Reputations are dangerous things.

It can be very easy, when many people think we’re something, to convince ourselves that we actually are that something. Even when we’re not. Perhaps we surround ourselves with faithful people whereas in our own lives we do everything we can to avoid responsibility. Perhaps we surround ourselves with courageous people whereas in our own lives we do everything in our power to avoid conflict. Perhaps our conversations are filled with big talk whereas we utterly fail when it comes to action. Perhaps we pray and sing on Sundays whereas the rest of our weeks are bereft of worship.

Hypocrisy is a serious danger not only to individual Christians, but to churches as well. We see in V.1 that Sardis had the “reputation of being alive.” What does that mean? It means that whenever people talked about the church of Sardis they would say things like, “That church is full of godly people. That church really believes the Scriptures. That church is really committed. The people in that church really love each other. That church really takes a stand for truth.”

But the reality was quite the opposite, if we’re basing reality on the only criteria that matters: sincere fruit. Jesus, “knew their works,” and the fact was that their works “weren’t complete in the sight of God.” That’s a strange phrase. What does it mean for works to be incomplete? It means, simply, that when Jesus examined the actual lives of the members of the church of Sardis, they weren’t what all the bravado seemed to indicate. It was like paying six dollars for a bag of chips and then finding the bag only a quarter full. The reality failed to live up to the reputation.

What we see in Sardis is what happens when Christian’s don’t take seriously Jesus’ warning about the leaven of hypocrisy. Those who’ve ever made sourdough bread know that a little bit of sour starter will, overnight, spread to many times its own weight in dough. So it is with hypocrisy.

The reason there were no sincere believers within the Pharisee class — even though they had the reputation of being “teachers of Israel” — is because living a double life had become common and accepted. It was fine to pray in the market on Saturday and eviscerate their neighbor or Wendesdays. It was fine to bless someone on Sunday and gossip about them on Monday. But it wasn’t really fine — not to God. Hypocrisy had only become “fine” because it existed in a culture where everyone else did the same thing. It’s like coming home to Thanksgiving dinner. At first all you can smell is roasting turkey; but after being immersed in the room for a while, eventually you don’t smell it any more. That is how a culture of hypocrisy grows in a church.

And it isn’t true only of pharisees. In Revelation 3, Jesus refers to a body of professing believers, with the key word being professing.

Now, we read in V.4 that there was a sincere element in Sardis. There was a core of believers who were careful about their life and doctrine. But these were the minority. Whatever was sincere in their midst was now outnumbered and the body itself was ready to collapse — like an old bridge whose supports can no longer hold up under the weight.

As Christians, it’s the easiest thing in the world to assume the best of ourselves. In fact, we so prefer assuming the best of ourselves, that many of us are reluctant to examine ourselves to see whether those assumptions are actually true.

Verse 1 should come as a warning to us, “I know your works.” Whatever we think about ourselves — whatever other people think of us — Jesus knows our works. Do we converse on Sunday only to reinforce what we hope people think about us? Do we avoid certain people that we know can see through our sham? Do we avoid certain conversations that will reveal our superficiality? Do we try to appear committed while secretly harboring all kinds of resent and bitterness in our heart? Jesus knows.

When this kind of superficiality characterizes a church, they should not expect Jesus’ blessing. Jesus doesn’t bless hypocrisy. He condemns it. He sets himself against it. The reality for churches full of hypocrisy is that they don’t last. Eventually the substance emerges from behind the veneer and all is revealed. There are many who profess to know Jesus who will discover, someday, that he never knew them.

We read the solution in V.3. We need to wake up and repent.

To live in a state of contradiction between our reputation and our works is to live in a kind of drunken stupor. People who live like this don’t want the light of truth to expose the actual state of their hearts. They prefer to stay in the shadows — away from fellowship — unknown, or at least undisturbed. They resent impositions on their time and priorities.

The only church that is safe from the dulling poison of hypocrisy is a church that is careful about repentance. Not just the leaders. Not just some especially “holy” members. We all, individually and corporately, knowing how easily deceived we are, must repent.

When we do, this hope is held out to us, “The one who conquers will be clothed thus in white garments, and I will never blot his name out of the book of life. I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels.” The church is not an easy stream to swim in. In the church, we are not just battling the world, but ourselves; our own inclinations and self-deceptions.

Those that will conquer are not the especially strong or spiritual but those who know and feel their need for Christ and the fellowship of the Saints.

"O my fellow-professors, let us always look upon our actions in the light of the great out-reading of them on the day of judgment. Pause over everything you do, and say, ‘Can I bear to have this sounded with a trumpet in the ear of all men?’ Nay, take a higher motive, and say, ‘Can I endure to do this and yet to repeat the words, ‘You God see me!’ You may deceive men, and deceive yourselves, but God you cannot, God you shall not. You may die with the name of Christ upon your lips, and men may bury you in sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection—but God shall not be deceived neither by your profession nor by men's opinion. He shall put you on the scales, and if you are found wanting, he shall cry, ‘Away with him!’"

- C.H. Spurgeon

To “mourn” means to lament or grieve, especially at sin, loss, or death. The disciples “mourned and wept” at Jesus’ death prior to the resurrection (Mk. 16:10), and Paul was afraid that he would have to mourn over those who had “sinned in the past and not repented” when he came to visit the Corinthians a second time (2 Cor. 12:21). James uses the word in the context of grief over sin: “Be wretched and mourn and weep. Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom” (Js. 4:9).

Thus to mourn in the New Testament is to feel grief and sorrow, and especially so toward the grim realities of sin and death. It is to feel the awful weight of the curse bearing down on you and to be burdened with a resultant sense of sadness and anguish. In short, to mourn is to see reality as it is; to look this fallen world full in the face, unhindered by naïve illusions, and to feel the only sensible response: sadness, grief, and loss.

We might struggle to see how such a state could ever be a happy one, but it’s helpful to consider the alternative. To not mourn in a world like ours would be a far worse thing. To be stupidly content and cheery while misery and sin abound would be no blessing at all. In fact, it would reveal a heart strangely out of touch with reality, and one unprepared to look to the “Father of mercies and God of all comfort” for solace and salvation (2 Cor. 1:3).

To say this, however, is to stumble upon an awkward indictment of the modern evangelical church. Immersed as we are in the hollow sentimentalism of the world, our tendency is to view all soberness as austere and unbecoming. To talk of sin, judgment, or repentance appears to us like an unnecessary stirring of the pot. Indeed, our determined avoidance of reality is so strong that the prospect of mourning over anything, let alone over sin, feels sadly unimaginable. After all, aren’t such things bad for mental health?

Even so, let God be true though everyone a liar. Blessedness is not found by persisting in superficiality. It is found by those who mourn.

And they shall be comforted.

The glaring reality remains, however, that we are far less biblical than we imagine. The only thing that binds our tongues is fear, not love. 

The trouble with these mistaken notions is that the conduit of love in the Scriptures is very often hard words. The above passage from Leviticus, which Paul tells us is an expression of love (Rom. 13:10), instructs us to “reason frankly” with our neighbour when we encounter conflict. Proverbs reminds us that an open rebuke is better than hidden love (Prov. 27:5). Jesus tells us to go to our brother when there is an offence and “tell him his fault” (Matt. 18:16). And Paul told Timothy that to “reprove, rebuke, and exhort” was central to his pastoral office (2 Tim. 4:2). In all these cases, the Scriptures remind us that truth — not massaged feelings — is the substance and ground of love. 

The failure to see this connection between truth and love is one of the primary reasons why our churches lack the potency, life, holiness, and unity we know they ought to possess. The Bible says the Church matures as saints speak the truth in love (Eph. 4:15) — and we have neglected both. We have accepted a dichotomy between these virtues that doesn’t in fact exist and have reaped the impotence our disobedience deserves. 

If we would see the church of our Lord Jesus Christ restored in strength and splendour, we need to stop rummaging for ethical direction in the sludge pool of the world. The world says truth must be adjusted in order to make room for love; the Almighty has declared that love rejoices with the truth (1 Cor. 13:6).

And what God hath joined together, let no man separate. 

We believe this is important because there seems to have been a push to recast the last three years into a narrative that may be convenient but that doesn’t actually reflect reality. This restructuring is taking place by relegating what we believe are first-order issues to the bounds of marginality — even to the point of being non-issues. If such a narrative holds weight, then the hoped-for conclusion seems to be that those pastors who judged it was time to fix bayonets were simply being divisive, and that such a posture negatively and unnecessarily impacted our witness in the culture.

But no one, except God, has the authority to declare reality. As creatures of time and space, all we can do is observe, acknowledge, and submit to the observable reality around us and the declared reality of Scripture. Contrary to the claims of Carter and others, several attempts were made during the pandemic to do exactly this.1

According to Jesus, the refusal and consequent inability to see reality is a symptom of hypocrisy (Luke 12:54-56). Many clever and desperate attempts have been made to absolve oneself of the responsibility to discern the truth. At this point, any Christian who cannot acknowledge the utter devastation and injustice caused by the State (and by the citizens’ compliance) is either culpably lacking in the capacity to discern reality or overcome with hypocrisy. That lockdowns would have devastating consequences for our sheep and neighbours was not some hidden knowledge only available to “the experts.” Rather, it was the only reasonable conclusion one could make based on a basic understanding of human nature and the inescapable biblical rule that actions have consequences. To deny these immutable realities is one of the defining features of folly.

Many pastors, if not most, stand guilty of a sinful abdication of their duty to discern the truth. Their absolute deference to authority is not a sign of humble submission, but sinful idolatry. While we heartily affirm the necessity of limited deference to others in helping discern the truth, a total abdication of responsibility to discern and “judge with right judgements” is sinful and idolatrous. Such an abdication is to implicitly ascribe capabilities to human authority which only God possesses (i.e., omniscience and omnipotence). Further, such an abdication with regard to discerning the truth requires a kind of obedience (ie. free from the responsibility to judge right from wrong) which is only appropriate to offer to God. No man — husband, pastor, or head of state — has the right to command obedience without being tested.

We acknowledge that we ourselves made many mistakes during this time. We did not initially speak when we should have spoken; we reacted out of fear when we should have acted with courage; we trusted ourselves more that we trusted the living, enduring, word of God. We learned many lessons and shed bitter tears.

We also emerged from those dark days with a vivid awareness that we needed help; many authorities (doctors, experts, officials, pastors) were making claims that couldn’t all be true. Wherever we landed, we knew there would be serious consequences, and we wanted to make sure we were doing the right thing. But when an effort was made to examine these various claims against the reality of evidence and the testimony of Scripture, the response was not eagerness and openness, but rather doubling down on dubious counter-claims, including: “The threshold for civil disobedience has not been met”; “Scripture’s command not to forsake meeting wasn’t referring to physical gatherings”; “This isn’t persecution”; and of course, “All of this [conflict] was over very slight disagreement. On a very marginal issue.”

In the space remaining, we want to examine this last claim in more detail, not only because it still seems to be the operating premise among many pastors, but because we do indeed long for reconciliation to take place among Canadian churches. But reconciliation requires repentance, and repentance requires identifying and acknowledging the sin in need of being repented of. Though we cannot repent on behalf of pastors and leaders, we can at least attempt to identify the areas that require repentance.

Sadly, from what we have observed, it seems like there are many pastors capable of teaching and preaching repentance but very few who ever entertain the possibility that they might be among those who need to repent.

We want to reiterate that the issues reopening churches stood and suffered for were not incidental or marginal, and that therefore to condemn such actions was sinful and wrong. But that is not our only aim. When Paul confronted Peter for “not acting in line with the truth of the gospel,” it was not simply for Paul or Peter’s sake, but also for the sake of those who “joined him in his hypocrisy.”

Hypocrisy is not a victimless crime. It is a maelstrom that sucks in and destroys innocence and sincerety — the cornerstones of a healthy church. When hypocrisy is ignored, it does not simply go away; rather, it becomes standard procedure. Love, therefore, seeks to expose it.

We are not interested in personal vindication but in vindication of the truth. We are not interested in our own glory but the greater glory of Christ.

Before we begin, it must be said that many Christian’s categories of first and second order doctrines have not always been helpful or biblical. The claim is often made that only a narrow set of doctrines (the trinity, the atonement) qualify as “Gospel-centered” and are therefore, apparently, the only ones we should refuse to relinquish. Yet all Scripture is breathed out by God and is “profitable for doctrine” (2 Tim. 3:16). All doctrine has implications for the Christian life. The difference is that training in healthy doctrine produces healthy Christians (2 Tim. 4:3) whereas unstable doctrine produces fearful, worldly Christians. And who would argue that such a Christian is a living denial of the Gospel?

Sometimes we forget that the Puritans — those spiritual giants whose dissent we so praise and admire — left the shores of England not due to infractions against today’s set of “first order” doctrines but for what many would now see as relatively minor state overreach into their worship.

Perhaps the category of Gospel-centred is much deeper and broader than we thought.

What follows, then, are what we believe to be six doctrines of “first order” importance that were directly under attack during lockdowns and church closures and yet received almost no discussion from pastors.

1. The Lordship of Jesus Christ over all rule and authority

"And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross." Colossians 1:18–20

The goal of the crucifixion and resurrection was nothing less than to establish the preeminence of Jesus Christ over all things. Including the state. The phrase “Jesus is Lord” (Rom.10:9), so benign to our ears, was actually one of the first creeds to be adopted by the early church and quickly became a touchstone against the totalizing claims of Caesar.

Jesus himself taught that there are limits to the state’s authority. This is clear from his command to “render to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.” Implicit in such a statement is the assumption that there are categories of things which do not belong to Ceasar, such as the worship we owe to Christ. In this, it must be acknowledged that Christians often quest on the edge of a knife — which again is why reductionistic arguments are so dangerous and unhelpful. We must strive to be model citizens, while at the same time poised to resist “leviathan” when it demands the kind of obedience that properly belongs to Christ alone.

Defining and limiting the State’s authority is a first-order worship issue, which explains why Christians from every age have been so eager to shed their blood for it. We could refer to the unjust demands of the Jewish state, the Roman state, the Catholic state, the Church of England state, the Communist state, or the secular state. To ascribe authority to any state that has not been given by God is not godly submission, but rank idolatry.

2. The reality of human sinfulness

“…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…” (Romans 3:23)

Many pastors and teachers have revealed an underlying functional pelagianism in which a certain class of people (namely the powerful) are almost treated as being above the effects of the fall. This is to entertain a criminal naivety to the point of malpractice. The reason the Bible is clear, and why we must be clear, about the limits of deference to the state is because there is an assumption and an expectation that every authority, sooner or later, will attempt to transgress its limits. They will veer outside their lane. And we must be ready when they do.

It is one thing to recognize the variety of gifts, skills, and expertise God has given to those inside and outside the church. It is another thing, and a sinful one, to assume the functional sinlessness of any authority outside of God. Again, this is idolatry. No human authority is total and therefore no human authority deserves total deference.

That so many Christian pastors encouraged us to blindly trust the same people who believe that boys can be girls, that murdering babies is “women’s health,” and that killing the poor is “compassionate,” was deeply troubling to say the least, and a sinful abdication at most. When faced with the claims of the state and its preferred experts, pastors should have been much less eager to assume the best of their intentions.

3. Standing with the oppressed

“Open your mouth for the mute, for the rights of all who are destitute. Open your mouth, judge righteously, defend the rights of the poor and needy.” (Proverbs 31:8–9)

Despite the claims of experts, lockdowns were the most devastating social experiment in our lifetime; perhaps in the lifetime of Canada. Many are now saying we won’t even see the full extent of the consequences for some time. It must also be said that the policies that were put into place had the least consequences on those imposing them and the greatest consequences on those beneath them. The people who were most affected were the poor and vulnerable: the sick, the elderly, the homeless. To side with the ruling class at the expense of the poor and vulnerable is not humble deference, but sinful partiality (cf. James 2).

It was, therefore, truly bizarre to hear the men on this podcast talk about the minor inconveniences and mental stress throughout lockdowns. In this they seemed to betray both enormous privilege and a bizarre insulation from the suffering of those around them. This distance from those who suffer is antithetical to the nature of Christ (cf. John 1:14), and those He calls to shepherd the flock (cf. Acts 20:18).

In their willful and persistent refusal to acknowledge the reality of oppression, certain pastors have chosen to side with the oppressors. In their refusal to “judge righteously and defend the rights of the poor and needy,” certain pastors have been complicit in the affliction of their neighbours. The Scriptures are resoundingly clear that the people of God are not to opt for silence in the face of oppression, but to speak and act.

It is a stain on the Canadian church that its Shepherds have, with near uniformity, been identified with the ruling class instead of those suffering under the state’s abuse.

What has become apparent is that many Christians have adopted a definition of obedience that operates primarily within a world of private devotion and experience. This posture allows — indeed, encourages — a view of reality that is blatantly out of focus. Christians can be “local church centered” and then turn around and advocate for the closing of the local church. Christians can be against tyranny and then turn around and recommend we be complicit in it. Christians can decorate the tombs of dissidents and then condemn their offspring.

There is no such thing as costless obedience. Obedience that doesn’t cost anything isn’t obedience; it is worldliness. What Christians needed most during lockdowns were not more more reasons to comply and be comfortable, but biblical principles to build on. And this was exactly what many pastors refused to supply.

4. The necessity of corporate worship

“…not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” (Hebrews 10:25)

The preaching of God’s word in the assembly, the reception of the sacraments, and the practice of church discipline have all historically been considered first-order doctrines. These practises are inseparable from the very nature of the Church itself; one cannot neglect them without denying one’s fundamental identity, and thus, do great harm (Heb 10:25). One of the biggest gaslights during lockdowns were the numerous attempts by pastors to convince Christians that there now exists some controversy over matters which have been totally undisputed until now, when they conveniently happen to be under attack.

It is one thing to allow for freedom of conscience for gathering in terms of some hypothetical, end-of-world scenario — there’s an active shooter on the roof, the building is on fire, you’ve been manacled to the kitchen table.

But attempting to forbid or redefine corporate worship as it has always been understood is an entirely different matter.

It was amazing to hear those who claimed to be so confused during covid be so sure of things in the midst of it. Zoom church is fine! Fragmenting the body is fine! Masks are fine! Vaccines are fine! Everything is fine! And yet — oh, we knew so little, what could we have done? If they were truly confused, why were they so quick to offer their conclusions on matters? And if they weren’t confused, why do they say they were?

While there is certainly freedom to practise various safety protocols as a gathered assembly, it is another thing entirely to forbid the Church from gathering completely. Furthermore, it is deceitful and underhanded to redefine the nature of the gathered Church in order to deny that any such prohibitions are taking place.

5. The preservation of conscience

“Thus, sinning against your brothers and wounding their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble.” (1 Corinthians 8:12–13)

Pastors who forbid what Christ commands and command what Christ forbids have sinned against Christ.

Masks are not, and have never been, a matter of Christian obedience. To wear a non-aerosol resistant mouth covering against an aerosol-transmitted virus has always been a matter of conscience, and perhaps optimism. Mandating the wearing of a mask as a requirement to attend worship is blatantly sinful. Requiring something of a congregant that God does not require is not an act of piety or compassion but an act of pharisaism.

As far as we’re concerned, any pastor who forbade a member of their church from attending worship because of their unwillingness to wear a piece of cloth on their face — and continues to maintain the moral validity of such an action — has disqualified themselves from ministry. In their callous rejection of sheep that believed differently than them, they demonstrated a lack a basic understanding as to matters of conscience, a dangerous authoritarian attitude, and a staggeringly high view of themselves.

6. Loving your neighbor

“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.” (1 John 4:7–8)

Reducing “loving your neighbor”’ to following ineffective and dangerous public health mandates was sinful. Christians need ensure they are defining love, and everything else, according to Scripture and not how godless authorities demand we show it. Even by the state’s account the people who were most vulnerable received the least care — where were the pastors speaking out?

Was it loving to isolate the elderly like animals for months on end and let them die scared and alone? Was it loving to treat human beings worse than plants, forbidding them even air and sunlight? Was it loving to cancel treatment for cancer patients so that they died in their early 30’s? Was it loving to forbid people from working, taking years off their life expectancy and changing the entire trajectory of their family’s lives? All while you kept your job? Was it loving to publicly support measures which exponentially fuelled inhumanity in citizens — to the point where many had begun advocating for the death of those who refused to comply with restrictions?

Even now, and largely because of those measures, our country has descended to a level of immorality and hatred we have never known before — and it was totally supported by the church under the guise of love.

A Final Word on Freedom

“For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.” (Galatians 5:13)

When we say “freedom,” we mean the right and responsibility to pursue obedience to Jesus Christ by faithfully exercising our duty to God and man. Freedom is not the right and ability to do what we want but rather the right and ability to do as we ought. Framing the defense of freedom as the selfish pursuit of worldly-minded Christians is a condemnable straw man. In this again we see a retreat to pietistic categories of obedience (“I can be free in Christ and still affirm mandates that prevent me from freely gathering to worship!”)

To denigrate freedom as a fundamentally selfish endeavour is to oppose the worship of the true and living God and to denigrate and demean his creatures. To oppose freedom as defined by the Bible, is to oppose both God and man. It is rich to hear men who, by their own admission, didn’t suffer the loss of freedom to the degree of many — and who continue to enjoy enormous freedom — slander and scoff at those who advocated for defending it.

Though we would agree that the Canadian church is indeed suffering a crisis of unity, the root cause is not pettiness, but preferring comfortable Canadian cultural Christianity over the totalizing call of Christ on our lives. We therefore call those who, by their silence or endorsement, failed to serve the sheep entrusted to them and the communities they were called to serve, to repent. This is the first step to reconciliation.

As Christians, we hold out hope that there would be many, like Peter, who, when he turned, did so to the strengthening of his brothers (Luke 22:32). What has been the greatest failure of the Canadian church can yet be its finest hour.

The choice is ours.

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The Lord answered, “Who then is the faithful and wise manager, whom the master puts in charge of his servants to give them their food allowance at the proper time? It will be good for that servant whom the master finds doing so when he returns. Truly I tell you, he will put him in charge of all his possessions. But suppose the servant says to himself, ‘My master is taking a long time in coming,’ and he then begins to beat the other servants, both men and women, and to eat and drink and get drunk. The master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he is not aware of. He will cut him to pieces and assign him a place with the unbelievers. Luke 12:42-46

I’m sure we can all recall instances in our childhood when our parents left for an extended amount of time. Maybe at first the residual ghosts of their authority were enough to keep us in check. But as the reminders faded, so did our fear. As time went on, so, perhaps, did our boldness increase: chores were neglected, cookies were pilfered, lamps were broken, injuries on siblings were inflicted. We see a similar trend in several American states where police departments have been defunded and crime has exponentially increased. 

Time and time again, experience and history proves that our hearts, apart from transformative grace, inevitably tend towards selfishness and abuse of others. And so Jesus, knowing our hearts, relays the following parable as an encouragement and a warning. 

Here we are introduced to a servant who is guilty of both omissive and commissive sin. That is, he not only neglects what he should be doing but also practices what he shouldn’t be doing. Why? He justifies his actions in light of the delay of his master -- convincing himself either that his master won’t return, or that he will have time to shape up before he arrives. 

But this is impossible, Jesus says. “The master . . . will come on a day when he does not expect.”

Now, there may be some professing Christians who engage in the actual destruction of their master’s reputation, but I think the danger for most of us are the sins of ommission. That is, failing to be alert to what we should be doing.

This happens for various reasons. Some are so convinced of their uselessness they wonder what possible utility they could ever be to the Master. Instead of investing even the one talent they have, they “bury” it, and resign themselves to easier, but empty, activities. Others, perhaps more equipped, simply resent the responsibility and sacrifice of serving and prefer to give themselves over to “the passing pleasures of sin.” Others have skewed views of grace and a kind of spiritual immobility takes over.

Whatever the reason, this failure of duty results from one of two things: not knowing our duty, or failing to executing our duty. Last month Alex preached on the importance of knowing what our duties are. If we don’t know what we should be doing, how can we possibly hope to be be faithful in doing them? 

So -- how can we be faithful servants?

We must immerse ourselves in the Word

We must do this not only privately, but also corporately. We must always be open and eager to have our assumptions and biases tested against the litmus of God’s Word, lest we twist them to our own destruction.

The servant, instead of dulling his mind with excess food and drink, should have been reviewing his master’s instructions regularly. Imagine the pain and suffering Jill and Eustace would have avoided had they just taken pains to remember Aslan’s signs. 

We must follow up with prayer

Those who garden know it isn’t enough to just dig a hole and throw your plant in. Without water, light, and fertilizer, the plant will dry up and die. So bare knowledge alone, unaided by the Spirit’s help, can easily render us cold-hearted pharisees, preoccupied with our own ambitions rather than the priorities of the kingdom.

Think about it -- if the servant had written letters and sent messengers to the Master, it is likely the vitality of the relationship would have been maintained. Thoughts of sabotaging his master’s trust would have been unthinkable. But estrangement brought with it carelessness.

And so can it be for us. 

We should regularly remind ourselves of the benefits of obedience.

If the servant had remembered his masters promise to “put him in charge of all his possessions” he might not have been so quick to betray him. This future prospect is one of the “great and precious promises” Jesus has given to comfort us through the trouble and toil of this life.

This is the wonder of salvation. Not only has his blood atoned for our sin and absolved the Father’s wrath, but his righteousness has made possible an untouchable inheritance. We will judge angels. We will reign with him. We will labor in a new heaven and earth untouched by sadness and decay. We will see him as he is.

But these rewards are for those who labor soberly and faithfully. Those who imagine the New Testament is devoid of serious warning should look at this text closely. If, when the Master returns, he finds the servant splayed on the couch while his house lies neglected, the consequences will be severe. He will cut him to pieces and assign him a place with the unbelievers. Those who were servants of Jesus in name only will be exposed, to their everlasting shame.

In conclusion, who is a Master like Jesus? What on earth would we possibly trade for hearing those words, "Well done, good and faithful servant." Duty, for the Christian, should be the highest priviledge on earth. Our labors aren’t the labors of those desperately trying to approve themselves to their master, but the joyful labors of those already sure of their Master’s care for them.

“Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted…” (2 Tim. 3:12). 

“When they had preached the gospel to that city and had made many disciples, they returned to Lystra and to Iconium and to Antioch, strengthening the souls of the disciples, encouraging them to continue in the faith, and saying that through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God” (Acts 14:21–22). 

“The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him” (Rom. 8:16–17). 

“Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you” (1 Pet. 4:12). 

The Scriptures are plain: to be a Christian, especially in a world fundamentally opposed to Christ and His kingdom, means suffering. To sign up with Christ is to sign up for suffering, rejection, and loss. It’s not in the fine print; it’s written plain as day in the gut-wrenching wounds of our crucified Saviour. Even so, acknowledging the bare fact that suffering is unavoidable doesn’t necessarily prepare one to endure suffering itself. It may help to set expectations, but when trials threaten to overwhelm us, we need more than truisms if we are going to respond well. 

Thankfully, we are part of a body with many members we can look to for guidance in the area of suffering, and Samuel Rutherford is as capable a guide as any. 

Samuel Rutherford: Pastor and Sufferer 

Samuel Rutherford (1600-1661) was a Scottish Presbyterian pastor who lived and ministered during a volatile point in the history of the Protestant church. Standing against the wrath of the Episcopal Scottish Church, this good-for-nothing “puritan,” as he and others like him were sometimes called, sought for continued reform among Scottish churches following the Reformation. The result of Rutherford’s efforts, however, was a two-year period of exile and imprisonment in Aberdeen. Yet, like the apostle Paul centuries before, Rutherford’s imprisonment did not result in a slow digression into obscurity and ineffectiveness but rather in a remarkably fruitful letter-writing ministry. Thankfully, many of these letters have been preserved for us. 

Running throughout Rutherford’s letters is the clear and unmistakable theme of suffering. Indeed, one of his most prominent pastoral concerns was to teach his people how to suffer well. He did this both by example as well as through written instruction. One of the letters where this is most evident is a 1634 letter addressed to “Lady Kenmure,” the Viscountess of Kenmure. Lady Kenmure’s husband, John Gordon, had recently died and Rutherford wrote this letter to encourage Lady Kenmure with the hope of the gospel and to help her prepare for the hard days ahead. 

 Let’s consider three points from Rutherford’s letter that can help us learn to suffer well. 

God is Sovereign Over Our Trials

How would you counsel someone who, in Rutherford’s words, was experiencing the “heaviest worldly sorrow” and “weightiest burden” they had ever had to bear? Would you hesitate to bring God into the picture? Would you shy away from mentioning Christ for fear it would tempt the sufferer to turn from Him in anger? 

Rutherford does neither of these things. Instead, he sympathizes with Lady Kenmure and gently acknowledges the Lord’s hand in her suffering: “I trust your Lord will … give you comfort now, at such a time as this, wherein your dearest Lord hath made you a widow, that you may be a free woman for Christ” (31). 

Lest we be tempted to think Rutherford cold or untimely on this point, we should remember that he himself lost his own wife to sickness four years earlier, and he admits in this letter to Lady Kenmure that that wound “is not yet fully healed and cured” (31). Still, Rutherford understood that it does the Christian no good to separate God from suffering, as if He were somehow remote and uninvolved. The hope of the Bible is that God has not left His children to the cruel and emotionless whims of “fate.” Rather, like a master physician, He uses pain and trials to cut away the cancerous remnants of sin that linger in the hearts of His people, and by so doing fits them for glory (1 Pet. 1:3–9). Rutherford welcomed this knowledge, and it sustained him at many points during his difficult life. 

Trials Prepare Us For Heaven

Flowing from this, Rutherford is careful to emphasize a second point: God uses trials to wean His children from their addiction to the cares of this world—cares that can easily choke their faith and render it unfruitful (Matt. 13:22)—and instead nurture in them a desire for heaven. 

He counsels, “Your Lord never thought this world’s vain painted glory a gift worthy of you; and therefore would not bestow it on you, because he is to provide you with a better portion. Let the moveables go, the inheritance is yours” (32). He goes on, “Consider how, in all these trials (and truly they have been many), your Lord hath been loosing you at the root from perishing things, and hunting after you to grip your soul” (32–33). 

We, like Rutherford, must learn to see God’s mercy at work in our trials. Through them, He is training us to daily relinquish our fascination with the fleeting pleasures of sin and instead to set our affections resolutely on the “city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10). After all, what good would it profit us to gain the “vain painted glory” of this world, yet forfeit eternal life in the new creation with Christ and His people? 

Christian, let the moveables go; the inheritance is yours. 

Pray for God’s Particular Comfort

Finally, Rutherford teaches us to pray for God’s particular, unique comfort in our suffering, the kind of comfort only He can provide: “Now I pray that God may answer in his own style to your soul; and that he may be to you the God of all consolations” (33). 

At the end of the day, what our souls need most is to be cared for by Christ, our merciful High Priest and faithful Shepherd. For all our words, for all our theological principles and abstract ideas, Christ is the only one who can quiet our fears, offer comfort in the midst of tragedy, give strength in the midst of crippling weakness, and sustain our faith under the heavy weight of sorrow. Thus, like Rutherford, we should not hesitate to pray for ourselves and for one another that God would minister to us according “to his own style” and be to us “the God of all consolations.” 

While in this life we may experience His comfort infrequently and elusively, the hope of the gospel is that one day, after we have suffered a little while, “the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you” (1 Pet. 5:10). 

May God give us grace to follow not only in the footsteps of saints like Rutherford and countless others like him, but in the pattern and example of our Lord Jesus Christ, “who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Heb. 12:2). May He, during this brief time on earth, make your soul a castle that, though it is besieged, “cannot be taken” (32). 

Psalm 13

In the Lord I take refuge;
how can you say to my soul,
“Flee like a bird to your mountain,
for behold, the wicked bend the bow;
they have fitted their arrow to the string
to shoot in the dark at the upright in heart;
if the foundations are destroyed,
what can the righteous do?”

The Lord is in his holy temple
the Lord's throne is in heaven;
his eyes see, his eyelids test the children of man.

Psalm 13 is one of those passages that benefit from a slow, careful read. Move too quickly and you’ll miss its comfort. A priceless artifact might at first glance just seem like a dusty piece of pottery—its value will only benefit those who take the time to understand and evaluate it.

David begins this Psalm by declaring “In the Lord I take refuge.” The Lord is David’s permanent place of residence. Since his early days of braining lions and bears in the Judean desert, the Lord had been David’s enduring premise; his principle and answer to every approaching storm. It is why he can respond as he does to the threat of calamity: “How can you say to my soul ‘flee like a bird to your mountain?’”

Those without a refuge have no choice but to live their lives like someone on the edge of a county-wide evacuation order. In the words of John Denver, their bags are packed, they’re ready to go. At the slightest shadow or whiff of bad news, they’re off like a bird to whatever “mountain” they feel safe on—a summer home, the folk's place, some deserted cabin in the middle of a forest. It doesn’t matter where, only that it is away from the seeming destruction at hand.

David is facing a similar pressure.

His real, or rhetorical, sentry has seen what’s coming on the horizon and urges his king, “Get out of here! There’s a whole army of wicked people at your doorstep! I can actually see their bowstrings straining as they pull their arrows back to maximum length. Pretty soon your so-called refuge is going to be a pincushion. If you want my advice, take your loved ones and flee.” 

From the the sentry’s point of view, the wicked, whoever they might be, are not just a show of force. They want to completely dismantle the foundations. They’re not just going to torch the soybean crop, they’re going to enter the city and level every last structure. This, by the way, is the ambition behind every godless force. They don’t want a single reminder of righteousness to remain—anything that might prick their conscience or condemn them must be eradicated.

Yet David is undaunted. He sees the white’s of his watchman’s eyes and puts a steadying hand on his trembling shoulder, “The Lord is in his holy temple; the Lord’s throne is in heaven.”

In other words, he knows where his true refuge lies, and it isn’t even within the mighty walls of Zion. David knows that the Lord is reigning from heaven. His empire has endured the rise and fall of countless nations and will endure countless more. His will is not thwarted. His plans are not foiled. And so his people need not be afraid. 

We live in a day where it feels like longstanding foundations everywhere are under siege: the sanctity of life, the reality of male and female, the goodness of marriage, the importance of freedom. Increasingly, our society believes all these can be abandoned without any real loss. But the losses—for those who can discern them—are multiplying, and only time will reveal the true cost. 

If Christian’s aren’t careful, the steady advance of these forces can trigger a flight response. More than once in the past number of months I’ve fantasized about taking my family and moving to a lonely lighthouse off the coast of Newfoundland. A “mountain” of my own devising. 

But as Alex mentioned a few months ago, “Fear is the enemy of faithfulness.” Fear prevents us from “having done all, to stand” (Eph. 6:13). If Christians abandon their posts, what does that say about the God we say we serve? What does it say about how stable we believe our refuge to be? What does it communicate to a world that doesn’t know what to think and is floundering in despair and “let’s try this!” strategies? 

Let's forget David for a minute and consider Jesus. Did he make use of his legion of angels at Gethsemane? Did he engulf the murderous crowd in holy fire, returning to heaven without the blood and abandonment of Calvary? He would have been right to do so. But he didn’t. Rather, he set his face like flint towards the oncoming hordes of principalities and powers and “left his case in the hands of God (1 Pet. 2:23).

Some might respond—but we’re not a mighty king like David! And we’re certainly not Jesus! We’re just average, susceptible, easily overwhelmed people. How in the world can we adopt such flinty-faced resolve? 

And the answer is that we remind ourselves that the Lord is our refuge. He is our “king and defender, the ancient of days, pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.” Even the most fearful soldiers find new courage as they see their Captain crest the hill, banner fluttering, sword held high. To hold the line isn’t suicide. Suicide is to abandon the refuge in a psychotic attempt to save our own skin.

For the Christian, safety is often where the battle is thickest.

So next time your heart runs over the hill screaming “The enemy’s at the gates! Get out of here! Save yourself!” We can answer with David-like incredulity, “Heart, how could you give in to such fear? How can you say such things?”

In the Lord, take refuge.

In my own experience, developing this posture of repentance doesn’t come naturally; in fact, it’s a bit like learning a second language (which I have only unsuccessfully attempted). Thankfully, God has given guidance to help us navigate this process, and I have found Psalm 130 in particular to be a wonderful place to start learning the biblical language of repentance and faith. 

Ground Zero: The Depths

The psalm opens with a despairing plea: “Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD!” Commentator Derek Kidner uses the words “floundering” and “terror” to capture the sense of David’s anguish here. The image is of a person in utter despair, like a shipwreck victim tossed about in a raging sea. Joy and assurance are words that have no relevance to the psalmist in his present state—uncertainty and hopelessness seem to be more familiar companions. To make matters worse, the writer has no one to blame but himself for the position he’s in. His sin is the cause of his predicament.

Having come to the end of his rope, he turns to God in desperation: “O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my pleas for mercy!” (v. 2).

There is a strange comfort to be found in the psalmist’s despair, and a valuable lesson to be learned. The temptation after any moral failing is to retreat from the presence of the Lord. Like Isaiah in the temple (Isa. 6:1–7), we shrivel at the thought of our sin being exposed before the everlasting and holy God—and rightly so. But as it happens, the very One we’ve sinned against is also the only One who can take our sin and deal with it conclusively. Hence, despite the spiritual train wreck the psalmist has caused, he turns to God and asks for mercy and forgiveness. 

This reminds us that no matter how loudly our feelings may object, our greatest “depths” are still well within the bounds of God’s restorative grace. 

Facing Reality With Faith

What the psalmist says next is instructive and reveals a tension all of us must learn to balance: “If you, O LORD, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared” (vv. 3–4).  

Here the writer holds two things together: on the one hand, God's rightful concern for justice, on the other, God’s eagerness to forgive sinners. Both are true. Our problem is that we are often torn between these truths and, like the pendulum on an old clock, vacillate between fearful thoughts of condemnation and casual views of God’s grace.

Instead, we ought to take a lesson from the psalmist and brandish both of these truths together. Yes, our sin is great, and deserving of death—yet greater still is the love and mercy of God. And when we come to God in honest, faith-filled repentance, neither downplaying the seriousness of our sin nor despairing in the face of its severity, we have the promise that He will not despise our broken and contrite hearts (Ps. 51:17). 

Holding these two truths together, then, is where repentance can give way to its intended goal: joyful exultation in God’s grace. Which is precisely where the psalmist turns next. 

Joyful Proclamation 

Verses 5–8 describe the aftermath of repentance. Having confessed his sin to God and placed his faith in God’s mercy, the psalmist now waits for the Lord. Notice that his waiting is characterized by confidence. It is not the fretful waiting of one expecting bad news; rather, it is the eager expectation of one awaiting vindication. 

The analogy the psalmist employs is one of a watchman waiting for the morning. Just as a sentry keeping watch on a city wall waits with eager expectation and confidence for the sun to rise, so the psalmist confidently waits for the Lord to visit him with mercy. Indeed, the psalmist has more confidence than the watchmen (v. 6), and the reason for his confidence is his hope in God’s word (v. 5). 

This confident hope in God’s promises overflow, in verses 7-8, into the psalmist’s desire for all of God’s people to experience His grace and goodness. Thus, in the closing verses, the writer cries, “O Israel, hope in the LORD! For with the LORD there is steadfast love, and with him is plentiful redemption. And he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities.” This God—the living and true God, the Creator of the heavens and the earth—will redeem His people from all their iniquities. Praise His holy name!

The Cross: The Centerpiece of Redemption 

Finally, we need to notice the tension that permeates this psalm—and, in fact, the entire Old Testament. How can a God so holy, just, and righteous make such lavish promises of redemption to sinners? As the Lord said to Moses, He is a God “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty” (Ex. 34:6–7). How can such a God forgive sinners?

The resolution to this tension is found in the cross of Christ. For at the cross, the love, justice, mercy, and wrath of God converge in a terrifying and beautiful kaleidoscope of glory. At the cross God revealed Himself to be both just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus (Rom. 3:26) by pouring out his wrath on Christ in the place of sinners. This, then, is the reason for our hope and assurance. This is the reason we can have confidence to admit our guilt before God while at the same time hoping in His steadfast love: Christ suffered the penalty for our sins in full. 

In the final analysis, Psalm 130 teaches us how a broken and contrite heart approaches the King of glory. We do so by looking entirely away from ourselves and eagerly toward the God who is both just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus Christ. 

Truly, with Him is plentiful redemption. 

Though ancient Greek philosophers tried to make a virtue out of doubting, it really isn’t. The writer of Hebrews, for example, says Christians are to exercise “diligence so as to realize the full assurance of hope until the end” (Hebrews 6:11). But even though doubt isn’t commended, if we aren’t honest about the real doubts we have, we can never really deal with them. Timothy Keller writes in his book, Reason for God, that Christians need to “acknowledge and wrestle with doubts—not only their own but their friends’ and neighbors.” Why? Keller goes on to say that “only if you struggle long and hard with objections to your faith will you be able to provide the grounds for your beliefs to skeptics, including yourself […]”. [1] 

If we aren't used to thinking deeply about other's honest objections, or even willing to deal with our own, it can be easy to avoid facing our doubts. Denial, however, is only a temporary fix. If we’re not prepared, as soon as our faith is challenged, our world can turn upside down. A better response is to acknowledge and deal with doubt head on. Not only will this determination strengthen our own faith but, since both unbelievers and believers have doubts, it can become a powerful testimony of how God brings assurance to the life of believers.

Francis Schaeffer: Friend to Doubters

A number of years ago I read a biography of the life of Francis Schaeffer, a Christian thinker and writer from the 20th century. A number of things struck me about the life of this extraordinary man. Certainly I was impressed by his intellectual devotion to orthodox and reformed theology and his passion for evangelism and gospel ministry. What struck me most, however, was the impact Schaeffer had on doubters and agnostics—people who weren’t sure what they believed or if they believed at all. It was an impact that no doubt stemmed both from Schaeffer’s commitment to the historical reality of the Christian faith and his ability to articulate such truths to a younger generation.

Throughout Schaeffer’s ministry, he also emphasized the reality of Christianity in time and space, and on a Christian’s mind, body, and soul. Faith, he argued, must not only be true intellectually, but be a tangible reality in all areas of life. Schaeffer realised that understanding the historical reality and total life impact of faith can serve as an antidote to doubt during a period in his life that he referred to as “the crisis.”

In 1955, Schaeffer was serving as a missionary while living with his wife and family in Switzerland. He was struck by the incongruity between the power spoken of in the Scriptures and the seeming lack of power in his own Christian life. He was also distressed by the seeming impotence of the Christian church in general. Despite a devotion to truth and doctrine, the most disturbing observation Schaeffer made about Christianity was the lack of love shown by many professing believers. It seemed to him that intellectual ascent to doctrinal truth did not—by mere default—lead to people practicing God-honouring lives. If the Bible is true, then it must be true in reality, not just in the realm of the abstract. The Bible speaks of “power” in the lives of believers, but why was there so little power evident in real life?

Something more was needed. 

From Agnostic to Apologist

As Schaeffer pondered these questions, he began to experience serious doubts regarding his own faith. During this time he spent many months hiking the roads and trails of the Swiss Alps and pacing the hayloft on the upper floor of his chalet. He prayed about his faith as he wrestled with the truth of the Bible and the reality of Christianity. He returned to a state of agnosticism and began asking fundamental questions about faith. His wife, Edith, was distressed by this, but prayed fervently for her husband during “the crisis.”

By the grace of God, Schaeffer came out of this period of doubt with a deeper understanding of God and his Word. After reflecting on Christianity, he concluded that the truth of the Bible was not only intellectually true but true in reality. Christianity is more than doctrine, intellectual propositions, and theological musings. It is about God’s power and grace transforming real lives in the real world. 

Later in Schaeffer’s ministry, this experience of honest doubt would make him well suited for addressing—with compassion yet without compromise—the doubts of hundreds of Christians and non-Christians who would visit his ministry centre in Switzerland called L’Abri. The name “L’Abri” means “the Shelter” and was intended to be a place where doubters would have a safe place to work out their uncertainties. Schaeffer welcomed honest questions because he knew that the Bible offered true answers. He writes in his book, True Spirituality, “How beautiful Christianity is—first, because of the sparkling quality of its intellectual answers, but second, because of the beautiful quality of its human and personal answers.” [2]

From Sincere Doubt to Sincere Conviction

It was Schaeffer's conviction that sincere doubt can lead to sincere answers; this is why the Bible can encourage the church to “be merciful to doubters” (Jude 1:22). This verse encapsulates Schaeffer’s ministry and it calls to mind the way Christ handled Thomas’s doubts after the resurrection. With compassion, Jesus said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe” (John 20:27).

This too is how Schaeffer addressed the doubts of so many people. He compelled them to come to terms with the historical, present, and future reality of God in the universe. He did this by inviting doubters to see and hear firsthand what God is doing in the lives of real people. He laboured to remember, record, and recount answers to prayer so that they could know that God is always at work. Christianity is not merely a moral compass, offering good suggestions to guide us through life. God is real in space and time, and His power and presence can be experienced by all who call on his name. 

As I pondered the impact Schaeffer had on doubters, I became aware of how little the evangelical church openly addresses doubt. Though it is certainly something we must overcome, it must not be ignored. Doubt must be addressed, prayed about and preached on. Even though Christians may question their faith, we know that God will not remain silent, and that the end result may well be a deeper, stronger faith.

For further reading…

Schaeffer’s thoughts on doubting and spirituality eventually materialized in a series of talks centred on the Book of Romans. He shared these reflections with the many visitors who came to L’Abri. Later, he organized the talks into publishable form for his book True Spirituality. Although this book was published later in his ministry, the ideas in it grew out of Schaeffer’s “crisis” of faith and his period of doubting. This book forms the heart of his work and the raison d’etre for the ministry at L’Abri. If you’re interested in bolstering your faith and tackling your doubts or those of others, this book is an excellent place to start.

1. Timothy Keller, Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism (New York: Riverhead Books, 2008), xvii.

2. Francis A. Schaeffer, True Spirituality (Carol Stream: Tyndale House, 2001), 144.

JEREMY W. JOHNSTON is the author of All Things New: Essays on Christianity, culture and the arts and he is the arts columnist for Barnabas magazine (Sovereign Grace Fellowship of Canada). For more information on Jeremy, please visit www.jeremywjohnston.com.

Merriam-Webster defines courage as the “mental or moral strength to venture, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty.” However this seems like one of those broad definitions that manages to not actually tell us anything while also holding the door open for all kinds of uncourageous people. According to such a definition after all, both Hitler and Churchill could share living space on the “courage” continuum. 

As with all things, if we want to arrive at anything conclusive we must start and end  with the Scriptures. They alone provide the base structure which gives shape and stability to our definitions. Here, then, are some biblical principles which should help us move towards a clearer understanding of what it means to have courage.

Courage is Not the Absence of All Fear, but the Mindful Fear of One

“Don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul. Fear only God, who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” Matthew 10:28

As a parent, I don’t hope that my children will be fearless, mostly because there are  things in life they should actually be afraid of: namely highways, untethered rottweilers, and overly-friendly strangers in white vans.

I also want them to fear God, but in a different way than they might fear those other things. Rather, more in the way a clay vessel might fear its potter if it were sentient. For example, the proper response of a clay teapot should be to happily, competently, hold tea. It should also be to fear the potter’s displeasure should it refuse to do what he made it to.

And so with us. There is no need to fear the many if we cultivate the fear of One. But there is definite reason to fear the One if we decide to opt for the fear of many. The many may, at their most ravenous, decide to kill us. But God, being the keeper of body and soul, can destroy both in hell.

As the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom, so it must also be the beginning of true courage, and in fact the starting point of all virtues.

Courage Doesn’t Operate Out of a Vacuum

“All these people died still believing what God had promised them. They did not receive what was promised, but they saw it all from a distance and welcomed it. They agreed that they were foreigners and nomads here on earth.” Hebrews 11:13

Hope gives courage energy, purpose, and life. Allied forces stood against the Naughtzee regime because they envisioned a world free from its tyranny. Martin Luther King Jr. made his impassioned speech before thousands because he envisioned a world without racism. Christians pray constantly for hard things because we believe that God delights to hear and answer us. 

Throughout history Christians have frequently shown remarkable courage. Not just in hopes of the recovery of a suspended moment of time (religious freedom for example) but because they saw their hope stretching beyond a moment and erupting into eternity. Their willingness to stand against evil was birthed out of a steady assurance of their true citizenship in heaven and a confidence of their participation in eternal life.

Courage is Sustained by Convictions, Not the Frenzy of Trends

“[Moses] chose to share the oppression of God’s people instead of enjoying the fleeting pleasures of sin.” Hebrews 11:25

The reason we can say that Moses acted with courage here is that his decision was based on two convictions. First, that the Israelites were God’s people. Second, that the pleasures of Egypt were both sinful and fleeting. However what if the Egyptians suddenly decided that the Israelites were actually pretty cool and wanted to join up with them? We couldn't really say that Moses acted in courage if he decided to join them only after they were a hoard.

We find ourselves in a strange time where simply affirming the clamor of the mob can instantly transform a bystander into a freedom-fighter. But even on the watery terms of Merriam-Webster we couldn't exactly call such acquiescence courage. Courage is not typically found on the path of least resistance. In fact it runs opposite to our intuition in that it flies in the face of self-preservation, which is where most people prefer to linger. It stands when everyone else flees. It speaks when everyone else is silent. It is a “first in, last out” kind of virtue.

In this we should also say that courage isn’t measured by its scale but by its willingness to personally suffer for the cause of truth and justice. The laborer who refuses to compromise his integrity for the sake of some personal advantage demonstrates an equal courage to someone like Luther, who stood against the magisterium of the Catholic church. Both are simply “investing” with respect to the talents they had been entrusted with.

If, as I hope you would agree, God shows no favoritism, than it stands to reason that he is equally honored by the courage of the laborer as he is with that of the reformer. 

Courage Operates Within a Truth Matrix

[Love] does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. 1 Corinthians 13:6

Judy Burwell, director of the Morgentaler Abortion Clinic in Fredericton, states “It takes a lot of courage, really, to say ‘I’m going to be an abortion provider' these days.” 

Now, if we are working only according to Merriam-Webster’s definition, we would have to agree with Ms. Burwell. All abortion providers, as those who are doing difficult things for an extended amount of time, must certainly be individuals of profound courage. 

But if we are working from the Biblical definition of courage, we would have to soundly disagree that such convictions are anything close to courageous. Just as we could not say that the Canaanite priests exercized courage when they tossed infant children into Molech’s iron chest. Courageous people don’t trample on the helpless. They stand against inhumanity, not humanity.

Courage Yields To Truth

"When Priscilla and Aquila heard [Apollos] preaching boldly in the synagogue, they took him aside and explained the way of God even more accurately." Acts 18:26

"But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere." James 3:17

This principle might initially seems like a contradiction, but hear me out. Pro-choice advocates, even when faced with 3D images of the torment a fetus suffers during an abortion procedure, refuse to budge from their position. LGBT+ advocates, even in light of the massive likelihood that confused young-people will acclimatize to their gender after puberty subsides, still advocate for prepubescent surgery and therapy. In all this there is an underlying resistance to submit to the weight of evidence.

Though stubbornness and courage may initially seem to share similar traits—both fiercely hold to their convictions and are willing to endure a degree of battery—where courage is rooted in wisdom and God-fearing, stubbornness is essentially pride and an unwillingness to admit when one is wrong. 

Courage is always interested in the furtherance of truth and eagerly resists what, even in oneself, may be impeding its course. Apollos already demonstrated a degree of courage in being willing to stand alone against the mob of Jews who resisted John’s baptism. But arguably his true courage shone brightest when he submitted himself to the instruction of a couple of tentmakers. His response was not a lessenging, but a profoundly courageous deference.  

Courage Doesn't Come in Like a Wrecking Ball

“Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.” Ephesians 4:32

“Be merciful to those who doubt.” Jude 1:22

There’s a profound difference between courageous people and bulls browsing through china shops. This needs to be said because I’m not sure such nuance is always fully understood or appreciated by Christians. 

Courage is not foolhardiness; it does not kick open unlocked doors; it doesn’t charge in with a 12-gauge shotgun when a reasonable discussion would have sufficed. Courage can, and should be, even-tempered, willing to give the benefit of a doubt, and eager to exhaust all options before declaring civil war. 

I once overheard a Christian say, echoing the words of Luther, “Here I stand I can do no other.” It might have sounded brave coming from Luther as he stared down the popish senate, but in the context of an issue which really didn’t merit all the bravado, it just sounded kind of childish. 

Truly courageous people take time to make sure they understand a situation before expressing themselves. When and if they do, they do so remembering the depths of grace that rescued them in the first place. They are willing and eager to be reconciled and to operate within the bounds of civility so far as conscience and Scripture allows. They are self-effacing as oppose to self-aggrandising. 

They are not calculating in their words and mediums, except as it concerns the glory of God and the adorning of his truth. If truth, humanity, and justice are being upheld, they are content to remain doorkeepers. They are also willing to unhinge the door and throw it should the situations demand.

Brothers and sisters, in a day of increasingly forthright inhumanity I hope we will be known as men and women of true courage.