Fearful and Troubled

Israel’s fear

Joshua 8:1: “Then the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.’”

Of course Joshua and his fellow Israelites are afraid! Of course they’re discouraged! Look what just happened to them.

In chapter 6, they were cruising along, miraculously crossing the Jordan River on dry ground and destroying the walls of Jericho simply by marching around the city, blowing trumpets, and shouting. God was with them. They could see His hand at work. After forty years of wandering in the wilderness, He was beginning to fulfill His promise to give them a land of their own. What could be more exciting?

Following the easy victory at Jericho, they headed out for the second battle in this new territory, fighting the city of Ai. They were so passionate. So confident of God’s presence and their own strength that they limited the number of warriors they sent into the battle.

“But they were routed by the men of Ai.”

They never had a chance.

“At this the hearts of the people melted and became like water.”

Even Joshua was shaken. He questioned whether they should have crossed the Jordan. He feared that the Canaanites would hear about it and “wipe out our name from the earth.” They were understandably afraid of their enemies.

The Lord revealed to them that the cause of their disaster was sin. One single man out of the entire population had defied God’s direct order. Because of one man’s disobedience, approximately thirty-six men were killed in the battle with Ai, all of the Israelites were put to shame, and the man and his children were executed.

Who wouldn’t be afraid of God after witnessing His judgment? Who wouldn’t be discouraged as they looked at their own sinful hearts and realized that they could be next?

And yet He comes to Joshua and clearly says, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Under these circumstances, I have to think that this isn’t a command (in the sense of demanding instant repentance and obedience) so much as a word of encouragement.

Could anyone honestly command someone not to be afraid after he’s just faced terrifying actions from both men and God? Could anyone expect that person to respond to that command by straightening his spine and banishing all his fears without another drop of anxiety seeping in? Surely God knows us better than that.

The disciples’ troubled hearts

It reminds me of Jesus saying to His disciples in John 14:1, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” What had happened in the days and hours before He spoke these words?

Jesus had predicted His death by crucifixion and told them about the frightening time of judgment to come (Matthew 24, 26:1-2). Impending danger from both man and God.

In John 13, He prophesied that He’d be betrayed by one of them. That He’d be going away and they wouldn’t be able to go with Him. That Peter would disown Him three times before the rooster crowed in the morning.

Who wouldn’t be troubled? Yes, He’d also provided some comforting words and actions (like washing their feet to express the depth of His love for them), but if the disciples were like me, the scary stuff would make a deeper impression than the comforting stuff.

And yet He says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”As if they could really do that. As in Joshua, I can’t see this as a command. It sounds more like an attempt to strengthen His friends in preparation for the most difficult challenge of their lives. To turn their focus from their fears to His promises and His character so that they would, in time, be able to overcome their troubled hearts.

God knows

When God tells me not to be afraid, I often feel like my fear is fully justified. Terrible, frightening things are happening. Doesn’t He understand that? How can He expect me to just let go of my fears and move ahead as if nothing was wrong?

But, as with the Israelites in Joshua’s day and the disciples shortly before Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, the Lord often comes to me (through His Word, through worshipping at church, through other people, through His Holy Spirit) not to sternly rebuke me for my fears, but to strengthen me by comforting and encouraging me.

What does He base this on? Surely He can’t expect me to just pretend all’s right with the world and the threats don’t really exist.

In both the Old and New Testament passages, God based it on the fact that He knew what was coming. His hearers didn’t. Neither do I.

He knew that the Israelites would defeat their enemy the next time around. He knew that Jesus would be resurrected from the dead on the third day.

After the Lord encourages Joshua not to be afraid or discouraged, He says that He’s given Ai into their hands. Past tense. He provides them with the strategy for doing it (using the whole army, not just a few thousand, and setting an ambush). Israel experiences a decisive victory.

The events that occur after Jesus’ conversation with His disciples are even more spectacular than the victory over Ai. He’s betrayed by Judas (one of the chosen twelve) and arrested in front of an angry mob. His disciples scatter in fear.

He faces multiple trials, beating, mocking, a crown of thorns, and the death penalty. Isaiah says His appearance was “disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness” (Isaiah 52:14).

He’s taken to Golgotha, where He’s brutally crucified along with two criminals. He cries out to His God, who’s forsaken Him. He dies. His body is laid in a tomb. How much worse could it get? How could any of His followers not be shocked and terrified?

But then, just as God knew would happen, just as Jesus had told them would happen, the whole reason the Son could say to them, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” the most unexpected and amazing thing happens. Jesus rises from the dead.

It was too unbelievable for the disciples to understand Him when Jesus predicted it beforehand (e.g. Matthew 16:21-23). It was too unbelievable for even His closest followers to accept someone else’s word for it (Mark 16:9-12, Luke 24:9-27, John 20:24-25). It’s the greatest, most spectacular, most unbelievable event in the history of the world.

And God knew it was coming. That’s why Jesus could reassure His disciples that they didn’t need to be troubled. Nearly every time He told them about His coming death, He also promised them that He would rise from the dead.

My hope

When I’m fearful and troubled, when life hurts, when scary things are happening, I have the same reassurance that Israel and the disciples had. God knows my future.

It might involve additional suffering. The scary circumstances won’t necessarily just miraculously go away (although they sometimes do). Jesus’ followers went through an intensely painful time before experiencing the unexpected, overflowing joy of the resurrection.

As the years passed, many of them were imprisoned and tortured and killed because of their faith in Him. He doesn’t promise me a life of ease.

But God knows my future. He knows that my future, in this life, includes intimate fellowship with Him and with other believers, joy and wonder at the works of His hands, and the fruit of the Spirit growing inside me.

He knows that my future, in the next life, includes the overwhelming, unimaginable joy and love and peace and glory of being with Him. It includes being completely separated from sin and all its painful consequences. Forever and ever.

Jesus has defeated death. I think He can probably see me through even the most frightening and troubling days ahead.

I don’t always find it easy to trust Him to do that. But I can look at the many examples in His Word and imagine His voice saying, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,” and, “Do not let your heart be troubled.” I can know that He knows my future, just as surely as He knew Israel’s and the disciples’ futures. I can learn to trust Him a little bit more.

 

 

 

Good Company

Despair

Rereading books from my personal library, deciding which are keepers and which can go. A Reason to Live, edited by Melody Beattie (1991), is my current choice.

Two quotes on page 125:

“So if you [God] are going to deal thus with me, please kill me at once.”

“It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life.”

The title of the article in A Reason to Live: “You’re in Good Company.” These words were spoken by Moses and Elijah in Numbers 11:15 and 1 Kings 19:4. Many of the readers of the book could relate to their despair.

Glory

Where’s the one place in the New Testament where these two great men appear together? With Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-9).

I’ve always wondered why they were sent to the Lord at that time. I’ve heard a couple of good explanations, but you know me. I continue to question God’s choices (or man’s explanations for God’s choices).

I’ve heard some say that Moses represents the Law while Elijah represents the prophets. That makes sense, since Jesus came to fulfill the Law and the prophets. But a little part of my brain asks, “Why should Elijah represent the prophets? Was he the greatest of them all? He doesn’t even have his own book, like Isaiah or Jeremiah.”

I’ve heard some say that one link between them is that neither had a definite burial place, just as Jesus’ tomb is empty. A good observation. Moses died on Mount Nebo and was buried “in the valley opposite Beth Peor, but to this day no one knows where his grave is” (Deuteronomy 34:6). Elijah was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind without ever dying (2 Kings 2:11). But if that was God’s reasoning, why wasn’t Enoch on this mountain, too (Genesis 5:24)?

I’m fine with these explanations. There may be others that I’m not familiar with.

But as I read these words of desperation from the lips of the two who came to Jesus on that mountain in the final days before His last journey to Jerusalem, I see God’s choice from a different perspective.

In Matthew 16:21, “Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” He repeats this message in 20:17-19. In between is the transfiguration.

His coming suffering must have been on His mind even as His glory was revealed to Peter, James, and John. And then Moses and Elijah appeared and talked with Jesus.

Good company for Jesus

According to Luke 9:31, they “spoke about his departure, which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem.” Jesus would be in control of His departure, but we know from His experience in the Garden of Gethsemane that it wouldn’t be easy.

As I read this article in this book I think, What do we all crave when we’re facing a difficult trial? The good company of someone who can relate to our fears and our pain.

Is that maybe one of the reasons the Father sent these two particular men to be with His Son at this particular time? Did they remind Him of their own trials and struggles, their own despair? Did their presence and their words strengthen Jesus as He faced both human and divine judgment at the end of His life on this planet?

(I don’t mean to imply that He was so dependent on help from human beings that He would have failed in His mission if He hadn’t had this encounter. Sometimes God sends us unnecessary blessings out of the abundance of His grace.

I’ve had times when I really would have been okay without any encouragement or strengthening from others, but the Lord has gone beyond my need and blessed me through someone else’s words. I treasure those moments.

The presence of Moses and Elijah wasn’t necessary for Jesus to have enough strength to face His coming trials. It was a gift from a loving Father to His Son.)

The background

When the Israelite slaves suddenly escaped from Egypt, they’d spent hundreds of years living in poverty and in terror of their masters, with few opportunities to make meaningful decisions. As a result, they understandably experienced fear and doubt and stumbling on their initial journey.

God was patient with them and provided for their needs during their many periods of grumbling. In the book of Exodus, He rebukes them for their complaints, but the only time He punishes them for their attitude and behavior is when they worship the Golden Calf at Mount Sinai in chapter 32.

The next book, Leviticus, is mostly peaceful. The only rebellions described are by individuals and are dealt with individually (chapters 10 and 24).

Then we move on to Numbers. The first ten chapters concern commands from the Lord and the departure from Mount Sinai. But something changes in chapter 11. The outline in my 1985 NIV Bible labels it, “The Beginning of the Sorrows.” Now the Lord becomes “exceedingly angry” with them for their complaints. He sends fire to consume “some of the outskirts of the camp.”

What’s happening here?

Through every trial, God had demonstrated His tender loving care for Israel. On Mount Sinai, He made a precious covenant with them to be their God. Their departure from that mountain signals that they have everything they need to enter into a deeper relationship with Him than any group has had since the fall of mankind.

It’s time for them to grow up, stop grumbling, and start trusting Him. Time for God to start using different teaching methods.

This is when Moses asks God to take his life. He doesn’t see how he can possibly bear “the burden of all these people.” And yet he does. For forty more years.

At the Mount of Transfiguration, Jesus knew He would soon be bearing a great burden involving many people, on the cross. He and Moses could relate to each other.

In 1 Kings chapters 18 and 19, Elijah experiences a powerful victory over the false god, Baal. Queen Jezebel sends him a message vowing to kill him within twenty-four hours. He runs for his life and prays that he could just die by God’s hand. Elijah quickly plummets from the heights of success to the depths of sheer terror.

As they were talking, Jesus knew that He would soon go from the glory of the transfiguration to the intense suffering of the cross. He and Elijah could relate to each other.

In Mark 9:19, Jesus expresses exasperation with His disciples’ lack of faith, asking how much longer He’ll have to put up with them. Kind of like Moses and Elijah telling God they’re ready to be done with this life.

Jesus could relate to both Moses and Elijah. They provided good company for Him.

Good company for the disciples—and me

Shortly after the incident with the Golden Calf, Moses asks to see God’s glory. The glory of the Lord passes by him while he’s covered by God’s hand in the cleft of the rock. Moses only sees God’s back.

After asking the Lord to take his life, Elijah hides in a cave on Mount Horeb. (NIV note: probably an alternate name for Mount Sinai.) God says to him, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Elijah experiences God’s presence in a “gentle whisper.”

Moses and Elijah had indirect, yet intimate, encounters with God’s presence and glory. Peter, James, and John are there when Jesus is transfigured in all His glory. It wasn’t only Jesus who could relate to Moses and Elijah. These three disciples were in good company, too.

And I’m in good company. In both my despair and my joy. Moses, Elijah, and even Jesus went through deep emotional suffering. I can relate to them.

Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, and John all had intimate encounters with the glory of God. I don’t expect to ever see some kind of vision of God’s glory, like Jesus’ transfiguration, in this lifetime. But with the Holy Spirit within me, I can have a growing sense of His glory. I can relate to these men. I’m in good company with them in both their pain and their joy.

Part of that glory, part of that joy, is the Wow! I experience when I see new connections between different Bible passages. Moses and Elijah both despaired to the point of asking God to take their lives. That same Moses and Elijah appeared to Jesus shortly before His agonized prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane. God’s Word and His working are amazing.

 

 

 

Drawing Nearer

Drawing nearer in the storm

“Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer.” One of my favorite worship songs. We first sang it in church when I was going through a tough time.

The initial plea: “Jesus draw me ever nearer as I labor through the storm.” I felt like I was lost in the darkness of a raging storm, alone in the middle of nowhere with no sense of direction, being drenched and blinded by the downpour and blown about by the wind. Laboring hard but not getting anywhere.

I needed Jesus to draw me nearer to Him. I was too helpless to approach Him in my own strength.

Over the next few years, as I sang that song in my head in difficult situations, I took the prayer to mean that special kind of drawing me closer temporarily to comfort me in a time of pain. Like a child sitting in her mother’s lap after she’s fallen and bumped her knee. When the storm passed, I wouldn’t need that same kind of help.

But recently, as I thought about the words, I realized that God’s been answering that prayer in an even bigger way.

Remaining nearer

A loving mother snuggles a crying child in her lap. When he’s feeling better, she encourages him to go back to playing with his toys. Even though he’s physically more distant from his mom, he remains just a little bit closer to her emotionally because of that moment of snuggling.

In the same way, even after my need for comforting has passed, my relationship with God remains stronger than it was before He drew me into His lap. Having a fresh taste of His nurturing love, I’m more aware of His presence more of the time. I know Him better, I understand Him better, I see the beauty of His character more clearly, than I ever did before.

When it comes to thinking about how God grows me through suffering, my thoughts have a tendency to go in two main directions. One, there are many lessons that I couldn’t learn any other way. As a fallen human being, I can’t understand the most important things in life when I have an easy time of it. I need the pain.

Two, one of the primary purposes behind my suffering is to enable me to minister to others. God comforts me so that I can comfort others (2 Corinthians 1:4). Suffering is intended to take my eyes off of myself.

Both of these ideas are biblical and important. But that’s not the whole story.

I get so focused on how God’s comfort makes a painful moment more tolerable that I don’t even think about the long-term effects of that comfort. The drawing ever nearer, not just for the moment.

Being comforted builds a bond that doesn’t simply go away when I no longer need that personal sense of comfort. And each time He comforts me, that bond grows stronger.

Strength for the future

Sometimes, when a child who’s been abused is fostered or adopted by new parents, she becomes clingy. She runs to them over and over again, seeking comfort in what might seem to be trivial situations. She has a hard time venturing out into the big bad world.

Although it might seem like an unhealthy need for attention, this behavior has a purpose. Each moment of comfort draws her nearer to her new parents, not just temporarily, but for a lifetime. Each moment of comfort builds a greater bond that keeps on growing until the child has the strength to play with friends for hours without having to continually turn back to her family. And that’s a good thing.

She isn’t cutting herself off from them. She’s not declaring her complete independence. She’s carrying that comfort and that bond with her as she stumbles out into the wider world. A world that she’s meant to be a part of.

In the same way, God’s comfort strengthens me, not just for the moment when I feel it so intensely, not just to give me a temporary high that I can treasure, but for my long-term growth. When I’m not feeling the immediate need for His comfort, that doesn’t mean that I’m walking away from Him or declaring my independence from Him. It means that His comfort has done the work that it was intended to do.

Because I was comforted for a moment, I’m now strengthened for a lifetime. I can venture out into the world having that greater bond to my Lord. I can love others better and serve Him more effectively.

My life has been tough in certain ways. I almost had to laugh when a woman at church commented to me a few years ago that we’ve reached that age when life starts getting harder. Starts? I hit that point in my early thirties. Didn’t have to wait till my sixties, like I was apparently supposed to do.

So I’ve thought a lot about suffering. I tend to think that the most biblical view is one that confirms that growth comes through pain. It hurts, God gets us through it, and we learn some valuable truths that we wouldn’t pick up any other way. I knew that, with each lesson, I would grow in my understanding of God’s love. I knew that He would comfort me in my trials. And that I could look back on those times of comfort to provide hope when the next trial came.

But I didn’t really think about the ongoing effect of that comfort in drawing me nearer to Him. I’ve sung so many times, “Jesus draw me ever nearer,” without recognizing until now that that’s exactly what He does. His comfort doesn’t just have a short-term effect. A moment of comfort draws me nearer for ever.

 

 

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.

 

 

Considering

Blessed through suffering

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:2-4)

“We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” (Romans 5:3-5)

My thoughts as I’m considering these passages:

How similar they are, even though they’re written by two different authors.

The use of the word know in both passages. No excuse for not rejoicing. We know that suffering develops perseverance.

“Pure joy”? Not just some joy? Don’t think I’m there yet. But it helps to consider a pastor’s teaching from years ago. He said that the Greek word for “consider” is an accounting term. James isn’t telling us to expect to walk around in total bliss when life is at its most painful, but to rejoice as we look at the balance sheet and see that the profits far outweigh the costs (2 Corinthians 4:17).

What really stands out as I’m reading them this time around, though: The appeal to my selfish nature.

Consider it pure joy when I suffer, because it will bring me to the point where I’m not lacking anything. Rejoice in my suffering, because it will produce hope.

God isn’t saying here, “Rejoice in what I’ll do for others through you.” He isn’t even saying, “Rejoice because I will use this for My glory.” He’s saying plain and simple, “Rejoice because I will bless you in this situation.” As selfish as it sounds, it must be okay for me to do that.

Pressuring myself

My life verses, 2 Corinthians 1:3-4: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” The key words in my mind: so that.

In trying to resist our me-centered culture, I get hung up on sacrifice and denying self. I consider it absolutely necessary to turn my thoughts every time from “How does this benefit me?” to “How can this bring glory to God?” or “How can I use this to minister to others?”

The Christians who earn my greatest respect (and envy) are those who don’t consider themselves, but live lives of sacrifice. I end up making an idol of my own sacrifices and turning a blind eye to God’s generous blessings for me.

It can be so confusing. We’re told to put others ahead of ourselves. Jesus says to deny ourselves and take up our cross and follow Him (Matthew 16:24). To hate our own families if they turn us from our total commitment to Him (Matthew 10:37). Nothing less than dying to self is demanded of us.

And yet here God is, in the very challenging passages quoted at the beginning of this post, telling me to do something because it benefits me. Period.

Sometimes I need to hear this. Sometimes I need to remember that God rejoices in blessing me, that He takes pleasure in my joy and even in my happiness.

The pendulum

During certain periods in church history, the judgment of God was emphasized much more than His grace. Christians lived in terror of Him rather than in fellowship with Him.

Church leaders used that fear of God to control people. If they could threaten members with punishment and damnation, those members would be more likely to do what their leaders said. It was a source of intoxicating power.

The impact of the Protestant Reformation came from its return to grace, not works. To a God who loves us even when we’re sinners. Who forgives us when we simply believe and repent. But the pendulum always swings back and forth.

My understanding of twentieth century Christian history is that it began with a tendency to legalism, as expressed in the fundamentalist movement. Then in the fifties or sixties the pendulum started swinging back to an emphasis on grace, as modern evangelicalism spread.

Many Christians in my generation grew up in legalistic Catholic or Baptist churches. When they saw the light of the gospel, they were freed from the burden of fearful obedience to the law and began living in the joy of grace.

But through its own momentum, the pendulum has swung too far. From a legalistic focus on the law to an obsessive focus on my freedom. Christians began to consider the love of God for me as more important than any other aspect of the gospel. His righteousness and holiness and judgment and glory took a back seat to my importance in His eyes.

Self took center stage. In our evangelism. In our worship. In our prayers. In our teaching. In our lives.

I struggle with this. I’m part of this culture. Sometimes I can’t even tell when I’m being selfish because it comes so naturally and because it’s reinforced by everyone around me, including my fellow believers.

When I do see what’s happening, I overreact. I harshly judge myself and the Christians I know by how much we’re sacrificing, how much we’re giving up, how much we’re putting others ahead of ourselves. No room for grace.

It hurts. It’s not healthy. I pay a price for it.

Encouragement

Maybe that’s why the Holy Spirit leads me to these passages. I don’t usually read them back to back and make the connection between them. But for some reason, I recently read them just a few days apart and began to consider them, not in isolation, but together. When God repeats something in His Word, He’s emphasizing its importance.

It knocked me off my judgmental pedestal and threw me to my knees in thanksgiving. These verses tell me that it’s okay to consider what God’s doing for me. Not for how I can use it to glorify Him or minister to others, but just for my own sake.

That’s how much He loves me. That’s how well He understands me.

Of course I need to consider these words in the context of the Bible as a whole. They can’t be seen as an excuse to dive into greater self-centeredness.

But right now, He’s using them to comfort me, to encourage me, to let me rest in His great love for me without judging or condemning myself. Without pressuring myself. And it might just be that He’ll use that comfort and encouragement and rest to glorify Himself and minister to those around me in ways that I’m not even aware of.