It was with joy that I read through this perceptive article by Dr. Wonsuk Ma. Dr. Ma is a Pentecostal scholar whose ministry experience was gained in four countries. A large portion of his spiritual and academic development grew in the Philippines where he and his wife were engaged in evangelism, church planting among mountain tribal groups, and heavy involvement with the Asia Pacific Theological Seminary. As a result of his enriching experiences, he developed a strong sense of what it means for Pentecostals to undertake ‘Mission in the Spirit’. Dr. Ma is both a skilled writer and teacher. Indeed, his insights serve as valuable resources to the wider Body of Christ.

This short article, focusing on the tragic examples of Samson and Saul, was motivated by the dire need to address the issue of moral failure in charismatic leaders. In particular, the question being explored is whether the intention of the Spirit’s presence includes both internal transformation as well as empowerment for external tasks. Dr. Ma sets out to prove that the internal working of the Spirit is no less important than the outward empowering. His goal in writing this article is to demonstrate through systematic examination of the stories that these heroes’ failure to receive the private and internal transformation of character led to their ministry failure.

Because this is a topic so close to my own heart, I was more than delighted to read what this scholar had to say. Though there are several other characters whose lives may have been examined, Samson and Saul were chosen because of the frequency in which the Spirit is mentioned in their stories (four positive mentions for Samson – Judg. 13:25; 14:6,19; 15:14, and ten mentions of ‘spirit’ for Saul: five refer to an evil spirit from God – 1 Sam. 16:15,16,23; 18:10; 19:9, two to the Spirit’s departure and opposition – 1 Sam. 16:14; 19:23, leaving three positive references – 1 Sam. 10:6,10; 11:6).

A great insightful from Dr. Ma is that these initial experiences of the Spirit with these men (Judg. 13:25; 1 Sam. 10:6-9) were:

1. more private than public, away from people,
2. with no enemy or danger coming against them, and
3. with no public exploit immediately undertaken.

Their primary experiences are described as Samson being ‘agitated’ and Saul was ‘turned into a different person’, and ‘having received another heart’. What does it mean to be made restless by the Spirit? What does it mean to have a new heart? The author uses a variety of cross references throughout scripture to shed much light on these phrases! Does not the Spirit grant radical inner change which cannot be attributed to human behavioral change?

How do these three observations carry meaning for us? Are our initial experiences of the Spirit meant to take us out of our comfort zones, open our eyes to a new way of perceiving the world around us, to make us more fully aware of our life’s calling and stir us towards it? Are these initial Spirit stirrings meant to cause us to enhance God’s giftedness, and to challenge us to submit to the process of character development? If that is truly the case, then the author correctly argues that divine success through us is dependent upon an appropriate response from us.

Similar stories of great men and women of God, who, like Luther, found little consolation amidst the darkest times of their lives, stir me and remind me that theological precision is a poor substitute for weathered faith. Life, it seems, has this annoying habit of knocking down our fragile, uncontested theological formulas like foul breath beating against a house of cards. Still we are troubled when we read about Luther, a champion theologian and accomplished composer, who was occasionally muted and numbed by personal tragedy. Nor is he an isolated example from church history. As we may recall that New England’s church leader, Cotton Mather, lost eight of fifteen children before reaching their second birthday. And if we are to add tragic marriages (John Wesley, William Carey) and constant illnesses (Charles Spurgeon, Mary Slessor) to the list of life’s tribulations, there would be no time left for the main point, which has been intentionally obscured until now. To the faithful pilgrim, there may be times in life when God alone has the answer for our grieving heart, and it may well be concealed until we pass beyond the veil of this life.

Image: Joshua Earle

I realize that this remark cuts across our American, have-it-your-way philosophy. Frankly, I don’t personally find these stories necessarily uplifting, but they are real and they remind us that death and sorrow are great equalizers while we sojourn on this planet. The first century Christians understood this truth all too well. Paul told the Corinthians of the many perils he faced constantly (II Cor. 11:23-29). The Hebrew author reminded his readers that faith is always rewarded, just not always in this life (11:35-39) as evident in the lives of past saints. Peter went even further, calling attention to our role as “aliens and strangers” (I Pet. 2:11) in this world. I take this to mean that we look to eternity for our ultimate hope, and not meaning that we forsake or despise our earthly, temporal existence. Even Jesus stated that, “in this world [we] will have trouble” (John 16:33a).

The stories we read from church history reinforce the notion that good and godly Christian people can often suffer inexplicably in this life. But having to wait for answers means that we must rely unconditionally on faith in God rather than the standard soapbox bravado and stereotyped propaganda-practices that are more deeply rooted in American business than the Bible. Of course we do not plan our “light and momentary troubles” (as Paul referred to them), but we expect good things from God and in this country we usually get them. But when difficult, even terrible times occur, it is best to remember that we are not entitled to always have a ready answer. Someday, God will “wipe every tear from [our] eyes. There will be no more death or mourning, or crying or pain, for the old order of things [will have] passed away” (Rev. 21:4). Faith is sufficient for the time being.

Copyright © 2003, Larry Taylor. Used by permission of the author.

by Pastor Mur

Most of us have heard the scripture that states “God so loved the world…” This means that God loves each of us. God loves you no matter where you are or what the circumstances of life that you may face.

I have a friend named Jack who is wheelchair bound. He broke his neck in a motorcycle accident twelve years ago, and will never walk or work again. I know a woman whose seven year old daughter was run over by a drunk driver. That little seven year old girl is now in her early thirties, and has been unable to function in any sense of that word for almost a quarter of a century. I know a chap who is dying with Aids and a man who has lost his leg to diabetes and others.

I am in regular touch with an inmate at one of our correctional facilities. He became a Christian in prison several years ago; his wife and children need him at home, and he wants to be the man that God wants him to be, but his last petition for parole was turned down. I know a hundred and more other folks who lived through similar tales of hurt, abuse, neglect, sickness, disappointment, betrayal, violation and every type of wound or horror that one can suffer.

If I had time to tell you the experiences of these several hundred, you would find that a common thread, a crimson thread, runs through all their stories. That thread is that they all cried out to God, seeking an answer to the question, “Why me?” and asking for relief from what they faced. A few can tell of instant miraculous deliverance from their dilemmas, but the great majority will tell us that God turned their tragedy into triumph as day followed day.

Scripture tells us to give thanks in all circumstances of our lives; that we are to rejoice in all things for they are the will of God for your life. Does that mean that God wills we experience tragedy and overwhelming losses? No, that is not what is intended here. God so loves us each of us that he allows us to choose our paths through life, to do what we want, and to pass on how our choices affect others. God’s will for each of us is what we will or want to do, and at times, the affect of time and chance, deserved or not, through which we all travel.

Marvin Olasky, The Tragedy of American Compassion (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books, 2008), 299 pages, ISBN 9781433501104.

Under review is the second unrevised edition of The Tragedy of American Compassion originally published in 1992. There is good reason for a second unrevised edition. The circumstances described by Olasky in this history of social work and charity in America as existing in 1992 remain much the same in 2008-10.

The title is derived from a phrase found on page 189 where Olasky writes of a “compassion fatigue” brought on by depersonalization. He identifies governmental bureaucracy in social work as contributing to the breakdown of personal involvement with the homeless and others in need. He quotes a social worker’s comment which appeared on page 17 of a February 8, 1971, Time magazine article: “…the paper work is just amazing … I have yet to solve any social problem.”

The author also noted a semantic shift over time from when compassion meant a personal act with another to a “feeling” requiring “a willingness to send a check” (p. 197). This, too, constituted a tragic breakdown of charity and personal social work in America.

The Tragedy of American Compassion is a chronological social history of compassion and caring in America from colonial times to the present noting the changes from a time of more personal involvement and action to the present situation of de-personalized help. A second stream of narrative in the book is the flow from discussions over who merits special attention as recipients of charity to full-blown arguments and policies over who merits care. The time when discussions turned into arguments was close to 1845. As the country’s urban areas became more populous and industrialized, those arguments got more energized and more developed as philosophical differences over private caring and governmental welfare. It went from “should we not do more” to universal indiscriminate welfare.

In chapter six Olasky lists what he identifies as “seven seals of good philanthropic practice.” These included Affiliation, Bonding, Categorization, Discernment, Employment, Freedom and God (page 101). Affiliation refers to family, ethnic ties, and church or synagogue. Bonding refers to the direct contact and personal relationship between volunteer and recipient. Categorization refers to identifying the type of help needed and what is worthy of relief. Discernment refers to the acknowledgment of any lurking deviousness or pretension in a person seeking help. Employment is self-explanatory but with a stipulation of “long-term” work. Freedom refers to the opportunity to work and worship without government restriction. God is the seventh seal on the social covenant of compassion.