Category Archives: Practical Theology

09/21/2026

On the Priority of the “Local” Church

By Phillip Powers

Paul Washer has been quoted as saying, “Don’t look for the church nearest to your house; look for the church closest to the Bible.” I understand the point, and there is considerable wisdom in it. Christians need faithful, Bible-believing churches, and proximity can never compensate for serious theological or ecclesiological unfaithfulness. Yet I wonder whether, in emphasizing the first half of that equation, we have sometimes neglected the importance of the second. It has become increasingly normal for Christians to drive thirty, forty, or even fifty minutes to attend their preferred church, sometimes passing several faithful churches along the way. Of course, there may be good reasons for doing so. But the New Testament’s vision of the church is profoundly local. Churches are gathered in particular places, composed of people who worship together, bear one another’s burdens, submit to one another, serve one another, and bear witness to Christ within the communities where God has placed them. The local church is therefore more than a place where Christians receive good preaching on Sunday morning. It is a community in which they share the ordinary rhythms of Christian life. Perhaps, then, the question is not simply whether we have found a church faithful enough to attend, but whether we have planted our lives deeply enough within a local church to truly belong to one.

Part of the problem is that the modern world has accustomed us to living our lives across increasingly large geographical areas. We may live in one town, work in another, send our children to school in another, and regularly drive considerable distances for shopping, entertainment, and recreation. It is perhaps unsurprising, then, that we have begun to approach the church in much the same way. Rather than looking first for a faithful congregation within the community where we already live, we can survey churches across a wide area and choose according to our particular preferences: preaching style, music, children’s ministry, programs, demographics, theological distinctives, or any number of other considerations. None of these things is necessarily unimportant, and some may represent legitimate theological convictions rather than mere preferences. The danger comes when this way of choosing a church subtly transforms the congregation into another religious service that we consume. We drive somewhere on Sunday morning to receive the preaching, worship, and programming we prefer, and then drive back to a life that remains largely disconnected from the people with whom we have just worshiped. But a church is not merely a place where Christians gather for a few hours each week. It is a people to whom we belong. And if belonging to a church means sharing our lives with one another, then the distance between our church life and the rest of our life may matter more than we sometimes imagine.

This emphasis on belonging reflects the way the New Testament ordinarily speaks about the church. Certainly, there is a universal dimension to the church: Christ is building his church (Matt 16.18), and all who belong to him constitute his body. Yet this universal church repeatedly takes concrete expression in particular congregations located in particular places. We read of the church in Jerusalem (Acts 8.1), the church at Antioch (Acts 13.1), the church of God in Corinth (1 Cor 1.2), and the churches scattered throughout cities and regions across the Roman world. These were not merely collections of Christians who happened to attend the same worship service. They were identifiable communities of believers who knew one another, worshiped together, appointed and submitted to leaders, cared for members in need, practiced discipline, supported the work of the gospel, and shared responsibility for one another’s faithfulness. This is why Paul can describe the church as a body whose individual members belong to one another and depend upon one another for the health of the whole (1 Cor 12.12–27). The New Testament church is therefore universal in scope but irreducibly local in expression. Christianity does not merely unite individual believers to Christ; it joins believers to Christ’s people. And ordinarily, that belonging becomes visible not through an abstract relationship to Christians everywhere, but through committed participation in a particular congregation of Christians somewhere.

This local character of the church becomes especially important when we consider the numerous “one another” commands scattered throughout the New Testament. Christians are commanded to love one another (John 13.34), serve one another (Gal 5.13), bear one another’s burdens (Gal 6.2), encourage one another (1 Thess 5.11), confess their sins and pray for one another (Jas 5.16), show hospitality to one another (1 Pet 4.9), and teach and admonish one another (Col 3.16). These commands envision considerably more than occupying the same room for an hour or two on Sunday morning. They assume a shared life in which believers know one another well enough to recognize burdens, meet needs, offer encouragement, practice hospitality, and intervene when a brother or sister begins to wander. Of course, none of these commands establishes a geographical radius within which Christians must live, and modern transportation allows us to maintain relationships across distances that would have been unimaginable in the first century. Nevertheless, proximity ordinarily facilitates the kind of shared life these commands envision. It is much easier to bring a meal, open our homes, care for children, visit the sick, respond to an unexpected need, or simply participate in the ordinary rhythms of one another’s lives when the members of a church actually live near one another. The question, then, is not merely whether we can make the drive to church each Sunday, but whether we are close enough to its people to share our lives with them throughout the week.

The importance of this shared life becomes even clearer when we consider the means through which God ordinarily brings Christians to maturity. From the beginning, the church devoted itself to “the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2.42). Christians grow through the preaching of the Word, prayer, baptism and the Lord’s Supper, fellowship, accountability, discipline, and the ordinary encouragement of other believers. Indeed, Paul describes the church as a body in which Christ gives pastors and teachers to equip the saints for ministry so that the entire body might grow together toward maturity in Christ (Eph 4.11–16). Christian growth is therefore not merely the result of receiving biblical information from a gifted preacher. It occurs as believers are joined to a community in which every member contributes to the spiritual health of the others. The same is true of pastoral ministry. Elders are not merely preachers whose sermons we consume each week; they are shepherds charged with keeping watch over particular souls for whom they will give an account (Heb 13.17). Such shepherding assumes that pastors know their people and that those people are sufficiently involved in the life of the congregation to be known. God certainly uses ministries beyond the local church for our good, but the ordinary pattern of the New Testament places our worship, discipleship, accountability, and perseverance within the life of a particular congregation.

There is also a missional dimension to the local character of the church. When God sent the exiles into Babylon, he instructed them to “seek the welfare of the city” where he had sent them (Jer 29.7). This passage is not, of course, a direct command concerning New Testament church membership, but it reflects a broader biblical principle that God’s people are called to live faithfully in the places where his providence has situated them. The church’s witness likewise occurs not merely in the abstract but in actual neighborhoods, towns, and cities where Christians live alongside unbelieving neighbors, coworkers, friends, and family members. Ideally, then, our church life and our community life should not exist in two entirely separate geographical worlds. When Christians worship, serve, and build relationships with believers who share the same communities in which they live, the church is better positioned to become a visible presence for the gospel within that place. Members can invite neighbors into relationships that naturally extend into the life of the congregation, churches can become more attentive to the needs of their communities, and evangelism can emerge from the ordinary relationships of everyday life. Again, none of this means that every Christian must attend the congregation geographically nearest to his or her home. But it does suggest that there is something valuable about churches that bloom where their members are planted: particular communities of Christians bearing witness to Christ together in the particular communities where God has placed them.

If the local church occupies this kind of place in the Christian life, then it should inevitably shape some of the larger decisions we make about where and how we live. Christians routinely make decisions about education, employment, housing, retirement, and relocation on the basis of numerous legitimate considerations: salary, cost of living, proximity to family, quality of schools, career opportunities, and countless others. Yet the local church can easily become an afterthought. We decide where we want to live and only afterward ask whether there happens to be a faithful church somewhere within driving distance. Perhaps we should reverse that order, or at least bring the church much earlier into the conversation. If God ordinarily intends Christians to grow, worship, serve, persevere, and participate in his mission through the life of a local congregation, then the availability of a faithful church should matter when deciding where we plant our lives. This does not mean that the church must always outweigh every other consideration, nor that Christians are wrong to accept jobs or pursue opportunities that require relocation. It simply means that belonging to Christ’s people should be treated as one of the defining priorities of the Christian life. Before asking only, “Where can I find the best job, house, or opportunity?” perhaps we should also be asking, “Where can I faithfully belong to Christ’s people and invest my life alongside them?”

None of this is intended to establish an arbitrary geographical rule for church membership. There are many legitimate reasons why Christians may need to travel some distance to belong to a faithful church. Those living in rural communities may have few healthy congregations nearby. Others may face significant theological disagreements with the churches closest to them, require a congregation that ministers in a particular language, or have family and ministry circumstances that make a more distant church the wisest choice. Churches themselves can change, decline, or depart from convictions that once made them faithful places to belong. Nor should proximity ever be used to justify remaining in a church that has abandoned the gospel or seriously compromised the teaching of Scripture. The point, then, is not that Christians must always attend the church geographically closest to their homes. Proximity should not trump faithfulness, but neither should it be treated as irrelevant to faithfulness. If two churches are genuinely faithful, there is real value in considering where we can most meaningfully share life, serve, practice hospitality, receive pastoral care, participate in mission, and bear one another’s burdens. The goal is not to calculate how many miles Christians are permitted to drive on Sunday morning. It is to recover a vision of church membership in which belonging to a local congregation means sharing our lives with a particular people rather than merely attending their services.

So, should Christians look for the church nearest to their house or the church closest to the Bible? If those were truly our only two options, the answer would be easy: we should choose faithfulness every time. But perhaps the choice is not always so stark. When God has placed faithful, Bible-believing churches within the communities where we live, there is something deeply fitting about planting our lives among them. The local church is not merely a place where we hear a sermon each week. It is the people with whom we worship, pray, break bread, bear burdens, raise families, serve our neighbors, pursue holiness, and persevere together in the faith. Recovering the priority of the local church therefore requires more than faithfully attending Sunday services. It means ordering our lives so that we can genuinely belong to Christ’s people and invest ourselves in their good. We should certainly look for churches that are close to the Bible. But perhaps we should also value churches close enough for their people to become part of the ordinary fabric of our lives. If Christ loved the church enough to give himself for her, then surely the local church deserves to be one of the defining priorities by which we order our own lives.

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09/14/2026

On Making the Lord’s Supper Normal Again

By Phillip Powers

It is a typical Sunday at your local Baptist church. The service starts with some upbeat songs and maybe a Scripture reading. It continues with a time of prayer and giving, perhaps one or two more songs, a thirty- to forty-minute sermon on a particular text, and then a closing song and prayer. Everything seems normal. But then the pastor invites everyone to sit down, and the deacons begin passing plates containing small wafers and thimbles full of juice. It is communion Sunday, and suddenly everything feels different. Whether your church observes the Lord’s Supper monthly, quarterly, or only on designated occasions, communion can feel like something special added to the church’s worship rather than something that belongs to its normal rhythms. Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with observing the Lord’s Supper less than weekly; Scripture never gives us an explicit command concerning its frequency. But when communion is something we rarely do, Christians can begin to think of it as something exceptional rather than ordinary. Yet when we look at the practice of the early church, what has become unusual for many churches seems remarkably ordinary in the life of the earliest Christians. The Lord’s Supper should therefore be recovered as a normal practice of the gathered church because the New Testament presents the Table not as an occasional ceremony added to Christian worship, but as an ordinary expression of the church’s life together in the gospel.

Perhaps the question is not simply how often we should observe the Lord’s Supper, but whether our practices have caused something ordinary in the life of the earliest church to become extraordinary in ours. We read in Acts 2.42 that, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread, and to prayer.” Or again, when Paul is in Troas, we read, “On the first day of the week, we assembled to break bread” (Acts 20.7). In other words, Luke does not portray the breaking of bread as a special ceremony added to the church’s life but as part of its regular shared life. Of course, the language of “breaking bread” could encompass a larger communal meal, but the Lord’s Supper would nevertheless have belonged within this larger practice of Christian table fellowship. Table fellowship was a regular part of the gathering of the early church, and Acts 20.7 is particularly striking because Luke describes breaking bread as the very purpose for which the believers had assembled. For the earliest Christians, then, breaking bread does not appear as an interruption of the church’s ordinary life together; it appears to belong to that life. So perhaps, instead of asking, “Where or when can we fit communion into the service?” we should be asking, “Why has communion become peripheral to what we think Christians ordinarily do when they gather?”

In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul gives explicit instructions concerning the observance of the Lord’s Supper, and he continually refers to it as something that takes place “when you come together” (1 Cor. 11.17, 18, 20, 33). The irony, of course, is that the Corinthian Christians were intending to celebrate the Lord’s Supper, but their behavior so contradicted its meaning that Paul tells them, “when you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord’s Supper” (1 Cor. 11.20). Wealthy members of the congregation were eating ahead of the poorer members, and the poorer members were being humiliated. Social divisions were being reproduced at Christ’s Table. However, the important point is that Paul’s response to these errant practices demonstrates that the Supper is inherently ecclesial and communal. The Table not only proclaims, “Christ died for me,” but also, “Christ has made us one people through his death.” As Paul says in 1 Corinthians 10.17, “Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, since all of us share the one bread.” Therefore, communion is not simply an individual devotional exercise conducted in the same room as other Christians; it is an act of the gathered body. The Lord’s Supper belongs to the church because at the Table the gospel that reconciles us to God also displays the new community that the gospel has created.

Moreover, the Apostle Paul says, “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor. 11.26). In other words, the Lord’s Supper is itself an act of proclamation. In preaching, the gospel is proclaimed through the words of the preacher; at the Table, the same gospel is proclaimed visibly and materially through the broken bread and poured cup. The point is that the Word and the Table are not competitors. Communion does not steal time from “gospel-centered worship”; communion is gospel-centered worship. The church hears what Christ has done through the preaching of the Word and then receives the signs Christ gave his church to remember and proclaim his saving work. And we must note here that Paul is clear that this proclamation continues “until he comes.” The Table therefore looks backward to the death of Christ while simultaneously looking forward to his return. As long as the church lives in the already and the not yet between Christ’s first coming and his second, it is called to proclaim the death by which its salvation was accomplished and anticipate the return by which that salvation will be consummated. What I am saying is that the Lord’s Supper is not an interruption of gospel-centered worship; it is one of the ways Christ has given his church to proclaim the gospel when we gather together.

Of course, someone might object, “If we take communion every week, won’t it become routine, empty, rote ritual?” This is a legitimate concern; our sacred rhythms can become thoughtless, and the familiarity of repetition can become mechanical if we are not careful. However, rarity does not automatically create reverence, and frequency does not automatically destroy it. Think of it this way: we don’t preach quarterly so that preaching remains special. We don’t pray occasionally to prevent prayer from becoming routine, and we don’t sing infrequently so that worship retains its significance. These practices become formative precisely through repetition, and the same can be true for communion. Regular observance at the Table reinforces the truths that Christ died for us, that we live by grace, that we belong to one another, and that Christ is coming again. The real question, then, is not frequency versus significance, but thoughtless repetition versus meaningful repetition. This is precisely where pastoral leadership matters. The Table should be intentionally connected to Scripture and the preaching of the Word so that its repeated observance continually directs the congregation to the different dimensions of the gospel it proclaims. However we approach it, the danger is not that the Lord’s Supper might become familiar; the danger is that familiarity might become thoughtlessness.

Now, to make the Lord’s Supper normal is not to make it casual or insignificant. If anything, Paul’s rebuke of the Corinthians in 1 Corinthians 11 demonstrates just the opposite. Their problem was not that they observed the Supper too frequently, but that they had lost sight of what their actions at the Table proclaimed. Their selfishness, divisions, and disregard for one another contradicted the gospel the meal was intended to display. Paul’s response was therefore not to discourage their observance of the Supper, but to call the Corinthians to discern what they were doing when they came together. The same should be true for us. Every time we come to the Table, we are reminded that Christ’s body was given and his blood was shed for us, that we belong to one another because we belong to Christ, and that the crucified and risen Lord will one day return. The Supper thus directs our attention backward to the cross, inward to the body of Christ gathered around the Table, and forward to the return of our Lord. To make the Lord’s Supper normal is not to make it ordinary in significance, but ordinary in practice—to weave it into the regular rhythm by which the gathered church is continually formed around the gospel.

None of this is to suggest that a church that observes the Lord’s Supper monthly or quarterly is somehow being disobedient to Scripture. The New Testament simply does not prescribe how frequently the church must come to the Table, and we should be careful not to create a command where Scripture has given us freedom. Nevertheless, Christian freedom does not mean that every possible practice equally reflects the patterns and priorities we find in the New Testament. Acts portrays breaking bread as part of the ordinary life of the earliest Christians. Paul assumes that the Lord’s Supper belongs to the gathering of the church, where the one bread displays the one body Christ has created. And every time the church eats the bread and drinks the cup, it proclaims the Lord’s death until he comes. Perhaps, then, we should ask whether some of our inherited practices have unintentionally pushed the Table toward the margins of Christian worship. The goal is not simply to observe communion more frequently, but to recover the Lord’s Supper as a regular, central, and joyful practice of the gathered church. Perhaps we have spent too much time trying to preserve the significance of the Lord’s Supper by making it extraordinary. The earliest Christians seem to have found its significance precisely in making it part of their ordinary life together. The Lord’s Supper does not need to become more extraordinary. Perhaps it simply needs to become normal again.

For further study, see:
On the Practice of the Lord’s Supper
On Partaking of the Lord’s Supper

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08/03/2026

On Religious Affections and Saving Faith

By Phillip Powers

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a Sunday school class, and we were discussing James 1.12, which says, “Blessed is the one who endures trials, because when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.” This verse raises an important question about the relationship between our affections for God and saving faith. In other words, if we are justified by faith alone in Christ alone, then what role do our affections play in saving faith. On the one hand, we do not want to reduce saving faith to mere intellectual agreement, i.e. “I believe that Christianity is true.” On the other hand, we do not want to reduce faith to sheer emotional experience, i.e. “I know I am saved simply because I feel close to God.” The Scriptures reject both of these reductions. Instead, the Scriptures present saving faith as the wholehearted response of a person to God’s self-revelation in Christ—a response that engages the mind, the will, and the affections. However, before we consider the relationship between saving faith and the affections, we must first ask a more basic question: What is saving faith?

Throughout the history of the church, theologians have commonly described saving faith as consisting of three essential elements: notitia (knowledge), assensus (assent), and fiducia (trust). Together, these categories help explain what it means to believe in Christ for salvation. First, a person must possess notitia, that is, a basic knowledge of the gospel and the identity of Jesus Christ. Second, that knowledge must be accompanied by assensus, an acknowledgment that the gospel is true. Yet Scripture makes it clear that knowledge and assent alone are not enough. James reminds us, “You believe that God is one. Good! Even the demons believe—and they shudder” (James 2:19). The demons possess both knowledge of God and an orthodox understanding of who he is, yet they remain in rebellion because they lack fiducia—a wholehearted trust that rests in God alone for salvation. Saving faith, therefore, is more than simply knowing the truth or agreeing that it is true; it is entrusting oneself to God in Christ. This naturally raises another question: What does that trust actually look like, and what role do our affections play in its expression?

The point, then, is that saving faith is never merely cognitive. As Paul writes in Romans 10:9, “If you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” In Scripture, the heart is far more than the seat of our emotions. It represents the very center of our personhood—the source of our thinking, willing, loving, and desiring. This is why, when Jesus is asked about the greatest commandment, he cites the Shema: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind” (Matt. 22:37). Saving faith, therefore, is not merely the acceptance of certain propositions about Christ; it is the wholehearted entrusting of ourselves to him. Such faith redirects the deepest loves and loyalties of the heart toward the One who gave himself for us. At this point, however, an important distinction must be made. The affections are not the same thing as our passing emotions. Emotions often fluctuate with our circumstances, but the affections are the settled inclinations, desires, and loves of the soul. Consequently, when we trust in Christ for salvation, we do more than experience a passing feeling—we come to treasure him as the supreme object of our love and devotion.

Perhaps no theologian has reflected more deeply on this subject than Jonathan Edwards in his classic work Religious Affections. Writing during the First Great Awakening of the 1730s and 1740s, Edwards ministered in a period marked by extraordinary religious enthusiasm. As revival spread throughout the American colonies, many professed faith in Christ and displayed intense emotional experiences. Yet these developments raised an important question: How can we distinguish genuine saving faith from merely temporary or emotional religious excitement? It was this question that prompted Edwards to write Religious Affections. His central argument is that true religion “in great part consists in holy affections” because regeneration does more than inform the mind—it transforms the heart. Saving faith not only convinces us that Christ is worthy of our trust; it also reorients our deepest loves toward him. Edwards was therefore not measuring the authenticity of faith by the intensity of a person’s emotions. Rather, he sought to identify the enduring dispositions of the heart that inevitably accompany the new birth. In doing so, he helped clarify an important biblical truth: genuine saving faith transforms not only what we believe but also what we love.

The transformation of our affections begins with the regenerating work of God. Scripture does not describe salvation as the mere addition of new information to an otherwise unchanged heart. Rather, God promises, “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you” (Ezek. 36:26). This is the new birth of which Jesus speaks in John 3 and the new creation Paul describes in 2 Corinthians 5:17. Regeneration changes the deepest orientation of the person, enabling us to see Christ as beautiful, trust him as sufficient, and love him as Lord. These new affections arise because, through faith, we are united to Christ by the Holy Spirit and begin to share in the life of the One to whom we belong. However, they do not earn our justification, nor do they become an additional ground of acceptance before God. We are justified by faith alone on the basis of Christ alone. Yet the faith through which we are justified is never left barren or unchanged. It becomes fruitful in sanctification because the Spirit who grants faith also renews the heart from which faith arises. The order, therefore, must be preserved: God regenerates, the sinner believes, God justifies, and the justified believer begins to grow in holiness. Our love for God, delight in Christ, and desire for obedience are not the merit of our salvation; they are the evidence that God has made us new.

This is the important distinction: our affections for Christ are evidence of our salvation and therefore contribute to our assurance, but they are never the ground of it. The foundation of our assurance rests entirely upon the finished work of Christ and the promises of God confirmed by the indwelling Holy Spirit. At the same time, the Spirit who assures us of our adoption also transforms our hearts, producing new desires and holy affections that testify to his ongoing work within us. Many believers ask the wrong questions when examining themselves. They wonder, “Do I feel enough?” or “Do I know enough?” Yet Scripture directs our attention elsewhere. The better question is, “Has Christ begun changing what I love?” Am I growing in my hatred of sin and my love for Christ? Do I desire to read and meditate upon God’s Word? Do I increasingly delight in holiness and long to obey him? Do I love God’s people and desire fellowship with them? None of these things earns God’s favor, but together they provide evidence that he has given us a new heart. The Christian’s assurance, therefore, rests on Christ alone, while the transformed affections of the heart bear witness that his saving work is truly taking root within us.

Saving faith, then, is far richer than either mere intellectual agreement or passing emotional experience. It knows the truth of the gospel, believes that truth to be certain, entrusts itself wholly to Christ, and, through the regenerating work of the Holy Spirit, comes to love the One in whom it has believed. In other words, saving faith engages the whole person—mind, will, and affections—in response to God’s gracious self-revelation in Jesus Christ. This is why the Christian life is not marked by perfect emotions or flawless devotion but by a heart that is being steadily transformed by the grace of God. None of us possesses perfect affections in this life. Our love for Christ is often weak, inconsistent, and mixed with the remnants of sin. Yet the Spirit who gave us a new heart does not abandon his work. Day by day, he continues to redirect our loves, deepen our trust, and conform us to the image of Christ. The mark of genuine saving faith, therefore, is not the perfection of our love but the presence of a new love—a heart that increasingly treasures Christ above all else. These affections do not save us, nor do they merit God’s favor. Rather, they testify that the One who does save us has already begun his transforming work within us. May we therefore fix our eyes on Christ, for as we behold his glory in the Scriptures, our faith is strengthened, our assurance deepened, and our hearts are increasingly taught to love the One who first loved us.

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06/15/2026

On Truth and Unity in the Southern Baptist Convention

By Phillip Powers

Last week, Southern Baptists met in Orlando, Florida, for their annual meeting, and one of the most significant items of discussion was the proposed “Truth and Unity Amendment” to the SBC Constitution, introduced by Dr. Albert Mohler. The amendment would add language to Article III concerning the qualifications for churches that wish to remain in friendly cooperation with the Southern Baptist Convention. Specifically, it states that a cooperating church “does not act to affirm, appoint, or endorse a woman serving in the office or function of a pastor/elder/overseer, specifically preaching to the assembled congregation.” The rationale behind the proposal is that recent disputes concerning churches with women serving in pastoral functions revealed ambiguity in the Convention’s existing standards of cooperation. Supporters therefore argue that the amendment is necessary to provide greater constitutional clarity. As to the vote, the amendment received strong support from the messengers, passing by a margin of approximately 75 percent to 25 percent. Of course, this vote has generated widespread discussion both within and outside the Southern Baptist Convention. News feeds and social media reels have been filled with reactions, criticisms, endorsements, and predictions about what the amendment will mean for the future of the SBC. However, it seems to me that much of the discussion has been marked by confusion and misunderstanding. Many reactions appear to be responding more to headlines and assumptions than to the actual text of the amendment and the issues it seeks to address. In this post, I am not primarily interested in arguing for or against the Truth and Unity Amendment. Rather, I would simply like to offer a few observations that may help clarify what the amendment is, what it is not, and why some of the most common criticisms may not fully capture the nature of the debate.

First, it must be understood that the Truth and Unity Amendment has not actually been ratified. According to the SBC Constitution, amendments to the Convention’s governing documents must be approved by two consecutive annual meetings before they become part of the Constitution. Last week’s vote in Orlando therefore represents only the first step in a two-year process. While the amendment received strong support from the messengers, it must still receive the required two-thirds approval at next year’s annual meeting in Indianapolis before it can be officially adopted. Until that happens, the amendment remains a proposal rather than a constitutional provision. This distinction is important because much of the public discussion has proceeded as though the matter has already been settled. Several headlines and social media posts have suggested that the Southern Baptist Convention has formally enacted a new constitutional ban on women pastors or women in ministry. Procedurally speaking, however, that is simply not the case. The Convention has expressed its desire to move in that direction, but the constitutional process is not yet complete. There remains another year of discussion, debate, and deliberation before a final decision is reached. Whatever one’s position on the amendment, it is important that our discussions begin with an accurate understanding of where the process currently stands.

Secondly, many headlines and social media reactions seem to proceed as though the Southern Baptist Convention has never had a position on women serving as pastors. However, this simply is not the case. The Baptist Faith and Message 2000, which serves as the Convention’s official statement of faith, already affirms that the office of pastor is limited to qualified men. Article VI states, in part, “While both men and women are gifted for service in the church, the office of pastor/elder/overseer is limited to men as qualified by Scripture.” Nor is this a position that suddenly emerged in the year 2000. Rather, it reflects the historic understanding of Southern Baptists for the vast majority of the Convention’s existence. For this reason, the “Truth and Unity Amendment” is not attempting to create a new doctrine or introduce a novel theological position. The SBC has already spoken clearly on the question of the pastoral office. Instead, the amendment seeks to address a different issue altogether: how the Convention’s existing confession should be applied in questions of friendly cooperation. Put differently, the debate is not whether the SBC possesses a complementarian confession, but whether churches that affirm women in pastoral functions should be regarded as being in friendly cooperation with a convention whose official statement of faith limits the pastoral office to qualified men. The amendment is therefore best understood as an attempt to clarify constitutional standards rather than to establish new theological ones.

A third misunderstanding claims that “the SBC is trying to control local churches.” However, this reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of Baptist polity. One of the defining convictions of Southern Baptists is the autonomy of the local church. In other words, every local congregation is free to govern its own affairs under the lordship of Christ and the authority of Scripture. The Southern Baptist Convention possesses no ecclesiastical hierarchy. It cannot appoint or remove pastors, dictate church policies, or seize church property. Regardless of a church’s relationship with the SBC, it remains entirely free to call its own pastors and order its ministry according to its own convictions. For this reason, the Truth and Unity Amendment cannot actually force a church to do anything. A church that wishes to appoint a woman as a pastor remains free to do so. The question at stake is not church governance but denominational cooperation. Here it is important to distinguish between autonomy and cooperation. Just as a local church is free to determine its own practices, so also the Convention is free to determine the parameters of its cooperative fellowship. A church may choose a particular course of action, but the SBC may likewise determine whether that action is compatible with its understanding of friendly cooperation. The amendment, therefore, concerns denominational boundaries rather than denominational control. It seeks to answer the question, “What kinds of churches should cooperate together?” rather than “How should local churches govern themselves?”

Of course, another important clarification concerns women and their roles in the life of the church. As I noted above, several headlines and social media reactions have suggested that the Truth and Unity Amendment amounts to a formal ban on women in ministry. However, this is simply not what the amendment addresses. Southern Baptists have long affirmed that women play vital and indispensable roles in the work of the church. Women serve as missionaries, Sunday school teachers, women’s ministry leaders, counselors, and in countless other capacities. Indeed, the Baptist Faith and Message explicitly states that both men and women are gifted for service in the church. The specific question addressed by the amendment concerns the office of pastor/elder/overseer. The Baptist Faith and Message recognizes two church offices, that of pastor/elder/overseer and that of deacon, and it affirms that the office of pastor is limited to qualified men. This conviction is rooted in passages such as 1 Timothy 2.12 and 1 Timothy 3.1–7 among others, as Southern Baptists have historically understood them. While churches often use titles and ministry descriptions in different ways, the amendment seeks to clarify how the Convention understands the office and functions of a pastor in relation to friendly cooperation. The question, therefore, is not whether women can minister in the church, but whether certain pastoral functions are compatible with the SBC’s understanding of the pastoral office.

Lastly, several critics of the Truth and Unity Amendment have suggested that the amendment represents a distraction from more pressing concerns, particularly the issue of sexual abuse within churches. Some have even argued that Southern Baptists should not devote time and energy to questions of ecclesiology while such serious problems remain unresolved. To be clear, sexual abuse is a genuine evil, and victims deserve protection, justice, accountability, and compassionate care. These concerns should never be minimized, ignored, or treated as secondary matters. Churches and denominational leaders must continue to take them seriously. At the same time, it is important to recognize that these issues are not necessarily in competition with one another. The Southern Baptist Convention already possesses constitutional provisions addressing churches that facilitate abuse or protect abusers, and ongoing efforts to improve accountability should continue. However, the existence of one important issue does not automatically render every other issue unimportant. The Truth and Unity Amendment addresses a different question altogether, namely the Convention’s understanding of the pastoral office and the requirements for friendly cooperation. One may agree or disagree with the amendment itself, but it is not necessary to choose between addressing sexual abuse and discussing ecclesiology. A denomination is capable of addressing multiple concerns at the same time. The real question, therefore, is not whether sexual abuse matters more than ecclesiology, but whether Southern Baptists can pursue faithfulness in both areas simultaneously. I believe the answer to that question is yes.

In conclusion, whatever one’s position on the Truth and Unity Amendment may be, the discussion surrounding it will be far more productive if it is grounded in clarity rather than assumption. As we have seen, much of the public conversation has focused on claims that the amendment has already been ratified, that it establishes a new doctrinal position, that it threatens local church autonomy, that it bans women from ministry altogether, or that it somehow prevents Southern Baptists from addressing other important concerns. Yet none of these claims fully captures what the amendment is actually attempting to accomplish. Christians should strive to understand an issue before reacting to it, especially when that issue touches matters of theology, ecclesiology, and cooperation among churches. Careful reading, charitable engagement, and theological seriousness are always preferable to slogans, headlines, and social media outrage. Before we can decide whether the Truth and Unity Amendment is wise, unwise, necessary, or unnecessary, we must first understand what it actually says and what it is attempting to accomplish. Clarity should always precede controversy.

For further reflection on these issues, see:
On the Spiritual Gift of Pastoral Ministry
On Pastoral Ministry and Job Titles

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03/30/2026

On the Unfinished Finished Work of Christ

By Phillip Powers

In light of this being the week of our Lord’s passion, it is interesting to note that one of the last things that he said before he gave up his Spirit on the cross was, “It is finished.” (τετέλεσται, John 19.30). With this powerful word, Jesus declared that his work on the cross in making full atonement for sin was completed, and “bowing his head, he gave up his spirit.” It must have been a powerful scene, and no more pregnant words have perhaps ever been spoken. However, the problem is that even though Christ finished his work, sin still seems to run rampant in this world. If it is finished, why, we might ask, is the world still broken, still full of pain and suffering and sin and death? Because of this, we might be tempted to suggest that his work is unfinished. Many Christians struggle to hold together what has already been accomplished and what still remains. However, what we must realize is that Christ’s work is finished; it is fully accomplished in its foundation, but not yet fully realized in its effects. In this post, I would like to consider this tension by offering just a few thoughts on what Christ accomplished in his first coming and what waits to be realized at his second coming.

In one sense, then, it is completely accurate to say that the work of Christ has been fully accomplished, and there are at least three aspects of his work that are completely finished. First, atonement has been accomplished. When Christ died on the cross, he made the full and final payment for our sin. In systematic theology, this is called penal substitutionary atonement. In other words, this means that Christ paid the penalty (penal) that we deserve (substitutionary) for our sin. (On the fact that this was Christ’s view of his death, see here.) He died the death that we deserve by dying in our place. But he did not stay dead; he rose again on the third day. This is the second aspect of Christ’s finished work, namely that victory over death has been secured. When Jesus walked out of the grave on the third day, he defeated death and disarmed Satan of his power. Death no longer has hold over those who are in Christ. We need not fear, we can have hope, even in the face of death. (On hope in the face of death, see here.) And lastly, by dying on the cross, Christ finished his work of establishing righteousness. In other words, his finished work on the cross is now the ground upon which God grants our justification, when we place our faith in Jesus. He lived a perfect life, he died an innocent death. And his righteousness is imputed to us by faith. We are made right, declared innocent, because of Christ’s finished work. This is the gospel. Nothing needs to be added to what Christ accomplished; his work is complete, sufficient, and final. It is not partial, not provisional. It is finished!

Moreover, his finished work on the cross inaugurated several important realities in which we now live. For one, the Kingdom of God has been inaugurated. Forty days after his resurrection, Jesus ascended into heaven to be seated at the right hand of the Father, and he is now reigning with all authority on earth as it is in heaven. (Matt. 28.18) He is not waiting to become King; he is already reigning as King. And he does this by his Spirit. This is the second reality in which we now live, namely that Christ has sent his Spirit to indwell his people. The Spirit mediates Christ’s real presence in and among his people. He is the down payment, the seal, and the guarantee of our faith. And he is actively working in us to make us more like Jesus. And lastly, but certainly not leastly, new life has begun. When we place our faith in Christ, the Spirit regenerates us. He brings to life what was once spiritually dead, and we are born again. In this way we are new creatures in Christ. The old has passed away, and behold the new has come. (2 Cor. 5.17) New creation realities are already at work in us through the Spirit. In these ways, the future has already broken into the present through the risen Christ, and we live in these future realities even now.

And yet, in spite of all of this, several aspects of Christ’s work remain unfinished. Perhaps most clearly, sin still remains in the world. We have been saved from the penalty of sin, but we have not yet been saved from the presence of sin. Our world is saturated and polluted with sin at every turn. People are burdened down with sin and its consequences. Our relationships suffer, bodies are diseased, conflict and turmoil abound at every level of our society. Sin continues its reign of terror nearly unchecked. In addition to this, death still operates in this world. This world reeks with the stench of death; it fills our nostrils everywhere we turn. Our loved ones get sick and die. Accidents and tragedy take lives too soon. Christ has been raised, and death has been defeated. But death still reigns in our mortal bodies, and we ache and groan for that day when death will be no more. Thirdly, the created order groans under the weight of humanity’s sin. When our first parents fell, the creation itself was subjected to futility and decay. The idyllic paradise of Eden was lost to the corruption of sin. And lastly, justice and restoration are yet to be realized. Injustice abounds in our society. From all appearances, the weak get weaker and the strong get stronger. There is no real justice; there is no real peace. Wickedness and evil seem to grow day by day. What is wrong is celebrated as right, and what is right is condemned as wrong. The world is turned upside down, and we long for the day when justice will flow like rivers and when peace will rest upon the earth. And we cry out with the Scriptures, “How long, O Lord? How long?”

In theological parlance, this tension between the finished and the unfinished work of Christ is often referred to by the shorthand phrase “already/not yet”. It simply means that God’s plan of redemption for the world has already begun, has already been inaugurated, but has not yet been fully consummated. The work of Christ’s first coming is finished. He died on the cross, he rose again the third day, he sent his life-giving Spirit. But we are still waiting for the work of his second coming, namely the resurrection of the dead, the final judgment, and the new creation. This is the tension in which we now live, and in this tension, we must avoid two extremes. First, we must avoid living as if nothing has been finished. We must learn to rest in the finished work of Christ. We have been forgiven; we have been indwelled by His Spirit. We can have peace. On the other hand, however, we must not live as if everything is already complete. We do live under the burdens of sin and death; we do long for justice and peace. And we can have hope. The work of Christ is finished in its accomplishment, but it is unfinished in its application to the whole of creation. And so, we wait faithfully as Christ has instructed us.

And this is the point, namely that this tension is not ultimately about stages of fulfillment, though that is certainly the best framework for understanding it. Ultimately, this tension is about Christ. His work is unfinished because his story is not over. (On my argument for the centrality of Christ in our eschatological reflection, see here.) In other words, the same Jesus who said, “It is finished” is the same Jesus who is coming again to make all things new. The same Jesus who died on the cross is the same Jesus who is coming again in glory. Or to put it another way, the second coming of Jesus is not a different work; no, it is the completion of the same work that he began 2000 years ago. The second coming completes what the first coming began, because Christ himself is the fulfillment of all our hopes. Our hope is not just about what Christ has done and will do; it is about Christ himself. It is about his presence. In John 14.3, Jesus promised that he would come again and receive us unto himself, that where he is there we may be also. And so, the unfinished nature of Christ’s work is not a failure of the first coming, but the promise of the second. He is our blessed hope.

And so, yes, we live in the middle of this tension; we live in between the already and the not yet. We are already forgiven, but we are still struggling. We are already alive, yet we are still dying. We are already redeemed, yet we are still waiting. We are waiting to be set free from the presence and the corruption of sin once and for all. This is the lived reality of the Christian life—caught between what has been accomplished and what has not yet been revealed. And I suggest that we must embrace this tension with open arms, because it is only when we embrace this tension that we will be able to hope without denying the pain of our sufferings, that we can be confident without giving into naive triumphalism, and that we can have patience without being paralyzed by despair. If we collapse this tension in either direction, we lose something essential. Either we deny the reality of our present struggle, or we forget the certainty of our future hope. This is the ground that we must stand on, the already and the not yet. We do not live as those waiting for Christ to begin his work, but as those waiting for him to complete it.

When Jesus said, “It is finished.”, he surely meant it. Christ’s work is finished, and yet, it is not yet finished completely. It is finished in its foundation, but it is unfinished in its consummation. We are waiting for the full glory of Christ and his work to be finally revealed on earth. And even in acknowledging the unfinished aspects of Christ work, we must affirm that the work of the cross is not undone; it is unfolding. The resurrection is not isolated; it is expanding. And one day, we will all be raised to meet him in the air, and from that point on, we will always be with the Lord. This is our hope, namely that the Christ who finished his work on the cross is coming again to bring it to final completion. Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus! Maranatha!

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03/23/2026

On Christological Eschatology

By Phillip Powers

If you have followed my blog for any amount of time or if you have perused through the topics and tags, then you have probably noticed that eschatology is a primary interest of mine, both academically and pastorally. However, this area of theological reflection often evokes a mixed bag of responses and reactions. Some are quick to debate the various questions and details related to timelines, rapture debates, and millennium questions, while others are prone to avoid the questions altogether. I would suggest that neither one of these responses to the doctrines of the last things is healthy. Moreover, when we are so focused on identifying our particular eschatological system, whether dispensational, premillennial, amillennial, or postmillennial, we run the risk of displacing Jesus from the center of the question. This is not to say that these systems are wrong per se, but it is to say that we are often in danger of missing the forest for the trees as it were. Our eschatology is only as sound as our Christology. Every question about the end ultimately reduces to the question: Who is Jesus, and what is he doing? In other words, our eschatological views must be inherently Christological before they are anything else.

Christological eschatology is the conviction that the person and work of Jesus Christ are not merely part of the end times—they are the interpretive center of all eschatology. Of course, this does not mean that it is unconcerned with the unfolding of future events like the final judgment or the general resurrection. Eschatological reflection will always entail some understanding of the events that are yet to unfold, as Scripture itself directs our attention to these realities. However, Christological eschatology asserts that these events derive their meaning and significance from Christ and his work. They are not self-interpreting realities, nor are they ultimate in themselves; rather, they are the outworking of what God has already accomplished in and through Jesus. In this way, Christological eschatology is not event-centered nor system-centered, but Christ-centered. It refuses to treat the end as a sequence to be mapped or a system to be mastered and instead understands it as the fulfillment of the redemptive work of Christ. It is simply the view that every eschatological question ultimately revolves around the person and work of Christ in bringing redemption to the world.

In many ways, viewing our eschatology as centered on the person and work of Christ is simply a way of embracing the interpretive horizon of the New Testament. The New Testament authors consistently orient their eschatological claims back to the person and work of Jesus. For example, in 1 Corinthians 15, when Paul is addressing the question of the resurrection, he grounds his argument in the fact that Christ has already been resurrected from the dead. He is the first fruits of our resurrection; because Christ has already been raised, we will be raised. (On the logic of the resurrection, see here.) Or again, when the Gospel authors talk about the nearness or the presence of the Kingdom, they speak of it in relation to the presence of Christ. Because Christ is King, his coming to earth marks the beginning of the Kingdom age. This is why we regularly speak of the already and the not yet. The Kingdom has already been inaugurated at Christ’s first coming, and it will be finally consummated at his second coming. In other words, the already/not yet framework is grounded in Jesus himself. Jesus is not just a participant in the end; he is the turning point of history. The end does not merely arrive with Jesus. In a real sense, it begins with him.

We miss this emphasis when we become too focused on other eschatological questions. Both at the popular and at the academic level, we are quick to obsess about timelines, to speculate about sequences, and to read Scripture backward through our preferred eschatological systems. Entire interpretive frameworks are often constructed around the ordering of events, the identification of signs, or the alignment of prophetic texts with contemporary developments. None of these questions are unimportant in themselves, but they can easily assume a controlling role that they were never meant to have. When this happens, the center of gravity in our eschatology subtly shifts. When eschatology becomes primarily about events, charts, and sequences, Christ becomes secondary. Jesus becomes just another piece in the system rather than the center of the system. He is treated as a necessary component within a larger structure, rather than the one in whom that structure finds its meaning and coherence. And when a system can be mapped without reference to the living Christ, then it has already gone off track. At that point, eschatology risks becoming an exercise in speculative reconstruction rather than a theological reflection on the redemptive work of Christ. The question is not whether we have constructed a coherent system, but whether our understanding of the end is actually centered on the person and work of Jesus.

Now, there are several aspects of Christ’s person and work that ground our eschatological reflections. First, as I’ve already noted, Jesus is the Risen Lord. In other words, if eschatology begins with resurrection (and it does), then because Jesus has already been raised from the dead, the future has already broken into the present. We have been spiritually raised with Christ to walk in newness of life, and one day, we will be raised physically to walk hand in hand with him in glory. Second, and this has already been noted as well, but Jesus is the Reigning King. After his resurrection, he ascended into heaven to be seated at the right hand of the Father where he is currently reigning in glory. In this sense, the Kingdom is not merely a future reality; it is present now as he reigns over his people by his Spirit through his Word. He is coming again to reign on earth, but his present enthronement should shape our expectations. Third, Jesus is the Coming Judge. In other words, the final judgment is not some abstract threat. No, it is a personal reality that is tied to Christ authority. As the ancient creeds confess, he is coming to judge the living and the dead. The judge is the crucified and risen Christ. And finally, Jesus is the Center of Restoration. Or to put it another way, the new creation is not a system reset, it is the union that we now have with Christ being finally fulfilled on earth as it is in heaven. My point is that every eschatological hope—resurrection, judgment, kingdom, restoration—finds its coherence in the person of Jesus.

So, rather than asking “when is the rapture?” or “what is the millennium?”, we should be asking questions like, “What does Jesus’s resurrection mean for the future?”, “What does his kingship imply about the present?”, and “What does his return reveal about judgment and restoration?” These are not different questions so much as they are better-ordered questions. They move us away from speculative sequencing and toward theological reflection on the person and work of Christ. In other words, the question is not first what happens next, but what does Jesus’ work mean for what happens next? This shift in emphasis reorients the entire task of eschatology. It forces us to begin not with a timeline but with an event—the death and resurrection of Jesus—and to interpret the future in light of that reality. It reminds us that the resurrection is not merely a past miracle, but the decisive intrusion of the future into the present, the beginning of the end itself. Likewise, the present reign of Christ is not an abstract theological claim, but the governing reality that shapes how we understand the present age. And his return is not simply the final item on a prophetic chart, but the personal culmination of God’s redemptive purposes in the world. When we ask our eschatological questions in this way, Christ is no longer assumed in the background—he stands at the center.

This is not just some theological word game; this change has direct pastoral and theological payoff. Most importantly, it grounds our hopes for the future in a person and not in a system. This is our “blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ.” (Titus 2.13) We don’t have to have all the details figured out down to a T, so to speak; we simply have to trust in the one who has promised to make all things new. More than this, though, it produces stability in the midst of disagreement. The disagreements among eschatological systems are myriad, but in theory, we can all agree that Christ stands at the center of the eschatological program. I would go as far as to say that we must agree on this, as a matter of Christian orthodoxy. Our common hope in Christ should unify believers across all our eschatological differences. Our eschatology should bring us together not drive us apart. And finally, this reorientation in our eschatological reflection centers us on questions of discipleship rather than speculation. By focusing on Christ and his work, we are better able to wait patiently and faithfully as he has commanded us, instead of worrying about the details. The point is that the doctrines of eschatology are not meant to produce anxiety about the future, but confidence in the One who holds it.

Ultimately, the end times are all about Jesus. This may sound cliché, but it is the biblical emphasis. The New Testament does not give space to unnecessary speculations about the end times or invite us to lose ourselves in the details of timelines and sequences. Rather, every eschatological vision must revolve around the person and work of Jesus Christ. He is the one who is coming back to make all things new. He is the one who is coming back to receive us unto himself, that where he is there we may be also. He is the one who is coming back to set us free from the presence of sin once and for all and to bring God’s redemptive purposes to their final fulfillment. And so, the end of all things is not a timeline to decode, but a person to behold—the crucified, risen, and reigning Christ.

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12/31/2025

On Fuel for the Fires of Revival

By Phillip Powers

TEXT

8 The high priest Hilkiah told the court secretary Shaphan, “I have found the book of the law in the Lord’s temple,” and he gave the book to Shaphan, who read it. 9 Then the court secretary Shaphan went to the king and reported, “Your servants have emptied out the silver that was found in the temple and have given it to those doing the work—those who oversee the Lord’s temple.” 10 Then the court secretary Shaphan told the king, “The priest Hilkiah has given me a book,” and Shaphan read it in the presence of the king.

11 When the king heard the words of the book of the law, he tore his clothes. 12 Then he commanded the priest Hilkiah, Ahikam son of Shaphan, Achbor son of Micaiah, the court secretary Shaphan, and the king’s servant Asaiah, 13 “Go and inquire of the Lord for me, for the people, and for all Judah about the words in this book that has been found. For great is the Lord’s wrath that is kindled against us because our ancestors have not obeyed the words of this book in order to do everything written about us.”

14 So the priest Hilkiah, Ahikam, Achbor, Shaphan, and Asaiah went to the prophetess Huldah, wife of Shallum son of Tikvah, son of Harhas, keeper of the wardrobe. She lived in Jerusalem in the Second District. They spoke with her. 15 She said to them, “This is what the Lord God of Israel says: Say to the man who sent you to me, 16 ‘This is what the Lord says: I am about to bring disaster on this place and on its inhabitants, fulfilling all the words of the book that the king of Judah has read, 17 because they have abandoned me and burned incense to other gods in order to anger me with all the work of their hands. My wrath will be kindled against this place, and it will not be quenched.’ 

18 Say this to the king of Judah who sent you to inquire of the Lord: ‘This is what the Lord God of Israel says: As for the words that you heard, 19 because your heart was tender and you humbled yourself before the Lord when you heard what I spoke against this place and against its inhabitants, that they would become a desolation and a curse, and because you have torn your clothes and wept before me, I myself have heard’—this is the Lord’s declaration. 20 ‘Therefore, I will indeed gather you to your ancestors, and you will be gathered to your grave in peace. Your eyes will not see all the disaster that I am bringing on this place.’” Then they reported to the king.

~2 Kings 22.8-20

Title: On Fuel for the Fires of Revival
Text: 2 Kings 22-23
Series: Revival Us Again!
Church: Redeemer Baptist Church, Jonesboro, AR
Date: December 28, 2025

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11/04/2025

On Training in Godliness

By Phillip Powers

TEXT

6 If you point these things out to the brothers and sisters, you will be a good servant of Christ Jesus, nourished by the words of the faith and the good teaching that you have followed. 7 But have nothing to do with pointless and silly myths. Rather, train yourself in godliness. 8 For the training of the body has limited benefit, but godliness is beneficial in every way, since it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come. 9 This saying is trustworthy and deserves full acceptance. 10 For this reason we labor and strive, because we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Savior of all people, especially of those who believe.

~1 Timothy 3.14-16

Title: On Our Training for Godliness
Text: 1 Timothy 4.6-10
Series: 1 Timothy: God’s Design for a Healthy Church
Church: Redeemer Baptist Church, Jonesboro, AR
Date: October 19, 2025

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10/17/2025

On Our Conduct as Members of the Local Church

By Phillip Powers

TEXT

14 I write these things to you, hoping to come to you soon. 15 But if I should be delayed, I have written so that you will know how people ought to conduct themselves in God’s household, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of the truth. 16 And most certainly, the mystery of godliness is great:

He was manifested in the flesh,
vindicated in the Spirit,
seen by angels,
preached among the nations,
believed on in the world,
taken up in glory.

~1 Timothy 3.14-16

Title: On Our Conduct in the Local Church
Text: 1 Timothy 3.14-16
Series: 1 Timothy: God’s Design for a Healthy Church
Church: Redeemer Baptist Church, Jonesboro, AR
Date: October 5, 2025

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06/26/2024

On Love as Both Affection and Action

By Phillip Powers

Thirty-some years ago, the Christian band D.C. Talk released a song entitled “Luv is a verb”; it was a song that resonated with the biblical truth that love is more than simply a feeling. Genuine love, true biblical love is demonstrated through acts of giving and service, putting the needs of others before our own, and seeking their good as a matter of first priority. As we read in Romans 5.8, “But God proves his own love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Or again, in 1 John 4.10, “Love consists in this: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins.” Or even in the most memorable of verses, in John 3.16, “For God loved the world in this way: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.” The love of God toward sinners is the exemplar par excellence of true love. He loves, and so he gave. He acted for the good of those he loved, even when they didn’t love him. It is a love that is unconditional and undeserved, and it is a love that acts. Love, true biblical love, is indeed a actoin. It is a verb.

Of course, this understanding of love stands in stark contradiction to the sentiments of popular culture. For many, love is a feeling. It is something that is primarily felt in the warm fuzzies of attraction and desire. It is sensual, passionate, and oftentimes fleeting. People fall out of love just as easily and as quickly as the fall into love. The feelings of love ebb and flow like the tides of the ocean, and the more the feelings of love wane in a relationship, the more desperately we chase them. “Follow you’re heart”, we are told, but the scriptures remind us that our hearts are deceitful and wicked (Jeremiah 17.9). Christians rightly react to the idea that love is no more than an emotion. Love is commitment, love is service, love is a choice. Love is something we are called to give even if it is not returned in kind. We are called to love each other, even to love our enemies.

However, I think that this contrast sets up a false dichotomy. It is true that love is more than a mere emotion, but it is certainly not less than that. Emotions are good; they are God-given capacities, part of what it means to be made in the image of God. Even God has emotions, though His are perfect and completely without sin or selfishness. He is compassionate, merciful, gracious, and loving. “God is love” (1 John 4.8). Our emotions are a good and essential part of what makes us human, but as with our other capacities, they are fallen, corrupted by the sin. But they should not be rejected as if they are sinful in and of themselves, or somehow illegitimate partners in our sanctification. Just like our other human capacities, they need to be redeemed, reordered, transformed by the Spirit. This is why one of the fruit of the Spirit is, among others, love.

Therefore, I would submit that true biblical love is both action and affection; it is both something that we do and something that we feel. Of course, the question must be raised regarding what to do when we just aren’t feeling. Are we still required to love when the affections aren’t there. I would suggest yes, because, contrary to cultural sentiments, our emotions are not to be our guiding principle. We submit our emotions to the Word of God, to the work of the Spirit, such that they begin to follow our volition. So, yes, we are called to love others through acts of self-giving service and sacrifice, but we are also called to like others, as well. This, too, is part of the biblical command to love.

But how would this relate to a command like we find in Matthew 5.44, where we read, “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” In this case, I think we have to be reminded that “our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this darkness, against evil, spiritual forces in the heavens.” (Ephesians 6.12). Our “enemies” are human beings made in the image of God who are enslaved and corrupted by sin, and but by the grace of God, there go we. So, we can have compassion and empathy for those who oppose us. We don’t have to agree with them or condone their actions; we don’t have to lower our defenses and pretend like no separation exists between us. But we cannot hate them outright; we cannot wish for their pain and destruction all the while trying to love them through acts of service and sacrifice. We must have some level of compassion and empathy, even for those who we consider “enemies”, because they too are made in the image of God. They have dignity, value, and worth, and we must loving actions toward them must be grounded in compassion rather than anger and animosity.

The point here is that feelings follow actions. If we set ourselves to love others through acts of service, I think we will be amazed at the affections that will well up for them in our hearts. No, biblical love is not some dry, emotionless, unfeeling command that we are called to obey. We are called to obey, but to do so holistically, with our whole selves. As Jesus reminds us, the greatest commandments are these, to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind” and to “love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22.37-40) When we do this, we will find ourselves become more and more like the one who is love in himself. So, “Dear friends, let us love one another, because love is from God, and everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. The one who does not love does not know God, because God is love.” (1 John 4.7-8)

For further study, see:
On Love as the Heart of Christmas

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