hidden

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.    Colossians 3:1-4

 

The great redemption story of the Bible is that God is actively and intentionally rescuing us from ourselves. In his infinite grace and mercy God makes a way for us sinners to be restored to him through Jesus. I know we know this. I’m just not always convinced that we know this. What I mean is that I think we easily and often lose sight of the glorious gift of our salvation and all the implications of it.

 

Look at Paul’s powerful language to the Colossian church:

 

For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.

 

It isn’t that somehow God simply paid a fine for us by the death of his Son and now we go on our merry way with a “get out of jail free” card. It is wholly true that Jesus paid our debt of sin—I’m not implying otherwise—but the implications are far greater than us just now being given a pass.

 

When Jesus died, we died. That’s what Paul is explaining in the middle of Colossians 2. And here he simply references that truth. “For you have died…” You and I are no more; at least not as our old selves. We now have a life that is hidden in Christ. Jesus’ death and resurrection doesn’t simply wash the dirt off of who we were and give us a fresh coat of paint. When God gave himself up for us he destroyed the old and corrupted one that we were, cancelling our debt because he rid us of the old creation. We have been made wholly different, with a new origin and a new existence. Neither are our own.

 

Now, who we are is hidden in who Christ is. And this is an abundant grace! It isn’t as petty as losing our individuality and identity. Instead it is that we are given a far better identity and rescued from the barrenness of our corrupted isolation (which we often mistakenly laud as individuality). We are now part of the Body of Christ. Connected to the Vine. Living stones being built up as a spiritual house. You can choose whichever metaphor you like, the Bible is replete with them. We who were not a people are now God’s people.

 

Who we are is hidden in who Christ is.

 

I’ve been thinking off and on about this for quite a few days. I read this passage earlier this week and I keep finding this concept returning to me. What does it mean? What does it look like to live in light of this truth?

 

Who I am is hidden in who Christ is. What does this mean for how I live today? How I think? What I chase after and what I value? Am I still finding myself living for who I used to be? Living for self? Living for the approval of others? Living in response to fear or a desire to control? Am I setting the agenda, defining the parameters, living in an unhidden attempt to make a name for myself?

 

The radical—and even offense—truth of the gospel comes in Paul’s next words. He declares to this Colossian church that because we are hidden in Christ we don’t even appear until he does. Alone we are nothing. Christ is all and we are in him, hidden there against our own sinfulness and depravity. Hidden there against our own inabilities and weakness. Hidden there to share in his glory when he returns.

 

Why is it again that we are always trying to come out of hiding? Always trying to make our own way, get attention for ourselves, establish our own plans?

 

far

So the Pharisees and teachers of the law asked Jesus, “Why don’t your disciples live according to the tradition of the elders instead of eating their food with defiled hands?”

He replied, “Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written:

“‘These people honor me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me.

They worship me in vain;
their teachings are merely human rules.’

You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions.”

Mark 7:5-8

 

 

The words Jesus has for the Pharisees are often equally convicting for us as Christians today. If, that is, we can look past our self-impressed egos and self-admiring sense of superiority over the Pharisees. Let’s be honest, we’re really good at reading what the Pharisees say and do and shaking our heads in disbelief. How could they ever be so foolish? So self-righteous? So blind to the truth?

 

And yet, we are just like them in so many ways.

 

In Mark 7 Jesus is confronted yet again with the legalism of the Pharisees and his response is difficult to read. Essentially what Jesus tells them is that at the level of their hearts they aren’t really interested in following him at all. They are interested in themselves.

 

“…their hearts are far from me.”

 

They were interested in rules about God, in looking the part of one who’s interested, and in performing regular rituals, but their hearts didn’t want the cost of real change. They didn’t want real, dynamic encounters with God. That simply puts too much at risk. It’s safer and simpler to live in pseudo-moralistic systems of self-atonement. Systems of rules and doing protect our eyes from seeing the reality of our own rebellion; the depth of our own corruption. They give us something to take pride in, something to feel like we are skilled in. Something we’ll deserve a pat on the back for accomplishing.

 

Pursuing systems of self-redemption is far more palatable to our pride than falling flat before the Redeemer and acknowledging that we can do nothing.

 

The problem is often not our actual outward behaviors (although those have their moments too), but it’s the heart behind them. The secret motivations of self-interest that permeate even our noblest and holiest pursuits. We are wretched even in our good deeds.

 

The bottom line is that it’s not what we do that needs changing (even if what we do does need changing); it’s our hearts need to be renewed. Our motives and desires at our essential core need renewal. Even as we follow Christ so often our motives are more about ourselves than him. Even as we commit to serving at church and in our communities, as we sing songs of praise and pray prayers of love, the reality is that our hearts are far from him.

 

I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean; I will cleanse you from all your impurities and from all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws.                    Ezekiel 36:25-27

 

Lord, may this day be lived with the new heart of flesh that only you can give. May we find hearts within us that are near you. Change our interests, our desires, our wants, and all the things we value. Jesus, change our hearts.

 

search me O God…or i’ll do it myself

A word we use around our church pretty often is repentance. It’s part of what makes our community of Jesus followers so dynamic and gospel centered. Focusing on repentance and constantly calling one another to it is critical to our own journey toward God. The first of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses rightly identifies that “all of life is repentance.” Again and again the Bible calls us to be a people of repentance and live in repentance to Christ so it’s right to focus on this as a community. What’s also important is that we focus on it rightly and approach it biblically. Recently God has been speaking to me about my own repentance and simply put, the issue is this: my own repentance often involves way too much of me, and not enough of God. Where did I come up with this idea that I am so central to my repentance? Quite frankly, it’s not the view I find in the Bible.

 

Psalm 139 sets the tone for what true repentance involves. The Psalm spends the majority of its time celebrating the sovereignty of God, the wisdom and knowledge of God and his ever-present-ness. But the way the Psalm is bookended is so critical for understanding repentance. The Psalmist starts out with the words:

O Lord, you have searched me and known me!     Psalm 139:1

Then it closes with an invitation along the same lines:

Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!     Psalm 139:23-24

 

Why is this so critical? Because we tend to be so introspective when it comes to things of the heart and Psalm 139 calls for something completely opposite of this. There’s nothing wrong with introspection. Contemplating our own thoughts and desires is important. But it’s too easy to let this be the driving force behind our repentance—and quite frankly behind our entire relationship with Christ. It’s way too easy to let our times of quiet reflection with God be driven by a constant looking inward. What do I think of this passage of Scripture? What do I want to pray about and ask for? What do I feel guilty about and need to repent of?

 

The problem with this model of seeking God and looking for needed repentance is that when the driving force in my life becomes what I think and what I feel and what I consider to be the priority then I have set myself up as the authority. I have made myself the one I answer to—even when my motivation is to draw near to God. It’s not what we have in mind, but it’s the reality of how we’re living when introspection dominates. Isn’t this often the tendency we have towards repentance? We rely on ourselves to “feel” guilty or convicted of something and then we figure the result is something we should repent of. We ask ourselves what we think of passages we read in the Bible and then assume this is the truth God wants us to take away from it. These practical ways of engaging Scripture and God and our own sinfulness runs into several snags when we put it into practice.

 

First, we simply don’t have the adequate perspective or knowledge to be so self-reliant with regard to our spiritual health. Isaiah 55:8-9 reminds us that we simply don’t know or understand what God knows and understands. We don’t see as he sees. We aren’t God and would never claim to be, so why do we rely on our own meager perspective to guide us? Why do we rely on us to feel or see what we need to turn from in our lives? There is a definite knowledge gap between what God knows and what we know. That is reason enough not to put so much stock in what we think, feel, and desire.

 

Second, whether we like it or not, we can’t be trusted. We are broken sinners in need of grace. We know this. So it stands to reason that we can’t trust ourselves to play such a large role in evaluating the health of our souls. John speaks of the tendency of our own hearts to wrongly condemn us (1 John 3:19-24). And we see even disciples like Peter being fully convinced and convicted of a “truth” that isn’t true at all (Matthew 16:22-24). Because we are selfish sinners we can’t always trust what we think and what we “know” to be true. This makes sense in theory, but proves difficult in the day to day.

 

To be honest, these gaps are mostly incidental. The fact of the matter is that we are called and expected to look out toward God rather than looking in to ourselves. That’s the way the Bible reveals a heart of repentance. So the reasons I’ve identified are really secondary. The Psalmists back in 139 started out declaring the truth: God has searched him. God knows him. And so after reflecting on the greatness of God he seeks to be searched and to have his sin revealed to him. Essentially he is asking, “God, what should I repent of, what should I turn from? What do you find unacceptable in me?” He’s not deciding for himself, he’s looking to God to do the searching and the revealing.

 

Paul reiterates this same idea when in his letter to the Colossians he calls the people to live holy lives rather than sinful. He starts not by saying, “Take a long, hard look within and see how sinful you are.” Instead he says “If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” (Colossians 3:1-2) Don’t look in and see what you think, feel, and desire. Don’t look around you and see what others have set up as the value system. Look up. Look to God so that your minds can be set there rather than on yourself.

 

I’m not saying that there isn’t a place for introspection and self-searching. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t be spending time considering our own thoughts and desires; we should. But I would imagine we could all do with cutting that time down and increasing the time we look toward Christ as we read, think, and pray. He will search our hearts by his Spirit who came in part to bring conviction. We should echo the psalmist more than we do, “Search me O God…”

why do you keep calling me that?

“So why do you keep calling me ‘Lord, Lord!’ when you don’t do what I say? I will show you what it’s like when someone comes to me, listens to my teaching, and then follows it. It is like a person building a house who digs deep and lays the foundation on solid rock. When the floodwaters rise and break against that house, it stands firm because it is well built. But anyone who hears and doesn’t obey is like a person who builds a house without a foundation. When the floods sweep down against that house, it will collapse into a heap of ruins.”    Luke 6:46-49

 

I am continually drawn back by Scripture to this concept of surrendering to Jesus as Lord. I tend to think the church at large has, in recent years, done a poor job of calling us to this kind of submission to Christ. Maybe it’s been our desire to embrace Jesus as our friend and brother—which he is. Or maybe it’s been our obsession with being “seeker sensitive” (even though Jesus himself never seemed overly concerned with this). Whatever the reason, the church has displayed deep interest in Jesus as our Savior, but not much enthusiasm for Jesus as our Lord.

 

And I think it shows.

 

The church today is riddled with the undisciplined and uncommitted. Wow, there’s a statement that’s sounds highly judgmental and is bound to convince you that there are a thousand other things you would rather do with the time it takes to finish reading this! But I think if you really consider what I’m saying, you’ll see truth in it.

 

Jesus’ issue in Luke 6:46-49 is that people are using the language, but their lives just don’t line up with their rhetoric.

 

So why do you keep calling me ‘Lord, Lord!’ when you don’t do what I say?

 

Ouch. Could he hit any closer to home? Probably not for me.

 

It’s true. We want to speak the language, call on Jesus name, express our trust in him as Lord. But our lives typically look more like an exercise in convenience and doing what we want—within constrained bounds, of course. We want to look the part; we just don’t often surrender to the part. Jesus being Lord means I am the slave and that’s just not our idea of a good time.

 

I wonder if part of the problem is that we’ve traded hearing the gospel and repenting for hearing the gospel and accepting. What I mean is, maybe we have confused what it means to follow Christ well and faithfully. We hear the gospel and accept that it’s truth, receiving Christ as our Savior, but stop short of truly repenting of our behavior that runs contrary to Jesus. Repenting is a lifelong process as God keeps revealing more in us that is contrary and keeps calling us to turn towards him and away from our own self-worship.

 

It may be that I’m simply being too cynical, but as I read these words of Jesus I wonder. The issue Jesus is encountering is that people are listening to the gospel, but not responding to it with obedience. Encountering Jesus as our Lord is so much more than just accepting that he is the Son of God and believing he died on the cross. Don’t get me wrong—that’s where we start. That’s critical. We have to accept Christ, his death and resurrection. But Jesus is looking for a lifestyle of obedience here. A lifelong journey that begins at acceptance and continues with ongoing surrender and submission.

 

He describes our lives as being like the building of a house on a foundation. Obedience is like the work of digging down deep, starting on the rock foundation that is below the surface. Maybe this is what I’m getting at. It’s so easy to be superficial followers of Christ, letting our faith rest on the surface, but not digging deep and finding what’s beneath all the surface junk. Making certain my faith isn’t built on convenience or cultural norms or false idols.

 

I guess today I am hearing the question of Jesus and wanting desperately to ensure that he’s not directing it at me. If he is, I want to repent, and call him Lord not just with words, but with my whole life. I want it to be clear—I’m calling him Lord, because I’m living as his servant.

 

bold surrender

In one of the villages, Jesus met a man with an advanced case of leprosy. When the man saw Jesus, he bowed with his face to the ground, begging to be healed. “Lord,” he said, “if you are willing, you can heal me and make me clean.” Jesus reached out and touched him. “I am willing,” he said. “Be healed!” And instantly the leprosy disappeared. Then Jesus instructed him not to tell anyone what had happened. He said, “Go to the priest and let him examine you. Take along the offering required in the law of Moses for those who have been healed of leprosy. This will be a public testimony that you have been cleansed.”      Luke 5:12-14

 

When it comes to praying and asking the Lord for things it seems to me that there is always this tension. We want to pray boldly. We want to show God our trust and faith in him. At the same time, we want (or should want) to submit to God’s will and recognize that giving us what we are asking for may not be what God has in mind for us. Under all of this I wonder too if sometimes we want to pray boldly but are afraid. What if God doesn’t answer? What if we stand strong in our conviction of what is needed and ask and trust and have full assurance that God will do something and then…he just doesn’t?

 

It may be that I am the only one who feels this tension, but somehow I doubt it. There is this delicate balance in prayer. It’s not that we have to say things a certain way in order for God to hear us. It’s not that if we don’t use the right language God won’t answer our prayers. It’s more that how we pray reflects something about our hearts. About how we see God and see ourselves.

 

In the exchange recorded in Luke 5 I think there is much to consider regarding what it looks like to balance coming to God in bold faith with coming to God in submission to his right to do as he wills. Along with an attitude of trust that what he wills is always best.

 

Lord, if you are willing, you can heal me and make me clean.

 

What would have happened had Jesus said, “I am not willing this time.” The beautiful thing about this man’s prayer is that it leaves room for this response. Sometimes God doesn’t heal. Never because he can’t. Not because he doesn’t care. Sometimes God doesn’t heal because God has other things in mind. Coming to god acknowledging both his ability and his right to choose any response reveals a true heart of submitted trust.

 

I have always wrestled with the idea that praying boldly by demanding things of God—as some prayers tend to sound—doesn’t leave room for God’s right to say no. These types of prayers seem to imply that if I believe it’s right and good then there is no reason to think that God might see it differently. But sometimes he does. And so I love the attitude of the man with leprosy. He is taking nothing away from the ability of Jesus to heal him. But he acknowledges that Jesus may have something else in mind. That, for whatever reason, Jesus may not be willing. And this man doesn’t imply that he should be given the explanation if Jesus isn’t willing. In fact, he comes on his knees. His posture—as well as his speech—convey this attitude of surrendered, bold faith.

 

I’m not the best at praying. I want to be. I need to be better. This man who is healed by Jesus gives me an example of what it looks like to come boldly and still come humbly. It is wholly right and possible to come before the Lord with great, unwavering conviction and confidence in God’s ability and still surrender to his ways and insights which may run contrary to what I am asking for. It gives me hope and reminds me that God’s plan may not be visible to me. He will do as he pleases and it will be best.

 

My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord.
“And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine.

For just as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so my ways are higher than your ways
and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.

                                                                                    Isaiah 55:8-9

 

road re-traveled

When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Now go out where it is deeper, and let down your nets to catch some fish.”

 

“Master,” Simon replied, “we worked hard all last night and didn’t catch a thing. But if you say so, I’ll let the nets down again.” And this time their nets were so full of fish they began to tear! A shout for help brought their partners in the other boat, and soon both boats were filled with fish and on the verge of sinking.          Luke 5:4-7

 

I think it was Albert Einstein who once said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. And who could argue with that thinking? It seems so right—often is so right. But what do we do when it’s God calling for the same road, calling us down the same path? And he’s saying, or maybe promising, or simply implying with his passionate imploring that this time…this time things will be different. This time the road re-traveled will end differently. This time the path well-trodden will lead us to a different destination.

 

Do I have the faith for this? Will I be so wildly foolish as to believe the same path can lead to a different place?

 

 

The world’s wisdom and God’s—they have different things to say about steps retraced, roads re-run. Who to believe? In the moment of now we all shout out with confidence that we will believe God. He knows best after all.

 

But what about when we’re tired? When we’ve been up all night working to no avail. When we just did what he says to do now and we know—we really just know—that it won’t end any differently. Will we have the faith then? Will we be willingly seen as foolish or crazy? Will we go and do what we just went and did and know, or at least hope, that because God is calling us that the road re-traveled will take us to something new?

 

Or maybe I’m missing the point completely. Jesus never tells Peter things will end differently. They do, we know now. But Jesus doesn’t promise that they will catch a huge load. He tells him to put down the nets to catch fish, but he doesn’t actually explain that they will catch any. Sometimes the road re-traveled will simply take us to the same end.

 

But are we the same for having traveled it twice? Are we unchanged for having walked in obedience, focusing not so much on how it ends as to the fact that we’ve been invited to travel?

 

 

I have said it before and I will keep saying it until my own heart starts hearing it: So much in our walk with Jesus is about the journey as much as the destination. Obviously, we are moving toward eternity and our goal is heaven and restoration and communion with the Father. But the journey holds much treasure. Progress isn’t always measured in distance traveled. With Jesus, sometimes it’s in the steps retraced. A walk down a familiar road to see myself more clearly, to see Jesus more fully, to practice obedience and trust. And sometimes, the destination will be different. It certainly was for the stubborn fisherman who practiced true trust and obeyed without regard.

 

“But if you say so…I will.”

 

desert of glory

Then Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan River. He was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where he was tempted by the devil for forty days. Jesus ate nothing all that time and became very hungry.        Luke 4:1-2

 

Whenever I read about the temptation of Jesus I am always led back to the same thought…

 

Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness where he was tempted.

 

God led his Son into the desert wilderness where he would be tempted. Something about that flies in the face of what I want to be true. Something about that is contrary to the ways I want to think about God interacting with us. It doesn’t feel helpful. It doesn’t feel like what God’s “job” should be.

 

In thinking this I reveal some very sinful things about myself. Namely that I tend to think about my relationship with the Father as if it’s all about me, rather than being all about him. I like to think of the give and take being about bringing me help and ease rather than it being about bringing him glory.

 

I have things turned around.

 

This is why, when temptations come—or hardships—I can so easily slip into the “woe is me” mentality. I can start to feel sorry for myself because I have let myself believe that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. But is that right?

 

Granted, in the larger scheme of things this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Sin, temptation, brokenness and hardship—these aren’t the things God created us for when he first breathed creation into existence. But we brought these things into the world and are continually perpetuating them. We are sinners who wander from the narrow path, wallow in our own filthy sin, and then wonder why God would let us get so dirty.

 

God, on the other hand, while not creating us to live in sin and brokenness, did create us to bring him glory. And now that we find ourselves in the bed we’ve made, with all the sin and pain and brokenness of the world, God’s point has not changed. We’re still here to bring him glory. And sometimes that means leading us to places where our faith will be tested. Sometimes that means putting us in positions where we must make a painful choice.

 

How important will honoring God be when the path to giving him glory is personally painful and potentially hazardous to our own wants?

 

My mind automatically goes to the call of Abraham to sacrifice his Son Isaac. This is such a beautiful picture of the father sacrificing son for the glory of God. A very powerful telling of the truth of God our Father’s own plan and willingness to sacrifice all to bring us to his glory. But it is also the telling of a specific man’s struggle to be led down the path of the dark valley so that he may see the light that is found on the other side. It is a testimony to trusting God rather than self and being willing to surrender to anything our Father may call us to.

 

God will sometimes lead us to paths we would never choose for ourselves. And we must choose to follow or to rebel. The key, I think, is that we must choose before we get to that fork in the road—before the choice is before us. Can we accept that God is calling us to live lives that glorify him without regard for our own personal protection and pleasure?

 

I want to say yes! I want to shout it and believe it and live it…but I know myself. I know my own tendencies and my insatiable selfishness. I know that I can’t follow well on my own. Only by the grace and power of Christ can I be who I want to be—who I was created to be. Only by surrendering in the now will I ever be prepared then to follow on when the path is dark and the choices unwanted. Only by taking seriously the practice of following the Spirit when life is less threatening will I ever choose to follow into the desert when the Spirit leads to places I don’t want to go.

 

It was by faith that Abraham offered Isaac as a sacrifice when God was testing him. Abraham, who had received God’s promises, was ready to sacrifice his only son, Isaac, even though God had told him, “Isaac is the son through whom your descendants will be counted.” Abraham reasoned that if Isaac died, God was able to bring him back to life again. And in a sense, Abraham did receive his son back from the dead.              Hebrews 11:17-19

 

To trust God in the darkness and pain is far more glorifying to him than to glad hand him in the ease of getting what I want.

 

Father, may I learn to follow well and surrender sincerely today. I know the desert times will come and the leading of the Spirit will not always be on easy roads that head in the general directions I have in mind. If not for your grace I will never make it; and only by your grace will the glory be truly yours. May your grace ever lead me to places of unending glory for you. May I learn to be about you rather than for me.

 

the gift of glory

As soon as Judas left the room, Jesus said, “The time has come for the Son of Man to enter into his glory, and God will be glorified because of him. And since God receives glory because of the Son, he will soon give glory to the Son.”                    John 13:31-32

 

I have been rolling these words around in my head this morning. I read them quite by accident on my way somewhere else to read something else. But they have lodged themselves in my mind and captured my thoughts.

 

For one thing, it’s captivating simply because it is speaking of the glory of God. There is something about this notion of God’s glory that is—quite obviously—awe inspiring. I suppose that’s why it’s called glory.

 

But here we find the idea of God’s glory changing hands, so to speak, between Father and Son. Now of course, Father is Son and Son is Father, for both are one God with the Spirit. But still there is something beautiful and compelling about the Father receiving glory from the Son and so reciprocating by giving glory to the Son. It feels very much like there is something I don’t quite comprehend going on here; something powerful and amazing in the way God is glorifying and honoring himself through service and sacrifice to himself.

 

I am struck by the realization that glory comes to the Father as the Son submits and gives himself up for the world. It isn’t that God has no glory a part from the death of Christ, but more that somehow, through Jesus’ death and love-sacrifice more glory is being brought to the Father. And in reciprocating fashion, the Father then gives glory to the Son because of his submission and sacrifice.

 

This is the way God’s wisdom. Glory isn’t achieved through oppression of the weaker or with conquering power. Glory comes through submission to the Father. Glory comes through sacrifice and love.

 

Again, a few chapters later in John’s gospel we find Jesus praying. And again the glory is given and received. Again through submission and obedience.

 

I brought glory to you here on earth by completing the work you gave me to do. Now, Father, bring me into the glory we shared before the world began.          John 17:4-5

 

I think this is why in Romans 8, when Paul speaks of how we will be heirs of God’s glory, he also ties that glory to suffering.

 

And since we are his children, we are his heirs. In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God’s glory. But if we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering.          Romans 8:17

 

It isn’t that God enjoys suffering, or that he wants us to “earn” it. We can’t earn it and God is abundantly clear about that all through the Bible. But I think we see in the interaction between Father and Son that glory comes to the Father by submission and obedience, and that when obedience is given to him—which brings him glory—he in turn gives glory. As he did for his Son, so he will—to a lesser degree—to us his children.

 

Glory comes to the Father by way of our surrender and obedience. Surrender to Christ and obedience to his ways. As glory goes to the Father through our submission to Christ he in turns makes us heirs and children. Heirs and children who share in his glory.

 

the great divide

If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and he will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking. But when you ask him, be sure that your faith is in God alone. Do not waver, for a person with divided loyalty is as unsettled as a wave of the sea that is blown and tossed by the wind. Such people should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. Their loyalty is divided between God and the world, and they are unstable in everything they do.         James 1:5-8

 

I’ve heard and read a lot over the years about praying. A lot of different people have a lot of different things to say about how to ask God for things and why we should ask God for things and what happens when we ask. I’ve heard the debates about why sometimes God doesn’t answer or what exactly it is he is doing while we wait for him. But why don’t we hear more on the issue of divided loyalties?

 

Obviously there are some things we ask for—or some times when we ask—and the answer from God will simply be “No.” And there are times when it will just seem like God isn’t answering at all. But I don’t buy into the whole notion that the issue is with our faith (that we need more of it) or that we need to use certain language and “sow the seed” correctly and all that. I don’t think that’s what Scripture teaches. We’re called to ask and to trust and even a little faith is enough. But what James says here is pretty enlightening…and pretty convicting.

 

But when you ask him, be sure that your faith is in God alone. Do not waver…

 

Don’t waver like a person with divided loyalty. That kind of person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. Does that sting you? It does me. How often do we have loyalty divided between God and the world? How often do we ask, all the while assuming that we won’t get an answer? How hypocritical is it to say words that sound so assured and confident in God when the asking comes out of a confidence in self or those around me?

 

How often do we ask God for something and then immediately turn and start making plans for an alternate avenue? I’m not saying we shouldn’t act responsibility here, but we have to consider how much of the time we act in the name of responsibility when actually we are acting out of divided loyalties. We have a desire to not lose face or to get what we want even if God doesn’t give it and it can cloud our sense of trust and reliance on God. We are definitely divided within.

 

The idea of asking God for something without having loyalties divided between God and the world means we have to take a hard look at our own hearts when asking. Why do we ask for the things we ask for? Why do we need wisdom from God?

 

Are we truly asking out of a pursuit of God himself? Are we asking because we are seeking to be his slave and the world’s servant? Or are we asking because we are trying to get ahead, trying to live up to the standards of the world? What motivates our desires in this life? For me, too often it’s not God. I want what the world suggests I should have. I want what the world thinks will make me a good husband, father, and neighbor. I want what the world says I have a “right” to or deserve.

 

I want. That pretty much sums it up. I ask because I want. And there is nothing wrong with wanting. It’s the source of the wanting that often draws me off track. When my loyalty is to the world I don’t want the things God wants. I don’t ask out of loyalty to him, but rather out of loyalty to myself.

 

I guess asking God for wisdom starts with asking for the wisdom to discern my own loyalties. I need to live my life with singularity of focus. I want to give God undivided loyalty. And I definitely need some wisdom for that.

 

There is a great divide within my heart. Everyday Jesus works to mend it, to repair and restore the damage I’ve done. As he works I pray that I will have the wisdom to stop fighting it, to see where I am divided and disloyal; to see where I am tossed back and forth by the winds of indecision, desire, and greed. And I do believe that God will give me eyes to see and wisdom to understand.

 

other people

Answer me when I call to you,
O God who declares me innocent.
Free me from my troubles.
Have mercy on me and hear my prayer.

How long will you people ruin my reputation?
How long will you make groundless accusations?
How long will you continue your lies?      
You can be sure of this:
The Lord set apart the godly for himself.
The Lord will answer when I call to him.

Don’t sin by letting anger control you.
Think about it overnight and remain silent.    
Offer sacrifices in the right spirit,
and trust the Lord .

Many people say, “Who will show us better times?”
Let your face smile on us, Lord .
You have given me greater joy
than those who have abundant harvests of grain and new wine.
In peace I will lie down and sleep,
for you alone, O Lord , will keep me safe.

                                    Psalm 4

 

It’s easy to do—becoming consumed by what other people think. No matter what our self-esteem looks like; no matter how self-assured we are it still stings when others criticize, demean and malign us. We don’t want to care what others think, but in reality, we all do.

 

David is no exception. Here he writes in Psalm four and is crying out with the pain because of other people’s opinions.

 

How long will you people ruin my reputation?

 

How long will you make groundless accusations?

 

How long will you continue your lies?      

 

Why do we care? Why can’t we just brush it off? Certainly as we grow older and more mature we learn to care less. And of course, as we deepen our identity in Christ we gain a stronger footing in his opinion of us. But it still stings when others lie about us. It always brings disappointment and heartache when those we thought we could trust turn and harm our reputation.

 

We must remember the Poet’s words here: The Lord set apart the godly for himself. The Lord will answer when I call to him. We don’t belong to those who make unfair assessments and verbal attacks. We don’t gain identity or value from those who lie and judge and unfairly ridicule our decisions and attempts at following well.

 

The Lord sets us apart for himself. He has already decided that we are worth the effort, already determined that even when we disappoint we are important enough to love and embrace. We are his, not theirs. He hears when we call. He does not ignore, does not disparage, does not grow tired of us. We are his.

 

Maybe the problem is one of surrender and humility. After all, why should we care what those others think when God is there saying, “You are mine. I have loved you with an everlasting love.” Why even consider caring about another’s opinion when our Father’s is the only one that matters?

 

Maybe because we like the feeling of earning some love. We like the idea of gaining position and respect because of what we’ve done. God never loves us for what we’ve done. He never appreciates us for how well we behave or live. He’s never impressed with us because of our efforts and achievements. His love is free and unqualified. And free just doesn’t feed the ego.

 

The Lord has sets us apart as his own. He hears our cry. He loves without our need to earn it. Others will always accuse, always lie, always ruin our reputation (after all, they are just like us).

 

Lord, find us in our troubles, have mercy on us and hear our prayer. And may our prayer today be to embrace only what you see and what you know about us. May we stop chasing after the fleeting approvals of others.