In the game of baseball, the umpire faces a frustrating problem.  He is tasked with calling each pitch a ball or a strike, and his calls will have an enormous impact on the outcome of the game.  Now, most of these calls are obvious and take very little effort to label correctly; and there is a clearly defined border to the strike zone: in order to be called a strike, the pitch must pass over home plate, and when it does, some portion of the ball most be between one horizontal line just below the batter’s kneecaps when he takes his batting stance, and another horizontal line midway between the batter’s shoulders and the top of his uniform pants.  As that definition wore on into its seventh or eighth clause, you may have noticed that it’s a bit complicated.  And that’s just the start!  Despite what TV viewers may assume, an automatically self-adjusting box is not actually suspended in midair over home plate to aid the umpire in clearly establishing the lines for each new batter.  On top of that, we could consider how trajectory matters,  the catcher’s efforts to fool the umpire by giving the pitch a favorable framing, and the small matter of the incredibly high speed of many of these pitches.  With the benefit of 4k resolution broadcasts and giant screens, overlays, and instant replay, every slob at home on his couch thinks he has a better eye than the umpire, but in fact it’s a very difficult job just to decide whether each pitch was a ball or a strike!

What do we do, when we are faced with tough calls that affect more than just the outcome of a game, but potentially the eternal outcome of our souls?  Continuing the baseball analogy, forget about the umpire for a minute—what about the batter?  He has an even smaller fraction of a second to decide whether, when, where, and how to swing at each pitch—and let’s not even get into the base running decisions that immediately arise, in the unlikely event he makes contact!  Most of us don’t face this exact set of fast-paced decisions, but other choices present themselves to us daily.  Should you take that job?  Should you buy that house?  Which brand of toilet paper should you select?  Which meal will you pick from the breakfast menu?  Even those can matter an awful lot, but of course we also face decisions whether to sin—or, even more difficult, whether a particular course of action is sin, or not. 

As with the umpire’s task, for the most part it’s easy to make that call—God’s commandments are clear, and they are “not burdensome” (1 Jn 5.3).  “Flee from sexual immorality” (1Co 6.18)—there’s no ambiguity there.  “Let the thief no longer steal” (Ep 4.28)—we all know what this means.  “Forgive, and you will be forgiven” (Lk 6.37)—this is much simpler to implement than the umpire’s mumbo-jumbo rule about the ever-changing lines governing the strike zone!  However there are also times the correct call is not so clear.  At exactly what point does an innocent conversation about a mutual friend become gossip?  How many cookies can you eat before it becomes gluttony?  Where’s the line between frugality and love of money?  Is your reaction to an awful news story righteous anger, or malicious wrath?  Or, is your choice to shrug off the same news story and do nothing, the same as the priest and Levite in the parable of the good Samaritan, who sinned in that they “[knew] the right thing to do and [failed] to do it” (Ja 4.17)?

How do we make these decisions?  How should we make these decisions?  Peter and the rest of the Apostles give us an excellent example in the first chapter of Acts.  Jesus has ascended back to his father and told them to wait for the promised Holy Spirit to be poured out on them.  He has also told them their job, for the rest of their lives: “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth” (Ac 1.8).  As they wait, Peter notices a problem.  Jesus chose twelve Apostles, but now they are only eleven.  What should they do?  Anything?  Should they presume to replace Judas?  What does Jesus want them to do about this?  He didn’t tell them anything.  But they consult the Scriptures and find that Judas’ betrayal was foretold, as was his subsequent death:

“For it is written in the Book of Psalms,

        ‘May his camp become desolate,

                       and let there be no one to

                       dwell in it…’” (Acts 1.20a)

In another psalm they find a Messianic appeal about the “wicked man” and “accuser” who returned “evil for good, and hatred for my love” (Ps 109.5-6).  Christ, speaking through David, had said, “Let another take his office” (Ac 1.20b).  This still leaves the question of exactly how to choose a replacement.  Peter exercises wisdom and prudence, and puts forth his best judgment regarding the criteria upon which to base their selection.  The others agree, but find two excellent candidates, with no reason to choose one over the other.  The Apostles pray for guidance, and resort to casting lots to choose between the two.  Did the roll of the dice, so to speak, reflect God’s specific will in this matter?  We’re not told.  Either way, the Apostles had made their first difficult decision, and they made it well.

Some people don’t have this problem.  They never second-guess their own decisions.  They should start!  God will hold us accountable for the decisions we make, and the manner in which we make them.  Others are crippled by indecision through fear of choosing wrong.  This approach is no better.  Consider your options; consult God—in his word, and by prayer; exercise wisdom and prudence to best of your ability; then make your choice.

Jeremy Nettles

In general, if someone asks whether you are a this-ist or a that-ist, the best answer would be no answer at all.  The question often implies that the two alternatives are the only options and, further, mistakenly treats both as basically legitimate beliefs.  Ever since the Garden humans have loved naming things (Ge 2.19-20), and so of course there’s a name for all manner of nonsense cooked up by mankind over the millennia.  It’s extremely presumptuous of us to treat our own childish notions with the same level of honor as we give to God’s diverse creation, but we do it anyway.  Especially when it comes to religion, men have created unique labels for just about every interpretation and opinion that’s ever been held.  Our first goal should be to shun all of these “commandments of men” (Mt 15.9), and instead direct our efforts toward keeping God’s commandments; but in service of that goal, it is useful to examine some of these man-made labels, to see whether the ideas behind them, at least, come from God. 

One such label is Replacement Theology, formerly called Supersessionism.  This is a model of God’s purpose for the church today, and it asserts that the church has replaced—or superseded—the nation of Israel as God’s chosen people.  This has implications on the “everlasting covenant” he made with Abraham (Ge 17.7) and Abraham’s descendants through Isaac (Ge 17.19) and Jacob (1Ch 16.17).  If it was to be “everlasting,” how could it come to end, and Israel be replaced by a bunch of Gentiles?  Well, as the author of Hebrews points out, even the Old Testament prophets pointed toward such a change:

For if that first covenant had been faultless, there would have been no occasion to look for a second. For he finds fault with them when he says:

“Behold, the days are coming, declares the Lord,

when I will establish a new covenant with the house of Israel

and with the house of Judah…”

In speaking of a new covenant, he makes the first one obsolete. And what is becoming obsolete and growing old is ready to vanish away. (Hebrews 8.7-13)

How could it be any clearer?  The old covenant is obsolete, and with it vanishes the special place of Israel in God’s plan.  And yet…well, it didn’t actually say that second part, did it?  In fact, God’s prediction through the prophet Jeremiah had said the new covenant would be “with with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah.”  So, does that mean that, contrary to the “replacement” theory, in fact the New Covenant through Christ was only intended for the Jews?  That’s certainly what the early Jewish Christians generally thought!  And who can blame them?  Jesus told the Apostles,

“Go nowhere among the Gentiles and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. And proclaim as you go, saying, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’”  (Matthew 10.5-7)

He used the same language to describe his own mission when a Gentile woman asked for his help, telling her, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (Mt 15.24).  After the church was established,

those who were scattered because of the persecution that arose over Stephen traveled as far as Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to no one except Jews. (Acts 11.19)

It took a literal act of God to change this habit among the Apostles (see Ac 10-11).  Even after some years of Gentiles receiving the word and becoming Christians, there were Jewish Christians preaching, “Unless you are circumcised according to the custom of Moses, you cannot be saved” (Ac 15.1).  This was, of course, incorrect.  Let’s consider just one of the many Scriptures that establish this point:

That is why it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all [Abraham’s] offspring—not only to the adherent of the law but also to the one who shares the faith of Abraham, who is the father of us all, as it is written, “I have made you the father of many nations” (Romans 4.16-17)

The so-called “Judaizers” (we love to assign names, remember?) believed that salvation is from the Jews.  And they weren’t exactly wrong, since Jesus said, “salvation is from the Jews” (Jn 4.22).  Where they lost the thread was in mistakenly concluding that it was about  keeping the Law of Moses.  That law served its purpose—namely, it “imprisoned everything under sin, so that the promise by faith in Jesus Christ might be given to those who believe” (Ga 3.22).  Now, that old way is “obsolete.”

So, replacement theology is correct then, right?  Well, if the theory is summed up as, Jews out, Gentiles in, then no.  It’s wrong.

I ask, then, has God rejected his people? By no means! For I myself am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, a member of the tribe of Benjamin. God has not rejected his people whom he foreknew. (Romans 11.1-2)

God keeps his promises, and he promised to give Israel a special role in his plans—one that should never be forgotten.  After all, Jesus is a Jew, and so were all of his Apostles and the first several thousand Christians.  But God’s plan, from the beginning, was to “reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross” (Ep 2.16).  It’s not that the Jews have been replaced by the church; rather, the whole purpose of the nation of Israel was to become the church, and then bring salvation to the Gentiles, through Christ.  This was always the plan.  God told Abraham, “in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Ge 12.3).

Jeremy Nettles

There’s a mistaken, but sadly quite common idea about parenting, that parents play a vital role guiding children and building them up into healthy, mature, and responsible adults, until they leave the house.  This last bit is the trouble.  We hear it from the parents themselves during the troublesome teen years, when Dad is likely to angrily spout something like, “as long as you live under my roof, you’ll obey my rules!”  The implication is that, once you leave home and earn your own living, you won’t have to obey Dad anymore.  It may even be given biblical support.  “Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh” (Ge 2.24).  Buried within the point  about marriage, we can see the presumption that the man will have grown up in his parents’ home, and that he ought to one day leave it and make his own way.  Additionally, “we have had earthly fathers who disciplined us and we respected them” (He 12.9).  This is put in the past tense, as if the relationship between fathers and their adult children in the audience no longer involves discipline.

So far, this is all fine.  The relationship does change, when children become adults.  But it’s not a complete reversal of what it used to be, nor does the change occur like the flip of a light switch.  In fact, this relationship never remains static for long—parents have to carry around their infants, and the mothers even nurse them, but no one expects this to continue until the child reaches adulthood! 

Children are supposed to grow—in stature, in virtue, in knowledge, in understanding, in responsibility, and many other qualities.  In each new phase, the parents must change the way they interact with their children, in order to effectively provide what their children now need, which is different from what they needed months or years prior.

So, does this continual growth and change mean that parents’ influence over their children should be cut off, when they grow up?  Far from it!  Isaac was forty years old, when his father arranged his marriage (Ge 25.20, 24.2-4).  God’s grievance against the high priest and judge Eli had little to do with Eli’s own behavior, and much to do with his sons’—who were already serving as priests (1Sa 1.3).  Their age is unknown, but given that one of their offenses was that “they lay with the women who were serving at the entrance to the tent of meeting” (1Sa 2.22), it’s safe to say they had reached sexual maturity.  Why was God upset with Eli?  Because “he did not restrain them” (3.13).  Although they were grown men, and Eli was “very old” (2.22), unable to physically overpower his sons, God held him to account for failing to put a stop to their behavior.

Jesus teaches us about this, too.  He accused the Pharisees:

“For God commanded, ‘Honor your father and your mother,’ and, ‘Whoever reviles father or mother must surely die.’ But you say, ‘If anyone tells his father or his mother, “What you would have gained from me is given to God,” he need not honor his father.’” (Matthew 15.4-6)

He didn’t mean children living at home; rather, he meant grown children whose parents need their help, but don’t get it.  That shouldn’t happen!  In contrast, consider the example of Jesus himself, when his mother asked him to intervene in an embarrassing situation for the hosts of a wedding.  Never mind that he was “about thirty years of age” at the time (Lk 3.23)—he’s the Lord of all creation!  Even after he told her, “My hour has not yet come” (Jn 2.4), she knew he would do what she asked, telling the servants, “Do whatever he tells you” (v5).

Of course, this doesn’t mean that parents get to boss around their adult children forever; as noted earlier, the relationship is supposed to change.  But grown children should still honor their parents, seek their counsel, and work to repay their many years of love and sacrifice.  Parenting doesn’t end, when the child grows up.  Parenting is forever.

This is important as we seek to live after the pattern God has designed; but it’s even more important for spiritual reasons—it teaches us what to expect of spiritual parentage.  Paul told the Christians at Corinth,

For though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers. For I became your father in Christ Jesus through the gospel. I urge you, then, be imitators of me. That is why I sent you Timothy, my beloved and faithful child in the Lord, to remind you of my ways in Christ, as I teach them everywhere in every church. Some are arrogant, as though I were not coming to you. But I will come to you soon, if the Lord wills, and I will find out not the talk of these arrogant people but their power. For the kingdom of God does not consist in talk but in power. What do you wish? Shall I come to you with a rod, or with love in a spirit of gentleness? (1 Corinthians 4.15-21)

Consider the tone in which Paul addresses his spiritual children.  Even though they were mature enough for their father to leave them unattended for a time, he maintained his position of authority over them, and spoke to them in harsh terms, with the ability to back them up.  We’ve established that parents are owed love and respect even by their grown children, and that extends to the spiritual realm, as well.  But even here, it’s just a tool to point us upward, to our heavenly Father.  No matter how long we live; no matter how much we accomplish, no matter how badly we want to be out from under his watchful eye, we will always owe him honor.

For [our earthly fathers] disciplined us for a short time as it seemed best to them, but he disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. (Hebrews 12.10)

Jeremy Nettles

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever. (Revelation 22.1-5)

It is often noticed that the Gospel written by Luke, whom Paul called “the beloved physician” (Co 4.14), is focused on Jesus’ work of healing.  But while this is certainly true, considering the author’s technical knowledge and vocabulary, it’s not apparent from a surface-level look at the Gospels, because the number of healings recorded by Luke is in the same range as Matthew and Mark (while John’s focus is elsewhere).  It’s not that the claims about Luke are false; rather, the story of Jesus’ ministry on earth is so tightly tied to his healing, that it’s tough to tell the story without it!

As is the case with speaking in tongues, handling venomous snakes, or receiving new revelations from the Spirit of God, there are still some today who claim to possess healing power through Jesus.  And, as is the case with those other so-called “charismatic” gifts, it is extremely difficult to prove a blanket, sweeping negative, and it’s presumptuous and dangerous to tell God what he can and can’t do; but at least we can say that God gave advance notice that this sort of gift is not forever:

As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. (1 Corinthians 13.8-10)

Additionally, while there are two recorded instances of God very clearly dispensing such gifts through the direct outpouring of his Spirit (Ac 2 & 10), in other cases this had to be passed on by the Apostles (see Ac 6.6ff, 8.14-18, 19.6; also Ro 1.11).  A couple of oddities appear, such as Timothy (1Ti 4.14) and Paul (Ac 9.17); taken alone, one could easily understand these to support the ongoing prevalence of miraculous spiritual gifts.  On the other hand, they’re also consistent with the interpretation we’ve already been building—that God chose a limited number of instances to directly bequeath these gifts—on his Apostles and the very first Gentiles to come to Christ—and otherwise, they were only passed on by the Apostles (most of whom were on the council of elders at Jerusalem for a time).

And yet, while these gifts in general, and healing in particular, dried up with the deaths of the Apostles and the fulfillment of their purpose in validating the message in the church’s infancy, there is still an obvious need for healing, today!  And, as so often happens, the physical is designed to teach us about spiritual things.  Jesus’ most common miracle was to heal.  On occasion he fed people despite having no obvious source for food; a few times he provided financial assistance to his disciples; countless times he demonstrated a supernatural knowledge of people’s hearts and thoughts; he showed his power over various simple aspects of the physical world.  But even this considerable list is absolutely dwarfed by the number of people whose ailments he healed.

And he went throughout all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction among the people. So his fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought him all the sick, those afflicted with various diseases and pains, those oppressed by demons, those having seizures, and paralytics, and he healed them. (Matthew 4.23-24)

Even people in perfect health can appreciate what Jesus was doing.  We all have loved ones, and as time progresses and they age, we see their strength decline and come to realize that they are vulnerable and will one day succumb to one physical ailment or another, and die.  More than that, even the most self-centered person in the world has to eventually face his own mortality and recognize that he will die.  Even when we reconcile ourselves to this fact, death is still an ugly, evil thing.

But the physical isn’t the whole story.  Deep down, whether we’ll admit it or not, each one of us knows there’s something wrong with him.  None of us has maintained perfect spiritual health through a full life in this world of sin, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Ro 3.23).  We know we were made for a purpose, and we know that we’ve disappointed our maker, damaged our own souls through rebellion against him, and rendered ourselves unfit for anything but destruction.

Yet, Jesus still offers healing.  We pray for physical healing routinely, in faith that he hears, cares, and will grant us what we need—even if it’s not what we want.  But more importantly, the soul of each person needs to be healed—to be made whole.  The vision of heaven given to John includes an image of the tree of life, whose leaves are “for the healing of the nations.”  Take the leap of faith, into a watery grave of cleansing, rejuvenation, and healing.  Your physical body will one day die; but Jesus promises to heal your soul, rescue you from death, and give you an eternal home with him.

Jeremy Nettles

…and if you are sure that you yourself are a guide to the blind, a light to those who are in darkness, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of children, having in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth— you then who teach others, do you not teach yourself? (Romans 2.19-21)

Not everyone wants to teach.  It can be a thankless job, one that opens you up to relentless criticism.  If the students mess up, it’s easy to blame the teacher, regardless of whether the students wish to learn, or expend any effort at all in order to do so.  But it can also be extremely rewarding to teach, leading to selfish gain—there is substantial prestige awarded to some teachers, and that feeling of influence—let’s face it, of power over others—can be worth more than money, to some.  Our broad-sweeping English word, master, comes from the Latin magister, which refers to a teacher or tutor.  Outside the context of the Gospels, we think of disciples primarily as followers or adherents, but again, the word comes from the Latin discipulus, which means a student or pupil.  It’s easy to see the appeal Paul mentions in the Romans 2 passage above.  When people ask you for advice, answers, or instruction, it makes you feel accomplished and powerful.  Jesus points this out concerning the scribes and Pharisees, saying that “they love … being called rabbi by others” (Mt 23.6-7).  Rabbi, of course, literally means “my great one,” but in common use had come to mean, “my teacher.”

Perhaps this illustrates why so many people continually offer unsolicited advice, on every topic, to everyone around them.  Yet, in the context of the most important matters in the world, James gives us a stern warning:

Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness. (James 3.1)

There’s some debate over what this stricter standard means—is James talking about the same thing we noticed earlier, that teachers are unfairly criticized for the performance of their disciples?  Or, is it about the judgment of God falling more harshly on those who presume to teach?  There’s no reason both can’t be true!  When the judgment comes from men, perhaps we can write it off as comparatively unimportant; but when it’s from God, we can’t brush it aside so easily!

Why would God hold teachers to a standard any different from everyone else?  Simple!  As Paul asked, “you then who teach others, do you not teach yourself?”  We don’t expect anyone to be perfect, but teaching always involves some amount of judgment: no, that’s wrong.  Here’s the right way.  And it’s easy for us to recognize that there’s something perverse about passing judgment on others, when the self-appointed judge is guilty of the same offense.  This is what Jesus was getting at, when he said, “Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged” (Mt 7.1-2).  Just a few verses later he follows it up: “first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye” (v5).  It’s not always unfair to hold a teacher responsible for his pupils’ actions.  If he won’t put his own teaching into practice, or if he failed to teach them properly, and certainly if he taught them falsehood and lawlessness, should we be surprised that God is upset with him?

This teaching business seems awfully dangerous!  Although we might be enticed by the prospect of sharing our considerable wisdom, correcting everyone else’s mistakes, and receiving honor for it, we are at the same time duly warned by Paul, by James, and by Jesus himself against it!  But that’s not the whole story.  We shouldn’t swear off teaching entirely, worrying only about ourselves.  James says “Not many of you should become teachers,” but by no means does he mean “none of you”!  On the contrary, we often have a responsibility to teach!  “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord” (Ep 6.1).  Not every father is responsible for teaching everyone else’s children, but their own fathers are obligated to do so!  Additionally, Paul tells Timothy, “what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men, who will be able to teach others also” (2Ti 2.2).  If we wanted to get out of the responsibility, perhaps we’d point to Timothy’s position as a minister of the church, and conclude, well of course he ought to be teaching, it’s his job, and we pay him to do it so we don’t have to!  There’s an element of truth there; yet what was the stated goal in teaching these faithful men?  They are expected to teach others!  Jesus also gave an instruction like this, the great Teacher telling his disciples, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Mt 28.19). 

We live in a culture that is increasingly similar in spirit to that of the scribes and Pharisees, which encouraged extremes.  More and more, whatever is not compulsory is considered to be forbidden, and vice versa.  Although the application of that principle looks drastically different in many respects today, it’s the same principle behind much of our modern confusion.  But in many areas, the proper approach is moderation—engaging in a behavior when it is right, wise, and prudent, and otherwise avoiding it.  Too often, we’re either afraid to teach and run to the extreme of refusing to do so, or else we’re convinced we must teach everyone about everything, and run to that extreme, instead.  Instead of looking at it as a danger, a chore, or our unique gift and achievement, let’s see it for what it is—a risky responsibility—and carefully work to fulfill it.

Jeremy Nettles