Thanks again to Loren Eaton for pointing me to this stirring lecture by Mark Talbot on God’s handling of sinful men and sin’s consequences. He approaches the subject from the character of John Calvin, but he does not spend much time there, dwelling more on biblical principles and the pain of living in a fallen world. Calvin had many flaws as did Martin Luther, and Talbot quotes Luther apparently saying that depression and hardship must plague us if we are become like Christ.

There are notes on the page I’ve linked to, but listen or watch the lecture when you have time. I cannot recommend it enough.

At the recent Desiring God 2009 National Conference, an excellent panel of speakers took up many interesting questions from the audience, beginning with Calvin’s involvement with Servetus’ execution. They explain that Servetus was “a bad man,” who sought out trouble in an age when everyone believed heresy was criminal and should be punished harshly. That led to a discussion about what Christians in contemporary government should try to accomplish: should they try to outlaw heresy like they did in the past?

One speaker noted that, while Calvin was an extraordinary man, he did not stand above other men of his day on the issue of executing heretics. That’s a black mark on his record from our point of view, but it isn’t the charge against him as some who like it to be. (Thanks to Loren Eaton)

According to Jillian Bandes at Townhall.com, the big Muslim gathering in Washington D.C. was pretty much a bust.

She also notes the presence of Christian protestors, preaching through bullhorns “to disrupt the prayers.”

That’s just embarrassing. I abhor the religion of Islam (as opposed to its adherents, whom I respect as fellow human beings to the degree that they individually deserve it), but this is America, and people have the right to pray in peace. I wouldn’t like it if they disrupted our prayers, and they deserve the same courtesy. Sheesh.

Is there any tension between the goodness of God and the fear of Him?

“Oh, how abundant is your goodness,

which you have stored up for those who fear you

and worked for those who take refuge in you,

in the sight of the children of mankind!” (Psalm 31:19)

John Calvin is making a comeback. On a related note, you may be interested in this audio file of a few men talking about Calvin’s legacy in the church.

I saw it years ago, on the Minnesota State Fair grounds, in the area we call “Machinery Hill.” A bronze plaque on a low concrete base, if I recall correctly. It proudly proclaimed that the first group of Minnesota volunteers had mustered in this spot, on their way to fight in World War I.



“Our sons were here,” the message seemed to be. “They gathered solemnly in this place to put their young, hopeful lives on the line for a cause they believed in. We, their parents, dedicate this plaque so that their courage and sacrifice will never be forgotten.”

But of course it was forgotten, I thought. Who stops to read the plaque today? Who remembers those young men? Especially the ones who died in France and never came home to beget children, who might remember their names for a few generations?

It’s one of the tragedies and mercies of human life that (with rare exceptions) we always say “We will never forget,” but we always do. One of my ancestors fought in the Great Northern War. How many people today—even in Europe—know anything at all about the Great Northern War?

It’s obvious that we’re beginning to forget the 9/11 attacks. We say we don’t. The broadcast networks are making time for commemorations, but we can all tell that, behind the pieties, a lot of people consider it old news. It’s done. It’s over. What’s the use in opening old wounds?

That’s the way it is. That’s the way, in fact, it has to be. Because we’re transient beings. Our lives are too short to spend in constant mourning (and if they are spent that way, it constitutes a compounded tragedy). Our wounds heal, or at least grow over. Eventually we die, and our children can’t understand, and have commemorations of their own to mark. Our species has long-term memory loss.

So when we say “We’ll never forget,” we’re making a vow we can’t keep. We’re writing a check beyond the balance in our account.

But that doesn’t make it wrong.

It’s a matter of faith, really. When we use words like “forever” and “never,” we’re implicitly appealing to God (like it or not). The words have no meaning unless they cry for the attention of some Mind that can know all things, some Mind which doesn’t lose track, which marks the fall of a sparrow.

Christian theology doesn’t answer all questions concerning injustice and suffering, the whole theodicy issue. There are many questions to which our Scriptures simply give no answers.

But Christianity does present “the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ,” a declaration that Jesus is the full expression of God. It proclaims that if we trust Him (who Himself suffered pain and injustice), we can trust that all things will be made right, somehow in the fullness of time.

Blessed be the memory.

Update: On re-reading this piece, I think I’ve committed my besetting sin of letting my head rule my heart. Just to avoid confusion, let me say that I don’t mean to suggest that it’s time to forget, or that there’s nothing we can do to remember that’s worth the trouble. It’s far too soon to forget. That would be a crime both against the victims of 9/11 and against victims of future attacks which would certainly follow from our neglect. My point is merely that we should not despair because we know we can’t remember as well as our hearts say we ought to.

(Cross-posted at Mere Comments)