A Heart for Sinners: Reflecting on Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortlund
There are books that draw you in simply by their title, and Gentle and Lowly: The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sinners by Dane Ortlund was one of those for me. As someone who constantly wrestles with understanding the depths of God’s love, I knew I had to dive into this exploration of Christ’s heart—especially penned by someone who seems genuinely passionate about helping believers uncover this profound truth.
Ortlund’s central thesis revolves around reshaping our understanding of God’s disposition toward us, urging readers to dismantle the preconceived notions of a wrathful God and to embrace a loving and gentle Savior. This perspective is breathtakingly beautiful and, as I found myself reading, a much-needed message in today’s often harsh theological landscape. Ortlund emphasizes that Christ is not only approachable but delights in our company, and that his anger is provoked only in response to our sin—not us as individuals.
However, I soon found myself in a bit of a theological conundrum. While I deeply resonated with the premise of God’s heart being one of mercy and kindness, I struggled with the undercurrents of Ortlund’s Reformed theology. His assertions, such as the limitation of Christ’s love primarily to the elect, felt like an abrupt clash with the compassionate narrative he was weaving. This duality left me feeling both enlightened and perplexed, akin to what I imagine would happen if I watched an elegant ballet performed by dancers who occasionally trip over their own feet.
One moment of clarity arrived through Ortlund’s poignant quote: “His anger requires provocation; his mercy is pent up, ready to gush forth.” It’s a striking depiction that reshapes the often misleading view of God’s nature. This powerful realization lingered with me long after reading, reminding me that while God’s love is boundless, my perception of it can often be clouded by personal beliefs.
Ortlund’s writing style is fluid and engaging, a blend of personal anecdotes coupled with theological reflections that effectively invites readers into his thought process. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel that his constant references to certain theologians—such as Jonathan Edwards—were occasionally misplaced. For a book centered on love and tenderness, those citations could feel jarring rather than reinforcing.
In conclusion, while Gentle and Lowly offers plenty of spiritual food for thought, it simultaneously raises questions that may lead some readers to feel a sense of conflict. I appreciated the beauty in Ortlund’s exploration of Christ’s heart, even while grappling with theological tensions. For anyone seeking a deeper understanding of God’s love—or those in need of a gentle reminder of His kindness—this book is worth considering. Ultimately, it’s a work that encouraged me to reflect on the complexities of faith and adopt a more affectionate view of the divine.
Happy reading!
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