Division and Unity

The lesson

I don’t remember exactly when it started. Sometime between fifteen and twenty years ago, I think. I’m still struggling with it, though.

The Holy Spirit has been grabbing my attention, pulling me along, hitting me over the head with it. Convicting me. Also making it possible for me to respond the way God wants me to, even though it feels like my progress has been painfully slow.

And now, today, I’m so glad He began working on me way back then. Because that lesson is one I need to put into practice now more than ever.

What is it? “Love one another” (John 13:34).

It sounds so simple. And yet Jesus waited until His last day on earth to give His disciples this “new command.” Maybe they couldn’t really do it until they’d spent three years in close fellowship with Him. Or maybe they wouldn’t be able to do it until after they’d received the Holy Spirit.

I’m a critical thinker, which can be a good thing. It makes it easier for me to analyze a statement and get to the root of what’s true or false about it. I’m less likely to be taken in by propaganda and fake news.

But there’s a downside. I’m too critical of other people, including other Christians.

I’ve always found it challenging to appreciate and love certain believers. Especially the difficult or immature ones. The ones who’ve been saved for forty years or more and yet have grown so little.

God began convicting me of my need to love even them. He began teaching me and helping me to do it better.

The challenge

Ever since Trump’s rise to power in 2016, I’ve had a hard time coming to terms with the reality that some of the friends I’ve known and loved for decades are on the opposite side of the fence from me. I have a hard time understanding how they can believe the things they do about him.

My natural response would be to pull away from them. Or fight and argue, with the mental attitude that they have to see things my way or they’re bad people. In other words, follow the world’s strategies for dealing with conflict.

Several years ago, I was listening to a program on NPR (National Public Radio) shortly before Thanksgiving. A caller was expressing her dread of sitting down to the holiday meal with her extended family, since different members identified with different parts of the political spectrum. But what could be more interesting or more important to talk about than politics?

She knew from past experience that those who disagreed with her would never be willing to accept the truth when she presented it, and of course she’d never stoop so low as to agree with their faulty view of the world. The entire time was likely to be spent arguing, with increasing hostility and without any possibility of resolving anything.

The host of the show sympathized with the caller. She couldn’t imagine any other way to handle the situation.

God has been working in me for many years now to love others better, which includes changing my natural response to conflict. The response illustrated by the NPR segment.

I’m not supposed to regard a fellow believer from a worldly point of view anymore, but as a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:16-17).

God's ways are not the world’s ways (Isaiah 55:8). He “is kind to the ungrateful and wicked” (Luke 6:35)!

One time, as I arrived at a relative’s wedding, I immediately (and unexpectedly) ran into several guests who were gay or trans. Instant discomfort. What should I say? What should I do? The Holy Spirit soon reminded me that His fruit is kindness and gentleness (Galatians 5:22-23).

God's ways are not our ways and His thoughts are not our thoughts. But our relationship with Him includes growing in our knowledge of His ways and His thoughts. And in our ability to imitate Him.

So how am I supposed to deal with those believers who take a stand on Trump that’s completely opposed to mine? It wouldn’t hurt so much, it wouldn’t be so tough if I wasn’t firmly convinced by God’s Word and by the Holy Spirit within me that my understanding is the one most in line with His character. Unfortunately, believers on the other side are just as convinced of how right they are.

Preventing division 

The Lord has been teaching me for years now that I need to respond to all my brothers and sisters in Christ with love and grace. By doing so, I can contribute to greater unity among His people. Shortly after giving them the command to love one another, Jesus prayed for the oneness of His followers. How dare I splinter our unity for something as trivial as the politics of the day?

Every four years, I hear the declaration that this is the most important election in decades, maybe ever. The fate of the world hangs in the balance.

But how does one American election look in the light of eternity? It’s a very tiny drop in an infinite ocean.

What’s vastly more important in God’s eyes is Jesus’ new command, “Love one another.” Love my brothers and sisters in Christ in spite of their flaws. Love them even if they seem to be following the wrong path. Love will have a greater impact for eternity than any laws we can pass (especially when they can be changed or overturned so easily).

Does this mean that I never correct an error in other believers’ thinking? No. But that’s not where He usually leads.

It means I need to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (James 1:19). Quick to listen to the other person and to the prompting of the Holy Spirit. Slow to correct my opponent.

Several years ago, a Christian who I’d always found annoying was complaining to me about another believer. She’d asked the woman to do something for her that could benefit both of them. The other believer said no.

My initial internal response: Here we go again. Once again, instead of acting like a mature woman in Christ, this lady is griping and gossiping about a good friend of mine. I just wanted to put her in her place as firmly as possible.

But God was working on me. I knew that wouldn’t be right. Or loving. Or effective. I’d be betraying my own standard of “acting like a mature woman in Christ.”

I knew I couldn’t appear to agree with her either, though. She was wrong and I couldn’t affirm, even in subtle unintended ways, what she was saying and doing. I sent up a quick, desperate prayer for help. (I’ve never been good at handling sudden conflict. I need time to find the words to say.)

The Holy Spirit responded by bringing to mind an experience that I’d had recently. I was able to share it with her, identifying with her in her disappointment and frustration, but suggesting that maybe God had something better in store for her (as He did in my case) when our mutual friend turned down her request.

When it comes to Trump, during the last ten years I’ve stumbled over how to deal with the issue, but I’ve made some progress. I started out being too outspoken, too ready to fight. Most of the time now I simply don’t bring up the subject with other believers, especially if I don’t know them very well.

If someone else mentions Trump, I try to focus first on listening, as James recommends. I’m thrilled if we agree. In my natural human weakness, I need their support and encouragement and wisdom.

If we disagree, I remain silent to begin with. But if they seem to be mistaking my silence for approval, I try to be matter-of-fact in briefly stating my position. If I share more openly, it usually drives a wedge between us.

We can be friends. We can talk, and even debate, about other topics. But in this area, it’s better to agree to disagree. I’m thankful that this seems to be the unspoken policy in my church. And I’m so thankful that the Lord has been leading me for many years to the point where I can respond in a more godly way than I naturally would.

The hardest part now is handling my internal turmoil regarding the conflict and the negative feelings it generates toward my opponent. But I’m finding that the more I treat people as if I love them, the more I’m able to genuinely love them.

I never intend to state in this blog which side of the Trump issue I stand on. I won’t post any comments supporting one view or the other. It would only distract from a more important message. The message of love and unity triumphing over the division we see all around us.

 

 

 

A Great King

An ideal king

Psalm 72. I’ve heard that it’s a prayer for King Solomon, a description of the perfect king, and a prophecy of the Messiah’s kingship.

In verse 2, the ideal king is righteous and just. Americans still value justice and righteousness in our political leaders today, although we no longer agree on what those concepts mean.

He brings abundant prosperity (v. 7). Definitely something we expect from our rulers now.

Verses 9 through 11 describe his power. Other nations bow before him, bring him gifts, and serve him. His enemies “lick the dust.” Many Americans shy away from a display of strength like that, but a leader can’t lead without some form of power.

What catches my eye as I read Psalm 72 this time around is the reason he has this power. Verses 12 and 13 say, “For he will deliver the needy who cry out, the afflicted who have no one to help. He will take pity on the weak and the needy and save the needy from death. He will rescue them from oppression and violence, for precious is their blood in his sight.”

The king’s righteousness and justice and power and the nation’s prosperity are directly tied to his heart. His compassion for the most helpless among us, as demonstrated by his actions.

The seventeenth verse declares that “all nations will be blessed through him.” Even the ones he’s conquered won’t be oppressed, but blessed.

God’s ideal king isn’t the one who defeats other countries and rules them with an iron hand. He isn’t the one who builds the strongest economy (although that can be a factor in helping the needy). He isn’t the one who grants his people the greatest freedom to pursue their own desires.

The greatest king, in God’s eyes, is the one who sees the suffering of an individual even when no one else is paying any attention to them. He uses his power, not to increase his own wealth and happiness and reputation, but to rescue the most helpless from oppression and violence. He values them highly. That’s when and why he prospers.

This was a radical idea at the time when it was written. It’s still a radical idea in many parts of the world. And even in America.

Although different groups disagree on the best means of helping the helpless, most Americans believe that part of governing is making sure that everyone’s needs are being met. But government assistance isn’t the compassionate, individual attention described in this psalm. It’s the identification of groups that are in need and the application of impersonal rules and requirements in providing for that need. Something important is missing here.

The radical part of this psalm is that the king will personally deliver the afflicted one who has no one to help—not even government programs. He will personally save the needy one from death. Not because he buys into a political philosophy or wants to increase his own popularity, but because their very blood is precious in his sight.

Two kingly examples

In 1 Kings chapter 3, two prostitutes—among the lowest of the low—brought their case before the powerful King Solomon himself. The women lived in a house together. They each had a baby. One of those babies died in the night. Both mothers laid claim to the living child.

Solomon didn’t dismiss them as unworthy of his attention. He didn’t assign the case to a lesser representative or to the court system. He didn’t tell them how to sign up for a government program. He didn’t lecture them on how they were defying God’s laws by selling their bodies, or condemn them to death for breaking those laws (as he could have done). He treated their case with compassion.

Solomon’s solution: Cut the living infant in half and give one half to each woman.

That might very well have been considered justice by most of the people living in that part of the world at that time. The woman whose baby had died accepted the decision. That seems so cold and heartless to me. But in that time and place, it might have sounded reasonable and fair, even to her. They were prostitutes. Neither one deserved to have a living child.

But that wasn’t King Solomon’s purpose. The blood of that baby was precious in his sight. He intentionally declared his decree in order to determine which woman was the mother of that helpless child.

This case is an example of Solomon’s great wisdom. But it also provides a view of the type of king that the Lord wants to see ruling over His people. A king with a heart like God’s.

In Luke 8:42-48, a woman slipped in behind Jesus in the middle of a crowd and touched the edge of His cloak, believing that she’d be healed. She was.

Jesus immediately stopped and looked around, asking who had touched Him. The disciples dismissed His question, assuming someone in the pressing crowd had accidentally bumped up against Him. But He persisted and the woman came forward, trembling in fear. He spoke to her, calling her “daughter,” reassuring her, and telling her to go in peace.

Jesus made it a point to reach out to her personally. He didn’t want a system where people touch the edge of His clothing while His back is turned and go on their way without interacting with Him. He didn’t want anyone to be afraid to approach Him to His face to present their requests. The needy, the afflicted, the weak, the oppressed, and the victims of violence are precious in His sight. He is the King who perfectly exemplifies God’s description in Psalm 72.

The purpose of the psalm

This psalm isn’t saying that the only way a king can help his subjects is by giving his personal attention to each individual. There’s room in God’s design for systems and programs.

In the Old Testament, the Lord Himself put in place the system of having the reapers leave behind whatever fruit or grain they missed on their first pass through a field, so that “the poor and the alien” could collect it for their own use (Leviticus 19:9-10). In the New Testament, the apostles set up a program for feeding needy widows (Acts 6:1-6).

Instead, the psalm reveals the heart of the ideal ruler. One that reflects the heart of God, the greatest Ruler and King.

 

 

 

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).

 

 

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.

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.