There’s nothing inherently contradictory about being both in awe of the comprehensive sovereignty of God and passionate in the pursuit of prophecy, tongues, and miracles. Rather than contradictions, they’re the dearest of doctrinal friends, and (to borrow from Spurgeon and Packer) we need not reconcile friends.
I have previously argued that Reformed believers need not be afraid of revelatory gifts and that the superficial weirdness of certain spiritual gifts must never keep us from the eager pursuit and practice of them. Here I want to show that being a Calvinist actually fuels the pursuit of miraculous ministry in a way other soteriological views cannot.
One central reason why Reformed soteriology is vital for effective charismatic ministry is that it alone fuels maximal joy.
God, the Decisive Writer of Names
To be saved is to have one’s name written in heaven (Luke 10:20). Our name wasn’t transcribed at the moment of our belief in Christ but was written in the Lamb’s Book of Life “before the foundation of the world” (Rev. 13:8).
God is not merely a loving collector of self-made pottery. He’s the decisive Potter who holds the malleable clay in his hands—making one for honor and one for dishonor (Rom. 9:21). God is not merely a benevolent herder of self-birthing sheep. He’s the Father who miraculously turns rebellious goats into woolly sheep and then gives them to his Good Shepherd Son (John 6:36–40). God is not merely an enthusiastic coach for self-raised dead men, calling out, “Lazarus, would you like to come out, my friend?” He’s the God who makes dead men walk with a loving and totally sovereign, “Come out” (John 11:43).
God is the decisive actor in our salvation. He is the decisive writer of names.
And God’s sovereign writing of names is intimately connected with miraculous ministry because, according to Jesus, it’s intimately connected to your joy.
Pursuing Miracles Is a Real Command
Luke 10 is one of numerous passages that describe the relationship between God’s sovereignty and miraculous ministry.
God’s writing of names in heaven is not mere documentation. It is decree.
The chapter begins with Jesus sending out 72 of his followers in groups of two to the surrounding villages in order to prepare the way for his arrival. After telling them how to enter a town, Jesus tells the 72 what they’re supposed to say and do within these communities: “Heal the sick in it and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you’” (Luke 10:9).
When the 72 go, miracles really happen. Thus, when the disciples return, they’re understandably exuberant: “The seventy-two returned with joy, saying, ‘Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!’” (Luke 10:17).
Jesus responds to his disciples’ excitement with these intriguing and wonderful words of warning: “Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:19–20).
Some use passages like this to argue against pursuing miraculous ministry. This misses the point of the passage. In Luke 10, it is Jesus who commands his disciples to go and practice the miraculous. Doing miracles was his idea and his command (and I see no New Testament warrant for the cessation of such miracles).
Temporary Miracles Aren’t the Fountainhead of Joy
When the 72 return, Jesus definitively reaffirms their authority over the power of the Enemy. But then he reminds them that this authority is not the ultimate source of their joy. Instead, their joy is to be found in the fact that their “names are written in heaven.” Christ implores his disciples to root their joy in the only lasting source: the sovereign, saving, name-writing love of God.
Luke 10 isn’t a scolding for being too happy about a miracle. It’s an invitation to be happier than you ever imagined. Yes, Luke 10 is assuredly a warning. But it’s a warning to never settle for a beam when we can have the sun. It’s a warning to never settle for derivative streams when we can have the fountainhead.
This passage isn’t a scolding for being too happy about a miracle. It’s an invitation to be happier than you ever imagined.
What is this fountainhead of joy? It’s God and his sovereign, saving, name-writing work.
Why does maximal joy matter so much? Joy is how we glorify God. To use John Piper’s modified paraphrase of the Westminster Shorter Catechism, glorifying God by enjoying him is the reason for which we were created. But what’s the relationship between Calvinism and unfettered rejoicing in God? How does Reformed soteriology influence our rejoicing?
Joy with No Ceiling
To be clear, I don’t think most of my charismatic Arminian friends have missed the point of miracles. In fact, much of what I’m about to say applies more sharply to open theists. However, I do believe Arminian joy (if I may call it that) has an unnecessary ceiling—because it puts an unnecessary ceiling on God’s loving sovereignty. This ceiling is the result of seeing man as the decisive agent (or, at least, a deciding agent) in salvation.
Any joy that’s subject to man’s decisiveness or God’s purported limitations will always fall short of fullness. In Luke 10, Jesus seeks to raise the roof of the disciples’ joy above temporary miracles and into the saving work of God (“rejoice that your name is written in heaven”). This saving work can only be a reason for maximal rejoicing if God is the sovereign and decisive writer of names.
How Ought We Now Worship?
Pursuing the miraculous is most biblical where maximal joy is present. If we’re to rightly pursue prophecy, cast out demons, and pray with expectancy for miracles, we must first be saturated in restful gratitude for what God has sovereignly done for us. Otherwise, we’ll be tempted to root our identity and joy in the visible results of our efforts (or lack thereof). We’ll be tempted to pursue miracles transactionally, pragmatically, or for our own vain glory. Our joy will diminish.
Rooting our joy in God’s sovereign, saving, name-writing love doesn’t allow for this.
So how are we to respond to miracles and Christ’s command to pursue them? Are we to passively ignore them? Are we to act with cold, stoic indifference—because to do otherwise would be a violation of Jesus’s command in Luke 10? God forbid.
We should cry out to God for the miraculous, but our rejoicing must not end in the miracle. We’re to be like the one (former) leper in Luke 17 who returns, rather than like the other nine lepers who are content with rejoicing only in temporary healing. Our rejoicing must return and fall at the feet of the miracle worker.
Derivative miracles point to greater miracles. Greater miracles point to the great miracle-working Physician. Jesus isn’t merely a means to experiencing a miracle—the miracle is a means to experiencing, knowing, and worshiping God.
The Gospel Coalition