A friend of mine once made the excellent point that we cannot systematize our faith. I agree. But faith is not in isolation; as Van Til wrote, “faith is never alone: it requires an object.” That is, faith is a response to truth–truth which (or who) is revealed in Scripture. God has revealed so much of himself in all his wonder in both creation and Scripture with the express purpose that we may know him deeply and passionately [in the whole of human life; in thinking and in doing].
Those who object to a detailed, orderly, systematic approach to the study of God deny to God-lovers what lovers most instinctively do: make a science of knowing (and by their knowing, pleasing) their beloved. A man who truly desires his wife will study her every feature, memorize and think often of each freckle or wrinkle on the nape of her neck. The curvature of her lips when she sleeps or smiles or flirts with him will linger in his mind’s eye long after his physical eyes have closed. A favorite glance, or gesture, or word of encouragement, or perhaps even a giggle, will spring upon him in midday, capture his attention, and leave him in a momentary daze before his duties regain him. The many minute discolorations of her eyes–those only seen up close–are the main characters of his daydreamings. Even her soft fingertips and tender earlobes will fascinate him for hours. Attributes that on any other person would go wholly unnoticed, he finds utterly captivating on his beloved. So ought we to study our most beloved.
I’ll not go any further, but my point is made in this: provided that our theology leads to and aims at (and to a large degree consists in) doxology, it should never be discouraged. Indeed, if we are exhorted and commanded to the blessed tasks of growing in the knowledge of God, of teaching our children of him, and of teaching all nations the good news about him, we would do well to make as diligent and thorough a study of him over the Word in our prayer closets as a husband does of his beloved wife in their bedchambers. For this is life eternal: to know God, and his Son, Jesus Christ.
And this deep and inner knowing comes “from the inward work of the Holy Spirit bearing witness by and with the Word in our hearts.” (WCF I.v)
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3 responses so far ↓
1 Julianne // Sep 17, 2005 at 1:55 pm
Wow, and amen!
2 Nicki // Sep 17, 2005 at 5:38 pm
Aron, I’ve been reading the cost of discipleship and thinking of you a lot. i think i finally get you when it comes to pursuing singleness.
As for your above post…I guess men really are visual.
3 Aron // Sep 18, 2005 at 4:26 pm
You have no idea how encouraging that is, Nicki. Thanks.
And, about being visual: what I was trying to communicate isn’t something that could happen with a pretty mannequin or a picture in a magazine. The entire essence of a person (in this case, a beloved wife) is often summed up (pressed down, and shaken together) in one memory or little piece of who they are. It’s not a beautiful jawline; it’s her beautiful jawline. And it may not be beautiful at all: it’s just that it’s hers, and she’s “altogether lovely” to her beloved. It’s the essence of an entire person defined, and cherished, by a mere dimple. But the dimple’s not the thing: she is. The dimple’s just an ‘icon’ for her.
Hm. I’d better try that again.
I was once in love with a very sweet girl–my first and last love (at least, so far)–whose eyes used to get all crinkly at the edges when she’d smile at me. I couldn’t care less for wrinkles. But her wrinkles? To this day, their memory makes me smile and stare at nothing for a moment or two. But what I’m remembering isn’t ‘wrinkles,’ it’s the sum of all that she was, merely represented by her smiling eyes.
(This has nothing to do with my post, really, but I thought I should clarify lest I fuel the anxiety of those who mistakenly believe they need to be a supermodel in order to be known and loved deeply. –or the idea that men care only about packaging.)
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