The Seedbed of Big-God Preaching

In December, 1744, Jonathan Edwards preached a sermon foreshadowing The End for Which God Created the World, which he completed eleven years later, three years before he died. It’s title was “Approaching the End of God’s Grand Design.”

It is the kind of sermon that draws me back again and again to Edwards to rescue me from the spiritual strangle hold of small things. It’s this kind of seeing that makes the seedbed of Big-God Theology and Big-God Preaching. You can read it here. If there was ever a day we needed Big-God Preaching it is now.

He states the Doctrine: There is a time coming when God's grand design in all his various works and dispensations from age to age will be completed and his end fully obtained.

Then he asks: “What is this one great design that God has in view in all his works and dispensations?”

And answers: “’Tis to present to his Son a spouse3 in perfect glory from amongst sinful, miserable mankind, blessing all that comply with his will in this matter and destroying all his enemies that oppose it, and so to communicate and glorify himself2 through Jesus Christ1, God-man.”

That is a very carefully crafted sentence. He explains it piece by piece. The following comments correspond to the superscript numbers above.

1. “. . . through Jesus Christ” — “The one grand medium by which God glorifies himself in all is Jesus Christ, God-man.” “God's design in all the works {of creation} is to glorify his Son, and through him to glorify himself.”

2. “. . . to communicate and glorify himself”—“God's end in the creation of the world consists in these two things, viz. to communicate himself and to glorify himself.

God created the world to communicate himself, not to receive anything. But such was the infinite goodness of God that it was his will to communicate himself, to communicate of his own glory and happiness; and he made the world to glorify himself. . . .

These two things ought [not] to be separated when we speak of God's end in the creation of the world. . . . Indeed, God's communicating himself and glorifying {himself} ought not to be looked upon as though they were two distinct ends, but as what together makes one last end, as glorifying God and enjoying {God} make one chief end of man. For God glorifies himself in communicating himself, and he communicates himself in glorifying himself.

3. “. . . to present to his Son a spouse” — The principal means by which God glorifies his Son in the world that is created is by providing him a spouse, to be presented [to] him in perfect union, in perfect purity, beauty and glory.

The way in which the eternal Son of God is glorified in the creation is by communicating himself to the creatures, not by receiving anything from the creatures. . . . And because it was a spouse to communicate his goodness to that he desired, therefore that she might be one fit not to give but receive good, one was pitched upon that was remarkably empty and poor in herself, not of the highest order of creatures, but mankind. . . fallen, miserable, helpless: a state wherein his emptiness and need of goodness did more remarkably appear.

And because the design was that Christ should communicate goodness, therefore such an one was chosen that needed that Christ should suffer, and it was the will of Christ to suffer because suffering is the greatest expression of goodness and manifestation of kindness.

The great design was that Christ in this way should procure or obtain this his spouse, bring her to come to him, present her to himself and make her perfectly beautiful, perfectly and unspeakably happy. . . . And this is the way that God the Father intended to glorify his Son.

I read this sermon for my own soul on the Lord’s Day just past. What a gift. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for opening the eyes of Jonathan Edwards. Thank you for expanding his heart to sense your greatness where most of us pass by unmoved. Thank you for preserving so much of his seeing and savoring for us. And thank you for leading me again and again back to this soul-expanding spring of life.

We Know They Are Killing Children—All of Us Know

One biblical principle of justice is that the more knowledge we have that our action is wrong, the more guilty we are, and the more deserving of punishment (Luke 12:47–48). The point of this blog post is that we know what we are doing — all America knows. We are killing children. Pro-choice and Pro-life people both know this.

But before I show that, let’s clarify what the Supreme Court did forty years ago today. In Roe v. Wade the Supreme Court in effect made abortion on demand untouchable by law. The way this was done was with two steps.

One step was to say, laws may not prevent abortion, even during the full nine months, if the abortion is “to preserve the life or health of the mother.” The other step was to define “health” as “all factors — physical, emotional, psychological, familial and the woman's age — relevant to the well-being of the patient.”

For forty years this has meant that any perceived stress is a legal ground for eliminating the child. We have killed fifty million babies. And what increases our guilt as a nation is that we know what we are doing. Here’s the evidence that we know we are killing children.

Many simply say it is the lesser of two evils. I took an abortionist out to lunch once, prepared to give him ten reasons why the unborn are human beings. He stopped me, and said, “I know that. We are killing children.” I was stunned. He said, “It’s simply a matter of justice for women. It would be a greater evil to deny women the equal right of reproductive freedom.” Which means women should be no more encumbered by the consequences of an unplanned pregnancy than men. That equal freedom from the burden of bearing unwanted children is the basis for abortion that President Obama refers to again and again when he talks about equal rights for women. We know we are killing children.

We know what we are doing because 38 States (including Minnesota) treat the killing of an unborn child as a form of homicide. They have what are called “fetal homicide laws.”

It is illegal to take the life of the unborn if the mother wants the baby, but it is legal to take the life of the unborn if she doesn’t. In the first case the law treats the fetus as a human with rights; in the second case the law treats the fetus as non-human with no rights.

Humanness is defined by the desire of the strong. Might makes right. We reject this right to define personhood in the case of Nazi anti-Semitism, Confederate race-based slavery, and Soviet Gulags. When we define the humanness of the unborn by the will of the powerful we know what we are doing.

High risk pregnancy specialist, Dr. Steve Calvin, in a letter some years ago to the Arizona Daily Star, wrote, “There is inescapable schizophrenia in aborting a perfectly normal 22 week fetus while at the same hospital, performing intra-uterine surgery on its cousin.” When the unborn are wanted, they are treated as children and patients. When they are not wanted, they are not children. We know what we are doing.

The five-foot-eight frame of a teenage son guarantees him no more right to life than the 23-inch frame of his little sister in her mother's arms. Size is morally irrelevant. One inch, 23 inches, 68 inches — does not matter. It is morally irrelevant in deciding who should be protected. We know what we are doing in killing the smallest.

A one-month-old infant, nursing at his mother's breast, does not have reasoning powers. But only a few dare argue that infanticide is therefore acceptable. Most know better. Outside and inside the womb the infant cannot yet reason, but is a human person. We know what we are doing.

Location or environment does not determine a right to life. Scott Klusendorf asks, “How does a simple journey of seven inches down the birth canal suddenly transform the essential nature of the fetus from non-person to person?” We know what we are doing.

We consider persons on respirators or dialysis to be human beings. The unborn cannot be disqualified from human personhood because they are dependent on their mother for food and oxygen. In fact, we operate on the exact opposite principle: The more dependent a little one is on us, the more responsibility we feel to protect him, not the less. We know what we are doing.

(Those last four observations, #4-7, were summed up by Scott Klusendorf under the acronym SLED: Size, Level of development, Environment, Degree of dependence — none is morally relevant for the definition of human life.)

The genetic make up of a human is different from all other creatures from the moment of conception. The human code is complete and unique from the start. Once that was not known. Now we know. 

At eight weeks of gestation all the organs are present. The brain is functioning, the heart pumping, the liver making blood cells, the kidney cleaning the fluids, the finger has a print. Yet almost all abortions happen later than this date. We know what we are doing.

The marvel of ultrasound has given a stunning window into the womb that shows the unborn, for example, at 8 weeks sucking his thumb, recoiling from pricking, responding to sound. Watch this four-minute video of the developing unborn child. We know that they are children.

We know the principle of justice that when two legitimate rights conflict, the right that protects the higher value should prevail. We deny the right to drive at 100 miles per hour because the value of life is greater than the value of being on time or getting thrills. The right of the unborn not to be killed and the right of a woman not to be pregnant may be at odds. But they are not equal rights. Staying alive is more precious and more basic than not being pregnant. We know what we are doing when we kill a child.

For Christians who believe the Bible, we could add at least ten more reasons why we know what is happening in abortion, and why it is wrong. But the aim here is threefold.

To make clear that we will not be able to defend ourselves with the claim of ignorance. We knew. All of us.To solidify our conviction to resist this horrific evil. To intensify our prayer and our preaching toward gospel-based soul-renovation in our land, because hardness of heart, not ignorance, is at the root of this carnage.

What Love for God Looks Like

The greatest commandment is to love God (Matthew 22:36–37). But what that looks like can shock us, as it did Simon in Luke 7:36–50.

He had the Holy One of Israel (Isaiah 54:5) in his house, reclining at his table. The Prophet that Moses had foretold (Deuteronomy 18:15) was sharing dinner with him. The Lord of glory, the Resurrection and the Life (John 11:25), was speaking with him face to face. The great climactic moment of history he claimed to be living for had arrived. It should have been a deliriously wonderful, breathtaking honor for Simon to host the Messiah.

But Simon was not amazed.  As he looked at Jesus, all he saw was a dusty Nazarene whose claims could be interpreted as, well, delusional.

And Jesus’ feet were still dirty. Offering foot washing to guests had been a deeply ingrained custom for Near Eastern peoples for thousands of years. To not offer it was to dishonor one’s guest. It’s not likely that Simon simply forgot.

But Jesus showed no sign of offense. And with the meal on the table, superficial pleasantries were exchanged. A few polite questions were asked.

Suddenly all eyes facing Jesus were filled with confused concern, focused toward his feet. Jesus looked back.

A woman was standing near him, clearly not part of the household. She was looking intensely at him, cradling a small jar in her hands. She began to sob and dropped to her knees. And as her tears flowed, she leaned over and let them drop on Jesus’s soiled feet and wiped them off, along with the dirt, with her hair.

Then she kissed Jesus’s feet.

Gasps and murmurs were heard around the table. This woman had a reputation known to all the local guests. It was improper even to speak openly about what had given her this reputation. She was simply called a “sinner.” Everyone knew what was packed into that word.

So everyone was mortified by her clearly inappropriate, even intimate contact. Except, apparently, Jesus. He did not seem shocked. And he did nothing to stop her.

An alarmed servant moved toward the woman but Simon waved him off. This was a revealing moment.

As Simon watched the woman pour fragrant oil from her jar on Jesus’s feet, he felt both contempt and pleasure. His appraisal of Jesus was being vindicated before his eyes. Nothing spoke more eloquently of the falseness of this so-called prophet than his stunning lack of discernment regarding this immoral woman. No holy man would have let her pollute him with her touch. He began to rehearse what he would report to the Council.

“Simon, I have something to say to you.” Jesus’s words snapped Simon’s attention back. “Say it, Teacher,” he replied.

“A certain moneylender had two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he cancelled the debt of both. Now which of them will love him more?”

Simon answered, “The one, I suppose, for whom he cancelled the larger debt.” And he said to him, “You have judged rightly.”

Then turning toward the woman Jesus said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not ceased to kiss my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much.”

Then looking back, penetratingly into Simon’s eyes, Jesus said, “But he who is forgiven little, loves little.” A shocked silence hung in the air.

And then with tender authority Jesus spoke to the woman: “Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

As a Pharisee, Simon enjoyed a reputation as a godly man. He had significant theological education, had memorized extensive portions of Scripture, exercised rigorous self-discipline, prayed religiously, and tithed meticulously. The sorts of things men admire.

The woman’s reputation was sleazy. Her law breaking was public knowledge. No one mistook her as a servant of God. Though men had desired her, no one admired her.

Yet in front of all the dinner party guests Jesus declared that the debauched woman actually loved God much, while the ritually clean Pharisee loved God little. Why? Simply because the woman believed that she desperately needed the forgiveness Jesus offered in his gospel, while Simon did not.

“He who is forgiven little, loves little.” This little sentence reveals a mammoth truth for us: we will love God to the degree that we recognize the magnitude of our sins and the immensity of God’s grace to forgive them.

That is what Jesus is looking for. This is the kind of worshipers the Father is seeking (John 4:23).

For at its essence true worship is a passionate love for God, not moralistic rule keeping or feats of self-discipline. For sinners like us, the fuel of that love is a profound realization, in the words of former slave trader-turned-pastor, John Newton, “that I am a great sinner, and that Christ is a great Saviour.”1

This meditation is included in the forthcoming book Not by Sight: A Fresh Look at Old Stories of Walking by Faith (Crossway, April 30, 2013).

1Jonathan Aitken, John Newton: From Disgrace to Amazing Grace, (Wheaton: Crossway, 2007), 347.

When Delight Means Doxology

But may all who seek you
rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation
say continually, “Great is the Lord!"

David's prayer in Psalm 40:16 can absolutely change your life. At first glance it may not stand out. Perhaps, like me, when you've read it before you glossed over the parallelism that makes this verse so special.

Now parallelism is a pretty simple rhetorical device. It is used in poetry of all kinds to connect two different phrases within a single line, always extending (in some way) the thought in the first phrase.1 Verse 16 below is one line with two phrases that are signified by A and B:

The particular type of parallelism is called “synonymous parallelism.” It basically is used by a poet to state the same idea in two different ways. It's not something we should breeze by. Instead read it and reread it. The point is for it to resound in the reader's mind.

So what is David saying in Psalm 40:16? David prays that all who seek God would rejoice and be glad in him. This is the first phrase, that the end of seeking God be joy in God. Now notice how this idea is repeated (and extended) in the second phrase: May all who love your salvation say continually, “Great is the LORD!”

As the phrases correspond, to seek God is parallel to loving his salvation, and to rejoice in God is parallel to praising him. The aim, then, of seeking God and loving his salvation is to rejoice in him and glorify him.

To seek God in this passage means to pursue him. A seeker, according to this verse, is not someone who is merely interested in religious topics. Rather than having reservations about God, the seeker is one who is in passionate pursuit to know him. The seeker is locked in, and keeps yearning for more. Specifically, this work of seeking — of pursuing God — is to love his ways. If you will seek God like David prays, you will cherish the salvation only God can give. If you will know him, you will know him only through his Son (Matthew 11:27).

So there's no such thing as seeking God outside the blood and righteousness of Jesus. To seek him is to revel in and cling to all that he is for us in the gospel. To love his salvation is to be bewildered by what he's done to bring us to himself.

You can't faithfully seek God, or love his salvation, with any legitimate aim other than to rejoice in him. That is the goal. There are really no other options. Seeking isn't spinning our wheels. There is an end in sight, a real end — when we see Jesus as he is and become perfectly conformed to his image (1 John 3:2), when the dwelling place of God will be with man in a new world (Revelation 21:1–3), when we live and reign with Jesus forever, his name written on our foreheads and his light making the night no more (Revelation 22:3–5). This will be a happy scene. We will rejoice in God. We will be glad in God. And he will be glorified. In fact, they are one in the same.

As the phrases show, rejoicing in God means to praise his name. Joy equals doxology. This kind of gladness in Psalm 40:16 sounds a certain way, like a chorus of rescued voices. It speaks a certain language, like a song from all the nations. And it says a certain thing: “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”

Why the Good News Turns Bad Without Adam

Picture the scene: George Whitefield has just been preaching. Everywhere, eyes are shining and people are talking of the wonderful grace of Christ. Thousands of hearts have been overthrown and melted; lives have been remade.

Now, if the church gives up believing in a historical Adam, we will never see such scenes again.

Too far?

A bit strong?

Not at all. For it is not just that the biblical genealogies depict Adam as a historical figure, not just that Paul can build core arguments on his belief that Adam was as real a man as Christ (Romans 5; 1 Corinthians 15). Adam has a significance in the Bible that far outstrips the simple number of mentions he gets. In fact, he has a significance so great that without him we no longer have a recognisably Christian gospel.

Given space restraints, I will point out just two ways mythologizing Adam uproots the gospel.

Let’s put it this way: what if sin did not enter the world at a particular point in time, with a real, historic first sin? Well then we have to say that God must have created a sinful, fallen world. Sin must be a part of what God considers ‘very good’ (Genesis 1:31). Now either that is because there is some character flaw in God, some strain of evil in him, or it is the result of some compromise he had to make with pre-existent evil or with the deficient form of matter.

In other words, we are forced to deny either the absolute goodness of God or the absolute sovereignty of God. But to deny either must shake a Christian’s faith to its very foundations. And, one has to ask, what then was Jesus up to on the cross, defeating sin, death and evil? Was he defeating his very own work?

Now let’s ask: what if Adam is just a mythological figure, a symbol of how we all turn away from God? Well then sin is not a problem we are now all born with, something inherited. Sin, then, is not something which affects and shapes us through and through from birth; it is something superficial, something we freely opt into.

First of all, that goes right against the grain of everything the Bible says about sin. I do not sin because from some position of spiritual neutrality I ever choose to ‘opt in’ to sin; I sin because naturally my deepest inclinations are sinful. I sin because I am a sinner. I was born that way. A good tree bears good fruit and a bad tree bears bad fruit (Matthew 7:17), said Jesus.

Second, and more worryingly, if sin is something superficial, something I simply opt into, then my need for grace is equally superficial. If I freely chose sin, I can now freely choose Christ. In other words, I have no need for a supernatural regeneration of my heart and very being. Sin was just a bad choice. I am not that sick.

And what does all this say of Christ? Well if there is no radical problem with our very humanity, a problem that precedes our own birth, if we are as able to choose for God as easily as we choose sin, then Christ could simply have called for us to repent and follow him. No incarnation, death and resurrection would actually have been needed to remake us from the bottom up. If Adam is a myth, then we hardly need a Savior – just a teacher to show us the way.

This is why we will never see a ministry of the likes of Whitefield if the church gives up believing in a historical Adam. For, without belief in a historical Adam, Whitefield would have had no good and sovereign God to proclaim; ‘the new birth’ would not be his message. Instead of offering new life to helpless sinners, he would simply have urged those who have chosen badly to choose better.

No great good news there.

You Can Never Ask Too Much

Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. 8 For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. 9 Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? 10 Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? 11 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him! 12 “So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets. (Matthew 7:7–12)

This has proved, in my experience, to be one of the most motivating passages in all the Bible to pray with the confidence of being answered.

It’s an argument. Even bad dads give good things to their children when they ask. God is not a bad dad. He’s the best. Therefore, much more will he give good things to his children when we ask. I love that argument. Jesus really did want us to feel hopeful when we pray. He is trying to overcome our skepticism about prayer.

There’s another reason why this is so encouraging for our prayers. He says that a good dad gives “good things” to his children when they ask for what they want. He does not say that he always gives these little children precisely what they ask for. What father ever does? Or ever would? We love our children too much for that.

One time when my son Ben was three or four, he asked for a cracker for snack time. I opened the box and found that they were moldy. I said, “I’m sorry, you can’t eat these. They are covered with fuzz.” He said, “I’ll eat the fuzz.” But I said no. He was not happy, but I loved him and would not give him a fuzzy cracker, no matter how much he pleaded.

So when Jesus says he will give good things, he means that. Only good things. And only he knows ultimately what is good for us. And notice, when he says dads don’t give stones when asked for bread, he does not say dads always give bread. Just no stones. And when he says, dads don’t give snakes for fish, he does not say dads always give fish. Just no snakes.

The point is this: God ignores no prayers from his children. And he gives us what we ask for, or something better (not necessarily easier), if we trust him.

One more point: The word “so” at the beginning of verse 12 means that verse 12 is an inference from this teaching on prayer. “So” — since God always gives you what you need when you ask — “whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them.” In other words, because God loves and cares for you so much, you will be able to care about others the same way you care about yourself. Which means that confidence in prayer is one of the keys to love.

Thou art coming to a King,
Large petitions with thee bring;
For His grace and power are such,
None can ever ask too much.

When a Rock Sunk Slowly

The new banner above has its inspiration from the following story about Peter’s walking on (and sinking in) the water (see Matthew 14:13–33 and John 6:1–21). We must think carefully about this because in following Jesus we are called to do essentially the same thing.

The day had been another mind-blower for the disciples.

As they rowed toward Capernaum it was hard to stop talking about what they had seen. Five thousand men, plus women and children, and Jesus had fed them all! With one boy’s lunch! The power Jesus commanded both thrilled and unnerved them.

And they had felt the heady momentum of surging public support when the massive picnic turned into a “Jesus for king” rally. The people had begun to understand! The Messiah had arrived! The kingdom was beginning to emerge right before their eyes.

And then it had all ended so strangely. Surprisingly, Jesus was visibly disturbed by the crowd’s enthusiasm and he moved quickly to douse it with hard, confusing words. The people’s support soured to disillusionment.

Jesus could be so hard to figure out.

And why had he been in such a hurry for them to get to Capernaum that he had them row by night? And why were they to leave without him? They had taken the last boat on the shore. If Jesus intended to join them in Capernaum by morning, it was going to be one whale of a walk.

Then the wind picked up and the waves grew stronger, pushing against every pull of the oars. This was going to add hours to the trip. Adrenaline-fueled discussion was replaced by fatigue-fueled irritability. One of them commented that at this speed, Jesus would probably beat them there on foot.

Just then another shouted, “What’s that?” All eyes strained sternward. A form was approaching in the murky dark. Peter stood up on the small rear deck and looked hard. It could not possibly be what it looked like. But soon it was unmistakable. Someone — or something — was walking toward them across the water! An unearthly fear seized the men. One spoke in a hushed panic: “It is a ghost!” The rowers found new energy.

But a familiar voice called to them, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.”

Jesus? It sounded like Jesus. But he was walking on top the water! Maybe a spirit could do that, but not a human! Peter motioned to the rowers to stop. It was Jesus. Mouths hung open but no one had words.

Except Peter. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Every astonished face turned to Peter. No one else had even thought of that yet. Jesus responded, “Come.”

So Peter sat on the gunwale, swung his legs over the side, and carefully put his weight on what should have engulfed him. Then stood up. There was a collective gasp from the boat. One degree of surreal to another. Then he began to take tentative steps toward Jesus. The others held their breath.

Suddenly Peter froze. He looked down at the waves drenching his legs. There was panic in his eyes. Then he began to sink, as if into mud. He reached out toward Jesus and cried, “Lord, save me!” Jesus stepped forward, reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him up. Peter, looking intensely at Jesus, was breathing hard.

Jesus said to him with affectionate firmness said, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

Peter showed remarkable faith in asking to follow Jesus out on to the water. No one else did.

But when he began walking, what held him up? We might quickly assume it was his faith. But that’s not accurate. Peter’s faith wasn’t keeping him afloat. Jesus was. Peter knew that. That’s why he didn’t just leap out of the boat on his own. He asked Jesus to command him to come. What Jesus did was honor Peter’s faith by commanding the water to bear his weight.

Lesson #1: faith is not faith in our faith in Jesus, it’s faith in the power of Jesus’ word.

But once Peter was outside the safety of the boat, on uncharted waters, everything started feeling precarious. Why? Well, because people don’t actually walk on water. We may be so familiar to the story that the ridiculousness of walking on water doesn’t strike us. But it struck Peter at that moment.

And he started to sink.

But have you ever noticed that Peter the Rock didn’t sink like a rock? The last time you jumped into a pool, how gradually did you sink? There’s something profound going on here.

Peter began to sink when his faith shifted from the firmness of Jesus’ word to the instability of his circumstance. And when he did, it was Jesus letting him sink — slowly. And for Peter that was a grace.

Why? Because Peter’s sinking produced his cry to Jesus. It quickly got Peter to stop looking to the world or himself as the source of truth and salvation and got his focus back on his Savior. When he did that Jesus pulled him back up.

Lesson #2: Jesus’ word is truer and stronger than what we see or feel, and when we doubt that, sometimes he graciously lets us sink to help us refocus.

Trusting in Jesus and his word over our perceptions is difficult to learn. That’s why the Lord takes us through so many different faith-testing, faith-building experiences.

And when he does, it is never for just our own benefit. He’s displaying his power so others’ faith will be strengthened too. And, like the rest of the disciples, once Jesus and Peter were back in the boat, we end up saying to the Lord, “Truly you are the Son of God” (Matthew 14:33).

This meditation is included in the forthcoming book Not by Sight: A Fresh Look at Old Stories of Walking by Faith (Crossway, April 30, 2013).