In a 1960 episode of The Twilight Zone titled “King Nine Will Not Return,” World War II Capt. James Embry awakens on a desolate beach to find himself near a crashed airplane, his crew missing. As he tries to figure out what happened, he spirals toward insanity. Just then, futuristic (i.e., 1960-vintage) jets fly overhead and he realizes that he knows all about jet aircraft—though that is impossible.

The last scene has Embry lying unconscious in a hospital bed decades after the war. Two doctors in white coats and armed with charts are discussing his case and his delirious claims that today he has been back in the desert with his plane. We learn from the doctors’ conversation that during the war the captain had in fact declined that particular mission at the last minute, and that the crew who did go were all lost. The doctors reasonably ascribe the former flight leader’s incoherent ramblings to a long-festering guilt.

A nurse then comes by with the patient’s clothing and deposits them on a table. As she puts down the shoes, about a cup of beach sand spills out.

How do you know if something happened or if you dreamed it? C.S. Lewis writes in his book Miracles:

“In all my life I have met only one person who claims to have seen a ghost. And the interesting thing about the story is that that person disbelieved in the immortal soul before she saw the ghost and still disbelieves after seeing it. She says that what she saw must have been an illusion or a trick of the nerves. And obviously she may be right. Seeing is not believing. For this reason, the question whether miracles occur can never be answered simply by experience. Every event which might claim to be a miracle is, in the last resort, something presented to our sense. . . . And our sense are not infallible. . . .”

We already knew this, of course, from Luke 16, in which Abraham told the rich man in hell, who asked him to send his brothers on earth a visitor from the other side, that his brothers would not believe, even if someone should come to them from the dead.

In chapter 4, I used to think it quaint that Joshua had the Israelite leaders of the 12 tribes extract 12 rocks from the middle of the Jordan River while its waters were still pulled back from flood stage, to raise them as a lasting testimony of the incident of the crossing. Isn’t that so Old Testament?

But just imagine this: Some years hence, some Eliab ben Nethanel ben Shelumiel ben Ammishaddai who has rejected his parents’ religion and run off with the family goat to start a new life in Amnon will perchance stop at the Jordan River to rest. And the sight of a stack of rocks will catch his eye. And he will inquire of one of the townspeople, “What do these stones mean . . ?” (verse 6).

“[T]hen you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever” (verse 7).

All through the Twilight Zone episode we are not sure whether the captain is sane or is imagining things. The sand spilled from the shoes settles the matter. It really did happen.

To hear commentaries by Andrée Seu, click here.

The last time I posted here I subjected you to a couple of my home movies. Now I’m the first to know I don’t have one ounce of video expertise. I never even owned a video camera until three weeks ago! I like to think I’m getting better, but only time (and someone really objective—that is, my husband) will tell.

As I’ve carried my little camera around capturing footage everywhere I go, I’ve caught a lot of life on film—the good, the bad, the ugly, the frustrating, the hilarious, and the mundane. All the raw footage resides in iMovie on my iMac right now, but most of it will eventually make its way to the trash can, never to see the light of day.

Ah, the edit function. It isn’t that I don’t want to portray an accurate picture of life as we know it, it’s just that I don’t particularly want to showcase my own sin (or the sin of my children) for the world to see. It is a really great thing to draw the edit box around the 30 seconds of someone’s squabble and just hit delete. Presto! Sin gone!

Oh, if only life were that way. As it is, I have no edit function for the multitude of math struggles and the rest of life’s daily irritations. I can’t drag a yellow box around the things I wish were different and hit delete (even though I really wish I could).

But even if I could edit out my bad behavior, Scripture teaches that I still need a Savior. I wouldn’t see my need for a savior if I could deal with my sin myself. I wouldn’t view my kids as less needy of grace if I could edit out their sinful struggles. I wouldn’t pray and depend on God if I could just move my garbage to the trash can on my own.

Rest assured, I don’t see sin as God’s “gift” to me to learn to depend upon him more—James tells us that God does not tempt (though he does test). But I do see my lack of real-life editing skills as further proof for my desperate need for an editor—the Editor—with His skilled eye focused on editing my story into His, which is the greatest story ever told.

The name of His editing program? Sanctification.

In reading chapter 3, I did a double take at verses 15 and 16, as the inspired narrator was describing the million-man crossing of the Jordan River into the Promised Land:

“. . . as soon as those bearing the ark had come as far as the Jordan, and the feet of the priests bearing the ark were dipped in the brink of the water (now the Jordan overflows all its banks throughout the time of harvest), the waters coming down from above stood and rose up in a heap very far away, at Adam. . . .”

I have almost no memory of hearing about the miraculous crossings of the Israelites (first of the Red Sea and, 40 years later, the Jordan River) without simultaneously hearing the miraculous element cut out of it by well-meaning teachers. From childhood they gave with one hand and took away with the other. Scientists had discovered, they told us, the natural causes that had allowed a band of nomads to cross these watery barriers.

A typical explanation: Naum Volzinger, a senior researcher at St. Petersburg’s Institute of Oceanography, and Alexei Androsov, a fellow researcher in Hamburg, Germany, have analyzed the conditions that would have made possible the parting of the Red Sea. They have calculated that a 67-mile-per-hour wind sustained for several hours could have exposed an underlying reef that would have served as a footpath for the peripatetic Semites.

The version of choice in my school happened to be that the Red Sea dwindles to a trickle at some times of the year, thus making for plausible passage. The condescending implication, as I understand it, is that a miracle of good timing is still a miracle. (And I, for one, can appreciate that since I have trouble enough timing my potatoes to be ready with my roast.)

Similarly, we are told not to be disheartened that the miracle of the loaves and fishes (Matthew 14:13-21) was not really a literal multiplication of victuals but rather that the people’s hearts were moved to share their lunch bags with their neighbors. That’s pretty cool, too (but not to an 8-year-old).

I would think, however, that the logic of 14th century William of Ockham still applies: “Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate” (Entities should not be qualified unnecessarily). The best explanation for an occurrence is the simplest and most straightforward, all things being equal. If you are going to tell me I can keep my miracle, may as well let me keep the miracle the way the Bible narrator told it.

But I have never before noticed the parenthetical editorial comment in Joshua 3:15: “now the Jordan overflows all its banks throughout the time of harvest.” It is as if the Lord saw Volzinger and Androsov and my Enlightenment child elementary school teacher coming and decided to obviate any way of diminishing His glory: “Yo! The Jordan is always overflowing at this time! Your Enlightenment explanation is not likely.”

That leaves us with a take-it-or-leave-it choice about God and His Word. As C.S. Lewis put it in God in the Dock:

“Do not attempt to water Christianity down. There must be no pretense that you can have it with the Supernatural left out. So far as I can see, Christianity is precisely the one religion from which the miraculous cannot be separated. . . .”

To hear commentaries by Andrée Seu, click here.

I’m sorry, but Rahab the harlot has always reminded me of the noble, bighearted saloon girls in the 1950s TV westerns. There was always one; her name was usually Kitty. A few of the local rowdies would predictably be goading a down-on-his-luck cowhand, and Kitty would take his side and give them a piece of her mind.

Rahab is strong like that—clear-minded and quick-thinking, too. She has heard the rumors of an encroaching military force and sees the handwriting on the wall. Devoid of over-sentimentality, due to the nature of her profession, she soberly takes stock of her situation and acts. She tells the spies: “I know that the Lord has given you the land . . .” (verse 9). Oh, would that the people of God had such assurance of faith!

Her decisive steps to save herself from destruction are as good a picture of a biblical conversion as there is. Not much in the way of deep love for God is required on the ground floor; it is enough to see danger and flee to Him. “. . . Save yourselves from this crooked generation” (Acts 2:40). “. . . [F]lee from the wrath to come” (Luke 3:7).

God is the most humble of husbands. He takes as his lover a person whose motive for union is at first pure self-interest and is content to let the relationship develop over time. There is a sense in which salvation is a stark and unromantic business transaction—a covering with the blood of Christ in exchange for my white-flag surrender.

The writer of Hebrews is impressed enough to list Rahab among the likes of Abraham and Moses in the “hall of faith.” Joshua 6:17 has a more down-to-earth description of her accomplishments: “. . . she hid the messengers whom we sent.” Who would have thought that prosaic act merited such accolades? You have done something like that yourself every time you sent a check to a missionary, or allowed yourself to be interrupted by someone because you thought God would like that.

Bible teacher Beth Moore suggests for homework that you add your own name to Hebrews 11, with your name filled in after the words “By faith. . . .” Let’s see now: By faith Jane gave a hug to Sally today, even though she knew she might be rejected.

To hear commentaries by Andrée Seu, click here.

I told my sister-in-law Aline that there is so much of the Old Testament I don’t understand. She said: Just ask the Lord for one thing in each chapter. Surely even the census lists of Numbers and the bad advice of Bildad in Job impart spiritual value, if you look for it.

As I happen to be in Joshua in my private devotions, let us test Aline’s proposition here. If the gambit proves successful, we will come away with 24 words from the Lord, the better to know him, obey him, and enjoy him.

I would be very dense indeed not to see the emphasis of chapter 1, as it is commanded four times: “Be strong and courageous” (verse 6), “Be strong and very courageous” (verse 7), “Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened” (verse 9), and “Only be strong and courageous” (verse 18).

I say “commanded” as a reminder to myself that this is an order, not a sweet nothing in my ear, as I am prone to make of it. I have done this same injustice to many an imperative in Scripture. “Do not be anxious about anything,” Philippians 4:6 insists, and I have received it as treacly sentimentality—and not obeyed.

Israel under Joshua is being told to do something totally beyond herself—to go in and take possession of a land of giants and fortified city states (Numbers 13). Where man lives beyond himself is where God most shines. God is best glorified in the differential between our natural ability and the size of the objective. For instance, “Love your friends” is reachable by most folks, but “Love your enemies” is out of reach for people “behaving only in a human way” (1 Corinthians 3:3).

The word rendered “be strong” is the Hebrew “chazaq.” It is the same word used in 1 Samuel 30:6 where it is translated “David encouraged himself [literally made himself strong] in the Lord.” How do you “make yourself strong” in a scary situation? Well, you can always “Whistle a Happy Tune,” like the song says. Or you can lie to yourself. Or you can speak truth to yourself.

A missionary I know was filled with dread about a transfer to Germany and didn’t know why. She then realized that it was because her father, a German, had berated her since childhood, and now she unconsciously feared 82,000 replicas of him telling her she would never amount to much. She told me she decided to preach the truth to herself about how much God values her, and it strengthened her. She said, “A lie is still a lie, even if you’ve been believing it for 40 years; and the truth is still the truth, even if you’ve been believing it for only two weeks.”

Here is some truth Joshua preached to himself:

1. “I have given [the land] to you” (verse 3). This is a past participle verb. That is, it’s a done deal in heaven; now just bring it forth “on earth as it is in heaven.”
2. “The Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (verse 9). The thought of God being with his people should be our confidence, as it is our enemies’ terror (Genesis 21:22-24; 26:28). When God goes “with” you (verse 9), it’s not like your friend Harry going “with” you on a trip. Harry is just company; God is power and protection.

This is true whether the conquest is the Old Testament takeover of land or the New Testament takeover of land. Land is involved in both cases—a repossession of territory from the enemy. Just as the devil was sitting on Israel’s physical inheritance, he sits on our spiritual inheritance. Warfare should be our all-consuming passion as it was our ancestors’. I don’t see much difference between Joshua 1 and Matthew 28:18-20.

The convicting question is: Are we of the new age army really up for it? Do we get up in the morning bent on warfare, determined to “take captive every thought” and “put to death” every unholy desire? Or is Ephesians 6 just talk?

To hear commentaries by Andrée Seu, click here.

Our culture is obsessed with Halloween, to the tune of five billion dollars a year. This is not a sign of cultural health. Nevertheless, here is a Halloween-worthy piece of art found in the St. Louis Art Museum.

Lovers Surprised by Death is certainly not cute like kittens or pretty like a sunset. However, this piece is useful for discussing the reality of death and the need for spiritual preparation in this life.

The artist is Hans Burgkmair (1473-1531), a German painter and woodcutter during the beginning period of the Protestant Reformation. Burgkmair most likely was a student of the great Albrecht Dürer, who gave financial support to the German reformers. Burgkmair witnessed momentous religious, political, and social upheaval. Near the end of his life, he observed the “Peasant’s War,” which saw the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of fellow Germans.

Although Burgkmair is not widely known, Lovers Surprised by Death has enjoyed popularity—in spite of the macabre scene it depicts.

What is the message of this piece?
First, there exists a spiritual world. In the picture, the buildings are real. The woman and the soldier are real. And the skeletal, winged creature—death personified—is real. The picture brings an artistic visibility to the reality of the invisible spiritual world. Philosophers debate and skeptics scoff, but the reality of a spiritual world forms the foundation of any Christian worldview. Denying that unseen things are real is to deny the very existence of the spiritual world—to deny the very existence of God.

Second, the painting depicts death opening the throat of the soldier in order to pull out his soul. How creepy, and yet, the point is made—to be human is to have a soul. Mountains of books have been written debating this point, but the Bible is clear on this point. Jesus said, “And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matthew 10:28).

Third, death awaits all of us, and no one escapes. One of Satan’s original lies was, “You will not surely die” (Genesis 3:4). However, just two chapters later we read the genealogical record with the repetitive phrase, “and he died,” striking us with the reality that to be born is to begin to die. And there is no reincarnation. “And just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment” (Hebrews 9:27).

But why is there death in a God-created world? The woodcut depicts a soldier and a young woman in the streets of a wealthy city—perhaps Venice or Florence in Italy. They come with the title, “lovers.” You can decide for yourself, but many have interpreted this as a depiction of an illicit pair of lovers, maybe even a soldier with a prostitute. If so, this leads us to a fourth point of observation. Physical death is a direct consequence of sin – a punishment for disobedience against God.

Genesis 3:16 says, “And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” When sin entered the world, spiritual and physical death entered too.  “For the wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23).

Fifth, death is often unexpected. The lovers do not look like they had anticipated death – it has taken them by surprise. In Jesus’ parable about the rich man who boasted about the future, God said, “Fool! This night your soul is required of you” (Luke 12:20).

You may be thinking, “I am young and physically fit. Death is not knocking on my door.” Take another look at the woodcut. Both of the lovers are young and full of vitality. The soldier is muscular. But death is no respecter of age, for some die young and some die old.

Nor will physical beauty keep death away. The woman being grabbed by death is in the prime of her physical beauty. But beauty is fleeting. Once death arrives, will it make any difference that you are now considered beautiful or handsome?

Nor will money keep death away. Listening to Solomon, one of the world’s wealthiest men who ever lived, there is “a time to be born, and a time to die” (Ecclesiastes 3:2). Money and riches will not prevent the advance of death, nor does it prepare one for the world to come.

The woodcut depicts a wonderful city of beautiful architecture, a gondola floating in a canal, and decoration adorning the columns. However, wealth and prosperity offer no refuge from death. King Belshazzar feasted with golden goblets the very night God judged him and brought on his death (Daniel 5).

In conclusion, after enjoying this piece of art and considering its message, what is an appropriate response? We must be spiritually prepared for death by trusting in the One who conquered death (Acts 2:24). Only through Jesus Christ will we find spiritual life after physical death (1 Corinthians 15:22; John 3:16).

Furthermore, having been saved by Christ, we must not fear death (2 Corinthians 5:8). Because of His life, death, and resurrection, we can be kept in the love of God for all eternity (Philippians 1:21; Romans 8:38). There is coming a day when death, pain, and sorrow will be wiped away by all who know and are known by Christ (Revelation 21:4).

Finally, in response to the life we have been given in Christ, we must live for Him and tell others the gospel and life He offers (Romans 12:1-2; Matthew 28:19-20).

Since the rumor is that I don’t read the posted comments here, I will quote (with permission) an email I received from a reader. Writing initially to comment on my magazine essay “Control That Tongue,” this man went on to say:

“Now I wish you’d write something about control of the eyes. I don’t know how it affects women, but men need some inner backbone on this subject, too. And someone needs to point out for women the desperate need for modest apparel. Too low at the neck, too high at the hem (if there is one), and too tight up and down—it all cheapens the woman (“strutting her stuff,” so to speak), and makes men’s lives miserable. . . .”

It was the word “miserable” that got to me. I hadn’t heard that adjective used in connection with women’s attire in so long that I thought it wasn’t true anymore. I thought that society had evolved beyond all that Cro-Magnon stuff and now it was merely benignly pleasurable for men to see the “décolletage” that has become as common as ear buds. Reality check!

“I’m in my mid 60s, and I fight this battle every single day, and it is not fun. It’s warfare, and not only in the secular workplace. Even my dear Christian sisters in the Lord are for the most part clueless! And there’s no way to educate them that I know of, because the reaction would be to cry bondage or legalism, or worst of all, ‘What’s wrong with you, man?’ There is nothing wrong with me. I am just a man, struggling every day to keep myself pure, just as the Bible says, ‘The holiness without which no man shall see the Lord.’

“. . . I’m not sure I speak for all men in these matters. I suspect I’m describing the great majority; but it seems as if some are calloused to it, and others may have actually ‘taken their sins into their hearts’ and are living in more or less low-level lusting as a matter of course. I don’t want to get into the ditch of painting all men with the same brush, or the other ditch of excusing ungodly (mental) behavior either. My battles are my own. But having talked with other men, I know that most if not all are similarly affected. In fact, with my counseling of young men, I sometimes tell them the ‘good news’ that there’s victory; but follow it with the ‘bad news’ that it never gets easier, whatever one’s age.”

Note to my gender: We have not cared enough about men, and our guilt is great. “For it is necessary that temptations come, but woe to the one by whom the temptation comes” (Matthew 18:7). If we thought plunging necklines were harmless, a cultural fad; if we sold ourselves the notion that ubiquity made for desensitization; if we deceived ourselves into believing that the game of “entice and deny” was fun for them—let us be sure that this one man’s letter represents thousands. What was lust for thousands of years is still lust. What was cruel for thousands of years is still cruel.

A word from the Lord may suggest just what the doctor ordered:

“Do not rebuke an older man but encourage him as you would a father, younger men as brothers, older women as mothers, younger women as sisters, in all purity”(1 Timothy 5:1-2).

Sanctification begins in the mind. Next time we’re standing by the water cooler, sisters, and engaged in conversation with a colleague of the male persuasion with whom we are tempted to flirt and preen, how about if we pretend that he is our brother, or father. I would not be surprised if this new mental habit proves enormously helpful in curbing the cruelty.

To hear commentaries by Andrée Seu, click here.

The other day I was at my computer when I heard someone coming up the stairs with great effort. Chains rattled. Heavy items dropped. Every few seconds a boy sighed in frustration, groaning with effort.

Looking over the balcony I saw my 5-year-old, Cooper, standing two steps from the top of the staircase. Behind him, trailing almost to the bottom of the stairs, was a collection of items—pillowcases full of toys, a laundry basket full of pillows, several large stuffed animals, and a wide assortment of metal trucks. Everything was tied together with bits of rope, and bungee cords. Pieces of chain and several padlocks hooked the contraption around his stomach.

It was a reenactment of the scene from the movie The Mission, when Mendoza, who has just killed his brother, pulls a net full of his weapons and armor up Iguazu Falls as his penance for the evil deed. At one point, seeing him struggle, one of the priests cuts the rope and drops the net down the mountain. Mendoza goes down, picks it up, reties it, and heads back uphill, slipping, struggling, and groaning with his effort.

He finally arrives at the mission, where a man from the tribe cuts the ropes, symbolically releasing him from his burden.

I asked Cooper why, if it is so heavy and causing him such pain, he is dragging his load around. “Because,” he says, not understanding it himself. On some level he’s enjoying the pain. It makes him feel strong, exerting himself like that, pushing himself to the limit.

A couple of days later, he’s done. He comes to me crying. We untie all the knots, undo the bungee cords, and put the basket back in the laundry room. He returns to his play with the vigor of a newly released prisoner.

We carry heavy bags into our lives. They hold us back, burdening and oppressing us. Pain notwithstanding, we hold on. Like someone once said to me, “I like getting the sin scoured out of me with a wire brush.” We feel terrible carrying the load, but at least we’re doing something.

In one bag, we hold deep emotional hurts that scrape our legs and bow our backs: Hard childhoods. Loveless relationships. Disappointments. Unrealized dreams. Grudges.

We carry another—this one a net of lies: “I’ll never lose weight.” “No one will ever marry me.” “God is so far away.” “Nothing will ever change.”

Our last bag is heaviest, held onto with white-knuckles. Guilt. Faithlessness. Anger. Bitterness. Despair.

We forget that God has cut the chains. Perhaps the wire brush hasn’t caused enough bleeding for us to feel forgiven.

Daily reminders of the truth are essential: His burden is easy. His yoke is light. Anything other than that is self-imposed penance, the exhausting haul up a rocky mountain loaded down with a weight He already freed us from. Tumbling down the hillside is a net full of many things, one of which is a wire brush.

“. . . my chains are gone. I’ve been set free. My God, My Savior has ransomed me. And like a flood, His mercy rains. Unending love, amazing grace . . .” (Chris Tomlin).

“For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:4-5).

I used to think this verse was talking mainly about the formal and philosophical business of apologetics in defending the Scriptures against heresies. That suited the devil just fine, since I hardly ever do formal apologetics.

But God has been showing me that the “arguments” the verse is referring to—those that I am to “destroy”—are first of all my own “arguments.” They are the cacophony of voices that I hear in my head all day long that tell me that I am worthless or that I am better than someone or that I cannot be happy unless X, Y, and Z are in place. They are my unbiblical theories and strategies about life and relationships that I somehow continue to put credence in even while believing myself to be submitted to the Word of God. I didn’t even recognize these things as demonic (but see James 3:15 on “demonic”). They are the endless “What ifs” that paralyze action, and the bottomless churning cesspool of “What can go wrong” that choke every potential act of faith. They are the habitual and hardly conscious rebuttals of doom to every attempt of a brother to encourage me.

Like the penny arcade batting practice where you put in your token and it keeps hurling baseballs at you, the heart lobs one “argument” after another in objection to the peace and joy and faith that God has for us, and that should be the normal “fruit of the Spirit.” (It’s normal for a tree to have fruit. If it doesn’t, something is wrong with the tree and we need to get to the root of it.)

The interminable bemoaning of my weakness and sinfulness to anyone who will listen and the constant stroking of regret (Bonhoeffer calls it the “idolatry of guilt”) all need to be “destroyed.” They have the appearance of humility but get us nowhere.

It has to end right now. The tapering off approach won’t do. And this is how I will do it: I praise God this minute for everything I can think of—His love, my salvation, the measure of faith I do have, the hope of “increase,” and anything else I can possibly construe as a gift. Out loud, if necessary.

Someday I may come across a certified heretic, and when that happens I hope I will be able to “destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.” But in the meantime, I have enough to do in my fixer-upper of a heart, giving a workout to 2 Corinthians 10:4-5 at home before I unleash myself in the grand salons of apologetics.

Spiritual warfare, anyone?

To hear commentaries by Andrée Seu, click here.

Last weekend I spoke at a retreat, and after the talk I did the smartest thing I’ve ever done at such an event. I bagged the scripted Q&A time and asked the women—whoever were willing—to tell the group either about how they came to Christ, or some other special encounter with the Lord. It turned out to be the best part of the weekend.

A testimony does something that a sermon doesn’t generally do. It takes the preaching of the Word a step further by showing its incarnation in the life of a person. The good sermons do that too, of course. While the heavy lifting of a sermon is considered to be the exposition of the Word and its principles, the preaching of the Word includes its application—and blessed is the pastor whose life of faith has generated testimonies to share, and who need not rely on stale quotes from Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations or eSermons.com.

But if you scratch the surface at retreats, you find stories aplenty. For we all have the Spirit and we all have testimonies. And at this point I am almost lapsing into quoting Paul in 1 Corinthians 14, where he describes how your average, run-of-the-mill worship service should go when “the whole church comes together” (v.23):

“When you come together, each one has a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation. Let all things be done for building up. . . . Let two or three prophets speak, and let the others weigh what is said. If a revelation is made to another sitting there, let the first be silent. For you can all prophesy one by one, so that all may learn and be encouraged . . .” (verses 26, 29-31).

I would like to know one thing: Why don’t we “let all things be done for building up” in our modern worship services? I would like to know who had the authority to rescind that practice established in the Word, and what was the reasoning of the authors of the “regulatory principle” who left it out. In doing so they left out a means of encouragement and overlooked a principle of reciprocity by which the preaching of God’s Word is made complete by the antiphonal response of His people.

I should amend this. Not all churches neglect the pattern of 1 Corinthians 14.

I have seen it practiced in just enough congregations to know that I’m not crazy.

To hear commentaries by Andrée Seu, click here.