The Meaning of Christ’s Ascension
The Spinners are quarantined in the underground bunker and take a break from all the pandemic talk to address a listener question: What should a church be looking for when searching for a new pastor, and how might they go about it?
This is a special pandemic edition of The Spin, as Carl, Todd, and Aimee record—not just 6 feet away, but—100 miles distant from one another, just to be on the safe side. COVID-19 times can be challenging, and they’ve afforded Todd a new opportunity to complement his pastoral calling. The megachurch minister is now a gifted “Mental Toughness Expert,” and he’s making his services available when churches are unable to meet, due to mandatory isolation.
Anyone who felt perplexed – even outraged – the first time they read Romans 9 may identify with Thomas Bradwardine, a 14th-century Archbishop of Canterbury. His age was, like ours, entrenched in Pelagianism, exalting man’s free will and ability to come to God on his own terms. That’s the philosophy he had learned at Oxford, where he “rarely used to hear about grace, except in an ambiguous way.”
At the beginning of the seventh century, the decision of the Council of Chalcedon that Jesus had two natures, human and divine, indivisible but distinct, was still not universally accepted. Even if the Council had specified that the expression “two natures” doesn’t mean that Jesus is “parted or divided into two persons,” many took it this way. It was a cause of disunity, and emperor after emperor tried hard to come to a compromise.
One summer, a family man (and personal friend) traveled to Paris, where he spent a morning enjoying Luxembourg Gardens. In time, he noticed a group of mothers who, he realized, were so engrossed in their conversation that they tilted toward neglect of their children. He watched as one child wandered ever farther from her mother in the crowded park. Not yet two, she began to follow a family, apparently thinking its mother was her mother. When the group crossed a street and hurried onward, the child was finally quite alone.
In recent years, it seems increasingly rare to hear believers say, “I grew up in a happy home and we had everything we needed.” I almost never hear anyone say “I am making progress as a disciple,” although healthy believers should keep growing (below). The unfettered gratitude we hear in Psalm 16:6 has gone missing: “The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed I have a beautiful inheritance.” It has become difficult, even fraught, to say “My life is good,” in public at least.
(Rev. 1:17, 18)
The apostle Paul spent quite a bit of time in prison.
In Acts, Paul is imprisoned in Philippi (Acts 16), and then spends the last quarter of the book in various prisons—Jerusalem, Caesarea—ultimately ending the book under house arrest in Rome (Acts 21–28). The letters of Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and Philemon were all penned from prison. Second Timothy was also written from prison—likely Paul’s final imprisonment in Rome prior to his martyrdom.
So, one might say that Paul spent large portions of his ministry quarantined against his will.
The doctrine of the perseverance of the saints means if a person is truly saved he cannot lose his salvation. Roman Catholicism and some strands of Protestant theology, such as traditional Arminianism, Methodism, and Pentecostalism reject this final point of Calvinism. They instead hold that a truly saved person can fall away from the faith and actually lose his salvation. But it gets more complicated than that. Often the rejection of perseverance runs hand in hand with a legitimate concern over an antinomian gospel of salvation apart from any good works.
Walking with God