Tullian Tchividjian's Blog, page 33

You're Free To Stay Put

Martin Luther was once approached by a man who enthusiastically announced that he'd recently become a Christian. Wanting desperately to serve the Lord, he asked Luther, "What should I do now?" As if to say, should he become a minister or perhaps a traveling evangelist. A monk, perhaps.

Luther asked him, "What is your work now?"

"I'm a shoe maker."

Much to the cobbler's surprise, Luther replied, "Then make a good shoe, and sell it at a fair price."

In becoming a Christian, we don't need to retreat from the vocational calling we already have—nor do we need to justify that calling, whatever it is, in terms of its "spiritual" value or evangelistic usefulness. We simply exercise whatever our calling is with new God-glorifying motives, goals, and standards—and with a renewed commitment to performing our calling with greater excellence and higher objectives.

One way we reflect our Creator is by being creative right where we are with the talents and gifts he has given us. As Paul says, "Each one should remain in the condition in which he was called. So, brothers, in whatever condition each was called, there let him remain with God" (1 Corinthians 7:20,24). As we do this, we fulfill our God-given mandate to reform, to beautify, our various "stations" for God's glory–giving this world an imperfect preview of the beautification that will be a perfect, universal actuality when Jesus returns to finish what he started.

For church leaders, this means that we make a huge mistake when we define a person's "call" in terms of participation inside the church—nursery work, Sunday school teacher, youth worker, music leader, and so on. We need to help our people see that their calling is much bigger than how much time they put into church matters. By reducing the notion of calling to the exercise of spiritual gifts inside the church, we fail to help our people see that calling involves everything we are and everything we do—both inside and, more importantly, outside the church.

I once heard Os Guinness address a question about why the church in the late 20th century was not having a larger impact in our world when there were more people going to church than ever before. He said the main reason was not that Christians weren't where they should be. There are plenty of artists, lawyers, doctors, and business owners that are Christians. Rather, the main reason is that Christians aren't who they should be right where they are.

"Calling", he said, "is the truth that God calls us to himself so decisively that everything we are, everything we do, and everything we have is invested with a special devotion, dynamism, and direction."

So, you're free to stay put, right where you are.

The Present Power Of Christ's Justifying Work

Yesterday afternoon my family and I returned from vacation. We had a wonderfully refreshing summer. We spent time on the southwest coast of Florida relaxing, reading a ton, and enjoying some much needed and undistracted time together. Then Kim, Genna, and I went to North Carolina to spend some time with my granddad (he's doing really well, by the way!) while Gabe and Nate were (actually, still are) in Nicaragua on a mission trip with our church. I'm so grateful to God for my family. They are a gift far greater than I deserve.

I'm also grateful for those who filled in for me on this blog while I was away in July. I'm a blessed man to have so many gospel-soaked friends. I hope you were as edified by their posts as I was.

I figured I would ease my way back into blogging by posting a quote from Richard Lovelace that I heard a while ago and couldn't find until today (thanks to Tom Wood for sending it to me). Lovelace puts his finger on the same problem that I continue to address on this blog and elsewhere: failing to realize the present power of Christ's justifying work on our behalf. This quote is worth reading over and over again:

Only a fraction of the present body of professing Christians are solidly appropriating the justifying work of Christ in their lives. Many have so light an apprehension of God's holiness and of the extent and guilt of their sin, that consciously they see little need for justification. Below the surface, however, they are deeply guilt-ridden and insecure. Many others have a theoretical commitment to this doctrine, but in their day-to-day existence they rely on their sanctification for justification….drawing their assurance of acceptance with God from their sincerity…their recent religious performance or the relative infrequency of their conscious, willful disobedience. Few start each day with a thoroughgoing stand upon Luther's platform: you are accepted, looking outward in faith and claiming the wholly alien righteousness of Christ as the only ground for acceptance, relaxing in that quality of trust which will produce increasing sanctification as faith is active in love and gratitude.

Shaping And Sustaining Servant Leaders With The Gospel

Guest Post by Michael Allen (read more about Mike here)

It is worth reflecting on how a seminary, or local churches for that matter, can shape and sustain servant leaders. We know that it is God's grace that calls, saves, commissions, enables, and blesses a minister. But we are also told that God normally works through means, especially the fellowship of saints in the local church. How does this happen?

What is servant leadership?

We need to reflect on this clichéd term: servant leadership. Many think servant leadership can be easily identified: picture a person in authority doing some menial task, some thankless duty, and there you have it—a leader serving. Yet this is not a biblical definition of servant leadership. In the Bible, the term servant more often than not really means slave—some slaves run the household, others plow the soil, but all do so at the behest of their master. The underlying point of servant leadership, then, is not a matter of what tasks you do, but of who owns you. Murray Harris sees this evident in the writing, indeed in the very self-identification of the apostle Paul:

The book of Romans is the flagship of the Pauline fleet. Flying proudly at the top of the mast of this ship is a flag bearing the words, 'Paul, a slave of Christ Jesus' (Romans 1:1). This flag is two-toned, its white indicating complete freedom yet total surrender, and its purple symbolizing royal ownership and therefore incomparable privilege. The slave of Christ is the emancipated dependent of Christ as well as the willing bondservant of Christ, the exclusive property of Christ as well as the honored representative of Christ.

The apostle knew he was God's property.

Servant leaders are those who know they are bought by God at a great price; they are his possession, and they do whatever he calls them to do. Oftentimes, yes, this involves the fulfillment of menial or lowly tasks. But slavish fulfillment of tasks is not the essence of servant leadership—it is only a presenting symptom, an outward sign of an inward reality. Real servant leadership involves the continual submission of one's ministerial agenda to your master's wishes. Servant leadership is an implication of being Christ-centered.

In a day and age where pastors are frequently called to be managers, therapists, and bureaucrats, surely we need more servant leaders in the biblical sense. We need pastors who see themselves as God's people, subject to his will. These pastors will do whatever he says—preaching in grand pulpits and praying with diseased inpatients, counseling the despondent and designing the educational curriculum. We need pastors willing to address the prince and the pauper, able to purify the liturgy and the latrine. We need pastors willing to suffer for the gospel when necessary. Chiefly, we need our pastors to join in the ministry of Christ on his terms and in his strength.

Who are the servant leaders?

If servant leadership involves attitudes and action, we must then ask: what kind of person will lead in this way? What qualities and characteristics make up the servant leader? Above all else, the servant leader is someone who has appropriated the glory of the gospel and been freed to care for the good of others.

The gospel tells us that all our needs are provided in Christ Jesus; indeed, "all the promises of God find their Yes in him" (2 Corinthians 1:20). We must know that God intends our good, and that he is able and willing to deliver. We see this evident in the sending and sacrifice of his Son. Remember Romans 8:32—"He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him give us all other things?" God has already given the greatest gift, surely our daily needs will be met too. The gospel promises life in Christ for eternity as well as for this very day. Every promise is yes in Christ.

The gospel not only tells us that we are provided for. It also empowers our obedience and service to others. Assured of our future in Christ, we are free to give ourselves away in service in the present. We need not fret and frenzy ourselves in pursuit of our security and status, but we can pour ourselves out to those in need. By refusing to justify ourselves, instead resting on the merits of Christ, we can work on behalf of others. This dynamic leads to what is called regularly "the obedience of faith" (Romans 1:5; 16:26)—loving service that flows out of those who trust their future to Christ. It is not merely that those who believe also happen to obey: trust and obey. Rather, it is that trust enables and empowers obedience: trust and, therefore, obey. Christian leaders who savor the satisfying power of Christ's work will be willing to follow wherever he leads—their faith will work itself out in love (Galatians 5:6).

Savoring all that Jesus is for us in the gospel enables our faithful action. Knowing the exalted glory of the gospel sustains our journey through humiliation. Seeing our identity fully in Christ enables us to endure anything for him and to give ourselves to bless others. Put it all together, then, and we see that servant leaders are gospel-saturated believers.

How do we shape and sustain servant leaders?

Servant leadership goes against the grain of our culture and our own selfish tendencies. It simply will not come naturally to those who fashion themselves autonomous or self-made. Therefore, we must be intentional if we wish to cultivate a culture of servant leadership. At Knox Seminary and in local churches, we must ask: how can we shape and sustain servant leaders over the long haul?

We must remind each other regularly of the gospel, its beauty and its power. John Murray said that "Faith is forced consent. . . . In common parlance we say a man commands confidence.  We do not trust a man simply because we have willed to, or even because we desire to.  And we cannot distrust a man simply because we wish or will to do so.  We trust a man because we have evidence that to us appears sufficient, evidence of trustworthiness." If leaders are to be bold in service, they must be convinced that the God who promises to meet all their needs in Christ is able and willing to do so. We must portray the trustworthiness of God, so that their faith is sustained. Sermons proclaim this; sacraments portray it. Regular study of the Scriptures emboldens leaders by reminding them that God has preserved his people time and again, even in the most adverse situations. All of us need reminders of the wondrous works of God, so that we might cling all the more to his promises and be freed for self-sacrificing ministry.

The gospel sustains Christians and ministries, so we speak the good news to each other daily and reflect carefully on the promises and works of God. In so doing, we fulfill the exhortation of Hebrews 10:23-25—"Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another." God is faithful—all of us, even leaders, need to be reminded regularly of this truth. We "stir up one another to love and good works" by "encouraging one another" with words of God's grace and recitals of the gospel message. Going deeper together into the gospel actually propels us outward in love and witness. Thus, we fight for each other's faith, even the faith of students in seminary and pastors in their parishes, and thus we make possible one another's service. We pray that you will join us in doing so, thereby shaping and sustaining a counter-culture of servant leadership.

You Can't Teach A Frog To Fly, So Stop Trying

Guest Post by Steve Brown (read more about Steve here). Few people make me laugh more than Steve. Enjoy…

I've had a lousy job for most of my life.

As you know, I'm a preacher/pastor and my job description is to keep people from doing what they obviously want to do. I've often felt like an overwhelmed police officer at a rock concert charged with keeping the concert goers from using drugs.

With a job description like mine, you hardly ever get invited to parties, people are not very honest, and sometimes you feel like a wet shaggy dog shaking himself at a wedding. I tell them that I'm trying to help and that God anointed me to reach out to them, but they simply don't care.

Preachers are supposed to keep people from sinning.

I haven't been very successful so far.

There are times when I feel like I'm standing by a cliff where people come to dance. "Be careful," I tell them. "It's a long way down and the stop will be quite unpleasant." They look at me. They sometimes even thank me.

Then they jump.

But I keep at it. "Hey," I say to the next group who approach the cliff, "not too long ago, I saw people go off that cliff and if you'll bend over and look, you can see the bloody mess they made." Like everybody else, since I've been standing beside the cliff, they seem grateful for my concern. They maybe even say something about my compassion and wisdom.

Then they jump.

Frankly, I'm tired of it. In fact, I've given up standing by this stupid cliff. I'm tired of being people's mother. I'm tired of trying to prevent the unpreventable. I'm tired of talking to people who don't want to listen. And I'm tired of pointing out the obvious.

Just when I determine to leave my position by the cliff, to my horror and surprise…

I jump!

What's with that?

Let me tell you. There is a very human and undeniable proclivity of human beings to sin-to jump off the cliff. We're drawn to it. We love it (at least for awhile). No matter who tries to keep us from doing it or how much pain it will cause, we are irresistibly drawn to that cliff. Maybe we want to fly. Could be that we have a masochistic streak in our DNA. Could be that our default position is jumping off cliffs. I don't know. But for whatever reason, we do jump, we do get hurt, and if we survive, we then climb back up the cliff and jump again.

There is a parable (author unknown) about Felix, the flying frog. Even if I mix the metaphor a bit, let me tell you the parable.

Once upon a time, there lived a man named Clarence who had a pet frog named Felix. Clarence lived a modestly comfortable existence on what he earned working at the Wal-Mart, but he always dreamed of being rich. "Felix!" he said one day, hit by sudden inspiration, "We're going to be rich! I'm going to teach you to fly!"

Felix, of course, was terrified at the prospect. "I can't fly, you twit! I'm a frog, not a canary!"

Clarence, disappointed at the initial response, told Felix: "That negative attitude of yours could be a real problem. We're going to remain poor, and it will be your fault."

So Felix and Clarence began their work on flying.

On the first day of the "flying lessons," Clarence could barely control his excitement (and Felix could barely control his bladder). Clarence explained that their apartment building had 15 floors, and each day Felix would jump out of a window, starting with the first floor and eventually getting to the top floor. After each jump, they would analyze how well he flew, isolate the most effective flying techniques, and implement the improved process for the next flight. By the time they reached the top floor, Felix would surely be able to fly.

Felix pleaded for his life, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. "He just doesn't understand how important this is," thought Clarence. "He can't see the big picture."

So, with that, Clarence opened the window and threw Felix out. He landed with a thud.

The next day, poised for his second flying lesson, Felix again begged not to be thrown out of the window. Clarence told Felix about how one must always expect resistance when introducing new, innovative plans.

With that, he threw Felix out the window. THUD!

Now this is not to say that Felix wasn't trying his best. On the fifth day, he flapped his legs madly in a vain attempt at flying. On the sixth day, he tied a small red cape around his neck and tried to think "Superman" thoughts. It didn't help.

By the seventh day, Felix, accepting his fate, no longer begged for mercy. He simply looked at Clarence and said, "You know you're killing me, don't you?"

Clarence pointed out that Felix's performance so far had been less than exemplary, failing to meet any of the milestone goals he had set for him.

With that, Felix said quietly, "Shut up and open the window," and he leaped out, taking careful aim at the large jagged rock by the corner of the building.

Felix went to that great lily pad in the sky.

Clarence was extremely upset, as his project had failed to meet a single objective that he had set out to accomplish. Felix had not only failed to fly, he hadn't even learned to steer his fall as he dropped like a sack of cement, nor had he heeded Clarence's advice to "Fall smarter, not harder."

The only thing left for Clarence to do was to analyze the process and try to determine where it had gone wrong. After much thought, Clarence smiled and said…

"Next time, I'm getting a smarter frog!"

A number of years ago, I realized that I was, as it were, trying to teach frogs to fly. Frogs can't fly. Not only that, they get angry when you try to teach them. The gullible ones will try, but they eventually get hurt so badly they quit trying. And the really sad thing about being a "frog flying teacher" is that I can't fly either.

Let me tell you a secret. If one is a teacher trying to teach frogs to fly, nobody ever bothers to ask if you can fly. In fact, if you pretend that you're an expert and tell a lot of stories about flying; if you can throw in a bit of aeronautical jargon about stalls, spins and flight maneuvers; and if you carry around a "Flight Manual" and know your way around it, nobody will question your ability to fly. You just pretend you're an expert and tell stories, and the students will think you can fly.

The problem is that you become so phony you can't stand yourself.

So I've repented.

Now I just send them to Jesus and try to get out of the way.

Come to think of it, if you're struggling with sin and aren't getting better, don't come to me. I like you okay, but that kind of depends on how my day is going. Instead of coming to me, run to Jesus. He'll love you and maybe even make you better

Paul's Downward Trajectory

Guest Post by Justin Holcomb (read more about Justin here)

Paul refers to himself numerous times as worth "imitating" when it comes to spiritual growth and maturity (1 Cor. 4:16, 11:1; Phil. 3:17, 4:19; 1 Thess. 1:6; and 2 Thess. 3:7, 9). What do we see when we look to Paul as an example? He makes three significant statements about himself throughout his years in ministry that are helpful insights into his view of spiritual growth.

The Least of the Apostles

Early in Paul's ministry, during his three missionary journeys, he wrote six major epistles: Galatians, 1 and 2 Thessalonians, 1 and 2 Corinthians, and Romans. In one of them, Paul makes a very humble statement about himself—"I am the least of the apostles, unworthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God" (1 Cor. 15:9). Paul does not put himself on par with the other apostles, as if he were equal to them. Rather, he calls himself "the least of the apostles." That's a decent dose of humility worth noticing.

The Least of all the Saints

Toward the middle of his ministry, during his first Roman imprisonment, Paul wrote Philippians, Colossian, Philemon, and Ephesians. In Ephesians 3:8, his humility deepens—"I am the very least of all the saints." Paul goes from "least of the apostles" to "least of all the saints." What's happening here?

The Foremost Sinner

At the end of his ministry and during his second Roman imprisonment, Paul writes Titus and 1 and 2 Timothy. Early in his first letter to Timothy, Paul writes: "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost" (1 Tim 1:15). Some translations say "chief of sinners." Paul sounds like a spiritual failure, like he is regressing spiritually, not making spiritual progress.

Paul's Trajectory

Do you see the trajectory as Paul matures in faith? This is what happens when you boast in Christ alone. Your weakness becomes more evident. You can't help but make much of Christ and little of self. That is maturity according to Paul—boasting in nothing but Christ's grace and our weakness.

True Spiritual Growth

Paul isn't just using self-deprecating hyperbole as a teaching device. Each of the three statements about himself is surrounded by references to the cross (1 Cor. 15:3-4; Eph. 3:7-8; and 1 Tim. 1:15) and grace or mercy (1 Cor. 15:10; Eph. 3:2, 7; and 1 Tim. 1:13-14, 16). For him, spiritual growth is realizing how utterly dependent he is on Jesus' cross and mercy, not arriving at some point where he somehow needs the cross and mercy less. Paul's view of himself diminishes and his dependence on Jesus' cross and grace increases. How do you talk about spiritual maturity? Imitating Paul's example, there should be more talk of the depth and scope of God's mercy, less talk of self-reliance, and an abiding fixation on Jesus' cross that secured God's grace for you.

Christ Died For The Sins Of Christians Too

Guest Post by Dr. Rod Rosenbladt. Rod is a dear friend of mine and professor of theology and apologetics at Concordia University (Irvine, California). He is also co-host of The White Horse Inn radio broadcast. This article first appeared in Modern Reformation Magazine in May/June 2003 (used by permission).

Any evangelical- indeed, any real Christian-would probably say that life's key issue is whether someone comes into a saving relationship with God through Jesus Christ. How one receives that salvation, however, has been the subject of many debates throughout church history, debates that continue today. At the center of these many debates is an assumption: Every human being born after Adam and Eve is affected (some call this effect total depravity) by the Fall. In order to right the wrong and restore us to a saving relationship with our Creator, Christians affirm that the eternal Son of God assumed to himself a particular human nature in order that he might do the work of being our prophet, priest, and king. He has solved our basic problem by standing in our stead and taking our place. That simple story of Christ's life, death, and resurrection is the gospel. And the gospel message is that Christ did all of this for you and me. The word that most evangelicals would use for this work is a biblical word-Christ Jesus has brought us salvation.

My task would be simple if I were merely to answer the question, "How am I to be saved?" For, the answer to this question is simple as well. It is "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved!" (see Acts 16:31 [nkj]; cf. 1 Tim. 1:16 [nkj]). Although the doctrine of justification is still under attack in many circles, most evangelicals understand the question of salvation and are able to grasp it in its bare simplicity: Christ died for me. But the more difficult thing with which Christians must come to grips is, "What does the gospel matter to my Christian life?" Or, in other words, "What do I do now? Do I still believe the gospel, or is the rest left up to me?"

An Alien Gospel

One of my favorite stories that illustrates this particular matter deals with a time when the German reformer Martin Luther was translating the Bible into German at the Wartburg castle and could only have contact with his colleague Phillip Melanchthon by courier. Melanchthon had a different sort of temperament than Luther. Some would call him timid; others of a less generous bent might call him spineless. At one time, while Luther was off in the Wartburg castle translating, Melanchthon had another one of his attacks of timidity. He wrote to Luther, "I woke this morning wondering if I trust Christ enough." Luther received such letters from Melanchthon regularly. He had a tendency, a propensity, to navel-gaze and to wonder about the state of his inner faith, and whether it was enough to save. Finally, in an effort to pull out all the stops and pull Melanchthon out of himself, Luther wrote back and said, "Melanchthon! Go sin bravely! Then go to the cross and bravely confess it! The whole gospel is outside of us."

This story has been told time and time again by less sympathetic observers than I in an effort to caricature Luther and the Reformation generally as advocates of licentious abandon. These critics assert that if we are not justified by our own moral conformity to the law, but by Christ's, surely there is nothing keeping us from self-indulgence. This, of course, was the criticism of the gospel that Paul anticipated in Romans 6: "Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means!" Luther's pastoral advice was calculated to jar Melanchthon out of morbid introspection. Great sinners know liberation when they have it, but Melanchthon had been a scrupulous, pious Catholic. Luther's words did not bring him assurance, but only doubts. For his assurance depended not so much on God's promise to the ungodly as ungodly (see Rom. 4:5), but on his own ability to see growth and improvement in his "Christian walk." Luther's frustrated counsel was not an invitation to serve sin, but an attempt to shock Melanchthon into realizing that his only true righteousness was external to him: "The whole gospel is outside of us."

Melancthon's experience is common among many Christians I know today. Many of them, such as Melancthon did 400 years ago, are looking for assurance of their salvation in all the wrong places. They tend to think that their standing before God-now that they are Christians-is based on their own obedience and their own righteousness. They have forgotten the fundamental fact that the gospel is "outside of us." It was "outside of us" when we turned to Christ for salvation and it is "outside of us," now, as we progress in our sanctification.

This "alien" nature of the gospel is a primary theme in the New Testament: Christ's death was outside of me and for me. It is not primarily something that changes me. After one has been declared righteous by grace through faith, this grace will begin to change us (sanctification). Nevertheless, its changing us is certainly not what justifies us. In Roman Catholicism, and in some forms of American Evangelicalism (like John Wesley's work), however, the accent falls on actual moral transformation. In other words, what makes us acceptable to God is not his external declarationof justification, but his internal work of renovation within our hearts and lives. Thus, through the influence of Arminianism and Wesleyanism, the situation in many evangelical churches is almost indistinguishable on these points from medieval Rome. Some of the preaching in Evangelicalism-certainly some of the Sunday school material and some of the addresses by retreat speakers and Christian leaders-tends to reinforce that old intuition that morally good people are the ones who are saved and that those who are not so good are the ones who are lost.

The bellwether test as to where a person stands on this issue is what he or she does with Romans 7, particularly passages such as, "For the good that I will to do, I do not do; but the evil I will not to do, that I practice. O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?" (vv. 19, 24). Often, those who are not grounded in the Reformation say that this was Paul's experience before he met the Lord. Those of us from a Reformation perspective, however, would probably say there is no better description of the Christian life in the entire Bible than Romans 7. The reformers really believed that the Christian life was a matter of being simul iustus et peccator-simultaneously justified and sinful-and that we would remain in this tension until death.

Any righteousness that we have, even in the Christian life, is a gift to us. It is not the result of our obedience, of our claiming God's promises, of our "victorious Christian living," or of our "letting go and letting God." You might be familiar with some of these ideas if you've spent any amount of time in American church circles. But the reformers would not have been especially impressed with these teachings, commonly called "Higher Life" teachings. In the early twentieth century, the Princeton Presbyterian theologian B. B. Warfield, had this to say about Lewis Sperry Chafer (a Presbyterian minister whose writings helped pave the way for these ideas to infiltrate American churches):

Mr. Chafer makes use of all the jargon of the Higher Life teachers. In him, too, we hear of two kinds of Christians, whom he designates respectively "carnal men" and "spiritual men," on the basis of a misreading of 1 Cor. 2:9ff; and we are told that the passage from the one to the other is at our option, whenever we care to "claim" the higher degree "by faith." With him, too, thus, the enjoyment of every blessing is suspended on our "claiming it." We hear here, too, of "letting" God, and, indeed, we almost hear of "engaging" the Spirit (as we engage, say, a carpenter) to do work for us; and we do explicitly hear of "making it possible for God" to do things-a quite terrible expression. Of course, we hear repeatedly of the duty and efficacy of "yielding"-and the act of "yielding ourselves" is quite in the customary manner discriminated from "consecrating" ourselves.

Gospel-Centered Sanctification

Did the reformers, then, have any doctrine of sanctification? Of course they did. We are all familiar with the biblical announcements as to what is involved in sanctification: the Word, the Sacraments, prayer, fellowship, sharing the gospel, serving God and neighbor. And the Reformation tradition acknowledges that there are biblical texts that speak of sanctification as complete already. This is not a perfection that is empirical or observable (as Wesley and others would have insisted upon), but a definitive declaration that because we are "in Christ," we are set apart and reckoned holy by his sacrifice (1 Cor. 1:30; Heb. 10, and so on). Anybody who is in Christ is sanctified, because Christ's holiness is imputed to the Christian believer, just as Jesus says in John 17:19, "For them I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified." God sees the believer as holy. That means that Wesley should not have terrified Christian brethren with texts such as "Without holiness, no one will see the Lord" (Heb. 12:14 [niv]). The Christian is holy, it is all imputed. What would the reformers have done with texts such as 1 Peter 1:16, "You shall be holy, for I am holy" ([nas], cf. Lev. 11:44f; 19:2; 20:7)? They would say we are called to be holy. But, some may ask, why should we be called to holiness if we are already perfect in Christ? That question has been asked before, and Paul's answer in Romans 6 is because we are saved unto good works, not unto licentiousness. Good works are done out of thankfulness of heart by the believer who has been saved, not by one who is trying to be saved by following the law.

How did the law function in the reformers' doctrine of sanctification? They believed that the law in the Bible has three uses. First, it is a civil ordinance to keep us from stealing each other's wives, husbands, and speedboats. The civil use of the law applies to the whole culture. Second, the theological use of the law is to reveal our sin and drive us to despair and terror so that we will seek a savior. Luther believed that is a primary use of the law in all of Scripture. But the reformers also believed in a third use of the law, and that is a didactic use, to teach the Christian God's will for holy living. (For more on this point, see the sidebar, "Defining Law and Gospel.")

What should the Christian do if he is reading the law and says, "This is not yet true of me: I don't love God with all my heart, and I certainly don't love my neighbor as I love myself. In fact, just today I failed to help a poor man on the side of the road who was having car trouble. I must not yet be a Christian." The answer of the Higher Life movement to the struggling Christian is, "Surrender more!" or, "What are you holding back from the Lord?" The Reformation answer is different: "You hurry back to the second use of the law and flee to Christ where sanctification is truly, completely, and perfectly located." After this experience, the believer will feel a greater sense of freedom to obey (thus fulfilling the third use of the law), and this is the only way that one will ever feel free to obey. The most important thing to remember is that the death of Christ was in fact a death even for Christian failure. Christ's death saves even Christians from sin. There is always room at the cross for unbelievers, it seems. But we ought also to be telling people that there is room at the cross for Christians, too.

Too often in evangelical circles, the law only condemns. It comes back to undermine the confidence of the gospel. It can still make threats; it can still condemn. There is wonderful grace for the sinner, and the evangelical is at his best in evangelism. But the question as to whether there is enough grace for the sinful Christian is an open one in many gatherings. I have had people come up to me after I had spoken and tell me, "This is about the last shot I've got. My own Christian training is killing me. I can understand how, before I was a Christian, Christ's death was for me, but I am not at all sure that his death is for me now because I have surrendered so little to him and hold so much back." That perversion is the result of a faulty understanding of the gospel and of a faulty application of the law.

Instead, there must be a clear and unqualified pronouncement of the assurance of salvation on the basis of the fullness of the atonement of Christ. In other words, even a Christian can be saved. The other "gospel," in its various forms (Higher Life, legalism, the "carnal Christian" teaching, and so on) is tearing us to pieces. I must warn you that the answer to this devastating problem is not available on every street corner. It is available only in the Reformation tradition. This is not because that particular tradition has access to information other traditions do not possess. Rather, it is because the same debate that climaxed in that sixteenth-century movement has erupted again and again since in less precise form. In fact, since Christ's debates with the Pharisees and Paul's arguments with the legalists, this has been the debate of Christian history. At no time since the apostolic era were these issues so thoroughly discussed and debated as they were in the sixteenth century. To ignore the biblical wisdom, scholarship, and brilliant insights of such giants as the reformers is simply to add to our ignorance the vice of pride and self-sufficiency. The Reformation position is the real evangelical position.

The only way out is an exposition of the Scriptures that has to do with law and gospel-an exposition of the Scriptures that places Christ at the center of the text for everybody, including the Christian. All of the Bible is about him. All of the Bible is even about him for the Christian!

I used to tell my students at an evangelical Christian college that they had never heard real preaching, with the exception of a few sound evangelistic appeals. Their weekly diet in the congregation was often a moral exhortation to be like Jesus, or Paul, or Daniel, or some other super saint in the Bible. They were constantly peppered with the question, "What are you doing for Jesus?" The preaching was not, as it should have been, a proclamation of God's grace to them because of the finished and atoning death of Christ-God's grace for them as Christians. That emphasis is desperately needed. But the only way we can recover this message is by ceasing to read the Scriptures as a recipe book for Christian living, and instead find within the Scriptures Christ who died for us and who is the answer to our unchristian living. We must have that kind of renewal (a renewal, which not surprisingly, was important to the reformers, as well), and it can only come if we realize that the gospel is for Christians, too.

A friend of mine was walking down a street in Minneapolis one day and was confronted by an evangelical brother who asked, "Brother, are you saved?" Hal rolled his eyes back and said, "Yes." That didn't satisfy this brother, so he said, "Well, when were you saved?" Hal said, "About two thousand years ago, about a twenty minutes' walk from downtown Jerusalem." This is the gospel message. It's just as important for Christians to believe for their sanctification as it is for pagans to believe for their justification; for it is the same message, the same salvation, the same work of God. It's just as important for the evangelical church today as it was for the reformers in the sixteenth century. Without this simple, but mind-boggling message, there is no hope, not for the sinner nor for the saint.

Boasting In Another

Guest post by Dane Ortlund (read more about Dane here)

In the late 1530s Martin Luther preached through the first four chapters of John. In a sermon on John 1:16, Luther said:

It is amazing that we are so given to pride, to boasting and bragging, and that we glory in such things as our beauty, riches, noble birth, power, skill, wisdom, honorable life, good works. . . .

If we want to boast, then let us boast that we receive from the fullness of Christ. . . . Whoever wishes to be safeguarded from the devil's might and to escape sin and death must draw from this well, Christ; from Him flows all salvation and eternal bliss. This fountain is inexhaustible; it is full of grace and truth before God; it never fails no matter how much we draw from it. Even if we all dip from it without stopping, it cannot be emptied, but it remains a perennial fount of grace and truth, an unfathomable well, an eternal fountain. The more we draw from it, the more it gives. . . .

This fountain constantly overflows with sheer grace. Whoever wishes to enjoy Christ's grace – and no one is excluded – let him come and receive it from Him. You will never drain this fountain of living water; it will never run dry. You will all draw from it much more than enough, and yet it will remain a perennial well. (Luther's Works, 22:133–34)

Four helpful clarifications from Luther here.

1. We will boast. The question is not if we will boast but of what. We are, as Luther says, "given to" boasting. The hunger for significance, for glory, emanates from way down deep at the core of who we are.

2. It is not bad things in which we are tempted to boast. It is good things. "Beauty, riches, power, skill, wisdom, honorable life, good works."

3. The Christian life is not one of squashing the impulse to boast, to glory in something, but of directing it rightly. You are free to boast. The Bible tells you to do so (Jer. 9:23–24; 1 Cor. 1:31; Heb. 3:6). You sin if you do not boast. And our boast is: Christ (Gal. 6:14). We glory in what Another has done.

4. The reason for this boasting is outrageous: limitless grace. Our natural intuitions whisper, "Don't draw too much grace just now. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you. Spread it out. Use it wisely. Don't spend all your grace now!" The gospel scatters such law-infused thoughts with this promise: Come to Christ, keep coming to him, keep boasting in him. You will never out-sin his grace. His mercy is not measured. Not cautious, suspicious, reluctant. The kindness of Christ "constantly overflows with sheer grace." As Jonathan Edwards said, God's love is "an infinite ocean of love, without shores and without bottom." Inexhaustible.

Christ Is The Point

Guest post by Mark Galli (read more about Mark here). This blog is adapted from Mark's new book God Wins: Heaven, Hell, and Why the Good News Is Better than Love Wins (Tyndale).

Many people recognize their need for God—that their lives are a mess and that this world is headed for destruction.  They know they need to be saved.  But they imagine that salvation is within their grasp.  They may reject the idea that they can earn God's favor with works, but they are fully convinced that the solution is lies within them. After all, they reason, it's just a matter of choosing—in this case, choosing God by faith using their autonomous free will. Evil and injustice may abound on the earth, and we may participate in it from time to time, but the one thing that is not fallen, corrupt, or evil is the will. It is perfectly free and able to choose God.

This is a naive view of human freedom. It results from a view of sin that is not as radical or as truthful as the view we find in Scripture. In the Bible, the will itself is so corrupt and enslaved that it takes the power of the Holy Spirit to enable us to see what Christ has done for us and to free us to respond in faith to him.  As Jesus put it, no one comes to him unless the Father (through the Holy Spirit) grants it (John 6:65). Otherwise the human condition is considered hopeless, which is why the Bible uses such words as blind, dark, deaf, and dead to describe our situation outside Christ.

The good news is that our salvation is not dependent on our success at making right choices, even the right choice of faith. In fact, the Bible regularly reminds us that we cannot consistently make good choices with our corrupt wills. As Paul puts it, "I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing" (Romans 7:18-19, niv). Instead of relying on an autonomous free will to remind us to make right choices, we are called to simply trust what Christ has done for us on the cross and through his resurrection.

But isn't that a choice, to trust in Christ? Yes and no. It is not even a possibility without God's intervention. We can't even recognize who Christ is, what he has done for us, and sense his invitation to respond in faith without the work of the Holy Spirit. The very fact that we can apprehend all this is a gift right from the start.

Furthermore, to trust in Christ means that it is not my trust that reconciles God to me or me to God. It is the death and resurrection of Christ that reconciles God to me, and the faith empowered by the Holy Spirit that reconciles me to God.

This is why the gospel is such good news. There are times when even the most dedicated Christian will recognize that his or her life is still in shambles, still driven by selfishness, still filled with doubt and confusion about God. At such times, panic can set in. Am I really a Christian? Is God working in my life to bring me into deeper fellowship with him? Has God given me the gift of grace? Will I enjoy the fellowship of heaven? Do I believe enough to be saved? The very fact that these sorts of questions bother us at such times shows that the Holy Spirit is, in fact, working in our lives. One of the Holy Spirit's jobs is to convict the world of sin and guilt (see John 16:8). So the paradox is that when we're troubled like this, it's the very sign of God working in our lives to bring us into deeper fellowship with him.

And of course, we do not believe enough to be saved. Of course, selfishness rules our hearts in too many ways. Of course, we have doubts and confusion about God. It's called sin. But the gospel calls us to stop looking at ourselves—at our doubts, our sins, and our choices. The gospel says look to Christ. Don't trust in your ability to choose right or even to trust perfectly. Look to Christ, who died for sinners. Faith is recognizing the reality of our situation and the deeper reality of our Savior. Faith is the drowning man grasping the outstretched arm of his rescuer. Faith includes a response, but our response is not the main thing. Christ is.

The Subjective Power Of An Objective Gospel

Guest Post by David Zahl and Jacob Smith (read more about David  here. And don't forget to save the dates, Oct 28-29th, for Mockingbird's upcoming conference in Birmingham, AL on the theme "Grace, Rest and the End of Scorekeeping." )

The great Southern novelist Walker Percy once asked in his essay The Delta Factor, "Why does man feel so sad in the twentieth century? Why does man feel so bad in the very age when, more than in any other age, he has succeeded in satisfying his needs and making the world over for his own use?" The question remains a valid one, exposing how the subjective orientation of our culture tragically turns against itself. In other words, we are simultaneously more interested in self-fulfillment, and less fulfilled, than ever. That the Christian church, or "movement," would be a microcosm of this tendency should come as no surprise.

American Christianity has historically placed a tremendous emphasis on faith as a means to happiness. Articulated most egregiously by figures such as 19th century revivalist Charles Finney, this sort of Christianity veers dangerously close to Pepsi Challenge territory, exemplified by well-meaning believers telling stories of how Jesus has made them better people: "I used to be like (unhappy, selfish, addicted, mean, lonely, fill in the blank), then I met Jesus, and now I'm (happy, generous, healthy, kind, etc)." The intention may be noble, to celebrate what God has done in our lives – an area where we understandably feel we can speak with authority, giving our message an added power – but sadly, it tends to backfire, especially when confronted with someone from another faith, for example Mormonism, who has had an equally if not more dramatic life-changing experience.

Make no mistake: Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit will indeed do things within us and transform us. But that work, as profound as it may be, is not the Gospel. When the Gospel is associated with changed lives, it is immediately put at odds (and in competition with) other "spiritual products" and the "results" they have produced. The Gospel becomes only as reliable as the personal growth it may have produced, which we know – from experience (!) and from Scripture – is not always very reliable. We can wish our testimonies were sturdier, we can do our very best to keep up an illusion of inner and outer stability, but alas, an inescapable fact of human nature is that "my baby changes like the weather" (Smokey Robinson). This is not to say that our feelings and experiences need to be callously denied – of course not – they simply make lousy hitches for the Gospel plow.

St. Paul actually taught that if we turn people into themselves, we turn them to despair and doubt (Romans 7:14-20, 8:1). Indeed, when the church places its emphasis on faith as a means of fulfillment, it automatically precludes its goal; it creates a situation where fulfillment becomes impossible. In secular terms, one might recall the psychotherapeutic maxim that, "happiness cannot be approached directly." Instead, the pursuit ushers in its exact opposite: despair. No wonder that a recent study by Lifeway Research found that 70% of young Protestant adults between the ages of 18-22 have stopped attending church. If you "accepted" Jesus into your heart years ago but besetting problems persist, and some circumstances even appear to get worse, if the Gospel is subjective, is it still true? Does it have the same power? That someone would walk away from the whole business is a foregone conclusion. For the remotely self-aware person, a Gospel based on personal sanctification is no Gospel at all. It produces refugees. Put another way, and to answer Mr. Percy's question, we are so sad in this century precisely because we have been so oriented toward and driven by a despair-inducing subjectivity. The Atlantic published a fantastic article on how this subject is playing out in the 'secular' sphere last month in their article "How The Cult of Self-Esteem is Ruining our Kids."

The Gospel of Jesus Christ (1 Cor 15:3-4) is good news, however, and good news for people with real problems. And it does tangibly address the subjective realities of suffering people – thank God – which is where most of us actually live. But it is helpful because it is true, not the other way around. One comes before the other. The Gospel is an objective word that has subjective power.

So what does this objective Gospel look like? Most importantly, it is outside of us: Jesus Christ died for our sins and that on the third day God raised him from the dead, so that we might become children of God, no longer subject to his just wrath and condemnation (1 Cor. 15:3-4). The Gospel points to Jesus and his work alone, that he died for our transgressions and was raised for our justification. It is specific and historic, having to do with what happened on a first-century cross in Roman-occupied Israel. To the question, "When were you saved?" we can answer with a hearty "2000 years ago, on a hill outside of Jerusalem" (John Warwick Montgomery via Rod Rosenbladt).

What, then, is the subjective power of this message? Firstly, we find that there is real, objective freedom, the kind that, yes, can be experienced subjectively. We are freed from having to worry about the legitimacy of experiences; our claims of self-improvement are no longer seen as a basis of our witness or faith. In other words, we are freed from ourselves, from the tumultuous ebb and flow of our inner lives and the outward circumstances; anyone in Christ will be saved despite those things. We can observe our own turmoil without identifying with it. We might even find that we have compassion for others who function similarly. These fluctuations, violent as they might be, do not ultimately define us. If anything, they tell us about our need for a savior.

Secondly, this freedom gives us permission to confront and confess our pain. We can look our self-defeating and regressive tendencies in the eye for once. We no longer have to pretend to be anything other than what the Gospel tells us we are: hopeless sinners in need of mercy. Honesty and repentance go hand in hand – freedom puts us on our knees, where we belong. A subjective Gospel turns repentance into a frightening affair, evidence that God is far away from us. An objective Gospel provides the assurance that actually produces repentance, forging the pathway to the place where we find forgiveness and redemption. We can finally grasp hold of the truth that it is always better to be sorry than to be safe. The pastoral implications for marriage alone are staggering.

Finally, when it comes to our fellow sinners and sufferers, we witness to the love of God found in the cross which promises and proclaims redemption despite our feelings or how we are living. To the compulsive or addicted person, this makes all the difference.

An objective Gospel is all that we as Christians have to offer one another and the world. It is the only message that has any power to sustain us, and it is the only message that has the power to absolve us and keep us coming back to Christ, finding our hope, strength, and character when we are at our very best and worst. In other words, it is the only message that has the power to reach its subjects: you and me. Amen.

The Whole Debt Is Paid

As you know, my family and I are on vacation and part of being on vacation means less writing and more reading. So, I lined up an all-start cast of gospel addicts to guest blog for me. But before I  get back to posting their excellent blogs I absolutely had to share something with you that blew me away just a few minutes ago.

After sitting on my shelf uncracked for the better part of last year, I finally decided to read Bo Giertz's classic novel The Hammer of God (first published in 1941). I first heard about this book from Elyse Fitzpatrick and then from Mike Horton. I'm a third of the way through it and it is simply breathtaking. Giertz was a master storyteller and theologian. Both of these gifts shine brightly on every page of this book. It is the story of three pastors who learn the necessity of relying on God's grace. It is law/gospel theology in the most captivating narrative form. But, you'll have to read it for yourself. I just want to share one part. I need to first give some context, though.

Set in Sweden in the early 1800′s, Henrik is a young, remarkably gifted and fiery preacher who very much looks up to Justus Johan Linder, a preacher ten years his senior. Henrik is having a crisis of faith. Bothered by the worldliness all around him, he has become widely known for his passionate pleas and exhortations for people to stop sinning. He's meticulous in his examination of sinful behavior both in and out of the pulpit. And it is bearing fruit. The church is packed every Sunday and bad behavior is declining in the village. But, much to his surprise, pride and self-righteousness are popping up everywhere. He's noticed that while drinking and debauchery may be at an all time low in the village, a cold and legalistic hardness of heart has emerged in their place. While on the one hand Henrik is encouraged to see external worldliness dissipating, he's remarkably discouraged to see a cold, loveless culture developing. Not only that, but now he's beginning to realize the depth of his own sin. He feels like a hypocrite for preaching so strongly against the external manifestation of sin while ignoring the deeper problem, sin's root. In despair over his own inability to be as good as he tells other people to be, he breaks down and confesses to Linder that he's not even sure he's saved. Linder's response is pure gold:

Henrik, we must start again from the beginning. We have thundered like the storm [speaking of the way he and Henrik have  preached God's Law], we have bombarded with the heaviest mortars of God's Law in an attempt to break down the walls of sin. And that was surely right. I still load my gun with the best powder when I aim at unrepentance. But we had almost forgotten to let the sunshine of the gospel shine through the clouds. Our method has been to destroy all carnal security by our volley's, but we have left it to the soul's to build something new with their own resolutions and their own honest attempts at amending their lives. In that way, Henrik, it is never finished. We have not become finished ourselves. Now I have instead begun to preach about that which is finished, about that which is built on Calvary and which is a safe fortress to come to when the thunder rolls over our sinful heads. And now I always apportion the Word of God in three directions, not only to the self-satisfied [the bad people] as I did formerly, but also to the awakened [the "good" people] and to the anxious, the heavy laden and to the  poor in spirit. And I find strength each day for my own poor heart at the fount of redemption.

Henrik is captivated by the "new" way in which Linder is preaching and he asks about the results. "Do you note any difference?"

Linder answers:

In the first place, I myself see light where formerly I saw only darkness. There is light in my heart and light over the congregation. Before, I was in despair over my people, at their impenitence. I see now that this was because I kept thinking that everything depended on what we should do, for when I saw so little of true repentance and victory over sin, helplessness crept into my heart. I counted and summed up all that they did  [to clean up their act], and not the smallest percentage of debt was paid. But now I see that which is done, and  I see that the whole debt is paid. Now therefore I go about my duties as might a prison warden who carries in his pocket a letter of pardon for all  his criminals. Do you wonder why I am so happy? Now I see everything in the sun's light. If God has done so much already, surely there is hope for what remains.

The way Linder describes the transformation that took place in his preaching is almost identical to the transformation that has taken place in mine (and Chuck's–click here). I  have a long way to go (bad habits die slowly, for sure). But a Copernican revolution of sorts has taken place in my own heart regarding the need to preach the law then the gospel without going back to the law as a means of keeping God's favor.

May God raise up a generation of preachers who storm the the gates of worldliness with "It is finished."