Wants or Needs

Romans 1:16
I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile.

Though I knew this verse, memorized, quoted, and taught this verse, the reality is that I’ve only recently come to believe it in the past few years… maybe, really, only in the past year.

In the past, if I were to list what I thought was truly powerful for salvation, the Gospel would not have even made the list. I would admit that I believed relationships, or apologetics, or arguments, or social actions have always had more persuasiveness and power than the Gospel – as if the results of the Gospel in the life of the church were more efficacious than the Gospel which caused them.

Why was I so secretly delusional? So dubious? So small-minded in my perception of God’s power? I don’t think I had yet come to terms with the fact that I needed God. Well, I liked God, I wanted God, and believed God. I lived in intellectual pursuit of God, enjoyed God, worshipped God, talked and taught about God… but I don’t know if I needed him.

I did not, as the tax collector in Luke 18, beat my chest and scream with all my being, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” I did not, like Paul, at the end of considering my sin, think, “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

I wanted God, I even wanted to want God. But I did not need him.

I’ve had the disadvantage of having lived a mildly sinful life. I call that a disadvantage because there is no such thing as a mildly sinful life; there is only a misperception which distracts and desensitizes us to our severe needs before God. I call it a disadvantage because people who have sinned the more socially unacceptable sins always seem to more clearly know their state before God. They seem to need the Gospel and seem to live each moment in gratitude and in awareness of their state before God and of his kindness towards them.

I walked around in a kind of polish, a mask, a game, an outward claim that God has saved me through the death of his son Jesus Christ, yet with an inward delusion that I didn’t so seriously need to be saved in the first place.

But I’m blinded by a culture which accepts and approves and makes wounds minor. For many reasons, I could not see that my sin is an ocean – a deep, inky, black sea that expands as far as my eyes can see. It is too vast for me and I cannot wipe it away with a sponge. The more I learn these things, the more truly content I am in the God who has loved me and who has given himself for me. I need God. If I could not drink up an ocean of sin, he did so in my place.

Overcoming Sin and Temptation

A quote out of John Owen struck me this past week:

“To let [sin] alone is to let it grow; not to conquer it is to be conquered by it.”

I’m reminded that the Bible often mentions sin in the life of the believer as if it’s a war. I’m reminded that sin is militant, is moving, is scheming, is doing all that it can to distract me from sheer excitement in God. So we must be cautious; if we are not fighting sin, this does not mean that sin is now no longer fighting us.

Also, if this is a war, I want to make sure we clarify from the scriptures what it means to fight – what it means to mortify sin.

Galatians 5:16-25 “So I say, live by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the sinful nature. For the sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under law.The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”

As I look at the two lists above, I feel like sin looks nauseating, while the Spiritual life is lush.

The best way to fight sin, it seems, is not to “fight” sin. As one pastor has said, if you want to win the fight against sin, simply do not get in the ring. This isn’t a recommendation to be lazy – it’s just an honest observation as to how our personal efforts seem to always turn up. Often, when we’re struggling, instead of diving into the things of God, into the scriptures, into prayer, into a fulfilling relationship with God, we try to resist, we try to make boundaries. But this seems crazy to me. I know that my boundaries are only as strong as I am in the moment. My resistance is only effective as long as my desire to “resist” outweighs my desire to “yield.” In this case, only the Spirit is always stronger.

In light of this, Owen offers a pretty simple bit of advice as to how we can “conquer sin”

“Labor to possess the mind with the beauty and excellency of spiritual things, so that they may be presented lovely and desirable to the soul; and this cursed aversation of sin will be weakened thereby.”

If we are not convinced in our hearts and in our minds that the things of God are desirable, are beautiful, are pleasurable, then sin will always prevail.

The call to repent from sin is not so much a call to boredom, austerity, and strictness but rather an invitation to indulge in the Holy Spirit. So I say, live by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the sinful nature.

How to get fed

This Bible study rises from several conversations I’ve been having recently about the way we use the word “fed” as Christians. Consistently, whether or not we’re feeling “fed” tends to be the deciding factor for whether or not we will continue attending a ministry, or whether we will continue serving in ministry.

This view is commonly expressed when we say, “I feel I just need to go to a place where I can grow – I always feel like I’m giving, giving, giving, and I’m never being fed.”

If that’s you, please know that I’m not writing this to be mean, or to point you out, or to criticize you, or discourage you. I’m writing to offer an alternative view to what it means to be “fed,” to suggest there are better ways to get “fed” and that pulling oneself out of ministry is counteractive to being “fed.”

Firstly, how are we supposed to attend church?

Hebrews 10:24-25

“And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

I think we may have lost this verse – it is no longer the foundational intention behind attending church. We don’t roll into the church parking lot with prayers on our lips, “God, show me how I can encourage and spur others on towards love. God, bless these people around me. God, help them worship. God, help open their hearts to your word.” No, our attendance is more often mingled with the expectation that the worship will be good (for us), that the sermon will be well executed (to stir us up), and that people will be kind (to us).

I want to challenge you to change the way you attend:

When you go to Bible study, when you go to church, when you go to small group, when you go to your youth group – go with the intention of ministering to others.

Sounds daunting, doesn’t. You said to me, “Ben, I don’t feel fed.” And then I respond to you, “Then give more.” That sounds crazy. You can legitimately ask: “How am I going to have anything to give? How am I ever going to feel fed if I am always the one feeding?”

I think Paul’s instruction about “giving” addresses this problem quite well.

2 Corinthians 9:6-11

Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”

I know our context here is money, generosity, and giving – but I’m intrigued by one of Paul’s sentences because it seems to have a more universal application to EVERY GOOD WORK: “And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”

It sounds as if God provides abundantly for those who provide.

I used to attend a lot of youth groups, Bible studies, and church services, all of which I would walk away from feeling “unfed.” It wasn’t until I started doing ministry at a college group that I actually started to feel overwhelmingly fed. And it’s not because the sermons got any better. It’s because God makes grace abound to us so that we may abound in every good work.

With the college group, I started praying for students before I even got there, praying for them while I was there, and then praying again after I left. I started paying attention to other students around the room, keeping my eyes open for someone who looked lonely, or troubled. I started asking God to give me an encouraging word to bring to someone that night.

Essentially, when I started doing ministry I actually started “attending” church in the way that God calls us to attend. And for that, I felt invigorated.

It’s possible that being fed has less to do with good sermons and Bible studies, and more to do with the generousness of our attitude while we’re attending those sermons and Bible studies.

The Most Important Boring Verse

1 Timothy 1:15

“Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst.”

What a boring verse. And how sad that it is so boring. How adverse that this hackneyed set of words has been so deeply ingrained in the wax in my ears that I’ve heard it, read it, glossed over, passed it off for years, and have moved on without feeling the slightest twinge of its meaning.

That is, until I hear it in a moment when I’m cognizant of how utterly sinful I am. Till I see my mistakes… till I see my rank appetites… till I see how much I’ve messed up… until I see how much one little move has led to the next little move, till all the moves look much more like one big move away from God and the whole Christian world.

It’s dark and lonely in my life when I’m pretending to be what I’m not.

Christ came into the world not to save pretenders – not to save the righteous – not to save the pleasant – not to save the holy – not to save the perfect – not to save the people who pray eloquent prayers, quote reams of verses, and read John Piper’s books. (No offense to John Piper; I read his books).

He came to save sinners. And I need that. Seriously need that.

And look how Paul sets up the statement. It’s almost like he knows that the most important words he would ever pen might one day also be hijacked by overuse until they also became the most boring. This is why he’s so careful to qualify it: Here’s a statement you can trust; here’s a statement that’s worth accepting; here’s a statement worth adopting into your economy of thought; here’s a statement worth devouring, worth living, worth setting up as the precursor to all your other thoughts, actions, and beliefs; here’s a statement that deserves full acceptance:

“Christ Jesus came… into the world…. to save… sinners”

And just in case, for some reason, you felt yourself exempt from this sentence, Paul adds on an adjective clause: “of whom I am the worst.”

Here’s what I’ve learned – I first need to foster in myself a willingness to be able to admit that I’m a sinner. And not to simply admit it in the theologically sound way we so easily do at Bible studies when we need to make a point. But to actually live this truth… humbly… I am a sinner.

And before I burrow my way into a dark hole, in which I think only of my self as a sinner, I need to “fully accept” the bliss of this heavenly thought: Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners… of whom I am the worst.

The Holy Spirit’s crucial role

I was trying to imagine what my life would be like without the Holy Spirit. Would I desire to pursue God? Would I even try? Could I even try? Would I worship? Would I walk in holiness? Would I have the strength to resist my own fleshy inclinations to sin?

If I may speak honestly (and you’re allowed to have a different answer than me) I would have to admit that I don’t think I’d be very good at any of these things were it not for the tenacious presence of the Holy Spirit.

In my slow march through the gospel of John, I came across this brief passage that reminds us of the role of the Holy Spirit, and I paused to think about how much I need him in all the areas of my life I’ve never been able to manage.

John 16:5-11

“Now I am going to him who sent me, yet none of you asks me, ‘Where are you going?’ Because I have said these things, you are filled with grief. But I tell you the truth: It is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Counselor will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. When he comes, he will convict the world of guilt in regard to sin and righteousness and judgment: in regard to sin, because men do not believe in me; in regard to righteousness, because I am going to the Father, where you can see me no longer; and in regard to judgment, because the prince of this world now stands condemned.”

The passage is extremely rich and there are so many things I’d love to write about but the single point I want to pay attention to at the moment is the role of the Holy Spirit; “he will convict the world of guilt in regard to sin, righteousness, and judgment.”

If there is one thing I’ve learned in the past month (which has been a month of sprinting through a busy life on my own strength) it is this: I do not have an ability to resist sin, pursue righteousness, and comprehend or appreciate the judgment of God. I need the Spirit. I need his presence. I need his conviction.

Unless I live in him, in awareness of him, in seeking him, in following him, then the overwhelming appetites of my flesh will lead me easily into sin. If I do not have his direction, his strength, or the memory of the scriptures he brings to my mind, then it’s unlikely that I’ll even think about living righteously.

I need the Spirit.

Listen

Whether it’s the flesh, laziness, or some freaky spiritual pest, sometimes it can be the hardest thing to even pay attention to sermons.

Sometimes I can listen to the most fervent, Holy Spirit empowered, Biblically saturated, well communicated, thoroughly applicable, doctrinally sound preaching from the pulpit and walk away like I’d just been napping for the last hour. Sometimes, no matter how sharp the sermon might be, I don’t hear a thing.

Examples: I’ll hear a sermon on patience or anger and leave without a single stirring in my heart about all my grumpiness. I’ll hear about pride and think immediately of the pride in others. I’ll hear a sermon on the character of God, the Majesty of his Kingdom, the grace in his Son’s sacrifice on the cross, yet I don’t feel the slightest weight of his glory during the worship.

In short, what I mean to say is I am often DULL in listening to the word of God.

James 1:21

Therefore, putting aside all filthiness and all that remains of wickedness, in humility receive the word implanted, which is able to save your souls.

This verse disarmed me the moment I read it. I think it might be one of the most trying things we can do, to “humbly receive” the word of God.

To humbly receive the word of God means we’re not so quick to be offended when it corrects us. Means we’re not so self consumed that we’ve literally tuned out when the preacher speaks. Means we might even start to become suspicious of our own conclusions (especially when we feel our own arrogance puffing up when we’re corrected). Means we don’t feel as if a weight has been added to our lives when God calls us to action, but rather that a burden has been lifted.

How different would our lives be, how bereft of anxieties, and peevishness, and the intoxication of narcissism, if we were to humbly receive the word of God? If we were to say, “God, I trust this. This inconveniences me, but I trust this. And God, though all the desires of my flesh drive me to do my own thing, entice me to disregard your instruction, I will obey. Simply put, I will believe that you are right.”

Church Tilted

I recently ordered a crazy weird lens that let me mess with the plane of focus when taking pictures. I thought I’d post a few shots I did of my church:

 

 

Our magnanimous high priest

The other day I was trying to imagine just how embarrassed I would be if all the dark secrets of my life were suddenly exposed to all the people around me. Horrific. And it got me thinking how infinitely more horrifying is the reality that God, the pure, just, righteous, holy, kind, gracious, and generous God he is, sees all those secrets anyways. How ridiculous that I’m sly to fellow ragamuffins yet naked before a perfect God.

I bring this up because the college ministry I’m involved with recently covered some scriptures that treat this exact situation.

Hebrews 4:13-16
Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account. Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

Though we, wretched, scared, and bashful, come before a holy God, we find he is magnanimous. And not only this, he understands.

I’ve met so many people (in the church and without) who paint for me an unfortunately murky and unfaithful image of Christ. When my sins are exposed they sometimes chew me up and spit me out, or eschew and ostracize me, or apathetically dismiss me, or ignore me, misunderstand me, gossip about and slander me, or excuse me even deeper into my sin, or feed me with useless platitudes. They do so many things. Sometimes they even encourage, comfort, and exhort me. Yet none of them ever are like Christ.

He is both majestic and meek, just and benevolent, perfect and understanding, sinless and sympathetic, all powerful and attentive.

Because he is both and not either/or, he is the single person to whom we should always go when stumbling, when sinning, when ashamed to come before the holy.

Bear Fruit

John 15:5-9
“I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.”

This has always been for me an encouraging passage, yet, at the same time, a little terrifying. I always examine myself and end up afraid when I try to consider just how much fruit I am bearing.

But let me suggest that if we come to this verse most concerned with, most anxious about, and most afraid about our lack of fruit, then I think we’ve missed the point. If we’re only worried about bearing fruit then we’ll probably come away burdened with the daunting task of manufacturing our own righteousness. We’ll change the way we talk for a little bit, we’ll try to cut out bad habits, we’ll try to be more patient, joyful, happy and cheery, gracious and kind. We’ll try to force some fruit to sprout out from our dainty little limbs.

But if we do this we’ve ENTIRELY missed the point of the passage. Christ says, “REMAIN IN ME” and fruit will happen.

The simplicity of the Christian life, the joy of it, the peace of it is this: that God, Christ and the Holy Spirit sanctify us, prompt us to sanctification, give us the stuff necessary for sanctification, and strengthen us in it. So if we’re interested in bearing fruit, what should we do? Simply put, we must remain in Christ.

And I love the Greek word that the NIV has rendered as “remain” – other translations say: “abide,” “dwell,” In essence, EXIST in Christ. Live in him as you live in your cozy house. This is not the typical quiet time that we talk about as Christians; it’s not the 15 minutes a day (not the 15 minutes a week, not the 15 minutes a month). THIS IS A LIFESTYLE.

As I’ve been talking to others about this verse recently, we’ve come up with an interesting way think about this Greek vocabulary. In other words, to abide in Christ is to live in constant exposure to him. To be considering him, meditating on his character, talking to him in prayer, reading the scriptures, engaging in fellowship – to do these things constantly is to remain in him.

I love that. There is no need for me to fear that I am not bearing enough fruit – if I will merely expose myself more constantly to Christ, if I will live a life attached to him for sustenance, then he will work out the fruit in me.

Lack of Direction

In attacking Christianity, Nietzsche suggested there is no such thing as “faith,” there is only instinct which Christians cover up as “faith.” For instance, a man decides in his own heart what he should do, prays that God will make it so, and then calls this “faith.”

It was an unfortunate experience to read this and realize that Nietzsche, the Christian-hating nihilist, had defined me so well.

So, really, how faithful are we? How much do we “faithfully” rearrange our lives to fall under God’s plan rather than our own instincts? On the other hand, how often do we presume, practically expect, God will join us on our own quest for success, bless all we touch like Midas, and keep us comfy along the way. He’s little more than a Christian’s Dionysus.

Makes it convenient, huh? Especially when we act so ungodly about our failures and never praise Him for accomplishments.

Here’s what I mean by that: I think we best demonstrate our trust in God and our obedience to his guidance in our attitudes, actions, and the kinds of plans we make. This means that we always filter ourselves through the Word of God irrespective of failure and success. We always align ourselves with his character. We always praise Him. We always live in love. We always exude patience. We always remember that we are citizens of a kingdom, a kingdom whose concerns, intentions, and agenda in no way match the frantic busyness of our American Dream consumerism.

I was thinking about all this because I recently stumbled across an old favorite of mine in the scriptures -

Proverbs 19:3
“A man’s own folly ruins his life, yet his heart rages against the LORD.”

Do you ever feel as though you’re always blaming God for the tragedies and never praising him for the gifts? What if it was ME who made the tragedy by my own folly and a bit of wisdom would have transformed the whole situation (or at least wisdom might have transformed the way I perceived the situation).

Sadly, we so easily drift from God when the sly waters of our lives unmoor us from godliness and redirect our course to some chaotic sea, and only then do we cry out.

Often, when my life has been so cast aside I do return to God, but I return angry, embittered, disillusioned, undone and messy. He, the gracious one, so kindly ties me back together and reminds me that he is the single rock, the single fixed point that never falters.