A well earned PROPS goes to bookdepository.co.uk for providing book lovers everywhere with cheap books that carry NO additional charge for shipping!
If you’ve ever tried to buy books from overseas, you’ll know that they’re real cheap… until you get to the shipping page and they chuck on another US$50 for shipping. Not so at bookdepository.co.uk.
Go there now and get yourself some smarts.
Holy Trinity Sermons are now available for free download at iTunes.
Click here to subscribe! (iTunes will eventually open in a separate window)
As the tag-line suggests, this book offers a clear definition, defense, and documentation of the Five Points of Calvinism. I recommend it to everyone: Arminians, Calvinists, “via-media” (aka ‘soft’) Anglicans, the convicted and the confused; will all benefit from this updated version of a true classic on the Doctrines of Grace.
The contents is well written without being too jargonistic. The arguments are choc-full of biblical support. And the Recommended Reading section provides hundreds of titles for further study.
As my buddy Jim Packer says, “One could hardly wish for a better study resource to show the five points’ faithfulness to Scripture.”
Love it!
This month’s poem comes straight out of the John Piper Files. It’s called “Glorified” and speaks powerfully of the Day when Jesus will roll-up history and create the New Heavens and New Earth. Enjoy.
As far as any eye could see
There was no green. But every tree
Was cinder black, and all the ground
Was grey with ash. The only sound
Was arid wind, like spirits’ ghosts,
Gasping for some living hosts
In which to dwell, as in the days
Of evil men, before the blaze
Of unimaginable fire
Had made the earth a flaming pyre
For God’s omnipotent display
Of holy rage. The dreadful Day
Of God had come. The moon had turned
To blood. The sun no longer burned
Above, but, blazing with desire,
Had flowed into a lake of fire.
The seas and oceans were no more,
And in their place a desert floor
Fell deep to meet the brazen skies,
And silence conquered distant cries.
The Lord stood still above the air.
His mighty arms were moist and bare.
They hung, as weary, by his side
Until the human blood had dried
Upon the sword in his right hand.
He stared across the blackened land
That he had made, and where he died.
His lips were tight, and deep inside,
The mystery of sovereign will
Gave leave, and it began to spill
In tears upon his bloody sword
For one last time.
And then the Lord
Wiped every tear away and turned
To see his bride. Her heart had yearned
Four thousand years for this: His face
Shone like the sun, and every trace
Of wrath was gone. And in her bliss
She heard the Master say, “Watch this:
Come forth all goodness from the ground,
Come forth and let the earth redound
With joy.” And as he spoke, the throne
Of God came down to earth and shone
Like golden crystal full of light,
And banished once for all the night.
And from the throne a stream began
To flow and laugh, and as it ran,
It made a river and a lake,
And everywhere it flowed a wake
Of grass broke on the banks and spread
Like resurrection from the dead.
And in the twinkling of an eye
The saints descended from the sky.
And as I knelt beside the brook
To drink eternal life, I took
A glance across the golden grass,
And saw my dog, old Blackie, fast
As she could come. She leaped the stream—
Almost—and what a happy gleam
Was in her eye.
I knelt to drink,
And knew that I was on the brink
Of endless joy. And everywhere
I turned I saw a wonder there.
A big man running on the lawn:
That’s old John Younge with both legs on.
The blind can see a bird on wing,
The dumb can lift his voice and sing.
The diabetic eats at will,
The coronary runs uphill.
The lame can walk, the deaf can hear,
The cancer-ridden bone is clear.
Arthritic joints are lithe and free,
And every pain has ceased to be.
And every sorrow deep within,
And every trace of lingering sin
Is gone. And all that’s left is joy,
And endless ages to employ
The mind and heart to understand
And love the sovereign Lord who planned
That it should take eternity
To lavish all his grace on me.
O God of wonder, God of might,
Grant us some elevated sight,
Of endless days. And let us see
The joy of what is yet to be.
And may your future make us free,
And guard us by the hope that we,
Within the light of candle four,
Are glorified forevermore.
Hey,
Hope you like my new home at WordPress. I found that I could do more with the Blog if I relocated… so here I am.
All of my previous posts have been imported, so feel free to keep commenting on what you’ve read.
Cheers,
Jono.
Chester at 2 months
I know that in today’s climate of universal, unconditional acceptance – we’re not supposed to make value judgements on people or their preferences… but I don’t believe in all that crap, so here’s the truth: Staffordshire Bull Terriers are the best dogs in the world.
Chester today at 10 months
Oh, I’ve heard all the standard objections: “They look vicious,” “Labradors are cuter,” one particular moron had the guts to tell my wife the other day that “Staffys are stupid and disobedient…” That guy barely escaped with his life.
All arguments, debates, forums, and discussions aside… Staffys are the best dogs on God’s green earth.
This picture (left) was taken by a good pal of mine, Andy Pearce (click here to go to his blog). He was out the other night in Sydney when he spotted this little fella and asked his owner for a pic.
Try getting a Labrador into a leather jacket and see what happens… “This is, like, way too butch for me…”
Listen, it just make sense. Staffordshire Terriers were bred specially to be tough, musclebound, prize dog fighters; and Bull Terriers were trained to terrorise beef cows before they were slaughtered in the belief that it would tendorise the meat.
There you have the genetic ingredients for a great dog breed.
On the other hand, Chihuahua’s were bred to live out their scared, quivering, pathetic existence in the hand bags of air-head heiresses and washed-up pop-tarts. Case closed.
Honestly, there’s not much more for me to say, the pictures scream a thousand arguments. But let me leave you with this: If you want a wife, don’t date a mannequin. If you want a car, don’t buy a Barina. If you want a dog, don’t get a Chihuahua – Get a real dog. Get a Staffy.
Hey. I ripped this great article off Anthony Bradley’s Blog on TheResurgence.com. If you like, you can read it along with many other great articles here, here, or… even here.
In this article, Anthony (professor of Apologetics and Systematic Theology at Covenant Seminary) gets to the heart of what a lot of young guys who are still in church (there are some left) are lamenting. Jesus in a pink dress just isn’t going to cut it…. read on!
At St. Louis’ Mardi Gras celebration this year I found myself “missionally” checking out a Grateful Dead cover band. The venue was an old church in the process of being converted into a bar. The massive crowd, pushing and squeezing through the double doors longed not to hear about Jesus but “the Dead.” “Hey, ya wanna take a shot,” I was asked the moment I walked in. I declined. I’m too holy for “shots.” As a devout Bible-thumping Jesus freak I pondered how this church became a bar? Then I saw it! I looked up and thought that maybe the church’s death had something to do with the huge, pathetic mural of a sandy brown-haired Jesus wearing a pink dress.
Actually, it was a robe, but pink nonetheless. Seriously, in the mural Jesus was extending a slightly bent arm with a warm, soft hand to rescue Peter from drowning after failing to walk on water (Matthew 14:22-33). However, Peter’s arms and forearms were ripped like a Muscle and Fitness magazine cover model in need of a steroid detox program. Peter, another white dude, was a lot more masculine than Jesus. I didn’t know that.
Why was Jesus a blonde-haired white guy wearing a pink dress?
The cornerstone of the church building read “Gravois Avenue Church of God, December 13, 1942.” Sadly, some 65 years later the building was now packed full of alcohol abusing, weed-loving, sexually liberated “Dead-heads,” surrounded by 6 Jesus freaks (me and my friends), listening to incredible musicians.
Will your church devolve into a music venue for cover bands in two generations?
I don’t know which was worse the effeminate pink-dressed Jesus or the fact that this church is now a music venue that served cheap beer. At one point I wanted to interrupt the show, grab a microphone, and start preaching (like a good “bullhorn guy”): “Repent, for the Kingdom of God is near! Hell is knocking at your door!” But then I realized that behind me would have been Jesus wearing a pink dress.
After my short sermon one of those hippie guys could have retorted, “Hey, Mr. black-guy-listening-to-Grateful-Dead-music-with-the-rest-of-us, the Kingdom of God is led by a dude in a pink dress?” The answer, of course, is “NO!!” The kingdom of God is led by a man who battled Satan and secured victory for his people (Matt. 10:34; 1 John 3:8).
Leon Podles, is his book, The Church Impotent: The Feminization of Christianity, laments the feminized Christianity of the pink-dressed Jesus: “Christianity is now seen as a part of the sphere of life proper to women rather than to men, it sometimes attracts men whose own masculinity is doubtful. By this I do not mean homosexuals . . . rather religion is a safe field, a refuge from the challenges of life and therefore attracts men who are fearful of making a break with the secure world of childhood dominated by women. These are men who have problems following the path of masculine development.”
Maybe this church died because the men had no mission? They were never initiated into the masculine image of Christ and therefore never entered into the battle of local mission.
David Murrow, author of Why Men Hate Going To Church, reminds us that 61% of the average adult U.S. church attendance is women, 80% of attendees at midweek church activities are women, and 90% of boys raised in the church will abandon it by time they turn 20-years-old.
If you combine the image of Jesus in a pink dress with the soft-spoken, effeminate “sharing” that some churches call “sermons” by preachers/teachers who sound like one of the Teletubbies having confused words like “meek” and “gentle” with androgeny, we may understand how churches become bars: churches without the Gospel, and God-made masculine men, eventually die.
Pastor Teletubby stands up on Sunday in a quiet, non-offensive voice, whispering pink platitudes, after people sing a love ballad or two to a pink-dressed Jesus, instead of preaching the hard, painful, inviting, comforting, electrifying, liberating, convicting, offensive, loud, unraveling, authentic, transforming, truth of the Gospel of Jesus who alone empowers and enables his people to fight in the ancient redemptive mission of God to redeem the whole creation.
“Men are looking for a real man to follow: dynamic, outspoken, bold, sharp-edged. They want a leader who is decisive, tough, and fair. They respect a man who tells it like it is and doesn’t mince words, even when it makes them mad. Men most respect a leader who doesn’t care what others think of him,” says Murrow. Satan is real, hell is real, people are dying, sin is alive, repentance is needed, healing is necessary and people need a Jesus who bears a sword and fights for them and men pursuing death for the same cause.
Pastor Teletubby, offering a pink-dressed Jesus, is not capable of leading a church into the gloriously dangerous sufferings of Gospel-driven local mission advancing the Kingdom of God “wherever the curse is found.” More to come. . .
I need to explain why I just broke off a 6 year love affair with Sony’s little minx…
This sounds weird, but I just turned 26 and aged ten years overnight.
I’m the first to make fun of young adults who use the phrase “back in my day…” – but I’ve gotta tell ya – turning 26 has changed me a lot.
The most sweeping, stunning, cataclysmic change is that I can no longer bear the thought of ‘sleeping in’. This is massive. My idea of a good day was one where I got up at the crack of afternoon…
But now… No way! Somehow I’ve got hold of the idea that life, is in fact, very, very short. So why waste it unconscious? So now my alarm is set to 600 hours – and not just when I actually need to get up at that time. Amazing.
So what does all this have to do with my recent electronic annulment?
The point is simple. Spending time with a PS2 achieves nothing. Oh I know, I’ve heard the other side of the story: ‘People need time to unwind – PS2 provides a good distraction…’
Sounds OK right? But what happens when weak people like me go from ‘unwind’ to ’12 hour session’ without making any distinction between the two? What happens?
Eventually God convicts us and shows us that there’s such a thing as constructive relaxation – like reading the Bible, writing, prayer, listening to sermons, spending time with old buddies, reading the newspaper, brewing great beer, etc etc etc etc etc.
So that’s what has happened to me. The crisis point came. I either had to fully commit my life to the PS2, then the PS3, then PSwhatever – or break it off and redirect my attention to life-giving, God-honouring pass-times.
That’s the story. I’m glad I got that off my chest. But before I go, I just want to say that I’m not condemning all video game relationships to divorce. If you’re a stronger man than me, then you may be able to maintain a healthy balance between Fifa 07 and constructive duties. I can’t – so for me there was only one good way to go.
Ask yourself the question: is my video-gaming, TV-watching, magazine-reading, net-surfing, scrap-booking(?) – whatever – is it keeping you from changing yourself and the world – keeping you from becoming better, more effective, more godly? If so, follow me and show it the door for good.
The Apostle Paul wrote:
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Philippians 4:8 ESV)
Agree/Disagree/Confused/Convicted? Leave a comment for me.
Peace out,
Jono.
Props to my good brother Rob Imberger who is a pastor at St. John’s Anglican Church in Diamond Creek for this amazing poem that speaks of his conversion. Like many Christians, Rob didn’t have a dramatic conversion experience like the Apostle Paul did on the Damascus Road (read about Paul’s conversion here).
However, like all Christians, his experience is a testament to the miraculous act of God in bringing people to faith.
This is one of my favourite poems. Enjoy.
Not Damascus Road
I must have taken the wrong left
Kind Sir, when it said “Damascus Road next
Right” For I find myself scales intact but still
Seeing somehow squinting. And then the Christ blood
Water mingles at my feet and remind me
Will you
I’m in the Light on a different road except
I didn’t fall down ‘el drama’ and so much
As I strained my ear to the sound
Boomless… have I done something wrong kind Sir?
Mine was distinctly bereft of lightning bolts or
Fiery depths or dancing devils absolved by angels.
No there was no this
Or that, for that matter. But it does matter
How you’ve come to embrace a smiling universe, greeted
By all-knowing winks, common creeds, and not one
Falsified faith to speak of. You know, kind Sir, I
Used to wait at the back and not make much noise so
Falling drips of devotion would drown out this
Humble story, of life once lied now lived. It’s some
Comfort though, my kind shall inherit the earth. Not sure
If I’d take my receipt to the customer counter and request
Thunderous God-speak instead, I’d want to be
Deafened by the flutter of angels wings with my left
Over change. It
Didn’t happen on Damascus road and it didn’t lead
Me to revolution from my prison cell. My letters to
Corinth were letters to committee A, B,
And not forgetting C.
It was talking on street corners without customary
Megaphone, loving friends, whispering prayers…
When I get the chance I shall ask
Kind Sir
If all that was
Enough.
Robert Imberger
Bridie’s Literature, 2005
My youngr brother Andrew has embarked on a year-long working holiday in London. I miss him a lot because, even though I’ve taken more punches in the face from him than I’ve had hot dinners – he’s one of my best mates – one of the few people I’d lie down in traffic for. And for all my aspirations to be a good, honest, masculine man – he’s more manly than I can ever hope to be.
(Andrew’s the one in the middle)
Here’s ten reasons why:
10. His name is Andrew.
Because I’m a Bible nerd I know that ‘Andrew’ comes from the Greek name Ανδρεας, which is derived from ανηρ which means “man”. His name means Man. Enough said.
9. He’s a Carpenter. I’m a Bible College student.
8. He’s got more scars on his body than a Roman Gladiator. The only scar that I’ve earned was inflicted during an Art & Craft class.
7. He could successfully beat me up at the age of 5.
6. At home, while he was busy building an extension to the house, I was dreaming up new recipes for Creme Brulé.
5. He plays Football. I play Playstation.
4. He has a dog named “Bomber”. I have a dog named “Chesterton”.
(Though arguably my dog is more of a meat-axe than his… arguably).
3. He’s been stabbed in the head with a chisel.
2. He’s got two massive tattoos. One on his leg, and another one that stretches across his back. I sometimes draw little pictures on my arm.
1. One of the pillars of Biblical masculinity is taking responsibility for yourself and those you love. He actually worked hard and raised money to go overseas.
I spent my time playing “pull my finger” with my high-school buddies and borrowed money (indefinitely) from my Dad so that I could go travelling.
So it’s clear. Andrew is more manly than I am. And though I’m trying my best to be a Biblical, masculine, ‘Joshua-type’ bloke – I’m not afraid to say that I miss him heaps and can’t wait to hang-out with him when he comes back to Oz.
Andrew Smith – Great Bloke.
