“Be anxious for nothing…” says Philippians 4:6 do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. (ESV) do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. (ESV), in a handy little catchphrase that we memorize in kindergarten Sunday School and use for the rest of our lives to establish the stolid fact that worry is a sin.

And worry is a sin. But I was thinking last night as I was lying in bed and being a little bit anxious about some things, that using that verse simply to condemn worry is really quite missing the point.

Suppose I found myself in a great palace for a visit. The king, who is ruling an absolute monarchy, has servants that hop-to when he says so, and he has a truly impressive supply of food and wealth. In a very real sense, this king can truly accomplish anything he wishes–certainly anything I could think of on an individual level. Suppose, too, that this king is no tyrant, but is reknowned for his kindness and graciousness. No one starves in his kingdom. And suppose that I am at the palace as his special guest. As I’m being shown around the palace grounds, the king, who knows that most days he’s going to be in court and in meetings, turns to me and says, “by the way, don’t worry about a thing. If you need anything, just ask.”

If the king’s word is law, then it would be just to interpret his words as a command not to worry. And for me, as his guest, to worry about something he is more than capable of providing would be ungrateful at best and, in a sense, sin. But in light of the surrounding situation, to focus in on that single phrase and build a philosophy around it–instead of focusing on the larger picture where the king is clearly anticipating every need and meeting it–would be a serious error of perspective. The king didn’t mean for his guests to go around focusing on not-worrying, he meant for his guests to focus on how wonderfully and perfectly he provides for them! And the guest who sits in their room wondering where their next meal is going to come from is nothing short of foolish and blind.

That was a very thin little allegory, but it really struck me last night. The problem isn’t worrying; the problem is failing to understand and trust that God does and will take care of us. There’s a reason why Paul didn’t just say “don’t worry” and leave it at that; he finished the thought by saying “but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” That’s the answer to worry!

To some extent, I think I’ve suffered from an over-familiarity with this verse. It seems like at a certain point, you’ve got the thing memorized so much that it can stop making vibrant sense. And so I have this idea in my head that we’re supposed to block worry out of minds somehow, and “just” pray about it instead. From a human standpoint, that’s not very encouraging. I have to psych out my mind to get it to stop focusing on the bad (worry) and then I have to kneel next to my bed and compose a prayer about it, too? Like, oh, boy, not only do I not get to think about this stuff that my mind is burning with, but then I’ve got to pray about it? And that’s going to help me how? Clearly this is not the attitude that believers should have toward prayer, but the fallen part of me would really like to think that way sometimes. Prayer doesn’t always seem like a practical solution to our very practical problems.

What I realized last night, though, is that the solution to worrying isn’t to worry less; it’s to know God more. The guest in the king’s palace who’s worrying about his dinner shouldn’t just sit in his room and think, “the king said not to worry, and so even though I think this is really worrisome, that I don’t know where my dinner is coming from, I’m just not going to think about it. I’m just going to sit here and try my best not to worry.” That isn’t what Paul says! He says don’t be anxious, but, i.e., instead, make your requests known to God. In other words, if you don’t know where your dinner’s coming from, stop moping in your room, go find the king, and tell him you’re hungry!

As an aside, this idea just blows me away. God is so infinitely more powerful and mighty and deserving of complete obeisance than the king in my little story. I think the verse recognizes that too, in elaborating that our requests are to be “by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving [lit., grateful language],” not just “God, give me some food!” Even still, though, the idea that we can approach the most infinite Being with “everything” (!) and make our requests known… God isn’t a king who expects us to stay in our rooms and take whatever He “just happens” to hand out; He tells us to make our requests known to Him! That’s mind-boggling. Can we even imagine such graciousness?

To return to my main point, I think part of the problem I face with seeing prayer as a real solution to worry is that prayer can seem more akin to sending a message via courier to the king to tell him I’m wondering about dinner than it is to go and talk to him myself. (Or maybe a better analogy would be that I text messaged His phone.) And so there’s room to wonder, did He get my message? Is He taking care of it? Does He really care about my dinner tonight? Is there any food in the house? But the reality is that God has already answered all those questions, and promises with all His Being to fulfill His answers.

• God gives us good things all the time. In fact, all good things are from Him. So we should know from experience that He will fulfill our needs. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. (ESV) Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. (ESV)).
• God is able to do more than we ask or imagine (Ephesians 3:20 Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, (ESV) Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, (ESV)).
• “Whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith” (Matthew 21:22 And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith.” (ESV) And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith.” (ESV), see also Luke 11:10 For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. (ESV) For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. (ESV), James 4:3 You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions. (ESV) You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions. (ESV), 1 John 3:22 and whatever we ask we receive from him, because we keep his commandments and do what pleases him. (ESV), John 16:24 Until now you have asked nothing in my name. Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full. (ESV) Until now you have asked nothing in my name. Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full. (ESV)).
• God causes all things to work for good for those who are called (Romans 8:28 And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. (ESV) And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. (ESV)).
• We can’t begin to imagine the good things God plans for us (1 Corinthians 2:9 But, as it is written,
  “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard,
  nor the heart of man imagined,
  what God has prepared for those who love him”– But, as it is written,
  “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard,
  nor the heart of man imagined,
  what God has prepared for those who love him”–).
• God promises to “supply every need” (Phillippians 4:19 And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. (ESV) And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. (ESV)).

Either God is true in every particular, or He’s true in no particular–if I’m counting on Him for salvation, how much more I should count on Him for the lesser things!

Tags: special tag no 2

This is part of a series. You can read the introduction first or view all the posts together.

The Westminster Shorter Catechism poses the question, “What is the chief end of man?” The answer to that question and today’s “why I want to go to heaven” are one and the same.

Our primary and sole purpose now is indeed to glorify God (”whatever you do, do all to the glory of God,” 1 Corinthians 10:31 So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. (ESV) So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. (ESV)) and rejoice in Him (”rejoice in the Lord always,” Philippians 4:4 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. (ESV) Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. (ESV)). And our primary and sole purpose in heaven will continue unchanged. We’ll be a lot better at glorifying Him, yes, but it has always been, and shall always be, that for which we were created.

In an assembly-line world, full of everything from multipurpose 4-in-1 printers to three-sizes-fits-all sweatshirts, I think it can be hard to grasp the concept of a truly single-purposed object. The things we surround ourselves with often do many things satisfactorily, but do few things extremely well. That’s why we have different “levels” of gadgets depending on whether, for instance, the printer is going to be used by a mom in her home or a printing company in the workplace. We also make lots of substitutions. When I don’t have cooking spray, I use canola oil. I use the same kind of flour to put in many different baked goods. When we don’t have good nails to use to hang pictures, we use whatever nails we have. We’re adaptable and flexible, by God’s marvelous design, and so it isn’t a big problem that most of us don’t know how to mill our own flour exclusively for each specific cake, or forge an ideally-shaped nail for each task.

So when we speak of being created for a single purpose, I’m not sure how much immediate meaning that connotes in our minds. One thing engineering can show us–as countless human tragedies have attested–is that when you try to use a part for something other than its intended use, chaos can result. If you apply forces to a metal pin in different directions or strengths than the pin was intended, the pin may twist and strain and eventually break. And so bridges and buildings have come falling down, simply because the builders tried to use parts to do things other than what they were created to do.

And it’s the same way with us. We were custom-tailored, fashioned by God with the greatest care, intended for one chief object: to glorify God. And when we’re acting outside of that original intention, we too get twisted, strained, and breaking. We were designed to glorify God, and we don’t do other things well.

But right now, we’re like metal pins in a bridge that’s collapsing. In a fallen world and in fallen bodies, we are not glorifying God perfectly nor are we enjoying Him completely.

In heaven, we will be in a perfect situation, perfectly fulfilling our intended “use.” If spending eternity glorifying God sounds uneventful now, it’s only because our understanding is incomplete: Scripture is very clear that God is our ultimate joy, and glorifying Him is our greatest occupation. Now we see as through a glass darkly, but in Heaven, nothing will fill us with such excitement as worshipping God! It’s like if we imagine our perfect, most ideal job, with the best benefits: the type of job where we jump out of bed in the morning because we can’t wait to get to work because we love what we do and we know we do it well–and that’s the description of our job in heaven!

And so, today’s reason why I want to go to heaven is because there is nothing better, nothing more enjoyable, nothing more pleasing, and nothing more fulfilling, than doing what I was designed to do! And that’s an idea I can only begin to grasp, but it’s such an amazing and awesome thing that I can’t wait to understand it in full!

This is the last of the ten posts. I might extend the series with two or three closely-related posts, also on the subject of heaven, but not specifically “why I want to go.” I’m not one hundred percent decided yet, but I have some thoughts floating around that I’d like to work through.

Tags: cultivating heavenwardness special tag no 2 ten reasons why I want to go to heaven theology verses

This is part of a series. You can read the introduction first or view all the posts together.

One of the passages in the Bible that I’ve always struggled with, not theologically so much as emotionally, is where Thomas sees the resurrected Christ:[bibleblock]John 20:24-29[/bibleblock]The last verse refers to us, of course, and so it ought to be comforting… but how many times do we fall into the fallacy of thinking that if only I could see with my own eyes, I would believe? Not necessarily salvation-wise, but maybe thinking that if Jesus was sitting here next to me, I would automatically do something differently. I remember the summer that I went to camp, we had a big powwow and one of the counselors told this story about Jesus coming to visit at a person’s house, in person, and it totally revolutionized the person’s life. The idea was for us to visualize being in that situation ourselves and see “what books we’d be ashamed to have on our shelves,” so to speak.

I’ve come to the conclusion, though, that if Christ came to my house and stayed a while… I’d still be a sinner. Maybe even things wouldn’t be very much different. Just consider the disciples: they saw Christ every day and they still managed to screw stuff up. Peter was face to face with Christ when he decided the wind was more fearsome than Christ was able ([bible]Matthew 14:28-31[/bible]). I don’t see how my eyes, which are so easily deceived anyway, would do a better job of convincing me of the reality of Christ than the Spirit of God working in my heart does. So when I say, “I want to go to heaven so I can see Jesus,” I don’t mean so that I’ll know “for sure” that He’s real. Seeing Jesus is an end in itself.

When I read the Thomas passage, it, more earnestly than any other passage in Scripture, makes me long to see my Savior. That’s explicitly what Thomas was doing; it’s the whole point, the reason for the exchange. And oh how badly I want to be in that situation as well! The very idea takes my breath away. I know beyond a doubt that I was created to worship God, if for no other reason than the vehemence of the emotional reaction the idea of actually seeing Him causes within me. It isn’t “rational,” from the world’s perspective, to experience an intense longing to meet someone we’ve never “met,” but there it is. “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face.” Can we read those words without intense excitement stirring in our hearts?

And in heaven, that anticipation will be fulfilled: we’ll see Christ! In person! I’m going to see my Redeemer face-to-face at last! [bible]1 John 3:2[/bible] says “we shall see Him as He is”! As He is. Is there anything more amazing?

Tags: cultivating heavenwardness special tag no 2 ten reasons why I want to go to heaven theology verses

I have been selfish and I have been afraid.

The past two months have been unspeakably difficult. Not because of anything external, but because of me. I have learned better what it means to contend with the flesh; I have known the right thing to do and longed to do it, and yet I have continually fallen short.

Paul says in Romans 7 , “I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.” And oh how the meaning of that has been etched into my mind and conscience these past weeks! Every word of that passage has been infused with new depth of meaning for me. I have always known what it is to sin willfully, but lately I find myself waging war with tiredness and sickness and uncertainty and (most of all) a tremendous mental “backlash” after these past few stressful months. It has been stressful, no matter how much I would like to ignore or deny the fact, and I think that even if I had reacted flawlessly to the situation, it still would have been stressful. Even just the physical aspects of things — surgeries and recoveries, weeks of radiation and tiredness/sickness, and not inconsiderable pain even still. All these things have taken their toll. Add to that the stresses that are a result of my own failure to trust God — the worry, anxiousness, nervousness, and everything else that goes along with them — and I am emotionally and mentally exhausted. Even if my life in this very instant is going perfectly as I had intended, there’s still this enormous backlog of tension that runs as an inescapable undercurrent in the midst of every happy moment.

So here I am, in the middle of much present discouragement, trying to stop drowning in this sinful ocean of not-quite-despair. I am clinging to every little bit of hope that I come across as surely as if it were food and I were dying of starvation. But to be honest, I am still failing.

And yet. What does Paul say in the midst of his exposition about warring within himself? “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” He doesn’t say that his mind took over his flesh and won the battle forever. The battle continued to rage. “I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin,” he concludes. That’s not an answer in the conventional sense! It doesn’t tie up everything neatly and announce that the work is complete and perfect. On the contrary; can a Christian come any nearer to despair than to admit with resignation that their flesh remains sinful? That regardless of how much they know the right thing to do, they find themselves unable to do it? Is there anything worse in our lives? Sin is the very opposite of our joy. But even as Paul writes these ostensibly depressing truths, what else does he find to say? Thanks be to God.

Could a phrase seem more out of place? “I’m rotten through and through, and all this perfection that I’m striving for is absolutely unreachable. Praise God!” What on earth is Paul going on about here? Contextually, he’s talking about the law which shows us our sin but fails (in salvation) because of our flesh. If the law was all we had to go by, we’d all be lost causes: we’re “wretched.” Even when we want to do the right things, we fail. But the praise is that we are not saved by the law — we’re saved by grace through Christ. I praise God for showing me that I’m still depraved even when I’m not meaning to be. When my sin is in one sense out of my control (being, as Paul says, what my flesh chooses to do but not what my mind wills), it is so clear that even if I trained my mind to perfection and dedicated myself from birth to a sinless life with the best of intentions, I would still fall short. I don’t need God’s grace merely because I’ve made bad decisions; I need God’s grace because every atom of me is tainted with sin. The most perfect person I could conceive to be would still fail. It’s a small distinction, but important. It’s very easy for me to fall into the fallacy of thinking that these little sins I choose to commit are the ones that would send me to hell, which is really a sort of works salvation in reverse: if my sins of choice are my death sentence, then perhaps if I didn’t commit them, I could live? But my current situation is teaching me that not all sins are “of choice.” I’m fallen no matter how hard I try not to be, and still completely responsible for that fallenness.

Secondly, and oh so encouragingly, Paul rejoices because Jesus Christ is the answer to “Who will deliver me from this body of death?” To be helpless in the grip of a sinful nature is a horrible thing. Paul goes on to explain that “the Spirit helps us in our weakness… we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” And it is in this context that that marvelous and famous promise is given: “we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” This is grace for today, I think — the Spirit is surely helping me in my weakness now, and it is so unspeakably amazing to think that He’s interceding for me with the words I don’t even know how to speak. And it only gets better: “…those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified.” This “body of death” will soon be cast away completely, and our souls will be glorified! We will be perfectly sanctified, restored, and freed forever from the grip of sin. The depth of my struggles today should be matched by an ever-deepening thirst for that future fulfilling of utter grace! And the deeper the struggle, the deeper the thirst!

While I praise God for being perfect and also for proving my own imperfection, I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t think I’m responsible for my current state of difficulty. I am having a dreadful time keeping a positive attitude and I’m entirely too enveloped with fear. These things are sin. I am responsible for my flesh, even when it’s fighting with my mind. It’s even more horrible to me that I am proving unable to rein it in. I am not rejoicing in sin; I’m rejoicing that I need God! I’m rejoicing in the awesomeness that He is not only sufficient, but that He is gracious, and that He is showing me these things anew and violently to my mind.

Tags: special tag no 2

I still have fleeting moments where I’m really truly afraid. They’re less fleeting than I would like; wherever the balance is between “be anxious about nothing” and a normal instinct for self-preservation, I’m far too much on the anxious side.

Yet: “Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:8. Scripture is very clear — in more places than just this one verse — that Christians are to live as though this life is not something to be grasped at. Living is not preferable to dying. Living should not be more comfortable than dying. Or, to paraphrase John Piper, we should not feel at home here.

These past few weeks I have been experiencing a sort of second shock, I think, about the “whole cancer thing.” It’s like there was the initial moment, that first awful and glorious week, and then a long respite of relative ease… and now I’m doing radiation and trying to figure out working and health insurance and future plans and realizing that my life will never, ever be the same. There’s the scars and tattoos that will be there forever, and the reddish tinge to my skin that will soon develop into a full-fledged burn that will take a year to fade. And I am starting to hurt, physically, and I’m honestly having a really difficult time not feeling sorry for myself. All of this is coalescing into the dread realization that I have cancer, and that while the statistics are in my favor, they’re by no means certain, and since God is in control anyway, statistics are fairly irrelevant.

These past few weeks have been almost as difficult emotionally as the first week in May. Maybe even more difficult. There have been times when I’ve been quite literally on the edge of falling apart — I think this is much exacerbated by my physical condition (which is not so good right now), but it’s there and I’m having to learn how to trust God even more. It’s harder, in some ways, because it’s not as easy to find the energy to actually think about things, so my sinful reactions are coming more to the fore.

And in these dark nights of mine, the one thing God keeps bringing me back to is that I am just passing through. I will be here and I will keep breathing until He is finished with having Julie Fuller here. Not a moment more or less. And that is comfort: I can trust that all my purpose here will be completed, not cut a moment short, and that He has planned the final moment with precision and perfection. My problem and the reason for my sinful worry is that I get caught up in my purpose instead of His. Hebrews 11:13-16, out of the “faith” chapter, has been increasingly convicting to me: “These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.”

Strangers and exiles on the earth. Seeking a homeland. Not thinking of the land from which we’ve gone out. Desiring a better country. This is me, too! In the world but not of it. This body in which I reside is fallen and sinful and tainted and scarred and to be rid of it is to be with Christ. To be rid of it is to be freed from sin! Why on earth am I not begging God with all my heart to make it so?

The answer is very obvious: I am much too infatuated with the things of this world. Good things, like marriage and family. But even the highest of these things is secondary to my calling as a child of God. Seth and I are married, yes, but we do not “belong” to one another; our deepest sense of ownership is possessed by God and God alone. We are here for the furtherance of His kingdom, and we are just sojourning here briefly until we join Christ and all the saints in heaven. Marriage is a beautiful and wonderful and ever so fun and enjoyable gift, but it’s an earthly gift. It’s a precursor to the ultimate wedding of Christ and the Church, and precursors melt away when their fulfillment is complete. We are to rejoice in that! If I am so tied to my husband that the thought of leaving him to be with Christ causes me to stumble, then we’ve tied ourselves together with the wrong sort of thread! You can’t take Christ out of your definition of love, and real love is never about clinging to something when it isn’t yours to cling to. And eternally, I have no right to cling to Seth. He is God’s; I am God’s; God can render us asunder at His pleasure.

I wish I would, with the people of Hebrews 10:34, gladly abandon these things I hold dear with equanimity because I know I have “a better possession and an abiding one.” That is the promise we have been given, and we have the God Who orchestrates every atom in the universe as Guarantor. That future “possession” of ours is everything we were created to desire, perfectly suited for us in every way, the summation of everything we yearn for, and the beginning of things we have not even begun to glimpse. This is through a glass darkly; that is face-to-face. Face to face. There is no thought of heaven that shakes me as much, that thrills me and terrifies me and that makes me hunger as nothing else.

But it is one thing to know, and another to live and to trust. I am learning — very slowly — that I must have the spirit of a sojourner, who stays in a strange country for a time and for a purpose, but never loses sight of the homeland, and who waits, every day, for word that the return ship has arrived in port, and that soon she will be going to the home she’ll never have to leave. Coming to a point where that is real, day-to-day, internalized, and instinctual is so infinitely much more important than getting better. I am not and have not been such an alien to this world.

I am so thankful that God does not abandon us to wallow in our misery and try to make sense of things on our own. He has never left me in the darkness, and I am continuing to see how He is using this “awful” circumstance for my greater good, and how He continues to teach me to praise Him for these things that my fallen self finds so unpraiseworthy.

Tags: cancer dying more coherent rejoice always special tag no 2 the sovereignty of God theology verses

In the —– community, they did this quiz which asked whether or not the respondent believed that they would still be married to their spouse in heaven. Obviously the answer was generally “no” (Luke 20:35), but with an addendum saying something to the effect of “I think it’s really sad, but God knows best and I guess I won’t be unhappy about it when I get there.”I was thinking about it tonight.

Marriage is an illustration of Christ’s relationship with the Church and of God’s relationship to Israel. Abraham’s attempted sacrifice of Isaac was an archetype of Christ’s sacrifice, but to limit the meaning of the story to a mere foreshadowing of later truth would leave out many valuable things (such as God’s faithfulness to Abraham and His promise, for instance). Similarly, saying that the be all and end all of marriage is to prefigure God’s relationship to the elect would miss other important points. Nevertheless, I find the typological relationship to be very strong. This is not an incidental, quasi-relevant part of the institution; it’s at the very heart.

With that in mind, the question of “dissolved” marriages in heaven: when Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, the people who looked on it were saved from death. That’s a Big Thing. It’s also obviously something they wanted to hold onto; in 2 Kings 18, we see that the serpent was still in existence, treasured through the years. They’d made it into an idol; instead of valuing God for the grace His gift represented, they valued the gift itself.

Believers should have no comprehension of that; for us, the serpent is replaced by Christ. The type has been fulfilled in the truest and highest sense, and the person who would hesitate at the loss of the serpent when Christ Himself stands as Savior is, for lack of a better word, foolish. Why grasp at the shadow when the reality is standing before you?

To apply this to marriage: marriage has, as I said, other purposes than pure typology. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 7, “but because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband.” This doesn’t have a parallel to Christ and the Church; Christ is obviously not going to indulge in any sort of immorality. But, a critical thing to note here is that this other purpose will cease entirely and absolutely in heaven. Other aspects of marriage — fellowship, leadership, joy, etc. — are represented by Christ and the Church and thus participate in the type. They are imperfect for us, but will be fulfilled and complete in Christ.

We won’t be sad about the lack of marriage in heaven — and we shouldn’t be sad about it here — because marriage is kind of like the serpent. It is a great and wonderful thing, enjoyable and treasurable, and a very wonderful demonstration of grace and love from our Heavenly Father. It is a good gift. Yet the glory is God’s alone in all things, and so the ultimate focus of believers where marriage is concerned must be Him. It is a gift that leads us to value God, not to value the gift for itself. Marriage is a foreshadowing, of this infinitely great marriage that is enacted in Revelation 19: “Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his Bride has made herself ready; it was granted her to clothe herself with fine linen, bright and pure.” This is the marriage we anticipate in heaven. God will take His gift to us now and multiply it until it is as immeasurably distinct from the original as Christ is from the serpent. There is no loss; only grace.

It’s a concept that I think is important to understand and rejoice in now. We are observing or participating in something wonderful, but all its wonderfulness pales in comparison to the eventuality it represents. It’s an awesome thought, actually; however good it is, that which is to come is infinitely better.

I can’t wait.

Tags: more coherent special tag no 2

I’ve been struggling lately with an acute awareness of my own fallen state. One thing about being back at my current church is that it’s really easy to coast — I have an insanely good reputation there, and until I do something publicly that’s utterly horrendous, most people will continue to think of me as a slightly grown-up version of the little girl they’d known since kindergarten, who always knew the answers more than anybody else, consistently won the sword drills, never talked back or disobeyed anyone in authority, who grew up to be a very active member, youth leader, and children’s Bible teacher. Nobody ever worried about me.

Except me. Paul tells the Philippians to work out their own salvation with “fear and trembling,” and I know that “fear and trembling” well. Not a fear out of nothing — I’m not worried about God changing His mind (wonderful impossibility) and “unsaving” me — but a fear of failing to bring Him pleasure, an awareness that this is God to Whom I belong. And in truth, I want more than anything to please Him! When it comes down to actions, however, I fall short so often and so far. It burns and torments me, yet somehow, my brain fails to grasp the logic; knowing and even wanting does not equal doing. I want to be sick of the things this world has to offer, sick of the taint of sin within me. To be holy… sweet idea even in anticipation.

The other day, I was thinking of the words that accompany the signum crucis in Catholicism — in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti, amen — and I realized (the obvious) that sancti was the Latin word for “holy.” I knew this in a purely linguistic context (having had two years of Latin in addition to informal study), but I hadn’t thought about the religious implications. We talk about “sanctification” a lot, and I guess I’d associated the word vaguely with “purification” — but technically, “sanctification” means “the act or process of becoming set apart.” The becoming holy. The becoming pure. This isn’t some abstract theological concept to be named and casually set aside! This is the heart of where we are — now. Present-day.

I was reading The Pursuit of Man (no, it’s not a dating book :-)) today in the dentist office. I found myself arrested by one passage above all the others:

We habitually stand in our now and look back by faith to see the past filled with God. We look forward and see Him inhabiting our future; but our now is uninhabited except for ourselves. Thus, we are guilty of a kind of temporary atheism which leaves us alone in the universe while, for the time, God is not. We talk of Him much and loudly, but we secretly think of Him as being absent, and we think of ourselves as inhabiting a parenthetic interval between the God who was and the God who will be.

I know God is here. I know He hears my prayers and my praises, and I believe the world unfolds according to His will. But, in the discussion of sanctification, the Word is exceedingly clear that my sanctification is His doing (Romans 6:22, 1 Thessalonians 4:3+7, 1 Peter 1:2, 2 Thessalonians 2:13, 1 Corinthians 1:30). And clearly the process of being made holy is extremely present-tense. Not too long ago, I thought that God saved me, gave me the Holy Spirit (which then warred with my “self” to prevent the accomplishment of sin), then abandoned me to the struggle until heaven, where my “self” would be removed and the Spirit could accomplish His perfect work without restriction. There’s two huge errors in that doctrine — one, that I could accomplish good things on my own, the Spirit was only needed to prevent sin and give guidance; and two, God didn’t abandon the situation. When Christ left Earth, He promised the Spirit — but how often do we take the Spirit and try to shove Him into a conscience-shaped box that plainly will not hold the whole power and depth and mercy of God Almighty?

The Greek word for “sanctification” and “holiness” used in the verses mentioned above is hagiasmos. The Greek word for “Holy” in “Holy Spirit” is hagios. In other words, the word used for sanctification — this thing that happens to us — is (eventually) etymologically from an adjective used to describe God. We are being made holy in the same sense that He is holy. And it isn’t a process that He’s passively working on. It’s not something we have to figure out on our own. God didn’t give us the tools along with “saving faith” and then set us loose. He’s here, now, presently, completing the good work which He began.

That’s an encouraging thought. There are so many things in my life that I badly want removed — I yearn for perfection — but God is infinitely knowledgeable, and despite an intimate acquaintance with all my flaws (for His comprehension of them far surpasses even my own), He isn’t giving up. He’s still patiently conforming me to His standard of perfection. And He will continue to do so, according to His purpose.

In closing, Spurgeon’s devotional for today seemed remarkably appopriate, although I hadn’t read it until I started writing this:
“For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh.”
- Gal_5:17
In every believer’s heart there is a constant struggle between the old nature and the new. The old nature is very active, and loses no opportunity of plying all the weapons of its deadly armoury against newborn grace; while on the other hand, the new nature is ever on the watch to resist and destroy its enemy. Grace within us will employ prayer, and faith, and hope, and love, to cast out the evil; it takes unto it the “whole armour of God,” and wrestles earnestly. These two opposing natures will never cease to struggle so long as we are in this world. The battle of “Christian” with “Apollyon” lasted three hours, but the battle of Christian with himself lasted all the way from the Wicket Gate in the river Jordan. The enemy is so securely entrenched within us that he can never be driven out while we are in this body: but although we are closely beset, and often in sore conflict, we have an Almighty helper, even Jesus, the Captain of our salvation, who is ever with us, and who assures us that we shall eventually come off more than conquerors through him. With such assistance the new-born nature is more than a match for its foes. Are you fighting with the adversary to-day? Are Satan, the world, and the flesh, all against you? Be not discouraged nor dismayed. Fight on! For God himself is with you; Jehovah Nissi is your banner, and Jehovah Rophi is the healer of your wounds. Fear not, you shall overcome, for who can defeat Omnipotence? Fight on, “looking unto Jesus”; and though long and stern be the conflict, sweet will be the victory, and glorious the promised reward.

Tags: more coherent special tag no 2

Yes, and I must and will esteem
All things but loss for Jesus’ sake:
O may my soul be found in Him,
And of His righteousness partake!

When I was in senior high, I taught our girls’ Bible study a few times. I remember saying, in the context of Romans 12:1-2, that we were supposed to “glorify God in our sleep.” That idea freaked my listeners out well enough, but there was quite a different one spinning in my head: How do I justify “free time”? Novels and the like. Fluff.

We talk about Christianity as a war. We’re soldiers. We’ve got armor; swords. Christ is our captain. The devil is our mighty foe.

Earthly soldiers get free time. They get leave. The Army doesn’t seem to much care how they spend it. It’s time to relax, time to snap out of the soldier persona, time to realize that the Army isn’t the world, that their commanders only have authority over them while they’re on-duty, and that the war isn’t all-consuming.

But with us, Christ is all. He isn’t just some battlefield commander who we can leave when it suits us. We say that God is intrinsic to who we are, but that doesn’t go nearly far enough. There’s no “intrinsic,” no “key part,” no “determining factor.” He isn’t just the “essentials” or the “essence” or the “reason.” He is our All. We can snap into SuperChristian mode whenever we need to witness to the perishing or encourage our brothers and sisters, and we can carefully make sure we don’t commit any of the big no-nos of the Christian life. We can spend two hours every morning reading the Bible, and be in church every time the doors open. But what do we do in the meantime?

Tozer, in the book I mentioned yesterday, says of those who “constantly practice this habit of inwardly gazing upon God,” that “even when they are compelled to withdraw their conscious attention in order to engage in earthly affairs, there is within them a secret communion always going on. Let their attention but be released for a moment from necessary business and it flies at once to God again.” It’s a little hard to understand out of context, but I think here Tozer paints a vivid picture of what it looks like to be truly focused on God. It’s like, when I’m really nervous, excited, or curious, I can’t get the object of my interest out of my head. It’s a fixation. And how incredibly awesome it is that we’re invited — commanded — to have that obsessive single-mindedness directed toward our Savior!

I worry (agonize might be a more appropriate word) over my tendency to be a Christian of habit. Do I know our dogma so well that I don’t even have to think twice to react to situation in a “Christian” way? Do I have the dance steps memorized, or I am following His lead? Do I speak to my lost friends about this Hope I have because it’s what I do, or because my heart aches to know that these I call “friends” are my Master’s “enemies”? Is He my everything, so much that the concept of “my” ceases to exist, or is He just a general theme?

I want to be so starving for God’s presence that I can’t get my mind on anything else for even a split second. Like the deer pants for the waters (+)… that deer isn’t thinking about much else. And there are times when that’s true, when my soul is thirsty for Him. In some underlying sense, I think it’s probably always true. Our thirst for the Eternal, for the Perfect, is deep within our beings. But I know my every thought isn’t consumed throughout with Him. I want to live in His presence, in constant awareness of His presence, not this business of floating in-and-out!

It’s backwards to figure out what “living in His presence” looks like and to try to imitate it, though. The problem isn’t in my actions, it’s in my eyes. The only way “we” can ever achieve holiness is by fixing our eyes on the Author and Perfecter of our faith (+). On what is unseen (+). And, to bring it back to the soldier reference, our Commander is our Lord. He is all we see. On “shoreleave,” He’s all we see. When we’re sleeping. When we’re reading. Ever, only, always Him.

And when I look at my life, there are a lot of places where I’m not looking at Him. Books, I think, are an excellent example. Books can profit. I enjoy reading. I learn a lot from the books I read, even the novels. I experience some sort of psychological regeneration through the “break” from normal life that books can provide. But I don’t think my eyes are fixed on Christ every time I read a book. Pleasure is good, and it is undoubtedly God’s intent to delight and satisfy His children. But that doesn’t change the fact that we — I — sometimes misuse His gifts, which ultimately is nothing short of idolatry. We can all repeat the mantra of “worship the Creator, not the creation,” but if God requires our gazes, our focuses, our fixations, our eyes, our thoughts to be aimed at Himself for all eternity, couldn’t we use a word that we’re less comfortable with than “worship”? It’s easy to explain how our obsessions aren’t “worshipful;” ask me to choose between God and books, and I’ll easily reply “God.” But ask me if I focus on books when I should be focusing on God (i.e., ever), and I think an honest answer would be far more difficult to admit.

The question I asked myself years ago still applies: How do I justify “free time”? I can’t, not the way I meant. And I don’t want to justify it. I’ve tasted and seen that the Lord is good; I want my eyes to look straight ahead, my gaze fixed directly before me (+); I want to revel in His delightful and holy and flawless Presence.

Our pastor this morning preached on Matthew 6:19-21, and I’ve been thinking about all the different “treasures on earth” and “treasures in heaven.” I think, in the final scheme of things, we have only one heavenly Treasure, and that sweetest and highest and purest delight is God Himself. Crowns and rewards we shall receive, but these we will grasp only so we can lay them immediately back at His feet. It isn’t just a recognition of Christ’s lordship that will compel us; recognizing all glory as belonging to God is the very act for which we were created, and the most thoroughly satisfying experience for us. I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus (+); my eyes need to be fixed on the Prize.

Tags: more coherent special tag no 2

Jessica’s post and its accompanying comments (sorry, it’s a protected entry) made me think, and my thoughts are too tangential to make as a simple comment on her entry. Discovery first: I think differently than most of these people. Which means that the following random thoughts aren’t in disagreement with the above link; they’re about me, and mostly, only me.

I’ve mentioned my philosophy about accepting marriage proposals elsewhere. (And more Elsewheres, I know.) And I’ve only ever met maybe three or four guys in my entire life who posess the depth of spiritual character I’m looking for, and I’m not settling for less — I’d be much, much happier to be single for the rest of my life than to marry someone who isn’t completely consumed with glorifying God. I mean, people mess up and aren’t perfect, and I’m not looking for perfection. That’s God’s business, not mine. I just want to marry somebody who’s a true servant of the King — it’s an are/aren’t thing; there is no matter of degrees. And men who truly are completely His are rare, and they have an alarming tendency to be married/engaged/girlfriended already.

My “best friend” and I have very little in common. I’m an English freak (i.e., major); she isn’t. I’m a history buff; she isn’t. I’m somewhat into computers and geekishness; she isn’t. She’s into biology stuff; I’m not. She’s a lot of (good!) things I’m not. We’re two very different creatures. Our personalities could hardly be more different, and I can’t think of a single interest or hobby we share. But we relish our time together, limited though it is because of the very different lives we lead. We have that strange kind of friendship that belongs in books written centuries ago. I don’t tell her everything, but I could, and I do when I need to, which is a strange confession coming from a person well-accustomed to keeping as many of her own secrets as possible. I trust her completely. Not that she’s perfect. Would she ever betray my interests? Possibly, although I doubt it. I don’t think that she’ll never make mistakes; that’d be expecting too much from any human. “Complete trust” doesn’t mean that someone expects perfection from someone else; it means that they’re willing to overlook imperfection because they know there’s something larger and more important at stake. I know she isn’t perfect, but I know that she is devoted to serving my King, and so He becomes the only Foundation for our relationship. As long as we’re both striving for Him and Him alone, we’ll always be in perfect harmony with one another; sister “partakers of grace”. We have yet, to my knowledge, to have a single disagreement, but even if we do, I have confidence that He will draw us back to Himself and thus back to each other.

Okay, that was a very-much related tangent. I’ve learned so much from her, but I think maybe the most important thing I’ve learned is that a relationship like ours automatically (and, I might add, helplessly) exists between two people who are committed to God’s glory. So few people seem to experience a friendship of our depth, and it’s a shame, because the unavoidable realization that flows from such a relationship is that Christ is the only basis for any true friendship (or, more pointedly, any marriage). And I don’t mean that both bride and groom have to be “Christians” and go to the same denomination church; that doesn’t come anything near to cutting it. It’s deeper than that, and higher. It’s not about what we believe or how much we believe it or live it — any more than Christianity itself can be summed by those trite phrases. It’s about grace, and it’s about God, and it’s about people whose only identity is that they’ve received God’s grace and are bound to Him forever.

My “best friend” and I wouldn’t be friends if we didn’t know each other. But once we did know each other, the more we learned about each other, the deeper our friendship grew. We really had no choice in the matter, either; neither of us was looking for a friend, and neither of us expected to find a friend in the other. But it wasn’t about us. We’re two sisters in Christ; that’s all and that’s everything.

Obviously friendship is an essential component of marriage, but they aren’t the same thing. The relationship I have with my friend is not the same as the relationship I expect to have with my husband. But the standard, the foundation, is the same. And so, I think, is the inevitability. My youth pastor in high school compared his then-future marriage to two travelers with the same destination. No matter where the two travelers begin, ultimately they’ll find that they’re both moving in the same direction. And the nearer they come toward their mark, they’ll find that they can’t help moving closer to each other, because they both have eyes only for their destination.

So, the idea of “clicking.” I’m not worried. The beauty of the destination idea is that it never stops. If the focus of a relationship is on the people in it, then it’ll waver and be uncertain. But if two people truly share a joint and all-encompassing devotion to delight in the glory of God, then they can only grow closer. The more I learn about God, and the more I understand and grow in His grace, the nearer I’ll inevitably become to anyone else who shares that delight.

I know a few guys who seem absolutely “perfect” — common interests, philosophical, weird, sweet, etcetera — seemingly hand-crafted, except for the not-so-little thing that they think about Christianity as their philosophy, instead of Someone Who’s extended grace to them unearned. And I know a few guys who seem to be the opposite of all the “little things” I like in men, but they actually honestly care about glorifying God. And the latter group, in spite of their utter un-Prince-Charming-esqueness, are far more attractive than the first group. I don’t mean just rationally, either; I’m talking about an instinctual gut-reaction that says I like this. And the first group, despite their adherence to my mental picture of the perfect husband, hasn’t got a chance. It kind of makes sense, anyway; there’s not really any other scriptural “husband requirements” I could add, and it makes sense that God could curb our instincts to allow us to be “in love” — in the gooey sense — with anyone He chooses.

So, somewhat conclusively, I know that deep friendship is based on mutual servanthood in Christ, and really nothing else. And I can’t imagine anything more enjoyable than spending the rest of my life with someone whose delight is serving the one Person that is also my delight to serve. How much more “common interest” can we get than that? If everything I do is for His glory, and everything he does is for His glory, then don’t we get to spend every minute of the rest of our lives doing what we love to do best, and doing it together? What’s more, we get to serve Him in a way we couldn’t have alone, and share in the constant joy of watching a fellow believer draw ever nearer to our journey’s final end — and to our ultimate beginning of perfect life in the constant light of the Son of God.

Tags: more coherent singleness special tag no 2 spouse criteria