Jon Bloom's Blog, page 12

The Insanity of Trusting Yourself

Why does God have such a beef with human wisdom? Listen to this:

I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart. (1 Corinthians 1:19)

Those are fighting words. And through the apostle Paul, he goes even further:

Since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe. (1 Corinthians 1:21)

Not only will God not be known to any of us through mere human wisdom, but to know him requires us to believe something that our mere human wisdom considers foolish. Why is God at war with human wisdom? Paul’s answer: “So that no human being might boast in the presence of God” (1 Corinthians 1:29).

Okay, that’s understandable: human boasting is offensive to God, and he wishes to humble it. But what’s the connection between human pride (boasting) and human reasoning (wisdom)? Why does God put them in the same category?

To see this connection, we must go back — way back — and look at what made the gospel necessary in the first place. There we begin to understand why God has engineered our redemption, and much of our sanctification, the way he has. He’s requiring each of us, in our own unique ways, to hand him back the fruit.

What Is God’s ‘No’ Hiding?

Most of us are familiar with “the original sin.” The first man and woman ate the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil — the only tree in the paradisal garden from which God had expressly forbidden them to eat. This was, in fact, the only prohibition we are told they were given. In the beginning, they knew God as a Father of joyful permission, who overwhelmingly said yes to them.

So why did they eat the one forbidden thing? Because, in part, the serpent told them that the God who said yes so much was misleading them about his one no.

Never mind that God, not the serpent, had created the whole glorious world they inhabited by his powerful word. Never mind that God, not the serpent, had provided to them personally life, breath, and everything. Never mind that, up to that point, God, not the serpent, had been a reliable and wonderful guide, and trusting him had resulted in their experience of profound happiness. Never mind that, in even placing the forbidden tree’s fruit within their reach, God, not the serpent, had conferred upon them the profound dignity of moral agency, granting them the choice to trust him or not, to accept his authority or not, to love him supremely or not.

The serpent was there to help them choose the or not. God was hiding something from them, it said — something that would ennoble them to near divine status. Something that would free them from perpetual intellectual dependency on God and empower them to think on their own. Something that would “not surely” kill them, but make them really live. And God had hidden that something in the tree’s fruit: “God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Genesis 3:5).

Dark Enlightenment

So they chose not to trust, not to obey, not to supremely love the supreme God. They decided to lean on their own understanding and pursue the hidden treasure of forbidden knowledge by eating the fruit, since it “was to be desired to make one wise” (Genesis 3:6).

God was true to his word: the fruit did indeed yield knowledge as “the eyes of both were opened” (Genesis 3:7). But the serpent wasn’t true to his word: the knowledge did not make them God-like; it only made them miserable. They experienced a dark enlightenment that immediately produced shame.

Very quickly they discovered a tragic truth about leaning on their own understanding: “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death” (Proverbs 14:12). The knowledge they thought they wanted was far beyond what they were designed to bear. And all of us have been laboring under the crushing weight of this burdensome knowledge ever since.

Knowledge Too Heavy

In order to handle such knowledge, one must be omniscient — possess the capacity to comprehend all possible options and contingencies. And one must be omni-judicial — possess the comprehensive capacity and resolve to choose the right course of action based on omniscience combined with perfect righteousness and wisdom. And one must be omnipotent — possess the comprehensive power to make reality conform to the right course of action determined by an omni-judicial omniscience.

But human beings possess no omni-capacities, a fact to which all of human history bears witness. Individually, our capacities are miniscule. Collectively, we’re discovering that our combined capacities are still barely scratching the surface of reality. Which explains why, when it comes to our psychological and social and geopolitical well-being, mere human wisdom leads us toward one dead end after another, one cataclysm after another, off one social experimental cliff after another.

Every merely human utopic pursuit turns dystopic. Every merely human philosophy leads to the despair of futility. Every merely human effort to define morality and ethics leads eventually to some cruel tyranny.

This is because we were not designed to be “like God” in defining what is good and evil. We were designed “to be wise as to what is good and innocent as to what is evil” (Romans 16:19). And since we have no good apart from God (Psalm 16:2), the beginning of being wise in good and innocent in evil is trusting and obeying him (Psalm 111:10).

God did design us to think for ourselves. That’s one reason the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was present in the garden. God simply did not design us to think by ourselves. It is not irrational for very limited, contingent creatures to depend on the guidance of an omniscient, self-existing Creator to know how to live. It is eminently reasonable for us to trust in him with all our heart. That’s wisdom; that’s sanity. What’s irrational is for us to lean on our own understanding. That’s foolishness; that’s madness.

And that was the cataclysm of Eden: humans traded the wise sanity of thinking for themselves in the safe context of “entrust[ing] their souls to a faithful Creator while doing good” (1 Peter 4:19) for the foolish madness of thinking by themselves in the perilous context of unhinging their reason from their faithful Creator, which resulted in their doing great evil. Wishing to be wise on their own, they became fools and grew increasingly futile in their thinking, and out of the darkness of their hearts emerged all manner of previously unimaginable depravity (Romans 1:21–22).

Hand Back the Fruit

This is why God is at war with mere human wisdom — our rebellious leaning on our own understanding. This is why God, in his wisdom, does not permit us to know him through rebellious human wisdom. He requires us to come to him on his terms, not ours. He requires us to hand him back the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, that we might once again have access to the tree of life.

And this is why the gospel “is folly to those who are perishing” (1 Corinthians 1:18). Mere human wisdom is greatly offended that God judges its desire to independently understand and define good and evil as foolish pride requiring humbling. It is greatly offended that God refuses to answer for the evil that ravages this planet — evil that exceeds our comprehension. And it looks at the foolish spectacle of Jesus on the cross, and an empty tomb, and the promise of eternal life, and marvels at the idiotic credulity of some to believe these strange things could ever address the most important issues facing the human race.

But to us who are being saved, who look at the cross of Jesus, and an empty tomb, and the promise of eternal life, and see the way and the truth (John 14:6), the gospel is “the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:18, 24). We do not claim to have all our perplexing and agonizing questions answered. But we have come to see that “with God are wisdom and might . . . counsel and understanding” (Job 12:13); that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, [but] fools despise wisdom and instruction” (Proverbs 1:7); that “whoever trusts in his own mind is a fool, but he who walks in wisdom will be delivered” (Proverbs 28:26); that only “in [God’s] light do we see light” (Psalm 36:9).

And the light we have seen is “the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ,” which God “has shone in our hearts” (2 Corinthians 4:6). So for us, Jesus has become “wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption” (1 Corinthians 1:30).

We groan with creation in ten thousand ways in this age of futility (Romans 8:20). But we find peace that surpasses our limited understanding (Philippians 4:7) by not leaning on our own understanding but trusting in the Lord with all our heart (Proverbs 3:5). We have found that God grants joyful freedom to those willing to hand back the fruit.

Stay Awake to Spiritual Danger

A lack of watchfulness is perilous to our souls — I mean very real peril, not metaphorical or virtual or poetical peril.

The apostle Paul knew the perils we would face while following Christ:

Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love. (1 Corinthians 16:13–14)

The exhortation may seem somewhat out of place in a long list of personal updates (1 Corinthians 16:1–24), but the “out of place” lines in Scripture can be especially revealing. Paul clearly carries a serious burden that his readers be watchful and courageous, especially the men leading and shepherding the church and their households: “act like men.” The call to vigilance and courage, however, is a common one in Paul’s letters — one he makes to men and women alike. The Spirit, through the apostle, wants all Christians to act with courage, no matter where their Lord has placed them on the spiritual line of battle.

Through Paul’s burden for the Corinthians, the Holy Spirit is now calling us to courage — a call we in the West increasingly need to hear, because it is becoming increasingly costly — and therefore difficult — for us to “hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering” (Hebrews 10:23).

Be Watchful

In the New Testament, “watchful” (1 Peter 5:8) or “awake” (Mark 13:37) or “alert” (Acts 20:31) are terms writers frequently use to urge us not to neglect the significant danger surrounding us.

I saw this in a rabbit feeding early this morning just outside my office window. This rabbit was the epitome of watchfulness. It never let down its guard, no matter what it did; it was constantly on the alert. And for good reason. Dogs pass by regularly. A rabbit is vulnerable to dogs; a lack of watchfulness can end its life.

That’s the kind of watchfulness the Holy Spirit, through Paul, is telling us to maintain. “Look out for the dogs” (Philippians 3:2). Beware the “fierce wolves [who] will come in among you, not sparing the flock” (Acts 20:29). A Christian, like a sheep, is vulnerable to the “dogs” and “wolves” of the evil one. Paul is using a metaphor for the embodiment of the threat, but not of the threat itself. These spiritual threats are greater to us than wolves are to sheep.

Therefore, the Spirit wants us to be sober-mindedly watchful of the devil’s activity (1 Peter 5:8). Do you really know what hunts you? Do you know where he is in relation to you (Galatians 6:1)? Do you know where he is in relation to your family and your Christian brothers and sisters (Ephesians 6:18)?

Our call is to protect one another, and part of that involves remaining steadfastly watchful in prayer (Colossians 4:2). We all know what that means, because any time we feel in real danger, our prayers get real earnest, real quick. A lack of watchfulness in us indicates we don’t believe danger is imminent. And that is a dangerous mindset for the vulnerable to have.

Stand Firm, Be Strong

“Stand firm in the faith.” This kind of resolve is no mere good intention or the flimsy New Year’s kind. This is true resolve: a holy, stubborn determination. It is drawing the line in the sand and not backing down. It is a will to hold the ground, come what may.

Paul uses this phrase frequently (2 Corinthians 1:24; Galatians 5:1; Philippians 1:27; 2 Thessalonians 2:15). It is warrior language: “Take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm” (Ephesians 6:13).

Spiritual warfare is not a metaphor. It is very real and very dangerous. It is not for the faint of heart, though in the rage of battle every warrior feels the temptation to faint from the fight. Soldiers have to be reminded to stand firm. They must remember that there is a cause and comrades that need defending and an enemy that must be vanquished.

We must steel ourselves against whatever fear the threat provokes and resolve to stand our ground. That is what spiritual strength looks like on the ground. In Paul’s mind, to “be strong” is to choose courageous action in the face of danger only in the strength and with the weaponry God supplies (Ephesians 6:10, 14–17). Faithless strength or weapons are of no use in this battle (2 Corinthians 10:4–5).

Let All Be Done in Love

At first read, we might wonder what the vigilant, and almost violent, admonitions to “be watchful,” “stand firm,” and “be strong” have to do with the exhortation to “let all that you do be done in love” (1 Corinthians 16:13–14). But there is no inconsistency whatsoever.

Love is the greatest power at work between God and man, and between man and man (1 Corinthians 13:13). Love is also the most destructive power against the domain of darkness. Jesus came “to destroy the works of the devil” (1 John 3:8). He did this primarily when “he laid down his life for us” as a propitiation for our sins, and then instructed us to “lay down our lives” for one another in the spirit of gracious, patient, sacrificial kindness (1 John 3:16).

Nothing demonstrates and communicates the gospel as clearly as love (John 13:35). Nothing is as relationally healing as love (1 Peter 4:8). And when love is lacking, it is the evidence of the influence of the devil (1 John 3:10).

So, “let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works” (Hebrews 10:24). For words and deeds of love, while being the most healing to the human soul, are the most spiritually destructive acts we can commit against our spiritual adversary. Love is the greatest spiritual gift (1 Corinthians 13:13), and love is the most powerful spiritual weapon (Romans 12:20–21).

Our Need for Watchfulness

We need this word from Paul right now — this almost offhanded admonition slipped into a list of logistical details. Because we need vigilant, courageous love. We always need it, of course, but we will feel our need of it increasingly as our society grows increasingly hostile to Christianity.

We need a holy watchfulness so that we don’t allow the wolves of false teaching to graze on the flock of God. We need courage, not to fight as culture warriors, but as New Testament spiritual warriors. We need a holy, stubborn determination not to give an inch of true gospel ground, regardless of changes in societal values and government policy. And to ensure that our watchfulness and courage remain Christlike, we must let all we do be done in love.

Don’t Give Up Praying for Your Children

Several years ago I wrote an article suggesting seven things we parents can pray for our children. I still personally find them helpful. However, in making these suggestions, I included a qualifier:

Of course, prayers are not magic spells. It’s not a matter of just saying the right things and our children will be blessed with success. Some parents earnestly pray and their children become gifted leaders or scholars or musicians or athletes. Others earnestly pray and their children develop a serious disability or disease or wander through a prodigal wilderness or just struggle more than others socially or academically or athletically. And the truth is, God is answering all these parents’ prayers, but for very different purposes.

The more time passes, the more crucial this qualifier becomes for me. The more accumulated time I spend in Scripture, the more I read history, and the more I observe as I grow older, the less confidence I place in my perceptions of how things appear at any given point.

Trusting God, Not My Perceptions

I’ve lived long enough now to have watched a number of movements within evangelicalism surge and decline. I’ve seen numerous leaders rise and fall. I’ve seen spiritually zealous twentysomethings who got off to a strong, solid start become spiritually disillusioned thirty- or forty-somethings and falter, some abandoning the faith altogether. And I’ve seen spiritually disinterested, and in some cases dissolute, youth become spiritually vibrant, mature adults.

I’ve also been in close proximity to many parents who have raised children to adulthood. I’ve seen children of faithful, prayerful parents reject their parents’ faith, and I’ve seen children of unfaithful parents embrace Christ and follow him in spite of the profound pain they have experienced. This hasn’t made me skeptical of parental faithfulness, but it has made me less given to formulas.

And perhaps more than all that, I’ve also observed myself pass through various seasons of my own life. I’ve had seasons when I was full of faith and enthusiasm, and seasons of discouragement when I was a man of “little faith” (Matthew 6:30). I’ve endured seasons of dark depression and even faith crises. Well into middle age, one thing I know about myself is that I am “beset with weakness” (Hebrews 5:2). I can bear witness that God has been unfailingly faithful to me with regard to his word, even though I have frequently not been faithful in trusting him.

Yes, I’ve learned that God is trustworthy, but my perceptions regularly are not. I’ve learned — or more accurately, I’m learning — not to assume too much when it comes to human beings, myself included. Jesus set the example, for he “on his part did not entrust himself to [people] . . . for he himself knew what was in man” (John 2:24–25).

This is an invaluable lesson when it comes to praying for my children.

Parenting Pushed Me to Prayer

I am the father of five wonderful human beings. They are wonderful to me, not because they are prodigies I can boast in, but because they are human beings, “fearfully and wonderfully made” by God himself through the inscrutable historic process and genetic legacy of countless generations of fearful and wonderful humans — of which my wife and I are only the most recent contributors (Psalm 139:14). Sometimes I just stop and observe them, in awe of what and who they are, quite apart from what they do.

They are very much their own persons, very different from each other and their parents. They have unique temperaments, unique strengths and weaknesses, unique interests, and unique proclivities.

Like most young parents, my wife and I began our parenting journey with an almost unconscious assumption that if we did parenting “right,” our kids would embrace all we embrace without all the wrestling and pain and questioning we went through to embrace it. Though if you would have asked me that specifically back then, I would have denied it, theoretically knowing better. It’s just hard to avoid that early optimism.

But parenting has humbled me significantly. My weaknesses and limitations, I think, are most clearly exposed in fathering. The net effect this has had is to make me less confident in my abilities and efforts, and more dependent on, feeling more desperation for, the power of God to do for my children what he has done for me — a work of grace that I know my own parents would say occurred in spite of their weaknesses and limitations.

Two of my children have launched into independent adulthood, and three are in their teenage years. Over the years, I have watched many different kinds of spiritual ebbs and flows. They have lived in the same home with the same parents, who live out their faith before them in essentially the same way. They have attended the same churches. Yet they are each walking unique spiritual paths at their own unique speeds.

Ask, Seek, Knock

And here is where a parent’s faith is tested. We of course want our children to truly love the Lord Jesus, the true Pearl of great price, with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love their neighbor as themselves (Matthew 13:45–46; Luke 10:27). We very much want them to experience this as early as possible.

But we don’t know what the best way is for each of them to learn this. We don’t know God’s purposes or his timetable for revealing himself to our children. Nor are we allowed to peer into the mystery of God’s sovereignty in election as it relates to our children (Romans 8:29–30).

But all I have observed and experienced in Scripture and in life teaches me two things: God is trustworthy, and what I think I see at any given time is not. Which means what looks encouraging to me now could very well change in the future, and what looks discouraging to me now could very well change in the future. Therefore, I stand by what I wrote in that article more than ever:

So, pray for your children. Jesus promises us that if we ask, seek, and knock, the Father will give us good in return (Luke 11:9–13), even if the good isn’t apparent for forty years.

That last phrase reminds me of Peter Hitchens’s story of his conversion (Peter is the late Christopher Hitchens’s brother). He recounts how, as a 15-year-old, he cast off what he saw as the bonds of religious faith and zealously embraced atheism, publicly burning his Bible to announce his liberation. Then came the slow, unexpected realization well into mature adulthood that what he once thought bondage was true freedom, what he once thought liberation was, in fact, bondage, and what he once thought ignorant darkness was actually light. I doubt anyone who knew the young-adult Peter Hitchens saw that coming.

Do Not Lose Heart

So, let us not give up praying for our children. This ministry of intercession is a lifelong calling. We must not assume too much when it comes to human beings. If our children are living and doing well spiritually, they are not out of the woods. If they are living and not doing well spiritually, their story is not over. Therefore, let us “always . . . pray and not lose heart” (Luke 18:1).

God is faithful. He will never default on his word. Let us be faithful to his call on us, and let us be faithful to our children by continually petitioning God on their behalf. He will not allow such a labor, no matter what the result is that he determines in his wisdom, to be in vain (1 Corinthians 15:58).

When Your Worst Storm Comes

On July 16, 1999, twenty years ago today, John F. Kennedy Jr’s single-engine Piper Saratoga crashed into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard, killing John (38), his wife Carolyn (33), and Carolyn’s sister, Lauren (34). All investigations into the cause of the crash point to a phenomenon called “spatial disorientation.”

Spatial disorientation occurs when a pilot flies into darkness or weather conditions that prevent him from being able to see the horizon or the ground. Points of reference that normally guide his senses disappear. His sensory perceptions become unreliable. He no longer knows which way is up or down. The danger of such disorientation is obvious.

That’s why most planes are equipped with navigational instruments designed to inform pilots of the plane’s attitude, altitude, and groundspeed. If a pilot enters into dark or cloudy conditions where his natural orientation senses become unreliable, he can “fly by the instruments.”

Spatial Disorientation

Learning to place more confidence in a plane’s instruments than one’s own intuitive senses, however, requires training. When our mind senses potential danger, especially mortal danger, and urgently commands, “bank right,” while instruments on a dashboard indicate we should, “bank left,” it is very difficult to trust the instruments. As one expert stated, reflecting on the Kennedy crash, “You have to be well trained to disregard what your brain is saying . . . and fly by the instruments.”

John had not received this training. He was certified to fly in conditions where he could visually distinguish the ground from the sky. However, en route to Martha’s Vineyard he flew into a hazy fog at night, experienced spatial disorientation, and trusted in his perceptions to guide him. Three days later, the Coast Guard located the remains of the plane, and its young passengers, on the floor of the Atlantic.

There is a spiritual parallel. I’ve experienced it. On a spring day in May 1997, I flew into a very dark faith-fog. I lost sight of the points of reference that under normal conditions had kept me flying right. I became spiritually disoriented, and I began to spiral down.

Losing My Senses

More familiar Christian terms for my experience are a “crisis of faith” or a “dark night of the soul.” I’ve often described it as an eclipse of God. For the first time since I had come to an earnest faith in Christ, he suddenly became completely obscured from my spiritual sight.

This was more than a fog. It was a major storm. The tempest of doubt was like nothing I had experienced before. It grew very dark in my soul, and swirling winds of fear blew with gale force. The turbulence of hopelessness was violent. I couldn’t tell which way was up or down. I was no longer sure about anything I had believed about God or the world or my soul. I lost my senses.

And a lot was at stake. If I chose wrongly: disaster. Choosing wrongly would mean flying the plane of my life on some false course, which sooner or later would end tragically. Knowing the danger, my brain was barking urgent (and sometimes contradictory) commands. I lurched back and forth, banking first one way, then another, trying to regain some sort of reliable direction.

Flying by Faith

Then one day, after long months in this storm, a thought hit me with unusual clarity: “Jon, fly by the instruments.”

The thought set me thinking over what pilots must do when they can’t trust their sight. They must force themselves to stop trusting their subjective perceptions, and place their faith in what the objective instruments tell them. They must fly by faith, not by sight.

This storm was the darkest, most confusing I had experienced up to that time, but it was by no means the first storm I had flown in. In previous years, God had trained me in various ways to trust his promises over my perceptions, and I had always found his promises more reliable. So now, during this raging storm, when everything seemed uncertain, when I was disoriented and at times near panic, I had a choice: trust my doubt-filled perceptions of reality or trust the instruments of God’s promises. I had received some training; now my very life depended on putting the training into practice.

When our skies are clear and our feet securely on the ground, and we’re just imagining flying through such a storm, it’s easy to envision ourselves calmly relying on the instruments — flying by faith. However, as pilots who’ve undergone training for instrument flight certification will testify, the real experience is nothing like we imagine. We often don’t realize how much we rely on our own perceptions until they are screaming something different than our instruments; when we actually feel the confusing disorientation, all the powerful, compelling impulses, and the fear coursing through us; when it feels absolutely crazy to trust the instruments.

Focus on the Instrument Panel

In my dark night of the soul, I decided to fly by the instruments — to steer by the Bible’s direction until I had enough evidence to determine that it was a faulty instrument. My doubts and fears were only leading me into deeper confusion and darkness. And God’s promises had always given me more light and hope than anything I had ever known. My previous training pointed to the wisdom of doubting my doubts.

It was still hard. I still had to steel myself against the fear. And it took a lot longer than I hoped it would. Many times I fought the temptation to ditch the instruments and go with my felt sense of what was true. But I had enough experience and knew enough Bible to know where such “sense” can lead: to nonsense.

So, I kept my focus on the instrument panel. I continued to pursue God in Scripture, I continued to pray, I continued church and small group attendance, whether or not they felt helpful in the moment (and often they did not). I kept on with the work God had given me to do. I opened my heart to trusted friends and mentors, and sought counsel. At one point, John Piper said to me, “The rock of truth under your feet will not long feel like sand.” My thought was, “I hope you’re right. But I doubt it.”

My doubts proved wrong. Eventually, God’s promises proved again to be reliable instruments, and my fears proved again not to be. I didn’t crash. God pierced my cloudy darkness with his light, and I’ll never forget how he did it. The eclipse ended, and God, the great Sun of my life, shown again, illuminating my world (Psalm 36:9).

Now I thank God for every minute of that horrible storm. For it taught me far more than I had previously understood what it means to “walk [fly] by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). That year influences in some way almost everything I write and speak about.

Always Fly by the Instruments

Having told versions of this story before, I know my metaphorical descriptions raise questions, especially for those experiencing something similar. I’ve had many people contact me, asking for more specifics. What was the nature of my crisis? What caused it? How long did it last? How did God bring me out of it? I understand why they ask: they’re looking for hope while flying in the midst of their own scary storm. I really understand.

Not only is the full story too long to recount here, however, but the specifics are not really necessary, and can even prove unhelpful if another’s experience is different than mine. The truth is, the nature and causes of such crises or dark nights are as varied as the people who experience them, just like there are almost endless variations and gradations of meteorological conditions that can make flying difficult and dangerous. Your storm will likely be different than mine.

If anything, it’s most important to remember that Jesus understands what our particular stormy darkness is like (Hebrews 4:15). His storms, from Gethsemane to Golgotha, were far worse than anything you and I will ever know. And he entered them willingly for us, so that we would be rescued from all of our storms, particularly the ultimate storm of God’s wrath against our sin. That’s why he came. His storm crushed him so that our storms would become redemptive for us.

Comparing storms is typically not what is needed. What’s needed is sharing crucial principles and protocols that help keep our planes flying in whatever disorienting conditions we find ourselves. And the one I want to leave you with is this: when your perceptions tell you something different than God’s promises, always, always, always trust God’s promises over your perceptions.

There are too many stories of people whose spiritual spatial disorientation led to a tragic crash because they didn’t trust the instruments. When you are disoriented and confused, remember: always fly by the instruments.

Lay Aside Your Misplaced Fear

If I feared less, I would love more — both God and people. But it is just as true that if I feared more, I would love more — both God and people.

I’ve been praying for a while for God to align my affections and desires with his. And, based on my decades of experience pursuing God, one of the tell-tale signs that he’s answering my prayers is that I’m forced to face numerous situations and decisions that incite fear — the kind of fear that makes me want to withdraw from the bold words and deeds of love in Jesus’s name that these situations and decisions require. I'm learning that facing such fear, as much as I dislike it, is precisely what I need.

I could almost wish I was a fearless Christian. But there is no such thing as a fearless Christian.

No Fearless Christian

Faith and fear are often described as opposites. But in reality, that’s not how it works. The kind of fear the Bible most often addresses, whether positively (Deuteronomy 6:13) or negatively (Luke 12:4), is actually born out of faith. It results from a promise or threat we believe.

So it is not so much faithless fear that inhibits a more radical life of Christlike love, but rather misplaced fear — fear of the wrong thing. In other words, faith in the wrong thing produces the wrong fear. And faith in the wrong thing is at the root of so many of our problems, the worst of our miseries, and the heart of our sin: “For whatever does not proceed from faith [in God] is sin” (Romans 14:23).

That’s why there is no such thing as a fearless Christian. God designed us to experience fear, in some measure, because he designed us to live by faith (Romans 1:17). And the object of our faith is revealed in what fears most motivate us.

We Obey the One We Fear

Fear preceded the Fall because living by faith preceded the Fall.

God designed mankind to live by “every word that proceeds from the mouth of God” (Deuteronomy 8:3). Misplaced faith, adulterous faith (James 4:4) was what the Fall was all about. “Did God actually say?” (Genesis 3:1) was the serpent’s direct assault on humanity’s faith in God’s word.

And the assault was directed right at the first woman’s and man’s fear. Would they fear missing out on God’s promise of uninterrupted happiness and blessing and fear suffering the dire consequences of disobeying God’s holy word and thus resist the temptation? Or would they fear missing out on the serpent’s deceptive promise of the experience of being wise “like God” (Genesis 3:5–6) and succumb? The failure of faith in the Garden of Eden was revealed in the failure of misplaced fear.

And now the misplaced fears we succumb to today are kinds of reenactments of that first Fall. It is believing (fearing) a promise or threat coming from a source other than God — which is a fall from grace. For God has always caused his grace that unites people to him to flow through the channel of faith (Ephesians 3:8). To know God and to love God is to trust him, which will be expressed by obeying him (John 14:8–11; 15). To not believe God — to not trust his word — is to not rightly know God (John 8:15–19). And to trust God is to fear him, since we obey the one we fear.

Perfect Love Doesn’t Cast Out All Fear

If you know your Bible well, this phrase may have just come to mind: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). But the apostle John wasn’t addressing the fear of the Lord that the Bible frequently commends. The rest of the verse explains what John meant: “For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.” This kind of fear is the terror of God’s condemnation experienced by the unforgiven, the “fearful expectation of judgment. . . that will consume the adversaries” (Hebrews 10:27).

But the fear of the Lord that comes out of trust in him and produces obedience is a fear that we experience as joy: “Blessed [happy] is everyone who fears the Lord, who walks in his ways” (Psalm 128:1). This kind of fear is pure and clean (Psalm 19:9), the source of wisdom (Psalm 111:10), a “fountain of life” (Proverbs 14:27), and results in intimate friendship with God (Psalm 25:14), and hope (Psalm 33:18), and rest for our souls (Proverbs 19:23). Perfect love does not cast out this kind of fear out but causes it to grow in us.

That’s why one of the Spirit’s highest sanctification priorities in our lives as believers — both in the short run and the long haul — is to free us from the love-inhibiting, joy-dampening, fruit-impeding effect of misplaced fears and teach us the fear of the Lord. He does not want us living by God-belittling, deceptive faith in the wrong things; he does not want us living in the thin, grey world of fearing the wrong things.

The Spirit is extraordinarily patient with us, and he sequences his “battles” so as not to overwhelm us. But he is relentless, because “for freedom Christ has set us free” (Galatians 5:1), and he intends, in his perfect patience and timing, to help us live in the freedom that is ours.

Don’t Avoid, Lean In

However, God doesn’t only work in spite of us, but also makes us willing participants in this Spirit-initiated pursuit of our liberation. And here’s the difficulty: when it comes to setting us free from misplaced fears, the Spirit typically delivers us from them by eventually directing us to face them.

Yes, we knew it would have to be that way, didn’t we? We knew when we prayed for freedom, we would be invited into the overthrow of tyranny. We might wish to sit out the battle, but misplaced fear, which in some measure reveals some place in us where we’re not trusting God supremely, is like our own altar to Baal. And God’s commitment to rid the deep recesses of our hearts and minds of such competitors is both for the sake his glory and the sake of our joy. So misplaced fears can become for us our own showdown on Mount Carmel where we increasingly learn that “the Lord, he is God; the Lord, he is God” (1 Kings 18:39).

And the “great cloud of witnesses” of saints down through the ages say, “Amen” (Hebrews 12:1). It has always been this way. And each member of that great cloud urges us not to keep ducking our fears, not to let them keep robbing God of the glory he deserves and stealing the joy Jesus purchased for us.

As the Spirit reveals our misplaced fears, we can learn to stop avoiding them, and rather lean into them. The impressive façade of lying promises or threats will not long stand before the real power of the real God when we trust him. These fears can and will be overcome. Dread can give way to peaceful, joyful confidence in God. For the Spirit will give us just what we need, in his unexpected timing, in the moment we need it (Matthew 7:7; 10:19; Philippians 4:19).

The less we fear what we ought not to fear, the more we will love — both God and people. The more we fear who we ought to fear, the more we will love — both God and people. For the sake of God’s glory, for the sake of love, let us grow determined; let us become tenacious. Let us not settle in or make peace with misplaced fear governing any territory of our soul.

Do You Love Your Country?

Do you love your country? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself lately. And it’s not at all an easy question to answer.

It’s kind of like asking, Do you love your family? Most of us will instinctively want to answer yes to that question. But as soon as you stop to think about it, it becomes clear that further clarification is needed. What does love your family mean?

Are we talking about our nuclear family? This question alone is often fraught with complexity. Do we mean family members (people), and if so, do we mean we love every member to some extent, or we love every member the same? Or are we including loving the family’s values and systems and traditions?

Or are we talking about our extended family? And if so, how extended? Do we mean extended family members we personally know, or the wider family clan? How far back in our genealogical history are we expected to love our family?

As soon as we begin to query what it means to love our family, we see that most people’s answer is likely to be more or less different, based on their family experience and what they mean by love.

How Do You Love the United States?

So, getting back to the original question, do you love your country? I imagine most of us Americans will want to answer yes to that question. But none of us will want to answer an unqualified yes. Because it all depends on what love the United States means.

Does it mean we love the abstract ideals and values and concrete declarations of how we will and won’t try to live out these ideals and values together articulated in our founding documents and constitution? All of them? Does it mean we love the various institutional branches of government and various institutional branches of those branches that exist to interpret, protect, and enforce our constitutional declarations? Does it mean we love all the states? What about the territories?

Or does it mean we love the people of the U.S.? If so, how far does that extend? Are we talking everyone residing in the U.S., or only citizens? Does it mean we love every citizen of every ethnic and socioeconomic background and every religious or nonreligious belief? What about citizens who use legitimate social and governmental means to advance beliefs and values we find objectionable or destructive? What about deviant citizens? Do we mean we love past generations of U.S. citizens? Do we mean we love this country’s history?

As soon as we begin to query what it means to love our country, we see that most people’s answers are likely to be more or less different, based on their experiences as Americans and what they mean by love.

The reality is, there is a lot to love and not love about the United States. A nation, like a family, is an institution. And it is no simple thing to love an institution.

The Bible Makes It Devastatingly Simple

Now, for the Christian, the Bible brings a great deal of clarity to our question, because it leaves no room for doubt about the kind of love that matters most to God:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself. (Luke 10:27)

Jesus called these “the great and first commandment[s]” (Matthew 22:37–39). The greatest love — the love without which we are nothing and gain nothing (1 Corinthians 13:2–3) — is love directed towards persons (divine or mortal) in the present that we personally know, or should know, or meet in the serendipitous course of life. Of course, there are biblical, necessary ways we are to love people we have never met, like Paul’s general love of his Jewish “kinsmen” expressed in Romans 9 and the Macedonians’ love of suffering Christians in Palestine described in 2 Corinthians 8. But the love of God in us is most evident by the way we love the brother we see (1 John 3:17), the neighbor we see (Luke 10:33–34).

What this means regarding our question is that, for the Christian, any love for our country that does not flow from an ultimate love for the triune God, and express itself to our various and diverse “neighbors” in real, concrete ways that our neighbors actually experience, is defective, deficient, secondary love at best. And it might not be love at all.

This, of course, does not address all the ambiguities that arise in discerning what it specifically means for each of us to live out a supreme love for God and our various neighbors. God was intentionally ambiguous on this, because it is in wrestling with such ambiguity that our secret, sinful motives and lack of love get exposed and we are called in different ways to step out in faith. Such ambiguity turns out to be a great mercy to us, because through it, God is pursuing our freedom from sin we don’t see (John 8:34–36) and teaching us how to live the kind of loving life that pleases him (Hebrews 11:6).

But the great commandments do bring a devastating simplicity to the complexities of loving a country (or a family, or a church). As John Piper beautifully says it, “Love is the overflow of joy in God that meets the needs of others” (Desiring God, 141). This is what these two supreme commandments look like on the ground when a Christian truly loves his country.

Your Nation Is Your Neighbor

In Jesus’s terms, we will only love our nation in the way that matters most to God to the degree that we love our neighbor out of the overflow of our love for, our treasuring, our delight in God. Like the Good Samaritan, which Jesus used as one illustration of what he meant by neighbor-love, we will seek to meet the sometimes inconvenient, costly needs of our neighbors — our ethnically and religiously diverse neighbors — in pursuing their good (Luke 10:30–37). Because real love requires deeds, not just words (1 John 3:18).

But real love also requires words of ultimate truth (Ephesians 4:15). Because truly treasuring God produces a desire for others to share that treasure. And no one ever receives that treasure unless someone shares about him (Romans 10:14).

So I’m asking myself, Do I love the United States? And the place I’m looking for the most important answer to that question is this: How am I loving my neighbors? The abstract and ambiguous quickly become quite concrete and clear. Because when I give an account to Jesus for how I stewarded my most important civic duty, I expect he will want to know if I primarily loved my nation in the form of my neighbor.

The Secret to Breaking Free from Habitual Sin

We keep falling into the same sin when we fail to believe that holiness really will make us happier than giving in again. Many other factors may influence us, but at the root of habitual sin is a battle not for self-control, but for happiness. What we believe and want, deep in our hearts, really matters.

When my two oldest children were younger teens, they did what most younger teens do (including my three remaining teens). They ransacked the pantry, refrigerator, and freezer for empty, sugar-based carbohydrates. If they didn’t find them, they would run to fast-food restaurants and convenience stores. My wife and I would urge them toward more balanced diets and cite the science-based negative effects of such foods on the body and mind, but with little success.

Then, around ages 17 or 18, suddenly they began to eat healthy, nutritious food and eschew junk food. In fact, they began to excel their parents and exhort the rest of the family regarding the importance of eating well. Now in their early twenties, they eat far better than I did at their ages.

What happened to them? It really wasn’t that they went from being ignorant to being informed. They knew, even as kids, that junk food was “bad” for them and veggies were “good” for them. What they lacked was a belief that eating veggies would really make them happier in the long run than eating junk food now. Then they experienced an “awakening” that nutritious food would bring greater long-term joy, on multiple levels, than empty carbs. That is when they began to change what they ate.

Their awakenings provide a helpful illustration of why we often live in defeat before a habitual sin: we will keep choosing to sin as long as we believe that choosing not to sin is choosing less happiness.

Sin Can Be Quite Simple

Now, I’m a very experienced sinner (like you are), so I know how reductionistic this can sound. There are many factors contributing to why we keep giving in to sin, even if we think we don’t want to. Sin is quite complex, isn’t it?

Actually, no. Sin can create complex illusions, and it can result in all kinds of complexity. But at its essence, sin is quite simple.

The apostle John says it in four words: “All wrongdoing is sin” (1 John 5:17). Yes, but aren’t our motivations and influences to do wrong a big tangled mess? Well, the apostle James says, “Each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin” (James 1:14–15). Not a lot of qualifications. Not a lot of rationalizations. Not a lot of complications.

If we’re tempted to think that this was due to James’s ignorance of psychological, sociological, biological, or family-of-origin factors influencing us to sin, we’re mistaken. He may have lacked the extent of scientific data available in our day, but he knew human beings. His epistle is full of penetrating insight into our inner workings. In fact, I think he saw more clearly into us than most twenty-first-century Westerners do. James simply saw what sin is at its core.

Sin at Its Core

Every sin, every wrongdoing, no matter what kind — whether acted out in behavior or nurtured secretly in some dark place of our heart (Matthew 5:28) — is a manifestation of something we believe. Every sin is born out of a belief that disobeying God (wrongdoing) will produce a happier outcome than obeying God (right-doing). Whether or not we’re conscious of this, it’s true. Nobody sins out of duty.

Every sin is some repeat version, some re-run, of the original human sin, when our ancient parents ate the forbidden tree’s fruit. Why did they do it? Were they ignorant? No. God told them directly that eating the fruit would be wrongdoing and they would be far happier if they refrained from eating (Genesis 2:16–17). But Satan put a different spin on God’s words and motives, and told them they would be far happier if they ate.

They weighed both assertions and made their choice. They saw the tree was “good for food” (“the desire of the flesh”), “a delight to the eyes” (“the desire of the eyes”), and “desir[able] to make one wise” (“the pride of life,” Genesis 3:6; 1 John 2:16). They ate for the joy they (wrongly) believed was set before them.

We Choose What We Believe

It wasn’t wrongdoing for Adam and Eve to be motivated by joy, any more than it was wrong for Jesus to be motivated by joy (Hebrews 12:2). That’s why we choose to do, or not do, anything.

If given the choice, we choose what we believe will make us happier than we are, or less miserable than we are — even if the knowledge in our head tells us our choice is “wrong.” As Blaise Pascal said, “The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know.” And Pascal knew what drove the heart’s reasons: “All men seek happiness. This is without exception.” God made us this way.

What made it wrongdoing was where Adam and Eve tried to find joy, where they placed their faith. They believed Satan’s promise of joy over God’s promise of joy. For “whatever does not proceed from faith [in God] is sin” (Romans 14:23). And “whoever would draw near to God must believe . . . that he is the rewarder of those who seek him” (Hebrews 11:6).

Getting Free from Habitual Sin

When we are caught in habitual or besetting sin, our problem, at its core, may be simple. What’s holding us captive is a deceptive belief about what will make us happy.

I know the objections that might come. We do often “know” that a sin is destructive to us and others. We might loathe the sin in certain ways and feel shame over it. We may have a sincere longing to be free, and just feel like we can’t, like we’re enslaved to it — which, in a sense, we are (John 8:34). These are the complex consequences and illusions sin produces.

The truth is, however, that we are enslaved as we believe that to give up the sin is to embrace living with less happiness or more misery. Like my now-adult kids once believed: eating junk food might be “bad” for them, but life was more happy eating “bad” food than eating “good” food. This didn’t change until their belief about nutritional happiness changed. Once that changed, the power of junk food began to lose its hold on them.

Habitual sin is not fundamentally defeated through the power of self-denial, but through the power of a greater desire. Self-denial is of course necessary, but self-denial is only possible — certainly for the long term — when it is fueled by a desire for a greater joy than what we deny (Matthew 16:24–26).

How to Break Free

The secret to getting free from the entrapment of habitual sin begins with a prayerful, rigorous, honest examination of what satanic promises we have believed — and the better promises God has made. Which promises will really produce the longest and best happiness if true? And which source of promises has the most proven credibility?

Then we must renounce the lies we have believed, repent to God for having persistently believed them, and begin to exercise faith in God’s promises through obeying him — “[bearing] fruit in keeping with repentance” (Matthew 3:8).

As I said, this is just the beginning. I make no promise of it being easy from there. It is often very hard, because insight into our false beliefs does not itself unseat those beliefs. Often, entrenched false beliefs have shaped our perceptions and instinctive behaviors and therefore take significant time and intentional effort to change. It is not called the “fight of faith” for nothing (1 Timothy 6:12).

But I will say this: the more convinced you become that God is the source of all superior joys for you, the more resolved you will become to fight for those joys, and the easier the fight will become over time. But unless you become convinced, in some measure, that this is true, the power of your habitual sins will keep their hold on you.

How Free Do You Really Want to Be?

Who are the freest people in the world? The people who are freest from the world.

So, how free are you? I’m not asking if you can give me the right answer. I trust you know that “for freedom Christ has set us free” (Galatians 5:1) and that “there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). You and I know that Christ has set us free from needing to achieve “a righteousness of [our] own that comes from the law” since we have by God’s grace been given the free gift of “the righteousness from God that depends on faith” in Christ (Philippians 3:9) — a mind-blowingly glorious truth.

The real question for you and me is, are we really living in the freedom Christ has given us? What Jesus purchased and gave to us is not an abstract theological category that we will only realize after we die, but a life-governing, joy-producing, experiential, and radically free reality that begins now. He sets us “free indeed” to live in the world as long as we are in the world (John 8:36).

The secret to experiencing this freedom all depends on where home really is for us.

The Key to Living Free

Over and over in the godly lineage of Hebrews 11, we see people who lived remarkably free here on earth. What made that great cloud of witnesses so free?

We might be quick to answer, “Faith!” That’s true, of course, but it doesn’t go deep enough. Because everyone lives by faith. “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Everyone lives by faith in what they believe is true about reality, most of which they cannot see or personally prove. All human beings are wired to live this way.

What made our faithful forebears free was Who they ultimately believed in (Hebrews 11:6) and where they believed he was leading them:

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. (Hebrews 11:14–16)

There’s the key: they desired a better country — a heavenly one. They really desired it because they really believed it existed. They believed in the better country so much that they were content to “[die] in faith, not having received the [earthly] things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth” (Hebrews 11:13).

They were free to do the best and hardest good in the world because they were free from needing to belong to the world.

“Live as People Who Are Free”

The depth of our understanding of our freedom in Christ is revealed by how free we are, like those saints, to live as strangers and exiles on earth. The proof of our freedom is in the pudding of our pursuits.

True faith manifests both in what we say with our lips (Romans 10:9; Hebrews 13:15) and in the way we live. Yes, the people of old “[spoke] thus” (Hebrews 11:14). But they also lived thus: Abel offered, Enoch walked, Noah constructed, Abraham obeyed and went and offered, Sarah conceived, Isaac and Jacob blessed, Joseph instructed, Moses refused and chose and considered and left and kept, the Israelites passed through, Rahab lived (Hebrews 11:4–31). And “time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets” (Hebrews 11:32).

Some of these examples are more commendable than others. But their lives of faith, their “obedience of faith” (Romans 16:26), still speak, though they have long since passed away (Hebrews 11:4).

This is why Peter tells us to “live as people who are free” (1 Peter 2:16):

We are free to no longer live as captives to the world’s values and claims and cravings and threats, since “here we have no lasting city” (Hebrews 13:14).
We are free to “walk by the Spirit, and . . . not gratify the desires of the flesh” (Galatians 5:16), since “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17).
We are free to not “lay up for [ourselves] treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for [ourselves indestructible] treasures in heaven” (Matthew 6:19–20).
We are free to be content in whatever situation we find ourselves, since we know that our heavenly Father will supply all our needs (Philippians 4:11, 19).
And we are free to die, since to be with Christ in his heavenly country is “far better” than anything we’ve known here (Philippians 1:23).



How Free Do You Want to Be?

Yes, all this freedom, and far more, is available to us as Christians. I suspect all of us, no matter how far along we are in the faith, would admit we’re living beneath our inheritance.

The question before us is this: How free do we want to be? This is where we begin to squirm. Our flesh does not want to be free from the world. Our indwelling sin is drawn to “the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life” (1 John 2:16). To lose them feels like losing life. To which Jesus says, “Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:39).

Ponder that sentence. Pray over it, and let it probe you all day. What does the Spirit point out to you in the word “loses”? It is likely that the things he brings to mind — things that feel like losing your life to let go — are, in reality, holding you captive to this world and inhibiting you from living fruitfully in the kinds of kingdom-abundance Jesus wants to give you (John 10:10). Respond to the Spirit! Jesus wants you to find greater freedom and real life.

Whatever it takes, don’t settle for anything less than the full freedom God has for you. Seek with all your might to run unencumbered the race God has set before you, like those who ran before you, who freely chose to live like strangers and exiles here because their real citizenship is in heaven. For those who are freest in the world are those who are freest from the world.

Sometimes We Must Settle for Peace: Enduring Complexity in Relational Conflict

“Why did you not go with me, Mephibosheth?” (2 Samuel 19:25). The weary king stood looking sternly at the disheveled disabled man sitting in front of him.

David had just been through the most terrible experience of his life. He was grieving deeply the recent death of his son, Absalom, who had died trying to kill his father and seize the throne for himself (2 Samuel 15–18). The coup had failed and the rebels were dead or scattered.

For many who had stayed loyal to David, this was a time of celebration. David, however, had to force every smile. His grief went deeper than witnessing a tragic end to a prodigal child. He knew just how responsible he was for his son’s death.

The Complexity of Life

God’s words through the prophet Nathan still burned in David’s ears as they were unfolding before him:

“Why have you despised the word of the Lord, to do what is evil in his sight? You have struck down Uriah the Hittite with the sword and have taken his wife to be your wife and have killed him with the sword of the Ammonites. Now therefore the sword shall never depart from your house, because you have despised me and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife.” Thus says the Lord, “Behold, I will raise up evil against you out of your own house. And I will take your wives before your eyes and give them to your neighbor, and he shall lie with your wives in the sight of this sun. For you did it secretly, but I will do this thing before all Israel and before the sun.” (2 Samuel 12:9–12)

He could hardly bear it: his beloved son had been that neighbor. “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you” (2 Samuel 18:33). David had stopped saying this out loud, so he wouldn’t keep demoralizing his people (2 Samuel 19:5–7), but he was still saying it in the deep places of his soul.

This tragedy, not only of his son, but all who were swayed by him — some of whom now lay in fresh graves with wailing mothers and wives beside them — was shot through with complexity. Real evil was inscrutably woven together with God’s righteous judgment. This was one of the reasons David was so merciful to those who had abandoned and even cursed him as he fled Absalom’s ascendant forces. He knew they had been swept up in this raging, complex current that he, to one degree or another, had brought upon them all.

Whom Could He Trust Now?

The complexity also made returning to Jerusalem confusing for the great, sad king. Whom could he trust now? Were the unfaithful words of those who had not joined him mere words for the wind, spoken in the fear and confusing tumult of war? Were these people, who were now singing a different song as he returned, showing their true colors — or simply trying to save their skin? “All mankind are liars” (Psalm 116:11). David included himself in that “all.”

And now here was Mephibosheth. His betrayal, in particular, had hurt.

Mephibosheth was Jonathan’s son. He had become disabled as a child in the fear and confusing tumult of another grievous, inscrutable weave of evil and righteous judgment (2 Samuel 4:4). David, out of his profound love for and covenant with his closest friend (1 Samuel 20:42), had sought out Mephibosheth, and given him back his royal grandfather’s land, along with a crew of paid employees — Ziba, his fifteen sons, and his twenty servants. David also gave Mephibosheth an honored spot at the king’s table, treating him as if he were one of his own sons (2 Samuel 9:7–8, 11).

But it was Ziba, not Mephibosheth, who had joined David as the king escaped Jerusalem just as the munity moved in. And from what Ziba had reported to David, Mephibosheth appeared to be just another treacherous “son” gunning for his throne (2 Samuel 16:3–4). David had immediately rewarded Ziba’s loyalty by granting him all of Mephibosheth’s property.

Ambiguity Emerges

But as the now-victorious David was reentering Jerusalem, Mephibosheth was there to greet him — and he was a scraggly, smelly mess. An aide had informed David that Mephibosheth claimed to have not shaved or bathed or cared for his lame limbs the entire time David was in exile (2 Samuel 19:24). And there were tears in Mephibosheth’s eyes. This cast some serious shade on Ziba’s story. More ambiguity.

“Why did you not go with me, Mephibosheth?” David asked. The disheveled disabled man replied,

My lord, O king, my servant deceived me, for your servant said to him, “I will saddle a donkey for myself, that I may ride on it and go with the king.” For your servant is lame. He has slandered your servant to my lord the king. But my lord the king is like the angel of God; do therefore what seems good to you. For all my father’s house were but men doomed to death before my lord the king, but you set your servant among those who eat at your table. What further right have I, then, to cry to the king? (2 Samuel 19:26–28)

Mephibosheth’s earnestness was convincing. He certainly looked like he was telling the truth. But then again, that’s how the Gibeonites pulled one over on Joshua (Joshua 9:3–6). And Ziba had showed loyalty by risking his neck to align with David at the king’s weakest moment. But then again, David himself had instructed Hushai to risk his neck to feign loyalty to Absalom (2 Samuel 15:32–37). Ziba’s risking his neck might have been nothing more than betting on an experienced king rather than an overconfident prince. Who was telling the truth?

The Best He Could Do

So, David issued a new ruling: Saul’s former property would be divided between Mephibosheth and Ziba (2 Samuel 19:29). One of them would receive less than he deserved, the other more, because someone was obviously lying. David, however, could not peer into the hearts of these two men. Nor, given the urgent circumstances, could he prioritize an investigation into this. He had a kingdom, a family, and a heart to try to piece back together. Besides, this was no time to make new enemies.

Both men had apparently demonstrated loyalty to him, and David could think of no other way to communicate to both of them that he was choosing to assume the best of each of them. He would have to leave full justice to God.

The Best We Can Do — Sometimes

Sometimes, that’s the best we can do too in complex situations. Sometimes — in families, in friendships, in pastoral and employment situations — sufficient evidence is lacking, or circumstances are too ambiguous, or time is too limited to ensure that full justice, as we understand it, is done. Sometimes the best decision, all things considered, is to be as generous as we can with all parties concerned and trust God to bring about full justice in time — which he will.

God knows. And “all his ways are justice” (Deuteronomy 32:4). He has ways of working out justice that are simply inscrutable to us. He can, like no one else, weave what people and devils mean for evil into his perfectly just and righteous ways, and end up working them all to bring about good beyond our wildest dreams (Genesis 50:20; Romans 8:28). And he will use our imperfect judgments — and the injustices we receive in this age — to bring his good to pass.

On our part, we are called to make our imperfect judgments in good — and real — faith, to the best of our limited abilities. But let us never hide behind “limited abilities” because secretly it’s easier to appease evil than to “do justice” (Micah 6:8).

Satan Will Sing You to Sleep: Waking Up from Spiritual Indifference

“You don’t tell people about Jesus, because you don’t care about their eternal state.”

His assertion stung. But I knew it was true. Confronted with the way he lives for the lost, its truth was as obvious to me as the nose on my face. And like the nose on my face, I wasn’t paying much attention to it until he called it out. But unlike the nose on my face, his assertion was eternally significant.

I recently met this remarkable man while travelling in the Middle East. He, along with his wife, is leading a rapidly-growing movement of Muslims turning to Christ in a very restrictive part of the Islamic world. I had the great (and exposing) privilege of spending hours with him. I wish I could tell you more about his story — how Jesus called him and the incredible ways the Lord uniquely prepared him to make disciples and plant churches in a very dangerous place. His story is worth a book someday. For now, I will spare the details, lest I in any way expose him.

I must pass along something he shared with me, though, because we all might be ignoring the obvious and eternally significant “nose” on our collective Western Christian faces — to our own spiritual detriment, for sure, but also to the spiritual catastrophe of those around us.

What Could Happen to Them

My new friend lives in an Islamic country where sharing the gospel, if you’re caught, will get you thrown into prison and likely tortured to extract information about other Christians. Yet he and his wife are daily, diligently seeking to share the gospel with others because they want to “share with them in its blessings” (1 Corinthians 9:23) — even more than they want their own survival.

Each morning, when this husband and wife part ways, they acknowledge to one another that it might be the last time they see each other. She knows, if caught, part of her torture will almost assuredly include rape, probably repeatedly. He knows, if caught, brutal things await him before a likely execution. For to them, “to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).

Yet each day they prayerfully pursue the Spirit of Jesus’s direction in order to show the lost the way of salvation. And they are equipping other Christians to do the same.

Wholly Dependent on God

When I say “prayerfully,” I mean prayerfully. They, and their fellow leaders, spend a minimum of four hours a day in prayer and God’s word, and frequently fast for extended periods, before they go out seeking souls. They do this because they need to.

Spiritual strongholds do not give way and conversions don’t happen unless they do this. One wrong move and a whole network of believers could be exposed. So, they depend on the Holy Spirit to specifically lead them to people the Spirit has prepared. For them, the doctrine of election is not some abstract theological controversy for seminary students to debate. They see it played out in front of them continually.

The cessationism-continuationism debate is also a moot issue for them. They regularly see the Holy Spirit do things we read about in the book of Acts. As my friend described the Spirit’s activity where he lives, it was clear that all the revelatory and miraculous spiritual gifts listed in 1 Corinthians 12–14 are a normal part of life for these believers — because they really need them.

They’re not debating Christian Hedonism either. When you live under the threat of death daily, either life is Christ and death is gain to you, or you will not last. So, I learned that my friend has translated John Piper’s original sermon series on Christian Hedonism into his native language and used them as part of his core theological curriculum for believers.

Lulled by an Evil Lullaby

All those things were wonderful and encouraging — as well as convicting — to hear. But then he told me a disturbing story.

A number of years ago, this man and his wife were given the opportunity to move to the States, and they did. After living here for a period of time, however, the wife began to plead with her husband that they move back to their Islamic country of origin. Why? She told him, “It’s like there’s a satanic lullaby playing here, and the Christians are asleep. And I feel like I’m falling asleep! Please, let’s go back!” Which they did (God be praised!).

This story contains an urgent message we must hear: she wanted to go back to a dangerous environment to escape what she recognized as a greater danger to her faith: spiritual lethargy and indifference. This should stop us in our tracks. Do we recognize this as a serious danger? How spiritually sleepy are we?

According to my new friend, we can gauge our sleepiness by how the eternal states of non-Christians around us shape the way we approach life. Judging by the general behavior of Christians in the West, it’s clear to my friend that, as a whole (we all can point to remarkable exceptions), we don’t care much about people’s eternal states.

Are We Content to Sleep?

My friend and his wife are right. There is a satanic lullaby playing, even in churches, across the West. Why else are we so lethargic in the midst of such relative freedom and unprecedented prosperity? Where is our collective Christian sense of urgency? Where are the tears over the perishing? Where is the groaning? Where is the fasting and prevailing intercession for those we love and those we live near and those we work with, not to mention the unreached of the world who have no meaningful gospel witness among them?

Paul had “great sorrow and unceasing anguish in [his] heart” over his unbelieving Jewish kinsmen (Romans 9:2). Do we feel anything like that? And Paul’s Spirit-inspired urgency to bring the gospel to the lost shaped his whole approach to life:

I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, that I may share with them in its blessings. (1 Corinthians 9:22–23)

What is shaping our approach to life? If we think that kind of mentality was only for someone with Paul’s apostolic calling, all we need to do is keep reading 1 Corinthians 9:24–27. It’s clear that Paul means for us to run our unique faith-races with the same kind of kingdom-focused mentality.

If we’re not feeling anguish over people’s eternal state and ordering our lives around praying for and trying to find ways to bring the gospel to them, we are being lulled to sleep by the devil’s soothing strains. It’s time to start fasting and praying and pleading with God and one another to wake up.

Now Is the Time

It matters not if we call ourselves Calvinists and believe we have an accurate knowledge of the doctrine of election, if our knowledge does not lead us to feel anguish in our hearts over the lost and a resolve to do whatever it takes to save some. “We do not yet know as we ought to know” (to paraphrase 1 Corinthians 8:2). What we need is to cultivate Paul’s heart for the lost.

My conversation with this new friend showed me that, Calvinist though I am, I do not yet know as I ought to know.

But, Father, I want to know as I ought to know! I repent of all lethargy and indifference! I will not remain sleepy anymore when it comes to the eternal states of the unbelieving family and friends and neighbors and restaurant servers and checkout clerks all around me.

Over Our Dead Bodies

According to Jesus, in his parable of the ten virgins, spiritual sleepiness is a very, very dangerous condition (Matthew 25:1–13). We need to get more oil — now! There isn’t much time.

I want to be done with satanic sleepiness and cultivate the resolve that led Charles Spurgeon — that unashamed Calvinist — to say,

If sinners be damned, at least let them leap to hell over our dead bodies. And if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. If hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.

Father, in Jesus’s name, increase my anguish over perishing unbelievers and my urgent resolve to “become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some” (1 Corinthians 9:22), whatever it takes!