Seeking Him First

"But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself.” – Matthew 6.33-34

From a commonsense standpoint, our Lord’s commandment to seek His kingdom and righteousness first – before, or, above all other things – is bold, even outrageous. His words contain no subtlety; they are clear as liquid, stark enough to shatter glass; direct, unqualified – like hard rain on desert soil. In essence, Christ is saying that seeking Him – His kingdom, His Righteousness – must take the main stage of life while all other occupations remain perennially ‘in the wings.’
But how can I when, from the first moment of waking consciousness, my mind is crowded with the persistent concerns and pressing obligations of the day? When the baby at my knee is vying for attention? Or the school age child is baring his temper? Or the notice arrives in the mail telling me my electricity will be turned off if I cannot pay my bill?
How, in these dark days of economic crisis and turmoil, can I possibly manage to “seek first His kingdom” when it feels as though my own kingdom is falling apart?
Just who does God think He is, after all, demanding that I seek Him first?
Of course, that one is easy: He thinks He is God. The great “I AM;” alpha and omega, unchanging, uncreated, Creator God; Who knit my soul together in my mother’s womb; Who recognizes my frailty, and is mindful that I am ‘but dust;’ but Who – in spite of all these things – loved me enough to die a sinner’s death and pay my ransom in order that I could not only be with Him in His Kingdom, but like Him in righteousness.
In His providence, He knows what is best for me, and because He is good, he insists that I have it – namely, Himself. Seek Me first, He says, and if you do, I will add to you every other essential thing. Food and clothing – give no thought to these. Instead, feed yourself on Me; clothe yourself with Me. Renounce your stubborn ways – your insistent belief that you know best how to meet your needs – and I will meet your needs out of My abundance and riches.
It scarcely needs saying that if we are looking for reasons not to seek Him, all we must do is look around. The woman who makes it her aim in life to seek God first will be bombarded by obstacles that appeal to her fears, distractions that seek all the time to wrench her view away from her Heavenly Father. God knows this; thus in order to safeguard His own from squandering their existence, He commands us “not to worry about tomorrow.”
God knows the very real, and very grave, threats that face His people, both within and outside themselves; but He also knows that worry does not add a single hour to a woman’s life (Matt. 6.27). Those who worry waste their time rather than redeem it. God knows and, indeed, promises us that in this world we will have trouble; but He reminds us over and again, in words of angels – behold, I have overcome the world!

Life In Him

“I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing." - John 15.5

Throughout the New Testament Christ uses various analogies to describe the believer in relationship to Himself. He is a house; Christ is the builder. He is a lump of clay; Christ is the potter… John 15 is no different except that, in this particular instance, the analogy is organic. The vine and the branches are part of a living whole which breathes and grows and bears fruit; or else, if it fails to remain in the vine, suffocates, withers, and rots.

A living branch is different from a house or a piece of sculpted clay in that it is never quite finished. It could go on living forever, so long as it continues receiving nourishment from the vine. A house may be renovated; it may be meticulously well-maintained or it may fall into a state of utter disrepair. But once each stone is placed it remains there, unmoving, ungrowing. It can, in a sense, abide; but it cannot flourish! The same is true of the clay – it may undergo metamorphosis - a total change in form and appearance - but once it hardens and sets, once it has been thrown into the kiln, it can neither change nor grow.

In contrast, stands the branch. It starts out naked and small. Alone it is nothing, just a future bit of firewood, barren and brittle (John 15.6). But if it remains nestled into the vine, drawing its nutrients from the source, the branch will grow clusters of buds. At first, they are just little nubs – small and hard and sour – small foreshadows of what they might someday be. If plucked too early they will taste bitter. But if they are properly nourished they will ripen into beautiful pieces of fruit – full and soft and sweet.

Important to remember is that fact that the fruit cannot - indeed, should not - attempt to distribute itself. When the time is right the fruit will fall off all on its own or else it will be plucked by some desperate passerby who is hungry enough to stoop down and pick it up from the place where it has fallen, the place at the foot of the tree.

Just so, if we abide in Him, He will bring forth fruit in our lives; fruit that is a small reproduction of the Life we bear inside. Unlike the house or the finished sculpture, this fruit has the capacity to nourish others. It can give the Life that it has drawn. And not only once, but many, many times, for nestled inside each piece lay the seeds of Promised Future Life.

And yet - however marvelous and beautiful this is - it is a rare branch that learns the secret of abiding.

Most, being frustrated by the slowness – or seeming lack! – of growth, become deceived into thinking they no longer need the vine. Those who have lived long enough to experience the painful process of pruning may conclude that it is futile or masochistic to persist under such ‘intolerable’ conditions. Won’t we grow much faster, they reason, if we find our own rich waters to drink from, far, far away from here?

And so they literally break out, severing their ties from the vine, not realizing that in doing so they betray themselves, becoming guilty not only of adolescent thinking, but adolescent behavior.

They may indeed find waters; and these they may drink from. But the growth that such drafts produce will be deceptively short-lived. The buds cannot, under such conditions, grow into ripe, round pieces of fruit because they have been poisoned by waters which make bitter and desolate all who drink from them. These branches, and the infant buds they bear, will not only cease growing; they will ultimately wither and become grotesque – the asylum of insects and other parasitical organisms.

Conversely, the branch that abides in the vine will – indeed, it must – bear fruit. To do otherwise would be to go against nature. However, the aim and purpose of its life is not oriented round the fruit, but round the vine. This is the emphasis of its life – its raison d’etre, or, reason for existence. It finds security and rest in the vine, not in its fruit, for the fruit is but the natural consequence of abiding; not ‘the thing itself.’ “He who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.” It is one of God’s great graces that He bears fruit in a man’s life and then gives him credit (eternal reward) for having done so. If we abide, He will give us life, power, and rest in Him; all we have to do is let Him.

A Little Yeast...

“...[M]ake every effort to add to…natural affection, love.” – 2 Peter 1.7,8

“Now that you have...sincere love for your brothers, love one another deeply, from the heart.”— 1 Peter 1.22

Experience shows – and Scripture inadvertently affirms – that human relationships have different points of origin. There are those with whom you share a near instantaneous bond of affection; these you ‘love’ naturally, viscerally, without willful premeditation; and those whom you must choose to love by an act of your will, in the strength or, more likely, weakness, of your character.

For instance, you and Jane have been fast friends since the first day of middle school when you found yourselves, alone, in the same corner of the cafeteria, reading the same book.

Conversely, you've known Diana since the day she moved in next door, when she 'popped' over to introduce herself and then politely informed you that your flowerbeds needed watering. Whether consciously or not, Diana seems to be constantly making light of the thing – the very thing! – which is causing you greatest pain. And she has an uncanny knack for drawing out your weaknesses while disparaging those traits you have always taken for your strengths.

Nevertheless, Christ calls you to love both women. But how? In what way?

At a certain point - it is inevitable - your sin, and Jane's, will make a mutual show of itself. And when it does you must add agape, the love which, with its connotation of self-sacrifice, enables you to rise above your feelings, and do the thing that is in the best interests of the other person (John 3.16). Somewhat ironically, there may come a time when you realize your natural rapport has prevented you from learning how to really stimulate or provoke each other toward love and good deeds. You may realize that you are better at commiseration, and affirming each other’s prejudices, than telling each other the truth. When you do, you must take pains to alter your course; to 'add agape' and trust it to deepen your friendship in ways that simple affection cannot.

In contrast, Diana has never inspired your affection – from a natural point of view you feel little other than annoyance toward her, sometimes even profound animosity such as you would feel for an arch enemy. But Scripture anticipates this! Thus when Christ commands us to “love” our enemies He uses the word, agape, meaning that we can choose to rise above our petty emotions and show kindness where we might feel disdain, or generosity where we are want to be stingy. If we do, the seeds of Love will, at a certain point, bloom into natural affection.

Still, there is no disguising the fact that, with Diana, you must take the long way around: remembering birthdays; initiating phone conversations; taking pains to express those things you do appreciate and admire, even if they are often obscured by your differences.

As you do, slowly, you begin to see her in a different light – what you took for lack of sympathy was simply an inability, or reluctance, to express herself; what you experienced as cold-heartedness was merely pragmatism, a pragmatism that, in a later moment of personal crisis, manifested itself as practical, almost life-saving, care.

But it is not only your perception of Diana that has changed – you are changing too, the both of you.

Where she has gained compassion, you have grown in fortitude. Where she has gained the courage to be vulnerable; you are learning to stand by your convictions, without encouragement or praise. You don't notice these changes at first for character development is the kind of thing one only notices retrospectively. But the fact is, you have changed... both of you.

And something else has changed too.

Perhaps it is after a long summer away that you begin to realize - and Diana does, too: somehow, precisely how neither of you quite knows, but somehow you have become more than neighbors... you have become friends.

Nevertheless, from a practical standpoint, it remains difficult to find the motivation to pursue relationships which are 'hard.' Why should I call Diana when it is so much easier to pick up the phone and dial Jane? What is the point of exerting so much energy only to see an intolerable relationship transformed into a (still, perhaps) marginally satisfying one?

The reason is simple: although phileo is preferable - as the ice cream cone on a hot summer afternoon - only agape will remain (1 Cor. 13.13). It is that little bit of heaven which, if you are faithful to work it in to the relationship, promises to work its way through the whole dough (Matt. 13.33), transforming not only it, but you. You and Diana may never laugh at the same jokes; you may never read the same books; or plan a picnic just so that you can indulge in your mutual appreciation for reciting poetry under the cool trees - but you can rest assured that Christ will use your relationship to further your reliance upon Him, and so mold you into the person He created you to be.

Believing is Seeing

“I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.” – Ephesians 1.18-19

“Even so Abraham BELIEVED GOD, AND IT WAS RECKONED TO HIM AS RIGHTEOUSNESS… So then those who are of faith are blessed with Abraham, the believer.”

- Galations 3.7,9

We have all heard the old adage, seeing is believing - for it is in the nature of man to suspect those things which cannot be apprehended through the senses. But even the most cursory look at Scripture proves that - where faith in God is concerned - seeing is not believing. A great many of Christ’s contemporaries saw Him perform miracles but they did not believe in His Name. From a biblical point of view it would perhaps be more accurate to say: seeing is knowing.

For example, an agoraphobic may stand all day in the lobby of the Empire State Building, watching people travel safely up and down; but ask him to get into the elevator himself and he will look at you with incredulity and fear in his eyes. He has seen; he knows; but he doesn’t believe. At least not enough to act. In just this way, the Israelites saw the works of God for forty years in the wilderness; they knew – and had in fact witnessed - what wonders He was capable of, yet they did not believe.

Why not? In part because, though they saw God work, they did not take time to get to know His ways - that is, His character as it was revealed in the realm of their everyday existence. Instead, "they always went astray in their hearts," thinking more about their ‘deprivations’ than God's deliverance, and privileging their grievances over God's gifts. Like the agoraphobic, though they watched God perform miracle after miracle, they did not believe; at least, not enough to risk acting on what He had revealed.

The Bible teaches that faith, or the ability to believe, is a gift of God (Eph. 2.8) - that is, it only comes through revelation by the Holy Spirit. But belief, if it is authentic, must be followed by action - i.e. obedience. "Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness." What does this mean? It means that when God revealed Himself to Abraham, Abraham believed the revelation, in spite of its seeming impossibility. "In hope against hope he believed, so that he might become a father of many nations according to that which had been spoken" (Rom. 4.19). As a result, though he was a sinful man, God honored him by granting him righteousness - that is, moral perfection in His eyes.

The very idea that someone with no past experience of God - no thousands's-year-old religious tradition or canonical body of Scripture to draw from - would have the courage, even the audacity, to believe is not only incredible, it is near to being beyond all human comprehension. Yet Abraham did.

He was seventy-five years old when God bid him go forth from his country, from his father’s house, and the land of his relatives (Gen. 12.1). But when God spoke, “Abraham went,” even though he did not know where he was going (Gen. 12.4). Ten years later, when God spoke to him again, saying, “Now look toward the heavens, and count the stars, if you are able to count them…So shall your descendants be” (Gen. 15.5), Abraham believed.

Can you imagine looking up at a great black sky glittering with countless stars, and, at the age of eighty-five, with a wife in her early seventies, actually believing that your descendants would someday rival them in number?

But (it is worth repeating) Abraham did; in fact, Scripture says, "Without becoming weak in faith he contemplated his own body now as good as dead since he was about a hundred years old, and the deadness of Sarah's womb; yet, with respect to the promise of God, he did not waver in unbelief but grew strong in faith, giving glory to God, and being fully assured that what God had promised, He was able also to perform" (Rom. 4.19-21).

"Being fully assured that what God had promised, He was able also to perform..." When was the last time I responded to God with such assurance? And how might my perception of the world be different if I did?

Though it's hard to say when - perhaps at the moment his heart first responded in faith - Abraham's belief was transfigured into a new way of seeing; what was his ordinary, humdrum existence, became extraordinary because he viewed it through the eyes of faith.

Abraham no longer saw obstacles as hindrances - things that impeded or blocked his way - but opportunities to experience God’s character made manifest. Thus, rather than shrinking back in fear and disbelief when God asked him to sacrifice his son, the son of promise, Abraham “considered that God is able to raise people even from the dead” (Heb. 11.19). He ‘saw’ through the eyes of faith that God is not limited by any natural law, that he can move above, beyond, and outside the bounds of human reasoning, and so he obeyed.

Neither did Abraham’s faith divorce him from the world; it merely changed his attitude toward it. He did not become a perpetual stargazer, denying the pains and hardships of life, because he served a God with theoretical power to overcome them. No, he engaged life’s challenges; he endured its trials; and he endeavored to accomplish the tasks put before him, but always with one eye to the horizon, “looking for the city which has foundations, whose architect and builder is God” (Heb. 11.10).

Like Abraham, we may not see God literally, as we see the ocean or the trees, but if we respond in faith and obedience to that which, through Christ, the Scriptures, and the Holy Spirit, He reveals to us, we will begin to see things spiritually, through the eyes of faith. As we do we will discover and affirm the truth that few find - seeing isn't believing; believing is seeing.

Rags to Riches

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” – Matthew 5.4

In his great essay, The Weight of Glory, CS Lewis says, “There are no ‘ordinary’ people.” Cultures and nations rise and fall but people, all people, will last forever. If Lewis is right – and I believe he is - then it is fair to say that all human beings, in all moments, at all times, are progressing down one of two paths: the path toward becoming, in his words, an “immortal horror” or an “everlasting splendor.”

But how do you know which path you are traversing? The path of corruption or the path of greatness?

Christ’s Sermon on the Mount offers a stunning outline of the path to spiritual greatness. It hallmarks, in chronological order, the characteristic virtues of those creatures that are progressing along this path…

The path begins with poverty – not necessarily literal poverty (though the two are often inextricably linked) - but poverty of spirit, that state of spiritual bankruptcy whereby an individual, that is, I come to recognize what is not only my lack of spiritual riches, but my absolute depravity of them. I realize I am destitute, not only of spiritual wealth, but of influence and honor; my abject poverty makes me powerless to achieve anything for myself. Instead I am in a condition which compels me to beg for alms, for charity, that is, love, agapos – the embodiment of which is Christ in the flesh.

Such poverty of spirit leads to a state of mourning. I mourn over my sin; an affliction I cannot, of myself, remove. Mourning leads, in turn, to meekness which is not only mildness of nature or disposition, but gentleness of spirit. In our culture, no doubt due to its connotation of passivity, meekness is seldom praised. However it is precisely this quality of spirit which produces a hunger and thirst for righteousness.

Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness do so because they recognize their lack of the thing – in the same way that I hunger and thirst for food when my stomach is empty. Such people, because they are in tune with their own deficiencies, are, by necessity, apt to be merciful. Having been made dully aware of their own depravity, and consequently learned to look to God for the meeting of their needs, they are not motivated by a desire to use others. Thus they are not manipulative, but pure in heart.

Those who have – by Christ’s power – been set free from the compulsion to manipulate, control, and use others can, in turn, apply their freedom to making peace. They become peacemakers. And if, or – as likely happens – WHEN their efforts toward peacemaking fail, they are willing to be persecuted - to suffer insults and all manner of evils - for righteousness’s (that is, for Christ’s) sake.

In contrast, the inversion of this path highlights the qualities of those who are progressing toward a state of eternal corruption.

Rather than poverty, this path begins with a state of self-sufficiency akin to that which (presumably) possessed Eve in the moments before she succumbed to Satan’s lies. Those who are self-sufficient are often self-satisfied – they are, in the modern sense of the word, happy. They are getting what they want – that is, an endless measure of THEMSELVES.

Being self-sufficient or, as the expression goes, “full of themselves,” such people are often proud or superior. Rather than hungering or thirsting after righteousness, they often think they, themselves, are right. Consequently – how can it be otherwise? – they are unmerciful. For how can you exhibit mercy towards creatures who, at all times, fail to live up to your very high, very SELF-righteous standards?

Failing to demonstrate mercy toward others, such people often feel compelled to manipulate. They are highly skilled in the art of bending others’s wills to their own. Rather than making peace, they are makers of strife, contentious, quarrelsome. In the end, they are those who persecute, rather than those who are persecuted.

Ultimately, all human beings must arrive at one of two destinations. Those who go through life insisting on their own way and using others to get it must arrive at what is the height of spiritual bankruptcy, that is, damnation; whereas those who admit their weakness, surrender to God’s ways, and sacrifice themselves to serve others, must end in a state of spiritual riches. It is to them that Christ says," Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great” (Matt. 5.12).

Life in Him

“I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing." - John 15.5

Throughout the New Testament Christ uses various analogies to describe the believer in relationship to Himself. He is a house; Christ is the builder. He is a lump of clay; Christ is the potter… John 15 is no different except that, in this particular instance, the analogy is organic. The vine and the branches are part of a living whole which breathes and grows and bears fruit; or else, if it fails to remain in the vine, suffocates, withers, and rots.

A living branch is different from a house or a piece of sculpted clay in that it is never quite finished. It could go on living forever, so long as it continues receiving nourishment from the vine. A house may be renovated and meticulously well-maintained; or it may fall into a state of utter disrepair. But once each stone is placed it remains there, unmoving, ungrowing. It can, in a sense, abide; but it cannot flourish! The same is true of the clay – it may undergo metamorphosis - a total change in form and appearance - but once it hardens and sets, once it has been thrown into the kiln, it can neither change nor grow.

In contrast, stands the branch. It starts out naked and small. Alone it is nothing, just a future bit of firewood, barren and brittle (John 15.6). But if it remains nestled into the vine, drawing its nutrients from the source, the branch will grow clusters of buds. At first, they are just little nubs – small and hard and sour – small foreshadows of what they might someday be. If plucked too early they will taste bitter. But if they are properly nourished they will ripen into beautiful pieces of fruit – full and soft and sweet.

Important to remember is that fact that the fruit cannot - indeed, should not - attempt to distribute itself. When the time is right the fruit will fall off all on its own or else it will be plucked by some desperate passerby who is hungry enough to stoop down and pick it up from the place where it has fallen, the place at the foot of the tree.

Just so, if we abide in Him, He will bring forth fruit in our lives; fruit that is a small reproduction of the Life we bear inside. Unlike the house or the finished sculpture, this fruit has the capacity to nourish others. It can give the Life that it has drawn. And not only once, but many, many times, for nestled inside each piece lay the seeds of Promised Future Life.

And yet - however marvelous and beautiful this is - it is a rare branch that learns the secret of abiding.

Most, being frustrated by the slowness – or seeming lack! – of growth, become deceived into thinking they no longer need the vine. Those who have lived long enough to experience the painful process of pruning may conclude that it is futile or masochistic to persist under such ‘intolerable’ conditions. Won’t we grow much faster, they reason, if we find our own rich waters to drink from, far, far away from here?

And so they literally break out, severing their ties from the vine, not realizing that in doing so they betray themselves, becoming guilty not only of adolescent thinking, but adolescent behavior.

They may indeed find waters; and these they may drink from. But the growth that such drafts produce will be deceptively short-lived. The buds cannot, under such conditions, grow into ripe, round pieces of fruit because they have been poisoned by waters which make bitter and desolate all who drink from them. These branches, and the infant buds they bear, will not only cease growing; they will ultimately wither and become grotesque – the asylum of insects and other parasitical organisms.

Conversely, the branch that abides in the vine will – indeed, it must – bear fruit. To do otherwise would be to go against nature. However, the aim and purpose of its life is not oriented round the fruit, but round the vine. This is the emphasis of its life – its raison d’etre, or, reason for existence. It finds security and rest in the vine, not in its fruit, for the fruit is but the natural consequence of abiding; not ‘the thing itself.’ “He who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.” It is one of God’s great graces that He bears fruit in a man’s life and then gives him credit (eternal reward) for having done so. If we abide, He will give us life, power, and rest in Him; all we have to do is let Him.

Suffering and Glory

For it was fitting that he...should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering. For He who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one origin. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers…” – Hebrews 2.10-11

In the second chapter of Hebrews we are shocked to discover that the God of the Universe is not ashamed to identify with depraved humanity – with we who inhabit a world which GM Hopkin’s rightly described as “smeared with toil,” which “wears man’s smudge and shares men’s smell.” He through whom and for whom the world was made; who upholds the universe by the strength of His power; who is and was the exact radiance of His Father’s glory – the perfect imprint of His nature – this Lord, this God called us brothers, brothers!

He made Himself “a little lower than the angels,” friend to a fallen race of men – of fallen gods (Ps. 82.6) – in order that we could be redeemed, bought back, and reunited with the same Father from whom we both originate. Perhaps most magnificently, He not only did all this so that we could be made like Him, but so that we could be with Him in glory.

How did He do it?

First, by symbolically identifying a group of people as His own, the Jews; second, by speaking to them through their fathers and prophets; later, by delivering them from physical bondage in the desert of Egypt. Afterwards, in the wilderness where they wandered, He gave them bread from Heaven; and covered the ground with quail, all the time saying that He did so in order that they would know He was Yahweh, the benevolent, all-knowing, ever-existing, creator God. To these great lengths, He gladly went.

But even if all this was – or at any rate should have been – enough for them and, inadvertently, us, to come to know His character, it wasn’t enough to save us.

So He went further by becoming the bread. He suffered on the hill called Golgotha so that we could be delivered from spiritual bondage in the desert of our own souls; the blood He shed, by a kind of miraculous transfusion, became – and forever outside of time remains – our life, our sustenance and nourishment, the thing that will protect us from damnation and decay.

Of course, it is He who made us to desire glory (the inverse of damnation) and eternal life (the inverse of decay). This desire – this “eternity in our hearts” – is not some aberration, some narcissistic consequence of Eve’s indiscretion or Adam’s abdication. It is part of our divine make-up (1 Peter 5.10). No saint in honesty can look with disparaging eyes upon the promise of being awarded a crown. We hold fast to the promise that “if we endure with Him, we will also reign with him” (2 Timothy 2.11-12).

But what we oft fail to recognize – what we sometimes, even, shudder to suppress – is the knowledge that, in order to identify with Him in glory, we must first be willing to identify with Him in suffering. It is only “if” we endure that we will reign; and "if" we suffer with Him that we will be glorified with Him (Rom. 8.17).

Thus Paul promises that “all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted” (3.12); or as the same verse is translated elsewhere, “they will suffer." We all want to identify with Him in glory; but who wants to identify with Him in suffering, or to endure the shame of persecution?

If we must endure, where, and to whom, can we look to find the courage to face such suffering?

We look to Christ, “the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” We take time to consider “Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that [we] will not grow weary and lose heart” (Heb.12.3); we gird ourselves up, summoning every ounce of the strength He has given us, every shred of resolve, to remember “that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed in us” (Rom. 8.18).

Having It All

"Where am I? Who am I?
How did I come to be here?
What is this thing called the world?
How did I come into the world?
Why was I not consulted?
And If I am compelled to take part in it,
Where is the director?
I want to see him."

- Soren Kierkegaard

One morning last spring my friend Madeline dropped by for a visit. We sat in lounge chairs in my front yard on the little circle of synthetic green that, in Arizona, constitutes our ‘lawn.’ Our babies, born a week apart, ogled each other beneath silk sunhats, groping now and then at a loose thread that sprouted between the faded quilt squares beneath them.

Madeline’s three-year-old, Lizzie, quickly made a game of tossing pennies into the stone fountain that stood beside the lawn. Occasionally she trotted lightly round the fountain’s base and, tucking her chin into her neck, abashedly made us guess at her ‘wish.’ When I suggested that, perhaps, since it was so terribly hot, she might have wished for a cold soda or an iced cream cone she said, “No,” more solemnly than I thought any three year old capable. “I asked God to make me more grateful.”

Madeline and I exchanged glances, at once baffled and delighted by her innocence and depth.

In between slow sips of iced tea we chit chatted about this and that – the books we were reading, a newly discovered recipe for chocolate dipped coconut macaroons – and at 11 o’clock shared a snack of fresh strawberries and crackers and cheese. By 11:30 the babies began to rub their eyes. “I believe our window is closing,” I said.

Lizzie, at my elbow now, looked up at me quizzically. “Miss Heather,” she ventured, searching stoically about the yard, “which window is it?”

I started to answer, then stopped myself, having grasped her meaning. “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, making little effort to conceal my amusement, “that’s called a metaphor.”

“A meta-what?”

“A metaphor. For example, have you ever heard anyone say, ‘It’s raining cats and dogs?’

“Nooo.”

“How about: ‘She has a heart of stone?’”

Lizzie shook her head.

“Please,” interrupted Madeline, “stop while you’re ahead.”

“I don’t believe I ever was - Oh, Madeline. She's an absolute dream.”

Madeline smiled. “Moments like this make it all worth it,” she said her voice trailing off “…which is why I am embarrassed to admit I sometimes fear I will wake up one day and wonder if I wasted my life. I’m terrified that perhaps staying home was the easy answer.”

I squeezed Madeline’s arm and told her I didn’t think there were any easy answers.

But after we waved goodbye I lingered a few moments on my front step, feeling a stab of regret that I hadn’t a better response to my friend’s admission. If she could only see herself through my eyes, I thought. If only she knew what she had gained compared to what she had lost…

Madeline met her husband in law school. They clerked together, graduated together, and after their marriage took a job together with a Phoenix firm. When they got married, Madeline was sure she’d return to work after having children. But two weeks into her maternity leave, her husband began to rethink his convictions regarding childrearing. He felt it was important for children to have their mother at home, particularly during their earliest years. And so, contrary to her own preferences, Madeline submitted to his wishes, choosing to honor him at the expense of her career.

Needless to say, she was not the kind of person with a predilection for easy answers.

I knew she loved being a mother. I loved being a mother. Yet I resonated with her fear - not because I felt ambivalence at my decision to stay home – but because I shared what I believed was Madeline’s underlying desire to live a purposeful life. I considered that all people harbor such desires – to live lives that have impact and, as worn out as the phrase may be, make some lasting difference in the larger world.

The desire for meaning and purpose are intrinsic to human nature. But how, I pondered, does one go about attaining these things? More specifically, how does one do so as a mother and a Christian?

THE PROBLEM

As a woman, the culture tells me that I should be able to have it all – love, career, and children – and that I am justified in pursuing my dreams regardless of the cost to my husband, child, and – above all – my relationship with God. Moreover, I am given the subtle but unmistakable message that doing something “important” and being a full-time mother are mutually exclusive.

In contrast, Christianity teaches that in order to find my life I must lose it; and that the key to living is dying. Thus the two states are directly opposed. To live a life of temporal significance – according to the world’s value system – I must devote myself to self-actualization whereas, to follow Jesus Christ and live a life of eternal significance requires self-sacrifice.

Madeline chose to sacrifice her own plans by submitting to the leadership of her husband. From a Christian standpoint, she made the right decision.

But if so, why are there lingering doubts in her mind, and the minds of so many women like her? If what we are doing as wives, mothers, and children of God is really meaningful in His eyes, why does it so often feel mundane and purposeless?

THE SOLUTION

I have come to believe that life often feels meaningless because it is meaningless. King Solomon surveyed the nature of existence and concluded that all things are absurd, futile, and without meaning. Whether you are a lawyer a mother or a world-renown tightrope walker “all is vanity and striving after wind.”

A man may build an empire today but tomorrow no one will remember his name. As the Psalmist says, “[There is] no remembrance of former [things]; neither shall there be [any] remembrance of [things] that are to come with [those] that shall come after." The Bible teaches that we cannot effect any lasting change in the universe. Whatever impact we are to have is in, through, and by the power of Christ at work in us “to will and to work for His good pleasure.”

Galations 5.6 says, “…In Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.”

I thought again of Madeline. She was but one of a great many of the women I knew who had “put to death” their own plans in order to be obedient to the thing which they believed God had called them to. Madeline was staying home with her girls even though her preference was to practice law. Lucy, a surgeon, was working faithfully despite the fact that her real longing was to be a wife and mother. Jane had made great domestic sacrifices in order to care for her aging parents. And Elizabeth - who had been eager to cease working after the birth of her first child - continued after her baby was diagnosed with a serious illness - just so her family could maintain health insurance!

All of these women have drastically different circumstances; none of them is living the life she envisioned for herself. Yet each is stewarding her circumstances with a faith that is expressing itself through love.

Thus it is neither working nor staying home, mothering nor remaining single, that have any value. What is valuable is being faithful to God through the circumstances He gives – believing Him, hoping in Him, and staking our lives upon His Word.

Hebrews 4.2 says, “For indeed we have had good news preached to us, just as they [the Israelites] also; but the word they heard did not profit them, because it was not united by faith in those who heard.” If we are to live profitable lives, lives that, in God’s kingdom, “amount to something,” we must spend our energies believing in the gospel that was preached to us and the God which it reveals: a God who became man and died a sinner's death in order to reconcile us to Himself. It is this gospel - and not the gospel of self-actualization or self-empowerment - which must become the single, unifying power that holds our lives together. It alone must be the foundation upon which our life is built, the framework through which our every decision is made.

Ephesians 2.10 says, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God has chosen beforehand that we should walk in them.” The American mindset is that I am my own workmanship. The world is my oyster; and thus my destiny is my own. I must set my mind on the thing I want and work relentlessly until it is my possession.

But if the Word of God is reliable and true, if we are His workmanship then, like any master artist, He decides precisely what we are to be. He chooses the medium (whether oil, watercolor, charcoal), the subject (perhaps a portrait or landscape) and the period in which the work that is my very soul is rendered. We choose whether to comply with Him in the making, whether – in faith – to persevere through the circumstances He chooses, letting Him have His way, or whether we will dig in our heels and in defiance say, No, You must use this color! And how about sketching me in a grand old house by the sea instead of out here in the desert or the mountains or the swamp?

What is more, if we are His workmanship – His works of art, like living stones being built up into a spiritual house – then it is fair to say that He made us for the same reason that the painter paints her painting, or the sculptor sculpts her clay – she does so for the sheer joy of the thing! The process is certainly painstaking, but it is also delightful! And the outcome remains forever afterward something that brings glory to the Painter, something that proclaims to the whole universe just how magnificent He is.

Proverbs 16.4 says, “The Lord has made everything for its own purpose. Even the wicked for the day of evil.” The clause “for its own purpose” comes from the Hebrew word maaneh which, when translated literally, means “for Himself, for His answer or response.” Accordingly the King James Bible says, “The Lord has made everything for himself.”

Thus we find our life’s purpose in belonging to God, and being the thing He has made us to be. We are valuable because He says so. Specificities of application aside, He has made us to be conformed into the image of Jesus Christ; to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength; and to love our neighbor as ourselves. Such love, if it is genuine, is demonstrated through obedience: “This is love for God: to obey his commands” (1 John 5.3). Like Christ, ours should be an obedience that persists, regardless of circumstances and irrespective of cost.

If we believe Him – and spend our lives seeking to conform ourselves to His word – then we will become increasingly immune to the oft-times alluring but hopelessly mistaken values of our world.

“Having it all” will always be defined as having all of Him. John 15.5 says, “Abide in me and you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” Only God can effect change in the universe. He accomplishes the work; but I can participate. I – with Madeline, Lucy, Jane and Elizabeth beside me – can allow Him to take the mundane and meaningless tasks that often form the substance of my days and use them to shape me into something beautiful, something that brings everlasting praise to His Name.

Community Living

“So, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience; bearing with one another, and forgiving each other…just as the Lord forgave you...Beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity.” – Colossians 3.12-13

The presence of such commands in the New Testament epistles implies something glaring about myself and my neighbor: we are both sinners, sinners to the core. One does not say to a bird, “Chirp!” or to a horse, “’Whinny’ and ‘neigh!’” These things come naturally to both creatures.

But to a human being, God must make a point of saying, “put on” compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Christ’s sacrifice on the cross means we can do so – relying not upon our own nature, but upon His. To exhibit these qualities is not natural; I am not innately kind or humble, gentle or patient. Instead, I am prone to think a man rightly earned whatever hard lot has fallen upon him. I am more often callous and indifferent than compassionate and kind. It takes no effort for me to assert myself; but I must practice humility!

Further, the fact that I am commanded to demonstrate gentleness or patience inadvertently implies that God will sprinkle my path with individuals whose behavior naturally incites the opposite within me. It is easy enough to be gentle and mild with a helpless babe; but put me for five minutes in close quarters with someone brash or haughty and I must exercise all my powers of self-restraint to keep from throwing punches or baring claws.

Of all the virtues, patience is, in our culture, perhaps the nearest to extinction. We are eager, hurried, impulsive, and rash; who has time for patience when you are so used to having the thing you want now? Patient people, we feel, are passive people. Not so for the Christian! It is patience which breathes wind into the sails of faith. The dictionary says patience is “the ability to endure waiting, delay, or provocation without becoming annoyed or upset, or to persevere calmly when faced with difficulties.” We must put on patience if we are to persevere in the Christian life.

Finally, to know that I must bear with others and forgive means that others will try my patience and sin against me.

Why should I? The most natural thing to do, when I am face to face with a conflict between myself and my neighbor, is to withdraw. No need to fight it out – aren’t we above all that? Instead, I will remove myself from the presence of my enemy! My sense of justice tells me that such forms of retribution – whether active or passive - are only fair. After all, don’t I have a right to protect myself?

But the Scripture says I have no such right because my sense of right and wrong have been distorted by sin (Lam. 3.39). I have become not only my own worst enemy but I have also made myself an enemy of God: "Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are proved right when you speak and justified when you judge" (Psalm 51.4).

Thus when commanding Christ's church to "put on" His natural virtues, the apostle appeals to a higher law than the law of justice.

Christ’s sacrifice on the cross – through which perfect Justice was completely satisfied – renders my sense of justice obsolete. I am now under a new law – the law of love (Mar. 12.28-31). Thus, in Him, I am compelled to forgive just as I have been forgiven; to love without regard for myself; only then can we begin to know and experience what is meant by “…the perfect bond of unity.”

Staying Home

"Where am I? Who am I?
How did I come to be here?
What is this thing called the world?
How did I come into the world?
Why was I not consulted?
And If I am compelled to take part in it,
Where is the director?
I want to see him."

- Soren Kierkegaard

One morning last spring my friend Madeline dropped by for a visit. We sat in lounge chairs in my front yard on the little circle of synthetic green that, in Arizona, constitutes our ‘lawn.’ Our babies, born a week apart, ogled each other beneath their silk sunhats, groping now and then at a loose thread that sprouted between the faded squares of the quilt spread between us.

Lizzie, Madeline’s three-year-old, quickly made a game of tossing pennies into the stone fountain that stood beside the lawn. Occasionally, she trotted lightly round the fountain’s base and made us guess at her ‘wish.’ When I suggested that perhaps, since it was so terribly hot, she might have wished for a cold soda or an iced cream cone she said, “No,” more solemnly than I thought any three year old capable. “I asked God to make me more grateful.”

Madeline and I exchanged glances, at once baffled and delighted by her innocence and depth.

In between slow sips of iced tea we chit chatted about this and that – the books we were reading, a newly discovered recipe for chocolate dipped coconut macaroons – and at 11 o’clock shared a snack of fresh strawberries and crackers and cheese. By 11:30 the babies began to rub their eyes. “I believe our window is closing,” I said.

Lizzie looked at me quizzically. “Miss Heather,” she ventured, searching stoically about the yard, “which window is it?”

I started to ask what she meant, then stopped myself, having grasped her meaning. “Oh, sweetheart,” I said, making little effort to conceal my amusement, “that’s called a metaphor.”

“A meta-what?”

“A metaphor. For example, have you ever heard anyone say, ‘It’s raining cats and dogs?’

“Nooo.”

“I forgot. We are in the desert. How about: ‘She has a heart of stone?’”

Lizzie shook her head.

“Please,” interrupted Madeline, “stop while you’re ahead.”

“I don’t believe I ever was. Oh, Madeline. She's a dream.”

Madeline smiled. “Moments like this make it all worth it,” she said. Her voice trailed off. “…which is why I am embarrassed to admit I sometimes fear I will wake up one day and wonder if I wasted my life. I’m terrified that perhaps staying home was the easy answer.”

I squeezed Madeline’s arm and told her I didn’t think there were any easy answers.

But after we waved goodbye I lingered a few moments on my front step, feeling a stab of regret that I hadn’t a better response to my friend’s admission. If she could only see herself through my eyes, I thought. If only she knew the superiority of what she had gained compared to what she had lost…

Madeline met her husband in law school. They clerked together, graduated together, and after their marriage took a job together with a Phoenix firm. When they got married, Madeline was sure she’d return to work after having children. But two weeks into her maternity leave, her husband began to rethink his convictions regarding childrearing. He felt it was important for children to have their mother at home, particularly during their earliest years. Contrary to her own preferences, Madeline submitted to his wishes, choosing to honor him at the expense of her career.

Needless to say, she was anything but the kind of person who looked for easy answers to life’s difficulties.

I knew she loved being a mother. Yet I resonated with her fear - not because I disliked motherhood – but because I shared what I believed was Madeline’s underlying desire to live a purposeful life. I considered that all people harbor such desires – to live lives that have impact and, as worn out as the phrase may be, make some lasting difference in the larger world.

The desire for meaning and purpose are intrinsic to human nature. But how, I pondered, does one go about attaining these things? More specifically, how does one do so as a Christian?

THE PROBLEM

As a woman, the culture tells me that I should be able to have it all – love, career, children – and that I am justified in pursuing my dreams regardless of the cost to my husband, child, and – above all – my relationship with God. Moreover, I am given the subtle but unmistakable message that doing something “important” and being a full-time mother are mutually exclusive.

In contrast, Christianity teaches that in order to find my life I must lose it; and that the key to living is dying. Thus the two states are directly opposed. To live a life of temporal significance – according to the world’s value system – I must devote myself to self-actualization, whereas, to follow Jesus Christ, and live a life of eternal significance, requires self-sacrifice.

Madeline chose to sacrifice her own plans by submitting to the leadership of her husband. According to the outline I've just set out, she made the right choice.

But if so, why are there lingering doubts in her mind, and the minds of so many women like her? If what we are doing as wives, mothers, and children of God is really meaningful in His eyes, why does it so often feel mundane and purposeless?

THE SOLUTION

I have come to believe that life often feels meaningless because it is meaningless. King Solomon surveyed the nature of existence and concluded that all things are absurd, futile, and without meaning. Whether you are a lawyer a mother or a world-renown bird caller “all is vanity and striving after wind.”

A man may build an empire today but tomorrow no one will remember his name. Today’s bestseller is tomorrow’s trash. As the Psalmist says, “[There is] no remembrance of former [things]; neither shall there be [any] remembrance of [things] that are to come with [those] that shall come after. The Bible teaches that we cannot effect any lasting change in the universe. Whatever impact we are to have is in, through, and by the power of Christ at work in us “to will and to work for His good pleasure.”

Galations 5.6 says, “…In Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.”

I thought again of Madeline. She was but one of a great many of the women I knew who had “put to death” their own plans in order to be obedient to the thing which they believed God had called them to. Madeline was staying home with her girls even though her preference was to practice law. Lucy, a surgeon, was working faithfully despite the fact that her real longing was to be a wife and mother. Jane, a doctor of history, had made great domestic sacrifices in order to care for her aging parents. And Elizabeth, who had been thrilled at the thought of quitting work after the birth of her first child, continued part-time after her baby was diagnosed with a serious illness, just so the family could maintain their health insurance!

All of these women have drastically different circumstances; none of them is living the life she envisioned for herself. Yet each is stewarding her circumstances with a faith that is expressing itself through love.

Thus it is neither working nor staying home, mothering nor remaining single that have any value. What is valuable is being faithful to God through the circumstances He gives – believing Him, hoping in Him, and staking our lives upon His Word.

Hebrews 4.2 says, “For indeed we have had good news preached to us, just as they [the Israelites] also; but the word they heard did not profit them, because it was not united by faith in those who heard.” If we are to live profitable lives, lives that, in God’s kingdom, “amount to something,” we must spend our energies believing in the gospel that was preached to us and the God which it reveals: a God who became man and died a sinner's death in order to reconcile the world to Himself. It is this gospel which must become the single, unifying power that holds our lives together; the framework upon which our life is built, and our every decision made.

Ephesians 2.10 says, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God has chosen beforehand that we should walk in them.” The American mindset is that I am my own workmanship. The world is my oyster. My destiny is my own. I must set my mind on the thing I want and work relentlessly until it is my possession. To do less is to prove myself a coward or, even worse, mediocre.

But if the Word of God is reliable and true, if we are His workmanship then, like any master artist, He decides precisely what we are to be. He chooses the medium (whether oil, watercolor, charcoal), the subject (perhaps a portrait or landscape) and the period in which the work that is my very soul is rendered. We choose whether to comply with Him in the making, whether – in faith – to persevere through the circumstances He chooses, letting Him have His way, or whether we will dig in our heels and in defiance say, No, You must use this color! And how about sketching me in a grand old house by the sea instead of out here in the desert or the mountains or the swamp?

What is more, if we are His workmanship – His works of art, living stones being built up into a spiritual house – then it is fair to say that He made us for the same reason that the painter paints her painting, or the sculptor sculpts her clay – she does so for the sheer joy of the thing! The process is certainly painstaking, but it is also delightful! And the outcome remains forever afterward something that brings glory to the Painter.

Proverbs 16.4 says, “The Lord has made everything for its own purpose. Even the wicked for the day of evil.” The clause “for its own purpose” comes from the Hebrew word maaneh which, when translated literally, means “for Himself, for His answer or response.” Thus the King James Bible says, “The Lord has made everything for himself.”

Thus we find our life’s purpose in being the thing God has made us to be. Specificities of application aside, He has made us to be conformed to the image of Jesus Christ; to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength; and to love our neighbor as ourself. Such love, if it is genuine, is demonstrated through obedience: “This is love for God: to obey his commands” (1 John 5.3). Like Christ, ours should be an obedience that persists, regardless of circumstances and irrespective of cost.

If we believe Him – and spend our lives seeking to conform to His will – then we will become increasingly immune to the oft-times alluring but hopelessly mistaken values of our world.

“Having it all” will always be defined as having all of Him. John 15.5 says, “Abide in me and you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” Only God can effect change in the universe. He accomplishes the work; but I – with Madeline, Lucy, Jane and Elizabeth beside me – can participate by allowing Him to take and use the meaningless tasks that form the substance of my days to shape me into something beautiful, something that brings everlasting praise to His Name.

Finding Your Purpose in God's Will

"For this is the will of God, your sanctification..." - 1 Thess. 4.3

“Therefore let those who suffer according to the will of God commit their souls to Him..." - 1 Peter 4.19

Knowledge of God’s will is something men have made claims toward for thousands of years. Religions have been forged and factions formed by those who claim to possess it. It is a subject over which wars have been fought, and are being fought still. But perhaps the apostle Paul gives us the greatest insight into unlocking what this ‘mysterious’ will of God truly is: “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is – his good, pleasing and perfect will” (Rom. 12.2).

To know and do God’s will one must first and foremost surrender one’s own will. This surrender is not passive, but active: do not be conformed…but be transformed. One must actively resist conformity to “the pattern of this world,” turning away from or breaking out of the natural or inherited mold. At the same time, one must actively pursue the kind of transformation which – by the Holy Spirit’s power – leads to the state of having a “renewed mind.” We do this by immersing ourselves in the Scriptures and always seeking to interpret our circumstances through the lenses of biblical truth.

God’s will is rarely something concrete and easily defined. It must, in the host of situations which each of us face over the course of a lifetime, be “test[ed] and approve[d]” over and against the parameters (i.e. biblical commands) outlined in Scripture.

The question is here raised: How did Christ exemplify this process while walking the earth? Scripture tells us bluntly: “…Christ also suffered for you, leaving an example for you to follow in His steps, who committed no sin, nor was any deceit found in His mouth; …while suffering, he uttered no threats, but kept entrusting Himself to Him who judges righteously” (1 Peter 2.23).

Christ submitted to God’s authority by following His thread, the thread that led Him to the Cross. He did not seek new and better circumstances for Himself. As His the narrative of His life so clearly proves, His life was not His own; His destiny - a word which for most Americans is impregnated with false notions - was not His to create. As He submitted, He suffered; but rather than resist such suffering, or give way to fear, He entrusted Himself to the God who judges righteously.

This is the will of God in the life of His saints – not that we pursue suffering, nor rejoice in it for its own sake; but that when He brings it into our lives, we make it our aim to suffer like Him. "...[Y]ou were called for this very purpose, that you may inherit a blessing" (1 Peter 3.9).

The Elder Brother II

“For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost” – Luke 19.10

It is very difficult, if you are in the class of people whom society would likely term (even moderately) ‘successful,’ ‘intelligent,’ or ‘morally upright,’ to read the story of the Prodigal Son without feeling some measure of indignation at the father’s treatment of the Elder Brother. We feel that he was treated unfairly; that he was, as so often happens in families when one child screws up and the other sucks it up, overworked and underappreciated; and we shake our heads knowingly and mutter something about how “such people” (by which of course we mean, ourselves) are always getting the short end of the stick.

And yet our very act of commiseration tacitly reveals and confirms our guilt. Those, like myself, who at first glance read the story of the Elder Brother only to find themselves overcome with a sense of vicarious self-righteous anger must recognize the smoke and follow it to the fire: for the fire is fueled by our belief that we are good, that we have proven our goodness by our actions, and that these actions entitle us to a certain standard of treatment. In this our hearts are exposed as Pharisaical, brimming with pride and self-righteousness.

We have not only failed to grasp the meaning of the Cross, but our need for it. Our faith, however sincere, is largely misguided, being built on an improper foundation (Luke 6.46-49).

Whereas the Prodigal is a personification of Immoral Man, the Elder Brother personifies the Moral or Religious person. Each is in error, each has ‘turned to his own way’ and, apart from the divine intervention of a gracious father, each is headed for an eternity separated from him.

Whereas the prodigal is preoccupied with gratifying the needs of his flesh, the Elder Brother is preoccupied with gratifying his own ego. He is out to prove his own goodness or rightness before his father and as a result becomes obsessed with his sense of what he believes is owed him – namely, his father’s recognition and his father’s things.

What is more, he is oriented toward obeying a set of rules and performing to meet a set of standards, rather than cultivating a relationship with his father. As a result, he is filled with a sense of entitlement: 'Look! For so many years I have been serving you and…{yet} you have never given me a young goat, so that I might celebrate with my friends; but when this son of yours came, who has devoured your wealth with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him.' When he does not get what he believes he deserves, he is filled with malice and self-pity.

The Elder Brother simultaneously demonstrates his hubris – for who but Christ can justly say to his father, ‘I have never neglected a command of yours?” – as well as his total failure to comprehend that the primary means of acceptance in any relationship is grace and not works. Because of this failure, the Elder Brother proves incapable of genuine love and compassion, toward his brother or anyone else. He is too busy judging the failures of others to realize his own (Romans 2.1).

But perhaps the primary difference between the Prodigal and his Elder Brother is their varying levels of self-awareness. The first ultimately apprehends that he is lost and returns to his father begging mercy; the other, as far as we know, remains entrenched in his own false perceptions of himself and by the end of the story has drifted further astray than when we first met him. In the end, he is more to be pitied.

Certainly, the abruptness with which Christ ends the story - relaying the earnest Father's appeal without mention of the Elder Brother's response - is meant to serve as a kind of stimulus. Perhaps we are meant to finish and act out the ending in our own lives.

How will we respond? Will we allow ourselves to be truly converted, or will we harden our hearts, to God and men?

A God Worth Fearing

“And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families of their own.” – Exodus 1.21

David and Solomon understood that: “The fear of the LORD [is] the beginning of knowledge” (Prov. 1.7). Thus one of the most obvious indicators that a man is lost is his total absence of any fear of God. In his condemnation of all men, Paul uses the words of David as a proof: “There is no fear of God before there eyes” (Rom. 3.18).

The fear of God is critical to being rightly related to Him. To fear God is not merely, as our society would like to think, to display reverence – though of course we should conduct ourselves reverently in His presence. God is awesome and should therefore inspire awe. However, to fear God also and more precisely means exactly what it says: to be stricken with fear or terror, exceedingly frightened, terrified.

When Christ was transfigured before Peter, James, and John, the Scriptures tell us that “they were terrified” (Mark 9.4). Peter was so filled with fear that he began to mumble nonsensically. Similarly, when the disciples saw the wind die down in response to Christ’s direct order “they became very much afraid” (Mark 4.41). Both words – “terrified” and “afraid” – come from the same Greek root, phobos, from which is derived the English word phobia. It literally means “to be struck with fear or to be seized with alarm.”

But objects of fear are also sources of hope. All human beings tend to display fear toward those persons or thing in which they also invest hope. For example, I may fear for the safety of my child because I also hope in her future well-being. My husband may fear his employer because he hopes the man will one day grant him a raise. In this sense, fear and hope are conversely related; the more I fear X, the more my hope is in X.

But if I am rightly related to God I fear nothing and no one but Him because I hope in nothing and no one but Him. In Christ we are liberated from the fear of “those who kill the body and after that can do no more” (Luke 4.3). Instead, as Luke instructs, “Fear him who, after the killing of the body, has power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him” (Luke 4.4). It is to God, not man, before whom we will one day give an account; and whatever praise we receive will come from Him. Thus we also hope in Him, believing that He alone – through Christ – is capable of offering us salvation from Hell and grace to help in time of need (Heb. 4).

The Egyptian midwives demonstrated this kind of fear; and God rewarded them for it. They protected the Hebrew women at their own risk because they feared God more than Pharoah. Those who truly possess a fear of God will often demonstrate this kind of courage because they know either explicitly (via God’s word) or implicitly (through the work of the Holy Spirit) that only God is worth fearing.

The Abolition of Fear

"To those who reside as aliens…who are chosen…to obey Jesus Christ and be sprinkled with His blood...” --1 Peter 1-2

To those who are chosen. To do what? To obey. And to be sprinkled with His blood. This is well worth repeating because it sheds profound light on the vocational purpose of those who would identify themselves as Christians. We devote exorbitant amounts of time and energy to talk of vocation, and of finding one’s purpose, without recognizing that the predominant part of our purpose on earth, our raison d’etre, so to speak, is simply to obey Christ and to live as marked men and women in a world that is perishing.

Peter goes on throughout his epistle to highlight the various ways in which Christians are called to demonstrate their allegiance to Christ by submitting to earthly authorities: citizens to governments, servants to masters, wives to husbands, and young men to elder men. The application may differ depending on one’s station in life, but the essential call is the same for all people: obedience to Christ displayed through obedience to authority, even when that authority is unreasonable.

Lest there be any confusion about this, Peter states very clearly: “…this finds favor, if for the sake of conscience toward God a person bears up under sorrows when suffering unjustly’ (2.19). He goes on, “For you have been called for this purpose, since Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example for you to follow in His steps” (2.21).

We do not submit because we feel like it; in fact, if submission corresponded with our natural inclination it would not be submission at all but preference. Neither do we submit because we are convinced that, in doing so, we will achieve the particular outcome we think best at the time.

We submit because we believe that the best things emerge from obedience. Just look at the Cross and all it accomplished. Every single act of obedience, however small, is a profound demonstration, an overt testament of our belief that God’s way is the best way, that His ‘good’ is the only good worth having, and His ‘freedom’ the only kind that truly makes us free.

“Sarah obeyed Abraham and called him her lord;” but just because she called him lord does not mean that she mistook him for the Lord. Sarah’s hope was in God just as Christ’s hope was in God. She knew, just as Christ did, that obedience to any earthly authority – in this case, her husband – could only work in her favor. Perhaps preempting the words of the Psalmist, “This I know that God is for me,” Sarah, when threatened by Hagar, called upon God to be her advocate, not Abraham. She knew that no man, not even her husband, could thwart His purposes for her as long as she remained submitted to Him.

When in faith we obediently submit to the leadership of any earthly authority it requires us, at a certain point, to confront our deepest fears. But if we remember the words of God – “Do not fear…I am a shield to you; your reward shall be very great” – we will prove ourselves master over them.

Making History

“…Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord, and you have become her children if you do what is right without being frightened by any fear.” – 1 Peter 3.6

What sort of children are Sarah’s? They are those who “do what is right without being frightened by any fear;” in this context, they are submissive to their husbands. For the modern woman, this is a bitter pill which slides crookedly down the throat, if it slides down at all. If, however, we choose to place ourselves in the category of those who choose to submit, we can expect to face adversity, both within and outside ourselves. But it is imperative to remember that all Christians, regardless of sex, are called to submission, even when doing so results in suffering, not vainly, but in order that we may “obtain an inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled…reserved in heaven for [us]” (1 Pet.1.4).

The same Peter who wrote these words stepped out of His boat and – contrary to reason and instinct – walked on water in obedience to Christ’s bidding (Matt.14.29). Like so many before him, Peter understood that believing God means obeying Him, regardless of cost. He learned from experience that when we obey God we may be assured of two things: 1) we will suffer; 2) we will be afraid. When we choose to obey God by submitting to those in authority over us we are filled with a sense of unease. Call it anxiety, nervousness, or apprehension, the root of the emotion is the same: we are afraid.

Sarah’s life demonstrates this principle. She began her marriage by following a man who admittedly “did not know where he was going.” Twice he asked her to enter the household of King Abimelech; she went (for all we know) willingly – with no assurance as to whether she would be left unharmed. Later, weary from Hagar and Ishmael’s mocking, she did not demand that Abraham comply with her wishes and expel the pair, but insisted that God act as judge an arbiter between them. Lastly – and perhaps most tellingly – Sarah watched her only child, the son of promise, the boy for whom she had waited so many years, depart with Abraham to Mt. Moriah to offer sacrifices with only a saddled donkey and a thatch of split wood. We cannot help but wonder whether she knew what word God had spoken to Abraham to test him by commanding him to offer up Isaac as a sacrifice? Certainly, if anyone understood that submission is frightening, Sarah did!

The history of Christianity is filled with such persons, flawed persons without knowledge of the future, yet standing up against extraordinary odds, all because they believed God enough to put themselves at risk in order to obey Him. Moses stood before a hard-hearted Pharoah; Esther risked her head by entering the court of the dreaded King Ahasuerus; and David, full of passionate zeal for God, fought the giant Goliath and endured persecution under the voluble king Saul. None of these people were perfect; but all were obedient. It is worth considering that we might not know their names if they had said, ‘no’ or ‘I will not,’ to God. The landscape of biblical history would be just as variant and rich, but it would be peopled with other names and stories.

God does not need us to accomplish His purposes; but in His goodness He offers us opportunity to obey and become part of the great lineage of those who, like Sarah, “considered Him faithful who had promised” (Heb. 11.11).

Do you trust God enough to submit to the leadership of your husband? Do you believe that He is not only sovereign, but good? If you do, you will submit, not dejectedly or resignedly, but with a hopeful glimmer in your eye. You will be among those blessed few who realize that He is not out to get you, but to remake you, and in so doing make you a living part of that Great History that is, most simply, His.

God's Authority; Our Safety

“…Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord, and you have become her children if you do what is right without being frightened by any fear.”

-1 Peter 3.6

If you are a typical modern woman you likely choked on the first half of this verse, making it nearly impossible for your eyes to remain fixed long enough to make any sense of the second. The very idea of obeying one’s husband not only jolts the mind, it turns the stomach. We begin to feel lightheaded and queasy, certain somehow that Scripture cannot actually mean what it seems to be saying. To submit is one thing. In his epistle to the Ephesians Paul instructs both wives and husbands to “submit to each other in the Lord.” But, we say, trying to calm ourselves, obey? Isn’t that what children do to parents? Or, still worse, slaves to masters? But wives to husbands? The mere suggestion is offensive to most women. It is what our society calls: backward, misogynistic, and – perhaps not least -- utterly ridiculous.

Our eyes fly to the nearest photograph of our dearly beloved – on the face of our flip-phone or the screen of our office computer. Suddenly his imperfections are thrown into high relief: the slightly crooked teeth, the goofy grin, the asymmetrical tilt of the head. ‘What,’ we think, ‘Obey, him?’ We feel an ambivalent mixture of discomfort, even perhaps latent fury, as we attempt to conjure up some wild scenario in which we might, in all seriousness, garner the courage to call him “lord.”

I say ‘courage’ because that is exactly what is required if we are to submit to the leadership of any man who, by nature of the fact that he is human, is thereby fallible.

If all men are fallible, why does God call us to submit to them? On one level, the answer is rhetorical: we submit because He says so. Everything hinges on the authority and reliability of the One who speaks.

Either God is trustworthy or He is not… If He is not trustworthy, then we can justly say, “To hell with your standards.” But if He is trustworthy, and still we insist on having our own way, then – to put it in the most terrifyingly obvious terms – we put ourselves in danger of hearing Him say, “To Hell with you.” I mean no disrespect; surely, God is not as flippant as the preceding phrase makes Him out to be. On the contrary: God is Love. He is Love’s perfect embodiment. Being such, He demands – for our own good and His glory – that we be conformed to His image, the image of the One who “humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Phil. 2.8). If He truly has our best interests at heart, then we can – along with Sarah – find the courage to do that which we have no desire or inclination to do. We can submit to our husbands “in the Lord” or “as unto the Lord,” believing that God is big enough to lead us through them.

But still, you say, it can’t be stomached.

Let us, for a moment, examine the issue in more neutral terms. God asks us to do X, insisting that X is the very best thing for us. X is instituted – not to constrain and belittle – but to protect in the same way that a hat and sunglasses, combined with a thick slather of sunscreen, protect the desert dweller from the sun’s rays. Conversely, not to do X is to place our souls in the gravest jeopardy. Sounds simple, right? In the abstract, it is. The problem arises when we define X. True, God knowingly asks us to do the very thing which comes least naturally to us. But if it came naturally it would not be a command. God does not command us to eat when we are hungry or call a friend when in need of a good chat for the simple reason that these things are both natural and pleasurable. If He knew how hard it would be, He must be after something larger and more important than we can imagine. He is, I believe, after our hearts.

Lest we get carried away with false notions about the rotten ‘plight of women,’ let us remember that the call to obedience – to submission – is not exclusive to sex. 1 Peter is oriented toward calling all people to a posture of submission “for the Lord’s sake” (2.13). Citizens are called to submit to governments; servants to masters; young men to their elders; and, yes, wives to husbands. Peter is clear that such submission – and the pattern of suffering and endurance which it begets and inspires – is not merely preferable. His language is starkly authoritative: “For such is the will of God…” (2.15); “For you were called for this purpose that you might inherit a blessing” (2.21).

Christ is, of course, the ultimate example of this kind of obedience. He lived His life in perfect submission to His Father; and although doing so required Him to submit to the earthly authority of depraved men, His death and resurrection prove that God’s purposes are not in the least obstructed by the fallibility of men.

Ultimately, as Pilate and Judas prove, we are His instruments whether we place ourselves under His authority or not.

When the stakes are highest, on whose authority will you stake your future well-being? Yours or God’s?