Dying Well—Jonathan Edwards

Bryan Just
Douglas A. Sweeney, PhD

As soon as Jonathan Edwards’ colleagues had discerned that he should become the third president of the College of New Jersey (later Princeton University), “he girded up his loins,” as Hopkins stated, “and set off,”[1] leaving in early January of 1758. He left his wife and children behind, intending to move them in the spring after the weather had improved.

After settling into his house, Edwards met his students and tutors, preached to them on several Sundays in the Princeton College chapel, wrote some questions in theology for Princeton’s senior class, and was installed “in the president’s chair” by the Princeton Corporation on the 16th of February, 1758.[2] Things seemed to be going smoothly.

No sooner had he settled into a regular routine, however, than Edwards chose to set a good example for the locals and receive an inoculation.

When Christians Face Infertility

Janie Valentine, MA

In June, Will Honeycutt encouraged churches to be sensitive to congregants struggling with infertility and suggested several practical steps church leaders can take to display empathy and support for infertile couples. Honeycutt’s piece concludes, “We must...defeat the notion that the inability to procreate makes life meaningless or robs men and women of their identity.

Praying through Chronic Illness

Bryan Just

As Christians who believe in the God “who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases,” it can be hard to know how to pray for those suffering from chronic illness (Psalm 103:3, ESV). Often, the church starts strong, praying fervently for the healing of the afflicted person’s body. However, as weeks, months, and even years go by, discouragement can set in. Why keep praying for something that does not seem to happen? As other requests for prayer are shared, it is easy to push those with chronic illnesses into the background.

What Is Human?

Charles Baldanza, MDiv
Nathan Barczi, PhD

What Is a Human?

You are standing in front of a large tub. It has, say, 6 gallons of water, 37 lbs. of carbon, 6.5 lbs. of nitrogen, 3 lbs. of calcium, 2 lbs. of phosphorus, and about 4 lbs. of some other trace elements. Ethically, you could do anything you wanted to that soup—buy it, sell it, experiment on it. But, if that same material were rearranged very precisely, it would be your neighbor. She would have autonomy and dignity; no one could buy or sell or experiment on her without her consent, even if she had died. Why? What is so special about that particular configuration of matter?