My uncle sent me a picture of my dad’s seminary graduation in 1976–three years before my birth. I may have seen the picture at some time, but it had escaped my memory. It was deeply moving to see his frame in his 20s full of energy and youthfulness, beaming with a touch of pastoral reverence. I often sadly share that my memories of him are few. I remember his preaching tempo and tone, and I remember his tall and strong physique, and I surely remember the needed rod against my undisciplined childhood. But after his death in 1996, my life changed dramatically and shortly thereafter, I moved to the United States. The change in environment took me far away from spatial memories and the people he shepherded.
Much of his life was spent in the academy, teaching at the university, and in the church preaching to his flock. He was the quintessential pastor/theologian. He was well-versed in many subjects and drank deeply from the fountain of his Baptist heritage. He was an ardent defender of orthodoxy, even penning a book published post-mortem against neo-orthodoxy in defense of a robust fundamentalism that took the Bible seriously.
I have pondered his life in these last 24 hours and the nature of covenant fidelity. I am grateful that despite his flaws, he left enough of an imprint on my soul to pursue the good, true and beautiful. And the overflowing fruit of that is the covenant baton now passed on to my children.
When we speak of the covenant we are speaking of incremental sanctification cosmically and corporately. We are looking at the corpses left in the wilderness and saying, “No, not that.” We are pontificating on our relationship with a God who is intimately and personally loyal to our good. We are making movements toward the holy and reforming our thoughts and imaginations. We are growing in expectation with humility knowing how many of the fallen were mighty and how many of the fools, according to the world, have ultimately risen to prominence before Kings.
Passing down the covenant promises to a new generation is stirred by those gone before us. It offers us the incentive to see the past and remember the promises of God, which are yes and amen. It pushes us to desire something better for our offspring, to see redemptive history manifested in more personal ways than in previous generations. Honestly, it is to look at our mistakes and find joy in the lessons learned and the forgiveness granted through Christ our Lord.
Ultimately, if we find ourselves carrying the happiness of the Gospel in word and deed, triumphing over temper tantrums on Sunday mornings, and finding our way to Zion’s courts, we should look at those gone before us and reflect carefully on how God slowly carried us under his wings. Whether our histories bear the mark of sadness and rejection or whether it bears the fullness of covenant joy, we stand looking to a future shaped by Yahweh, the Covenant Lord who watches over us and moves us from glory to glory. The promise is to you, your children, and all those far off until a thousand generations.
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