The Amazing Grace of Self-Knowledge

Please, please read this post from Paul Tripp. I hope to have time to comment later on his reflections from Psalm 51.

In the meantime, here's a taste:

So, since sin is by its very nature deceitful, we need help in order to see ourselves with accuracy. Another way to say this is that personal spiritual insight is the result of community. We don't get it all by ourselves. We need ministry of two communities in order to see ourselves with the kind of surgical clarity with which David speaks in this Psalm. First, we need community with God. He's the ultimate opener of blind eyes. Through the convicting ministry of the Holy Spirit we begin to see ourselves with accuracy and become willing to own up to what we see. But the Spirit uses instruments and this is where the second community comes in. God employs people in the task of giving sight to other people. For David, that was the prophet Nathan. With the skill of a seasoned pastor, he got inside of David's defenses and told him a story designed to engage his heart and stimulate his conscience. Through the words of this wise man and through the lens of this simple story, David's heart broke as he saw who he was and what he'd done.

One Story

I had dinner last night with some friends who were formerly acquaintances. Until recently, we'd shared some common circumstances and bumped up against each other regularly, but we'd never really had a reason to push beyond niceties and polite self-sufficiencies. I’m OK, You’re OK.

This all changed when I got sick. I (re)discovered the fact that I need people and that the Lord's servants are blessed by serving. I discovered that the work of ministry happens when the body of Christ is built up and that all suffer when a part of the body suffers. People like these new friends have made this lesson palatable and even pleasant! No man is an island. I could not be if I tried; and yet what freedom I find when I give up that pursuit to live in grateful and gracious community.

As each of us spoke about our own journey last night, I was astonished to see how the Lord has used our own sin and the sins of others to accomplish his purposes. I recall Genesis 50:20, which reads, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.” Joseph was sold into slavery by the evil intent of his brothers, and yet that very act was a part of the same story that would later have Joseph to serve as an agent of their physical salvation. I think of the slavery of sin in my own life and I remember how even this slavery has taught me new truths about grace and redemption. Even when I intended evil, God has wrought good in inconceivable ways. What a mighty and sovereign God we serve!

If the Lord's will for our lives was merely based on a destination, it would seem as though he picked some obscure "scenic" route to get us there. But the truth is that the story of today is just a part of the same story that involves where we came from and where we are going. There are, of course, pieces of the story that don't yet make sense and others that still hurt too much to tell, that haven't yet been redeemed in an obvious sense. Still, this one story is the practical outworking of the redemption narrative in each of our lives. Redemption is both already and not yet in our lives; redemption is our destination and the inevitable conclusion of the story, for those who love the Lord. Our one story is part of the one story. Thus, "my mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge."

Sovereign God, I thank you that “Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them." I thank you that your hand is always guiding the resolution of each conflict in my life; that you know the end from the beginning and have shaped both character and plot. I thank you that your purposes will succeed, among those who love your name and even among those who hate it. I thank you that you have removed my heart of stone and made me one who loves your name. Help me to walk worthy of this calling.

Gratitude is Vulnerable

In the first line Future Grace, John Piper says (much more articulately) what I have been trying to say about gratitude:

Like most precious things, gratitude is vulnerable. We easily forget that gratitude exists because sometimes things come to us 'gratis'--without price or payment.

Yes, gratitude is vulnerable. That's a much better way to say it. Here's another way, from Thomas Merton's No Man is an Island. I don't think he's accurate on some theological points, but I still find this quotation useful:

As long as we secretly adore ourselves, our own deficiencies will remain to torture us with an apparent defilement. But if we live for others, we will gradually discover that no one expects us to be 'as gods.' We will see that we are human, like everyone else, that we all have weaknesses and deficiencies, and that these limitations of ours play a most important part in our lives. It is because of them that we need others and others need us. We are not all weak in the same spots, and so we supplement and complement one another, each one making up in himself for the lack in another. Only when we see ourselves in our true human context, as members of a race which is intended to be one organism and 'one body,' will we being to understand the positive importance not only of the successes but of the failures and accidents in our lives.

The Foot-Washing Kind of Love

It's satisfying to pay the people who serve me. It maintains my equilibrium, you know? It perpetuates my illusions of control, and it even infuses me with a delicious sense of my own magnanimity.

It feels completely different to be served. I do not give and yet I receive; I am honored by admitting weakness. My needs are met by ceding control to another. This feeling cleanses me—feet, head, hands—with a humbled gratitude.

So many of you have been asking me regularly, "What can I do to help?" You have offered to assist with meals, shopping, transportation, housekeeping, and even finances. For the most part, though, I have "graciously" declined your help. I can do many of these things right now; I simply do them very slowly and with a great deal of pain. I mean, isn't it wrong for someone like me—who can do these things—to accept help? Doesn't God help those who help themselves? (As absurd as the words sound, the thoughts seemed much more plausible).

My small group, in particular, has been relentless. One of the women in the group cornered me again on Sunday. She asked if they could begin to provide regular meals for me and, anticipating my automatic answer, explained: "We know that you can take care of groceries and food yourself, but we're asking if it would bless you and serve you to have someone else help." When she put the question that way, I had to say yes.

Yesterday, I received an email from another member of my small group. She and her children wanted to clean my apartment for me and, within just a few hours, they were on my doorstep—buckets, rags, and smiles in tow. They might as well just have washed my feet at the same time…

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:34

In John 13, Christ provides a commandment and an example. He commands us to love one another and exemplifies that love in his washing of the disciples' feet. Likewise, our service to one another is a way that we can manifest the love of Christ to "all people." My small group is, right now, living out a testimony to the transformative love of God in their service to me. I truly thank God each time I remember these dear brothers and sisters, and I hold them up to you as an example of the extravagent, foot-washing love that binds us together in Christ.

From Suffering to Hope

About three or four months back, I began to meet with my pastor and a couple from my small group to talk regularly about some persistent, indwelling sin in my life and the ensuing temptation to depression. In fact, I met with them just a couple of weeks before I went into the hospital. Without going into detail, I was battling specific issues related to control, self-gratification, and hopelessness.

What I was surprised to realize today is that these are the specific strongholds now under attack. Consider control and self-gratification. What can I control right now? I can hardly do my own grocery shopping! With what can I now gratify myself, when all of my ordinary pleasures—in work, food, exercise, AND in control itself—are suspended or so transformed as to be barely recognizable. All of the touchstones by which I would assess my own success or failure are moved; all of the rewards I would give myself are now altered.

The curse of my sin—of my controlling works and my hedonistic indulgences—had become a flight from grace and a temptation to despair. I knew that my system was defective, even if it remained intact, and I hated it. David Powlison explains, in Suffering and the Sovereignty of God:

"It is worth noting that Christians, as new creations in Christ, also live in an essentially different relationship to their own sinfulness. Your sin now afflicts you. The 'dross' no longer defines or delights you. Indwelling sin becomes a form of significant suffering. What you once instinctively loved now torments you. The essential change in your relationship with God radically changes your relationship to remaining sinfulness. In Christ, in order to sin, you must lapse into temporary insanity, into forgetfulness. It is your worst cancer, your most crippling disability, your most treacherous enemy, your deepest distress. It is the single most destructive force impacting your life. Like nothing else in all creation, this threatens your life and well-being."

Let’s examine again the three sins that I mentioned as the most pernicious and persistent for me: control, self-gratification, and hopelessness. These were sinful patterns of living that I had been unable to undo; with Paul I cried, "I do the things I hate." The first two sins are being ravaged by this physical suffering, and I know that the third one is under a similar (if more subtle) attack. Remember Romans 5, where we learn that "suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope"? This text makes a direct connection between suffering and hope. So, while I never would have anticipated my need to suffer, I knew well my desperate need for hope.

Though the Lord has not revealed to me all the means, I know and trust His purposes. This is why we are exhorted to rejoice in our sufferings! It is not some type of masochistic feat; it’s faith. It's faith that all the promises of God—including this one—are YES in Christ. Faith is how we move from suffering to hope, and our God is the (unmoved) mover who grants that faith.

Lord, increase my faith!

Plumb Lines and Worship

I have noticed that the preparation for a remarkable worship experience usually starts much earlier in the week—with a breaking of the will, a breaking of an idol, or some diligence in Spirit-led labor. That work started for me on Thursday, and I could sense the fruit of it almost as soon as I walked through the door of the church this morning. With the help of a dear friend on Thursday night, I held my heart up to the plumb line of Scripture and found it lacking in some very specific ways. With the help of the Spirit, I repented of that sin and turned from it. I turned from it again on Friday, on Saturday, today. No, I have not turned perfectly, but I continue turning. And God did not despise my broken and contrite heart.

When I have met the Lord in worship, my whole being is permeated with a sense of purpose. There were infusions of that to my heart this morning…and it was evident to me that my brothers and sisters were also worshipping in Spirit and in truth. I think of the friend a few rows ahead of me who was praising the Lord in diligent abandon, both choosing and chosen by joy. Her fervent worship in the Spirit spurred me on when I was feeling weary. I remember the countless ways that the Gospel was presented—in our songs, prayers, and recitations—long before we ever got to the sermon. I rejoiced at the realization that unbelievers were hearing this good news, even as I rejoiced at my own salvation. We prayed corporately through Psalm 51 and my heart was made hopeful and glad again:

“Have mercy on me,O God,according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight…For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

Never, no never, despised.

My small group gathered around me after the service to pray for me and to learn how they could serve me. They honored the Lord, and even me, for the work that is being accomplished in my life right now. I was reminded again of the verse in I Corinthians 12, “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” I couldn’t help but thinking that the Lord must be pleased with their obedience--an obedience that was truly the overflow of their hearts. The bond of unity in the spirit held us tightly together this morning; truly, we are members one of another!

For perhaps the first time since I got sick, I was able both physically and emotionally to sustain interaction with my brothers and sisters. In general, Sundays have been a good plumb line for me in assessing this type of improvement. I could see how much more endurance I demonstrated this morning in my ability to stand and converse with friends before the service, rise at appropriate intervals in worship, and pray with my small group after the service.

I thank the Lord for physically renewing me in these ways, that I might be spiritually strengthened by the body. I thank him that the members do not all have the same function, but that each is gifted for particular service. And, seeing today the proper functioning of the parts of the body, I eagerly anticipate the building up of the whole body in love.

Sabbath

I went to church today.

Showering and getting dressed this morning was both physically and emotionally hard. It was strange to try and pull the same old clothes over a different body. Having always been muscular, I’m used to feeling swollen in certain parts of my body and slim in others. That’s all in reverse now—with the swelling in my cheeks, stomach, and ankles—and the slimness in my muscles. I turned out the lights to finish getting dressed.

It was hard to be in worship and yet to be so consumed with my physical comfort—the hardness of the folding chair, the chill or heat that I was experiencing at the moment, the stiffness of the arc in my knees as I tried to force my limp legs under the seat in front of me. It was frustrating not to be able to follow the sermon, presumably because of the medicines. Yet there were moments in which I worshipped—in the music, the sacrament, and the exposition of Romans 7. And all the hugs and tears were precious to me.

In truth, I feel utterly alone today and loathsome even to myself. This is not something that you guys can remedy with your presence, because I know that I have only to ask. In my heart and mind, some huge cavern has opened up between me and the people around me with ‘normal’ lives and I am stubbornly refusing to the let the cross bridge it. I don’t know what living or loving or serving looks like right now. And sometimes, I quite frankly don’t care. I'm there right now.

I received this prayer from a friend this morning: “Teach us, her friends and family, how to pray and care for her. Show us the way to where You are waiting with healing. Give us the tools to fight through the crowds, break down the roof and carry her to Your side. We are coming with her Lord! Keep our arms and our hearts strong. Grant Michele and each of us perseverance.”

I am sobbing as I read this prayer again. I am not alone, and I will fight against the lies that tell me that my circumstances have isolated me from anything that I need.

“For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For indeed in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven; inasmuch as we, having put it on, shall not be found naked. For indeed while we are in this tent, we groan, being burdened, because we do not want to be unclothed, but to be clothed, in order that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.” I have always groaned in this physical body--the groaning now is different in degree and not kind--yet my inner man is being renewed day by day.

Another friend sent me this excerpt from her own journal, several years ago, as she was being diagnosed with a serious illness: “Teach me to live, move me, break up the unplowed land, the entire land of my heart, and show me You again.”

This is my prayer today. What does it mean to live? To move? To persevere in the work of holiness? Lord, show me and move in me both to will and to do your good pleasure.