Too many of TULIP’s terms are misleading and easily caricatured; they end up misrepresenting the Canons of Dort and giving a distorted impression of Reformed theology.
Surely we are not left with just two stark options of hypermasculine men who behave badly or emasculated, effeminate men.
In a culture drowning in conflict, there is simply nothing more beautiful, needful, or relevant than the reconciling power of the gospel and a people willing to live in light of it.
My evangelistic challenges don’t end with casual friends and strangers. I’m better at sharing the reasons for my hope with people close to me. Still, some of the people I care most about care hardly at all about Jesus. They’re good people. They often love their neighbors in ways I fail to. They just don’t engage with Jesus or his church.
How could you sleep at night knowing the other schools in your area are more open and welcoming to all the king’s children than your school is, even if those other schools don’t acknowledge each child’s royal status?
To bear out our faith in public life and policy with neighbors who do not all share our religious convictions is to walk a minefield. Yet walk it we must, for to stay home is a political commitment too. Discernment is of the essence.
We had just crossed the border from Michigan into Ontario. I was driving a van filled with seven college student worship leaders, and one of the guys piped up, “It’s two hours till we're back on campus. I’d like everyone to name their favorite Bible verse and explain why it matters to you.”
The restorative justice movement began with Mennonite Christians in search of a better response to crimes. They started with a biblical understanding of justice and shalom, centered in the need for accountability, reconciliation, and peace.
If biblical justice is a movement that restores broken relationships, then our pursuit of justice is as much about everyday acts of courage and conviction as it is about those dramatic—and intimidating—moments of history.
Nobody imagined what would happen as the result of Ruth gleaning in Boaz’s field.
If we believe that God has already inaugurated his reign and rule, then the primary way to unlock the power of the Holy Spirit is through our believing actions.
We know the gospel writers are only rubbing our noses in human limitations because they are setting us up to watch God blow those limitations out of the water.
Understanding the books of Kings and Chronicles may help us navigate today’s challenging political climate.
In this Lenten season, when words slip and crack under the weight of our pain or under the weight of glory, I am thankful for the freedom to groan as in the pains of childbirth.
What the story of Uriah and Bathsheba tells me is that none of our stories is lost to God. There is a reckoning for Uriah and Bathsheba. God has not forgotten what happened to them, not in 3,000 years. And God does not forget your story either.
Let’s recognize the Canons of Dort for what they are: not a summary of Reformed theology, or even a full account of election, but a crucial clarification of some key issues that matter as much now as they did 400 years ago.
The Heidelberg Catechism is the most popular, most loved catechism of many that emerged from the Reformation. But it is over 450 years old. Does it still speak to our churches—and to each of us—today?
Since the creation of the world we have depended on plants to sustain and nourish our bodies.
From beginning to end, Our World Belongs to God testifies that God is fully present and involved in our lives.
Elders should think of visits with congregants less as a “spiritual check-up” and more as an opportunity to attest to Christ’s presence.
How does our Christian faith enable us to carry on when hope seems lost?
The Belgic Confession clearly has a powerful early history. But does it have any lasting significance for our churches today? Is it more than a historical document established as one of the three confessional standards of the Christian Reformed Church? In what ways does the Belgic Confession still speak to us today?
One of the most important theological distinctions—a distinction with vast implications for how we understand God, our world, and ourselves—is the difference between the God who pushes and the God who pulls.
How can we be intentional in teaching our children to serve rather than to be served, to look outward instead of inward, to give rather than to consume?