The Hammer and the Nail

The advantages of being a hammer

Would you prefer to be a hammer or a nail? In their song, “El cóndor pasa (If I Could),” Simon and Garfunkel say they’d rather be a hammer. Most of us would. It seems so obvious.

The hammer has a flashy job. It makes enough noise to attract attention. It has complete power over the nail. The nail can’t defend itself, beg for mercy, or talk back. All it can do is submit. The hammer is more valuable; one hammer costs more than many nails. Isn’t that what we want in this life? Attention, power, prestige.

The hammer’s role isn’t just one of pounding on the defenseless nail for no good reason, though. Its most common function is to build something new and worthwhile, like a shelter to protect vulnerable human beings. It can also help hang a picture on a wall, bringing beauty to an otherwise dull room. We want that sense of purpose and accomplishment, too.

The poor nail just keeps getting hit hard. Blow after blow after blow. It’s gotta hurt. Who would want that kind of life?

The advantages of being a nail

But the Bible often turns our natural human values upside down. We want power. Jesus came in meekness. We want to run the show. Jesus came to serve. We want to have our own way. Jesus always submitted to His Father’s will. (Matthew 11:28-30 KJV, 20:25-28, John 6:38)

We want so much to be the hammer in life. Jesus was more like the nail much of the time.

The hammer’s role might not be as fulfilling as it appears, though. It’s a solo job. No friends, no special relationships. Just domination. Even though it can be hard to admit it, that’s not a good life for any of us.

And, like the nail, the hammer is under the control of someone greater than itself. It has to wait for a human hand to pick it up and put it to use. Sometimes it suffers as that hand flings it away or the human mouth curses at it when it accidentally strikes the person’s thumb.

Still, the nail appears to have the less pleasant job. Being hit on the head. Cutting through hard wood until it’s forced down to where it will remain immobilized for many years. Sometimes being bent, wrenched back out, and thrown away as useless. Often being covered up where no one can see the hard work that it’s doing, as if it’s too ugly or worthless to look at.

But the nail isn’t just picked up occasionally for an odd job then put back on the shelf, like many hammers are. Once it’s in place, it renders a long, steady service behind the scenes. It binds things together that would otherwise fall apart. Sometimes it needs to work with other nails to do its job. It serves in a position that requires self-sacrifice, endurance, and cooperation. Kind of like the life God calls us to.

What are we to do?

Does that mean God doesn’t want any of us to be hammers? Is it wrong for a Christian to exercise power over others? On the job. In the home. At church. Within the community.

Of course not. We need bosses and parents and pastors and teachers and even political leaders.

However, like a good hammer, they’ll get the best results if they do the job right. Hitting the target accurately rather than striking wildly. Using only as much force as is necessary. Moving on when the job is done. Focusing on fulfilling their purpose to build something useful or beautiful, not on their ability to exercise power over others. Sometimes lying around for days or weeks waiting to be picked up. And just as there are many nails for one hammer, in any given situation God only calls a few to lead, while most of us serve.

Are we confined to one role or the other? Simon and Garfunkel’s lyrics make it sound like that’s the case.

Then I look at Jesus’ life. He spent much of it as a nail, submitting to God’s will in all things. He endured the opposition of the religious leaders of His day. He watched many lukewarm followers leave Him when His words offended them. He spoke and lived the Beatitudes. He washed His disciples’ filthy feet. He let Himself be nailed to a cross.

But He was more like a hammer when He cast out demons and cleansed the temple and rebuked the Pharisees. And when He rose from the dead.

Just like Jesus, most of us spend some time as hammers and more time as nails. A woman might act as a hammer to her children (choosing and enforcing the rules of the home in order to raise them to be responsible adults), then go to the office where she’s a nail.

There are powerful forces in our culture right now encouraging all of us to be hammers all of the time. Stand up for yourself. Demand your rights. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you. Seize whatever power you can and use it. Be an activist. Change the world.

Many politicians exemplify this attitude. How many presidents in recent decades have used their power hammering out executive orders that can be struck down by the Supreme Court or changed by Congress or the next president, rather than working together with senators and representatives to craft legislation that will hold together for many years?

These are our role models. They’re the ones we’ve elected to the highest office in the land.

What we really need, to counteract this destructive trend, is a whole lot of nails. People quietly serving without calling attention to themselves (1 Thessalonians 4:11). Holding things together rather than exercising blunt force. Working with others. Enduring the difficulties that come with their position. And understanding that this brings a different kind of power.

The power to contribute to greater peace in the world. To build stronger relationships and deeper community. To bring about greater justice and prosperity for more people. Jesus spent much of His life as a nail, but He’s had a more powerful influence on more people than anyone else in history.

 

 

Loving God

Agape vs. phileo love (pronunciation guide: a-gah-pay, fi-lay-oh)

Jesus: “Simon son of John, do you truly love [agape] me?”

Simon Peter: “Yes, Lord, you know that I love [phileo] you.” (John 21:15)

Agape is the greatest, deepest, richest kind of love. The love we all yearn for from others. An “unconditional, selfless, and sacrificial love.” Loving someone just the way they are, no matter what they do or say or think. Focusing fully on them and their needs. The kind of love God demonstrates. God is agape (1 John 4:8).

Phileo is “friendship or brotherly love, characterized by mutual affection, trust, and camaraderie.” Unlike agape, which is “unmerited, steadfast, and enduring,” phileo depends on things like how much we have in common, my current mood, and how easily I can be offended. It can fade over time. (Source of quotes: christianity.com)

After Peter has denied Christ three times, Jesus questions Peter three times about his love for Him (using his old name, not the new one Jesus gave him earlier). I can almost feel Peter cringing as he faces his Lord. Not only did he disown Him at His trials, now he’s going back to his old way of life, which was fishing.

Instead of being the rock (the meaning of the name “Peter”) and building the church on this rock (Matthew 16:18), instead of fishing for men (Matthew 4:18-20), he’s drawing his fellow disciples away with him to the lake and the boats and the nets. Even after witnessing Jesus’ sacrificial death and supernatural resurrection. Is there any hope for this man?

If we’ve read the rest of the story, we know there is. Most of that hope lies in God’s grace. But part of it is connected to Peter’s deeper understanding of himself. Jesus points out Peter’s failures by using his old name, then asks him if he agapes Him.

The old Peter would have loudly proclaimed his undying, sacrificial love for Jesus, as he did in John 13:37: “I will lay down my life for you.” (To which Jesus replied, “Before the cock crows, you will disown me three times!” He was right.)

The new Peter humbly recognizes and confesses that he does truly phileo Jesus, but agape is beyond his reach. He’d really rather catch fish than give his life away following Christ. Maybe part of the point of this passage is to show us that Peter has grown, even though he’s still disappointing his Lord. If there’s hope for this failure, then maybe there’s hope for me, too.

Phileo love for God

Agape demands that we love someone just the way they are. Do we love God just the way He is? Or do we want a different God, a God our warped and limited human understanding thinks is better? A God who gladly lets us conform to the world, rather than sacrificially following Him. Do we want the depth of an agape relationship with God, or only a shallow phileo friendship with Him?

Every time I open my Bible, Jesus asks me, “Ann, do you agape Me?” Am I willing to change my view of Him based on His revelation? Willing to love Him just the way He is? Or am I trying to accommodate the message that I find to fit my own ideas, giving Him my phileo but not my agape?

Looking at the list of labels in my sidebar, with “questioning.God” in a large font and “resenting.God” smaller but still there, it’s clear that I have a hard time loving God just the way He is. And I’m not alone.

Humans have always been drawn to gods who expect their followers to work their way into the gods’ favor. Sacrifice. Worship. Obey without questioning. It feeds our pride. (Look what I’ve achieved!) And it makes sense. What kind of god could demand anything less?

But the biblical revelation makes it clear that we can’t earn God’s love. He already loves us just the way we are. We sacrifice and worship and obey because we love Him, not to manipulate Him into loving us.

In the West today, the tendency leans more toward wanting gods who give their followers the freedom to do whatever makes them feel good, letting go of the old demands for purity and righteousness. The best god will respect the highest good in the universe—each person’s right to make his or her own decisions without judgment from anyone else.

There are those who stand firmly on the concept of social justice, rightly basing their convictions on the God of the Bible. He has always cared about the poor, the weak, the vulnerable, the oppressed. We should, too. In our actions, not just in our words.

But from what I’ve seen and heard, some of the most vocal religious proponents of the modern concept of social justice are appalled by many of the biblical demonstrations of God’s justice. They cannot believe in a God who condemns nations to slaughter or individuals to hell. They don’t love God just the way He is. They want to remake Him into their idea of what a good, modern god would be. A god they can phileo.

Those who promote a health and wealth gospel might phileo God but they don’t agape Him. They want to change Him into a God who always heals them and always provides abundant wealth for them.

And then there’s me. Sometimes life seems almost magical. Hopes and dreams fall into place. I can see God’s hand guiding it all. I can believe in the power of prayer and the depth of His love for me. I think I’m agape loving Him at those times. But maybe it’s more like phileo.

Maybe what I’m really feeling is a sense of mutual affection, trust, and even camaraderie. As long as He’s doing what I want, I can have a comfortable, friendly relationship with Him. But if He disappoints me, my phileo can cool off.

Agape love for God

Agape love is difficult for humans to achieve. But not impossible. God in His grace enables us to be more than we could be on our own, including growing in us the ability to agape. He even commands us to do it.

In Matthew 22:37-39, Jesus tells us to love God with all our heart and soul and mind, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. It helps to know that “this love (the Greek word agape) is not so much a matter of emotion as it is of doing things for the benefit of another person, that is, having an unselfish concern for another and a willingness to seek the best for another” (Bible Gateway).

At the time of his death as a Christian martyr, Peter proclaimed by his actions what he was unable to honestly say in words in John 21. In the end, he did agape Jesus.

I suspect that none of us (not even Peter) has ever been capable of sustaining our agape for God for any length of time in this life. The “unconditional” part of the definition of agape might be the biggest hurdle we have to get over. It really is very hard for us to love God just the way He is.

But as we move closer and closer to doing that, as we open our minds and our hearts to grasping who this glorious, generous, perfect, just, kind, and compassionate God is, loving Him selflessly and even sacrificially are likely to come more easily.

Peter’s example shows that it’s possible for that kind of love to grow and develop in us, by God’s grace and power. The fruit of the Spirit is agape (Galatians 5:22-23).

 

 

Aging and Freedom

The freedom that comes with aging

Entering the Worship Center one Sunday morning. Looking around, greeting people, finding a seat.

I try not to focus on the externals when I’m with others, but I can’t help noticing the clothing, the jewelry, the hairstyles. And the freedom they represent.

More than half of the congregation is older than me. They’re well past the age where they worry about conforming to the fashions of the moment in order to be accepted. They’re comfortable wearing what they like. It’s a freedom that comes with aging.

Saying hi to Jane and Jim. Widow and widower. They’ve been sitting together every week for several years. But there are no rumors, no speculation about their relationship, no hinting in whispers that they must be more than just friends. They’ve reached an age where single members of the opposite sex are free to spend time together without triggering speculation and gossip.

As a teenager, I hated the pressure to conform to the latest styles, and the social norms that made it next to impossible for boys and girls to be friends without pursuing or assuming a romantic relationship.

In the few moments that it takes me to find a seat, I feel a tremendous sense of freedom. A freedom that comes with aging.

A few years later, this is reinforced by a brief comment on the news. (I don’t remember the source, and can’t find the comment online at this point.) The newscaster is interviewing a woman on her hundredth birthday. He asks, “What’s the best part of living so long?”

She immediately replies, “No more peer pressure.”

She’s outlived all her peers. She’s free to wear whatever she wants to wear. She’s free to sit with the same man every day without worrying about what other people are thinking. Or even about what he’s thinking.

Additional freedoms

There are other freedoms that seniors can enjoy.

*The freedom from all those big decisions that will determine the trajectory of our lives for fifty years or more. Where to live. Whether to go to college. What career to pursue. Whether to marry and have children. How to raise those children.

*The freedom that comes from letting go of possessions. If we live long enough, many of us will be unable to keep up with the responsibilities of a house and yard. We’ll downsize.

It’ll be tough. It’ll be even tougher if we end up in a small assisted living apartment. It’ll help if other family members cherish the items we’ve invested with the greatest sentimental value. But the reality is that, even within our lifetimes, much of our stuff will go to the trash heap. We’ll need to grieve our losses. How can that be good?

We Americans tend to define our lives and our value by the things we possess. Letting go frees us to appreciate the far more precious things that we can never own. Like God. And people. When we’re not so focused on our manmade treasures, we’re free to pay more attention to the beauty of God’s world, the depth of His character, and the talents and wisdom of those around us.

*And even, in an odd way, the freedom that comes from knowing that nothing more can be done to improve our health or extend our lives. My mom’s been going through this in recent years.

In the past, she was somewhat obsessive about her health. She’d learn about the latest greatest preventive techniques. She’d become angry or bitter if a treatment didn’t work out perfectly. She lived with the anxiety of knowing that she, or her medical team, could make the wrong decision with potentially disastrous results.

Now she’s declining treatment. She knows that little can be done for her at this point. She’s made her peace with that reality. She’s free from the stress of having to research all her options and trust the medical professionals to do the right thing, free from the fear of missing out on the best treatment, free from the fear of her life ending early. She’s ready to go home.

Contentment

I don’t mean to make it sound like there aren’t any drawbacks to aging. It usually includes some loss of independence, and therefore loss of freedom, especially if a person’s life ends in assisted living or a nursing home.

But the world puts so much emphasis on youth that it can be hard to appreciate the intangible benefits of aging. If we see no benefits at all in our current situation, where does that leave us? What does it say about our trust in a loving God?

At the root of all these freedoms that come with aging is a powerful biblical value: contentment. The contentment that comes with reduced pressure from our peers and a reduced number of options for the future.

Paul writes in Philippians 4:12-13, “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” He was in chains (1:13), probably under house arrest (NIV intro to Philippians), awaiting trial, when he wrote these words. Not exactly enjoying many freedoms. Yet, through Christ, he had the strength to be content.

This isn’t an automatic response. Even Paul had to learn it. Fallen human beings have a natural bent to be dissatisfied. The ad industry, especially in America, aggravates our discontent. It may be that those who’ve spent sixty years or more grumbling and complaining will continue that lifestyle right up to the end.

But maybe, just maybe, the grumblers and complainers can learn to recognize the freedoms that come with aging. Maybe they’ll be able to enjoy the limited years they have left with contentment.

And maybe our young people can be more countercultural and find the freedom that comes with contentment. Why wait until you reach old age?

 

Broken Body, Broken Mind

The emptiness

Sitting down to do my morning Bible reading. A few chapters in Job, one of my favorite books.

Having a hard time of it lately. A new chronic digestive problem struck six months ago, sending me to the emergency room for diagnosis and treatment. It’s generally manageable by diet alone, but occasionally medication is needed.

Many people my age have this condition. It runs in my family. And yet I feel completely alone in my suffering. Why?

When I have that sense of discomfort in a certain part of my gut, it’s always accompanied by weird emotional symptoms. A gloomy darkness. A heaviness. A gulf between me and God. As the discomfort passes, so do the other symptoms. Does anyone else with this condition experience that?

I’m afraid to ask.

Afraid of facing skepticism or judgment. Afraid of being told that it’s all in my head, that a good psychiatrist can fix it. Or that I’m just feeling sorry for myself or giving in to fear. While self-pity and anxiety tend to enter the picture whenever I get sick, with this condition it’s not that simple. There’s some kind of strange connection between my gut chemistry and my brain chemistry.

Can anyone else relate to this? Or am I truly alone?

This latest flare-up has been especially hard emotionally and spiritually. Those symptoms have been building up as time passes. Now the physical discomfort comes and goes throughout each day, but the bad feelings continue 24/7.

It started on a Sunday afternoon. I wanted to get over it without taking medication, but made a mental note to call my doctor for a prescription if it went on for too long.

Somehow I misplaced that note.

The gut symptoms improved little by little for the first week. Then they kind of plateaued. At the same time, the emotional symptoms bogged down. God drew further and further away. A sort of spiritual deadness hit. I reached the point where I was wallowing in the dark, begging for healing, wondering where He had gotten to.

Over the decades, I’ve learned many ways to draw nearer to Him when I’m hurting. I tried them all. Nothing worked. Like Job in 16:6, “If I speak, my pain is not relieved; and if I refrain, it does not go away.”

God, why won’t You heal me? Why are my emotions stuck in such a difficult place? Why do I feel so far from You? Why don’t You pull me in closer?

A week and a half after the worst of the symptoms hit, I was filled with fear and dread. Fear that this time it was more hopeless than with previous episodes. Dread of a drastically reduced diet for the rest of my life. Fear of being told that I needed surgery. Fear of losing my independence.

Then somehow that mental note popped back into my head. I called my doctor, got a prescription, and began to heal again. But I had another minor episode when I’d almost used up the medication, and God was still too too far away.

The refilling

So I sit down for my morning Bible reading. It’s in Job, but it’s not touching me, reaching me, strengthening me like it usually does. There’s a wall inside that I haven’t been able to break through.

I’ve written before about how Job actually struggled emotionally and spiritually. He didn’t just take his suffering in stride, as some evangelicals seem to think. They cite chapters 1 and 2 as evidence of his unshakable faith.

But I look to chapter 3 and hear him cursing the day of his birth, followed by the heart of the book where he openly challenges God, and I’m grateful for the model that he provides, because I need to know that God can handle our questions and complaints with compassion.

As I’m reading the opening chapters this time, my heart is heavy and my spirit is lonely. I’m more critical of my own thinking and assumptions. Job really did say some pretty profound things in chapters 1 and 2. It’s not until chapter 3 that he seems to fall apart. What happened?

First God allowed Satan to attack Job’s family, servants, and belongings. Job’s faith remained strong. Then He allowed Satan to attack Job’s body. Job broke down.

There could be different reasons for this change. Coincidence. The straw that broke the camel’s back. The natural irritability and self-pity that come with illness. Moving through the stages of grief from denial to anger.

Or Job could be so self-centered that even the loss of his children didn’t affect him that much. It was only when his own body was damaged that he couldn’t handle it. That seems to be what Satan expected. With all the uprightness attributed to Job at the beginning and end of the book, though, that doesn’t seem likely.

Then something I’ve never thought of before comes to mind: Maybe the physical changes in his body included physical changes in his brain chemistry. Wow.

Did Job, my hero, my role model, go through the same thing I’m going through? Did Satan’s attack include not just the natural emotional response to physical distress, but a biological change that brought on almost irresistible* emotional and spiritual symptoms?

I can’t say an absolute yes, that’s definitely what happened. But it would explain so much. Job’s strength in chapters 1 and 2. His weakness in chapter 3.

Some evangelicals won’t like this idea. One reason I’m having a hard time getting my memoir published is because there are many Christians in positions of power who deny the possibility that biology can directly influence emotions.

Some publishers won’t consider my manuscript because it clearly declares that my first depressive episode wasn’t cured through spiritual practices. They helped a lot—they saved my life!—but only an antidepressant could restore my brain to its normal functioning.

There’s a link between our physical bodies and our minds and souls. Changes in brain chemistry can badly damage our emotions and our spirits.

I always feel so alone and misunderstood when this happens to me. But now, for the first time in my many years of being blessed by reading this precious book of Job, I’m seeing something new and profound. Job himself just might have suffered from the same problem. (And if he did, then maybe other people in the Bible did, too.)

I’m not alone.

I’m in good company.

The company of one who was declared by God to be blameless and upright. One whose story God has chosen to include in His inspired Word.

And God loves me enough to come to me when I feel like He’s so far away, and to open my eyes to see an incredible truth that I’ve been missing for all these years.

My head collapses onto my folded arms on the desk in front of me. I cry hard. I release the tears that have been bottled up inside, unable to escape for the last couple of weeks even though I’ve tried to let them go. I pour out the pain and frustration and emptiness. And, eventually, the joy. God has brought me home to Him once again.


*A note to my evangelically-correct friends who might think I’m saying that we have no responsibility for thoughts and emotions that spring from biological causes: We might not be able to control the thoughts and emotions themselves at the instant when they strike, but we have at least a little bit of control over how we handle them.

The more we practice responding in more biblical ways to the feelings that seem so unmanageable, the better we’ll be able to handle the next attack. Christians also have the Holy Spirit inside strengthening us when we’re at our weakest, enabling us to deal with these challenges in more godly ways.

 

 

The Ascension

The Mount of Olives

Forty days after the resurrection, Jesus ascended into heaven from the Mount of Olives. He returned to His Father to sit at His right hand. (Acts 1:3-12, Hebrews 10:12) Evangelicals don’t often mention the ascension, yet it was a watershed moment in the history of mankind.

Definition of a literal watershed: “A ridge of high land dividing two areas that are drained by different river systems.”

Definition of a figurative watershed: “A critical point that marks a division or a change of course; a turning point.” (Source: The American Heritage online dictionary)

The Mount of Olives was both.

According to Wikipedia, it’s a literal watershed. It divides the river system on its west side from the river system on its east.

It’s also a figurative watershed. A turning point. It’s where the Glory of the Lord was last seen by Ezekiel after it was removed from the temple (Ezekiel 11:22-23). It’s where Jesus ascended into heaven. It’s where He’ll stand when He returns (Zechariah 14:4).

The old and new covenants

It’s a figurative watershed in another sense, too. According to Crosswalk.com, from the top of the Mount of Olives you can look to the west and see the city of Jerusalem flourishing on Mount Zion and to the east and see the dry open desert. Quite a contrast.

A contrast elaborated in Hebrews 12:18-24. In this passage, the author is comparing Mount Zion to Mount Sinai, a comparison between the new covenant and the old.

Mount Zion represents “the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God,” while Mount Sinai is in the hot, dry, dusty desert. (It’s not literally east of the Mount of Olives, but since it’s in a desert my mind combines the symbolism of Sinai with the desert east of the Mount of Olives.)

Sinai was filled with “darkness, gloom, and storm.” The scene was so terrifying that Moses was trembling with fear. It was the site of the old covenant, a covenant of law, mediated by the man Moses, ratified by the blood of animals, and based on earthly things (“a mountain that can be touched” and promises of tangible blessings). Few were allowed on Mount Sinai.

In contrast, Zion is full of “thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly.” It represents the new covenant, a covenant of grace and joy, mediated by God the Son, ratified by the blood of Jesus as the perfect sacrifice, and focused on spiritual things (“the heavenly Jerusalem” and eternal life). All are invited to Mount Zion. (My thanks to a Bible teacher at my church who presented this information in a class that I was taking when I wrote this article.)

I imagine myself standing on the top of the Mount of Olives. First facing the desert that symbolizes Mount Sinai. Filled with the fear of a perfectly righteous God and the hopelessness of never being able to fulfill all the requirements of His Law. Never being able to earn His forgiveness. Seeing God’s holiness and judgment in the darkness and storm. Feeling a great distance between us.

Then turning in the opposite direction to face Jerusalem. Seeing God’s intense love expressed in the sacrifice of His only Son for the sins of the world. Relieved that I’m completely, totally forgiven by His grace, not by anything that I have to do. Filled with the Holy Spirit and His fruit.

An analogy of the gospel. We must first face the scorched desert. The hopelessness and vastness of the sin that separates us from God. We must see this in order to recognize our own personal need for salvation and our inability to earn it for ourselves. Then when we turn around and see the New Jerusalem, we can begin to grasp the love and grace of God, the enormity of what He’s done for us in order to bring us into fellowship with Him.

At the watershed moment of salvation, we turn from the dry dusty desert of selfish worldly desires that can never satisfy us but only increase our thirst. We turn in the opposite direction (the literal meaning of the word repent) to the glory, beauty, and joy of the heavenly Jerusalem where the river of life flows and the tree of life bears continual fruit and provides leaves for the healing of the nations (Revelation 22:1-2).

The impact of the ascension

I stand on this watershed, turning from east to west, from Sinai to Zion. Then look down and up. Down to the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus was betrayed, bound, deserted, and taken away to face His trials. Up to where He ascended into heaven. A sort of vertical watershed.

At that moment, in this place, everything changed. Jesus ascended to sit at the right hand of the Father.

“Sitting signifies a permanent abiding.”

“Abiding is about being in a place where one remains close, where a relationship is sustained.”

“‘Sitting at the right hand’ indicates authority from and special privileged access to God.”

“To sit with denotes intimate fellowship.”

To sit down also means the work is finished. A couple of Bible teachers have pointed out to me in recent years that there were no chairs in the tabernacle or temple. Until Jesus’ death and resurrection and ascension, the work of restoring man’s relationship with God was never completed.

Since His ascension, Jesus permanently remains in a position of authority with special access to God and in intimate fellowship with Him. The disciples were “filled with grief” when He told them He was going away. But He assured them that it would be better for them when He did. (John 16:5-7)

Because of the context, I’ve always understood His words to mean that the change for the better would be the coming of the Holy Spirit to dwell within us. But it’s also so much better for us that He’s now abiding at God’s right hand, exercising authority and interceding for us, rather than walking the earth, even in His resurrected body.

The fullness of our salvation, of our restored relationship with God, was made possible by every watershed moment in the Gospels and the first chapter of Acts. Jesus’ birth. His death. His resurrection. Last of all, and most often ignored or forgotten by evangelicals (including me), His  ascension into heaven.