Michael Kelley's Blog, page 245

Repenting for the Way We Repent

Martin Luther's first of 95 thesis reads like this: "When our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ said repent, He meant that the entire lives of believers should be of repentance."

That's a big call, but one you find to be true as you grow in Christ. Repentance isn't a one time thing; it's a lifestyle. When you're a child, repenting often meant saying you're sorry and really meaning it. But as you grow in Christ (and in age), you become more self-aware. And as you do, you start to find some disturbing things in play within you.

You find just how duplicitous your motives can be.

You discover how great is your capacity to deceive yourself.

And, in the case of repentance, you find that often when you repent, you don't really mean it. You're sorry for the consequences of the sin, but maybe not the sin itself. Or you make internal excuses for your actions, saying you're sorry, but all the time justifying what you've done.

As our capacity for repentance increases, we find that we might need to repent of the very manner in which we are repenting.

Now a couple of things can happen here. One is that you become spiritually paralyzed. You can become so downtrodden at your sin, that even when you are trying to do the right thing there is often some manner of sinful desire behind it, that you simply throw up your hands and live in a constant state of guilt.

Or…

Or you can preach the gospel to yourself, even while you're repenting. You can see that the blood of Christ not only covers your sin, but covers your imperfect ability to confess that sin. You can glory, not in the pride of your humility, but that even in your imperfect confession, the cross rules over all.

I'll choose the latter today as my capacity to repent grows.

The Best 3-Letter Word in the Bible

Joel Lindsey reflects on the word "but":

To my surprise, I've discovered that one of the most encouraging words in the New Testament is the word but. Especially in Paul's writings, encountering the word but very often leads to some of the most remarkable, gospel-filled statements to be found in Scripture. Here are just a few examples offered for your encouragement today.

Read the rest here.

(HT:Z)

Theological Questions are Often Personal Questions in Disguise

The title of this post was taken from this article which was specifically about the question, "If you commit suicide, do you go to heaven?" In the article, the argument is made that outright answer of the question is wrong. A better response is to dig at the reason for the question.

And that's true in many contexts. People pose questions about theology, about the nature of good and evil, about suffering and sovereignty, and yes, about suicide. But when those questions are really, really posed, they often are not done so in a purely theoretical way.

There's something else going on.

Something personal.

Something painful.

Something driving the question.

If we are too quick to simply answer the question, then the person asking it is not served. Our information may be right, but we are failing to take advantage of the redemptive conversation that might follow.

If we embrace that there is something, something intensely personal, usually driving these questions, then a better response, rather than a dispensation of information, is to simply return the question with a question:

Why do you ask?

A Real Supervillain Laugh

One can only guess what's running through the mind of this budding supervillain…

 

Fridays Are For One Question

This week, it was announced due to impassable negotiations between the NBA Players and the NBA owners that much of the basketball season has already been lost.

Gasp!

I confess here – and maybe I'm going to get reamed for this – I literally could not care any less than I do about this. If this were football that would be one thing. If this affected the NCAA basketball tournament that would be one thing. But it makes absolutely no difference to me whether or not the pros play basketball.

Am I alone? That's what I'm wondering for today's question:

"How much do you care that we might not have NBA basketball this season?"

"God Will Not Give You More Than You Can Handle."

Ah, the theological platitudes of Hallmark Christianity. Statements like these are quoted so often that they're generally regarded as biblical truth:

God helps those who help themselves.

Give won't give you more than you can handle.

Cleanliness is next to godliness.

We might as well be saying that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Not only are these things not in the Bible, but most of them are actually contrary to the gospel. I mean, do we honestly think we can handle the stuff of life?

Cancer?

Financial trouble?

Sexual temptation?

Who do we think we are?

The truth is, as anyone who has genuinely suffered will tell you, that God will often give you more than you can handle.

And He will do it precisely because you can't help yourself.

Paul had more than he could handle. He had what he described as a "thorn in the flesh" (2 Corinthians 12). Scholars debate what that thorn might be, but it seems to be some kind of painful, physical condition. Perhaps a recurring form of malaria he picked up on one of his island adventures. And it hurt. Alot.

So much that Paul begged the Lord three times to take it away. But God did not. Instead, he reminded Paul that the thorn was there in order to display the strength of God.

God will give you more than you can handle. And when He does, our choice is relatively simple: we can despair, or we can turn our eyes on the truth of the gospel, that God makes up for what we lack. That His strength is perfected in weakness. That God helps those who cannot help themselves.

We can't handle the thorns. But gloriously, we follow a King whose strength is made perfect in our weakness.

A Hermit's Christianity

This is Katskhi Pillar. It abruptly rises 40 meters from the hills of Central Georgia and looks similar to a giant's club. Its mythical aura made it a place of worship since humans settled this area. Prior to the arrival of Christianity, the pillar served as a pagan holy place for a long time and was most likely used for fertility rites.

In the 4th century, Georgia adapted Christianity as its state religion, and Katskhi Pillar became the site of a small church first built in the 7th century. The church that sits atop the pillar resembles the practice of the Stylites who were early Christian ascetics who prayed on top of wooden pillars. Following the lead of the much-revered Saint Simeon Stylites, who sat atop a pillar for almost 40 years, these pious Christians tortured their bodies and devouted their spirit to their religion.

Strange place to build a church, right? Completely separate from the world around it? Where people can go and not be bothered? No influence in the community or the wider world?

Strange place to build a church. But perhaps you don't have to build a church on top of an inaccessible rock formation to have the same desire in your heart:

"I am not praying that You take them out of the world but that You protect them from the evil one. They are not of the world, as I am not of the world. Sanctify them by the truth; Your word is truth. As You sent Me into the world, I also have sent them into the world" (John 17:15-18).

"My Favorite Piece at the Smithsonian"

Excellent.

(HT:22 Words)

When "Abba" Became "My God"

Yahweh.

We say it now with some casualness. It's another name for God, albeit in another language. It's become a helpful tool for sounding smart or spiritual – like a more official title for deity or something like that.

Not so to the Hebrews.

This was a holy name. THE holy name. The name that was so holy – separate – that it was never uttered. Never wholly written. In fact, we might even be pronouncing it incorrectly because it was never said out loud in ancient times.

Can you imagine, then, the outright scandal with some upstart rabbi showed up on the 1st century Palestinian scene not using this name, but referencing the God of this name with utter and complete familiarity.

Jesus called Him "Abba." Daddy. A term of affection.

No wonder they called Him a blasphemer. The gospels record again and again Jesus calling God His Father, all the while the onlookers marveled:

Where is the fear?

Where is the respect?

Where is the reverence?

Oh, they were all there, but something else was there too. There was love – both given and received. But there is one instance when Jesus didn't use this name for God. There was one moment when "Abba" became "My God."

As Jesus was suspended in the air, nailed to two cross beams, He felt the broken relationship with His Father as sin was thrust upon Him. The unthinkable happened, and Jesus responded by quoting Psalm 22.

"My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?"

"Abba" became "My God" at the cross.

But gloriously, "My God" also became "Abba" at the cross.

The unthinkable happened. Those held at a distance from God because of their sin suddenly had access into the unseen realms of glory. The far were brought near. The alienated were brought inside the house. The enemies became children.

And we now cry, "Abba, Father," precisely because He cried "My God."

Fridays Are For One Question

Today is Veteran's Day.

Woodrow Wilson first proclaimed an Armistice Day for November 11, 1919. In proclaiming the holiday, he said:

"To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country's service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations."

But for most of us, Veteran's Day is a personal holiday, when you tend to think of one or two people who have served in the military. Maybe a husband or wife, grandfather, or close friend.

For today's question:

"Who are you thinking of on Veteran's Day today?"