With Patience

“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience” (Rom 8:25).

The last few weeks have taken every opportunity to remind me of who I was—of sin enjoyed, people hurt, and opportunities squandered. Such piercing recognition of depravity in myself—past, present, or future—will inevitably have an effect on my soul. Sometimes it produces joy in the exquisite wonder of my salvation—God showed his love for me in that while I was still a sinner, Christ died for me! But at other times, when it strikes in a place where faith has not penetrated, it produces fear and dread. In those moments, the stifling reality of my sin chokes out the mighty rushing wind. Panic rises up and assures me that my redemption will never loosen the choke-hold of sin; salvation will never be something that I can see and feel and enjoy. It tells me that I have a changed legal status but not a changed heart. I cannot see, I do not hope, and I will not wait with patience.

So I cower or I pace. Mostly I pace, turning my restless eyes to the places in my life where my salvation is not fully realized. With eyes fixed on those places and not on God’s perfect love, fear takes root. And the well-founded accusations of my heart begin to wear ruts into the straight paths I was making for my feet. I cannot see, I do not hope, and I will not wait with patience. It’s little surprise that I stumble and fall.

Doubting the efficacy of God’s work of sanctification is dangerous business. For if God’s work of sanctification is stalled somehow, then I must get to work immediately and I should quake with fear over who I am becoming--even this moment. What I cannot see, I dare not hope. I do not have the luxury of patience.

But Scripture says that I am being transformed into the image of Christ; though I’m not who I was, neither am I who I am becoming. For “we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” Paul encouraged the Corinthians to cling to their confidence in God’s work in their lives, for only such confidence can purify a conscience from dead works.

So what can I do with my heavy heart tonight in light of the Gospel? I can certainly work harder. That’s what I want to do. I want to make a long list of actions I can take to undo all the wrong done today; to infuse strength into everything that showed my weakness; to redouble my legalism in every area where I succumbed to license. In essence, I can dust off my dead works. But the author of Hebrews tells me that there is a Sabbath rest for the people of God, and that whoever has entered God's rest has also rested from his works as God did from his. Milton Vincent, in The Gospel Primer, speaks of how this rest of faith affects our day-to-day lives: "I never have to do a moment’s labor to gain or maintain my justified status before God! Freed from the burden of such a task, I now can put my energies into enjoying God, pursuing holiness, and ministering God’s amazing grace to others.”

I’m choosing not to work harder tonight. I’m choosing to do the works of God—namely, to believe in Jesus, whom he sent. I'm tearing up my list, accepting my weakness, and admitting where I abused my liberty. I'm confessing all of these things to God and entering the rest of a pure conscience and a sure hope.

I refuse to turn to futile works tonight and am, instead, thinking of ways that I can channel that energy into enjoying God and ministering his grace. Though I do not see the progress I want to see, I will hope against hope and wait with patience...for tonight.

And with God's help I will wake up tomorrow and call on His new mercies to wait with patient hope again.