The Past and Future of Gordon-Conwell | Seminary Student Blogger

April 09, 2013

Dimitri Alldridge 

During the Reformation, Martin Luther was warned that if he started one new church he would start a thousand.

Thankfully, Luther ignored the warning and the protestant Church was born, but sadly the rest of that prophesy also came true.

As Christians we have a nasty habit of dividing. The last figure I heard (from our very own Todd Johnson, no less) is that there are now around 58,000 Christian denominations around the world.

58,000!

Of course, as Luther demonstrated, there is a time for unity and a time for disunity.

The real difficulty comes in telling the time.

In class on Monday, I heard the history of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary. In 1969, Harold J. Ockenga, Billy Graham and some other Neo-Evangelicals set up a school that would provide a third way between the Liberals on one side who so absorbed the culture around them as to be indistinguishable, and the Fundamentalist on the other side who so feared culture that they withdrew altogether.

They divided, and they united.

The school, as I understand it, was set up to unite Evangelicals around the truth of the Bible and to prepare them to serve faithfully in churches whatever their denomination and to engage in the culture wherever they were sent.

To that end, Gordon-Conwell doesn’t really exist to serve any particular denomination or any particular church. Instead, it exists simply serve the Church and the Gospel.

Of course I say “simply,” but refusing to be denominational or to align itself with any group more specific than “evangelical” is anything but simple. There are and always will be enormous pressures upon Gordon-Conwell to go one way or another.

And so I fear for Gordon-Conwell and I’m also thankful for it.

In one month’s time (and after a lot of long nights!), I will graduate from Gordon-Conwell.

I will be sad to leave this wonderful and special place.

I only pray that by God’s grace it will remain firmly grounded on God’s Word, serving his Church and for his Glory.

If we do that then we will divide from some and unite with others, perhaps that’s just the way it has to be.
 

Tags: Author: Dim Alldridge , current students , future students , student blogger , thoughtfully evangelical

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On Risking the Man Card and Surrendering to Love | Seminary Student Blogger

April 04, 2013

Tim Norton 

“Imagine God thinking about you. What do you assume God feels when you come to mind?”
—Dr. David Benner, Surrender to Love

How do you answer this question? Seriously though. As seminarians, most of us know of God’s love from a theological standpoint. It’s an objective truth to be believed (and rightly so). This question isn’t about that. It’s attacking the heart. Take a minute to pause and think. Now, give me your best, non-Sunday School, non-seminarian, non-intellectualized answer. What’s your gut feeling? What’s your emotional reaction to this question? What do you assume God feels when you come to mind?

As you might’ve guessed, I’m reading this book called Surrender to Love by David Benner. Now look, I realize that such a book title immediately puts my “man card” in question. Surrender to love. It sounds like a Nicholas Sparks novel. While it’s true that this book uses “gooey” words way more than I’d like, it’s also true that Dr. David Benner knows what he’s talking about—and what he’s talking about is directly aimed at people like me. You see, deep down I assume that God’s initial response to me is mostly disappointment. Sure he loves me, but man he does that in spite of his disappointment over my sin. His love barely peaks through the cracks of the blanket of my mess-ups. I am encouraged to accept God’s love and I think, “Well if I can just stop hurting God, stop disappointing him so much, I’ll be able to feel is love more. So, I better get my life together because I know this love of God thing is a big deal.”

Benner challenges his readers that God’s primary response is one of love. This perfect love is the only motivation that will result in lasting obedience. It is the only motivation that will invite surrender and devotion. It’s all too easy to be obedient by a subtle works—righteousness, wrapping it in spiritual language to continue the deception. For those of us in the latter camp, it’s very difficult to change our perception of the Lord. How do I trust perfect love? Better yet, how do I experience it? Because, really, we can intellectually know something all we want, but it won’t affect change until we experience it.

What if we were absolutely convinced of God’s love, not just theologically, not just experientially, but both? What if our identity was rooted on being the object of God’s ruthless affection? Yes, God’s justice and wrath and holiness cannot be neglected. But it is the just, holy YHWH that sends his son as the biggest gesture of love in all of human history. And none of us did a dang thing to earn it. Nothing. Period. I find it’s easier to accept that in reference to salvation and much harder to accept it in terms of living out that salvation. But it’s true. I still haven’t done anything to earn God’s love.

Benner’s suggestion? Meditate on God’s love as presented in the Scriptures. This isn’t earth-shattering news. And so I offer to you what I’ve been doing for the past several days. Read these Psalms, take special note of the imagery of God’s relation to us and then daydream about it. Let your mind turn it over and over. After all, the mind isn’t renewed in an instant. It takes dedicated time of meditation on the Word of God.

Psalm 23

The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

he leads me beside quiet waters,

he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths

for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk

through the darkest valley,

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.

Surely your goodness and love will follow me

all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the house of the LORD

forever.

Psalm 91

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,

my God, in whom I trust.” 

Surely he will save you

from the fowler’s snare

and from the deadly pestilence.

He will cover you with his feathers,

and under his wings you will find refuge;

his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

You will not fear the terror of night,

nor the arrow that flies by day,

nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,

nor the plague that destroys at midday.

A thousand may fall at your side,

ten thousand at your right hand,

but it will not come near you.

You will only observe with your eyes

and see the punishment of the wicked.

If you say, “The LORD is my refuge,”

and you make the Most High your dwelling,

no harm will overtake you,

no disaster will come near your tent.

For he will command his angels concerning you

to guard you in all your ways;

they will lift you up in their hands,

so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

You will tread on the lion and the cobra;

you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

“Because he loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him;

I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

He will call on me, and I will answer him;

I will be with him in trouble,

I will deliver him and honor him.

With long life I will satisfy him

and show him my salvation.”

Tags: Author: Tim Norton , biblically-grounded , student blogger , thoughtfully evangelical

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Among Us | Seminary Student Blogger

April 02, 2013

Kate Hightower 

We watched Thee here among us
Tender hands and thunderous eyes
Healed our every darkness
Which brought Thee to demise.

Thou spotless lamb among us
No wrong committed thus
We watched Thee hang and die there
So lost upon the cross.

The Father from above us
Was pleased to have Thee crushed
For me to breath eternal
And turn my accusers hushed.

Thou gracious Christ among us
Oh what joy when Thou rose
What glorious Death begotten
Defeat brought to Thy foes.

Hail Eternal King inside us
Breathing life into our bones
We’ll sing Thy song forever
No more our sorrow moans.

Tags: Author: Kate Hightower , biblically-grounded , spiritually vital , student blogger , thoughtfully evangelical

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We have Already Forgotten: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

April 01, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

It's only been one day. And we have already forgotten.

We ate our feasts and found our eggs and wore our best pastels. But now there only remains the Easter candy we bought on sale and cold ham in the refrigerator. We've hung up our dresses and tucked our Bibles away again. We'll wear them each again, we're sure. Just when is still unknown.

We've forgotten.

And that reality makes Your works all the more shattering: "You are the light of the World."

Us?

Yes. Us.

This pitiful people, this sinful bunch of forgetful hearts and unfaithful hands. You said we were likened to a city on a hill. A city - great and immoveable, full of life and motion, giving light to the surrounding hills in the deadness of night. You say we cannot be hidden.

You say "cannot" where we say "inevitable" because we see our depravity and You see Your grace.

This, too, we have forgotten.

So be our Light, God of all. Illuminate the darkened crevices of our city; give light to every inner cavity we can name, and especially those we cannot.

Enlighten us in Your holy way and let us remember the light-life of our resurrection God in us.

We pray in the name of the Easter God.

Amen.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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Alive Indeed: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 31, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

Christ has risen!

Indeed, we cry routinely enough. Christ has risen indeed.

On this cold, pale blue morning we recite our affectionate gratitude

for Your plans beyond our expectations

for Your life beyond the grave

for Your promises beyond our hope.

The morning scene is serene enough to sentimentalize us, and for even this we are grateful.

But in the silence of this Easter morning, we hear the call of the resurrection:

the resurrection which calls to us from behind that illuminating horizon,

the resurrection which wearies our easy way of remember and startles with new anticipation,

the resurrection which grants us the holy fortitude to sing

Soon and very soon...

Yes, Your miracle life beyond the cave of death lends us the potent reminder this morning that we, too, await resurrection:

the resurrection which will call us to the sky,

the resurrection into rest for our weary souls,

the resurrection which will grant us the ending of the tune, retiring the language of "soon" and replacing it with the vernacular of the heavenlies.

Soon. Oh that it would be very soon.

That You would rend the heavens! That You would come down!

We have yet to see an act like that.

But we have heard tales of one.

And that Friday-Sunday act gives us hope.

Come and be Eastered among us until we are raised with You.

Until then, we will watch the horizon.

And we will hope better this time.

Indeed.

Amen.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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Alive Indeed: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 31, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

Christ has risen!

Indeed, we cry routinely enough. Christ has risen indeed.

On this cold, pale blue morning we recite our affectionate gratitude

for Your plans beyond our expectations

for Your life beyond the grave

for Your promises beyond our hope.

The morning scene is serene enough to sentimentalize us, and for even this we are grateful.

But in the silence of this Easter morning, we hear the call of the resurrection:

the resurrection which calls to us from behind that illuminating horizon,

the resurrection which wearies our easy way of remember and startles with new anticipation,

the resurrection which grants us the holy fortitude to sing

Soon and very soon...

Yes, Your miracle life beyond the cave of death lends us the potent reminder this morning that we, too, await resurrection:

the resurrection which will call us to the sky,

the resurrection into rest for our weary souls,

the resurrection which will grant us the ending of the tune, retiring the language of "soon" and replacing it with the vernacular of the heavenlies.

Soon. Oh that it would be very soon.

That You would rend the heavens! That You would come down!

We have yet to see an act like that.

But we have heard tales of one.

And that Friday-Sunday act gives us hope.

Come and be Eastered among us until we are raised with You.

Until then, we will watch the horizon.

And we will hope better this time.

Indeed.

Amen.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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To Finish the Phrase: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 30, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

The words press off our lips with ready easy:

"I believe in God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth. And in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord. Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontus Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried. He descended into hell…"

And here, for now at least, we must cease our repetition. For this is the end of the story for a while. For now, we must sit in the darkness of these dying days.

and are they ever dark…

Here in the dark we sense the utter despair of that space outside the courts, the waiting and longing of those listening for the verdict, the evil of false witnesses, the shame of your naked beating. We, in these dark days, sense the suffering of that road; the trees You spoke into existence we reduced to lumber and forced You to carry it, we nailed You to it and mocked You for not employing that life-speaking voice. We looked at You and couldn't, so we turned our eyes and kept on mocking. Because we couldn't bear the sight of such a bloody lamb.

Yes, it is dark here.

And we confess, we need to finish the liturgy! We must complete the statement, our souls ache for the phrases that properly follow!

But for now, we know there is no newness yet. No newness yet.

And out of this darkness we implore You to be Your sentence-finishing self. To complete history with newness and life and light. Do Your Friday-Sunday act again. And in doing so, Easter us as well.

Amen.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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Good Friday: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 29, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

Lord,
Oh, Lord.
Today we pause to memorialize Your divine dying and, with it, our death-loving selves.

You came to us, Jesus, the God-Man of heaven to preach good news to the poor, to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and the loosening of bonds to those in chains and the acceptable day of the Lord. And we could not receive You in such a holy manner. We could not have You come in goodness and truth and generous love. It was too much for our death-loving selves, our dying world, our darkness-ridden lives to take You in as You are.

So we marred Your countenance, shamed Your body, in a self-natured attempted to beat heaven out of You and condemn You to a small plot of earth. You were just being Yourself. And we were just being ours.

Today, Abba, we acknowledge that this is not our first action of insisting on evil rather than Your good.

Remember the days of Eden? The blissful walks through the garden, pushing back abundant foliage to keep cantor with Your Divine Self walking along side. But the days ended millennia too soon, as one edible lie was taken and given. At the tree of Good and Evil, we insisted on evil. And we are still unrecovered.

Our fallenness carried us to the patriarchs and prophets; to the days of refusing ears and stoned hearts. You called us to listened to Isaiah and we threw him in a cistern, hating the offer of our salvation. You called Jonah to go to Nineveh, and we along with him, hated the idea of their salvation. We have always insisted on us, ours, mine. We have always insisted on taking, hiding, stealing, refusing. We have always insisted on evil.

And even at Your birth, where heaven crashed with earth in Your little baby body, lying in a feeding trough on some molding hay, we were not waiting, welcoming, worshiping You. We had to be beckoned off the fields, out of our homes, away from our more important tasks to Your manger side. You had to call us from distant lands through our cosmic watching to bring You petty gifts that were already Yours. And that was only a few of us. We are mostly Herod; scheming, deceiving, unbelieving. We hated the idea of Your kingdom unseen, and even more the reality of being part of it. We insisted on Evil.

At Your cross is no acceptation. The trees Your formed, we forced You to carry. We nailed You by Your wrists and feet because Deity must be kept in place. Your goodness illuminated our darkness far too much, and You said Yourself that we love it so. So this cross should be no surprise to You. Because we have always insisted on Evil.

And at this day of Your death, I remember we continue in our ways. Wouldn't it be nice to say that we're different today? That we, too, have been Eastered?

We insist on our leisure at the cost of the poor, on our opulence at the expense of the underpaid. We insist on keeping our world happy and prosperous and comfortable. And, in our grand act of neglectfulness, the children continue to be trafficked, the poor continue to be oppressed, the homeless continue on the streets, the AIDS-wracked mothers continue to die.

So heal us, dying Jesus. Heal us with the holiness we rejected. Light us with Yourself. Insist on our healing, on our redemption, on our Resurrection. Insist this Friday be Good. Because we're an insisting people, and we have yet to insist on You.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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Or Did We Get it Wrong: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 28, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

We have been the giving up ones, this Lenten season.

We give up delicacies or social networks or, for the superiorly spiritual, coffee. We name ourselves and our positions by these elements of our giving. And we give toward You in glad obedience.

Yet, underneath all these layers of isolation, we find that our spirituality retains its fatness. Our prayer life is sluggish and apathetic, and our hearts corpulent.

And we don't understand, because we gave up so much. We have been so obedient.

Or did we get it wrong?

We were not the giving up ones? Were we not the ones of whom obedience is spoken?

Did we get it wrong?
Or did You?

We did not expect that, Suffering One. That Self-giving up act You did. That thing of obedience of which we are the benefactors.

We have not lived into our rightly-named selves of mirrored obedience. No, this identity is what we have, indeed, given up.

So would You purge us of these self-granting ways? Starve from us the ways in which we give to ourselves names from which we have been saved. Reorient us to Your Self-giving Gospel.

Make us lean and thin and quiet.

And grant us the courage to be self-giving back towards You. This time, in reflecting obedience.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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Wake Us: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 27, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

It's 6:04 a.m. The sun is just now up. The sky is just now lit.

But our streets have been busy for hours. Yes, the lights never really wet out.

We pride ourselves here:

We are innovative,

Productive,

Prosperous.

We need not sleep, so long as there is work to be done. Our offices will suffice and satisfy and when the day comes to an end, we'll carry all our worries into our beds like a complex lover, and take a little Ambien to pacify her for the night.

At 6:04 a.m. it'll start again.

But we are a people of heavy eyes.

If You were to ask us to wait for You, we could not.

If You were to request we pray with you, we would not.

If You were to call us away to the Garden alone, we would not understand the nature of Your summons and we would insist on more comfortable turf.

As You requested the cup be taken from You, we didn't both rouse ourselves to the task.

Our spirits are willing. Sometimes.

Our bodies are weak. Decidedly.

Wake us up!

Stir within the cavities of our beings a craving for more than this temporal turf. Rouse us from the sedated land of complacency and alert our hearts to Your beckoning request to join You in Your suffering.

We see now Your betrayers are at hand.

We see now they are us.

Wake us!

You, the startling God.

You, the Suffering God.

You, the Grieving God.

You, the Easter God.

You.

Amen.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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You and Then Us: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 26, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

You came to us, in all Your glory. And we were confused because You were riding a donkey.

You said You would bring us peace. And we were confused because You didn't start a war.

You joined us to Your side in partnership and love. And we were confused that You would ask us to stay awake to pray in the middle of the night.

You said You were a revolutionary. And we were confused when You told us to stop cutting off ears.

You committed no sin. And we were confused when You remained silent to Your accusers.

You assured us all of heaven was Yours. And we were confused why You did not employ those angels.

You said all authority was given You. And we were confused You did not come down as we beckoned.

You promised us You would rise again. And we went back to fishing.

You, and then us.

You in all Your action.

Us in our faulty responses.

We are not a people of clear seeing, Good Master. We need Your Light because we cannot see. We need Your voice because we cannot hear. We need You because we cannot understand.

And so we ask…

In the Name of the Ever-Acting One we pray, even Jesus.

Amen.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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Always You: A Lenten Prayer | Seminary Student Blogger

March 25, 2013

Amy Gilbaugh

We think ourselves radical, the way we wait for You.

We give up things, and, well, it's hard. We stir ourselves up to hunger for You by provoking the cravings of our stomachs and tongues. We choose to cause ourselves to want You again. To miss You even as we miss our desserts.

This Lenten season is getting long, You know.

And then, in a shattering moment of radical self-awareness, we realize we are not the radical ones. We look around and see that we all, the whole lot of us, are in the same place… stirring up, provoking, choosing. We cannot all be radical, and we give ourselves away.

And then we notice You.

You in Your stirring way, mixing within our beings the potency only found by combining Your Spirit with Your people.

You in Your provoking way, inching us toward a greater holiness as You lay Your holy body on crossed beams of wood.

You in Your choosing way, selecting us for Yourself and not selecting some, without deference to how uncomfortable it makes us.

Yes, You are the radical One. Even in this Lenten season, where we pride ourselves on piety, we notice it is You again.

You. Always You.

Always You.

This Lenten season is getting long, You know.

Yes. You do.

Come, Lord Jesus. Be Easter among us.

Come.

And Easter us again in You.

Always You.

Tags: Author: Amy Gilbaugh , current students , future students , lenten prayers , student blogger

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