Hanging in the Same Briers, Part II

In a sense, we should probably be both more and less confident when we face temptation. We can be more confident when we turn our eyes toward Christ and away from ourselves. We can be more confident when we find, in the cross, the truth that we are neither forsaken nor condemned. For there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus—even those who struggle repeatedly with the same sin, who cry out repeatedly for the same forgiveness, and who pray repeatedly for the grace to turn. There is no condemnation. None. Back to Romans 8:

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Look at “all these things” listed here, and remember that you have been called a conqueror. Remember that God gave to you Christ, and that he will withhold from you no truly "good" thing (oh, if we only knew what was "good"). No one can stand against you, for you are already justified by God. Is that celebrated diversion growing smaller and darker as you look into this glory? Romans 8 is why we are more confident as we enter temptation.

But we are less confident in the face of temptation as we come to better understand our hearts. Looking into the perfect law of God, we recognize the banality of our pet sin. We realize, more and more, that this sin—like every other-is a manifestation of the evil in our hearts. It can’t be blamed on a situation or even a disposition. If we have looked first into the Gospel, this awareness will teach us to be humble, watchful, and prayerful in the face of temptation. If not, we may fall into condemnation. This is why we must fly to the Gospel. As my pastor said this morning, “When we see our sin, we must preach the preach the gospel to ourselves and rely upon the pardon and perfection of Christ alone.” I think this is also true for temptation.

We can modify our circumstances, and we are often wise to do so, and yet the provisions against temptation must always be made in our hearts. We can try to reflect upon the temporal consequences of our sin, but we won’t find them efficacious for long. Anyone who has failed at a New Years’ resolution understands that the threat of the law can only motivate obedience for a short time. Only, as Owen says, “Gospel provisions will do this work; that is, keep the heart full of a sense of the love of God in Christ. This is the greatest preservative against the power of temptation in the world.”

Owen gives several practical suggestions. Here are two that I find to be particularly helpful:

*Consider the end goal of this temptation: “It never rises up but its intent is the worst of evils. Every acting of it would be a formed enmity against God. Hence look upon it in its first attempts, whatever pretenses be made, as your mortal enemy.”

*Meet temptation with thoughts of faith in Christ. “Entertain no parley, no dispute with it, if you would not enter into it. Say, ‘It is Christ that died—that died for sins such as these.’ This is called ‘taking the shield of faith to quench the fiery darts of Satan.’”

Owen is calling us here to disrobe these temptations-to expose them for what they are and what they would be. We won't call them addictions and predispositions at this point; we will call them sin and we will make short work in our minds of what might be a long journey in our lives. No, one cigarette won't make me a smoker...yet. But what does it aim at? And, at an even deeper level, who does it aim at? I think we know that the answer is God.

The answer is God. Indeed, it is. We cannot dabble around with our temptation, considering how we might domesticate it or just appease the lust in less destructive way. A lust appeased will only grow stronger. If we truly desire to fight sin we will look to Christ, in whose flesh sin was condemned and through whom the righteous requirements of the law are met in us. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. It is our flesh that is weak; it is His that was and is sufficient.

"Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, 'Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree'" (Gal 3:13). Thus, when we are caught in those same briers, we remember and rely upon the one who hung in our place, that we no longer have to.

And Are We Yet Alive?

A beautiful hymn that celebrates salvation and sanctification in community. Very appropriate for a Sunday:

And are we yet alive, and see each other's face?
Glory and thanks to Jesus give for his almighty grace!

Preserved by power divine to full salvation here,
again in Jesus' praise we join, and in his sight appear.

What troubles have we seen, what mighty conflicts past,
fightings without, and fears within, since we assembled last!

Yet out of all the Lord hath brought us by his love;
and still he doth his help afford, and hides our life above.

Then let us make our boast of his redeeming power,
which saves us to the uttermost, till we can sin no more.

Let us take up the cross till we the crown obtain,
and gladly reckon all things loss so we may Jesus gain.

-Hymn by Charles Wesley

HT: MO

Hanging in the Same Briers, Part I

Be acquainted, then, with your own heart: though it be deep, search it; though it be dark, inquire into it; though it give all its distempers other names than what are their due, believe it not. Were not men utter strangers to themselves—did they not give flattering titles to their natural distempers—did they not strive rather to justify, palliate, or excuse the evils of their hearts that are suited to their natural tempers and conditions than to destroy them, and by these means keep themselves off from taking a clear and distinct view of them—it were impossible that they should all their days hang in the same briers without attempt for deliverance.

-From Overcoming Sin and Temptation, (John Owen's works on sin and temptation, edited by Justin Taylor and Kelly Kapic)

How many of us have spent all our lives hanging in the same briers? We reflect often on how our personalities and our circumstances have ‘conspired’ to render us particularly susceptible to some one great temptation. We tend to forget that God was and is sovereign over these things, and so we find it easy to excuse ourselves where this one thing is concerned. “All the other points of the law I have kept,” we say. And we focus on the fact that, as my pastor says, we were “deprived” rather than the fact that we are depraved. Thus the lust, the indulgence, the addiction—the sin—lives on. We do the things that we hate even as we do the thing we love. The things are less important than the thing.

While I can’t be sure, I suspect that most of you can pinpoint this one great temptation in your life. It may have changed over the years, wearing different faces at different seasons, and yet you see it to be the same damned brier. You know that your chances of being tempted in this area are almost the same as your chances of waking up in the morning. I woke up weary of the fight today, and so I turned to John Owen—whom I trust to give me a clear picture of my Savior and of myself:

Do not so much employ your thoughts about the things whereunto you are tempted, which oftentimes raises further entanglements, but set yourselves against the temptation itself. Pray against the temptation that it may depart; and when that is taken away, the things themselves may be more calmly considered.

In the throes of temptation, then, it seems that we need to think much more about the cross of Christ than about the sin in question. We need to focus our hearts on his faithfulness unto death instead of our paltry disobediences. I prayed this morning that the Spirit would help me to replace my fear, hopelessness, and condemnation in this area with concrete and specific thoughts about Christ’s faithfulness unto death. Obedience derived from fear is not a sustainable obedience; obedience derived from faith is the only way to fight.

I'm considering Hebrews 2 today:

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.

I no longer hear a "Sunday School answer" when people counsel me to focus on the Gospel. The Gospel is the solution to every problem about our hearts and our behavior. May God, by His Spirit, make it clear to us how we can apply the Gospel in our times of temptation, that we may mortify even that one great sin, to the praise of His glory.

Diagnostic Gymnastics and Other Assorted Conditions

I’ve been compared to a gymnast all my life. It’s just how I’m built. But I’ve never heard it from a doctor before.

Let me back up. The rheumatologist pored over the medical history that I gave him, and I felt really encouraged. I told him how my pain was, in comparison to how it was a few weeks ago, and he made some assessments. I later learned that I erred on the side of optimism in describing the pain, since he didn’t understand that I can hardly walk. I guess that I was trying to fight my natural cynical tendencies and focus on the progress.

He told me, with some fanfare, that there was nothing neurologically wrong with me but that I was, instead, “hypermobile.” It’s not uncommon with women (stats say 10-20%), but it’s most common among female gymnasts. It means that my limbs bend a bit too far in the wrong direction. His incisive prescription was to wear running shoes, to stay off my feet as much as possible, not to run (as if!!!) and to come back and see him in 6 weeks. He also wants to do a bone scan to see if we can identify any injuries that might have been caused by this hypermobility. Otherwise, I guess we are just assuming that such injuries exist...

I realized, if he was cautioning me not to run, that I had not made it clear how debilitating this pain is. I teared up and told him about how far I can walk without being in excruciating pain. He looked perplexed and said that I need to come back in 6 months to be tested again for lupus, rheumatoid arthritis and for something else that I have already forgotten (I’d never heard of it before; how could I forget this?). He said that it could be serious. I felt like he was the one doing gymnastics.

I asked him what to do for the pain. He said to keep taking ibuprofen. When I suggested that it hadn’t helped, he said that it would now that I’m wearing running shoes every day. I'm insulted. I felt like he had made up his mind and was simply refusing to let any new information get in the way.

“What about pushing myself just a little bit? Can I keep trying to walk a little farther, do a little more? Can I travel? I really need to fly this time next month.”

Emphatically, “No.” I cannot push myself—not now, not for a long time. And I can travel if I can walk.

So, if I just don't move for the next six weeks (or months)--then this is all going to go away? Is that what I'm hearing? I'm trying not to be discouraged, but I'm not having a lot of success at the moment.

Doctor's Appointment

I have my first appointment with a rheumatologist tomorrow at 9:15AM. The poor doctor is going to wish that he'd downed a few more cups of coffee when I arrive. I'm taking 20 pages of test results, a spreadsheet of my personal medical history, and the extensive family medical history that my dear mother compiled for me.

Please pray for insight for the doctor. I know that he is not going to be able to diagnose me immediately, unless the Lord intervenes in a supernatural way. Pray that he will be able to sift out what is significant and what is not. Pray that he will be able to make connections between some of my seemingly discrete symptoms if connections exist.

Please pray also for wisdom for me. It's so hard to know what's relevant, what to say, what to ask, when your hope is so tightly bound up in every word that the doctor utters. Perhaps more to the point: pray that my hope would be in the Lord, even as I sit in that doctor's office.

I'll let you know how it goes!

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.

Divine Multi-Tasking

"I will turn my hand against you and will smelt away your dross as with lye and remove all your alloy. And I will restore your judges as at the first, and your counselors as at the beginning. Afterward you shall be called the city of righteousness, the faithful city" (Isaiah 1:25, 26).

In Isaiah: God Saves Sinners, Ray Ortlund notes that the Hebrew verbs translated "I will turn" and "I will restore" are actually the same verb. He explains the significance of this fact:

We translate this with different English verbs, "turn" and "restore", because our idiom requires it. But Isaiah is implying that one God, acting in one way, is able to accomplish two things at once. When God turns his hand against us, it isn't a disaster; it's an act of restoration. The discipline of God achieves just what he intends, in purification and in restoration, both at the same time. We can expect the goodness of God to show up in unlikely experiences. When he turns his hand against us to purify us, let's trust him to restore us.

This illness is not a disaster; it is an act of restoration. Every morning, I have to sweep aside all of my cherished hopes and dig into the Word for evidence of this truth. I find that the Lord disciplines those whom he loves, and he works all things together for their good. In my better moments, I am encouraged by the fact that the Lord is treating me as a son and I am fortified by the truth that “no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him." Still, I can walk away from the Word and moan over my aches and inadequacies with a heart as wobbly as my legs. I am dissatisfied far too easily--a word, a thought, a mis-step and I am undone.

But dissatisfaction is not my deepest problem. The strength of my desire for temporal things (as evidenced by my dissatisfaction when they are removed) points to my lack of love for eternal things--or my lack of faith that such things will truly fulfill all of my desires. In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis writes, "Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." My dissatisfaction is not an isolated problem; I have a satisfaction problem, too.

Purification (I will turn) sets us free from the weak loves that satisfy and dissatisfy us in order that we may be captured by a new love through restoration (I will restore). In one act, God achieves what this heart can neither ask nor imagine, in its current state. But "the Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands" (Psalm 138:8).

Place is Always and Only Place

O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger, nor discipline me in your wrath. Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O Lord—how long? Turn, O Lord, deliver my life; save me for the sake of your steadfast love. For in death there is no remembrance of you; in Sheol who will give you praise? I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping. My eye wastes away because of grief; it grows weak because of all my foes. Depart from me, all you workers of evil, for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping. The Lord has heard my plea; the Lord accepts my prayer. All my enemies shall be ashamed and greatly troubled; they shall turn back and be put to shame in a moment (Psalm 6).

I can't help but notice David's confidence as he concludes this Psalm. "The Lord has heard" and "the Lord accepts," he boasts—though he had opened the Psalm with the plaintive, "How long?"

The "how long" question is a consequence of looking around. It is a natural question to ask, particularly in the midst of a trial and is, in itself, morally neutral. It may be a prelude to faith or a prelude to doubt. If the question is fostering doubt or fear, though, then it is the wrong question to ask.

Over the past few days, I have been plagued by a sort of emotional tedium. “My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, ‘My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.’” All around me I have seen loss and lack; pain and emptiness; absence where presence once stood. All around me…

But David’s boasts, in Psalm 6, are not yet manifested in his present circumstance. He boasts in the fact that the Lord has heard his plea—maybe the same plea that he has uttered now for days, weeks, months—although he has seen no salvation. He looks ahead and predicts the shape of his victory—the degradation of his enemies—though they are still encamped about him.

In general, I think that we can extract a guideline from David's example that may serve us when we get mired in the "now." Like David, we may be better able to boast in the Lord if we look back and look ahead instead of always looking around.

Looking back is the easier of the two charges. This discipline has served me, even today, with reminders of God's faithfulness in the face of my faithlessness. When hope is in short supply and sin is threatening to fill the vacuum, the remembrance of God’s goodness to us in the past can steady our hearts.

Looking ahead is a bit more challenging, since it depends upon faith and not sight. Piper, in Future Grace, suggests that remembering can "incline our hearts to trust in future grace." This remembering is not an end in itself, but when combined with the living and active Word, it is a motivator to faith and obedience. Several of you directed my attention to one or the other of these affairs today, and the Lord brought them all together to strengthen my weak faith.

It’s hard for me to let go of my expectations for today—for what my life, at 28, should look like. But by remembering what the Lord has accomplished, I am encouraged just enough to be willing to look ahead with hope, nay—with faith.

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are…

T.S. Eliot, Ash Wednesday

Men as Trees

Something in my heart switched off a few days ago, and I just can't feel anything right now. It’s almost as though the glut of emotions over the past few weeks—toward God, toward my friends, toward my family—has just saturated my heart. I cannot hold one more tear (of joy, sadness, or any commixture of the two). The puzzling thing is that I can’t seem to release them either. Suspended. Frozen. There’s something in front of me that I cannot see.

I'm going through the motions of interacting with people, of praying, of studying Scripture, and yet everything is wearisome. I feel restrained or sedated, or somehow reduced to an unresponsive state. There’s something in front of me that I will not see.

I think that I'm a little bit afraid to hope now. It's been five weeks and I still (for all practical purposes) can't walk. I have no diagnosis, no treatment, and no clear path to a sustainable lifestyle. People assume that things are "getting back to normal" for me, but normal is not yet in view. There’s something in front of me that I haven’t yet seen.

Like the blind man, who had received Christ's healing touch and yet whose vision remained distorted, "I see men as trees, walking." I am not blind, yet I hardly see. I am not walking in despair; neither am I walking in faith. In the face of the indistinct, I am tempted to rely on what is most clear—the weakness of my limbs, the limits of my stamina—and stand warily where I am. Jesus, touch my eyes and restore my sight—that I may see you clearly and see myself and my circumstances in your light.

"It is no longer I who do it..."

Whenever I read through Romans 7 and contemplate indwelling sin, I always hesitate over verses 17 and 20. In fact, to call a spade a spade—I feel embarrassed by them. They seem to advocate a denial of responsibility for sin which, you may realize by now, I fight against vociferously. The verses read as follows:

17) So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.

20) Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.

As I was driving home from church today,* I confessed my sins again to God and felt as though the confusion of these verses obscured even my confession. “How am I to even think about this?” I asked. Clarity consumed the confusion all at once. Indwelling sin is “mine,” though it is no longer “me.” Paul’s attribution of his sinful acts to the "sin that dwells within me" is not a question of culpability but of congruity.

Romans 7, extracted from its context, conveys tension and incongruity. This divided man is wrestling against an enemy within himself, and he knows well the weakness of his own defenses. Sin remains and exerts a powerful influence over him, though he is being delivered from his “body of death.” It would be easy to walk away from this chapter wondering if the doctrines of sin and salvation were somehow inconsistent. Verses 17 and 20 help to make the distinction between my remaining sin and my new identity in Christ—bolstering both doctrines, along with those of us who fight to build our lives around them.

*Note: I drove myself to church today. Whereas most of my prohibitions have been instituted to deal with the pain, my driving restrictions were strictly based on fear. I faced that fear today and drove the 35min drive to and from church.

God Saves Sinners

“The biggest obstacle to our spiritual progress is that we feel healthy.” Ray Ortlund, Isaiah: God Saves Sinners

Throughout the past month, my reading of Scripture has been self-consciously topical. The needs of each day have been so insistent that I have required immediate and obvious application from my reading. Over the past few days, though, I have been sensing the need to immerse myself into a more settled book study. I’ve decided to add Isaiah to my readings in the Psalms and in Colossians.

I'm fortunate to have a copy of Ray Ortlund's commentary, Isaiah: God Saves Sinners, to use as a reference in this study. Here's a little tidbit from the introduction. You'll notice immediately how my recent reflections situate me right in the middle of the "we" of whom Ortlund speaks:

"[Isaiah's] Hebrew name means, 'The Lord saves.' This man's very identity announces grace from beyond ourselves. We don't like that. We want to retain control, save face, set our own terms, pay our own way. Every day we treat God as incidental to what really matters to us, and we live by our own strategies of self-salvation. We don't think of our choices that way, but Isaiah can see that our lives are infested with fraudulent idols. Any hope that isn't from God is an idol of our own making.”

These strategies of self-salvation are what is under attack in my life right now. I recognize in myself both the search for salvation and the resistance to receive it; I know that I have positively located that salvation in Christ and yet that I continue to search for it in other places. And I know the slavery of those “other places.”

Isaiah describes Judah’s spiritual crisis in chapter 1:

The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint. From the sole of the foot even to the head, there is no soundness in it, but bruises and sores and raw wounds; they are not pressed out or bound up or softened with oil.

He uses imagery of physical sickness to speak about the spiritual malady of Judah; in a similar fashion, I look at my physical condition and draw conclusions about my spiritual health. I don’t draw these conclusions to suggest that this sickness has befallen me because of my spiritual condition. Instead, I look at it as a manifestation of the overwhelming tendencies of the human heart to self-destruct and to rebel. I think of my portable altars and am saddened. But I do not hope in my heart or its rightness or righteousness; I hope in the fact that God saves sinners.

Father, you have made known to us through your Son and in your word that you save sinners. Your spirit has opened my eyes to the truth that I am such a sinner and that your salvation is my only hope. I confess that I could not pay my own way, save face, or set my own terms. It was on your terms that I came to you, in order that you might receive all the glory for my salvation.

I thank you that you continue to awaken in me a fresh sense of my own sinfulness through conviction. Help me, Father, always to turn from that sin and focus upon Christ. Help me to see that he has borne those sins and put them to death at the cross. Help me to live in Spirit-empowered freedom instead of fleshly idolatry. I give you thanks, even now, for the physical suffering that reminds me of my spiritual need. I thank you for the helplessness that points to hope; for the emptiness that points to satiation; for the pain that points to joy. I trust you that what is mortal will be swallowed up in what is eternal, and I long for that day. Sustain me until I see you face to face, in the strong name of Jesus. Amen.

From Foot-Washing to Feet

No theological or philosophical reflections today, friends. Just the facts:

After being off those horrible steroids for only two days, my feet are swollen again (for the first time in nearly three weeks). I had to search for a pair of shoes that would fit this morning and have had much more trouble walking.

It seems logical to now assume that the steroids have been serving some useful purpose. But the new facts beg further questions, like this one: If my pain level was that high on steroids, what am I to expect now that I'm not medicated?

It is hard not to dwell on these questions and fears, so I am grateful that Scripture makes known to us the consequences of doing so. I read in Romans 8 that "to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace." Here I am warned of the effects of clinging to this fear, which is neither fruitful nor faithful.

But to actually fight it, I must throw myself upon the God who is faithful. I must remember the God who has forgiven all my iniquity if I am to trust him to be the God who heals all my diseases. I'm going to spend some time doing that now.