The heart in Christian preaching symbolizes the core of human nature, encompassing desires, intentions, and spiritual condition (Jeremiah 17:9; Ezekiel 36:26). Illustrations often use images of conflict, disease, and deception to reveal inner struggles and the need for divine transformation. The heart's true state shapes speech, actions, and destiny, emphasizing genuine renewal over outward appearances.
Worldly success cannot satisfy the deep longings of the human heart.
Unsatisfied. Rossini, the great Italian musician, said to a friend who congratulated him on his continued triumphs, "I would give all this glory that the world envies me, all my operas, all that I have done, for some sweet days of youth and love."
The pope demanded hearts, showing that true devotion cannot be forced by law.
Voice of the. When a law was made, in the reign of Elizabeth, that all the people should attend the church, the papists sent to Rome to know the pleasure of his Holiness. He returned for answer, "Tell the Catholics in England to give me their hearts, and the queen may take the rest."
A fixed, anguished thought in the heart can wear a person down into despair.
Wearing the. It has been truly said that the human heart is like the milstone, which, if there be wheat beneath it, will grind to purposes of health: if not, will grind still, at the will of the wild wind, but on itself. So does the heart wear out itself against its own thought, — one fixed idea, one remembrance and no other, one stationary, wearing anguish. This is remorse, passing into despair; itself the good to fresh and wilder crimes. F. W. Robertson.
The human heart is like a rock that bears the marks of every ambition and folly.
Writing on the. Famous public places, as mountain-summits or battle-monuments, are often covered over with deep-cut inscriptions of every kind and age, — records of ambition or folly. How like the heart of man, that, more lasting than the granite rock, invites every corner to cut his name upon it!
Early impressions shape character and destiny like a river’s course.
I think we may assert, that, in a hundred men, there are more than ninety who are what they are, good or bad, useful or pernicious to society, from the instruction they have received. It is on education that depends the great difference observable among them. The least and most imperceptible impressions received in our infancy have consequences very important, and of a long duration. It is with these first impressions as with a river, whose waters we can easily turn by different canals in quite opposite courses; so that, from the insensible direction the stream receives at its source, it takes different directions, and at last arrives at places far distant from each other. And, with the same facility, we may, I think, turn the minds of children to what direction we please. Locke.
Holy intentions give meaning and value to actions, like a soul to a body.
Holy intention is to the actions of a man that which the soul is to the body, or form to its matter, or the root to the tree, or the sun to the world, or the fountain to the river, or the base to a pillar; for, without these, the body is a dead trunk, the matter is sluggish, the tree is a block, the world is darkness, the river is quickly dry, the pillar rushes into flatness and ruin, and the action is sinful, or unprofitable and vain. The poor farmer that gave a dish of cold water to Artaxerxes was rewarded with a golden goblet: and he that gives the same to a disciple, in the name of a disciple, shall have a crown; but if he gives water in despite, when the disciple needs wine or a cordial, his reward shall be to want that water to cool his tongue. Bp. Taylor.
The morality of actions depends on the motives behind them, not just the outcomes.
The morality of an action depends upon the motive from which it is done. If I fling a half-crown at a beggar, with the intention to hurt his head, and he picks it up and buys victuals with it, the practical effect is good to him, but, with respect to me, it is very bad. Locke.
The soul's innate yearning for God remains constant despite differing religious systems.
The heart yearns and calls for God; not because of outward solicitation, but because of the want it feels within. No difference of teachers or systems can change this nature of the soul. The ocean is the same, whatever craft sail up and down upon it, whether they be pleasureboats, brigs, merchant-ships, pirates, or menof-war: so, whatever religious navigators may be going up and down the sea of life, its depths and shores and distant haven remain the same. The stars never change for astrologers or astronomers. They roll calmly above storms and above opinions. So man's nature does not vary for circumstances, or conflicting views, but still wants God above, and fellowman below. Beecher.
Self-interest often blinds people to truth, causing them to oppose godliness.
Nothing more hinders men from going to, or going from an opinion, than the interest they have by holding it. Men do not care so much for the opinions they hold, as for what they hold by their opinions. Many a man thinks what Demetrius said: "This craft, by which we have all our wealth, is like to be set at nought." Hence they begin to fly in the face of truth, and oppose it with outrageous rage, so dearly sweet, and sweetly dear, is their darling gain. They see they cannot have the honey unless they burn the bees, and therefore fire them forthwith: they cannot possess the vineyard, unless Naboth be put to death, and therefore he must be despatched. When once the copyhold of gain and honor is touched, men begin to look about them, and will never call godliness gain, because gain is their godliness. Venning.
Anger and insults echo back to us, revealing that we betray ourselves by our words.
A little boy cried out in the meadow. "Hurrah, hurrah!" From the nearest woods, he heard a voice, "Hurrah, hurrah!"—"Where are you?" he shouted. The voice cried, "Where are you?" He answered back, "You are a foolish boy!"—"Foolish boy!" echoed back the woods. He became very angry, and shouted nicknames; but they all came back again. He searched the woods to find the boy that had treated him so, and then ran to tell his mother of the bad boy. She told him he had heard nothing but his own words. Had you spoken friendly words, they would have echoed back to you again. You have betrayed and accused yourself.
Our passions and actions are invisibly recorded, revealing our true spiritual condition.
A rich landlord once cruelly oppressed a poor widow. Her son, a little boy of eight years, saw it. He afterwards became a painter, and painted a life-likeness of the dark scene. Years afterwards, he placed it where the man saw it. He turned pale, trembled in every joint, and offered any sum to purchase it, that he might put it out of sight. Thus there is an invisible painter drawing on the canvas of the soul a life-likeness, reflecting correctly all the passions and actions of our spiritual history on earth.
— The Happy Home
People judge others better than themselves and favor those who agree with them.
Human nature is so constituted, that all see and judge better in the affairs of other men than in their own. — Terence. — We seldom find persons whom we acknowledge to be possessed of good sense, except those who agree with us in opinion. — La Rochefoucauld.
God desires heartfelt service, not just outward actions without love.
God cries, "Bring thy heart, or bring nothing." Like a jealous husband when he hath a wife, yet he is jealous whether he hath her heart; so, whatsoever thou do, yet God is jealous still, and respects not what thou doest, but whether thou do it from the heart, that is, of mere love towards him. If Pilate had washed his heart when he washed his hands, he had been cleaner than Naaman when he came out of Jordan; if the Shechemites had circumcised their hearts when they circumcised their flesh, they had saved their souls when they had lost their lives; if Cain had offered his heart when he offered the fruits, his offering had been as acceptable as Abel's. But as swine's flesh was like sheep's flesh, yet was not accepted because it came from an unclean beast; so Cain's offering, Pilate's washing, the Shechemites' circumcision, the Pharisee's prayer and fasts and alms, were as fair as the apostles': yet they had no reward, but "Woe to you hypocrites!" because they wanted the heart, which is like the fire that kindleth the sacrifice. Henry Smith.
The soul's passions are powerful and enduring, needing Christ's healing balm.
How mighty are the passions of the soul, how strong its hate! When once it penetrates an object, its hold is unshaken. The principle that binds the planets lets go its grasp in the wreck of dissolving Nature; but mortal hate rises victorious over the dissolution of all things. Survey its love. The shock of battle, the loss of all things, the flames of the martyr's stake, death itself, which destroys every thing physical, cannot shake it; for "it is stronger than death." Behold its ambition! Earth is lost in it as a drop in the ocean. The universe cannot fill it. Measure now the depths of its deathless passions, and then all the depths of its capacity to suffer. Oh for some fountain to cool its passions! Oh for some balm to heal its wounds! Oh for some anodyne to moderate its pulsations! Religion leads to "a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Immanuel's veins." Ep. Thomson.
More inner light reduces darkness in life, like light in a room.
In Germany, when light is first brought into a room, they say, "God grant light eternal!" and, in some parts of England, "God grant us the light of heaven!" Were there more light in our hearts, there would be less of the works of darkness in our lives. We are like the actor, who, looking upward, cried, "O heaven!" and with his hand pointed to the earth.
A good outward temper can hide an unrenewed, hard heart within.
Easy, good-tempered, affable persons, whose hearts are nevertheless unrenewed by grace, may be compared to ripe plums and apricots, which, however soft and smooth on the outside, yet have a hard stone within. Dr. Arrowsmith.
Examining all one's thoughts reveals the true sinful condition of the heart.
Suppose a man should find a great basket by the wayside, carefully packed, and, on opening it, he should find it filled with human thoughts, all the thoughts which had passed through one single brain in one year or five years,—what a medley they would make! How many would be wild and foolish, how many weak and contemptible, how many mean and vile, how many so contradictory and crooked, that they could hardly lie still in the basket! And suppose he should be told that these were all his own thoughts, children of his own brain: how amazed would he be! how little prepared to see himself as revealed in those thoughts! And how would he want to run away and hide, if all the world were to see the basket opened, and see his thoughts!
— Dr. Todd
Without strict watchfulness, the heart will stray and be hard to regain control of.
Use of. Never trust thou this heart of thine, that it will be well ordered and kept in good frame though thou carry not always so heavy a hand and narrow an eye over it. No: if thou look not thus straitly to it, it will be gone, as a wild horse, if a man once let go the bridle as he is walking on his journey; and then, when he is once gone, he will not be gotten again in haste, but a man must spend as much time in recovering him as would have been sufficient to have despatched the whole journey. So will it fare with thy heart, if once thou let go this bridle of watchfulness: it will run out so far, that it will be long ere thou wilt catch it again.
— Dyke
Our impure world reflects the darkness and disorder within our own hearts.
This disordered universe is the picture of your own mind. We make a wilderness by encouraging artificial wants, by creating sensitive and selfish feelings; then we project every thing stamped with the impress of our own feelings, and we gather the whole of creation into our pained being. "The whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now." The world you complain of as impure and wrong is not God's world, but your world: the blight, the dulness, the blank, are all your own. The light which is in you has become darkness, and therefore the light itself is dark.
— F. W. Robertson
A boy's vanity reveals the human desire for approval and the need for humility.
"I once knew," says Mr. Abbott, "a little boy of unusually bright and animated countenance. Every one who entered the house noticed the child, and spoke of his beauty. One day a gentleman called upon business, and being engaged in conversation, did not pay that attention to the child to which he was accustomed, and which he now began to expect as his due. The vain little fellow made many efforts to attract notice, but not succeeding, he at last placed himself full in front of the gentleman, and asked, 'Why don't you see how beautiful I be?'
# 175 FORB.
Despotic power can harden the heart and produce hypocrisy in character and conduct.
A lady, now in the West Indies, was sent in her infancy to her friends, near Belfast, in Ireland, for education. She remained under their charge from five to fifteen years of age, and grew up every thing which her friends could wish. At fifteen, she returned to the West Indies—was married—and after some years paid her friends near Belfast a second visit. Towards white people, she was the same elegant and interesting woman as before; apparently full of every virtuous and tender feeling; but towards the colored people she was like a tigress. If Wilberforce's name was mentioned, she would say, "Oh, I wish we had the wretch in the West Indies, I would be one of the first to help to tear his heart out!"—and then she would tell of the manner in which the West Indian ladies used to treat their slaves. "I have often," she said, "when my women have displeased me, snatched their baby from their bosom, and running with it to a well, have tied my shawl round its shoulders and pretended to be drowning it: oh, it was so funny to hear the mother's screams!"—and then she laughed almost convulsively at the recollection.
What but the exercise of despotic power could have thus steeled her sensibilities and corrupted her mind?
The cruelty of slave-dealing reveals a heart hardened by corruption and disregard for suffering.
A person who resided in a slaveholding country, sold a black woman and her mulatto child to a negro trader. The woman knew nothing of the sale until she and her child were taken possession of by the purchaser. She was, it appears, a female of spirit, and as she was now out of the hands of her former master, and must go, she knew not whither, she took occasion to vent her indignant feelings in language that showed at once the courage of the Roman matron, as it respected herself, and the heartless villany of a slave-dealer, when applied to him. Walking toward him with her child in her arms,
### 319. POWER,
A new heart from God is necessary to truly live by the golden rule.
Tedynscung was a celebrated chief among the Delaware Indians of North America, about 1780. The efforts of the Christian missionaries had been the means of diffusing much scriptural knowledge among the native Indians, and their doctrines were frequently the subject of conversation among them. One evening, Tedynscung was sitting by the fireside of his friend, who mentioned the golden rule to him as very excellent, "For one man to do to another as he would the other should do to him!" "It is impossible; it cannot be done," said the Indian chief. After smoking his pipe, and musing for about a quarter of an hour, Tedynscung again gave his opinion, and said, "Brother, I have been thoughtful on what you told me. If the great Spirit that made man would give him a new heart, he could do so as you say, but not else."
## THE CHRISTIAN.
Without a new heart from God, obeying the Golden Rule is impossible for man.
One evening the Chief of the Delaware Indians was sitting by a fireside with a friend. Both were silently looking into the fire. At last his friend broke the silence by saying: “I have been thinking of a rule delivered by the Author of the Christian religion, which we call the Golden Rule.” “Stop,” said the Chief, “don’t praise it, tell me what it is, and let me think for myself.” He was informed that the rule was “for one man to do to another as he would have the other do to him.” “That’s impossible; it cannot be done,” hastily replied the Indian. Silence followed. The Chief lit his pipe. In about fifteen minutes he replied, as he took the pipe from his mouth: “Brother, I have been thoughtful of what you told me. If the Great Spirit who made man would give him a new heart, he could do as you say, but not else.”
A man consumed by worldly desires has a heart filled only with those desires.
A sea-captain came to a mission-station on the Pacific; and the missionary talked with him upon religious subjects. The captain said, “I came away from Nantucket after whales; I have sailed round Cape Horn for whales; I am now up in the Pacific after whales. I think of nothing but whales. I fear your labor would be entirely lost upon me, and I ought to be honest with you. I care for nothing, by day, but whales, and I dream of them by night. If you should open my heart, I think you would find the shape of a whale there.”
Hearts must be softened by God's work before true transformation can occur.
Take the cold iron, and attempt to weld it into a certain shape. How fruitless the effort! Lay it on the anvil, seize the blacksmith’s hammer with all your might, let blow after blow fall upon it, and you shall have done nothing; but put it in the fire, let it be softened and made malleable, then lay it on the anvil, and each stroke shall have a mighty effect, so that you may fashion it into any form you may desire.
The heart is the source of all life and must be kept pure and well-conditioned.
The heart is the reservoir of man. Life may flow through different outlets,—the mouth, the hand, the eye; but still all derive their source from the central reservoir, the heart; and hence the great necessity that exists for keeping this reservoir—the heart—in a proper state and condition.
A person's speech reveals where their true treasure and heart are.
You can soon tell where a man’s treasure is by his talk. If it is in heaven, he will not be long with you before he’s talking about heaven; his heart is there, and so his speech isn’t long in running there, too. If his heart is in money, he will soon have you deep in talk about mines, speculation, stocks, bank rate, and so on. If his heart is in lands, it won’t be long before he’s talking about real estate, improvements, houses, and so on. Always the same, wherever a man’s heart is, there his tongue will be sure to go.
Someone in England said, if you see a man’s goods and furniture come down by the luggage train, you’re pretty sure he’ll be down by the next passenger train; he won’t be long after; he’ll follow his goods. And so it is with heaven; if your treasure is on before you, you’ll be wanting to follow it; you’ll be glad to be on the road thither as soon as possible.
A sinner’s heart is heavily guarded but can be opened to Christ.
When I was in Dublin some years ago I got up to go to an early meeting, and found the servants had not opened the front door; so I pulled back a bolt, but I could not get the door open. Then I turned a key, but the door would not open. Then I found there was another bolt at the top and another bolt at the bottom. Still the door would not open. Then I found there was a bar, and then I found a night-lock. In all I found five or six different fastenings.
I am afraid that door represents every sinner’s heart. The door of his heart is double-locked, double-bolted, and double-barred. Oh, my friends, pull back the bolts, and let the King of glory in!
True hearts tend toward God despite worldly influences that cause spiritual deviation.
The compass on board an iron vessel is very subject to aberrations; yet, for all that, its evident desire is to be true to the pole. True hearts in this wicked world, and in this fleshly body, are all too apt to swerve, but they still show their inward and persistent tendency to point towards heaven and God. On board iron vessels it is a common thing to see a compass placed aloft, to be as much away from the cause of aberration as possible: a wise hint to us to elevate our affections and desires; the nearer to God the less swayed by worldly influences.
Mortifying sin requires renewing the heart’s root, not just suppressing outward sins.
A man may beat down the bitter fruit from an evil tree until he is weary; whilst the root abides in strength and vigour, the beating down of the present fruit will not hinder it from bringing forth more. This is the folly of some men; they set themselves with all earnestness and diligence against the appearing eruption of lust, but leaving the principle and root untouched, perhaps unsearched out, they make but little or no progress in this work of mortification.— John Owen.
Every person carries a dangerous cargo of sinful passions that can wreck their life.
Every ship has a cargo, or if no cargo it is seeking for cargo. Some cargoes are safe and some dangerous. In olden time they used to load grain in bulk, which was dangerous, for if the grain shifted in a storm it was apt to throw the ship on her beam ends. Cotton is a dangerous cargo, and many steamship lines advertise, “These ships carry no cotton.” Some years ago, an evil-minded man tried to ship an infernal machine on one of the steamers of a transatlantic line. His intention was that the clockwork in the machine should go off while the ship was in mid-ocean, and blow her to pieces. Fortunately, the clockwork went off while the infernal machine was on the dock. It blew off the stern of the steamer and killed thirteen men. Surely that would have been a dangerous cargo to carry.
Just so every man carries a cargo. By this I mean a cargo of opinions, passions, appetites, and these are sure to wreck any young man who carries them.--A. F. SCHAUFFLER, _The Christian Herald_.
True cleansing comes from removing the source of impurity, not just external efforts.
Sam P. Jones used to tell of a man down in the spring branch trying to clear the water, so that he could get a clear drink. This man was doing all he could to filter the water, when some friend called out to him: “Stranger, come up a little higher and run that hog out of that spring, and it will clear itself.”
Unless life’s sources are clean, it is of little use to labor with external conduct.
Throwing your heart into effort leads the body to follow in success and perseverance.
When the old lady was training her son for the trapeze, the boy made three or four rather ineffectual efforts to get over the bar. Then she was heard to suggest: “John Henry Hobbs, if you will just throw your heart over the bars, your body will follow.” (Text.)
— JAMES G. BLAINE
True heart regeneration by the Holy Spirit surpasses any human or false spiritual transformation.
A fable among the Turks says that Mohammed, when a child, had his heart laid open, and a black grain, called the devil’s portion, taken out of its center; and in this heroic way the prophet’s preeminent virtue and sanctity are accounted for.
A new heart entire, through the regeneration of the Holy Ghost, far surpasses the Moslem’s fabled operation.
The heart is essential for feeling after God; intellect alone cannot produce true faith.
The word “heart” is used figuratively and metaphysically, but with vivid impressiveness in Scripture, to indicate the capacity of feeling after God without which faith is impossible. Men of mathematical and philosophic training have in many cases lamentably exemplified the atrophy of the finer feelings. Here is the great fault in the glittering and brilliant writings of John Stuart Mill. From early infancy he, a most precocious boy, was taught to crush the heart, to repress all sentiments of affection. The moral nature of the lad was shockingly distorted, and as he grew up he judged of everything by the cold light of intellect only. He wrote his autobiography, and in that book is not a word about his mother. So the book absolutely lacks heart, and it is devoid of all fascination. (Text.)
The human heart harbors both beauty and base passions, often dominated by sin and darkness.
An American naturalist tells us that the human brain is full of birds. The song-birds might all have been hatched in the human heart, so well do they express the whole gamut of human passion and emotion in their varied songs. The plaintive singers, the soaring ecstatic singers, the gushing singers, the inarticulate singers--robin, dove, lark, mocking-bird, nightingale--all are expressive of human emotion, desire, love, sadness, aspiration, glee. Christ gives a sadder view of our heart, showing it to be “the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird.” Fierce hawk, croaking raven, ravenous vulture, obscene birds, birds of discord, birds of darkness, birds of tempest, birds of blood and death--these are all typical of the heart’s base passions; these all brood and nestle within, and fly forth to darken, pollute, and destroy. And the Master is not here speaking of some hearts, but of the human heart generally. In the woods we find occasionally a bird with a false note, in the fields a misshapen flower, yet beauty and music are the prevailing characteristics of the landscape; but stepping into society, the universal discord and misery declare the common radical defect of our nature.--W. L. WATKINSON, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”
True victory and defeat are found within ourselves, not in external approval or noise.
Not in the clamor of the crowded street, Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.
— LONGFELLOW
Spiritual insensitivity blinds people to God’s beauty and voice in creation.
I remember walking at night with a good fellow by the side of a transparent sea; nothing was heard but the eternal murmur of the restless waters on the pebbles; a full moon was making a path of heavenly splendor across the waves. It was a night of supernatural beauty--a night in whose silence all the voices of the universe were speaking to the soul. His complaint was that there was no band. (Text.)
God understands our better intentions beyond what our imperfect actions reveal.
While “we have this treasure in earthen vessels” we can never fully manifest the best that is in us. Benjamin R. Bulkeley tells us in the following verse that God knows how much better we intend than we can do:
There was never a song that was sung by thee, But a sweeter one was meant to be. There was never a deed that was grandly done, But a greater was meant by some earnest one, For the sweetest voice can never impart The song that trembles within the heart.
And the brain and the hand can never quite do The thing that the soul has fondly in view. And hence are the tears and the burdens of pain, For the shining goals are never to gain, But enough that a God can hear and see The song and the deed that were meant to be.
Religious culture may mask but not fully change a person's underlying passions.
Religion has not done much for a man if it has not moderated the savage passions of his nature. Prof. Fred. M. Davenport says:
I once spent an evening listening, with a couple of friends, to an old darky’s account of his conversion. He had reached the climax of the recital, was in a considerable state of ecstasy, and was very anxiously seeking to impress us all with his spiritual experience, when suddenly his dog began barking furiously just behind him and utterly broke the continuity of his thought and of his speech. I think no one of us will ever forget the dash of savagery that came into his face as he turned with flashing eye and foaming lip upon that canine intruder. It was a startling transition, revealing the crater of primitive passion just underneath the crust of religious culture and nurture.--_The Contemporary Review._
Our inner disposition determines our life's direction more than external circumstances.
One ship drives east and another west With the self-same winds that blow. ’Tis the set of the sails and not the gales Which tell us the way to go. Like the winds of the sea are the waves of fate, As we voyage along through life. ’Tis the set of the soul which decides the goal, And not the calm, nor the strife.
MORE THAN MERE TINGLE AND MUSH, EMOTIONS PLAY AN IMPORTANT ROLE IN FIRMING UP OUR FAITH.
When I was in graduate school I had the opportunity to share my faith with a classmate. As I relayed to my friend his need for personally accepting Christ as Savior and Lord, he asked, "Am I supposed to FEEL any different if I trust Christ?"
I promptly read to him the section in Campus Crusade's "Four Spiritual Laws" booklet entitled "Do Not Depend on Feelings." It reads, "The promise of God's Word, not our feelings, is our authority.... We, as Christians, do not depend on feelings or emotions, but we place our faith (trust) in the trustworthiness of God and the promises of His Word."
The booklet goes on to describe the analogy of the engine, the coal car, and the caboose. The engine is the FACT OF God and his Word; the coal car is our FAITH or trust; whereas the caboose is OUR FEELINGS or emotions. The section concludes by saying that "the train will run with or without the caboose" and that "it would be futile to attempt to pull the train by the caboose." At the time, I thought it summed everything up rather nicely.
Several years ago, however, I was challenged by a Christian psychologist to rethink this analogy. He felt the popular Christian premise that we should not listen to our emotions when making decisions assumes that emotions are merely psychological "highs" or irrational states of elation that elicit "tingly" and "mushy" feelings inside. My friend believed that most evangelicals do not understand how emotions work and thus downplay their importance. He was convinced that emotions, in fact, play a crucial part in our finding God. I decided to take him up on his challenge.
THE MARRIAGE OF LEFT AND RIGHT
An important angle to this long-debated issue fell into place as I began to research the functions of the right and left hemispheres of the brain. Scientists have discovered that, generally speaking, the right side of the brain controls our emotions, our creativity, and our subjective thinking, while pattern and logical thinking are characteristic of the left side.
Since the right side of the brain controls intuition, artistic expression, and emotional reactions to situations, it also controls our sensitivity to people. Further, the right side of the brain seems to be very important in SOLIDIFYING facts into our conscious memory. For example, I can recall exactly where I was and what I was doing when I first heard that President Kennedy was assassinated. The same is true for my memory of the space shuttle tragedy. However, there are many other important national and political events that cannot be so quickly and vividly drawn to mind. I remember every detail of the assassination and the crash because of the great emotional impact they carried for me. The right side of my brain functioned simultaneously with the left and indelibly etched all the data concerning these events.
It seems that the left and right sides of the brain, the cognitive and the emotional, work together to anchor an event securely in our minds.
REDISCOVERING OUR HEARTS
With scientific discovery in hand, I decided to look to the Scriptures to see what is said on the matter. I was surprised to find that my new insights were actually a few thousand years old. The idea that our will, intellect, and emotions do and should work together is embedded in the very common biblical concept of the HEART.
The biblical words for heart connote the thoughts or FEELINGS OF the mind." Scripture sees the heart as what actually controls our will and intellect and integrates them with our emotions. In Jesus' comments to the highly religious Pharisees, we see this usage borne out: "You hypocrites! Isaiah was right when he prophesied against you: 'These people honor me with their lips, but their HEARTS [thoughts, actions, and emotions] are far from me' " (Matt. 15:7-8, NIV).
When you bake a cake, you first mix up all the ingredients. After the cake is cooled and ready to eat, there is no way to separate the ingredients again. The same is true with the heart: It brings together our will, intellect, and emotions; but once it uses these to bring about some action or decision, there is no way to go back and identify the separate ingredients. In a deep and mysterious way our heart represents our whole self. Solomon wrote, "Above all else, guard your HEART, for it is the wellspring of life" (Prov. 4:23, NIV).
We can also see the importance of the heart in a negative example from Exodus 10. We are told that Pharaoh had a "hardened heart." Though he saw what was happening, and could say, I repent" with his will and REASON, and though he COULD HEAR the groanings of his people (the use of all his faculties), Scripture says his HEART would not change.
The apostle Paul also saw a need for an intellectual as well as an emotional affirmation in order to solidify our salvation experience when he stated, "If you confess with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that 'God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your: mouth that you confess and are saved" (Rom. 10:9-10, NIV). In other words, our belief emerges from our hearts, where our intellect and our emotions work together.
THE HEART EXPRESS
So how would I now answer my friend if he asked whether or not he should feel anything when he puts his trust in Christ? Piggybacking on the train illustration, I believe a more helpful picture can be drawn.
In our experience of faith, the engine could represent our will or intellect (instead of facts). The coal car can represent our emotions. Just as an engine does not move without fuel, so our intellect dries up and becomes lifeless without emotional support. And just as a coal car cannot pull a train by itself, likewise our emotions are directionless and lead us nowhere without the balance of our intellect. But when the heart brings these elements together, the wonder of combustion and movement occurs.
So what happened to the caboose? The caboose to this train is works (instead of emotions). We always want and expect to see the caboose on a train. It is a little disappointing to watch a train go by and not see the caboose. In the same way, we expect to see good works in the life of the believer. They belong there. While they can never pull us to heaven, their rightful place is following the engine and coal car.
So it is in our lives. When our will and intellect join hands with our emotions, the spark of faith is kindled and a glorious journey down the tracks of the Truth of God's Word is begun. The unalterable destination is heaven.
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Richard Fowler is director of the Minirth-Meier clinic of Longview, Texas.
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Sermon on biblical view of clothes, with emphasis on putting on spiritual clothes of Jesus. Also discusses carnal clothing which must be removed.
#569
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Sermon on Jesus washing the disciples' feet, and Peter objecting.
1. Who needs it?
2. How do you get it?
3. What is the purpose of cleansing?
4. How often do you need it?
#570
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"If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?"
-- Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, "The Gulag Archipelago"
Murder storywriters assume we all have within us the capacity to murder. Chesterton's Father Brown said, "You see, it was I who killed all those people." When the fathomless wells of rage and hatred in the normal human heart are tapped, the results are fearful. "There but for the grace of God go I." Only restraining and renewing grace enables anyone to keep the sixth commandment.
The quality of our words matches the condition of our hearts: how words are used in Eph 4:1-32
“Can’t you do anything right?”
“He’s such a jerk!”
“The people there are all hypocrites.”
“Did you see the way she was flirting?”
“You idiot!”
Angry words. Ugly words. Words meant to wound. We’re all guilty of them. We’ve all felt that stab of regret as such words left our lips and wished desperately that we could take them back.
The Epistle to the Ephesians has very practical things to say about talk, about how to make words heal rather than hurt. Beginning in Ephesians 4, Paul describes the heavenly calling issued to Christians: It is a call to walk worthily (Ephesians 4:1–16), to walk differently than nonChristians (Ephesians 4:17–24), and to walk lovingly (Ephesians 4:25–5:2). In the apostle’s view, the Christian’s love changes the Christian’s language:
Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is
good for edifying, as fits the occasion, that it may impart grace
to those who hear. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, in
whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Let all
bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away
from you, with all malice, and be kind to one another,
tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave
you.
Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in
love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant
offering and sacrifice to God. — Ephesians 4:29–5:2, RSV
This passage begins by defining Christian words as those that are (1) good, (2) constructive, (3) appropriate, and (4) gracious (Ephesians 4:26). Most of us would praise the uncommon “sense” of these verbal baselines, yet they are anything but easy to practice. Why? Because our words spring from our feelings: We can’t escape the fink between the habits of our hearts and the words on our lips. As Jesus put it, it’s bad hearts that account for bad speech.
Paul profiles in Ephesians 4:31 the pathological feelings that give rise to “evil talk”: bitterness, wrath and anger, and malice. Our crisis is not a crisis of words; we need far more than doctored word-lists. We need new spirits.
Where do we start? And harder still, where do we draw the strength and motivation to keep on trying? Thankfully, Paul has provided answers to these questions in the same passage from Ephesians.
Paul identifies three cardinal feelings, or attitudes, that we must cultivate in order for love to change our language. In Ephesians 4:32 he says, “and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” Here, then, in the attitudes of kindness, compassion, and forgiveness we find the biblical wellspring for words that heal rather than hurt. Here is where good words come from.
KINDNESS
Paul’s word for KINDNESS is one of my favorites in the Greek New Testament. The term is CHRESTOS, and it is difficult to translate into any single English word. It can mean kindness, gentleness, or even friendliness. Peter tells us it is the Lord’s CHRESTOS that we have tasted as “newborn babies” (1 Peter 2:3).
I’ve always loved that thought: that when we come to Him, we find not a stern face full of cold justice, but CHRESTOS, goodness-with-a-smile. We find, in fact, the warmth of a Father’s embrace (Luke 15:20). This association of the Lord with kindness echoes Jesus’ invitation for all who are heavy laden to come to Him and to take up His yoke, which He described as “easy” (CHRESTOS) and “light” (Matthew 11:30).
By contrast, we’ve all seen the type of goodness that is cold, aloof, and repellant. The Scots use the word DOUR to describe that kind of pinched propriety. A dour spirit is goodness-gone-sour, the opposite of the spirit of CHRESTOS. CHRESTOS is warm and attractive; it’s goodness wearing a smile; it’s goodness that draws you by its warmth.
Years ago I encountered such kindness in a home where I was a guest. The experience is still vivid in my memory because of an unusual contrast. I was preaching week-long evangelistic services in small towns in Missouri and happened to stay in two homes that were as different as night and day.
The first home was perfect: spotless and finely furnished, everything in its place, like something straight out of the unlived-in pages of BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS! The hosts were perfect, too, polite and dignified, always monitoring my needs. Yet at the end of the week I was as much a stranger as when I arrived.
At the next town, I stayed in a not-so-perfect place: a home inhabited by Siamese cats and giggly kids. When I arrived, my hosts hugged me as if I were a lost relative, told me I was “family,” and proceeded to make good on that description by having me help bathe the cats! I’ve never forgotten that home. There was love there, and warmth that reached out to an insecure young preacher and drew him in. I felt from the first that I belonged. I’ve stayed in more luxurious homes, but I’ve never stayed anywhere where the kindness was more warm, easy, and appealing. That home and those hearts were full of CHRESTOS, and it left its mark on me.
That’s what our hearts and vocabularies need today in double measure: plain old kindness that’s gentle, warm, and cheerful. In nature warmth softens things, and warm kindness softens hearts and voices, too. According to Ephesians, to fill our hearts with CHRESTOS is to fill our mouths with treasure.
COMPASSION
Paul adds to kindness the important attitude of compassion (Matthew 11:32). The word is translated in the RSV as “tenderhearted,” literally “good-boweled,” and pictures a sensitive person whose feelings can be touched by the needs and problems of others. Unlike the calloused, uncaring person described earlier in the chapter (Matthew 11:17–22), the compassionate person is emotionally vulnerable. He is like the Good Samaritan, who, when he saw the wounded traveler on the Jericho Road, “had compassion, and went to him” (Luke 10:33).
We need that kind of compassion so urgently today because terrorism — communicational terrorism — has become a part of our daily lives. Communicational terrorists aren’t hard to spot; we are the verbal bullies who are always right, always in a power play to dominate others, quick to tear others down in order to build ourselves up. Like political terrorists, we’re ready to commit relational suicide rather than admit we’re wrong. We hold loved ones hostage through our moodiness, guilt-trips, and other psychological sabotage.
What is missing from our hearts when we assume “tough guy” roles is compassion. I won’t feel inclined to hurt you when your pain is mine, when your grief touches me. I can’t “take you” in the modern sense when your loss is my loss. When I care about you, I can’t be “tough” and indifferent about your pain. I can’t speak words to wound, because being tenderhearted means that your predicament gets to me and moves me to help, not to hurt.
Only tender hearts produce words that heal rather than hurt. We need the kind of heart King David described in Psalm 51:17 (TLB): “It is a broken spirit you want — remorse and penitence. A broken and a contrite heart, O God, you will not ignore.” Jesus congratulated this kind of heart when He promised, “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). They mourn for their own sins and for the sins of the world, and out of that shared brokenness comes dialogue that heals.
Compassion is not a weakness; it’s a gift of love. Tenderness will change your tone and fill your language with what William Barclay used to call “grace notes.” Toughness may be the spirit of our age, but the Man from Galilee has called us to model a different spirit entirely (Ephesians 4:24).
FORGIVENESS
The third attitude that Paul says generates Christian words is forgiveness. He tells us to practice “forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32). The original word here is a form of CHARIS, “grace,” and reminds us by its form that grace-bought men and women must be gracious. It’s the forgiven who know the meaning of forgiving.
I suspect it’s because we do not think often enough about our own unearned forgiveness that we fail to forgive others. I find that my relationships are in most peril when I demand my way, my share, my rights. At that point I am least like the model of how God has dealt with me in Christ. He doesn’t give me the “death wages” I’ve earned (Romans 6:23) or the rejection I have coming. Instead, He gives me what I have no right to expect: He embraces me as a beloved child (Ephesians 5:1). That’s what grace is: undeserved generosity. It’s a hug when I deserve a slap. And that spirit of forgiving is the soil from which grow words that “impart grace to those who hear” (Ephesians 4:29).
Whenever I think of this kind of generosity, I think of a beautiful young girl whose face had been disfigured in a tragic fire. She was bright and witty, an excellent student, popular at school and she had an incredible zest for life. But she didn’t have boyfriends. Her sister did; her friends did, too. In spite of everything, she maintained a beautiful spirit of patience, saying, “Someday the right person will come along!” Then one day she raced toward me, her face beaming. “It’s happened! I’ve finally met someone who sees beneath my scars!”
Every relationship needs this gift: the gift of seeing past the scars. We need selective “blindness” by which we focus on the good instead of the bad in each other. The bad, the ugly aren’t difficult to find.
But getting beyond the scars is a challenge. Forgiving someone who has hurt you, someone who has lied to you, or who has been unfaithful is anything but easy or magical. Indeed, saying the words “I forgive you” is the easy part; meaning the words is the hard part. That’s why it is so important to remind ourselves that Paul’s teaching concerning forgiveness involves much more than talk-encompassed are the attitudes and feelings and experiences, rooted in our life in Christ, that are the driving forces of our lives. Forgiving goes deeper than saying words. Behind our words is our life in the Word.
But a significant question still remains: What can motivate us to develop the qualities of kindness, compassion, and forgiveness? Where can we find the power to change our hearts?
POWER TO CHANGE
In this same passage in Ephesians, Paul alludes to two fundamental realities in the Christian’s experience that can transform our hearts and lives. The believer’s experience of divine grace and the dread of causing divine grief combine to provide powerful incentive to let love change our language.
DIVINE GRACE. At the end of Ephesians 4, Paul reminds the Ephesians of the model for their behavior: the divine grace of God. God the Father adopted us, not because we are lovely, but because He is. Jesus Christ sacrificed Himself for us, not because we were worthy, but to demonstrate God’s grace. Every believer is the recipient of unearned generosity.
God’s gift of grace is such that no one who truly knows life without it could ever take it for granted. To be without God’s grace is to be without a future, without roots, without promise, without hope. It is to experience what C.S. Lewis used to call “the bad news” that is the indispensable prerequisite to the Good News. When you’ve known life in terms of death (Ephesians 2:1), darkness (Ephesians 4:18), and dirt (Ephesians 4:19), then new life experienced as light and love brings spontaneous joy and generosity.
When I’m aware of being loved, I’m loving. When I experience forgiveness, I’m forgiving. When the Word of Life dwells in me, I speak life-giving words.
The key to practicing my calling, therefore, lies in my focusing on who I am in Christ. I have received a call from heaven, to heaven (Ephesians 4:1–3); a call to become what I am — a beloved child of God (Ephesians 5:1). My speech, therefore, is simply words that echo His Word. The power to change my heart and my language comes from nurturing awareness of God’s grace in my life.
DIVINE GRIEF. The second great motivator that Paul alludes to in this text is the Christian’s dread of divine grief. For a long time I passed right over this important truth, puzzled by what appeared to be an extraneous and cryptic reference to “grieving the Holy Spirit of God” (Ephesians 4:30) in a context of words about words (Ephesians 4:29) and feelings (Ephesians 4:31).
Then it struck me. In Ephesians 2, the apostle explains how the Gentiles are part of the “holy temple in the Lord” which is “a dwelling place in which God lives by his Spirit” (Ephesians 2:19–22). The Holy Spirit is the architect of God’s spiritual house (Ephesians 2:22).
Suddenly, Paul’s warning against grieving the Holy Spirit, in a context dealing with words that hurt rather than heal, made sense. When my attitudes are cruel and hostile and my words tear down my brother and sister, I am tearing down the “house” that the Spirit is trying to build. I am grieving the Holy Spirit!
Now, this is startling, especially since the term used here for GRIEF is a very strong word. It can cover the spectrum of hurt from being offended (cf. 2 Cor. 2:1) to the pain of childbirth (cf. John 16:21). But this term has a very special history for the believer because it is the word that the gospels use to describe the anguish and pain of Jesus in Gethsemane (Matthew 26:38; Mark 14:34; Luke 22:45). His deep grief surrounding the crucifixion was such that His perspiration was like drops of blood (Luke 22:44).
That’s why I’ve come to hear Paul’s language in Ephesians 4:30 with new power. His warning against grieving the Holy Spirit is the strongest kind of motivation, because I hear it as an appeal not to put God through Gethsemane all over again. That’s what destructive words and attitudes do to the heart of God. Sin doesn’t just break God’s law, it breaks God’s heart. And when you love someone, I mean really love them, you can’t willingly put them through that.
Here is a power for cleaning up our communication that is stronger than fear, stronger than threat or guilt. Here is an appeal to bonds of love, bonds that inspire us to loyalty and sacrifice. The dread of God’s grief prompts the Christian to let love change language.
WHERE WORDS COME FROM
The Quakers have a saying that we must do more than listen to words; we must listen to where words come from. They are profoundly correct. Words are rooted in feelings, and if the roots are bad, then the words will be bad too. Calloused hearts don’t produce compassionate lips; aggression is incompatible with graciousness. Therefore, if we would stop saying words that wound, we must go beyond words to the attitudes behind them.
We need all need new spirits, “created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ephesians 4:24). Hearts full of kindness, compassion, and forgiveness generate words that are good, constructive, appropriate, and gracious. And those words of healing will only spring from the transforming experiences of divine grace and the dread of divine grief.
It makes all the difference in the world where words come from. And that difference is the difference between which world we set our hearts on.
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CHANGE OF HEART
1. Who, ultimately, transforms our hearts? (Ezekiel 11:19)
2. What must be our first step toward a renewed heart? (Psalm 51:1–12; Psalm 51:17)
3. In Romans 12:2, Paul exhorts, “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” How can a Christian renew his mind?
4. Study Col. 3. What is the Christian’s responsibility in the process of renewal?
________
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Jerry Harvill teaches speech communication at the UNIVERSITY OF KENTUCKY in Lexington, Kentucky.
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Articles on 1 John 1:8-9, focusing on the self-deception of sin. World leaders after WWI deceived themselves about the Nazis. We can't really know the heart of others, but we can examine ourselves. "God will never tolerate sin, but he will forgive it."
Continuation of article on Jonathan Edwards and revival:
In the “Treatise on the Religious Affections” (1744), Edwards trained his critical powers almost exclusively on his own party. He was concerned that pure Christian spirituality was being drowned in counterfeits. “‘Tis by the mixture of counterfeit religion with true, not discerned and distinguished, that the devil has had his greatest advantage against the cause and kingdom of Christ.”
As in “Distinguishing Marks,” Edwards starts by listing a series of “insufficient signs” that neither discredit nor validate a revival movement: intense religious emotions, involuntary bodily effects, talkativeness, self-oriented forms of love, a slavish fear of God, intense religiosity, praise of God that is really focused on self, assurance of salvation (or lack of this), and even pleasing other godly persons.
If these are not adequate signs of spiritual renewal, then what is? Edwards answers that the heart (the inmost center of the personality) must be touched by the Holy Spirit. This healing touch generates affections (driving motives that inform and direct the mind and will) flowing out of love for God himself, not just gratitude for his gifts. These affections are responses to God's own beauty, not merely to his power or greatness. They do not bypass the mind, they illuminate and transform it. They make faith more certain, but they also create humility. They change our nature, producing a meek and gentle spirit and a tender sensitivity to sin. They do not foster self- centered emotionalism but rather a vigorous social conscience that cares for bodies as well as souls. They lead inevitably to the practice of Christian charity.
By the time the “Treatise on the Affections” was published in 1746, Edwards was discouraged over the revival. In 1742, he had warned against the Devil's strategy of sowing tares among the wheat in order to discredit the whole crop:
“We may observe that it has been a common device of the devil, to overset
a revival of religion; when he finds he can keep men quiet and secure no
longer, then he drives them to excesses and extravagances.... Though the
devil will do his diligence to stir up the open enemies of religion, yet
he knows...that, in a time of revival of religion, his main strength
shall be tried with the friends of it; and he will chiefly exert himself
in his attempts to mislead them. One truly zealous person...may do
more...to hinder the work, than a hundred great, and strong, and open
opposers.”
In 1747, Edwards assisted a project of Scottish Presbyterians, asking for quarterly concerts of prayer for spiritual awakening in “A Humble Attempt to Promote Explicit Agreement in United Prayer for the Advancement of Christ's Kingdom.” At this point, he felt that the errors of revival leaders had temporarily derailed the revival. Still, he was confident that united prayer for the kind of spiritual awakening he had described in his writings could prevail. He argues that when the church is at its worst and weakest, it may be closer to revival, as it is drawn to God in greater dependence:
“The church's extremity has often been God's opportunity for magnifying
his power, mercy and faithfulness, towards her. The interest of vital
piety has long been in general decaying, and error and wickedness
prevailing; it looks as though the disease were now come to a crisis....
When his church is in a low state, and oppressed by her enemies, and
cries to him, he will swiftly fly to her relief, as birds fly at the cry
of their young.”
IF EDWARDS WERE HERE TODAY
If Edwards could return to America today, how would he evaluate the spiritual situation?
First, he might be surprised by the degree of activism, organization, and promotion in evangelicalism, resulting from Charles Finney’s influence during the last century. Puritans had been reluctant to intrude upon the work of the Holy Spirit, avoiding evangelistic invitations and all efforts to engineer spiritual response, except through presentation of biblical truth. The Edwardsian strategy was to pray for God to change the weather in human hearts. Finney, on the other hand, counterbalanced this passive/dependent approach with a stress on active planting of the seed, using weeks of extended meetings, invitations, lay exhortations, and other tactical innovations.
Edwards never doubted that God worked through human efforts, but he valued spontaneous stirrings among the laity, the churches, and a variety of leaders. He would be impressed by the huge rallies of laymen now gathering to respond to Scripture, often with a minimum of promotional hype.
For Edwards, the primary human catalyst for revival was always dependent prayer. He would be delighted with movements like David Bryant’s “Concerts of Prayer,” which is partly based on his own writings. He would be especially happy that prayer movements are now focused on broad-scale outpouring of the Holy Spirit and not just on support for individual ministries and campaigns.
For Edwards, as for Calvin, conviction of sin was the usual result of an awakening encounter with God. He would be nonplused by the public confessions of baby busters in Christian schools. Sharing on this level was restricted to pastor’s studies and small groups during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, though it became almost a public sacrament in modern movements like the East Africa Revival. In any case, Edwards would conclude that young people do not show such extraordinary candor unless God is moving them. The normal result of college revivals -- for example, the Yale revival under Edwards's grandson Timothy Dwight -- is a decades-long refreshing of the church's leadership.
What about the Toronto Blessing and its impact through other Vineyard churches? Edwards, Wesley, and other revival leaders also encountered fainting or prostration as the Holy Spirit dealt with individuals. Edwards’s concern would be to verify that the experience involved real illumination and transformation of the heart, with lasting fruit in Christian faith and life, and not just transient bodily effects.
But he would be impressed by the Vineyard’s study of his own writings and their growing grasp of the full implications of revival for evangelism and social transformation. He would be delighted with their optimism of grace, which insists that the church must become more visibly the glorious bride of Christ before the end of history.
Some of the components of the Vineyard renewal would give him pause. It is true that during the frontier revivals converts were seized with contagious behavior, jerking involuntarily and barking like dogs. Peter Cartwright encouraged the phenomena as an aid to humility, but others felt that the revival was being disfigured by these elements. One historian comments:
“Those opposed to the excitement soon realized that the attitude of the
preacher had a great influence upon the character of the meeting. A
peremptory command from him upon the first appearance of undue excitement
sufficed in most cases to quiet those affected, and prevented contagion.
A Baptist minister who was preaching where one of the jerkers began his
motions made a pause, and in a loud and solemn tone said, ‘In the name of
the Lord I command all unclean spirits to leave this place.’ The jerker
immediately became still.”
Vineyard leaders are now trying to downplay the phenomena. But some have defended the animal imitations as adjuncts to humility, which could not be demonic because of the holy atmosphere of meetings. But Edwards and the other revival leaders knew that in awakenings they were always in a tug of war with the Devil. Puritans said, “When the sun shines on a swamp, mist rises.” Sometimes conversion effects exorcism, and the displaced agents may not go quietly. Unable to beat the revival, they may try to join it, like the girl at Philippi who gave the apostles free advertising but was promptly exorcised by Paul (Acts 16:16).
A revival movement that finds itself replicating compulsive laughter, spiritual drunkenness, pecking like chickens or roaring like lions as expected aspects of spiritual awakening may be playing into the Enemy's hands. It is in the Devil's interest to make Christians weird. He does not need possession to do this; he can manage by suggestion. The goal of his strategy is to create a church that is so institutionally strange that unbelievers will detour around it. The goal of revival is conformity to the image of Christ, not imitation of animals.
Movements of revival usually center on recovered biblical truth. If we ask what the Toronto renewal has that would explain God's blessing, it may lie in the fact that the leaders had been praying for an outpouring of the Holy Spirit on an Edwardsian scale. The “Third Wave” has retained the Pentecostal gifts but has recentered the charismatic movement on spiritual warfare and healing, decreasing the emphasis on tongues and accepting a broader range of gifts as signs of fullness of the Spirit. This may be a winning combination, to which God wants to draw attention.
In any case, Edwards would find many parts of modern evangelicalism much stranger than the Vineyard, full of theological weakness, cultural conformity, and the disfiguring effects of spiritual pride: barren and uncomfortable houses where there is little to nurture spiritual life. He would be pleased with the trend of prophetic criticism that pinpoints these needs, but he would not be discouraged. His own final approach to the Great Awakening was to subject it to the most rigorous critique, on the one hand, and to solicit extraordinary prayer for its advancement, on the other. These are strategies we need to follow today.
****************************
Richard F. Lovelace is professor of church history at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in South Hamilton, Massachusetts, and the author of “Dynamics of Spiritual Life” (IVP).
Copyright © 1995 Christianity Today, Inc./CHRISTIANITY TODAY Magazine ctcurrmrw5TA028595y
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