craving, conversion, confidence

"Once we had no delight in God, and Christ was just a vague historical figure.  What we enjoyed was food and friendships and productivity and investments and vacations and hobbies and games and reading and shopping and sex and sports and art and TV and travel ... but not God.  He was an idea - even a good one - and a topic for discussion; but he was not a treasure or delight. 

Then something miraculous happened.. First the stunned silence before the unspeakable beauty of holiness.  Then the shock and terror that we had actually loved the darkness.  Then the settling stillness of joy that this [experience of holiness] is the soul's end.  The quest is over ... And then faith that if I come to God through Christ, He will give me the desire of my heart to share His holiness and behold His glory.  But before the confidence comes the craving.  Before the decision comes delight." 

~ John Piper, Desiring God, p. 71-72

I've lived most of my life in that first scenario, simply "believing" in and talking about the idea of God.  I thought, and had been taught, that conversion to following Christ only involved that last step - "faith .. coming to God .. confidence ... decision" - however you say it.  I never realized until last fall that faith was a reaction.  And it's not a reaction only to my poorly-placed love; it's first a reaction to God revealing His unspeakable beauty and holiness, the light by which I am even able to recognize that my love was misplaced.

canine christianity

A discussion of freewill through analogy to two classes of animals

“Be not like horse or mule, without understanding, which must be curbed by a bit or bridle, or it will not stay near you.” 

(Psalm 32:9) 

Who are we without God?  This passage describes us – we run from good.  That means we are sinners.  It doesn’t end, “or it may not stay near you.”  There is no question that, if unleashed, we will not choose to continue to serve.  I once heard John Piper call this a “moral inability,” similar to when we say we “can’t get out of bed in the morning;” sure, we may have the technical ability to do so, but ten out of ten times, we won’t.   If you let a workhorse out of its yoke, it will not continue to work of its own volition.  Similarly, our will is not free; we will choose the selfish path every time.  Sure, we can disobey God’s commands; in fact, that’s all we can do without his help and provision. 

So how does he help?  God’s initial response was to give us the law as a bit or bridle.  We – as shown in the type of the first Adam – were essentially supposed to run this beautiful estate he had created.  We messed up, and became the workhorses of the estate, and eventually slaves of another kingdom (Egypt).   To teach and enable us to be of use again on his estate, he gave us the Mosaic law.  We broke bit and bridle, and jumped the fence. 

God’s second response was to change our identity.  He reset our role through a second Adam (Jesus) who instead of merely serving on the estate was in fact a son.  Through him, we too became part of the household.  Instead of workhorses, we’re more like dogs – part of the family.  This comparison of Christianity to canines can show us several things:

(1) Our will is still not free.  If you let a dog off its leash or out of the yard, it will run away or wander off, guaranteed.

(2) We are driven by God’s grace rather than his punishment.  Even when dogs wander off, they tend to return eventually for meals.  God softens our hearts through love and grace rather than the force of the bit and bridle.  God has cultivated dependence in his people based on grace. 

(3) We don’t have to perform to merit his love.  Because this is an identity change, our lifestyle is an outflow rather than a prerequisite.  As my friend Sean Brown puts it, “A dog barks because he is a dog, not to prove he is a dog.”  (He may have stolen this, but I wouldn’t know where from, so he gets the credit for now)

Our goal is to not need the bit-n-bridle of the law because it has become our nature; instead of answering to the family’s standard, we have been adopted into the family. 

"how this grace thing works"

"Darkness is a harsh term don’t you think?  

And yet it dominates the things I see 

It seems that all my bridges have been burned 

But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works 

It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart 

But the welcome I receive with the restart"

~ Mumford & Sons, "Roll Away Your Stone" ~

HT: "Here are a few extra"

Admit everything.  Martin Luther's version of spiritual warfare that I've heard Ray quote several times.  Taken from Ray Orland's blog (31 July):

"When I go to bed, the devil is always waiting for me.  When he begins to plague me, I give him this answer: ‘Devil, I must sleep.  That’s God’s command — work by day, sleep by night.  So go away.’  If that doesn’t work and he brings out a catalog of sins, I say, ‘Yes, old fellow, I know all about it.  And I know some more you have overlooked.  Here are a few extra.  Put them down.’  If he still won’t quit and presses me hard and accuses me as a sinner, I scorn him and say, ‘St. Satan, pray for me.  Of course, you have never done anything wrong in your life.  You alone are holy.  Go to God and get grace for yourself.  If you want to get me all straightened out, I say, Physician, heal thyself.’”
Martin Luther, quoted in Roland Bainton, Here I Stand (New York, 1950), page 362.

Christmas in July

a day late - well, really a week late - but still worth the thought...
... after all, incarnation is not merely something that happened once a few thousand years ago, and we shouldn't think about it just once a year.

"[the Incarnation] is so particular it staggers the imagination.  God found a specific place and time where His love would touch our world.  Prayer too is a moment of incarnation - God with us, God involved in the details of my life."
~ Paul Miller, A Praying Life, p. 125

leaves of crabgrass

“There is not one little blade of grass, there is no color in this world, that is not intended to make men rejoice.” ~ John Calvin 

I hate crabgrass.  I came back from vacation last week to find two of my flower beds completely consumed by it.  I spent a few hours ripping it out with Abby (my wife), only to find that it has already started to come back in a few places this week.  As Abby noted after hour one of pulling crabgrass, "I'm becoming increasingly sure that crabgrass was a result of the Fall."  Though she may have said it with a slight tinge of humor, as I thought about it, I found the idea profound.  Even crabgrass is meant to be a reminder of Christ in a fallen world, helping me rejoice (literally find joy again) as it reminds me of two things:

1)  The futility of labor.  The curse of man after the Fall was not that we had to work, but that human work would be futile.  Hence the second law of thermodynamics (sort of); no matter what I create or work for, it begins to fall apart the minute I am finished.  No matter how often I pull the crabgrass, more weeds will ultimately grow (probably even the same crabgrass, because those roots are a pain in the ass to pull.  And an even bigger pain in my hands. and back. anyways...)  Futile work reminds me that life is about more than what I've done or do, and in doing so gives an exciting view on work that frees me to rejoice in it (more on this next post).  But futility by itself could also just be depressing, except that it points me to ...

2)  God's ultimate redemption of creation.  Not his re-creation, ditching it all and starting over again, but his redemption of existing creation.  For example, God didn't make cities, he made a garden, but the kingdom of the second coming is described as a city - the redemption and perfection of a human construct.  And crabgrass is a microcosm of this miracle; even as I redeem the garden each week in part, He will redeem it fully.  Moreover, just as I redeem the garden repeatedly, so he continues to redeem me even as I continue to mess up, and will eventually redeem me fully too.  Thus, every glimpse of perfection, every hint of beauty serves as a type and reminder for God's redemption of imperfect creation - and therefore should make us rejoice.

I think Walt Whitman's work on Leaves of Grass is a great illustration of these ideas.  The title itself is meant to be ironic; publishers in that day often called minor works "grass," yet he meant it to be his magnum opus.  This a great illustration on the futility of our work, but it gets even better.  He was continually republishing the work, a total of eight times, as he continued to rework it and make it better, not finding it complete - or redeemed - until his deathbed.  His account of it makes a great description for the work of redemption in our lives:

"Leaves of Grass at last complete—after 33 y'rs of hackling at it, all times & moods of my life, fair weather & foul, all parts of the land, and peace & war, young & old."    

Walt Whitman in a letter to a friend in 1891 (quoted in David Reynolds Walt Whitman's America, p586)

blowin' in the wind

"If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God who gives generously ... But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind." (James 1:5-6)

"Anxiety.  Instead of connecting with God, our spirits fly around like severed power lines, destroying everything they touch."  (Miller, A Praying Life, p70) Coming off a very restful vacation, I'm wondering why life can't always be this relaxed?  Why, as Dylan suggests, is life laced with so many worries - wars, slavery, ignorance, complicity - that leave us feeling wind-tossed?  Why does it seem that I more often encounter James's storm-tossed seas than still waters?  As I reflect, I think the biggest difference is that I refuse to engage with the realities of life while on vacation; I take a break from planning and control.  And therefore I'm not anxious.

I think James is addressing this anxiety here in the word "doubt."  I've often heard this passage interpreted as a critique of intellectual uncertainty, but I find it hard to believe that questioning is bad; Jesus consistently criticized the religious people who "knew it all" and rewarded those who were honestly seeking.

Rather, James is addressing our response to chaos.  I love the image of a wave-tossed ship; the metaphor extends to describe my response to chaos.  When I see storms coming, I act like a salty 18th-century captain and lash myself to the ship's mast, so that I can continue to steer; I try to retain as much control as possible.  The result? Although I feel more secure, the reality is that I am still tossed around with the ship; I'm still "blowin in the wind."  Far better to find land, something that will not move with the storm, the "rock of our salvation."  It's hard to abandon ship, but those who seek to save their ship will lose it, and those who abandon it for Christ will save it ... or something like that.  How?

"We cling to our Father in the face of chaos by continually praying.  Because we know we don't have control, we cry out for grace." (Paul Miller, A Praying Life, p. 70)