Michael Kelley's Blog, page 13

“In Christ Alone, My Hope is Found”: Why Jesus is the Only One Worthy of Our Hope

“In Christ alone, my hope is found…” So begins the hymn In Christ Alone which is by far one of the most sung songs of the faith in the last two decades. The hymn walks the singer through the story of the gospel and serves as a reminder that, because of His death and resurrection, the believer can have a sure and certain hope in Christ. And we should hope in Christ – as the song says, Christ is, ultimately, our only hope.

And yet we continue to place our hope elsewhere. Sometimes, for example, we tend to place our hope in leaders. We come upon an election cycle and we tell ourselves that if so and so were elected, then things would be different. We would see policy change, betterment of society, and an affirmation of moral values. While some of those things may be true, ultimately, no political leader is worthy of our hope.

Or we might place our hope in a change of circumstances. We tell ourselves that if we just made a little more money, or just had a little more freedom, or just didn’t have to report to our current boss, then things would be so much better in life. And while there might be an element of truth in that, ultimately, we cannot place our hope in a chance of circumstance either.

Ultimately Jesus is the only thing in the universe that can sustain our hope. The reason why is because He’s the only One strong enough to hold it. A little illustration might help:

When I was in high school, my physics class was assigned a project that I’m sure was not unique to our school. We were given limited material materials, mainly Popsicle sticks and wood glue, and instructed to build a bridge with specific parameters. On the appointed day, all of us brought our bridges to class and they were placed over a gap between two desks. Then small weights were systematically hung to the bottom of the bridges to text and see how much weight they could bear. Of course, in that environment, the greatest thrill wasn’t just winning the most sturdy bridge, but also watching as structure after structure was eventually obliterated under the increasing weight.

The weights weren’t added all at once; they were added slowly. One at a time. And they were added knowing that eventually every bridge would reach its capacity and crumble. No one thought that we could do something like stand on top of the bridge; though we didn’t know how much, we knew they would be destroyed under far less weight than that of a person. These structures weren’t made to support that kind of mass.

When we place our hope on anything in this world – our circumstances, our leaders, our bank accounts, our relationships – it’s like hanging weights on the bottom of them. And eventually, they will crack under the pressure. Every. Single. Time. Like bridges in the high school physics class, they all eventually sag and break under the pressure. These things were simply not designed to bear the weight of our hope.

But Jesus? Jesus is strong enough to bear it. He is the One who never disappoints. Indeed, when we place our hope in Christ and in Him alone we will not be disappointed:

Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint (Isaiah 40:30-31).

Stewardship is Not About Giftedness; It’s About Faithfulness

There are lots of words you could use to describe Christians. You might, for example, call Christian believers. Or followers. Or disciples. Or the elect. Or children. Or saints. The list could go on, and with each word, we see an element of our identity as Christians emphasized. But here is one more word that describes Christians we don’t think of enough:

Stewards.

Christians are stewards. And that mark of our identity is based on a fundamental understanding that the earth belongs to the Lord, and everything in it. He, as the Creator and Sustainer of all things, is the ultimate owner. As such, everything we seem to possess is not really ours, but God’s, and it is our responsibility is to steward those things.

We are caretakers. Managers. Regents. Servants. We are responsible for what has been entrusted to us. And while we tend to think of stewardship in terms of financial resources, it goes well beyond that.

If it’s true that everything belongs to the Lord, then that “everything” includes… well, everything. So, yes, we are stewards of money, but we are also stewards of time. Of talent. Of our physical bodies. Of our experiences. Stewardship is a holistic view that sees our whole selves and everything associated with us as an opportunity to honor the Lord who has entrusted, temporarily, these things to us.

One of the places Jesus opens our eyes to this principle is in Matthew 25. Jesus, in describing the dynamics of the kingdom of God, said it like this:

“For it is just like a man about to go on a journey. He called his own servants and entrusted his possessions to them. To one he gave five talents, to another two talents, and to another one talent, depending on each one’s ability. Then he went on a journey. Immediately the man who had received five talents went, put them to work, and earned five more. In the same way the man with two earned two more. But the man who had received one talent went off, dug a hole in the ground, and hid his master’s money” (Matt. 25:14-18).

Like the servants, we have been entrusted with all kinds of things. And like the servants, the quantity of what has been given to us is variable. Now that’s pretty obvious when we look around us. We see people of varying abilities and giftings, and certainly people of varying money.

But the temptation, when we see that someone has more than we do, be it more influence or money or talent or authority, is to give ourselves a break. We tell ourselves that our contribution – our investment – is not that important because, after all, we don’t have much to offer.

But stewardship is not about giftedness; it’s about faithfulness.

God does not haphazardly hand out these resources. And while it’s true that we cannot begin to try and understand how and why God makes His choices about who has what and how much, we can know that He makes those choices with great intentionality and wisdom. It is an affront to the character of God, then, to cut ourselves that kind of slack. It is a denial of God’s design to think that somehow our responsibility to steward ebbs and flows based on the amount of resources we have to steward at a given time.

Whether we have been given much or whether we have been given little, the call is the same. And the call is to faithfulness.

How, then, do we show that we believe in God’s sovereignty? How do we show that we trust His wisdom and character? We show it through our faithfulness, whether we have been given much or little.

2 Reasons to Remember that You Are “Called”

Why are you a Christian?

You might answer that question in any number of ways. You might, if you have an intellectual bent to you, say that you are a Christian because you have examined the evidence for Christianity and found it to be so intellectually compelling that you had no choice but to believe. Or you might say you are a Christian because someone you respected shared the gospel with you, and you observed in that person’s life the kind of joy and hope you were lacking, and so you believed. Or you might say you are a Christian because your family is all Christians and you were raised in the admonition of the Lord from the day you were born. All of those things may be true, and all of them are appropriate answers to the question, even if they vary from one another. But another answer you could give to that question, regardless of how the details worked themselves out, is this:

You are a Christian because God called you. The Bible tells us this again and again:

Romans 1:6: you who are also called by Jesus Christ.1 Corinthians 1:9: God is faithful; you were called by him into fellowship with his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.Galatians 1:6: I am amazed that you are so quickly turning away from him who called you by the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel

The list of references goes on and on. God called you out of darkness into light. He called you from death to life. He called you from blindness to sight. If you are a Christian, it’s not ultimately because you figured out Christianity, or because you found it to be the best of many options, or even because you found Jesus to be a compelling historical figure.

You are a Christian because God called you.

But why does it matter? you might say. We are here now; we believe in the gospel; we are even growing in our faith. So why does it matter that God has called us?

Let me propose just two reasons:

Reason number one is because it reminds us of the depth of our need.

To say that God has called us is to implicitly say that we would not have come had He not called us, and to say that reminds us that apart from God we are dead in our transgressions and sin. In fact, we are “so dead” that we didn’t even recognize how dead we were. We were happily living our lives, with our own priorities, moving toward our own ends. And without the call of God, we would have continued to be spiritual lemmings, very happily moving toward the edge of a cliff, completely oblivious to the fate that awaited us. But God called. He intervened. And when we remember that, it puts us in a posture of gratitude and dependence.

The second reason why we need to remember the call of God is because it reminds us of the expectations associated with that call.

In many of the passages I referenced above, the call of God is not only that we would be saved from destruction; it’s that we would be holy. Maybe the most clear comes in 1 Thessalonians 4:7:

For God has not called us to impurity but to live in holiness.

This is what God has called us to – it’s not a life of ease and moral mediocrity, but of being set apart and pure. Christianity is about grace, but in that grace is a moral obligation and responsibility. God has called us to a life that is very different from the world around us – that we should live such good lives; such holy lives; such hopeful and joyful lives; such lives that display a different set of values and priorities – that we would be like salt and light in a tasteless and darkened world.

We should remember our call in other words because remembering our call makes us remember both what we were called from, and what we are still called to.

2 Ways to Understand the Word “In” During Seasons of Difficulty

It’s amazing how you understand one little word can change your perspective, isn’t it? Take, for example, a word like “yes.”

Just three letters, but such power:

Will you marry me? Yes. Is the baby healthy? Yes. Does it come with bacon? Yes. 

Of course, that power works both ways doesn’t it? 

Are you sure it’s over? Yes. Is it terminal? Yes. Did you mean what you said? Yes. 

Same word, but depending on the context and your understanding of the word, it changes everything. Such is the case with another word, this one with only two letters. It’s the word “in.” It’s a kind of throwaway word – one that just appears in our regular course of speech. It’s a word we use, read, and implicitly understand all the time. And it’s a word that appears in the first few verses of Romans 5:

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us (Rom. 5:3-5).

This is a passage that brings perspective – perspective about suffering. And, according to Paul, there is a redemptive quality to suffering. It has a refining effect – suffering, though painful, does something in us. God uses difficulties and pain to expose our sin, weakness, self-reliance, and a host of other things, and in so doing, makes us more like Jesus. The progression runs from suffering to endurance to character to hope. 

And that brings us to the little word that appears at the front end of this passage – “in”. Because of this process, we can rejoice “in” our sufferings. But what does it mean to rejoice “in” our sufferings? There are a couple of ways we can take that word. 

We could, for example, take the word “in” to mean that our sufferings are the instigators of our rejoicing. In that case, we could almost substitute the words “because of” for in, so that “we rejoice because of our sufferings.” 

Then again, we could understand the word “in” to have a sense of location or position. It’s not that our sufferings are prompting us to rejoice; instead, we find ourselves “in” a season of suffering, but despite the pain we are experiencing, we can still rejoice because we know there is something redemptive happening even in the midst of the difficulty. 

So which is it? Do we rejoice because we are suffering, or do we rejoice even though we are suffering? And perhaps the answer to the question is “yes.”

The second usage of the word “in” is a little easier in this regard. When we find ourselves in the middle of circumstances we didn’t ask for, there is still an opportunity to rejoice. We can rejoice because we know that God is still in control, and He is still working in us and through us. We can rejoice because we know that God can – and does – bring good out of bad. So we can rejoice despite our circumstances.

The first usage is harder though. Anyone who has suffered knows how counterintuitive it is to rejoice at what’s happening to you. Who in their right mind would glibly thank the Lord for the disease? Or the job loss? Or the unfair treatment? And even in the first usage of the word “in”, that’s not what it means. 

The kind of rejoicing in suffering is not some kind of unrealistic denial of reality. It’s not happiness; and it’s not emotional. Instead, it is a deep set, soul level kind of joy. Unshakable joy. Joy in who God is born from the confidence of His love and wisdom. And joy because we believe in who He is even now. Even in the midst of pain.

The Christian, then, can rejoice “in” our sufferings. We can rejoice even though we are in them, and we can rejoice because of them.

Why “Who is My Neighbor?” is the Wrong Question to Ask

“Minimum viable product” is a term in the technology development world. The theory behind it is this: as quickly and as inexpensively as possible, roll out a form of a technological product or service that’s not finished, but nevertheless will be received by potential customers. The idea is that with technology, a product is in constant development; the website or platform or service you roll out in year one will not be the same in year two, three, and so on. The minimum viable product, then, is important because it provides the base layer to build on. To further develop out. Start with as little as you possibly can because it gives you room to grow and change as you learn from customers about what they really want.

It’s a great concept for technological rollout. It helps you not be too committed to one way; it keeps you from locking in all your options and gives you the flexibility to change as time goes by. And that makes sense.

But the minimum viable product does not make sense in other realms of life. Take marriage, for example. Imagine taking the same philosophy to the altar with you, and sort-of, kind-of promising to be a little committed at first, but then we’ll see what happens. No, I don’t think a “minimum viable product” marriage has a good chance of making it.

And so it is with following Jesus. Jesus will not allow us to settle for a minimum viable product when it comes to following Him, though we might often wish it to be so. That was certainly the case for the expert in the law who questioned Jesus in Luke 10:

Then an expert in the law stood up to test him, saying, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“What is written in the law?” he asked him. “How do you read it?”

He answered, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind,” and “your neighbor as yourself.”

You’ve answered correctly,” he told him. “Do this and you will live.”

So far so good, right? I mean, if we even put aside the fact that this was not an honest question, but instead one born of pride, Jesus still entertained the question. And to his credit, the man got the answer right. Here’s the summary of the entire law, the “CliffNotes” version of what it means to live rightly before God:

Love God. Love your neighbor. That’s it.

But the man wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to know certainly that he had achieved the minimum viable product. That is, he wanted to know how low the bar went when it comes to loving one’s neighbor. What, in other words, was the minimum he had to do in order to meet this requirement? And so the man continued with another question:

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

Do you see the spirit behind the question? The man wanted to make sure he wasn’t doing one thing more than what was required of him; he wanted to make sure he was meeting the minimum; that the product of his life was certainly not the best, but that it passed muster.

But Jesus will not allow us to settle for the minimum. And in response, Jesus gave His answer in the form of a story we’ve come to know as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. Here was a man not focused on the minimum. Here was a man not fixated on the lowest he could give and still be found acceptable. Here was a man instead who wasn’t focused on himself at all, but instead on the need before him, and in light of that focus was willing to go far past the minimum viable product of helping a stranger on the side of the road.

I wonder as I look at my own life how often I read the Bible and subconsciously think, “What must I do in response to this to get by?” Or, to put it in the words of this expert in the law, “What’s the least I can do in order to feel that I’ve justified myself?”

“Who is my neighbor?” is the wrong question to ask. Indeed, for the Christian, the right question to ask is more like, “Who is NOT my neighbor?” And the answer, of course, is no one. That’s the point. But it’s also the place we can get to only when we have the freedom from knowing we no longer have to justify ourselves. When we stop seeking to justify ourselves because Jesus has already done it, we can move past the minimum and into a lifestyle of generous and self-forgetful service.

So if I, or you for that matter, find ourselves clutching onto our time, resources, or money, wondering what the minimum is we have to give of these things, perhaps the root of it all is that same old attempt at self-justification. Be free of it today, Christian, for Jesus has justified you.

And now go and do likewise (Luke 10:37).

3 Things Proverbs Teaches Us About the Nature of Wisdom

What is wisdom?

It’s a word most of us are familiar with, and yet might have trouble defining. It’s also a word we encounter more than a few places in Scripture, but probably most notably in the Book of Proverbs. That’s kind of what the whole book is about:

The proverbs of Solomon son of David, king of Israel:

for gaining wisdom and instruction;
    for understanding words of insight… (Prov. 1:1-2).

But what it is? I’ve always found J.I. Packer to be helpful in this respect, not only in understanding what wisdom is, but what wisdom is not:

According to Packer, wisdom is not “a deepened insight into the providential meaning and purpose of events going on around us, an ability to see why God has done what he has done in a particular case, and what he is going to do next.”

Rather, wisdom is like driving. “What matters in driving is the speed and appropriateness of your reactions to things and the soundness of your judgment as to what scope a situation gives you… you simply try to see and do the right thing in the actual situation that presents itself. The effect of divine wisdom is to enable you and me to do just that in the actual situations of everyday life.”

Wisdom is about reality. It’s about real-life decision-making in real-life situations. And that is, indeed, a powerful thing. In addition to that, though, the first chapter of Proverbs gives us a few other characteristics of wisdom that are important for us to know:

1. Wisdom is for everyone.

Proverbs 1 continues to verse 3:

for receiving instruction in prudent behavior,
    doing what is right and just and fair;
for giving prudence to those who are simple,
    knowledge and discretion to the young—

Who can be wise? It’s not a matter of previous education or background; it’s not a matter of social standing or position; it’s not even a matter of age. Wisdom is for everyone, and that is very encouraging. It’s also probably affirming of what we have experience in our own lives, namely, that often those who are the wisest are those who are lowly in the eyes of the world. Those people who have chosen to humbly learn from the Lord, and from life, are the ones who are more wise than those with the advanced degrees.

2. Wisdom is learned.

Wisdom is not innate; no one is naturally wise. But it’s wonderful to think that wisdom can, and does, actually rub off on you. By the sheer virtue of being around people of wisdom we will grow in our own wisdom. In this proverb, we see wisdom being acquired and passed on from one to another and from father to son (v. 5, 8).

The implication for us, then is at least two-fold. First of all, we must make sure to involve ourselves with people who possess wisdom. But this is where we will likely be stretched, because people of wisdom might not be the people that are the easiest or most convenient to hang out with. We must choose to build relationships outside of our own demographic and age, with people who have different tastes and preferences than we do, but who are nonetheless wise. Secondly, we must choose a posture of humility toward those people. We must ask questions and listen – really listen – to the answers that are given.

3. Wisdom is a result.

As you read this proverb, you see that wisdom is not the first step; rather, it comes from something else:

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge,
    but fools despise wisdom and instruction (Prov. 1:7).

If we want to really know anything, if we want to possess any amount of wisdom about how to live, then the foundation of it all is fear. It’s fear of the Lord. But fearing the Lord is not the same thing as being afraid; to “fear the Lord” is to live with a holy reverence and appreciation for the majesty, holiness, and power of God. It’s to take the Lord seriously in all respects, knowing He always keeps His word.

This is how we grow in wisdom – it starts with revering the Lord. Knowing Him, loving Him, taking Him seriously – and then growing in wisdom from there.

3 Questions to Ask Yourself After a Worship Service

“Good. Fine. Powerful. Uplifting.”

These are all one-word answers you might respond with to this question:

“How was worship this morning?”

I’ve used all these words at points during the last 40 or so years when I’ve been regularly attending Sunday morning worship services. And none of those answers are wrong necessarily. The great majority of those worship services have indeed been good. Or if not good, ten at least fine. More occasionally powerful. Almost always uplifting though. So those answers are, in a word, fine, but maybe not very helpful in terms of processing what just happened, and what just happened is worth processing.

That’s because you just met with the people of God, to lift up the praise of God, and listen to the Word of God, all empowered by the Spirit of God. It’s important, though it happens every single week. In an effort to process it more fully, then, let me suggest rather than asking yourself a single, generic question like, “How did that go?”, dig a little deeper. Here are three other questions you might consider asking as you head home after church on Sunday:

1. What was I explicitly taught at worship today?

One of the reasons we participate in weekly worship experiences is to learn. In some cases, we learn new things; in other cases, we are reminded of things we already knew. Both are valid; both are necessary. Though we might think about “learning” in terms of the sermon we listen to, every part of the worship service is a learning experience.

We learn, and are reminded, through the conversations we have. We learn and are reminded through the lyrics of the songs we sing. We learn and are reminded through the passing of the offering plate. But here’s the thing – unless we rehash what we have learn, unless we are able to re-articulate it to someone else, it’s not going to stick. Asking yourself this question helps solidify the work of the Holy Spirit during that pivotal hour or two.

2. What was I implicitly taught at worship today?

We learn things explicitly, but we also learn things like implicitly. Everything communicates. The fact that the pastor preaches from the middle of the platform communicates something about the Word of God. The fact that the songs are played in an easy to sing key communicates something about the worship of God. The fact that we greet each other warmly as we enter into the sanctuary communicates something about the community of God. Everything communicates, and we would do well to consider not just what we learned explicitly, but what we learned implicitly.

There is something to be cautious of here, though. The purpose of this question isn’t primarily to evaluate the church’s philosophy; it’s to evaluate our own participation and investment in the worship service, and to deepen our experience. Just be careful to not indulge the spirit of criticism that can come from this.

3. How did I contribute at worship today?

It’s helpful to remember that we call these things that we go to “worship services.” Emphasis in this case on “service.” Implicit, then, is the fact that we are meant to serve. So how did you contribute today? Or did you?

Serving can look different for different people. Perhaps you contributed in the worship service by singing, and singing proudly. This is a contribution because I need to hear you sing, and you need to hear me sing because when we sing, we remind each other that we are believing this whole thing together. It could be that you contributed because you went out of your way to meet someone that was sitting by themselves. These are seemingly small things, but they are examples of the fact that we don’t just “attend” worship services; we contribute to worship services.

This week, when you drive away from the same place at the same time that you always do, don’t just drive away. And don’t settle for “fine.” Take a few minutes and ask yourself some questions. Think a little deeper. And as you do, let the driving away be an opportunity for growth.

2 Fundamental Questions We All Ask In a Season of Pain

Everyone’s pain is different. It’s different not only because every circumstance is unique; it’s different because of the manner in which we experience it. Each of us brings our own, unique perspective to life, and that perspective is based on a variety of circumstances, experiences, and influences. So when we come up against a season of difficulty, it’s always going to be at least a little bit different than someone else’s experience.

Even so, it seems to me that there are still two very broad but very fundamental questions we all have when we suffer. And because suffering forces us to examine what we really believe about the world, about ourselves, and ultimately about God, both of these questions are fundamentally about Him. Here they are:

Question 1: Can God?

Question 2: Will God?

And we find the collision of both those questions in Mark 9. There, we find a hurting father who had brought his son to Jesus to be healed. He, along with his son, had suffered for a long time. There must have been years of struggle; years of financial and marital strain; years of social ostracism because of the dangerous outbursts from his boy. But the father still had one, last hope – he had heard Jesus could help people like him. People like his son. And so he brought the young man to Jesus.

And that’s where we find the collision of both those fundamental questions:

Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has he been like this?”

“From childhood,” he answered. “It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”

Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’? Everything is possible for the one who believes” (Mark 9:21–23).

You see the first question right away. This man had one too many disappointments. One too many false hopes. One too many other shoes drop. He wanted to believe, but he was at a point of such desperation that whatever faith he once had was hanging by a thread. So he asked that first fundamental question, and it took the form of one little word:

“If.”

If you can.If you are able.If you have the power.

The first question is one of ability. It’s one aimed at the power of God. Can God do anything to affect change in my situation? In the world at large? Or in this case, for the man’s son? And the answer to the question of ability is a resounding “yes.” 

Yes, God can. The God who spoke and all was created. The God who brings life from death. The God who holds all things together. Yes, He can. But that still leaves the second question. The second question is not one of ability; it’s one of volition. Yes, God has the ability to do what He wills… but will He?

This answer is not so clear cut, because God always does what He wills. But many times what He wills is not particularly what we desire – at least not in the moment. How do we deal with that second question?

One of the ways – and maybe the most important way – is that we look to the cross. It’s there that we see the will of God in action, and God’s will was that He would give the life of His Son for us. He is so committed to our eternal good that He was willing for Jesus to die in our stead. The cross gives us the assurance that God loves us, and that He is going to do what is right. All the time. Even if it doesn’t seem right to us in the moment.

Can God? Yes, He can.

Will God? Yes, He will – He will always do what is good and right and ultimately what is for our good.

The “How” of Believing

How do you “believe” something? It’s a bit of a tricky question when you think about it. I mean, we can more easily say what it means to believe, but the how of it? That’s tougher.

The Greeks thought believing exclusively involved the intellect. We have sort of adopted the same idea into our English understanding, that belief is about assenting to a certain set of facts you hold to be true. So the “how” of believing, from that mind-set, involved proof. How you believe is by looking at an empirical set of evidence and then placing your stamp of approval when you see that it demands by logic to be believed. But the Hebrew mind-set is different. In a Hebrew context even the word believe takes on a different nuance, one that gets at the suggestion that believing is hard work.

The Hebrew word for believe is used all over the Old Testament, but sometimes it takes a little digging to find it. The word appears in Genesis 15:6: “Abram believed the Lord, and He credited it to him as righteousness.” This is pretty standard and fits fairly well with our concept of what believing and faith are all about. God told Abraham something, and Abraham took Him at His word. We do the same thing, and we should. God is trustworthy, and our faith in Him is not misplaced. But another usage of the word believe in Hebrew is a little more curious.

Exodus 17 is the old Bible story where General Joshua was sent out to fight the Amalekites. Moses presided over the battle, watching it take place below him in the valley. The account goes on to say that the pivotal action in the battle wasn’t a matter of strategic military planning or weaponry. The battle ebbed and flowed according to the position of Moses’ hands, far above the valley. When Moses held his hands in the air, the Israelites would win the battle. When he lowered them, the tide turned in favor of the Amalekites:

When Moses’ hands grew heavy, they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat down on it. Then Aaron and Hur supported his hands, one on one side and one on the other so that his hands remained steady until the sun went down. (Exod. 17:12)

So where’s the “belief” in the Exodus passage? The word believe is the same as the words translated into English as “remained steady.” Now that’s interesting and pretty revelatory about the Hebrew concept of belief.

In that understanding, believing isn’t something you float in and out of. It’s not just about the intellect; it’s about perseverance. It’s about remaining steady. And it reinforces what we all sense from time to time, especially when our circumstances are difficult and painful…

If we want to believe, it’s not going to be easy. It’s going to take work.

How do you believe? You work at it. And sometimes— many times—it’s hard work to believe. As hard as holding your hands above your head for an entire day. It’s hard to believe God when the circumstances of life are as heavy as your arms at 3:00 p.m. Yet even in this we believe that God will help us believe. We are, in some sense, fighting the battle for belief far below in the valley. And in our story Someone on the hill has His hands in the air. But unlike Moses we are confident that the One on the hill, our Advocate, does not grow tired and weary. Instead, Jesus is continually at the throne of the Father interceding on our behalf, praying for us as we pray for strength in the battle. His hands never go down.

3 Ways We Might Misunderstand Romans 8:28

Romans 8 might be the best known and most comforting chapter in the whole Bible. I’ve come back to it again and again over the years with the effect of greater hope, greater joy, and greater resolve, and if you pause right now and read it, it’s easy to see why.

In the previous seven chapters, Paul reviewed the ins and outs of the gospel. He wrote about the universal and all-pervasive effects of sin for both the Jew and the Gentile, the religious and the non-religious, culminating with the conclusion that we are all without excuse and are guilty before a holy God (Rom. 1-3). He reminded us that we can only have peace with God and be right with Him through faith, just as Abraham was made righteous by faith so many centuries ago (Rom. 4).

But this faith is not some ambiguous and non-specific feeling; instead, our faith is in the truth of the gospel, the message that even though we were sinners, Christ died for us. Having believed this message, we are indeed at peace with God, right with Him (Rom. 5). In this new standing, we are to pursue holiness with our whole selves, though Paul freely acknowledged the battle against sin will be great (Rom. 7). But despite that battle, he began Romans 8 by reminding us that there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ. He continues in the chapter to write about our adoption as God’s sons and daughters and help us see that the indwelling Holy Spirit reminds us of this new identity. He wrote about the vast love of God in Christ which extends beyond any bounds, and goes so far as to say that God is not only with us, but for us, and we have evidence of this advocacy in the fact that God has already given His own Son for our ransom.

In the middle of all this joy, all this glory, is Romans 8:28. It’s a verse that is a bulwark of hope for those who are suffering, for it reminds us of God’s purpose, love, and intentionality:

“We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.”

We’ve read it. We’ve recited it to our souls on dark days. We’ve had it said to us in the midst of trouble. Though often repeated, we might easily misunderstand this beautiful and life-giving promise. Here are 3 ways we might misunderstand Romans 8:28:

1. God works for our good, not our comfort.

Romans 8:28 is a verse for difficult circumstances. We read it upon the loss of a job, the end of a relationship, the illness of a loved one. But as we read it, we should be careful to understand that the promise is not for our circumstances to change. This is not the promise of a new and better job; a complete healing; or a healthier relationship to replace the one that’s lost. It is not, in other words, a promise for our ease and comfort. It is instead a promise for our good. And the greatest good for us is to know God, to walk in His ways, and to be conformed to the likeness of our Son. This is the end of God’s work. We should be careful when reading or quoting this verse not to mislead ourselves or others to believe that God is promising to give us someday a comfortable existence, for He is not. He is promising that as we walk through difficulty, He will use those circumstances to help us know Him more intimately, to obey Him more fully, and to have our character molded into the likeness of Christ.

2. God works according to His purpose, not ours.

Similarly, we might read Romans 8:28 as a promise that God is going to make all our dreams come true. Just hold on, we tell ourselves, God has promised that all these things are going to eventually work out so we can do the thing or be the thing we want to be. That’s not what Romans 8 tells us. God is working all circumstances not so that our purpose for our lives can be fulfilled, but to fulfill His purposes through our lives. And what is His purpose?

Ultimately, regardless of who or where we are, His purpose is to bring glory to Himself and His Son. As we pray Romans 8:28, we should remember that we are not the center of the universe. God is. And true fulfillment and joy in life comes not in trying to get God to bless our plans for our lives but instead finding our place in His ongoing story of His own glory in the earth.

3. God works in all things, not just big things.

When we read that God works all things together for our good, we tend to think of the most significant, life-altering situations we’ve ever experienced. But those are all big things. The milestones. The dividing markers. Curious, though, that the verse doesn’t say that God works the big events of life for our good. In fact, we could go so far and say that if we only think of this promise in terms of the “big” then we are failing to grasp the true – and somewhat ironic – immensity of what we find here. “All” is, if I could say it like this, much bigger than just the big things.

“All” means all.

It means the daily commute. The casual conversation over coffee. The date night with your spouse. The almost nightly discipline of your children. The prayer before dinner and the bedtime stories at night. “All” means all. “All” even goes beyond those events of which we are immediately aware. It means those things right now happening halfway across the world we have no idea about. It means political decisions made at the highest levels. It means acts of nature and random news stories we read about. Somehow, even these things are for our good. Such is the amazingly intricate work of God—that God might be working in yet unknown ways and in yet unknown people to provide for His people in yet unknown ways.

“All” means all. Breathe it in. Because it’s happening right now. Even now, God is working all things, for our good but not necessarily our comfort, for His purposes rather than ours. This is a good word. And it’s a true word.