The first Letter of John, filed among the ‘General Letters’ section near the end of the New Testament is an enigmatic, but hugely significant part of the Bible. At first glance its message seems very straightforward; but on closer inspection (as I discovered recently to my chagrin when I started preachng 1John) it is incredibly complex.

It is the unavoidable certainty in life; but also the great taboo. In the midst of life it is never far away; but many are afraid to contemplate it. Yet we find it in Scripture: a dark thread running all the way through its message.

‘What are the marks of a true church?’ is a question that has quite rightly occupied the minds of theologians through the centuries, because the history of the church is littered with many bodies that have claimed to be churches, but have so drifted from their moorings in Scripture that they are no longer genuine. But what marks should we be looking for to identify a church that is both true and faithful?

If we were to ask the question, ‘Which is the most significant prayer found in the Bible?’ the answer would almost certainly be, ‘the Lord’s Prayer’ and understandably so. This was the prayer Jesus taught his disciples in response to their request, ‘Lord, teach us to pray’ and it has become the prayer that has had the widest influence on the prayer life of the church both as a set prayer and a pattern for prayer. But it is worth pausing to reflect on another prayer recorded in the New Testament. One that may not be as widely appreciated, but which certainly has a depth of significance that goes much deeper than we often realise.

According to its introductory statement, Place for Truth is a forum for reflections on theology in its entire spectrum from biblical through to its practical expressions. In light of these parameters, I did wonder whether or not this particular reflection belongs here, or perhaps somewhere else. But, on balance, I think there is a place for it on the grounds that our theology is not defined merely by what it articulates, but how it shapes us. How we wear our theology says a lot about how well we have grasped it and to what extent it has grasped us.

There is more to being a preacher than preachers often realise. Biblically speaking it is the primary means by which God’s truth revealed in Scripture is to be propagated, not just to the church, but also throughout the world; but for it to be effective, we need to appreciate its twofold dynamic.

Given the frequency with which ‘the fear of the LORD’, or one of its variants, is mentioned in the Bible, it is more than a little unusual that so little seems to be said about it in the church today.

‘New Perspective’ has become something of a red flag in many Christian circles because of its associations with the so-called ‘New Perspective on Paul’. But if we allow one dubious doctrine linked to contaminate a phrase – however bad the guilt by association may be – we end up consigning a perfectly good expression to the garbage heap for no good reason. So, as we continue our mini-study of saving faith as it is examined in Psalm 73, let me make the argument that the essence of genuine faith is the fact it gives an altogether ‘new’ perspective on everything for those who exercise it. Or, to refer to the section from the Westminster Confession’s chapter on ‘Saving Faith’ cited in my previous post, faith that is genuine always ‘gets the victory’. But how does this come out in what the psalmist says in this important psalm?

What does it mean to be ‘Reformed’? Different things for different people, to be sure! For Arminian Dispensationalists it is an anathema. For some secular observers, it is the religious equivalent of being to the right of Genghis Khan. But even for those who call themselves ‘Reformed’ there is quite a spectrum of views. From the Hasidim version of the self-styled ‘TR’ brigade at one end, through to the ‘Young Restless and Reformed’ variety at the other. As Donald MacLeod might say, ‘For a Martian, this Reformed thing may seem a tad confusing!’

I came across one of those stories recently that are funny, but true. It was in a church on the island of Lewis in the Scottish Hebrides – probably the last place in the British Isles that still feels the lingering afterglow of a spiritual awakening that took place over half a century ago. Some who experienced what happened then are still alive and the culture on the island is still shaped to a degree by the impact it made.

‘Diversity’ has become one of the buzzwords in evangelical Christianity in recent times. At one level, this is a good thing, but at another its trendy inclusion may come at an unwelcome price. Just as a perfectly good adjective like ‘missional’ became a cover for some less than good theology, we can only hope the word ‘diversity’ does not become an umbrella word for a sociological rather than a theological agenda.

There has been a long-running debate in Christian circles generally and Reformed Christian circles in particular as to whether or not using images of Jesus in children’s Bible story books, or for illustrations in children’s talks, is a breach of the second commandment. It is a genuine debate, and, as with all debates it has two sides.

The temptations of Christ are recorded in three out of the four Gospels, so clearly they are meant to highlight a significant component of Jesus’ mission to save. But, despite their prominence in the Gospels, they have been subjected to a range of interpretations – some of which tend towards misinterpretation.

Over a year has passed since my family and I were forced to leave the US and return to Britain under rather unusual circumstances. We had moved to America in 2010 in response to a call from Proclamation Presbyterian Church in Bryn Mawr, PA for me to become its next Senior Pastor. Given that we had an adult daughter with severe learning difficulties, we had not made that move lightly, but had made extensive inquiries as to whether it would be possible for her to gain some kind of permanent resident status in the country. We were given assurances that this was the case, so we moved. As it turned out, within the first year we discovered things were not as straightforward as we had been told. And, despite the involvement of a congressman, a senator and three specialist immigration lawyers, our daughter’s application for some provision to remain in the country was denied and she was given five months to leave.

In our first piece in this mini-series on challenges faced by the church in the 21st Century we considered the challenge of getting the gospel out to those who need to hear it. The main thrust of this is, of course, the verbal and propositional communication of God’s message of redemption through his Son. It involves the very real need for those who articulate that message having a competent grasp of the gospel themselves. Or, to use the language of Peter, always being prepared to explain the reason for the hope they have (1Pe 3.16).

The season of Advent is once more upon us and the church around the world will soon be celebrating the birth of our Lord. It is a season of the year that has an interesting and uneven pedigree, not to mention a few curiosities and anomalies. Perhaps the greatest of the latter being that the focus on Bethlehem in relation to the incarnation of Christ has managed to obscure where the heart of this mystery really lies.

I was talking recently with a dear friend who has been going through significant housing issues with all the mental, emotional and spiritual turmoil that have come with them, when she interjected, ‘But then I realised, Jesus didn’t have a home.’ And she was absolutely right. Our Lord himself summed up his earthly experience with the words, ‘Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head’ (Lk 9.58).

For almost as long as I can remember as a Christian I have found myself musing on the question of what makes a good Bible translation. I grew up in a part of the world in which, for many professing Christians, this was simply a non-question There was only one ‘good’ version and it was ‘Authorised’! But I also happened to be the son of a minister who had come to the conviction that the New American Standard Bible was actually to be preferred over the KJV and that was the version he used both in private and in public.

There is something deep within the human psyche that longs to be ‘home’ – to be settled in a place where we belong. Yet for many it is a frustrated longing. For some because they are, by virtue of their circumstances, dislocated from where they want to be. It may be because of schooling, or the demands of work, they are always on the move. Or it may be for more tragic reasons: they have been driven from their home and are now refugees in someone else’s homeland. For others too, even though they may be physically ‘at home’, they live with a deep restlessness of soul because the reality of home life never seems to measure up to their ideals and expectations.

When the Banner of Truth Trust published the second volume of his Collected Writings in 1977, John Murray’s views on effectual calling sparked off animated debate in Reformed circles at that time. He challenged the formulation found in the Westminster Shorter Catechism that defines effectual calling as ‘the work of God’s Spirit’ (Q.31), preferring instead to see it as ‘the act of God the Father’ (p.166).

It’s the kind of question a child so often asks, but also the question that adults find so hard to answer; then again, it’s the question that pastors most dread facing. When someone has died and there is no indication they were ever converted, where do they go when they leave this world behind?

Life and relationships have become all too superficial in our present age. It is the easiest thing in the world to say we know someone and yet really have nothing more than a nodding acquaintance. Indeed with the influence of the media - television in particular - it is possible to see some famous personality on the street and instinctively feel that we know them, even though we have never even met them.

Having made comment about the limits of science, it is only appropriate that we acknowledge that the Bible also has its limits. That may come as a surprise to some sensitive Christian ears, but it is actually self-evident: the Bible does not pretend to say everything that can be said about everything! Its specific focus, as the Westminster Shorter Catechism helpfully reminds us, is to tell us ‘what man is to believe concerning God, and what duty God requires of man’. So there are many areas of history, geography, politics and much more besides on which it is either silent, or that it addresses from a very particular perspective.