Oh, how I love selected parts of your law!

All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching [...] I give you this charge: Preach the Word.

—2 Timothy 3:16–4:2

When was the last time you heard a sermon on Zephaniah? Or Philemon? How about the second half of Daniel?

We pay lip service to the inspiration of the whole of Scripture, but I wonder whether we really believe it. Do we use the whole Bible, or do we just pick out the bits we like? One way of gauging this is to look at what passages we preach on: if we take seriously our charge to use all of Scripture for teaching, then you would expect to find that, over time, our sermon texts would bear that out. We should probably not expect a completely flat distribution: it is perhaps reasonable to expect sermons to cover the gospels more often than Leviticus, since the gospels more clearly and directly reveal Jesus. But if we believe that all Scripture is God-breathed, then we should not expect to find that some parts of the Bible receive all our attention and some are essentially ignored.

Finding good aggregated statistics on what is preached in churches around the world is difficult, simply because churches don't publish their sermon plans in any systematic fashion. But there are ways of getting a useful indication.

The Gospel Coalition web site is an excellent resource for finding, among other things, sermons preached in evangelical churches worldwide. I use it all the time, and I have found it invaluable. As of September 2011, it lists around 34,000 sermons, most of which can be downloaded and listened to. That is a vast number—more than there are verses in the whole Bible. It also acquires its material from a large number of churches and an even larger number of preachers, and thus one would expect it to be representative of the state of evangelical Christendom as a whole, and not susceptible to the biases and tendencies of one particular church or minister.

So what does its database reveal?

Below is a Wordle, showing how often each book of the Bible is represented in the database. The size of the font is proportional to the number of sermons taking its primary text from that particular book.

What do we preach on? (PDF)

The image is quite striking. The New Testament dominates to a remarkable extent: only Genesis and the Psalms can compete, and even they are some way down the list. The minor prophets are almost non-existent.

But there are other points of interest. It is perhaps not surprising that we spend most of our time in the gospels; but notice how far behind the rest Mark lags. And who would have expected such a difference between Ephesians and Colossians?

Of course, some books are much longer than others. One would not expect a series on 2 Thessalonians to contain as many sermons as a series on Exodus, simply because there is less material to cover. A sermon series that went through the entire canon at the rate of one chapter per week would quite sensibly spend one week on Obadiah and nearly three years on the Psalms. So perhaps we should weight the entries according to the length of each book.

This second Wordle does just that. Each book is weighted by taking the number of sermons on that book in the database divided by the number of words in the book (in an English translation). This should have the effect of controlling for book length: if books were favoured simply according to their lengths, the Wordle would have all entries in the same size font.

Taking book length into account (PDF)

Notice what has changed and what has not. The Old Testament is still largely absent, and has faded even more now that Genesis and the Psalms, two of the longest books in the Bible, have all but disappeared (see if you can spot them). Jonah is the only one that catches the eye.

But what has happened to the gospels? Mark is now able to keep pace with the other gospel writers—perhaps we soft-pedal him only because his gospel is shorter than the others—but all four have been left in the shade. Word for word, we spend far longer on the epistles (which now dominate the image) than we do on the gospels.

What about choice of passage within a book? Do we demonstrate there that we believe the whole book is inspired, or do we cherry-pick the "good" bits?

This graph shows, for each chapter of Isaiah, how many sermons there are in the Gospel Coalition database taking that chapter as the primary text.

The keen-eyed will observe that the graph is not flat. Some chapters receive significant attention, whereas others are passed over. Three chapters, in fact, have no sermons on them. The six most famous chapters in Isaiah are probably chapter 1 ("Though your sins are like scarlet..."), chapter 6 ("In the year that King Uzziah died..."), chapter 9 ("To us a child is born..."), chapter 40 ("Comfort, comfort my people..."), chapter 53 ("He was pierced for our transgressions..."), and chapter 55 ("Come, all you who are thirsty..."). These chapters are represented by the six biggest peaks in the graph; and on average, there are 50.2 sermons for each of these six chapters. For the rest of Isaiah, there are 6.8 sermons per chapter.

Isaiah is not the only book to show wildly uneven treatment. There are 106 sermons on Psalm 1; sixteen Psalms are covered in only one sermon, and Psalms 64 and 70 have no hits at all. There are 199 sermons on Acts 2 (Pentecost) and 24 on Acts 12 (Peter's escape from prison).

It would be easy to make too much of this. There may be any number of reasons for some of these effects. For instance, any responsible sermon series that goes through Isaiah must take in Isaiah's commission in chapter 6; and it would be unreasonable to expect every series to cover every chapter. So it is unsurprising that chapter 6 gets more hits than any other. And there is good reason for giving greater prominence to the clearer parts of Scripture, so it may well be appropriate for Ephesians to receive more air time than Ecclesiastes. Perhaps 2 Chronicles receives less attention because it duplicates much of the material in 2 Kings.

But I am not convinced that all of it can be explained in such terms. What is striking is not that the distribution is uneven, but that the unevenness is so stark. It surely cannot be right that you are over 13 times as likely to hear an exposition of Matthew 5 (the start of the Sermon on the Mount) than of Matthew 19 (divorce). One can hardly make out that divorce is pastorally irrelevant today.

So why is this happening? Let me suggest three reasons.

For one, familiar bits of Scripture are easier to understand. Preaching on a text involves understanding it in its context; that, of course, is much easier to do if you already know the context. So whilst preaching on Ephesians 2 might involve some wrestling with the text to understand the finer points, it is unlikely to require significant blood, toil, tears and sweat to come to terms with the overall message of Ephesians. But now imagine that you have been asked to preach on Nahum 2. You have a good deal of work ahead of you before you start trying to unpack chapter 2. Who was Nahum? Northern kingdom or southern kingdom? What time period? Who were his primary audience? Can I even find Nahum without looking in the index?

Secondly, for exactly the same reasons, familiar bits of Scripture are easier to explain. A typical church will not need reminding every week that Acts details the growth of the early church after Jesus' ascension. But start a series on Ezekiel, and you have a lot of historical background to fill in before you can get to the text itself.

Thirdly, familiar bits of Scripture are easier to preach without rocking the boat. Honestly, who wants to preach on divorce? Or hell? Or the Canaanite genocide? Much easier to tackle something light and fluffy. The last thing you want to do is to raise difficult pastoral issues.

This is a dangerous game to play. The clear message we give off is that most of Scripture is theoretically inspired but not really worth bothering with. Zephaniah simply has nothing to say to us. Titus is boring. Matthew's worth preaching on, but do skip the tricky bits.

Man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.

—Deuteronomy 8:3

Do we really live on every word? Or do we eat the middle and leave the crusts? Stop playing with your dinner and eat it properly.

Post-Camp Blues: be careful, it's boring out there...

Yesterday, I came back from what I think is my 25th CYFA camp! I've now spent a total of more than six months on camp.

The first time I went, I was pretty nervous about it. I didn't know what to expect, and I didn't know whether I'd manage to make friends with anyone. But it didn't take long for that to pass. Now, some of my best friends are people I met on camp, and some of the others (including my wife) are people I met in a roundabout way via camp. God has also taught me, through camp, more than I can ever remember to thank him for. And he has granted me the wonderful privilege of serving him through chatting with people, praying with people, washing up, and pouring buckets of water on people's heads. Blessings all mine, and ten thousand beside.

Going to camp is now easy, and something I spend 51 weeks of the year looking forward to. What is much more difficult is coming home afterwards. On camp, you can feel close to God and close to others, and there's no time to catch your breath, let alone get stuck for things to do. But suddenly you're at home, and you remember how boring the real world is. Where did God go? Where did my friends go? What am I going to do for the next 51 weeks?

Post-camp blues is something that members, helpers, leaders and cooks all go through, and I don't have an easy answer. I think that when I find coming home from camp easy, that's when I'll know it's time to stop going. But there are some things you can do to make it at least not quite so horrible.

Remember what God has done

I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. I thought about the former days, the years of long ago; I remembered my songs in the night. My heart mused and my spirit enquired: "Will the Lord reject for ever? Will he never show his favour again? Has his unfailing love vanished for ever? Has his promise failed for all time? Has God forgotten to be merciful? Has he in anger withheld his compassion?" Then I thought, "To this I will appeal: the years of the right hand of the Most High." I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will meditate on all your works and consider all your mighty deeds. (Psalm 77:1, 5–12)

We tend to think of bible times as being an endless flow of drama and miracle, as though every moment were an exciting demonstration of God's presence and power. But, of course, it wasn't like that at all. The bible covers thousands of years of history, and most people's lives, most of the time, would have been quite ordinary.

The Israelites had the same temptation as we do: to forget what God had done for them. They constantly needed reminding to look back at how God had been faithful in the past so that they would trust that God would remain faithful in the future.

Coming back from camp can leave us so flat, and can leave God seeming so distant, that we quickly forget the blessings God rained down on us at camp. We start to wonder where God is. "Will he never show his favour again? Has his unfailing love vanished for ever?"

We need to be taught to remember what God has done, both in history in sending Jesus, and in our own lifetime in the ways he has drawn close to us on camp and elsewhere. Meditate on how God has blessed you in the past, and use that to help you trust him for the future.

Anchor yourself in Jesus' blood, not your own feelings

When I see the blood, I will pass over you. (Exodus 12:13)

There are so many things on camp that can give you a sort of spiritual buzz. It is so uplifting to hear an inspirational talk, or sit around a camp fire late at night singing "In Christ Alone" with fifty of your friends. These are all good, and God works through them to build us up and bring us closer to him. But they also have a significant danger: we can start to base our faith and our confidence on our own feelings. And when we come home and the feelings disappear, we start to question whether we're really Christians, or whether God really loves us. Feelings come and go; and if your confidence in God's love is based on feelings, it will come and go too.

When the Israelites came out of slavery in Egypt under Moses, they were told to kill a lamb and spread the blood on their doorposts. God was going to come through the land that night and bring judgement on the Egyptians by killing the firstborn son in every house. But for the Israelites, the lamb would be a substitute: God would see the blood of the lamb on the doorposts, and pass over without killing the firstborn son.

I should imagine that many of the Israelites were very scared that night. They had seen enough of God's judgement to know that it was real. What if they didn't believe strongly enough? What if they didn't feel close enough to God? What if their faith let them down, and God brought judgement on them during the night?

But what saved the Israelites from judgement was nothing to do with their feelings. What saved them was not the strength of their faith but what their faith was based on: God had promised that he would pass over when he saw the blood. However scared they might have been, however faithless, God was faithful to his promise.

So with us. We are saved because God sees Jesus' blood and passes over. Our salvation is not grounded in the strength of our feelings but in the death of Jesus, our Passover lamb and our substitute.

Get involved with others around you

"You will all fall away," Jesus told them, "for it is written: 'I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.' But after I have risen, I will go ahead of you into Galilee." Peter declared, "Even if all fall away, I will not." "I tell you the truth," Jesus answered, "today—yes, tonight—before the cock crows twice you yourself will disown me three times." But Peter insisted emphatically, "Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you." (Mark 14:27–30)

Peter began to call down curses on himself, and he swore to them, "I don't know this man you're talking about." Immediately the cock crowed the second time. Then Peter remembered the word Jesus had spoken to him: "Before the cock crows twice you will disown me three times." And he broke down and wept. (Mark 14:71–72)

Part of what makes coming home so difficult is that we've been surrounded by other people for a whole week. There's always someone to talk to on camp. You come back, and suddenly you're on your own. The love and support you enjoyed so much is whipped away from under you, and it can be a very lonely place to be. The temptation then is to grit your teeth and tell yourself you'll get through the next couple of weeks on your own by sheer willpower: "Even if all fall away, I will not." Peter tried that; it didn't work.

The bible never teaches us to go it alone. God made us to relate to one another, and to love, encourage and support one another. Jesus did not die to make you an individual Christian, but to make you part of his body. You won't survive apart from the rest of the body; you weren't designed to do so.

There isn't anything quite like camp for mutual encouragement. But unless you live on a desert island, there are other Christians near where you live who are important for your sanity and your continued growth. Get stuck into a church. Go to a youth group. Ring your friends and tell them what you learnt on camp.

Focus on God's word

These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the door-frames of your houses and on your gates. (Deuteronomy 6:6–9)

A week of reading the bible together is brilliant, but it's not supposed to stop there.

Moses didn't teach the Israelites to have a quiet time, as though they should spend ten minutes each day thinking about God and then forget his word for the rest of the day. Moses taught them to saturate themselves with Scripture. God's word was to be in their hearts, not on their smartphones. It was to be their chief topic of conversation at breakfast, lunch and dinner, in the car, at school, and throughout the day. They were to superglue it to their hands and nail it to their heads. They were to scribble verses on their bedroom walls, and chisel them into their front doors.

Make it your business this week, this month, this year, to read your bible till it falls apart. If you're not sure where to start, try Mark's gospel, and then the letter to the Colossians. If you're not sure how to read your bible, ask your dorm leader to send you some bible reading notes. If you'd like to get some yourself, you might like to try the Explore series. For something more crunchy that will take you through the bible in a year, get hold of Don Carson's For The Love Of God.

And never decide not to read your bible because you've "done your quiet time today". I promise you, the more you read it, the more you will learn to enjoy reading it. Talk to your friends and family about it. Meditate on it day and night. Write it up and down the road in alphabetti spaghetti. Nourish yourself from the food that God has given you.

Be careful to follow every command I am giving you today, so that you may live and increase and may enter and possess the land that the Lord promised on oath to your forefathers. Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the desert these forty years, to humble you and to test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands. He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your fathers had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. Your clothes did not wear out and your feet did not swell during these forty years. Know then in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, so the Lord your God disciplines you. Observe the commands of the Lord your God, walking in his ways and revering him. For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land—a land with streams and pools of water, with springs flowing in the valleys and hills; a land with wheat and barley, vines and fig-trees, pomegranates, olive oil and honey; a land where bread will not be scarce and you will lack nothing; a land where the rocks are iron and you can dig copper out of the hills. When you have eaten and are satisfied, praise the Lord your God for the good land he has given you. Be careful that you do not forget the Lord your God, failing to observe his commands, his laws and his decrees that I am giving you this day. (Deuteronomy 8:1–11)

Conversion Of A Sad Man

What's the most theologically correct way to become a Christian? Are there tried-and-tested techniques? Traps to beware of?

As far as traditional options go, consensus among theologians is that the three most prestigious methods are:

1. Seeing A Blinding Light;
2. Climbing Up A Tree;
3. Being Healed Of Paraplegia.

Obviously the third takes a little preparation and involves a certain amount of risk. You will need four friends and a big hammer.

At the other end of the scale, common schoolboy errors include:

1. Building Some Barns;
2. Putting One's Hand To The Plough And Looking Back;
3. Going Away Sad.

These generally lead to trouble, and are to be avoided.

But what of the modern Gentile? How is he or she to move from darkness to light?

I can only offer you the benefits of personal experience. The following short video clip (I had no idea I was being recorded!) details my own conversion, and even the exact moment of regeneration.

I believe this is the first time that the precise mechanics of quickening have been captured on film. Scientists will no doubt get straight to work attempting to reproduce the phenomenon under laboratory conditions.

Are these the nails used to crucify Jesus?

No.

There are no non-Christians here...

One of my weekly lessons when I was at school was called 'Personal and Social Education'. Its goal was to ensure that I wouldn't end up as a geek.

I remember the teacher one day calling for meditation on the day's Blessèd Thought:

There are no strangers here; only friends we haven't met.

It was an embarrassingly crass and schmaltzy statement. What did he think the word strangers meant? It must have held some meaning for him, otherwise it wouldn't have made much sense to say that there were no strangers there. Anyway, we'd all met each other, and we certainly weren't all likely to end up as friends. As well as playing fast and loose with the meaning of strangers, it rather cheapened the meaning of friends to imply that everyone could be and should be friends with everyone else.

Recently I went to a church whose service sheet mentioned a weekly meeting for prayer for 'the chronically ill and not-yet Christians'. Praying for those who are ill (James 5:14), and praying that people would become Christians (Matthew 9:35–38) is, of course, an essential part of the Christian life, and I'm sure that the meeting itself was wholesome and honouring to God. But not-yet Christians? I can almost see my teacher nodding approvingly:

There are no non-Christians here; only not-yet Christians.

It's not the first time I've heard the phrase. It seems to turn up more and more, mainly in the context of spurring people on to evangelism. Google hits for the phrase are well into six figures.

But for all its optimism, I do find this language rather disturbing. This isn't mere linguistic pedantry: the language we use to describe people affects our perception of them, and eventually affects the way we treat them.

So what's wrong with describing non-Christians as not-yet Christians?

For one, it's horribly patronising. It's roughly equivalent to telling a child: I know you don't agree with me at the moment, but one day you'll see that I'm right. I'll explain when you're old enough to understand. How does that sound from the receiving end? How would I feel to know that my atheist friends describe me as a not-yet atheist, and my Muslim friends describe me as a not-yet Muslim?

Secondly, it demotivates our evangelism. It is odd that the phrase gets used mainly in the context of encouraging Christians to spread the gospel; it certainly doesn't have that effect on me.

Jesus sees those who live without him as lost sheep (Luke 15:3–7), as in mortal peril (Luke 13:1–5), as in imminent danger of being cut down (Luke 13:6–9). This is what gives evangelism its urgency: time is short. Any view of non-Christians as simply Christians-in-waiting may be very comforting, just as it may be more comforting to ignore the warnings on cigarette packets; but it is a dangerous game to play.

But finally, and most importantly, it contradicts Jesus' teaching. Describing non-Christians as not-yet Christians suggests that it is only a matter of time: eventually all non-Christians will become Christians. Jesus' love will win through in the end: just trust him to do what he has promised.

The trouble is that he has promised no such thing. There are narrow and broad roads (Matthew 7:13–14); there are good and bad trees (Matthew 7:15–19); there are solid and weak foundations (Matthew 7:24–27). At the last judgement, there will be a final separation into two groups (Matthew 25:31–46). Some of those for whom we pray will eventually become Christians; some will not. Christian faith is about trusting God to do what he has said he will do; trusting God to do what he has said he will certainly not do is pure self-deception.

Contrast the biblical Jesus with the not-yet Christian view of Jesus. Hear the words of comfort our much nicer, softer, all-inclusive Jesus brings us:

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and in your name drive out demons and in your name perform many miracles?’ Then I will tell them plainly, ‘There are no strangers here; only friends I haven't met.’ (Matthew 7:21–23, Not-Yet Version)