The day Santa saved Christmas

This is my first post in six months, so I thought I'd ease back in with a seasonal story.

       Well, it's Christmas. (Notice, real life whos of whooville, that I'm writing that sentence in late December, not the very second that Guy Falkes has been reduced to ashes). And for those with a modicum of good taste and decorum, we are plunged into distress by the fact that the world is suddenly become gaudy: People's jumpers are interactive, tinsel is draped upon things sufficiently stationary to have tinsel draped upon them, and my barista is asking me if I want my coffee to taste of pumpkin (!?).

       This isn't a guest post by Ebenezer Scrooge (quite the opposite, if you read on). These objections are (just barely) my own. The ones I'm more likely to hear from others are along the lines of 'look how we've lost the true meaning of Christmas - it's all Santa and presents now.' Of course, this is mandatorily said in an ironic tone because it's such a cliche by now, but people don't mean it any the less.
       One I heard (genuinely!) the other day was "So, do you think it's a coincidence that 'Santa' is a perfect anagram (is there such a thing as an imperfect anagram?) for 'Satan'?"
(The  answer to that question, if you're wondering, is "Yes, yes I do think it's a coincidence - largely because J.K. Rowling didn't author reality - you need more than an etymology dictionary, GCSE latin and a proclivity to crosswording on Sundays in order to work out who real-life goodies and baddies are.")
       I digress.

Santa knows more about the true meaning of Christmas than you do

If you're over the age of eight, you may want to stop reading - I don't want to spoil anything for you.

Santa Claus is real.
      Of course, you know this - 'St. Nicholas' is the answer to one of the easy warm-up questions to the office 'pub-quiz' painstakingly put together by the most irritatingly keen person who works on the desk opposite you. But, of course, your annual reminder of dear St Nick is soon left in the dust as you are rightly distracted by being forced to contest being unfairly deducted points for saying 'kings' instead of 'wise men'... So it's probably fair to assume that you've never really dwelt on who he is.
      You know, at least, that he's a saint - but this hardly narrows a chap down - the word 'saint' covers all manner of... people. He could be anyone from a 12yr-old French King or an Apostle to a man who lived his whole life on top of a pole or an Anglo-Roman soldier who rescued princesses from dragons. (If you can name all four, then I suppose you must actually be the insufferable pub-quiz guy...and I apologise.)

     As you start to think about it, you could probably make an educated guess from the basic legend of Father Christmas that St Nick was a generous sort of chap, who jollily doled out presents to the poor and had a peculiar penchant for brandy - like a kind of tipsy combination of Robin Hood and Alan Carr.

We can get back to all that though - the best introduction to St Nicholas is at the theological council that met in Nicaea in the year 325.


    I just write stuff like that to sort the wheat from the chaff, so kudos for staying with me - St. Nicholas, or Santa, as we shall now call him, sat through this council (presumably in full red velvet and bobbled regalia) while a man named Arius stood up and began to tell everyone that Jesus was not fully God - he described Jesus as being the first creation of the Father, but of completely different 'substance'. Alarmingly, the majority of those present seemed willing to go along with this. This may sound dull, but this council would determine what the churches across the globe would be teaching for centuries to come (did God come down to man, or did God send someone whom he made?).

      Of course, poor Arius couldn't have known who was in the audience: Jesus's deity is crucial to the message of the incarnation, which is what we celebrate at Christmas...and that's kind of Santa's jam.
     Well, as you may well imagine, Father Christmas was enraged by this (this is all true). He leapt up and smacked Arius in the face (we've been left with a charming mural of the event):

     Santa was dragged off to spend a night in the cells, while Arius held the chamber. Yet, by morning, Emperor Constantine was compelled to have him released and re-present him to the council. Santa walked back in and presented the truth about Jesus. They were persuaded and Arius evicted (huzzah!).

     (I should add, at this point that even though this story is true, that's not why St. Nicholas became Santa... but nonetheless, it's pretty cool that he actually did save Christmas...)

Proportional response

"He's one of us, then!", you cry - he's a doctrine basher who's been mythologised by consumerism!

    Actually no - St. Nick did, we concede, spend some time behind bars for punching a heretic in the face...but let's apply proportion to two points:

i) This is the fourth century - any dealing with a heretic that didn't involve kindling was pretty tame...

ii) He only did it once.
     I know that sounds like a toddlers excuse, but what I mean is that for the rest of his life (both
     before and after this), he was known for backing up his teaching with outrageous generosity and
     love, rather than a closed fist.

     So, if we are to mimic him at this time of year (and we should - because he knows how to Christmas - he literally IS Santa), then we should imitate those proportions.

The seriousish bit 

     What, then, do we say the true meaning of Christmas is? Christ the Lord made himself utterly vulnerable, and, in complete humility, came to bring hope to the hopeless (us).

     D.T. Niles once wrote, in order to combat the assumption that Christians were militaristic doctrine bashers who wanted to foist their beliefs on people, that evangelism is nothing more than 'a beggar telling another beggar where to get free bread'.

      So, here is my Christmas message: if you do find a dangerous heretic waxing lyrical at an historic church council this Christmas, by all means sort him out.
     What's probably more likely, however, is that you come across beggars, both metaphorical and otherwise. What should be an implicit challenge here is for you not to know anyone who is lonely or hungry this Christmas (I know you have space at your table.)

But how about you try not to know anyone who doesn't know the truth about Christmas either?

     The world is hungry: religion marches through it armed to the teeth; no one trusts those in power; and so we claw over one another like scavengers, trying to get that promotion, or research grant or whatever more basic necessity.

     So, my corny Christmas suggestion is that we give people some good news - the humble God-King, borne and born in humility, come to give himself for us, that we might have rest... it'll do for a start.


It's not wrong to give and take presents. And Santa is a hero. (More good news!)

Merry Christmas.

For unto us a child is born,

Unto us a son is given,

And the government shall be upon his shoulder.

And His name will be called

Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace

In defence of looking into the darkness

This piece has been taken down to be published more fully elsewhere.

True Virtue

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by."

Greeks can't spell Hercules

Heracles, in the days of his youth, was walking along a path when he encountered a crossroads. At the entrance to one of the two paths stood Arete, the goddess of virtue and at the entrance to the other was Cacia, the goddess of vice.
Each tried to persuade the hero to endeavour down her path. Cacia offered first - if he would walk her path, he would have wealth and pleasure above and beyond imagination. Arete, though, offered a life of struggle followed by glory.

Heracles chose the path of virtue, and I'm sure disney has given you a fair indication of the type of struggle he had before, at the end of his struggle against Hades, being invited to join the gods on Mt. Olympus.

I hope you don't find all this boring.
So what's my point? My point is that we too have changed our perception of what virtue is. Arete stood for self-sacrifice, kindness, loyalty and everything in between.
But the greeks didn't enjoy the stories about her, (being a goddess of virtue, they tended more toward Little House on the Prairie than the Game of Thrones-style sex and bloody violence that people wanted.)  So they told very few stories about her and the goddess faded into a word - and the word meant virtue. In time, though, due to evolved usage from Homer, and the complicity of translators, it came to mean, not 'virtue', but 'effectiveness'.

Dull bit over. Promise.

Looking into the soul of a society

One can tell rather a lot about the values of a society by words that they change the meaning to. Colloquially, the use of the word 'gay' as a generic insult in the 90's was indicative of the prevalent homophobia that still existed. Similarly, the term husband, for the german-language fans out there, is a genderless term for house(hus) owner(bunda), demonstrative of a patriarchal society - the male spouse must, of course, be the homeowner!

Liberal point-scoring over, my point is that we have overseen a change to what we perceive 'virtue' to be: We regard things as 'virtues' which are completely alien to character and simple accidents of nature.

Not being different

Yet these things are demonstrably key factors in the choosing of our Christian leaders. Charisma, ambition, 'magnetic-personality' - these are the words I hear as future leaders are being considered. Most obvious, I suppose, would be the special regard to intelligence. In reference to character, to comment on a man's intelligence is about as profound as calling him tall.

Don't get me wrong, just as height and strength once made leaders into talismans as we marched into battle, so do charm and intelligence make our pastors into figureheads.
But those battle-leaders were as equipped to wreak havoc as they were to pursue and instil justice.

Quite simply, we shouldn't be looking for figureheads. We need True, humble leaders. And, of course, from that pool of men and women will rise some greats. The fruit will always be of the same DNA as the root.
The Church is no longer distinctive in this regard. We value the same things that the world does.
Leadership is not a virtue, it is a function. A vital function at that - so much so that one in possession of such a gift might be tempted to say to the hand 'I have no need of you'.

To delve into cliche, I wonder which of us would have picked Moses the stammerer as our voice to the most powerful man on earth.
Is it with resignation that we say that Man looks on the outside, but God looks on the heart? That's not God gloating that he has x-ray vision - it's a clear imperative on how we are to choose those who will lead us under God!

No pragmatists here, please

When the Church is weak, as it could be well-argued to be in the UK right now, we are tempted to excuse pragmatism: to, for the sake of the gospel ask fewer questions pertaining to character and holiness of our leaders. We instead look purely for those who can get things done. Who can speak with fluidity and charm. Who are good at networking and have the charisma to draw people in.

None of these are bad things. But none of these are virtues in and of themselves.
Nor are they requirements of leaders.

Ironically, it's the connection with Heracles that I believe led the evolution of the word to be regarding (and I quote) 'manly qualities' and, in time, 'excellence, of any kind'. Paul instructs us to meditate upon ἀρετὴ (arete) - perhaps etymology is not quite what he had in mind, but as a well-Hellenised man, I am mostly certain that he meant 'virtue', rather than 'being good at manly stuff'.
I'd sooner follow a good man than a smart one. This shouldn't even be a dilemma for the Christian. Our victory is assured... all that remains is the manner in which we live, what to do with the time given to us, and whether we will appoint generals of the same calibre as our king.

I have far more to say on this - some of which is in this old post.

Zack Eswine has learned this lesson the hard way and says this:

"To desire to be an overseer is marvellous thing. Aspire to greatness in it! Aspire to frequent the unknown, to bless the unnamed, to lose your fame and your reputation among the influential, in order to take a stand against appearance-making as a way of life and ministry. The woods await you… he will meet you there. Jesus, the famous one." (I've told you to read this book before. Please do)

So here you stand at the crossroads - take off the lumbering armour of your status and ambition, for the road is long.
Load your sling with pebbles. There's a lot of work to be done.

Is the gospel that you present broad enough?

I don't want this to feel like a class. This is actually a very quick post, just to try to get a handle on something. But do me a favour - it'll really help me out. If a friend said, "for my sister to become a Christian, what does she need to know?", how would you answer?

Take a moment.

Another friend. "My sister has severe learning difficulties. What does she need to know in order to be saved?" How do you answer that?

Last question: Apart from perhaps an obviously different tone, were your answers different? Why?

The Broad Gospel

I'm not just having a go. It's not that I've located a new way to make people feel bad about themselves.

Here's what it is - I don't think many of us, if we took our answer to the first question, would be able, using the same categories, to say that a baby can be saved. That someone with Alzheimer's can be saved. Maybe even for some of the answers, just someone with a slightly lower-than-average IQ. And if the Church, God's missional team on earth, is sending out this kind of vibe, then what hope does the world have?

Is it possible that we have allowed Christianity in the UK to be essentially for the educated middle class? Have we tied the gospel to academic thinking only the privileged are given access to?

Luke tells us that the basest understanding required is at least no more complex than realising Jesus' innocence and asking of the Lord: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” 

I have a sincere belief that we do not behave or speak in accordance with this truth.

Keep Defending!

Don't hear what I'm not saying - we must keep defending the doctrines of our faith - they are essential. Those who deny the resurrection should never be allowed to speak from our pulpits; those who oppose atonement, sanctification, the presence and evil of sin shall have no part in pastoral ministry.

But I do wonder if we have spent so long fighting these battles that we've forgotten what we're really here for.And I wonder if we've lost sight of a crucial distinction:

The difference between denying doctrine and not ascribing to it.

There are myriad people who are incapable of ascribing to such doctrines as substitutionary atonement...  because they do not know what it means - such people are not deniers of the faith: I know of old ladies who would say "Oh, I don't know about such things" if you were to ask them of inerrancy; yet I guarantee that the way they read and scour the Scriptures is a truer reaction to the inerrant Word than any zealous young man reading this post possesses. 

I used to go to church with a child with cerebral palsy - one could never quite be sure that he was listening to or understanding when he was spoken to. But he would cry out with such unabashed joy in church when he heard the word 'Jesus', or when we sang hymns, that only a liar could say he did not love the Lord.

Start Preaching!

J.C. Ryle's observation in his book Christian Leaders of the 18th Century, which documented the rise of Christianity in England and Wales during the great revival of the time, was that "they were not ashamed to crucify their style"

Much like today, the majority of the communicators of the gospel were well educated, many of them public-schooled, and had the capacity to intellectually engage and come out with the most profound points, I'm sure, relating the gospel to the teachings of Cicero, Aristotle and whoever else they had encountered in their education.

But that is not what they did - George Whitefield, despite being from humble origins, went from Gloucester's grammar school to Oxford University - yet was to be found years later by the exit to the coal mines, preaching the gospel with such basic zeal, that the miners could be seen with "white gutters made by their tears down their black cheeks."

Archbishop Ussher once said "To make easy things seem hard is easy, but to make hard things easy is the office of a great preacher."

They crucified their style - they spoke plainly and boldly of Christ crucified and raised, of people sinful and forgiven, of the world fallen and destined for being made new.

Ryle said that Whitefield preached a 'singularly pure gospel', 'He was perpetually telling you about your sins, your heart, Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost, the absolute need of repentance, faith and holiness, in the way the Bible presents these mighty subjects. "Oh, the righteousness of Jesus Christ!" he would often say; "I must be excused if I mention it in almost all of my sermons."'

These miners and their families to whom he preached were completely illiterate - the revivalists' schooling would be lost on them...except for the plain duty that came with being able to read the Bible, and communicate its message.

The Broad Shoulders

"Christ died for all"

Do you believe this to be true? Do you behave thus?

Whitefield explains what drew him to dedicating his life to preaching to the poor and base people in England and Wales despite having traveled even as far as America: "Having no righteousness of their own to renounce, they were pleased to hear of Jesus who was a friend to publicans..."

This post will not be convicting to all - there are many brothers and sisters dedicating themselves to preaching the gospel to the poor. (There are also many who have dedicated themselves to preaching to the privileged - and this, too, is good and right - for surely the point of this is that all people need to hear the gospel.)

But my question is, is there anyone whom you think the gospel is not for? Anyone too rich, anyone too stupid, anyone too young; anyone too lacking in cognition? You are wrong. We must crucify this attitude.

Karl Barth, one of the most complex theologians of the last century, whose academic works trouble the brightest of students, was once asked to sum up his life's teachings. He replied 

"Jesus loves me, this I know,

For the Bible tells me so."

These words were also sung at a funeral I attended of a young boy, who had chosen the song himself. Towards the end, he was barely aware of our presence around his bed... but he knew this.

And we will finish with a useful litmus test:

If you don't know how to communicate the gospel to illiterate fishermen... then you do not yet know how to communicate the gospel.

Why Predestination is Good News

As a child, I loved the Greek myths - rural England was far too short of jeopardy for a young boy. Perhaps, had I lived in Australia, the local flora and fauna would have presented enough dangers for me not to retreat elsewhere, but so be it.

For myself, above and beyond the Hydras, Minotaurs, Harpies and Sphinxes, the most terrifying creatures were the Sirens.

These nymphs, who lived on an island, were the most beautiful creatures in the world, and sang so beautifully that all men who heard them could not resist going towards them... such sailors would then be dashed on the rocks and the sirens would devour their flesh.

Only two men ever passed that island alive: One was Odysseus, who so desired to hear the voice of the sirens that he instructed his men to block their ears with beeswax, and lash him firmly to the mast, but with his ears uncovered, as they sailed past.

He was in agony: as he heard the music he strained against the ropes, crying and gurgling, and his wrists and arms were bloodied as they scraped against the knots that held him down.

But he passed the sirens, and reached safety.

Irresistible Grace

The doctrine of irresistible grace is one that has caused great consternation amongst many Christians. The image is one of people being dragged, kicking and screaming into heaven.

C.S. Lewis describes his conversion: 

"You must picture me alone in that room at Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England"

(Surprised by Joy)

Yet, do we think his free will was triumphed over by God? By Him who set two trees in Eden, by Him who returned to His people again and again as they whored themselves to other gods; by Him who made man even while already surrounded by adoring angels? This is no God with an implanted 'believe' switch in the head of every human, but one who bears patiently with those whom he loves.
And we can only love Him because of this.

Let us return to the sirens. The other man to pass them was Jason, along with his Argonauts. The goddess Hera had told him, before he sailed past the sirens, to pick up a man called Orpheus.

As they passed the island and the creatures started to sing, Orpheus pulled out his Lyre and began to play.

The music he played was so sweet, that the sailors sat, entranced, oblivious to the sirens' ever more desperate wailing as the winds took them out of earshot.

This is irresistible grace. Not irresistible strength, nor deceptive allure - but they were exposed to the truest joy, and no longer desired that which brought only death.

Lewis himself said in a paper that God finds our desires "too weak":

"We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea."

So tell me, when I show such a child what the seaside looks like... have I taken his free will away?

Of course not. I have simply opened his eyes and made him a guest of reality.

The choice

Before I go on to further demonstrate why this is good news, I must emphasise also, that it is the only option over and against some severely awful news.

To illustrate, let's play every child's favourite game: asking the question 'Why?' until blood comes out of daddy's ears:

Why are you a Christian and your best friend is not?

Because I believed and trusted Jesus and they didn't

Why?

Because I understood that I was sinful and needed forgiveness and they didn't

Why?

Because I saw that Jesus was perfect and my life was destructive and they didn't

Why?

And so on, and so forth.

Eventually though, you will answer in one of two ways:

a) Because the Spirit opened my wicked heart and turned me t'ward my Saviour

or

b) Because I was humble enough / intelligent enough / good enough to see what I had to do... 

...and they weren't.

Put frankly, there are only two options - predestination, or a gospel of works.

Why does God love you?

(and are you still doing it!?)

Either God is entirely in control of our salvation and draws us to him, or there is something within us that either qualifies or disqualifies us. 

If you can suspend disbelief long enough to imagine that I am married, then I will at least make the story more realistic by asking my wife, "Why do you love me?".

Well, if she answers that she loves me because of my patience, then I live in fear of the fast-approaching day when I will snap at her. Or for my humour, the fast-approaching day when I've used all of my jokes and begin to recycle. Or for my wisdom, the day she witnesses me making a mistake. Or for my body, the day she goes to Specsavers. 

The only way to answer that question is "I just do."

Moving on from my hapless, imaginary wife - how does God answer that question? In the same fashion in which he answered Moses's question of who he is: "I love you because I love you."

If the answer is anything else, then the Christian life becomes all about keeping that thing, that reason he loves you, going.

Odysseus straining against the ropes is not a caricature of irresistible grace, but one of the Christian life without a firm belief in predestination. Martin Luther, before he understood that justification did not come from any of his own merit, realised that he could have no confidence that he had ever done enough - he sinned, and so could have no assurance. In penance he pilgrimmed up the 491 steps of St Peter's basilica on his knees, and, reaching the top, grazed and bloody, knew still that he had no confidence.

If the only call we receive is from the world, then all we can do is strive and strain and grasp at assurance like a fool at the clouds.

Non-belief in predestination and not having assurance does not affect, of course, whether or not you are saved. But I would that all my brothers and sisters, as long as they are on this ship, would listen to that glorious music, rather than bind themselves with worldly knots against worldly pleasures.

Because it is not just the world who calls out to us. Because we are predestined from the dawn of time:

"...and those he predestined he also called; those he called, he also justified, those he justified, he also glorified." (Romans 8:30)

This is perhaps less than half of what I wanted to write on the matter. As well as the caricature of people being dragged kicking and screaming into heaven, there is the equally, if not more, troubling image of them being dragged kicking and screaming into hell. I hope that much of this has dispelled both of these, but I shall be attentive to any comments and glad to continue the conversation.

Left-handed glory, crappy idols, and the Burning of the Word

(Editorial note: all references to poo in this article have been stolen from Mike Reeves. All credit to him for his extensive research on the matter.)

Today's post is just some (slightly rushed) story-telling. I shall try to make it worth your while. I suppose it's a story remix.

Two stories

One rarely hears of 'Left-handed Leo Da vinci', 'Julius Caesar the left-handed' or 'Barack Obama the left-wing leftie'. This is because it's a fairly incidental point to make about someone - a lot of people are left-handed.

But, in Judges 3, that's pretty much the only thing we're told about our hero:

Ehud, a left-handed man, was a judge in Israel.
The people had been subject to the rule of Eglon, the fat Moabite king for eighteen years, and he had filled their land with idols.
For those eighteen years, the Israelites wept while Eglon grew fat off their land, yet still they persisted in disobedience and idolatry.
When the Israelites finally turned to God for help, He sent them Ehud who went to the king, claiming to have a word from God. The king's servants left him, and Ehud, with his left hand, reached into his robe and pulled out a 'two-edged sword' and stabbed the king.
The Bible tells us that the sword went deep into the king's belly, the fat closed over the hilt and "the excrement came out."

Apologies.
But it does say that.

Then he ran back past the idols, gathered the Israelite army and marched them to victory.

So, why mention that Ehud was left-handed? Surely this is an inconsequential fact? (If anything it was an advantage - these guys wrote right to left - no smudging!!)

Well, the only thing more frustrating than a man who answers his own questions is a man who answers questions with a story...:

According to Livy's legend, in 508bc Gaius Mucius was a young Roman soldier during the Etruscan siege of Rome. The senate, desiring to end the siege quickly, sent him out in the dead of night to assassinate Porsena, the king of the Etruscan city of Clusium. 

Alas, despite successfully finding the king's tent unhindered, he killed the king's secretary who was close by and in similar clothes. 

Immediately he was captured and the king demanded he be burned alive at the altar unless he betray Rome's battle plans.

At this, Mucius said: "[This is so] that you may see how cheap they hold their bodies whose eyes are fixed upon great glory."

With that he thrust his right hand into the flame and watched the flesh burn off.

The king was so impressed by this act of defiant loyalty that he freed him.

He was known from then on as Gaius Mucius Scaevola. Scaevola means 'left-handed'.

Name-calling

The reason Ehud is described as left-handed is that he was crippled. As with Gaius Mucius, calling someone left-handed, historically is not a comment about how they play tennis or why they might appear to be slightly more artistic, or why the nuns at their school didn't like them... it just means that they do not have a functioning right-hand.

So this was why Ehud was called 'left-handed'. An innuendo, I suppose, for 'definitely not right-handed'.

Maybe a bit harsh, but the Israelites really had a thing for name calling. At the beginning of this chapter, they refer to king 'Cushan-rishathaim' which means 'Cushan...of double wickedness'. 

They wanted history to remember him as he was, so they wrote it into his name.

They do the same with idols and foreign gods: 

In 1 Kings, Chemosh and Molek are both described as the 'dung' of the Moabites.

(our bibles have politely been translated as 'detestable' instead of 'dung')

In 2 Kings, Jehu destroys the temple of Baal and turns the site into a loo

("...and made it a latrine to this day.")

Baal's name (which simply means 'Lord' is extended to Baal Zebub (Beelzebub), which means 'Lord of the flies' - no prizes for guessing what that meant.

Words will never hurt me

King Eglon had filled the land of Israel with these 'detestable' idols, and it certainly seemed as though the Israelites were worshiping them.
And detestable is the word - Molek, for instance, was a god who demanded child-sacrifices.

Ehud went forth into this, armed with the double-edged sword which he described to Eglon as 'a message (literally translated: a 'word') of God'.

He stabbed the king and all the dung came out. The double edged sword cut away the idols from the land of Israel.

And, while we consider how deliberately strange descriptions are used - this is how the writer of Hebrews describes the Scriptures:

"For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart."

Sticks and Stones

It is no surprise then, that this powerful Word has been sought to be stopped many times in history.
William Tyndale, (a pupil at my alma mater), translated the Bible into English when it was illegal to do so, as it weakened the hold the Catholic church had over the people.
Many who supported the publication of the English Bible were killed.

Anyone found with a copy of Tyndale's Bible was burned along with the book.

There are many martyrs dotted throughout history, crucified, stoned, and burned at the stake.
Today is the anniversary of the martyrdom of Cranmer, a left-handed man, who was burned at the stake on the 21st March 1556, twenty years after Tyndale's death.

He should have been burned months earlier with Latimer and Ridley, but had recanted his faith and submitted to the pope, declaring that only through the Catholic Church could one be saved, signing numerous documents to this effect. He was right-handed, so signed with his right hand.

Despite this, Queen Mary decided to make an example of him and rescheduled his execution. He was allowed, being penitent of his Protestantism, to preach one last time.
But the sermon he preached begged forgiveness from God for being so weak as to deny him. He said that his right hand would burn first, that which had signed away his faith in the Word.

He was dragged from the pulpit to the pyre and burned. 

He shouted out: "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. I see the heavens open and Jesus standing at the right hand of God."

Then, true to his word, he thrust his hand into the flames and watched it wither away.

Thus, all idolatry and cowardice cut away by the Word, he died a left-handed man.

That's the end of my story remix. I told you so that you may know how cheap they hold their bodies whose eyes are fixed on God's glory.

Responding to Depression - Eliphaz, Bildad and other Evangelicals

I'm not being fussy...

I should be up front from the off - I have been accused in the past, probably rightly, of being overly persnickety about the songs we sing. I'm the slightly tedious person who thinks people should be taught what is meant by 'Ebenezer' before they avow to raise theirs.

That's by the by. What I'm saying is that this objection is different. If you disagree with the pedantic zealots who want to over analyse to the nth degree, then this article is still for you.
The lyrics I want to focus on, from the song 'Trust and Obey' aren't just objectionable - they're a severe lie that oppresses the most vulnerable people in our congregations:

"Not a doubt nor a fear, not a sigh nor a tear

Can abide while we trust and obey"

It sounds so beautiful, doesn't it? It's like Revelation 21...except sooner!
I sigh and weep daily - and now there's an answer - a solution before Christ returns!: I need to obey more. I need to trust more.

Oh the sweet bliss of an impossible imperative placed over the tragic disposition of depression!

I don't feel I need particularly to labour the point: It's a fairly obvious lie, once pointed out. Aside from Jesus's tears and sighs in Gethsemene during the ultimate act of obedience, and aside from the disciples pharisaic question, "Who sinned, this man or his parents?" ; we know that suffering comes upon the righteous while the wicked prosper.

Crushing the weak

I know and have known many brothers and sisters who suffer from depression, who are too ashamed to admit it to other Christians let alone their church leaders.
It is, in our minds, an 'unchristian' illness - a sign of weak faith.

Having beef with precious old hymns like 'Trust and Obey" may seem like pedantry, but it contains an attitude that must be mortified within the Church.

Bildad says to repent and be cured.
Eliphaz says he brings it upon himself.
Zophar says it should be worse.

Maybe you, like me, have heard sermons like this:

"Now, when we are told to take 'joy' in our sufferings, it doesn't mean that we should be happy when we suffer (*Christian chuckle*). It means that underlying our sadness and suffering should be a happiness in the gospel."

Now that; that is a profound description of how the depressed man experiences despair.

I can be with my the people I love most in the world, drinking a pint in a sunny beer garden, surrounded by beautiful St Andrews... yet underlying that happiness is a dark despondency.

What irony it is that the most conservative amongst us have the tendency to point us to a 'base emotion'!
Fear not, Rowling has the actual answer.

Escaping Azkaban

"They don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought."

This is J.K. Rowling's description of the wizard prison, Azkaban, in her third installment in the Harry Potter series. It could not be a more perfect analogy for depression:
The guards, dementors, as they're called, feasted upon happiness, crippling their prisoners.

One person, though, escaped from this prison of thought.
Sirrius Black explained how he escaped - "I knew I was innocent... that wasn't a happy thought, so the dementors couldn't suck it out of me... but it kept me sane and knowing who I am."

Where happiness could not be found, clinging to a Truth gave sanity...and even hope.

Our trials do not ebb and flow, (praise God!), along with our trust and obedience.
Our hope comes not from our own thoughts or actions, but the Truths, contained in the Word, which the Spirit whispers and shouts to our souls. Our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness (how much less indeed is my trust and obedience!)

Now raise your Ebenezer!

Two years ago, I was sent a copy of  John Piper's 'When the Darkness will not lift'. The note inside read:

"At my darkest moments...this book pointed me to truths that I couldn't even see.
For when we feel lost in darkness, the truth is, we're never alone... and we're never lost."
When you have no hope - look to Truth!

And now let me tell you what it means to raise your Ebenezer:

In 1Samuel 7, the Israelites, having forsaken their idols, are fighting against mighty Philistine armies. They sacrifice in obedience to God, and "the LORD thundered with a mighty sound against the Philistines and threw them into confusion."

Then Samuel takes a stone and 'set[s] it up' and calls it 'Ebenezer', which means 'stone of help'. 

He explains the name: "Til now the Lord has helped us."

So, if you are depressed - raise your Ebenezer - 'til now He has helped you. 2000 years ago he was pierced, crushed and hung on a cross - in love for you.

And He says to His people "Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you."

There is your Truth. It is a greater gift than any happiness I could possibly offer.

And of course, I am not saying that there is no happiness to be found in looking to the cross. It is a fountain of delight. But when drought dries up all happiness from our thoughts, the dry fountain remains a beautiful statue albeit pierced with inexplicable holes.

It will spout again. One day there will be no more death, mourning, crying or pain. You will smile again. Until then, the dying Saviour says 'I love you', and the risen Saviour says 'Hope in me.'

Til now, the Lord has helped us.

Tolkien's Talking: Theology of Glory vs Theology of the Cross

A short post - but not a 'filler'. [EDIT: It was short at some point!] I haven't blogged for a while, mostly because I've been busy turning my life upside down. This post is in some degree inevitably introspective, but I hope it is not indulgent. 

I read rather a lot of theology (to the point of indulgence) - but every now and again some of it breaks through and actually serves to change how I live: Martin Luther dichotomised two theologies - the theology of glory and the theology of the cross. 

Theology of Glory

Forde explains that a theology of  glory assumes "that what we need is optimistic encouragement, some flattery, some positive thinking, [and] some support to build our self-esteem."

A theology of glory, when looking at going into ministry, will look at gifting and appearance - will affirm, as it were, the incidentals of who we are. A theology of glory will allow a 'calling' or 'gifting' (not to equate the two!) to supercede any defects in character or lack of maturity - to go forward immediately, armed with gifts, and try to achieve for the kingdom.

This theology believes that God's workers must be strong and self-confident. That we should show God's power through our own.

Luther says that the theologian of glory "does not know God hidden in suffering. Therefore he prefers works to suffering, glory to the cross, strength to weakness, [and] wisdom to folly"

If you allow this not to be trite, it won't be: Gandalf explains these theologies:

Theology of the Cross

This is how Luther describes 'Cross theology': "Through the cross, works are dethroned and the 'old Adam', who is especially edified by works, is crucified. It is impossible for a person not to be puffed up by his 'good works' unless he has first been deflated and destroyed by suffering and evil until he knows that he is worthless and that his works are not his but God's."

The theology of the cross is foolishness to the world. It says that humility and humiliation come before glory.

The theology of the cross remembers two things plainly - one: that we bring nothing. We are sinful and simple folk.

Secondly, it remembers that Jesus, because he was in his very nature God, did not cling to his equality with God, but instead went in all obedience and humility to death - even the most humiliating of deaths. And thus he was glorified (Philippians 2:6-11). 

I wonder if this will ever fully seep in for me; though I sincerely pray that it will. 

The bit where I talk about me

A couple of years ago, I had to leave university for a while because I was ill (I later packed it in altogether). My friends had all given me a lovely send-off, but one, instead, wrote a letter and sent it first class to my home so that the next day, when I woke up, literally hundreds of miles from where I wanted to be, and was feeling thoroughly sorry for myself,  then the post would arrive.

The letter told the story of Isaac Watts - who had to give up his ministry because of ill-health. But his writings and hymns in that time were the lasting parts of his ministry - affecting Dodderidge and thus William Wilberforce. That was what I chose to listen to, walked straight to my desk and got reading and writing (I haven't really stopped since).

But I found the letter again, buried in my bureau, about six months ago and read two sentences that I'd chosen to forget. "I'm not saying that the reason for your illness is that God is going to use you in the same way. Be open to what the Lord may have to teach you and how He may want to prepare you and refine you."

I was not. What I could have learned in that time was lost in a desire to prove myself.

I'm partly writing this because of a chance reading this morning of this in a letter written by John Keats: "Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul"

You can walk into a room and put on a sticker that says 'Chief of Theologians' or claim in your private thoughts to be 'Chief of Preachers' - however deluded these things may or may not be, the substantive point is that they are irrelevant. 

The minister's job is for the 'Chief of Sinners'. 

A Halfling's Call

I can flit between the Boromirs and Faramirs - between self-confidence (achieving) and self-doubt (proving); and I do. It is men, you'll remember, who are most easily seduced by the power of the ring.

But some way down the road, the theology of glory will lead to a sudden, crippling realisation that we 'can't do it'. If you can abide with a second Tolkien video - this will give you shivers - Frodo says he 'can't do this' - Sam says 'I know'... 

We do this because it's good and right; not because we are strong and good. Because we cling to goodness. 

I read a book recently that another friend had sent me (- I think with the sole purpose of kicking my backside). It mentioned a man whom I've looked up to for many years:

"In his living room with tea, I once asked Jerram why he hadn't written more books over the years... I told him how so many of us longed to hear more from him and want to learn more. Pausing and shrugging his shoulders, he smiled broadly... What he said put ministry ambition and the doctrine of creation into perspective. "I'd like to write more," he said, "but I really enjoy my garden.""

(Buy the book)

Whether to be Samwise the gardener, a bloke on the rigs, a barista or barrister, or, for some, to become ministers straight away in life,  we will none of us be in a position for ministry while we are men. It's a Halfling's call. 

Slavery, Poverty, and the Bible's hidden code to get rich.

This is a broad-sweeping post. I will write more in the future on all of these things. I just want to create a platform first: looking at the voices of those who cry against their pain and shame, the voices of those who say it doesn't matter, and the voice of Jesus, who identifies with one of these to the extent that he says he is them.

There is a joy that our generation experiences that our parents and grandparents never knew. A flutter of the heart, an affirmation of identity:

Taking the buzzfeed quiz... and being told your personality is the same as that most admirable of fictional characters.

I have amassed a collective heroic identity of Gandalf, Sherlock, Chandler, Ned Stark and many others. 

I know what you're thinking - how could such a wise, smart, witty and downright good man even exist? What can I say? (I missed out that I've also been ascribed the race of orc and been sorted into Hufflepuff)

Slavery

Anyway, welcome to my '12 years a slave' quiz:

Congratulations. You are Benedict Cumberbatch.

(So was I. Yay!)

If you haven't seen it (do!) then let me explain. Cumberbatch is a pretty good chap. He buys a violin for his slave, treats him with some dignity, clearly hates a lot of aspects of slavery (except the product of his industry), and tries to protect his slave from violence...

...At least, he tries to protect him from violence on his own land. I'm trying to use as few spoilers as possible. Benedict's character is faced with a situation where his hired hand wants to kill a slave. He 'protects' the slave - not by giving him freedom - but by selling him to someone who he admits he knows is a hard and wicked master.

But the suffering will be out of sight. Benedict's conscience is suitably protected.

Perhaps you know now where I'm going. I'm sorry I tricked you - I lured you in with the promise that you're like the most devilishly handsome, deep-voiced, dreamy Englishman ever to walk the earth. 

What I'm suggesting is that we've come a long way since we thought slaves working the land was a fine sight. In fact, we hate the sight of it. Eugh! No, no. We've moved our slavery far away from us. To other countries, where we don't feel the jabs of conscience, only the comfy tread of slave-made trainers, the creamy taste of poverty-picked coffee. I am not judging you. We are all trapped in this - we don't know which companies use slave/crimilly low-waged labour - because it's not their priority to reveal these things - it's up to us consumers to create a situation where they can't afford not to let us know that they pay their workers. 

Just like we've created a market where companies will proudly declare their food 'organic' and know that we'll pay more and buy more of it. Eggs are 'free-range' and jumpers are '100% cashmere'. 

Maybe we could create a market where they'll sell more if they 'didn't abuse humans and increase the suffering of the desperate'. Not a catchy label, but you'd almost hope it goes without saying - I mean, we were indignant when we found out we'd been eating horse! Surely knowing that people aren't abused in the process of getting our stuff, is more important even than knowing if our food says 'moo' or 'neigh'?

I could finish off the post and drum it in. But I don't think it necessary and I can't tell you anything else. I can tell you that at the end of this slavery survey,  you will be hyperbolically told how many slaves personally work for you (which they demonstrably don't), but you will also see just how pervasive the problem is. And it will show you which companies to petition. That's the stage we're at - we can't just end it - we need to transform this entire, hellish market.

Poverty

That seems heavy enough, but I want to talk more broadly about poverty.

It has become fashionable for the ostensibly conservative Christians to pretend that we are not called to care about such things. There is no mandate for social justice, we are told. The world will one day burn, and all that will be left is the saved - those who know Christ. Therefore all that matters is evangelism? We care not for the temporary suffering of those destined for eternal suffering. Is that not simply white-washing a tomb - putting a sticky plaster on an open wound? The thing we need to do is make sure we 'get heaven'. 

There are many, many problems with that. I shall write more on it in the future.

For now, we shall say simply that it is surely the devil's jackpot if we both ignore suffering and decide that what we want is heaven, not Jesus. We become the Pelagians, but without the good deeds.

Because if we love Jesus (as opposed to 'paradise'), then we shall clothe and feed the naked and hungry. It's really entirely that simple. We long for Christ, not 'heaven'. This is the gospel - that we are no longer slaves, but sons of God. Not slaves to sin, but children who copy their father.

It's Islam that promises heaven: 72 virgins (or white raisins, depending on your translation), but Allah is nowhere to be seen. The glory of eternity is the presence of the Christ that we love. And the Christ that we love says that to ignore the poor is to ignore him (Matthew 25).

The 'code'

You will notice that I'm zooming out: slavery, to poverty, to the general call to compassion and holiness. 

The problem is that poverty is now invisible. Even 'visible' poverty (I live in Edinburgh - there is a LOT of it) is invisible to us, because we are inoculated against it: The other day I was walking back from work, at 10pm on a Friday. It was freezing. There was a group of girls ready to go out, queuing to get into a club. One of them had such cold hands that she put one on the back of another's neck and she squealed and giggled at the shock. Directly beneath them - there was perhaps a foot of distance between them - sat a beggar, huddled against the same biting frost.

The cold was but a gimmick. Poverty was a gimmick. There was an invisible man next to them. 

More on all of that at a later date. For now, I must make clear that this is not a judgemental post - I have walked past coatless, gloveless and hungry people enough times as to utterly shame me. But I also don't want to forget to give you the Biblical code for riches before I finish!!

"Give all you have. Your reward is in heaven."

Suffering - I don't believe you

In the CU world, 'Mission's weeks' are kicking off all over the country.

Thousands of students will be hearing about Jesus Christ - particularly in lunchbars - What he has to offer, why he's the only way, whether he takes away freedom... and does he have a satisfactory response to suffering?

The latter is what I want to think about today.
Forgive me for it being rather a lazy post: there's a lot of quotation.

Don't book Johnny Cash for a lunchbar

In one of my favourite films, Walk the Line, Johnny Cash finds himself face to face with Sam Phillips, the rock 'n' roll producer, to audition for a label.

It is utterly cringeworthy to hear which song he goes for: He refers to it as gospel - it's trite, tacky, and (to its credit) true ("Yes I know that Jesus saved me" (mumbled echo: "saved mah soul") The very moment he forgave me ("gave me hope")). If you really want to hear what it sounds like, here's the link - feel free to listen as you read, but I beg of you not to put yourself through the whole thing.

Don't worry - Sam Phillips couldn't listen to it all either and stops him.

Cash is not pleased:

"Well, what's wrong with the way I sing it?"

"I don't believe you."

"You saying I don't believe in God!?"

"You know exactly what I'm telling you. We've already heard that song a hundred times...just like that, just like how you sang that...If you was hit by a truck and you were lying out in that gutter dying...and you had time to sing one song, one song people would remember before you're dirt... one song that would let God know what you felt about your time here on earth... one song that would sum you up... you telling me that's the song you'd sing? About your peace within and how it's real and how you're gonna shout it? 
Or would you sing something different? Something real, something you felt? Because I'm telling you right now... that's the kind of song people want to hear. That's the kind of song that truly saves people"

Tell the Truth

This is how I've felt so often while listening to talks on suffering - I think "I don't believe you."
It's not that I don't believe that the speaker believes in God. Nor even that I don't believe there's genuine philosophical and theological merit to his points.

But I don't believe that when his parents die, he'll comfort his sister with the words "Adam brought God's wrath onto himself and all his descendants" (true though it may be).

I don't believe that when his wife dies he will tearlessly commit her into God's hands - he knows she's saved - why on earth be sad?

Please do not misunderstand me - there is truth in these...and a place for them in evangelism. But in this form they do not speak truly into the situation. They do not replace the lies of a despairing heart with the joys that come from Truth.

We have allowed the world's philosophy to take the lead on this. Christians now reflect the stoicism that is the last port of pseudo-comfort for the humanist. We say that death does not matter. It's part of life. It's the natural cycle and the good news for the Christian is that we get more life afterwards - Life-death-eternal life.

But there's an imposter, right in the middle. Death does not belong in this world. And we give it such a kingly status - did ever a pretender last so long when all who encountered him wept at his existence? When everyone knew instinctively that he did not belong?
Yet still we bow the knee and admire the emperor's lovely new clothes:

A while back, I was speaking to a Christian friend who'd just lost a family member. After a long, tearful conversation, he got up and I will never forget what he said next. 

He shrugged and forced a smile. "Still, ashes to ashes, dust to dust and all that, eh?"

It was downright bizarre - he was cheering himself up with the curse that God had put upon humanity! Is that the voice of comfort!?: "Don't worry, God's cursed us"?

Circle of Life

This is as bizarre as the joy the impala seem to have while singing 'Circle of Life' in The Lion King - Dudes! You get EATEN!!

Because we, as a culture, having no other apparent way to deal with death, have developed an entirely pagan Stockholm syndrome toward death. We celebrate it - 'Look! look, how beautiful: life gives way to life!'
Aside from the somewhat unlikely scenario of a gazelle taking joy in the fact that, even if she does get mauled today, at least the grass she ate yesterday possibly took nutrients from a lion that died of old age; it is perverse to think there is aught but tragedy in a mother dying in childbirth (which is surely the ultimate image for this philosophy) or to expect to see the war widows dancing among the poppies in those fertilised fields?

Death is a wickedness, even in light of the resurrection. The resurrection sheds light on just how evil death really is.

Let us, just to finish, look at two occasions where Jesus came across death. The first is surely a joyful one - Jesus' friend has just died...but Jesus has the power to raise him, and is going to. So, in the full knowledge of the resuscitation of his beloved friend, and full confidence in the ultimate sting-lessness of death, how does he react? 

An angry cry:

"Jesus wept."

The good news

This second occasion will hopefully caveat some of the things you were slightly afraid that I might be saying.

I'm not saying that the gospel isn't quite as good news as we thought. Quite the contrary. I'm saying that life, death and everything in between serve as a constant reminder of the need for our awaited joy - the return of the King. 

That the gospel deals with the problem, it doesn't just say there isn't one.

Here it is, - the Cross - John Stott will take it from here:

“In the real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it? I have entered many Buddhist temples in different Asian countries and stood respectfully before the statue of the Buddha, his legs crossed, arms folded, eyes closed, the ghost of a smile playing round his mouth, a remote look on his face, detached from the agonies of the world.

But each time, after a while I have had to look away. And in imagination I have turned instead to the lonely, twisted, tortured figure on the cross, nails through hands and feet, back lacerated, limbs wrenched, brow bleeding from thorn pricks, mouth dry and intolerably thirsty, plunged in God-forsaken darkness.

That is the God for me! He laid aside His immunity to pain. He entered our world of flesh and blood, tears and death. He suffered for us. Our sufferings become more manageable in the light of His. There is still a question mark against human suffering, but over it we stamp another mark, the cross which symbolizes divine suffering: The Cross of Christ..."

I suppose all I'm saying is, remember, when you preach the gospel to hurting hearts, when you talk to your friends after a lunchbar - If you're answering the question of suffering with dry eyes... then you haven't answered the question.

Wisdom and Folly – The Christian Worldview

Every time we have a conversation, whenever we read a book, watch a film, or even an advert - our worldview is affected - either by direction or confirmation.

Allow me a sentence of dullness while I define - Jim Sire describes a person's worldview as:
"A set of presuppositions (which may be true, partially true, or entirely false) which we hold (consciously or unconsciously; consistently or inconsistently) about the basic make-up of this world."

It is our worldview that dictates the 'assumed truths' we hold - the instinctive, and rarely thought through, socio-philosophical positions ("Sexuality definitely is/isn't genetically decided") bizarre platitudes ("I think you should be true to yourself") or simply snap judgements (TV personality arrested...).

The idea behind this blog is to engage with the assumed ‘truths’ that lie within our worldview – those that lurk unchallenged in our minds because they are so deeply set. First, though, this post is about how to do that, and why it's important.

Listening to the voices

The place I want to start is at perhaps one of the most ill/mis-used verses in the Bible:

“Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?”

egularlysm fiction

ion - Who'worth thus: od e and adopt and hold them  oceans of the revealed Word of God.

ty with 'Does this simply mean that we’re playing topsy-turvy? That if the world says something is wise, then it’s foolish; if it says something’s beautiful, it’s ugly and so forth?

Certainly not! What it means is that God has actually spoken – and that the Creator’s folly is surely wiser than the created’s wisdom (1Cor 1:25).

What I’m saying is that it matters hugely who it is who's speaking - who issues  the ‘wisdom’. That we may have a more fruitful discernment if we judge the safety of the water by the source, rather than the sweetness.

Two examples

A few years ago, I decided to start reading Seneca’s letters. I had kept coming across him in my reading: the old Christian theologians seemed to love him, despite the fact that he was a pagan philosopher: Saints Augustine and Jerome quoted him regularly, and Tertullian referred to him as ‘saepe noster’ (‘often one of us’).

I read. I loved it. There is ink all over my copy. He had so much wisdom. He reflected the Bible’s call to be wary of vice when defences were low, he echoed St. Paul’s warning not to be blown around by the winds of doctrine, He talked of the importance of friendship and unity with ‘moral men’. It seemed that there was so much we could learn from him. I felt myself becoming wiser and more learned as I read.

But, here again, I should have remembered that if a well has two sources, the purity of one stream does not guarantee the purity of the other. The shared destination of Seneca’s and Paul’s writings did not indicate the same holy source.

It was not until I had waded through to his 48^th letter that I reached the poison in the stream.

He wrote:

“For that is what Philosophy has promised me – that she will make me God’s equal. That’s the invitation and that’s what I’ve come for; be as good as your word.”

I’m sure many of you are ahead of me by now. The promise to become God’s equal? The wisdom-quest that I had joined Seneca on was one to be like God and know good from evil. There was no trueness of purpose in this oldest of sins.

We are all too easily duped in this way - The serpent in the garden said ‘Take and eat’. He promises you will be like God.

Jesus says at supper ‘Take and eat’. He promises you will be with God. That you will be made righteous.

Look who’s talking

Look beyond the words to the speaker. Any man, good or wicked can drip honey from his lips, (Prov. 5:3; Ps. 119:103) but there is but one source that gives only Grace and Truth.

This blog will explore ideas and assumptions that we see and adopt, coming from both the press and the pulpit. It will hold them against the sharp blade of Scripture and assess their worth by asking the question – ‘Who’s talking – Christ, or the Serpent?’

I am absolutely not going against ‘common grace’ – there are no doubts in my mind that the world can produce truth and beauty – but I am saying that if you are fishing for Truth – cast your net into the calm oceans of the revealed Word of God, rather than the stormy ponds of the fallible human mind - the catch will be far greater.

“For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.”