Fangirling

"It is no part of my nature, most learned Wolfgang, to be excessively fond of life; whether it is that I have, to my own mind, lived nearly long enough, having entered my fifty-first year, or that I see nothing in this life so splendid or delightful that it should be desired by one who is convinced by the Christian faith that a happier life awaits those who in this world earnestly attach themselves to piety. But at the present moment I could almost wish to be young again, for no other reason but this, that I anticipate the approach of a golden age..." (Letter to Capito, 1517)

While I don't share Erasmus's utopian optimism, this passage has been on my mind during the past few days, and in reality, these last few years, as I've watched plans unfold for the creation of a Reformed Baptist seminary. Hearing it has finally been approved has been the highlight of my week. Listening to the generation ahead of me speak of their zeal for the project, it's easy to pick up on a sense of wistfulness in their voices: they know that they will only see its beginnings - it is very much a work of faith. My peers and I have been given a tremendous privilege in being able both to participate (in various ways) in its beginning and perhaps live to see these efforts pay off in an established institution with a ministerial/academic legacy. I can't help but feel that we are witnessing the beginning of an exiting time in RB history, with church planting expanding and education becoming more and more available. What a time to be alive.

Calvin on godliness

The Institutes are worth their weight in gold.

For, first of all, the pious mind does not devise for itself any kind of God, but looks alone to the one true God; nor does it feign for him any character it pleases, but is contented to have him in the character in which he manifests himself always guarding, with the utmost diligences against transgressing his will, and wandering, with daring presumptions from the right path. He by whom God is thus known perceiving how he governs all things, confides in him as his guardian and protector, and casts himself entirely upon his faithfulness,—perceiving him to be the source of every blessing, if he is in any strait or feels any want, he instantly recurs to his protection and trusts to his aid,—persuaded that he is good and merciful, he reclines upon him with sure confidence, and doubts not that, in the divine clemency, a remedy will be provided for his every time of need,—acknowledging him as his Father and his Lord he considers himself bound to have respect to his authority in all things, to reverence his majesty, aim at the advancement of his glory, and obey his commands,—regarding him as a just judge, armed with severity to punish crimes, he keeps the Judgment-seat always in his view. Standing in awe of it, he curbs himself, and fears to provoke his anger. Nevertheless, he is not so terrified by an apprehension of Judgment as to wish he could withdraw himself, even if the means of escape lay before him; nay, he embraces him not less as the avenger of wickedness than as the rewarder of the righteous; because he perceives that it equally appertains to his glory to store up punishment for the one, and eternal life for the other. Besides, it is not the mere fear of punishment that restrains him from sin. Loving and revering God as his father, honouring and obeying him as his master, although there were no hell, he would revolt at the very idea of offending him. (I.ii.2) 

Psalm 103

I read this during my devotions this morning, and it was a surreal experience - each verse brought with it a greater sense of joy. The psalm readily functions as a model of the kinds of things we can thank God for in our prayers. What struck me most was a paradox: God refrains from giving us anything that we deserve (the wages of our sin), yet gives us infinitely more as well (grace, even earthly blessings). It could easily translate into something metaphysical by the likes of Herbert or Donne. But since I'm no poet, it will have to remain as it is.

Thankful for days when the Holy Spirit is recognizably at work, ministering to our souls.

Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And all that is within me, bless His holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And forget none of His benefits;
Who pardons all your iniquities,
Who heals all your diseases;
Who redeems your life from the pit,
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;
Who satisfies your years with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.

The Lord performs righteous deeds
And judgments for all who are oppressed.
He made known His ways to Moses,
His acts to the sons of Israel.
The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
Slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness.
He will not always strive with us,
Nor will He keep His anger forever.
He has not dealt with us according to our sins,
Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
So great is His lovingkindness toward those who fear Him.
As far as the east is from the west,
So far has He removed our transgressions from us.
Just as a father has compassion on his children,
So the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.
For He Himself knows our frame;
He is mindful that we are but dust.

As for man, his days are like grass;
As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.
When the wind has passed over it, it is no more,
And its place acknowledges it no longer.
But the lovingkindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him,
And His righteousness to children’s children,
To those who keep His covenant
And remember His precepts to do them.

The Lord has established His throne in the heavens,
And His sovereignty rules over all.
Bless the Lord, you His angels,
Mighty in strength, who perform His word,
Obeying the voice of His word!
Bless the Lord, all you His hosts,
You who serve Him, doing His will.
Bless the Lord, all you works of His,
In all places of His dominion;
Bless the Lord, O my soul!

My lovelinesse

I've made no secret of my love for the allegory of Beatrice and similar female literary figures. Today, I came across this piece from Herbert's Temple, and it complicates (in a good way) the human/divine mirror of love I find in these allegories. Earthly relationships can be exquisite pictures of that between God and Man, but there remains an ineffability to God's love for us that transcends anything we will ever experience on earth. To follow the train of thought in Hebrews, the best of this life still pales in comparison with the heavenly reality it anticipates. As Herbert's contemporary, Lewis Bayly wrote, "Whatsoever excellency thou hast seen in any creature, it is nothing but a sparkle of that which is in infinite perfection in God."

On another note, what led me to this poem has been an ongoing fight with complacency of late. This has been perhaps the most taxing semester I've yet had, and I'm living in the numbness of survival mode. I don't want the imminence of my deadlines, papers, and meetings to overshadow the reality of the grace I daily receive in the Gospel.

Why do I languish thus, drooping and dull,
                        As if I were all earth?
O give me quicknesse, that I may with mirth
                                          Praise thee brim-full!

The wanton lover in a curious strain
                        Can praise his fairest fair;
And with quaint metaphors her curled hair
                                          Curl o’re again.

Thou art my lovelinesse, my life, my light,
                        Beautie alone to me:
Thy bloudy death and undeserv’d, makes thee
                                          Pure red and white.

When all perfections as but one appeare,
                        That those thy form doth show,
The very dust, where thou dost tread and go,
                                          Makes beauties here;

Where are my lines then? my approaches? views?
                        Where are my window-songs?
Lovers are still pretending, & ev’n wrongs
                                          Sharpen their Muse:

But I am lost in flesh, whose sugred lyes
                        Still mock me, and grow bold:
Sure thou didst put a minde there, if I could
                                          Finde there it lies.

Lord, cleare thy gift, that with a constant wit
                        I may but look towards thee:
Look onely; for to love thee, who can be,
                                         What angel fit?

George Herbert, "Dulnesse"

The old and new men

Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change in vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fantastic ague; save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with fear.

John Donne, Holy Sonnet #19

-----

I find then the principle that evil is present in me, the one who wants to do good. For I joyfully concur with the law of God in the inner man, but I see a different law in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin which is in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, on the one hand I myself with my mind am serving the law of God, but on the other, with my flesh the law of sin.

Romans 7.21-25

April

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open ye,
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages:
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmers for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. 

Canterbury Tales, prologue