Jon Bloom's Blog, page 27

Lord, Deliver Me from Distraction

Since the fall of man, people have had trouble staying focused, but we live today in an age of unprecedented distraction. Since you’re already reading this on some electronic device, I don’t need to elaborate.

Lots of experts are talking about the negative effects this is having on us. Many of us feel it: the buzzing brain, the attention atrophy, the diminishing tolerance for reading, especially reading books.

We’re becoming conditioned to distraction, and it’s harming our ability to listen and think carefully, to be still, to pray, and to meditate. Which means it is a spiritual danger, an evil from which we need God’s deliverance (Matthew 6:13).

The Causes of Distraction

Distraction, at least the dangerous kind I’m referring to, is shifting our attention from something of greater importance to something of lesser importance.

Our fundamental and most dangerous problem in distraction is in being distracted from God — our tendency to shift our attention orientation from the greatest Object in existence to countless lesser ones. The Bible calls this idolatry.

This fundamental attention shift disorders us in pervasive ways. We find our tendency to be distracted from the more important to the less important cascading down detrimentally affecting our relationships and responsibilities. So at the deepest level, we are distractible because of our fallen, selfish nature; we have evil inside us.

But not all our distraction problems are due to our resident evil. Some are simply the result of the futility infecting creation (Romans 8:20–23). This futility can infect our biology as well as our environments. All of us have faulty brains and bodies, and so some of us battle distraction more than others due to factors like ADHD and other mental or physical illnesses. Environmental factors like poor nutrition, unhealthy family systems, and cultural/technological forces (such as the constant stream of media) can also affect our ability to focus.

All these factors mix together in most cases, making it nearly impossible to tell how much sin, fallen biology, or environment is to blame for our distraction. But if we ask God, he will deliver us from evil, whatever the cause, by using these powerful foes to our advantage, helping us see what our hearts love, and pressing us by his grace into greater levels of humble faith and self-control.

A Heart Revealer

When we are regularly distracted by something, we need to take note. Our attention often runs to what’s important to us. So distraction can reveal what we love. This happened to Jesus’s friend, Martha.

Martha was busy in the kitchen while Jesus taught in her home. When Martha complained that her sister, Mary, wasn’t helping because she was sitting at Jesus’s feet, Jesus replied,

“Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:41–42)

Martha was distracted from Jesus. By what? By serving her guests. Why? Because she was anxious. Anxious about what? Anxious about feeding everyone, and in all likelihood anxious about what everyone would think of her and her household if she didn’t do it well.

But Martha didn’t recognize her distraction until Jesus helped her see her heart. She thought she was doing the right thing by serving everyone. But Jesus pointed out to Martha that her values were disordered. She had shifted her attention from the greater importance to the lesser.

So in our busyness, we must ask, what is the real distraction? What does our heart desire? Are we choosing “the good portion,” seeking the great “one thing” (Psalm 27:4), or something less?

A Fight That Builds Humble Faith

Distraction is a frequent reminder of our frailty and limits, that we indeed are not God. And since we are given to such unjustifiable, and frankly ridiculous, levels of pride, this is very good for us. Distraction humbles us and forces us to ask God for the help we so desperately need.

And it can build our faith. God is not nearly as interested in our efficiency as he is in our faith. Do you remember how he allowed enemies to harass Nehemiah and his Jerusalem wall-builders, slowing down the work (Nehemiah 4)? Similarly, God allows us to battle inefficient distraction to build our dependent faith in him. That’s what God is building in all the inefficiencies of our lives.

If we see the Spirit-given graces of humility and faith growing in us through our struggles against distraction, we will count it among the “all things” we give thanks for (Ephesians 5:20, KJV).

Building the Muscle of Self-Control

God also uses distraction to strengthen our self-control. Christian self-control is a fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22–23). And like nearly all the Spirit’s fruit of sanctification in us, they are cultivated through the primary, decisive gift of the Spirit and our secondary, but indispensible intentional hard work.

It’s helpful to remember that we strengthen self-control similar to how we strengthen muscle: through resistance. Muscles do not grow stronger without pushing against resistance. Neither does self-control. There’s no getting around the hard work of applying ourselves and figuring out what works best for us. But if we prayerfully and faithfully apply ourselves, the Spirit will empower our efforts and we will see our capacity for self-control increase.

Now, just as with physical strength and ability, some are graced with greater ability to focus than others. If you’re one of those people, then good stewardship of this gift looks different than it does for less gifted people. Like a gifted athlete, you are made to excel. Seek to maximize it, for “to whom much [is] given, of him much will be required” (Luke 12:48).

If you’re a person who, for whatever reason, has a more difficult struggle with distraction, you need not feel condemned (Romans 8:1). For you, good stewardship looks like fighting distraction as best you can. Push yourself. You may not be able to do what others can do, but God will only hold you accountable for the measure of grace given to you (Romans 12:6).

Whatever It Takes

It’s right for us to see certain distractions as evils in themselves. Every one is a time-tax we pay, a tax for which there is no refund. Time spent simply means we have less to spend. Every distracted minute is an unrecoverable minute, now frozen in the permanent past. It is right to seek to make the best use of our time in these evil days (Ephesians 5:16).

And yet, we also do not need to be more paralyzed by this than by any other struggle with sin or futility. Our Father wants us to grow in the grace of faith-fueled focus, and will, through Christ, cause our difficult struggles against distraction to work for our good (Romans 8:28). He will, through his Spirit, use them to free us from idolatry and pride and to help us grow in self-control. So, in confident faith we can approach his throne of grace with this prayer:

Whatever it takes, Lord, increase my resolve to pursue only what you call me to do, and deliver me from the fragmenting effect of fruitless distraction.

Lay Aside the Weight of Selfish Preferences

Love does not insist on its own way (1 Corinthians 13:5). What a beautiful concept to contemplate. Like many expressions of biblical love, this one is heartwarming and inspiring to read about or observe, at least from a distance.

Unfortunately, in the moment we’re called upon to exercise this kind of love, it often doesn’t appear or feel very lovely; it appears confusing and feels frustrating. It feels like self-denial.

Me and Mine

Wanting our own way is woven into the fabric of our fallen nature. Since the fall, it has been our default orientation. We can see this, even from our earliest days, whenever our way is crossed. We insist in the cradle and then as toddlers; we insist on the playground and then as over-confident teens; we insist in the church and the workplace; we insist as parents of toddlers and then as stubborn parents of over-confident teens; we insist as parents of adult children, and then as retirees, and then as nursing-home residents. We are disturbingly and persistently selfish.

Our selfishness is a master of disguise, wearing a thousand masks to cover its motives. Our selfishness is a wordsmith — bending, shaping, and sometimes twisting rationales for why our preferences are reasonable and right and even righteous (and, of course, best). Our selfishness is an attorney, trained from childhood in both defense and prosecution, bent on persuading judge and jury on behalf of its sole client.

Insisting on our own way is at the heart of most of our conflict, and at the bottom of almost all of the ways humans abuse others. This lack of love is a source of much human heartache and suffering.

So why do we find it so difficult to stop insisting on our own way?

Hard to Be Humble

First, it’s a miracle for an inherently proud person — one whose natural selfishness is pathological in nature and infects all areas of life — to become truly humble. Of course there is common grace humility in the world that anyone can exhibit. But to be able to live out 1 Corinthians 13:5, we must be born again (John 3:7). For love does not insist on its own way is an eight-word summary of Philippians 2:3–8:

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

Paul is speaking of a distinctly Christian expression of love in both 1 Corinthians and Philippians. This kind of not insisting on our own way comes only from having the same mind Christ had when he gave himself to be crucified for us. Fallen humans can love one another and perform acts of altruism (although rare enough to be remarkable when it does happen), but the way of living one’s entire life, which Paul commends, requires a humility that only results from trusting the Father like Jesus trusted the Father.

Who Can You Trust?

Second, it’s hard to not insist on our own way because it’s very hard to trust others. None of us knows the full extent of our selfishness, but we know it well enough to be on our guard against others.

Selfish people naturally manipulate others to get what they prefer, rather than wanting what is best for others. When a lot of selfish people live together, it is not safe. This is not a world where it is safe or wise to figure out ways to not insist on our own way.

Unless there is a power big enough, strong enough, loving enough, and righteous enough who can and will ensure that ultimately, as the Christmas song says, “Wrong will fail and right prevail.” That is the whole point of Christmas. Jesus became human to bring the good news of great joy to all mankind, news that the Father is able and willing, through Christ, to right all wrongs.

Jesus came not only to proclaim the news, but to be the means of that news being good for us. He came to demonstrate through the cross that all who trust in the Father as he trusted the Father will discover that faith-fueled love — love that does not insist on its own way — will overcome the world.

But We Must Insist, Right?

But didn’t Jesus lovingly insist on his own way when he called people to repent and rebuked religious leaders? And didn’t Paul insist on his own way when he corrected Peter (Galatians 2:11–14) and urged people to imitate him and not others (1 Corinthians 4:16)? No, they did not.

Jesus knew he had been given all authority in heaven and on earth (Matthew 28:18). But he knew he received it from the Father and that Jesus’s exaltation would result in the greatest glory for the Father (Philippians 2:11). Jesus only wills to do what the Father wills. And when he experienced the turmoil of the difference between his will and the Father’s, he gladly submitted to the Father’s will (Matthew 26:39).

When Paul rebuked Peter, he was not insisting on his own way, but on God’s gracious way. And when he urged people to imitate him, it was only to imitate his “ways in Christ” (1 Corinthians 4:17). “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1).

There are times as Christians when we must insist. But at the bottom of our insistence must not be our own way — our own mere preferences — but God’s way.

Lay Aside the Weight

Personal preferences are not wrong (unless for something inherently sinful). But insisting on personal preferences is very often wrong because it’s very often selfish. Insisting on our own selfish way burdens us and others with conflict and discouragement, and causes others to stumble over temptation blocks of irritation, anger, resentment, and bitterness. This is a weight of sin we must lay aside (Hebrews 12:1). And the holiday season will likely provide us ample opportunities.

When the opportunities arise, we must not expect them to feel heartwarming or inspiring, but rather like dying to ourselves. In the moment, we will likely feel tempted to irritation and anger and self-pity on the front-end. We will not feel like not insisting on our own way. But the reward, for us and our loved ones, is real.

Practical preparation could be to memorize Philippians 2:3–8 and rehearse it through all our Christmas preparations and celebrations. Perhaps the most meaningful gift we’ll give to someone this year will be looking to his or her interests instead of our own.

Lord, Break My Heart

We love it when God delivers us from distress. Rightly do we celebrate that he is “a refuge in the day of [our] distress” (Psalm 59:16). “Out of my distress I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me free” (Psalm 118:5). We all experience such relief from distress in different times and various ways.

But there are certain kinds of distress we should not be delivered from; rather, we should plead with God to give us more.

Break My Heart for the Lost

In arguably the greatest letter ever written, after the most glorious explanation of the gospel recorded in human language, and immediately after unparalleled reveling in unconquerable Christian hope, the apostle Paul jarringly breaks into a lament:

I am speaking the truth in Christ — I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit — that I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, my kinsmen according to the flesh. (Romans 9:1–3)

Standing on the summit of hope that nothing in the world, visible or invisible, could separate him from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:37–39), Paul mourns for those in the hopeless valley and almost wishes he could be separated from Christ, if only it resulted in his Jewish kinsmen reaching the summit.

Paul was distressed over Jewish unbelief in Jesus. He felt distress on a personal level: he was a Jew and knew and loved hundreds, perhaps thousands of Jews personally. He felt distress on a corporate level: ethnic Israel was God’s chosen people to whom “belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship . . . the promises . . . the patriarchs, and from their race . . . the Christ, who is God over all, blessed forever” (Romans 9:4–5). Jews were rejecting their own Christ, and this caused Paul “unceasing anguish.”

This text undoes me whenever I stop to think about it. Paul’s anguish in view of my frequent lack of it troubles me. It ought to trouble me. Paul’s distress was not due to his weak grasp on God’s sovereignty in election, as we see from the rest of Romans 9. Paul’s distress demonstrates just how deeply he understood its truth, complexity, mystery, and his intellectual limits. Those of us who do not feel such anguish demonstrate that we do not. For Jesus felt the same anguish when he cried out,

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! (Luke 13:34)

If we can speak of God’s election and people’s spiritual blindness and hardness and Christ-rejection as abstract categories without being regularly moved deeply, we do not yet know as we ought to know. So we must plead with God for the gift of distress over perishing unbelievers, for it is such distress that moves us into action.

Break My Heart for the Persecuted

Of course, in the early church many Christians were Jews, and Jesus-rejecting Jews, ones Jesus and Paul anguished over, who at times persecuted them. Jewish Christians experiencing such persecution were likely the recipients of the letter to the Hebrews.

And in Hebrews 13:3, the author wrote, “Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body.” Another way to say this is “share suffering Christians’ distress as though in distress with them.”

Is that possible? With man, no, it’s not. It’s humanly impossible to even want to share someone else’s suffering as our own, much less do it. It was humanly impossible for the original Hebrew readers, who knew the imprisoned and mistreated, much less us modern Western Christians, most of whom don’t know anyone suffering beatings and property-plundering (Hebrews 10:32–34). They are distant and hard to remember. And yet in this verse, God commands us to share in mistreated Christians’ distress nonetheless, for “with God all things are possible” (Matthew 19:26).

Since it is impossible with us, we must plead with God for the gift of distress over the persecuted church, for it is such distress that moves us into action.

Break My Heart for the Poor

There is another distress people suffer that Christians are called to enter into, summed up in these three words: “Remember the poor” (Galatians 2:10). This is especially true for the poor of “the household of faith” (Galatians 6:10).

Jesus remembered the poor. He came to proclaim good news to them (Luke 4:18). And the priority he gave to giving to them is seen in the priority his followers gave to giving to them. Think of Zacchaeus giving half his goods to the poor (Luke 19:8). Think of Jesus’s disciples assuming that Judas abruptly left the Passover meal to again give to the poor (John 13:29).

But such remembering is perhaps most beautifully portrayed in Acts 2:44–45, where “all who believed were together and had all things in common [and] were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need.” This is a sign and wonder: to be so moved, so distressed, by another’s distress, that one gives his wealth away to provide for the other’s need. But again we remember what Jesus said, in fact, when someone would not give his wealth to the poor, “With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God” (Mark 10:27).

So again, since it is impossible with us, we must plead with God for the gift of distress over the destitute poor, for it is such distress that moves us into action.

Whatever It Takes, Lord

These kinds of distress are to be desired, not delivered from, for they are not evils, but evidences of grace in the soul. They are the marks of Christ-like love. Therefore, we must plead with God:

Whatever it takes, Lord, increase my distress for perishing unbelievers, the persecuted church, and destitute poor and my resolve to do what I can to bring them deliverance and relief through the whole gospel of Christ.

How a Heavy Heart Gives Thanks

We are, for the most part, troubled people. We are troubled within, and troubled without. We are troubled in our bodies, and in our families. We are troubled in our workplaces, and in our churches. We are troubled in our neighborhoods, and across our nation.

We welcome trouble with our sin, but we are plagued by trouble even in our best efforts. Job’s friend, Eliphaz, while not the best counselor, got it right when he said, “Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward” (Job 5:7). Jesus himself said, “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33 NIV).

Therefore, we, for the most part, are burdened people, because troubled hearts carry heavy burdens with them.

And in the midst of all our nearly constant and complex trouble, Jesus says to us, “Let not your hearts be troubled” (John 14:1). And Paul, who knew more constant and complex trouble than most of us will know, says to us, “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

How are these commands possible? Most of what troubles us springs from moral, spiritual, or natural evil and corruption — and yet we’re to give thanks?

Heaviest Heart in History

No one in the history of the world was burdened in his soul like Jesus on Thursday, April 2, AD 33. No one — no grieving spouse in a solitary house, no weeping parent beside a child’s grave, no heart shattered by a love betrayed, no wordless ache for a wandering prodigal, no desolate soul staring at a terminal test result, no felon in an isolated cell of relentless shame knows the burden that pressed upon Jesus as he walked up the stairs to share the final meal of his mortal life on this earth.

It was the Passover, and Jesus was the Lamb. Like the ancient Father Abraham leading his trusting son up the slope of Mount Moriah, the Ancient of Days was leading his trusting Son of Man to a sacrificial altar (Genesis 22; Daniel 7:13). But unlike Isaac, the Son of Man fully knew what lay in store and he went willingly. He knew no angel would stay his Father’s hand; no substitute lamb would be provided. He was the substitute Lamb. And his Father was leading him to slaughter where he would be crushed and put to grief (Isaiah 53:7, 10).

And oh, what grief and sorrow he bore (Isaiah 53:3)! Jesus fully knew the price he must pay to take away the sins of the world (John 1:29; 1 John 2:2). He knew the nature, scope, and weight of his Father’s righteous wrath. “Crushed” was not a metaphor; it was a spiritual reality. The Son of Man (John 3:14), God the Son (Hebrews 1:1–3), the Word made flesh (John 1:14), the great I Am (John 8:58), the Lord himself (Philippians 2:11), who came into the world for this very moment, would plead in bloody terror for the Father’s deliverance before the end (John 12:27; Matthew 26:39).

Broken and Thankful

His burdens in body and soul would exceed every humanly conceivable measure. He would be despised and rejected by those in heaven and earth and under the earth. Yet he took bread — bread representing the breakable body holding it — and gave thanks and he broke it (Luke 22:19). With an incomparably heavy heart, the anticipated horror relentlessly pressing in on all sides of his consciousness, Jesus gave thanks to his Father — the very Father leading him into the deepest valley ever experienced by a human — and then he broke the bread.

We should not quickly or lightly overlook Jesus’s gratitude because he’s Jesus, as if knowing it was going to be all right in the end made it any easier. He was thankful because he did believe it would be all right (Hebrews 12:2). But we know little of the agony he felt or the spiritual assault he endured. What we do know is that he “in every respect [was] tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15). So, in our difficulty to see past our troubles to the joy God promises us, we get an inkling of the infinitely greater difficulty he faced.

Learn from His Heavy Heart

When Jesus tells us not to let our hearts be troubled, and to give thanks in all circumstances, we can know that we have a high priest who is able to sympathize with us (Hebrews 4:15), and that he has left us an example, so that we might follow in his steps (1 Peter 2:21).

What is this example? In the face of unquantifiable, inexpressible evil — the worst trouble that has ever tortured a human soul — Jesus believed in God the Father’s promise that his work on the cross would overcome the worst, hellish evil in the world (John 3:16–17). He believed that “out of the anguish of his soul” he would “see his offspring” and “prolong his days” (Isaiah 53:10–11). He believed that if he humbled himself under God’s mighty hand, his Father would exalt him at the proper time (1 Peter 5:6), and that every knee would bow and tongue confess that he was Lord to the glory of his Father (Philippians 2:11).

It was that future grace of joy set before Jesus that enabled him to endure the cross, and to give thanks as he was being brought there to be crucified. He is the founder and perfecter of our faith because he believed the Father’s promise was surer than the doom that lay before him (Hebrews 12:2). His giving thanks was a supreme form of worship, for it expressed like nothing else his trust in the Father.

We Can Give Thanks

Therefore, Jesus is able to say to us in our trouble, “Believe in God; believe also in me” and, “Take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 14:1; 16:33). We who believe in him have every reason to “be thankful” (Colossians 3:15). For an empty cross and empty tomb speak this to us:

In all our trouble, God makes known the end from the beginning (Isaiah 46:10).

He is working all things together for our good (Romans 8:28).

He will complete the good work he began in us despite how things look now (Philippians 1:6).
If we trust the Father in the worst, darkest, most horrible troubles we face, he will make us more than conquerors (Romans 8:37–39).
Every troubled tear we shed over the effects of the fall are kept in God’s bottle (Psalm 56:8) and will be wiped away forever (Revelation 21:4).

It is possible to give thanks with heavy hearts in the midst of trouble. Trusting the Father by looking to Jesus (Hebrews 12:2), and remembering every promise is now “Yes” to us in him (2 Corinthians 1:20), will lighten our burden (Matthew 11:30). It will pour hope and joy into our hurting hearts, giving rise to faith-fueled, worshipful thanksgiving.

Lay Aside the Weight of Pride

Many of the burdens I bear in life are made far heavier by adding on top of them an oversized image of myself. I simply have a tendency to think more often about and more highly of myself than I ought to think (Romans 12:3).

Ironically, the emotional effect of my oversized self-image is often a low self-image. I feel bad about myself.

I can feel embarrassed about my poor memory when it comes to people’s names, Scripture quotes, book titles, what last week’s sermon was about, the main points of my last article, and that fourth thing I’m supposed to pick up at the store. I find this embarrassing not because it’s a moral failure, but because it exposes the fact that my memory is weaker than most of my peers. My memory struggles weigh heavier on me than they should because I want to be great and I’m not.

I can feel discouraged, even shame, when the family worship I lead isn’t more organized, systematic, regular, or inspiring to my kids (“Dad, are we almost done?”). While continuing to press toward greater effectiveness here is a good thing, this weighs heavier on me than it should because I want to be the sage, spiritual father. I want to be known for knowing what and how to teach, and for raising children who someday recount the profound benefit they received from the fountain of my godly wisdom. I want to be great and I’m not.

The Weight of Wanting to Be Great

I could go on rehearsing my feelings of inadequacy — over my breadth of reading, slowness in writing, gaps in parenting, productivity in general, paralysis in certain kinds of decision making, concentration struggles, impatience with ambiguity, and numerous other limitations, weaknesses, and sins. You probably know these struggles or others like them.

My cumulative sense of inadequacy often feels like a low self-image. But actually it’s largely due to thinking more highly of myself than I ought to think and wanting others to admire me more than I deserve. My shame comes from an exaggeratedly high self-image that feels exposed by my limitations, weaknesses, and sins, making living with or fighting them much more burdensome than necessary.

Wretched man that I am! Who will free me from this great weight of pride? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord, who invites me to take up his easy yoke and light burden of embracing the role, status, and reputation of a servant (Matthew 11:30; Mark 9:35).

The Liberation of Service

A profound, pervasive liberation is available to anyone who will embrace Jesus’s call to servanthood:

“You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:42–45)

There is liberation in becoming a servant, even a slave, of everyone else? What is this strange paradox of Jesus? He sets us free (John 8:36) to be enslaved?

Yes! Because the greatest tyrant known to humanity is the sinful, pathologically selfish, self-exalting pride that lives in each one of us. When it’s focused inward, it enslaves us to perceptions and pursuits of success, beauty, competency, security, and a coveted reputation, and in the process heaps upon us burdens we cannot bear. When we fail, it pressures us to lie and deceive in order to hide what we feel too ashamed (too proud) to admit. When focused outward, it heaps great burdens upon (“lords it over”) others. That’s why God mercifully opposes our pride (1 Peter 5:5).

Jesus’s call to servanthood is a call to freedom (paradoxical as it is). Freedom from the oppressive pressure of trying to be good enough, and the chronic shame of never being good enough. And it’s a freedom from our tyrannical tendency to manipulate others into serving our prideful pursuits.

When our god-sized self-image meets our fallen man-sized capacities and failures, we become enslaved to pride-fueled sins in a futile effort to bridge the chasm. But in embracing Jesus’s servant-like humility, we throw off the unbearably heavy yoke of bondage to such sin and take up Jesus’s easy yoke of grace-empowered faith and love, for God truly does “[give] grace to the humble” (1 Peter 5:5).

How to Lay Aside Pride

To identify our greatest strongholds of pride, we must remember that often they don’t feel like a boastful sense of arrogant superiority (though they can). Often they feel like areas of low self-esteem, because what’s fueling our low self-esteem is a frustrated and ashamed desire to be great.

To this Jesus gives us a gracious promise: “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted” (Luke 14:11). And he reminds us that he came to us “as the one who serves” (Luke 22:27), and that we should have this mind too, doing “nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count[ing] others more significant than [ourselves]” (Philippians 2:3, 5).

Laying aside the weight of wanting to be great occurs when we shift our attention off our achievements, status, and reputation and focus it on Christ — specifically on the person(s) in the church, often “the least of these” (Matthew 25:40), whom Christ places before us today to serve. Not only does this service force us to put love into action, but it also liberates us from the tyranny of self-absorbed pride and enables us to experience the deep, joy-producing reality that “it is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).

Talk to God About Your Anxiety

Anxiety is a species of fear. It’s the paralyzing fear of “what if.” It’s the fear that something we dread might possibly come true.

There’s only one solution to anxiety: the assurance everything is going to be okay.

But the world gives us no such assurances. We find ourselves surrounded by myriad real dangers resulting in an endless list of “what if.” It’s no wonder human beings are so afflicted with anxiety. And our anxieties only increase our misery by adding countless imagined dangers to the very real ones in front of us.

Antidote to Anxiety

But God. God the Son stepped into this dangerous, demonic world, where even man’s greatest efforts to ensure safety are ultimately and decidedly defeated by death. And when he did, he made the most audacious claim ever uttered by human lips: for every person who believes in him, everything is going to be ultimately, gloriously, eternally, inexpressibly, wonderfully okay (John 3:16; 11:25–26). Then to demonstrate the reality of his claim, and therefore its trustworthiness, he decidedly defeated death and announced “all authority in heaven and on earth” had been given to him (Matthew 28:18).

With this authority, he says to everyone who believes in him, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life” (Luke 12:22). Jesus — and all the promises that are now Yes in him (2 Corinthians 1:20) — is the antidote to anxiety. What he accomplishes for us and promises to us is the ultimate triumph over all that terrifies us. He does not promise us escape from misery in this world. He promises that he will redeem every misery (Romans 8:28), and that in him we will overcome the worst the world can do to us (John 16:33; Romans 8:35–39).

Impossible Command?

In Christ, everything is going to be ultimately, gloriously, eternally, inexpressibly, wonderfully okay. Therefore, Jesus says to you and me, right now, right where we’re at, “Do not be anxious.” He says this knowing our past, our temperament, the seriousness of our current crises, and how intense we fear the possible dread may become reality.

“Do not be anxious” can seem like an impossible command. But this should not surprise us. Jesus commands us to believe that “everyone who lives and believes in [him] shall never die” (John 11:26). Jesus commands us to love one another just like he has loved us (John 15:12). Jesus commands us to renounce all we have (Luke 14:33), which can mean selling our abundant possessions and giving them to the poor because we are more confident in the treasures we have in heaven (Mark 10:21).

Of course, the command to not be anxious is humanly impossible. But as with nearly every other command for the Christian, “With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God” (Mark 10:27).

The only way we can fulfill this command is “by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving,” making our requests known to God, trusting a specific promise. Then his peace, surpassing all our understanding, will guard our hearts and minds in Christ (Philippians 4:6–7). We cast our anxieties on God (1 Peter 5:7), and cease to be anxious in the strength he supplies (1 Peter 4:11).

Don’t Talk to Your Anxieties

Your anxieties talk to you. Don’t talk back to them. Talk to God.

This is typically hard because anxieties often disguise themselves in our imaginations. They feel like such realistic scenarios and therefore emotionally compelling to dwell upon. Anxieties can even impersonate, taking the form of people — often people we know. These are some of the most insidious to fight.

In real life, these people might be family members or friends or fellow church members or co-workers or acquaintances or people we only know by reputation. They might be people with whom we disagree on an issue, or with whom we have a relational strain, or with whom we are in serious conflict. They might be people we fear misunderstand us, or fear disappointing, or fear exposing our weakness or ignorance in front of, or fear confronting with a hard truth, or whose sin we fear might be a symptom of deep spiritual issues, or whose influence we fear might damage our loved one or our church.

Whoever they really are, something about them provokes anxiety in us. And our anxiety then can come to us in our imagination in the form of that person, and start talking to us. It says provocative things to us, and we reply. Before we know it, we have engaged in a lengthy argument in our heads that arouses all kinds of sinful emotions and leads us to think and feel uncharitably toward the real person. But we haven’t talked to them at all. We’ve talked to our anxiety — we’ve talked to ourselves and sinned not only in indulging faithless anxiety, but in failing to love that person.

God never instructs us in Scripture to fight anxiety by arguing with it. It never works. Scripture only instructs us to cast our anxieties on God in prayer and trust him to meet our needs, whatever they are (1 Peter 5:7; Philippians 4:6–7, 19).

Not All Anxiety Is Sin

There is righteous anxiety, like Jesus’s in Gethsemane (Matthew 26:38–39), Paul’s for the churches (2 Corinthians 11:28), and parents’ godly concerns over the spiritually dangerous influences their children will face in the world. Christians in America aren’t necessarily sinning if they feel a form of “anxiety” over the progression of embraced and institutionalized evil in the nation. The Bible gives us warrant to feel anxious concern, in a sense, over the real or potential destructive effects of evil on precious souls.

What keeps these anxieties from turning sinful is when we, like Jesus and Paul, translate our fear-fueled concerns into prayer requests, weaving them with thanksgiving for graces we’ve received from God and all the promises he’s made to us (2 Peter 1:4), and give them over to God. When this occurs, a spiritually beautiful exchange takes place: God receives glory as the all-sufficient, abundantly generous object of our faith (2 Corinthians 9:8), and we receive the joys of experiencing the mind and heart guarding peace that surpasses our understanding before we receive our request (Philippians 4:6–7), as well as the eventual provision we need.

Prayer is the key to escaping the snare of sinful anxiety. Don’t listen to your anxieties, and don’t talk back to them. Especially beware of anxieties in disguise. Direct your talk to God and cast all your “what if” concerns on him because only he can give you the assurance that everything will ultimately be okay.

Lord, Keep Me from Wasting My Life

Becoming diligent is hard work, but diligence is not synonymous with working hard. I know from personal experience one can get up early and go to bed late, and expend a lot of energy, and be very busy, and not watch TV or get lost in social media binges — can appear to work hard — and still not get much done that really matters.

Diligence combines a willingness to work hard with a discerning focus, a sense of urgency, a vigilant carefulness, and faithful perseverance. And one of the clearest biblical calls to diligence is Paul’s exhortation:

Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is. (Ephesians 5:15–17)

Discerning Focus

A diligent person seeks to “understand what the will of the Lord is” (Ephesians 5:17). Based on the context, Paul isn’t referring to God’s hidden will (for instance, about if or who we should marry). He’s primarily referring to God’s revealed will regarding specific sins to avoid. We learn to “discern what is pleasing to the Lord” (Ephesians 5:10).

But judging by the way Paul approached life — living as a “soldier” who avoids “civilian pursuits” in order “to please the one who enlisted him” (2 Timothy 2:4) — it’s safe to assume Paul would affirm applying this principle to lesser priorities that, while not inherently immoral, distract us from our focus. Both sinful and unnecessary distractions are often difficult to set aside.

As I write, an issue in my life is causing me significant concern and anxiety. There’s a mix of good anxiety, similar to Paul’s anxiety for the churches (2 Corinthians 11:28) and sinful anxiety, the kind Paul instructed the Philippians not to indulge (Philippians 4:6–7). Diligence requires that I must discern which is which and deal with sin appropriately. But diligence also requires me to discern that God’s will for me right now is to focus on completing my work for today and temporarily neglecting the demanding issue, which, while important, is not the priority at this moment.

In a very real sense, a diligent person must learn to be neglectful. There are myriad clamoring and demanding temptations and lesser priorities a diligent person must strategically neglect. This requires developing the discipline of discerning focus.

Sense of Urgency

A diligent person “[makes] the best use of the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:16). He realizes that time is limited. Again, the context tells us Paul likely has holiness in mind: We should not waste our time on sin. The best use of time is to be filled with the Spirit and bearing the Spirit’s fruit (Galatians 5:22–23) and not dissipating sins like drunkenness or sexual immorality (Ephesians 5:3, 18).

But, again, Paul would say the same thing about “civilian pursuits.” There’s not enough time to do everything we’d enjoy doing. Even as soldiers, there’s not enough time to do all the very good, spiritually helpful things we’d like to do. But there’s sufficient time for us to do what God gives us to do (2 Corinthians 9:8).

A diligent person feels urgency over the brief time he has on earth and seeks to wisely use his brief number of days on the few things he discerns to be the most important for him (Psalm 90:12).

Vigilant Carefulness

A diligent person also looks carefully how he walks, “not as unwise but as wise” (Ephesians 5:15). This kind of care requires a cultivated vigilance. It does not come naturally to most of us.

Most of us have a natural inclination to coast, to fall into familiar ruts of thinking and behaving. Most of us have sinful or defective habits of emotional responses to certain situations and relational dynamics that were conditioned in childhood and adolescence. We might hardly notice them because we’re not looking carefully. Most of us don’t want to expend the mental, emotional, and spiritual energy to cultivate a vigilant care over how we walk.

Which means most of us are not wise. I know I’m not by nature. I don’t have a natural inclination to this kind of vigilance. But I’m old enough now to realize the real, long-term benefits of vigilance where I’ve applied it — as well as the consequences where I’ve not applied it. This only increases my resolve to abandon the foolishness of carelessness and to look more carefully how I walk.

Faithful Perseverance

And finally, diligent people faithfully persevere in cultivating and applying a discerning focus, a sense of urgency, and a vigilant care over how they live. This is not explicit in the text, but it is surely implicit, especially in the word “time” (Ephesians 5:16).

The “evil days” describe the age in which we live. Every one of the days we live as Christians on earth, until we are taken by death or Jesus returns, are embattled with evil, which Paul makes clear in Ephesians 6. The dangers of falling into sin or giving ourselves to “civilian pursuits” do not disappear. Paul’s exhortation is one we must apply “every day, as long as it is called ‘today,’ that none of [us] may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin” (Hebrews 3:13).

Whatever It Takes

All diligence is hard work. But Christian diligence goes beyond hard work to a Spirit-empowered cultivating of a discerning focus, sense of urgency, vigilant carefulness, and faithful perseverance. And a Christian knows that without God’s help, we’ll miss the mark and waste a lot of life on a lot of sin and “civilian pursuits.” So we pray:

Whatever it takes, Lord, increase my resolve to do your will with all diligence.

Do You Pray Enough?

Guilt is a terrible motivator for any behavior, except repentance. We cannot sustain ongoing spiritual disciplines, such as prayer, from a sense of guilt. That’s not what guilt is designed to achieve, and it’s why feeling bad over not praying enough will never turn us into men and women who “pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17).

Technically, guilt is a legal status. Emotionally, guilt is a burdened conscience, our response to an awareness of real or perceived failure. Therefore, guilt is something to get rid of, not something to harness as a motivation to develop and persist in a habit. Its intended purpose is to push us toward one primary action: repentance. Repentance is God’s designed means to free us from the burden of guilt.

On the other hand, God’s designed incentive for us to “work heartily” (Colossians 3:23) — to “toil and strive” (1 Timothy 4:10), to discipline our bodies (1 Corinthians 9:27), to die every day (1 Corinthians 15:31) by denying ourselves, picking up our cross, and following Jesus (Luke 9:23–25), and to “press on toward the goal” to attain the resurrection from the dead “by any means possible” (Philippians 3:11–14) — is reward, not guilt (Philippians 3:8, 14; Colossians 3:24).

The Problem with Legalism

This is why Jesus’s gospel is such good news for us! Through faith-fueled repentance, Jesus grants us forgiveness for all our sins (Luke 24:47) by taking them upon himself on the cross (2 Corinthians 5:21). And when we come to Jesus in this way, he frees us weary, heavy-ladened sinners from the burden of our guilt and gives us rest (Matthew 11:28). But more than that, he gives us the ability then to lay aside our sin-weight so we can run the race of faith, looking to him, who himself is the great Reward set before us, along with all God promises us in him forever (Hebrews 12:1–2).

When Jesus wants to motivate us to be free from guilt, he offers us rest in him through repentance. When Jesus wants to motivate us to follow him in the hard way of discipleship (Matthew 7:14), he offers us the reward of treasures in heaven (Mark 10:21).

That’s why functional legalism — our efforts to get rid of guilt and find acceptance with God by trying harder in our own strength to live up to his (or someone else’s) standard — doesn’t work in the Christian life (or any other life). We can never meet the standards of external behavior and heart motives that alleviate our sense of guilt. The best we can achieve are occasional, brief moments of guilt reprieve.

Why Don’t We Pray More?

We need to keep this in mind when we read radical exhortations to pray in the New Testament, such as,

“Be constant in prayer” (Romans 12:12)
Pray “at all times in the Spirit . . . with all perseverance” (Ephesians 6:18)
Pray about everything (Philippians 4:6)
“Continue steadfastly in prayer” (Colossians 4:2)
“Pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17)
“Always . . . pray and [do] not lose heart” (Luke 18:1)

I find these verses convicting. I’m growing in my prayer life, but I can tell it’s not like Paul’s prayer life, much less like Jesus’s. My observations over forty years as a Christian tell me most Christians, at least in the West, would say something similar.

Why don’t we pray more? The answer is very simple and very convicting: we don’t pray more because we don’t really believe it will do much good. Our personal, cultural, and religious experiences have helped reinforce a belief that doing more tends to produce more than praying more. So as “Bible-believing” Christians, we officially affirm what the Bible teaches us about prayer, but neglect it in practice, because we don’t functionally believe the Bible’s teaching about prayer.

Now, this unbelief produces guilt — and it should. Unbelief in God’s promises and disobedience to his commands are sin.

The Secret to Praying More

But what do we do with this guilt over our unbelief?

Too often we respond to our guilt with a resolve to pray more. We try for a little while, only to find it unsustainable. Why? Because although our conviction is right (we’re failing to pray enough), we are harnessing the wrong motivation to correct our behavior. Praying more as a means to alleviating guilt won’t help us pray more, because that’s not what guilt is for. Guilt is a burden to release through repenting of unbelief and receiving forgiveness and restoration from Jesus.

If we really want to pray like the Bible teaches, we must harness the Bible’s motivation: God’s promise of reward. If we look at the context for every biblical exhortation to pray listed above, we see the incentive of reward.

“Be constant in prayer” so that spiritual grace gifts and love will abound in the church (Romans 12:6–13).
Pray “at all times in the Spirit . . . with all perseverance” so that we will be protected from powerful satanic attack, and the gospel will be proclaimed accurately and boldly (Ephesians 6:10–20).
Pray about everything in order to be relieved of troubling anxieties and allow the peace of God to guard our hearts and minds (Philippians 4:6–7).

“Continue steadfastly in prayer” for the sake of remaining spiritually alert and seeing the manifold grace of God that prompts thanksgiving (Colossians 4:2).
“Pray without ceasing” in order that there will be unity and love and appropriate submission and patience and joy in the church (1 Thessalonians 5:12–18).
“Always . . . pray and not lose heart” so that we receive what it is that we desperately want and need from God, whose heart is to give his elect justice (Luke 18:1–8).

These examples just scratch the surface. The Bible is full of promises of reward for those who pray.

Fuel for the Fire

The secret to fueling our growth in prayer, to cultivating prayer as a more pervasive “habit of grace” in our lives, is to fan the fire of our faith in the promises of God.

To do this, we must look away from our faith-draining insufficiencies, failures, and heavily biased experiences, to God’s promised abounding grace and all-sufficiency (2 Corinthians 9:8) as well as the experiences of others in the Bible and church history who have experienced more effectual prayer than we have. All these help increase our faith and expectancy.

Faith in the word emboldens us to take this promise-check to the bank of heaven and not stop asking until it is cashed: “If you ask me anything in my name, I will do it” (John 14:14).

God doesn’t want guilt-motivated pray-ers, he wants pray-ers who come to him as their Rewarder and their Reward (Hebrews 11:6, 26). The more we experience him as both, the more we will pray.

The Greatest Act of Spiritual Warfare

Love flourishes and grows in relational soil rich with trust. As long as sufficient trust is present in a relationship, love is likely to be healthy and resilient. But if trust erodes, love withers. Too much erosion and it dies.

Satan knows this. Which is why he works diligently, subtly, and insidiously to incite and encourage the erosion of our trust in one another. He wants to kill love.

Most Powerful Apologetic

Since God is love (1 John 4:7–8), it is no exaggeration to say that love is the greatest thing in the world. Love is the omnipotent cohesive core of intra-Trinitarian relations and the explosive impetus for the triune God putting his glory on display in creation (John 17:24–26; John 1:1–3; Colossians 1:15–17; John 15:9–10; 3:35).

Love motivated the Father to initiate his plan to redeem lost, rebellious people (John 3:16). Love motivated the Son to lay his life down for us (John 15:13). Loving God and other people were the greatest commandments under the old covenant (Matthew 22:36–40) and remain the greatest commandments under the new covenant (John 14:15; 15:12).

Love is the single greatest distinguishing mark of a disciple of Jesus (John 13:35). The one who is born of God and knows God loves (1 John 4:7). Love is the foremost fruit the Holy Spirit bears in us (Galatians 5:22–23). Love is more excellent than any gift or miracle of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 12:31). It does not matter how spiritually gifted we are or how much we achieve or how much we sacrifice in Jesus’s name, if we do not have love, we are nothing and gain nothing (1 Corinthians 13:1-3).

Christ-like, sacrificial, forbearing, hopeful, enduring love is the greatest apologetic to the existence and nature of God on earth. It is more compelling than brilliant, well-reasoned arguments (which can be brilliantly countered) and more powerful than signs and wonders (which can be counterfeited — Matthew 24:24). And any Spirit-filled Christian of any gender, ethnicity, social class, age demographic, intellectual capacity, or spiritual gifting can demonstrate love.

Christian love is the force most threatening to Satan’s kingdom and therefore what he seeks most to disarm and destroy.

Satan Takes Aim at Trust

But when Satan attempts to kill love, he frequently aims at trust. He knows better than we do how trust can affect love.

The more we trust someone, the easier it is for us to love him. We feel confident in and safe with those we trust, and we can bear with a lot of their idiosyncrasies, foibles, and even sinful stumbles. And we tend to be far more willing to receive correction from them.

But it’s harder for us to love someone when we lack trust in them. We are more guarded and prone to question their judgment. It’s far easier to see potentially serious moral issues lurking in their idiosyncrasies, foibles, and sinful stumbles, and we are much quicker to suspect sinister motives when they bring us correction. A trust deficit usually results in strained relational distance, and broken trust usually results in a broken relationship.

This means our relationships are quite vulnerable. It does not take much to damage trust and cool our love for another. We are incredibly finite beings whose sin natures have a monstrous sized ego, making us highly prone to take offense. It only requires a misunderstanding or presumption to begin changing the prescription lenses of our trust in one another. When trust begins to erode, love begins to wither. And when love begins to wither, the greatest evidence of the reality and nature of God on earth becomes obscured.

That’s why Satan is always trying to erode our trust in God and one another. He’s seeking to obscure the glory of Jesus by killing love. If he can do that, he can render our gospel witness impotent, fragment our churches, and isolate us, making us increasingly vulnerable to his temptations while keeping us preoccupied with justifying ourselves and suspecting others.

Pursue Love

More than anything — anything— we must “pursue love” (1 Corinthians 14:1). We must pursue love with a jealous zeal for the glory of Christ and the good and advance of his church. We must be doggedly determined and unswervingly committed in our pursuit of love because Satan will aim at our trust in every relationship in effort to destroy or at least severely weaken love, especially our relationships in the church. We must not let him outwit us or be ignorant of his schemes (2 Corinthians 2:11).

We must beware of allowing minor differences to grow out of proportion in our imaginations. We must resist assigning sinful motives to others’ actions based on our assumptions. If we suspect sin may be present, we must not remain silent, allowing those suspicions to fester. We must not trust our perceptions, but ask clarifying questions with humility. And if we become aware that someone has something against us, we must go quickly to them and seek resolution (Matthew 5:23–24).

Wherever we have damaged relationships due to trust erosion, particularly with other Christians, Christ and the apostles call us to pursue reconciliation — to pursue love. It’s not an option. We must live at peace with all as far as it depends upon us (Romans 12:18).

In cases where severe damage has been done due to very real serious sin, we must seek sound pastoral counsel and facilitators skilled at peace-making. But most of our trust erosion happens due to common-to-man, garden-variety sins of pride, exacerbated by uncharitable judgment, gossip, slander, and resentment, which Satan encourages and exploits.

Punch Him in the Mouth

It’s possible that the greatest act of spiritual warfare we can engage in right now, the greatest blow we can deal Satan, is pursuing love by humbling ourselves and seeking reconciliation with an estranged or relationally strained brother or sister in Christ. Who knows what breakthroughs might be achieved by such obedience?

Love is the greatest thing in the world, because God is love and love comes from him (1 John 4:7–8). To love is the greatest commandment God ever gave us. And the glory of Christ, the proclamation of his gospel, and our testimonies as his disciples are at stake in the way we love one another.

So let us pursue love with all our might, and in doing so punch Satan in the mouth.

Lord, Align My Heart with Yours

We all have dreams of one kind or another. And in America, pursuing our dreams is a nearly sacred cultural value, a moral obligation even. But the Bible teaches us to be wary of our dreams.

Dreams can be things we desire to become, like a physician, business executive, missionary, or President of the United States. Dreams can also be things we desire to achieve, like earning a 4.0 GPA, making the varsity soccer team, authoring a book, or eradicating malaria in sub-Saharan Africa. Or dreams can be things we desire to possess, like a house, a million dollars, a graduate degree, or a hundred acres of wooded land. Some dream of marriage, or parenthood, or unencumbered singleness. Others dream of preaching, seeing miracles, increasing their public influence, or enjoying anonymity.

All of those dreams might be wonderful, or they might be wicked. The determining factor is what desires are fueling the dreams.

Desires Make All the Difference

Deep wants fuel all our dreams. Values fuel aspirations. Loves fuel longings.

We must never accept our dreams at face value, because dreams are the outworkings of deeper desires. And the nature of those desires makes all the difference in the moral and spiritual quality of our dreams. The Bible gives us numerous contrasting examples of good and evil desires fueling similar superficial actions — the pursuit of dreams.

Cain and Abel both brought offerings to God. Both desired God’s acceptance. God accepted Abel’s offering but not Cain’s. We don’t know why. All we know is God told Cain, “If you do well, will you not be accepted?” (Genesis 4:7). Something was horribly wrong with Cain’s deeper desires that shaped his pursuit of God’s acceptance, and it manifested in his murderous response to his rejected offering.

And then there’s Simon the Magician and Peter. Simon, a signs and wonders celebrity in Samaria, joined the Christian movement when he saw unprecedented spiritual power operating through Philip and the apostles. He earnestly desired such spiritual gifts, but not in the 1 Corinthians 12:31 sense. Simon dreamed of self-glory, which is why Peter called Simon’s desire for spiritual power “wickedness” (Acts 8:22). Peter and Simon both dreamed of seeing the Holy Spirit minister powerfully to people, but their dreams were fueled by very different desires.

Those examples are fairly black and white. But there’s another that perhaps strikes closer to home, for it illustrates the sort of mixed motives that often muddy our own dreams and desires.

When Kingdom Dreams Turn Satanic

Just after Peter made the Good Confession — “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16) — he gave Jesus some evil counsel. Jesus had just informed the disciples he must go to Jerusalem, be killed, and then rise from the dead. Peter responded, “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you” (Matthew 16:22). Jesus called this counsel satanic because Peter was “not setting [his] mind on the things of God, but on the things of man” (Matthew 16:23).

There’s the rub: our fleshly mindset. That’s the core issue. Peter really did love Jesus and wanted to serve him. He got so much right. And yet, “the things of man” were mixed into his dreams about the kingdom of God. He was so blind to his presumptions, and then so confident in his perspective, that he sought to correct the Christ, the Son of the living God.

This account should unnerve us, for we are all like Peter. Mixed into our genuine, Spirit-birthed kingdom desires are “the things of man,” fleshly desires that if we are not discerning will be manipulated by Satan to hinder rather than help the advance of the kingdom. These desires shape our dreams, our aspirations.

Which means we must wary of our dreams. We must question them carefully and pursue the same kind of submission of our desires that Jesus displayed, so that we end up pursuing the dreams of God.

Your Will Be Done

Jesus did share the dreams of God because his desires aligned with the Father’s. But in Gethsemane, those desires were sorely tested. Jesus endured an unfathomable agony of horrific anticipation, agony that might have killed him had he not been destined to die on the cross (Matthew 26:38). As he stared into the cup the Father was giving him to drink, the cup of propitiation, the cup of sin’s condemnation — not of Jesus’s sins, but of ours — every part of his humanity recoiled, and he found himself deeply desiring for the cup to pass from him.

But deeper still was a spiritual desire that his human desire be submitted to his Father’s desire. For Jesus trusted that the Father’s desire would result in the greatest good for the greatest glory of the triune God and the greatest joy possible for all the saints — God’s one great dream. And so, even while sweating blood in tortuous expectation of his impending execution, Jesus exclaimed to the Father, “Not as I will, but as you will” (Matthew 26:39).

And this must be our prayer too. But unlike Jesus, sin still lingers in us — “things of man” desires mixing with “things of God” desires — which, if we are not careful, can turn our pursuit of kingdom dreams into satanic diversions. So in addition, let us pray:

Whatever it takes, Lord, align my desires with yours, so that my dreams align with your purposes. Let your will be done through me.