Jon Bloom's Blog, page 13

He Wept as They Welcomed Him: The Hope and Sorrow of Palm Sunday

Save us, we pray, O Lord! . . . Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! (Psalm 118:25–26)

When Jesus approached Jerusalem on what history remembers as Palm Sunday, he wept over her. To a casual observer, it might have seemed like Jesus wept at strange times.

He recently had wept at Lazarus’s tomb, only to call him out of it moments later (John 11:35–44). Now the enthusiastic crowds who had heard of this great miracle (John 12:17–18) were escorting him royally into the city of David, crying the words of Psalm 118:25–26: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!” (John 12:13). All Jews would have understood these words as a messianic salutation — and Jesus responded with a tearful lament.

Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. For the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up a barricade around you. . . . And they will not leave one stone upon another in you, because you did not know the time of your visitation. (Luke 19:42–44)

This is a response worth pausing to ponder — what a psalmist might call a selah moment. The great King wept over the city of the great King just before his “triumphal entry” through her gates, to the prophesied rejoicing of many (Luke 19:41; Zechariah 9:9).

Rejected Stone, the Lord’s Doing

Psalm 118 was much in the Savior’s ears and eyes as Holy Week began — that consummate week when all that the temple and sacrificial systems foreshadowed (Hebrews 10:1) would be fulfilled in a single, great, once-for-all sacrifice conducted by the great high priest himself (Hebrews 4:14; 9:26).

Jesus heard the psalm in the “Hosanna!” shouts of the crowds. And he saw the psalm in the murderous machinations of the Jewish leaders: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes” (Psalm 118:22–23). This is what broke the heart of Jesus as he rode the donkey’s foal toward Jerusalem amid the waving palms. And it was marvelous.

It was marvelous that Jerusalem, “the joy of all the earth” (Psalm 48:2), did not recognize when the Joy of her joy arrived after her long centuries of waiting.

It was marvelous that the sovereign King of kings (1 Timothy 6:15), the Son and Lord of David (Matthew 22:44–45), who ordained from ages past that the builders would reject their cornerstone, felt profound grief over their blindness and rejection, and deeply wished they had known all he was doing to make peace (Luke 19:42).

It was marvelous that the Jewish Messiah had come to answer the “Hosanna!” cries and make peace not only for the Jewish people, but also for the Gentile peoples of the earth — a mystery “kept secret for long ages” (Romans 16:25) that would soon be proclaimed to the Gentiles by a Jewish Pharisee (Ephesians 3:1–6) who, if present as Jesus entered the city, would have zealously hated everything the procession implied.

And all this was “the Lord’s doing” (Psalm 118:23). Yes, for the Lord had said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised” (Luke 9:22).

Oh, for the things that made for peace!

The Day the Lord Had Made

The marvel is not only that the builders rejected the cornerstone, but that the Blessed One had come to become a curse for all of us who would later call him blessed (Galatians 3:13).

The great psalm celebrates, “Bind the festal sacrifice with cords, up to the horns of the altar!” (Psalm 118:27). Who on that day of the King’s great arrival would have imagined that this King had come to be the Sacrifice of sacrifices, and that the Roman cross to which he would be bound would become the most sacred altar ever constructed?

No one but King Jesus. This was why he had come, and why his soul was so troubled in the midst of the rejoicing crowd (John 12:27).

But the crowd’s rejoicing was the right response. Indeed, the psalm called for it: “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24). What deeply troubled the great Deliverer was a work set before him that would atone for the sin of myriad millions of sinners (Ephesians 1:7).

This was the day that the Lord had made, a day of rejoicing and gladness for sinners. But a day of weeping for the Lord. For oh, the things that made for peace!

His Steadfast Love Endures Forever

But Jesus’s grief was not hopeless. No, he knew his weeping was only for the night, and joy would come with the morning (Psalm 30:5). He knew it was the will of his Father to crush him and put him to grief (Isaiah 53:10). He also knew that after he had made the supreme offering for sin, after he had borne the iniquities of many that they might be accounted righteous, after the anguish of his soul was past, he would see his redeemed spiritual offspring and know supreme satisfaction (Isaiah 53:10–11). Even through his tears, Jesus looked to the joy set before him (Hebrews 12:2) and set his face toward what lay ahead in Jerusalem (Luke 9:51).

This was the resolve of fathomless love — a love stronger than death and fiercer than the grave — the very flame of the Lord (Song of Solomon 8:6). It was a love so good, so steadfast, so enduring, so high, so broad, so long, so deep that it requires the very strength of God even to comprehend it (Ephesians 3:18–19). It was the way God so loved the world (John 3:16), a world that had rejected him (Psalm 118:22). It was love that went to unimaginable extremes to accomplish the things that made for peace — for us.

Therefore, in honor of such a King, we join with that ancient crowd in rejoicing in the day that the Lord has made, lifting our hands, as if holding festal palms, and declaring,

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! . . . You are my God, and I will give thanks to you; you are my God; I will extol you. Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever! (Psalm 118:26, 28–29)

Scripture Memory Wasn’t for Me

One of the most beneficial spiritual disciplines for me has been memorizing long portions of Scripture.

Now, before you click away because you assume this article isn’t relevant to you, or because you want to avoid another guilt trip that you’re not measuring up to some spiritual Christian standard, would you give me a couple of minutes? I’d like to make a case that memorizing long portions of Scripture is indeed relevant to you and is not about your measuring up, but about your joy.

Confessions of a Bad Memorizer

I know that for many, joy is not the word they associate with Bible memory. Boring or can’t do it or undisciplined might be what comes to mind. I know. That was me.

I remember once, as a young adult, deciding I should take Bible memory seriously. In the flush of idealized resolve, I bought a Navigator’s Bible memory system. As is typical of idealized resolve, it dissipated after a couple of feeble tries, and the system then went unused until I eventually threw it away.

Years later, when my church leaders encouraged members to memorize certain verses each week, I was hit-and-miss. It wasn’t a faulty program; it was a faulty me. I had a fairly bad memory to begin with. I would memorize initially, but it seemed I just lost it so fast. I figured I would never do well at memorizing.

Plus, I harbored some skepticism about whether Bible memory really made much of a difference. I figured it was good — like a comprehensive workout at the gym is good — but I wondered if the actual value wasn’t somewhat inflated, considering all that extra work and time. I had some theological education, attended a theologically rigorous church, read theological books, was involved in Christian ministry, and generally read through the Bible every year in my devotions. How much more would memorizing do for me?

A Memorable Discovery

It was actually an experience in my devotions that pushed me toward a memorable discovery. In my late thirties, I had just completed the book of Hebrews (again) in my reading plan, and it left me a bit frustrated. Hebrews is so rich, so full of glorious truth. But every time I read through it, it was like I just skipped across its surface. I wanted to dive in.

Then I had this unusual thought: I need to memorize this book. Wouldn’t that get me deeper into it and have it get deeper into me? Then I did math: 13 chapters and 303 verses. Seriously? Could I, a bad memorizer, memorize 303 verses? And retain them?

I knew that John Piper used a memory technique taught by pastor Andrew Davis to memorize larger blocks of Scripture. So I decided to try it.

I found this technique worked! It took me quite a while, but I committed all of Hebrews to memory. And as I did, it was like swimming in the book. Deeper dimensions of the text and its application opened up for me. I followed the author’s flow of thought in ways I hadn’t seen before. I learned the warp and woof of each chapter. But more than all that, there were moments I worshiped Jesus as I saw him through the lens of this book — moments that I had not experienced in my read-throughs.

That experience of more profound worship of Jesus made me hungrier to know even more of him. So after Hebrews, I made the crazy decision to memorize the book of John. It took a long time, but again, it was wonderful. It was a long, deliberate, nourishing walk with Jesus. From there I went to Romans, then to Philippians, then to 1 John, then to 1 Corinthians (which I nearly completed — I need to get back to it), and then to a number of psalms.

The memorable discovery was not that I, with my bad memory, surprisingly could memorize big chunks of Scripture, but that doing so yielded joy. The exercise, the discipline, of reciting and repeating forced me to meditate on Scripture in ways I hadn’t done before. As a result, I saw more, understood more, enjoyed more complex tastes of God’s goodness (Psalm 34:8). Bible memory, specifically longer sections, turned out to be not merely exercising a few more muscle groups in the Bible gym, but rather a means to more profound worship and more fuel for prayer.

The Bad Memory Myth

Now, knowing I’ve memorized a few books of the Bible might make you skeptical of my claim that I have a bad memory. If so, that’s only because you don’t know me. My wife and kids will confirm. I regularly blank out on names of people I should remember (I dreaded the reception line at our wedding). I regularly can’t recall specifics of a past conversation or event or book I’ve read that I should remember. Which means I live with a measure of social anxiety that one or both will happen in a public setting (because they do).

I think my brain’s file-retrieval system is below average — less like an orderly file cabinet and more like a messy desk with piles of stuff on it (“Ugh! Where’s that name?” Rummage, rummage. “I know I put it here!”). I do best with a lot of repetition and review. I guess it keeps things near the top of the pile, which is another benefit of memorizing long portions of Scripture.

My experience has taught me not to believe the bad memory myth — that having a bad memory disqualifies us from memorizing much (unless we’re a rare medical/neurological exception). Rather, a bad memory makes memorizing all the more needful and helpful.

Harder doesn’t mean impossible. It just means people like me have to work harder to memorize and retain than people blessed with a good memory. Which is not much different than saying that people like me have to work harder to lose weight and keep weight off than people blessed with naturally faster metabolisms.

God is not egalitarian in his distribution of talents (Matthew 25:15), spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 12:4–6), roles (1 Corinthians 12:18–20), bodies (John 9:2–3), and faith (Romans 12:3). We all have weaknesses that require us to labor more than others must. And this is really good for our souls. It teaches us perseverance and endurance as well as humble dependence on God and appreciation for others’ strengths.

Start Small and Realize a Benefit

I share with you my experience as a bad memorizer for two reasons: (1) if you’ve never attempted memorizing long portions of Scripture, it’s likely well within your reach; and (2) it really is all about joy. If you hear any should implied in what I’ve written, don’t hear it as a legal should that you must do to please God or achieve some elite spiritual rank. Rather, hear it as an invitation to joy — like a friend who says, “You should visit the Grand Canyon”; or a prescription for joy, like a doctor who says, “For the sake of your health, you should really consider getting some exercise.”

If you’d like some specific coaching on how to get started with a particular memorizing technique, I’ve provided that elsewhere. But if you’re new to this, here’s my simple counsel: start small and realize a benefit. Choose a meaningful psalm (like Psalm 27) or a meaningful chapter that’s not too long (like 1 Corinthians 13). Or if you really want to try your hand at a book, I recommend Philippians. Give it a try, stay with it, and taste the joy.

Once you discover you can really do it, and you discover that it yields joy, you will very likely want to keep going. And that’s the beginning of the adventure. Keep venturing! Because there’s a lot of glory to see and savor.

Why Don’t We Shout in Worship?

Do you ever shout in church as an expression of exultant, exuberant worship? If not, why?

Is this even a relevant question? Or is it just a foray into the “worship wars” that devolves into debates over style and tone preferences?

I think it is relevant, regardless of our style and tone preferences, because we find clear examples and exhortations regarding shouting in the Bible, particularly in the Psalms. And so, we need to ask ourselves whether or not it matters to God if we actually do what these psalms commend or command us to do. Here are a few samples:

Psalm 27:6, “I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the Lord.”
Psalm 32:11, “Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart!”
Psalm 33:3, “Sing to him a new song; play skillfully on the strings, with loud shouts.”
Psalm 47:1, “Clap your hands, all peoples! Shout to God with loud songs of joy!”
Psalm 66:1–2, “Shout for joy to God, all the earth; sing the glory of his name; give to him glorious praise!”
Psalm 71:23, “My lips will shout for joy, when I sing praises to you; my soul also, which you have redeemed.”

What do we do with these statements? God doesn’t waste his breath in Scripture (2 Timothy 3:16). He has included everything intentionally. So, he clearly wants us to do something regarding these references to shouting. I wonder if biblical shouting is not only an expression of joyful worship but also a way of experiencing dimensions of joyful worship that we don’t experience otherwise.

Why and When We Shout

Now, all of us shout. If we have voices, we’ve all shouted many times, and for numerous reasons. We’ve shouted in the overflow of great joy. We’ve shouted in the exultation of victory. We’ve shouted in the tension of competition. We’ve shouted in the chaos of battle. We’ve shouted in the tumult of controversy and argument. We’ve shouted in moments of great danger. We’ve shouted in the explosion of hot anger. Certain strong emotions prompt us, any of us, to shout.

But we rarely shout alone. Similar to laughing, and to some extent singing, shouting seems to be designed primarily as a corporate expression of strong emotion, something we find most enjoyable or helpful or needful when we do it with other people.

For example, I’m a shouter when I watch the Minnesota Vikings play football. This is true whether I watch them live at a stadium or, perhaps even better, in a room with family and friends. But if I watch a game alone, the dynamic is different.

Case in point: On January 14, 2018, Vikings quarterback Case Keenum threw the “Minneapolis Miracle” pass to wide receiver Stefon Diggs in the last seconds of a divisional playoff game to defeat the New Orleans Saints. When that happened, our living room full of Vikings fans erupted in deafening shouts for joy that went on for minutes. If I had watched by myself, I might have shouted, but it would have lacked the depth of joy and celebration (and volume).

Why is this? There’s something profound and mysterious about a group of people sharing a common excitement and joy. Often, joy is heightened when we experience it together with others — and certain joys are only properly expressed in shouting. To not shout together as Stefon Diggs ran into the end zone would have emotionally muted the whole experience.

What About Church?

The Bible doesn’t explicitly explain why this phenomenon occurs, but it certainly acknowledges that it does. Most of the scriptural instructions to shout are addressed to the gathered saints — the Psalms were mainly meant to be sung (and sometimes shouted) together with others. There’s a unique and powerful dynamic when we “give thanks to the Lord with [our] whole heart, in the company of the upright, in the congregation” (Psalm 111:1).

So, all of us shout. But assuming we’re in a familiar culture, we also all know when we’re not supposed to shout. Appropriate and inappropriate times and places to shout are culturally or sub-culturally reinforced. It’s okay to shout at a football game; it’s not okay to shout in a funeral home.

What about when our church gathers together to worship (and it’s not a funeral)? What does our church culture encourage? Are there occasionally moments of exuberance in song where all the saints “shout for joy to God” (Psalm 66:1)? Or does that always feel out of place, or only done by one or two courageous (and odd) people?

Spiritual Discipline of Shouting?

An even more penetrating question than cultural decorum is this: Do we ever feel the realities of the mercies of God, our redemption, the spiritual conflict we’re engaged in, the promise of our resurrection, and Christ’s ultimate triumph strongly enough to inspire a shout?

I ask this question for a couple of reasons. One, it might reveal a personal affectional deficit in our souls that we need to address with our Lord — that we’re not connecting deeply enough with the realities of what’s happened, and been promised, to us. And, of course, that’s all of us to greater or lesser degrees. What we may need is to repent of giving excessive attention to lesser things, and spend more extended time meditating on “the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:8) in order to stoke the embers of our passion for him.

But a second reason is that, to some degree, an affectional deficit might be due to the fact that we don’t shout together. I experienced the reality of the “Minneapolis Miracle” more deeply and intensely because I shared and shouted over it with others. I often feel certain great truths of God, or at least dimensions of them, more deeply and intensely when I share and shout over them with others. I can’t replicate in my private devotional times what I experience together with the saints on Easter morning.

What We All Want

Shouting is commended and commanded in the Bible, like singing, because there are dimensions of joy in God that are only experienced when we express ourselves in this way — particularly when we express ourselves this way together.

Like anything else, shouting can be superficial, but that shouldn’t prevent us from shouting. Because of the clear biblical exhortations to shout, I commend these thoughts to you for your prayerful consideration — especially pastors and leaders who craft worship times for gathered saints. What we all want is for the saints to experience as much blessing of delighting in God as possible. And the Scriptures tell us, “Blessed are the people who know the festal shout, who walk, O Lord, in the light of your face” (Psalm 89:15).

Only the Humble See Heaven

Why is humility so important to God? I mean, it’s really, really important to him. Listen to the kinds of things Jesus said:

Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave. (Matthew 20:26–27)

Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. (Matthew 18:3–4)

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. (Matthew 5:5)

Humble slaves rank first in God’s kingdom, only the humble childlike get into the kingdom, and the meek will be given dominion over the world. These are statements are so radical they sound nearly ridiculous.

Did He Just Say That?

I wonder if we’re too familiar with these sayings. I don’t know about you, but I have found it disturbingly easy to dissociate theological truths I intellectually assent to from what I functionally believe (the ways I actually behave). If statements about humility like these don’t throttle us, I doubt we’re really hearing Jesus — given how much we are not like this by nature, given how unappealing serving is when we must actually sacrifice our own pursuits in order to do it, given how little we want to be regarded as childlike when it comes to how others actually think of us, and given how not meek we feel when someone else actually offends us.

Did you catch what’s at stake? If this kind of humility doesn’t characterize us, we “will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). It’s the same sort of statement Jesus made about those who aren’t born again (John 3:3). It’s the same sort of statement Paul made about the sexually immoral, idolaters, the greedy, drunkards, and revilers (1 Corinthians 6:9–10). Do you, by your behavior, put pride in the same category of seriousness as sexual sin? I think God considers pride to be worse. Nowhere in Scripture does God say the most sexually pure are the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

What is it about humility that God esteems so much? What’s so great about humility?

An Alien Ethic

That’s a question many critics of Christianity ask. Some view statements like “Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave” (Matthew 20:26–27) as so alien to human experience that they are completely unrealistic, however altruistic Jesus’s intentions may have been.

Others go much further and call Jesus’s humility ethic evil. Karl Marx considered it an opiate to pacify the proletariat masses so the bourgeoisie could keep their economic grip on the means of production. Friedrich Nietzsche abhorred it as doing nothing but enfeebling the human race, encouraging the whole lot of us to behave precisely in ways that keep us from pursuing the ruthless strength we need to survive in a brutal, uncaring universe.

Indeed, the humility Jesus commends here seems alien, otherworldly. It was alien to Jesus’s disciples when he made the statement to them. James and John were angling for the seats of eternal honor (Matthew 20:20–21), moving their ten comrades to get bent out of shape, since each figured he had a fair claim to those seats (Luke 22:24). This was the greatness they knew. They lived in a world where greatness was defined by social position, where scribes and Pharisees loved their seats of honor (Matthew 23:6) and rulers loved lording (Matthew 20:25). They lived in the world we live in. What world did Jesus live in?

Memories of a Lost World

When Jesus called the disciples to pursue greatness through the humility of serving others, he wasn’t merely calling them to be countercultural; he was calling them to be counter-natural — or better, to be supernatural. None of us is born with this character quality. If Jesus’s humility ethic seems alien, it’s because it is. It is the ethic of a foreign kingdom (Matthew 18:1), a better country (Hebrews 11:16).

Actually, that’s not exactly right. It’s more accurate to say that humility is the ethic of a former kingdom. For the kingdom of heaven was the original administration of earth, and humility was the ethic of Eden. The domain of darkness (Colossians 1:13) is the actual foreign kingdom that staged a coup at the forbidden tree by enticing Adam and Eve to stop trusting fully in God and start leaning on their own understanding (Proverbs 3:5). And the foreign kingdom’s pride ethic prevailed.

But the Bible tells us that humility will once again be the prevailing ethic of the future kingdom, when the evil foreign power is at last overthrown, and every knee bows to the supremely humble King of kings (Philippians 2:5–11). When we finally see him, we will know that the greatest in the kingdom of heaven indeed is the servant of all.

Only the Humble Can See

But I still haven’t answered the question: What’s so great about humility? Why does God rank it as such a high quality of human greatness? I believe it’s because humility is the only state of the soul that allows us to accurately perceive and value truth and glory for what they really are. Only the humble can truly see.

We’ve all heard some version of the adage “pride blinds.” That’s exactly what it does. Pride keeps sinful man from seeing God (Psalm 10:4). Pride keeps us from seeing our approaching fall (Proverbs 16:18). Pride is the light in the eyes of a wicked heart (Proverbs 21:4), and “if then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!” (Matthew 6:23).

But humility puts us in the frame of mind to be able to see. Which is why God “leads the humble in what is right, and teaches the humble his way” (Psalm 25:9). Only the humble can be “pure in heart,” and therefore only the humble can “see God” (Matthew 5:8).

Pride sees the self as the supreme value, and views everything else as means to enhance the self. It’s insatiable, and it can be deadly. But in humility, one does “not to think of [one’s self] more highly than [one] ought to think, but . . . think[s] with sober judgment” (Romans 12:3).

The humble person accurately sees God’s place, his own place, and everyone else’s place in the world. The humble person sees himself as a sinner in desperate need of God’s mercy, and having received it through the supremely humble servanthood of God in Christ (Philippians 2:5–8), finds it more blessed to give to others than to receive so that they might maximally enjoy the mercy of God forever too (Acts 20:35). Having this mind, he sees existence, the world, beauty, redemption, and judgment as incomprehensibly bigger than himself and so full of glories that he is overwhelmed and can’t contain it all. His humility allows him to see, and what he sees humbles him.

Eyes Open to Glory

Why did Jesus say only the humble can enter the kingdom? Because only the humble can see the kingdom. Why are the greatest in the kingdom the servants? Because the more humble we are, the more reality we truly see, the more of God’s multifaceted glory we truly see, and therefore the more joy we experience, and therefore the more we want others to experience that joy. What makes humility so great is that it’s God-like.

In calling us to meekness, Jesus is inviting us to abandon the bankruptcy of pride and have the eyes of our hearts enlightened that we may know “the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints” (Ephesians 1:18). He’s inviting us share in the very joy of the Triune God, the most humble Persons in existence.

Leave Behind the Weariness of Bitterness

The gears of God’s justice sometimes grind slowly — so slowly that we may not even notice them turning during our brief sojourn on earth. We even begin to wonder if they’re really turning at all.

Asaph writes, “Truly God is good to Israel, to those who are pure in heart. But . . .” (Psalm 73:1–2). But what? But Asaph had really struggled to believe that. His biblical theology and history told him God is good and God is just, but as he looked on the way things evidently operated in the “real” world around him, Asaph read a different narrative.

He watched unashamedly wicked people prosper, seeming to avoid the hardships most of humanity is subject to (Psalm 73:3–5). He watched them violently oppress others without God seeming to lift a finger to stop them or protect the oppressed (Psalm 73:6–8). He watched them in their luxuriant ease blaspheme God with apparent impunity (Psalm 73:9–12). Like many suffering Christians today, he watched while the godless flourished.

Hard on Those He Loves?

Meanwhile, when Asaph looked at his own experience, he couldn’t help wondering why in the world he was fighting so hard to keep his heart clean and his hands innocent, only to find himself “stricken and rebuked [by God] every morning” (Psalm 73:13–14). What’s with that?

Hard on those who love him, and seemingly easy on those who hate him — that looks a lot like turning justice on its head. Asaph’s “feet . . . almost stumbled” over whether God truly is good to Israel (Psalm 73:2). He could have said, as Teresa of Ávila allegedly did, “If this is how You treat Your friends, no wonder why You have so few of them!”

Thus, Asaph is endeared to us — an ancient friend who understands. He understands the hard experience of living in what can look and feel like a world of inverted justice.

Where Bitterness Takes Root

We know deep down God can’t approve of this inversion. The fact that humanity shares such a massive consensus regarding what’s just and unjust bears witness to what God considers just and unjust. Philosophers call this the “moral law.” Theologians call it God’s law written on the heart (Romans 2:15–16). Even the unjust bear witness to this reality by what they desperately try to conceal (or rationalize if their power is removed and they are held to account for their actions).

But when they aren’t held to account, when they do as they unjustly and wickedly please and God doesn’t intervene, we try to understand. And, like Asaph, we can find it “a wearisome task” (Psalm 73:16). We can become “pricked in heart” and embittered in soul (Psalm 73:21).

Here’s the real danger: the indignance we feel toward injustice — the way we’re supposed to feel toward injustice — can metastasize into bitterness in our soul toward God and his apparent lack of concern and willingness to take action against injustice. This can turn us “brutish and ignorant” (Psalm 73:22), leading us to fall away from God (Hebrews 3:12) or to distort his word into saying what it does not say, because in our lack of faith, we cannot bear it. Few things drive us to twist the Scriptures like the problem we have with evil and the pain it can cause us or those we love. This is a “root bearing poisonous and bitter fruit” (Deuteronomy 29:18) that defiles many, as Hebrews warns us (Hebrews 12:15).

Counsel for the Embittered Soul

So, what do we do when, like Asaph, our heart is pricked and we feel that bitterness in our soul that makes us question if God really sees, if he cares, if he’s really in control, if he really exists? The remedy God provides us against the brutish ignorance of unbelief is simple, but it is profound, and it is pervasive:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord, and turn away from evil. It will be healing to your flesh and refreshment to your bones. (Proverbs 3:5–8)

This can sound so trite, so cliché, when what we want from God are answers — and, more immediately, action! This is not cliché. This is the Bible — all of it. The Bible is God’s book of justice. The whole thing is about God’s justice — about his ultimately making every wrong right and exhaustively settling every account of every moral agent, visible and invisible to us, that has ever perpetrated even the smallest injustice. Nothing will be missed, for God “will by no means clear the guilty” (Numbers 14:18) without fully satisfying his holy, righteous law — the one to which all our consciences bear witness.

God is working with a timetable toward this end that is long — and our lives are short. We may not see the justice needle move much during our time under the sun. That doesn’t at all mean God is not relentlessly and fearfully moving toward the terrible, unfathomable destruction of evil.

We must trust him with all our hearts and not lean on our own very limited perspective and understanding of the “real” world. If the catastrophe of Eden teaches us anything, it teaches us that we are ill-equipped to manage the knowledge of good and evil. The bitterness of soul that Asaph describes is a warning that it is time to hand God back the fruit before it bears something poisonous and bitter in us.

How God Treats His Friends

If the eucatastrophe of the cross of Jesus teaches us anything, it teaches us that God does not take injustice lightly — that he is, in fact, willing to go to extremes we would never imagine in order to fully settle accounts. At the cross, God’s righteous unwillingness to clear the unjust kisses his righteous desire to pardon the repentant unjust and be at peace with them (Psalm 85:10). It is the miraculous moment when the righteous Judge takes upon himself our unrighteousness, paying for it in full that we might become his righteousness (2 Corinthians 5:21). It is the place where God becomes both just and the justifier of the unjust ones who put their faith fully in Jesus (Romans 3:26).

This is how God treats his friends: he gives his only Son for them in order to give them eternal life (John 3:16).

It is this God, and the remembrance of his mercy foreshadowed in the old covenant, that Asaph beheld when he “went into the sanctuary of God” (Psalm 73:17). Then his perspective on justice changed. He saw the long-term end of the short-lived unrepentant wicked. God was not inattentive or inactive as they brazenly oppressed and blasphemed.

Truly you set them in slippery places; you make them fall to ruin. How they are destroyed in a moment, swept away utterly by terrors! Like a dream when one awakes, O Lord, when you rouse yourself, you despise them as phantoms. (Psalm 73:18–20)

He saw the mercy in his being “stricken and rebuked,” for it was this very discipline that kept him from going astray (Proverbs 3:11–12; Psalm 119:67). And he saw an approaching judgment upon those who were not being led to repentance by the kindness of God (Romans 2:4). He remembered the long-term end of his short-lived afflictions: “You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory” (Psalm 73:24), the same hope the apostle Paul expressed (2 Corinthians 4:17).

How Bitterness Leaves

And when Asaph gave up his wearisome task of trying to understand how God can let injustice and evil persist, and instead trusted God with all his heart, the bitterness left him. And out of the healing and refreshment he experienced, he sang,

Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (Psalm 73:25–26)

Thus, if we have ears to hear, God is endeared to us — our far more ancient and future Friend who understands how hard it can be for us to endure evil while he “works all things according to the counsel of his will” (Ephesians 1:11). For it was his compassion that moved him to inspire these words in our friend, Asaph, and make sure his song of the rescued cynic was preserved in the canon to help rescue us from our bitterness of soul.

Lord, All I Have Is Yours

Jesus’s encounter with the rich young man has always unsettled me. I’m an American. I’m as middle-class as Americans go, which means I live in a level of affluence and abundance unknown by most of my co-inhabitants of this world today, and by a far, far lower percentage of people in history. In global and historical terms, I am that man.

The most disturbing thing about the young man is that he seemed so familiar with his affluence-shaped religious and cultural assumptions that he didn’t realize how out of touch with spiritual reality he was. I doubt that many around him discerned how out of touch he was. From the very brief glimpses of him we catch in the synoptics, and by Jesus’s response to him in Mark’s account, this man doesn’t seem to match the arrogant rich oppressor we envision when we read James 5:4–6. Those around him might have assumed his prosperity was God’s affirmative blessing.

After all, this man was spiritually earnest — running to Jesus and kneeling before him to ask him if there was more he needed to do to be saved (Mark 10:17). He had all the appearance of piety — having kept (or believed he did) the commandments Jesus listed since he was young (Mark 10:19–20). And he was sincere — Mark records that “Jesus, looking at him, loved him” (Mark 10:21). He was all these things, yet he lacked the kind of faith that saves.

Spiritually earnest, sincere, apparently pious — perhaps more than most around him. Isn’t that what faith looks like? No, not necessarily. Faith looks like trusting. And when it comes to what we really believe, trusting looks like treasuring. For when it’s all on the line for us, we always trust in what we truly treasure.

Show Me What I Trust

The most loving thing Jesus could do for this earnest, sincere young man was show him the god he trusted: “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me” (Mark 10:21). Then the man saw his real god, and he walked away from Jesus’s incredible invitation “sorrowful.” Why? “He had great possessions” (Mark 10:22). This led to Jesus’s devastating observation:

And Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! . . . It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” (Mark 10:23–25)

When it was all on the line for the young man, he trusted his wealth, his possessions, more than God. His wealth was his god, and that kept him from entering the kingdom. The thing is, he didn’t see this until he really had to choose.

Do you find that disconcerting? The disciples did: “Then who can be saved?” (Mark 10:26). As an affluent American living in the midst of unprecedented historical abundance, I do. I don’t trust my faith self-assessment (1 Corinthians 4:3). I can trust only God’s assessment (1 Corinthians 4:4). And since faith is really proven genuine only when it is tried (1 Peter 1:6–7; James 1:2–4; 2 Corinthians 13:5), we must be willing, like the young man, to say to Jesus,

Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting! (Psalm 139:23–24)

And if Jesus doesn’t call us to leave our abundance, but to continue living faithfully in it — if we are to really trust God and not our abundance — then we need the faith to abound.

Faith to Abound

Paul said he had learned to be content in whatever situation he found himself:

I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:12–13)

If given the choice, most of us likely would prefer to be given the faith to abound rather than the faith to be brought low. I think that’s because we aren’t fully cognizant of the dangerous nature of material prosperity. Paul meant it when he said it requires God’s strength to “face plenty.”

“Abundance” (prosperity) and “need” (scarcity) are very different circumstances. They both require faith in order to handle them in ways that glorify God. But they demand the exercising of different sets of faith muscles. Scarcity requires faith muscles for trusting God in a place of needy desperation. Prosperity requires faith muscles for trusting God in place of bountiful material security.

Exercising faith in scarcity is not easy by any means. Most of us fear scarcity more than prosperity because the threat is clearly seen. But ironically, that’s one reason it can be easier to exercise faith in scarcity than in prosperity. Because in scarcity, our need is clear and our options are typically few. We feel desperate for God to provide for us and so we are driven to seek him — to exercise our faith.

But exercising faith in prosperity is different. It’s a more complex and deceptive spiritual and psychological environment. It requires that we truly trust — truly treasure — God when we don’t feel desperate for his provision, when we feel materially secure, when nothing external is demanding that we feel urgency. When we have lots of options that look innocuous and we can spend precious time and money on all sorts of pursuits and enjoyments. This environment is so dangerous that Jesus warns it is harder for people in it to enter God’s kingdom than for a camel to climb through the eye of a needle. Test yourself. When have you sought God most earnestly: in need or abundance?

When God Is Our Option

Christians have always found it harder to voluntarily give away security than to desperately plead for it. It requires different faith muscles to trust God in divesting ourselves of prosperity for his sake than to trust God to meet our scarcity for his sake. In some ways, it takes greater faith to trust God when you have other options than when he is our only option.

That’s why the laborers are so few when the harvest is so plenty (Luke 10:2). Few want to face worldly need in order to experience kingdom plenty. It makes the kind of faith that saints like George Müller and Hudson Taylor exercised so remarkable.

Yes, they trusted in God in scarcity. But what made this all the more remarkable was that they could have raised money in other legitimate ways to support their work and avoid many of those needy moments. But they voluntarily chose (which is different from being circumstantially forced) to place themselves in a position of desperation to demonstrate that God exists and rewards those who seek him (Hebrews 11:6). They, like Paul, learned the secret of facing abundance and need: fully trusting God, their Treasure.

Whatever It Takes

We Christians who live in abundance need to heed the story of the rich young man. We need him to unnerve us. For the whole history of the church bears witness to the general trend that the wealthier she grows, the more corrupt, indulgent, and apathetic she grows. And the less urgent over lost souls she feels. It’s harder for people in our environment to be real Christians than for camels to pass through a needle’s eye.

But Jesus does not leave us without great hope. He announces, “With man [handling material abundance faithfully] is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God” (Mark 10:27). So, let us run to Jesus — who has power to do what is impossible for us — kneel before him, and plead:

Whatever it takes, Lord, help me to truly trust you as my greatest treasure. I would rather lose my material security and gain the kingdom than gain the world and lose my soul. All I have is yours — my life, my family, my time, my money, my possessions, my future — and I will steward them as you wish, even if it means losing them (Philippians 3:8). And I invite you to search my heart and put my faith to the test.

God Will Provide the Ability You Need

God likes to place gems of comfort, encouragement, guidance, and conviction in odd places in the Scriptures — places we don’t expect to find them. Places like the more tedious parts of Exodus, where I was in my devotions recently.

Full disclosure: in devotional reading, I’m tempted, like many, to skim over the portions of Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy that contain the kinds of details that I rarely find “relevant” and that my brain doesn’t retain well (genealogies, ritual instructions, temple inventories, and so on). Sometimes I do skim. I’m grateful I didn’t this time because I came across a rare gem.

First, here’s a word about gem-finding before describing what I found. One reason we read the whole Bible over and over is that its “gems” move around. The Holy Spirit may illumine one particular detail one time, and then something else the next time. A text that seemed rather bland this time through Exodus might hit us with fresh wisdom-giving insight next time. That’s part of the never-ending adventure of interacting with the living and active word of God (Hebrews 4:12). The Spirit surprises us. Like he did when I was reading about the tabernacle construction.

Given an Impossible Job

In Exodus 25–30, God gives Moses a lengthy list of detailed directions for how to build the tabernacle. Besides the “blueprints” for the tent, God gave precise instructions for the handcrafting of the Ark of the Covenant, the bread table, the lampstand, the lampstand’s oil, the altar of sacrifice, the altar of incense, the incense itself, the water basin, the priestly garments, and the recipe for the holy anointing oil. These instructions fill six chapters.

I was struck by how often God told Moses, “you shall make . . .” (Exodus 25:13). I looked up the phrase “you shall make” in Hebrew. The “you” is a second person, masculine, singular verb. In other words, You, Moses, shall make.

Moses already had an impossibly huge job. He was lead prophet, head-of-state, foreign minister, chief justice, supreme military commander, lead biblical counselor, and more for a nation of two million discontented nomads, who all depended on his guidance for their daily sustenance and safety. Now God was saddling him with a bunch of exacting “you shall make” projects. Moses was an extraordinarily humble man of faith (Numbers 12:3). If it were me, I may have been thinking, Me and what army? An impossible job just became more impossible.

Sufficient Ability Provided

Then I stumbled on the gem in this pile of precious stones:

The Lord said to Moses, “See, I have called by name Bezalel the son of Uri, son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with ability and intelligence, with knowledge and all craftsmanship, to devise artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, to work in every craft. And behold, I have appointed with him Oholiab, the son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan. And I have given to all able men ability, that they may make all that I have commanded you. . . . According to all that I have commanded you, they shall do.” (Exodus 31:1–6, 11)

God gave Moses the abilities he personally lacked in the form of other able people. He expanded the “you shall make” into “they shall do.” An impossible job just became more possible.

Never before had this text struck me with such hope and joy. God has given to all men — and women (Exodus 35:25–26) — the needed abilities to carry out every work God calls his people to do.

I felt a particularly renewed hope in the responsibilities God has given me as a father. A Christian father (and mother) feels the weight of God’s command: “You shall teach them diligently” (Deuteronomy 6:7). Parenting is an overwhelming job. I’m regularly tempted to anxiety by all that my children yet need to know — not just hear, but know and believe. I’m aware of my limitations to help them know and believe. And with my youngest three (of five) all in their teens now, I feel the time getting short. I’m simply not adequate to the huge job of equipping them in all the ways they need — and now they’re at ages when many other things compete for their time and attention.

This gem in Exodus 31:6 reminded my soul that God will supply everything I need to fulfill my calling as a father, including other precious people to whom he has given abilities to do for my children what I alone cannot (Philippians 4:19).

You’re Not Alone

This, of course, goes for every overwhelming job God gives us. We are never truly alone in the work God gives us to do. God will provide all the ability we need. Jesus said, “Ask, and it will be given to you” (Matthew 7:7). Hudson Taylor said, “Depend upon it, God’s work done in God’s way will never lack God’s supplies.” And when God supplies the abilities, most will likely come in the form of other able people. God expands almost every “you shall . . .” into “they shall . . .”

A New Testament version of Exodus 31:6 is 1 Corinthians 12:18–20:

As it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body.

What God requires of us is almost always meant to be carried out in the context of a community or “body” of saints. For “to each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good” (1 Corinthians 12:7). As each contributes his or her abilities, we work together so that “all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13). That’s how God loves to make our impossible jobs more possible.

All that comfort in one verse in Exodus 31, where I wasn’t expecting it. It was a good reminder, not only that God provides all I need, but that he likes to place his gems of comfort, encouragement, guidance, and conviction in surprising places.

Cut Off Your Hand: How Far Will You Go to Save Your Soul?

Losing a sense of God’s holiness is the first warning sign of entering a spiritually dangerous place.

Externally, everything might look fine: Our families might be well, our ministries might be flourishing, we might be receiving recognition and walking powerfully in our spiritual gifts. But inwardly, we’re wandering.

External phenomena do not reliably indicate our spiritual health. Families and ministries can struggle and go wrong for reasons that have nothing to do with our spiritual states. And history is full of examples of men and women who exercised spiritual gifts with great power for a period of time — even when involved in gross secret sin. Besides that, externals are usually lagging indicators of spiritual decline. By the time our decline starts surfacing, it often has reached a serious state.

What to Watch

The thing to watch is our sense of God’s holiness.

I don’t mean our doctrinal knowledge of God’s holiness. That’s something we might affirm and even teach when secretly we are in a place of decline. The doctrine of God’s holiness is real to us only when we have real fear of God. And one clear evidence of this is our fear of sin. The loss of the sense of God’s holiness always produces the loss of the sense of sin’s sinfulness. When God is not feared, sin is not feared.

A tolerance of habitual indulgence of sin — a lack of fear over what slavery to sin might imply (John 8:34) — is an indictor that the fear of God is not governing us. And when we are in such a state, Jesus tells us what we need to do: cut off our hand.

Absolutely Terrifying Reality

Matthew 18 is a sober read. Jesus gets very serious about the extremely horrible consequences of sin. And he says this:

Woe to the world for temptations to sin! For it is necessary that temptations come, but woe to the one by whom the temptation comes! And if your hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life crippled or lame than with two hands or two feet to be thrown into the eternal fire. And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into the hell of fire. (Matthew 18:7–9)

Note the words eternal fire in verse eight. For most of the history of the church, some have asserted either some form of ultimate universal salvation for everyone or ultimate annihilation of the lost. But for the entire history of the church, the vast majority of Christians and the vast majority of the church’s most eminent and reliable theologians have affirmed that what Jesus and the apostles taught about hell is eternal, conscious punishment. Those three words describe an absolutely terrifying reality.

Metaphor, But No Hyperbole

I used the words “extremely horrible” and “absolutely terrifying” very carefully and intentionally. They are among the only fitting words we have to describe hell, the eternal death that is the wages of sin (Romans 6:23). No one wants to experience this. And it will be the reality experienced by everyone who is a slave to sin and not set free by the Son (John 8:36).

That is why Jesus uses the extreme metaphor of cutting off our hand and tearing out our eye. Extreme danger calls for extreme measures of escape. Yes, the mutilation imagery is a metaphor, but it is not hyperbole. We know it is a metaphor because the literal loss of a hand or an eye doesn’t get to the root issue of sin. But radical and painful amputation of stumbling blocks out of our lives may be the only way to escape falling headlong into sin’s insidiously deceptive snare.

We may need to “mutilate” — chop off — a habit, a relationship, a career, certain personal freedoms, whatever is causing us to stumble. Because far better that we enter life having lost those things than kept them and lose our souls (Luke 9:25).

Cut Off Every Hand

When we lose the sense of God’s holiness, Jesus’s warnings in Matthew 18 land lightly on us. We reason that such a warning is for someone else. We don’t seriously think it applies to us. Nor do we seriously think it applies to other brothers and sisters who are characterized by worldly concerns and pursuits and are rather numb when it comes to sin.

We might take consolation that our affirmation of orthodox doctrine, external affirmations, and “fruitful” labors demonstrate we’re on the right path. But if in the secret place, we’re tolerating sin, tolerating relative prayerlessness, tolerating a lack of urgency over lost souls, it is an indicator that something is wrong. If we don’t reverence God as holy in our private lives, we are on a perilous path that leads to destruction (Matthew 7:13).

Jesus provides us the cure to this deadly infection: cut off every hand that is causing you to stumble. And he really means it. “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your heart” (Hebrews 4:7). Whether we have just ventured on to this road or been on it way too long, the time is now to repent and take the extreme measure to amputate whatever is entangling our feet in sin (Hebrews 12:1). We must plead with the Lord and do whatever it takes to see the fear of the Lord restored in our hearts.

Choose Life

For the Christian, the fear of the Lord does not compete with our joy in the Lord. Rather, it’s a source of our joy in the Lord. Isaiah prophesied this about Jesus: “And his delight shall be in the fear of the Lord” (Isaiah 11:3). Jesus delighted in the fear of his Father, and God wants us to enjoy this delight too. Because “the fear of the Lord is a fountain of life, that one may turn away from the snares of death” (Proverbs 14:27). And “the friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him, and he makes known to them his covenant” (Psalm 25:14).

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10). Conversely, losing the fear of the Lord is the beginning of foolishness. The reward of such wisdom is eternal life (John 3:16) and fullness of joy (Psalm 16:11). The reward of such foolishness is absolutely terrifying.

When we notice a diminishing of our healthy fear of God, the loss of a sense of his holiness, that is the time to take action. Let us repent by cutting off every foolish hand and, as Deuteronomy 30:19 says, choose life.

Pleasures Never Lie: Why Sin Cannot Stay Hidden

One of my favorite poems is only four lines long:

The soul is measured by its flights,

Some low and others high.

The heart is known by its delights,

And pleasures never lie. (The Pleasures of God, 4)

For me, the last line is the zinger: pleasures never lie. It has stuck in my brain for over two decades. Like a sharp knife, it cuts through a lot of my baloney and gets right to the heart of the matter: what matters to my heart.

“Pleasures never lie” doesn’t mean the things we find pleasurable are never deceitful. Many are (Hebrews 11:25), as we all know by lots of personal experience. Rather, it means that pleasure is the whistle-blower of the heart. Pleasure is our heart’s way of telling us where our treasure really lies (Matthew 6:21). When something evil gives us pleasure, we don’t have a pleasure problem; we have a treasure problem. The pleasure gauge is working as designed. What’s wrong is what our heart loves. And pleasure is blowing the whistle. We can lie with our lips about what we love. But pleasures never lie.

And the thing about our pleasure-giving treasures, whether good or evil, is that we can’t keep them hidden, at least not for long. What we truly love can’t help but work its way out of the unseen heart into the plain view of what we do and don’t do, say and don’t say.

This is why Jesus told us that when discerning whether a professing believer is true or false, we must examine their fruit.

Fruit Trees Never Lie

Fruit is one of God’s favorite metaphors for describing what our lives organically produce based on what our hearts believe and love. He employs it repeatedly in the Bible (Psalm 1:3; Proverbs 14:14; Isaiah 3:10; Jeremiah 17:10; Matthew 3:8; John 15:8; Galatians 5:22–23). And to our point, this parable of Jesus is particularly incisive:

Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will recognize them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? So, every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased tree bears bad fruit. A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus you will recognize them by their fruits. (Matthew 7:15–20)

This is a devastatingly simple assessment process. We recognize who’s true and who’s false “by their fruits,” what they do and don’t do, what they say and don’t say. A thornbush can insist it’s a vine, but if it bears no grapes, well. . . . A diseased tree might insist it’s healthy, but if the fruit is diseased, well. . . . Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks and the behaviors behave (Luke 6:45). We can lie with our lips about what we love, but fruit trees never lie.

This is meant to be unnerving. Faith, not fruit, is the instrument by which we are saved (Ephesians 2:8). But faith is revealed by fruit. No fruit, no faith (James 2:17). Bad fruit, bad tree (Matthew 12:33). God sees faith in the heart (1 Samuel 16:7; Acts 1:24). But we can see only the fruit of faith. That’s why Jesus said, “You will recognize them by their fruits.”

Trees Take Time to Grow

False brothers and sisters have been a heartbreaking scourge on the church since its very beginning, when Judas joined the band of disciples as a “devil” among saints (John 6:70–71). When the net of the kingdom is cast into the sea of the world, it hauls in both good and bad fish, which must be separated later (Matthew 13:47–50). When the seed of the kingdom is sown into the field of the world, the enemy sows his own seed in the field, causing the devil’s weeds to grow alongside God’s wheat, and must be separated later (Matthew 13:36–43).

That last parable in particular illustrates a difficult reality for us: it often takes a while until we can tell the difference between God’s wheat and the devil’s weeds. The Greek word translated into English as weed in this parable is zizanion, which the original readers likely would have understood to be a particular weed called darnel. Darnel has been known as wheat’s “evil twin” for thousands of years because in seed form and early development it looks very much like wheat, but it’s toxic to humans and so must be separated at harvest.

So when Jesus says, “You will recognize them by their fruits,” he means we will recognize true and false brothers and sisters when they reach a certain level of maturity and their fruit (whether wheat or darnel) can be seen. Judas, Ananias and Sapphira, and Simon the magician all looked like wheat to the disciples at first (Acts 5:1–11; 8:9–24). Until the toxic fruit of their falseness became visible.

What makes this whole process even trickier is that good trees sometimes act sinfully and bear bad fruit. There’s Aaron and the golden calf (Exodus 32:1–6), David and Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11:1–25), Peter denying Jesus (John 18:15–18, 25–27), Peter and Barnabas acting hypocritically (Galatians 2:11–13), a number of Corinthians acting pridefully, immorally, suing each other, and engaging in various other sins (1 Corinthians 4:8; 5:1; 6:1–8; 8:1). Those don’t look like good fruits. So were they bad trees?

No and not necessarily (since I can’t vouch for all the nameless Corinthians). Why? Because when confronted, they “[bore] fruit in keeping with repentance” (Matthew 3:8). And the bad fruit proved to be an anomaly in a longer-term context of bearing good fruits.

Testing Fruit Quality

In the new-covenant age, this is where church discipline becomes crucial. In Matthew 18:15, the brother who, when confronted with his fault, listens and truly repents is to be considered a true brother — a “good tree” — even though he had a “bad fruit” episode. But a “brother” who refuses to listen, even when repeatedly confronted in the context of the covenant community of a local church, is to be considered an unbeliever — a “bad tree” — because his bad fruit appears to be normalizing sin rather than being an anomaly (Matthew 18:16–17).

This church discipline doesn’t determine the nature of the tree; only God does that. Paul clearly hopes the excommunication of an immoral Corinthian church member becomes a means of his repentance and salvation (1 Corinthians 5:5). But since we can only assess a tree by its fruit, we must call it as we see it. And if severe discipline results in repentance, proving the tree is good after all, we will overflow in joy.

In testing the fruit quality of a person, we are very rarely expected to make such an assessment on our own. That’s dicey business, since we have such a tendency to minimize our log and magnify another’s speck (Matthew 7:3). This assessment is meant to take place in the context of a church (1 Corinthians 5:11–13), where our limited perceptions and particular experiential and temperamental biases can be mitigated by a wider group led by mature, judicious elders.

We’re also called to assess our own fruit quality (2 Corinthians 13:5). But I would say that, just as we should not assess others’ fruit in isolation, we should not assess our own in isolation. Our pride distorts our self-assessments in both exalting and condemning ways. The brothers and sisters who observe us most and know us best typically have a more judicious evaluation of us than we do. We need their encouragement and exhortations to help us stay aware of sin’s deceitfulness (Hebrews 3:12–13). And our willingness to receive their observations and repent when necessary is a sign of a good tree — repentance is itself good fruit.

And fruit — consistent fruit over time — is what confirms the species of a tree. Pleasures — consistent, controlling pleasures over time — never lie. These pleasures always work their way out of our hearts into external pursuits — our words and deeds that reveal what we treasure. Jesus calls these “fruits.” They are the only way the church or the world can tell a real Christian from a false one. Which is why Jesus said, “By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples” (John 15:8).

How Soon Will Jesus Return? Living in the Last Days

The “last days” began with the first coming of Jesus (Hebrews 1:2). From the time of Jesus’s ascension to the closing of the New Testament canon, the apostles believed Jesus’s return would be “soon” (Acts 1:10–11; Revelation 22:20). They lived with their eyes to the skies. And this belief informed the way they instructed the early Christians to live. For example, Paul says,

This is what I mean, brothers: the appointed time has grown very short. . . . For the present form of this world is passing away. (1 Corinthians 7:29, 31)

Now it’s been nearly two thousand years since Paul urgently put quill to papyrus and wrote those Spirit-inspired words. And here we are. The world has not yet passed away — but about a hundred human generations have. A “very short” time has turned out to be much longer than nearly everyone, except the Father, expected (Mark 13:32).

As a result, many of us struggle to feel the urgency Paul felt, and live like he instructed. How do we live in the last days that have lasted so long and may last for generations longer? The Bible addresses this question clearly so all Christians may know how to live without cynicism or apathy in these last days. We need to remember a few important truths.

Remember We Live in God-Time

The first truth to keep in mind is that God marks time differently than we do. Moses wrote, “A thousand years in your sight are but as yesterday when it is past, or as a watch in the night” (Psalm 90:4). And the apostle Peter wrote, “But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day” (2 Peter 3:8). It’s only been two God-days since Jesus ascended and Paul wrote.

The better we know our Bibles, the more we grasp that the Ancient of Days’s soon is typically not our soon (Daniel 7:9; Revelation 22:7). What seems slow to us is not slow to God. Nothing in the New Testament demands that these last days be fewer than they’ve been.

Yes, many people have said and still say, “Where is the promise of his coming? For ever since the fathers fell asleep, all things are continuing as they were from the beginning of creation” (2 Peter 3:4). Here we are duly warned that Jesus’s return will seem ridiculously delayed — but he is not late.

Remember the Bridegroom’s Delay

Jesus himself warned us of this. First, he listed off some signs he said must take place before he returned:

An accrual of very compelling, powerful false prophets who lead many astray on a scale large enough to be recognized by the church everywhere (Matthew 24:4–5, 11, 24–28);
A remarkable and frightening amount of natural and national calamities (Matthew 24:7–8);
An unprecedented level of persecution of Christians, along with an imminent threat of global human extinction (Matthew 24:21–22);
And the “gospel of the kingdom [would] be proclaimed throughout the whole world as a testimony to all nations” (Matthew 24:14).

Jesus said he would not return until these (and other) conditions are met. Which is why he told the parable of the ten virgins. Jesus described the bridegroom as being “delayed” — so delayed that the wedding attendants “became drowsy” (Matthew 25:5). In other words, Jesus wanted us to expect his coming to take longer than expected.

And it’s important to remember that the Bridegroom “delays” out of unsurpassed love for his bride. Hear his heart: “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). The Bridegroom will not allow a single person who is part of his Bride to be abandoned. His is a patient, purposeful, passionate procrastination.

Remember Life Is Short

If Jesus does not return during our lifetimes, we’re all going to meet him soon — sooner than we expect. Most of us will find this meeting as surprising as suddenly seeing him in the clouds.

Listen to this sampling of the Bible’s descriptions of our lifespans: “a breath” (Job 7:7); “a few handbreadths” (Psalm 39:5); “grass” that lasts a day (Psalm 90:5–6); “smoke” (Psalm 102:3); “a passing shadow” (Psalm 144:4); “a [vanishing] mist” (James 4:14). We do not know whether our souls will be required of us tonight (Luke 12:20) or whether we will live to see next year (James 4:13–14).

If Jesus’s return is not “very short” to us, our lifespans will be — whether we live to be twenty or ninety. In these last days — the world’s or ours — we need to pray often that God would “teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12). Our days are infected with evil and often consumed with “toil and trouble” (Psalm 90:10); we really need God’s wisdom to spend what brief time we have on what really matters most (Ephesians 5:15–17).

Remember the Fig Leaves

Jesus told another parable to help us to watch the signs of the times with discerning eyes.

From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts out its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see all these things, you know that he is near, at the very gates. (Matthew 24:32–33)

We may not know the day or the hour of Jesus’s return, but he expects us to watch for the signs he gave and discern them. He does not intend his coming to be a complete shock to us. He wants us to notice the changing of the leaves:

Have you noticed the proliferation of influential false prophets (not all religious)?
Have you noticed the scale of natural and national calamities over the past 120 years and the rising “fear and . . . foreboding of what is coming on the world” (Luke 21:25–26)?
Have you noticed the increasing levels of global hostility toward Christians as well as the increasing approval of the kinds of depravity Paul said would characterize people living in the last days (2 Timothy 3:1–5)?
Have you noticed the fresh reminders of the existent powers’ ability to eradicate humanity?
Have you noticed the unprecedented, nearly incredible advances of the gospel over the past 290 years — especially the past 120 years? There’s been nothing like the explosive growth of the Christian movement since 1900 in the history of religion — all the more amazing when we consider the ethnic, cultural, and geographical diversity of this growth.

Are you watching the leaves?

Watch, Pray, and Travel Light

“Be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect” (Matthew 24:44). Jesus meant for his return to feel potentially imminent in each generation, while also helping each generation anticipate his potential delay.

Jesus is coming back when the God-days are full, when the conditions are met, when his bride is ready, and when the summer leaves have reached their peak. It won’t be long before God’s soon is surprisingly soon to us. But even if we meet death before we meet the Lord in the air (1 Thessalonians 4:17), we will meet him soon.

Living the last days now is not really any different than it was for the first-generation Christians. We stay ready the same way they were to stay ready:

We watch the signs.
We pray for laborers to be sent into the harvest (Luke 10:2) — and say with Isaiah, “Here I am! Send me” (Isaiah 6:8) — and pray for the Lord to return (Revelation 22:20).
We encourage one another with our hope of resurrection and the Lord’s return (1 Thessalonians 4:13–18).
We travel light. We are exiles and sojourners here. We must not encumber ourselves with unnecessary baggage and treasures here because our real homeland and our real Treasure is up ahead (Matthew 6:19–20). And that’s where we want our hearts to be (Matthew 6:21).

Four thousand years ago, our ancestors in the faith began to live like “strangers and exiles on the earth” (Hebrews 11:13). That was two thousand years before Jesus came and launched the last days. And we who live two thousand years after he came are no less strangers and exiles, because we too “desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one” (Hebrews 11:16). And we’re going to be there soon — sooner than we expect.