Thought and revelation

Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything.
(2 Timothy 2:7 ESV)

I’m going to be making an attempt to blog more about some of the things I’ve been thinking about recently, and in particular, ideas I’m understanding from the Bible. So this is a start and probably an excellent point from which to start.

Paul gives this instruction to Timothy and I think there’s a lot to be found in it. There’s a place for thinking in faith. That in itself may not seem like a profound thing to say but it’s an important thing to say these days. For one, I’ve interacted with several people recently enough who look down on faith, and see it as something that belonged to primitive times and the “dark ages” before we understood the world around us as much as we do now. It’s as if they see faith or religion as an alternative to thought and intelligence, and a poor substitute too.

And church doesn’t necessarily help either. I have the strong impression that many people in church are taught to fight to believe concepts, and it feels akin to a flexing of a muscle – a straining to lift something. I don’t often hear a strong emphasis on growing in understanding, much less encouraging and teaching people to think. So if the Christian faith does not appear to non-Christians as a particularly thoughtful place, I think Christians are at least partially to blame.

But Paul does a lot more here than authorize or commend thinking. He establishes the relationship between thought and revelation. That’s really important in the post-charismatic environment I’m a part of. I know a lot of Christians who aren’t particularly inclined towards the hard work of thought, but are very interested in revelation. And again there’s this idea floating around in the atmosphere somewhere, that revelation falls from the sky. It suggests that you might drop if you have a particularly good and powerful time with God on your own or a great prayer meeting or worship session. I’m not attacking the value of personal devotions or prayer meetings or worship sessions. I’m attacking the suggestion that how God reveals himself is that you’ll suddenly just “know” – out of the blue (or rather out of heaven) you’ll just know whatever you wanted to know or whatever you’re supposed to know. My problem with this “floating idea” is that it does not seem to suggest a connection between thought and revelation, and rarely even suggests a connection between thoughtfully reading and study of the Bible and revelation. In fact, you might get the impression from it that thought is the enemy of revelation. You might think that thought gets in the way of getting understanding from God.

Hearing what Paul is saying will save us from those kinds of floating ideas. Paul does not pit thinking – the using of our brains – against receiving understanding from God (which is by definition, revelation). Admittedly there’s the potential for a battle here. The Bible teaches us not to rely on our own understanding. It teaches us the insufficiency of our own wisdom. It teaches that the natural mind cannot understand spiritual things. So in one sense it’s understandable why some church-goers and teachers would seem to deemphasize thought in the way they do. At a glance it doesn’t look that helpful and actually seems a to be a threat to our potential to understand God. It doesn’t look like a useful tool in this “spiritual” environment. But Paul in a wonderfully succinct way, shows us how thought and revelation are meant to work together. “Think… for the Lord will give you understanding…”  We are to apply our minds to the Bible with the expectation that God will give us insight and understanding. I’m making a big, but entirely reasonable extrapolation of “what I say” to become the scriptures as a whole. If you read more of what Paul says in this letter, the basis for that extrapolation becomes clear.

We are to think about what God says in the Bible. And Paul tells us what that should look like. We’re to think with a posture that is expecting and asking God to show us “wonderful things in [his] word” (Ps 119:18). So Paul, while definitely pushing us to think, leads us away from depending on the sufficiency of our own minds in order to understand the things of God. This is humble thinking, because from the outset, it recognizes that it can’t understand if God does not speak, and it can’t know if God does not reveal. So it must be asking questions about what the Bible says. It knows it’s not supposed just “get it”. I’m amazed how many people read the Bible and have no questions, or suffer under the impression that it is bad thing to have questions. This type of thinking keeps in mind the fact that understanding of God and the things of God is a gift from God. So it therefore must be prayerful because asking and receiving are related.

So Paul has given us a lot but there’s one more spectacular gift here. Hope. Paul teaches us that God will give understanding in everything. Even though this was written to Timothy, the basis of Paul’s guarantee to Timothy is a God revealed throughout the scriptures, who is committed to revealing himself to those who seek him, so this promise definitely extends to all who follow Jesus. So we can read and think and know that God will give understanding. It might take a while and it might be really frustrating at times but God will give understanding. It’s a guarantee. So I’ll end by echoing the Psalmist in Psalm 70:4:-

May all who seek you

rejoice and be glad in you!

Faith the size of a changing table?

One of the weird and interesting parts of parenting is how many lessons I learn in mundane things. I was changing Maia last week for the umpteenth time (can anyone actually keep track of the number of diapers they’ve changed? Thanks mum and dad. Serious. Thanks!) and I noticed that she’s barely fitting on the changing table now. I looked at her, from head to toe, lying there still for once – which meant I wasn’t fighting with her to keep her from grabbing the diaper, soiled with one or both numbers, from under her so that she could “explore” it – and it dawned on me how much she has grown.

I’ve found myself looking at her down on the ground stretching up to me or to Sam and thinking thoughts like “Boy, she’s small.” And “shouldn’t she be a bit taller than that by now?” And “has she grown in the last few months?” It’s a problem of proximity. Because I see her everyday it’s hard to look at her and recognize progress in terms of height. She looks very much the same. Other people, every now and then, comment that something or the other has changed, and I shrug and take their word for it.

But viewing her through the lense of the changing table – now I want to point out that I could go in a lot of directions from here. I’ve already started the “seeing” Maia through the changing table” metaphor. I could do the whole “un-changing changing table” thing. Temptation acknowledged. Choice of metaphor and style of expression aside, I finally was able to recognize how much taller she was. I vividly remember putting her on that changing table when she was a few weeks old – partially because one of her godmother’s was cautioning me about doing something wrong. I remember the fact that it didn’t matter that much whether her head was close to the top or in the middle of the pad. She would fit with so much room anyway. She’s much taller than she was then. I know it sounds obvious, but there’s a difference between accepting a fact because it must be so, and seeing it. The seeing does something that the accepting can’t. You marvel at things when you can see things for yourself.

So the lesson I had in mind when I started this post was about the way faith grows slowly and imperceptibly, much like Maia. I am so close to my faith, carrying it each day, impatient with it and often looking down on it, that I can’t see if it’s growing. It takes some reference point, some object to give a vantage point from which I can compare what it was to what it is, for me to see it’s growth. And that’s what tests are for. And I’m going through my fair share. Tests… much too nice a word for how they feel. Trials carries a bit more weight for me. Tribulations is chock-full of King Jamesy substantiveness and emotion. Tests definitely is too lightweight.

So I see much better through the changing table what Peter is saying when he says:-

“…now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.” 1 Peter 1:6b-7

This hard slog is necessary if my faith is going to be shown to be genuine and is going to be shown to be growing, so that Jesus gets all the accolades he deserves.

The lesson I didn’t have in mind is how faith allows you to see. You can be handling the same facts and information and it’s not doing anything much for you or in you until, by faith, you see it – you’re convinced of it in a way you weren’t and you’re enthralled by it. And it barely makes sense, because all of the pieces were right in front of you, but you didn’t see it. I think that’s how faith naturally results in worship – which in itself seems to be inexplicable to those who can’t see it.

So to all the Saints – hold on in faith.  This ride will be over before we know it and we’ll be home and happy.