The Power of Prayer (04/11/22)

For a letter that is supposedly light on theology it seems to me there is a great deal of good theology packed into these first words of greeting.  It may not come about in didactic fashion, but it is assuredly there, and it is there right from the first verse of this passage.  What catches my attention here is the constancy of prayer.  That is a hallmark of Paul’s ministry, isn’t it?  And recall that we are here, rather closer to the beginning of his ministry.  How much stronger the message of this constancy, then, to see that it was such a constant in his life?

There is, admittedly, something of a question as concerns the syntax of this sentence.  And yes, it would seem the entire passage is one sentence, or perhaps two.  But verse 3 begins, in the NASB, with the word constantly, presumably translating adialeiptos.  In fairness, it appears that word actually concludes verse 2, but then, the verse markings are somewhat arbitrary.  Add to this that some translations attach the constancy to the act of prayer, and others to the act of remembering.  So, which is it?  Were they constantly praying, or constantly remembering?  Or can we perhaps accept that there’s really no distinction between these two events?

Well, let’s start by identifying where the subject of this whole sentence is to be found, and thus, perhaps we can discern the primary activity described in regard to the subject.  Indeed, in a fashion common to Greek, the subject is actually implicit in the statement of action.  “We give thanks.”  The verb identifies a first person plural actor, clearly pointing us back to those three who wrote the letter, Paul, Timothy, and Silvanus.  That is the fundamental statement here.  We give thanks.  We proceed to find the recipient of that thanks declared as God, to theo.  We have also indication of how they give thanks to God:  Always.  Put all of that together.  We always give thanks to God.  Always.  How’s that for a challenge?

Even without that note of thanksgiving, it’s a challenge, isn’t it?  How many can say that they pray to God always?  How many can mean it?  I suspect for most of us, saying we pray to God even for an hour a day is something of a challenge, or requires a rather redefined sense of prayer.  But here they are:  Always giving thanks.  And, as Paul’s appeal to example would seem to confirm, the veracity of this claim was evident in these men.  Consider what events had formed their history with this church, and that’s already a pretty amazing testimony, and one fully attested to, I might add.  “We give thanks always.”  We’re talking about Paul and Silas, here, two who had, just prior to coming to Thessalonica, been imprisoned in Philippi, and spent their time in the depths of that prison singing songs of praise to God.  Even here, we give thanks.  Now, admittedly, the flavor of those thanks to God are a different thing altogether from what is put forward here, but the constancy is established.  In the midst of Jewish persecution in Thessalonica, in the continued harassment over in Berea, even in the relatively fruitless mission to Athens, we give thanks to God.

But here, those thanks take on a particular poignancy and life.  Why?  Because here is great cause for thanksgiving.  We are constantly making mention of you all in our prayers.  Okay, I am already assuming that constantly applies to the matter of prayer, rather than the matter of remembering, to the degree the two can be kept distinct from one another.  But look at the clause.  We have a genitive clause, ‘for you all’.  The genitive ostensibly indicates possession, but perhaps not in this case.  It seems more a simple matter of the direct object, doesn’t it?  At any rate, the function is clear enough here.  We pray to God for you.  Then comes a verbal noun, ‘making mention’, presented as a present participle, so continuing that sense of a continuous state of activity.  Then follows the means, if you will, by which mention is made:  In our prayers.  And it is here that we run into adialeiptos:  We pray incessantly.  We pray on every appropriate occasion, without omission.

I am thankful for the lexical input on this word, for left in its bare declarative form, it presents such a challenge as all but defies belief.  “We pray for you constantly.”  Who can keep up with this?  How does one go about the needful activities of the day and maintain such a constant flow of prayers, let alone such prayers as are entailed here?  I mean, I might think to offer up a quick note of prayer if I should see a particularly lovely aspect to the day, or if I find myself needing wisdom to cope with some issue at work.  But to run the catalog of those I’ve known as brothers and sisters?  To run down the list of those I may, at one time or another, have had as part of my shepherding group?  I mean, I can say I know some who, at least by their claims, are pretty consistent in spending time in such prayer daily, but it’s still time, not all day every day forever.

So, it is, at least to me, somewhat comforting to see that slight adjustment to sense.  “We pray for you on every appropriate occasion.”  That suggests more a purposeful time of praying for the church, as I suppose it would need to be, given that this ‘we’ implicitly involves all three of those men who have the pleasure of writing to the church.  I might offer it thusly:  Whenever we get together to pray for the church, there you are in our prayers, as we remember your work.  Now, I’m bleeding into the next part of the passage, and I want to hold it here for the moment.

First off, I think the case is sufficiently made that this matter of constancy rightly belongs with the act of prayer, or if you prefer, the act of making mention which transpires as part of that act of prayer, rather than to the matter of remembering.  We have, to reiterate, the main declaration of “We give thanks.”  Now, we have another how.  We do so by making mention of you in our prayers at every appropriate chance. 

I suppose that raises yet another syntactical question, for there is but one ‘you’ in the passage, and we already attached that to the initial matter of giving thanks.  We give thanks for you, making mention in our prayers at all appropriate times.  But I think we can accept that standard English usage requires we inject a second ‘you’ as the thing made mention of.  And only then do we proceed into verse 3 with its new act of remembering.  This, too, is a present participle, a verbal adjective applying to the nominative ‘we’.  It is, then, a further defining of how that thanks is given, or we might say, why it is given.  We always give thanks for you in our prayers, as we remember your works.

Okay, now there’s another question here, as to where the ‘in the sight of our God and Father’ should apply.  The NET applies it here, to the act of prayer, and that’s certainly one option.  It seems a bit odd, on the surface, that one would speak of praying to God in God, though.  And while there’s a certain fitness to that idea, I don’t think it’s the intent.  I incline instead to see that connected to that which is remembered in regard to the Thessalonians, as regards their active faith.  Again, it’s all one lengthy sentence, running at minimum through verse 4.  And the nature of Greek leaves us with perhaps too much flexibility as to how we should understand the several clauses as connecting.  It makes one wonder how anybody manages to impart meaning in such a language, but presumably those who wrote and spoke it would more readily perceive the correct intent than we who are reduced to translating from afar.

But let me get to a point here; a first application to be drawn from this message.  “We give thanks always.  We pray constantly.”  This really is a defining feature of a healthy Christian life.  I wish I could say it aptly described my own, but I know it doesn’t.  I have brief moments of occasional prayer, but to say I pray constantly would be a bold-faced lie.  Even if I accounted relatively godly habits of thought as prayer, I should be challenged to make any such claim.  The busyness of life and work, and, as I’m being honest, of hobbies and amusements, more often than not crowd out thoughts of prayer.  Sad to say, but even these times of study, unless they be accounted prayer in themselves, tend to push aside what would be more recognizable as a prayer life.

And yet, I can see the fundamental reality of this.  A habit of prayerfulness not only befits the Christian, it is the power to endure in a godly life.  If I think back upon Peter’s instructions in my previous study of 2Peter, it’s somewhat surprising that we don’t find prayer in his list of things to apply ourselves to.  I suppose we could say he took it as a given.  But we have that whole list:  Faith, moral excellence, knowledge, self-control, perseverance, godliness, brotherly love, and the benevolent agape love so unique to Christian faith.  To all these we should be applying ourselves with all due diligence, but where shall we find the strength and power to do so?  We find it, of course, in God who supplies His power for these very ends (2Pe 1:2-7).  And, in glancing back at that passage, I observe that we have that same seeking of grace and peace on behalf of the reader.

But lest I distract myself, let me turn fully back to this matter of prayer.  If we are to lay hold of the power God provides, and to apply it according to His intended purpose, to these matters which pertain to living godly in the present age, how shall we do it except through a habit of prayerfulness?  Do you wonder at your seeming inefficacy?  Do you wonder at your weakness, at the way you are so quickly distracted from your efforts to live out the faith into which you have been purchased?  Well, here’s your first and foremost diagnostic tool!  How’s your prayer life?  It’s not a question I like to hear, honestly, because I know the honest answer is wanting.  Or to phrase it differently, I know the honest answer is, “Wanting.”

There was a time when the various activities of our church would not begin without significant time given to prayer.  But something happens.  You bring five or ten believers together and say we’re going to pray, and maybe one or two will actively give voice to prayer.  Who can say what’s going on in the minds of the rest?  But I would venture there’s a fair amount of mental wandering, at least if I assume my own experience to be something other than unusual.  Or perhaps I really am just that poor a Christian.  I do know it’s something that needs work, and I suppose there’s no time like the present to make a start on it.  I also know, coming at the end of a time of study, with the day beginning to crowd in, I shall not give it the time it deserves.  But, as I say, a start.

Father, I have indeed been weak of late, haven’t I?  Indeed, I’m not sure ‘of late’ really captures it.  I have been weak.  Let’s just leave it there, shall we?  I have difficulty, it seems, with prayer.  I see my wife spend hours in prayer, and then come with lengthy prayers (at least by my estimation), when we come together of an evening, and honestly, it kind of annoys me.  I’m not saying it’s right.  I’m saying that’s how it is.  You know, anyway, so no sense pretending it’s otherwise.  I would love to say that I long for that in my own life, but truth be told, I don’t.  I long for earnestness in prayer, perhaps.  But even that feels a stretch.  Suffice to say, I know the need of it, and the lack of longing concerns me.  That probably captures the matter better.  So I would ask of You that You would stir up a desire to pray in me.  I don’t necessarily need long times of prayer, for those seem so often to just devolve into repeating the same point over and over again, and once is enough, isn’t it?  But stir up this faith within me, fan the spark to flame, that I might the more desire time together with You, and that I might see my own example more suitably reflecting Your presence in me.  I have been weak, and I ought not to be.  I am Yours, after all.  I have been lackadaisical, and that, I surely ought not to be.  You know the circumstances of my life at present.  But then, I look at the circumstances of Paul, and of those to whom he writes, and my difficulties are as nothing.  And yet, I allow them to choke out the work You are doing in me, and these did not.  These things ought not to be, Lord, and I pray, in the name of Your Son Who bought me, that You would help me make real progress in this, and not forget as I close out this study today.

Faith, Hope, and Love (04/12/22-04/13/22)

As we continue in verse 3, we may recognize a familiar theme to us, although not in its more familiar formula.  Faith, hope, and love make their appearance already in Paul’s writing.  But here, as he is not in a corrective mode with the Church, they are not presented in the familiar order.  But they are present, and to a purpose.  Now that Paul’s message is already here in a somewhat less developed fashion shouldn’t surprise us.  After all, Paul was not coming up with his theology as he went.  The application to specific situations and needs may have required some prayer and preparation, but the message of the Gospel was not being fabricated as he went.  It came fully developed; he having had several years to train before ever he presented himself to the church in Jerusalem.  The details of his training must remain something of a matter of conjecture, given how little we are told of that period, but it’s certainly there.  Under the tutelage of Christ, Paul learned Christ’s Gospel, in a fashion quite unlike that by which the other Apostles had learned it, but as confirmed by themselves, the self-same gospel.

Five years after the writing of this letter, Paul would remind the church of Corinth that what he had taught them, the Gospel he had preached to them, being that of Christ, and Him crucified, was the same Gospel he preached everywhere to every church.  The admonitions delivered to them were no burden above and beyond, but the same things God required of every believer in every church – and still does.  And let us add, as well, that the means God supplies by which to strengthen and grow up the believer are the same means for every believer in every place and time.  And those means are what Paul sets before us now.  We see faith, hope, and love.  But we see them not so much as objects to obtain, but means to employ.

Remember, too, that these are brought up not by way of instruction, but as matters that give basis for the Apostle and his companions to give thanks to God.  Why?  Because they are being deployed as intended.  Faith is not just head knowledge.  It is not a possession gained and guarded.  Faith is powering work.  Love is, to take the old song, more than a feeling.  It is giving strength and grace amidst toilsome labors.  Indeed, we might argue those labors are no longer so toilsome because they have become labors of love.  And hope is not, nor is it ever, the wishful thinking of idleness.  This is hope as certainty and expectation combined in joyful anticipation.  It comes near the joyful prospect of the child who knows a day of celebration approaches and is quite certain he shall have presents given him.  Oh, how that anticipation grows.  Oh, how he hopes for that day, but it’s not wishful thinking, it’s assurance that, while he may not get the exact gifts he hopes for, he will assuredly receive things in which to delight.  And here, that hope, that assurance and anticipation are supplying the steel for steadfastness.

The NET, in footnote to the verse, brings out this same point.  These are, they write, “Christian virtues in action.”  Well, yes.  Christian virtues they are, but as they are such, they are fundamentally graces received of God in their origin, and empowered by God in their efficacy.  If Christian virtue is seen in action, it is because God has so worked in the Christian as to bring about this active, fruitful life of godliness.  It is ever thus.  These are not commendations of the Thessalonians for their fealty to God so much as they are a celebration of God Who works among them.  Remember Paul’s message here, the main clause of the sentence:  We give thanks to God for you.  It’s not, we praise you for your efforts.  No.  It’s we remember the evidence of God’s work in you, and thank Him for it.  This is the healthy perspective we ought always to have in assessing first ourselves, and then those others we may minister under or alongside.  The man of God is not to be set on a pedestal, but is rather cause for thankfulness to God for so working on that man as to render him effective in the Gospel.

This last weekend, we celebrated the ordination of our associate pastor, and yes, at some level it is assuredly a celebration of that young man and his accomplishment.  He has completed appropriate training in an appropriate seminary.  But more, he has demonstrated, over several years, a commitment to and a facility or gifting for ministry in its several aspects.  He is able to preach the Word of God with fidelity and with grace.  He is able to apply the lessons of godly living to the congregants, whether the youth with which he has primarily worked, or the older adults.  He has lived godly among us.  But for all that, the celebration of his ordination, as the celebration of any pastor’s ordination, is a celebration of God, an act of thanksgiving to God for what He has done in the life of the one being ordained.  He has supplied the grace, the peace, the faith, hope, and love.  It is ever thus.  It is thus, as well, with those who would serve as elders in our churches, or those who would serve in any other capacity.  We serve by God’s grace else we serve without validity.

But let us briefly consider these three causes for thanksgiving.  Faith has produced works.  This is the tender balance of the Gospel.  We are sufficiently familiar with Paul’s more developed theme of faith, and think of the formulation he applies in Romans 3:28.  “For we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from works of the Law.”  Now, I suspect that for the most part, our memory of that passage neglects the final clause, ‘of the Law’, and arrives at a faith utterly divorced from works of any sort.  Is it any wonder, then, that coming to James 2:17, so many find themselves thinking the Bible has just contradicted itself.  He writes, “Even so faith, if it has no works, is dead, being by itself.”  It is useless, he says a few verses later.  Is it not so?  But observe that these two points do not conflict.  And if we will but look at this cause for thanksgiving before us, we will see that this is true.

We always thank God for you as we remember your works of faith.  Faith works.  Pure and simple.  It is not idle.  It is not cerebral.  It is not, as philosophy so often is, merely a matter of mental gymnastics and fine ideas, that in the end change nothing.  You know, we hear so often of this or that life-changing thing.  It may be an event, or a sermon or teaching, or a book, or what have you.  But at the end of it all, there is but one life-changing thing, and that is the shocking work of God, visiting on a permanent basis in the Person of the Holy Spirit, changing our hearts and minds to truly receive this Gospel, this good news that God has provided the way that we might be no longer criminals condemned for our rejection of Him Who made us, but rather true sons and daughters of God.

Here’s the thing.  If in fact God has come, and the Gospel has taken root in you; if indeed there has been a life-changing event, that changed life will produce works befitting the faith that has been received.  Faith will not sit quiet, satisfied in one’s personal status as redeemed.  Faith will, I think of necessity, desire that others may know this same salvation, and that those who are saved may grow.  Faith, if it is real, must surely accede to the instruction of Him in Whom we have come to believe.  And fundamental in that instruction is the commission He gave to His church:  “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you” (Mt 28:19-20a).

Now, that doesn’t mean we all of us become evangelists and travel the world evermore, seeking out new and unreached peoples amongst whom to plant Gospel seeds.  There is that.  There is also the making of disciples, which is a slower, dare I say, more settled process.  These go hand in hand.  If all go and plant, and none remain to water and tend, then the seed will almost certainly be choked out by weeds.  We know this with our gardens, those of us who garden.  Land untended will grow that which we do not desire, however much we may have cast seed to produce that which we do.  It’s the same with the Gospel.  Just tossing out a salvation message, praying with those who come forward, and moving on will not be very likely to produce lasting results.  Lasting results require attending to.

We see it with Paul.  Where he is able, he remains with the church he has planted for a season, a season measured in years.  With Thessalonica, that had not proven possible, as his presence became a threat to the safety of those whom he would disciple.  But even this does not prevent him seeing to their discipling.  He may not be able to be there, but he can send his coworker, Timothy.  He may not be able to be there, but he can send instruction and encouragement in epistles such as this.  And so, as we see these matters of thanksgiving, they do come, I think, with a side-note of instruction.   These are good things, keep doing them!  That will become more explicit as the letter unfolds, but it’s reasonable to catch sight of that encouragement even here at the outset.

Let’s turn to love.  Where faith works, it seems, love labors.  Now, that term comes with a bit of negativity in its connotations.  Work, it seems, has more a view to the task at hand, the deed done.  What we have in labor is weariness.  At root, the term kopos indicates a beating.  Work, ergon, may be pleasant enough, but kopos is onerous.  It’s troublesome effort, wearying effort, effort that may be downright painful.  And here we have it connected with love.  Well, that doesn’t seem right, does it?  Love is supposed to be pleasant, warm, enlivening.  Well, it depends what you have in mind with love, doesn’t it?  Here, we are not talking the cheerful companionship of brotherhood, nor the impassioned love of spouse for spouse.  No, it is that peculiar love attributed first to God, and then to those who are His own. 

It is agape love, compassion expressed in active love.  And that might give us our first hint as to why the works of love are kopos rather than ergon.  Where is compassion needed?  It’s not so much in the simple works of faith.  Those may tend to be rather joyful endeavors by and large.  Oh, yes, there is labor involved, and we may indeed be wearied by our efforts.  But here, the work is carried on in the face of pain.  That pain may not be our own, so much, but we know that weariness that comes of helping those in pain.  We know that they may not always be entirely receptive of the sort of help they need.  If we think of the common example of coming to the aid of one who is drowning, the issue is clear.  That one may, in his panicked state, actually pull under the one seeking to help.  By all appearances, the drowning man is fighting against his own rescue.

Now, if we would fully appreciate the labor of love, we must turn our attention to Jesus Christ in those moments of His fullest obedience to the work given Him.  He came to a world that neither knew Him nor wanted Him.  He came to His own, and they knew Him not.  He came to bring life, and those to whom He would give this gift of life instead sought His death.  And still, even in His dying, He brought that life to those who had not the sense to seek it of Him.  Paul speaks of it in Romans 5:10.  “If while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son, much more, having been reconciled, we shall be saved by His life.”  Now, for Paul, this was a most personal experience, wasn’t it?  Think about it.  He was on his way to seek and destroy those who declared as followers of Christ when Jesus found him.  And Jesus didn’t, as would have been His unquestionable right, put this rebel to death.  No.  He put him to work.  He saved Paul, gave him life, and set him apart for the singular purpose of bearing this gospel message efficaciously amongst the Gentiles, a people sitting in darkness.

That was God’s expression of this agape love which Paul now celebrates in the Thessalonians.  God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son (Jn 3:16).  We know the words well enough.  But He gave His Son to a lost world that didn’t want Him.  He gave His Son, knowing that His Son must die, if He was to achieve His intended purpose.  And Jesus knew.  He knew what agonies He had signed up for, back before the dawn of Creation, when the Godhead made covenant in His Persons to bring about this very end.  And still, love labored.

This is the love of our Head, our King.  This is the model set us by our Teacher.  This is the love, then, that God so fills us with that it must in its own turn spill over in our lives in the same, selfless, compassionate life and love that He lived before us.  No, we ought not to wonder that this labor of love is a painful, toilsome business.  It’s not our tendency to assign such characteristics to that which we account a labor of love.  Oh, we might acknowledge the extent of effort, the extended effort, that such a labor requires.  But I think we tend to look at it more as the work being an expression of that which we love to do.  Our willingness to commit the time and energy needed for such a fine result came of our enjoyment of both the outcome and the process.  That, may apply in some form here, but I don’t think anyone, Christ included, is going to say that the process – certainly in His case – was all joy and happiness.  If we look at those three years in which He ministered, there was little enough of pleasure to it, wasn’t there?  He spent it in the wild, with no fixed abode.  He spent it on the run, as those authorities that held sway sought to destroy Him.  He spent the opening days in the desert, without food, and tempted by the devil himself.  And through it all, he faced the wreckage of a people, a people He Himself had created.  He walked among His people knowing how they had been created to be, and seeing what they had become.  He saw daily, hourly, the ravages of sin, and He had compassion.  He set Himself to do what must be done on the part of those He loved, even if they had not the sense to want it.

As parents, we experience this in some degree, don’t we?  Our love for our children must often lead us to do for them things they don’t want.  It may be simple matters of feeding them such foods as will nourish them, rather than the candy and cake they would subsist on, left to their own choices.  We require them to maintain hygiene, when all they want to do is play.  What’s the point in getting clean, if we’re only going to get dirty again?  But we persist.  We love sacrificially, continuing to do what is needful for them, even when we must do so in the face of tantrums and reviling.  And this but supplies the least reflection of what Christ did for us.  If we are wise as parents, we bear this constantly in mind, and by that remembrance are able to temper our application of love’s demands with true compassion and mercy.  Freely we received, freely we must give.

Finally, Paul turns to hope, and notes that hope has connection to the steadfastness of faith in them.  Bearing in mind the situation of that church, with opposition coming from all sides, steadfastness of faith is rather an amazing thing to discover in them.  And here, Paul shows us why this amazing discovery is there to be made.  There is in them this hope, this certainty of expectation, anticipating what is to be their future in the very real presence of God the Father. 

That hope, we see, is founded in our Lord Jesus Christ.  Now, as with the question of what was done constantly, I think there’s some question as regards where this phrase ‘in our Lord Jesus Christ in the presence of our God and Father’ applies.  Does it apply to this hope?  Does it apply to the whole testimony of their progress?  Does it apply to Paul’s prayers?  Well, while it’s possible that we should push it all the way back to those prayers which are the act of giving thanks to God, it seems just a bit odd to me to suggest they give thanks to God in God.  We pray in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, it is true, and we pray to God the Father in doing so.  But I don’t believe we find any reference to back the idea that we pray in God the Father.  I could be wrong about that.

I could see applying it to the whole of their testimony, for faith, love, and hope all have their source in God, the font of all grace.  And these are graces, aren’t they?  Paul will later come to speak of them as the chief graces, the greatest gifts of Christ to His Church.  “Faith, hope, and love abide, and the greatest of these is love” (1Co 13:13).  That passage, as we know, comes amidst great correction to the very church from which he writes at present.  And the correction was needed in large part because that church had misgauged the import of those gifts and graces God provides.  They went for those that presented the better show, displayed more of apparent power.  These, however, are the gifts Paul tells us matter.  They may not be showy.  They may not be so evident as to their power, but they are the power of God, and they are the graces that last.

But let me return to the idea that it is specifically hope which we find established in our Lord Jesus Christ, and if that be the case, we might opt to view being in the presence of our God and Father as the thing hoped for, the thing expected.  That is our hope, isn’t it?  The hope of heaven.  We have this great and as yet unrealized hope of the day when this present life shall be done, this present order removed, and the new heavens and the new earth established once for all, with God Himself her light.  And we, having been declared free of all penalty before the court of God due to the atoning work of our Lord Jesus Christ Who bought us out of our sins, shall dwell there forever more, in the presence of our God and Father.

Is this in fact the point Paul seeks to convey here?  I am not sure.  Is it a valid point?  Most certainly.  And I dare say, steadfast hope in such a future is indeed the power to stand fast in the faith into which we have been purchased.  Jesus taught us, “Do not fear those who kill the body, but are unable to kill the soul.  Rather, fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell” (Mt 10:28).  There’s sort of a twofold application of fear there, isn’t there?  It comes in the midst of telling us to be anxious for nothing, so I think it fitting to hear fear in its more natural meaning in this case.  Certainly, the capacity of those with power over us to kill the body is not encouragement to worship and revere such men, only to fear.  But if we turn to God, is such cringing fear still appropriate?  On one level, yes.  We would do well to have such fear of Him as would prevent any thought of transgressing His law.  But on the other hand, we know He is our Father who loves us.  He is our Creator who made us.  And we see to what incredible extents He has gone to ensure our fitness to be eternally in His company, and we have far greater cause to revere than to cringe.

Still, I wonder, though it is something of a digression, just how powerfully we would know His presence with us if we had just a bit more of fear in regard to His power to truly destroy those who disregard His rule?  I think back to my youngest days, and one example still springs to mind with regularity.  There was that day I had ridden off to a friend’s house for the day with strict instruction to be home by such and such an hour.  Mind you, this friend’s house lay several miles away, to be reached by combination of relatively busy highway and narrow, winding back roads.  I say relatively because, honestly, by local standards that highway would have seemed practically unused.  But this was a young man, I don’t know as I was even a teen yet, riding off on his bike, and not to be heard from again for many hours.  At the time, of course, I thought nothing of it.  But as a parent, I can appreciate the trust and doubt mingled in my own parents, and how that would grow as my return proved to come later and later beyond the stated deadline.  As I say, it seemed no big deal to me that I was a bit late.  But to my father?  This was a serious crime to be met with serious penalty.  In my memory, I recall the grounding that followed lasting the better part of a month, but I may be exaggerating it in that recollection.  What I do know is that it left me with a proper fear of ever repeating my crime.

All this to say, how is it we have so little regard for repeated violations of those laws set forth by Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell?  And yet, we know it is so.  That sinful old man who still occupies our flesh is disinclined to pay much attention to rules if it seems there is nobody about to enforce them.  Something in our nature – and we know that something for what it is:  sin – despises all thought of regulation from outside forces.  We want to be our own law and know no other.  But where wisdom has come, it seems we begin to recognize the need for some degree of outside regulation if indeed we are to abide in something like civilized society.  But still, we will seek the loopholes, won’t we?  We will push the limits, test the boundaries, and seek to get away with what we can.

It’s almost a sport, isn’t it?  We see the speed limit on the highway, and automatically, we are calculating how much faster we can go without undue risk of being pulled over.  We know that yellow light means we ought to be seeking to stop but instead we are assessing whether a bit of extra speed might get us through the intersection before the light goes red.  We come to tax time, and while we are hopefully wise enough not to test the power of the IRS to detect and punish our fraud, we are inclined to find every possible advantage to reduce our bill.  That is not a matter of breaking the law, to be clear, but it displays the same underlying nature.

And we carry that into our Christian life.  Sorry.  We do.  We see God’s Law, even in its much more merciful formulation under Christ, and we are almost automatically running the calculations to determine what we can get away with.  It simply does not occur to us that in the ultimate sense, we cannot get away with anything.  There is nothing in our acts, nor even in our thoughts that escapes the notice of almighty God.  When we say He is omniscient, we mean it.  He knows.  Wherever you are, He sees.  There is no moment that is not observed and noted down.  And yet, somehow, most miraculously, we still know we are His.  We still know this certainty of hope, and why?  Because our hope is in our Lord Jesus Christ.  It’s not in our obedience, and our newly discovered commitment to keep God’s ways.  If it is, then we’re not paying much attention to our own ways, for if we did, we should find that commitment lasted less time than the average new year’s resolution.  No, our hope, our certainty and anticipation, has valid basis because it is established in the person and the work of Jesus Christ, the living Son of the Living God, who paid the due penalty for our sins; He who knew no sin, becoming sin for us in order that we might become the righteousness of God in Him (2Co 5:21).

And that hope, established in Christ, knows that there will indeed come the time when sin, our sinful nature, will have been fully and finally transformed to such degree as to be entirely done away.  We are being renewed day by day.  We are being reformatted, if you will, but gradually.  The time will come when God Who is at work in us will have finished His work, and we shall be presented before Him, clothed in Christ’s own righteousness.  Will we face that day of judgment?  To be sure.  I see no reason to suppose we skate past it.  But we will face that day with our Lord and King at our side, serving as Attorney on our behalf, and while we must, I fear, abide the interminable list of charges against us, and acknowledge the validity of each and every one, yet, there shall be that voice from Him Who stands beside us, reminding the court that in each and every case, the penalty has been paid in full and the case is closed.  There is the excitement of Paul’s question to Rome.  “Who will bring a charge against God’s elect?  God is the one who justifies!” (Ro 8:33)  Yes, I tell you, fear Him.

That same passage gives us a view of this hope which is being commended in the Thessalonians.  “If we hope for what we do not see, we persevere, waiting eagerly for it” (Ro 8:25).  Indeed, that is what keeps us going, isn’t it?  We know it shall come, for He is faithful who promised.  We also know it is not our present experience, and more and more each day, we hunger for the time when it is.  We wait eagerly, the eagerness fueled by certainty.  And in that certainty we persevere, whatever opposition arises, whatever setbacks may be encountered.  If our hope were in our own compliance, our own capacities, it would be a hopeless thing indeed, and almost farcical in its tragedy.  But our hope is in Him, not in us.  Our faith is in Him, not in us.  Our life, as Paul observes, is in Him, not us.  And so, let me close out this portion of the study with a word from Him Who is our Life.  “This is the work of God, to believe in Him whom He has sent” (Jn 6:29).

When we see reference to those works of faith, here is the chief of them:  They believed.  They believed in Christ whom Father has sent.  And believing in Him is far more than acknowledging that the man, Jesus of Nazareth truly existed and truly came to be crucified by the Romans at the behest of the Jews.  Even the crassest, most pagan Roman soldier could attest to that much.  Even those who reviled Him from the crowds had to attest to that much.  Even to believe that He is in fact the Son of God, and even to believe that He is Himself wholly God of wholly God, is insufficient.  As James observes, demons believe as much – honestly, how could they not?  But they shudder for what they know to be true (Jas 2:19).  That’s the issue.  Such belief but acknowledges the inescapable truth.  For many who bend the knee and declare that truth at the day of His manifest return, that will be the nature of their compliance.  Knee will bend whether willingly or otherwise.  Confession will be made, whether from love or from compelled admission.  The truth of it will be the same either way.   The value of it, on the other hand, depends on other things.

No.  But I tell you this:  To truly believe in Him whom God has sent is indeed work, and it is the most important work.  See, to believe He truly is God Incarnate, and truly came for the purpose of saving sinners, will require that we not only confess our sinfulness, but also truly repent of our sins.  It will require a trust in Him that persists, as we see it in these Thessalonians, even when work becomes labor becomes toil, even when the compassion we are called to know toward the lost around us means we deal with depths of sorrow and misery daily, even when the rejection of the world of this One who came to save turns violent, and even deadly.  When we see brothers and sisters tormented and put to death for their steadfast confession that Jesus Christ is Lord of all, shall we stand steadfast, holding to the hope set before us?  That is ever the question, and if you’re like me, no doubt you hope (in the wishful sense, rather than the certain) that such a test may never come your way.  I don’t find that sinful in the least.  But if such a testing should come, stand we shall; not because our strength and commitment is so great and we such wonderful Christians.  No, it shall stand because He Who saves us shall in fact cause us to stand, and if needed, to stand some more.

Peter’s stance at the end of his days did not come of his own strength.  We have seen in full how he stands in his own strength.  It’s right there in the accounts, in order that we might not elevate the man beyond his measure.  But stand he did, knowingly facing crucifixion for his faith, and asking only that they crucify him upside down, lest he resemble too much the infinitely superior Jesus Christ.  What gave him that strength and apparent serenity?  The very Jesus Christ he would not account himself fit to imitate in death.  So it has been for every martyr down through the ages, and so it ever shall be.  For our faith is not in our own careful compliance, but in the Son Who saved us.  Our love is not an expression of our own wonderful character, but the overflow of that love which God the Father has poured out upon us.  Our hope is not in our own compliance, but in the promise obtained, the inheritance secured to us in the perfect work of our perfect Lord.  To Him and Him alone be the glory, now and forevermore, amen.

Evident Election (04/14/22)

Here is yet another doctrinal point embedded in this word of greeting and encouragement.  God chose.  We are brought right up, face to face with God’s election.  He chose you.  This is yet another expression of that uniquely selfless and compassionate love which is first and foremost of God’s own essence.  He didn’t come save you because you were anxiously seeking after Him.  He came in spite of the fact that you had no interest in Him, and quite likely had active antipathy toward Him.  He chose you in spite of yourself, we might say. 

That aspect of things, though, isn’t strongly in view here.  It’s there, just not in focus.  Consider that this is a Gentile church, a church pulled together from a collection of those who had been attracted to Jewish religion, and more, those who had been perfectly comfortable in their pagan ways.  But news of the One God and His free offer of forgiveness and eternal life to those who would repent of their ways and come to Him had produced in them a positive response.  Let’s understand something.  That response wasn’t their power of reason acceding to a convincing argument.  Neither was the message so incredibly well crafted as to ensure that any who heard it would of course respond positively.  The Gospel is absolutely the power of God to save, but there is this to bear in mind:  That power is only efficacious where God so chooses.  Indeed, though I get ahead of myself somewhat, I would insist that the power of God, in whatever form or display it might take with us, is always a matter of God’s choosing.  He doesn’t give of His power that we may play with it and make it about us.  He gives of His power as He chooses, and for His uses.  The efficacy, and I would say, even the availability of that power remains His choice.

But here, it is the power of the Gospel, as the primary vehicle of God’s elective, salvific choice of man.  Where there has been His choice, I think we would accept that the phrasing offered by the BBE applies.  If He has chosen you, “you have been marked out by God’s purpose.”  Indeed, I could suggest you have been marked out by God for His purposes.  You weren’t saved for nothing.  It’s not about you, and it’s not about you being satisfied in the confident hope that has been established in you.  Remember:  Faith works, love labors.  And that gets me to the other half of this matter of election as Paul conveys it to us here in verse 4.  God’s choice of you is evident, if it is true.  If indeed you have been marked out by God for His purposes, then those who have likewise been chosen by Him will see it in you.

Paul writes, “knowing His choice of you.”  We can include that recognition in the middle of the verse.  “Knowing you to be dear brothers beloved by God.”  The two go hand in hand.  Knowing the one is evidence of the other, and in which order you choose to apply that really makes no difference.  I know you are a dear brother beloved by God because He chose you.  I know He chose you because you are clearly beloved by God, and being beloved by God are my own beloved brother.

But the clearer evidence upon which this knowledge is established is that perceived by the senses.  We are, after all, dealing with eido here, not ginosko.  I can see that God is at work in you, and where He works, He has made choice.  How has Paul seen this?  Well, it is evident in that faith works, love labors, and hope is steadfast.  The reports have come in as to the state of this fledgling church, and overall, those reports indicate the validity of God’s presence with them.  Were they not of His choosing, the excited response to Paul and company while they were there would have quickly passed, and those who had responded would have gone back to life as they knew it previously.  If God was not at work in them, there would be no such selfless, compassionate love as was being displayed by them regularly.  If God was not in them, then the fierce opposition they faced from Jew and Gentile alike would soon have put paid to their enthusiasm for this new religion.  But faith is working, love is laboring, and hope is steadfast.  God is present, and He is present because He has chosen so to be.

Indeed, this was a church marked out by God’s purpose.  We’ll see more evidence of that in coming verses, but that’s building on what we already see here.  Faith is evident.  Can I make that a doctrinal statement?  Yes, I think so.  Faith that is not clearly seen by those we encounter day by day must be accounted suspect, I think.  Does that mean we are ever and always preaching the Gospel, whatever the occasion?  Of that I’m not so sure.  I incline to think not, but I wonder to what degree that answer comes of acculturation rather than from faith.  I could bring forth the reminder from Jesus not to cast these pearls of faith before swine, and I do think it applicable.  There’s a time and a place.  There are other times and places where attempts to preach would be entirely unproductive, and might possibly be detrimental to the purposes of God.  I know we want to hold out that He wants to save everybody everywhere, and wants to in that unopposable, Holy will fashion that brooks no possibility of failure.  But I cannot hold that view, given the full testimony of Scripture.  If indeed that were God’s determined purpose, then we can have no explanation for Pharaoh, for Esau, for the Moabites, the Canaanites, nor even for the destruction of Jerusalem that came, if we accept Jesus’ word as prophetic, as judgment upon them for their rejection of Messiah.

Let me put it thusly:  If God’s unopposable purpose is the salvation of all mankind, then there can have been no rejection of Messiah.  We must account that even the likes of Hitler, Stalin, and Mao, despite all their demonic works, and despite there being absolutely no sign of contrition or repentance even at the end, will indeed be discovered to have been saved by God.  Or, which is a thought even more perverse, we should discover that they had, in fact, been working in God’s purpose all along.  We shall find that those who propose that Judas, in spite of his role in the crucifixion of Jesus, was in fact a true saint and apostle of said Jesus are right.  We shall find, in short, that God is rather perverse, and His justice entirely unjust.  And that, dear ones, cannot stand.  God is God.  He chooses, and as He chooses, He does.  I’ll simply take Paul’s more developed words on this matter, when he wrote to the church in Rome.  “Who are you, O man, who answers back to God?  The thing molded will not say to the molder, ‘Why did you make me like this,’ will it?  Doesn’t the potter have a right over the clay, to make from the same lump one vessel for honorable use another for common use?” (Ro 9:20-21).  Doesn’t God have the right to choose whom He will, to save whom He will?  Is He not the God who by His very name declared that this is how it is?  “I will proclaim the name of the LORD before you:  I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show compassion on whom I will show compassion” (Ex 33:19).  We can argue whether or not He was in fact declaring His name here, but I think this is exactly what was happening.

Back to my point.  If God has chosen, it shows.  Paul’s declaration here is that he knows they are brethren in Christ because he had, through Timothy, seen and heard the clear evidence of God’s choice of them.  He had, in fact, seen and heard the evidence of God’s presence among them in the reports that had come to Corinth before him.  We might argue that the vigorous response of faith in the Thessalonians had in some ways prepared the way for Paul’s ministry success here.  They had heard news of what was going on in Macedonia, in Thessalonica; and now, here was this same Paul with this same Gospel message come among them.

God’s choice shows.  And God’s choice remains a thing of which we need to be keenly aware.  God chose you.  It is a needful reminder both because we often need the encouragement that comes of knowing this, and also because pride needs the humbling that comes of this awareness.  I have little doubt that in our more honest moments, we all of us can recount myriad ways in which our lives fall short of being the testimony to God that they should be.  Our faith may not be working so fully and openly as it ought.  Our love may feel a bit constrained and unwilling to address the great need around us.  I hope, however, that our hope is yet unwavering.  And I have cause so to hope, for that hope is not established on our compliance, but on God’s choice.  It is His choice which cannot fail, not our obedience.

But there is call here for self-examination.  We have seen those things that give evidence of His choice, and if such things are not in evidence in us, it strikes me that we likely have cause for repentance.  If the things of God no longer excite, if the mission given us in the Gospel does not move us anymore, if we have become satisfied in knowing our own salvation and no longer give much thought to the lost around us, it’s time to repent and to pray that the Lord of the harvest might restore us to our own first love. That had become a danger in Ephesus (Rev 2:4), and I don’t suppose for a moment they were alone in facing that issue.  I have seen that argument made that the seven churches are, after their fashion, seven stages of life in the Church.  I don’t know as I hold to that, but that these issues are evident in pretty much every church in every time and place I could readily accept.

Our love grows, not so much cold as attenuated.  We love God well enough, perhaps, but lose our passion for seeing His kingdom expanded.  It seems so fruitless sometimes, doesn’t it?  We look at the culture around us, with its growing antipathy to the whole subject matter of truth and holiness, and figure maybe we should be satisfied defending our territory against incursion, rather than being the invading force God fashioned us to be.  Well, look back to Thessalonica, to the nascent Church amidst the hostilities of the Roman Empire.  You want hopeless?  Here it is!  What we face is, at least as yet, less of open hostility and more a matter of disinterest.  What we face is the sinfulness of sin.  But we must face it in ourselves as well.  Our disinclination to be the Gospel missionaries we were purposed to be is as much a sin as anything these fallen, darkened heathens around us may be doing.  If we would reach them, I suspect we must needs first deal with ourselves; repent of our idleness, and recommit to the pursuit of God’s holy and life-giving purposes.  We must return to a life defined by faith, hope, and love.

Gospel Power (04/15/22-04/16/22)

As we continue with Paul’s extended greeting to this church, we see a connection between the gospel and power, and between power and the Holy Spirit.  I suspect for many of us, it is the power that catches our attention.  For those of a Charismatic persuasion, I can all but guarantee this is the case.  Here is evidence, after all, of miraculous power displayed as proof of the Gospel.  But is that what Paul is saying here?  Is he pointing to signs and wonders performed?  I grant that’s somewhat a natural direction for our thoughts to take, but I am not entirely convinced it is the correct direction.  I think we must consider whether the power Paul has in mind is that displayed by him, or that which is inherent in the Gospel he preaches.

Before I consider the wording of this part of the text, it might be well to consider a few related comments from Paul that more or less span the course of his ministry.  We have here, after all, perhaps the earliest of his writings, and still relatively early on in his career.  But we can look also to the letter written to Corinth some five years later, or that to Rome which is written, if I’m remembering correctly, somewhat later than that, and at any rate, is certainly written with a more fully defined doctrine in view.  So, let us see how this idea of power develops in his letters.

We begin with another message to Thessalonica.  “We always pray for you, that God may make you worthy of His calling, and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by His power” (2Th 1:11).  Here, it seems, we are not necessarily considering the Gospel preached, but the Gospel in its efficacious result.  But then, these may blur and become one and the same.  After all, where the Gospel is received to effect, will it not result in the Gospel preached?  Will those who have received not freely give?  And so, we see that power specifically applied to the resolve for good and to the work of faith.  What is the work of faith if not the proclaiming of this wonderful good news of life in Christ?  What is the good to which we would resolve, but to give living and lively expression to that love of God which has been shed abroad in our hearts?  And if that is the case, are we not right back to proclaiming the Gospel?

More to the point, perhaps, is the place wherein power resides.  That power is not something exercised by faith, or an evidence of faith.  Neither is it a gift set into the hands of the Thessalonians to be used as desired.  No.  That power is His, and it remains His.  It comes in response to prayer, but it comes in pursuit of His purposes and His glory.  The good they would do, if it is to be accounted good, is done in full concord with His purpose, and done with the sole desire to see His glory magnified.  He is, after all, the definition of Good.  If the work we would do is a work of faith, then it must necessarily be a work done not only in agreement with His purpose, but done as directed by His purpose.  We can’t go off chasing our own plans and agendas, and then pray that maybe God might be inclined to give the nod to our brilliant choices.  I mean, we can, but we are wrong to do so.  God may deign to empower such faulty works in spite of us, but I don’t think we could in good conscience speak of them as having been works of faith.  The work of faith must be begun and pursued as God Himself directs.  Then, and only then, we have every reason to expect that He will indeed lend His power to the things we do.  But don’t let expectation become presumption.  Don’t let expectation lead you to think you can demand response of God.  You can’t.  Not with any real hope of success.  If you find God at your command, then I dare say, it’s not God you have found.

Let’s move forward to the message Paul would send to Corinth some years hence.  And in doing so, we daren’t lose sight of the situation into which he was writing.  This was a church wholly caught up in the display of what we call the charismata.  We had folks speaking in tongues, and others prophesying, and all manner of other such gifts of the Spirit.  But the ones that had really caught their attention were those that had this, “Look at me!” component to them.  The gifts were there and they were real.  But they were really being bent to cross purposes, not as the edifying support that God intended.  So, Paul speaks of power to this church.  He reminds them, “My speech and message were not matters of plausible words of wisdom.  They were in demonstration of the Spirit and of power” (1Co 2:4).

And again, I think our imaginations run straight to an image of Paul up on some platform performing a sort of magic act.  Oh, we would never speak of it as such, because after all, it is the Holy Spirit power we are talking about, right?  And yet, we conjure up these ideas that leave Paul more or less on a par with Simon the magician.  In doing so, we do both Paul and the Spirit a serious disservice.  Looking at those words, you can see the clear line of development from what is before us in this letter to what he says to Corinth.  And no surprise there.  He also observed, in writing to Corinth, that what he taught them was nothing different than what he taught to every church.  So, what is the point he is making?  The same as here.  To a people steeped in words, in philosophy, in the idolization of reason, he points to something greater.  He doesn’t reject reason.  He merely points out its insufficiency when it comes to matters salvific.

The Gospel is more than merely ‘plausible words of wisdom’.  It is more than ‘words only’.  It is not, after all, a message devised by man, but rather, a message revealed to man by the very Holy Spirit of Whom he speaks in both cases.  The power that is in view is not that of miracles performed, but rather, that of truth proclaimed.  These powerful words are of God, not man.  They are not the result of deep thought, although they are assuredly worthy of deepest thought, and supply the man who would be wise with such depths as he could only imagine apart from them.  But they are the result of God’s own power, and they are the vehicles of God’s own power, where He chooses so to fill the preaching of His word. 

Paul came to Corinth with a message.  It was the same message with which he had come to Thessalonica.  It was also the same message he had brought to Athens.  But it seems in Athens he tried a different approach, an approach more attuned to the culture, and willing to play the philosopher’s game.  I may mistake the cause for such limited impact on Athens, but I think that’s where it lies.  So, when he came to Corinth, it was with lesson learned.  It was with a new resolve, to know nothing before them but Christ, and Him crucified.  This was an utter eschewing of the philosopher’s style.  It was a return to relying on that power which is the Gospel preached.

So, let’s try Rome, then. “I will not presume to speak of anything except what Christ has accomplished through me” (Ro 15:18-19).  Notice that Paul forcefully removes himself as being the power here.  No, he is but the conduit through which Christ has accomplished.  Christ remains the power and the direction.  What resulted?  “The obedience of the Gentiles by word and deed, in the power of signs and wonders, in the power of the Spirit.”  Does this, then, support those who, like the Assemblies of God churches, insist that faith remains rather suspect until accompanied by signs and wonders, at least the sign of speaking in tongues?  I suppose it could, but that hardly seems to have been the point.  What were the signs?  What were these wonders done in the power of the Spirit?  Is he saying that in every church he established, tongues and prophecy broke forth?  Maybe, but he’s not saying so explicitly, is he?  But he is saying that the Gospel he preached has produced results, “from Jerusalem as far as Illyricum.”  What has transpired?  “I have fully preached the gospel of Christ.”  Where’s the focus?  “I have preached.  Christ has accomplished.”  I have been obedient.  Christ has empowered.

If, in fact, such things as tongues and prophecy came forth in Paul’s trail, they came not as cause to believe, but as accompanying belief.  More, they came, according to the limited clear doctrinal teaching we have on the subject, as a means of support to the Church, as tools for edification, not as tools of propagation per se.  I do have something of the sense that when Paul talks of his speaking in tongues more than anybody, it has more to do with intelligible speech, a capacity to speak in the language of the listener so as to impart the truth of the Gospel, in spite of having no prior experience of speaking said language.  That is again a tool for edification, rather than some self-serving power supply.  Prophecy, as he describes it, is to similar end:  To edify, to correct and console the believer, and to convict the unbeliever.  But all is to the end of bolstering the advance of the kingdom of God, not to the end of showing the exerciser of said gifts to be something special.  They don’t serve to commend the wielder of the gift, the conduit of the power, but only to seal the validity of the word of God, being in truth the exercise of His power – by Him.

Now, let me come back to what Paul is saying here specifically.  “Our gospel did not come to you in word only, but in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction.”  Okay, and again, our Charismatic friend will insist that we see that this points to something beyond preaching, to signs and wonders displayed.  And again, I shall have to insist that he has missed the point.  Word here has a significance.  It is a significance that would resonate with the Greek mind, as it was intended to do.  It is the same resonance we have in John’s adoption of the term as a name for Jesus our Lord, the Logos of God.  Here was the living, manifest expression of God’s articulate thought.  Now that sounds wonderfully mystical, doesn’t it?  And it would have to them as well.  Oooh!   Living thought, the very embodiment of reason.  All hail!  And so far as it went, this was assuredly an accurate aspect of Christ.  Were it not, John would not have been inspired to adopt such language.

But here, we are not as yet dealing with the Logos, but with logos more generally, logos as the common pursuit of the philosopher or the scientist, if you will.  Here, in expression given to articulate, well organized and presented thought, was display of the very power of reason.  Consider that this was a culture that highly valued refined manners of speech.  The poet was practically a priest, construed as having received his words from the gods.  The philosophers, as well, were valued for their great displays of powerful reasoning.  They still are.  There’s a reason you will still find such texts as Plato’s ‘Republic’ quoted regularly today.  Because, so far as human reasoning goes, and a capacity to see how things develop with man, Plato had it going on.  These were men of high intelligence, and those who would dispense with their wisdom today are only displaying their own relative ignorance.

But here, Paul points to something greater.  These men might come with the power of reason.  But the Gospel comes as the expression of Reason, of God’s own power of reason.  They present to you the Logos.  They present to you both His Person and His purpose.  They come with human reasoning, says Paul.  We came with God’s.  They present you myths and the like that are but the product of human imagination.  We present you the Incarnate Christ, the One Who Was and Is and Is to come.  We present to you God come down and dwelling among men, historical fact attested by many who were themselves eyewitness to His presence and His ministry.  We present to you Christ, and Him crucified, a reality undeniable, and recorded in the official records of the empire.  But we also present to you Christ risen, having conquered death.  We present to you Christ ascended, seated upon His throne, and governing over a world that is, after all, His creation.  And to this, Paul could personally attest.  To that ascension, we know there were some 500 or more witnesses, many of whom would have still been alive and present to testify of it even at this date, when Paul wrote.

Is there power in well-reasoned words?  To be sure, and one would hope that in presenting the Gospel, we do not abandon our own faculties of reason.  But there is power inherent in the Gospel, power beyond that which is to be had by reason.  Is it miraculous power?  Well, given that it has the power to save you from your sins, to soften your heart, open your ears, and cause you finally to taste and to see the goodness of God in spite of your years of darkened, sinful living, yes, I think we must account its power miraculous in the extreme.  Does this require flash displays of ‘the supernatural’?  If that will serve God’s purposes, sure.  But as a necessary component, no.  The power is not in the display, or in things that may cause eyes to expand in surprise, or the hairs to stand up on our neck for their otherworldliness.  The power is in the Word, for the Word was with God and the Word was and is God.

It is thus that Paul can append that the gospel came with full conviction, with ‘entire confidence’.  What was that confidence?  That it was true?  Well, that was already a given for the preacher, but sure, we can stack that in here.  More, though, I think we can say Paul had full confidence that the Gospel preached would have its desired effect.  A church would be planted, and it would be planted to lasting effect.  Why?  Because this was the will, the plan, and the purpose of God, Whose power is exercised in and through the Gospel preached, the work of faith and the labor of love which occupies the preacher who has his steadfast hope anchored in our Lord Jesus Christ, and who recognizes that he preaches, whether in the pulpit or in more mundane pursuits, in the presence of our God and Father.

I could see, as well, applying that conviction not to the preacher but to the hearer.  This is the way the BBE perceives its application.  That full conviction was the result of the Gospel brought in reason, power, and the Holy Spirit, “so that you were completely certain of it.”  Such a reading certainly fits with the added note of their example as being so wholly given to the work of establishing faith amongst those to whom they preached.  They didn’t just speak it.  They lived it.

But I want to take special notice here, that Paul does not reject the value of reasoning.  He only sets it out as insufficient in itself.  “Our gospel did not come to you in word only,” which is to say in the power of reason alone.  It came with that power, yes.  God is constantly saying, “Come, let us reason together.”  He gave us this power, setting us quite apart from the rest of the created order.  Can we really think He intends us to ignore or reject the gift He gave?  I think not.  But neither ought we to suppose that our powers of reason alone are sufficient for us to discern God as He truly is.  His ways are not our ways, His thoughts are high above our thoughts.  If, then, He does not bend down in gracious condescension and make Himself known to us, we shall never come to knowledge of Him.

That’s the message here, isn’t it?  It wasn’t just our clever capacity with language and reason which we presented to you.  The Gospel speaks from its own inherent power.  The power of Truth, of God’s truth is in it, because it is His own revealed word.  And where it is preached, and where God has so chosen that it may be received to proper effect, it is borne to the listener by the Holy Spirit of God Himself.  If this is not so, then those words will fall upon deaf ears and find no purchase. 

But look at this!  We know God’s choice of you as His own beloved children because our Gospel came not only in the power of reason, but in true power, in the Holy Spirit, bringing about in you full conviction as to its truth.  Looked at in this light, that last clause regarding what sort of men they proved to be among them is almost a means of saying, ‘just as it came to us.’  That, too, would be an important thing to hear, given the Jewish opposition.  Paul was a Jew.  Timothy was a Jew.  Silvanus was a Jew.  You could see an argument being made to these new believers that this was a religion for Jews, not for Greeks.  But no.  He chose you, as evidenced by your full conviction, just as He chose us, as evidenced by ours.

The Gospel, says the Amplified version, came to you not only in word, but also in its own inherent power.  I’ll drop the bracketry from that version.  Or, take the Phillips translation.  “Our Gospel came to you not as mere words, but as a message with power behind it – the effectual power, in fact, of the Holy Spirit.”  And therein lies the reason that it came, bringing full conviction. 

Again, I find I want to turn thought to that stop in Athens.  Now, we don’t know the full details of Paul’s work there, other than what we have of his message to the philosophers at the Areopagus (Ac 17:16-34).  Had he adjusted his message for their ears?  I think we might suppose that to a degree, yes, he had.  Paul was, after all, aware of the culture, as we see in his epistles.  He was not afraid to utilize the writings of their own to make his point, just as in Athens, he used their extensive idolatry as a basis to make his point.  But the result was minimal.  Not nil, but minimal.  “Some joined him and believed.”  Still, there was not the sort of response he had known in Macedonia, nor such as he would know in Corinth.

What was different?  His message wasn’t.  His presentation of that message may have been, but the points presented were the same Gospel he preached everywhere.  The difference, I would propose, is simply this:  The effectual power of the Holy Spirit was not present on this occasion.  God had not chosen, apart from those few.  Now, if that seems cruel and arbitrary on God’s part, I could observe, as should you, that in spite of the hardness of heart in this locale, there were those few who would hear, whom God had chosen, and that was cause enough for Him to divert Paul to this place.  God chose them.  They must be called, that they may respond, that the Spirit sent abroad into their hearts may stir up in them that faith which comes of hearing, and hearing by the Word of God.

So, hear again Paul’s recollection of Thessalonica.  I’ll take it from the TLB this time.  “It was not just meaningless chatter to you; no, you listened with great interest.  What we told you produced a powerful effect upon you, for the Holy Spirit gave you great and full assurance that what we said was true.”  The message to Athens had been no different, but there had not been this powerful effect.  We must deduce that the lack of impact came about because in that instance the Holy Spirit did not give them great and full assurance that what he said was true.  It remained a mere philosophical curiosity to them, interesting enough, perhaps, or merely amusing.  But not, as we are wont to say, life-changing.

And to this, Paul adds, again following that translation, “And you know how our very lives were further proof to you of the truth of our message.”  This brings me to a final point, an application that I think permeates the letter before us.  Christianity is not a matter of philosophy, although it is by all means the queen of philosophy, as it was once known.  It satisfies the exploration of reason, as it must, being the Reason of God.  But it doesn’t stop at mental satisfaction.  If it has done so in you or me, I dare say we have not as yet come to faith.  We are as those who heard Paul in Athens.  “We shall hear you again concerning this.”  But in truth, we haven’t yet heard him the first time.

No, where the Gospel comes in its own inherent power, which is to say in the power of the Holy Spirit, there will be far more than merely mental assent.  Christianity will become a thing actively lived, and it is Christianity actively lived which in turn supplies evidence that this which has been spoken is indeed God’s own truth.  God calls us to be living testimony to His work in us.  Our lives become the evidence of His choice of us.  He chose and He changed, and because this is so, we now live according to His ways.  “You know how we lived for your sakes when we were with you.”  That’s the CJB wording.  You know from our consistent example when among you that we live for Christ.  It’s the same testimony we will hear shortly in regard to those in Thessalonica.  “You became an example to all the believers in Macedonia and in Achaia” (1Th 1:7).  News of their faith in God was traveling far from home.

What of us?  The question is asked so often it becomes almost trite, but its validity is no less for all that.  If our coworkers were asked if they knew we were Christians, could they testify to it?  Would they have the slightest clue that this was the case, even any reason to suspect such a thing?  There was a time, I think, when talk of such things in the workplace would have been no great surprise.  I can think back to the couple I worked for in Texas, and if there’s one thing that comes back to me, it’s that they depended on God, and they were not shy in saying so.  One might question their ways, but not their faith.  And, whatever one might think of certain habits, it was clear enough that God honored that faith.  What has transpired since, I cannot say, but the testimony to me from that time was clear.  And it was a testimony not of word alone, but a testimony of life lived.

I can think of my former worship leader, another in whom I found satisfying evidence that the man he was on Sunday was the man he was in his classroom during the week.  There was not a Sunday persona.  There was the man.  Or, I could take, perhaps, the quieter example of my friend and elder.  We would receive, shall we say, inadvertent testimony from his coworkers on occasions when church members had cause to encounter them.  And again, the testimony confirmed that the man we knew was consistently that man.

And with all these examples, I have to wonder:  What testimony would there be of me?  I have never been particularly vociferous about this faith, although there were a few here and there with whom I might converse of such things over the years.  But the workplace has become, over time, more opposed to such talk, as it has become opposed to so much else that contributes to social cohesion.  We daren’t offend by speaking of things that others may not wish to hear.  Honestly, I think it may have been a great blessing for many that we had this period of being required to work from home, where we could at least relax and be our honest selves without the constant worry of finding we had somehow run afoul of some coworker’s delicate sensibilities.

The converse, though, is that this has so much further curtailed any opportunity for shared faith.  Where is the opportunity for such chance discussions, when our only points of contact are such meetings or other moments of voice contact which turn strictly on matters of the business at hand?  Social interaction is all but gone.  As I said, I think social interaction was all but gone before, at least on any level beyond the most superficial.  When was the last time you were comfortable discussing anything of true import with a coworker?  Unless they were particular individuals already well-known to you, and known to be of similar perspective, I’m guessing it’s been a very long time.  This work-from-home aspect has merely sealed the deal, made it easier to keep our silence.

Now, in fairness, I’ve been working primarily from home for rather a long time, and it suits my personality and my tastes.  I cannot say, though, that it supplies ample opportunity to live out the Gospel, at least not by way of demonstrating God’s work in me by my manner of living.  I don’t know as I could say that’s such a great change to the me that was, when I was more inclined to be in the office.  It’s something, I think, that needs work in me.

I don’t say that my witness is negative.  I don’t think that, by and large, I live in a manner that denies God, nor that rejects His ways.  But I don’t know as I could say I live in such a fashion that my faith in Christ is so evident, both in claim and in demeaner, that none could fail to know, who know me at all.  What to do?  Do we take to praying loudly and publicly, so that one and all can see and know?  I don’t think so.  Do we take to the street corner and start accosting passers-by with the Gospel?  I don’t think that’s the way, either.  It may be personal preference, but I have always tended to find such approaches, however gently done, to be off-putting.  It sets the preacher as no different than the teen down the street paid to force fliers into the hands of all and sundry, or the annoyance of some political operative with his clipboard and signature sheet accosting those who just want to get on with their grocery shopping.

But we have this.  “Preach the word.  Be ready in season and out of season.  Reprove, rebuke, exhort, with great patience and instruction” (2Ti 4:2).  But, you will say, that’s for the preacher, not the general believer.  Okay, how about this?  “Sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts, always ready to make defense to everyone who asks you to give an account for the hope that is in you, with gentleness and reverence” (1Pe 3:15).  Are you ready?  Have they reason to ask?  Do they even know that hope is present?  They should.

Father, this is concerning to me.  I really don’t know as I could say, as Paul does here, that those who know me know how I lived for their sakes, nor even how I live for Yours.  There is as yet too much of the old man in me, the sharp wit, the clever barb.  There is too much of seeking to fit in, and not enough of seeking to stand out.  But I know You have chosen me, though I feel of late (and it’s getting to have been a rather long of late) that my fervor, such as it was, has faded somewhat.  It has not faltered, no.  Faith remains, and my hope in Christ is no less.  But does faith work, does love labor?  I don’t know as I can answer that accurately.  The heart is too deceptive, and as I know too well, that cuts both ways, promoting me both as better than I am and worse than I am.  It needs Your inspection and Your report made clear to me.  I sense that this is in part happening even as I go through this study.  And the report is not as I might like.  That being the case, I pray that You would indeed stir the embers of that faith and love in me, and fan them to flame, that I may be more wholly given to Your good and perfect purpose.  Use me as You will, and find me, I pray, willing and even anxious to do Your will.  Let me be that living testimony to You that You recreated me to be.