The Ministry of Reminder

Second Timothy and chapter 4:

“I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and by his appearing and his kingdom: preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching. For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths. … As for you, always be sober-minded, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry.”

Just a brief prayer—an old Anglican prayer:

Father, what we know not teach us. What we have not give us. What we are not make us. For Jesus’ sake we ask it. Amen.

Well, to come to an opportunity like this is to recognize that my responsibility, as with others who’ve had the privilege of this pulpit, is not so much to come and try and introduce one another to things we have never known but rather to exercise a ministry of reminder, so that we remind one another of things that we must never, ever forget.

And there is a sense in which these first five verses that I’ve just read encapsulate Paul’s concern for the ongoing ministry of the gospel. He has, as you know, urged Timothy in chapter 2 (as we heard yesterday) to make sure that the baton of faith and gospel ministry is being passed safely and securely into the hands of others. He’s reminded Timothy of the fact that he must himself continue in the gospel. After all, he’s been reminded of the fact that the Scriptures are divinely inspired, that they are completely reliable, and that they are totally sufficient.

And in giving to him this charge, he does so in the context of his own imminent departure. I don’t want to spend time on it except just to make sure that we have an eye, at least, on verse 6 and following. It’s not part of my exposition. But he says that the time has actually come for his departure. His life is being poured out, he says, like a drink offering.

You know the picture in Romans chapter 12 where he says, “I beseech you …, brethren, by the mercies of God, [to offer] your bodies [as] a living sacrifice.”[1] The picture that is there in Romans 12 is of the Old Testament ritual where a sacrifice for sin, or a propitiatory sacrifice would be offered up, and along with that, then—subsequent to it, along with it—a dedicatory sacrifice. And Paul is urging the readers at Rome to make sure that they understand that their lives become a sacrifice of praise, a sacrifice of dedication, to the one who has provided salvation for him.

And he understands that himself. And so he says, “Here I am at the end of my journey, it would seem. And what is actually happening is that my life is being poured out.” People would have looked at him and said, “What a shame that he has to go! What a dreadful waste of the mighty apostle, that he should end his days in such a context!” And yet his perspective is vastly different from that. And he says, “It’s actually the time for my departure”—analysis, the word that you would use for weighing anchor, the word that you would use for unleashing an oxen, the word that you would use for settling down and going home. And he says, “That’s what I’m about to do.”

And without any sense of bravado, without any sense of self-centeredness, he’s able to say, because of God’s amazing grace to him, “The fight I’ve fought. The race I’ve run. The faith I have kept.” And he says, “It’s really pretty good, because at will call, there is a crown waiting for me.”[2]

The indication that we really long for the appearing of Jesus Christ is not tied to our view of the millennium. It’s actually tied to the purity of our lives.

When I came here in ’83, somebody told me I could get tickets to the Cavs game at “wilko.” I didn’t even know if that was a word, and I certainly didn’t know that it was two words. But what they were trying to say, in British English, was “will call.” Okay? So I said, “Fine.” So I get to the stadium, and I went to look: Where’s wilko? And there it was! There was a sign, said, “Will Call.” And all I had to do was say my name, and they gave me stuff! As a Scotsman, I said, “This is fantastic! I didn’t pay. All I had to do was show up and say who I am.”

And Paul actually says, “That’s what’s going to happen. But not just for me,” he says, “but for all those who long for his appearing.”[3] And the indication that we really long for the appearing of Jesus Christ is not tied to our view of the millennium. It’s actually tied to the purity of our lives. “For everyone who has this hope within him”—or within her—“purifies himself, even as Christ is pure”[4]—so that a zealous concern for evangelism, to see unbelieving people becoming the committed followers of Jesus, accompanied by a personal, private, holy life, is representative of those who, like Paul, are looking forward to that day.

The Charge

Well, that is the context in which he now gives this charge to Timothy. And it is very straightforward, but it is also, as you will notice, very solemn: “I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus…” “Before God the Father,” he says, “and before the prospect of he who is to judge the living and the dead, you must realize, Timothy, that ultimately, your accountability is to God—that the service that you render, while it is to those who are under your tutelage and under your care—it is to God that you look in terms of accountability. “We’re all going to appear,” he says in 2 Corinthians 5,[5] “before the judgment seat of Christ, and therefore, it is no small thing for me, Timothy, to urge you along this line. You are a leader in the church. You are one who is keeping watch over the souls of men and women. Surely you would never, ever take this in a spirit of casualness or of flippancy or of self-orientation. I charge you, Timothy. It is a solemn charge, because Jesus himself is going to appear. Jesus has established his kingdom by his death and resurrection. It is presently there. It is going to be there, one day, universally, globally, unmistakably. But in the meantime, the kingdom is being established by the faithful proclamation of the gospel throughout the entire world.” And that, of course, is the charge which is being laid on him.

When you got married, depending on the context, you will have remembered that it was a solemn day. It was 103 degrees for me in 1975 in suburban Philadelphia—Valley Forge, where, of course, they fought great battles. I hope that it was not indicative of what the next fifty years of my married life would be. But anyway, it was in that context. And I remember the sensation of… Nobody asked me how I was feeling. No, it went along these lines: “This you must not enter into lightly or carelessly but thoughtfully, with reverence for God, with due consideration of the purposes for which it was established by God. You can talk about how you’re feeling this evening, if you like, but now I’m only addressing your will: Do you? Will you? Will you promise?”

Now, that is representative of the solemnity of the charge that is being laid on him. It is solemn. But it is also, at the same time, straightforward. It is straightforward. What is this charge? Well, it is to “preach the word.” To “preach the word.”

Again, the privilege of preaching is beyond comprehension. As I wakened this morning, pulled the curtains back, and didn’t look on cloudy Cleveland but looked on the beauty of the panorama out there with a blue sky—and I took a picture of an orange tree just to annoy my wife and send it back to her—but I said, “How can it possibly be that I have this immense privilege of being any part of a proceeding such as this? After all, God, you know me. You know all about me. Oh, please don’t let me become like the gravediggers in Hamlet”—you remember, who, they sang, and they whistled in their gravedigging. And it’s either Brutus or somebody who comes along and says, “How is it that this fellow has no feeling of his business that he jokes and sings at gravedigging?”[6] And Hamlet says, “Custom hath made [of] it in him a property of easiness.”[7] In other words, he’s done it so much, so often, he now just can do it without even thinking. One of the Puritans says the average pastor could preach for four weeks without ever engaging his own heart in the company and benefit of God.[8] The danger—the danger—of missing it completely.

Straightforward: “Preach it.” J. I. Packer gives us a wonderful definition of preaching. Well, I think it’s wonderful; you can decide for yourself. But this is what he says: “Preaching is the event of God bringing to [a congregation] a Bible-based, Christ-related, life-imparting message of instruction and direction [from himself] through the words of a spokes[man].”[9] And that is it, isn’t it? It is a quite remarkable thing that the teaching of the Bible should be entrusted to people like you and me. Because nobody knows how to preach. Jesus knew how to preach. Paul—we can put him in the top five. But it’s mysterious, isn’t it?

And what you’ve got to do, he says, is make sure—to quote the New English Bible, in the balance of the verse: “Press [the message] home on all occasions, convenient or inconvenient”[10]—in other words, in seasons of receptivity and in seasons of hostility. Preach it when the prospect fills you with dread or fills you with delight. Preach it when the listeners are tuned in or have already begun to tune out. Preach it when the crowds are diminishing as well as when the crowds are growing. Preach it when you look forward to Sunday, and preach it when you’re dreading Sunday.

You say, “You ever dreaded Sunday?” Yeah—because of the awesomeness of it. Because of the fact that we bring to our pulpit not only the word that has been entrusted to us, but we bring ourselves to our pulpit. And therefore, all the joys, all the sorrows, all the pressures, all the burdens, all the agonies for your children or your children’s children are all part of your psyche as you come to that responsibility.

And therefore, it is—whether it is in prospect of great delight or in the prospect that God may choose the very event to humble us. Do you ever pray that? “Lord, I’ve got to go and speak to this Vintage thing. I don’t know who these people are, but you do. If you choose to set this in a context of encouragement, I want to thank you. And if you’ve decided to bring me to Vintage to humble me, then I want to thank you too. Because it’s your Word. It’s your solemn charge”—to reprove, to rebuke, to exhort, to engage in argument, in defense, to make an appeal that has an intellectual dimension to it, because we are seeking, under the enabling of the Spirit, to convince. To convince—not offering suggestions. It’s got a moral aspect to it, because it is a call to action. It has an emotional aspect to it, because it is a call to encouragement and to endure.

So, the charge is solemn, it is straightforward, and it is to be exercised, dauntingly, “with complete patience” and careful instruction. Don’t you wish that sometimes the adjective was different—it was like “with a little bit of patience”? No! No, no, no. “Complete patience.” “Complete patience.” No teacher must find it a trouble to go over and over again the basics of the Christian faith, for that is the way to ensure the safety and stability of the hearers. Martyn Lloyd-Jones says,

The expository preacher is not one who “shares his studies” with others, he is an ambassador and a messenger, authoritatively delivering the Word of God to men. Such preaching presents a text, then, with that text in sight throughout, there is [a] deduction, argument and appeal, the whole making up [of] a message which bears the authority of Scripture itself.[11]

What a privilege! What a responsibility! What a challenge!

The Challenge

And the challenge is there for you as you look down on it. He says, “The time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching,”[12] but “they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear.”[13]

“Sound.” “Sound doctrine.”[14] I don’t often hear that word used. Maybe you use it here all the time, but it’s sort of like an old-fashioned word to me. Years ago, when I was young, younger—“so much younger than today, … never needed anybody’s help in any way. But now…”[15] Anyway—but when I was young, I was speaking in Londonderry in the North of Ireland for a little man called T. S. Mooney. T. S. Mooney was a Bible class teacher for fifty years—boys’ Bible class teacher in the North of Ireland. And he ran what was called the Londonderry Young People’s Convention. He himself was ancient, like I am now. But he actually looked even more ancient than me. He wore a tweed suit. I think he wore a tie to his bed. He was that kind of guy. He was a retired bank manager. And so I had to stay with him for a week in his apartment, and he took me every evening to a small Methodist church where this event was taking place.

And every night, we would gather for prayer before the thing. And, you know, he would pray that God would bless and show up and everything else. And then I’d go out to preach. And he would be sitting out there. And I noticed: Within, like, about seven minutes, he was in the third stages of anesthesia. He was gone! And so, I’m a young guy; he’s an old man. You know, don’t rebuke older people.[16] So I didn’t on Monday night; Tuesday night, did the same thing; and Wednesday, I couldn’t resist it.

And I said, “T. S.” We were going home in the car. I said, “T. S., every night you go down there, you pray the blessing of God on the Word, and then you go to sleep.” And in his little Irish lilting voice, he said, “Ah, well, you see, it’s just like this: I stay awake long enough to make sure that you’re sound. And when I know you’re sound, I just let you go. On you go!” “Sound.” “Sound.”

The time will come—the time always comes (read church history)—when people will reject sound teaching, no longer regarding it as healthy and as useful, tuning their ears to itch for accumulation of teachers who will teach in a manner that relieves the listener of any sense of responsibility of seeing their lives brought into line with the truth of God’s Word.

It was not an unusual experience for Paul to face, because the prophets had faced it too. In Isaiah’s day, you remember, they came to the prophet to say, “We don’t like what it is you’re saying.” They’re not asking him to stop prophesying. They’re asking him to prophesy in a way that they can absorb it, in a way that allows them to stay the way they are. And this is what they say—Isaiah 30:

         Do not prophesy to us what is right;
speak to us smooth things,
 prophesy illusions.[17]

In other words, it’s Fleetwood Mac: “Tell me lies, tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.”[18] Tell me, in the present context, that marriage is whatever you want it to be or what you don’t want it to be, that gender is a floating mass. Tell me all these things. Accommodate the lifestyle of an alien world and a thinking population that has already given up on God.

We are preaching to a generation that is coming fast behind us, that has been borne on three great lies: number one, that there is no creator God; number two, that there is no absolute morality; and number three, that there is no universal truth. The minds of people in the framework of Western culture at the moment have been inhabited by lies. And therefore, it is the work of the Spirit of God through the Word of God to change people’s lives.

It’s important for us to remind ourselves of that simple fact, isn’t it? That our responsibility in teaching the Bible is not simply that people will understand what the Bible means and to give them a few points of application so that they can talk about it while they’re going home in the car or having lunch. What we look for in teaching the Bible is that we, together, will have a direct encounter with the living God that transforms us from the inside out—so that the work that he has just charged Timothy with, in reproving and instructing and so on, is nothing other than the work of the Word; that God’s Word does God’s work by God’s Spirit in God’s people for God’s glory. And unless we have that fundamental conviction, we will be tempted at all points along the way to either ameliorate things or try and absorb or cajole or whatever it might be.

It’s not an easy thing, is it, to be prepared to actually say what the Bible says in a world that says, you know, “You can curate yourself; you are what you really want to be”? And they come up against somebody who’s teaching the Bible that says that we are by nature sinful, we’re guilty, we’re lost, we’re responsible, and we are unable to fix it—that we’re telling people the story of the whole world is “God made it, we broke it, Jesus fixed it, and he is the only one who can remake our broken world.”

What we look for in teaching the Bible is that we, together, will have a direct encounter with the living God that transforms us from the inside out.

Look at our world today. Whatever side of your political divide you’re on, it is absolute chaos. And the church—the local church, the people that you have in your congregation—is like a thumbnail sketch of a glorious Technicolor picture that we sang about earlier, where every nation, tribe, people, language, and tongue are there.[19] And so it’s quite remarkable that we can actually go to people and say, “You know, your broken life and our broken world is addressed in the story that we have to tell.”

It’s both encouraging and at the same time challenging, isn’t it? Because, you know, as D. A. Carson has said, you know, the church is not made up of a bunch of people who are just naturally friends. It’s made up by a bunch of people that are naturally enemies.[20] But God has made one new man—Ephesians 2—he’s made one new man out of two.[21] And the remarkable thing is that when God does that, he changes us from the inside out.

Years ago in Edinburgh, when we were in the very early days, when I was a very old twenty-four-year-old, we were in a church plant. And many of the boys and girls there had come out of a background that was like Trainspotting with Ewan McGregor. In other words, Scotland is actually the drug capital of Western Europe, even now today. So their lives were marked by chaos. The pastor turned out to be a friend. He was an unusual man. He was almost blind. His name was Alec. He had no obvious sort of reach-young-people characteristics to him that would be immediately perceptible. But he was God’s man in God’s place for that time. And he taught us to sing various songs. And he taught us sometimes not to sing all with our heads in position going forward but to turn to the person next to us and sing face-to-face. And one of the things that he taught us to sing face-to-face was… So, imagine right now you’ve got to turn to the guy next to you. And it’s not your best friend. And it goes like this:

I love you with the love of the Lord;
Yes, I love you with the love of the Lord.
I [can] see in you the glory of my King;
And I love you with the love of the Lord.[22]

Now, that is a different dimension from a kind of slap-happy, sentimental—I almost said “Bill Gaither.” In fact, I just did say “Bill Gaither.” But I love Bill Gaither, and I love his songs, and I’m sure I love him with the love of the Lord. But, you know, I tell people: A long time ago we quit singing that at the church—like, “I’m so glad that you’re part of the family…”[23] You know, I said, “No, we are not singing that. We’re not singing that. But we’re going to sing it like this: ‘I’m surprised that you’re part of the family of God.’” ’Cause now we’re telling the truth. Because we’re all surprised that we’re part of the family of God.

The Commitment

“Timothy, what a wonder! Your grandmother! Your mom![24] What an amazing thing it is, son! Timothy, take a stand. Swim against the current.” The charge is clear. The challenge transcends time and context. And the commitment to which he’s called is a straightforward and vitally important commitment.

I’m sure that yesterday, as Mike opened up chapter 2, he reminded us all of the way in which Paul moves from the indicative to the imperative—that “being strengthened by the grace that is yours in Christ Jesus, now I want you to go on and do these things.”[25]

And so here you have, in the commitment that he’s called to make, just a series of these imperatives. And they’re there in the fifth verse. The people are going to turn away. “They turned away from me,” says Paul, “and they’ll turn away from you too. But as for you, here: Let me give to you a call to commitment.”

Number one: “Always be sober-minded.” “Always be sober-minded”—or, if you like, in the NIV, “Keep your head in all situations.”[26] “Because the fact is that some have been led astray. They’ve drifted off. Ideas have been presented to them. And it’s all the more reason to make sure that you, Timothy, stay awake, that you’re vigilant, that you don’t fall asleep at the wheel, that you don’t get fed up with everyone and everything—including yourself—and decide that ‘this relay race is going on way longer than I thought, and I’m just going to throw myself down on the grass and just see what happens from there.’ Don’t do that,” he says, “Timothy. Do not fall asleep at the wheel. Watch your life; watch your doctrine—closely!”[27] As soon as the gap widens between what I’m saying and how I’m living, there is a significant problem for me and for those who are under my care.

“Timothy, keep your head.” In my experience, the strategy of the Evil One in relationship to our heads is twofold. One: to try and give us what I might refer to as a pinhead. Right. “You stink,” he says. “You do the worst sermons that anyone’s ever heard in the entire United States, not just in the Phoenix area.” And so he wants to just neutralize us—or he wants to give us a fat head, give us a big head, a gargantuan cranium, like a grapefruit on a toothpick. And that is why it’s so vitally important that as pastors, we have a wife, if for no other reason than to keep us humble. And our children can help with that as well.

You go to the Ronald Reagan Library in Simi Valley, and you hear Reagan’s voice explaining the Oval Office. And at one point, he says, “This was not my office. This was the office of the people. I took it so seriously that when I worked in here, I never removed my suit coat.” And there’s a long pause on the tape, and then he says, “You see, you can take the office seriously without taking yourself too seriously.”

Watch the collapse of prominent pastoral preachers in the last few decades. It all lies there: a declining commitment to the responsibility of the solemn, straightforward charge and an increasing egotistical perspective that removes us always from the position of usefulness. For “this is the one to whom I will look,” says the Lord: “he who is humble … contrite in spirit and trembles at my word.”[28] “Sober-minded.”

“Endure suffering.” I wasn’t here for this, but I’m sure, again, yesterday, that was pointed out: that suffering—he’s not sounding a new note. It’s a refrain: “Share in suffering,”[29] “I suffer.”[30] “I[’m] suffering.”[31] “I endure things.” “Timothy,” he basically says, “this goes with the territory.” This goes with the territory—physical, mental, emotional costs in following the pattern of sound words,[32] dealing with the accusations and the insinuations of the Evil One and also those who decide that they’ve been put on earth in order just to make sure that we’re having as bad a Sunday as we possibly could. And we have to recognize this.

The Evil One’s insinuations are always to deceive us, to discourage us, to derail us. You can go back into the Old Testament: the unholy trinity of Sanballat and Tobiah the Ammonite, those characters. You remember they came to him: “What do you think you’re doing, building a wall? Goodness gracious! Anybody could knock down this wall. And furthermore, we know that the only reason you’re doing this is because you want to make yourself the king.” And he was able, masterfully, to reply, “What you say is nowhere even close to what is happening. You are just making it up out of your head.”[33]

Now, I don’t suggest you use that every time somebody writes to you from your church to criticize the length of your sermon. But you should have it up your sleeve, because there will be a day when that will be necessary: “Dear Anne: Nehemiah 6:8. Your pastor and friend, Alistair. Have a great day!”

“Do the work of an evangelist.” “Do the work of an evangelist.” Was he suggesting a change of ministry here? I don’t think so. Not for a moment! He’s not reassigning Timothy’s job description. He’s just reminding him that to preach the Word of God is different from delivering a lecture.

What’s the difference between a lecture and preaching? That was the question posed by Professor John Murray, late of Westminster Seminary, to a fellow called William McKenzie while they were driving in the car in the Highlands. He said to William—he said, “William, what is the difference between a lecture and preaching?” Well, William tried his answers, and none of them worked. And eventually, he gave up. He said, “Okay, prof. What is the difference?”

He said, “Preaching is a personal, passionate plea.”

William said, “In what sense?”

He said, “In this sense: ‘We beseech you, by the mercies of God, to be reconciled to God’”[34]—so that to preach the Bible just as the Bible, you will discover that your message will be evangelistic not necessarily by design, but it is inevitably so. Because the Bible is a book about Jesus. In fact, I got that from Packer, because this is what he says: “If one preaches the Bible biblically, one cannot help preaching the gospel all the time, and every sermon will be … at least by implication evangelistic.”[35]

Straightforward stuff, isn’t it? I say again: I’m not here to tell you things you don’t know. I’m just trying to remind myself—and you happen to be listening—of things that I mustn’t forget. I’m saddened by my colleagues who have replaced a biblical, evangelistic proclamation ministry that is missional with a ministry of admonition—the story of a life-changing, transforming power of the gospel with some kind of political diatribe, and before you know where you are, the thing has gone south. Nothing can take the place in the pulpit of the primary, exclusive responsibility of making much of Jesus Christ all the time.

And “Fulfill your ministry.” “Fulfill your ministry.” “Discharge all your duties. Carry out the commission that I gave to you. Finish the job. Make sure that you are keeping your promises.” “Keeping your promises.” Actually, the verb there, in secular Greek, actually often denotes the fulfilling of a promise or the repaying of a debt.

Nothing can take the place in the pulpit of the primary, exclusive responsibility of making much of Jesus Christ all the time.

Timothy and those who follow in Timothy’s line have made a promise to God as we were set apart to the gospel. Timothy, and all who are Timothys with him, are indebted to those who have taught the Word of God to us, those who have led us, those who have nurtured us, those that we’ve never met, those that we will never be able to say thank you to until, in the glory, we’ll go find them somewhere and say, “Hey! You don’t know me, but what a help you have been to me! I read such and such on such and such a day.”

Why would it be a surprise that there would be a debt to pay? Because we’ve had it reinforced for us, haven’t we, in our singing? That Jesus paid a debt he didn’t owe. He kept his promise to the Father, and in keeping his promise to the Father, the Father promised him an inheritance of nations.[36] It’s not in doubt. It’s not in doubt. We will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

The charge is straightforward. The challenge is undeniable. And the commitment that is called for may only be approached on our knees, in dependence upon the Holy Spirit.

We bear the torch that flaming
Fell from the hands of those
Who gave their lives proclaiming
That Jesus died and rose.
Ours is the same commission,
The same glad message ours;
[And] fired by the same ambition,[37]

to you, Lord Jesus Christ, we offer our lives.

Now the time for my departure is now imminent, and so I invite you to pray, or follow along in prayer, as I read Calvin’s prayer, which he would pray routinely after he had preached. He didn’t tell me that himself, but I’ve no reason to believe that it isn’t true. So:

We call upon you, our good God and Father, beseeching you, since all the fullness of wisdom and light is found in you, in your mercy to enlighten us by the Holy Spirit in the true understanding of your Word. Teach us by your Word to place our trust in you and to serve and honor you as we ought so that we may glorify your holy name in all our living and edify our neighbors by our good example. May we render to you, O God, the love and obedience which children owe to their parents, since it has pleased you graciously to receive us in Christ as your children. Amen.

[1] Romans 12:1 (KJV).

[2] 2 Timothy 4:7–8 (paraphrased).

[3] 2 Timothy 4:8 (paraphrased).

[4] 1 John 3:3 (paraphrased).

[5] See 2 Corinthians 5:10.

[6] William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 5.1. Paraphrased.

[7] Shakespeare, 5.1.

[8] “The Duty of a Pastor,” in The Works of John Owen, ed. William H. Goold (London: Johnstone and Hunter, 1851), 9:455.

[9] J. I. Packer, “Some Perspectives on Preaching,” in Preaching the Living Word: Addresses from the Evangelical Ministry Assembly, ed. David Jackman (Fearn, Ross-Shire: Christian Focus, 1999), 28.

[10] 2 Timothy 4:2 (NEB).

[11] Iain H. Murray, D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones, vol. 2, The Fight of Faith: 1939–1981 (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1990), 261. The quoted words are not actually Lloyd-Jones’s but rather Murray’s summary of Lloyd-Jones’s view on expository preaching.

[12] 2 Timothy 4:3 (ESV).

[13] 2 Timothy 4:3 (NIV).

[14] 2 Timothy 4:3 (NIV).

[15] Paul McCartney and John Lennon, “Help!” (1965).

[16] See 1 Timothy 5:1.

[17] Isaiah 30:10 (ESV).

[18] Christine McVie and Eddy Quintela, “Little Lies” (1987).

[19] See Revelation 7:9.

[20] D. A. Carson, Love in Hard Places (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2002), 61.

[21] See Ephesians 2:15.

[22] Jim Gilbert, “I Love You with the Love of the Lord” (1977).

[23] Gloria Gaither and William J. Gaither, “The Family of God” (1970). Lyrics lightly altered.

[24] See 2 Timothy 1:5.

[25] 2 Timothy 2:1 (paraphrased).

[26] 2 Timothy 4:5 (NIV).

[27] See 1 Timothy 4:16.

[28] Isaiah 66:2 (ESV).

[29] 2 Timothy 2:3 (ESV).

[30] 2 Timothy 1:12 (ESV).

[31] 2 Timothy 2:9 (ESV).

[32] See 2 Timothy 1:13.

[33] Nehemiah 4:1–3; 6:7–8 (paraphrased).

[34] 2 Corinthians 5:20 (paraphrased).

[35] J. I. Packer, A Quest for Godliness: The Puritan Vision of the Christian Life (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 1990), 169.

[36] See Psalm 2:8.

[37] Frank Houghton, “Facing a Task Unfinished” (1930).