C.S. Lewis on the Imprecatory Psalms, Pt III

Before I proceed to the third and final 'installment' on this question, addressing (ever so briefly) the messianic character of the Psalter and the New Testament's usage of the imprecatory psalms in particular, I feel I should make one more comment about retribution and love.

There's a saying so axiomatic among Christian circles that you might mistake it for a Bible verse: "God hates the sin, but loves the sinner." Lewis argues along these lines in pp.32-33, stating that God has the same "implacable hostility which these poets express," yet, His hostility is "not to the sinner but to the sin." While the psalmists erroneously conflated their hatred of evil with the evildoer, Lewis argues, God does not.

Or doesn't He? According to Psalm 5:4-6,

"For you are not a God who delights in wickedness; evil may not dwell with you. The boastful will not stand before your eyes; you hate all evildoers. You destroy those who speak lies; the Lord abhors the bloodthirsty and deceitful man." Cf. Ps.11:5

It is even said that God "hates" Israel, his own covenant people, in their obstinate disobedience (Jer.12:8; Hos.9:15).

For the sake of time and space, I don't want to get into the question of what exactly Scripture means by "hate" (cf. Mal.1:3; Lk.14:26; Mt.6:24), and what it could mean that God "hates" those whom he also, in some real sense, loves (Mt.5:43-48). It is unquestionably the case that God has a holy hostility, not merely towards sin per se - as though it existed in isolation from culpable, moral agents - but against the sinner. It is, after all, extremely difficult to extricate "the lying tongue," or "hands that shed innocent blood," or "haughty eyes," or "a heart that devises evil," etc., from the owners (Prov.6:16-18, 19). Nevertheless, it is also clear that God loves the objects of His wrath(e.g., Jn.3:16, 18, 36; Eph.2:3-4; 2Co.5:18-20; Rom.5:10)! It is enough now to simply observe that God both hates and loves sinners in ways that are not mutually exclusive.

As a result, one has a difficult time answering the question, "Is it wrong for the saints to share God's holy hostility toward the wicked?" - even if that participation is incomplete - in the affirmative. The psalmists clearly presented such 'shared hostility' not only as a commendation to God in their consciences regarding their own righteousness, (e.g., Ps.26:4-5), but as a participation in the righteous character of God Himself (e.g., Ps.139:29; 119:113). It was God-like.

And on this note, the messianic import of the Psalter is especially relevant. For the Psalms represent not merely the idealized piety of Israel's "everyman," but specifically that of the Davidic King. Not only is David the speaker in many cases, but the promised royal "Son of David" is often the focus. In fact, as Tremper Longman III writes, it is "significant that so much of the Psalter is connected with the institution of kingship in Israel and more specifically with David and his dynasty." The covenant with David (and, subsequently, the Temple complex and worship designed by him and implemented by his son, Solomon) provides the determinative theological and historical context of the whole Psalter (2Sam.7; cf. Ps.2; 45; 72; 89; 110; 132). In fact, the psalms could be summarized as instructions for life under God's reign - the kingdom of God - as experienced in and administered through the Davidic king.

In this covenant, God promises to establish David and "his son" as the anointed king (messiah) in Israel, the royal "son of God," through whom all the divine promises to the patriarchs would be fully and finally realized (e.g., cf. Ge.12:2-3; Ps.72:17; and Ge.15:13-21; 2Sam.7:10-11). David's earthly rule would not only represent God's heavenly kingdom in the world, but would anticipate (and partially realize) its fulfillment, "on earth as it is in heaven." Therefore, because of this close identification between the throne in Jerusalem and the throne above, David's enemies would become the enemies of God (see 2Sam.22:41; Ps.18:40; 89:23; cf. 2Sam.7:9), and vice versa. In other words, to become an enemy of the Davidic king was "nothing personal," merely, but rather an official stance against the whole elect nation of Israel, and more than that, against heaven itself (see Ps.2:1-12)!

This goes a long way in explaining the supposed naivety of the psalmists in so closely identifying their enemies with God's (pp.31-32, Reflections on the Psalms). Beyond simply the individual experience of the royal Davidide, due the corporate solidarity of the people with their King, and our solidarity with Christ by faith in particular, the enemies of the saints become the enemies of our King and of our God, and vice versa. It is very telling that when the sovereign, resurrected Christ confronts Saul on his path of persecuting the young church, His first words are, "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?" Our naivety, perhaps, is more to be found in our loose and cavalier identification of who are enemies are.

When we turn to the New Testament, we find this messianic reading of the Psalter confirmed in the teachings of Jesus himself (Lk.24:44, 25-27; Mt.22:41-46), and in the apostles' subsequent preaching (e.g., Ac.2:25-31; 13:22-39). Note especially in these interpretations the prophetic role David, as author, plays with respect to his coming, "Greater Son." In fact, of the passages Lewis cites in his essay (Ps.109, 69:23; 143:12; 137:8-9; 139:19; and 23:5), two of them are explicitly used in the New Testament in reference to Christ, the messianic king. It is enlightening to observe how they are applied.

One of the remarkable things about the davidic psalms is the reality of suffering and persecution. The great and powerful king of Israel can write, "I am poor and needy," "my enemies surround me," "those who hate me without cause outnumber the hairs of my head," "my throat is parched from calling out to you," "deep waters have engulfed me," and most famously, "my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" The messianic king is also the suffering servant of the Lord. It is typically in these "lamentations" that David cries out for vengenance against his enemies (though, note also Ps.2:7-12 and 110:1-6; cf., Ac.2:34-35; Eph.1:22; 1Cor.15:25-27; Heb.1:5-13; 10:13; Rev.12:5; 19:15). And the early church understood these prophetic descriptions of the individual and corporate enemies of David and his kingdom as anticipating and even precisely predicting the world's rejection and persecution of the Christ (e.g., see Acts 4:25-30).

Psalm 109:8 is cited by Peter in reference to Judas' betrayal in Acts 1:20. Jesus also cites Psalm 69:4 (cf. 109:3) in reference to his enemies in John 15:25. Similarly, Paul cites specifically Ps.69:22-23 in Romans 11:7-9, in describing those within Israel that have been 'hardened' in their response to Christ, having stumbled over God's chosen "cornerstone" (Rom.9:32-33; cf. 1Pe.2:6-8; Isa.28:16; Ps.118:22). Lastly, though Ps.137 is not directly referenced in the NT, we do read of the eschatological judgment of "Babylon" - the archetypal picture of 'civilized' evil - in which the Great City is finally repaid in full for all that it has done (Rev.18:6-7; cf. Ps.137:8-9). And what is the response of heaven to this terrifying judgment? "Rejoice over her, O heaven, and you saints and apostles and prophets, because God has pronounced judgment for you against her," Rev.18:20.

By looking at how the NT employs these verses, we see that these were understood by the early church as not only appropriate "Christian" texts, but as deeply Christological texts - functioning as messianic prophecy in disclosing both the coming reality of Christ's humiliation, in His rejection and sufferings, and, in his glorification, the destiny of all who oppose Him (e.g., Lk.19:27). Christ will rule in the midst of enemies (Rev.11:15-18; 19-22). And we, like the psalmists, cry out to God against the enemies of His people and of His Christ, praying for the grace and power to overcome, in order that we might rule with Him (Rev.2:27; 5:10; 20:6; 22:3-5; cf. 1Co.6:3).

C.S. Lewis on the Imprecatory Psalms, Pt II

In his chapter, "The Cursings," C.S. Lewis dismisses the maledictions of the Psalter as crude and spiteful expressions of a subchristian manner. Moreover, he asserts this without any argument. This, it seems to me, is the weak link in his thesis. His silence on the matter is both frustrating and revealing. It is frustrating because he actually skips the most crucial step in wrestling with these harsh words of holy writ. But it is also revealing, I think, of his misunderstanding of the biblical (canonical) context of the Psalms themselves, and the existential context of the individual psalmists.

There are a number of items to sort through in grasping the significance of the psalmists' curses. First, we must discuss the appropriateness of the saints desiring retribution against the wicked in divine judgment. Secondly, we must discuss the messianic or royal significance of the Psalter. And thirdly, we must explore the usage of these ancient psalms by the New Testament church (something Lewis surprisingly neglects altogether).

First, is it wrong for Christians to desire divine retribution against their enemies? Some point to Jesus' teachings in the Sermon on the Mount concerning the lex talionis principle articulated in the Pentateuch as evidence that it is. However, we should note two important caveats before drawing a definite conclusion. The first caveat is Jesus' own, given at the beginning of the sermon:

Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Anyone who breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.

In other words, Jesus is saying that we should not misunderstand his bold refutations of the received traditions and doctrines propounded in the synagogues ("you have heard it said..., but I say to you...") as tantamount to rejecting the Law or the Prophets themselves. Jesus is not overturning Moses. He is fulfilling Moses! In fact, to reject even "the least stork of a pen" in the Law is spiritually detrimental to both ourselves and our hearers.

The second caveat is to understand just how this principle was being abused in popular practice, and so how Jesus' teachings address his immediate audience. For example, in the paragraph before the one in question, after quoting Leviticus 19:12, Jesus tells his disciples, "But I say to you, do not swear at all..." Of course, if Jesus is making an absolute statement here against oath-taking, then He has indicted not only himself (when he later testifies under oath), the apostles (who similarly testified under oath), but God Himself who swore by an oath his promises to the patriarchs (e.g., Deut.4:31; 6:18; 7:8; 8:1; 13:17; etc.). However, when we read passages such as Matthew 23:16-22, we better understand the sophistry and abuse which Jesus is here addressing. As it has been said, usum non tollit abusus (abuse does not exclude use).

Likewise, regarding the retributive principle of lex talionis, we know that Jesus isn't hereby repealing the law as somehow unjust or unrighteous. It is consistently reflected in the punitive justice of God in both the Old and New Testament (e.g., Oba.1:15; Lam.3:64; 2Th.1:6; Rev.18:6). In fact, Jesus appears to employ it himself in regard to divine judgment (e.g., Lk.6:36-38; cf. Jas.2:13). Lewis also clearly understood the normative character of retribution in all just punishments, as he so persuasively argued in his excellent essay, "The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment."

Furthermore, it is evident that Jesus isn't here denying any use whatsoever of the retributive principle among his disciples. After all, if it is lawful, why should it be unlawful for his followers? And what is the appropriate usage of lex talionis among men? According to the Pentateuch, it was to be applied in the official courts of the community to establish justice and equity (e.g., Dt.19:15-21). It is not necessarily wrong, in other words, for the Christian to seek justice in the courts. However, as Lewis himself points out (but only to thereby implicate the inspired authors' words as contradicting God's Law), practicing mercy and forgiveness with personal enemies was the biblical norm for daily interactions and relationships within Israel (e.g., Ex.23:4-5; Lev.19:18; cf. Prov.25:21-22). According to the Law, the individual should not take justice into their own hands, but give grace instead, pursuing reconciliation and, if necesssary, the lawful means of restitution (cf., Mt.5:23-26). Jesus isn't really teaching us something new, then, but applying the Law itself against its perversion and misapplication by his contemporaries (e.g., see Mt.15:3-9).

Granted that lex talionis is appropriate for the judge, both human and divine, is it appropriate for the individual Christian to desire it against his enemies? To even pray for it? Again, the New Testament seems to affirm that it is. In fact, even the souls of "righteous men made perfect" pray to God for vengeance in heaven:

They called out in a loud voice, "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?" (Rev.6:10)

And according to the apostle Paul, it is precisely our hope that God will avenge us against our enemies which allows us to show them true grace, and so fulfill Jesus' teachings in the Sermon on the Mount:

Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," says the Lord. On the contrary: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Of course, the Christian is not to seek personal revenge themselves, paying back evil for evil (Ro.12:17). But then the psalmists are not acting as vigilantes, taking revenge for themselves. Rather, they rightly place the matter into God's hands, and pray for justice. Are their words harsh? Yes. But appropriately so. And this will be even clearer as we explore the messianic character of the psalms in our next post.

C.S. Lewis on the Imprecatory Psalms, Pt I

It is said that actions speak louder than words. But no doubt we'll find that our words speak loud enough. Jesus once said, "I say to you that, every careless word that men shall speak, they shall render account for it in the day of judgment." This is enough to make the best among us shudder. Our words are in fact a kind of action (Jas.3:2-13), a deed, either good or bad. And these verbal 'actions' impact our hearers profoundly (e.g., 1Tim.4:16). There is, therefore, a certain, awful weightiness to our words, even where they are spoken lightly. And so Peter instructs, "If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God." And James tells us, "Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers." Our judgment will be more strict.

For we all stumble in many ways. If anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to bridle the whole body as well.

If we all stumble, then we all stumble in our speech: "no one can tame the tongue, it is a restless evil and full of deadly poison!"

All of us then will undoubtedly regret some of the words we've spoken or written during our short sojourn on this earth. And almost certainly, there will be more than we now realize. Praise God that, to quote James again, "mercy triumphs over judgment"!

Some men of course speak better than others. C.S. Lewis is a man who, in more ways than one, has spoken better than most in our age. Martin Luther once charged Erasmus of using his golden-tongue in an unworthy endeavor: shoveling, um..."scheisse," I believe is the technical term in the German. Dr. Lewis, however, used his admirably, shoring up the biblical and rational foundations of the Christian West with great wit and wisdom. But I wonder which words he now regrets?

I recently re-read Lewis' remarks on the imprecatory psalms in a chapter from his insightful little book, Reflections on the Psalms, entitled "The Cursings." In it, he writes:

In some of the Psalms the spirit of hatred which strikes us in the face is like the heat from a furnace mouth. In others the same spirit ceases to be frightful only be becoming (to a modern mind) almost comic in its naivety... One way of dealing with these terrible or (dare we say?) contemptible Psalms is simply to leave them alone. But unfortunately the bad parts will not "come away clean"; they may, as we have noticed, be intertwined with the most exquisite things...At the outset I felt sure, and I feel sure still, that we must not either try to explain them away or to yield for one moment to the idea that, because it comes in the Bible, all this vindictive hatred must somehow be good and pious. We must face both facts squarely. The hatred is there - festering, gloating, undisguised-and also we should be wicked if we in any way condoned or approved it, or (worse still) used it to justify similar passions in ourselves.

Lewis goes on to offer what he feels is profitable in these otherwise contemptible psalms of Israel. He offers the following suggestions as to their potential usefulness for the Christian:

1) They reveal, and thereby expose in our own hearts, the natural if dangerous reaction of man to injustice. Beyong giving us insight into ourselves, however, they illustrate the depth of impact our sin has on the other, our victims, in tempting them through our injustice to such raw resentment and bitterness. Their vehemence and vindictiveness, in other words, both highlight our own hidden violence, and reveal the dark fruits born within those we violate. In this sense, then, their bad example serves us as a warning.

2)The very depths of their depravity speaks to the great heights of their spirituality. As he writes, "It seems that there is a general rule in the moral universe which may be formulated 'The higher the more in danger'... If the Jews cursed more bitterly than the Pagans this was, I think, at least in part because they took right and wrong more seriously... The Jew sinned in this matter worse than the Pagans not because they were further from God but because they were nearer to Him." In other words, if the Jewish psalmist vented his rage at wicked men, it was because he appropriately grasped that there is such a thing as evil, which was supremely hateful to God (even if he hated the evil-doer whom God Himself loved).

However, I think here, in his attempt to salvage such "devilish" poetry, "hideously distorted by the human instrument," as nevertheless God's Word, Lewis is at his least compelling. Certainly there are very many great insights along the way (e.g., "If the divine call does not make us better, it will make us worse"); but in the end, his rationalizations for redeeming these 'hateful' little songs appears rather thin and contrived. It is, to be sure, a hodgepodge of impressions, as Lewis honestly wrestles with what to do with these controversial words of Holy Scripture. However, perhaps he would have been wiser to do as the psalmist did in 73, and kept it to himself: "If I had said, 'I will speak thus,' I would have betrayed your children," (v.15). Or, at least kept it to himself until he understood fully the "final destiny" of the wicked in light of God's majesty and holiness (v.17).

In particular, I wonder if C.S. Lewis' assessment of these psalms (he cites Ps.109, 69:23; 143:12; 139:19; 137:9; and 23:5) is accurate from the outset? Are these in fact the embarrassing expressions of crass hatred and vindictive appeals for personal revenge, that he claims? Have the psalmists of Israel mispoke? Are their maledictions a slip of an otherwise pious tongue? This is what I'd like to explore in the next post...

Another Great Quote

"Between heaven and hell is only this life, which is the most fragile thing in the world."

Blaise Pascal

Hocus Pocus?

St. Augustine, it would seem, charted the course for the Western Church in its long and often convoluted circuit through sacramental theology with the statement: "The Word comes to the element; and so there is a sacrament, that is, a sort of visible word." The sacrament, then, has two aspects: the physical object(s) - the sign (signum) - and the invisible reality (res) that is thereby signified and proclaimed. However, these two aspects of the sacrament, and the nature of their relationship, would become the source of much confusion and contention. The Reformers, on the one hand, would later appeal to this definition, emphasizing the centrality of the Word in the church's worship, with the celebration of the sacraments functioning as the visible proclamation of the gospel (cf. 1Co.11:26). The medieval Catholic church, on the other hand, emphasized the elevation, and apparent transformation of the element itself through the Word (i.e., the priest's prayer and words of institution).

In an attempt to clarify Augustine, and to alleviate apparent tensions in some of the church fathers, the medieval scholastics introduced what Lutheran scholar Robert Jensen has termed "the middle reality." A tertium quid. Namely, the sacrament is at once both the sign and the thing signified. And it is this ontological identification of signum et res, we are told, that constitutes the symbol(s) as sacramentum.

The ambiguity evident in many of the early fathers is that they appear in places to affirm a symbolic/spiritual view of the sacrament (or were they merely speaking phenomenologically of the elements?), and then, on other occasions, to advance a realistic/mystical view (or were they speaking merely figuratively, and pressing such language into service against the docetic denials of gnosticsm?). In the scholastic understanding, it is argued, the tension is resolved in the identification of the sacramental sign with the reality it symbolizes.

However, the question linguists might ask us is whether this solution brings true clarity to the church's self-understanding and exegesis of Scripture, or is simply the ecclesiastical sanctioning of further confusion. In other words, is this conflation of the signifier and the signified a reification of our language - a simple case of mistaking the finger for the moon? Lunatic transdigitation through linguistic prestidigitation?

Whatever the case, that the signum et res synthesis represents a new development from Augustine's thought seems evident from his meditations on hermeneutics. In his classic "On Christian Doctrine," Augustine writes:

Just as I began, when I was writing about things, by warning that no one should consider them except as they are, without reference to what they signify beyond themselves, now when I am discussing signs I wish it understood that no one should consider them for what they are but rather for their value as signs which signify something else. A sign is a thing which causes us to think of something beyond the impression the thing itself makes upon the senses." (Book II, 1)

In other words, to confuse the sign with what is signified by it is a category mistake of language. He goes on to identify the elements of the Lord's Supper as signs, which make an impression upon our sense of taste (Book II, 3), among other things.

That Augustine took Jesus' language about his own flesh and blood figuratively is apparent later on in Book III:

‘Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man,’ says Christ, ‘and drink His blood, ye have no life in you.’ This seems to enjoin a crime or a vice; it is therefore a figure [of speech], enjoining that we should have a share in the sufferings of our Lord, and that we should retain a sweet and profitable memory of the fact that His flesh was wounded and crucified for us." (Book III, 16).

But what about the so-called words of institution, when Jesus says, "This is my body" (in Latin, hoc est corpus meum)? Is this figurative language or literal? With the bread and cup in hand (a hand, we might note, which was neither yet "broken" nor glorified), it seems self-evident that Jesus' language was intended to be understood figuratively (cf. 2Sam.23:16-17). It was not uncommon for our Lord to speak this way. That some might read this literally, however, would not surprise us; such confusion over Jesus' 'bready metaphors' had happened before (e.g., Mt.16:6-11; Jn.6:27ff.). Martin Luther's vehement protests notwithstanding ("Hoc est corpus meum! Est! Est! Est!"), I think Zwingli, after pointing out that there were innumerable passages of Scripture in which "is" means "signifies," had the most sensible interpretation of Scripture,

In the words "This is my body" the word "this" means the bread, and the word "body" means the body which was put to death for us. Therefore the word "is" cannot be taken literally, for the bread is not the body.

Whatever the meaning of "is" is here, it is apparent that we have all become obsessed with the elements themselves, rather than what they (by all accounts) signify: the body and blood of Jesus. Of course, to make the elements themselves the res of the sacrament literally, and so the object of faith, is tantamount to idolatry. Jesus' whole point in John 6 is that we don't need literal bread, whether from the bread basket at the common table, or the wafer at the Lord's Table. What we need is spirit and life - eternal life, secured by the broken flesh and spilled blood of Christ in his crucifixion, and communicated to us through the spiritual subsistence of His resurrected embodiment (1Co.15:45). This is the bread of life which leaves us eternally satisfied: Christ Himself, in the fullness of His glorious Person and work!

As Athanasius wrote:

For here also He has used both terms of Himself, flesh and spirit; and He distinguished the spirit from what is of the flesh in order that they might believe not only in what was visible in Him, but in what was invisible, and so understand that what He says is not fleshy, but spiritual. For how many would the body suffice as food, for it to become meat even for the whole world? But this is why He mentioned the ascending of the Son of Man into heaven; namely, to draw them off from their corporeal idea, and that from thenceforth they might understand that the aforesaid flesh was heavenly from above, and spiritual meat, to be given at His hands. For ‘what I have said unto you,’ says He, ‘is spirit and life;’ as much as to say, ‘what is manifested, and to be given for the salvation of the world, is the flesh which I wear. But this, and the blood from it, shall be given to you spiritually at my hands as meat, so as to be imparted spiritually in each one, and to become for all a preservative to resurrection of life eternal.”

How do we receive this bread of life? Jesus answered, "He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty." Or, as Augustine famously put it, "Why preparest thou the teeth and the belly? Believe, and thou hast eaten!"

Do we receive this grace at the Lord's Table? I would hope so! There's an old joke about us baptists. It is said that we affirm Christ's presence everywhere except the Lord's Supper! As with most jokes, it's funny because it's true. But certainly Jesus communicates His presence to us - He gives Himself to us - as we celebrate communion together. But not because we consumed a wafer and sipped some juice. Grace isn't some mystical gas or liquid, transferred through ceremonial food and drink (see Heb.9:10; 13:9). What is grace but the life and power of Christ communicated to us through our union with Him by faith? The Reformers rightly (if at times inconsistently) insisted that faith was critical for the efficacy of the sacrament, contra Rome's sacerdotal doctrine of ex opero operato. The sacraments, as I understand them, are the liturgical enactment of faith, and are significant precisely in their symbolic function of visibly representing - and dramatically reenacting - the essentially invisible effect of faith: namely, union with Christ in his death and resurrection. Union with Christ through faith is the essence of sacramental worship, with Christ himself as the res of the signum, the transcendent, yet ever-present reality, to which the simple bread and cup point, and which we receive through faith.

This Sunday we will be celebrating communion at our church. And my prayer is that the sign will do its work efficaciously: namely, point us unambiguously to Jesus Christ - in all of the glorious fullness of His Person and perfection of His saving work - to hear and see the gospel preached afresh, and so feed our faith, our hope and our joy in Him!

Church Planting in the Christ-Haunted South

Believe it or not, I am excited to be here, in Columbia. I love the University, the Capital, the growing arts scene, the mix of business and academia, of local politics and open-mic poetry, the lush landscape and red clay, the influx of northerners and mid-westerners, and the new South that is emerging. I love the new age, eco-hippie left-wingers, and I love the Limbaugh-listening, seer-sucker suit, bow-tie wearing Republicans – young and old. I love it.

I am not a Southerner, by birth or upbringing, but I really enjoy the South. I love the landscape - the varied forests (sand scrub, spruce, and loblolly pines; mountain holly, pond cypress, river birch, and swamp laurel; shumard, spanish red and white oak; southern sugar maples and carolina hemlock), the blue ridge mountains, the green foothills, the muddy rivers, and lazy lakes, the eastern beaches, the rolling hills and valleys, the humid floodplains and steaming marshes, the endless pastures and veins of dirt road. I love the weather (strangely, perversely, even the sweltering, sultry heat of Columbia in July). I love the oasis of fall, the shy winters, and vengance of spring and summer. I love the food. Greasy, home-cooked, and plenty of portions.

I love the culture, its obvious flaws and inconsistencies notwithstanding. There is a distinct decency and dignity about the South, despite the occasional accuracy of the “ign’ant redneck” stereotypes. There is something gracious and humane, which, like ancient bedrock, is primal and pervasive - southern hospitality in an historic, but delapitating house of faith, and grave piety. Beyond that, there is a fervent, at times violent, ferocity, a fiery, religious zeal - often apart from, or even against "that old time religion" - that betrays a vital and vigorous spirituality (and what other kind can there be?) - or, rather, the memory of a such a spirit. It is indeed a Christ-haunted landscape. And I love it. We live in a place that is now, to be sure, over-churched, but under gospel-ed. I am eager and thankful to have the opportunity to be a part of reconnecting the gospel to the new South.

Theology of Satan, Pt III

Satan's Wiles and God's Means

Though Satan's authority to pronounce condemnation against the people of God has been stripped through the "abolishing of the law of commandments expressed in ordinances," in Christ, he still has power. Power to seduce, entice, entrap; power to oppress, torment and afflict - both physically and spiritually. He employs all such techniques to "devour" his enemies (cf. 1Pe.5:8) - God's people specifically, but mankind in general. For these reasons, we are to be "on the alert," and "not ignorant of his schemes."

However, we shouldn't be overly impressed with his wiles or ways. As illustrated by the book of Job, Satan's power is entirely delimited by God's sovereignty, and not only in his ability to afflict, but apparently even in his abilities to tempt (e.g., 1Co.10:13). Satan's power, then, is severely limited in the life of the believer. As James promised us, "resist the devil and he will flee," (4:7; cf. 1Pe.5:9).

Both affliction and temptation are summarized in the NT by the word trial or test (peirasmos/peirozow). Suffering is testing (1Pe.1:6). Temptation is testing (Jas.1:11-12). Thus Jesus is driven into the wilderness by the Spirit of God to be tested/tempted by the devil (e.g., Mt.4:1). Thus the apostle Paul is given a "thorn in the flesh," a messenger of Satan (2Co.12:7). Here we see Satan fulfilling (unwittingly perhaps) a divinely ordained role in the perfection of the saints - and that beginning with the Pioneer and Perfecter of our faith, Jesus Christ Himself (Heb.2:10; 5:8-9; 12:2). As believers face the various trials of affliction and temptation in this world their faith is matured, and they grow in holiness. Their faith deepens as they continue to trust in God "under pressure," rather than give in to the fear of pain or the loss of pleasure. They grow in perseverence, in other words, which perfects character (Ro.5:3-4; Jas.1:2-5; 1Pe.1:7).

Satan exploits our natural weaknesses and inherent wickedness, that is, our flesh. He appeals to both our perverted desires for power and pleasure in direct temptation, and to our vulnerability and frailities through an indirect appeal to legitimate desires, and our natural fear of loss of control and security. The latter case is vividly illustrated in Jesus' three-fold temptation/testing in the wilderness (Mt.4:2-10). And his primary weapon is falsehood. He lies, insisting that God is either (or both) unwilling and/or unable to care for us. In a word, God is not trustworthy; we need to find another way, any other way, than faith in God.

But as the believer, by grace, trusts in God, rather than falters in that trust, he/she grows in faith and righteousness. In this sense, we again see that Satan is an agent of the redemption of God's people, though his motives are malicious (see Rev.2:10). God uses it for good, Satan for destruction.

Perhaps this concept of Satan's divine 'usefulness' is behind Paul's cryptic statement of handing lapsed Christians "over to Satan" (1Co.5:5; 1Ti.1:20). In the act of 'church discipline', men and women who persist in disobedience are consigned to the afflictions (spiritual and physical) of Satan, and the divinely-ordered (we might call them 'natural') consequences of disobedience. In these buffets from Satan, the believer is eventually broken (perhaps even to the point of death? - 1Co.5:5), and thereby brought back to God in repentance. To hand someone over to Satan is to give them over to their sin, letting sin have its way with us, and all of its accompanying effects, until, by God's grace, we come to our senses (2Ti.2:25-26).

Moreover, the believer has the indwelling and empowering Holy Spirit, waging war against his flesh (Gal.5:17), and empowering the believer in his warfare against the powers of this dark world and heavenly forces of evil (Eph.6:12-17). The Spirit's power and presence ensures the believer's 'survival' in satanic affliction, ultimately for the purposes of sanctification. The Spirit's primary weapon in this war is the truth - God's Word. As we are sanctified in the truth, we are strengthened and made battle-ready. As we face the "fiery darts" of the devil, we are battle-proven. Whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Even what does kill us makes us stronger. Every power and principality - even death itself - which stands against us must fall. More than that, it must become to us means of our salvation. This is no doubt what Paul means in Romans 8:37-39 when he says that, in the face of these 'cosmic' threats we are MORE than conquerers. We not only defeat them through faith (cf. Ro.16:20), but they turn out to be the very means through which our victory is established, to the praise of the glory of God's grace and power!

And so the Christian can sing these (otherwise) perplexing words:

Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!
In Thy service, pain is pleasure;
With Thy favor, loss is gain.
I have called Thee Abba, Father!
I have stayed my heart on Thee.
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,
All must work for good to me.