Over the last year or so, my husband Dave and I have been thinking about the connection between evangelism and hospitality. We've become more convinced that while evangelistic events and other strategies have their place, they can't be a substitute for real relationships with non-Christian friends. And hospitality seems to us to be a key part of creating and maintaining those relationships.

So we decided that we needed to learn how to cultivate a lifestyle where we give and receive hospitality as part of our relationships with our non-Christian neighbours and friends (especially in this phase of our lives when so many of our networks are local ones within the suburb where we live). With three young children, most of the hospitality has happened between me and the non-Christian mums of our children's friends from school, play group and preschool. It's nothing groundbreaking; just afternoon tea after school, or morning tea with the little ones, or a catch up during school holidays.

And while we have been invited back in some cases, and we've gladly accepted the invitation, I think my bias has been towards having people in my home. With all my thinking about how to do hospitality better, I think I've ignored the benefits of being a guest.

A recent post by Tim Chester made me think about this:

... [E]ven our homes can be safe places for us and alien for others. After all, we follow a Saviour who had no home. I still believe in homes. Homes can become places where people feel they belong. Moreover, it does not have to be my home. We should look to plant churches in the homes of new converts. That way contextualis[ation] will happen more naturally. But we also need to move mission outside of church buildings and outside of Christian homes.

He makes a good point. As Chester writes, “Jesus had no home, but he came eating and drinking!” He welcomed sinners to his table, and he accepted their invitations to eat with them: tax collectors, Pharisees and everyone in between (Luke 5:29, 11:37-8).

In the New Testament letters, the assumption is that Christians will be eating and drinking with their non-Christian neighbours. While Paul tells the Christians in Corinth that they need to separate themselves from people who claim to be fellow believers, but who are living in blatant, unrepentant sin, he quickly adds the clarification that he does not mean that they should separate themselves from ‘the people of this world’ (1 Cor 5:9-11). There are tables that they should not eat at (e.g. the table of the god at the local pagan temple—1 Cor 10:14-22), but their next door neighbour's table is definitely not a place to stay away from (1 Cor 10:25-27).

So how do we become good at being guests? Do we need to build a few more ‘third places’ into the pattern of our lifestyle, or can you skip that step and just keep inviting people 'round, and wait till they begin to reciprocate? What have you found to be the best contexts for cultivating the kind of serious friendships in which the gospel is shared and people come to know Christ?

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The Higher School Certificate (HSC) is a strange beast: apparently it is the biggest test you will ever face in your life. Whoever got that rumour going among the high schools has obviously never tried to understand a mobile phone contract. But the rumour lives on, and it can be used to generate pressure on the students—sometimes a pressure that is too great for them to bear. It is sad to see such high hopes placed upon an exam. It is even sadder to see those high hopes end in tragedy.

Education: who would want to be without it? The rich wealth available for human knowledge in science, the arts, literature and the rest add to life as surely as any compilation of little known items of sporting trivia—perhaps, arguably, even more so. Education brings us information, knowledge and, occasionally, even wisdom. Education promises improvement, advancement, enhancement. For many, it promises upward mobility and a better life than that of the previous generation.

Education: its value was once a point in common between Mr ‘Enlightenment Man’ and his Christian neighbour. To be ‘enlightened’ was to have the soul flooded with the pure light of reason, and once that happened, life could never be the same again. Primitive thoughts led to primitive lives; rational thought led to rational and morally improved lives. Christians got involved in education, in curriculum and in the founding of schools because education was the way to moral improvement in society. The Christians, however, fought tooth and nail for the Scriptures to form a part of a child's education, for how can moral improvement come if the light of Christ is not there alongside the light of reason?

A lot happens in a school. There are values and attitudes that are taught. There are values and attitudes that are just caught. There are things being taught powerfully by the teacher's classroom curriculum, and there are things on the hidden curriculum that are learned even more powerfully. A lot happens as the light of reason is turned on. Many things begin to seem reasonable. Other things are deemed unreasonable.

Peter, the likeable but ham-fisted chief disciple, once found something unreasonable about Jesus. Even if he had a reasonably good education by the standards of his day, it was probably nothing compared to most of those who can now read about his encounter with his master. But by his ‘light of reason’, Peter didn't like Jesus talking about his coming death, and he tried to hush him up. “Get behind me, Satan”, rebuked Jesus. ‘For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man” (Mark 8:33).

Interesting. Just to think like a human being is to think not like God. Just to be ‘reasonable’, according to human ways of thinking about this world, is to be on the side of Satan.

Education: without God's word, there is no illumination. In fact, education solely by the ‘pure light of reason’—without revelation—is an education that keeps us all in the darkness. It is perfectly possible to be always learning but never arriving at the truth (2 Tim. 3:7).

Education: a force greater than ourselves—a force capable of much good. But when severed from the knowledge of God in the face of Jesus Christ, education is a force also capable of much harm. Sometimes when it is blown up out of all proportion to the rest of life, it can even kill.

The stoicheia, the ‘elemental spirits of the universe’ —the ‘ABC’ of the universe—were another form of the principalities and powers once thought to exert a baneful influence over the world. And they sneak up almost imperceptibly. Why would we notice? They come to be with us at our mother's knee—through our teacher's lessons—at exactly the same time that we are learning to spell.

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One of my favourite movies of all time is Finding Nemo. Okay, so I've got kids, and it goes without saying. But there is one moment in the film that causes many knowing chuckles in my household: it is when Dory turns to Marlin and says, “What is it with men and asking for directions?” Apparently, so I've been told told, it is possible for me to be like this on occasions. Who would have thought?

The reason I raise this is that it presents a paradox I'm currently contemplating. I am preaching at a weekend away for dads and kids in a couple of weeks' time. The dads and the kids are going to do lots of fun, relational stuff together, but on three occasions over the weekend, the kids will be looked after while us dads examine what it means to be men from the Bible. Now, of course, we will be talking about sex (it's a men's camp!), and, being a dads' and kids' camp, we will be talking about being fathers as well. But as I sat down to think about what it means to be a man in the Bible, the thing that struck me most of all is the way men are called on to take responsibility in God's world. Adam and Eve sinned, but biblically it was Adam's sin: he was responsible. The New Testament sometimes addresses parents, but nearly always the instruction about raising children is to fathers. These are just two obvious and more universal examples of the phenomenon.

It is assumed throughout the Bible that part of the challenge to live rightly under God is for men, in particular, to take responsibility for their God-given roles as leaders in their homes and leaders in the community of God's people. But it is here that we come to the paradox: while I am perfectly happy to claim that it is my God-given and inalienable right to find my way from point A to point B without the use of any navigational aids, I find that I am rarely so forceful in asserting my rights to take responsibility for our family Bible reading time (for example). I don't think that my experience is mine alone. And I think that, for most men, we want to claim responsibility when it suits our egos.

On this topic, I had a very encouraging conversation with a young man the other day. I had spoken to him one week before, and he had been asked to take up a position of responsibility in a Christian ministry that he had been involved with. When I asked him if he was going to do it, he was very unsure. There were doubts about pressure and time commitments, and all the usual things. One week later I was at the meeting where he accepted the nomination for the position, and was subsequently elected by the group. When I talked to him afterwards, he said to me, “As I thought about it, I realized that all my reasons for not doing it were pretty selfish. I didn't want the responsibility or the pressure. But being selfish isn't a good reason is it?” I gave thanks to God. Here was a young man who, by the power of God's Spirit, had been persuaded that the giving up of oneself to take on responsibility is part and parcel of what it means to be a man of God.

His example and the prospect of preaching to this group of men has challenged me about what it means to be a man of God. Should Dory have said, “What is it with men and responsibility?” I am wondering, blokes: what tricks and ways do we use to abdicate from responsibility, rather than shouldering it? How do we subtly avoid responsibility, rather than trusting in God's goodness and taking responsibility?

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Last millennium, I got ordained as an Anglican minister, and Jean Penman, wife of Archbishop David Penman of Melbourne, presented each of my group of candidates for ordination with a copy of John Stott's excellent book I Believe in Preaching. David had died suddenly, but the note from Jean said that David had originally intended to present this book himself. It was a great idea to have a book entitled I Believe in Preaching, especially as, quite frankly, most of us didn't—including the leaders of the silent retreat that all the ordination candidates were invited to attend.

On this retreat, there were some exceptions to the silence: I ducked across to the local shopping mall to have a haircut and buy some Batman comics, and I used words to convey my meaning. More broadly, we were treated to some waffly, mystical readings from a Roman Catholic writer of some description. Oh, and we had private conversations with the chaplain on the retreat, during which we were compelled to use words. I took the opportunity then to suggest that instead of reading mystic waffle (I may not have used that exact term), could we maybe have a reading from the book that the Archbishop had given us?

Before this descends into a generalized rant, let's just pick one passage that the chaplain could have chosen. I open Stott's book virtually at random to discover these stirring words:

There is an urgent need for courageous preachers in the pulpits of the world today, like the apostles in the early Church who ‘were all filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke the word of God with boldness’. (Acts 4:31, cf. v 13) Neither men-pleasers nor time-servers ever make good preachers. We are called to the sacred task of biblical exposition, and commissioned to proclaim what God has said, not what human beings want to hear. Many modern churchmen suffer from a malady called ‘itching ears’ which induces them to ‘accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own likings’. (2 Tim 4:3) But we have no liberty to scratch their itch or pander to their likings. Rather we are to resemble Paul in Ephesus who resisted this very temptation and twice insisted that he ‘did not shrink from declaring’ to them what had to be declared, namely ‘anything that was profitable’ for them and indeed ‘the whole counsel of God’. (Acts 20:20, 27)

(John Stott, I Believe in Preaching, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 1982, p. 299.)

Stott's book is full of passages like this. For that reason, it is dangerous. Even if you do as I just did and stumble into it at random, you can find yourself cut to pieces on the sharp glass of his biblically based exhortation. But the Melbourne Archbishop's chaplain, who was extraordinarily vague about his own views, managed to find one of the very few bits of the book that was comfy reading for someone who didn't rejoice in the gospel that John Stott continues to stand for.

The words the chaplain chose talked of the necessity and importance of being gracious to those with whom we disagree. As true and fair as Stott's words were, in the context of our silent retreat, this exhortation was all wrong. It was comfortable enough to leave even those who had no particular belief in the gospel or in preaching to remain happily undisturbed. And, as an extract chosen to represent Stott's thinking on the subject of preaching and the gospel, it was a little bit like tuning in to the weekend sports report, only to discover that the coverage was confined to footage of and commentary on the half-time entertainment.

Apart from being a bit irritated by the failure of my attempt to get something meaningful about the gospel and preaching into our ordination retreat, I have to admit to a sneaking admiration of the chaplain's tactics. It is very, very difficult indeed to read John Stott and find material where he is not vigorously urging the clear, gracious and frequently controversial preaching of the Bible and the cross of Christ. But this man had managed it, and managed it well.

Some of us, at least, viewed the chaplain's endorsement of Roman Catholic mysticism as seriously damaging to Christian faith. But we were snookered; he'd done us like a dinner. Were someone to break from the weekend's rule of silence (itself a useful political tool for stopping debate) in order to question the value of a wordless religion, they would end up looking even more like intolerant, evangelical buffoons, disavowed for their gracelessness by no less a Bible teacher than John Stott himself.

That was one of my early lessons on how to blunt the Bible's teaching: work as hard as possible to find teaching from great Bible teachers that qualifies, circumscribes, delineates and apologizes. This may seem difficult at first, but effort will be rewarded. For any Bible teacher worth his salt will always take time to qualify his statements, since that is part of teaching the Bible carefully and well.

So quote those qualifications, while working overtime to avoid the plainer expositions of the Bible's meaning. If possible, quote those Bible teachers in company with Roman Catholics, mystics, wafflers and false teachers. If you can find a Bultmann, a Moltmann, a Benedict or a Williams who has stumbled almost accidentally on some part of biblical truth (but not too closely), quote that—always making clear how you can't endorse their falsehood at every point. In so doing, you will earn for yourself a reputation for wisdom, sagacity, open-mindedness and graciousness that can only really be undermined by consistent, clear setting forth of the Lordship of Christ in the preaching of Scripture.

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It is good sometimes to know that there is nothing new under the sun. The issues of risk and reward, sense and abandon, have always been with us. And God has always been asking us the hard questions. Here is a word from 1999 (Briefing #235) that could well have been written for this week. (Actually, it's a word from about 30 AD that could have been written for this week!)

We are calculating people. We learn to be. The accountants talk about a ‘cost benefit analysis’, and as we weigh the ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ we do the same thing in almost every part of life. One of the principles we learn from the financial world is spreading the risk. You never get too deeply committed to any one thing. A range of investments makes sure that if one fails, others will sustain you.

That is why I love Jesus' parables in Matthew 13:44-46. Jesus says in the kingdom there is no room for spreading the risk—it's all or nothing.

We meet a man who finds treasure buried in a field; rejoicing he sells everything to buy the field. Then we meet the merchant who finds the pearl of great price, to buy it he sells the lot. Each time Jesus says this is what the kingdom of God is like.

I love these parables because they are radical, even irrational. I can just imagine these men's family and friends (and their accountants) protesting that surely they did not have to decide so quickly, and sell everything. “You have to keep a steady head”, they say. Jesus would answer “Not about the kingdom”.

I love the word ‘joy’. The man has not done a careful calculation and discovered that things would be slightly better if he bought the field. He knows he has got a winner—and he rejoices. There is something so good that it is worth giving up everything else, and it does not hurt a bit.

I love these parables because they make me pray. I pray that I will be so clear-minded and never lose sight of the value of the kingdom. I pray that constantly I will be so decisive and always choose for the kingdom. I pray that I will rejoice as I do it.

John McClean, ‘Banking everything on God’, Briefing #235, April 1999.

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Well, after a rather sluggish start, the other Sola Panellists seem to have gotten on board the credit crunch boat (and, in fact, Lionel stole the content of one of my intended posts—grrrrr!) So I am not sure how much further to push this topic. However, given that it was my idea in the first place, and that Peter is up to #4 while I am only up to #3, I am going to continue with my present set of ramblings about a Christian response to the credit crunch.

Today I want to pick up on the whole ‘theology’ of the ‘free market’ economy. (Yes, I know that, strictly speaking, I should refer to it as a ‘philosophy’ or just possibly as an ‘ideology’ but it seems to me to that it is ultimately a theology. To quote Brian Rosner in Beyond Greed,

[T]he economy is mysterious, unknowable and intransigent. It has both great power and, despite the best managerial efforts of its associated clergy, great danger. It is an inexhaustible well of good(s) and is credited with prolonging life, giving health and enriching our lives. Money, in which we put our faith, and advertising, which we adore, are among its rituals. The economy also has its sacred symbols, which evoke undying loyalty, including company logos, product names and credit cards.

In other words, the economy is treated to all intents an purposes as if it is God in our modern world.)

What I really want to know is why we all seem to expect such great things from the economy. In fact, why is it that we all turn our brains off when it comes to thinking about the things that are at the heart of every day life? Unless I am much mistaken (and I know that, as with all things, the high priests of the economy are the only ones who truly understand its intricacies), the central theological premise of the free market is something like this: as long as everyone acts selfishly, the ‘invisible hand’ (to borrow Adam Smith's famous phrase) will ensure that everyone is better off.

What exactly is the ‘invisible hand’? Again, at the risk of great over-simplification, it is the principle that everyone competing against each other will provide what is good for all. For example, the person selling wants the highest possible price, while the people buying wants the lowest possible price. The seller can ask a ridiculous price and never make a sale (which would be against his or her own interests), and therefore sets a price that is as high as is reasonable, given the market for the product. Apparently if all six billion of us act selfishly, it will ensure that the right price is set for everything, and we will all be happy!

Let me illustrate it in a slightly different way. Smith argued that when you go to get bread from the local baker, you don't appeal to him to make bread out of his natural benevolence, but instead you appeal to his self-interest. If he makes more bread and sells it, life will be better for him. Smith argued (although he actually saw some of the limitations) that when people act out of self-interest, it tends to promote the community interest as well.

So why, I ask you, do we expect a system built on selfishness to result in good for all? It seems that a few moments' thought should warn us against expecting ‘God-like’ benevolence from the economy. It may well be that a free market is (somewhat like democracy) the worst system, except for all the rest. But it remains only and ever that—a flawed system initiated by selfish human beings that will never solve the world's problems. However, as I have been suggesting all along, maybe, for a while at least, people will stop and acknowledge the inability of the economy to deliver what people really need. And maybe, just maybe, it gives Christians the opportunity to point out that sin really is sin. We are so angry at all the ‘fat cats’ that got us into this mess, but incredibly reticent about admitting that we have all been willing players in the market. It suited everyone that I know to be a part of a system that was causing their superannuation to skyrocket. We were all part of the greed that fuelled the failure we are experiencing.

Similarly, we are all angry at the way those who brought this upon us are trying to weasel out of the implications. We want justice. We want them to stand up and say, “We were wrong and we deserve to be punished”. Perhaps there is an opportunity here for us to say that the gospel creates a different world view—a world view which allows you to say, “I did the wrong thing”. In a world driven by image and by the sense that my self-worth is based upon my performance, people naturally look for a scapegoat. But the gospel offers a different way forward: it says that because of the grace and forgiveness of God, I can afford to stop papering over the cracks. I can acknowledge that I am flawed. I can humbly accept that I am someone who sins, and I am freed to speak publicly about being someone who does wrong. I can actually apologize and ask for forgiveness. How refreshing would it be to hear a CEO of one of the failed Wall Street merchant banks come and out publicly acknowledge their greed, ask for people's forgiveness, and express a willingness to take responsibility!

But, of course, there lies the double-edged sword. We can only ask of others what we are willing to do ourselves. Are we willing to admit that our greed is a part of the problem too? Maybe now is the time for Christians to be leading the way by expressing our own sorrow at our greed. As we do, we will challenge people to think about what is right and wrong in an absolute sense, rather than a ‘right-for-me’ and ‘right-for-you’ sense. For just a moment in history, it may be obvious to our relativist society that there is truth, and that justice needs to be done. So let's pray that the Holy Spirit will work in our world so that people will come to the point of accepting that we are sinful. And let's tell anyone who is willing to listen that we believe in a God who knows what we are like and forgives anyway.

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Okay, so they were quick to jump on his mathematical ability, but, despite the little thanks Russell Crowe received, his Aussie fans know that he almost solved America's financial crisis for them.

Sporting a distinctly non-Gladiator hair cut, Crowe told Jay Leno's Tonight Show that, instead of the government looking for $700 billion to pay out the financial institutions, they should only look for $300 million and give $1 million to each one of the 300 million US citizens (episode aired 29 September 2008).

“Hah! He can't count and he can't multiply”, they said. “$1 million to each citizen is not $300 million; that's only $1 each, you fool!” Instead of $300 million (3 + eight zeros), he needs $300 trillion (3 + 14 zeros), which is far more than the government's desired $700 billion (7 + 11 zeros).

But, of course, as the rest of the world knows (and, indeed, someone as good at maths as our Russ would certainly know—remember A Beautiful Mind?), outside of the USA, a billion is a million millions, not a thousand millions, and, as most outside of the USA may not know, a US trillion is equal to an imperial billion.

And so we can rescue our hero from his present-day moment in the circus in front of a crowd roaring for his death if we allow for a slip of the tongue (i.e. he meant $300 billion), and his reckoning to be in the Australian/English system. Good old Russ was only after 3 +14 zeros instead of (what he had thought the US were after) 7 + 14 zeros. It's a cheaper solution indeed!

Okay, so all those zeros make such numbers too huge to even contemplate. But in the debate over the nothings, the point seems to have been lost, and when it emerges, the Aussie doesn't really seem to be the numbskull.

For some time, US financial instutions have been failing, and ordinary people have been walking out on their homes, unable to pay their mortgages. No matter how much economic wherewithall you have, obviously these two facts are somehow related.

It has become so serious, the government has been asking, “What should we do about the situation?” Three solutions seem to be obvious:

1. Let the banks fail, and see what actually happens to the world. They tell us it would change life for the worse, but those who have been oppressed by the banks for far too long would really like to taste it and see. After whatever global readjustments would be forced upon us, what if it actually ended up being better?
2. The government could bail out the banks. But, hang on, how does that help the ordinary people with the mortgage problems? Doesn't it keep all their debts outstanding—their homes still lost—the banks still sitting pretty on property, and the rest? Is this really the better world we all want?
3. Then there is the voice of Russell's uncommon sense, despite the mockery from the crowds who are so used to crying for blood: give the money to the people! They can then pay their mortgage out, and, with their debts repaid, the banks will also be better off. Ordinary people can own their own home, breathe a sigh of relief, and then have more money in their pockets to spend. Then everything will be set for a recovering economy. (And they call the guy just another lousy actor!)

Well, the outcome is now known. After a tense week in Congress, on 3 October, the US government voted that up to $700 billion (7 + 11 zeros) be spent to buy up mortgage-backed and other securities from the stressed financial firms. The banks were rescued. But there was nothing about the ordinary person stressed from the mortgage in that scenario; their debts remain.

Now, of course, those who understand economics more than Saint Russ will have their much more complicated formulas and equations. But, in the end, they need to explain to the ordinary person why it is an essential part of the plan for the brave new world to keep ordinary people in debt to the financial institutions. That is what we all want to know.

Forces beyond ourselves; evil powers—evil, because they are making life worse, not better; forces working behind ordinary life to keep people in slavery ... hey, have we discovered in the present banking system another manifestation of the new principalities and powers?

No wonder they won't allow themselves to collapse and start again! No wonder they rescue themselves and maintain the ruin of the people.

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Is God a mystery? I think my answer is “No”, “No” and “Yes”.

No, God is not a mystery in the sense of being a mysterious force, an overpowering Other whom we encounter primarily in the realm of feeling through mystical techniques and experience. We do not merge with the mystery of God by exiting our consciousness or by being absorbed like a drop into his ocean. We can get to know him as a person because that is how he graciously relates to us—person to person, through speaking to us and listening to us.

And no, God is not a mystery in the sense that he is really unknowable and unfathomable—an impenetrable cloud, a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, a being of whom we can only speak about only in the most tentative fashion, perhaps just by declaring what he is not. God can be known truly by his creatures, because he has created us with the capacity to know him, and he revealed himself to us finally and chiefly in his Son. The God we meet in the gospel is the real God, not a mask or a temporary facade. And so we can speak truly and clearly about God in the language that he has given us.

But yes, God is a mystery, because although we know him truly through his revelation, we do not know him exhaustively. As the heavens are above the earth, so his ways and thoughts are above ours (Isa 55:9). We do now see him, but as in a mirror darkly; we do now know him, but only in part (1 Cor 13:12).

Graham Cole got me thinking along these lines with the opening chapter of his new book on the Holy Spirit: He Who Gives Life: The doctrine of the Holy Spirit. He starts by talking about the ‘elusiveness of the Spirit’ who is like the wind—invisible, unpredictable and dynamic. We can think and talk about the Spirit and his work because God has told us certain things (in the Spirit-inspired Scriptures), but we should do so with humility, not expecting to be able answer every question. Cole writes:

God is God and we are not. The primeval temptation—“you will be like God”—may remain in us in subtle ways, however. We can write of the Spirit of God as though we were in glory beholding God's face rather than living as we do outside of Eden in the groaning creation and as those “on whom the end of the ages has come”. To forget that we are to live in the light of the cross in a particular eschatological frame of reference is to risk indulging in what Luther called a theology of glory as opposed to a theology of the cross. We can forget all too readily who we are, where we are, and when we are.

I found this to be a valuable reminder—not only with respect to the Spirit (about whom I've been doing some reading and thinking recently), but about theology more generally. A good theologian knows when to speak clearly and boldly, when to speak tentatively and humbly, and when to speak not at all.

This is a lesson I keep struggling to learn. I detect a certain rationalist streak that keeps bubbling to the surface, leading me to think I will be able to solve any theological conundrum if I just think long and hard enough, and study the Scriptures carefully enough. It also leads me to be too confident sometimes about speculative theological conclusions I've come to on fairly light, biblical evidence.

Anyone else feel this way about themselves, or others?

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In the last few weeks, the world has witnessed a rather extreme example of what may be dubbed ‘social justice’—an attempt to make the world a better place for all (or, at least, an attempt to prevent the world from being quite so bad a place as it might be). Following the lead of the USA, many world governments have made bipartisan decisions to pledge billions of taxpayer dollars to prevent the collapse of major financial institutions. This will, it is argued, prevent serious damage to national and international economies, and so will protect individuals in society (particularly those who are weak and vulnerable) against the serious consequences of economic collapse. It seems that most (but not all) economic commentators agree that this sort of intervention is required, and that it will be effective, at least, to some extent.

However, there is an inherent problem in this solution. The problem is not just that it may not work; the problem is bigger than that. It's that this bailout, even if it does work, is fundamentally unjust. Many of these financial institutions have been led to the brink of collapse by greed, or at least because of ‘unwise’ decision-making on the part of the institutions and their representatives. Wouldn't it be far more just to let them collapse? The inherent injustice of the decision to give away hard-earned taxpayer funds to bail out the rich and greedy banks to ensure that they don't ultimately face the consequences of their unmitigated thirst for profit seems to be one of the reasons that the attempt failed on its first pass through the US Congress. Yes, the bailout is true ‘social justice’ on a macro-level, and we should be seemingly grateful for the economic wisdom and the foresight of political leaders who put the package together. But even so, at the level of individual justice—basic justice—it still just seems plain wrong!

Our God is a God of righteousness—a God who is keenly interested in world justice (e.g. Ps 9:7-9). He created the world to be a place where righteousness abounds, and he actively seeks to restore the world to rights when there is wrong (e.g. Isa 45:8). But what is the form of God's justice? Some say it is primarily a social justice—a ‘macro’ kind of justice that aims to restore the world to rights, first and foremost. According to this view, God's righteousness is not so much about each individual receiving what he or she deserves, but about mending the fabric of the world and society so that individuals (especially the weak and vulnerable) can continue to live in peace and security. Also according to this view, the retributive kind of justice (where each individual gets what he or she deserves) takes second place to the bigger plan of the restoration and salvation of the created world order.

However, the Bible bears witness to a very different kind of justice on God's part. In Psalm 62, David is looking for salvation in a world where wicked and deceitful enemies are attacking him. Where does he look? To God, of course, but to what qualities in God? To a great social justice scheme? To a bailout package to restore an economic order where prosperity may abound? Here are the final three verses of the Psalm which show us where David's hope lies:

Put no trust in extortion; set no vain hopes on robbery; if riches increase, set not your heart on them.
Once God has spoken; twice have I heard this: that power belongs to God, and that to you, O Lord, belongs steadfast love.
For you will render to [each] man according to his work.

(Ps 62:10-12)

The emphasis of the Hebrew original in the last verse is on the individual nature of retribution and reward from God—that is, God's justice is not, in the final analysis, a social justice, but an individual justice. God's justice does, indeed, reach to the restoration of the whole created order (e.g. Ps 96:10). Yet it doesn't do so by papering over or showing leniency to the sins of individuals. At its heart, God's justice is an individual and retributive justice. According to Psalm 62:12, God renders to each person according to that person's deeds.

The Apostle Paul sees this view of God's justice as being a necessary prerequisite to understanding the meaning of Jesus' atoning death. In Romans 2, he argues against people who thought that they would be protected from God's judgement simply because they had the privileges and they held to the principles of membership of God's people. Presumably they thought they would be protected from the coming wrath because God, in his kindness and patience, would restore Israel to rights, and they (as members of Israel) would be on the winning side. Perhaps they were looking for a social justice in which God's society (Israel) would be saved from its enemies and from its own (corporate) sins. What mattered, then, was being a member of Israel. On the contrary, says Paul, God's justice is not that sort of justice: it is more radical than that. To make his point, Paul quotes directly from Psalm 62:12: “he will render to each one according to his works”. Paul then goes on to explain in the rest of the chapter that whether or not you are part of God's society is irrelevant to this principle of justice. Privilege and principles provide no protection from the coming just wrath of God; it's all about what you have done.

Only when we understand the radical nature of God's justice can we understand the radical nature of Jesus' atoning death. For if God's justice is fundamentally retributive and individual, we will not find shelter in a scheme of social reordering (even if we think it's going to come from God himself). We need something far more radical. The only thing that will do is Jesus' death, which is fundamentally a payment for the sins of individuals—individuals with whom God would otherwise be angry. That is why Jesus had to be presented as a sacrifice of atonement. This atonement was not just a restoration of world order in a general sense; Jesus died to pay the penalty for the sins of individuals so that God might be both truly just and also the one who justifies the one who has faith in Jesus (Rom 3:26). The consequential world-transforming nature of Jesus' sacrifice is, of course, profound and far-reaching (this is the subject matter of Romans 8). But we must keep remembering that, at its heart, Jesus' atoning death is not a bailout of the system, or an economically savvy re-ordering of society, or a program of social reform. In Christ, God took upon himself the individual sins of each man who stands guilty before God, and paid that penalty for us. This is why, in the gospel, the power, the faithfulness and the righteousness of God is fully and finally revealed (Rom 1:17).

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Following on from Gordon's post on ‘Why Pray?’, I have found it incredibly important pastorally—especially in ministry to the frail and aged—to help people see that when they pray, they are really making a difference.

The Holy Spirit uses our prayers powerfully in the unfolding of God's plans. I see Paul make this point repeatedly:

I urge you, brothers, by our Lord Jesus Christ and by the love of the Spirit, to join me in my struggle by praying to God for me. Pray that I may be rescued from the unbelievers in Judea and that my service in Jerusalem may be acceptable to the saints there, so that by God's will I may come to you with joy and together with you be refreshed. (Rom 15:30-32 NIV)

...as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many.” (2 Cor 1:11 NIV)

... for I know that through your prayers and the help given by the Spirit of Jesus Christ, what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance.” (Phil 1:19 NIV)

Notice also what Paul says about Epaphras in his letter to the Colossians:

Epaphras, who is one of you and a servant of Christ Jesus, sends greetings. He is always wrestling in prayer for you, that you may stand firm in all the will of God, mature and fully assured. I vouch for him that he is working hard for you and for those at Laodicea and Hierapolis. (Col 4:12-13 NIV)

Interestingly, there are several verbal parallels to Paul's own self-description of his ministry earlier in this epistle:

We proclaim him, admonishing and teaching everyone with all wisdom, so that we may present everyone perfect in Christ. To this end I labor, struggling with all his energy, which so powerfully works in me.” (Col 1:28-29 NIV)

The italicised words—perfect/mature¹—are the same word in the original Greek. So Paul's preaching and Epaphras' praying share the same goal: that people would continue believing the gospel of Jesus and his atoning death (that they might be presented holy and blameless before God—see Colossians 1:22). And the bold words—struggling/wrestling¹—are also the same word in the original Greek. It's the ‘agonizing’ word used both for a literal battle or fight and for a physical contest—like Greco-Roman wrestling at the Olympics. (In addition, although different words are used, the concept of working or labouring or toil also appear both in 1:29 and 4:13, further linking the two passages conceptually.)

So Paul's preaching and Epaphras' praying take the same sort of effort and hard work. Both preaching and praying are part of the same spiritual battle. Epaphras is now miles away from the beloved Colossians church which he founded (Col 1:7). But he is able to help them just as much as back when he was physically present and preaching Jesus to them.

My conclusion from this is that prayer—especially prayer for gospel preaching and believing—places a person right on the frontline of ministry.

I believe this has an especially powerful application to the frail, aged and others who are physically incapable of doing very much. Some of them often feel useless, and wonder why God still leaves them on the earth. But they are right at the frontline of the spiritual battle, even though they are physically inactive and hundreds of miles away from the people and places they are praying for.

I know their prayers are helping me in my preaching and many people in their believing, and I am thankful for it.

¹ Although I'm not as big a fan of the ESV as some, this is one place where I reckon the ESV gets it right, using ‘mature’ and ‘struggle’ consistently in both places: 1:28-29 and 4:12.

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