87
" In the twenty-first century, we do not trust ‘mere’ words. They are the weapons of manipulation, the tools of spin used to coerce us. We have better things to do than pick over words. We are tolerant. The spirit of the Reformation that replaced the altar with the pulpit as the focal point of each church has long gone. A pulpit? The very thought strikes us as authoritarian and manipulative. How Erasmus has conquered! As we saw in chapter 4, it was he who said, ‘The sum of our religion is peace and unanimity, but these can scarcely stand unless we define as little as possible.’ Simply put, we do not like theological precision, for it causes division over issues that, we feel instinctively, are not the most relevant. "
― Michael Reeves , The Unquenchable Flame: Discovering the Heart of the Reformation
91
" if God’s very identity is to be The Ruler, what kind of salvation can he offer me (if he’s even prepared to offer such a thing)? If God is The Ruler and the problem is that I have broken the rules, the only salvation he can offer is to forgive me and treat me as if I had kept the rules. But if that is how God is, my relationship with him can be little better than my relationship with any traffic cop (meaning no offence to any readers in the constabulary). Let me put it like this: if, as never happens, some fine copper were to catch me speeding and so breaking the rules, I would be punished; if, as never happens, he failed to spot me or I managed to shake him off after an exciting car chase, I would be relieved. But in neither case would I love him. And even if, like God, he chose to let me off the consequences of my law-breaking, I still would not love him. I might feel grateful, and that gratitude might be deep, but that is not at all the same thing as love. And so it is with the divine policeman: if salvation simply means him letting me off and counting me as a law-abiding citizen, then gratitude (not love) is all I have. In other words, I can never really love the God who is essentially just The Ruler. And that, ironically, means I can never keep the greatest command: to love the Lord my God. "
― Michael Reeves , Delighting in the Trinity: An Introduction to the Christian Faith
96
" True religion, in great part, consists in . . .’ Everything we have seen means that life with this God is as different from life with any other God as oranges are from orang-utans. If, for example, God wasn’t about having us know and love him, but simply about having us live under his rule, then our behaviour and performance would be all that mattered. The deeper, internal questions of what we want, what we love and enjoy would never be asked. As it is, because the Christian life is one of being brought to share the delight the Father, Son and Spirit have for each other, desires matter. As Jonathan Edwards put it, ‘True religion, in great part, consists in holy affections.’15 He was thinking primarily of love for Christ and joy in him, and he wrote one of his main works (Religious Affections) largely to unpack that conviction. What Edwards was getting at was the fact that the Spirit is not about bringing us to a mere external performance for Christ, but bringing us actually to love him and find our joy in him. And any performance ‘for him’ that is not the expression of such love brings him no pleasure at all. Edwards compares such loveless Christianity to a cold marriage, asking: if a wife should carry it [that is, behave] very well to her husband, and not at all from any love to him, but from other considerations plainly seen, and certainly known by the husband, would he at all delight in her outward respect any more than if a wooden image were contrived to make respectful motions in his presence?16 "
― Michael Reeves , Delighting in the Trinity: An Introduction to the Christian Faith
97
" However, there was a considerable danger for such a fight (one that threatened not only Puritanism, but also its sister-movement in Germany, Lutheran Pietism). That is, the desire to have people respond to the gospel could lead to a focus on the response, not the gospel. So, in looking for reformed lives (the sign that a person had responded rightly to the gospel), it was easy to let a concern for growth in personal holiness eclipse the original Reformation focus on justification. In other words, the danger for the Puritans was that they would be tempted to concentrate on holy living in response to the gospel at the expense of proclaiming the free, saving grace of God. "
― Michael Reeves , The Unquenchable Flame: Discovering the Heart of the Reformation
