Pre-Evangelism For Your Children – 5 – The Analogy of Routines

A child’s view of ultimate reality does not come through one beautific vision, but through thousands of observations, experiences and lessons. As he grows, his first teachers of the nature of things will be his parents. Their faith teaches him what faith is, if it is desirable, and where he ought to place his. This is before he fully understands the gospel that his faith must rest in. Further, their roles of father, mother, husband, and wife provide a picture of authority, love, righteousness, sin, judgment and grace, before his mind has understood how these things relate to the gospel.

A third powerful shaping influence on a child’s imagination is a family’s routines. Deuteronomy 6:7 says,

“You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.”

Here God tells Israel that their teaching and talking about loving God (vv4-5) must take place when they sit in the house, and when they walk by the way, when they lie down and when they rise up. On one level, God is simply pointing out how this discipling relationship must take place formally and informally, indoors and outdoors. But in another way, God’s words suggest the rhythm and routine of life. When you sit in the house is the time of day when you are at home; when you walk by the way is the time of day when you go out. When you lie down is the time of day when you sleep; when you rise up is the time of day when you wake from your sleep. Here is a suggestion of a cycle of events, a routine, a rhythm of life – getting up in the morning, going out, coming back, lying down to sleep. Not only are you to teach about loving God routinely, but your routine itself communicates something. Your daily, weekly, monthly, and even yearly routine teaches your family about ultimate dependence, ultimate devotion, and ultimate love.

For the Israelite, his daily routine involved reciting the Shema in the morning and in the evening. When he ate his meals, his restricted diet reminded him to put a difference between the holy and the common and he thought on God. When he worked the land, there were laws regarding the animals, laws regarding sowing, tilling and reaping, which caused him to think on God. If he went to transact business, there were laws about money and equity. When he went home, there were laws about ritual cleanness. Once a week, he was to cease work, for God’s sake.

And if he was anywhere near the Tabernacle, or later, the Temple, he would have seen a routine: a burnt offering twice daily, and a meal offering twice daily – one in the morning, and one in the evening – when the day’s activity began and when it ceased. There would have been a sacrifice every Sabbath, and a sacrifice at the beginning of each month. There were sacrifices at the special feasts of Passover, Pentecost, Day of Atonement, and Tabernacles. He was to go to the Tabernacle or Temple three times a year.

What did this routine communicate to him? God is at the centre of life. God is the ultimate reality. God is the One we love ultimately, because He is ultimate reality.

This is the opposite of secularism which tries to sideline God to the margins of life, relegating Him to a once-a-week appearance. Secularism has a daily routine in which God is essentially invisible, and practically irrelevant. Secularism has a routine which suggests that God does not matter. Many children grow up in ‘Christian’ homes that are practically secular. The routine reflects nothing of the idea that God is that family’s ultimate love.

A New Testament Christian does not exist under the same code as the Israelite. Jesus told us to abide in Him as He abides in us. The word abide just means to dwell, to live. We are to live in Him: live in His presence continually. When His words abide in us, and we are living before Him and in light of Him, then our  routines ought to have Him as the ultimate reality behind all we do.  These routines either have God present when you lie down, rise up, sit in the house or walk by the way or they do not.

Consider your home. How does each day typically begin? Is there anything of God in it? One of the Jewish traditions on Pentecost was to bring the children in early in the morning, and put honey on their tongues just before reading the Scriptures. Does the day start with some kind of reading of the Word and prayer? Is there some equivalent of the morning sacrifice?

What is the habit around mealtimes, particularly dinnertime? Who is honoured for providing – which is, after all, why Dad was out all day – working hard so that God would be pleased to bless the home with provision. What is discussed at the table?

What kind of music routinely plays in the background? What sort of movies or TV programmes routinely play on the screen? Is the tenor of life one of distraction, or one of reflection?

How does the day end? Is there anything of God in it? Is there perhaps some family worship, some thanksgiving prayers before bedtime, or some music played which honours God? Is there some equivalent of the evening sacrifice?

When the days of rest come around, what is the routine then? Critically, what are the weekly habits of the family when the local church meets? Too many parents miss the fact that regular worship teaches those little hearts through the routine itself. When an adult Christian remembers that ‘we didn’t miss a service’, he is not remembering the glorious preaching. He is remembering a rhythm of life that demonstrated God’s centrality to that family.

What is repeated over and over again is learnt, memorised, internalised, and usually, prioritised. The habits of your home become a kind of rhythm that your children learn to get in step with. Routines say, this is important. This is necessary. This is essential. Routines are a picture of what the cycles of life revolve around. 

If we want our children to believe that the most important thing in life is a reconciled relationship with God, then we need to think about our rising up, going out, coming in, and lying down.

Amidst the Ruins

“And this place would be packed on a Sunday?” said the boy, deliberately raising his voice a little, to hear the ghostly echo.

“Hm?” His father turned around from inspecting the wood carvings on a piece of fixed furniture. “Oh, yes. Standing-room only, sometimes.”

The boy’s footsteps along some stonework along the sides gave a rich, sonorous klop-klop. He enjoyed accenting his steps, and then craned his head up to see where a sandstone pillar met the arches above. “How long did it take them to build?”

“Well, that depends on who you mean by them. The builders? It took around 120 years for several generations to build it.” He gently slid his finger across the top of an ancient window sill and rubbed off the dust. “But they could not have built it in 120 years without many more hundreds of years of thought and work that went before them. You don’t just decide to build this in a generation or two.”

He went silent and hoped his son would dwell on that. Instead, the boy had found a squeaky pew, and was grinning as he got a rhythm of squeaks out of it by rocking back and forth.

Father sighed and went on looking, hands behind his back, gently strolling.

“So what’s it used for today?” the boy called out.

A gentle mumbling at the entrance gave the answer, and father motioned towards it. A tour group with brochures, cameras, and a soft-spoken guide had shuffled in, but their chattiness had become strangely muted as they came under the great vaulted ceiling.

“Unbelievers with a love of beauty, church history buffs, and the occasional eccentrics like me come here. Mostly just to admire.” And then, almost under his breath, “not to worship.”

His son had caught that. He was pretending to remain uninterested, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. “So why don’t we come here any more? I mean, if they were so popular, why did they stop using them?”

Father hated trying to answer a question like that to a fifteen-year-old’s attention span. He prayed. He paused. “One reason is that most people in the countries in which these were built began to believe a terrible lie about reality that made a place like this seem less real, and eventually, unreal. Places like this became an oddity.”

“And those who used to worship here?”

“They believed a different lie. They believed that popularity was more important than the meaning of this kind of thing. Eventually, since most of the surrounding unbelieving people thought of this kind of place as odd and unreal, the believers took the same view, to appear relevant. They abandoned these places, because otherwise they might have risked appearing odd and irrelevant.” He grimaced at his over-simplification.

“That’s why we go to a theatre with comfy seats every Sunday, right?” the boy said, trying to be funny. Dad didn’t laugh. He turned away and gazed at the Stations of the Cross pictured on the windows. The boy sensed his father’s sadness.

“It can’t be that hard to build something like this with the technology we have today. What took them 120 years could be done in less than five.”

The father sat on one of the pews, and motioned to his son to join him.

“Son, the point is not whether we can duplicate something like this. Sure we can. We might even be able to do it with more precision than they could have.” He pursed his lips and formed his thoughts.

“The point is: even if we did, who would come here? Do you think we could interest even half the worshippers in our local church to meet in a place like this?” His son said nothing.

“When this was built, grandfather told father who told son what this place meant. They had made it, and they understood it. They loved it not as a badge of refinement, or as a museum piece. It was the expression of what they and their great-grandfathers loved and cherished.

“It is not that we have lost the ability to make these things. We’ve lost the ability to love them. We’ve lost the ability to understand them and allow them to shape us. That ability doesn’t come to us because the church down the road decides to move from a shop-front to here. It comes because generation after generation believe and love the same things. After centuries of loving the same things, they develop better and better ways of expressing those loves and beliefs, and you end up with something like this, ” he said, looking up, and motioning in a circle.

He tried to pause to let all this percolate, but his thoughts were coming faster than he could wait. His tone became more intense.

“See, there’s a reason we meet in the buildings we do on Sundays. There’s a reason the churches that still hold to the apostles’ doctrine won’t be coming back here. Those lies that the culture believed and the lies that the church believed have irreparably broken our link to this. We can’t come back.”

An uncomfortable pause followed. His son swallowed and averted his eyes. “But…we’re here, aren’t we? You love it, and so do some others. That’s got to count for something, right?”

The father’s expression softened, detecting his son’s desire to comfort. They got up and walked slowly past the tour group towards the entrance. “Son, a few oddballs here and there don’t create things like this place. We might appreciate it, and learn to better love it. We can let it have a sanctifying effect on us. But it is no longer ours, like it was our forefathers’.”

At the entrance, they turned around one more time to take in the whole place. The secular tourists with their pointing and snapping were conspicuous in a place of worship.

Father finished his thought. “We know this, because most of those who call themselves the descendants of the builders of this place have no desire to return here.”

Pre-Evangelism For Your Children – 4 -The Analogy of Family Roles

How a child imagines ultimate reality is powerfully shaped by his parents. How his parents live out their faith provides the child with an ongoing example of what a relationship with God is like, what loving God looks like, and why it ought to be chosen over secularism, materialism, or practical atheism.

However, the family unit is far more than a set of exemplars of piety. The family is also a collection of living symbols. The home is an extended role-play, and an ongoing metaphor. Each member plays a role, and with that role comes corresponding relationships. These roles have analogues in ultimate reality. Husband, wife, father, mother, and child take on particular roles that illustrate invisible, moral realities.

In the home, the children observe this role-play for more or less twenty years. Though the mundanity of life hides it, family is teaching the children about ultimate reality. It is teaching about authority, and how it should be exercised. It is teaching about obedience and disobedience, the reasons for obedience, and the consequences of obedience and disobedience. It is teaching about love: that there are different degrees of love, and different kinds of love. It is teaching about gospel realities: sin, righteousness, sacrifice, service, grace and mercy, forgiveness, and trust.

Before your child has pronounced the word “God”, he has an idea of authority. Before your child has ever heard about hell, she has learned whether or not selfishness has negative consequences. Before your children have ever memorised John 3:16, they have observed some kind of love in the home.

Two areas are of particular importance to the religious imagination: the portrayal of the loving authority of God which inspires and expects both obedience and reverence, and the portrayal of the sovereign grace that both nourishes and cherishes the beloved. In other words, children need a vision of both God’s greatness and His goodness, His transcendence and His immanence.

Fathers (and mothers) aim to be pictures of a God who rules justly and fairly, but regards rebellion as a deep perverseness that must not be allowed to continue unchecked. The kind of obedience  God expects from us (immediate, cheerful, wholehearted) is the kind fathers aim to inspire and expect. Likewise, the father in particular wants to be a picture of a God to be revered, honoured and esteemed and who regards irreverence with the same deep concern. The kind of respect which a child will show to his Ultimate Authority must at least begin in seed-form with his honouring of his parents (and I might add, his grandparents, pastors, teachers, policemen, governors, and so forth). And, we hasten to add, there is a kind of deportment that inspires reverence  (Tis 2:2-3). Ideally, children will see a model of submission and reverence when they behold their mother in her role as a wife (Eph 5:22, 33).

Mothers (and fathers) aim to be pictures of a God who seeks to sacrificially meet the needs of those He loves, and regards them as precious. This nourishing and cherishing is to be true of husbands towards wives, and of fathers and mothers toward children (Eph 5:29, 1 Thes 2:7, 11). For that matter, biblical masculinity and femininity are more than biological realities or practical arrangements, they are shadows of unseen truths. When rightly lived out, children see copies of the true (Heb 9:24).

Shelves have been filled with books written on how Christian parents are to go beyond dealing with mere outward behavior, and aim instead for the child’s beliefs and heart desires. These books commendably exhort child-training to push a child to the gospel itself. Let us push further. Our goal is more than acquaintance with the facts of the gospel. It is for our children to imagine all the realities connected to the gospel properly, and to feel rightly towards those realities.

If we do our best to be obedient to the biblical roles in the power of the Holy Spirit, we fill our homes with something quite extraordinary: an ongoing, albeit imperfect, picture of the Creator who rules, but who also redeems and restores. Once again, children will learn not just that they are commanded to love God, but that loving God is good. They learn, if a relationship with Christ is like their parents’ marriage, then loving God is desirable. If God cares for them like their mother, then it is safe trusting God wholeheartedly. If God is as just and strict as their parents, then they need their sins forgiven. If God is a Father like their father, then they owe Him deep and joyful respect.

Preachers’ hyperbolic statements about Satan’s intentions to destroy the family are probably not far off the mark. To ruin the analogy is to ruin the child’s chance of picturing ultimate reality properly, robbing him of a right view of the gospel’s realities. To give a fairly appropriate portrayal of who God is, what He is like, what obstructs knowing Him, and how we come to know Him is to provide, in the words of J. Gresham Machen, favorable conditions for the reception of the gospel, which the Spirit may be pleased to use.

Pre-Evangelism For Your Children – 3 – The Analogy of Parental Piety

The first and greatest commandment is followed by a commandment to teach children to do the same (Deut 6:4-9). Our goal as Christian parents should be nothing less than to help shape our children so that they will, by grace, become ardent lovers of God. We have said this happens not merely by telling our children to love God, but by shaping the child’s imagination. Our concern in the next posts is how this imagination is shaped.

Probably one of the first analogies the child’s imagination receives is the analogy of his parents’ faith. This provides him with a picture of what it is like to be in a relationship with God.

Before a child knows anything about justification, penal substitution, or the nature of God, he knows what a relationship with God is like. Or at least, he knows what his believing parents express it to be like. The moral imagination of child is shaped by being exposed to his parents’ piety, and it is their example that gives him his first introduction to how God is to be loved, and if God ought to be loved.

This is probably why right after telling Israel that they are to love Him with all the heart, soul and might, God tells them that these words about loving God ultimately “which I command you today shall be in your heart.” That is, these words are to be internalised and understood and practiced by the parents themselves first. Following that, verse 7 kicks in.

“You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.”

Certainly, this teaching will take the form of direct instruction. However, our concern in this series is how the non-discursive, non-cognitive faculty of knowing is shaped. Certainly then, part of the teaching is the fleshed-out example of love for God seen in the parents.

Loving God ultimately can be thought of as ultimate dependence, ultimate devotion and ultimate delight. When we love God ultimately, we regard Him as ultimately reliable, ultimately valuable, and ultimately desirable. We do not trust, commit to, or rejoice in anything besides God as an end. All else are means: He alone is the end.

In a family, this kind of love for God is seen in very tangible ways. When in the middle of a health or financial or emotional crisis, Dad says to the family, “We can be very thankful for what God has given us. Let’s turn to Him now in prayer, and ask Him for grace”, that lesson speaks to little hearts in powerful ways. Gratitude and contentment say more than 100 sermons. When Dad says, “We’ve barely got petrol in the tank, but we know God wants us to worship Him. We’ll trust that God will enable what He commands.” And do you know what God loves to do when those little eyes are watching that act of ultimate dependence? Provide. Supply. Protect.

When the child is groaning about a sore throat on Monday morning, and Dad says, “Get out of that bed, and get ready, you are going to school!”, he is teaching the importance of education. But when the child has the same groans about a sore throat on Sunday morning, and Dad says, “Well, just take it easy and rest this morning”, he has taught something else. He has taught that education takes priority over worship. He has taught that our devotion to education ought to exceed our devotion to God.

When Mom will drive from this side of the city for swimming to that side of the city for tennis or ballet, to the other side for extra maths, and back again for soccer, and finally home, racking up a good 100 kilometres in the process, the child might learn that Mom and Dad like him to have activities. But when they say, “We can’t go to the Wednesday Evening service, it’s too much driving, and petrol is getting more expensive”, he learns about priorities. Petrol costs and driving time aren’t an issue if it is extra-murals or education, but very high hurdles if it is church. He has just learnt how committed one should be to God, and it is not an ultimate commitment.

Children know what we love. They see it when our eyes sparkle when we talk about what delights us. They see how we anticipate the things we really love. They see how we reminisce over the things we love. And they see how we connect those things to God, if we do. They see what our attitude is towards the things of God.

If Dad’s sighing heavily as everyone gets in the car on Sunday, but he’s cheerfully buoyant before the start of a rugby game on TV, he communicates which brings more joy. If Mom is humming away while she copies photos to Facebook and makes scrap-book albums, but looks like she’s eaten lemons during the singing of hymns, she communicates what brings her joy.

And make no mistake, those little eyes are on you in corporate worship – do you enjoy and understand those hymns, or do you just mouth them? Do you love God’s Word and read it with hunger? Do you communicate your relish for the Word before and after? They notice when you’re soaking in the Word, and they notice when you’re looking at your watch. And later on, they might remember that you don’t do that during a movie.

Before we tell them so, we show our children what we think is reliable, valuable and desirable. God says there is only One who deserves that kind of love. That should be the day-in, day-out message of our homes.

Pre-Evangelism For Your Children – 2 – The Imagination

If we want our children to love and embrace the ‘ facts’ of the gospel, we need to step back and think about how children gain their knowledge.

Modernism likes to see itself as interested in only ‘objective facts’. For modernism, the keys to understanding the world are a good microscope, telescope or any other instrument that can record objective facts about the world. If we collect enough of these objective facts from the sciences of physics, chemistry, geoscience, astronomy, genetics and the like, we will understand reality, it reasons. None of those subjective values and personal judgments about morality, ethics, beauty or truth are to be considered. Those are not testable, verifiable or measurable in a laboratory, therefore they are simply statements of human preference or desire, but do not represent reality. If we want to know reality and understand ultimate questions such as who we are, how we got here, where we are going, what we are here for, we must turn to the ‘objective’ sciences. Knowing reality then, becomes an exercise in fact-collecting. Supposedly, collect enough of these autonomous, scientific facts, and you will know reality.

Most modern school curriculi reflect this modernist thinking. Reality is a collection of raw, uninterpreted facts, and therefore a child must collect as many of these as possible, as unrelated or eclectic as these facts might be. Math facts, history facts, geography facts, chemistry facts, biology facts, language facts, and social sciences facts (the most laughable of all) – if a child completes a good twelve years of this kind of fact-collecting, then he is ‘educated’.

The problem with this whole endeavor is that is incredibly conceited, and blind to its own arrogance. The idea that facts exist by themselves was never believed before the advent of modernism, and is now being abandoned again in post-modernism. It was a conceit of the Enlightenment – that we are capable of perfect objectivity, even though we are perceiving subjects. In truth, all ‘facts’ are known by subjects – us. We understand those facts only by relating them to other facts. We understand one thing by placing it in context of other things. A microscope might record objective data, but it is a subject who looks into the scope and interprets the data. We understand the significance of the facts under consideration, the value of the facts we’re seeing, only by connecting them with a much bigger grid of understanding. That grid is the imagination.

In other words, though objective reality exists outside of us, we only know that reality as perceiving subjects. We perceive that reality through a pre-existing grid which interprets the facts. The grid, or the imagination, determines how we will understand the raw data of the world that is given to us. If the grid is wrong, it will misconstrue what it sees 100% of the time. The telescope might be flawless, but that’s not the point. Humans use those telescopes and decide what the data means.

Romans 1 makes this idea this fairly clear. Once the grid of ultimate devotion to God was abandoned and replaced with a grid of idolatry, mankind became increasingly deceived in his perceptions of the world.

because, although they knew God, they did not glorify Him as God, nor were thankful, but became futile in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools (Ro 1:21-22).

Man’s fact-collecting mission would now always arrive at the wrong conclusions, because his grid was now idolatrous.

Why all this discussion of knowledge and objectivity in a conversation about child evangelism? Because many Christian parents have embraced the modernist idea of collecting objective facts, when it comes to educating their children. Theirs is identical to a secularist’s approach, except that to the list of algebra facts, economics facts and art facts, they add Bible facts. They believe that their children must be exposed to as many good, objective Bible facts as possible, and all will turn out well. Years later, their children, now young adults, announce that they no longer believe what they were taught in Sunday School. What happened? Did the Bible facts change in their content? Did the child discover that those facts were not objective?

What happened is that the child’s interpretation of those Bible facts changed. His feeling towards the biblical data changed, which in turn, changed the meaning, the interpretation of those Bible facts. And it changed because of what was going on behind the facts – in his imagination.

The imagination is the faculty which God gives humans to make sense of reality by analogy. We learn of one thing by comparing it, or contrasting it, or connecting it, to another. This is like that. Without these comparisons and analogies, nothing in the world would make sense, not the watch on your wrist, not the colour red, not the face of your spouse. Nothing would be recognized, because nothing could be related to anything else. In truth, there are no brute facts. Everything is understood as the imagination relates it, weighs it, and understands it in light of the whole.

For Christians, the shaping of the imagination becomes particularly crucial, because not only do we want our children to interpret the raw sensory data of the world according to God’s view of reality, we need them to understand many things that cannot be seen – God’s attributes, grace, justice, nobility, holiness, judgement, to name just a few. They will only understand these ultimate unseen realities through the imagination – through the analogies that explain the unseen with the seen. If their imaginations are filled with incorrect analogies, they will misconstrue and misunderstand unseen realities that are critical to the gospel and the Christian life. Worse, they will respond to those realities wrongly, treating them differently to what they are.

A parent’s role is far more than entering facts into the child’s CPU. A parent has twenty years or so to build up a storehouse of analogous knowledge. He or she is a crucial part of putting together a child’s internal mental map, using all kinds of analogies: “This is how we understand that as we relate it to this.” As we build these analogies, we are not only shaping a child’s grid, we are teaching him how he ought to feel about the facts he will encounter. Before the child’s vocabulary has even filled out, we are providing him with a sense of proportion: this is like that, and deserves this kind of response. I say again, many parents think the goal of training is the imparting of cognitive knowledge. However, if you would like your child to rightly interpret the knowledge he encounters, you must shape his imagination through analogous knowledge.

How do we build analogous knowledge? There are several ways that emerge from Scriptural example and from the world that God has created. We will begin to examine these next week.

Pre-Evangelism For Your Children -1

Studies by Barna, for what they are worth, show that most children growing up in evangelical churches will abandon the faith. According to the studies, even though many of those who drop out of church are actively involved in church during their teen years, by their early twenties most have stopped participating actively in the Christian faith. In total, six out of ten twentysomethings dropped out of church and general Christian living. Worse, it’s not just a temporary phase, but the trend seems to be continuing deeper into adulthood, even when those who have dropped out of church have children of their own. In other words, such people, who grew up in evangelical churches, are well and truly denying the faith with their lives.

All kinds of reasons have been proposed for this phenomenon: the age-segregation of the church, shallow youth ministry, inconsistency of Christian adults, lack of spiritual leadership in the home, lack of serious discipleship in the local church, and proliferation of unwholesome media. Any or all of these may be contributing factors. However, it seems what is missing in these conversations is how a child’s disposition towards Christianity is shaped long before he or she encounters the truths of the gospel, or the demands of discipleship.

Before the child is able to weigh the propositions that explain the gospel, or consider the validity of biblical teaching, he already has prejudices for or against the claims of Christ. He either has a disposition, a sensibility that Christianity is true and good and beautiful and ought to be embraced, or he does not. As he grows, this sense increases or decreases in either direction, and largely shapes how he interprets the facts of Christianity as they are placed before him.

In other words, a child is no tabula rasa. He arrives with a set of faculties that immediately begin to make sense of the world by interpreting the raw data of the world through an ever-growing ‘grid’ of interpretations, sensibilities and dispositions. No fact he encounters is understood on its own; it is understood through a network of other facts, feelings and desires. This includes ‘facts’ like Jesus is the Son of God, hell actually exists, and Jesus deserves your total allegiance and ultimate love. How the person responds to those statements, both when he is five and twenty-five, are largely a result of this grid.

Another term for this grid is the imagination. How a person imagines reality in totality, how he pictures ultimate things that make sense of the raw data of his life, how he places value on things and orders them, is his imagination. This imagination can either be Christian or non-Christian. It can be religious or secular. And it is shaped long before the child can read or answer catechism questions.

J. Gresham Machen put it this way: “…[I]t would be a great mistake to suppose that all men are equally well prepared to receive the gospel. It is true that the decisive thing is the regenerative power of God. That can overcome all lack of preparation, and the absence of that makes even the best preparation useless. But as a matter of fact God usually exerts that power in connection with certain prior conditions of the human mind, and it should be ours to create, so far as we can, with the help of God, those favorable conditions for the reception of the gospel.” (Christianity and Culture, 7).

It’s my belief that many of the evangelical dropouts we witness today are abandoning the faith because they grew up with a fundamentally secular imagination, with a thin evangelical overlay. Over time, or as a result of some life circumstance, the underlying grid pushes the person to re-evaluate his beliefs and align them more consistently with the grid. Since the grid is essentially one that views God as a weightless, if not non-existent concern, at some point the thoughtful person recognizes that his Christian faith is a wrinkle in his worldview, an error in the program, an extraneous digit that does not belong. Consequently, he announces that he “no longer believes”.

The question for Christian parents becomes, how is that grid shaped? How does one shape the imagination so that the child has a prejudice towards Christianity’s truths, both before and long after he has embraced them?Parents need to think long and hard how to shape those prior conditions of the mind. Our goal over the next several posts will be to consider some ways that the Christian imagination of a child may be shaped.

Christmas Thought from Tozer

“Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight!”—Phillips Brooks.
That there were in the world multiplied millions who had never heard of Christmas did not matter to our poet for the purpose of his poem. He was expressing an emotional fact, not a statistical one.
Throughout the Western world we tend to follow the poet and approach Christmas emotionally instead of factually. It is the romance of Christmas that gives it its extraordinary appeal to that relatively small number of persons of the earth’s population who regularly celebrate it.

So completely are we carried away by the excitement of this midwinter festival that we are apt to forget that its romantic appeal is the least significant thing about it. The theology of Christmas too easily gets lost under the gay wrappings, yet apart from its theological meaning it really has none at all. A half dozen doctrinally sound carols serve to keep alive the great deep truth of the Incarnation, but aside from these, popular Christmas music is void of any real lasting truth. The English mouse that was not even stirring, the German Tannenbaum so fair and lovely and the American red-nosed reindeer that has nothing to recommend it have pretty well taken over in Christmas poetry and song. These along with merry old St. Nicholas have about displaced Christian theology.
We must not forget that the Church is the custodian of a truth so grave and urgent that its importance can not be overemphasized, and so vast and incomprehensible that even an apostle did not try to explain it; rather it burst forth from him as an astonished exclamation:
And without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory. (1 Timothy 3:16)
This is what the Church is trying to say to mankind but her voice these days is thin and weak and scarcely heard amid the commercialized clangor of “Silent Night.”

It does seem strange that so many persons become excited about Christmas and so few stop to inquire into its meaning; but I suppose this odd phenomenon is quite in harmony with our unfortunate human habit of magnifying trivialities and ignoring matters of greatest import. The same man who will check his tires and consult his road map with utmost care before starting on a journey may travel for a lifetime on the way that knows no return and never once pause to ask whether or not he is headed in the right direction.
The Christmas message, when stripped of its pagan overtones, is relatively simple: God is come to earth in the form of man. Around this one dogma the whole question of meaning revolves. God did come or He did not; He is come or He is not, and the vast accumulation of sentimental notions and romantic practices that go to make up our modern Christmas cannot give evidence on one side or the other.
Certain religious teachers in apostolic times refused to believe that Jesus was actually God come in the flesh. They were willing to exhaust the language of unctuous flattery to describe His glorious manhood, but they would have none of His deity. Their basic philosophy forbade them to believe that there could ever be a union of God and human flesh. Matter, they said, is essentially evil. God who is impeccably holy could never allow Himself contact with evil. Human flesh is matter, therefore God is not come in the flesh.

Certainly it would not be difficult to refute this negative teaching. One would only need to demonstrate the error of the major premise, the essential sinfulness of matter, and the whole thing would collapse. But that would be to match reason against reason and take the mystery of godliness out of the realm of faith and make of it merely another religious philosophy. Then we would have rationalism with a thin Christian veneer. How long before the veneer wore off and we had only rationalism?
While faith contains an element of reason, it is essentially moral rather than intellectual. In the New Testament unbelief is a sin, and this could not be so if belief were no more than a verdict based upon evidence. There is nothing unreasonable about the Christian message, but its appeal is not primarily to reason. At a specific time in a certain place God became flesh, but the transcendence of Christ over the human conscience is not historic; it is intimate, direct and personal.
Christ’s coming to Bethlehem’s manger was in harmony with the primary fact of His secret presence in the world in preincarnate times as the Light that lighteth every man. The sum of the New Testament teaching about this is that Christ’s claims are self-validating and will be rejected only by those who love evil. Whenever Christ is preached in the power of the Spirit, a judgment seat is erected and each hearer stands to be judged by his response to the message. His moral responsibility is not to a lesson in religious history but to the divine Person who now confronts him.
“Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight.” But Christmas either means more than is popularly supposed or it means nothing. We had better decide.

(“The Meaning of Christmas”, chapter 22, The Warfare of the Spirit)

Lesser Known Incarnation Hymnody – 2

Paul Gerhardt (1606-1676) is regarded by some as Germany’s greatest hymn writer. His near-absence from many modern hymnals surely stands as testimony to our chronological snobbery. Nevertheless, a mostly untouched (by modern hands, at least) treasure-trove of Gerhardt hymns still exists for the hungry seeker. “Immanuel, to Thee We Sing” is one of his Christmas hymns, along with the better-known “All My Heart This Night Rejoices”.

The hymn was translated by Ludolph Schlicht, and can be sung to the hymn tune “GERMANY”.

Immanuel, to Thee we sing,
Thou Prince of life, almighty King;
That Thou, expected ages past,
Didst come to visit us at last.

For Thee, since first the world was made,
Men’s hearts have waited, watched and prayed;
Prophets and patriarchs, year by year,
Have longed to see Thy light appear.

All glory, worship, thanks and praise,
That Thou art come in these our days!
Thou heavenly Guest, expected long,
We hail Thee with a joyful song.

Lesser-Known Incarnation Hymnody

Some of us deeply appreciate A.W. Tozer’s writings on, well, just about anything. Tozer also wrote some poetry, which while not masterful, is a good attempt at meaningful hymnody, and that by a busy pastor. It ought to encourage those of us who have tried our clumsy hands at the task to keep at it. His poem “Word of the Father” was sung by Ray McAfee on several occasions, to the tune of Schubert’s Ave Maria.

Word of the Father! Light of light;
Eternal praise is Thine alone;
Strong in Thy uncreated might,
Sweet with a holy fragrance all Thine own.
The dark beginnings of creation
Had their first rise and spring in Thee;
The universe, Thy habitation,
Which art, and evermore shalt be.
Word of the Father!

Word of the Father! Truly God,
And truly man by incarnation,
Born to endure the thorns, the rod,
The shameful wounds for our salvation.
Our sins, our woes come all before us,
We have no friend, no friend but Thee;
O spread Thy saving mantle o’er us,
And set our mourning spirits free.
Word of the Father!

Word of the Father! Hear our prayer!
Send far the evil tempter from us,
And make these souls Thy tender care
Lest sin and Satan overcome us.
O conquering Christ! Deep hell, despairing,
Must bow and own Thy right to reign,
When Thou, with joy beyond comparing
Shalt bring Thy ransomed ones again.
Word of the Father!

Why Church Feels The Way It Does

All cultures and subcultures move through stages, and evangelicalism is, among other things, a distinct subculture of Christianity. In cultural terms, a classical period is a time when all the parts of a community’s life seem to hang together, mutually reinforce each other, and make intuitive sense. By contrast, a decadent period is marked by dissolution of all the most important unities, a sense that whatever initial force gave impetus and meaningful form to the culture has pretty much spent its power. Decadence is a falling off, a falling apart from a previous unity.

Inhabitants of a decadent culture feel themselves to be living among the scraps and fragments of something that must have made sense to a previous generation but which now seem more like a pile of unrelated items. Decadent cultures feel unable to articulate the reasons for connecting things to each other. They spend a lot of time staring at isolated fragments, unable to combine them into meaningful wholes. They start all their important speeches by quoting Yeats’s overused line, “Things fall apart, the center cannot hold. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.” Decadents either fetishize their tribal and party distinctions or mix absolutely everything together in one sloppy combination. Not everybody in a decadent culture even feels a need to work toward articulating unities, but those who do make the attempt face a baffling challenge. At best, the experience is somewhat like working a jigsaw puzzle without the guidance of the finished image from the box top; at worst, it is like undertaking that task while fighting back the slow horror of realization that what you have in front of you are pieces that come from several different puzzles, none of them complete or related. Evangelicalism in our lifetime seems to be in a decadent period. In some sectors of the evangelical subculture, there is not even a living cultural memory of a classical period or golden age; what we experience is decadence all the way back.

Fred Sanders, The Deep Things of God: How the Trinity Changes Everything (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2010), 109.