The Job of the Pastor

Paul Washer in his interview entitled “The Preeminent Christ” Transcript excerpt from the 30:44 mark (slightly edited):

In Job 28, there’s a story about the miner who goes down into these dangerous pits and swings on a rope in darkness. He turns over mountains, he dams up rivers, everything he does to get this precious jewel and bring it to the surface. That’s the pastor’s study.

You see, one of the reasons I wrote this book, I write for the mechanic and the homeschool mom.

Why?

Whenever I don’t want to go to my study because I’m tired. I’m not just studying for me, I’m studying for that mechanic who works 12 hours a day and doesn’t have the library and doesn’t have the time. So I can go into that mine, I can study and study and study to bring out this jewel and hand it to him, the mechanic, hand it to the housewife. Do you see?

So that’s why pastors need to stop running around so much.


And they need to go into their study, but they go in there to find jewels, to find gold, to find things that that people who love Jesus very much, but they’re having to work all day in the world. He needs to go in there and bring that out for them.

You can call it food, you can bring, you can, you can call it another bracelet on the arm. When the servant was bringing back the wife for Isaac, you know, every, I believe that probably every time as they were going day after day, making that journey, he looked back and see the doubt in her eyes. He put another bracelet on her arms, says, no, no, no, He’s gonna be worth it, or maybe they stop at a well, and all of a sudden she looks over and there’s a young man drawing water and he’s a very attractive young man. And that servant brings out another bracelet and says, no, no, no, no, no, wait. He’s worth it. That to me is the job of the pastor. And that’s why I write the way I do in this book – it’s going into that well and bringing out this and say, look at Him. Look at Him. Mechanic housewife, homeschool mom, look at Him. Keep going. He’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Jesus is God (Church Fathers)

One of the many false claims out there today is that the Emperor Constantine invented the idea of the Deity of Christ in order to unite the Empire and introduced the concept at the Council of Nicea in 325 AD. There is not a shred of truth to that claim. Not only do the Scriptures say otherwise, but so do the early Church fathers: Here are some quotes (of many that could be cited):

1) Polycarp (69-155) “yet believe in our Lord and God Jesus”

2) Ignatius (50-117) “by the will of the Father and of Jesus Christ our God”, also “once you took on new life through the blood of God”

3) Justin Martyr (100-165) “prove that Christ is called both God and Lord of hosts”

4) Melito of Sardis (died 180) “because they slew God, who hung naked on the tree”

5) Irenaeus of Lyons (130-202) “He is Himself God, and Lord, and King Eternal”

6) Clement of Alexandria (150-215) “He alone being both, both God and man”

7) Tertullian (150-225) “For God alone is without sin; and the only man without sin is Christ, since Christ is also God.”

8 ) Origen (AD 185-254) – “while made a man remained the God which He was.”

For the sources of these quotes:

https://www.str.org/w/nine-early-church-fathers-who-taught-jesus-is-god?

Does Christology Matter?

Article by Dr. Sinclair Ferguson – original source: https://www.ligonier.org/blog/does-christology-matter/

“We all unanimously teach that our Lord Jesus Christ is to us one and the same Son, the self-same perfect in Godhead, the self-same perfect in manhood; truly God and truly man … acknowledged in two natures, unconfusedly, unchangeably, indivisibly, inseparably … the properties of each nature being preserved.”

So wrote the church fathers in the Definition of Chalcedon in AD 451. But even if they spoke “unanimously,” their doctrine of Christ sounds so complex. Does it really matter?

Given the sacrifices they made to describe Christ rightly, one can imagine that if these Christians were present at a group Bible study on Philippians 2:5-11, they might well say to us, “From what we have heard, it never mattered more.”

Imagine the discussion on “Though he was in the form of God … emptied himself” (Phil. 2:6-7, RSV). Says one: “It means Jesus became a man for a time and then went back to being God afterwards.” “No,” says another, “He only emptied himself of His divine attributes and then He took them up again.” “Surely,” says another (not pausing to reflect on the miracles of Moses, Elijah, or the Apostles), “He mixed humanity with His deity—isn’t that how He was able to do miracles?”

Does it really matter if those views are wrong, indeed heretical, so long as we know that Jesus saves and we witness to others about Him? After all, the important thing is that we preach the gospel.

But that is precisely the point—Jesus Christ Himself is the gospel. Like loose threads in a tapestry—pull on any of these views, and the entire gospel will unravel. If the Christ we trust and preach is not qualified to save us, we have a false Christ.

Reflect for a moment on the descriptions of Christ above. If at any point He ceased to be all that He is as God, the cosmos would disintegrate—for He is the One who upholds the universe by the word of His power (Heb. 1:3). If He were a mixture of deity and humanity, then He would not be truly or fully human, and therefore would no longer be one of us and able to act as our representative and substitute. He could neither save sinners nor succor saints. This is why Hebrews emphasizes that Christ possesses a humanity identical to ours, apart from sin. No mixing or confusing here.

Most of us are sticklers for clearly describing anything we love, be it science, computing, sports, business, or family life. Should we be indifferent to how we think and speak about our Savior and Lord?

This is why the church fathers, and later the Westminster divines, stressed that God’s Son ever remained “of one substance, and equal with the Father” and yet, in the incarnation, took “upon him man’s nature, with all the essential properties and infirmities thereof, yet without sin… . So that two whole, perfect, and distinct natures, the Godhead and the manhood, were inseparably joined together in one person, without conversion, composition, or confusion” (WCF 8.2).

What makes this statement so impressive is that it safeguards the mystery of the incarnation while carefully describing its reality. The Son’s two natures are not united to each other, but they are united in His one person. So in everything He did, He acted appropriately in terms of His deity or His humanity, one divine person exercising the powers of each nature in its own proper sphere.

This, then, underscores the value of the church’s creeds. They were written by men who had thought more deeply and often suffered more grievously than we do. They spoke out of a deep love for Christ and His people, concerned for a lost world. Their testimony helps us in three ways:

  1. It protects us by setting boundaries for our thinking.
  2. It instructs us by helping us see biblical truth expressed in its briefest form.
  3. It unites us, so that everywhere in the world, Christians can share the same clear confession of who Christ is and what He has done.

Does it really matter? In light of the sacrifices our forefathers made in order to articulate the grandeur of the person of our Savior and what Christ had to be in order to save us, you bet it matters.

Why Christology Matters

Article “Does Christology Matter?” by Dr. Sinclair Ferguson (source – https://www.ligonier.org/blog/does-christology-matter/)

“We all unanimously teach that our Lord Jesus Christ is to us one and the same Son, the self-same perfect in Godhead, the self-same perfect in manhood; truly God and truly man … acknowledged in two natures, unconfusedly, unchangeably, indivisibly, inseparably … the properties of each nature being preserved.”

So wrote the church fathers in the Definition of Chalcedon in AD 451. But even if they spoke “unanimously,” their doctrine of Christ sounds so complex. Does it really matter?

Given the sacrifices they made to describe Christ rightly, one can imagine that if these Christians were present at a group Bible study on Philippians 2:5-11, they might well say to us, “From what we have heard, it never mattered more.”

Imagine the discussion on “Though he was in the form of God … emptied himself” (Phil. 2:6-7, RSV). Says one: “It means Jesus became a man for a time and then went back to being God afterwards.” “No,” says another, “He only emptied himself of His divine attributes and then He took them up again.” “Surely,” says another (not pausing to reflect on the miracles of Moses, Elijah, or the Apostles), “He mixed humanity with His deity—isn’t that how He was able to do miracles?”

Does it really matter if those views are wrong, indeed heretical, so long as we know that Jesus saves and we witness to others about Him? After all, the important thing is that we preach the gospel.

But that is precisely the point—Jesus Christ Himself is the gospel. Like loose threads in a tapestry—pull on any of these views, and the entire gospel will unravel. If the Christ we trust and preach is not qualified to save us, we have a false Christ.

Reflect for a moment on the descriptions of Christ above. If at any point He ceased to be all that He is as God, the cosmos would disintegrate—for He is the One who upholds the universe by the word of His power (Heb. 1:3). If He were a mixture of deity and humanity, then He would not be truly or fully human, and therefore would no longer be one of us and able to act as our representative and substitute. He could neither save sinners nor succor saints. This is why Hebrews emphasizes that Christ possesses a humanity identical to ours, apart from sin. No mixing or confusing here.

Most of us are sticklers for clearly describing anything we love, be it science, computing, sports, business, or family life. Should we be indifferent to how we think and speak about our Savior and Lord?

This is why the church fathers, and later the Westminster divines, stressed that God’s Son ever remained “of one substance, and equal with the Father” and yet, in the incarnation, took “upon him man’s nature, with all the essential properties and infirmities thereof, yet without sin… . So that two whole, perfect, and distinct natures, the Godhead and the manhood, were inseparably joined together in one person, without conversion, composition, or confusion” (WCF 8.2).

What makes this statement so impressive is that it safeguards the mystery of the incarnation while carefully describing its reality. The Son’s two natures are not united to each other, but they are united in His one person. So in everything He did, He acted appropriately in terms of His deity or His humanity, one divine person exercising the powers of each nature in its own proper sphere.

This, then, underscores the value of the church’s creeds. They were written by men who had thought more deeply and often suffered more grievously than we do. They spoke out of a deep love for Christ and His people, concerned for a lost world. Their testimony helps us in three ways:

  1. It protects us by setting boundaries for our thinking.
  2. It instructs us by helping us see biblical truth expressed in its briefest form.
  3. It unites us, so that everywhere in the world, Christians can share the same clear confession of who Christ is and what He has done.

Does it really matter? In light of the sacrifices our forefathers made in order to articulate the grandeur of the person of our Savior and what Christ had to be in order to save us, you bet it matters.

Christology Illustrated

Andrew Wilson writes: Is the second person of the Trinity omnipresent and incarnate at the same time? Is the Son of God both asleep in a manger, or a boat, or even dead, while he is also filling all things and sustaining the universe? The so-called extra Calvinisticum gives a confident yes—and the Reformed view of the Lord’s Supper depends on it, among other things—but it feels counter-intuitive and obscure to us nevertheless. So here’s a wonderfully helpful illustration from Gavin Ortlund’s excellent new book, Theological Retrieval for Evangelicals. It’s one of the best illustrations I’ve heard in years, and it pretty much sums up what theological teaching ought to be.

Suppose, just as Christ comes into his own creation at the incarnation, Tolkien had written himself into Middle-earth as a character of the story alongside Frodo and Merry and Pippin and the rest. Had Tolkien done so, he would not for that reason cease to exist in Oxford (in fact, his whole existence in Middle-earth depends on his continued writing). Nor has the unity of Tolkien’s person been impaired, for one person can simultaneously be in Middle-earth and Oxford, because they are not two different “places” within one realm but two different realms altogether. In other words, it is one thing to be in Oxford and Cambridge at the same time, but another thing to be in the Shire and Oxford at the same time; and the relation of “heaven” and “earth,” and with it the relation of Christ’s divine and human natures, is more like the relationship between the Shire and Oxford. This is the value of the metaphor of story—the distinction between “author” and “story” is robust enough to retain two natures while fluid enough to retain one person. Middle-earth and Oxford may be two while Tolkien remains one …

It is not merely that Tolkien is not confined to the body of his incarnate character in Middle-earth; that is true, but that is just about the least significant thing one can say about him. Supposing the incarnated Tolkien is sitting in Frodo’s home in the Shire for a meal; this does not in the least hinder the Tolkien in Oxford from going to sleep, or traveling to India, or putting the book down for twenty years. His incarnate existence in Middle-earth does not diminish him in the least or even distract him. He is not merely extra but completely and fully extra. In other words, it is not that he reduces himself to an incarnate life but leaves a tiny bit left over that is not exhausted by his incarnation; rather, that which is extra continues on without the slightest downgrade or even interruption during the incarnation.

This is what theological teaching should be. It is creative faithfulness: finding new ways to say old things. It is beautiful orthodoxy. If you’re wired this way, the whole book is worth reading.

Chalcedon

Article: Truly God, Truly Man: The Council of Chalcedon by Nicholas Needham

Original source: https://www.ligonier.org/learn/articles/truly-god-truly-man-council-chalcedon/

It’s hard enough to pronounce “Chalcedon.” Getting to grips with its theology can be even more daunting. But the effort will be very richly rewarded. For the past 1,500 years, right up to the present day, virtually all orthodox Christian theologians have defined their “orthodoxy” with reference to the Council of Chalcedon. That certainly includes the Reformed tradition. We may not think that the early ecumenical councils were infallible. But we have generally held that they were gloriously right in what they affirmed, and that Christians who take the church and its history seriously must reckon with these great councils as providential landmarks in the unfolding life story of God’s people.

What was Chalcedon all about? Basically it was trying to settle the aftermath of the Arian controversy in the fourth century. Biblical theologians had struggled successfully against Arianism to affirm the deity of Christ. But this led to further controversy. This time, the issue was the relationship between the divine and the human in Christ. Two tendencies quickly became prominent. One was associated with the church in Antioch. It wanted to protect the full reality of Christ’s deity and humanity. To do this, it tended to keep them as far apart as possible. The Antiochenes were afraid that any close blending of the two natures might mix them up. Christ’s human limitations might get applied to His deity — in which case He wasn’t fully God. Or His divine attributes might get applied to His humanity — in which case He wasn’t fully human. This was fine, as far as it went. The trouble was, Antiochenes sometimes separated Christ’s two natures so much, He seemed to end up as two persons: a human son of Mary indwelt by a divine Son of God. The most famous Antiochene thinker who took this line was Nestorius, a preacher who became patriarch (chief bishop) of Constantinople in 428. Nestorius was condemned by the third ecumenical Council of Ephesus in 431 (it also condemned Pelagianism as heresy).

The other tendency was associated with the church of Alexandria. Their main concern was to protect the divine person of the Son as the one single “subject” of the incarnation. In other words, there is in Christ only one “I,” only one personal agent, and this is the second person of the Trinity, God the Son. And again, this was fine as far as it went. The trouble was, Alexandrians sometimes became so zealous for Christ’s divine person, they could lose sight of His humanity. To the extremists of Alexandria, any sort of emphasis on Christ’s human nature seemed to threaten the sovereignty of His single divine person. Would Christ not break apart into two persons — the hated Nestorian heresy — if one insisted too much on the full reality of His manhood?

In the aftermath of Nestorius’ condemnation at Ephesus in 431, the Alexandrians made all the running. Their greatest thinker was Cyril of Alexandria. But when Cyril died in 444, a more extreme figure stepped into his place. This was Eutyches, a leading monk in Constantinople. Eutyches was so violent in his commitment to Christ’s single divine person, he could tolerate no rivalry (as it were) from His humanity. So in an infamous phrase, Eutyches taught that in the incarnation, Christ’s human nature had been swallowed up and lost in His divinity: “like a drop of wine in the sea.” This extreme Alexandrian view triumphed at another ecumenical council in Ephesus in 449. Its victory, however, was due less to theological argument and persuasion, and due more to gangs of unruly Alexandrian monks who terrorized the proceedings, supported by the troops of emperor Theodosius II, who favored Eutyches.

The council was condemned in the western, Latin-speaking half of the Roman Empire. Pope Leo the Great thundered against it as the “Robber Synod” (and the name stuck). After the death of emperor Theodosius, a new emperor, Marcian, called a new council at Chalcedon (in Asia Minor) in 451. This time, Eutyches and the extreme Alexandrians were defeated. The council skillfully wove together all that was good and true in the Antiochene and Alexandrian outlooks, producing a theological masterpiece on the person of Christ:

So, following the holy fathers, we all with one voice teach the confession of one and the same Son, our Lord Jesus Christ: the same perfect in divinity and perfect in humanity, the same truly God and truly man, of a rational soul and a body; of one essence with the Father as regards his divinity, and the same of one essence with us as regards his humanity; like us in all respects except for sin; begotten before the ages from the Father as regards his divinity, and in the last days, for us and for our salvation, the same born of Mary, the virgin God-bearer, as regards his humanity.

He is one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, acknowledged in two natures which undergo no confusion, no change, no division, no separation. At no point was the difference between the natures taken away through the union, but rather the property of both natures is preserved and comes together into a single person and a single subsistent being. He is not parted or divided into two persons, but is one and the same only-begotten Son, God, Word, Lord Jesus Christ, just as the prophets taught from the beginning about Him, and as the Lord Jesus Christ Himself instructed us, and as the creed of the fathers handed it down to us.

Perhaps we can best appreciate what the Council of Chalcedon achieved by asking what the consequences would have been if either Nestorius or Eutyches had won the day. Let’s take Nestorianism first. If the incarnation is really a case of a human son of Mary being indwelt by a divine Son of God, then Christ is no different in principle from any holy human. Every sanctified man is indwelt by the Son. Was Christ merely the highest example of that? If so, no true incarnation has taken place at all. We cannot say “Jesus of Nazareth is the Son of God.” We can only say “Jesus of Nazareth had a relationship with the Son of God.” Think of what this does to our doctrine of the atonement. We would have to say we are saved by the sufferings of a merely human Jesus who happened to be indwelt by God (as all holy people are). Would that not inevitably lead to a belief that human suffering — perhaps our own — can atone for our sins? And think of what it would do to our worship. We would not be able to worship Jesus — only the divine Son by whom Jesus was indwelt. That would destroy Christian worship entirely.

But then, think what would have happened if Eutychianism had won out. If Christ’s humanity was lost and swallowed up in His deity “like a drop of wine in the sea,” then once again, no real incarnation has taken place. Rather than God becoming man, we have man being annihilated in God. One can see how this would easily have lent itself to all manner of humanity-denying mysticism. After all, if Christ is our pattern, shouldn’t we too seek for our own humanity to be lost and swallowed up in deity like a drop of wine in the sea?

The fathers at Chalcedon set themselves firmly against both of these unwholesome tendencies. They affirmed that Christ is indeed one single divine person, not some alliance of a divine and a human person, as in Nestorianism. The subject, the “I,” the personal agent whom we meet in Jesus Christ is singular, not plural; this person is “the Only-begotten Son, God, Word, Lord” — the second person of the Godhead. Mary is therefore rightly called the “God-bearer,” a truth passionately rejected by Nestorius. The person whom Mary bore was precisely God the Son! Mary is the mother of God incarnate (although not, of course, the mother of the divine nature). The fathers of Chalcedon equally affirmed that this one person exists in two distinct natures, complete deity and complete humanity, thus rejecting the Eutychian absorption of one into the other. We see in Christ everything that it is to be human, and everything that it is to be divine, at one and the same time, without either being compromised by the other. We could say that in Christ, for the first time and the last, all the fullness of human being, and all the fullness of divine being, have come together and exist together in exactly the same way — as the Son of the Father and the Bearer of the Holy Spirit. Or to put it more simply, Christ is fully and truly man, fully and truly God, at the same time, in a single person.

Veiled in flesh the Godhead see; 
Hail the incarnate deity! 
Pleased as Man with man to appear: 
Jesus, our Emmanuel here.

The fathers of Chalcedon did a fine job. In matters christological, we can perhaps only ever be dwarfs on their giant shoulders. We may be enabled to see even further, if we sit there. But if we climb off, I somehow doubt that we’ll see anything but Nestorian and Eutychian mud.