God Encounters Order Printed Copy
- Author: James W. Goll, Michal Ann Goll
- Size: 27.44MB | 256 pages
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About the Book
"God Encounters" by James W. Goll and Michal Ann Goll explores the ways in which people can personally encounter God in their lives through various means such as prayer, worship, and dreams. The authors offer practical advice and personal anecdotes to guide readers in their own spiritual journey and deepen their relationship with God.
John Owen
John Owenâs 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 Owenâs 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 Owenâs sermon manuscripts that are kept in various English libraries, nor the book for children that Owen published in 1652.
Owen was one of Englandâs earliest childrenâs 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 Owenâs 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 Bunyanâs Pilgrimâs 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)âa translation of which has been published with the title Biblical Theology. Owenâs letters reveal his kindness and care as a pastor, especially to mothers grieving their childrenâs 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 Lordâs 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 ministryâafter 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. Owenâs Communion with God is among his most celebrated achievementsâand 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 Owenâa widespread feeling that his books are too difficult and best left to expert theologians. But Owenâs greatest books were written as sermons for an audience of teenagers. Publishers have begun to modernize Owenâs language in new editions of his works. Now more than ever, itâs time to pick up Owen and find his encouragement for the Christian life.
Will You Praise Him While You Wait
I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. (Psalm 13:5) If faith is the beating heart of a Christianâs spiritual anatomy, then praise is the healthy pulse. When faith looks back upon Godâs wondrous deeds of redemption, we cannot help but praise. We praise him for parting the Red Sea with a word. We praise him for felling giants with a shepherdâs sling. We praise him for sending his Son to suffer and die. We praise him for raising Christ from the grave. âIf faith is the beating heart of a Christianâs spiritual anatomy, then praise is the healthy pulse.â Yet faith goes further still. Not content to praise God only on the far side of deliverance, faith teaches us to praise him before deliverance even comes: not only after heâs parted the Red Sea, but while the Egyptian army still presses in; not only after Goliath lies slain, but as he still taunts the hosts of Israel; not only after the stone rolls away from the tomb, but during the Sabbath silence of Holy Saturday. As David shows us in Psalm 13, such praise does not arise effortlessly. Often, it comes on the other side of agonizing prayer. How Long, O Lord? Without introduction or preamble, Psalm 13 opens in anguish: âHow long, O Lord?â The question is a familiar one for most, even if our straits have not been quite so dire as Davidâs. Pressure builds. Prayer apparently goes unheard. All the while, Godâs promises rest unfulfilled. No matter where David looks, comfort eludes him. Above, a wall of clouds hides Godâs face (Psalm 13:1). Within, cares and sorrows swirl (Psalm 13:2). Around, enemies threaten the tottering king (Psalm 13:2). Four times in two verses, David repeats his question: âHow long? . . . How long? . . . How long? . . . How long?â Yet even here, faith has not forsaken him. For all the misery wrapped up in Davidâs question, he knows that Godâs intervention is a matter not of if, but of when â not of âWill you?â but of âHow long?â His is no cry of despair thrown up into a godless sky, but rather the song of distressed trust. âConsider and Answer Meâ With each breath in the psalm, faith grows firmer. By verse 3, God is not only âO Lord,â but âO Lord my God.â At the same time, lament gives way to petition: âConsider and answer me . . . light up my eyesâ (Psalm 13:3). Genuine faith may often speak the language of lament and complaint, but eventually it takes up the language of specific request. David follows his prayers to be seen, answered, and revived with three reasons: âLest I sleep the sleep of death, lest my enemy say, âI have prevailed over him,â lest my foes rejoice because I am shakenâ (Psalm 13:3â4). These reasons may seem, at first, simply like the logic of desperation: âAnswer me or I will die!â But more is going on here than that. âWhen we merely give vent to the chaos within us, our prayers often leave us right where we started.â David, desperate as he may be, is appealing to God on the basis of his own promises. Early in Davidâs public life, God pledged that the shepherd boy would sit on the throne of Israel. Then he sealed that pledge with covenant promises: âI will make for you a great name. . . . I will give you rest from all your enemies. . . . When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your fathers, I will raise up your offspring after youâ (2 Samuel 7:9, 11â12). In Psalm 13, those promises seem to be in jeopardy. So David sends them back to God, wrapped in prayer. When we merely give vent to the chaos within us, our prayers often leave us right where we started. But when we pray in the slipstream of Godâs promises, we often find, with David, faith slowly rising. âI Will Sing to the Lordâ Many Christians are familiar with the famous âBut Godâ statements of the New Testament (Ephesians 2:4, for example). Yet we can look not only at our sin and say, âBut Godâ; we can look also at our despair and say, âBut Iâ: But I have trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me. (Psalm 13:5â6) No circumstance has changed; no prayer has been answered; no deliverance has arrived. Yet in a moment, enemies grow small, sorrow and care loosen their grip, and lament gives way to praise. Why? Because Davidâs prayerful meditation on Godâs promises has reminded him of something more powerful than his enemies, more certain than his sorrow: âyour steadfast love.â Another psalm of David shows us why steadfast love had such an effect on the fainting king. From the perspective of time, the steadfast love of the Lord is âfrom everlasting to everlastingâ; from the perspective of space, it is âas high as the heavens are above the earthâ; from the perspective of Godâs character, it flows from him with abundance (Psalm 103:8, 11, 17). Such steadfast love is the pledge of all Godâs promises. No wonder David sings. Today, we have even greater assurances of Godâs steadfast love: a bloody cross, an empty tomb, and a Savior who sits on the throne. And if this steadfast love is ours, then we too can sing with abandon, far before deliverance comes. For if Christ has come, and if we are in him by faith alone, then God will not fail to deal bountifully with us. Article by Scott Hubbard