A Lion in the Streets

“The sluggard says, ‘There is a lion in the road!  There is a lion in the streets!’” (Proverbs 26:13)

We might imagine the sluggard rolling over in bed, propping himself on an elbow, drawing-up the mini blind, and surveying the lion population outside his bedroom window.  Happy to have spotted one, the slouch closes the blind and hinges over, evidently convinced, though with a tinge of guilt, that the lion’s presence in the streets—in his office chair or at his job-site—justifies his laziness.   

      In reality, however, no lion exists.  The lion is either in its den (Psalm 104:21-23) or out of town.  Lions sought not the company of soldiers, businessmen, and common people in the streets, and in the rare event that a lion was in the streets, it would not have roamed there for long.  What, then, is the lion to a sluggard?  The lion represents any excuse with which a sluggard justifies his laziness.  So, at the epicenter of this proverb’s earthquake are all persons who use sweat, hard work, burdensome toil, painful exertion, or, what we moderns’ call, “Blood, sweat, and tears” to justify their laziness.  Since work involves pain, the sluggard deems work optional at best, and to be avoided if possible, as much as possible. 

      Christianity exposes the sluggard’s life for what it really is: a denial of reality; an infantile fantasy; a childish hope for a yellow brick road without the western woman.  To be sure, there is an element of truth in the sluggard’s dream world.  Work should not have to be toilsome; everyone agrees.  But reality says work is toilsome, and all Christians should know this.  Since Christianity is the only religion of reality, it follows that it is the only religion which accurately explains reality, and one of its guarantees about the daily grind is “By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread” (Gen. 3:19).  Reality’s check: sin replaced the Garden’s heavenly labor with an aspect of hell: psychological, physical, and emotional sweat.  

      We should momentarily gaze at the one Man who knows this sweat better than we.  I consider it no coincidence that the promises God made to sinful Adam concerning the ground, pain, sweat, and bread (Gen. 3:17-19) converged when the Bread of Life sweated, in pain, on the ground (Luke 22:44).  As Jesus agonized over our redemption, Adam’s Garden-curse became Jesus’ Garden-reality.  Salty water, repugnant to the slouch, streamed down Jesus’ face; the sweat so many eschew dripped off Jesus’ bowed head; the same beads we expel under intense physical labor Jesus expelled on our behalf.  If anyone has felt the curse of Genesis 3, and if anyone has known the tiresome pain of redemption’s work, it is Jesus.  Oh, dear Christian, if only we would follow Jesus up Redemption’s hill in Simon of Cyrene’s  shoes, then would our hearts melt and our laziness be cured.  What Simon thought as he walked behind Jesus and watched His shaky legs lumber His weary body up the mountain, we cannot know, but what Jesus thought we can know.  Jesus knew that if ever there were to be living bread available for the hungry, He must need sweat to provide it.  And sweat He did, for us, all the way until death.  Redemption is hard work; Jesus’ could feel it in His body; you will feel it too.    

Days All Alike

“Say not, ‘Why were the former days better than these?’  For it is not from wisdom that you ask this” (Ecclesiastes 7:10).

Although there is nothing new under the sun (Eccl. 1:9), and, that which is, already has been (Eccl. 3:15), every generation has what Martin Luther called its “glorifiers of times past.”   

      To which former days shall we return for the better?  To the days of Noah when all mocked his preaching and perished in the flood?  To the days of Moses when all Israel wanted to stone him?  To the days of King David when a passing pleasure meant more to the church’s earthly leader than serving God?  To the days of King Solomon when he had the world’s riches at his disposal and labeled them vanity of vanities?  To the days of Assyrian or Babylonian exile?  To the days of Jesus Christ when the church rejected her Savior?  How about to the recent days past in our country: to the mid-1800’s when American prostitution was rampant and its corollary, abortion, was performed more times per capita than today?  Or shall we return to the 1860’s when siblings sighted-in each other over slavery—racism, greed, control, convenience?  Shall we say that the Industrial Revolution which dragged fathers away from their children, the Great Depression, the 20^th century wars, the annihilation of image-bearers via detonation of atomic bombs, the anti-authority revolution of the 1960’s and its deleterious effects, or the presidential sex-scandal and similar congressional scandals were better than today?      

      The Preacher says “Say not”, for it is lack of wisdom which encourages worship of by-gone calendars, and it is lack of faith which compels a man to resurrect yesterday in the hopes of improving today.  The former days were not better than these, says the Preacher, and if in some respects they were, in others they were not.  What we need, then, is a history lesson from wisdom’s perspective.     

      Since yesterday, Jesus’ church has increased, one more day has been checked-off on the calendar of His Coming, God has rejoiced at another saint’s funeral, heaven has sung the “Born Again” ditty one more time, and a saint has conquered another sin in his/her life by Grace.  Since yesterday, God has advanced His kingdom both around the world and in us.  Who would say that yesterday’s sins were better than today’s?  Has the human heart changed, or is it still deceitful above all things and desperately wicked?   

      Soon enough a generation will say the former days of 2010 were better, and if we live long enough to hear such, or, if our memory fades and we say it, the foolishness of worshipping former days will become apparent.     

      No former, present, or future days will be better than seeing God face to face.  And on that Last Day, not a single Christian will attempt the repetition of Eccl. 7:10, for in clarity we will confess that the former days of life on earth, or what we remember of them, were worse.  Seeing God is better by far. 

Wisdom’s Word-Control

“A fool gives full vent to his spirit, but a wise man quietly holds it back” (Proverbs 29:11)   

(Part 1)

There dwells in the inner being of each person a word-source.  The proverb calls the source “the spirit”; Jesus calls it the heart (Matt. 12:34).  Both mean simply that words originate inside us, and all which our mouths express without is but a manifestation of that which exists within.  No matter, then, whether a person is foolish or wise, words spoken by the mouth come from the spirit/heart. 

      What distinguishes the foolish person from the wise is the check-valve between the heart and the mouth.  For the fool, no such valve exists—everything which enters his heart exits his mouth.  For the wise, such a check-valve is in good repair, frequently springing into action and producing silence of mouth despite thunder in heart.   

      What is fascinating to consider about Jesus is that He never retracted or amended anything He spoke.  It is as though He spoke exactly that which He meant to speak, no more and no less, which, if true, means that His self-disclosing words to Caiaphas (Matt. 26:64) were precise, and His silence at the soldiers’ jeers and blows was intentional (Luke 22:63).  It means that during round-one before Pilate, He planned only 2 words (Luke 23:3), and before Herod He planned silence (Luke 23:9), and in round-two with Pilate Jesus said exactly what He wanted to say in response to His accusers (Matt. 27:14).  So unusual was Jesus’ silence that Pilate was “greatly amazed.”  Apparently the usual custom for Roman prisoners on trial was a frenetic defense, or at least a verbalized one; but from Jesus there was quiet. 

      How could He remain quiet?  How could He not give full vent to His spirit when His very life hung in the balance?  Was Jesus unaware that crucifixion waited?  No, Jesus was aware.  He knew the crowd’s “Crucify Him!” was more than a mob-mentality turned against Him; He knew they really wanted it.  But the real question is whether or not we are aware.  Do we realize that Jesus desired crucifixion?  Can we not see that all Jesus’ words on trial were tailored to fit His body to the Tree?  He wanted the Cross.  And if that is the case, then could it be that Jesus was carefully managing His trial, and so long as events proceeded toward the Cross, He remained silent, and only when His movement toward the Cross slowed He spoke?  Yes!  That is precisely what could have been, and was indeed.  Simply stated, Jesus quietly orchestrated the Cross because crucifixion was His heart’s desire.  How do we know?  “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matt. 12:34).  If it is true of Jesus that out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks, and it is true of Him, then Jesus’ every word which propelled Him Cross-ward originated from the abundance of His heart!  You know what that means for those for whom He died?  It means His heart was so overwhelmingly set on them, that He quietly spoke His way into crucifixion and silently restrained that which may have exonerated Himself.  Jesus needed no check valve; His heart was set on our redemption, His mouth followed.         

(Part 2)

Having noticed that Jesus’ every word spoken on trial was tailor-made to hang Him on the Tree, and having heard the accompanying gospel note that since His words came out of the abundance of His heart, therefore, His love for us caused Him to desire the Cross for our sakes, we now note some applications. 

      The path of personal application has two steps.  First, we need to realize that our hearts are not Jesus’ heart, so, though Jesus needed no check valve between His heart and mouth, we do; His heart was pure, ours are not.  Second, having come to grips with our filthy hearts, we need discernment concerning the worthiness of our speech.  Without discernment, full vent or no vent is inevitable and inevitably destructive; with it, we become wise. 

      Seeking wise-dom, then, two myths need expelling.  The first myth says angry-hearted folks should vent frequently; such frequenting will prevent a nuclear-size, full-vent episode.  The second myth says we should be silent all the time, never speaking what is on our hearts, since, what is in our hearts is desperately wicked and deceitful (Jer. 9).  However, both myths make the check-valve inoperable.  The first myth holds the check-valve open, ensuring that massive pressure never builds, and so, though venting is frequent, it is not colossal.  The second myth seeks solution by welding the check-valve closed, ensuring that no pressure will escape and that the person’s heart will sooner explode than a vented word will leave the mouth.  Neither myth is correct; either of both is our psychological default.

      The wise Christian does not weld the check-valve either open or closed, but oils it, hones it, and, over time, learns its effective use.  Before a wise Christian speaks, he pre-speaks the words into his internal ears, examines the words, deciphers their edification (or lack thereof), and either speaks audibly or falls quiet accordingly.  The Bible calls such a one “wise”, because, caring not what his mouth can do for himself but only what his mouth can do for God and others, he closes the check-valve until he is convinced the forthcoming words will impart grace.  We might call this “Discernment” or “Sound judgment,” others, “Sensitivity.”  The Bible calls it wisdom. 

      The foolish Christian, on the other hand, because he cares not about edification or conferring grace to his hearers, has no internal methodology for pre-speaking.  Thus, every self-centered, self-building, and self-focused word spews forth uncontrollably from his mouth.

      What are a Christian’s criteria for determining wise speech from unwise speech?  What are the criteria for opening or closing the check-valve?  Simple: “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear” (Ephesians 4:29); i.e., incorrupt, up-building, fitting, gracious; further: other-centered, other-building, other-focused; farther: God-centered, God-glorifying, God-focused.  In short, absence of self!

      Tired of using your speech to glorify yourself?  God is tired of it too, so much so that He sent His Son to earth so that, for the first time in human history, He could hear a Man use His tongue for the salvation of others and the glory of God.  When that changes our hearts, our mouths will gladly follow.   

“Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox” (Proverbs 14:4)

(Part 1)

Oxen were the tractors, semi-trucks, and pickups of Solomon’s day.  They pulled field implements to break up the ground for planting, they were hitched to large stones used to tread out the harvest grain, and, though they primarily pulled, they periodically needed a pull out of wells and pits, much the same way that tractors and pickups sometimes need a pull out of the ditch.  Oh, and one more thing, oxen were messy.      

      The proverb presents two scenarios.  The first scenario envisions a manure-free, mess-free, hassle-free farm, with no impending chores, no dirty shovels, no sore backs, callous-free hands, and no income.  The second scenario portrays lots of income, full grain bins, and shiny implements, but with calloused hands, pained sides, sore feet, dirty shovels, looming chores, constant hassles, much manure, and dirty feed-bunks needing replenishment.  The former scenario is convenient but unproductive; the second scenario productive but inconvenient.  The ideal is both a clean farm and a productive farm, but the choice is either a clean farm or a productive farm.      

      God not only wrote this proverb, He lived it.  In Genesis 1 & 2 God had both a clean and a productive farm, but after Adam and Eve sinned, He too, so to speak, decided between clean and productive.  God could have cleaned up the creation-farm, sold the oxen, and wiped His hands of abundant crops—He doesn’t need crops.  But God desired crops, and if the new heavens and earth filled with saints can be compared to abundant crops, then God is this proverb’s farmer who decided to put up with our mess in order to save us.  God chose the inconvenience of messy oxen over the convenience of a clean farm.

      In Jesus Christ, God entered into the feedlot of our sinful, agricultural mess.  He not only entered into our mess by becoming a man of sorrows acquainted with our dirty grief, He also took upon Himself our manure piles, dung-infested infirmities, and muddy sorrows.  And as if that wasn’t enough, He carried our droppings all the way to the Cross, and paid for every sinful stench.     

      God wants abundant crops.  He could have cleaned up His farm by ridding it of oxen, but He chose instead the Son-forsaking work of holed-hands, a pierced side, and sore feet.  That is how much God loves you.  We the mess-makers; He the inconvenienced farmer, constantly following us around, cleaning up our sinful messes, and creating a beautiful heaven with messy oxen. 

(Part 2)

Last week we noticed how this proverb finds fulfillment in Christ.  Today we remark on its application to us.  This proverb militates against a life of oversimplification, excessive orderliness, self-centered convenience, and idealism.  Why?  Because what they all have in common—fruitlessness and non-productivity—is unacceptable.  Simply put, because Jesus Christ incarnated into our sinful mess in order to produce a triumphant church, Christians must willingly undergo life's mess for the sake of productive living.

      Straightaway, the proverb speaks to gainful employment.  Gainful employment is often accompanied by the “mess” of short conversations, "getting down to business quickly", tiredness, ordinariness, and even mediocrity.  To be sure, everyone loves some form of idealistic employment—long vacations, great pay, always on top of our game, perfect products, impressive service—but productivity in our employment must necessarily give regular way to the filthiness of such productivity. 

      Roundaboutly, the proverb informs our relationships.  Within the confines of productive, redemptive relationships you'll find yourself redrawing lines you would never have crossed to bring someone to the Cross; you'll find yourself using less-than-ideal ways to bring someone to the only Way; you'll be forced into an inconvenient life if you make it your aim to steer folks to the Life.  Doubtless, messiness in relationships is not our aim, but the proverb teaches that productivity in relationships inevitably leads to messiness.  Diagnostically, then, are we willing to show hospitality to others though our house be not perfectly clean and the food less than Martha Stewart-tasty?  Are we willing to counsel broken people though we have not all the answers?  Are we willing to talk with our lost neighbor though the grass needs mowing?  Are we willing to train our children though it leaves us tired and the house a mess?  Are we willing to serve others a little though that little leaves them unimpressed with our service?  In other words, are we willing to live in an unimpressive mess, not for the sake of being messy, but for the sake of productivity in life and relationships?  Or, are we happy to capitulate into a life of self-centered, unproductive, non-redemptive, un-Christ-like idealism?

      For the Christian who retorts, "Relationships are always messy; therefore, isolation is best", the proverb replies, "Your sin makes Jesus' relationship with you a mess, yet He did not consider heavenly isolation a thing to be held on to."  And for the Christian who finds himself knee-deep in the mess of gainful employment and productive relationships, the proverb says, "Good choice; you're learning Christ by living in the day-to-day mess into which He entered and lived some 2000 years ago."

      In this life, we simply cannot live productively with messiness.  In heaven, a God-glorifying life will be clean and ideal; for now, a God-glorifying life involves the mess of the least worst.  

Flattery

“Whoever blesses his neighbor with a loud voice, rising early in the morning, will be counted as cursing” (Proverbs 27:14)

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me” is simultaneously a truth and a lie.  On the surface a lie—words can hurt; down deep a truth—words can never merely hurt, they do much more.  Words don’t merely harm, they destroy; they don’t sprain people, they break them.  Words are powerful; they bring to life or kill.

      The Proverb warns us of a devastating wordsmith—a flatterer.  The man frequently praises (blesses) others (his neighbor) for all to hear (with a loud voice).  This praise, far from being genuine, is an ungodly and calculated method for manipulation.  Specifically, one who flatters is trying to remake the flattered into an image of the flatterers choosing.  Yes, words are that powerful.  God used them to make us in His image; Satan used them to devastate that image; God uses them to remake us in His image; flatterers use them to manipulate our image.

      At root, flattery is a mockery of God’s lordship.  The goal of a flatterer is self-centered manipulation of other people.  Flattery deliberately remakes someone’s self-image into an image devised to serve the flatterer.  Thus, when the flattered person becomes dependent upon the flatterer’s adulating lies, and the flattered begins to serve the one flattering them in order to receive more flattery, the flattery has worked.  The flatterer has become a god to the flattered.      

      Ironically, the flatterer’s biggest problem is when flattery works.  You’ve become a god.  Congratulations.  Now you have to deliver as god what only God can deliver.  Curse.  Eventually, no matter how early and loudly you bless, your flattery will cease sustaining the flattered’s self-worth, and you, the flatterer, will find yourself with a disgruntled worshipper.  And, when your worshipper stops worshipping you, you will find that the idolatry into which you cast your worshipper was a two-way street.  The flattered worshipped your flattery; you worshipped their worship.  Crush.     

      It gets worse.  The real curse for those who flatter others comes from God.  Through the gospel God does not flatter us.  Instead, in the gospel God declares us wretched sinners, and only then does He communicate how praiseworthy we can become if we believe in Jesus Christ.  God begins recreating people into Jesus’ image with unflattering words of devastating truth—a truth against which flattery competes. Flattery, then, is competition with God and His gospel.  God doesn’t lose competitions. Crush. 

      Why does God hate flattery so much?  Because flattery is anti-Incarnation—when Jesus became like us men hid their faces (Isa. 53:3) and esteemed Him not; flattery is anti-gospel—we are way worse than others say we are; flattery is anti-Cross—humanity is condemned, not flattered, at Calvary.  Jesus Christ paid for our flattery by becoming unflattering, so that God could praise us truthfully, not with flattery, for what we really are in Christ.  Praise God He didn’t flatter us in our sin; if He had, we would still be in it.  Since He didn’t, we can embrace the sobering truth about ourselves and flee to Christ, wherein we become truly beautiful.  Cure. 

“’Bad, bad,’ says the buyer, but when he goes away, then he boasts” (Prov. 20:14)

Unlike the way our retail stores operate today, the “retail stores” of Israel operated with price negotiation.  Thus, Prov. 20:14 seemingly portrays a shrewd shopper, a niggling negotiator.  As is common today in used-goods marketplaces (garage sales, “Craig’s List”), so then, goods were marked high, allowing room for negotiation and the rare profit of a full-price payer.  What the proverbial buyer does, then, or so it seems, is merely point out product flaws (“Bad, bad!” - the car has a few rust spots; these children’s clothes are stained) for the purpose of lowering the seller’s price.   

      Closer examination, however, will reveal the proverbial buyer a fraud.  If the buyer buys the product and leaves boasting in the product, then the product was never “Bad, Bad” in the first place and the buyer is a liar.  And if the buyer leaves boasting in a steal of a deal, then the buyer stole money rightly due the seller.  Either way, the buyer is crooked—neither a shrewd shopper nor a frugal fanatic, but a mendacious menace.  First he lied; then he bragged about what his lying earned.

      In what way does this proverb further ensconce Jesus Christ as God’s gospel wisdom?  Here might be one: all throughout the Bible, and explicitly in 1 Cor. 6:20, we are told that God purchased us from the used-goods section of the “Slave-Trade Store”.  One day, so to speak, God noticed us resting on the shelf in “Aisle 3”, and declared us “Bad, bad” (Rom. 3:9-23).  And through some strange turn of events God left the “Slave-Trade Store” boasting about us, when a few moments earlier, while we sat on the shelf, He had declared us “Awful, awful” as a product.  Is God a liar?  Nope. (1 John 1:10)  Is God like the crooked buyer in this proverb?  Yes, except without the crooked. 

      What happened between God’s declaration of our worthlessness as a product and His boasting?  The Cross happened.  You see, the Cross tells us that though we were truly “bad”, the purchase price (God’s justice) for our souls was not dropped a penny.  Therefore, God’s boasting has nothing to do with talking down the seller’s price; rather, it has to do with paying the full price.  You and I cost Him a fortune.  That is God’s boast!  Christians are not bargains, they are expensive; we are not some cheap “knock-off,” we are the pricey “real thing.”  Next time you stand in the checkout line and get the feeling that the retailer’s non-negotiable price is too much, let your heart sing, because, by human standards, God paid the ultimate price (way too much!) for a truly worthless product (us) on a hill just outside Jerusalem.  And (here’s the good part) He has been boasting about us ever since…      

Volunteers for Pain…Anyone?

“Whoever puts up security for a stranger will surely suffer harm, but he who hates striking hands in pledge is secure” (Prov. 11:15)

The one who puts up security for a debtor is called a surety.  A surety assumes responsibility for payment of a debt if the debtor defaults on the payment.  Thus, becoming a surety for a “stranger” in Solomon’s day would be like co-signing the mortgage of an unemployed homebuyer in today’s jobless economy.  The risk: high; the prognosis: expensive…for the surety.

      At first glance the surety seems a generous fellow, a man who sympathizes with the needy, has compassion for the destitute, and shares his abundance with others.  But upon closer look, the surety seems a self-deprecating fellow.  He voluntarily places himself between riches and rags, between the security of his present wealth and the insecure likelihood of having to hand over his wealth to the stranger’s creditor.  More than that, becoming a surety was dangerous and perilous, because the creditor could do to you, the surety, everything that could be done to the debtor if the debtor defaults.  Imprisonment, slavery, or even death could be done to you. 

      Notice, though, that Proverbs 11:15 does not demand a surety disentangle from the obligation (although Prov. 6:1-5 does), nor does it prohibit one from becoming a surety.  The proverb has one main purpose: to warn us about the pain of becoming a surety.  Becoming a surety for a stranger was signing up for harm—not something for which people normally sign up.       

      Fast-forwarding about 1000 years to the 1st century A.D., a surety was called a guarantor.  Such a one usually had substantial wealth, and would sign his name on the same dotted line as the debtor’s, thus guaranteeing that if the debtor failed to repay the loan, the guarantor would repay instead.  Hebrews 7:22 says that is exactly what Jesus became for us; the guarantor of the new covenant.  We the debtors; He the wealthy guarantor, who did not merely sign His name next to ours, but erased our names from the dotted line and signed His own exclusively.  Jesus Christ put Himself up as a security for the debt of our sin, and, just like the Proverb said He would, He suffered harm.  Jesus Christ paid the highest price for becoming our surety.  He paid with His life…on the Cross.   

      God knows Proverbs 11:15 well.  He wrote it; He lived it; He bled for it.  It is His gospel wisdom.   

Sin and Love

“He who is forgiven little, loves little” (Luke 7:47)

(Part 1)

The word “Sin”, where it is still used, has been largely redefined.  And whether this redefinition is fueled by political correctness, pluralism, or church growth matters little, but that it is taking place matters a lot. 

      Sin is no longer sin; sin has become merely a mistake, an unintentional lapse in personal character, an oops, a flub, a slip-up, a miscalculation, or at worst an error.  Psychotherapy is explaining it away and various debilitating disorders are now said to justify it, and Christians are being told to get with the times and change its definition.  But, the three letter word, “Sin”, has stood the test of thousands of years throughout biblical history, and God has seen fit to maintain the same definition with which He started: sin is heinous, weighty, our biggest problem in life, and the very thing which has destroyed our relationship with God.  And until we see sin for what it really is, forgiveness will remain trite and our love will either fade or vanish.

      In Luke 7 Jesus Christ curiously intertwines love with forgiveness; curiously because he inserts the word, “Little.”  Inside that one word lays the entirety of each Christian’s sin, and to the extent that we consider our sins against God little, we will love little.  On the surface it appears that Jesus is tying forgiveness and love together, but He is actually tying sin and love together.  In other words, it is not forgiveness itself that determines the amount of our love, but the amount of our forgiveness that determines the amount of our love.  There is a direct correlation between our view of sin and our love for Jesus Christ.  Where sin is a minor disorder, Jesus is optional and nice; where sin is heinous and sickening, Jesus is necessary and our First Love—the one we cannot live without.

As one man put it, part of our mess is not knowing we are a mess.  Shallow sin needs only shallow forgiveness, and shallow forgiveness issues forth in shallow love.  If our love for Jesus Christ is shallow, it may have very little to do with our doctrine of forgiveness and everything to do with our lack of clarity on how big a sinful mess we really are.           

(Part 2)

Last week we noticed that the amount we have been forgiven determines the amount of our love, and, since the amount we have been forgiven relates to the amount of our sin, our love increases directly proportionate to our forgiven sin.   

      Some might declare “Unfair!” and blame their lack of love on righteous living, but that is to miss the point.  We all have sins needing forgiveness, and if we have trouble finding those sins, we need look no farther than our good works, which stand in great need of forgiveness.  And though some Christians have had more sins forgiven than others, no Christian has the warrant to love little, at least no warrant from God.

      We are often told, aren’t we, that the God who is Just and declares all men filthy sinners is the hating God of our ancestors, and, through some inexplicable, unbiblical change, we now enjoy the transformed God of love who overlooks sin and rarely declares men sinners.  But, and this is the irony many fail to grasp, such a God made in man’s image is actually less loving. 

      This may not be apparent, but looking at Jesus’ words from another perspective, namely, God’s, will bear this out.  If it is true, and according to Jesus it is, that he who is forgiven little loves little, then it is no stretch to say that he who forgives little also loves little.  If this be the case, then no matter which side of forgiveness we are on, either giving it or receiving it, more forgiveness means more love, and less forgiveness means less love.  And this is exactly where the modern-day promulgation of a God who no longer speaks of justice and sin leaves us with a frighteningly unloving God.   

      God’s declaration concerning the hideous magnitude of our sin is vital for His glory.  If our sins are merely mistakes, then Jesus Christ had only show us a better way to live and the Cross, it could be argued, was God’s mistake because a dab of love would have done.  But, if our sins are heinous offenses which merit hell itself, and that they are, then the Cross is the greatest proof that God is love.  When a dab wouldn’t do, God poured love out in His Son.  Now that’s a love worth writing home about!  

Strength in Submission

“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will” (Matthew 26:39)

“Submission”, so we are told, “is the wimp’s way out.  It is allowing someone else to come over us, and that can only mean weakness; or worse, cowardliness; or worst, vulnerability.” 

      But what if submission is the greatest display of strength there is, and what if becoming vulnerable is the greatest test of courage known to man?  No one would deny that submission involves acquiescence to another, but Christians would deny that such acquiescence is wimpish; and no one would deny that submission entails vulnerability, but Christians would deny that such vulnerability derives from weakness.  Quite the opposite: the one who acquiesces to another is no wimp, but strong; and the one who becomes vulnerable to another is no weakling, but courageous.  How do we know this?  Any wimp can rebel against authority, and any weakling can do whatever they want.  Everyone born is capable of such; it is nothing unique.  In fact, newborn infants rebel all the time, and who would call them strong and courageous? Weaklings cannot submit; only the courageous can. 

      Don’t believe it?  Listen to Jesus in the Garden.  The cup had been placed in front of Him, He caught a glimpse of the Cross, and He asked the Father if another way to save us was possible, and if so, if that way could replace the way of the Cross.  And in the greatest display of strength known to mankind, Jesus concluded His request, “Not as I will, but as you will.”  Jesus a wimp?  Jesus a submissive weakling?  Not a chance: Jesus our courageous stronghold who finally paid for our wimpishness with His life.  That is strength; that is courage; that is true power.  Jesus Christ, the anti-wimp, submitted His life to the Cross to redeem us from our wimpishness—our inability to submit to God.  And in so doing, Jesus proved that true strength lies in submission, and true redemption lies in coming under the will of another.   

      Because of His submission to God’s authority, Jesus has now been given all authority in heaven and on earth (Matt. 28:18).  Are we strong enough to submit to His authority structures as singles, husbands, wives, children, or citizens?  If we are not, then let us keep at least one thing straight: we are the wimps!  It takes strength to submit.  Are we strong enough in Jesus Christ to submit to His authority structures in our lives? 

A Suicidal Mission

“Behold, I am sending you out as lambs in the midst of wolves” (Luke 10:3).

Lambs don’t stand a chance against wolves.  Lambs are weak, frail, and directionally challenged; wolves are strong, robust, and come equipped with a compass—they can find prey anywhere.  Yet that did not stop Jesus from becoming the Lamb of God among wolves, and neither did it stop Jesus from sending out His disciples as sheep among wolves. 

      An imbedded principle in this text is that Christians must spend time living among their enemies.  How can we love our enemies if we are never around them, or how we can return good to them if we do not make ourselves somewhat vulnerable to their evil, or how can we withhold our reviling if we are never reviled? 

      Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor hanged to death in 1945, wrote, “The Christian cannot simply take for granted the privilege of living among other Christians.  Jesus Christ lived in the midst of his enemies.  In the end all his disciples abandoned him.  On the cross he was all alone, surrounded by criminals and the jeering crowds.  He had come for the express purpose of bringing peace to the enemies of God.  So Christians, too, belong not in the seclusion of a cloistered life but in the midst of enemies.  There they find their mission, their work.” 

      Jesus was sheared as a lamb when stripped of all His earthly security and made vulnerable; Jesus surrounded Himself with a wolf-pack when He lived among His enemies and walked straight into Jerusalem the week He would die; and Jesus was ‘eaten’ by the wolves at His crucifixion.  He was the true Lamb who lived among wolves; it cost Him His life, is it costing you yours? 

      Christian fellowship is one of the highest delights on this earth.  Sweet communion with God and his people—it just doesn’t get any better.  But let’s keep in mind the purpose of this communion: to re-strengthen us for life among the wolves.  Christian fellowship and community was never meant to replace our life among non-Christians; rather, it was meant to re-invigorate and bolster us for the challenges of living among non-Christians.         

Bitterness

“Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice” (Eph. 4:31)

One of the most damaging sins in the Christian life is bitterness.  Bitterness is more than ungodly anger, it is ungodly anger all the time; it is more than a lack of forgiveness, it is a constant rehearsing of another’s sins; and it is more than recalling sins, it is recalling another’s sins and using those previously-forgiven sins against them.  Whereas forgiveness promises to remember someone’s sins no more, bitterness promises to remember someone’s sins whenever it is advantageous for the one remembering and damaging for the one who committed the sin.       

      There is only one cure for bitterness: the Cross of Christ. At the Cross, God remembered every one of your sins and placed them on Jesus; at the Cross, God actively searched for all the sins that you, His Christian child, would commit against Him, and He gathered them up, heaped them upon the head of Christ, and made Jesus suffer hell for every single one of them.  You say, “It sounds like God Himself struggled with bitterness at the Cross because He recalled all of our sins.”  Oh dear child of God, that is not bitterness, that is atonement.  God recalled our sins not to advantage Himself, but to disadvantage Himself so that we could be advantaged.  What God did at the Cross is the opposite of bitterness.  Bitterness recalls the sins of another to punish that person; God recalled your sins to punish Jesus Christ for them instead of you.     

      Every Christian must thank God for perfectly recalling our sins at the Cross, because if He had forgotten to lay even one of our sins on the head of Christ, then we would suffer in hell for that sin. 

      When you struggle with bitterness, remember that the only time God recalled our sins was at the Cross, and He did it for our benefit, not our detriment.  Ours was all the gain; His was all the loss.  Before you bitterly recall the sins of another to tear them down, ask yourself this question: “For whose advantage am I recalling someone else’s sin?”  If it is for your advantage only, then you need to make another “trip” to the Cross, and there you will see the way God could have torn YOU down if He had recalled all your sins and made YOU pay for them instead of Jesus Christ!   

The Leveling Effect of the Cross

“If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross” (Matt. 27:40)

 All throughout the world men and women stand at different heights in comparison to one another.  Some stand tall in their income, others are shortened by poverty; some stand tall in their attractiveness, other are shrunk by a lack of physical beauty; some stand tall in their social acceptance, others remain knee-ridden by social awkwardness; and some sail loftily among the clouds of splendid health and strength while others shrivel under the load of sickness and weakness.  

      But at the Cross of Christ all men and women stand shoulder to shoulder at the same height.  At the Cross no one stands tall but He who hung above the on-looking masses.  At the Cross riches are made void, social status is of no value, and sickness is a relative term, for there, hanging on the Cross, is One who became poor, hung condemned, and took up our infirmities.  There hung The Perfect Person—and He hung there on account of our sinful pride.     

      Speaking of the humbling effect of the Cross, John Stott wrote:

Every time we look at the cross Christ seems to be saying to us, ‘I am here because of you.  It is your sin I am bearing, your curse I am suffering, your debt I am paying, your death I am dying.’  Nothing in history or in the universe cuts us down to size like the cross.  All of us have inflated views of ourselves, especially in self-righteousness, until we have visited a place called Calvary.  It is there, at the foot of the cross, that we shrink to our true size.

It’s ironic, isn’t it, that at the Cross the One who stands tall (Jesus Christ) hangs condemned by God.  Do you exalt yourself above all other men by claiming that you can save yourself through your niceness and charming personality?  Be careful, dear sinner, for you are lifting yourself up only to hang on your own cross for your own sins.  Do you humble yourself among men claiming that you are saved only by Christ alone?  Then rejoice, for you will be lifted up to heaven because Christ is hanging on your cross for your sins. 

The Incarnation

“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14)

 There are events which necessitate new words to be invented in order to explain the event.  Such is the event of God becoming flesh. 

      There was no language to describe God becoming man when Mary gave birth to Jesus Christ.  Never before had the Church been faced with the challenge of capturing Jesus’ birth with one word, and when we turn to John’s gospel this lack of vocabulary becomes obvious.  John needed four words to describe Jesus’ birth: The Word became flesh. 

      Instead of inventing a word, John uses 4 words to describe an event the world had never seen: The Word became flesh.  John’s description couldn’t be simpler, yet who can fathom the mystery?  The eternal, pre-existent, almighty Word became flesh—He became one of us. 

      God became man;

      The eternal Word came forth from Mary with skin;

      The Second Person of the Godhead took on manhood;

      The everywhere-present Son of God became geographically locatable; and

      The Son of the Most High became the Son of man.

What word can describe what took place some 2000 years ago in a stable when God who is Spirit and invisible took on a body and became visible?  We call it the incarnation which literally means, “in-flesh-ment.”  The Apostle John used four words; today, (thanks to our Latin forefathers) we use one.

      What do we make of this greatest of all births?  At least this: the next time we look at our skin and we see all its wrinkles, follicles, and patterns, we can be comforted with the knowledge that our risen Lord has the same kind of skin.  He knows the pain of pierced skin; He knows the fear of cold skin; He knows the toil of sweaty skin; He knows the agony of torn skin; and He knows the comfort of loved skin.  Simply put, our flesh has not encountered a single experience with which Jesus cannot relate.  Now that is something to write home about, and that gives meaning both to Christmas and to the everyday lives of Christians.  The real-life comfort of God’s incarnation is something nobody should live without. 

Hope: Its Proper Location

“Set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:13)

 The passions and desires which toss us about like a subway car on uneven tracks are themselves Satan’s most effective tools.  If he can only arouse our passions, then we will surely misdirect them—so the devil reasons.  Accordingly, he proceeds with various plans to dash our hopes and leave us emotionally tossed.  But, seldom does he excite our passions by crushing us when we are down—he is much smarter than that.  Satan knows the most effective way to arouse our passions is by spoiling that to which we most look forward.  He seizes our beloved life-events and ensures that all we crave from those events is absent when we partake.  Our favorite cup of coffee leaves us unprepared to face the day; our delightful marriage leaves us craving closer companionship; our closest friendships leave us lonely; and our extraordinary plans leave us craving the ordinary from which we so desperately needed escape.  Is there a cure for this disease in the here and now while we wait for the there and then?

      Yes, but an ironic one.  The cure has nothing to do with this world and everything to do with the next.  The reason coffee leaves us unprepared for the day is we looked to the black gold dripping into the pot below for daily preparedness, something coffee was never designed to supply us; and the reason our extraordinary vacations leave us craving the ordinary out of which we will soon desire another deliverance is because we looked to an extraordinary vacation for soul-satisfaction.  “Oh, that is ridiculous,” you say, “I look to Christ alone for soul-satisfaction.”  No doubt that is true on paper; how about in our lives?  The moment we put our hope for soul-satisfaction in something other than Jesus Christ—coffee, vacation getaways, close relationships, careers—that “something” becomes our functional savior.  How can we tell what our functional saviors are at any moment?  Take them away and we will know—we will be crushed to some degree.  Well, how do we live with our passions and desires as Christians?  

      C.S. Lewis observed “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”  Christians are indeed made for another world, and because we are, there is only one place we can go to satisfy our desires.  Use every disappointing feeling to direct your gaze to the coming One who will never disappoint you.  Set your hope on heaven, and, ironically, you will be able to handle earth.       

Hope: Its Entire Location

“Set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:13).

C.S. Lewis once quipped, “If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next.”  What is he getting at?

      Everyone lives according to hope—the promise of future delight.  The job seeker hopes for gainful work, so he seeks; the grass-planter for a green lawn, so he plants; the traveler for titillating sights, so he travels.  We live in the present according to the hope we have for the future.  If we have no hope for the future, then we flounder in the present. 

      Oftentimes we cope with crushed hopes by diversifying our hope portfolio.  With a diversified portfolio, one dashed hope does not crush us; instead, we can turn to our other hopes for purpose in life.  For example, our hope portfolio may contain our marriage, our lawn, our reputation, and our next meal.  If so, then when the grass is brown and people dislike us, we can turn to our marriage and next meal for hope.     

But Peter says there is a wiser way yet which confounds a diversified hope portfolio: Set your hope fully (not partially) on the Last Day.  In effect, he says, “Don’t diversify your hope; place it all in the basket of the Last Day.”  What is the point?   

      Hope controls us.  God has designed us to live according to our hopes.  If we place our hope in our jobs, then we will be controlled today by the hope of our job tomorrow.  If we put our hope in our reputation, then we will be controlled today by the feasibility of becoming well-liked tomorrow.  Hope is that powerful.  It controls us for better or for worse. 

      It is ironic that when we set our hope on the Last Day, then we can fearlessly and tirelessly go about changing the world for God today.  Are you scared and tired of pouring out yourself for God today?  It might be because you have placed your hope in something which will fail you.  Place it fully in the Last Day, and you will live fully today.  Hope in God will never fail you.     

      Paul’s hope in the resurrection (1 Cor. 15) enabled him to live fearlessly for God while beaten, whipped, shipwrecked, and starving (2 Cor. 11-12).  Our Savior suffered every day of His life and hell on the Cross because He looked forward to the joy awaiting Him on the other side of the Cross (Heb. 12:2).  They both lived according to the kind of hope that does not disappoint (Rom. 5:5).  What kind is that?  It is the kind which God alone provides in Jesus Christ.  Where do you daily place your hope?