Before the Lord

I was writing a Bible study yesterday on Psalm 30. David is quite the exuberant worshiper in that Psalm, shouting with joy in the morning (30:5…his son had wisdom in writing Proverbs 27:14), dancing (30:11), and singing praise (30:12). I went back to David’s most famous dancing moment, when he was bringing the ark back to Jerusalem.

“David was dancing before the LORD with all his might” (2 Samuel 6:14).

Perhaps it’s the alliteration, but I’ve heard the phrase “dance like David” a lot in my life, both as a song lyric and as a teaching about worship. I remember reading quite a bit about worship when I was a worship leader. Dancing, raising hands, standing, kneeling, bowing, laying prostrate, eyes open, eyes shut, looking up, looking down, singing, etc. – these were the biblical examples of worship posture and expression. I remember reading several times that the only posture not mentioned in connection with worship was sitting. That is why, it was explained, we stand when we worship or read the Word or pray.

That’s not exactly accurate.

I kept reading past 2 Samuel 6 into the next chapter. I read about David’s desire (2 Samuel 7:1-7), the Lord’s covenantal response (7:8-17). Then I saw something that I’ve read many times but completely missed.

“Then David the kind went in and sat before the LORD, and he said, ‘Who am I, O Lord GOD, and what is my house, that You have brought me this far?’” (7:18; paralleled in 1 Chronicles 17:16).

This is an overwhelming, humbled awe at the graciousness and greatness of God’s purpose concerning him.

I have to say, I’m been held by that phrase “sat before the LORD” since reading it yesterday. It’s not as alliterative as “dance like David,” but it seems to speak to something just as powerful. We see this depth even when David is dancing, of course. In Psalm 30, “soul” (30:12) is כָבֹוד, literally, “glory.” David’s praise, which has the exuberance of dancing, also has a weight to it (כָבֹוד has the idea of weight, or worth). Since David promises to “give thanks…forever,” his praise has a continuation beyond this life. As Derek Kidner observes, “the praise, which has the effervescence of dancing, has also depth to it, and persistence.” So, don’t think I’m accusing David of shallow praise when he dances. I am saying that dancing is not the only expression of David-like praise.

Think about that phrase: sitting “before the LORD.” The stillness and lack of outward exuberance is opposite of the tendency of contemporary worship to lean into the showy and dramatic. There’s something there, I think. Worship is primarily for the edification of the Church (I believe that's what 1 Corinthians 14; Ephesians 5; Colossians 3 teaches), but it is still done in the presence of the God of the Church. The first line of David’s prayer (2 Samuel 7:18) is enough to give you a sense of the weightiness the king was feeling at the awesomeness of God. Read the rest of the prayer. It’s praise, too. David the dancer praised just as deeply simply by sitting. Let’s make sure we take in all the biblical data before we make assumptions about what “real” praise and worship is. Raising hands, shouting, closing your eyes, and, I suppose, even dancing…yes.[1] But don’t leave out sitting “before the LORD,” and certainly don’t judge anyone worshiping in a different posture than you are. Some Christians squirm at others raising their hands or shouting, and some Christians judge those who are sitting in worship. When we do, we’re missing the point.

“David was dancing before the LORD with all his might” (2 Samuel 6:14).

“David the king went in and sat before the LORD” (2 Samuel 7:18).

What preposition phrase do these verses share?

That’s the point.

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[1] I tend to be a regulative principle of worship (RPW) kind of guy; if it’s not in Scripture, I don’t think it needs to be in worship. However, a lot of folks who hold to RPW seem like they omit many postures and expressions of worship that are clearly found in the Old Testament. We need to be regulated by all of Scripture, not just the parts that make us comfortable or fit our cultural mold. I personally prefer high liturgy, since 1 Corinthians 14 calls for order, accountability, and “guardrails” for worship. That doesn’t mean we ignore the rest of the testimony of Scripture, however.

Reading Challenge, Book 3

The third book of Tim Challies’ reading challenge for 2019 is an historical book. I chose Michael Kruger’s Christianity at the Crossroads: How the Second Century Shaped the Future of the Church (IVP Academic, 2018). I’ve read his Canon Revisited: Establishing the Origins and Authority of the New Testament Books (Crossway, 2012); I really appreciated his thought process on the issue of the history of the canon. I also enjoy reading his blog, got my post-grad from the seminary where he’s president, etc. You get it: I’m a fan.

That being said, there’s something about either his writing style or the flow of his writing that makes engaging it feel like work. It did get easier as the book went along, which tells me the problem’s probably in my head and I needed to adapt. Also, there seemed to be a lot of repetition of facts and assertions; almost makes me wonder if there’s a scarcity of data but there was a certain expectation concerning the length of the book.

There were two major areas of the book that really interested me: the second-century Church’s alienation from Greco-Roman (and Jewish) culture, and their practice of reading Scripture aloud in gathered worship.

In the introduction, Kruger points the reader toward his conviction concerning the relevance of studying the second-century Church: “…we need to learn (again) what it means to be the Church when we lack social or political standing. And that is something that, sadly, has been largely forgotten” (pg. viii). He’ll say this again at the end of the book. There, Kruger summarizes the most relevant observations in three key points. I won’t give away all three points, but will offer one: “…modern Christians need to learn again how to be a prophetic voice in the midst of a hostile world where the Church lacks substantial cultural influence or power” (pg. 230). As I was reading about the opposition the Church faced in the second-century culture, I felt like I was reading Revelation. In U.S. society, we’ve fooled ourselves into thinking we’re being persecuted when Starbucks doesn’t print “Merry Christmas” on its cups, but we’ll cheer when a celebrity or politician throws us a bone and gives lip-service to a Gospel-lite (or Gospel-less) “Christianity.” We’ve put our trust in being culturally dominant and having power and influence according to the world’s standards. The tide has shifted. We need to know how to be a Church that has only Jesus on its side.

The oddness of Christians compared to the greater Greco-Roman culture was continually highlighted throughout the book

• “…Christianity’s commitment to exclusive monotheistic worship of Jesus was viewed as not only culturally peculiar and intellectually wanting, but also as politically subversive and a threat to the stability of the Roman state…it is worth noting that this particular feature of second-century Christianity makes it especially relevant for the modern reader of this volume” (pg. 6).

• “…the members of the early Jesus movement were, to some extent, cultural misfits. Even though Christians, as a whole, led quite ordinary lives, their distinctive religious commitments and ethical practices rapidly alienated them from the surrounding Jewish and Greco-Roman worlds…followers of Christ were viewed by the state as subversive and dangerous” (pg. 40).

• “…it was Christianity’s exclusivism that was at the heart of the Roman objection to its existence” (pg. 43).

• “…the exclusiveness of Christian worship in the second century is precisely the feature of early Christianity that led the Romans to perceive the new movement as a threat to the social-political stability of the Roman Empire. Since religious devotion to the gods was woven into almost every aspect of Roman life, it was impossible for Christians to avoid participating in such activity without drawing (negative) attention to themselves. Christian monotheism was therefore perceived as anti-social, anti-religious, and downright hostile to the Roman Empire” (pg. 95).

• “…for second-century Roman citizens, Christianity’s refusal to participate in the public cults meant (at least in their eyes) that Christianity was anti-religious” (pg. 45). As we read in the Martyrdom of Polycarp, Christians were labelled “atheists” (9.2,3).

Of course, the question of how much we are to be “in the world” is one that will never be answered to everyone’s satisfaction (I can’t even answer it to my own satisfaction). The path of least resistance is the one that conforms to the world as much as possible. Sometimes we use the excuse of evangelism and being “winsome” to the culture, but let’s be honest: often we just don’t want to appear different because of our obedience to Christ.

The sections on the reading of Scripture in gathered worship were interesting. I’ve always felt that a wide variety of Scripture should be read in worship services. Seeing this practice in the second-century Church underscored this for me. Yes, the Lord’s Supper was the most prominent part of Christian worship then (I wish it were more prominent now), but the reading aloud of Scripture was the meat of the worship meal.

Irenaeus regarded “mistakes in public reading as a potential path to heresy” (pg. 170). I remember watching a preacher on television several years ago. In his tradition, he would call on people to read text throughout the progress of his sermon. He would simply say, “read,” and the assigned person would do just that. I noticed something curious about the way the person was reading. The emphases were really odd. Finally, looking at the words as they were displayed on the screen, I realized: the reader was emphasizing the italicized portions of the text as she read! In English Bibles, words are italicized by translators to indicate that the English words are implied or supplied from the original language, but are not in the original. The reader thought they were for emphasis, not a tool used to help readers understand the translation process. In this case, a misunderstanding led to a strange-sounding reading of Scripture. I learned this early on as a parent who has read a lot to his children: how you read aloud makes all the difference. Reading aloud is a lost art, even for seasoned preachers, it seems. Sometimes I’m halfway through a text and realize I’m not giving it my all. The public reading of Scripture is worship, and it shows forth the heart-attitude and care of the reader concerning the Bible. It matters. I'm not saying I expect perfection in readers; I really love to hear many different church members reading Scripture (it was one of my favorite parts of this last Lord's Day). I just need to remind myself to work at how I read it aloud so that I'm offering my best to the Lord.

“Congregations did not listen to the reading of Scripture merely to learn new things, but rather to be reminded of what they already knew and had heard read many, many times. The Christians in North Africa had, in essence, memorized the text through public reading and were therefore sufficiently bothered when a single word was changed” (pg. 171). Augustine tells the story of a bishop switching from an old Latin translation to Jerome’s newer Latin translation of Jonah. When the congregation noticed a single word had been changed, the service was disrupted by protest. I’ve wondered this about electronic Bible apps…this is going to sound conspiratorial, but bear with me. How far are we from people doing the vast majority of Bible reading from an electronic device? If the Bible were changed, would the next generations know it? Would my generation catch a change of a single word in the reading of a biblical text? A few years ago, I was in the middle of my 100-mile commute between churches one Sunday afternoon. I was listening to a reading of 1 Peter in the New Living Translation. The reader got to 1 Peter 2:5, and I heard, “And you are living stones that God is building into his spiritual temple. What’s more, you are his holy priests. Through the meditation of Jesus Christ, you offer spiritual sacrifices that please God.” That got my attention. It didn’t sound right. So, I pulled over and opened a Bible app (yes, I’m aware of the irony given my concerns). It doesn’t say, “meditation.” It says, “mediation.” This recording was made with background music to encourage younger people to listen to it. How many of them had listened and not noticed that this single word had been changed? One word here, one word there…that moment got me to thinking. The account of this church in an uproar because they noticed a single-word deviation in the text should be a reminder of the vital importance of all of us knowing the text of the Bible well.

There were other interesting and very relevant themes, like Christianity’s uniqueness in being separated from a specific ethnic-cultural group, and orthodoxy in the midst of diversity (as far as doctrine goes). Kruger’s book struck me as a subtle history-as-wake-up-call sort of book. My repeated reaction while reading it was, “we have a lot to re-learn.” Perhaps that was Dr. Kruger’s point. I suspect it will take more than a history book to get us there as the Church.

Reading Challenge, Book 2

The second book of Tim Challies’ reading challenge for 2019 is a novel. My instinct is to say that I don’t ordinarily read novels, but upon a little reflection, that’s not accurate. I read novels to my children constantly. Andrew Peterson’s Wingfeather books, S.D. Smith’s Green Ember series, Brian Jacques’s Redwall series, C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings triology, L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables series, etc. So I suppose I read a lot of novels. I don’t know why this category in the reading challenge felt alien. Possibly it was because it was going to be a book I read outside of the context of reading to my children.

I read Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow (Washington, DC: Counterpoint, 2000).

Between the dedication and first chapter there is a malediction of sorts, where the author pronounces this curse: “…persons attempting to explain, interpret, explicate, analyze, deconstruct, or otherwise ‘understand’ it will be exiled to a desert island in the company only of other explainers.”

I will do my best to avoid drawing such an interesting fate in this post.

It was a book that touched me because I have loved a town fading into time, like Jayber Crow’s Port William. Streets of empty buildings in the middle of a beautiful nowhere. I have loved the few people still hanging on there, and did my best for a decade to serve them as I could. Once upon a time I imagined that, in an ideal situation, I would one day be buried in its cemetery just south of town. Berry’s imaginary Port William and its fading away before modernity felt like the last time I drove away from my beloved ghost town, glancing back in the rearview mirror driving through the pass, leaving that broad, mostly empty desert valley behind. Jayber Crow repeatedly wrestles with this loss…the loss of people and their stories, their memories…loss of a way of life that knew community…loss…

“It is not a terrible thing to love the world, knowing that the world is always passing and irrecoverable, to be known only in loss” (pg. 329).

“All the world, as a matter of fact, is a mosaic of little places invisible to the powers that be” (pg. 139).

I have loved one, and am thankful it is invisible.

The titular character struggles with questions about the Scriptures throughout. His first engagement with questioning left me incredulous as I was reading. How many times have I heard the tale of a person so smart in their skepticism that they were told by “church people” to quit asking questions? Ah, the stereotypical unfulfilled seeker rejected by the question-fearing religious zombies. I’ve met folks who boasted that this is what they were. Smarter than the stupid Sunday School teacher of their youth. Throwing questions at fearful preachers who couldn’t handle the brilliance of the opposition. Sigh. I've never told someone not to ask a question, and I've never heard of another church teacher doing it, either. When I’ve been asked questions I’ve worked hard to provide a helpful answer. I can’t think of a single time when a question has been asked that I didn't try to give a coherent answer from the Scriptures (hoping that the questioner could see the answer for themselves in the Book). So, Jayber’s struggle irritated me a little. Curiously, one of the very questions he asked was one I was answering in a Wednesday evening Bible study while reading this book.

To be fair, Jayber continued in church attendance, continued to read his Bible, and quoted it rightly at times.

Berry’s writing style was beautiful to me. I admire a writer who can create a vivid world through his words. The description of nature shows a man who loves it. As I’ve said, I highlight whatever I am reading. Even in this novel, there were so many good phrases, sentences, paragraphs that were well-written, wise, or moving. I can’t – won’t – include even a small percentage of the beauty. I can’t come anywhere near the descriptive passages in my own writing, but echo the sentiment of always looking.

“Port William repaid watching. I was always on the lookout for what would be revealed. Sometimes nothing would be, but sometimes I beheld astonishing sights” (pg. 5).

“I try not to let good things go by unnoticed” (pg. 323). I often hear the Rich Mullins’ lyric in my head, “there’s so much beauty around us for just two eyes to see – but everywhere I go I’m looking.”

“The preachers were always young students from the seminary who wore, you might say, the mantle of power but not the mantle of knowledge…they learned to have a very high opinion of God and a very low opinion of His works – although they could tell you that this world had been made by God Himself. What they didn’t see was that it is beautiful, and that some of the greatest beauties are the briefest” (pg. 160).

He spends a lot of time reflecting on Jesus’ words to love our enemies. It remains a struggle most of the book.

“Did I think the great organizations of the world could love their enemies? I did not. I didn’t think great organizations could love anything” (pg. 143).

There are plenty of great insights into the reality of human pride.

“He seemed to have no instinct for the making much of oneself that complaining requires” (pg. 263).

In addition to being the town barber, Jayber took on the role of grave-digger. As someone who has attended a decent share of funerals, his reflections resonated with me in some ways.

“As I buried the dead and walked among them, I wanted to make my heart as big as Heaven to include them all and love them and not be distracted. I couldn’t do it, of course, but I wanted to” (pg. 158).

“And then, when the last of the living had gone away, I mended back the ground” (pg. 267).

He struggles with the prayer of the Lord in the Garden; the fact that it appears to Jayber not to be answered is one of the reasons he walks away from seminary. Later in life, still thinking about that unanswered prayer, he concludes (in part), “that He knew it could not be granted showed His divinity; that He prayed it anyhow showed His mortality” (pg. 253). Prayer, too, is a motif of Jayber’s life.

This was a touching story. Long, a little slow, and, when it was over, I wished it weren’t. That’s appropriate, I suppose, since it was the story of a life, and that’s how life often goes.

“Back there at the beginning, as I see now, my life was all time and almost no memory…and now, nearing the end, I see that my life is almost entirely memory and very little time” (pg. 24).

For the first two books of this reading challenge, I now realize I have unintentionally read two biographies – one of Geerdhardus Vos, and another of a fictional man named Jayber Crow. Both lived in a very broken world and sought the right, loved, lived in an imperfect community, and longed for heaven. By the way, I decided on Jayber Crow because the person recommending it said they were moved to make a significant life decision for their family because of the sense of community described in the book. Community is something I regularly hear people want and hunger for in this age that fragments us so much. I confess a bit of skepticism about that. Community means accountability, takes selfless time and investment in others, and means gracefully accommodating people who are different from us within the collectively accepted boundaries of community. I'd be delighted to see my skepticism dashed.

As I move to the third book, it’ll wait a few weeks. I’ve gotten ahead of schedule and will be happy to let these two biographies settle awhile in my mind before moving on.

Reading Challenge, Book 1

The first book of Tim Challies’ reading challenge for 2019 is a biography. I chose to read Geerhardus Vos: Reformed Biblical Theologian, Confessional Presbyterian, by Danny E. Olinger. It was published by Reformed Forum. I have learned a lot over the years from their podcast, Christ the Center. I was excited to read their first published monograph.

This is more than just the telling of a life (though it does that); this biography is also a theological reflection on Vos’ thought through a consideration of his works in chronological order. It was fascinating to me to have a good survey of each work (most of which I’ve read), and to see the work in its context in Vos’ life. I didn’t know the man wrote poetry. I was vaguely aware of the struggle he faced opposing the creep of theological liberalism at Princeton, but appreciate it all the more now knowing the fullness of the story. Getting to know the man behind the theological works was rewarding for me.

I am passionate about what is known as Biblical Theology, or, as Vos preferred to call it, “the history of special revelation.” I spend so much time in teaching and preaching trying to show the progressive revealing of God’s work in Christ from cover-to-cover in the Bible (I get chuckles from the congregation in Wednesday night Bible study when I say “turn to Genesis 1-3,” because they know it’s coming at some point). Edmund Clowney is quoted in the book expressing exactly how I feel out this approach: “Biblical theology, truly conceived, is a labor of worship” (Edmund Clowney, quoted on pg. 209). Vos was a significant figure in Biblical Theology (to understate it), and it was meaningful to familiarize myself with his life.

In the 1880’s Vos had been offered teaching positions in the U.S. (where his parents had moved) and in his native Netherlands. His preference would have been to stay in Europe, but, as he says in a letter, “the circumstances, as they have formed themselves under God’s rule, apparently do not allow that” (pg. 22). Later he wrote, “I am going to America with the feeling that my place is not there.” Vos’ preference and his sense of belonging-to-place were both outweighed in the decision-making process by a commitment to honor his parents, who wanted him with them in the U.S. In a “take care of yourself,” “follow your heart,” and “you be you” age, this difficult commitment to the 5th Commandment (Exodus 20:12; Deuteronomy 5:16; Ephesians 6:1-3) is striking, and, as Vos recognized, was part of “God’s rule” in his life. This is an illustration of the priority that should be normal, not outstanding, in the lives of believers. Vos’ example here also reveals wisdom in seeking God’s will for our lives: the foundation of discovering that will is not in new revelation, but in His revealed Law for His people. That chapter ends pointing out that Vos never returned to the Netherlands.

Teaching in America, Vos’ estimation of Christianity in the U.S. is far from outdated. For Vos, “what is most practical in the life of the believer is the cultivation of communion with the triune God” (pg. 30). This is in stark contrast to what he saw to be the focus of American Christianity, which was a reign of the practical at the expense of the theological revelation contained in the Bible. He regarded this pragmatism as “a lack of confidence in [the] truthfulness of the Word of God…if we believed [the Bible], we would think more and with greater liking, and maintain the thoughts of God over against the thoughts of the world” (pg. 31). Pragmatism must be ubiquitous among ministry students, for this same gravitation to the practical against doctrinal knowledge was something I witnessed in seminary – and, to be honest, is something I struggle against internally with the pressure of pastoring a church to “success.” I loved Vos’ continual thought about the truly “practical” in ministry: “It was heavenly-mindedness that sought the cultivation of one’s communion with the living God” (pg. 212). Again: “Vos would say that biblical theology yields the highest fruit of practical theology. It points the believer to life with God in heaven, which is the goal set before humanity from the beginning” (pg. 160).

A cousin to pragmatism is perhaps the dominance of “social gospel” ministries. Over a century ago, Vos spoke a truth that I have tried to proclaim many times: “The ministry of the Word…should not be the promotion of the social gospel, but preaching Christ as the only remedy for sin” (pg. 201). This concept is echoed in what I think is one of the most important sentences in my denomination’s confession (and an idea mostly ignored in practice by most of its members in this highly political age): “Means and methods used for the improvement of society and the establishment of righteousness among men can be truly and permanently helpful only when they are rooted in the regeneration of the individual by the saving grace of God in Jesus Christ” (Baptist Faith & Message [2000], XV).

Vos made an interesting observation comparing the Judaism of Jesus’ day to modern liberal tendencies in Christianity. Just a few quotes:

• “Israel’s error of making eternal that which was meant to be temporary” (pg. 223).

• “Jesus believed the Messiah existed for the sake of God. The Judaistic mindset believed that the office existed for man. ‘Not God but Israel was in it the chief figure of the world to come, and the Messiah appeared as the agent who would raise Israel to this greatness’” (pg. 247). And, in footnote 40 on the same page, “liberalism shared the same spirit and reversed the creator-creature distinction. The result was a mindset that believed that if God exists, he exists to serve me.”

These quotes, made concerning the liberalizing tendency Vos was fighting at the Princeton of his day, could be made concerning much popular Christianity today.

In contrast to Abraham Kuyper, a fellow Dutchman (and eventual Prime Minister of the Netherlands), Vos believed the Bible teaches the consummation of this creation rather than its transformation. He was a man who was strongly focused on heaven. “Kuyper’s focus was on this creation, Vos’ focus was increasingly on new creation” (pg. 95, footnote 72). This biography presents this theme throughout. I appreciate it. It has always seemed to me that the New Testament teaches believers should have a heavenward focus (Colossians 3:1-4, for example). While it is clear that this is normative New Testament Christianity, the general attitude of our day seems to see heaven as a postscript to this life rather than the source of true life now.

One important biblical-theological principle that was a mainstay for Vos’ theology was the idea that God’s purpose in redemption is not just to get His people back to a pre-Fall state, but to take them to a consummation beyond that. This telos/eschaton (end-goal) was something which was promised in the tree of life, so that the ultimate goal of God for His people in Christ is something that was present before the Fall and before the revelation of redemption.

• “The goal put before man at creation, full communion with the living God forever, forfeited in Adam’s sin, has been achieved for believers though the person and work of the second Adam, Jesus Christ…Scripture teaches that it is the Holy Spirit’s intention to bring those whom the Father has chosen and for whom Christ died to the realm of the Spirit, the heavenly Jerusalem above” (pgs. 76-77).

• “…the goal set before man from creation, full communion with God on a higher estate” (pg. 145).

• “The eschatological is an older strand in revelation from the soteric” (pg. 153). In other words, the higher promise symbolized by the tree of life (Genesis 2:9) preceded the revelation of a Savior (Genesis 3:15).

• “The life of heaven is the fulfillment of the hope set before Adam in the garden” (pg. 184).

• “Ever since the goal set by the covenant of works came within his ken, man carries within him in all his converse with the world the sense of belonging to another…the lower may never supplant the higher, for the heart of man calls for eternity” (pg. 206).

• Ah, footnotes! Richard Gaffin’s observation of this eschatology from the beginning observes something about the Fall of man that is massive: “…salvation brings to the eschaton a Christological cast or complexion that would not have been present apart from the fall” (pg. 147, footnote 13). I’m a highlighter junkie when it comes to reading a book. Highlighting wasn’t enough for me on this quote; I broke out the black-ink pen and did some underlining and dramatic exclamation marks. While the tree of life pointed Adam to a greater reality beyond just blissful life in the garden, it took the Fall to bring Jesus into view in that ultimate beatitude as the Way to achieve it. The Fall put the focus on Jesus (I’m hearing the songs of Revelation 5 in my head now)!

Speaking of Him: “Jesus, the one true interpreter” (pg. 205). I like this as a name for our Lord. I will be using it.

Olinger, discussing the beginning works of Vos, makes this powerful statement about religious legalism: it “lacks the supreme sense of worship (‘it obeys but it does not adore’)” (pg. 57). We exist for God’s sake, and are called to obedience to His revealed will, but for the believer in Christ this should lead to joy and worship, not the relationship-breaking coldness that marks so many legalists.

In Vos’ resistance to changing the confessional standards of his denomination to conform to contemporary sentiments, he reaffirms a timeless truth: “It is a well-known fact that all heresy begins with being a partial truth” (pg. 111). He then speaks of the all-to-common game played by heretics ancient and new, where orthodox words are used but filled with heterodox meaning.

Ultimately, a book is “good” if it fills me with an excitement to read, study, or teach God’s Word. This biography of Geerhardus Vos did that. Similar to this beautiful concept is the reflection of former student John DeWaard on Vos’ teaching legacy: “His courses were commentaries on the Bible, his lectures were exegeses of the Word. I loved him when I studied there; I love him more now, not because he has given me a number of valuable interpretations of the Word, but rather because he has given me through his lectures a desire to study the Word itself” (pg. 228). What a crown!

Related to that, becoming familiar with his life and engaging his works in a chronological manner equipped me to read his work with more confidence and a deeper level of understanding.

I will admit, too, to feeling the poignant weight of his life as he lost friends to death, was rejected by the majority of students at Princeton because of the depth of his teaching (and the U.S. cultural reaction to those perceived to be German between the world wars), the seemingly fruitless battle against theological liberalism in his academic life, and the normal fading into the twilight of this life.

Let me say a few words about reading challenging things (not the biography, but Vos’ work). We don’t work to understand anymore, it seems. If it’s not “easy listening” or quickly accessible, there is a tendency not to bother with it. I’m just as guilty of this as anyone else. I try, however, to incorporate disciplines in my life to counteract this contemporary life that feels like floating in a quick-running stream. For example, when I get a new album, I will listen to it repeatedly for at least a week, even if I don’t care for it on my first listen. By repeatedly experiencing the work, I try to understand what the artist was trying to do. It’s rare that I don’t come to eventually appreciate that which was first a temptation to reject. As I mentioned already, I’ve read a lot of Vos – repeatedly. After this, I will continue reading Vos, and especially those parts of his work that still confuse me. In a way, doing that is not really about his theology, but about discipling myself. Such discipline will bear fruit in other areas of my mental life, even as I’m tempted to scroll unthinkingly through headlines or news feeds.

I prefer holding a physical book (though I have done plenty of digital reading). It disciplines me further to resist distraction, with a single possible exception: footnotes. I love footnotes, and this book is footnote-heavy. Sometimes I wonder if the distractions of multiple screen windows and apps find their predecessors in long footnotes.

To wrap this up: I have to work to read Vos at times, but it’s proven to be a worthwhile venture for me in my growth as a reader of the Bible. Olinger’s biography has helped me eager to read more Vos and to re-read what I’ve already read. I don’t read that many biographies. This was well-worth it.

Speaking of weak areas in my reading habits, the next book on Challies’ reading challenge is a novel. This will not be familiar territory for me…but that’s the point in doing this.