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In "The Work Of The Holy Spirit In Regeneration," John Owen explores the role of the Holy Spirit in the process of spiritual rebirth. He discusses the necessity of divine intervention in bringing about regeneration, the various aspects of this work, and how it relates to the believer's faith and sanctification. Owen offers a comprehensive and insightful explanation of this important aspect of Christian theology.

Martin Luther

Martin Luther Martin Luther was a German monk who forever changed Christianity when he nailed his '95 Theses' to a church door in 1517, sparking the Protestant Reformation. Who Was Martin Luther? Martin Luther was a German monk who began the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century, becoming one of the most influential and controversial figures in the history of Christianity. Luther called into question some of the basic tenets of Roman Catholicism, and his followers soon split from the Roman Catholic Church to begin the Protestant tradition. His actions set in motion tremendous reform within the Church. A prominent theologian, Luther’s desire for people to feel closer to God led him to translate the Bible into the language of the people, radically changing the relationship between church leaders and their followers. Early Life Luther was born on November 10, 1483, in Eisleben, Saxony, located in modern-day Germany. His parents, Hans and Margarette Luther, were of peasant lineage. However, Hans had some success as a miner and ore smelter, and in 1484 the family moved from Eisleben to nearby Mansfeld, where Hans held ore deposits. Hans Luther knew that mining was a tough business and wanted his promising son to have a better career as a lawyer. At age seven, Luther entered school in Mansfeld. Education At 14, Luther went north to Magdeburg, where he continued his studies. In 1498, he returned to Eisleben and enrolled in a school, studying grammar, rhetoric and logic. He later compared this experience to purgatory and hell. In 1501, Luther entered the University of Erfurt, where he received a degree in grammar, logic, rhetoric and metaphysics. At this time, it seemed he was on his way to becoming a lawyer. Becoming a Monk In July 1505, Luther had a life-changing experience that set him on a new course to becoming a monk. Caught in a horrific thunderstorm where he feared for his life, Luther cried out to St. Anne, the patron saint of miners, “Save me, St. Anne, and I’ll become a monk!” The storm subsided and he was saved. Most historians believe this was not a spontaneous act, but an idea already formulated in Luther’s mind. The decision to become a monk was difficult and greatly disappointed his father, but he felt he must keep a promise. Luther was also driven by fears of hell and God’s wrath, and felt that life in a monastery would help him find salvation. The first few years of monastic life were difficult for Luther, as he did not find the religious enlightenment he was seeking. A mentor told him to focus his life exclusively on Jesus Christ and this would later provide him with the guidance he sought. Disillusionment with Rome At age 27, Luther was given the opportunity to be a delegate to a Catholic church conference in Rome. He came away more disillusioned, and very discouraged by the immorality and corruption he witnessed there among the Catholic priests. Upon his return to Germany, he enrolled in the University of Wittenberg in an attempt to suppress his spiritual turmoil. He excelled in his studies and received a doctorate, becoming a professor of theology at the university (known today as Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg). Through his studies of scripture, Luther finally gained religious enlightenment. Beginning in 1513, while preparing lectures, Luther read the first line of Psalm 22, which Christ wailed in his cry for mercy on the cross, a cry similar to Luther’s own disillusionment with God and religion. Two years later, while preparing a lecture on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, he read, “The just will live by faith.” He dwelled on this statement for some time. Finally, he realized the key to spiritual salvation was not to fear God or be enslaved by religious dogma but to believe that faith alone would bring salvation. This period marked a major change in his life and set in motion the Reformation. Though Luther intended these to be discussion points, the 95 Theses laid out a devastating critique of the indulgences - good works, which often involved monetary donations, that popes could grant to the people to cancel out penance for sins - as corrupting people’s faith. Luther also sent a copy to Archbishop Albert Albrecht of Mainz, calling on him to end the sale of indulgences. Aided by the printing press, copies of the 95 Theses spread throughout Germany within two weeks and throughout Europe within two months. The Church eventually moved to stop the act of defiance. In October 1518, at a meeting with Cardinal Thomas Cajetan in Augsburg, Luther was ordered to recant his 95 Theses by the authority of the pope. Luther said he would not recant unless scripture proved him wrong. He went further, stating he didn’t consider that the papacy had the authority to interpret scripture. The meeting ended in a shouting match and initiated his ultimate excommunication from the Church. Excommunication Following the publication of his 95 Theses, Luther continued to lecture and write in Wittenberg. In June and July of 1519 Luther publicly declared that the Bible did not give the pope the exclusive right to interpret scripture, which was a direct attack on the authority of the papacy. Finally, in 1520, the pope had had enough and on June 15 issued an ultimatum threatening Luther with excommunication. On December 10, 1520, Luther publicly burned the letter. In January 1521, Luther was officially excommunicated from the Roman Catholic Church. Diet of Worms In March 1521, Luther was summoned before the Diet of Worms, a general assembly of secular authorities. Again, Luther refused to recant his statements, demanding he be shown any scripture that would refute his position. There was none. On May 8, 1521, the council released the Edict of Worms, banning Luther’s writings and declaring him a “convicted heretic.” This made him a condemned and wanted man. Friends helped him hide out at the Wartburg Castle. While in seclusion, he translated the New Testament into the German language, to give ordinary people the opportunity to read God’s word. Lutheran Church Though still under threat of arrest, Luther returned to Wittenberg Castle Church, in Eisenach, in May 1522 to organize a new church, Lutheranism. He gained many followers, and the Lutheran Church also received considerable support from German princes. When a peasant revolt began in 1524, Luther denounced the peasants and sided with the rulers, whom he depended on to keep his church growing. Thousands of peasants were killed, but the Lutheran Church grew over the years. Katharina von Bora In 1525, Luther married Katharina von Bora, a former nun who had abandoned the convent and taken refuge in Wittenberg. Born into a noble family that had fallen on hard times, at the age of five Katharina was sent to a convent. She and several other reform-minded nuns decided to escape the rigors of the cloistered life, and after smuggling out a letter pleading for help from the Lutherans, Luther organized a daring plot. With the help of a fishmonger, Luther had the rebellious nuns hide in herring barrels that were secreted out of the convent after dark - an offense punishable by death. Luther ensured that all the women found employment or marriage prospects, except for the strong-willed Katharina, who refused all suitors except Luther himself. The scandalous marriage of a disgraced monk to a disgraced nun may have somewhat tarnished the reform movement, but over the next several years, the couple prospered and had six children. Katharina proved herself a more than a capable wife and ally, as she greatly increased their family's wealth by shrewdly investing in farms, orchards and a brewery. She also converted a former monastery into a dormitory and meeting center for Reformation activists. Luther later said of his marriage, "I have made the angels laugh and the devils weep." Unusual for its time, Luther in his will entrusted Katharina as his sole inheritor and guardian of their children. Anti-Semitism From 1533 to his death in 1546, Luther served as the dean of theology at University of Wittenberg. During this time he suffered from many illnesses, including arthritis, heart problems and digestive disorders. The physical pain and emotional strain of being a fugitive might have been reflected in his writings. Some works contained strident and offensive language against several segments of society, particularly Jews and, to a lesser degree, Muslims. Luther's anti-Semitism is on full display in his treatise, The Jews and Their Lies. Death Luther died following a stroke on February 18, 1546, at the age of 62 during a trip to his hometown of Eisleben. He was buried in All Saints' Church in Wittenberg, the city he had helped turn into an intellectual center. Luther's teachings and translations radically changed Christian theology. Thanks in large part to the Gutenberg press, his influence continued to grow after his death, as his message spread across Europe and around the world.

if you could see the end - the story god writes in suffering

A strange grief crept upon me as the final  Lord of the Rings  movie came to an end. An unliterary man at the time, I watched the doors to Middle Earth close. The story would not continue. A sense of silliness accompanied the sadness. Why should a boy, let alone a young man, lament saying goodbye to an imaginary friend whom he knew all along to be imaginary? This is exactly what great stories do to us. Whether captured on screen or between covers of a book, to finally arrive at the end can seem as though palace doors were closing to us. The adventure concludes — with all its dangers, losses, courage, companionship, thrill, and great loves worth living and dying for. They leave us again, to our world. As credits roll, we are made to feel like we are leaving the momentous, the beautiful, the good, and returning to, well, the ordinary. But what if the ache one feels at the conclusion of these tales, the bitter loss in the happily ever after, is not unreality mocking, but Reality inviting? Keep Your Hobbitry What if epic stories cast a spell, not because they are fictional, but because they stir suppressed longings that we just might, in fact, live in such a Story? Perhaps we all hunger to be characters in a grand Story, a heroic tale, a high Romance, a story without end. “He has,” after all, “put eternity into man’s heart” (Ecclesiastes 3:11). The lines between our favorite stories and our own story in this life may be thinner than we have yet dreamed. J.R.R. Tolkien himself captures this in a letter to his son, Christopher, who was serving in the Air Force during World War II: Well, there you are: a hobbit amongst the Urukhai [a deadly enemy]. Keep your hobbitry in heart, and think that all  stories  feel like that when you are  in  them. You are inside a very great story! (183) Do you know yourself to be in a very great story? Do the elves and kings, the lovers and heroes, the characters of your favorite tales have a right to envy you? Until we smile at and embrace the story we find ourselves in, we will not have the hope, the joy, the strength to live to the fullest in this life — and then everlastingly in the next. Designed for Story We are a people of story — delighted by them, taught by them, shaped by them. We starve for meaning. We long for dots to connect. For a golden Thread to run through. Otherwise, we are left in bitter realms of nothingness. “We are a people of story — delighted by them, taught by them, shaped by them.” To reckon with life among us, we search for the Story beyond us. From the beginning, many claimed to do just that. Different prophets from different peoples brought down different explanations from tall mountains to interpret the joys and horrors, hills and valleys, sunrays and shadows of this life. Ancient myths rode to meet ancient desires not so easily filled in hearts hungering for forever. Shared stories made up culture. Shared stories made up religion. Men lived from story and died for story — stories designed to provide answers to life’s biggest questions. And hope needs answers that Story provides. The marketplace is full of stories, of worldviews trying to answer those great questions for us. Andrew Delbanco, in his meditation on hope, identifies that the general narrative that united Americans has shifted from a story about God, to that of nation, to that of self. We have moved from the cross, to the flag, and now landed on the narrow and perilous path of  me . Of all people at all times, none has been more driven by story than followers of Christ. Even if an angel came down from heaven with a new story, we would refuse it with disdain (Galatians 1:8). And yet, while we often remain orthodox, despair still emerges when we focus solely on the real sadness in our single sentence called life, and our hearts forget the tale beyond. Hope, however, considers that sentence in the whole Story, a Story written by one who did not spare his own Son. Hope reaches past the groans, for that part of the Story with no more sin, no more suffering, no more separation. Joseph: A Case Study Hope stays attuned to God’s Story, because it withers with forgetting. Take as a test case of someone who didn’t sink in the swamp of self, an Old Testament man of God, Joseph. His life is full of many valleys. Betrayed, assaulted, and sold into slavery, Joseph found himself in Potiphar’s house. After being exalted to Potiphar’s right hand, Joseph is sexually harassed, falsely accused, and sent to prison. After correctly interpreting one of Pharaoh’s servant’s dreams, he is betrayed and forgotten. And then after two more long years in prison, he is exalted to become “a father to Pharaoh” (Genesis 45:8). His human story — full of abuse, betrayal, accusation, and lies — fell purposefully within God’s bigger story,  and he knew it . When he reveals his identity to his brothers who sold him, he says to his brothers, “Come near to me, please.” And they came near. And he said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed or angry with yourselves because you sold me here, for  God sent me  before you to preserve life. For the famine has been in the land these two years, and there are yet five years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. And  God sent me  before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here,  but God . He has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt.” (Genesis 45:4–8) He and his brothers knew his story. Twice he acknowledges what was obvious to them all: “ You  sold me here.” Joseph had not forgotten the nights — the years — in prison away from friends and family, the horror of their closing ears to his pleading as they cast him in the pit, their cruelty to sell him to those who would mistreat and perhaps murder him. The darkness, though past, was still dark. Memories remained. But when he calls them near, he remembers more than just his story as seen from ground level — and this gives power to forgive and love his guilty brothers. He tells them not to be distressed or angry with themselves. Why? “ For God sent me  before you to preserve life.” In their selling, God was sending. In their evil, God intended good. In the darkest scene of the play, God was still writing. That Story smothered bitterness and revenge. That Story and its Author allowed him to forgive, bless, and love where a different story would have had him calculate the wrongs, grip firmly the treachery, and use his power to exact revenge. And the Story gave him hope for the future promises of his God, recorded as the radiant triumph of his life in Hebrews 11: “By faith Joseph, at the end of his life, made mention of the exodus of the Israelites and gave directions concerning his bones” (Hebrews 11:22). He knew, as those of us who fall asleep in the Lord do as well, that we shall wake in the Promised Land. When Elves Envy Men Although it may not  feel  like it, we live in a very great story. Have we forgotten? “We, in America, have moved from the cross, to the flag, and now landed on the narrow and perilous path of me.” Our hearts grow accustomed to the extraordinary as it becomes familiar. We lose a sense of where we live when we can drive home without a map. Life no longer invigorates. God’s epic plays out all around us, and he draws us in to play our part, and yet we halfheartedly read our lines or escape into other people’s lives. We are bored. But awake,  we  live in a great Story. Wild and throbbing with adventure, trying and terrible at parts. Eternity hanging in the balance. A fierce Dragon threatens. Demons surround. Hell gapes. The Light still shines in the darkness. Angels assemble. The Spirit animates. Christians stand clad in armor. The church marches on hades. Judgment hastens. Salvation is ready to be revealed. The True King — whose sandals no other character is worthy to unlatch — has died for sinners and lives forevermore.  He is coming. This tale plays out on earth in what we blaspheme and call “ordinary.” With all its details and drudgery, its paying bills and crying babies, its baseball games and rush-hour traffic, an eternal drama plays. One that draws heaven’s attention.  Angels  ache to leave the theater. You are on the inside of a very great Story — a story to be remembered, cherished, and clung to during the most difficult scenes. Is there any other tale you would rather find was true?

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