill with laughter. With an average life expectancy of 78.2 years in the US (subtracting eight hours a day for sleep), I have around 250,000 conscious hours remaining to me in which I could be smiling or scowling, rejoicing in my life, in this race, in this story, or moaning and complaining about my troubles. I can be giving my fingers, my back, my mind, my words, my breaths, to my wife and my children and my neighbors, or I can grasp after the vapor and the vanity for myself, dragging my feet, afraid to die and therefore afraid to live. And, like Adam, I will still die in the end.   

Living is the same thing as dying. Living well is the same thing as dying for others.  

—Death by Living: Life Is Meant to Be Spent (Dallas: Thomas Nelson, 2013), 84.

What Do I Love When I Love My God?

Augustine:

But what do I love when I love my God? Not material beauty or beauty of a temporal order; not the brilliance of earthly light, so welcome to our eyes; not the sweet melody of harmony and song; not the fragrance of flowers, perfumes, and spices; not manna or honey; not limbs such as the body delights to embrace. It is not these that I love when I love my God. And yet, when I love him, it is true that I love a light of a certain kind, a voice, a perfume, a food, an embrace; but they are of the kind that I love in my inner self, when my soul is bathed in light that is not bound by space; when it listens to sound that never dies away; when it breathes fragrance that is not borne away on the wind; when it tastes food that is never consumed by the eating; when it clings to an embrace from which it is not severed by fulfillment of desire. This is what I love when I love my God.

—Saint Augustine, Confessions, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin (New York: Penguin, 1961), 212.

The Truest Devotion

"To desire my fellow creatures' good and to seek after it, to desire God's glory, and so to live as to promote it, is the truest of devotion."

—C. H. Spurgeon, "The Importunate Widow," in Miracles and Parables of Our Lord (vol. 3; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2003), 435.

Loving People in God

St. Augustin's God-besotted God-centeredness in the Confessions is well known. Reading through the Confessions, I'm struck also by how God-centered is Augustin's thinking about love for people. The following quotations from book 4 will give you a good feel for this (italics mine).

In a section discussing friendship, Augustin confesses to God:

Blessed are those who love you, O God, and love their friends in you and their enemies for your sake. They alone will never lose those who are dear to them, for they love them in one who is never lost, in God, our God who made heaven and earth and fills them with his presence, because by filling them he made them (79–80).

Then in a portion discussing delighting in things of this world, Augustin addresses those who would delight, among other things, in souls:

If your delight is in souls, love them in God, because they too are frail and stand firm only when they cling to him. If they don't, they go their own way and are lost. Love them, then, in him and draw as many with you to him as you can. Tell them "He is the one we should love. He made the world and he stays close to it" (82).

Oh for more Augustinian God-besotted God-centered love for people!

—Saint Augustine, Confessions, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin (New York: Penguin, 1961).

Affection Among Friends

Augustine on the charms of friendship:

We could talk and laugh together and exchange small acts of kindness. We could join in the pleasure that books can give. We could be grave or gay together. If we sometimes disagreed, it was without spite, as a man might differ with himself, and the rare occasions of dispute were the very spice to season our usual accord. Each of us had something to learn from the others and something to teach in return. If any were away, we missed them with regret and gladly welcomed them when they came home. Such things as these are heartfelt tokens of affection between friends. They are signs to be read on the face and in the eyes, spoken by the tongue and displayed in countless acts of kindness. They can kindle a blaze to melt our hearts and weld them into one.

—Saint Augustine, Confessions, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin (New York: Penguin, 1961), 79.

True Friendship: A Holy Spirit Bought Bond

"For though they cling together, no friends are true friends unless you, my God, bind them fast to one another through that love which is sown in our hearts by the Holy Ghost, who is given to us."

—Saint Augustin, Confessions, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin (New York: Penguin, 1961), 75.

True Love for God

I'm enjoying thoroughly sitting at Professor Dan Block's feet in an exegesis class on Deuteronomy at Wheaton College. And one of the main reasons for this is Dr. Block's manifest devotion to YHWH— Father, Son, and Spirit.

Commenting on the significance of Deut. 6:4-9 for contemporary life, here are some applications Block gives that rejoice my heart:

True love for God is rooted in the heart, but it is demonstrated in life, specifically in a passion to speak of one's faith in the context of the family and to declare one's allegiance publicly to the world. This passage suggests that the very decoration of our homes should bear testimony to our faith, declaring to all guests and passers-by the fundamentally theological outlook of those who live within, and serving as reminders to residents to live in dependence on God and to realize that blessing is contingent on obedience.

—Daniel I. Block, Deuteronomy (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2012), 189.

Christian's Charity

C. H. Spurgeon sees Christian in Pilgrim's Progress as an example of being charitable toward all who profess to be Christians. In the words below, he's referring to the time when Christian met Formalist and Hypocrisy:

Well, these two men drew up apace to Christian, and he saluted them, for it is not Christian's duty to suspect anybody; and when he finds people in the right road, he must treat them as if they were sincere until he has proof to the contrary. If it is the law of England that every man is to be accounted honest, till he is proved to be a rogue, it should certainly be the law of the Christian Church.

—C. H. Spurgeon, Pictures from Pilgrim's Progress (Pasadena: Pilgrim Publications, 1992), 96.

Ambling Along Complacently, Acting Like Rogues

Luther's counsel for praying through the sixth commandment:

"You shall not kill." Here I learn, first of all, that God desires me to love my neighbors, so that I do them no bodily harm, either by word or action, neither injure nor take revenge upon them in anger, vexation, envy, hatred, or for any evil reason, but realize that I am obliged to assist and counsel them in every bodily need. In this commandment God commands me to protect my neighbor's body and in turn commands my neighbor to protect my own. 

Second, I give thanks for such ineffable love, providence, and faithfulness toward me by which he has placed this mighty shield and wall to protect my physical safety. All are obliged to care for me and protect me, and I, in turn, must behave likewise toward others. He upholds this command and, where it is not observed, he has established the sword as punishment for those who do not live up to it. Were it not for this excellent commandment and ordinance, the devil would instigate such a massacre among us that no one could live in safety for a single hour—as happens when God becomes angry and inflicts punishment upon a disobedient and ungrateful world. 

Third, I confess and lament my own wickedness and that of the world, not only that we are so terribly ungrateful for such fatherly love and solicitude toward us—but what is especially scandalous, that we do not acknowledge this commandment and teaching, are unwilling to learn it, and neglect it as though it did not concern us or we had no part in it. We amble along complacently, feel no remorse that in defiance of this commandment we neglect our neighbors, and, yes, we desert them, persecute, injure, or even kill them in our thoughts. We indulge in anger, rage, and villainy as though we were doing a fine and noble thing. Really, it is high time that we started to deplore and bewail how much we have acted like rogues and like unseeing, unruly, and unfeeling persons who kick, scratch, tear, and devour one another like furious beasts and pay no heed to this serious and divine command.

Fourth, I pray the dear Father to lead us to an understanding  of this his sacred commandment and to help us keep it and live in accordance with it. May he preserve us from the murderer who is the master of every form of murder and violence. May he grant us his grace that we and all others may treat each other in kindly, gentle, and charitable ways, forgiving one another from the heart, bearing each other's faults and shortcomings, and thus living together  in true peace and concord, as the commandment teaches and requires us to do. 

—Martin Luther, Luther's Prayers (ed. Herbert F. Brokering; Augsberg: Minneapolis, 1994), 55-56.

Curved in on Ourselves

Martin Luther (citing Augustine, I believe) once said somewhere that the primal and primary problem with humanity is that we are curved in on ourselves. Staying with this figure of speech (which is marvelous), what might be a memorable way to think of the remedy?

Here's a suggestion: look away, look up, look out. You're curved in. So, first, look away (from your self); in the same motion, then, look up (heavenward toward God and his crucified and exalted Christ); and, immediately following and flowing from that, look out (toward your neighbors). The first—looking away—corresponds with repentance. The second—looking up—corresponds with faith. The third—looking out—corresponds with love. The prescription for this remedy is p.r.n. (namely, daily, hourly, even moment by moment).

There you have it, the gospel remedy for our being curved inward upon ourselves: looking away (repentance), looking up (faith), and looking out (love). Now straighten up!

A Prayer for Charity and Trust with Our Tongues

A Lutheran prayer for a charitable disposition:

Give us true obedience and perfect resignation in all things temporal and eternal. Preserve us from the cruel vice of slandering, defaming, judging, and condemning others. Oh that the great misery and harm caused by such tongues were far from us! When we see or hear anything of others that seems blamable and disagreeable to us, teach us to cover it up and to keep silent about it. Help us to complain to you alone and leave all to your will, and so gladly to forgive all our debtors and sympathize with them. Amen. 

 —Martin Luther, Luther's Prayers (ed. Herbert F. Brokering; Augsberg: Minneapolis, 1994), 32.

A Lutheran Prayer for a United Church

I've been reading, almost every morning, a prayer written by Martin Luther (1483-1546). Here was a man who went after the heart of God! He prayed boldly, persistently, and believingly. And his confidence to be heard was that he came in the name of God's Christ, in whom the Father calls his children to come and promises to hear their pleas.

So here's a Lutheran prayer, prayed for a united love, which I pray for my local church, New Covenant Church in Naperville. The spirit of this prayer accords wonderfully with the Spirit of love.

Luther addressing God the Father:

It is also your will that we should not individually name you Father but together call you our Father and united pray for all. So give us a united love that we may know and consider all to be brothers and sisters. United we ask you, our beloved Father, for each and all, even as one child speaks for another to its father. Amen.   

—Martin Luther, Luther's Prayers (ed. Herbert F. Brokering; Augsberg: Minneapolis, 1994), 27.

Grace and Mercy Grounded in Love

Yesterday's Lord's Day sermon on Eph. 2:1-10, preached by NCC pastor Andrew Fulton, provided liberating food for the dull duty-bound believer. More than that, though, good as that was for me, it also stirred me to contemplate more clearly the nature of grace and mercy in relation to love, which I've wondered at for years. I think the Lord has given me some light.

So what is the mercy of God, what is the grace of God, and what is the love of God? And how do grace, mercy, and love relate? This text—Eph. 2:4-5—brings these together plainly and brightly. First, I'll give definitions that I believe are governed by the context of this text. Then I'll try to bring them together.

So what is the mercy of God? Simply stated, mercy is God not giving us what we do deserve. This is the negative side, we might say. Born and dead in transgressions and sins (Eph. 2:1), God's mercy comes in and pities the suffering and misery of our condemnation and judgment under the Judge's just wrath. And God withholds exactly what we deserve. He does not condemn the guilty.

So then, what is the grace of God? Well, it is the positive side: grace is God giving us what we don't deserve. Grace gives us a free gift we didn't and can't earn. Grace gives lavish generosity to those who've been stubbornly and persistently stingy and sinful. It moves way beyond mercy.

Mercy says, "I will not sentence you to death, a death that is your due for rebelling against the law of the Lawgiver, for spitting in the face of your good and kind King, for worshiping (delighting in and desiring and loving) the creature and creation rather than (supremely delighting in and desiring and loving) the Creator—who is blessed forever! Amen!" (Rom. 1:25). So speaks Mercy. 


But Grace comes in, wonder of wonders, and says, "I will move beyond granting pardon. Wonderful as mercy is, I will do more. I will seat you in the heavenlies in my risen and exalted Son and make you a co-heir of all that is his (Eph. 2:6; cf. Rom. 8:17). The tripersonal God of infinite love and joy and sweetness will be your everlasting portion and treasure and enjoyment. I know you spit in my face. I know you disregarded my glory. And so I showed you stunning mercy. But that's not all. I also want to make you my son, with all the privileges and possessions of that status." So speaks Grace.


Well then, what is love, if it's not what's already been described? It is this: love is the infinite fountain-like heart of God that pours forth mercy and grace on greasy ingrates from all eternity and on into all eternity. "Because of the great love with which he loved us" (Eph. 2:4). Notice that love grounds the mercy that's gone before to deal with our condition in Eph. 2:1-3. And notice that love then also grounds the grace that lavishes upon us what follows in Eph. 2:5-7. Love is the bottom of all the free mercy and grace of God that comes to us through Christ in the gift of his Spirit. 


And this Holy Spirit is the love between the Father and the Son, now poured out through the risen and living Savior and Lord of all—on us—on dirty, grimy, slimy, unholy idolaters. This Spirit is the life of God given to us in union with the risen Son—we who were cold corrupting corpses in trespasses and sins. Now, because of grace and mercy, bottomed in eternal love, now we live with the very life of the risen Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit. He made us alive with him—by grace you have been saved! (Eph. 2:5). O praise the glory of this great triune grace! (Eph. 1:6, 12, 14). This is the free, unfettered gift of God—so no boasting! (Eph. 2:8-9). Except of grace, glorious grace. God's grace.


So love is the bottom of this grace and mercy, the eternal love of the Father, Son, and Spirit (Eph. 1:4). But how may we know this love? What does it look like? I'm glad you asked, for I'm glad to tell you. It looks like this: "We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us" (1 Jn. 3:16); "God did not spare his own Son" (Rom. 8:32); "God gave his only unique Son" (Jn. 3:16); "Christ loved me and gave himself for me" (Gal. 2:20). Love looks like the cross. Love looks like Christ crucified. Love looks like the King killed. For you, and for me.