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Every­one has warned me not to tell you what I am going to tell you in this last book. They all say ‘the ordi­nary reader does not want The­ol­ogy; give him plain prac­ti­cal reli­gion’. I have rejected their advice. I do not think the ordi­nary reader is such a fool. The­ol­ogy means ‘the sci­ence of God,’ and I think any man who wants to think about God at all would like to have the clear­est and most accu­rate ideas about Him which are avail­able. You are not chil­dren: why should you be treated like children?

In a way I quite under­stand why some peo­ple are put off by The­ol­ogy. I remem­ber once when I had been giv­ing a talk to the R.A.F., an old, hard-bitten offi­cer got up and said, ‘I’ve no use for all that stuff. But, mind you, I’m a reli­gious man too. I know there’s a God. I’ve felt Him out alone in the desert at night: the tremen­dous mys­tery. And that’s just why I don’t believe all your neat lit­tle dog­mas and for­mu­las about Him. To any­one who’s met the real thing they all seem so petty and pedan­tic and unreal!’

Now in a sense I quite agreed with that man. I think he had prob­a­bly had a real expe­ri­ence of God in the desert. And when he turned from that expe­ri­ence to the Chris­t­ian creeds, I think he really was turn­ing from some­thing real to some­thing less real. In the same way, if a man has once looked at the Atlantic from the beach, and then goes and looks at a map of the Atlantic, he also will be turn­ing from some­thing real to some­thing less real: turn­ing from real waves to a bit of coloured paper. But here comes the point. The map is admit­tedly only coloured paper, but there are two things you have to remem­ber about it. In the first place, it is based on what hun­dreds and thou­sands of peo­ple have found out by sail­ing the real Atlantic. In that way it has behind it masses of expe­ri­ence just as real as the one you could have from the beach; only, while yours would be a sin­gle glimpse, the map fits all those dif­fer­ent expe­ri­ences together. In the sec­ond place, if you want to go any­where, the map is absolutely nec­es­sary. As long as you are con­tent with walks on the beach, your own glimpses are far more fun than look­ing at a map. But the map is going to be more use than walks on the beach if you want to get to America.

Now, The­ol­ogy is like the map. Merely learn­ing and think­ing about the Chris­t­ian doc­trines, if you stop there, is less real and less excit­ing than the sort of thing my friend got in the desert. Doc­trines are not God: they are only a kind of map. But that map is based on the expe­ri­ence of hun­dreds of peo­ple who really were in touch with God-experiences com­pared with which any thrills or pious feel­ings you and I are likely to get on our own are very ele­men­tary and very con­fused. And sec­ondly, if you want to get any fur­ther, you must use the map. You see, what hap­pened to that man in the desert may have been real, and was cer­tainly excit­ing, but noth­ing comes of it. It leads nowhere. There is noth­ing to do about it. In fact, that is just why a vague religion-all about feel­ing God in nature, and so on-is so attrac­tive. It is all thrills and no work; like watch­ing the waves from the beach. But you will not get to New­found­land by study­ing the Atlantic that way, and you will not get eter­nal life by sim­ply feel­ing the pres­ence of God in flow­ers or music. Nei­ther will you get any­where by look­ing at maps with­out going to sea. Nor will you be very safe if you go to sea with­out a map.

In other words, The­ol­ogy is prac­ti­cal: espe­cially now. In the old days, when there was less edu­ca­tion and dis­cus­sion, per­haps it was pos­si­ble to get on with a very few sim­ple ideas about God. But it is not so now. Every­one reads, every­one hears things dis­cussed. Con­se­quently, if you do not lis­ten to The­ol­ogy, that will not mean that you have no ideas about God. It will mean that you have a lot of wrong ones — bad, mud­dled, out-of-date ideas. For a great many of the ideas about God which are trot­ted out as nov­el­ties to-day are sim­ply the ones which real The­olo­gians tried cen­turies ago and rejected. To believe in the pop­u­lar reli­gion of mod­ern Eng­land is ret­ro­gres­sion — like believ­ing the earth is flat.

From The Joyful Christian by CS Lewis

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Escaping the Island Adrian Plass
Those of us who have mapped out the geography of ourselves know what a dispiriting exercise this can be. We start off okay, marching boldly towards the edge of our talent or our goodwill or our patience or our generosity, and then, suddenly, we are brought up short by a precipice, usually at the point where we were just beginning to believe that the firm ground would go on forever. Setting off in a different direction, we find that exactly the same thing happens. In fact, it happens again and again and again, until we start to learn that there is a shape and a limit to what we are. For some this is a welcome piece of learning - Settle down and get on with it, they would say, but for others, those with the blood of explorers in their veins, it is a kind of prison - A kind of island. We look for enough compassion to truly care about the world and we find a pathetically limited ability to place our arms around the suffering of others. We search for the strength of will to set ourselves and those we hate free from chains of resentment and bitterness. Only to find weakness and a cherishing of hurts. We hunt within our hearts for the courage to fight when everything in us wants to lie down, and for the obedience to wait quietly when we are full of anger, but we discover instead a self-indulgence that will have what it is greedy for.
We stand on the shore of our own lives. Calling out to God that we can go nowhere unless He provides a way.

© 1999 Little Room Music


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33 Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! 
34 “For who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?” 
35 “Or who has given a gift to him that he might be repaid?” 
36 For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen.
1 I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. 2 Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.(Romans 10:34-11:2 ESV)
 
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I ate breakfast with my friend, Nathan, this morning at the Marlborough. John served us both sausage and two on brown, over easy. I'm becoming a regular - I don't even have to say my order anymore.
As we ate, we were discussing the cross, and something Nathan's said really made me sit up and pay attention. He said that 50 years after Christ was crucified, people went to be crucified in the name of Christ praising God. Just read Foxe's book of Martyrs or other historical accounts. Nathan continued, so why did Christ struggle so much with going to the cross, when mere followers of His went with joy to this form of death, happy in the knowledge they would share in the suffering and death of their Lord?

Did Christ just have a low pain threshold?
Why did Christ say, in Matthew 26:28, "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death"? Why did He struggle so much with the cup that His Father had given Him to drink? Why did He plead with God to take away this cup from Him (Matthew 26:42)? Sure, crucifixion was a brutal death, but thousands of other people experienced this form of torture...and Jesus was God! Did He just have a low pain threshold, or perhaps He was just having a bad day...

A physical manifestation
Or was there something more to it than that? Nathan said to me that it wasn't the physical suffering on the cross that Christ was sorrowing to the point of death over. The cross was just the physical manifestation of the suffering occurring in the spiritual realm at that time. Whatever was happening to Jesus physically (the nails through His wrists and ankles, the crown of thorns rammed on His head, the spitting and mocking, the scourging, the beating) was nothing compared to what was going on in the spiritual realm. You've seen the Passion of the Christ? Great movie, but even if what was shown in that R-rated movie was accurate, it pales in comparison to the suffering of Christ's soul. I'm not a fan of creating a false division between the spiritual and the physical (which was a Greek construct), but for this it serves my purpose.

The cross was the easy part
As we were talking I wondered whether it was something like baptism - the physical act of submersion beneath, and rising from, water is symbolic of a far greater truth of death to self and rising again to new life in Christ. Nathan and I agreed that this metaphor falls short - the cross wasn't just symbolic; as previously mentioned Christ's physical torture was the physical manifestation of the spiritual suffering. It was the visible tip of the entire iceberg of pain that Christ was enduring. As I glibly titled this blog: the (physical) cross was the easy part.

Nails through hands means something to me
What we're dealing with here transcends human comprehension. We don't know what it is like to be a perfect, whole and holy God in three persons, and then to have one of those Persons abandoned by one of the other Persons ("My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?") So we need the physical suffering of Christ to gain some purchase to begin understanding the spiritual world of pain He was enduring. Nails through hands means something to me. The eternal Trinity temporarily divided is so big it risks becoming meaningless.

Bending our imagination
But dare we limit our gratitude to the physical suffering of Christ? If we were allowed a glimpse of the holy Christ becoming sin for us, our worship would surely exponentially increase. If we bent our mind-power, spirit and imagination to the task of grappling with the spiritual suffering of Christ, where would this journey take us?

The danger of thinking little thoughts of a big God
I know one thing for sure, my God is so big, that I can't risk thinking just little thoughts of Him. I want to start thinking BIG thoughts of God. I might not like where it takes me...it may make me uncomfortable, but is my God worth any less? One hymn writers has already begun the journey:

We may not know, we cannot tell
What pains He had to bear
But we believe it was for us
He hung and suffered there...
(Cecil F Alexander)

 
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During my Advanced Theology class last week, in Indiana, something the Professor (Steve DeNeff) said really struck me. I copied down what he said, as faithfully as possible:

"Worship is not something that we begin. Worship is already happening within the Trinity.
We can either get in on the game or not, but
we are not game changers.
Worship is me pulling up a chair to the table of the Trinity and joining in the conversation that's already happening:


Me: Jesus, You're absolute!
God the Father: That's what I've been saying all along!!"

Can you imagine that? Each member of the Trinity has been constantly deferring to the other two for eternity past. They love each other SO much. One God, three Persons. Three Persons, One God. So when we get in on worship, we're adding our meagre thoughts and words of praise to this conversation that is ALREADY going on!!

My Professor said other things that gave me pause for thought:

"Sanctification is the process of becoming more like God.

God is a Trinity. Trinity means three.
Therefore, if the Trinity is true, we need community to be sanctified.
We cannot be sanctified outside of community!

God's vision for the Church is to represent what He has  in the Trinity on earth. This is evangelism!!"

Steve DeNeff is the Senior Pastor at College Wesleyan Church, Indiana. You can find his sermons online here or by subscribing on iTunes (just search for "College Wesleyan Church" in the podcast section)