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!

Love Not the World

Thomas Chalmers explains how we can love not the world:

"Nothing can exceed the magnitude of the required change in a man's character—when bidden, as he is in the New Testament, to love not the world; no, nor any of the things that are in the world—for this so comprehends all that is dear to him in existence as to be equivalent to a command of self-annihilation. But the same revelation which dictates so mighty an obedience places within our reach as mighty an instrument of obedience. It brings for admittance, to the very door of our heart, an affection which, once seated upon its throne, will either subordinate every previous inmate, or bid it away.

Beside the world it places before the eye of the mind Him who made the world, and with this peculiarity, which is all its own—that in the gospel do we so behold God as that we may love God. It is there, and there only, where God stands revealed as an object of confidence to sinners—and where our desire after Him is not chilled into apathy by that barrier of human guilt which intercepts every approach that is not made to Him through the appointed Mediator. It is the bringing in of this better hope, whereby we draw nigh unto God-to live without hope is to live without God, and if the heart be without God the world will then have all the ascendency. It is God apprehended by the believer as God in Christ who alone can dispost it from this ascendency.

It is when He stands dismantled of the terrors which belong to Him as an offended lawgiver, and when we are enabled by faith, which is His own gift, to see His glory in the face of Jesus Christ, and to hear His beseeching voice, as it protests good-will to men, and entreats the return of all who will to a full pardon, and a gracious acceptance—it is then that a love paramount to the love of the world, and at length expulsive of it, first arises in the regenerating bosom.

It is when released from the spirit of bondage, with which love can not dwell, and when admitted into the number of God's children, through the faith that is in Christ Jesus, the spirit of adoption is poured upon upon us—it is then that the heart, brought under the mastery of one great and predominant affection, is delivered from the tyranny of its former desires, and in the only way in which deliverance is possible."

From a (10 page, single-spaced sermon!) entitled The Expulsive Power of a New Affection

The Haves and the Have Nots

On my five-minute drive home from work today, I heard two lines of a sermon from Tony Evans. I remember only one of them. It went something like this:

"If you are busy thinking about what you don't have instead of what God is doing, then you are in enemy territory."

Though I had spent quite a bit of time over the last few days reflecting upon what I have lost, my heart was disguising this dialogue as a supplement and not a replacement. Surely I can think about what God is doing and still maintain a little energy for self-pity, right? I'm just being a realist here...no need to start talking about "enemy territory."

Both Paul and Tony seem to disagree with me:

"For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God" (Romans 8).

Wow. I consider anew the losses that have plagued me, each bandying about its own fears and threats as though it was of ultimate importance. Loss of efficiency. Loss of beauty. Loss of self-sufficiency. Loss of physical comforts.

While it's not wrong to notice these things and even to be saddened by them, it is wrong to dwell on them. It is wrong not to take these thoughts captive by considering who the Lord is and what He is doing. Why? Because those who are in the flesh cannot please God.

Want more evidence? I wish you could have seen what a miserable few days I've had; that experience would illustrate the point better than I can do with my words. As my mind has been focused on fleshly matters, I have reaped a harvest of profound bitterness (to which several of my friends can attest). Should I have been suprised at the hostility that I felt toward God? Or in the disobedience that rapidly followed those first allowances of self-pity? At what price did I buy those trinkets for myself?

"Father, heal me from the nearsightedness that sees only my loss. Enable me, by your Spirit, to see the presence of your hand in my life and to look toward my future with faith. Because I trust in you, I will not feel sorry for myself. Because I have been raised with Christ, I will seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. I will set my mind on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For I have died, and my life is hidden with Christ in You (Oh! What security!). And when Christ who is my life appears, then I also will appear with him in glory." This is my hope and my comfort. Have or have not, I shall not want."

More Good Questions

I posted previously (May 15, "Speaking to Those in Pain") about good questions to ask a sufferer. David Powlison is much better equipped to make suggestions along these lines, so I'll let him speak through his helpful chapter in Suffering and the Sovereignty of God:

"Often the biggest problem for any sufferer is not 'the problem.' It is the spiritual challenge the problem presents: 'How are you doing in the midst of what you are going through? What are you learning? Where are you failing? Where do you need encouragement? Will you learn to live well and wisely within pain, limitation, weakness, and loss? Will suffering define you? Will faith and love grow, or will you shrivel up?' These are life-and-death issues--more important than 'the problem' in the final analysis. They take asking, thinking, listening, responding. They take time."

I like his questions very much, although I would recommend that either a close and honest relationship or an invitation to accountability should be the premise for the "will" questions. Coming from someone who stands at a distance, they could be construed as an accusation.

For the record, if you are reading this, you may ask me any of these questions. Accountability is such an important means of grace in this time (as in all others). I am committed, by the grace of God, to squelching the feeling of condemnation that hard questions can invoke. The process always gives life even as it humbles.

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.

Strangers and Exiles

My approach to Scripture right now is to examine the prevailing emotion of the day and to submit it to the Word. I’m always a bit discomfited by my own surprise at Scripture’s ability to pierce and to discern (Hebrews 4:12). We think of ourselves as the exception and find ourselves to be the rule.

For today, I'm fighting a feeling akin to loneliness that is probably most accurately defined as a sense of exile. I am expelled from the native land of my heart and mind—desires, hopes, ambitions, pleasures, plans—and forced into a period of wandering and wondering. Hence I turn to Hebrews 11:

"These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city."

These men and women of faith who are being commended by the author of Hebrews acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles. They did not seek to disguise the fact or to remedy it in their own strength; in fact, the text seems to say that they could go back to their native lands. Yet they chose to remain in exile because they desired a new and better country. They chose exile because they trusted the one who was changing even their desires and the "home" that formed their identities.

When my old desires, hopes, ambitions and pleasures taunt me, it is helpful to me to remember that I am now seeking a homeland. Mine is a purposeful exile—though I did not choose it—and it is leading me to a heavenly country. Acknowledging that I am truly an exile is an important way that I can expose both the truth and the lie. The truth is that the Lord has sent me into this period of wandering; the lie, which is rehearsed in my mind almost hourly, is that I am “cut off from his sight.” In this way, I must talk to myself rather than listen (as Martin Lloyd Jones would say).

I also take this counsel from Hebrews 11: I must fight the temptation to think constantly of the country I left, lest I should turn back at the first opportunity. I must submit those old desires and dreams to the plans and promises of God—even if I only greet them from afar. He can be trusted to fulfill each and every one of his promises to me, and he is not confined by time or space in that fulfillment. In fact, of these exiles it is written, “Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.”

A home. A homeland. A place where desires are pure and purely satisfied, where hope is seen, and where pleasures are eternal. You are an exile, Michele. Keep walking.

In the Valley

In the Valley by Bob Kauflin (as recorded on Valley of Vision)

When You lead me to the valley of vision
I can see You in the heights
And though my humbling wouldn’t be my decision
It’s here Your glory shines so bright
So let me learn that the cross precedes the crown
To be low is to be high
That the valley’s where You make me more like Christ

Let me find Your grace in the valley
Let me find Your life in my death
Let me find Your joy in my sorrow
Your wealth in my need
That You’re near with every breath
In the valley

In the daytime there are stars in the heavens
But they only shine at night
And the deeper that I go into darkness
The more I see their radiant light
So let me learn that my losses are my gain
To be broken is to heal
That the valley’s where Your power is revealed

© 2006 Sovereign Grace Praise (BMI).

Results

The results from my EMG today were completely normal. My protein factors are normal, which means that this is probably not a muscle disorder. We haven't yet seen anything to give a solid indication that something is wrong with my nerves (though my pain seems to act like nerve pain). The only abnormal numbers on my tests were my RH factor, which was 20.

The RH factor is a strong indicator of rheumatoid arthritis. I read somewhere online that, even with a factor of 20 (which is on the low side of the positive diagnostic spectrum), the patient has an 80% chance of having the disease. Yet there are a number of other autoimmune diseases, infections, and conditions that can cause false positives.

One of the primary treatments for rheumatoid arthritis is steroids which, as you know, I've been taking for nearly 4 weeks now. The fact that my condition has not responded to the steroids is of concern here, since it could mean the rheumatoid arthritis is a secondary condition or merely a symptom of something else.

I have already been on the phone with a number of rheumatologists, and the earliest I can get an appointment is for two weeks from today. As you can imagine, that is disheartening. But at least, for the first time in several weeks, there is a "next step." I, of course, use the word “step” quite gingerly…

Prayer Request

I almost forgot to mention that I go in for my next round of tests tomorrow morning at 8:30AM. Please pray that the doctor would have insight and skill as he conducts the tests.

Afflicted in Every Way, But...

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh" (II Corinthians 4:7-12).

I feel afflicted in every way tonight. The coordinating conjunction that appears in the title to this post is added as an act of discipline and an assent to a truth that I don't feel. I have to ask myself, what does it mean that I am "not crushed." I feel utterly crushed. Where is my Christ? I must see him tonight.

[I could have ended the post here. I felt so desperate and forsaken even as I typed. What you can't see between these two brackets is just a period of sobbing before God-making anemic confessions to him about how I feel, even indulging in self-pity, and yet pleading that he reveal Christ's presence to me. He is faithful to meet us in our weakness.]

I'm reminded in the silence that Scripture uses the word "crushed" in both II Corinthians 4 and in Isaiah 53. Therefore, as I contemplate this truth that I am "not crushed," I remember one who was. "But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed."

What does it mean that I am not crushed? It means that Christ was. I spent some time in the Servant Songs at Easter, and I read this commentary from John Piper on Isaiah 53:5-

"Now we start to get to the heart of the heart of God: it was the will of the Lord to crush him, NOT because of his own sins, but because of our sins. What God desired was that we not bear our own sins. Seven hundred years before Good Friday God announced why his Son was being put to death: to bear the sins of many—to take our place. Sins are not borne twice. God does not sentence his Servant and us to death for the same sins. If he bears them, we don't. And that is the glorious gospel of Jesus. He bore our sins."

God's heart desired that I not bear my own sins, and he willingly afflicted his own son in order that I might not be crushed. Even as I lie here tonight, sobbing in pain and fighting despair, I am not crushed. My sins are separated from me that I might not be separated from God. Because Christ was crushed, I am not--no matter what my affliction.

My heart is steadfast, O God. My heart is steadfast...

Spurgeon on Affliction

"It would be a very sharp and trying experience to me to think that I have an affliction which God never sent me, that the bitter cup was never filled by his hand, that my trials were never measured out by him, nor sent to me by his arrangement of their weight and quantity."

Darrel W. Amundsen, "The Anguish and Agonies of Charles Spurgeon," Christian History, Issue 29, Vol. X, No. 1, p. 25.

HT: EA