The Calvinist

What is a Calvinist? A cynic? Frozen Chosen? A Debater?

Although it does focus on the person, I do like this poem by John Piper. What the Calvinist ought to be, or strive to be when observed, the godly man observed (Listen for the voices of D.A. Carson, R.C. Sproul, Alistair Begg, Thabiti Anyabwile, Matt Chandler, and Sinclair Ferguson.):

The Gospel of Divine Grace the Only Means of Converting Sinners

The Gospel of Divine Grace the Only Means of Converting Sinners; and Should be Preached Therefore Most Clearly, Fully, and Freely.

a Poem by Ralph Erkine

They ought, who royal grace's heralds be,
To trumpet loud salvation, full and free;
Nor safely can, to humour mortal pride,
In silence evangelic myst'ries hide.

What heav'n is pleas'd to give, dare we refuse;
Or under ground conceal, least men abuse?
Suppress the gospel-flow'r, upon pretence
That some vile spiders may suck poison thence?

Christ is a stumbling-block, shall we neglect
To preach him, lest the blind should break their neck?
That high he's for the fall of many set
As well as for the rise, must prove no let.

No grain of precious truth must be suppress'd,
Though reprobates should to their ruin wrest.
Shall heaven's corruscant lamb be dimm'd, that pays
Its daily tribute down in golden rays?

Because some, blinded with the blazing gleams,
Share not the pleasure of the lightning beams.
Let those be hardned, petrify'd, and harm'd,
The rest are mollify'd and kindly warm'd.

A various favour, flowers in grace's field,
Of life to some, of deat to others yield.
Must then the rose be vail'd, the lily hid,
The fragrant favour stifled? God forbid.

The revelation of the gospel-flow'r,
Is still the organ fram'd of saving pow'r
Most justly then are legal minds condemn'd,
That of the glorious gospel are asham'd:

For this the divine arm, and only this,
The pow'r of God unto salvation is.
For therein is reveal'd, to screen from wrath,
The righteousness of God, from faith to faith!

The happy change in guilty sinners case
They owe to free displays of sov'reign grace;
Whose joyful tidings of amazing love
The ministration of the Spirit prove.

The glorious vent of the gospel-news express,
Of God's free grace, thro' Christ's full righteousness,
Is Heaven's gay chariot, where the Spirit bides,
And in his conqu'ring pow'r triumphant rides.

The gospel-field is still the Spirit's soil,
The golden pipe that bears the holy oil;
The orb where he outshines the radiant sun,
The silver channel where his graces run.

Within the gospel-banks his flowing tide
Of lightning, quickning motions sweetly glide.
Received ye the Spirit, scripture saith,
By legal works, or by the word of faith?
If by the gospel only then let none
Dare to be wiser than the wisest one.

We must, who freely get, as freely give
The vital word that makes the dead to live.
For ev'n to sinners dead within our reach
We in his living name may most successful preach.

The Spirit and the scripture both agree
Jointly (says Christ) to testify of me.
The preacher then will from his text decline,
That scorns to harmonize with this design.

Press moral duties to the last degree;
Why not? but mind, lest we successless be,
No light, no hope, no strength for duties spring,
Where Jesus is not Prophet, Priest, and King.

No light to see the way, unless he teach;
No joyful hope, save in his blood we reach;
No strength, unless his royal arm he stretch
Then from our leading scope how gross we fall,
If, like his name, in ev'ry gospel-call,
We make not him the First, the Last, the All!

Our office is to bear the radiant torch,
Of gospel-light, into the darkened porch
Of human understandings, and display
The joyful dawn of everlasting day;

To draw the golden chariot of free grace,
The darkned shades with shining rays to chase,
'Till Heaven's bright lamp on circling wheels be hurl'd,
With spark'ling grandeur round the dusky world;

And thus to bring, in dying mortals sight,
New life and immortality to light.
We're charg'd to preach the gospel, unconfin'd,
To ev'ry creature of the human kind;

To call, with tenders of salvation free,
All corners of the earth to come and see:
And ev'ry sinner must excuseless make,
By urging rich and poor to come and take:

Ho, ev'ry one that thirsts, is grace's call
Direct to needy sinners great and small;
Not meaning those alone, whose holy thirst
Denominates their souls already blest.

If only those were call'd, then none but saints;
Nor would the gospel suit the sinner's wants.
But here the call does signally import
Sinners and thirsty souls of every sort;

And mainly to their door the message brings,
Who yet are thirsting after empty things;
Who spend their means no living bread to buy,
And pains for that which cannot satisfy.

Such thirsty sinners here invited are,
Who vainly spend their money, thought, and care,
On passing shades, vile lusts and trash, so base
As yeilds the immortal souls no true solace.

The call directs them, as they would be blest,
To choose a purer object of their thirst.
All are invited by the joyful sound
To drink who need, as does the parched ground,
Whose wide-mouth'd clefts speak to the brazen sky
Its passive thirst, without an active cry.

The gospel-preacher then with holy skill
Must offer Christ to whosoever will,
To sinners of all sorts that can be nam'd;
The blind, the lame, the poor, the halt, the maim'd,

Not daring to restrict th' extensive call,
But op'ning wide the net to catch 'em all
No soul must be excluded that will come,
Nor right of access be confined to some,

Though none will come till conscious of their want,
Yet right to come they have by sov'reign grant;
Such right to Christ, his promise, and his grace,
That all are damn'd who hear and don't embrace:

So freely is th' unbounded call dispen'd,
We therein find ev'n sinners unconvinc'd;
Who know not they are naked, blind, and poor,
Counsell'd to by, or beg at Jesus door,
And take the glorious robe, eye-salve, and golden store.

This prize they are oblig'd by faith to win,
Else unbelief would never be their sin.
Yes, gospel-offers but a sham we make,
If ev'ry sinner has not right to take.

Be gospel-heralds fortify'd from this
To trumpet grace, howe'er the serpent hiss.
Did hell's malicious mouth in dreadful shape
'Gainst innocence itself malignant gape;

Then sacred truth's devoted vouchers may
For dire reproach their measures constant lay.
With cruel calumny of old commence'd,
This sect will ev'ry where be spoke against.

While to and fro he runs the earth across
Whose name is ADELPHON KATEGOROS.*
In spite of hell be then our constant strife
To win the glorious Lamb a virgin wife.

* The Accuser of the Brethren (Rev. 12:10)

The Hurtfulness of Not Preaching Christ

The Hurtfulness of Not Preaching Christ, and Distinguishing Duly Between Law and Gospel

a Poem by Ralph Erkine

Hell cares not how crude holiness be preach'd,
If sinner's match with Christ be never reach'd;
Knowing their holiness is but a sham,
Who ne'er are marry'd to the holy Lamb.

Let words have never such a pious shew,
And blaze aloft in rude professor's view,
With sacred aromatics richly spic'd,
If they but drown in silence glorious Christ;

Or, if he may some vacant room supply,
Make him a subject only by the by;
They mar true holiness with tickling chat,
To breed a bastard Pharisaic brat.

They wofully the gospel message-broke,
Make fearful havock of their Master's flock;
Yet please themselves and the blind multitude,
By whom the gospel's little understood.

Rude souls, perhaps, imagine little odds
Between the legal and the gospel roads:
But vainly men attempt to blend the two;
They differ more than Christ and Moses do.

Moses, evangelizing in a shade,
By types the news of light approaching spread;
But from the law of works, by him proclaim'd,
No ray of gospel-grace or mercy gleam'd.

By nature's light the law to all is known,
But lightsome news of gospel-grace to none.
The doing cov'nant now, in part or whole,
Is strong to damn, but weak to save a soul.

It hurts, and cannot help, but as it tends
Through mercy to subserve some gospel-ends.
Law-thunder roughly to the gospel tames,
The gospel mildly to the law reclaims.

The fiery law, as 'tis a covenant,
Schools men to see the gospel-aid they want;
Then gospel-aid does sweetly them incline
Back to the law, as 'tis a rule divine.

Heaven's healing work is oft commenc'd with wounds,
Terror begins what loving-kindness crowns.
Preachers may therefore press the fiery law,
To strike the Christless men with dreadful awe.

Law-threats which for his sins to hell depress.
Yea, damn him for his rotten righteousness;
That while he views the law exceeding broad,
He fain may wed the righteousness of God.

But, ah! to press the law-works as terms of life,
was ne'er the way to court the Lamb a wife.
To urge conditions in the legal frame,
Is to renew the vain old cov'nant game.

The law is good, when lawfully 'tis used,
But most destructive, when it is abused.
They set not duties in the proper sphere,
Who duly law and gospel don't sever;

But under many chains let sinners lie,
As tributaries, or to DO or DIE.
Nor make the law a squaring rule of life,
But in the gospel-throat a bloody knife.

Christmas and Sunday, with a poem by George Herbert

For many, Christmas is a favorite time of year. Many traditions, however, shunned the celebration of Christmas as an imposition from above. Some say it is a Reformed distinctive to abolish Holy Days, but John Calvin seems pretty Reformed and he did not require such things. Generally, Presbyterian Westminsterians in England had desired that the holiday ought not be imposed on anyone by the church (for there was not a basis in Scripture for requiring the celebration of Christmas) but did not legally ban the holiday until the more puritan Congregationalists took control, and Oliver Cromwell legally banned Christmas. [He's a mean one...Mr. Grinch!] A few, such as D.G. Hart, may think that was a good idea, but I tend to disagree. But D.G. Hart does make a wonderful point in his book on worship, that in the construction of "the church calendar" we have forgotten the original church calendar: The seven-day week.

The church calendar intended to conform the life of a Christian through the year to the life of Christ. We often forget that the 7-day week provides the same opportunity. First, the week reminded Israel that the first day of the week, God started the work of Creation. On the seventh day, God ceased working, setting a day apart for His worship. When Christ died on the sixth day, spent the seventh day resting in the grave and rose on the first/eighth day the imagery was not unintentional. The first day is the day of creation. Now the day of Christ's resurrection marks the beginning of new creation. As we worship on this Sunday, we ought to not rush to Christmas. Sunday should be primary in our thoughts of how time reminds us of the work of God.

Do we value Sunday? We certainly treat Christmas as a special day, changing our daily routine for that special day. Do we treat Sunday differently? Are we thankful for the gift of Sabbath rest and worship? Could we pen something like George Herbert in honor of the day of worship?

As for the poem: Notice the complexity of Herbert's structure. Seven lines. ABABCAC rhyming scheme. Herbert's poem on Sunday (from His book of poems "The Temple")


Sunday
by George Herbert

O Day most calm, most bright,
The fruit of this, the next worlds bud,
Th’ indorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a friend, and with his bloud;
The couch of time; cares balm and bay:
The week were dark, but for thy light:
Thy torch doth show the way.

The other dayes and thou
Make up one man; whose face thou art,
Knocking at heaven with thy brow:
The worky-daies are the back-part;
The burden of the week lies there,
Making the whole to stoup and bow,
Till thy release appeare.

Man had straight forward gone
To endlesse death: but thou dost pull
And turn us round to look on one,
Whom, if we were not very dull,
We could not choose but look on still;
Since there is no place so alone,
The which he doth not fill.

Sundaies the pillars are,
On which heav’ns palace arched lies:
The other dayes fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities.
They are the fruitfull beds and borders
In Gods rich garden: that is bare,
Which parts their ranks and orders.

The Sundaies of mans life,
Thredded together on times string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternall glorious King.
On Sunday heavens gate stands ope:
Blessings are plentifull and rife,
More plentifull then hope.

This day my Saviour rose,
And did inclose this light for his:
That, as each beast his manger knows,
Man might not of his fodder misse.
Christ hath took in this piece of ground,
And made a garden there for those
Who want herbs for their wound.

The rest of our Creation
Our great Redeemer did remove
With the same shake, which at his passion
Did th’ earth and all things with it move.
As Sampson bore the doores away,
Christs hands, though nail’d, wrought our salvation,
And did unhinge that day.

The brightnesse of that day
We sullied by our foul offence:
Wherefore that robe we cast away,
Having a new at his expence,
Whose drops of bloud paid the full price,
That was requir’d to make us gay,
And fit for Paradise.

Thou art a day of mirth:
And where the Week-dayes trail on ground,
Thy flight is higher, as thy birth.
O let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from sev’n to sev’n,
Till that we both, being toss’d from earth,
Flie hand in hand to heav’n!

Herbert: Holy Communion

Not in rich furniture, or fine aray,
________ Nor in a wedge of gold,
________ Thou, who for me wast sold,
____ To me dost now thy self convey;
For so thou should’st without me still have been,
________ Leaving within me sinne:

But by the way of nourishment and strength
________ Thou creep’st into my breast;
________ Making thy way my rest,
____ And thy small quantities my length;
Which spread their forces into every part,
________ Meeting sinnes force and art.

Yet can these not get over to my soul,
________ Leaping the wall that parts
________ Our souls and fleshy hearts;
____ But as th’ outworks, they may controll
My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name,
________ Affright both sinne and shame.

Only thy grace, which with these elements comes,
________ Knoweth the ready way,
________ And hath the privie key,
____ Op’ning the souls most subtile rooms;
While those to spirits refin’d, at doore attend
________ Dispatches from their friend.


Give me my captive soul, or take
________ My bodie also thither.
Another lift like this will make
________ Them both to be together.

Before that sinne turn’d flesh to stone,
________ And all our lump to leaven;
A fervent sigh might well have blown
________ Our innocent earth to heaven.

For sure when Adam did not know
________ To sinne, or sinne to smother;
He might to heav’n from Paradise go,
________ As from one room t’another.

Thou hast restor’d us to this ease
________ By this thy heav’nly bloud;
Which I can go to, when I please,
________ And leave th’earth to their food.

Herbert: Prayer

Prayer (I)
by George Herbert from "The Church"


PRAYER the Church's banquet, Angels' age,
____God's breath in man returning to his birth,
____The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet sounding heav’n and earth ;
Engine against th’ Almighty, sinner's tower,
____Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
____The six days world-transposing in an hour,
A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear ;
Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss,
____Exalted Manna, gladness of the best,
____Heaven in ordinary, man well drest,
The milky way, the bird of Paradise,
____Church-bells beyond the stars heard, the soul's blood,
____The land of spices, something understood.

What I have done, and what Thou hast done.

I've posted this before, but I love this poem/hymn by John Donne. I was reminded of it recently. Contrasted is what the author has done with a beholding of what "Thou [God] hast done." A great hymn of encouragement to all who struggle with sin, which if we are honest and human, is all of us:


A Hymn to God the Father:

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine as He shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.

To Miss Ainslie

Epigram to Miss Ainslie in Church


Fair maid, you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue;
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant,
Not angels such as you


- Robert Burns

Thirsting for God

I hope the suggestions under my last post yields me some new poetry reading. Until then, I picked up my volume of William Cowper. I don't know the relative virtue of his talent, but I know I enjoy and envy his honesty in composition.

"Thirsting for God" visits a heart as it is, and longs to be. It mixes hope and lament. It also makes no pretense before its reader:

THIRSTING FOR GOD

I thirst, but not as once I did,
The vain delights of earth to share;
Thy words, Immanuel, all forbid
That I should seek my pleasure there.

It was the sight of thy dear cross
First weaned my soul from earthly thing
And taught me to esteem as dross
The mirth of fools and pomp of kings

I want that grace that springs from thee,
That quickens all things where it flows,
And makes a wretched thorn like me,
Bloom as the myrtle or the rose.

Dear fountain of delight unknown,
No longer sink below the brim:
But overflow and pour me down
A living and life-giving stream.

For sure, of all the plants that share
The notice of thy Father's eye,
None proves less grateful to his care,
Or yields him meaner fruit than I.

Tell me: Who are your favorite poets?

In reading Gordon's "Why Johnny Can't Preach," I have found his recommendations helpful, from writing theological articles (yea for blogging!) to getting together with other preachers to compare how one organizes a sermon.

One of his recommendations I need some help with. Gordon recommends that those who wish to preach should read poetry. So, I invite comments:

1) Do you read poetry?

(and if so...)

2) Who do you recommend? (religious or otherwise)

I have done a little (very little) religious poetical reading (Donne, Cowper, etc), but are there poets that are good, for their shear skill in saying a thing well, that I should read?