Can we surprise God? I’m on a journey to answer this question because I think how we answer it radically shapes every moment of our lives. Join me! @thatdankent
Podcaster Nick Loper once confessed: “I thought I liked cashews, until we got some unsalted ones. Turns out I just like salt.”
A similar epiphany happened to me. I thought I liked theology and Bible study. I downloaded sermons, listened to lectures, and read books-too-big-for-backpacks. I even earned a master’s degree from @BethelSeminary.
Many folks bound into seminary with a song on their lips, only to limp away clinging—if they’re lucky—to a fraction of the faith with which they came.
I didn’t lose my faith in seminary.
My faith grew.
Why I found profit while others found loss, I don’t know. Even basic explanations come out sounding patronizing, or like humble-bragging.
Say I point to a simple and impersonal truth, like: seeking God is hard. Notice how this implies that my success came from superior effort: I worked hard enough to overcome the challenge. And notice how this also pins failure to insufficient effort of those others: they were not up to the challenge.
But none of that is true. I doubt I worked harder than anyone.
Me, I blame seminary itself. I don’t mean Bethel Seminary—which I adored—I mean seminary in general. Seminary is doomed to disappoint. You pass through the doors expecting a lively journey, but instead you encounter cryptic scriptures, tedious commentaries, and abstruse debates about how the shape of an accent mark might affect translation. You Betty-Boop into the room expecting a path of rapturous light, but instead it feels like hours and hours of milking flies.
I thought I liked theology. It turns out I just like finding God. I like the gust of relief when I disarm a menacing doubt. I like the swell of euphoria when I comprehend why the good news is actually good—and why it's actually news. I like the boost of conviction when I come to trust more and more the promises of God.
One promise in particular stokes my levity most. Paul tells the Corinthians:
“For we are the temple of the living God; as God said, 'I will make my dwelling among them and walk among them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people’.” (2 Corinthians 6:16)
I carried this charming promise with me into seminary. God will dwell with us. We’ll hear him approaching in the cool of the day. We’ll know what we know by pure perception—no Bibles, no theology. Immediate and intimate observation, little more. That charming promise kept tickling me and nudging me throughout my seminary studies.
It also kept my expectations sober. A promise is a pending thing. "God will dwell with us." That moment still hangs somewhere out of reach, up in the air. We’re not yet there.
For now, while we wait for that great day, our work is more constructive than observational. We build our picture of God in the workshop of our minds. We each cobble together a forensic sketch from imperfect sources. We go to the gospels and study the wild testimonies of unexceptional people, written in languages few of us know. We debate our perspectives with fallible scholars and we propound our pictures against theirs.
Yes, we have the Holy Spirit, but we must strain to hear his whispers and soft guidance. And all of this we do in a world that looks far more demonic than godly.
I’m surprised we find any traces of light at all.
I carry on because I know this work is not the thing itself. I do not expect rapturous light or euphoric theophanies.
I carry on knowing whatever we can find on a path toward a great promise will always thump dull relative to the expectations of what's to come.
Bobby Jamieson argues that humans are not autonomous since they depend on forces outside themselves for survival, and because they did not create themselves and cannot sustain themselves.
@thatdankent exposes problems with Jamieson's claim.
Episode 49
https://t.co/eHsR4K2SdM
William Lane Craig beautifully describes the vertigo experienced when contemplating determinism. Dan Kent asks whether conteplating free will might create an obverse vertigo.
Episode 47
https://t.co/xtNXaZSi85
The chapter is called "God Gives." It's about the God who "set before you the way of life & the way of death."
This theme is known as "The Two Ways" tradition.
This scriptural theme makes no sense with compatibilist notions of free will. God gives us—incompatibilist—free will.
Paul Eddy claims the debate about God's foreknowledge is an opinion-level debate, not a doctrine-level debate.
Do you agree?
Here the rest of the discussion HERE: https://t.co/R6h99Qzjox
Is Open Theism the Only View that Makes Sense of Sabbath?
Calvin says everything that happens is because God brings it about. God never rests. But Sabbath is to rest. How can a God who does everything rest? Dan discusses…
Episode 45
https://t.co/ZTfRPLEZjV
Grab your favorite brand of spinach and join @thatdankent as he explores 1 Corinthians 15:10. Paul says he is what he is because of God’s grace. Does this mean everything Paul is-and-does is actually God doing it? Dan discusses.
Episode 43
https://t.co/ec9B7iYbTk
Much of this piece was a chunk removed from my book.
They call it "writing," but they should call it "cutting."
My draft is at 52,000 words.
My file of cut sections is at 54,000 words.
R.C. Sproul and I both fell in love with the Bible because of a serendipitous encounter with Ecclesiastes. But, wow, did our paths diverge from there . . .
(12 minute read)
ON SEEING MORE IN SCRIPTURE THAN WHAT WE BRING
https://t.co/NwW4vwZC4n
What Does Grammar Say About God?
Dan Kent tries to show why grammar might be more interesting than your school teachers led you to believe.
(Episode 42)
https://t.co/5M8NK9eB16
What does Jesus mean in John 15:5 when he tells his disciples: "apart from me you can do nothing"? Does that mean God does everything through us?
Episode 39
https://t.co/ncO9DfqXyY