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Tim Challies

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September 12, 2014

There were two weeks left in summer vacation. For another two weeks, the kids would be off school and out of class. For another two weeks they would experience the freedom they long for through ten months of every year. For another two weeks they would be dead bored.

I remember my summer vacations fondly. I remember them as times I roamed free and spent all day every day with childhood friends. We wandered woods, and drifted down streams, and discovered the world around us. And, of course, there were the vacations, mostly spent at a cottage four or five hours from home—close enough to be accessible, but far enough to be a vacation.

But, realistically, I know I must have spent a lot of my summer moping around and whining to my mother, “I’m bored.” Parents try to help their kids through the summer, to keep them entertained. But most parents don’t, and just plain can’t, keep up the excitement for two full months.

There were two weeks left in summer vacation. Two of my kids were sprawled on the couch in dejected boredom, wishing they could just watch a little more Netflix or play a little more Flappy Bird. One of my kids was wide-eyed, staring into the pages of a book. And it occurred to me: Curious people don’t get bored. People with a deep sense of wonder don’t get bored. People with a deep desire to appreciate the world around them and to learn its secrets—these people have developed a resistance to boredom.

This realization came a little too late in the summer to do me much good, but it is one I have been thinking about ever since. It makes me see that the challenge with our children is not to find things that will entertain them, but to find wonders that will impress them. The challenge is not to pile up things for them to do, but to find things that will evoke that sense of curiosity, that desire to know more.

And the same is true with me. I am rarely bored because I am endlessly curious—there is always something to discover, something to learn, something to understand in a deeper way. Each of those things that evokes my curiosity soon generates projects to accomplish, and these propel me through most of my life. There are always facts to learn, ideas to pursue, projects to complete. Each of them is beautiful in its own way—the beauty of historical events, the beauty of an idea understood in a new way, the beauty of accomplishment. They all make my heart beat just a little bit faster.

But in those times I do experience boredom and am tempted to mope around like a disgruntled child—in those moments I can identify a distinct lack of wonder. In those times of boredom I have lost the awe, the wonder, that generates curiosity. I have lost the ability, or the desire, to be moved by beauty. The problem in these times is not that I have nothing to do; the problem is that I have nothing to pursue.

I am convicted that this has been the deepest and longest-lasting impact of Steve DeWitt’s excellent book Eyes Wide Open—It has helped me to identify and delight in beauty, to follow that beauty to wonder, to follow wonder to worship, and to enjoy it to God’s glory. He says it so well:

Beauty was created by God for a purpose: to give us the experience of wonder. And wonder, in turn, is intended to lead us to the ultimate human expression and privilege: worship. Beauty is both a gift and a map. It is a gift to be enjoyed and a map to be followed back to the source of the beauty with praise and thanksgiving.

Bored picture courtesy of Shutterstock.

September 10, 2014

I think it may be the Calvinist in me, or maybe it’s the inner bibliophile, but for some reason I’m quietly convinced there is no problem that can’t be solved with a few facts. If only you knew what I know, you’d change your behavior. If you would read what I’ve read, if you would listen to what I’ve listened to, you would see the impropriety of what you’re doing, and you’d stop doing it. Virtue is just a few simple facts away.

If only it were so simple.

I am a problem-solver, and my default means of solving problems is through information—I am quick to distribute books, and quick to recommend sermons or conference talks. Struggling? Read this. Looking for life-change? Try these conference talks. I apply the fix to myself, and I apply the fix to others.

None of those things are bad, and none of those things are wrong. Conferences and sermons and books can be life-changing. But they often represent the easy way out. And they often represent the less effective way.

I was thinking about these things already when I got punched in the head by words from Kent Dunnington, author of the wonderful book Addiction and Virtue. Dunnington provides a long, dense, philosophical, and powerful argument that addiction is really a kind of habit. He is convinced that the Bible and the Christian faith offer a robust understanding of this kind of habit, and that the gospel offers the best hope for overcoming it. But even as he argues this, he has to grapple with the reality that when it comes to addiction, 12-step programs are often far more effective than anything the church offers. And, of course, he has to ask why this is.

Much of his answer settles on the fellowship and community that comes with a 12-step program. These words, coming in his closing argument, hit hard:

The church fails to provide sustaining and transforming relationships for addicted persons in its midst wherever and whenever it buys into the modern assumption that growth in virtue is a product of learning abstract principles whereas friendship is a private endeavor that is based on “similar interests.” Such an assumption is in direct opposition to the biblical understanding of friendship. Although affection characterizes many of the friendships portrayed in the Bible, affection is ancillary to the animating center of friendship, which is nothing less than the willingness to lay down one’s life for one’s friend (Jn 15:13). Such friendships are not optional for Christians … For Paul, friendships of accountability and training are central to growth in holiness.

What is true of addicts is true of all of us, to some degree. We are all battling addiction to sin. What the church fails to provide addicts is what it fails to provide all those who are battling the deep-rooted habits of the flesh.

What makes 12-step programs so effective despite vague or even antagonistic notions of God? To large degree, it is the fellowship of addicts or alcoholics, who walk together, and battle together, against a common enemy. They develop transformative friendships based not on doing fun things together or sharing common amusements, but on the growth and development of virtue. They form and foster deep, meaningful, lasting friendships that pursue the good of others through the growth of good habits, patterns and behaviors.

Here’s the thing: Addicts are not transformed by learning facts. They do not find freedom by acquiring and applying abstract principles. Not only, at least. They find freedom by surrounding themselves with a community of people who are pursuing the same goal and who will pursue it with them arm-in-arm. They see the principles lived out in others, and learn to imitate them.

As Christians we form communities in which every individual is in need of transformation. We need facts and principles to guide and motivate us, and God provides those through his Word. We hear those principles from the pulpit and encounter them in our daily Bible reading. But we also need to see those principles, to surround ourselves with living examples of those principles. Otherwise church is simply a place we gather to hear preaching about Christ, rather than a fellowship of people displaying life in Christ.

Maybe what we need is need fewer books, and more friendships, fewer abstract principles and more applied principles. We need to be less willing to say, “Read this and call me in the morning” and more “Walk with me and I’ll show you. Come into my home and watch. Come into my life and see.” If it is true that in the Bible “friendships of accountability and training are central to growth in holiness,” There is a necessary application: “Mentoring programs in the church ought not to be something parishioners must seek out but rather something so prevalent that parishioners would have to intentionally avoid them.” Is this the case in your church? Is this the case in your life?

Every church is a community of recovering sin-addicts, fellow sufferers who are longing for freedom. Freedom comes through principle taught and principle displayed. Who needs to hear you say, “Walk with me. Let’s learn to be like Christ…”

(Note: I’m sure I will have more to say about Addiction and Virtue in the future, but for now, do consider reading it. It’s a difficult read, but the final chapter makes it all worthwhile.)

Fist-bump image credit: Shutterstock.

September 09, 2014

A couple of years ago an unknown person hacked my GMail account. I had been lazy, I had used a low-quality, low-security password, and I paid the price. Within seconds the person had changed my password, locked me out, and deleted all my archived email. I tried everything I could to attract the attention of Google’s support team, but to no avail. It was only when I asked for help from my Twitter followers that I regained access to the account. In other words, if I didn’t have so many Twitter followers, I would have permanently lost my account.

This event and a hundred headlines convinced me of the need for better security. Recent news stories have once again shown the importance of properly securing accounts, apps and services behind best practices. Here are 5 steps you need to take to protect yourself online.

#1. Use Good Passwords

Surely you know by now that a bad password is, well, bad. You make a criminal’s life exponentially more difficult if you determine you will use stronger and better passwords. Of course it’s not always quite so simple, as there is endless debate over what constitutes a good password. But whatever camp you represent, a good password is one that protects your account and one that you can actually remember.

I think xkcd gets it roughly correct here, though. Find a password that is long but also easy to remember. Four random words strung together will protect your account better than a much shorter string of random numbers, letters and other characters; a mnemonic device of some description should help you remember those words. As he suggests in his comic, consider putting together a silly little story or scenario to help you retain it. You can use this random word generator to get you started. If you want to kick it to the next level, consider Jesse’s advice. (Also, make the first or last letter a capital since some sites require at least one upper-case character.)

So go ahead and make yourself a password and, for now, write it down on a piece of paper. We will get back to it in a minute.

#2. Use Unique Passwords

Creating one good password is a good start, but if you want to be ultra-secure should consider creating unique passwords for each of your important accounts. We can consider this an optional step if (and only if!) you are going to be sure to follow step #3 below.

If you want to be ultra-secure, here’s how to proceed. I’m sure you have a number of low-security accounts—they don’t have much personal information, they don’t have access to your credit card, and so on. For these accounts you can maintain a single password that spans all of them. But for each of your accounts that would really hurt to lose, you should consider a unique password. Otherwise, a criminal who gets that one password will have access to all of your accounts and, trust me, he’ll try. You probably have a lot of these accounts that really matter: email, Evernote, iCloud, Facebook, Twitter, Dropbox, banking, Paypal, and so on.

So go ahead—figure out the sites that need strong, unique passwords, and get to it. Create those passwords, write them on your piece of paper, and visit each site to change your account accordingly.

#3. Use Two-Factor Authentication

By now you have (hopefully) created unique and high-quality passwords for each of your important sites. Or, at the very least, you’ve got one great password that is protecting all of your accounts. Already you’ve gone a long way to protecting yourself online, but there is still some work to do. The next thing you’ll want to do is find which of your sites and applications support two-factor authentication. Two-factor authentication is a login system that requires a password plus another piece of information before you can access an account or change any of its information (hence the “two factors.”) The second piece of information is usually a code that will be generated by your mobile phone or sent to your mobile phone. You’ll find two-factor authentication supported by Google, Apple, Evernote, Dropbox, Facebook, Twitter, and most other major services. It will take a minute or two to set up each of them, but it is time well-invested. Once you have done this, a criminal not only needs your login name and password, but he also needs access to your cell phone (at least in theory).

September 08, 2014

I am sure you have heard by now that a group of hackers invaded the private accounts of a list of celebrities, found their photographs, and released them to the public. The celebrities were young women, the photographs were nude or semi-nude, and the shots were meant to remain private. The end result is that millions of people have now seen and enjoyed revealing photographs that were intended only for these women and their most intimate acquaintances.

We could talk about the folly of taking nude photographs, and the inappropriateness of such moments shared between two people who are not married (which, I assume, is the context of most or all of the photographs). But I think such a focus would be to miss out on more important matters.

When I read this story I felt a deep sadness for these young women. These women are victims, and they are victims several times over.

They are victims of the crime that hacked their accounts and stole their photographs and displayed them for the world to see. We acknowledge this, but I want us to acknowledge a deeper kind of victimization.

They are victims of the millions of virtual voyeurs who are looking at photographs that were meant to be kept private. And they are victims of all the people who are using those pictures for the purpose of sexual titillation or just plain entertainment.

But there is still another aspect of their victimization I want us to see: The very fact that these women took these photographs in the first place is proof that they are victims of the world, the flesh, and the devil. I assume they were all willing participants in these photo shoots, but they were victims even in their willingness—victims of those forces that makes them believe they are nothing more than their beauty, their sexiness, or their sexual desirability. They are victims of the lust that drove them to inappropriate sexual relationships outside of marriage. When we understand sin, we understand that a person can be a willing participant and victim at the same time and in the same act.

When I speak to people about pornography, I always try to highlight this point: As Christians, we ought to have the highest compassion for people who are victims of sin. The young man who looks at pornography is enjoying someone else’s victimization. Whether the woman on the screen was raped into porn or whether she is a fully-willing participant, she is a victim of evil, controlling forces. And the young man who looks at her on the screen is joyfully participating in her victimization. He takes advantage of a victim for his own sexual satisfaction. That is a shameful, abhorrent evil. And those who looked at the stolen celebrity photos are every bit as guilty.

As Christians we are called by Jesus to love our neighbors as ourselves—we are to have compassion on them for their sin and folly. Whatever else we see in this sad story, let’s see this: As Christians, we must refuse to participate in further victimizing those who are victims of sin.

(In case it needs to be said, I did not look for or look at any of those photos in preparing this article.)

Hacker image credit: Shutterstock.

September 03, 2014

My practice of reading goes through phases. There are times where I just cannot get enough of the newest Christian books, and there are times where reading yet another Christian book seems almost intolerable. In some seasons I love to read novels, and in some seasons I can’t stand them. I’m sure any committed bibliophile can identify with the ebb and the flow of the literary appetite.

Over the summer I found myself gravitating away from books written by and for Christians, and toward books meant for the general market—books on productivity and habits and software and organization and communication and life. I found myself enjoying them a great deal, and benefiting from them in unexpected ways. Though they were written by and for unbelievers, and though many were outright antagonistic to the gospel, they helped equip me to live as a Christian.

I have always been fascinated by the strange Parable of the Dishonest Manager (or Shrewd Manager, if you prefer), where Jesus says, “The master commended the dishonest manager for his shrewdness. For the sons of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons of light” (Luke 16:8). Though Jesus could hardly commend the dishonesty of the shrewd manager, he does applaud his shrewdness, his astuteness, his ability to make calculated decisions and sound applications. I think Philip Ryken gets it right when he comments:

There is a legitimate moral difference between saying, “I applaud the clever steward because he acted dishonestly,” and saying, “I applaud the dishonest steward because he acted cleverly.” The master was saying the latter, not the former, and this is the key to understanding the parable. Jesus was not coming out in favor of fraud, or telling us that it is right to cheat people. He was not saying that dishonesty is the best policy. Instead, he was giving an example of how clever worldly people can be when they act in their own best interest.

When it came to this man’s cleverness, Jesus was willing to give him his due. And many books that exist way outside the Christian market are clever and wise and full of excellent ideas. We can be too quick to ignore them. Christians hardly have the market cornered when it comes to cleverness, to judgment, to shrewdness, to observation, to sheer intellectual brilliance. They certainly do not have the market cornered when it comes to originality.

I find myself thinking about one of my childhood hobbies. When I was a kid I loved to buy plastic model kits. You know the kind—120 pieces of molded, grey plastic and a picture of an F-16, and you’ve got the task of making that pile of pieces look like that picture. All you need, apart from the glue and paint, is a bit of skill and a bit of patience. The more skill you have, and the greater your patience, the better the final result.

And reading general market books is a lot like this. The pieces are there, and we just need to skillfully and patiently put them together by establishing their place within the grand drama of what God is accomplishing in this world. We add glue to the plastic model kit, and we add Christian thinking—Christian worldview—to general market books. In both cases, we build something much better than the sum of its parts.

As a Christian reader, my task, my challenge, and my joy, is to read with discernment, to subtract what is opposed to a Christian worldview, and to bind together the pieces through distinctly Christian thinking. As I grow in knowledge and understanding that task becomes both easier and more rewarding.

September 02, 2014

I love summer, but I’m glad summer is over. I love summer vacation, but I’m relieved that summer vacation has finally come to an end. I love my kids, but I wasn’t too sad to see them head for their schools today—my daughters to their elementary school and my son, for the first time ever, to high school. I will miss them, of course, but for one reason, at least, I’m glad they are gone.

I am glad, because the end of the summer and the beginning of school marks the return of my good friend Routine—sweet, kind Routine.

Summer had some great moments of fun and relaxation. We had lots of good times vacationing and staycationing and otherwise enjoying the season. But it has also been tough. The day the kids left class for the last time and came home chanting something about “no more pencils, no more books…” I saw Routine following along behind them. His bags were packed and he was holding a ticket to somewhere far north, or maybe it was far south—I don’t really know. But I do know that he waved goodbye and disappeared that day.

I missed him this summer. This summer was full of all the things he keeps us from—late nights and late mornings, sleeping in and lounging around, ignoring chores and griping about responsibilities. Summer was marked by a longing for indolence and a resentment of activity.

But I had confidence that Routine would return. I was looking for him. Waiting for him. And sure, enough, this morning he came whistling up the path and into the house—it was 6:55 AM and he was exactly on time.

I love Routine. I guess there are some people who denounce him, who consider him an affront to their freedom and their desire to live with spontaneity. I thrive with Routine. My family thrives with Routine, with the regular, repeated, predictable pattern of events that unfold roughly the same way day after day, and week after week. Life is just so much better when he is around and when he is doing his thing.

With Routine in our lives, I wake up at the same time every day. I come downstairs at the same time. I pick up my Bible and read it at the same time. I log a few minutes of blog writing at the same time. I wake Aileen and then the kids at the same time. We troops downstairs and read the Bible together at the same time. We eat breakfast at the same time. We get dressed and ready at the same time. We go out the door at the same time, to get the school bus or hit the highway at the same time. It’s all so predictable. It’s all so anticipated. It’s all so formulaic. It’s all so awesome.

That is just how it happened today, and, I trust, just how it will happen tomorrow and the day after. Already Routine has left his mark, and our lives are so much better this way. Welcome back, my old friend.

August 31, 2014

I love to discover what I call “faith hacks”—practical methods or techniques for living the Christian life. As I read, as I listen to sermons, as I speak to people, I am always looking for insights on how other Christians live out their faith in practical ways. I recently shared an ultra-practical way to display servant leadership, a way to organize prayer, and a way to individually shepherd your children. Today I want to stay with parenting, but to focus on a different aspect of it.

One of the big challenges for every family today is placing limits on their children’s screen time. After all, if you leave the kids on their own, they will watch TV or play iPad games from the moment they wake up to the moment you force them into bed (or my kids will at any rate). How do you motivate your kids to pick up a book or go outside? How do you govern screen time without it collapsing into constant bickering?

I found an interesting solution in Greg McKeown’s book Essentialism. This is not a Christian book, but the solution is sound and could prove very useful. He, too, is a parent and he, too, has tried to limit his kids’ access to their devices and to increase their reading.

To do this, he and his wife devised a token system. They created various ways of earning tokens, and allow those tokens to be redeemed for money or for screen time. The kids have various ways to earn those tokens and two ways to spend them.

The children were given ten tokens at the beginning of the week. These could each be traded in for either thirty minutes of screen time or fifty cents at the end of the week, adding up to $5 or five hours of screen time a week. If a child read a book for thirty minutes, he or she would earn an additional token, which could also be traded in for screen time or for money. The results were incredible: overnight, screen time went down 90 percent, reading went up by the same amount, and the overall effort we had to put into policing the system went way, way down.

It is an interesting system. Of course you could adapt the dollars and the hours to fit your family, and you could extend the system so chores could earn tokens as well. My guess is that McKeown’s children are quite young, and you may need to do some work to extend the system to kids in their teens. But overall, I quite like it, especially because it allows the children to make decisions that teach them to read, to earn, and to spend wisely.

What do you think? Could the system work?

August 25, 2014

As English-speaking Christians, we have a vast array of hymns available to us, and we each have our list of favorites. In my assessment, the best hymns are those that are universal and timeless, speaking to all Christians in all times, places, and situations. They are firmly grounded in Scripture and drawn out of, or toward, the gospel of Jesus Christ. And they are inevitably coupled to a great melody.

Here are my picks for the ten greatest hymns of all-time. Apart from the first, they are in no particular order.

And Can It Be? by Charles Wesley. I begin with what I consider the greatest hymn by the greatest hymn-writer. Wesley’s “And Can It Be?” simply delights in the goodness of God while marveling at his saving grace. It captures every Christian’s experience of wandering, of beholding Christ, of rejoicing in his salvation, and of the great hope of entering his presence at last. “No condemnation now I dread; / Jesus, and all in Him, is mine; / Alive in Him, my living Head, / And clothed in righteousness divine, / Bold I approach th’eternal throne, / And claim the crown, through Christ my own.”

A Mighty Fortress by Martin Luther. It is bold, it is triumphant, it expresses great faith in God and great defiance toward sin and Satan. I think Satan hates it when we sing this: “The prince of darkness grim — We tremble not for him; / His rage we can endure, For lo! his doom is sure, / One little word shall fell him.”

All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name by Edward Perronet. There are few hymns more triumphant than this one, and especially so when sung to the “Diadem” melody. It calls upon each of us, and everything else in all of creation, to pay homage to our great God. It anticipates the day when that will happen. “All hail the power of Jesu’s name! / Let Angels prostrate fall; / Bring forth the royal diadem, / To crown Him Lord of All.”

Oh, For a Thousand Tongues by Charles Wesley. In this hymn Wesley proclaims that one tongue simply is not enough to express his praise and his adoration before God. If he had a thousand tongues, he would use them all to proclaim who God is and what he has done. “He breaks the power of canceled sin, / He sets the prisoner free; / His blood can make the foulest clean, / His blood availed for me.”

August 13, 2014

I have watched the avid outdoorsman, the fisherman, come slowly drifting by. He goes by morning after morning, day after day, always at the same time, always casting into the same locations. He is patiently waiting for the big one, waiting for that hard strike, that long battle that will land him his prize.

I do not fish, but I do read, and I find them similar. The avid reader takes in book after book, day after day, searching each one, looking carefully for those few but important ideas. Four hundred pages—or eight hundred—is a small price to pay for an idea. It is a small price to pay for knowledge that leads to application that leads to life change.

Sometimes you need to do a lot of reading to come away with one really good idea. Some books yield nothing but nonsense; some yield nothing but ideas you have come across a thousands times before. But then, at last, you find that one that delivers. There is such joy in it. Such reward.

The fisherman is rewarded when at last he has his fish. He takes a picture of it, weights it, takes it home, has it mounted, and displays it for the world to see. The reader is rewarded when at last he has his idea. He takes that idea, he thinks about it, he talks about it, he weighs and considers it, and he integrates it into his life.

No wonder, then, that we love to read. We read to discover that prize. We read to learn, and we read to live.

August 11, 2014

Gallons of virtual ink have been spilled over the weekend as people have discussed the latest news in the ongoing saga of Mark Driscoll and Mars Hill Church: both he and his church have been removed from Acts 29, the church-planting network he helped establish. This is only the latest incident in a long, steep, and very public decline. The news has been reported in Christian outlets, all over the local Seattle media, and as far afield as Huffington Post, TIME, and the Washington Post.

As the situation comes into focus through scandal after scandal, it becomes increasingly clear that there are, and always have been, systemic issues at Mars Hill. Many of those issues are directly related to the sins and weaknesses of the church’s founder and leader.

I am much too far outside the situation to comment on the particulars; there are many places you can go to get caught up and to learn details, with Wikipedia as good a place as any to begin. One area that I haven’t seen anyone explore yet is what the news means to the wider movement that has come to be known as New Calvinism. I want to think about how it pertains to the majority of us who know Driscoll only by association as a prominent voice in a movement we share. What should we learn from it?

The first I heard of Driscoll, at least to my recollection, was after the publication of his first book, The Radical Reformission. This—late 2004 or early 2005—was the time when most of us first heard his name, and when we began to read his books, to listen to his sermons, and to look him up on YouTube, even if only for sake of curiosity.

As I read his book in 2005, and followed it with Confessions of a Reformission Rev in 2006, I felt both admiration for what Driscoll taught and concern for how he taught it. I loved most of his theology, but was concerned about his coarseness.

In 2006 Driscoll was more formally introduced to the New Calvinism with his inclusion in the Desiring God National Conference and even then he was a controversial figure. When Piper invited him again in 2008 he recorded a short video to explain why he had extended the invitation. These words stand out: “I love Mark Driscoll’s theology.” While Piper did not deny the concerns, he loved Driscoll’s theology and loved what the Lord was doing through him.

Many of us felt the same way. We didn’t quite know what to think about the man, but we loved his theology. We loved what he believed because we believed most of the same things.

Bear with me as I artificially divide Driscoll’s ministry into three parts: theology (what he said), practice (how he said it) and results (what happened). So many of us had genuine concerns over the second part, but were willing to excuse or downplay them on the basis of the first and third. Yes, he was crude and yes, he sometimes said or did outrageous things, but he never wavered in publicly proclaiming the gospel and both his church and his church-planting movement continued to grow. We were confused. We did not have a clear category for this. We had concerns, but the Lord seemed to be using him. So we recommended his podcasts, or bought his books, even if we had to provide a small caveat each time.

In retrospect, I see this as a mark of immaturity in the New Calvinism, in what in that day was called the Young, Restless, Reformed. It was the young and the restless that allowed us to be so easily impressed. To large degree, we propelled Driscoll to fame through our admiration—even if it was hesitant admiration. (You can read an article I wrote in 2008, How Do You Solve a Problem Like Mark Driscoll?, to see how I did this; reading it today, it seems awfully naive and immature, doesn’t it?)

In those early years I traveled to quite a few conferences and had the opportunity to hear from several of the church’s elder statesmen—men who have had long and faithful ministries within the church. At every conference Q&A someone would inevitably ask, “What am I supposed to think about Mark Driscoll?” I heard many answers, but time and again I heard mature leaders express concern. Many of them were convinced he did not meet the biblical qualifications to be a pastor and, therefore, should not be in ministry. Some of them said, with regret, that they were convinced his ministry would eventually and inevitably explode into scandal at some point.

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