Following a Crucified Messiah

Lately my self-talk has been more subtle than usual, but no less harmful. During an ongoing season of being stretched in about every imaginable way, I’ve caught myself offhandedly thinking, “Don’t you wish you chose an easier path?” Or, “Why can’t you just have a normal, more comfortable life?” Undoubtedly, in these moments, I’m believing the lie that I can be a follower of Christ and a friend of the worldI want to experience all the benefits of salvation without the consequences of following Jesus. I want to follow Him and have a comfortable, convenient life. I start buying into the idea that my time is mine, my money is mine, my plans are mine, my family is mine, even my physical life is mine. But, when I stop and think about it, it’s actually quite ridiculous. As a Christian, I serve a crucified Messiah! To act as though this doesn’t have implications for my own life is simply foolish.

As a matter of fact, the words of Jesus in Matthew 16:24 make it clear what following a crucified Messiah will demand—devotion unto death.

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”

The literary context is key to understanding the full thrust of Jesus’ words. He says this to His disciples immediately after rebuking Peter for challenging His Messianic suffering (see Matt. 16:21-23). Surely Peter’s concern is not only for Jesus’ final destiny, but also for his own. You see, if Jesus were to go to Jerusalem, suffer many things and be killed (Matt. 16:21), it would have serious implications for anyone who identified with Him. Peter knows this and being influenced in some capacity by Satan (Matt. 16:23), attempts to prevent Jesus’ mission. Jesus, the condemned King on the road to His execution, rebukes Peter (Matt. 16:23) and goes on to make the disciples’ mission as explicit as His own (Matt. 16:24-28); His path would inevitably become theirs.

I SERVE A CRUCIFIED MESSIAH! TO ACT AS THOUGH THIS DOESN’T HAVE IMPLICATIONS FOR MY OWN LIFE IS SIMPLY FOOLISH

Jesus is demanding nothing short of a willingness to die (literally!) for His sake. This is important to realize because language such as “cross bearing” and “self denial” is frequently used among Western Christians to mean they missed the latest episode of The Voice to go to community group or they had to do coffee with “that” person on their day off. But this isn’t what He had in mind. Jesus wasn’t only speaking about the demands on His disciples’ lives, He’s referring to the future of the disciples’ deaths.

If you think this seems a bit extreme, it’s helpful to finish reading the passage (see Matt. 16:24-28 for the full account). Jesus continues by providing three reasons, set off by the word “for” (Gk. gar), in verses 25-27 as to why His followers should give up their lives. This is why they (and disciples today!) should be willing to lose their lives.

Reason #1. To lose physical life for the sake of Jesus is to find the only true life, which transcends death. “For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Matt. 16:25)

Reason #2. To save physical life and succeed in attaining everything the world has to offer is to ultimately lose eternal life. “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?” (Matt. 16:26)

Reason #3. To lose physical life out of loyalty to Jesus is to gain eternal reward on the final Day of Judgment. “For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done.” (Matt. 16:27)

What I find fascinating about Jesus’ words is that it isn’t a call to blind martyrdom. It’s a call to eternal life! Loss of life for the sake of mere self-denial is no gain. But, Jesus says, the life lost out of love for Him and loyalty to His mission is true life gained. Followers of Jesus must be willing to give all, even their very own lives, for the sake of Him and His eternal life.

And this isn’t bad news; it’s good news!

For those of us on this side of the cross, we know we’ve been saved through the sacrificial life, death and resurrection of the crucified Messiah. We have a fuller picture of Jesus’ redemptive work than the disciples originally did at the moment of hearing these words. We understand that Jesus’ radical call to die is really an opportunity to live. We know there is a type of life that leads to death and a type of death that leads to life!

FOLLOWERS OF JESUS MUST BE WILLING TO GIVE ALL, EVEN THEIR VERY OWN LIVES, FOR THE SAKE OF HIM AND HIS ETERNAL LIFE

Needless to say, the words of Jesus in Matthew 16:24 are incredibly convicting in light of my unbiblical self-talk. The temptation to ask, “Why can’t I just be a Christian and have a normal, more comfortable life?” doesn’t even make sense in view of Jesus’ words! When I say to myself, “Why can’t my path be easier? Perhaps I should have chosen option A instead of option B because it might have been a bit more comfortable,” I’m missing the entire point. Whether I chose path A or B in this lifetime isn’t of ultimate significance because thirteen years ago I chose to follow Christ.

Period.

I chose to follow a crucified Messiah knowing he demanded nothing short of my entire life. He demanded I be willing to die for Him. He demanded I be willing to be counted as a martyr for his sake. He demanded I be willing to lose this life so that I might gain eternal life. Therefore, every single decision I make while still breathing becomes subject to that first one.

WHETHER I CHOSE PATH A OR B IN THIS LIFETIME ISN’T OF ULTIMATE SIGNIFICANCE BECAUSE THIRTEEN YEARS AGO I CHOSE TO FOLLOW CHRIST

Period.

I had to remind myself of that this week. I had to spend time considering the crucified Messiah and His cross-centered perspective. I had to meditate on the implications that following Him has for my life. I had to remember that if I’m truly willing to die for Jesus, how much more should I be willing to live for Him by sacrificing my personal comforts, cares, concerns, and choices for the sake of Him and His mission? As I preached the gospel to myself using the truths highlighted in Matthew 16:24-28, my unbiblical self-talk simply lost it’s power.

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Whitney Woollard has served in ministry alongside her husband Neal for over six years. She holds an undergraduate degree in Biblical Studies from Moody Bible Institute and just finished her Master of Arts in Biblical and Theological Studies from Western Seminary. She is passionate about equipping disciples to read and study God’s Word well resulting in maturing affections for Jesus and his gospel message. Neal and Whitney currently live in Portland, OR where they love serving the local church. Follow her on Twitter @whitneywoollard.

Used with permission. Originally posted at Self Talk the Gospel

Holding Hands to the End ... and How Everything Sad Will Come Untrue

Being a pastor is a hard job, but I think it can also be the best job. As a pastor, I have had the privilege of being invited into the most sacred, intimate moments of people’s lives. When a baby is born, I get to be there. When a man and woman recite their wedding vows, I get to officiate in front of their closest family members and friends. When someone is dying—a man, woman, or child—I get to be there also. While each intimate event has its special features, the one that speaks to me most about God, humanity, and the meaning of everything, is the one that includes a deathbed. I am welcomed to the deathbed because of my role—to shepherd, comfort, pray and speak words of life to people in their final days. But these dear ones rarely see that almost always, I am the one who ends up being pastored, comforted, and instructed the most about God, humanity, and the meaning of everything, by them.

Close to Home

As I write this, I am aware of the clock. In four hours, I will accompany my parents to Vanderbilt Medical Center, where my mother will be examined by some of the best doctors in the world. As of late, Mom has struggled with a later-in-life condition that serves as a cruel reminder of human mortality. As I watch her struggle, I am filled with sadness and anger, two emotions that are familiar to Jesus. Tears about Mom’s situation remind me of the tears Jesus cried over the loss of his friend Lazarus. Anger about her illness reminds me of how Jesus got angry at death—that unwelcome, invasive guest in the garden of God that eventually gets us all (John 11:28-37).

As I watch my parents suffer together, I am deeply moved. All the temporal things that we in the modern west tend to build our lives upon—the accumulation of wealth, material things, health, popularity, status, career success and the like—these things fade into the background to a place of lesser gravity and significance. In their stead comes an awareness of the things that really matter; things like love, conversation, laughter, eye contact, holding hands to the very end, the treasuring of every moment, and tear ducts—the release valve that our weeping God created to help us exhale our grief. Tears are our stake in the ground, our tender yet tenacious protest against things like death, mourning, sorrow and pain—things that we know intuitively are not supposed to be.

I am also deeply moved by my Dad, whom I have always known as a person of stubborn strength. But his strength has taken on a new form these days, one that reveals something truly heroic in the man who, up until recently, I have never seen cry. Dad’s tender tears over Mom are giving me a fresh glimpse into the nature of God. God, in whose image Dad has been created, is a God who weeps over things gone wrong in his world. He is a tender God who takes no pleasure in sorrow, suffering or death. He is a God who comes alongside and assures us that he is there, and that we are never alone. Moreover, he is a God who suffered a voluntary death-blow, to save us from death’s ultimate and final sting and to assure us that he knows and has tasted death and sorrow firsthand. As we face our mortality, we now know that the immortal God did also. As we grieve the decline of those we love most deeply, we now know that God did also. God buried a Son, after all.

These days, Dad is giving me a glimpse of this God, and a front row seat to observe what a real man looks like. Dad’s tears are not a sign of weakness, but strength. The vulnerability of tears, and the admission of mortality that accompany those tears, is a sign of true greatness.

Dad never leaves Mom’s side these days. He is fully present with her, and he is fully present for her. His response to a struggling bride is to tell corny jokes that make her laugh. He holds her hand…a lot. He helps her with her hair and speaks tenderly, so tenderly, to her. These days, I catch myself looking at my Dad and thinking, “This is the kind of man, the kind of husband, the kind of lover, that I want to be.”

His valiant tears, even more than his strength and successes, make me want to be a better man.

The Pastor I Want at My Deathbed

Pastor David Filson, who serves on our team at Christ Presbyterian Church in Nashville and is known by many as “Pastor David,” is a remarkable human being. He is remarkabe because of how he comes alongside people in their transition from this world into the next.

David does not avoid or run away from sorrow, grieving and death. Instead, he moves toward these unwelcome enemies of ours. He is always a first responder when people are in their most vulnerable moments. It is here that David shines. It is here that we get to see David at his best. Because no one is more aware than David of the power that Jesus gives us to stare death in the face and say boldly, “You have no power over us. You have lost your sting. In the end, you will lose. In the end, you will be swallowed up, O death, by the One who conquered and defied you with an empty tomb.”

This is why David and I have made a deal that I will go first, because I want him to be the one singing hymns and reading Psalms over my deathbed. I want him to be the one, after I breathe my last breath, who looks into the eyes of my wife and children and reminds them that death loses in the end, that resurrection is coming, and that we will all be eternally reunited together with Jesus and each other. I want him to be the one to preach hope eternal at my funeral. Because no one preaches a funeral like David Filson does.

How did David become the death-defying man that he is? The clear answer, as I see it, is that David has himself faced death many times. After a long battle with Alzheimer’s, his father was welcomed into the presence of Jesus. After being temporarily defeated by cancer, his mother, too, was transitioned to paradise. And then, as if to add insult to injury, the Filsons lost their dog. In these kinds of moments, David weeps a flood of tears. But through the tears he reminds his own soul that for the Christian, tears never get the final word. Like no one else I have known, David immerses himself in the Scriptural truths—the written-in-blood guarantees that death, mourning, crying and pain have no ultimate power over the story line for God’s children. Death and sorrow are merely a middle chapter, a chapter that will resolve fully and finally when Jesus comes to make his blessings flow, far as the curse is found.

In the struggle against death, real hope cannot be found outside of Jesus. To face death without the risen Jesus in our corner, without the faith that alone enables us to grieve with hope, seems unimaginable. But for those who do trust in Jesus, for those whose lives are forever “hidden with Christ in God,” there is an unshakable hope that will never perish, spoil, or fade away.

Christ has died; Christ has risen; Christ will come again.

The risen Christ has told us, “These things are trustworthy and true.” These things are so because he is the resurrection and the life, and those who believe in him, even though they die, yet shall they live…and everyone who believes in him shall never perish (Revelation 21:1-7; John 11:25-26).

Dying and Being Sad with Other-Worldly Strength

I have had the privilege, many times over, of walking closely with Christians in their final days. One such person was Billy.

Billy was 35 years old when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. For a few short months, I watched this loving husband and father of two wither away from the evil that had taken residence inside his lungs. When Billy was close to the end, I went to his home for a pastoral visit, but he ended up pastoring me instead. “Scott, let’s talk about you this time,” he said. “How are you? How can I serve you? How can I be praying for you?”

There we sat, a dying man offering hope-filled prayers of love and life for his able-bodied pastor.

Soon after this, Billy died before my eyes. I still remember that sacred moment like it was yesterday. Friends and family, including his wife Shannon, surrounded his bed and sang him into glory with hymns like Great is Thy Faithfulness and It Is Well With My Soul. This was their not-so-subtle way of defying death, and stirring the imagination with reminders of what is true, even truer than the wreckage before their eyes. They were preaching the gospel to their own souls, reminding themselves and each other that there is a weight of glory that awaits them all—a weight that is so wonderful and certain that even the worst affliction will, in the end, seem light and momentary by comparison (2 Corinthians 4:7-18).

After Billy gave his final exhale, I retreated to the waiting room. Here, I would sit and wait for Shannon to emerge. I anticipated all of the appropriate responses from this youthful widow—tears, anger, questioning God, stress and sorrow about pending funeral logistics and raising two children alone. The emotional roller-coaster would come to her eventually. But in that brief moment, Shannon became to me a sign from heaven, an other-worldly creature, perhaps an angel of sorts. The first words she spoke as a grieving widow and single mother were, “Scott, how are you doing? Billy was your friend. How can I  pray for you?”

As I walked to my car that day, I couldn’t help but think how unworthy I was to know people like Billy and Shannon.

There are also others. I could tell you about John, whose body literally wasted away from ALS in two short years, but who never grew cynical. Even on the hardest days, John was the most poised, prayerful and hopeful person in the room. Jesus and God’s promises of a new body and everlasting life, not his awful affliction, were John’s ultimate reality.

I could also tell you about Steven and Mary Beth, who several years ago held a funeral for their young Maria—a horror that no parent should ever have to experience. Through their deepest sadness, these wounded warrior-heroes went on national television, along with their courageous children, to tell the whole world that death will not win. Because Jesus has risen and defeated death, there is a final chapter yet to be written in Maria’s story—the chapter in which, as Steven has said in a song written in Maria’s honor, “Beauty will rise! Beauty will rise! We will dance upon the ruins; we will see it with our own eyes!” Also in Maria’s honor, Steven and Mary Beth opened Maria’s House of Hope, a place of refuge for Chinese orphans with special needs. Many of these children, like their Maria, will be adopted into permanent families through Show Hope, the non-profit that they founded.

I could also tell you about David and Nancy, who lost not one child, but two. Their Gabriel and Hope both died in infancy due to a rare congenital disease. Years later, the tears are still there and the grief is still real. And like Steven and Mary Beth, David and Nancy are stewarding their tears in a way that brings hope to others. Each year they sponsor and lead a conference that brings comfort and hope to parents who, like them, have lost a child. Additionally, Nancy, a prolific author, has written several books that help thousands of people process their pain beneath the shelter of God’s sovereign mercy and love.

Greatness Through Sorrow

As I consider these and others who have shown faith, courage, other-centeredness, and even joy in the face of sorrow and death, I have noticed a common theme that describes all of them:

They are all people who have, for years, leaned heavily on the Bible.

If you poke Pastor David with a fork, he will bleed Old and New Testament. When I asked Billy and John how they could live with such other-centeredness and other-worldly joy in their darkest hour, both said that they had read Scripture almost daily for years, and Scripture’s promises had prepared them for the hardest days. David and Nancy, Steven and Mary Beth, and many others would agree: Their refuge in the valley of the shadow of death is nothing more—and certainly nothing less—than God’s Bible promises about the future of everything, including promises like this one:

Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away…Behold, I am making all things new (Revelation 21:1-5).

In a strange way, I think those who lean heavily on the Bible are like the Olympic lifter who shows up at the gym every day for his workout. The unseen, daily, faithful routine—the crunches, squats, bench and shoulder presses, the bicep curls—these are his preparation for the day of heavy lifting when it finally comes. On that day, with all of his might, he lifts. He sweats, grunts and groans with all of creation. At moments, he doubts he will be able to find the strength to press through. But in the end, he overcomes. In the end, he wins the gold.

For a Christian, the daily workout is one of mind and heartInstead of treadmills, iron plates and weight benches, her equipment consists of a receptive heart, a belief that God is sovereign, wise, and good, and a well-worn Bible. Her final piece of equipment is the doubter’s prayer, the weighty prayer that must be “lifted” whenever she is tempted to follow her doubts and fears above what God has promised: “Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief!” (Isaiah 55:8-9; Mark 9:23-25)

God’s promise is truly breathtaking, and is best summed up by CS Lewis, who said that for believers in Jesus, heaven will work backwards and turn even agony into glory. Or, as Lewis’ close friend JRR Tolkein hinted, in the next world, everything sad is going to come untrue.

One person who knew this future reality well, and who believed it all the way down to her bones, was Kara Tippetts—wife of Colorado pastor Jason Tippetts and mother of four—who died of breast cancer in her late thirties. Kara, knowing that her own death was immanent, wrote these words toward the end, an end which was also—if these promises of God are true—a glorious new beginning:

My little body has grown tired of battle, and treatment is no longer helping. But what I see, what I know, what I have is Jesus. He has still given me breath, and with it I pray I would live well and fade well. By degrees doing both, living and dying, as I have moments left to live. I get to draw my people close, kiss them and tenderly speak love over their lives. I get to pray into eternity my hopes and fears…I get to laugh and cry and wonder over Heaven. I do not feel like I have the courage for this journey, but I have Jesus—and He will provide. He has given me so much to be grateful for, and that gratitude, that wondering over His love, will cover us all. And it will carry us—carry us in ways we cannot comprehend.

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Scott Sauls is senior pastor of Christ Presbyterian Church in Nashville, Tennessee, and author of Jesus Outside the Lines: A Way Forward for Those Who are Tired of Taking Sides. You can connect with Scott at scottsauls.com or on Twitter at @scottsauls.

Originally published at scottsauls.com.

A New Covenant Meal for Mission

As we drive along the San Francisco Bay, the sunlight fights the pressing fog. When the city diminishes in the rearview, the fog slowly disappears. Sunlight at last. We skirt Sacramento then travel through unpopulated fields with soaring windmills beating like a metronome. We always knew we were getting close to Auburn, my mother’s hometown, when we left the fields and entered the ravine passing under the Foresthill Bridge. It soars over 700 feet. We make our way through town until we enter my grandma’s neighborhood. We crest the hill and below sits her small home situated comfortably in the right corner of the cul-da-sac. The two-hour drive feels like forever as a kid (now two hours seems like a short day trip), but all that mattered is that we arrived at grandma’s house.

We always loved to go there. In her front yard towered a maple tree with broad leaves. The tree reminds me of my grandmother who planted her family in Auburn and kept everyone together and rooted. She was a short but tough Hispanic immigrant who raised eight children in a small home and kept the family together when her husband died shortly after my birth in 1983. She provided everything the family needed. This was never more tangible than when she gathered her family around the table for a meal.

The Food Memory of a Family Meal

In her kitchen, she was in charge like a French chef in his Michelin starred restaurant. She loved you no doubt. You could feel it in the food. No one spends that much time preparing food that good if they don’t love you, but she wouldn't hesitate to bark orders or snap if you were trying to sneak a quick bite: “Out! Out! Out! Get out of my kitchen. It’s not ready.”

Not ready? If you could successfully get a bite of whatever was cooking on the stove it was like finding gold in the ravine. The only exception to that rule for me was when she made tripe. It “perfumed” the entire house and kept me out of the kitchen.

Inevitably during our stay, the entire family was invited to grandma’s. Late afternoon around the end of the work day family slowly started to arrive—first her children and grandchildren who lived within walking distances then the family who drove. If she cooked it, they would come. The women helped her set the table with food and plates and the men would sit outside with a cold beer watching the kids play under the maple tree. If it was summer, there might be a pool out front under the tree. It was the best of times.

These meals were like a family Eucharist and my grandmother was the priest blessing the wine and breaking the bread. We all waited patiently for our portion, our blessing. These meals were her way of keeping the family together and also her way of loving us. It was a tangible sign that you were in the family and that you were loved. You would be cared for. You belonged.

My grandmother passed away when I was in junior high, but my mother continues to make the Hispanic comfort foods her mother made. Just the smell coming from the kitchen as grandma’s roasted chile sauce simmers on the oven makes me feel safe and loved. This is where I belong. This is family.

A Meal of Grace

In the Gospel of Matthew, the apostle reports:

²⁶ Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” ²⁷ And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you, ²⁸ for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. ²⁹ I tell you I will not drink again of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom.”

When I was young so much was made of not eating unworthily (a serious admonition of Paul no doubt) that I ate the Lord’s Supper like you might eat something you suspected was poisoned. Or how a young child might eat broccoli—hesitantly, face gnarled, knuckles white. These negative experiences branded my memory.

When the Lord commands the original Passover, he does so to create this type of ingrained memory for his people. The Passover was a tangible assault on the senses of the church. It recalled how God led them out of Egypt. How he spoiled the Egyptians for them. How he parted the Red Sea. How he redeemed them from slavery. In his wisdom, he did this by sitting families down around a table where all their senses were engaged in what was around them. If they obeyed the Lord, they would experience this every year for the rest of their life. I bet just the smell of the lamb cooking would invoke strong feelings of hope and love and mercy.

Sadly, Israel didn’t obey and didn’t keep the Passover every year. This was to their harm. It made their families fragile and vulnerable to worshipping other gods. They didn’t know the story of redemption, and so they didn’t know who they were or who their God was.

As Jesus arrives on the scene, he starts doing things that echo the stories of the Old Testament that tie into the story of redemption. He frees slaves from the bondage of sin. He heals the sick. He casts out demons. Jesus wilderness testing mirrors Israel’s own testing in the wilderness except where they failed he succeeds. How Jesus lives is intentional. He takes the threads of this old story of redemption and weaves his own life into the very fabric of the story. He shows everyone who watches that his life, death, resurrection, and ascension are a second Exodus, the greater story of redemption.

So is it any wonder that when our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ sets up his Passover that he does so around the table? He engages the senses. He pours out the good wine and breaks fresh bread. Have you ever been in the kitchen when the fresh bread comes right out of the oven? Have you ever cracked the crust and felt the warm air inside the bread hit your face? If you have, you won’t forget it. When Jesus calls us to his table, he calls us to remember while giving us something tangible and arresting that points us to a greater reality.

We must never forget that the Lord’s Supper is a place for sinners to receive something tangible. Are you harboring unrepentant sin in your heart? There’s no better place to repentant than the table. The table is one of grace and mercy and forgiveness Are you suffering or in pain or depressed? There’s no better place to find healing than the table. Are seeking Jesus Christ? Put your faith in him, be baptized, and eat freely at his table. Taste and see that the Lord is good. Enter his presence.

The Presence of God for Mission

My pastor Brian Habig made an interesting point about the Lord’s Supper in a sermon earlier this year. In the Old Testament, if you mishandled the ark of the covenant, the very presence of God among his people, you would be killed. As Matthew told us earlier, Jesus says the bread and wine are his body and blood. Paul later stresses the seriousness of eating unworthily with the threat of death. When we partake of the Eucharist, we experience the very presence of God. The body of our Lord sits in heaven ruling but through our union with Christ and the Spirit we now meet in the presence of the Lord to sense his love for us. With every drink and bite, we eat spiritually the body and blood of our Savior as John Calvin described it. This eating is a result of our faith and points to the true body and blood of Christ which was poured out for the many for the forgiveness of sins.

As we approach the table, our hearts should leap for joy as the eating and drinking itself creates in us an instinctual and tangible impression of the gospel for us. This joy is what I experienced every time my family gathered around my grandma’s table—I knew I belonged. The Eucharist should also remind us of Christ’s promise—“I will be with you always” (Matt. 28:20). We are re-fueled for mission in the very presence of God at his table. When the Lord commands the original Passover, he does so to create this type of ingrained memory for his people.

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Mathew B. Sims is the Editor-in-Chief at Exercise.com and has authored, edited, and contributed to several books including A Household Gospel, We Believe: Creeds, Confessions, & Catechisms for Worship, A Guide for Advent, Make, Mature, Multiply, and A Guide for Holy Week. Mathew, LeAnn (his wife), and his daughters Claire, Maddy, and Adele live in Taylors, SC at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains with their Airdale Terrier. They attend Downtown Presbyterian Church (PCA). Visit MathewBryanSims.com!

3 Ways to Defeat Demonic Opposition

Have you ever stopped to wonder why life actually seems harder as a Christian? Perhaps you were baptized under the assumption that life would be easier as a Jesus-follower only to discover shortly thereafter it can be more difficult. Gone are the days of ease and carefree living; now you wrestle with an ongoing struggle of sorts. You experience unexplainable opposition, feel mounting pressure, and even “hear” an inner accuser that’s not like you. You just can’t shake the notion that ever since you chose to follow Jesus everything seems “off.”

Welcome to the War

It may be the tension you’re experiencing is demonic opposition. When you became a disciple of Jesus, you also became an enemy of Satan. You have a very real and very evil enemy who is out to devour you (1 Pt. 5:8). Even now there are demonic forces seeking to destroy your love for Jesus, your life, and your peace in him. They tempt you to doubt your identity in Christ and your assurance in God’s purposes, but they will not prevail. You can defeat this opposition by identifying with Christ in his victory over Satan and following his example in refuting demonic lies.

Jesus shows us in Matthew 4:1-11 (also see Mk. 1:12-13; Lk. 4:1-13) that discipleship 101 is learning how to overcome the enemy. This passage tells of an experience Jesus had alone in the wilderness when confronted by the devil. It’s unique among all other stories found in the synoptic Gospels in that we only have it because Jesus chose to recount it to his disciples (every other account comes from eyewitnesses).

Jesus saw this experience as so essential to his messianic ministry and the maturation of his disciples that he wanted his disciples to memorize and testify to it. They needed to know what he went through and how he came out victorious because they too would one day experience demonic opposition in the war against evil. This means if you’re a disciple of Jesus, Jesus thinks you need this story.

Peeling Back the Layers: How to Understand Matthew 4:1-11

Read Matthew 4:1-11 in its entirety to get reacquainted with the text. As you read, note the following points:

Context—It is crucially placed (also in Mark and Luke) between the baptismal revelation of Jesus as the Son of God (Matt. 3:13-17) and the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry (Matt. 4:12-17). Evidently, confronting evil is the first priority on the Messiah’s “to-do” list before he enters the public arena.

Translation—The English rendering of “tempted” doesn’t capture the full breadth of the Greek verb peirazo. Often in Scripture it means “to test,” specifically in order to reveal truth. Jesus is indeed being tempted by the devil to act against God’s will, but he’s also being tested by God to reveal what’s in his heart. In some mysterious fashion, satanic tempting and divine testing work in concert together.

Purpose—Even though this was Jesus’ first significant battle with evil and his circumstances seem horrific, all three Gospel writers go out of their way to make it clear that the whole event took place under the guidance of the Holy Spirit (Matt. 4:1; Mk. 1:12; Lk. 4:1). This experience, though excruciatingly painful, was happening according to the sovereign purpose of God. 

Summary—At its heart, this story is intended to be an obvious recapitulation of Israel’s forty years of testing in the wilderness as God’s chosen Son who was to fulfill a divine calling (being a blessing to all the nations). The lessons Israel should have learned but failed to grasp were to depend on God’s Word rather than bread (Deut. 8:3), not to put God to the test (Deut. 6:16), and to make God the sole object of their worship (Deut. 6:13). It’s not random then that these are the exact three tests that we see in Jesus’ wilderness temptations!

In the same way, Yahweh led Israel into the wilderness to test their hearts to reveal the truth about their obedience and devotion to him (Deut. 8:2), so now another “Son of God” is being led into the wilderness for forty days to be tested by God and tempted by Satan in preparation for his divine calling. Will Jesus, as the beloved Son of God, fully obey the will of the Father or will he fail to overcome evil as every other son of God failed before him (think Adam in the garden, Israel in the wilderness, and even you today)?

Jesus Is Our Christus Victor: Identifying In Jesus’ Victory Over Satan

The history of failure and flawed fulfillment in Adam and Israel add to our own experience of failure and disobedience. These failures might make us skeptical regarding the Messiah’s odds of success. However, Matthew 4:1-11 portrays Jesus facing the tests we’ve all failed and being tempted where we’ve all conceded but, surprisingly, he doesn’t fail or compromise. Where we as humans have all stumbled and fallen, Jesus the true human resists and stands firm!

Look at Jesus’ Spirit-led response to satanic attack:

• When Jesus is tempted to doubt his identity as the beloved Son of God while suffering the hell of hunger (Matt. 4:3), he looks at the tempter and quotes Deuteronomy 8:3 (Matt. 4:4). He essentially says, “This does not define me. The words spoken by my Father, whom I trust with my life, define me. My love and loyalty to the Father is more real to me than my current condition, no matter how painful it is.”
• When Jesus is tempted to test the Father’s love and commitment to him as a means of proving his affection to the Son (Matt. 4:5-6), he looks at the tempter and quotes Deuteronomy 6:16 (Matt. 4:7). It’s as if he’s saying, “I will not test the Father and put him in my service. That’s not how this relationship works. I will trust my Father’s love and commitment to me regardless of my circumstances.”
• When Jesus is tempted to obtain the kingdoms of the world by taking a path other than that ordained by the Father (Matt. 4:8-9), he looks at the tempter and says, “Be gone, Satan!” and quotes Deuteronomy 6:13, “You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve.” This temptation is compromising the very heart of who Jesus is and what he came to do . . . and it infuriates him. He knows one day he will reign as King over all the world but the means by which he will do so has already been determined by the Father—it’s the path of the cross. He will worship and obey God even to the cross.

If you are in Christ, this story is good news! Jesus passed divine testing and defeated satanic tempting on your behalf—he is truly your Christus Victor. His representation of you didn’t begin on the cross, but in the wilderness. Here we witness Jesus defeating evil and showing himself to be the true Adam, the true Israel, the true Son of God, and the true human on your behalf.

The first step in defeating demonic opposition is knowing you have obtained victory over the enemy. Although you have repetitively failed divine testing and succumbed to demonic temptation, through your union with Christ, it’s as if you fully succeeded. You are declared the perfect son of God because of Jesus’ victory for you (first in the wilderness and then on the cross).

The outcome of the war you’re waging against demonic opposition has been determined for you by the true human, Jesus Christ. Be confident in battle, knowing that Satan and his demons are defeated. Because of Jesus you are victorious even when you feel defeated. The battles you are fighting today and the lies you are hearing from the enemy are not definitive of who you are. Your identity as a Christian is the same as Jesus’—victorious son of God.

Jesus Is Our Great Exemplar: Following Jesus’ Pattern to Defeat Demons

The war has been won but, until Jesus’ second coming, we still have battles to fight. Recognizing Christ’s victory over evil on our behalf is the first step in defeating demonic opposition. The second is following his example.

As noted above, Jesus thought his disciples needed to know this story because in it he modeled how to counter demonic attack. He quoted Scripture out loud, told Satan to be gone, and then allowed angels to strengthen him. This is an example for all Jesus-followers today: Quote Scripture out loud (in it’s proper context of course!), tell the demons to be gone, and then do something that strengthens you spiritually (worship, Bible reading, prayer, etc.).

Jesus’ particular temptations are a good place to make parallel applications for your life.

• When tempted to doubt your identity as the beloved child of God amidst your circumstances, quote Scripture out loud and affirm that your suffering, your insecurity, or your sin does not define you. The word of God, particularly as its expressed through the gospel, defines you. Your love and loyalty to the Father are more real and defining than your current situation, no matter how painful.
• When tempted to test the Father’s love and commitment to you, demanding he give you a sign of his affection, quote Scripture out loud and affirm that through Christ you have absolute assurance of God’s love for you. You know he is committed to you because he left the glories of heaven to come and die for you. The gospel leaves no room to doubt God’s affection for you.
• When tempted to take another path other than the one God has determined for you, quote Scripture out loud and affirm that you will trust the Father’s plan and purposes for your life even if they include suffering. Tell the harassing demonic voice to “be gone!” Reaffirm that God is the exclusive object of your worship regardless of what lies ahead.

This may not always be easy, but it is straightforward—we simply follow Jesus’ example. It doesn’t have to be weird or scary and it’s certainly not reserved for the spiritual giants. Learning to do spiritual warfare is basic discipleship. Allow me to illustrate this from my life.

Recently, I’ve experienced the worst and most frequent migraines I’ve ever had. The pain is isolating, frustrating, and defeating. While lying in excruciating pain in a darkened room I’ve heard (in my mind, not audible) an old familiar voice say, “If you are a son of God why do you have to suffer? If God really loved you shouldn’t he prove his affection by healing you?” Christian, that’s demonic. That’s not my voice nor God’s, it’s the voice of an enemy seeking to devour me while I’m vulnerable by tempting me to doubt my identity as a beloved child of God.

Although it would have been easy to test God, to “make” him prove his love through my healing, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jesus in the wilderness. There he was literally starving to death, yet he was unwilling to exercise his power to obtain food or test God because he trusted the Father fully. He trusted the Father on my behalf even as my own trust failed. And so, in my pain, I followed Jesus’ example and spoke out loud,

“My circumstances, no matter how painful, do not define me. God’s Word defines me. I am a child of God and his love and commitment to me is eternally certain because of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I refuse to put my Father to the test. Be gone! I will only worship and serve God, even now in my pain.”

Afterwards I continued to rest and pray as I rode out the migraine with a newfound sense of confidence in God’s goodness. There was nothing weird or magical about it. I simply identified in Jesus’ victory then followed his example in the power of the Spirit to the glory of God.

Don’t allow demonic opposition to destroy your joy and peace in Christ. Learn to recognize voices that aren’t from the Spirit of God and then speak out God’s truth. Grow in your discipleship by daily identifying with Christ in his victory over evil and following his example in refuting lies.

—

Whitney Woollard has served in ministry alongside her husband Neal for over six years. She holds an undergraduate degree in Biblical Studies from Moody Bible Institute and just finished her Master of Arts in Biblical and Theological Studies from Western Seminary. She is passionate about equipping disciples to read and study God’s Word well resulting in maturing affections for Jesus and his gospel message. Neal and Whitney currently live in Portland, OR where they love serving the local church. Follow her on Twitter @whitneywoollard.

The Painstaking Way Jesus Empowers New Life

NEW MISSION: MAKE DISCIPLES

Matthew 28:18-20 is what Christians call the Great Commission, the dominant marching orders for all who have faith in resurrection. It can sound a bit militant: Take God’s authority and make disciples.” But remember, these orders are from the one who has laid down his life to save his enemies. Ironically, our orders are to invite through imitation. Our mission is to make disciples through our words and actions. Or, as Jesus said, “teach and obey.” In fact, it is when we experience the riches of renewal through Christ that we become, as Eugene Peterson says, “God’s advertisement to the world.”1 We make disciples by living resurrected lives and telling people about the resurrected Christ.

“There’s not a hint of coercion here. It’s a life of love. Jesus wants us to spread the gospel throughout the world by spending our lives for the sake of others. The power of the resurrection doesn’t end with us; it travels through us. Our commission is invitation. We invite others to join God’s redemptive agenda to restore human flourishing and remake the world. We are sent into the world to share the good news that Jesus has defeated sin, death, and evil through his own death and resurrection. Jesus is making all things new, and he calls his followers to participate in his work of renewal.

Distinctive Discipleship

Part of what makes this command such a “great” mission is its scope—all nations. When Jesus spoke these words, he was reorienting a primarily Jewish audience to a distinctly multiethnic mission. The Greek word used here is the same word that gives us the English word “ethnic.” It refers to the nations, not modernist geopolitical states, but non-Jewish people groups (Gentiles) with distinct cultures and languages. Our commission is not to Christianize nation-states, but to share the good news of what Jesus has done with all ethnic groups. Christ does not advocate what is commonly called Christendom, a top-down political Christianity. Instead, he calls his followers to transmit a bottom-up, indigenous Christianity, to all peoples in all cultures.

We should also note that this command is to make disciples of all nations, not from all nations. The goal of Christian missions is not to replace the rich diversity of human culture for a cheap consumer, Christian knock-off culture. Dr. Andrew Walls puts it well:

Conversion to Christ does not produce a bland universal citizenship: it produces distinctive discipleship, as diverse and variegated as human life itself. Christ in redeeming humanity brings, by the process of discipleship, all the richness of humanity’s infinitude of cultures and subcultures into the variegated splendor of the Full Grown Humanity to which the apostolic literature points (Eph 4.8 – 13).²

What we should strive for is distinctive discipleship, discipleship that uniquely expresses personal faith in our cultural context. Disciples in urban Manhattan will look different than disciples in rural Maehongson. These differences allow for a flourishing of the gospel that contributes to the many-splendored new humanity of Christ. Simply put, the message of Jesus is for the flourishing of all humanity in all cultures.

Jesus informs our resurrected life. He gives us a new and gracious authority, a new identity, and a new mission. With that in view, what does it look like to participate in this task of renewing the world? Where do we begin? Jesus has painted for us a great picture of the new life. Let’s turn now to the daily implications of resurrection life.

IMPLICATIONS: RISKING FOR HUMANITY

If Jesus did, indeed, rise from the dead, we have nothing to fear and everything we need. All that we strive for is fulfilled in Jesus. All that we seek to avoid has been resolved by him. For example, if Jesus rose from the dead, we no longer need to strive for acceptance because we are now accepted by him. If Jesus rose from the dead, we don’t need to fear death, because it has been defeated. This means that we are free to smuggle medical supplies into Burma, even at the risk of death, knowing that our eternal fate is already sealed. We can move to distant countries to invest in development and renewal because Christ did the same for the world. Like the early Christians, we can care for the poor and marginalized in our cities. If we have resurrection life, we will have courage to take risks in the name of love. . . .

This is the power of the resurrected life. Serving others is a sacrifice, yes. But that sacrifice is filled with joy. You won’t be able to imagine living any other way.

Why?

Jesus tells those who follow him to leave all they have behind, to give their lives to the poor, to love their enemies, and to be a blessing to the world. Let’s not pretend this is easy to do. Following Jesus will require your whole life. Not just part of it. Not just your leisure time. Not just some of your budget. No, it requires your whole life. It will feel like death and suffering at times. It will feel that way because you are laying your life down. That’s what the resurrection looks like in daily life. We do not hold anything back—our talents, possessions, or time—because we live with the certainty that death and sin have been defeated.

There is no sugarcoating it. You will lose your life. In its place you will find a vibrant, full, and eternal life. By dying to ourselves we become alive to the power of Christ through the Holy Spirit. The same power that raised Jesus from the dead empowers us to live a life for Jesus. His death and resurrection have become our death and resurrection. Our old life is gone, and we now experience a new authority, identity, and mission. This is why we give, celebrate, and serve: we have died and have been raised again to experience new and abundant life.

—

Jonathan K. Dodson (MDiv; ThM) serves as a pastor of City Life Church in Austin, Texas. He is the author of Gospel-Centered Discipleship, Unbelievable Gospel, and Raised? He has discipled men and women abroad and at home for almost two decades, taking great delight in communicating the gospel and seeing Christ formed in others. Twitter: @Jonathan_Dodson

Brad Watson serves as a pastor of Bread & Wine Communities in Portland, Oregon. He is a board member of GCDiscipleship.com and co-author of Raised? His greatest passion is to encourage and equip leaders for the mission of making disciples. Twitter: @BradAWatson

(Editor’s Note: This is an excerpt from Raised? by Jonathan Dodson and Brad Watson available from Zondervan. It appears here with the permission of the author and publisher. For free resources and preorders, visit raisedbook.com.)

^{1. Eugene Peterson, Practice Resurrection (Grand Rapids: Eerd- mans, 2010), 13 – 14.↩ 2. Andrew Walls, The Missionary Movement in Christian History (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1996), 51.↩}

Why the Meaninglessness of Life?

Have you ever been struck by that feeling of pure meaninglessness? That deep down feeling in your heart of meaninglessness. Perhaps it occurs when you are at work or when you are alone. Does it happen occasionally or constantly? Some may not have any idea what I’m talking about. That’s ok. I must admit I have experienced this meaninglessness a number of times throughout my life. It’s never been fun, but honestly this meaninglessness has taught me something that is extremely important.

A Universal Issue

Scientist and atheist Richard Dawkins says,

“In a universe of electrons and selfish genes, blind physical forces and genetic replication, some people are going to get hurt, other people are going to get lucky, and you won't find any rhyme or reason in it, nor any justice. The universe that we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but pitiless indifference.”

From continent to continent, meaninglessness seems to reign supreme. At first glance, it might not be easy to recognize because we tend to mask meaninglessness with busyness or pleasure. But it is there. We toil and strive to find meaning in this cold, dark universe every day of our lives, and if we are honest with ourselves we rarely find meaning. Sure, there are times when we might experience pure bliss and euphoric sensations, but that existential angst is still lives.

The Void

We all experience meaninglessness—a hole within our soul. This is what encountering the void is like. The void within our souls has been a part of the human condition ever since the Fall of Adam and Eve in the garden (Gen. 3). This deep chasm of meaninglessness that we all find within ourselves searches constantly to be filled. This is why our search can sometimes seem like it’s complete. We temporarily fill the void with a number of earthly goods (relationships, sports, alcohol, work, drugs, etc). We may feel like there is no void within ourselves when we are intoxicated by earthly pleasures. Nevertheless, as time passes, the void will make itself more known. It is inevitable. You cannot escape it.

The Absurd

Albert Camus, philosopher and journalist, says, “Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.” The reason he could make such a statement is because he was willing to admit the absurdity of life. You might not know, but it was some of Camus’ views that contributed to the formation of a philosophical position that came to be known as absurdism.

The absurd is all about a conflict. The conflict is between (1) the human tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life and (2) the human ability to find any.1 Isn’t that our struggle today? Don’t we wake up and face this absurd reality every day? So what is the solution to man’s perennial problem?

The Solution

C.S. Lewis once said, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” Perhaps this thought is just simply too good to be true. But just maybe, Lewis was right. I have never heard a Darwinian explanation that accounts for man’s constant search for meaning. How can unguided Darwinian naturalism account for our innate subjective desire to find meaning in life? How can Darwinism account for the desire that human beings deal with every day as we driven to find our place in this world?

This is where C.S. Lewis provides a solution to this problem facing humanity. When faced with the reality of living in a meaningless universe, experiencing the void daily, and facing the absurd constantly, man seeks meaning with something outside of oneself. Something to fully satisfy. Something that will make man feel alive.

The Answer

Perhaps you think that Christians are just wishful thinkers. Intellectually inferior people who must believe in some personal deity who cares for them because they can’t handle meaninglessness of life. Perhaps this really is the way world is. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe the one called Jesus was who he said was (Jn. 14:6). What if he did descend from his heavenly kingdom to redeem humanity (Jn. 6:38)? If he is who he claimed to be, it changes everything. It changes the way we view the universe, the void, and the absurdity of life.

Of course, I am not naive. If you come and drink from the living well, it doesn’t mean you will never struggle against meaningless in life (Jn. 4:14). I am a Christian pastor and I struggle with this almost daily. Even the most faithful Christians have struggled in this life. There’s little doubt that you would too. The ramifications of sin stretch deep and wide.

But Jesus is the answer to the absurdity of life. Why then do I feel like he’s not so often? Perhaps this is because my lack of faith. However, we must boldly and daily approach God and confess, “I believe; help my unbelief” (Mk. 9:24). We must cling to the gospel during our darkest days. We must remember the promises of God. Maybe one day in the new Heavens and the new Earth we will all understand why we had to struggle. Until then, the struggle is real, and the feeling of meaninglessness still lives. Keep holding on, friends. You are not alone in this battle. We struggle together in Christ.

—

Matt Manry is the Director of Discipleship at Life Bible Church in Canton, Georgia. He is a student at Reformed Theological Seminary and Knox Theological Seminary. He also works on the editorial team for Credo Magazine and Gospel-Centered Discipleship. He blogs regularly at gospelglory.net.

The Incredible Way Jesus Suffered in Selma

I saw the movie Selma with my wife in January. I was wrecked. I do not cry often, especially not in films, but along with the stories of the martyrs, the history of the struggle against slavery, Jim Crow, and segregation move on my heart. I wept as I have not wept in years. The kind of tears that wrench your gut and stick in your throat for hours. As I went home that evening, just thinking of the various injustices and degradations depicted threaten to bring on another torrent. I was exhausted with the grief and, yes, the heaviness of hope. I am no film critic, but the film was powerful. I strongly suggest you go watch it. It is not just Black history, or American history, but our history, as Christians and humans made in the image of God. The depth of human depravity, the height of human courage, and the slow, but inevitable coming of justice—however partial, however incomplete–is a story that will not sit easy, but builds you and blesses you nonetheless.

While I could profitably take up many spiritual and theological themes, I want to talk about Jesus and Selma. Or rather, I want to ask a specific question about what our Christology, our view of Jesus, has to do with our view of what happened in Selma and what happens in the suffering of God’s people around the world. Admittedly, this is not the only question, and maybe not even the most important Christological question raised by the film, and yet I want to briefly address it nonetheless, because I think there is comfort and challenge involved here.

Does God Cry?

In the middle of the film, when Martin Luther King Jr. is out of town, a small band of Selma protesters engage in a night march. The police get wind of it and decide to teach them a lesson by ambushing them with a wave of brutality and violence. In the middle of it all, one young protestor, Jimmie Lee Jackson, is shot and killed protecting his mother and grandfather. It is wrenching and heartbreaking. When he hears the news, King comes to visit Jackson’s grandfather and speak some words of comfort. King addresses him and assures him that Jimmie will not have died in vain, but the very first words he says, are something to the effect of, “I want you to know that when Jimmie died, God was the first to cry. He was the first to shed a tear.”

It is a powerful moment, especially as you watch Jimmie’s grandfather look at King with an expression of humility, comfort, and deep pain and say, “Oh yes, I believe that. I know that.” The words are so appropriately-timed and attuned to speak a message that provides balm for the soul. God knows your pain. He is not distant from your cares and woes. They are his cares and woes. Your tears do not fall to the ground alone but join with those shed from heaven above, by the God of all creation.

Of course, the question that struck me in the theater was, “Is that true? Does God shed a tear for Jimmie?”

A God Who Cannot Suffer Becomes A Redeemer Who Can

I asked the question because, as Wesley Hill recently reminded us, for most of her history the church has taught the doctrine of impassibility. The nearly unified confession of church history until about the 20th Century was that, strictly speaking, God does not and cannot in suffer passions—be overwhelmed by irrational or uncontrollable feelings—or be acted upon in his divine nature. The Triune God is the author of life whose own glory is that of perfect, unchanging glory. He is incapable of being overwhelmed or overcome in his divine life. So does God cry? Well, in a sense, no. God is spiritual, not physical. In himself he cannot be overwhelmed as we are, have an adrenaline rush with a flush of the face, a flaring of the nostrils, or an unbidden moistening of the tear-ducts. God does not cry.

At the same time, though, as Ben Myers reminded the attendees of last week’s LA Theology conference, for the Church Fathers the presupposition of impassibility is precisely the logic behind the cross. As I’ve explained before, God’s impassibility does not mean that he does not care, or that he has no emotional life—he does. It’s just that we should not think of it precisely as we do our own. In fact, this is the glory of the God of the gospel—we find a God who cares so much that the one who cannot suffer and die in his own nature, takes on human nature in order to suffer and die with us and for us. The impassible God loves so implacably that he overcomes the obstacle of his own perfect life in order to participate in our life, so marred with pain and sin, to redeem us from it. In other words, the God who could not suffer, became a Redeemer who could.

Jesus is the God who became human so he could shed tears with us at the tomb of Lazarus.

Eternal Mediator

What now, though? The Scriptures teach that this God-man is the one who, after his Resurrection, was exalted to the right hand of the Father in order to intercede for us even now. According to Hebrews, like Melchizedek, Christ “continues a priest forever” (Heb. 7:3). The Son of God, the second person of the Trinity is currently a human seated on the throne of the universe. If it is not too speculative, I would hazard the courage to say that Jesus is the God who can still shed human tears for his people in this world racked with sin and injustice.

I say this on the basis of Acts 9, when the Resurrected Christ comes to Saul, the marauder of the church and says, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” The Risen Christ so identifies with his people that any assault on them is an assault on him. Their suffering is his. Their tears are his. As Calvin writes about this passage:

[T]he godly may gather great comfort by this, in that they hear that the Son of God is partner with them of the cross, when as they suffer and labor for the testimony of the gospel, and that he doth, as it were, put under his shoulders, that he may bear some part of the burden. For it is not for nothing that he saith that he suffereth in our person; but he will have us to be assuredly persuaded of this, that he suffereth together with us, as if the enemies of the gospel should wound us through his side. Wherefore Paul saith, that that is wanting in the sufferings of Christ what persecutions soever the faithful suffer at this day for the defense of the gospel, (Colossians 1:24.) –Comment on Acts 9:4

Though impassible in his own nature, in Christ, God suffers in and with his people. Jesus is the God who cries for Jimmie Lee Jackson.

These tears comfort those suffering under grave oppression around the world. Whether it be the marchers in Selma, laboring for the justice of God’s kingdom, or the persecuted church around the world, God’s joy and impassible life does not mean he is separated from our pain and struggle. He is there in the heart of it, working to redeem it.

Yet the Gospel moves us beyond the tears of Christ to remind us that by his once and for all suffering on the Cross and victorious Resurrection, Christ has secured the day when “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Rev. 21:4)

May we look forward to that day as we look about our world filled with injustice and pain. May that hope gird us up as we shed the tears that will inevitably come as we follow Christ in looking the brokenness of the world, in order to meet it with the gospel of our justice-loving God.

—

Derek Rishmawy is the Director of College and Young Adult ministries at Trinity United Presbyterian Church in Orange County, CA. He got his B.A. in Philosophy at UCI and his M.A.T.S. (Biblical Studies) at APU. He also contributes at the Gospel Coalition, Mere Orthodoxy, and Leadership Journal, as well as his own Reformedish blog.

Original posted at DerekZRishmawy.com. Used with permission.

Trusting God’s Sovereignty

Can God be sovereign and humans still have free will? Are our destinies simply set?

Philip K. Dick was arguably the most influential science fiction writer of the late twentieth century. Several of his works, adapted as screenplays, explore the concept of free will. In Blade Runner we are brought face to face with the tension between genetic control and genuine feeling. The Adjustment Bureau pits choice against fate, as Matt Damon’s character attempts to alter the master plan for his life.

It all brings up an interesting, age-old question: Is it possible for there to be a sovereign God and for humans to have free will?

The stakes are high in this debate. If we surrender free will, life becomes bleak and hopeless. If God possesses exclusive control over our destinies, why should we do anything? What difference does anything make if life is all mapped out? If we surrender divine sovereignty, life loses transcendent meaning and purpose. We exist and then we die. The better the choices we make, the more apt we are to survive the race of the fittest, but for what—the mere propagation of our species? On the one hand we are left with unfeeling determinism, and on the other, a free-falling individualism.

Millions of people view the Bible as a source for knowing God. What does the Bible have to say on the topic of will?

A Glance at the Bible

There are stacks of biblical texts that underscore divine sovereignty, and even more that appeal to human will.

For example, the story of Job opens with a dialog between Satan and God. Satan questions the naked free will of “righteous Job.” Satan is convinced that without God’s sovereign hand of protection, Job will freely renounce God. Satan asks God to remove all aid and then is permitted to wreak havoc in Job’s life. The story concludes with Job expressing his steadfast hope in a sovereign God: “I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted.”¹

The will of Job meets, with hope, the sovereign plan of God. Avoiding the extremes of cold determinism and aimless individualism, Job presents divine sovereignty and human choice as entirely compatible.

In fact, the Bible consistently puts sovereignty and choice together:

• “To humans belong the plans of the heart,
 but from the Lord comes the proper answer of the tongue.”²
• “In their hearts humans plan their course, 
but the Lord establishes their steps.”³
• “Continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.”⁴

These texts appeal to our heart and ability to act, while at the same time recognizing that God ultimately determines the action. We are responsible, and he is sovereign. Decisions are made from the heart, while God is sovereign over those decisions.

Sounds like a contradiction, doesn’t it? How can those two things be compatible?

The Nature of the Will

The apparent contradiction is resolved when we understand the nature of the will. The will expresses our heart’s desire. Whatever we want most, we do. The will surveys the motives in the heart and always, always acts upon them. To give a Western example, if I desire a new TV, my will acts on that desire, and off I go to Best Buy.

But what happens when there are competing motives? What if, on the way to Best Buy, you stop at the ATM machine—and get held up? The thief tells you that if you don’t empty your entire account and give it to him, he will take your life. You really want your money—and you still want that TV—but you decide to give it all to him so you can live.

In that instance, were you prevented from exercising free will? Not at all. You simply did what you desired most. Being an ever-so-smart person, you desired to live more than you wanted a full bank account or a new TV. Whatever you desire most, your will acts on.

Freedom

Now we have stumbled into the matter of freedom. We often conceive of freedom as the absence of constraints. We think, “To really live, we need to be free to do whatever we want, free from restrictions.” Freedom, we argue, is the path to true flourishing.

But if we think on this, we’ll quickly see it isn’t entirely true. What would happen if every country in the world abolished all laws? Would that “freedom” increase life or decrease life? We all embrace certain restrictions because we know they lead to human prosperity.

Or consider the self-imposed restrictions of every musician in an orchestra. They willfully restrict their “freedom” to play however they want. Instead, they play the notes indicated on their music. What happens? Are the musicians oppressed, angry, and put down? No, they actually flourish. The restrictions enable them to create sounds they could never manage on their own—beautiful symphonies.

Putting It All Together

Now what does this have to do with God and free will? As a sovereign God, he imposes restrictions for our good. He composes the notes to life. He establishes moral laws so that we will flourish, but he does not force us to carry out these laws. In fact, we are free to do whatever our hearts desire.

If we desire to break the law, we do. If we want to reject God’s salvation in Christ, we can. We all make genuine choices, decisions that align with our heart’s desire. But this freedom is also the problem.

We are free to live for ourselves—even for others—but we are unable to live for God. Apart from gracious divine intervention, we simply don’t make God the north star of our life. As a result, we don’t gain Job-like confidence that, even in suffering, God has good purposes for us. Our wills are bound to broken hearts.

Consequently, we find it unappealing—if not impossible—to embrace God’s sovereignty, because deep down, we really want to be in charge. We want to make the rules. We want to set our own course, and it doesn’t include the path of self-denial and submission to God the Father. Our broken hearts have convinced us that true joy and flourishing are found outside of God.

 A New Heart

What we all need isn’t a free will (we already have that) but a new heart. We need new capacity to choose God, to love his ways, and to embrace his “restrictions” as the path to true life.

Jesus is the only person who did this perfectly. His heart was pure. He chose to follow the Father’s will, even when it meant suffering and death. He did it for us—for stubborn, short-sighted people who insist on their own way. He gave up his right to live so that we don’t have to die. If we relinquish our fixation on self-sovereignty and receive God’s gracious, righteous love and forgiveness, we will actually find true life.

When we come under the umbrella of God’s will, we are showered with the grace of true freedom. Transcendent purpose meets genuine, heartwarming choice. When we follow God’s master plan in Christ, we actually discover true love.

We come face to face with the only man who can love us perfectly and truly. If we receive it, that love gives the heart a whole new capacity to trust God’s sovereignty. In Jesus, we have the opportunity to flourish.

—

Jonathan K. Dodson (MDiv; ThM) serves as a pastor of City Life Church in Austin, Texas. He is the author of Gospel-Centered Discipleship, Unbelievable Gospel, and Raised? He has discipled men and women abroad and at home for almost two decades, taking great delight in communicating the gospel and seeing Christ formed in others. Twitter: @Jonathan_Dodson

The Lord of the Sparrows

“All the way my Savior leads me; What have I to ask beside?Can I doubt His tender mercy, Who thro’ life has been my Guide? Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, Here by faith in Him to dwell! For I know, what’er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well; For I know, what’er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well.”

—Fanny J. Crosby

Two Hard Truths

There are two kinds of God's sovereignty that are difficult for our human minds to grasp. The first is his sovereignty over the big, terrible events of our lives. This is because we cannot understand how a good and loving God could possibly be orchestrating the devastating, debilitating, and often deadly circumstances that we find ourselves subject to as humans living in this sin-infested world.

Indeed, we are often met with a crisis of faith when a spouse leaves us, when a pregnancy ends in miscarriage, or when we get the awful news that we are dying from cancer. In these times we are forced to decide whether we truly believe in the God of the Bible—a God who is incomprehensibly sovereign over evil events and at the same time good in all he does—or whether we will invent a more palatable god of our own design. When catastrophic events happen in our lives we must trust—with God-given faith—his revealed Word when it says that he "works all things for the good of those who love him."

The second category of God's sovereignty we have difficulty accepting—that I see my own heart struggling to believe—is his control over the minute, the tiny details of our lives. This, perhaps, is an even greater struggle than the first because it confronts us every moment of our lives. It is the unbelief that continually fails to recognize God's continual, purposeful interaction with the moments that make up our days.

It is seen in the fiery anger that burns within in our chests when we are delayed at a stop light. For we fail to recognize that it is God himself who controls all things and who has chosen to delay us for his own purposes. We fail to believe that it is for our good.

It is seen in the frustration that festers in the heart of a teacher when her student struggles to understand the concept of blending consonant sounds as he struggles to read. She forgets that it is God who controls her student's faculties, that his struggle is part of our loving Lord's plan for both him and her. She forgets to trust that such a challenge is for their good.

It is seen in the exasperation of the homemaker whose war against the never ending piles of laundry tempts her to resent the precious souls who add to it every day. She does not believe that God himself has given her this task, that he is blessing others through it, that he could use such a mundane chore to sanctify her. She does not believe that its is for their good.

The Lord of the Little Things

Yes, it is seen every moment of every day when we fail to acknowledge him as Lord over the little things.

"Are not to sparrows sold for a penny?" Jesus said to his disciples, "And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father."

Oh soul, remember that it is he, the Creator of heaven and earth, who controls the birds of the air. Is he not also in control of your crying baby, your complaining child, your car that won't start? "Even the hairs on your head are all numbered by him," our Lord Jesus says. Does he not then also control the blemishes that plague your skin? How different our attitudes would be if we met every frustration, every annoyance, and every difficulty that comes our way with the knowledge of our loving God's sovereignty.

For we do not view the events of our lives through rose-colored glasses, but rather through blood-drenched ones.

If we could but remember the price he paid to save us, would we not view the inconveniences of life with greater appreciation? Would they not drive us to the throne of grace rather than our keyboards where we share quick, relieving complaints disguised as Facebook statuses? Would we not find ourselves beseeching the Lord for wisdom every moment of every day, as James tells us to? For it is he who "gives generously to all without reproach!" Soul, make use of his generosity, for your need is great!

And how differently our days would transpire if we could see his sovereignty in the small blessings he lavishes upon us. For indeed, so great is our sinfulness, that we don't even find it easy to recognize the constant good that flows from his wounds to his beloved bride.

Prayer and Praise

We take for granted every breath that enters our lungs, every smile we receive from our children, every kiss we enjoy from our husbands, every hug we get from a good friend. We enter into soft, comfortable beds each night relieved that the day is over, forgetting to thank him for the many blessings we've received—not the least of which being the soft, comfortable bed we lay on!

Would our countenance not be characterized by peaceful joy rather than frenzied exhaustion if we could but keep the cross ever before us, seeing all the good things that come our way as loving gifts from a bridegroom to his purchased bride? Would our lips not be filled with his praises? Would our love for him not spill out upon all who are in our presence?

Perhaps this awareness of God residing over the little events of our lives would yield an attitude of ceaseless prayer and praise. Maybe we would come closer to obeying Paul's command to the Thessalonians to "rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." (1 Thess. 5:16-18)

Can we live as those aware of the Savior's leading? Can we trust him with the little things, whether they be good or bad? Lord give us the grace to live in this blessed awareness, for we long to see you.

—

Jessalyn Hutto (@JessalynHutto) is the wife of a church planter, a mother to four, and a very part-time writer. Most of all she is a ransomed sinner, living in the grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ. You can learn more about her at JessalynHutto.com.

Originally published at JessalynHutto.com. Used with permission.

Comforting the Hurting

The Incarnation for a Hurting World

When a family-member, friend, or co-worker is suffering, we’re quick to jump to worldly comfort or perhaps the sovereignty of God. It is wise to remind those to whom we minister that no person or situation is outside of God’s grasp or concern, and perhaps a solid pat on the back is helpful every so often. However, we will find ourselves malnourished if we don’t also consider Christ’s humanity as extremely relevant to a world of hurt. For many of us it is a daily struggle to believe that the God of the universe truly cares about our lives, much less the detail of our personal hurts. Only in Christ do we find a God so concerned with the messiness of our lives that he entered into it. This article will take a short but thoughtful look at Hebrews 2:14-3:6 in order to develop an understanding of Christ’s incarnation and its application for a hurting world.

Though the author of our passage is not identified, the references to Old Testament texts and concepts throughout provide evidence that the original readers were quite familiar with the Jewish-Christian worldview. Given the counsel we see provided throughout the book, the recipients were very likely suffering through some persecution and perhaps in danger of turning away from the true gospel, making it relevant to our topic of study.

In considering the immediate context of this passage, the author begins in chapter two by discussing the danger of ignoring truth, reminding readers of the “just punishment” that may follow from disregarding one’s salvation. It then moves into the humiliation and glory of God’s Son, who had to identify himself with mortal human beings in order to “taste death for everyone.” There is a clear outline of the Son’s perfection through suffering (v. 10) and his solidarity with humanity (v. 11). The text then presents Psalm 22:22 and Isaiah 8:17 as support for this truth. From there, in vv. 14-18, the author moves to develops the implications of Christ’s solidarity in order to address the necessity of the Incarnation. Jesus partook of humanity in full in order to break the power of the devil and free those who were held in slavery (all of Abraham’s descendants). The logical connective “so that” in 2:14 expresses purpose, indicating that the purpose of the Incarnation was to “render powerless him who had the power of death” and “free those…subject to slavery.” The Son had to become human in order to become the high priest, and he had to become a high priest “in order to offer the ultimate sacrifice for sins” (vv.17-18).

A new unit of thought develops in 3:1-6 as the author acknowledges Jesus as the apostle and high priest and moves on to contrast Jesus and Moses. The author pulls again from the Septuagint, this time from Numbers 12:7, when Moses’ faithfulness to the “house” refers to his ministry to and responsibility of a “defined group of people in special relationship to God.” In short, the author’s intention is clear: to urge readers to stand firm in their faith. The author encourages this by pointing to Jesus, his superiority, and the importance of his readers’ proper response and commitment to him by shifting focus from a worldly to eternal perspective.

How Do We Counsel the Hurting?

When providing counsel to those we love (or even ourselves) in times of hurt, is this where we begin? Do we start by reminding and being reminded of the truth that God himself has come to earth? Do we marvel that he’s done so as our high priest, identifying in every way with the human struggle of pain, loneliness, grief, sickness, and death? His pain-filled and suffering pursuit of us through the Incarnation ought to act as a well of hope from which we draw in difficult times. In our counsel, we always need to echo the form of Incarnation by starting with God and working down to earth, shifting the perspective from worldly to external.

Hebrews 2:14-18 explains the necessity and value of the Incarnation and Jesus’ appointment as high priest while stressing that human beings have a responsibility to respond to him in a particular way. Chapter 3:1-6 discusses the role of Jesus as the Son over God’s house and his superior role and responsibilities to Moses. Theologically, the entire passage speaks to Jesus’ unity with humanity, the purpose of the Incarnation and the superiority of the New Covenant found in Jesus Christ’s high priesthood. It explains why that Incarnation was necessary—Christ had to “share in flesh and blood” in order to experience death (v. 14) and also render it ineffective in keeping humanity separated from God. Because Christ is now death’s master, we are no longer enslaved by it.

It is worth noting that the pain and hurt caused by our own sin can no longer force us into a downward spiral of shame or repeated poor choices. It is no longer our sin that defines us. It is no longer sin that enslaves humanity. In fact, given Christ’s work as the high priest, we ought to now consider the act of committing sin as less-than-human. In other words, Christ isn’t less-than-human because he didn’t sin, he is truly human because he didn’t sin! Though we still suffer with indwelling sin in the already-not-yet, it does not define our status any longer. To lust, to get angry, to be addicted – all of it is us acting out of a false self. Part of our counsel to those hurting from sinful choices ought to remind them that sin no longer defines them and that their true self is one redeemed and beloved by God himself.

So why the incarnation? The author provides several reasons starting in verse 17.

First,Christ’s humanity was necessary in order for him to become a “merciful and faithful high priest” (v. 17). Only because Christ was fully human could he stand in as the high priest for humanity. The function of the “chief priest” or “high priest” was to act as a representative of the people, making access to God possible through the sacrificial system. The author sees Jesus as the “one, true, faithful high priest,” which highlights his unity with humankind and his leadership of God’s people into God’s presence. As the high priest, Jesus was uniquely qualified to make atonement for the sins of the people. Christ’s work of reconciliation, where he turns aside God’s wrath by taking away the sins of the people, made the OT ritual of atonement obsolete and brought about the New Covenant community.

Second, Christ reconciles humanity to God, accomplished through his sacrificial death, which was necessary to make atonement for the sins of the people (v. 18). The author then assures his readers that Christ is able to help them in their temptation because he himself suffered when he was tempted. The tense of the verb “suffered” is significant here. The perfect tense is used and emphasizes that even though the temptation of Christ is a past event the effect continues to be felt in the present. To clarify, even though Christ suffered temptation in the past, we are continually being helped by him in our present time and can experience his help as an ongoing reality in the future. The author finishes by explaining that the readers’ perseverance in faith will act as the ultimate sign of their commitment to Christ.

The Purpose of the Incarnation

This passage addresses the reason and purpose for the Incarnation and the superiority of Jesus’ faithfulness as the Son. The author’s explanation of the Incarnation provides readers with a wonderful summary of the logic behind Christ’s humanity and his suffering. It was because Christ became human and lived a sinless life that he could stand in our place in order to make propitiation for our sins. His role as Apostle and High Priest was only made possible in the Incarnation and Christ’s opportunity to remain faithful to God. Jesus’ faithfulness to his role as Son over all God’s house establishes the superiority of the New Covenant and now provides humanity with total access to God.

This passage speaks volumes to a hurting world. Our natural response to a hurting person is often lacking, leaning mostly on worldly counsel to “cheer up” or perhaps we’ll dress it up with “God’s in control!” Maybe, when needing to counsel our family or close friends, we simply take them out to a movie in order to get their mind off things. As trite as it sounds in writing, this is the extent to much of our counsel, and though there are some good aspects in these methods, those who need true Christ-like counsel will be left wanting.

Hurting people—whether they are feeling lonely, depressed, angry, or suffering through intense pain—need to continually be assured of God’s tremendous concern for every aspect of their being. Pointing to the humanity of Christ allows us to call out two major, comforting truths: 1) Empathy; and, 2) initiative.

To start, we can find empathy in Jesus because he was “made like us in every respect.” Christ is human, which means he stared sin and shame and darkness in the face. He knows loneliness. He knows fully well the temptation to retreat and turn from God, but he, uniquely, was able to stand in power against that temptation and honor the Father in victory. Only Christ can teach us what it is to be fully human. He alone can offer us a picture of true empathy and an empowering model for fighting through temptation all the way through victory through the power of God, which is now alive in us via the Spirit.

Also, we’re given the encouragement in the truth of initiative. This person, though they doubt that God might care for them, cannot stare at the Incarnation long without being wooed away from sorrow. The God of the universe, who is unique and utterly transcendent, came to us! As fallen, mortal human beings we cannot possible “get” to God. He must first come to us, and he proves his love and concern by descending his throne and being made like his brothers and dwelling with us. We cannot possible claim that God does not care. He has first pursued us in the person of Christ, taking immense measure to dwell among us just as the Spirit does today. What worship is brought about when one considers the extent that God went to reconcile himself to us!

Ultimately, it’s worth quickly noting that neither our sin nor all the hurt in the world can or does detach us from God. Sin no longer necessarily separates. Christ bridged the gap as the true man and high priest. We can freely counsel others to turn away from sin patterns and darkness and to their loving Father who is absolutely concerned with their life.

—

Evan Perkins served as a teaching pastor at Scum of the Earth Church in Denver, CO for three years before transitioning to a professional sales role in Austin, TX. He holds an MDiv from Denver Seminary and currently serves as a lay-leader and elder candidate at City Life Church. He is the husband of Lauren and the father of their son, Eli.

5 Lessons from C. S. Lewis’ Grief Observed

“Cancer, and cancer, and cancer. My mother, my father, my wife. I wonder who is next in the queue.” —C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I never wanted to have this in common with C.S. Lewis. I never wanted to major in suffering.

Yet I am here, and she is there. She is resplendent in memorandum. . . and I cannot write fast enough. And I am left holding a copy of C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed. As Lewis observes his particular grief, I too observe my own. C.S. Lewis got it.

I would rather have other things in common with the man. I would have much rather been an “Inkling”—instead we are widowers observing grief.

I believe Lewis understood that one cannot simply skirt grief. Not without consequences anyway. Grief cannot be skipped over as one would skip over the fast kid in a game of “Duck, Duck, Goose.” No, rather, it seems as though grief is such-a-one whom demands to have a day of reckoning, be it now, be it later, it matters not so much. Be that as it may, it almost behooves the mourner to ride directly through the tempest of grief; keep on pedaling. Lewis himself writes, “Aren’t all these notes the senseless writhings of a man who won’t accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it?” (33).

I started this short book several weary years ago. I had started a book club at church and chose C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed because I wanted my people to walk the valley of the shadow of death before death rapped at their doors. My Resplendent Bride was diagnosed with cancer before we finished chapter 2. Over the next twenty months, I would pick up this slender book of terror and read a paragraph or two, only to set it down again because I never wanted to understand what this man was writing about, and the possibility of understanding ebbed and flowed as that fox cancer raged and retreated, raged and retreated.

The Lord took her home on the third day of May. Perhaps God told her nothing would ever hurt her again. I do not know all the words he speaks to new arrivals, but I do take solace in the truth that nothing will ever hurt her again. Lewis writes, “I had my miseries, not hers; she had hers, not mine. The end of hers would be the coming-of-age-of mine. ” (13).

The gospel of Jesus Christ has sustained, maintained, and supported me all this time.  My solace is in his truth.

But it is farce to claim hope in Christ makes one immune to the sheer pain of life under the sun.  I have not found hope in Christ to be mutually exclusive to the feeling of bereavement.

As spring bloomed outside The Hermitage, winter set in inside.

The lingering challenge for the widower is to somehow fill the void left by the dissolution of all the loving, all the care-taking, and the family unit itself.

So it was that I once again picked up this slender volume, and it was there within the pages of A Grief Observed that I was surprised to find a friend in C.S. Lewis.

He gets it.

Few do, and for that I am thankful.

I have found C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed to be helpful to the widow or widower in five ways.

1. In  A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis does not make a false dichotomy between hope in Christ and mourning over searing loss.

Lewis accomplishes this feat by allowing heavy sorrow to hang on his pages longer than others dare. Lewis does not seem to be in any hurry to provide the “Sunday School” answer so many follow up their condolences with. Some folks are born with Congenital Insensitivity To Pain, a condition wherein one cannot feel pain. This is a troubling ailment because our bodies warn us that things have gone awry such as “You stepped on a hornet’s nest” or, “The Sun is burning away your epidermis” or, “This machine you paid to be baked in is burning away your epidermis” through the sensation of pain.

Now, how shall the slow rending of the one flesh once again in two not hurt (Gen. 2:24)? Widowerhood is not the “conscious uncoupling” actress Gwyneth Paltrow euphemistically described her recent divorce as.

To be widowed is to be torn asunder. Sometimes the hurting need to hurt.

2.  A Grief Observed, seeks to answer the question, “Can God still be good when He hurts us so?”

My family was dissolved by death.  God is sovereign over both life and death.  Open Theists as well as some other theological traditions will not be too keen on this truth, but the Bible is.

Psalm 139:16 states, “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none of them.”

Ecclesiastes 7:17 and 3:1-2 indicate that there are times appointed for all to live and die.  If so, then surely it is God who is the divine scheduler?

And shall we forget that it was God who drove and barred man from the tree of life growing in the Garden of Eden lest man steal immortality just as he had stolen knowledge?

Genesis 3:22-23

Then the LORD God said, ”Behold, the man has become like one of us in knowing good and evil. Now, lest he reach out his hand and take also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever– “therefore the LORD God sent him out from the garden of Eden to work the ground from which he was taken. He drove out the man, and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim and a flaming sword that turned every way to guard the way to the tree of life.”

The New Testament informs us all flesh is destined to die someday:

Matthew 4:16, “The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.”

The author of Hebrews argues that death is “appointed for man” (9:27).

So it is, and so it shall always be: God is Lord over both thanatos and zoe. Herein lies the rub:

• God has dissolved my family by death.
• The ruin of that which remains are great.
• And, I love him.

Lewis writes, “Is it rational to believe in a bad God?  Anyway, in a God so bad as all that?  The Cosmic Sadist, the spiteful imbecile?  I think it is, if nothing else, too anthropomorphic” (30).

Lewis goes on to write,

Feelings, and feelings, and feelings.  Let me try thinking instead.  From the rational point of view, what new factor has H.’s death introduced into the problem of the universe?  What grounds has it given me for doubting all that I believe?  I knew already that these things, and worse, happened daily.  I would have said that I had taken them into account.  I had been warned—I had warned myself—not to reckon on worldly happiness.  We were even promised sufferings.  They were part of the programme.  We were even told, ‘Blessed are they that mourn, and I accepted it.  I’ve got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for.  Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination.  Yes; but shout it, for a sane man, make quite such a difference as this?  No.  and it wouldn’t for a man whose faith had been real faith and whose concern for other people’s sorrows had been real concern.  The case is too plain.  If my house has collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards.  The faith which ‘took these things into account was not faith but imagination.  The taking them into account was not real sympathy.  If I had really cared, as I thought I did, about the sorrows of the world, I should not have been so overwhelmed when my own sorrow came”  (36-37).

The question Lewis is wrestling with is whether God is a divine veterinarian or a divine vivisector (in other words one whose cutting is aimed to heal, or one whose cutting is motivated by sadism)?

“And I must surely admit — H. would have forced me to admit is a few passes — that, if my house was a house of cards, the sooner it was knocked down the better.  And only suffering could do it.  But then the Cosmic Sadist and Eternal vivisector becomes an unnecessary hypothesis” (38).

“Of course the cat will growl and spit at the operator and bit him if she can.  But the real question is whether he is a vet or a vivisector.  Her bad language throws no light on it one way or another.  and I can believe He is a vet when I think of my own suffering” (40).

Lewis believed that a good God only hurts for a greater good in the Christian’s life. This notion frees the Christian from having to use lame circular arguments to defend God from that which is plain. God is sovereign. God is good. I hurt. All three are true.

3. In  A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis rightly observes that grief can lead to laziness.

Lewis writes,

“And no one ever told me about the laziness of grief.  Except at my job — where the machine seems to run on much as usual — I loathe the slightest effort. Not only writing but even reading a letter is too much. Even shaving. What does it matter now whether my cheek is rough or smooth? They say an unhappy man wants distractions — something to take him out of himself. Only as a dog — tired man wants an extra blanket on a cold night; he’d rather lie there shivering than get up and find one. It’s easy to see why the lonely become untidy, finally, dirty and disgusting” (5).

Lewis’ observation on this point is useful for the widow/widower in that knowing and naming the temptation helps us to not only fight the temptation but to recognize it as it slowly encroaches upon us.

Those of us in bereavement must continue to take care of ourselves. We must try to eat right, exercise, keep house, do laundry, and for the sake of our fellow man, shower. We must continue to stimulate our minds even though it hurts to not be able to share new things with our cherished one. We must endeavor by God’s grace to work at our vocation and hobbies, because whether we find the joy in it all at the moment: we still live.

Work is the antidote to the temptation to amuse ourselves with the specter of time travel as remedy to regret. There is no redemption in regret.

4. In  A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis warns the widow or widower that they may be treated as the harbinger of death.

“An odd byproduct of my loss is that I’m aware of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet. At work, at the club, in the street, I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not.  I hate it if they do, and if they don’t. Some funk it altogether. R. has been avoiding me for a week. I like best the well brought-up young men, almost boys, who walk up to me as if I were a dentist, turn very red, get it over, and then edge away to the bar as quickly as they decently can. Perhaps the bereaved ought to be isolated in special settlements like lepers. To some I’m worse than an embarrassment. I am a death’s head. Whenever I meet a happily married pair I can feel them both thinking, ‘One or the other of us must some day be as he is now’” (10-11).

Lewis’ words ring true.

• The widow/widower, especially young ones, remind all the marrieds of the dread truth that there is a 50% chance that this, all this, is coming their way, someday, sooner or later.
• Nobody knows what to say. The friend does not know. The bereaved does not know.

Furthermore, in the absence of anything to say the things which are said tend to get under the widower’s skin.

People will ask variations of, “How you holding up?” or, “How are you doing?” and let us know forget, “How is your heart?”

Muscle, grit, and pumping are certainly not acceptable answers, but regardless of the answer there are those who are never satisfied that your answers are truthful unless you cry all over them.

Not likely.

The widower suddenly finds himself in a situation where every person with the capability to pass wind through their vocal cords in his general vicinity now places themselves in a position of authority over him for his own good. If a question is asked it must be answered to any and all’s satisfaction, or he shall risk a raised eye brow and the ever quizzical, “How are you really doing?”

Everyone is Barbara Walters.

Shall everyone presume to be both inquisitor and confessor?

And all this in the name of “community”?

Widower. . . They may love you, and it is a terrible fate to love someone who is hurt and to have nothing to say by way of making the dreadful affair better. Widower, I know it is tedium because you don’t know what to say either. But grief is no excuse to be a tool. Nor is grief an excuse to be an over analytical fool. This isn’t Dawson’s Creek. . . and your friends didn’t kill her. They’re just trying to help.

Those who are suffering from grief must be aware that they may be much more easily annoyed than they once were. As the movie Swing Kids says, “Put your glasses on.” Your friends simply wish to help, and they are suffering too: for they cannot help you, and they probably love whomever you lost as well.

5. In  A Grief Observed, C. S. Lewis takes Heaven back from the family reunion and returns it to the Glory of God.

Heaven does not primarily exist for me to see my Resplendent Bride again. Everything, and I mean everything in me wants to see Danielle again. It is a visceral need. A couple of days ago I teared up as I brought her pills to the pharmacy for disposal. I miss her so much that I didn’t even want to be parted with her pills.

Yes, I am damaged in every which way.

But, heaven is about Jesus.

Heaven is about the glory of God.

Anything less is idolatry.

From the talk I hear at funerals I am fearful that people are giving God lip service in order to get what they want from him, namely, an eternal family reunion.

Almost as though we would approach God and use his throne like a friend’s lake house. “Hello there! God, we’d like to use your house for this thing. . . you’re. . . not going to be there, right?” Lewis writes,

“Am I, for instance, just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H., it runs through Him?  But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road.  If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as a means, you’re not really approaching Him at all.  That’s what was really wrong with all those popular pictures of happy reunions ‘on the further shore’; not the simple-minded and very earthly images, but the fact that they make an End of what we can get only as a by-product of the true End” (68).

Lewis goes on to write something that is helpful for the widows and widowers who have read Matthew 22:30, “For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven.”

“Heaven will solve our problems, but not, I think, by showing us subtle reconciliations between all our apparently contradictory notions. The notions will all be knocked from under our feet.  We shall see that there never was any problem” (71).

So say we all.

I recommend A Grief Observed for the bereaved, as well as those who have a 50/50 shot of standing in my ever so scuffed dress shoes.

—

Evan Welcher is senior pastor of First Christian Church in Glenwood, Iowa. Husband of the lovely Danielle. Evan graduated with a B.S. in Bible from Emmaus Bible College in 2005. His goal in ministry is to stir up love for Jesus Christ by the giving of great care and fidelity to the teaching of the Scriptures. He blogs at EvanWelcher.com. Follow him on Twitter: @EvanWelcher

Originally published at EvanWelcher.com. Used with permission.

Suffering Nails Truth to the Heart

It was the night before Easter Sunday (arguably the best day of the year) and I was planning to prepare my heart to celebrate the Lord’s resurrection the following day. Instead, I ended up lying in a hospital bed hooked to an IV receiving the usual cocktail the doctors give me for migraines. In the past, that would have been the opportune moment to hit play on my usual “woe is me” self-talk. But during those long hours in the emergency room, as I came in and out from the tranquilizing effects of the medications, something rather astounding happened—I began to preach the gospel to myself. The following three gospel truths particularly ministered to me that night and have become regular tracks that I play over and over as I learn to preach the gospel amidst my suffering.

Three Gospel Truths

1. I am not being punished

In the midst of pain there is a very real temptation to believe that God is punishing you. I’ve wrestled with debilitating migraines for seven years and my immediate response is to frantically search my life for some secret sin I’ve committed. I fall into the trap of believing that if I’m good I’ll be rewarded and if I’m bad I’ll be punished. In my legalism, I equate pain with God’s punishment. Yet, I’m missing an essential component in my religious equation—the gospel. The gospel tells me that I don’t simply do “bad things”; rather, apart from Christ I am bad. Scripture is clear on this point. I was “alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds” (Col. 1:21). I was “dead in the trespasses and sins” in which I once walked (Eph. 2:1-2). By my very nature I was a child “of wrath” (Eph. 2:3). I was under God’s just condemnation and there was nothing I could do to work my way out of this death sentence “for by works of the law no human being will be justified in his sight” (Rom. 3:20). Theologically speaking, if I think migraines are a just punishment for my sin then I have fully underestimated the gravity of sin. In terms of punishment, I don’t simply deserve migraines—I deserve death and hell.

But it doesn’t stop there. The gospel is good news for a reason.

God put Jesus forward as the propitiation for sin so that we might be “justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 3:24). This means that though I was alienated from God he has now reconciled me to himself “in his (Christ’s) body of flesh by his death” (Col. 1:21). Though I was dead in my sins deserving of God’s punishment, he made me “alive together with Christ” (Eph. 2:5). Do you see what Scripture is proclaiming? Christ came as our substitute and suffered the penalty of our sin so that we no longer experience the punishment of God’s wrath. Though God disciplines those he loves (Heb. 12:6), he poured out his punishment conclusively upon his Son at the cross. If you have been united with Christ, you no longer bear the punishment for your sins for “he himself bore our sins in his body on the tree” (1 Pet. 2:24).

You will never be punished because Jesus was punished in your place.

Therefore, pain is not punishment from God, nor is it a sign of his disapproval. In Christ you have unconditional acceptance and approval before the Father. This has significant ramifications for believers as we suffer in this lifetime. Whether it is migraines or cancer or panic attacks, we stand on the truth that God is not punishing us. Because of our union with Christ, God is for us (Rom. 8:31) and nothing (not even pain) can “separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 8:39).

2. I am not alone

Pain can be terribly isolating leading to feelings of loneliness and despair. I do not fully understand it nor can I rationally explain it, but when I suffer physically I inevitably suffer spiritually and emotionally. Were it not for Jesus, I think pain could result in feelings of total defeat. But the gospel reminds us that Jesus shared in our physical and emotional pain. His suffering was certainly more than that (i.e. absorbing the wrath of God), but never less. Jesus left the glories of heaven to take “the form of a servant” and be “born in the likeness of men” (Phil. 2:7). He shared in “flesh and blood” and “he himself partook of the same things” that we endure (Heb. 2:14). He was “made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest” (Heb. 2:17). Jesus is able to sympathize with our weaknesses (Heb. 4:15) because he knows what it is like to suffer in the flesh. Hebrews 5:7 says, “In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death . . . ” Jesus understands what it’s like to cry out in agony in unmitigated pain.

How many times have you prayed “with loud cries and tears” to the Father for relief and yet your pleas seemed to ring hollow? How many times have you thought to yourself, “God is able to take this from me and he chooses not to”? How many times have you felt abandoned by God in your suffering and wondered where he was? Those subjective feelings can seem so real in the moment, but the objective truth is that God through Christ has drawn near to us. We can be sure that God hears our cries because we have an intercessor in heaven that identifies with us (Heb. 7:25).

Because of this, we are never alone in our pain. Our sufferings can be a means by which we draw nearer to Jesus, our great High Priest, as he intercedes on our behalf (Heb. 4:14-16). There seems to be a sweet closeness with Jesus for those uniquely qualified by pain. I’ve been a Christian for twelve years and have joyfully celebrated Easter every one of those years, but this year I savored Christ’s sufferings in a new way. I was richly comforted by the fact that my Lord had walked the path of pain so that he might become my merciful High Priest before the throne of God. It gave me peace to know that Jesus didn’t only suffer for me, but he also suffered with me.

Think about that—we have a God who left heaven to come alongside us and suffer among us.

3. I have the hope of the resurrection.

Pain has a way of shrinking perspective. It can cause us to fold in on ourselves. We become so obsessed with feeling better (physically or emotionally) that we lose sight of the bigger picture. The gospel reminds us that pain is not the final word for those in Christ—resurrection is! Our ultimate hope is not in this world or in finding temporary healing for our mortal bodies; it is in the re-creation of all things, including our bodies and minds. God did not create us for sickness and pain and mortality. Death and pain came through Adam’s first sin (Gen. 3) and now “in Adam all die” (1 Cor. 15:22). But the gospel declares that Christ defeated Satan, sin, and death and in his resurrection we see the first-fruits of what is to come (1 Cor. 15:20, 23)—a bodily resurrection. The Bible testifies that those “in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Cor. 15:22) on that final day when the “perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality” (1 Cor. 15:54). Christian, this is our greatest hope.

Full redemption is coming!

This doesn’t mean that we don’t do everything within our means to relieve and alleviate severe emotional and physical pain. But to put all of our hope in temporary healing is to lose eternal perspective. There’s greater glory still to come. We must realize that “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us” (Rom. 8:18). Beware of preaching a gospel that is too narrow in its scope. The gospel message isn’t simply “get saved and go to heaven when you die.” Instead, the gospel declares that in Christ God rights all wrongs. He renews all things. A new heaven and a new earth are coming. And on that new earth we will live in our fully redeemed, resurrected, and glorified bodies.

Then, “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Rev. 21:4). That’s what we really desire, isn’t it? We “who have the first-fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Rom. 8:23). There’s a sense in which I have come to see my migraines as my body’s way of groaning for full redemption. Chronic pain and disease and anxiety are all a part of this groaning. This isn’t the way life was supposed to be and our bodies know it. Thus, pain points us forward towards that final day when death will be swallowed up in victory and all things will be made new. In many ways, pain has taught me what it means to cry out with so many saints throughout history, “Come, Lord Jesus!” (Rev. 22:20).

So What Do Migraines Have to Do With the Gospel?

I find that it’s quite easy to believe these gospel truths on a “good day.” But then migraines come and render me powerless. It’s illuminating to see how insecure and anxious I become when I cannot produce. It reveals that much of my confidence comes from my performance and not from Jesus’ finished work. When I cannot physically perform I’m confronted with the dissonance between the theology I affirm and the theology I practice. Consequently, migraines have become one of the means by which God takes my good theology and drives it into my heart. It’s an opportunity, if you will, to really believe the truths that I confess. This certainly isn’t limited to migraines. Maybe you, like me, struggle with chronic physical pain. Or perhaps you have wrestled with panic attacks your whole life. Maybe you have to live with food allergies or suffer from an autoimmune disease. Or possibly you’re battling stage four cancer and all my groaning about migraines seems minor league. Pain and suffering, physical and emotional, come in all sorts of packages. Each person will suffer differently in this lifetime, but in every instance pain presents us with a unique opportunity to believe the glorious truths of the good news of Jesus Christ in a deeper way.

I have found that we can play the woe is me audio all day long (please realize I’m not diminishing the reality of suffering!), which leads to despair and discouragement. Or we can choose to rehearse the gospel to ourselves, which leads to life and godliness. It’s in those raw moments, the ones that are truly beyond our limitations, that we are provided with some of the most fertile soil to plant seeds of gospel truths in our hearts. And it is those seeds that fuel our affections for Christ and supply us with the foundation for a long life of faithfulness. I’m not saying I like migraines, but I am saying if there is anything in this world (including suffering) that can help train my obstinate head and hard heart to better understand what God did for me in Christ during that great exchange on the cross I want to welcome it with my entire being. And so, in that sterile hospital room on Easter’s eve, I chose a different path amidst my pain and preached these truths to myself. As it turns out, come Sunday morning, my heart was more prepared than ever before to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection.

—

Whitney Woollard has served in ministry alongside her husband Neal for over six years. She holds an undergraduate degree in Biblical Studies from Moody Bible Institute and just finished her Master of Arts in Biblical and Theological Studies from Western Seminary. She is passionate about equipping disciples to read and study God’s Word well resulting in maturing affections for Jesus and his gospel message. Neal and Whitney currently live in Portland, OR where they love serving the local church. Follow her on Twitter @whitneywoollard.

Grieving Well

Crisis struck our church body suddenly and without warning. One of our staff members gave birth to her fourth child, only to have that sweet, little life end just a few days later. This sudden loss came as a surprise to everyone. Many in our church body mobilized to surround this family with prayer, meals, and whatever kind of support we could think to provide. My husband and I, who have also suffered the death of a newborn, were uniquely positioned to come alongside this couple with the empathy that is only bought through similar suffering. As we spent time with this couple and their children, we hoped we might bring them some comfort. We also hoped we might be able to help them grieve well. As my husband assisted with planning the graveside memorial service for little Lucy, he asked me if I might be willing to speak at the service, sharing what I learned through our loss. Even though we lost our daughter fifteen years ago, the lessons are still fresh and real. I agreed. Through our loss and subsequent suffering, I learned two valuable truths about God and in that process learned how to grieve well. I share these deeply-learned lessons here so that they will encourage those who grieve as well as those who are called to grieve alongside someone else.

God is God

The first truth I learned through our loss is that God is God. Sounds fairly straightforward, but it’s a difficult truth to grasp in the middle of suffering. When we lost our daughter as a stillbirth, many well-meaning people said many unhelpful things. One person gave us a book that tried to reconcile God’s sovereignty with personal loss and suffering. I took away from that unfortunate gift that God did not have anything to do with my baby’s death. This attempt at comfort ultimately proved flimsy and unsustainable. God didn’t have anything to do with this? Well then, if that’s the case, God might be love, but he is not God.

That interpretation of my suffering wasn’t good enough for me. I couldn’t believe that God had his hands tied and that this loss happened totally outside his jurisdiction. I began to search the Scriptures on my own and pray, begging God to help me make sense of it all. He led me to 1 Peter 5:6, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you.” Studying that verse along with many other passages describing God’s sovereignty led me to this conclusion—God had everything to do with my daughter’s death. He is God. He is absolutely in charge. I can trust this loss didn’t happen apart from him. He allowed her to die for reasons known only to him, because only he is God. He is the one with the mighty hand. My job is to humble myself under it.

God Cares

Left by itself, however, the truth that God is God (and we are not) can leave us feeling resigned at best and bitter at worst. “Great,” we think, “God is God. Where is the comfort in that?” Thankfully, the second truth about God comes fast on the heels of the first. The next verse in 1 Peter 5 tells us “Casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.” God is God, yes. But he is a God who cares for me more than I can ever imagine. That truth is a game-changer. That means that not only can I trust his sovereignty, but I can also trust his character. Because he cares for me, he will never, can never, act in a way contrary to his character. I can trust him to always, always act in a way that is loving. So as I humble myself under his hand, I can relax. This is a good hand I am under. I can trust him.

Learning to Grieve Well

Armed with those two truths about God, I found myself in the position to grieve well. I crawled under the mighty hand of God and stayed there. Though at times tempted to blame a decision made by myself or a doctor, I received the grace to reject that temptation and stay put. “God is God,” I reminded myself. “It is his loving and caring hand I am under.” I also resisted the temptation to run. Escape by numbing myself with food or movies or prescription medication or whatever proved fruitless. I chose to stay under the hand of God and trusted him to lift me up whenever he was ready.

I crouched low, and really, really grieved. I let the emotions come and I let them out. I cried to God and yelled to God and clung to God all at the same time. That’s what you can do with a God who cares. I cast all my anxieties on him like Peter told me to . . .  again and again, throwing in my fears and despair and anguish as well. God took it all. And still I stayed there, crouched low. Grieving. Waiting.

Once my tears began to dry a little, God began to lift me up over the following weeks and months, just as he said he would. I have found as the years have passed since then that during that time I was able to grieve well and fully. I didn’t run from it, but fully gave into it, trusting God throughout the process. There have been other opportunities to grieve since then that I have not handled as well, so I know the difference. That time God gave me the grace to do it well. I humbled myself under God’s hand and trusted him to lift me up. I cast all my anxiety on him, knowing that he cares for me.

The Gift

My husband and I discovered something precious during that difficult time of loss and grief. As we crouched there under his hand, God gave us something irreplaceable: the gift of himself. That could potentially sound cliché until you experience the presence of God in the middle of grief. When our daughter died, I felt the presence of God fill our hospital room in a powerful, almost tangible way. I literally thought about trying to reach out and touch something that I could feel, but couldn’t see. He was that real, that present. We have experienced the deaths of others that we love since that time without that same visceral experience. That’s how I know it was a gift. “God is near to the brokenhearted” (Ps. 34:18), and we, in our broken state, experienced the gift of his nearness that day. Experiencing God’s nearness set us up to grieve well. We knew he was God. And we knew we could trust him.

Grieve Well

If you’re in the middle of grieving, I hope these words point you to the one who is in charge of everything, including your loss and your mind-blowing grief. I encourage you to humble yourself and crawl under the hand of God. Crouch there and grieve well. Let it all out. Trust him to lift you up. While you’re there, cast all your anxiety on him, along with your fear and grief and anger and tears. He cares so much for you. My prayer is that, as you draw near and remain close to him, that he will draw near to you and gift you with his presence. There is no greater gift.

And if you’re called to come alongside someone who is grieving, I hope these words give you some direction in how to speak life-giving truth them. Truth that is sturdy, sustaining, and healing: God is God. He is absolutely in charge, which means you are not suffering randomly or meaninglessly. He has you under the palm of his mighty, protective hand. Remember, though, that you can trust him because he cares for you more than you could ever imagine. His purposes toward you are always love. So stay there. Crouch low. Grieve well. And trust him to lift you up when the time is right. He will be faithful to his word to do this. And you will walk away stronger, blessed with the irreplaceable gift of his presence.

—

Lindsay Powell Fooshee is married to John, a pastor at Redeemer Community Church and church planter with Acts 29. They are raising 3 great kids in East Tennessee. Lindsay holds an M.A. in Christian Thought from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary and blogs regularly at Kitchen Stool.

4 Ways to Love Those with Mental Illnesses

I am one of the many millions of people who suffer from a mental illness. About five years ago, I started having panic attacks. My first one took place when I was out on a date (of  course)! Since then, I have struggled on and off with depression, irrational phobias, and generalized anxiety disorder. No doubt these struggles have been the toughest I have faced thus far in my life. I am the Director of Discipleship at my church in Georgia, and over these past few years I have come to the belief that there is a better way to disciple those who are suffering from a mental illness. I am by no means a mental health expert, but I am going to discuss a few ways in which the church can best love those with mental illnesses.

1. Offer Compassionate Community

People who struggle with mental illness often feel isolated and alone. They do not think anyone who is an “outsider” (someone who doesn’t struggle with a mental illness) will ever be able to comprehend what they are going through. This is why a compassionate community is something extremely important for the church to offer. Those who struggle with any type of mental illness do not want to be treated special or different, but rather they simply want to be a part of the body.

Of course, there are going to be plenty of times when compassion explicitly needs to be presented to those who are suffering from a psychological ailment. The church and its leaders should be willing to go out of its way to provide this care. Many times those who are suffering cannot even put into words what they are going through and so compassionate involvement and care from the church must be present.

2. Present The Gospel Constantly

Those who are struggling through the darkness of mental illness need to be presented with the light of the gospel on a regular basis. There are plenty of times that those suffering with mental ailments just need to continuously and definitively hear the good news that Jesus Christ is sufficient enough and has promised to never leave them nor forsake them. Today, even doctors understand the importance that spirituality plays in healing a psychological illness. For Christians, a combination of medicine and gospel-mediation can help those who are suffering from a mental illness. Full relief might not come, but there is no doubt hearing the gospel on a regular basis is important to a Christian’s health. The good news that Jesus Christ has done everything for our salvation must be presented constantly.

3. Preach Hope Relentlessly

Jesus Christ is our hope (1 Tim 1:1). He is the only one who has promised to be with you to the end of the age (Matt. 28:20). There is no doubt that this message is what must be preached because of how easy it is for the mentally ill to struggle with losing hope. In a world that seems so pitch-black a lot of the time, the church must always remember to present the hopeful light of Jesus. This is a hope that will not relent even when the walls seem to be closing in. It is always important to remind those who are suffering from different kinds of mental illness that one day in the new heavens and new earth all suffering will be gone (Rev. 21:1-4). There will be no more mental illness. Counselors, pastors, and church leaders must share a relentless hope in Jesus Christ. He’s our anchor in this dark world.

4. Understand That You Probably Don’t Understand

Everyone who struggles with a mental illness comes from a different background and has different symptoms they struggle with. One of the most difficult things I have dealt with regarding my mental illness has been effectively communicating to others what exactly I am going through. What has been even more difficult though has been some of the responses and advice people have offered up to me regarding my mental illness.

The naive response of “Just get over it” surprisingly has been  proposed to me numerous times through my struggles. Now, of course, I have taken that advice with a grain of salt. The church must learn that everyone’s struggle is different and that no two situations are exactly alike. There is no doubt that the body of Christ needs to continue to educate itself on the symptoms and struggles of mental illness. However, simple education should not make one feel like they have become a mental health expert. Mental health issues are real and a struggle for many and there is no doubt that sympathy and care triumphs over input and words of wisdom.

This may mean just being present with a friend while they struggle. Even if you do not have the answer, just listening can be encouraging and goes a long way. Being present can sometimes provide more comfort, than our words could ever provide.

A Few Final Thoughts

My mental illness has made me feel secluded and crazy a lot of the time. I started taking medication for my anxiety a little over two years ago and have taken it ever since. There definitely have been seasons of my life that have been better than others, but there is no doubt I consider anxiety to be my thorn in the flesh (2 Cor. 12:7). I have seen counselors and have tried to seek console in the Word of God, but life has just been hard. I have had trouble being in a healthy relationship with a woman because of my anxiety and I have struggled preaching to my congregation because of panic attacks. Mental illness has won the battle plenty of times in my life.

It is time to face the fact that there are millions of people who struggle with mental illness and the church must rise up and disciple them. Jesus Christ is greater than any mental illness and even though anxiety wins many of battles, I always remember that Jesus Christ has already won the war. We will be raised up. We will have new creation bodies. We will not suffer forever. He is the resurrection and life.

—

Matt Manry is the Director of Discipleship at Life Bible Church in Canton, Georgia. He is a student at Reformed Theological Seminary and Knox Theological Seminary. He also works on the editorial team for Credo Magazine and Gospel-Centered Discipleship. He blogs regularly at gospelglory.net.

8 Ways to Comfort the Suffering

I have officiated over forty funerals ranging from suicides to infants. I have buried the young and the old. I have sat in hospitals with the dying as well as in prisons with those who have taken life. For the last two years, I have walked with my Resplendent Bride as she has suffered through Lymphoma, Leukemia, and, as of twenty-two days ago, a bone marrow transplant. With one addled brained banality I hope to forever clinch my claim to the title of “Captain Obvious” by opening an article on how to disciple a member of the fellowship of the suffering with this astute observation: “People suffer differently.” So the process of discipling them through their pain will look different depending upon the person you are walking through the shadow lands with. People suffer differently. People are soothed differently. The goal of discipleship in the midst of suffering must be comfort in Christ, for the closer we walk with the Lord Jesus the more we see a small portion of the massive burden he always carries on our behalf.  Surely the Lord Jesus walks with us through the feasts and the famines (Ps. 23).

Here are some lessons I have learned since joining the fellowship of suffering.

1. Show up.

Saying the wrong thing is a moot point if you don’ t show up at all. Do you know what is worse than saying the wrong thing? People feeling like you have abandoned them in their darkest hour. The elders of the church I have the honor of shepherding all agree on this truth when it comes to visitation: It’s trepidation followed by relief.  For many visitation is trepidation followed by feeling silly because it wasn’t that bad at all. Solidarity with the suffering requires presence. Show up. Send a text. Dial a number. Mail a care package.

Partner—GCD—450x300

Show up even if you have to take a road trip to do so. As our society becomes more and more transient we find that people appear in our inner orbit for a minute only to show up in our outer orbit moments later. We hear of this or that tragedy, but they live way over there. If only there was something we could do. We feel sad about it for a few minutes and quickly move on to planning our up coming trip to the big gospel shindig where we’re going to fellowship with a bunch of brothers over how awesome it is to serve the one true living God. . .

We’ll go miles and miles for fun, while ignoring the shut in next door.  My Resplendent Bride moved from St. Louis to the small town near Omaha I pastor in. Her pastor from St. Louis has visited three times over the last two years. One time he stopped on the way to Sturgis. Another time he brought up my Resplendent Bride’s father (who has a long history with brain tumors and can no longer drive long distances) with a trunk load of Christmas presents from his church. That’s a pastor.

Riddle me this:

How far would you travel if you were invited to speak at a conference?

How far would you travel for the silent invite of a member of the fellowship of the suffering?

I don’t like the answer I see in my heart either.  Show up.

2. Bring Communion.

Bring the Bread. Bring the Cup. Bring them to the hospital room. Bring them to the empty, desolate house of mourning. Bring them to the hospice. Bring them to the nursing home. Bring them. Break bread with those who suffer.

Read Scriptures together and point them to Christ throughout (Lk. 24:27). Pray, confess sin, and partake together. Remember Christ as he commands us to remember him, for in doing so the sufferer will remember that Christ remembers them in the midst of their plight. If you belong to a tradition that has legislated only certain individuals handle the Lord’s Supper: gently remind certain individuals of their beautiful privilege.

3. Get Vaccinated.

If your doctor does not want you to get a flu shot because, say, you are pregnant, then by all means decline the flu shot. If, on the other well manicured hand, you are a man who fears needles or a sore arm I would humbly ask you to reconsider your position.

Many of those whom suffer are also immunocompromised. Many senior saints languishing in loneliness at the local nursing home have weakened immune systems. People undergoing chemo have weakened immune systems.

Don’t take your Typhoid Mary self to the hospital to go “love on people” if you haven’t gotten a flu shot. And whatever you do: don’t scoff at a suffering saint for following doctor’s orders.

4. Don’t Say Things You Don’t Really Mean.

Don’t say, “I’ll be praying for you” if you are not actually going to pray for a suffering saint. The phrase “I’ll be praying for you” exists to convey to a suffering saint that you are indeed remembering them before the God of all comfort. The phrase does not exist to make you look good. If you catch yourself typing “I’ll be praying for you” on social media consider praying before you type the infamous phrase.

In the same vein: refrain from saying, “If you ever need anything, and I mean ANYTHING, don’t hesitate to ask” to a person suffering if you are not willing to do absolutely anything. Suffering is not on a schedule. Sometimes it's a late night phone call, or a last minute meal. Sometimes a shoulder to cry on. If you offer anything, be ready and willing.

5. Talk About Things That Don’t Matter.

Sometimes what a person needs is to be reminded of the world of the living. The suffering saint is often consumed by their suffering. Talking about your child’s messy trip to Dairy Queen may be a most welcomed distraction. Talking about normal, everyday life can be balm to the soul for a member of the fellowship of the suffering. Talking about the mundane normalacy many take for granted can give hope to the suffering saint that they might enjoy such things again.

Make them laugh, unless they have stitches.

A word of caution: remember our overarching truth that people suffer differently. A suffering saint may well wonder, “Why is this person talking about their mush brained dog while I have the weight of the world weighing down on me? How rude.” Know the situation. Know when silence may be needed.

6. Talk About Things That Do Matter.

Did the Lord Jesus move to a pizzeria and not tell me? I do not jest. Did the Lord Jesus switch up the apocalypse and return as a barista? Because there is an entire school of thought out there that can be boiled down to: Get the suffering saint around good food. Cry all over them.

Suffering saints need you to lovingly bring their attention back to the promises of the Lord Jesus. He ordains this to be done with words. D.A. Carson rightly observes this of Job’s friends:

“In the custom of the day, they display their distress by crying loudly, tearing their robes, and sprinkling dust on their heads.  And then they do the wisest thing they could have done, certainly much wiser than all the speeches they will shortly deliver; for seven days and seven nights they keep silence, awed by the depths of Job’s misery.” (How Long, O Lord? p. 137)

Yes, Romans 12:15 says, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” By all means weep with the heart broken, but while you weep speak words of solace through your sobs.

John 11:35 does read, “Jesus Wept.” Yet John 11:25 precedes it with “Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies.'” And, John 11:43 follows it with, “Lazarus come forth.”

Additionally, it is a worthy goal in the midst of all the weeping to not weep so much as to cause the one suffering to feel such pity for your distress that the roles of mourner and comforter need be reversed.

7. Yes to Romans 8:28, but No! to idle speculation.

Ah, yes, our mutual friend Romans 8:28, “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”

Is God causing all things to work together for good? Yes. God is absolutely working out all things for good.

Do you know how? No. But, why not speculate that the reason God gave the cancer patient cancer is to be a great witness to the medical staff?

Why is this poor form? Piled on top of a person already in immense physical pain from cancer is the eternal destiny of the entire medical staff: doctor, resident, nutritionist, care coordinator, mid level, nurse, tech, house keeper, house keeping survey collector, murse, trash man, sharps collector.

“No pressure, and, feel better!”

The connotation is, “God’s working it all out, but it’s all dependent on you maintaining a cheery disposition during the most painful days of your life.” God is working out all things according to his plan and he will as sure as he lives bring good out of evil situations. I for one can’t wait to look back from the vantage point of eternity and see how our God orchestrated it all. But until that day much theory is idle speculation.

It also matters who is quoting Romans 8 and why. The “all things” of Romans 8 are brutish bloody things. We do not breezily quote Romans 8 at a suffering soul as if to say, “Get over it; don’t worry be happy!”

When the saint who has been in a scrap or two quotes Romans 8 there is a look in their eyes when they get to the “all things” part. The haunted hunted kind of look. The look is recognizable to all the fellowship of the suffering.

Others seem to quote Romans 8 as if to skip over or negate the “all things,” because their version of Christianity is a painless glossy kind of Christianity. The same verse coming from two different people can cause either comfort or rolled eyes.

I asked my Resplendent Bride what should go in this article, and this was one of her main suggestions. She felt that there were some whom used the Bible to dismiss the validity of suffering because they were the type of Christians who didn’t like to think about it.

8. Don’t blame the suffering saint for their suffering.

Job’s friends famously blamed Job for his suffering. Job must have done something wrong, right? How does such a blessed man fall into such disrepair if he is not being punished by the divine? If Job’s friends were around today they’d be quoting James 5:16b, “the effective prayer of a righteous man accomplish much.” When a person is first diagnosed, folks come out of the woodwork quoting James 5, carrying little bottles of oil; ready to anoint and pray for anything that moves.

However, should the illness linger, the sin hounds all come a sniffing. You see, the prayers of a righteous man accomplishes much, “Are you not righteous?” they say. Little attention is given to the fact that in James 5 the party praying is not the afflicted, but the elders.

The Bible does talk about God judging his errant children in the flesh. Ananias and Sapphira were struck down by the Lord for their sin in Acts 5. The assembly at Corinth suffered from sickness and death because they partook of the Lord’s Supper in an unworthy fashion (1 Cor. 11:27-30).  Hebrews 12 talks about God the Father disciplining his children.

Yet in my visits to the hospital over the years I cannot with confidence say that this or that person was being judged for sin. I would caution the Christian to not rush to premature conclusions because to do so wrongly is the epitome of being judgmental.  Such a casual suggestion could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Rather, we are to always have the gospel message, “Repent for the Kingdom of God is near” on our lips.

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Evan Welcher is senior pastor of First Christian Church in Glenwood, Iowa. Husband of the lovely Danielle. Evan graduated with a B.S. in Bible from Emmaus Bible College in 2005. His goal in ministry is to stir up love for Jesus Christ by the giving of great care and fidelity to the teaching of the Scriptures. He blogs at EvanWelcher.com. Follow him on Twitter: @EvanWelcher

[Editor’s note: Evan requested I share with the readers that Danielle, his resplendent bride, died and saw her Savior May 3, 2014]

9 Ways to Battle the Darkness

I know from personal experience the difficulty of battling depression, condemnation, and anxiety. The fight can take many forms, ranging from legalism to thoughts of suicide. Whatever the case, it is all overwhelming. I love Jesus and he loves me. But I have struggled with fear, anxiety, condemnation, and even depression my whole Christian life. I actually struggled so much with these issues that I had to resign from my first pastorate. I wasn't eating, I couldn't get out of bed, I was having demonic nightmares, and I was thinking about suicide. I'm not out of the woods yet, but I have learned a few things in going through these struggles about God's grace despite our failures to trust him.

Though each of us faces unique circumstances, here are a few lessons I have learned that I pray will help as you, too, battle depression, condemnation and anxiety.

1. Look to Jesus.

It’s tempting to believe that what you need is to find more answers or to “do better,” or to get yourself out of depression by sheer human effort. But what you need to do is rest in Jesus and his finished work. His job is to deliver you; your job is to rest in him. His yoke is easy, and his burden is light. He wants you to rest, allowing him to fight the battle for you, through you and with you. Don’t run to legalism. Run to the Savior who will deliver you when you can’t deliver yourself.

2. Worship.

Set aside time once a week to worship the Lord through music. Anxiety and depression focus your eyes on yourself, as the enemy wants you to focus on anything except Jesus. Worship focuses your eyes on Jesus. Don’t feel as though you have to “get your worship right.” If you don’t feel like singing or your thoughts feel very confused, then just listen to the music. Let God minister to you. You might even set up “worship nights” where you ask a few friends to come over and worship with you and pray for you.

3. Be around community.

The enemy prowls around like a roaring lion seeking someone to devour. Just as a lion wants a gazelle to step away from the herd to destroy it, so the enemy wants you away from people so he can destroy you. When you are facing anxiety, depression and condemnation, being by yourself is extremely difficult. Being alone too long can send you into “self-destruct mode,” and your thoughts can seem to “own you.” Being around people provides a source of community and helps you from keeping your thoughts on you.

4. Don’t answer the “broken record” questions in your head.

“Maybe I’m not really saved.” “Maybe God doesn’t love me.” “I need to clean up this area of my life before God will save me.” Anxiety and depression feed on a pattern of asking the same questions over and over, even if we’ve already answered them satisfactorily. It can feel like, as one man put it, “Vietnam is going on in my head.” Taking thoughts captive is not just a practice for issues like lust or anger. Taking thoughts captive sometimes means not answering the questions or condemning thoughts that pop into your head at all.

5. Talk to God more than you think about him.

God is a person who exists in reality outside of your mind. It is helpful to remember that he understands everything and, unlike you, is not stressed. He is absolutely confident in himself and his ability to save you. Rather than making God a puzzle to solve, remember he is a person. Talk to him. Don’t just think about him.

6. Realize that perfect faith is not required.

Don’t penalize yourself for lacking faith. The opposite of faith is not doubt; it is disobedience. Our faith has never been and will never be perfect this side of eternity. It is okay to have faith the size of a mustard seed and to cry out to Jesus, “I believe. Help my unbelief” (Mk 9:24).

7. Serve.

Service gets our eyes off of ourselves and onto others. Find a ministry that needs help in tangible ways and set aside time to serve. Think hard about the needs in your own home that you could focus on meeting. Are there household chores, child care tasks or maintenance projects you could take on for the sake of serving your family? Who in your neighborhood or community could use your help with a project or cause? Look for ways to shift self-focus through service to others.

8. Meditate on Scripture.

When you’re battling anxiety and depression, your tendency will be to read the Bible looking for everything that is condemning, ignoring the rest. Make a list of verses that point you toward hope and God’s love. Make a list of verses that celebrate grace. Make a conscious decision to approach Scripture through the lens of God’s love and grace rather than his judgment. Ask a trusted friend or mentor to help guide you toward reading that will edify.

9. Get counseling.

You need an outside perspective on what you’re going through. Whether it is at Recovery Groups or at a biblical counselor’s office (biblical counseling versus generic “Christian counseling”), it is helpful to get advice from godly pastors and counselors to help you navigate the path to wellness.

Battling depression, condemnation, and anxiety requires you to embrace a number of reversals: Resting instead of striving. Grace instead of works. Asking instead of doing. It also requires a tremendous amount of patience. God is determined not to allow you to remain in the shadowy valley of worried, anxious Christianity, desiring instead that you would rest in gracious, peaceful Christianity. I know firsthand that he is able to lift your shadows and restore your soul.

Take hope that he remains faithful when we are faithless, for he cannot deny himself (2 Tim. 2:13).

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Zach Lee is Associate Home Groups Minister at The Village Church and is married to Katy.  Follow him on Twitter: @zacharytlee.

[© 2014 The Village Church, Flower Mound, Texas. All rights reserved. Used by permission. Adapted from “9 Ways to Battle Depression, Condemnation and Anxiety.”]