What Love

I am continually amazed by God’s particular love for His children.  Just the other week, my younger sister, Ingrid, shared in youth group an upcoming event she wanted prayer for.  As she shared her particular struggles and concerns with her small group, they prayed that God would protect Ingrid both spiritualy and emotionally.

The following day—the day this particular event was to take place—my sister was at school.  For her, it seemed like any other normal day in the life of a high school freshman, but that was soon to change. Excusing herself from one of her classes to use the restroom, Ingrid saw a flyer on the bathroom mirror with tear-off tabs.   Curious, she approached the flyer to notice it read, “Take what you need.”  There was one tab left: Protection. 

Ripping off the tab and flipping it over, she read the Bible verse written on the back, "God you are my hiding place, you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance" Psalm 32:7. 

What a coincidence!  How wonderful that Ingrid was in the right place at the right time. At least, that's what many could and probably would say.  And yet, consider the incredible detail in the events that unfolded:  To begin, Ingrid was led to share a concern and struggle with her small group at church, something which led them to pray a very specific prayer of protection for her.  Then, the following day, of all the possible bathrooms Ingrid could have gone into at a giant high school, she happened to enter this particular one.  Also, at a public high school like Minnetonka, faith matters—while maybe not actively discouraged—certainly aren't encouraged.  And yet, despite this, some female student felt led to place a flyer with encouraging Bible verses in one of the bathrooms, a flyer with only one tab remaining: Protection. Coincidence or providence?

I don't believe what happened last week was coincidence, and neither does Ingrid.  Honestly, I believe coincidence, chance, luck and other such words are simply worldly terms for providence. In Christian circles, providence is a term that gets thrown around a lot.  Yet what is it and what does it mean? In a current book study on Trusting God by Jerry Bridges, I am learning that providence is "God's constant care for and His absolute rule over all His creation for His own glory and the good of His people." And so, to recognize God's providence is to realize that not only is He sovereign over all things, but He actively guides and directs all things in accordance with His ultimate purpose: our good and His glory.  

And yet, God's sovereignty is not always apparent.  In fact, it often isn't.  Take the stories of Ruth and Esther, for example.  In Ruth’s case, we read, “So she set forth and went and gleaned in the field after the reapers; and she happened to come to the part of the field belonging to Boaz, who was of the family of Elimelech. And behold, Boaz came from Bethlehem…”(Ruth 2:3-4a).  Basically, no one told Ruth to glean from  Boaz’s field, yet his was the field she came upon by happenchance.  And who just happened to return home while Ruth was gleaning in the field? None other than the master of the house himself: Boaz.  Talk about perfect timing.  What is more, we read later in the chapter that Ruth found favor with Boaz.  Why?  Did she just happen to be in the right place at the right time?  Or was something or Someone greater at work?

Esther’s case is another prime example of the unseen hand of God. Throughout the entire book, God remains hidden behind the scenes—He doesn’t speak, He doesn’t send angels to rescue His people nor does He send a prophet.  There are no miracles in this book, nothing supernatural.  And so, in many respects, Esther appears to be a Godless book.  And yet, all of the events that transpire in the book of Esther scream of God’s love, power, goodness, grace, justice, and faithfulness.  As Mordecai himself says to Esther, “And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14b). For those familiar with the story of Esther, you know how it ends. But how is this so?  As pastor Mark Driscoll states, “God works in Esther not through His visible hand of miracle, but through His invisible hand of providence.”   

And yet, despite His seeming invisibility, I am becoming increasingly aware of the ways in which God makes Himself known in so many intimate, personal ways.  It's amazing that God cares so deeply for His children that He shows His love so specifically.  What kindness!  The other week, God showed His specific love for Ingrid on the mirror in one of her high school bathrooms.  When I reflect on my own life, I am astounded by the countless ways in which God has shown me that same, specific love.  Personally, I know that so often I resign myself to "facts" about God... His goodness, sovereignty, power, love, etc. And these truths are incredibly important, yet in order to have a deeper, more personal relationship with my Lord and Savior, I cannot rely solely on facts.  To have this, I must come to see Him in the midst of my personal pain and rejoicing, struggles and triumphs—I see His providence in the details of my life, and through this, grow in my trust of Him.  As someone just said to me recently, "You can't have a real relationship without trust.  If you don't have trust, there's no relationship."  Such a simple statement, yet so true.  And this is why I believe God is so specific in His love towards us—He wants us to trust Him, to rely solely on Him and to have faith in His power and goodness.   He can't help but overflow in abundant lovingkindness towards us, a love which, in turn, can't help but win our trust.  I am in awe of this—that my Father, the God of the universe, loves me that deeply, right now. What love, great love.  

Our Testimony, God's Story

Our stories—with both their past and ongoing heartaches, sins, rebellions and joys—are beautiful testimonies of God’s redeeming love and boundless grace towards us.  Every aspect of our testimony, from our prodigal son-like recklessness to humble repentance, contributes to our story.  Both the tragedies and triumphs are knit together in such a manner that they cannot and should not be separated—victories do not bring joy without the struggle that precedes them, and satisfying and beautiful rest is not seen as such apart from contrasting trials. And so you cannot have the one without the other—tragedy and triumph go hand-in-hand.  

When it comes to my testimony, I confess that at times I prefer to “leave out” some details, especially when it relates to my own shortcomings. Yet God has faithfully worked on me with His divine brush, so why do I attempt to paint a different picture of my life?  At times I’m ashamed of what I did and who I was—ashamed that I lived as I did and didn’t have my life more “together”.   In other instances, my pride influences what I share.  If something makes me look better, I’ll share it.  If it cuts to the root of my sinful heart, however, it’s conveniently left out.  In such instances, my shame and pride display both arrogance and a resistance to share my own struggles.

Maybe we wish our testimony was somehow different. Perhaps we think to ourselves:

If only I hadn’t been so stubborn in my sin… 

If only I would have repented sooner…

 If only I would have surrendered myself to Christ before this or that happened...

 If only I didn’t backslide…

Or maybe upon hearing the testimony of another, we hesitate to share ours, thinking:

How on earth am I supposed to follow on the heels of that testimony? Compared to that story, mine isn’t that profound.  I wish I had a more radical, compelling story.  Mine pales in comparison…

Or maybe we even feel:

Wow, their “sinful living” was nothing compared to the darkness I embraced.  They’ve hardly done anything wrong.  I feel so dirty compared to them.  Maybe I shouldn’t share my full story.  They’ll either be offended or write me off if they know the full extent of who I once was…who I am…

I think Satan hurls these lies against us in the hopes of keeping us from sharing our testimonies.  Why? I believe that in causing us to feel self-conscious or insecure about our story, the evil one hopes to turn our focus inward.  Our story, however, isn’t really ours —it’s God’s.  And that is precisely why we should share it and exactly why Satan will utilize all his power to try and keep us quiet.   

The reality of the matter, however, is that just because we each possess a different story does not mean that one testimony is somehow “better” than the next.  In fact, the uniqueness of our testimonies is beautiful because God specifically customizes His work in each one of us.  The end goal—our salvation and sanctification and His glorification—is the same for all, but the means by which we are drawn to Him and the processes by which He works in our lives are hand-tailored to each one of us.  We are not cookie-cutouts.  Different does not mean better, and we must guard ourselves against falling prey to such lies.  We need all sorts of testimonies, for they remind us that no one is beyond the reach of God’s grace or the need of God’s grace.

So yes, sharing our stories is important.  It encourages our hearts and the hearts of those around us in several ways.  First, sharing our testimony compels us to remember all that God has brought to pass in our life.  Personally, I am so prone to forgetting—forgetting how lost I was in my sin, the painful trials I struggled through, and God’s faithfulness in the midst of all.  I forget who I am and Whose I am.  When I share my story, however, I am quickly reminded I am more underserving and sinful than I ever dared think, but as God’s precious daughter I am more loved and accepted than I ever dared hope.   Sharing our story is thus the means by which we are reminded of who we are, but more importantly, Whose we are and who God is.  Secondly, sharing our story lifts our hearts and emboldens us as we are reminded of the power of the One we serve.  When we share our stories, we are reminded that the Holy Spirit works in profound ways and is able to accomplish beyond all we could ever ask or imagine.  So we can take heart, knowing that God is for us and fights on our behalf.  Thirdly, I think God is pleased and glorified when we share our stories with others.  If we share our stories in a truly honest and humble manner, the focus in the end should not be on us.  While it may appear as though we own our story, the reality of the matter is that Christ’s work in our lives should reflect God’s glory and place the spotlight on Him.   We see that God reaches all sorts of people, softening the hardest of hearts and drawing even religious churchgoers into personal relationship with Himself. It is God who fiercely yet tenderly woos us in.  We cannot take credit for this.    

  

Along with this, the question may arise as to whether or not we should care what others think of us as we share our stories. Yes and no.  Yes, we should care in the sense that we bear the name of Christ and are thus responsible for how we represent Him. The Gospel is offensive enough to many unbelievers—we ourselves should not be offensive.  There is also a sense, however, in which we should not care what others think.  When we share our stories, the emphasis should not be on our excellency, wisdom, or honor.  If people approve of us, it should be because they see and love and rejoice in Christ’s work in our lives.  In other words, they approve of us not because of what we have done, but because of what Christ has done in us and through us on our behalf.  There may be some, however, who upon hearing our stories reject us.  While no one whishes to be resisted or condemned, our identity does not rest on the opinions of others.  We should not attempt to change who we are or alter the theme of our stories simply to avoid rejection or win the approval of others.  I love what John Piper stated in a sermon on Christian identity and Christian destiny:

“[…] as a Christian you cannot talk about your identity without talking about the action of God on you, the relationship of God with you, and the purpose of God for you. The biblical understanding of human self-identity is radically God-centered…[God] has given us our identity in order that his identity might be proclaimed through us. God made us who we are so we could make known who he is. Our identity is for the sake of making known his identity. The meaning of our identity is that the excellency of God be seen in us.”

As the other day was Christmas, my stepdad sat and read John 1:1-18 to the family.  Prior to yesterday, I had typically overlooked John’s role in this passage and instead focused on Christ, who is referred to as both the life and light of men.  The other night, however, several things struck me regarding John.  We read:

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.  He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.”

First, what struck me is that John was a witness.  In other words, John’s role was to give testimony to others of who Christ was.   Secondly, when I had previously read “that all might believe through him”, I had always assumed that “him” referred to the “light”, or Christ.  I didn’t realize, however, that “him” refers to John—Christ’s witness.  What I find fascinating is that while it is belief in Christ that saves, most people come to see and believe in Christ through the testimony of others.  John was a witness proclaiming Christ such that others were drawn to faith through his testimony. We also read that “[Christ] was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.  He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him.”  It seems then that witnesses are important exactly because the world is hostile to Christ and the Gospel.  We ourselves are not the light, but we are responsible for reflecting and radiating that Light to a dark world.  Because of this, we cannot neglect our role since we are one of God’s means for drawing His children to Himself. 

So what does all of this mean?  Alone, you and I may be only one voice, but together we can live and proclaim God’s work in our lives in such a way that brings glory to Him.  As we are filled with God’s Spirit, our hearts should overflow with thankfulness for His merciful and gracious work in our lives and an eagerness to share what He has done.  Our words and actions and attitudes should proclaim and display the goodness of God—in the way we speak and live, we should portray Christ in such a manner that others are drawn to Him.  So out of our love for God and others, let us rejoice and boldly share who we are, Whose we are, who God is, and the glorious ways He is at work in our lives. 

My "Innocent" Sin of Busyness and Striving

One of my biggest struggles is the need to always be doing something—something productive, something meaningful, something worthwhile.  In this sense, checklists are my best friend.  I feel a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment when I can check something off one of my lists.  In fact, the longer the list and the more I’ve accomplished, the better. 

On the other hand, however, checklists are the thing I dread most.  An unchecked list screams of my failures and inadequacies.  And somehow, no matter how much I check off, the list never seems to get any shorter.  In fact, it’s just the opposite!  The more I check off, the longer it gets and the more frantic and frazzled I become. 

And yet, as much as I hate these lists, I can’t seem to give them up.  And this is what I’ve realized—the fact that I can’t give up my lists is a major indication that I don’t own them.  They own me!  As much as I hate this desperate need to always be on the move, I don’t know how to live any other way.  I can’t cope if I’m not doing something, not improving.  I have become enslaved to this go-go-go mentality and lifestyle, and as I strive to earn my keep, I feel a sense of worthlessness each time I find myself beginning to slow down. 

Unsurprisingly, rest is almost nonexistent in my life.  I feel so guilty when I take a break or a breather that I can’t even rest when I’m resting.  Take working out, for example.  Rarely can I just lace up my shoes and go for a nice jog outside.  That would be too selfish of me.  I don’t deserve a break.  I can’t justify working out simply for the pure enjoyment of exercise.  So what do I do instead?  I bike or I elliptical.  But I don’t just bike or elliptical. I’ve found a way to be productive even in my working out.  I’ve become the master at going through flashcards on the bike.  Textbook reading on the elliptical?  Check.  And so, you see, I’ve managed to kill two birds with one stone—by studying while I work out, I can get the benefit of a workout without the guilt of being unproductive.

While some might praise these efforts as an indication of hard work, dedication, and discipline, could it be that my strivings and inability to truly rest reflect the deeper state of my heart?  Is it possible I have fallen prey to the seemingly “innocent” sin of busyness and striving? I believe so. 

I am so guilty of resting in the gospel of self-improvement.  John Bloom put it perfectly in his blog post, “Sexy, Successful, and Smart”:  

“The world has a gospel and preaches it all the time: be sexy, successful, or smart and you will be saved. What you will be saved to are the heavens of others’ esteem, desire and envy — and the various perks that usually come with it. What you will be saved from are the hells of others’ rejection and indifference — and the various undesirable extras that usually go with them.

The more you have of sexiness, success, or smarts — and, even better, of all three — the more assurance of salvation you have. According to this gospel you are justified by others’ approval. You are sanctified by self-improvement.

But it’s no gospel. It makes big promises that prove empty. If we achieve the approval we seek, we soon realize it’s no salvation. Approval today usually turns to rejection or indifference tomorrow. Even sustained worldly success doesn’t produce sustained satisfaction. This gospel leaves almost everyone feeling condemned.”

And so, it seems, I am in reality running headlong into self-destruction at breakneck speed by striving and failing under the world’s empty gospel of self-improvement. 

My pastor from back home, R.W. Glenn, recently spoke at the Desiring God National Conference.  In his sermon on work and rest, my pastor spoke on the constant pressure we feel to always be “doing.”  As he explained, “the cry of busyness is more or less the anthem of our culture.”  And what are the implications of this?  We live in a “meritocracy”, whereby our identity is bound up in our achievements and we are addicted to merit. The problem with this, however, is that the Christian faith is not a system of achievement—it’s not a “do” faith, it’s a “done” faith.   Christ has done what we could never hope to do on our own!  Needless to say, my pastor’s sermon had my name stamped all over it.  After listening to my pastor’s sermon, I realize that my confessional theology and my functional theology are often at odds with one another. I see very much of myself in the following quote by Bryan Chappell which my pastor referenced:“After initially trusting in Christ to make them right with God, many Christians embark on an endless pursuit of trying to satisfy God with good works that will keep Him loving them.  This belief, whether articulated or buried deep in a psyche developed by the way we were treated by parents, spouses, or others, makes the Christian life a perpetual race on a performance treadmill to keep winning God’s affection.”

In my functional theology, how I actually live every day in my actions, I see now that I am guilty of acting, thinking and behaving as though Christianity is about what I do for God.  I guess I’ve never really considered the possibility that the reason behind my frantic schedule is that I may be frantic in my relationship with God and not resting in the finished work of Christ for me.  I have been driven by a perpetual quest for something.  Maybe some of you have as well. But is there somewhere we can find rest?  I don’t mean the superficial, unsatisfying rest we are all too familiar with.  I mean deep, true rest. Indeed, in Christ and the Gospel we are afforded this kind of rest, rest which frees us from our strivings—Christ has broken the chains of our enslavement! For me, I am slowly realizing that I can’t be more accepted by God than I already am at this moment, and instead of working to earn the acceptance of God and those around me through my achievements, I need to work on resting. I know this won’t be easy.  I’ve already established habits and thinking that are engrained into me and which won’t be easily uprooted.  My prayer, however, is that instead of focusing on myself and the worldly gospel of self-improvement, I will day by day come to remember more of the Gospel of Christ and all that He done for me.  I don’t need to strive towards becoming accepted by the culture because I am already accepted by the Creator.  As my pastor put it, “The only list of accomplishments the Father sees for you is the one amassed by Jesus, who said, ‘It is finished!’ ”  And I praise God for this, for I know that on my own I can add nothing to the finished work of Christ!

“Let us therefore strive to enter that rest…”

(Hebrews 4:11)

Pride, Unbelief, and the Failure to Forgive

“But if you do not forgive men, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions.” (Matthew 6:15)

“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you.  […] For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” (Luke 6:37-38)

In response to being forgiven by God, shouldn’t our hearts overflow in love and forgiveness towards others?  Shouldn’t we be so in awe of the underserving mercy God has shown us that our lives are characterized by an outpouring of grace towards others?  Why then, when we are wronged, do we feel a driving need to call out the unjust?  Why do we hold grudges, and why do we possess the urge to defend ourselves and show others the offenders’ true colors?  Why does anger and resentment eat away at our souls, and is there a better way to respond when we feel unjustly aggrieved?

For myself, I am learning that the gnawing I feel within to have vengeance and set things right stems mainly from a heart of pride and unbelief.  One of my greatest idols is man’s approval.  I’m a people-pleaser, and as such much of my identity is wrapped up in how others view me.  While being a people-pleaser may cause me to appear humble, the reality is that my people-pleasing behavior actually stems from a twisted sense of pride—pride that demands others respect me and hold me in high esteem. Any slight against my character or person is thus a danger that threatens to destroy my world.  How do I respond to such slights?  Anger.  Bitterness.  Resentment.  Despair.  I believe also that my failure to forgive arises from a heart of unbelief which manifests itself in two ways— unbelief in who I am and unbelief in Who God is.  What do I mean by unbelief in who I am?  I mean that I fail to recognize how sinful I really am—I write my sins off as trivial compared to the sins of others, refusing to believe that I’m really that bad.  What a lie.  And then there’s my unbelief in God which doubts His sovereignty, goodness, and justice.  And what does this cause me to do?  I take matters into my own hands.               

C.S. Lewis writes on the problem of forgiveness in the following:

“. . . you must make every effort to kill every taste of resentment in your own heart—every wish to humiliate or hurt him or to pay him out. The difference between this situation and the one in such you are asking God’s forgiveness is this. In our own case we accept excuses too easily; in other people’s we do not accept them easily enough.

As regards my own sin it is a safe bet (though not a certainty) that the excuses are not really so good as I think; as regards other men’s sins against me it is a safe bet (though not a certainty) that the excuses are better than I think. One must therefore begin by attending to everything which may show that the other man was not so much to blame as we thought.

But even if he is absolutely fully to blame we still have to forgive him; and even if ninety-nine percent of his apparent guilt can be explained away by really good excuses, the problem of forgiveness begins with the one percent guilt which is left over. To excuse what can really produce good excuses is not Christian character; it is only fairness. To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.

This is hard. It is perhaps not so hard to forgive a single great injury. But to forgive the incessant provocations of daily life—to keep on forgiving the bossy mother-in-law, the bullying husband, the nagging wife, the selfish daughter, the deceitful son—how can we do it? Only, I think, by remembering where we stand, by meaning our words when we say in our prayers each night ‘forgive our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us.’ We are offered forgiveness on no other terms. To refuse it is to refuse God’s mercy for ourselves. There is no hint of exceptions and God means what He says.”

If I cherish and nurse a grudge against a fellow man, how can I dare approach God and demand mercy? If I—a depraved and sin-soiled sinner—demand justice when I am slighted, how much more should the holy and all-powerful God of the universe demand justice when His name is scorned?  Why should God have mercy on me if I fail to render to Him that which I demand for myself from others?  He shouldn’t.  In fact, the intensity with which I hold others guilty bears testimony to the fact that God will hold me guilty for my sins against Him.  It seems then that Christ’s command to “Forgive that you might be forgiven,” is not just a suggestion—it’s a rule!  I like how John Piper states it when he writes:

“God treats us in accordance with the belief of our heart: if we believe it is good and beautiful to harbor resentments and tabulate wrongs done against us, then God will recognize that our plea for forgiveness is sheer hypocrisy—for we will be asking Him to do what we believe to be bad. It is a dreadful thing to try to make God your patsy by asking Him to act in a way that you, as your action shows, esteem very lowly.”

And so, what can I take away from this?  If, in my pride, I hold fast to an unforgiving spirit, I am proving that I do not trust Christ and His way of life, for how could I withhold forgiveness for mild offenses when my monstrous debt against the most high God has been paid in full?  I know I can’t earn Heaven by forgiving others, but my prayer is that I will cease to be like the unforgiving servant Jesus spoke of in Matthew 18.  Through the power of the Holy Spirit, may I come to resist revenge against those who have hurt me, grieve at their calamities, pray for their welfare, and seek reconciliation so far as it depends on me. 

“When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered he did not threaten; but he trusted to him who judges justly.” (1 Peter 1:23)