The train was all connected—engine, coal cars, tankers, and caboose. Henry pushed it around the track, watching how each car followed behind another. “Toot-toot!” He brought the engine through a tunnel and around a curve, but two of the cars came apart from each other.
“Trains are fun, aren’t they?” his father said as he watched Henry play. “But are you having a little trouble keeping the cars connected?”
“Steady and careful—that’ll get the whole load delivered.”
“Toot-toot.” Henry tried again.
Henry’s father was thoughtful. “When things get disconnected, it doesn’t work, does it? That’s kind of like the truth. When one truth is separated from another truth, it doesn’t work.”
The train came apart again.
“In fact,” his father added, “it’s as if two tanker cars would leak poisonous gases because they were derailed and detached from each other. God saves only the elect and He gives faith only to the elect. Those two truths go together. But separate faith from God’s saving work—and you get the poisonous lie that faith is our own work. Salvation becomes our work then as well.”
Henry’s father leaned over and examined the train more closely. “It’s sneaky too. Look. Both tankers are still there—just disconnected.”
Henry could see how important it was for things to stay together. He carefully connected the cars that were apart—and double-checked his tankers.
The train was on the track once again.