Worse Than 450 Bleeding Prophets of Baal

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1 Kings 18 moves me. It’s almost like your there on Mount Carmel, watching this whole thing take place. And most of the time you spend watching the showdown isn’t of the Lord‘s great answer to Elijah. The fire from heaven, the offering consumed, the people on their faces — this didn’t take that long. It wasn’t dragged out. It was short and explosive.

Most of your time is spent watching these prophets of Baal. These poor prophets of Baal. It is a sad sight. These guys are mutilating their bodies just to get a peep from their god.

Hours go by.

Hours.

And there’s nothing. Not a word. . . .

And they cried aloud and cut themselves after their custom with swords and lances, until the blood gushed out upon them. And as midday passed, they raved on until the time of the offering of the oblation, but there was no voice. No one answered; no one paid attention. (1 Kings 18:28–29)

450 prophets of Baal, weeping and pleading, wounds all over their bodies, blood gushing out, exhausted and limping around an altar, hoping for Baal to show himself. Could it ever get any more gruesome that this? Imagine it. Seriously. Could there ever be a scene more horrible than this?

Yes.

The only scene more gruesome than a crowd of people limping around an altar, wounded all over their body with blood gushing out, begging to see a god who doesn’t exist is this: the true God of the universe hanging on a cross, wounded all over his body with blood gushing out, showing his love to a people who don’t care.

The prophets of Baal begged their god,  “Answer us!” “Say something!” “At least a gesture!” “Please, anything!”

And the true God showed his love for us in that while we were sinners, Christ died for us. We didn’t ask him for that. We were sinners who didn’t care anything about God, we worshipped ourselves, we were dead in our sins. And it was precisely then that God showed himself. It was while we were still weak, at the right time, that Christ died for the ungodly.

Praise him.

[This post is adapted from an earlier version at the Desiring God blog]

In Jesus, the LORD Is Our Shepherd

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Psalms 23:1-2,

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.”

The beginning of Psalm 23 sounds a lot different from the beginning of Psalm 22.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1)
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want” (Psalm 23:1)

Both are psalms of David placed beside each other with a purpose. We are struck in Psalm 22 with a cry of desperation. We are soothed in Psalm 23 with a declaration of the Lord‘s sufficiency. As the reader, we are supposed to feel this contrast. We are supposed to read them together, walking with the voice of each verse, being led to a confidence in the Lord that declares “I shall not want.”

Real Affliction

So there is forsakenness in Psalm 22. It’s real. David has written, but the speaker is the Afflicted One — the one who is mocked in his suffering, the one who is surrounded by dogs (or Gentile soliders), the one whose hands and feet are pierced, whose garments are divided and for which lots are cast. This is Jesus on the cross (Matthew 27:35, 39, 46; John 19:23-24).

Psalm 22 gives us the voice of Messiah in his affliction. We read him and hear his prayers, almost like a proto-Gethsemane. And then David himself steps in to command our praise in Psalm 22:23. The Lord has heard the Afflicted One’s cry (v. 24). More than that, David tells us, “The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek him shall praise the Lord!” (v. 26). David is now exulting in verse 27 — “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations shall worship before you.”

What the Empty Tomb Tells Us

From forsaken (22:1) to heard (22:24) to satisfied (v. 26) to worshiped by all the families of the nations (22:27). This is where Psalm 22 takes us. Now how did this happen? Here is where Psalm 23 comes in (and Psalm 24 soon after).

We know that Jesus was not ultimately forsaken. There’s an empty tomb to prove it. Even though he walked through the valley of the shadow of death, he was not left alone. He was not abandoned. In fact, on the third day he was raised. He was raised and declared to be the Son of God, given a name that is above every name. The Lord was his shepherd. He didn’t lack. That’s what the resurrection is saying.

The Same Shepherding Grace

And this is why we love Psalm 23. This is not a mere poem that’s appropriately recited at graveside services. This is the Messianic hope in God’s utter faithfulness, even through the shadows of death. The Lord is our shepherd and he never forsakes us. Never.

This is a confidence in the resurrection rooted in Jesus’ own victory over death. As the Father raised him, he will raise us, too (1 Corinthians 15:23). Because we are united to Jesus, the same shepherding grace exemplified in his victory is the same shepherding grace that will be exemplified in ours.

Read the original post at FighterVerses.com.

“The gates of Hades will prevail against every institution but one…”

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Nice find by Josh Etter in the Piper archives.

Pastor John writes,

The church of Jesus Christ is the most important institution in the world. The assembly of the redeemed, the company of the saints, the children of God are more significant in world history than any other group, organization, or nation. The United States of America compares to the church of Jesus Christ like a speck of dust compares to the sun. The drama of international relations compares to the mission of the church like a kindergarten riddle compares to Hamlet or King Lear. And all pomp of May Day in Red Square and the pageantry of New Year’s in Pasadena fade into a formless grey against the splendor of the bride of Christ.

Take heed how you judge. Things are not what they seem. “All flesh is like grass. And all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord (and all his family) abide forever” (1 Peter 1:24–25). The media and all the powers, and authorities, and rulers, and stars that they present are a mirage. “For what is exalted among men is an abomination in the sight of God” (Luke 16:15). The gates of Hades, the powers of death, will prevail against every institution but one, the church.

Excerpted from The Cosmic Church (1981).

Why 2 Samuel 10:12 Is About Jesus

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2 Samuel 10:12 —

Be of good courage, and let us be courageous for our people, and for the cities of our God, and may the Lord do what seems good to him.

Part of the Lord‘s covenant with David about Messiah included rest from all his enemies (2 Samuel 7:11). The promise for a Son who would be King forever came with a vision of dominion and peace. We even see a foretaste of the Lord‘s faithfulness to the promise in David’s military victories in 2 Samuel 8. This is a continuation of the promise that links the Davidic kingship back to Numbers 24:17-20.

So when Joab makes this awesome declaration in 2 Samuel 10:12 we should view it to be in this same line of hope. Joab can say what he says because he know what seems good to the Lord. It is good to the Lord to be faithful to his promises — to sustain the house of David and bring the promised Son of David to be born many years later in the City of David. God’s faithfulness to this promise is God’s faithfulness to the radiance of his own glory, for this promise becomes the locus of the revelation of his person (John 1:1-5, 14-18; Colossians 1:15-20; 2:9; Hebrews 1:1-3)

In other words, Joab can say what he says because of Jesus. And because of Jesus, we can say the same thing: let the Lord do what seems good to him!

On God’s Utter Independence

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Reading theology proper has a way of exposing our deficiencies in personal holiness.

I’ve been working my way through Scott Oliphint’s God With Us. It’s my favorite kind of book: all about God and thoroughly Christological (perfect for Advent reading). I love the doctrine of God’s aseity. I love how it blows our mental capacities, how we realize that we’re just standing on the seashore, that the ocean of the knowledge of God is only wetting our feet. God is greater than that which we can imagine. And then bigger than what we can’t imagine him to be.

It is so precious to feel his bigness, to be swallowed up by it, to close your eyes and weave together some special effects in your mind of what it looks like to be engulfed by the mystery of his fellowship, to be drawn into his communion, to consider the miracle of how we can know anything true about him.

And being immersed in this vastness affects how we think about personal holiness — namely, we realize the disparity between God and ourselves. We are more enthralled by this God to Whom (and by Whom) we have been reconciled. Little thoughts that may have gone unchecked are now rotten. There is an increasing impatience that the finished work of Jesus be more prevalent in the moments of our day. We want our union with Jesus to make more of a difference.

It’s an Isaiah 6 sort of thing. Not that we’re trying to merit a relationship. A God like that won’t be impressed with our unclean lips. We see him more clearly, we see ourselves in his light, and we’re stunned by the death and resurrection of Jesus all over again.