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About the Book
"10,000 Miles for a Miracle" by Kathryn Kuhlman is a book that tells the story of the author's journey to faith and her experiences as a renowned faith healer. Kuhlman shares powerful testimonies of miraculous healings and divine interventions that she witnessed during her ministry, and offers insights into the power of faith and the miraculous workings of God.
John Owen
John Owen’s life was incredibly difficult.
Born in 1616 and dying in 1683, Owen lived through the deaths of his first wife and all of his children, several of whom died in very early childhood. He supported his last surviving daughter when her marriage broke down. He contributed to a political revolution, watched it fail, saw the monarchy restored and wreak a terrible revenge on republicans, and lived in and around London during the persecution that followed. For twenty years he would have seen the decapitated heads of his friends on display around the city. He died fearing that the dissenting churches had largely abandoned the doctrine of the Trinity and justification by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone; and, with Charles II about to be replaced by his openly Catholic brother James, believing that the English Reformation was almost over.
Owen was one of the most published writers in the seventeenth century.
He published around 8 million words. These writings included books on theology and spirituality, politics and economics, and ranged in length from the largest commentary ever published on the epistle to the Hebrews to a short Latin poem that has never been reprinted. For not all of Owen’s works have been kept in print. The most widely circulating nineteenth-century edition, most of which is published by the Banner of Truth, did not include Owen’s sermon manuscripts that are kept in various English libraries, nor the book for children that Owen published in 1652.
Owen was one of England’s earliest children’s authors.
The catechisms that Owen published (1645) outlined what he expected children in his congregation to know. These catechisms were published before the Westminster Assembly published its better-known examples. But Owen’s catechisms are in many ways simpler. The Primer (1652), which Owen prepared after the death of several of his children during the years of poor harvests and disease at the end of the 1640s, showed what Owen expected of an ideal Christian home. Its routine would be built around Bible reading and prayer, he believed, and his little book included sample prayers that children could learn to pray in mornings, evenings, and at meals. Owen argued that those who led church services should take account of the needs of children. Services that were too long, he believed, did no one any good. Adult believers should not need written prayers, he believed, and these should be banned from public worship. But children were different and needed all the help they could get.
Owen enjoyed many warm friendships.
His social network included many of the most famous writers in seventeenth-century England. Among his friends and rivals were John Milton, Andrew Marvell, John Bunyan, and Lucy Hutchinson. Owen fell out with Milton and became the subject of one of his sonnets. Owen helped Marvell publish one of his most controversial political pamphlets. He encouraged his publisher, Nathanial Ponder, to publish Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. And he appears to have supported Lucy Hutchinson during her move into London, when she attended and took notes upon his preaching and translated large parts of his Theologoumena Pantodapa (1661)—a translation of which has been published with the title Biblical Theology. Owen’s letters reveal his kindness and care as a pastor, especially to mothers grieving their children’s death.
Owen was deeply political.
He preached to Members of Parliament on the day after the execution of Charles I, and pinned his hopes for the reformation of church and society on their efforts to transform England into a protestant republic. During the 1650s, under the leadership of Oliver Cromwell, Owen served on important committees that sought to establish a religious foundation for the new regime. But he grew dismayed by the ways in which the Cromwell family, and the administration they led, seemed to turn away from godly values. In 1658, he worked with leading army officers to create a crisis that, he likely hoped, would call the regime back to its earlier ideals. It failed, and instead created the crisis that was resolved by the restoration of the monarchy, the return of Charles II, and the persecution of dissenters that followed. During the Restoration, Owen kept his head down, and, as persecution slackened in the later 1660s, published pamphlets that argued that dissenters were the economic lifeblood of the English nation. But he was chastened by his attempts at political intervention and came increasingly to realize that his focus should be on things eternal.
Owen often changed his mind.
As his developing attitudes to political intervention suggest, Owen committed himself to some beliefs and behaviors that he came to regret. In his early years, he changed his churchmanship from Presbyterianism to Congregationalism. He innovated as a Congregationalist, installing as a co-elder and preacher a man who would not be ordained for several years. He argued for the weekly celebration of the Lord’s Supper, though it is not clear that he ever persuaded any of his congregations to practice it. He thought carefully about the end times and came to believe that, in the latter days, a large number of Jewish people would be converted to Christianity and would return to live in the Promised Land. He dismissed a great deal of discussion about the millennium, but became convinced that the binding of Satan had yet to be achieved. Owen changed his mind because he kept on studying the Bible.
Owen was biblical, through and through, and depended just as much on the Holy Spirit.
He certainly believed in a learned ministry–after all, he had taught theology at Oxford and done his best to promote godliness within the student body. But he also trusted the Holy Spirit to guide ordinary Christians in small group Bible studies that did not need to be policed by a formally trained expert. Aside from his own Bible study, which advanced on the serious scholarship represented by the three thousand titles that were included in the catalog of his library published soon after his death, Owen encouraged church members to meet together to study Scripture in private.
Owen trusted the Bible and the work of the Spirit after writing about both.
Owen was not a philosophically-driven, rationalist theologian. His writing abounds in biblical citations. It is molded and contoured by biblical revelation. But he warned that Christians could approach their study of the Bible with absolutely no spiritual advantage to themselves. Christians who approached the study of the Bible without absolute dependence upon the Spirit who inspired and preserved it would gain no more benefit than Jewish readers did from their Scriptures, he argued. Christians should never choose between entire dependence upon the Bible and the Spirit.
Owen believed that the goal of the Christian life was knowing God.
Before Owen, no one had ever shown clearly how Christians relate to each person of the Trinity. Owen described the goal of the gospel as revealing the love of the Father, who sent the Son as a redeemer of his people, who would be indwelt, provided with gifts, and united together by the Spirit. Owen’s Communion with God is among his most celebrated achievements—and no wonder. It is the exhalation of his devotion to Father, Son, and Spirit, and the discovery of the limitless love of God.
Owen is much easier to read than many people imagine.
There is a mystique to Owen—a widespread feeling that his books are too difficult and best left to expert theologians. But Owen’s greatest books were written as sermons for an audience of teenagers. Publishers have begun to modernize Owen’s language in new editions of his works. Now more than ever, it’s time to pick up Owen and find his encouragement for the Christian life.
God Always Sets the Table
Perhaps no act of divine provision comes and goes so quietly, so predictably, so almost imperceptibly, like our next meal. Now, for millions of people around the world, the weighty miracle is felt and revered. Unlike many of us, when they pray, “Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11), they truly do not know if and how that bread will come. They wait for food like many of us never have. When they lie down at night, having eaten enough to quiet their aching stomachs, they marvel that they did not starve today — that God fed them enough to sustain them for another 24 long hours. How slow the rest of us can be to marvel while we eat. We forget  to eat. We sometimes think of meals as interruptions to an otherwise productive day. We miss the wonder, like watching three blazing sunrises every day, that the God of heaven and earth feeds us. He Brings Forth Food Psalm 104 does not miss the dumbfounding beauty of daily bread: You cause the grass to grow for the livestock and plants for man to cultivate, that he may bring forth food from the earth and wine to gladden the heart of man, oil to make his face shine and bread to strengthen man’s heart. (Psalm 104:14–15) You, O God, stretch out the infinite heavens as if it were just a tent (Psalm 104:2). You set the layers of the earth on its foundations, carefully wrapping core with mantle, and mantle with 25,000 miles of crust (Psalm 104:5). You lift the mountains with your hands, some of them 20,000 feet high, and you carve out the depths and crevices of all the valleys (Psalm 104:8). And you feed us. Our next meal stands there right alongside Mount Everest, the Grand Canyon, and the Andromeda Galaxy, among the most breathtaking wonders anywhere in creation. Have you, like me, missed the spectacular mystery laid on the plate before you? Food Is No Footnote Jesus sees what the psalmist saw, the God-sized wonder baked into life-sustaining bread. When he teaches his disciples to pray, he says, Pray then like this: “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread  . . .” (Matthew 6:9–11) Our Lord moves seamlessly from the reaches of heaven, and the ends of the earth, to the wheat on our plate. The transition is not jarring from the cosmos to the kitchen, even in his extremely concise prayer, because he sees how powerfully God must act in both. “God bakes something of himself — his worth, his mouthwatering glory — into everything we eat.” When we pause to pray and give thanks for the food before us, we have to resist thinking that these moments are trivial, peripheral, forgettable. Every meal, God sets the table. He is hallowing his name, extending his kingdom, and doing his will (among other ways) by  providing his people with food. What we eat is not a footnote or afterthought for Jesus. Because he wants his Father to be glorified, he does not take his (or our) daily bread for granted. Two Great Ingredients God mixes at least two great ingredients into mealtime worship: First, he bakes something of himself — his worth, his mouthwatering glory — into everything we eat. Nothing we consume is silent about God. Every bite beckons us to enjoy something sweeter, more satisfying, more soul-sustaining: him. “The creation of food, tongues, and the human digestive system is the product of infinite wisdom knitting the world together in a harmonious whole,” writes Joe Rigney. “The variety of tastes creates categories and gives us edible images of divine things” ( The Things of Earth , 81). Second, when God prepares our food for us, he nourishes and strengthens us to do his will — to eat or drink, or whatever we do, to his glory (1 Corinthians 10:31). Man does not live by bread alone, but he will not live long without bread. God chooses us from among all the people of the earth, despite how little we deserved his love, and makes us his witnesses to the ends of the earth, and — wonder of wonders — he sustains us each and every day, hour by hour, by bringing food forth from  the earth. As Rigney goes on to say, “Yes, food is given to us for our enjoyment, to enlarge our categories for knowing God. But food is also God’s way of providing us with energy and strength for the work” (85). If you have lost your sense of the mystery of your meals, remember that this food did not come ultimately from the pantry or the fridge, the grocery store or the farmer’s market, from the butcher or the harvest, but from the mind and heart of God. And he did not entrust us with mouths and meals simply to survive. He wants us to eat for more of him — to experience and enjoy more of him ourselves, and to share more of him in and for the world. My Portion Forever We will not truly wonder at our daily supply of food if we do not treasure God more than food. “My flesh and my heart may fail” — my water may dry up and my bread may not come — “but God  is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Psalms 73:26). He  is my portion — three full meals (and more) for hundreds of thousands of years (and more). Rigney writes, Our sense of hunger and thirst are divinely designed to highlight the soul’s hunger for spiritual food. . . . Apart from our experience of empty stomachs and parched throats, of full bellies, quenched thirsts, and the incredible variety of taste, our spiritual lives would be impoverished, and we would have no real vocabulary for spiritual desire, no mental and emotional framework for engaging with God. (81) God wants what we eat to make us hungry for him . We often eat just to make our hunger go away. What if we ate, instead, to try to taste and see and enjoy the God who feeds us? “Slow down and savor the majesty in your next meal.” Our God came, took on our flesh, and ate among us, saying, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst” (John 6:35). Then the bread of life was broken on the cross, spilling the wine of his precious blood for us — the hungry, the ungrateful, the wandering — to bring us into his new covenant (1 Corinthians 11:24–26), and secure a seat for us at “the marriage supper of the Lamb” (Revelation 19:9). Slow down and savor the majesty in your next meal. However incidental it may feel, the food is pointing to the Provider, telling his story, and anticipating the forever feast we will enjoy with him.