Kevin DeYoung Hopes Real Books Never Die

Kevin DeYoung on why he prefers real books to electronic readers:

Old books are like old friends. They love to be revisited. They stick around to give advice. They remind you of days gone by. Books, like friends, hang around.

And they prefer not to be invisible.

I can’t tell you how many often I sit at my desk, push back my seat, and allow my eyes to drift around the room full of bookshelves. I’m not procrastinating, not exactly. I’m scanning the room to see my friends. Their covers jog my memories. They remind me of what I learned once. More than that, they remind me of my life–where I was when I first read Lloyd-Jones on the couch, how I knelt by the bed with tears when I read Brothers, We Are Not Professionals, how my life was so different 15 years ago when I read my dad’s copy of the Institutes as a college student. If all my books disappeared on to a microchip I might have less to lug around and I might be able to search my notes more easily, but I’d lose memory; I’d lose history; I’d lose a little bit of myself.

You can read the rest here.

I do love my Kindle Touch, but I'm definitely with you, Kevin.

John Flavel on Dealing with Abuse from Others

One of my favorite things to edit at Reformation Heritage Books is the Profiles in Reformed Spirituality series. The series is directed toward the lay reader (as opposed to academic readers), and each title introduces readers to the life and writings of a prominent person in the Reformed/Puritan tradition. An editor/compiler writes a brief biography at the beginning of the book, and the second part of the book is brief excerpts from that person's significant writings, with somewhat updated language that is easy to read and understand.

I enjoy editing these titles because I like the challenge of working with the book's editor to update the language to more contemporary language and punctuation (it's interesting to see how much more readable these old writings become when seventeenth-century punctuation is replaced with twenty-first century punctuation). And because these are introductory books, they also feature photography and art that illustrates the person and his times--a lot of fun to research and compile. 

The book pictured here is the second one that I edited on John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim's Progress. My first Profiles book was on Samuel Rutherford, and the challenges included trying to "translate" Scottish from the 1600s into language that is understandable to readers today. I actually ended up corresponding with the director of a Scottish language dictionary on that one.

Right now I'm working on a Profiles book about John Flavel, an English Presbyterian minister and writer who lived from 1627-1691. Those who were Nonconformists during that era suffered greatly for their faith, and Flavel experienced much persecution, preaching the gospel and tending to his congregants at great personal risk. In the excerpt below, he writes from experience about how to cope with those who would abuse us. I particularly like his insight that if a person takes revenge against someone who has hurt him, he destroys one enemy. But those who forgive conquer three: their own lusts, the devil, and their enemy's 

heart--as he puts it, "a much more glorious conquest." The Flavel Profiles book, edited and compiled by Adam Embry and titled An Honest, Well-Experienced Heart, will release later this spring.

Abuse from Others*

The seventh season calling for more than common diligence to keep the heart is when we receive injuries and abuses from men; such is the depravity and corruption of man in his collapsed state. . . . Now when we are thus abused and wronged, it is hard to keep the heart from revengeful motions to make it meek and quiet, to commit the cause to Him who judges righteously, to exercise no other affection but pity toward those who abuse us. Surely the spirit that is in us lusts to revenge, but it must not be so. You have choice helps in the gospel to keep down your hearts from such sinful motions against your enemies and to sweeten your embittered spirits. The seventh case therefore shall be this: how a Christian may keep his heart from revengeful motions under the greatest injuries and abuses from men.

The gospel allows us a liberty to vindicate our innocence and assert our rights, but not to vent our corruptions and invade God’s right. When therefore you find your heart begin to be inflamed by revengeful motions, presently apply the following remedies, and the first is this.

Urge upon your heart the severe prohibitions of revenge by the law of God. Remember that this is forbidden fruit, however pleasing and luscious it is to our vitiated appetites. “O,” but God says, “the effects thereof shall be bitter.” How plainly has God interdicted this flesh-pleasing sin (Prov. 20:22; 24:29; 25:21; Rom. 12:17–19)?

Well, then, awe your hearts with the authority of God in these Scriptures, and when carnal reason says, “My enemy deserves to be hated,” let conscience reply, “But does God deserve to be disobeyed?” 

Set before your eyes the most eminent patterns of meekness and forgiveness, that your souls may fall in love with it. . . . Never did any suffer more and greater abuses from men than Christ did, and never did any carry it more peaceably and forgivingly (Isa. 53:7). This pattern the apostle sets before you for your imitation (1 Peter 2:21–23). To be of a meek, forgiving spirit is Christ-like, God-like (Matt. 5:45). How eminently also did this Spirit of Christ rest upon His apostles. Never were there such men upon earth for true excellency of spirit. None were ever abused more or suffered their abuses better (1 Cor. 4:12–13). . . .

Keep down your heart by this consideration, that by revenge you can only satisfy a lust, but by forgiveness you shall conquer a lust. Suppose by revenge you should destroy one enemy, I will show you how by forgiving you shall conquer three: your own lusts, the devil’s temptation, and your enemy’s heart—and is not this a more glorious conquest? 

Seriously propound this question to your own heart. Have I gotten any good from the wrong and injuries received, or have I not? What, can you not find a heart to forgive one that has been instrumental of so much good to you? That’s strange! When though they meant it for evil, yet if God have turned it to good (Gen. 50:20), you have no more reason to rage against the instrument. . . .

It is of excellent use to keep the heart from revenge, to look up and eye the First Cause by which all our troubles are ordered. . . . But though it does not fall under His approving, yet it does under His permitting will, and there is a great argument for quiet submission in that. He has not only the permitting but also the ordering of all those troubles. If we were to see more of a holy God, we would show less of a corrupt nature in such trials.

Consider how you daily wrong God, and you will not be so easily inflamed with revenge against others who have wronged you. . . . It is impossible we can be cruel to others, except we forget how kind Christ has been to us. Those that have found mercy should show mercy. If kindness cannot work, I think fear should (Matt. 6:15).

Lastly, let the consideration of the day of the Lord, which draws nigh, withhold your hearts from anticipating it by acts of revenge (James 5:7–9). This text affords three arguments against revenge: the Lord’s near approach; the example of the husbandman’s[1] patience; the danger we draw upon ourselves by anticipating God’s judgment. “Vengeance is Mine,” says the Lord. He will distribute justice more equally and impartially than you can. They that believe they have a God to right them will not so much wrong themselves as to avenge their own wrongs.

---

* From A Saint Indeed, 5:468–73.

[1] husbandman: farmer

Valentine Follow Up

Our Valentine's dinner included some of our favorite simple, yet delicious, treats. While Chef Henry was busy broiling our sizzler steaks, I discovered, accidentally, that it is entirely possible to form a heart out of red pepper pieces. If I had tried to cut pieces on purpose to make this happen, it just wouldn't have. I am not artsy that way. But in an inspired moment, I threw this little salad together for my true love.

And then there was the moment we had both been waiting for: dessert. In a moment of genious, Henry had suggested that we get a box of our favorite DeBrand chocolates and share them as a Valentine's gift. One of the special things that I share with my husband is our mutual chocoholism, so I immediately agreed that this was brilliance. We had both been giddy with excitement, waiting to lift the lid off the box. When we did, it looked like this:

Fed Ex, what have you done? Murderer of fine chocolates! Why? Have you ever seen a greater chocolate tragedy?  This is not how DeBrand chocolates normally look when they arrive. However, there were a couple of chocolates still intact that had not succumbed to the Fed Ex chocolate torture chamber, so Valentine's Day dessert was saved.

And you should know that the DeBrand people are as classy as their chocolates. Henry emailed their customer service department with a picture of the chocolate disaster and told our tale of sadness and chocolate deprivation. A couple of hours later, the DeBrand customer service person responded, promising us a whole new box. And so look what we got today:

And they lived happily ever after.

My Favorite Valentine Story

In celebration of Valentine's Day and five years of blogging, here's my favorite Valentine's story, and yes, it's a repeat. And yes--he still gives me flowers, but not every week. But now I have him.

Growing Up

He's growing up, that boy of mine.

One night, after dinner, he asked, "Are we having devotions?" We usually do, but it was late, and we were all tired. "Not tonight," Henry said, and I expected a quick exit from the table, a sigh of relief, some sort of sign of approval. "Oh," he said, clearly disappointed. And so we pulled the Bible out and had devotions. What parent wants to disappoint a child by not reading the Bible after the evening meal?

And then there was the night he apologized for something that he needed to apologize for. No threats, no commands. An unsolicited apology.

And then there was the game where he had spent most of the evening on the bench, like he often does, hoping that a wide point spread in the fourth quarter would put him in the game. (It takes great courage to begin playing basketball when you're a junior in high school, but he did it.) His teammates were playing hard--they had played badly the first half, but in the second half, in the first couple of minutes, they finally began playing like they usually do, scoring about ten points and taking the lead away from the other team, leaving them in the dust. And the glory of it for my boy was that they did it--they actually came back. And so he had cups of water ready at time outs, pats on the back and hugs for those who returned to the bench for a rest. A son of encouragement who never got to touch the ball that night.

And then, on the way home from church one night, he told us that he wants to profess his faith publicly,  before God and the church--to say that he believes the doctrine of the Old and New Testament as taught in this church are the complete doctrine of salvation and to promise to continue in this for the rest of his life; to declare that he loves the Lord and desires to serve him and live a godly life; to submit to the government of the church.

He's growing up well, that boy of mine.

Flavel on Affliction

"Affliction is a pill, which, being wrapped up in patience and quiet submission, may be easily swallowed; but discontent chews the pill and so embitters the soul."

John Flavel, A Saint Indeed

Five

Blogger (on left) at five

Dear Blog,

Please forgive me for forgetting your fifth birthday last week. Five is important--all the fingers on one hand; the beginning of school (in the olden days of my childhood); learning how to read and ride a bike; naturally blonde hair achieved without treatment (see picture on the right); and super cool matching outfits with younger brothers.

And so it's nearly unforgivable that I missed your special day. You've seen me through so much--raising teenagers to nearly adults (but not there yet), dating, getting married, a new job, a new home. And you've given me a platform for important issues such as bad hymns, leggings, the difficulty of buying wedding stamps, blizzards, my aversion to Facebook and The Shack, and other vital matters affecting our world today.

Anyway, it has been a good five years, an eventful five years. And if I don't take you out nearly so often as  I once did, it's because I value you too much to waste just any thoughts on you--not that I used to waste thoughts on you.

But you and I both know that's a bunch of nonsense. The truth is, five years ago I spent most evenings alone and decided you were a better use of my time than watching American Idol or Lost. Now that I'm married, though I've found an even better companion than you--and even more entertaining than TV.
And yet I still do love you.

So happy fifth birthday, blog. Here's to many more!

His Own Gifts in Us

I can play the piano moderately well (I was much better back in high school and college when I was practicing a couple of hours every day). I am a good singer. I have been given a mind that likes to grapple with difficult concepts and ideas and master them--and then I am able to communicate those concepts to others, whether the others are in a kindergarten Sunday school class, a junior high grammar class, a high school literature class, or an adult women's Bible study.

But I don't have a lot of wealth. I'm not good at any kind of crafts or arts like sewing, knitting, crocheting, or even photo books. I'm not one of those warm people that others run to when they need to pour out their souls' sadness, when they're looking for comfort or sympathy. And I'm not very good at connecting with people on a deeper level. It takes me a long time to get to know another person, to open my heart to someone else and be able to share a deeper bond. These are all abilities and gifts that I don't have, but others do.

Google "spiritual gifts test," and you'll find plenty of options for figuring out what yours is and isn't. One of the great issues in the church is the matter of gifts: what mine is, how I can use it, if I truly have a gift in a particular area. Some people suffer great anxiety because their gifts just don't seem to be readily apparent, and they wonder if perhaps God forgot to give them one. Sometimes gifts can cause real problems in the church, like when someone feels like he or she is more important than others because of a particular gift he or she has. I've seen other cases where people think they have a particular gift--for music, teaching, leadership of some sort--but they really don't, so the rest of the body suffers while that person inflicts the body with his or her  "gift," because no one else has the courage to lovingly tell that person that he or she really should be rethinking what gift God has blessed him or her with.

My first husband was diagnosed with acute leukemia when he was 34 years old. He endured a series of horrific chemotherapy treatments, extended hospitalizations, a bone marrow transplant, and the knowledge from December 1995 to April 1996 that doctors had nothing left with which to treat him, that it was a matter of time until he would lose this battle of leukemia and die. As a young husband and father, Jon suffered physical and emotional pain, but he suffered them as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. I will never forget the day that a minister friend of ours encouraged us by telling us that our suffering was a gift to the church. I wonder how often the gift of suffering is the bottom line on a spiritual gifts test. And yet who of us hasn't been blessed by watching a godly Christian suffer well.

Which brings me to the thought I had today regarding gifts, and how it is that we often fail to think of them properly. We wish we had a different gift, we covet the gift that another person has, we underestimate or fail to develop the gifts we have, we withhold our gifts, we overestimate our abilities in certain areas, we fail to realize that something we're experiencing in our lives, like suffering, is, in fact, a gift. I'm currently editing a book of historic Reformed confessions, and an article in a seventeenth century Polish confession addressed the matter of gifts in the church. The confession makes the statement that the good things that we do are God's own gifts in us.We ought never to boast of anything because nothing is our own. As Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 4:7, we have nothing that we have not received.

And so if we have wealth, musical talent, leadership skills, organizational skills, teaching ability, even suffering--we ought not think of them as anything we've generated, as something that belongs to us that we take great pride in, although it is important that we nurture and develop God's gifts in us. These gifts aren't ours. If I can sing, that's God's gift in me, so there is nothing to boast about. I didn't generate that gift. And if we know someone who has been blessed with financial resources and great wealth, and we wish that were us, we're coveting God's gift in that person. We ought not resent others for the gifts they have, and we should have an attitude of thankfulness when they use those gifts to encourage the church. Understanding that whatever we have is God's gift in us takes away the anxiety of discovering it; God will reveal that gift as we serve him faithfully in the church. And we must not think of a gift as belonging to us, but rather as God's gift in us, given not to us, but to his church, for his own glory.