Jon Bloom's Blog, page 8

One Body, Many Causes: The Vital Diversity of the Church’s Priorities

Your living body is marvelous and magnificent. You may be so familiar with your body’s defects, disproportions, disorders, and diseases that you can hardly see its astounding glory. But it is truly wonderful.

Your body is unity in diversity incarnate. The one you is comprised of an almost incomprehensible number of unique parts that all function together. And every member of your body, strong or weak, prominent or obscure, is necessary. You would be overwhelmed if you could see a comprehensive list of what all the diverse parts of you do to make it possible for you to move across a room, or teach a class, or eat a meal, or play catch with your son, or dance to a piece of music. You are one body, but it takes every individual member of your body working together to make it possible for you to do what you do every day.

And so it is with the body of Christ, the church. It is marvelous and magnificent, though we may struggle to see its astounding glory because we’re so familiar with its defects, disproportions, disorders, and diseases. We also may wonder, perhaps with frustration, why other members of the body aren’t as compelled to address the needs we’re compelled by, or why they prioritize things that seem like lower priorities to us. And yet, this is part of what makes the church truly wonderful: every member of this body, strong or weak, prominent or obscure, is necessary precisely because of its unique, God-given role.

One Body, Many Members

The description of the church as a body is more than simply an analogy. It is the revealing of a mystery. The church isn’t a mere organization; it really is an organism. Christ’s body is alive. And like a human body, it is an incarnation of unity in diversity:

As in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another. (Romans 12:4–5)

To grasp this reality — the church as a living body — is to see a beautiful balance between the crucial importance of the collective and the crucial importance of the individual. Both are indispensable.

The church is “one body.” What does that mean? A body is a singular unit created by God to do certain things. The individual members on their own cannot fulfill all the purposes for which the body was created. Those members of the church must function together as a collective whole in order for the body to do all it was created to do.

But the church is also “many members.” There is no collective whole, no body, without its countless crucial individual members. God’s design of the body of Christ, like a human body, is a large-scale interdependency of diverse members functioning in complementary roles to make it possible for the body to function.

This is simply (and complexly) glorious. In this spiritual anatomical design, God bestows profound dignity and honor upon both the collective whole, the entire church, and the individual members — each individual member, in fact.

Every Member Indispensable

Most of us don’t struggle with understanding how the entire church, the collective body, is necessary to God’s purposes in the world. And most of us can see how particular members of the body are also necessary. But we might harbor doubts that all the members, particularly ourselves, are really necessary. To address this common doubt, the Spirit, through Paul, says of Christ’s body,

If the foot should say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear should say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. (1 Corinthians 12:15–18)

In other words, we cannot trust our self-assessment when we think ourselves unimportant. And we cannot trust our assessment when we think anyone else unimportant:

The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable. (1 Corinthians 12:21–22)

Indispensable is a strong term. God is saying through Paul that in his assessment every person is necessary. It is “God [who] arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose.” Every member has a God-given role to play in the well-being and function of Christ’s body. And this is just as true for “those parts of the body that we think less honorable” (1 Corinthians 12:23) as it is for those parts of the body we are conditioned to esteem.

Empowered by the Same Spirit

One important reason God considers each individual member indispensable is because each member is indwelled, animated, and gifted by the Holy Spirit.

Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who empowers them all in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. (1 Corinthians 12:4–7)

Christ is the head of the church-body (Colossians 1:18). And analogous to how the nervous system empowers the individual members of our bodies to carry out the will and desires of our heads, the Holy Spirit empowers us to carry out the will and desires of our Head within our unique functions in the church. God gives to each member of the body “the manifestation of the Spirit,” a gift and the power to exercise it, “for the common good.” And each gift, though empowered by the same Spirit, manifests as “varieties of service” and “varieties of activities.”

Varieties of Causes and Priorities

All of this means that different members are going to be compelled to do different things. And it means different members are going to feel differently about priorities: what needs to be done and what needs to be said. For example, some will feel an urgency to focus on countering false teaching in the church, and others an urgency to care for vulnerable people in need, and others an urgency to actively work to end the evil of abortion, and others an urgency to create more effective administrative structures so that many can be better served, and others an urgency to address painful racial divisions and social injustice, and others an urgency to give themselves to intercession and prayer ministry.

This is where we need humility and faith. All of these things (and many more) matter greatly, and our Head and the Spirit care about them. But none of us as individuals can give ourselves to them all at all times. Each of us is called to perform a limited role (or roles) depending on what the Spirit is empowering us to do for the common good. Our roles might change in different seasons of our lives, but whatever role we find ourselves in for our current season, we must be careful not to pridefully assume others should be feeling our level of urgency or doing what we’re called to do. Likewise, we should be careful not to pridefully step into roles the Spirit is not empowering us to perform. We must prayerfully trust our body’s Head and Spirit to provide what is needed for the common good at the times and places that seem good to them.

Stewards of Varied Grace

A robust understanding of and trust in God’s glorious design of a unified body comprised of very diverse members is meant to produce profound gratitude — gratitude to God for his incredible grace toward us all, and gratitude for the indispensable gifts others are to the body. It is a great gift to know that we don’t have to perform functions in the body for which we aren’t equipped. And it is a great gift for us to know that we have received an indispensable function to contribute for the common good of the body.

The body of Christ is marvelous and magnificent. It is a real body, a living organism, unity in diversity incarnate. It is wonderful that we “are one body . . . and individually members one of another” (Romans 12:5). Therefore,

As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies — in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. (1 Peter 4:10–11)

Giving Is the Greatest Wealth

If you want to become wealthy, there are certain things you must understand and certain things you must do. First, you must understand what kind of wealth you’re pursuing and how the economy functions that generates this wealth. Second, you must wisely invest the required resources in order to realize an increase of the wealth the economy produces. These principles hold true whether you’re pursuing wealth in God’s economy or in the world’s economies.

Now, the kind of wealth God’s economy produces and the kind of wealth the world’s economies produce are very different. The former makes us “enriched in every way to be generous in every way” (2 Corinthians 9:11), while the latter threatens to pierce us with “many pangs” (1 Timothy 6:10) and even to steal our soul (Matthew 16:26).

But in either case, we must value (desire) what each economy offers (Matthew 6:19–21), we must understand how each economy works (Luke 16:1–8), and we must invest in ways that take advantage of that economy’s production (Matthew 25:14–30). Obtaining the riches we desire depends on whether or not we meet these conditions.

To those who wish to become truly rich, the Bible offers this astounding promise:

God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work. (2 Corinthians 9:8)

Just think about this for a moment. The Source of all that exists, the Fountain of “all grace” (1 Peter 5:10), is willing to put his infinite resources to work on our behalf to meet our needs and bless our labors. All grace, all sufficiency, at all times. Who would not want this?

So, how do we become the beneficiaries of such an incredible promise? The answer is found in the context in which the promise is made.

God’s Gracious Economy of Joy

In 2 Corinthians 8–9, Paul encourages and exhorts the Corinthian Christians to contribute generously to the relief of the suffering believers in Jerusalem (1 Corinthians 16:1–4). As he does, he describes how God’s beautiful economy of grace works to produce a wealth of joy.

He starts by pointing to the grace of God clearly evident in the Macedonian Christians. These believers were living in “extreme poverty,” and yet they experienced an “abundance of joy” in being redeemed by Christ, which “overflowed in a wealth of generosity” in their contribution to the poor in Jerusalem (2 Corinthians 8:2). Then Paul points the Corinthians directly to the grace that Jesus showed them when, “though he was rich, yet for [their] sake he became poor, so that [they] by his poverty might become rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9). Then Paul describes how the contribution the Corinthians give will “not only [supply] the needs of the saints but . . . also [overflow] in many thanksgivings to God” (2 Corinthians 9:12).

In other words, this is how God’s economy of grace works to produce a wealth of joy for everyone involved:

The grace of Jesus overflows in his incredible generosity to redeem and give eternal joy to the Corinthian believers (Hebrews 12:2).

This grace experienced by the Corinthians (and Macedonians) produces in them an abundance of joy that overflows in their generous giving to meet the needs of the Jerusalem saints, which also produces joy for them since “it is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).

This grace of provision produces in the Jerusalem saints an abundance of joy that overflows in thanksgivings to God, not only for his provision, but also for “the surpassing grace of God” evident in the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 9:14).

And this whole gracious economic cycle glorifies God (2 Corinthians 9:13), the Source of all grace.

Over and over again, God’s grace produces joy, which then produces generosity, which then produces joyful thanksgiving and praise back to God. This is God’s wonderful kingdom economy, where the true riches of grace and joy are the returns on the investment of generous giving to meet the needs of others. This is why we at Desiring God love to think of money as “the currency of Christian Hedonism.”

Amazing Promise for the Joyfully Generous

Now, in God’s economy of grace, like any economy, an investment is required in order to see wealth increase. What is this investment? Joyful generosity that meets the needs of others, overflowing from a heart transformed by God’s overwhelming grace. And as with any economy, the size of our return depends on the size of our investment.

Paul makes this clear when he reminds the Corinthians, “Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully” (2 Corinthians 9:6). This agricultural principle is also an economic principle: the size of one’s investment determines the size of one’s return.

Paul isn’t trying to manipulate the Corinthians into giving more. Nor is he promoting an equation that says if one gives more money, one will get more money. No, this is an economy that produces grace-fueled joy. Joy in God — joy in the grace of forgiveness and reconciliation we’ve received from God, and joy in the grace of God we see in others — is the return on the investment of gracious giving. And this economy works only when each person is free to “give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver” (2 Corinthians 9:7).

Paul wants the Corinthians (and us) to have as much joy in God as possible, so he’s exhorting them to invest in order to see that return. And that’s when he holds out the amazing promise:

God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work. (2 Corinthians 9:8)

In God’s gracious economy of joy, we don’t need to fear running out of grace and joy. Paul wants us to know that if we trust God and invest well in generous giving to meet the needs of others, “God will supply every need of [ours] according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19).

True Prosperity Theology

The Corinthians knew Paul didn’t mean that giving generously would ensure they would become wealthy. Reading all of 2 Corinthians (as well as 1 Corinthians) makes that clear. Rather, as he wrote in a letter to Timothy, he wanted the Corinthian Christians not

to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy . . . to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life. (1 Timothy 6:17–19)

Paul knew that the gospel of Christ was true prosperity theology. Unlike the terrible version of our day that cloaks a ruinous worldly desire to be rich (1 Timothy 6:9) in a pious appearance of serving God, Paul called his readers to invest in the economy of God by giving to meet the needs of others in order to have “that which is truly life” — that which truly gives joy. And that is true prosperity.

The point is this: in God’s economy of grace, generous giving to meet the needs of others is a means of investing in joy — our own and others’. And to those willing to make this investment, God promises his all-abounding grace so we will have all sufficiency at all times for every good work he calls us to. For “he who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will supply and multiply your seed for sowing and increase the harvest of your righteousness. You will be enriched in every way to be generous in every way, which through us will produce thanksgiving to God” (2 Corinthians 9:10–11).

The Merciful Mystery of Unconditional Election

Election is a topic currently absorbing the attention of Americans (and a watching world), given the significant political event about to take place in the United States. In our democratic republic, qualified citizens cast free and secret ballots to elect those we wish to represent us in our executive and legislative branches of state and national government.

This is an example of conditional election, meaning the “elect” are chosen based on their superior merits relative to opposing candidates. The elect merit or win their election.

In this sense (and others, of course), the American doctrine of election is quite different from the biblical doctrine of election. Whenever the term election or elect is mentioned in Scripture, it always refers to God’s choosing those he has purposed to redeem from fallen humanity. God does the choosing — the electing — not man (Ephesians 1:3–6). And when God chooses to redeem a person, he does so based not on that person’s merit, but on his mercy alone (Romans 9:10–16).

Theologians have termed this unconditional election, which John Piper concisely defines as “God’s free choice before creation, not based on foreseen faith, to which traitors he will grant faith and repentance, pardoning them and adopting them into his everlasting family of joy.” In this case, the elect do not merit or win their election, but receive it as a free gift from God based solely on his grace toward them (Ephesians 2:8–10).

Many over the centuries have found the biblical doctrine of election a source of great hope and comfort. But many others have found it a source of confusion, anxiety, and even offense. God means for us to experience the former, not the latter. He has revealed election in Scripture not so we will comprehend all its mysteries, nor so we can easily identify all who are elect, but so we will put our full confidence and trust in Jesus Christ and find him our all in all (1 Corinthians 15:28).

Great Clarity and Great Mystery

Scripture’s revelation regarding election is clear: God “chose us [in Christ] before the foundation of the world” and “predestined us for adoption to himself . . . according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace” (Ephesians 1:4–6). If there’s any question as to the unconditional nature of this election, all we need to do is follow the apostle Paul’s logic in Romans chapter 9.

But Scripture does not reveal the mechanics of election. The Bible tells us God is completely sovereign and free in his choosing those to whom he will and will not grant the gift of repentance and saving faith (Romans 9:15–16), and that humans are morally accountable if they do not repent and trust Christ (John 3:18). But the formula for how this works is a mystery known to God alone.

In an American political (conditional) election, mystery surrounding the results could signal a corrupted process. The founders of our nation had a healthy respect for human depravity and designed the American systems of government with that in mind. They wisely devised many forms of accountability in order to mitigate the myriad forms of corruption that inevitably occur whenever humans pursue and possess power. That’s why American elections should be as transparent and unmysterious as possible.

But with divine election, the opposite is true. In this case, mystery is a great mercy to us for at least two reasons.

Two Mercies of Mystery

First, we simply do not possess the intellectual or perspectival capacities to comprehend God’s purposes in election. As Michael Horton says,

All of the great truths of God’s Word are mysteries in this sense. They elude our ability to capture their essence. They do not contradict reason, but transcend it. (For Calvinism, 111)

Second, and even more important, as fallen, depraved creatures who tend to corrupt election processes we do comprehend, we lack the moral capacities to be entrusted with such knowledge. Our great downfall was desiring and aspiring to “be like God, knowing good and evil” (Genesis 3:5). We must trust God’s wisdom and kindness when he withholds information from us. This is why John Calvin gave this wise pastoral warning against probing the mysteries of election:

[The curious] will obtain no satisfaction to his curiosity, but will enter a labyrinth from which he will find no way to depart. For it is unreasonable that man should scrutinize with impunity those things which the Lord has determined to be hidden in himself. . . . As soon as the Lord closes his sacred mouth, [we] shall also desist from further inquiry. (For Calvinism, 113)

The wise will say with Moses, “The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law” (Deuteronomy 29:29). For the wise understand that God is merciful not to tell us everything.

How Does God Reveal His Elect?

After the voting deadline for next week’s national elections has passed, determining the “elect” hopefully will be fairly straightforward. The ballots will be painstakingly collected and counted, and the candidates who receive the majority of their citizens’ votes will be publicly declared the winners (unless, as in 2016, the electoral college presidential vote totals differ from the popular vote totals).

Once again, this is very different from how God reveals his (unconditionally) elect children whom, through Christ, he has ransomed and redeemed “from every tribe and language and people and nation” (Revelation 5:9). Jesus described his method with a parable:

“A sower went out to sow his seed. And as he sowed, some fell along the path and was trampled underfoot, and the birds of the air devoured it. And some fell on the rock, and as it grew up, it withered away, because it had no moisture. And some fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up with it and choked it. And some fell into good soil and grew and yielded a hundredfold.” As he said these things, he called out, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” (Luke 8:5–8)

God calls out his elect through the indiscriminate broadcasting of gospel “seeds.” He makes his appeal to all through us, the messengers of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:20). Those planted in good soil, those with seed that takes root, those who have ears to hear, they prove to be the elect.

Fruit of and Endurance by the Spirit

This parable illustrates not only Jesus’s method, but also our limitations. Both the rocky and thorny soils appear to us as good soil at first. Only later, after faith has been tested (Luke 8:13), or the cares and pleasures of life have choked out what looked like gospel life (Luke 8:14), do we realize that someone may not be elect.

Note my words: “may not be elect.” God does not grant us knowledge of who his elect are in this age. He mercifully hides this knowledge, which is too heavy for us to bear. Some soils can remain path-hardened for eighty years, only to become soft and receive the seed at the end. Other soils can appear good for decades, only to have the stem wither and die from rocks or thorns.

When the apostles assessed the faith of professing Christians, they looked for the evidence of the Spirit, especially faithful enduring of trials (1 Thessalonians 1:4–7), and were quick to encourage what they observed: “I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that was given you in Christ Jesus, that in every way you were enriched in him in all speech and all knowledge” (1 Corinthians 1:4–5). But if later other evidence gave them concerns, they could say to the same Christians,

Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves. Or do you not realize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you? — unless indeed you fail to meet the test! (2 Corinthians 13:5)

One reason they issued such warnings is because they knew the Spirit would use them as a means to keep the elect fighting to persevere in the faith. Exhortations help saints resist “the deceitfulness of sin” (Hebrews 3:12–13).

But at the end of the day, it’s not our job to determine who ultimately is or isn’t the good soil of the elect. That’s God’s job. Our job is to sow gospel seeds or water them, and trust God to give the growth (1 Corinthians 3:7).

‘Abide in Me’: The Place of Assurance

So, if God veils not only his purposes in election but even the elect themselves in mystery, can we ever be sure that we are among the elect?

God most certainly wants everyone he’s given the right to be called children of God (John 1:12) to live in the holy comfort of knowing they are children of God (Romans 8:16). But he does not want us to seek this comfort in our spiritual gifts, ministry effectiveness, past experiences, or the deceitful labyrinthian corridors of introspection. He wants us to find this comfort by finding Christ our all in all, our very life (Colossians 3:4). Which is why the invitation to assurance Jesus extended to his disciples was this:

I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. (John 15:5–11)

The joy of assurance, Jesus’s very joy in us, comes from one place: abiding (remaining) in him — trusting him solely for the forgiveness of our sins (Colossians 1:14), every grace needed in this age (Hebrews 4:16), and in the age to come, eternal life (Luke 18:30).

This call to abide may sound like it places greater emphasis on our responsibility than on God’s electing power, like conditional election rather than unconditional election. But don’t be fooled. We’re simply experiencing the marvelous mystery that is divine election, the paradoxical place where God’s sovereign decree from eternity past and our call to respond here and now are shown to be, not at odds, but in perfect harmony.

Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). The elect respond to Jesus’s call to follow him and abide in him. In mercy, God withholds from us mysteries of election we aren’t equipped to grasp, yet he graciously gives us a simple means by which we can find joyful assurance that we belong to and love Jesus: that we willingly respond to and obey him (John 14:15).

Do you hear his voice? Will you follow? “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts” (Hebrews 4:7).

Who Do You Say That She Was? The Legends of Mary Magdalene

Mary Magdalene is, I believe, the most misunderstood and historically distorted of Jesus’s followers recorded in the New Testament. Consider this.

Mary is only mentioned by name in the New Testament twelve times (by all four Gospel authors). Eleven out of those twelve mentions are the accounts of her witnessing the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. The one time she’s referenced elsewhere, we find the only biographical tidbits the Scripture provides: she had been delivered from seven demons (by Jesus, we assume, given the context) and, along with some other women, was accompanying Jesus’s itinerant cohort, and perhaps contributing financially to its support (Luke 8:2–3). That’s it.

And yet Mary Magdalene’s Wikipedia page offers more content than that of the apostle Peter, the apostle Paul, or the Virgin Mary. Wikipedia is by no means the measure of a biblical character’s significance, but given her sparse coverage in the Bible, it is reflective of the strange historical phenomenon that is Mary Magdalene — or rather, the legends of Mary Magdalene.

Sexually Scandalous Past?

Many in Western church traditions have somehow gathered the impression that Mary was either a former prostitute or had some kind of sexually immoral past (the Eastern traditions never bought in). Since this is not in Scripture, where did that impression come from?

Though it probably originated earlier, this idea likely gained the most traction after Pope Gregory I (Gregory the Great) gave a homily in AD 591, in which he claimed that the anonymous sinful woman in Luke 7:36–50 (he assumed the sin was sexual) and Mary of Bethany, who anointed Jesus’s feet in John 12:3–7, both referred to Mary Magdalene. Though there is no textual ground for this conclusion, it became a dominant interpretation for many centuries, creating a narrative about Mary that took hold in the popular imagination.

Then, in the Middle Ages, this imagination fueled the writing of increasingly fantastic, detailed, and completely fictional biographies of Mary. And they varied widely. Most described her as engaging in some kind of sexual immorality before her conversion. After Jesus ascended, some say she retreated to the desert to live as a holy, celibate ascetic; some have her marrying the apostle John (even asserting that the water-to-wine wedding in Cana was theirs); and some say she lived with Jesus’s mother in Ephesus.

All of this — speculative scriptural exegesis and baseless biographies — was reflected in paintings and sculptures of Mary by great artists from the Medieval, Renaissance, Baroque, and even modern eras. This only reinforced in the popular imagination the idea that Mary Magdalene was a woman with a sexually scandalous past.

Married to the Messiah?

In 2003, author Dan Brown caused a stir with his work of “historical” fiction, The Da Vinci Code. The mystery-thriller’s plot is crafted around an alleged devastating secret that the Roman Catholic Church supposedly has been guarding for many centuries: that Mary Magdalene was married to Jesus, was pregnant with Jesus’s child during the crucifixion, gave birth to a daughter named Sarah, and moved to what is now southern France, where Sarah ended up marrying into an ancient line of French kings and her bloodline (and therefore Jesus’s) continues to this day. According to this story, the “holy grail” of legend was not the chalice Jesus used at the Last Supper, but rather Mary herself. Brown asserted that he had built his fictional story on historical facts, but most scholars, both religious and nonreligious, have roundly discredited his claims.

The question is, Where in the world did such an idea about Jesus’s relationship with Mary Magdalene come from? If we follow the thread of bizarre and sordid Magdalene legends back far enough, they lead us to apocryphal, Gnostic Christian documents written long after the New Testament documents (and Mary’s lifetime), between the second and fifth centuries. And while these don’t provide us accurate information about Mary Magdalene (or Jesus or the apostles), they do give us a glimpse of the legends being circulated at that time.

Of the Gnostic writings that have been found, Mary is featured in varying prominence in five: Dialogue of the Savior, Pistis Sophia, The Gospel of Thomas, The Gospel of Philip, and The Gospel of Mary (most scholars believe this to refer to Magdalene). All of these portray Mary as having an honored place among the apostles, and some cast her as Jesus’s favorite. The Gospel of Philip refers to her special status as Jesus’s “companion” (koinônos), an ambiguous term that could indicate either an erotic or platonic relationship, and mentions Jesus kissing her often, possibly on the mouth.

Mix these Gnostic accounts with the far-fetched biographies of the Middle Ages, add the fallen human propensity to deception, lasciviousness, and fascination with scandal, and it’s not surprising you get the holy Magdalene grail of Dan Brown’s novel (and its tens of millions sold), which made a deeply distorted picture of Mary Magdalene a prurient talking point in twenty-first century pop culture.

What We Do Know

The truth is that we have no historical reason to believe anything about Mary Magdalene besides the very limited, yet very significant, amount the Scripture says about her. And here is what it tells us.

We know Mary was from the town of Magdala, on the northwest coast of the Sea of Galilee. It was known for its fishing industry, though some scholars believe it also had a reputation for prostitution. We know Mary certainly did have a troubled past, for seven demons had been cast out of her (Luke 8:2). Why she had the seven demons, we don’t know. Could it have come from something like prostitution or some other sexual involvement? Or abuse? It’s possible. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. The Spirit has veiled Mary’s past in obscurity, and too much speculation would miss the point.

What the Spirit tells us clearly about her in all four Gospels (a rare honor) is that she was present at Jesus’s crucifixion (Matthew 27:55–56; Mark 15:40–41; John 19:25–27) and at his burial (Matthew 27:57–61; Mark 15:42–47). And then she was the first of Jesus’s followers to see the tomb empty, the first to see and speak to the risen Jesus, and the first to witness to others of his resurrection (Matthew 28:1–10; Mark 16:1–8; Luke 24:10–12; John 20:1–18).

This is one of the important truths I believe the Spirit wants us to see: a woman with a troubled past, perhaps the kind of past that we might have, was granted the gracious honor of being first.

Who Do You Say That She Is?

In first-century Palestine, a woman with a troubled past would be the last person anyone would expect to be chosen for these “firsts.” I’m sure Mary was as surprised as anyone. But Jesus had said that, in the kingdom of heaven, “the last will be first” (Matthew 20:16), and he wasted no time beginning to make good on that prophecy on the very first day of the new creation.

Mary had a shameful pedigree, but she loved and trusted Jesus. And through her faith she was given overwhelming gifts she didn’t deserve (the firsts of Easter Sunday being some of the least of them). Mary received something infinitely better than being married to the earthly Jesus; she was granted the unfathomable privilege of becoming part of his Bride, the church (Revelation 21:9). Mary received something infinitely better than bearing Jesus’s earthly daughter; she was granted the unfathomable privilege of becoming a daughter of God through Jesus (Ephesians 1:5).

There are far more wonderful things to see in the little that Scripture says of Mary Magdalene than in all the volumes of distorting speculation and ridiculous folly that have been produced over the centuries. She is mainly a beautiful picture of the overwhelming grace of God, in Jesus, being extended to unworthy people, like us.

We Are Mists and Marvels: Weighing the Beauty and Brevity of Life

It’s been ten years since my father died. A decade. Already? Nearly 20 percent of my lifetime has passed since I last saw him. Where did the time go?

My oldest child recently turned 24. To me it seems that almost yesterday I was holding that precious newborn, singing softly to him while slowly pacing in the hospital room. But in reality, I’ve since lived 44 percent of my lifetime. Where did the time go?

Thirty-six years ago, I began dating a beautiful 16-year-old girl whom I had the extraordinary privilege of marrying four years later. Scenes from that hot, sunny, summer day when it all began are still vivid to me, and have a hue of new about them. Yet 65 percent of my life has managed to slip by since that monumental moment became a memory. Where did the time go?

Where did the time go? Why do we all ask some form of that question — and ask it over and over as the years pass? It’s not like we don’t know. Each of the approximately 3,700 days since my father died, the 8,800 days since my son was born, and the 13,200 days since my wife and I began dating passed just like the ones before it. The days accumulated over time. It’s simple math.

But of course, it’s not the math that bewilders us. We’re bewildered by something far more profound — that this life we’ve been given, this significant existence with all its sweet and bitter dimensions, passes so quickly and then is gone.

We Are Marvels

We all intuitively discern that our lives have profound significance. Even when we’re told they don’t, we don’t really believe it — or if we really do, we no longer want to live. We also intuitively discern that there is profound significance to the great human story-arc, with all of its collective triumphs and tragedies. This isn’t mere human hubris, because most of us, including the greatest among us, have always been cognizant of our smallness in the cosmos. Truly did David pray,

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,

     the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,

what is man that you are mindful of him,

     and the son of man that you care for him? (Psalm 8:3–4)

But even in view of our smallness, it’s undeniable that there is something awesome about humanity. Just a brief glance around us shouts this. From where I’m writing (on a laptop computer wirelessly connected to the world!), I see automobiles driving by, a commercial jet flying overhead, an educational institution devoted to helping underprivileged children succeed in school, and a talented gardener carefully cultivating her organic artwork. These phenomena are just part of “normal” daily life for me, yet each represents staggering layers of human ingenuity. And to top it off, my (also wirelessly world-connected) mobile phone has just informed me that NASA has successfully launched its latest rover mission to the planet Mars.

Without denying our great and grievous capacities for evil, every single one of us is simply a marvel in our various ranges of intellect, capacities for language and communication, aptitudes for innovation, abilities to impose order upon chaos, and contributions to collective human achievements. Truly did David pray,

You have made [man] a little lower than the heavenly beings

     and crowned him with glory and honor.

You have given him dominion over the works of your hands;

     you have put all things under his feet. (Psalm 8:5–6)

God has endowed human beings with the glory and honor of being made in his image (Genesis 1:26–27). This is the profound significance we all intuit, even those who deny it. Our lives are imbued with tremendous meaning.

We Are Mists

Yet each of our profoundly significant earthly lives, no matter how short or long it lasts, is so brief. We look up to find 10, 24, 36 years have suddenly passed. Repeatedly we’re hit with the realization that our lives “are soon gone, and we fly away” (Psalm 90:10). Truly did David pray,

Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths,

     and my lifetime is as nothing before you.

Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath! (Psalm 39:5)

And truly did James say, “What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes” (James 4:14).

It’s this existential experience of being marvels and mists that we find bewildering. We find it a strange phenomenon to watch our lives move relentlessly along a continuum, leaving experiences that are massively important to us in an increasingly distant past, while our earthly end — the end of the only reality we’ve ever known — approaches with unnerving speed. It recurrently catches us by surprise.

With Eternity in Our Hearts

But why do we find this experience strange and surprising? Many experts from various branches of the cognitive and biological sciences venture answers. But just as recounting the math of passing days doesn’t address the strangeness and surprise we feel when we ask, “Where did the time go?” neither do the chemical mechanics of consciousness. And there’s more to the deep longings this whole experience awakens than just the awareness and anticipation of our mortality. Truly did the writer of Ecclesiastes say,

[God] has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

God has given us the ability to conceive of eternity, yet in spite of conferring upon us many marvelous capacities, he has not granted us to peer into eternity past or eternity future, no matter how hard we try. And due to our efforts to seize forbidden knowledge, God has withdrawn our once-free access to simply eat of the tree of life and live forever (Genesis 3:22–24).

We are marvels of creation, whose lives are imbued with great meaning, who long for eternity, yet whose lifespans here are like a mist. No wonder we find time mystifying.

Teach Us to Number Our Days

Our strange experience of the passing of time is more than a by-product of consciousness, more than mere existential angst over mortality. It is a reminder and a pointer.

It is a reminder that we are contingent creatures and that the profound significance we intuitively know our lives possess is derived significance, not self-conferred significance. Though created in the likeness of God and given marvelous capacities, we are not self-existent or self-determining like God. Rather, “in him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28), receiving from him our “allotted periods” of life and “the boundaries of [our] dwelling place” (Acts 17:26). And the brevity of those allotted periods of life are meant to make us cry out, “O Lord, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am!” (Psalm 39:4).

And our experience of deep heart longing for eternity in the face of such brevity is a pointer that we are actually designed for such a thing as eternal life. For those who have eyes to see, this is a gospel pointer. For God has reopened for us the way to the tree of life, to eternal life, and that way is through his Son, Jesus (John 3:16; 14:6; Romans 6:23; Revelation 2:7).

Those moments when we ask, “Where did the time go?” are reminders that “all flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows on it” (Isaiah 40:6–7). And they are pointers to the reality that though our “days are like grass,” yet “the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him” (Psalm 103:15–17). Those moments come to us in order to “teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12).

Intimacy Comes Through Trembling: The Surprising Path to More of God

Has it ever struck you that Moses, from the depths of his being, pleaded with God, “Please show me your glory” (Exodus 33:18)? Bear in mind, he prayed after he had experienced unsurpassed theophanies: the burning bush, the signs in Egypt, the exodus and Red Sea deliverance, the pillar of cloud and fire, the miraculous provisions in the wilderness, the miraculous victory over the Amalekites, the Mount Sinai encounters, and God speaking to him in great detail all along the way.

If we could go back in time, we might be tempted to ask Moses, “It seems like God has shown you so much of his glory. What more do you want?” Moses, I think, would have been puzzled by the question and probably would have answered something like, “More of God’s glory, of course. I’ve barely glimpsed ‘the outskirts of his ways’” (Job 26:14). And he would have been right.

David, from the depths of his being, pleaded with God, “Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me” (Psalm 25:4–5). He prayed this after God dramatically chose him “from the sheepfolds” to be king over Israel (Psalm 78:70), gave him the astounding promises — such as an eternal kingdom (2 Samuel 7:13) — abundantly blessed nearly everything he did, protected him over and over from the conspiracies of his enemies, and guided him all along the way.

We might be tempted to ask him, “It seems like God has so greatly made you know his ways and taught you his paths. What more do you want?” David too, I think, would have found this puzzling and responded with something like, “The Lord’s ways are so far above mine that I feel like I barely know him” (Isaiah 55:9). And he would have been right.

More of You, God!

To know God and love God always produces a longing to know God and love God more. It’s inevitable. For if we really know him in some measure, it implies that he has made himself known to us (Luke 10:21–22; Matthew 16:17). And if we really love him in some measure, it implies that he first loved us (1 John 4:19). Which all implies that we’ve in some measure encountered God the person (or persons, since he is triune), not merely God the idea or the truth proposition or the theistic worldview or the theological system.

To encounter the living God is to get a glimpse of the Source of all joy and pleasure (Psalm 16:11), all hope (Romans 15:13), all power (Job 42:1–2; Luke 1:37; Revelation 1:8), and indestructible life (Hebrews 7:16; John 3:16). It is to get a glimpse, in the words of C.S. Lewis, of “the place where all the beauty came from” (Till We Have Faces, 86). And to get such a glimpse, a taste, an apprehension of this magnitude of glory can’t help but leave us longing for more.

That is what I think most of us mean when we say we desire “intimacy with God.” It is an expression of the inconsolable longing every person has who, to greater or lesser measures, has encountered the God of all glory: More, God! Show me more of your glory, teach me more of your ways; I want to be closer to you!

Friendship of the Lord

This is a wonderful longing. For, as Frederick Faber wrote, “None honors God like the thirst of desire.” Why? Because God is the fountain of all satisfaction, and as John Piper says, “The best way to glorify a fountain is to get down on your empty hands with your thirsty soul and put your face in the water, and suck life, and then look up and say, ‘Ah.’”

That’s why Scripture teaches us that saints are characterized by a deep soul-longing for God (Psalm 63:1), a thirst to be near him like a deer pants for water (Psalm 42:1). This longing is part of what made Moses a friend of God (Exodus 33:11), and part of what made David a man after God’s own heart (1 Samuel 13:14). For the highest good any of God’s saints will ever experience is to be near God (Psalm 73:28).

But what does it mean for us to be “near God”? Here is where knowing our Bibles well becomes crucial. For, as David wrote, “The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him, and he makes known to them his covenant” (Psalm 25:14). The Hebrew word for “friendship” (sôd) often connotes confidentiality or entrusting secrets. God reveals mysteries, discloses himself, and is intimate with “those who fear him.”

For Those Who Fear Him

I have no desire to quench anyone’s longing to experience greater nearness to God. But we must keep in mind who God really is as revealed in the books of his world and his word. One look through a telescope or a microscope, one sight of a hurricane or an avalanche, and certainly one serious read through the Bible, tell us that the person behind creation and inspiration is not someone to be trifled with.

And given the familiar way I hear some speak or sing about intimacy with God, I sometimes wonder if we grasp what a real experience of intimacy with him is truly like. A dimension of appropriate (biblical) fear often seems lacking. I know the apostle John wrote that “perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). But fear of condemnation in judgment isn’t the kind of fear I mean. I’m talking about the fear the apostle John experienced when the risen Son of God — the same person on whom John leaned during the Last Supper (John 13:25) — manifested himself to him on Patmos and caused him to “[fall] at his feet as though dead” (Revelation 1:17).

And John was by no means alone in this fearful experience of intimacy with the Almighty. When God answered Moses’s prayer to see more glory, he still only revealed a further glimpse, since, as he told Moses, “man shall not see me and live” (Exodus 33:20–23). And here’s what Moses heard from God as God showed him more glory:

The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation. (Exodus 34:6–7)

To be intimate with God is to know his mercy, grace, patience, love, faithfulness, and forgiveness, and it is to know God’s severity and wrath against sin. In response to this experience of greater nearness, “Moses quickly bowed his head toward the earth and worshiped” (Exodus 34:8). This friend of God got on his face in reverent fear.

If we examine Scripture, we find that those who experienced the most intimacy with God knew more than his wonderful tenderness; they knew enough of his holiness to fear him. Think of Abraham in his dreadful night vision (Genesis 15:12) and his unsettling walk up Mount Moriah with Isaac (Genesis 22:1–8). Think of Jacob in his unnerving night vision at Bethel (Genesis 28:10–17) and his discomforting wrestling match at the ford of the Jabbok (Genesis 32:22–32). Think of Isaiah’s vision of “the Lord . . . high and lifted up” (Isaiah 6:1–7), the disciples witnessing Jesus still the storm (Matthew 8:23–27), and Paul caught up to the third heaven, which required him to live with a thorn in the flesh (2 Corinthians 12:1–10).

God is the kindest person in existence, and the most severe. In Christ, he is “gentle and lowly” (Matthew 11:29), and he is “the Almighty” whose wrath is terrifying (Revelation 1:8; 6:15–17). He is “a friend of . . . sinners” (Luke 7:34), but only to “those who fear him” (Psalm 25:14).

No Greater Friend

Again, I do not say all this to discourage anyone from pressing for greater intimacy with God. No, God wants us nearer to him (James 4:8). His nearness really is our greatest good.

But our greatest good often requires more from us than we imagine. God in his goodness will not allow evil in us to go unaddressed. His holiness will not allow our unholiness to rest in peace. Our greatest Friend loved us with the greatest possible love by laying down his life for us to cover our sins (John 15:13). And he loves us enough to grant “various trials” that test and strengthen our faith, wean us off the passing and false pleasures of the world, and increase our longing for real, lasting, unsurpassable pleasures that are available to those who are truly near God (James 1:2–4; 1 Peter 1:6–9; Psalm 16:11).

This is the loving discipline of the Lord that “for the moment . . . seems painful rather than pleasant,” but later “yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Hebrews 12:11). The pain is often more painful than we expect or wish. But the peaceful fruit will be far sweeter than we expect or wish.

So, pray with all your heart with Moses and David for more: more glory, more understanding, more intimacy — whatever it takes. And know that it will take more than you think. But remember, the intimate “friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him” (Psalm 25:14). There is no intimacy with God without trembling before God.

When Does Love Insist On Its Way?

First Corinthians 13 is one of the most beautiful texts — morally and lyrically — not only in all of Scripture, but in all of literature, period. It is a peerless, if not exhaustive, description of what we all know in the depths of our being is the “more excellent way” (1 Corinthians 12:31). Even translated into English, it is a masterpiece.

But one example from this masterpiece illustrates the great difficulty in translation: trying to keep as close to a literal translation as possible, while accurately conveying the author’s intended meaning. The phrase I have in mind is “[Love] does not insist on its own way” (1 Corinthians 13:5). This quote comes from my preferred English translation, the English Standard Version (ESV), and is arguably an accurate translation of the Greek phrase. A more literal rendering might be simply “[Love] does not seek its own” with the context filling in the blank after own. And way is not a bad choice for the blank.

But the phrase “[Love] does not insist on its own way” can reasonably be understood by readers to mean that it is never loving for us to argue for or defend (insist on) the accuracy of our own perspective or conviction. And while we know that we should not insist on our own way in some situations, we also know that we should in others, to the degree that our way is not our own but God’s.

Paul didn’t mean love never insists on a particular way. If he did, the biblical record demonstrates that he didn’t live by this rule of love.

What Love Must Insist On

In Galatians 2, Paul recounts a time in Antioch when he publicly “opposed [the apostle Peter] to his face” (Galatians 2:11). Peter had come up from Jerusalem to observe the remarkable events taking place in the Antioch church, one of which was Jewish and Gentile Christians intermingling as equals. At that phase of the Christian movement, this was a new phenomenon.

At first, Peter joined right into this amazing experience of fellowship, happily sharing meals with his new Gentile family members in the faith. This wouldn’t have been surprising, considering it was through Peter that God first clearly revealed that the gospel was also for Gentiles, and that they weren’t to be considered unclean anymore (Acts 10:1–48; 15:6–11).

But then “certain men came from [the apostle] James” (Galatians 2:12) and likely informed Peter and Barnabas that Christians were being persecuted in Jerusalem because of the word coming from Antioch that the apostles were eating with Gentiles. So, Peter and Barnabas, out of fear, and wanting to keep their brothers back home from conflict and controversy, reverted to the Jewish practice of separating themselves from uncircumcised Gentiles.

Paul would have none of this hypocrisy, because “their conduct was not in step with the truth of the gospel” and was sending confusing and damaging signals to the Antioch Christians (Galatians 2:14). So, he rebuked Peter in front of everyone.

In other words, he insisted on his own way. Paul believed love — love for Gentile and Jewish believers, love for Peter and Barnabas, love for the local Galatian church as well as the universal Christian church, and love for Christ and his gospel — required that he insist that Peter, who “though a Jew, live[d] like a Gentile and not like a Jew, [not] force the Gentiles to live like Jews” (Galatians 2:14).

When the glory of God and the truth of the gospel and the joy of believers are at stake, there are times when love must insist on a particular way.

What Love Must Not Insist On

To avoid readers’ confusion, most other English translations, as well as paraphrases, seek to convey Paul’s meaning with phrases like love “does not seek its own” (NKJV) (leaving the object implicit), “is not self-seeking” (NIV), “is not selfish” (NCV), or “does not pursue selfish advantage” (Phillips). This is what Paul was getting at: love does not selfishly insist on its own way. And we see this self-denying expression of love recur in numerous ways throughout his letters:

Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor. (1 Corinthians 10:24)

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. (Philippians 2:3)

If food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble. (1 Corinthians 8:13)

We have not made use of this right [to request or require material/financial support from you], but we endure anything rather than put an obstacle in the way of the gospel of Christ. (1 Corinthians 9:12)

Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many, that they may be saved. (1 Corinthians 10:32–33)

Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” (Romans 12:19)

Paul believed love — love for one’s neighbor, whether Jew or Greek; love for one’s brother or sister in the faith, whether Jew or Greek; love for the church of God, both local and universal; and above all, love for the triune God and the gospel of Christ — demanded that he not insist on his own personally preferred ways, or even on his legitimate freedoms as a Christian and an apostle.

When the glory of God and the truth of the gospel and the joy of believers are at stake, there are times when love must not insist on its own way.

More Excellent Way

At times, love must insist on its own way; at other times, love must not insist on its own way. How do we know if our insisting or not insisting is being motivated by the incomparably beautiful love of 1 Corinthians 13? The short answer would be this: through knowing our Bible well and humbly seeking honest input from those who know us well. If we’re listening, the Holy Spirit will use both to expose our selfishness quite quickly.

But there is another, more subjective test to apply: look for the element of self-denial.

Note that both kinds of love from Paul’s life, when he insisted or refrained from insisting on his own way, were costly to him. It was not a fleshly, enjoyable experience for him to publicly call Peter to account, or to be a catalyst for controversy in Antioch, or to risk the frustration and suspicion of influential men in Jerusalem. Nor was it a fleshly, enjoyable experience for him to endure anything rather than cause a brother to stumble or impede the gospel in any way. Paul wasn’t exaggerating when he said, “I die every day” (1 Corinthians 15:31). And yet, this life of daily dying gave him great joy (Philippians 3:8; 4:4).

While not necessarily an infallible test (1 Corinthians 13:1–3), we are likely on the right track if our insisting or not insisting requires us in some way to lay down our preferences, comforts, conveniences, reputations, freedoms, rights, and perhaps our very lives for the sake of someone else’s good. For this joy-producing self-denial (Acts 20:35), which is the common element in all the wonderful descriptions of what love is and isn’t in 1 Corinthians 13:4–7, is the “more excellent way.”

Lord, Heal Our Dry Eyes: Why We Defy Evil with Tears

A number of years ago, as I was memorizing my way through the book of Philippians (don’t be overly impressed, you can do it too), I would frequently feel conviction when I came to these verses:

Many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things. (Philippians 3:18–19)

The convicting part was this: “I . . . now tell you even with tears.” Paul’s tears over those who had become “enemies” of the gospel, and over the “end” they would suffer, were telling. They were telling something about Paul’s heart and, I believe, something about mine.

What Tears Tell

Tears can be telling (I’m speaking here of real tears, not fake ones). Tears can tell you what you love, what you regret, what you desire, what you miss. Tears tell you what you consider glorious or hideous. And, of course, tears tell you what breaks your heart.

A lack of (real) tears is also telling. Dry eyes can indicate a deficit of love, or regret, or desire. They can indicate a lack of appreciation for what is glorious and a lack of abhorrence for what is hideous. And they can indicate a heart unwilling to break in the face of heartbreaking realities.

Then again, the stories tears tell are rarely simple, because we are not simple. Tears can be affected by our bodily constitutions — we can be more or less prone to tears based on our internal “wiring.” Tears can be affected by our social experiences — we learn to shed or repress tears by what our families and formative cultures encourage or discourage. Tears can be affected by our traumatic experiences — ways we learn to cope with overwhelming pain, grief, or horror can cause sorrow and anguish to manifest in complex and even distorted ways. So, the presence or absence of tears might not be telling the whole or an accurate story, and therefore we must take care not to assess ourselves or others based on simplistic assumptions.

But still, it’s worth considering our tears, or lack thereof. Because they do tell us something important about what we consider important. As they did for Paul.

Anger Mingled with Grief

What did Paul’s tears tell us? That people who had made themselves enemies of the gospel broke his heart.

The Greek word for “tears” is klaiō, which probably conveyed more to readers in the first century than “tears” does to us today. Some translations, like the King James and New American Standard versions, choose “weeping,” which gets closer. The grief Paul was experiencing was not mild but intense, not fleeting but likely prolonged.

This is a revealing, and convicting, glimpse into the heart of the great apostle. He wept over these “many” who had become enemies of all Paul stood for. Though it’s not completely clear, it seems likely that these were the people he referred to earlier in the chapter:

Look out for the dogs, look out for the evildoers, look out for those who mutilate the flesh. For we are the circumcision, who worship by the Spirit of God and glory in Christ Jesus and put no confidence in the flesh. (Philippians 3:2–3)

These were Judaizers, “false brothers” (2 Corinthians 11:26) who seemed to trail Paul wherever he went, informing the new Gentile Christians that Paul had taught them falsely. They claimed faith in the saving work of Jesus wouldn’t save people unless they fully became Jews through circumcision and Mosaic law-keeping. These men added misery to Paul’s ministry by confusing and leading astray many in the churches (Paul addresses this most clearly in his letter to the Galatians). We can hear Paul’s manifest frustration in Philippians 3:2, when he refers to them as “dogs” and “evildoers.”

But Paul was not merely angry, as verse 18 reveals. He was deeply grieved. Like the “great sorrow and unceasing anguish” he expressed in Romans 9:2 over his Jewish kinsmen who had wholly rejected their Messiah, Paul wept over these self-professed Christians who had rejected the very core of the gospel and made themselves “enemies of the cross of Christ” (Philippians 3:18). He shed real tears over the “destruction” they would face if they failed to repent (Philippians 3:19).

Brokenhearted Boldness

Paul exhibited a rare combination of boldness in his defense of the gospel and brokenheartedness over those who opposed him. This mixture — brokenhearted boldness — only occurs when a heart is full of love and humility.

Paul loved Christ supremely. We know this because between Philippians 3:2 and 3:18 is verse 8:

Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ. (Philippians 3:8)

And Paul loved Christ’s saints dearly, as we see in how he opened his letter to the Philippians:

It is right for me to feel this way about you all, because I hold you in my heart, for you are all partakers with me of grace, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel. For God is my witness, how I yearn for you all with the affection of Christ Jesus. (Philippians 1:7–8)

And we see both Paul’s love for unbelievers, as well as his humility in how he pursued them, in what he wrote to the Corinthian church:

Though I am free from all, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win more of them. To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. . . . To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (not being outside the law of God but under the law of Christ) that I might win those outside the law. To the weak I became weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some. (1 Corinthians 9:19–22)

In putting Jesus, the saints, and the lost before his personal rights, his freedom, even his life (Philippians 1:21), Paul demonstrated great love and humility. And he demonstrated something else: that loving Christ supremely, considering the saints as more important than himself (Philippians 2:3), and seeking to share the blessings of the gospel with unbelievers (1 Corinthians 9:23) were themselves a pursuit of Paul’s greatest joy.

A heart with this much love and humility would break when people rejected what gave Paul such joy — even when they were actively opposing him and damaging his work.

Where Are Our Tears?

This is what I have found so convicting about Philippians 3:18. Even after taking into consideration my bodily constitution, social experiences, and traumatic experiences, I realized that I do not weep as Paul did over those who reject Jesus. I am not as brokenhearted over those who oppose me. My tears and my lack of tears are telling: I tend not to love others like Paul loved, and tend not to be as humble as he was.

A soft heart did not weaken Paul’s spine. He spoke with great boldness when it was needed. But when his boldness was directed toward others who had hard, unbelieving hearts, he spoke with brokenhearted boldness. He told them with tears. I want such love and humility.

What Is a Parachurch Ministry? Our Commitment to Love the Local Church

Parachurch ministries, at least as we in the West typically understand them, are relative newcomers in the history of the Christian church. The fact that we label them “parachurch” ministries means that they operate beside — and therefore outside — individual or affiliated church structures.

This might not strike many of us today as odd, because we’re so used to parachurch ministries. But given that the New Testament says a great deal about the church, and virtually nothing about parachurches, we should ask if parachurch ministries are legitimate — and if so, why?

I will not attempt a comprehensive answer, but I will suggest a way to view the role of parachurch ministries in serving the church Jesus came to purchase and build.

My Church

When Peter made the good confession regarding the spectacular truth of who Jesus really is, Jesus said to Peter,

Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. (Matthew 16:16–18)

What Jesus meant regarding Peter himself has been the topic of much debate across the centuries. But Peter’s role, honored as it was (and still is), was not the big reveal in this moment. The big reveal was what Jesus called “my church.”

The Greek behind our English word “church” is ekklēsia. For first century Greek speakers, this was not a new or unique term. They used it frequently, in fact, in the same ways we use the words assembly or gathering or community or congregation. For example, the city clerk of Ephesus used ekklēsia when describing both the orderly assembly of the Ephesian courts (Acts 19:39) and the riotous assembly of the anti-Christian protesters shouting in the amphitheater (Acts 19:41).

What gave unprecedented significance to the assembly, gathering, congregation, community that Jesus spoke of here was the singular possessive pronoun my — “my church.” This was going to be Jesus’s assembly: his gathering, his congregation, his community. And unlike any other human ekklēsia in the history of the world, Jesus’s ekklēsia would overcome the great judgment of eternal death (the gates of Hades) — for it belonged to Jesus and would be united to Jesus, who said, “Because I live, you also will live” (John 14:19). If death could not hold Jesus (Acts 2:24), neither would it hold his people, his assembly, his church.

Jesus had come to build his church. And to this church, Peter himself writes,

You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light (1 Peter 2:9).

Of primary importance in Jesus’s statement to Peter, and indeed the primary focus of the New Testament record, is that Jesus came to redeem, establish, build, and eventually return to collect in full his death-defeating ekklēsia.

What About ‘Parachurch’ Ministries?

In the New Testament, local churches were identifiable assemblies of “saints” (Romans 1:7), bound together by a shared belief in the gospel and its advance (1 Corinthians 15:1–11) and viewing themselves as part of “the household of God” (1 Timothy 3:15), overseen by elders (spiritually mature men of proven character who were “able to teach,” 1 Timothy 3:1–7; Titus 1:5–9), and served by deacons (spiritually mature men and women of proven character who were faithful servants, 1 Timothy 3:8–13).

Something we don’t see in the New Testament, however, are what we call parachurch ministries, Christian organizational structures that are not churches and are not necessarily under the direct oversight of a local church or an association or family of churches (what we in the West frequently call a denomination). The closest thing might be the itinerant missionary bands, like Paul’s, which were not themselves churches. They do appear, however, to be commissioned by churches (Acts 13:1–3), submitted to the apostolic authority that governed churches (Acts 15), and focused on the work of planting new churches — they were integrally connected to the emerging ecclesiastical structures.

Twenty centuries later, the Christian world of our day is filled with a huge spectrum of ministries that aren’t churches and often function independent of any particular church or denomination: missions agencies, campus evangelism and discipleship ministries, relief and development organizations, institutions of higher learning, teaching and resource ministries (like Desiring God), and countless other varieties.

So, if modern parachurch ministries aren’t in Scripture, are they legitimate? The answer is that it depends. It depends on the degree to which a parachurch ministry is consciously and carefully seeking to serve Christ’s church by unburdening local churches so that they can focus on and fulfill their primary callings — perhaps in a somewhat analogous sense to what we see in Acts 6.

Servants of the Church

In Acts 6, the rapid growth and diversity of members in that first church in Jerusalem led to a significant problem: the Greek-speaking widows were being overlooked “in the daily distribution” of provisions (Acts 6:1). The twelve apostles were petitioned to intervene. But recognizing that this need, important as it was, would distract them from their primary calling (Acts 6:4), they told the people to choose seven capable, reputable men who could serve everyone by finding a solution. These seven were the first deacons.

The word “deacon” is from the Greek word diakonos, another very common word, meaning servant. Like those original seven men in Acts 6, formal “deacons” served within the structure of first-century churches in a variety of practical ways that freed pastor-elders to focus on teaching and governing the church.

I don’t have space here to adequately account for the explosion of parachurch ministries over the past two hundred years. Among numerous other factors, significant contributors were the multiplication of denominations that emerged in the wake of the Protestant Reformation, the surge of socioeconomic and cultural forces and values shaped by the emergence of Western democracies, the development of tax codes to encourage faith-based good works, and scientific and technological advances that produced unprecedented levels of specialization in almost every area of life.

But given all these factors (and more), I believe that, in the providence of God, parachurch ministries emerged to do something similar for a plurality of local churches (across denominations and even around the world) to what deacons did (and do) within a local church: they serve churches in a variety of practical ways that allow those churches to focus on and fulfill their primary responsibilities.

Don’t misunderstand: I’m not saying that Acts 6 is a call for the parachurch, but I do see here a possible analog of it. Parachurch ministries should not replace the function of local churches any more than deacons should replace the function of elders. Parachurch ministries should strive to support, partner with, and resource Christians and local churches so that they can focus on and fulfill what God expects of the church.

For the Love of the Church

I say that parachurch ministry can be understood as analogous to the deaconate, but I realize reality is never as neat as the categories we create. All of us can point to parachurch ministries that might function more like a local church than is ideal, some out of necessity and some in inappropriate ways. And even when a parachurch ministry is consciously and carefully seeking to serve Christ’s church, some Christians might sadly choose to use the ministry as a church substitute.

But we at Desiring God — a parachurch ministry — love the church, the bride and body of Jesus Christ. Our aim is to pursue ministry strategies that encourage, equip, support, and strengthen local churches. And except in the very rare cases where there simply is no other option, we do not support anyone’s attempt to replace personal involvement in the life of faithful local churches with our online content or communication.

We believe that Jesus came to earth to win for himself a bride (Revelation 21:9), redeem for himself a body (Ephesians 5:23), ransom for himself a holy nation (Revelation 5:9; 1 Peter 2:9), raise for himself a holy temple (Ephesians 2:20–21), and build for himself a church (Matthew 16:18). We believe Jesus loves his universal church (Ephesians 5:25), each faithful local church (Revelation 3:22), and each individual member of his true church (1 Corinthians 12:27). And we believe he determined that “through the church the manifold wisdom of God might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 3:10).

Jesus will build that church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against her. Through the church, God is unveiling his manifold wisdom to cosmic powers. The church is what Jesus died to purchase, and she is his great love. Therefore, everything that parachurch ministries like ours do must be done for the love of Jesus’s church, local and universal.

Let Your Heart Take Courage

If we consider all the things we could be afraid of, we can quickly see why don’t be afraid, in one form or another, is one of the most repeated commands in Scripture. Put positively, God calls us to “be strong and of good courage” (Daniel 10:19).

But how can we become courageous?

Fear is often our natural response. We don’t have to think of all our reasons to be afraid; fear comes unbidden. But being strong and courageous doesn’t come naturally. Often, we have to think through different reasons why we ought to overcome our fears with courage. God calls us to take courage because it doesn’t just come naturally; we have to fight for it. Confronted with fears on every side and even from within, courage must be seized.

Lineage of Godly Courage

Scripture is full of men and women of remarkable courage.

Abraham showed courage in obeying God’s directive to leave Haran for a land he would show him (Genesis 12:1). He left all that he knew, “and he went out, not knowing where he was going” (Hebrews 11:8). Later, he shows more strength on the side of Mount Moriah as he obediently prepares to sacrifice his only son, the son of God’s promise (Genesis 22; Hebrews 11:17–19).

Jacob showed courage while facing a brother who had vowed to kill him (Genesis 32–33). Joseph displayed courage while enduring prison for a false charge (Genesis 39–40), then facing Pharaoh who wanted him to interpret his dreams (Genesis 41).

Then there’s Moses who repeatedly faced a hostile Pharaoh (Exodus 5–12) and later led the newly-liberated Hebrews through the Red Sea “as on dry land” (Hebrews 11:29). There’s Joshua leading one military campaign after another against entrenched foes. There’s Rahab risking everything on Yahweh being the true God (Hebrews 11:31).

There’s Gideon facing an overwhelming Midianite army (Judges 7). There’s David facing an overwhelming Goliath (1 Samuel 17). There’s Joab and Abishai facing overwhelming Syrian and Ammonite armies (2 Samuel 10:11–12). There’s Esther facing a royal husband with the power and proven precedent of punishing a queen unwilling to follow protocol (Esther 4:13–5:2). There’s Daniel facing a den of lions (Daniel 6).

Then there’s Jesus, who faced a terrible force far greater than all of the dangers above combined, indeed greater than all of the combined mortal dangers ever faced by every person who has ever lived: the wrath of God against the sin of mankind (Romans 1:18). For him to live with the knowledge of this approaching event (John 12:27), to deliberately walk into it (Luke 9:51), and to willingly and faithfully endure its horrors (Hebrews 12:2), even when he had the power to stop it at any moment (Matthew 26:53), required unfathomable courage.

Each of these biblical saints had to take the courage their actions required. They took the action they believed was right, in spite of the fear they experienced at the thought of taking it.

What Fuels Courage?

What fueled their courage? Faith. Courage is an act of faith, because the courageous person acts on what he believes to be right despite the threat of real or apparent danger.

One doesn’t have to believe in the triune God to take courageous action. History is full of stories of great acts of courage by people of other faiths or no religious faith. Their action was still fueled by faith of some sort because they believed it would result in a greater good, or at least, for conscience and reputation’s sake, represent a higher moral good than capitulating to the fearful alternative.

However, from God’s perspective, “whatever does not proceed from faith [in him, the actual God who exists] is sin” (Romans 14:23). That’s the difference between the faith that fueled the biblical saints’ courageous acts and the faith that fuels nonbelievers’ courageous acts: in whom they placed their faith. Faith that is not ultimately rooted in ultimate reality is not ultimately good faith. It’s ultimately false faith that unconsciously ignores or consciously rejects the God who is (Exodus 3:14). Therefore, courage that is not fueled by faith in what’s ultimately real is not ultimately good courage.

Good Courage

What does “good courage” look like? Paul gives a clear illustration:

So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. (2 Corinthians 5:6–7)

What does Paul say fuels “good courage”? God’s promise of eternal life and the final resurrection to those who believe in Jesus (2 Corinthians 4:16–5:5). And seeing this by faith (not physical sight) gives us courage to face the fear-inducing “wasting away” of our mortal bodies and the various forms of “affliction” we experience in this fallen world (2 Corinthians 4:16–17).

In other words, good courage is fueled by faith in ultimate reality: what God promises his people. We are to be encouraged by God’s promises to forgive all our sins (1 John 1:9), to never forsake us (Hebrews 13:5), to cause light to dawn in our darkness (Psalm 112:4), to provide for all we really need (Philippians 4:19), to provide an escape in every temptation (1 Corinthians 10:13), to work all things, even the worst things, for our ultimate good (Romans 8:28), to cause us to ultimately overcome our worst enemies (Romans 16:20), to make us live, though we die (John 11:25), to someday wipe away every tear (Revelation 21:4), and to give us fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore in his presence — because of his presence (Psalm 16:11). And many, many more such promises.

Let Your Heart Take Courage

Since courage is fueled by faith, and faith is believing God’s promises — or as John Piper more precisely puts it, believing all that God promises to be for us in Jesus (2 Corinthians 1:20) — biblical courage, “good courage,” results directly from taking hold of these promises. We must take courage.

This is exactly what David was doing when, faced with dangerous opposition, wrote,

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord

in the land of the living!

Wait for the Lord;

be strong, and let your heart take courage;

wait for the Lord! (Psalm 27:13–14)

David poured out his longings for God (Psalm 27:4), pled for God’s help (Psalm 27:7–12), and encouraged his soul by remembering how God had kept his promises and would continue to keep his promises to him (Psalm 27:1–3, 5–6). Based on what he believed (Psalm 27:13), he exhorted himself to “let [his] heart take courage” (Psalm 27:14). By faith, he resisted the temptation to overestimate what threatened him and underestimate God’s power or willingness to keep his promises. Letting his heart take courage meant letting himself believe God’s promises.

Courage is always fueled by faith. Good courage is fueled by faith in the ultimate good of the real God and all he promises to be for us in Jesus. Therefore, good courage must be taken — we must take hold of real promises given by the real God so that having done all, we can stand firm in the evil day (Ephesians 6:13). Come what may, we know that we “shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the [eternal] land of the living” (Psalm 27:13).

Since all the promises of God are yes to us in Jesus (2 Corinthians 1:20), we must not be cowards but let our hearts take courage by believing that what God has already promised is yes to us.