Global Warming

“And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to scorch men with fire. And men were scorched with great heat, and blasphemed the name of God, which hath power over these plagues: and they repented not to give him glory.” —Revelation 16:8-9

I decided last summer to put an end to some of my questions about global warming and read a number of books and articles on both sides of the debate. Like that fabled poet, I "frequented doctor and saint, and heard great argument..."

First off, it does seem that the earth is warming though it’s impossible to know if this is a cycle, or a trend leading to an extinction event. Only time will tell. (It was somewhat comforting to learn that 2020 was a bit cooler than 2014.)

Second, though we're putting more hydrocarbons into the atmosphere than in previous centuries, there's no evidence that these "greenhouse gasses" are necessarily the cause of global warming. That's a conclusion beyond science and the scientific method. 

So, like that poet, I, unconvinced either way, "came out by the same door as in I went." 

But, though I'm agnostic about global warming, I have one certainty: God makes earth's weather. Global warming, if it exists, is not anthropogenic (man-created), as they say. God controls earth's environment and uses it to get our attention. 

Whenever we're tempted to play God, he shows us we're not quite ready yet. Typhoons, tsunamis, tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, drought, catastrophic floods, and out of control forest fires make it obvious who's running the show. 

David Roper

11.19.21

The Vine

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away…” (John 15:1).

Jesus and his disciples were making their way through the Kidron Valley on their way to the Mount of Olives, passing through vineyards along the way. A simile sprang to Jesus’ mind: I am like a vine; my disciples are my branches; God, my Father, is the vigneron.

Jesus introduces the analogy with what appears to be a stern warning: “Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he (the Father) takes away…” This, at least, is the way most  versions render this verse.

I would suggest an alternate and more hopeful translation: “Every branch in me that does not bear fruit, he lifts up from the ground.” 

  

The words translated  “he takes away,” is one Greek verb that, in its fundamental sense, means “to lift (something) up.” (The early Latin versions of this verse translate the phrase with tollet, “he raises up.”)

In that culture vinedressers often found live branches that were firmly attached to the vine, but, having fallen off the treillage, were trailing in the dirt. First they took each leaf in hand and washed it down, wiping away the mud, mold and infestation. Then they “lifted it up” and attached the branch once again to the trellis, in fresh air and sunlight, away from vermin and grime.

So, Jesus assures us: Your Father will not “take you away” when you fall, even though you fall again and again. He is faithful and just to forgive you and cleanse you from all unrighteousness. He will “lift you up” that you may bear fruit—indeed much fruit—once again (15:2,3).

Mine is hope in my Redeemer

Though I fall, his love is sure

Christ has paid for every failing

I am His forevermore —CityAlight

 

David Roper

11.17.21

Augustine and His Kin

“What do people mean by being baptized on behalf of the dead? If the dead are not raised at all, why are people baptized on their behalf”  (1 Corinthians 15:29).

“I have no idea what this text means., Augustine wrote in a commentary on 1 Corinthians 15,and in reference to Paul’s phrase, “baptized on behalf of the dead."

To be Augustinian is to approach the scriptures with full awareness that we “know in part,” to never allow our certitude (how sure we are) to outstrip our certainty (how sure a thing is).

John Calvin, said, “Let this be our sacred rule: to seek to know nothing except what scripture teaches us; when the Lord closes his holy mouth, let us go no further.” Or, as Paul would say, let's not “go beyond what is written” (1 Corinthians 4:6).

I’m told that one evening after dinner at one of the Oxford colleges, a porter handed an English Lord his hat. “How did you know it was mine?” the Lord asked. “I didn’t,” the porter responded, “I just knew it was the one you came in with.”

Bully for him: A steady refusal to go beyond the facts.

David Roper
11.16.21

Working Together With God

 

"God reconciled us to himself throughChrist, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation…  In this way, we are working together with God" (2Corinthians 5:18, 6:1).  Imagine that you've been apprenticed to Michelangelo, the creative genius and celebrated Renaissance artist. You're a novice, but he has invited you to participate with him in painting "The  Creation of  Adam" on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Your assignment is to fill in a tiny portion of a fold in the drapery behind the form of the Creator.  So you work for hours, lying on your back on a rickety, wooden scaffold, 65 feet off the chapel floor, wet lime plaster falling on your face and irritating your eyes, knowing that no one on earth will acknowledge your contribution.  But you will have added to the beauty of the whole. The painting would be incomplete without you.   Paul makes a remarkable statement in the text above, one easily lost in the misplaced chapter heading: "So then, we are working together with God."  God alone has reconciled the world to himself in the Cross. Now he stands with arms wide open to receive all who will come. Yet, though he has done all to bring salvation to us, he has given you "the ministry of reconciliation," to those who come your way. The picture will be incomplete without you.  "But, I'm old," you say—or a house-bound invalid, a hard-pressed mother, a weary care-giver, a retired pastor with time on his, or her hands. “I'm out of the picture. What part can I play?" You can love and you can pray—mighty works as it happens, when you're working together with God. David Roper 11.10.22

Feed My Lambs

“Simon, son of John, do you love me? Feed my lambs…” (John 21:13)

In 1627, Samuel Rutherford penned a letter to Marion M'Naught, wife of William Fullerton, minister of a small Presbyterian church in Kirkcudbright, Scotland. Things were not going well for William, and he had few to "speak a good word" for him. He wanted God to "transplant" him to another place, perhaps a larger place where his gifts would be acknowledged and better utilized.

Rutherford wrote, "All God's plants, set by His own hand, thrive well. Ask of God a submissive heart. Continue for the love of the Prince of your salvation, who is standing at the end of your way, holding up in His hand the prize and the garland to the race-runners. Your reward shall be with the Lord, although the people be not gathered (as the prophet speaks); and suppose the work do not prosper...you shall not lose your reward.”

Though the people be not gathered, "continue for the love of the Prince of your salvation.” Shepherd His lambs. Teach, pray, listen to their bleating and love them. Do it because you love Jesus “who is standing at the end of your way, holding up in His hand the prize and the garland to the race-runners.” 

Though “the work do not prosper...you shall not lose your reward.”

David Roper
11.8.21

A Righteous Tree

Ancient Canaanite literature referred to evergreen trees as "righteous trees." (There's a reflection of that nomenclature in Isaiah 61:3 where the Servant of the Lord refers to the believing remnant of Judah as “trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD,") 

Evergreens don't drop their leaves and lose their shape in the winter, and they keep their verdure and foliage all year long. Thus in ancient times they were considered "righteous" because they always looked like trees—trees as trees are supposed to be.   

Righteousness these days is associated with fusty, finger-wagging prudes who are “good” in the worst sort of way, but ancient etymology belies that meaning: Personal righteous is "being what a man or women is supposed to be."

We all have vestigial memories of what we’re supposed to be. It’s that idea—it exists in the worst of us—that makes us want to be better.

C.S. Lewis (I think it was) once said that you can slap an alligator on the back and say "Be an alligator" and he will be unmoved by your entreaty. But clap a man on the back and say "Be a man"and he will know exactly what mean. (This was written before the age of gender sensitivity.) 

This is the righteousness that Jesus has promised to all who seek it and ask it of hm: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied" (Matthew 5:6). 

David Roper
11.4.21

Hope Floats

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things" (1Corinthians 13:7).

No human being is hopeless. Only demons are hopeless, for their character is fixed for all eternity. Everyone else deserves the benefit of doubt.

Love is a refusal to give up on others; to take failure as final. It sees promise and looks for progress, no matter how slight. It prays and hopes and waits for ultimate triumph through the grace of God. 

A friend of mine once mused that he'd rather have it said that he loved too many than that he loved too few. Indeed, we may love too many, be fooled by pretense and our hearts may be broken, but, it's better to be less like Lucy, and more like Charlie Brown.

David Roper
11.3.21