The Gift of Faith (02/16/25-02/17/25)

Though it comes almost as an aside here, we mustn’t miss this significant point from the Apostle: Belief has been granted us, and that, for Christ’s sake.  Let me take that in two parts.  The first, we have more clearly stated in other places, but it seems we still have need of being reminded of it.  Faith is a gift.  Faith is not some response we have worked up in ourselves, though it is a response, and it is quite personal.  But let’s hear it from another text, probably more familiar when it comes to this point.  “By grace you have been saved through faith, and that is not from yourselves.  It is a gift of God” (Eph 2:8).  That which is by grace is necessarily a gift.  That’s kind of the point.  By grace you have been saved.  It wasn’t a reward for good behavior, some merit badge earned by long hours of practice and effort.  It is a gift.  That you have been saved came not because you responded well to the Gospel.  Your response to the Gospel came because this gift had already been given.

Let’s hear it from another Apostle.  In his gospel, written, almost certainly, when he was the last Apostle living, John records this.  Having already noted how Jesus came to His own, but His own would not receive Him, could not accept Him, we read, “But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God” (Jn 1:12a).  Okay, stop there, and you could surmise a cause-and-effect order to this, such that the choice to receive earned the right.  But that’s not it.  Thus far, the statement is more focused on the contrast.  Those who, by human reason at least, should have received Him did not, but as to those who did…  John, as one of my brothers brought up in last week’s men’s group, loves to point out these contrasts.  Light and darkness, rejection and reception, understanding and skepticism.  But that passage continues.  Those who believe in His name, these ones he says were given to become children of God, “were not born of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God” (Jn 1:13).  Okay, the earthly parallel is clear, isn’t it?  No baby ever came into being by its own choice.  The cells of first conception did not make some conscious decision in this.  For all that we may think of myriad sperm competing, and the egg accepting one particular, that’s really not how it goes.  There is no consciousness there to make choice.  And we might also observe, I suppose, that very often, there is no conscious choice of conception in the actions of the parents, either.  And where there is conscious choice, this is no guarantee of result.

So, not to belabor the point further, the nature of human birth comes not by any will of the flesh, nor of man.  In a very real sense, we can conclude that, while human actions are most assuredly involved, the result of conception remains a work of God.  The examples from the Bible are myriad, and never more so than when we consider the line of promise that leads from Abraham to Jesus.  But let’s move back into the spiritual plane.  The same applies.  Rebirth may involve some degree of human involvement.  Indeed, no matter how you slice it, there is that act of personal will involved in receiving.  Reception is, after all a choice.  The vocalization of, “Yes, Lord, I believe,” requires volitional will on our part.  Did it not, we should have no moral agency, and unbelief could bear no penalty.  But dig deeper, and the Truth demands that this rebirth is of God.  Later reformers would emphasize, that it is of God alone.  And we might get our hackles up at that, because we rather like our agency.

Nobody wants to be powerless.  Nobody likes to act from lack of choice.  I mean, I can hear that snow is shifting over to rain outside, and that also points to an activity that I must undertake, not by unconstrained choice, but by the choice of yielding to necessity.  I could wait.  I could insist that I get my second cup of coffee in before going outside.  But it would only make the job worse, and I know that.  So, I shall soon cut away from this morning study and do what must be done.  Yet, I feel somewhat powerless in that decision.  It’s not because I am so enamored of the idea of getting behind the snowblower, though I am most thoroughly thankful to have that beast, rather than a mere shovel.  It’s a case of needs must.  But you can see already that even in this, for all that the choice feels inevitable, yet there is the power to choose.  I could opt to blow it off, let nature take its course.  I would be stupid to do so, but I could choose to be stupid.

This gift of faith, while it leaves us with agency in the choosing, renders the choice inevitable, much like that sound at my window makes the choice of plowing sooner rather than later inevitable.  I’ve already chosen, given the hour of my waking, to delay it long enough to have my time with my Lord, here in study.  And yes, I would have to confess that the desire to get a cup of coffee in first also plays into the decision.  But there are any number of other things I would prefer to be doing than suiting up and going out now.  Yet, I will choose to do so.  As to faith, there is really no good cause for regret, is there?  The choice, at base, has nothing but upside.  Oh, but the flesh will take note of those things that must be left behind.  Not the least among those is this sense of self-governance.  I said that nobody wants to be powerless.  Perhaps we can recognize it more clearly if I say that nobody wants to be governed by others.  We want to be in charge.  We want control in our own hands.  “I am the captain of my ship.”  That is apparently a quote from A Mr. Henley, more properly, “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”  Yet, that only holds true to a degree.  Indeed, it seems, if I read this quick snippet of review, that his whole point was to speak against predestination.  Well, fine.  Speak against Scripture.  See where that gets you.  From what I read and what I see, he who masters his own fate and demands to be captain of his own soul is driving hard for a rocky coast, with no hope of safe harbor.

Faith is a gift, rebirth an act of God’s will.  That’s the message, not just from some Reformed reading of Romans 8, but of Scripture writ large.  You cannot escape the message except you plug your ears and seek to drown out the voice of the Spirit.  Over and over again, the will of man, the will of flesh, is shown irrelevant.  Abraham seeks to speed the promise along, driven by his wife’s agitation, and takes his maid to bed.  A child is born, yes, but it is not the child of promise.  Indeed, it proves the start of long millennia of trouble.  Isaac chooses Esau, his firstborn, as heir, but God chooses Jacob, a most unlikely choice.  We could keep going on down the line, even to Mary, a fourteen-year-old girl betrothed to Joseph, who suddenly turns up pregnant in a small village in Gentile-infested Galilee, and even for that region, a village of no good reputation.  Can you imagine how the locals responded?  Do you think they didn’t whisper about this?  Whisper?  No.  Talk rather loudly?  Almost certainly.  So loudly, it seems, that even in Jerusalem, the rumors were known.

Now, here’s the thing.  If faith is of God, our rebirth a result of His choice, then first, it’s not that we have been given the opportunity of maybe becoming children of God, no!  We have received Him because we have become children of God.  You could no more deny your own paternity in the face of conclusive DNA evidence.  Now, let’s build on this.  If you have already become a child of God, by His choice, then for one thing, new life is already yours.  Eternal life is already your story.  This is not some promise restricted to a distant future.  It is who you are now.  That’s not to say that this flesh shall not see the grave.  It would be foolish to suppose so.  For one, we have far too much evidence to the contrary in the lives of those who went before us.  We can again go back even to Abraham.  Go back to Adam for all that.  To the last man, their bodies died.  And yes, I will include Enoch and Elijah in that, even Melchizedek, assuming he was human at all.  Yet, as Jesus points out, God calls Himself the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, but He is not the God of the dead, but of the living (Mt 22:32).  Hear Paul’s bold recognition of this reality.  “We do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, our inner man is being renewed day by day” (2Co 4:16).  The body is not the sum.  It’s not even the point.  There will come a new body, and that of necessity.  This body cannot cope with heaven or eternity.  It’s not built for that.  Thus, as I say, even Enoch and Elijah, like those alive at Christ’s return, had to know the death of the earthly body, so as to take up the body suited for eternity.

Okay, so if we are already possessed of this eternal nature, there are things that necessarily attend upon that reality.  For one, we are never without hope.  That’s rather Paul’s point in that verse from 2Corinthians.  We do not lose heart because the outcome is certain.  The road that gets us there may not be, but the endpoint is.  You know, you set off on a journey, even in this life, and you know as well as I that no matter how carefully you have planned your course, it is subject to change.  Flights may be cancelled.  Roads may be under construction.  Any number of things could force a change.  That’s in part why travel insurance sells.  You just don’t know.  You can’t guarantee no untoward event.  Even plans for weddings and funerals may find it necessary to adjust to unforeseen events.  Take the wedding that took place, so far as I know, at our church yesterday.  We had to reschedule service, given the weather today, but the wedding, thankfully, would appear to have been scheduled early enough to avoid complications.  But what if it had been later?  Say it had been an evening wedding.  Surely, forecasts would have advised rescheduling, in spite of the planning, and in spite of whatever costs might accrue due to that choice.  Is a bit of expense not to be preferred to loss of life on your special day?

But come what may, whatever life may throw at us, we have this assurance.  He has caused our rebirth.  He is abiding in us, counseling us, doing His work in us, rendering us, as Paul writes just a bit later in this epistle, not only able to work, but willing (Php 2:13).  Even our willingness to pursue righteousness, we see, comes of His work, not our brilliant devotion.  And because it is His work, it comes with a guarantee, doesn’t it?  God’s works do not fail.  God’s purposes do not alter due to unforeseen events.  He is not like us, with partial knowledge and no clue about the future.  He has all the clues, because the future is as the present to Him who is outside time.  His word, as He informs us, does not return to Him void, but accomplishes all that He has purposed (Isa 55:11).  And His word in regard to you has gone forth.  He has called you by name (Isa 43:1).  You knew that had to be coming, right?   Had He not called you, you could by no wise have come to faith.  John’s gospel makes that clear.  Nobody comes to Me except the Father calls them (Jn 6:44), and all whom the Father calls will come to Him (Jn 6:37).

Okay.  One last aspect that I want to chase here, but needs must, and I have to go attend to the snow before it becomes ice.  Tomorrow, then.

This gift of faith is powerful not only to save, but to change.  There was this said by Barnes, which struck deep.  He observes that by faith, we leave behind the influences of unbelief.  So far, that’s simple enough, and we can nod along.  But he proceeds to list some of those influences of unbelief as being, ‘the agitation, and restlessness, and darkness, and gloom of a skeptic.’  Now, that hits a bit too close to home.  Let’s consider, as a starting point, the matter of being a skeptic.  What does that really mean?  As a primary definition, it indicates, to quote the American Heritage Dictionary, “One who instinctively or habitually doubts, questions, or disagrees with assertions or generally accepted conclusions.”  Or take Merriam-Webster’s first entry, describing ‘an attitude of doubt.’  Now, I would have to say that in this modern age, there are many occasions where skepticism is in fact the right and reasonable response.  Much that is passed off as truth on the Web is, in fact, deserving of doubt.  But then, it seems at times the Web’s chief goal is to cast everything into doubt, and this, no doubt, is the product of philosophical influence, in particular of that branch of philosophy which posits that knowledge itself is not truly possible.  Of course, in making such a claim, they are stating a supposed knowledge already, but leave that to one side.

Barnes’ point hits home because I would tend to account myself skeptical of many things.  I’ve known worse skeptics, and I’ve seen skepticism slide right on over into an unwarranted credulity.  The urge to dismiss out of hand the one thing can lead to accepting out of hand another.  But here, in Barnes’ list of attributes, it seems to me that the other components he lists are in many ways the natural result of skepticism.  I could almost come to say that skepticism and unbelief are one and the same thing.  And in the matter of religion, I think maybe that’s the whole point.  When it comes to religious matters, the skeptic is doubting the validity of religious doctrine, or perhaps even of religion itself.  Thus the atheist.  And isn’t it interesting to observe that some of those most vocal and vehement atheists of the last decade or so are beginning to have doubts about their own atheism?  Whether that will see them drawn back to Christ remains to be seen, and is a matter fully in Christ’s own hands.  But to at least have doubts about one’s inclination to doubt is something at least.

Now, let’s turn to those other descriptors.  Agitation.  That, sad to say, is a common enough feeling for me.  Restlessness?  Well, here I am, up again at 2:30 in the morning.  Granted, I’ve had sufficient sleep, but still, there is something that drives, keeps me thinking about various activities inherent in the next day.  There’s always much to be done, and much I would like to do, and time has a way of slipping by, so that’s probably a large part of it.  But even in pursuit of those activities, there’s a certain restlessness.  Idle moments, it seems, are anathema to me, at least truly idle moments.  I can spend inordinate amounts of time on matters of no value, on games and videos and what not.  And then, I can know agitation with myself over having thus wasted my valuable time on such inconsequentialities.  Woe is me!  Who will set me free from this?

But observe how it develops.  Seems to me that Barnes is showing a progression of sorts.  Agitation produces in us a restlessness, perhaps agitation at the annoyance of rejected truths, and a restlessness that comes of wanting truth to be found.  But restlessness, finding no sufficient answer outside of the religion already rejected, must surely produce a darkening mood in us, amplified frustration and the sense that indeed, as that school of thought concludes, knowledge itself is not truly possible.  We’re stuck with guessing, surmising, acting as if things were true that we don’t really believe are true.  It has been observed by those coming out of the Soviet Union, or those concerned with Socialism and Communism more generally, how a chief tool in their destruction of the society they infect is to require one to maintain as true those things one knows are patently false.  To say otherwise would be too costly, deadly even.  And so, the mood grows dark.  Hope is spent, and the will to resist is weakened.  And what must result for the one who has accepted this necessity for himself?  Does it not all but demand gloom?  All is hopeless.  Even truth has left the field and abandoned us to our doom.  All becomes doubtful, and even the hand held out to us in assistance becomes something to question.

I think of those videos of dogs left to the streets, fearful, cringing, hungry but unable to trust the one who seeks to feed them.  They have no hope that any force in this world might be kindly towards them, and so, while they may come for the food, they cringe.  They are restless, if you will, agitated, unable to accept the goodness of the one who seeks to rescue them.  Is this not the way of it with those who have succumbed in full to the school of skepticism?  Was this not our own story when Christ first began making Himself known to us?  Chances are pretty good that those first advances came by way of intermediaries, perhaps people we knew and loved, perhaps strangers or casual acquaintances.  And odds are that we met those first encounters with skepticism at minimum, or even outright derision.  Those of us who have come to Christ have known, whether through our own sense of necessity, or through the resultant rejection, just how unbelief responds to news of another acquaintance lost to this irrational business of faith.

Of course, we know that faith is by no means irrational.  Yes, there are times when we find it needful to adhere to a truth we barely, if at all, understand.  I think of the matter of the Trinity, which Table Talk has been gnawing on this month.  Even this morning, the article observes that when it comes to the eternal procession of the Spirit from the Father and the Son, we don’t rightly know exactly what that means or how it works.  But we know what God has revealed, and must believe even if what He has revealed is only partial knowledge.  It is enough.  It is not that we believe blindly.  It’s that we have sufficient ground in what He has said and done to accept as true even that which we don’t fully understand.

Since this matter of learning the guitar is much on my mind these days, I might draw on that for a certain parallel to my point.  There are many things about playing this instrument which I know are possible, many things said by this teacher or that video which I can find reason to accept as true even though I don’t as yet understand how these things can be done.  Shoot, at this stage in my development, I can barely perceive how it’s possible to finger some of these chords, let alone switch between chords within the time constraints of this song or that.  Does this, then, require me to declare that chord fingerings are false?  Does it require me to cast into doubt the whole business of the guitar as a musical instrument?  Of course not.  All it indicates, in this instance, is a thorough lack of experience on my part.  But I have experienced those with experience.  I have seen and heard the musicality of the instrument, and the clear fact that yes, these chords can be fingered, and yes, one can switch in time with the song.  I can have faith, then, that with time and due diligence, even these fingers of mine can find their way.  And seeing the fingers of others who have done so before me, I can rest in the assurance that the width of my fingertips is no impediment.

Why should we suppose that our learning about the infinite being of God would be any less a process pursued over time?  Why, for all that, would we ever suppose that our finite being was even capable of arriving at full knowledge of the infinite?  The very concept of infinity stretches us past our limits, for we can have no experience of it.  We can perhaps sense it, looking out to the horizon over the ocean, or gazing up into the night sky.  But even there, we can see limits to what seems limitless.  There is a horizon, a boundary.  There are distant stars, and however distant they may be, it is not infinitely far.  We just don’t have an example we can work from, apart from God, and so, fulness of comprehension necessarily eludes us.  Yet, we have more than sufficient understanding upon which to establish faith.  We have more than sufficient cause to believe that He is, and more than sufficient cause to believe that what He has told us of Himself is true.  We have every reason to believe, and honestly, no good reason to doubt.  And still, we must repeatedly hear that question Jesus asked of Martha.  “Do you believe this?”  Because so much of this glorious truth remains seemingly unbelievable to us.

Face it.  Come to the matter of the resurrection, which lay at the back of that question.  We have not, generally speaking, ever seen one dead come back to life.  Oh, we hear stories now and again, of one who was dead by medical definitions, perhaps for some brief moment.  We may read of those who had lain in a coma years on end, not quite dead, but not really living either, who then come out of it to return to something like normal life again.  But one who has been dead and in the tomb for days, rising to life anew?  It’s the stuff of horror films, and even then, we cannot imagine a true return to life, but only some shambling zombie.  It smacks of dark powers in our view, not of life and light.  So, what Martha was called to believe and trust was something entirely out of the realm of experience.  Think what a splash that event made in the Jerusalem news.  This was unheard of!  I mean, it’s one thing to cure a sickness unto death.  That we can comprehend.  But to call one forth out of the tomb, still bound up in his graveclothes?  That’s simply not possible!  Think about it.  The text clearly declares that when Lazarus came forth, he was still bound up in those wrappings (Jn 11:43-44), and they would have been wrapped tight, and rather sealed together by the spices and ointments used to prepare the body.  And yet, he ‘walked’ out of that tomb, face still covered by his shroud.  How?  Who could expect that?  Who could believe it, even having seen it?  Yet, there he was.  Do you believe this?

And so, we are called again and again to accept what seems most implausible, but not without evidence.  And to some degree, our doubts are accepted.  There is an honestness in the cry of that man whose son was beset by seizures.  “I believe!  Help my unbelief” (Mk 9:24).  This is, by and large, our story.  We believe, but some things remain, if you will, unbelievable.  There’s too much stacked up against what we believe, and it’s there in front of us, tangible, impinging upon us.  That which we believe remains oft-times intangible.  It’s the stuff of hope, and as Scripture itself observes, faith is the assurance of those things hoped for, “the conviction of things not seen” (Heb 11:1).  Add Paul’s discussion from Romans.  “In hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope.  For why does one hope for what he sees?  But if we hope for what we do not see, then with perseverance we wait eagerly for it” (Ro 8:24-25).  And so, faith, this gift of grace that is ours, gives us hope, a hope that knows, because He upon whom we have set our faith is trustworthy, proven, righteous and true.

Let us, therefore, take heed as regards our skepticism.  I do not say abandon it entirely, because, as I have observed, there is much in the world about which we should rightly be skeptical.  Indeed, as concerns the world and its systems, I might go so far as to suggest that we should be skeptical of all of it.  But as to God and religion?  No.  Here is Truth.  Here is meaning.  Here is reality.  Let us, then, stand fast, trusting in the God Who revealed Himself, Who came to dwell among us, Who lived the life of man in perfect obedience to holy God, and having done so, redeemed us for Himself.  Come!  Let us go to Him.  Come!  Let us adore Him.

The Test of Faith (02/18/25)

I mustn’t lose sight of the fact that these verses remain firmly connected to those which precede.  We are still discussing conflict and trial.  So, as we hear of these two gifts, faith and suffering, they are brought to our attention as the antidote to fear.  Remember:  Don’t be alarmed by the opposition (Php 1:28).  It’s not some evidence that you are under God’s judgment, at least not necessarily so.  It is the innate response of darkness to the light.  It is nothing so unusual.  In point of fact, what may be far more unusual is that you, the believer, should be free of all such opposition.  It certainly has not been the norm in the course of history, and indeed, we have those passages which assure us that opposition will come.  There’s never a maybe about it.  In this world you have tribulations (Jn 16:33).  It’s not spoken as a possibility, but as a certainty.  By many tribulations we must enter the kingdom (Ac 14:22).  So, the trials faced by Paul, the trials faced by his friends in Philippi, the trials faced by us:  These are not evidences of unbelief, but rather, of faithfulness.

Paul has brought them to recollection of his brief time among them.  You have seen how I dealt with such opposition.  Indeed, they had.  He had submitted, but that was part of the story, only.  He had also sung praises to his God and theirs, even in the very midst of the lowest point.  But he had also availed himself of his legal recourse to not only obtain his freedom once more, but to have the apology of those who so abused him, albeit he had to leave town.  But was he bowed by these afflictions?  Was he dissuaded from his mission?  By no means!  Look at his review of those days, as he writes to the church in Thessalonica, which proved to be his next stop.  “After we had suffered mistreatment in Philippi, as you know, we were bold in God to speak to you the same gospel of God amid much opposition” (1Th 2:2).  Right back at it, and even continuing when the same sort of opposition arose.  And on and on it went.  Everywhere it went, the story, it seems, was the same.  But it did not deter him in the least.  He knew his assignment, and he knew God Who had given the assignment.  And, as the old song goes, just like a tree planted by the river, he would not be moved.  Now, the call he gives to the church, first in Philippi, but to us as well, is to follow his example.  Don’t be terrified.  Keep on keeping on.

If it helps to recall that you are in a mighty conflict, then by all means view it thus.  Keep yourself on a combat footing, head on the swivel, as they say.  But not as peering dreadfully into the dark night, seeking out any sign of the encroaching enemy.  No.  Pursue your mission.  Get off the defensive, and on the offensive.  That does not mean, I should stress, to be offensive.  It means to take the initiative.  But as we do so, we do well to recall that our primary conflict, the worst battle we face in all reality, remains our inward state, our faulty thought-life, our distorted sense of self.  We are ever in a battle, and as Paul so eloquently elaborates in Romans 7, that battle lies primarily along the line of contact between flesh and spirit within us.  The old man may be defeated, but he hasn’t stopped fighting.  He hasn’t given up the field, and so, the battle continues.  Hear the agony of this.  “My body wages war with my mind” (Ro 7:23).  Any honest reflection on our condition must find this a familiar occurrence.  The lust of the eyes, the desires of this sensate body often set us in conflict with our spiritual sense of proper action.  Hunger may distract us from prayer, physical exhaustion may deflect us from time spent in the word.  And these are the more benign cases.  We know as well how readily we yet opt to heed the enticements of sinful deed, not just the sudden outburst in response to some particular event, but even contemplated, even contemplated as we envision seeking forgiveness after the fact.  Clearly, these things ought not to be, and it leads us to no small amount of anguish that they are.  Yet, it is just as clear that these things are, not only in our weak brethren, but in our weak selves.

Here, in particular, I think we need to have the words of Paul on auto-repeat.  “Be in no way alarmed by your opponents” (Php 1:28).  No, not even when your opponents are found to be those old pathways of sinful habit.  Rather, be strengthened by the very fact that they are now a cause of concern to you, for once, those very same urges would have been matters of no consequence in your thinking.  The battle is ongoing, but you now have the indwelling Godhead on your side.  Consider that!  As I was reminded by this morning’s Table Talk article, where you find one Person of the Godhead, the whole of the Godhead is present.  It’s not just the Holy Spirit indwelling, but Father, Son, and Spirit alike.  You are a temple of the living God!  Now, on the one hand, that must fill me with dread, for woe is me!  I am a man of unclean lips (Isa 6:5), and pure, perfect Holiness has undertaken to abide in me.  Surely, I must be destroyed by such a condition.  But on the other hand, “Your iniquity is taken away, and your sin is forgiven” (Isa 6:7).  Not just those past sins, but even those present, even those future.  God knows my weakness.  He has experienced this flesh in full.  He has been in this battle, and been in it, somehow, in the weakness of human experience.  Yet, He won through, and He did so on my account, on your account.  And then, having won, He left us in the contest still.  “I do not ask You to take them out of the world, but to keep them from the evil one” (Jn 17:15).

And now, we are in a conflict, or if you prefer, a contest, indeed!  “They are not of the world, even as I AM not of the world” (Jn 17:16).  And the world cannot but notice, and having noticed, rest assured, the worldly will not be pleased.  Darkness does not love the light.  But neither can darkness overwhelm the Light (Jn 1:5).  (Why, yes, I have been reading John of late, both for men’s group and with my lovely wife.)  Like it or not, beloved, (and I speak to myself primarily), you are in this contest, and you are in this contest by your Lord and Master’s design.  Best be in it to win, then.  Just as it requires focus to achieve in your various interests, whether it be at work, or in music, or in cooking, or even in clearing the driveway, it will require focus to achieve in this contest.  It’s not going to happen by happenstance.  It will require the active participation of God, to be sure.  But it will, because He insists it be so, require your active participation as well.  I’m sure I’ve said it in one form or another before, but I’ll say it again.  Apart from Him, you can’t.  Apart from you, He won’t.

Now, I have made reference to my Lord and Master, and such He is.  I may be son to the Father.  I may be bride to the Son.  But still, I am a bondservant to my Lord and Master.  This is no matter of embarrassment.  Surely, if Paul could proclaim this status for himself, and do so with all due sense of honor, I can only hope to be worthy to make the same claim.  But what does it mean to be bondservant to the King?  At base, it means everything I do must be submitted to His purpose, and subject to His approval.  I wrote in my earlier notes that there can be no place left for self-satisfying desires.  I’m not sure that’s quite accurate.  There is a place left for them, but only as submitted unto Him.  What I am trying to say is that our God is not such a tyrant as allows nothing of self for His servants.  It’s not that all earthly pleasures are denied us.  Far be it from us to suppose that is the case!  But we hold to these things loosely.  We can pursue such pleasures as are granted us with gratitude for the opportunity and the enjoyment, knowing that these are among that collection of ‘every good and perfect gift,’ which come from the Father.

It is permissible, then, for me to pursue my love of music.  Only, let it be done in submission, not displacing my love for God, not taking me from my pursuit of godliness.  But as an adjunct of faith, if you will, as another talent which may in due course be set to His use?  Why not?  Look, I don’t know exactly how to explain this recent decision to take up the guitar.  Could it become a distraction?  Absolutely!  For one, it’s taking a fair amount of concerted effort to make any sort of progress.  The fingers are simply unclear on their duties, and the mind does not yet have a good picture of what those fingers should do.  So, there’s a certain time sink required; a focus.  But this must, of necessity, be kept in its proper place, neither displacing these times of prayer and study, nor distracting from my employments, nor, for all that, disrupting my relationships.  Now, there’s a fine balance to try and maintain!

Let me try and draw this part of my study to a close.  There are a few points yet to consider.  First, we must recognize the proud condition of the average Philippian.  I think maybe we see it somewhat even in Luke’s accounting of events.  For one surmises that he himself was from Philippi, though that remains something of a supposition.  But we do know that Philippi was a full-on outpost of Rome.  This wasn’t a colonized city, but a true extension of Rome, run by citizens of the empire with all the rights inherent in that citizenship.  And they were, quite naturally, proud of that status.  I don’t suppose there was another city in Macedonia, or even in Achaia, that could make such claim.  Paul played on that status when he called on them to conduct themselves as citizens (Php 1:27).  But note how he moves the needle:  Not as Roman citizens, but as citizens of heaven.  The one you have by nature, the other by faith.

Here is a message we could perhaps use as Americans today.  There’s a lot of energy out there, seeking to instill a renewed sense of pride in being a citizen of this fine country, and I would have to say, there’s a lot about this country of which to be rightly proud.  But there’s also a lot to be found wanting, not least, our accelerating drift away from our spiritual foundations.  Yet, even were that not the case, and even were there no dark stains upon our history, the issue would be little changed.  We are citizens of the US by nature.  But we are citizens of heaven by faith, and that has to take precedence.  To walk worthy of our earthly citizenship is one thing, and indeed, it is a thing that Scripture encourages in us, giving honor to whom honor is due, recognizing that the civil authorities, however corrupt they may be at any particular point in time, are appointed by God for our good.  The rebel heart has no place in the church, nor does it have any encouragement from the church.  But however much we may seek to walk as worthy citizens of whatever nation we may be born into, we have a higher calling:  Walk worthy of your primary citizenship, which is in heaven.

Consider this:  If my citizenship, my primary allegiance, is in heaven, then as I travel to other countries and meet believers there, they, too, are citizens of that same heavenly kingdom.  My brothers and sisters in Malawi are not foreigners, but coheirs together with me.  My brothers in the DRC, facing the trials of warfare, are not strangers, but fellow citizens.  In Zambia, in Lesotho, in whatever other places I may find myself going (for what do I know about the future?), these are fellow citizens, brothers in the truest sense, sons and daughters of the same Father.  And so, I can and should walk alongside them, stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them as we together stand against such opposition may come, not alarmed by any opponent even if, as I heard in regard to the DRC, that opposition is leaving bodies behind in the churches they assault.  After all, as citizens of heaven, we know:  To live is Christ, and to die is but gain (Php 1:21).  We’re still on that thought as we wrap up this chapter.  Don’t lose sight of it.

But, as with Philippi, so with us:  Should we find that earthly citizenship and heavenly citizenship are in conflict, that allegiance to our resident nation here is requiring abandonment of heavenly principles (requiring, not permitting or suggesting), where shall our true allegiance be?  It must be to our true homeland in heaven.  It must be.  Even should that allegiance be unto death, yet we must obey.  This is the call of the chapter before us.  This is the urgency of walking worthy of our true citizenship.  And so, as ever, the call is to choose this day whom you shall follow.

And where there is a call to choose, there is a call to assess.  I have observed that tribulation is the expectation, not the surprise encounter of Christian life.  As such, if my life is one of ease and comfort, perhaps I have cause for concern.  Look.  I have noted often Scripture’s promise that God will not test us beyond our ability.  He doesn’t push us over the edge, to watch us fall.  Rather, He stretches us.  He may very well be testing us in order that we might see the work that has been accomplished in us.  Or it may be that our spiritual muscle needs the exercise of such a test.  But when that test comes, should we fail, it is our choice, not our lack of ability.  Or, perhaps it is that we rely on our own ability rather than availing ourselves of His power.  But His tests are intended to be passed.  So, perhaps we should assess our life of ease as evidence of weakness.  We’re simply not up to much of any testing, and so, no tests come.  This is not any reason to seek stasis.  Growth is the natural condition of life.  To stagnate is to decompose, and that cannot in any way be desirable.

I have to watch this even with simple matters like movement.  So much of my time is spent in this chair, looking at this screen, little moving besides my fingertips, and if I don’t actively undertake to do something about moving other limbs, changing positions now and again, getting out into the sunlight as weather permits, this body will suffer.  Take the same lesson to matters of the spirit.  There, too, intentional exercise is needful, lest spiritual muscle atrophy, and spiritual sickness set in.

So, then, as I observed in my early notes, I observe once again:  I need to be seeking out my God to indicate to me where corrective actions are needed, and what actions to take.  If I find myself too readily made anxious or fractious, it simply will not do to write it off as who I am.  It’s not.  It’s who I was.  Who I am is a new creation with new allegiances to the living God.  Who I am is a representative of the kingdom of my true citizenship.  Who I am is a bond-servant of the King.  I cannot represent Him rightly by anger and frustration.  And so, I must needs seek His power and His peace to fill me once more, that I may be calm and steadfast in the face of every trial that may come.

So, come, Holy Spirit.  Speak.  Show me those places where I have been allowing my defenses to weaken.  Show me where distractions have overtaken devotion.  Guide me in all things, that in all things I may demonstrate that I am Yours, and You are mine.

The Gift of Suffering (02/19/25-02/20/25)

Let’s turn to the second gift or grant noted in this passage, that of suffering.  And here, it is necessary to emphasize the condition placed on this suffering.  It is for His sake.  It is not suffering in general, but when suffering becomes our lot because of our connection to Him, because of our devotion to Him.  Where this is the case, we must come to acknowledge that it is indeed a gift of God, this suffering.  It has come as an honor, and it comes to our advantage.  That’s hard to see when in fact the time comes for suffering.  But if we absorb the key fact that God does not test us beyond our abilities, then we must account these sufferings that come our way as an attestation to our abilities.  It’s as though God has said, “This one is ready.  He is mature enough to withstand.”

Here, I think, is a piece of Job’s story that we miss.  Oh, we get that he is a righteous man, to the degree any man is truly righteous.  And we may think to have perceived his limits as he weathers unimaginable tragedy.  And honestly, looking at it from his perspective, we must surely find ourselves perplexed as to the reason for these things.  We might forgive him then, if he asks, “What did I do to deserve this?”  But recall where it starts.  “Have you considered My servant Job?  There’s not another like him on the earth.  He’s a blameless and upright man who fears God and abhors evil” (Job 1:8-12).  God is specifically pointing out this righteous man to Satan!  It’s not as though God doesn’t know Satan’s attitudes.  It’s not as though He didn’t see the challenge coming.  “Let me at him, God.  I’ll show You just how righteous he is.”  And God accedes to this.  “Go for it.  But within these limits.”  What is happening?  God is allowing the test, but for one reason:  He knows.  He knows Job will withstand, as painful as it may be for him.  He knows Job’s limits, and ensures that Satan, for all his malevolent intent, cannot exceed those limits.

Understand, then, that Satan brings suffering in the vain hope of destroying the man of God.  But God is still in control, sets boundaries even upon the workings of His greatest enemy.  And He, in His wisdom, allows the suffering.  Note this well.  He allows it.  Only to this degree could it be said that He ‘put forth His hand.’  But the choice to act lies with Satan.  The limits of Satan’s action lie with God.  “Thus far, and no further.”  This is the case with every test of suffering which comes our way.  God has set the bounds, and has done so to keep matters within our capacity.  We may not immediately perceive this as being the case.  I’m sure there were moments, and many of them, where Job felt his sufferings had far exceeded his capacity.  But isn’t this how we grow?  If we are never pushed to our limits, our limits will never extend, and in fact, we won’t believe our limits are even so wide as they are.  How many times have you found yourself in a situation that has you saying, “I can’t take it anymore!”  And on how many of those occasions have you discovered you were wrong, that in fact you could and did take it?

So, then, suffering comes as honoring us for our strength of faith, even though we must account our strength of faith not as some achievement of merit, but itself a gracious gift of God.  Still, the gift, to be of value, must be put to work, right?  And here is the opportunity to do so.  It’s all well and good to say you believe, to say you trust God.  But the proof is in having done so when trust was needful and being stressed by events.  And as we are given this honor of showing our development, or discovering it, by the trials we are given to face, understand that these things also come for our advantage.  Here, again, it will be well if we have truly internalized the message of Scripture.  In this regard, Romans 8:28 is pivotal.  We know.  We KNOW!  God causes all things to work together for good to us who love God, and are called according to His purpose.  We KNOW, and we know it comes because it is His purpose.  It’s not a matter of our merit.  It’s not a matter of our need.  It’s a matter of His purpose.  If this has come our way, by whatever means it has come, and with whatever intent on the part of him by whom it comes, still it has come for our good, to our advantage.  We can trust in that.  We should trust in that.  Because we know it is true.  Now, let me tell you, that trust is harder when events are against us.  That’s harder when we are being nailed to our own cross, as it were; harder still, if this is indeed the reality of the case.  But it’s no less true for being hard.  Even death, when it comes, is to our advantage, by whatever means it may come.  Did you not hear that in Paul’s bold claim not so far back in this very letter?  “For me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Php 1:21).  Whichever is to come, it is for my advantage, and more, for the glory of my God.  It is well with my soul.

Consider the call of Christ to those who would become His disciples.  “If anyone wishes to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me” (Mt 16:24).  Now, bear in mind that He was saying this long before He Himself would bear His cross.  His hearers did not have that event to color their perception of His message to them.  But they assuredly knew what it meant to be taking up one’s cross.  It meant you were on your way to a death most ignominious.  This was death with intent to humiliate utterly.  Indeed, who could willingly do such a thing?  Talk about denying yourself!  You’re denying even your attachment to life.  Or, as we eventually learn, you are at least denying all strong attachment to this life.  But this comes about as we come to understand that life is more than the body, more than food and clothes, and this life that is worthy of being called life goes on even after this body has died and decayed.  Indeed, it goes on forever. 

I feel certain Calvin had that call in his thoughts as he wrote, in regard to our passage, that faith and the cross are inseparable.  That’s a hard message to hear, but it’s one we need to take to heart.  It’s not just Calvin with his cold, calculated beliefs.  It’s a conviction established on the clear message of Scripture.  We’ve already touched on some of those other verses that speak to it, but the overall picture is clear:  Faith and suffering are so linked that indeed they are inseparable.  If you have not had occasion to experience it yet, you will.  Either that, or you are not in fact possessed of that faith you suppose yourself to have.

Matthew Henry reminds us of 2Timothy 2:12, though he focuses only on the first half of that verse.  “If we endure, we will also reign with Him.”  There is something more of the gift aspect of suffering.  Suffering, after all, produces endurance, or perseverance, if you prefer.  And perseverance produces hope.  Thus you have James saying, “Count it all joy when you encounter trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance, and let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” (Jas 1:2-4).  It’s to your advantage.  You are growing stronger in faith as your faith encounters trials.  But I must come back round to the second half of that verse from 2Timothy.  “If we deny Him, He will also deny us.”  That is a message to strike terror in our hearts.  What if I fail?  What if the test proves too much for me?  Or, okay, I know it’s not truly too much for me, but what if I respond as if it were?  But we’ve already established that God will not test us beyond our ability.  He’s allowing this to prove faith, not disprove it.  He’s allowing this because we need to discover the strength of faith that is in us by His gracious working.

I know I’ve commented on this before, but R.C. Sproul has his book, “Surprised by Suffering,” and that is certainly our experience of it, isn’t it?  Well, what was that all about?  Why me, Lord?  What have I done to deserve this?  Ah, but as he also often pointed out, we have far more cause to be surprised by grace.  There indeed, the question is reasonable.  What have I done to deserve this?  But as much as we may be surprised by suffering, I think there is a certain wonder that comes after that fact, when we find ourselves surprised by faith, surprised by endurance, surprised by ourselves.  After all, so much of this development as a Christian lies not with our diligent efforts, but rather, with God’s patient working within.  And, craftsman that He is, we don’t even notice the working most of the time.  We don’t see what He’s fashioning until it’s fashioned and exposed to the test.  Then, suddenly, we discover that we have grown indeed.  And if we have grown in wisdom, we give God all praise for the event, knowing full well that it didn’t come about by our brilliant efforts.

You see then that the gift comes as an aspect of God’s grace.  The gift is just that, a gift.  Oh, believe me, I am under no illusions as to the welcoming perception of suffering.  It’s not something we’re likely to go looking for, nor should we.  Today has trouble enough of its own, after all.  That’s not just a call to dismiss anxiousness, but also a call to abide.  There have been times in the history of the Church when God’s people thought it a mark of piety to go out and seek the chance to suffer.  As Rome was rounding up Christian suspects to be thrown to the lions or otherwise put to deadly test in hopes of pushing them to recant, there were many who self-exposed so as to have opportunity to face this trial.  I don’t know as we can even imagine such a thing, and yet it was happening.  Here was a chance to suffer in a manner akin to their Lord.  And no doubt they had passages like Romans 8:17 in mind as they went.  If we suffer with Him, we shall be glorified with Him.  We shall be fellow heirs with Him.  The implication there is that if we do not suffer, we are not coheirs, and we will not be glorified.  “If we deny Him, He will also deny us.”  Of course, there’s a wide middle ground there, isn’t there?  Surely, we can be free of suffering and yet, still confess truly our faith and trust in Him?  But the message there was if we suffer with Him.  Again, we find faith and suffering inseparably united.  So, yes, there may well be a wide middle ground between suffering and confessing, and yet, there is the assurance of suffering, and the assurance, as well, of our being able to stand, and even to rejoice.

Ironside presents us with an almost shocking observation, that we cannot know the full experience of fellowship apart from suffering.  Now, I say it’s shocking, but with a bit of reflection, I think we find it true of our natural relationships.  You’re never closer, I think, than with those who’ve been through things together with you.  Put another way, love deepens with trials weathered.  You come to know something deeper of one another, and of yourselves, as you withstand the storms of life.  Take this into the realm of suffering for Christ, and I think we must find the same holds true.  We don’t know our Lord so dearly or so deeply as when we have found ourselves tried for being His, and found Him beside us in the trial.  Now, I might think less of our trials, when I compare them to those of the martyrs of old, or even of martyrs more recent.  Yet, our trials, while not so physically daunting, are certainly oppressive.  To dwell amongst the tents of Kedar, as the Psalmist expresses it (Ps 120:5), has an effect.  To live in Sodom, however poor a choice that may be in the first place, brings oppression.  Every day you must weather the influence of sinful people.  Every day brings the challenge of walking in joy and peace when all around you is anger and turmoil.  But again, we are not of this world, though our Lord, in His wisdom, has determined that we should remain in it.

And here’s the thing:  We don’t have true fellowship with the world any longer, nor the world with us.  And, given that attendant full experience, praise God for it!  But it leads to suffering for Christ, because that lack of fellowship with the world is bound to lead to friction.  That we are not like them is going to cause a certain resentment in them.  They may perceive us as too full of ourselves, boasting of our goodness, though we hopefully do no such thing.  We may be truthful about our beliefs, earnest in our desire that they, too, might enter into this fellowship with their Maker, but far be it from us to come off as having some superiority complex.  No!  We are called to walk humbly with our God, boasting only of Him and His work.  There is no place for boasting of our decision to trust Him, for even that, as we are forcefully reminded, came as a gift from Him, not from any will of flesh or mind.  Still, there is a world of darkness, a world that loves its darkness, and we, as children of the Light, cannot help but disturb that darkness.  And darkness disturbed will be darkness on the warpath, defending its environs, even though it defends its own death.

Okay, so if suffering is a key factor in fully experiencing this fellowship into which we have been entered, a fellowship with the Triune God Who has in Himself perfect fellowship, surely, we can account this a signal privilege.  And it might lead us to ask whether God, in His perfect fellowship, has experienced suffering, which we would of course acknowledge certainly transpired at the cross.  But then, we must ask, if God is eternally perfect, and suffering increases fellowship, would that not imply a lack in that department up until that moment of the cross?  To which I would suggest the answer is no.  Indeed, I would insist the answer must be no, but it deserves some thought as to how that could be.  Well, consider that this moment of the cross was a matter already determined and set into motion before ever the first moment of creation came to pass.

This is, honestly, opening up a whole new vista of consideration for me.  We often contemplate what it must have been for the Son and for the Father to know that separation that had to transpire as Jesus took upon Himself the full sin of the world so as to bear the full penalty for the sum of all sins.  And we think, how terrible.  The fellowship of the Trinity sundered, this sudden aloneness in One Who has always had perfect fellowship in Himself.  But wait!  God does not change.  And, as we must also consider, God dwells outside of time.  For us, those events are the stuff of a few hours, a few days, and even with our finite, temporal perspective, we can feel how much of a nothing that is set against the scope of time that encompasses Creation to date.  Three days out of how many thousands or millions of years?  It’s nothing.  Barely something to be noticed.  But God, being outside of time, experiences the whole of time as one throughout eternity.  He knows the end from the beginning because both are effectively coextensive in His experience.  This suggests to me that somehow, this experience of suffering, and of separation, must be an eternal experience right alongside the eternal experience of fellowship.  We might say, then, that God knows perfect suffering in Himself, or even, I suppose, that He is suffering, even as He is love and He is truth.  This, I confess, tests the limits of my understanding, and leaves me rather cautious as to my chain of reasoning here.  But it seems not unreasonable that Jesus, who suffered on the cross, knows that suffering for all eternity, if not, perhaps in the same immediate sense.  But what if He does?  Then He also knows the victory for all eternity. 

As with most things of God, trying to fathom this in full exceeds our capacity.  Table Talk has been working the subject of the Trinity, how God is fully God in each Person and yet three in Persons, and yet still truly One.  How can each Person have the fullness of God, and yet, the three together be no more full?  Or, how can one be eternally begotten?  To our minds, that automatically posits some moment prior to the begetting, but this is not the case.  Or, the Spirit, being sent:  Does this not suggest a time prior to being sent?  Well, it would, perhaps, were God a creature of time, rather than the Creator of time who abides beyond the scope of time.  But it boggles the mind, for we have not the framework to rightly assess the matter, not this side of heaven.  Perhaps, when we have come home to that kingdom beyond time we shall be able to understand.  Perhaps we shall find we simply don’t care about such trivialities anymore.  Perhaps we shall be caught up in the wonder that we were likewise eternally saved.  Consider that, rather like the cross, our redemption, our personal, individual redemption, was a matter determined before the beginning.

But let us try and come back from such lofty contemplations to something more near to our daily experience.  In suffering for Christ, whatever form that may take for us, we are entering more fully into fellowship with Him.  Look.  Ironside isn’t just working up this idea to stir a response.  He’s drawing from Scripture, from this very letter.  Look later in this letter, where Paul speaks of it.  “I count all things as loss in view of knowing Christ my Lord.  For Him I have suffered the loss of all things, and account them but refuse if indeed I may gain Christ and be found in Him, having that righteousness which comes not of the Law, but on the basis of faith,” (Php 3:8-11).  And here’s the key bit.  “That I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death so as to attain to the resurrection from the dead.”  Face it.  You can’t have the resurrection except you have death, and death, if nothing else, must surely be accounted as suffering.  It is, after all, the penalty for sin, or the fallout of sin that has led to death having any significance, or indeed, any place in reality.

But let me try and bring this topic to something like a close.  We are considering that this experience of suffering, when it comes to us on account of our belonging to Christ, is in fact a gift, a reward, even.  Ironside suggests it as a reward given to those warriors in God’s army who have put their whole trust in Christ and set themselves to the duties of the warrior for His name’s sake.  As they have sought for Him to be glorified, they have faced rejection from those around them, but they have stood firm, knowing that even those who reject Him now must, in the fulness of time, bend the knee and confess His true Lordship.  It may be that they do so only as they hear the verdict read out against them, banishing them from His kingdom into the outer darkness, but still, they will of necessity confess.  And He shall reign over all the earth, indeed, over all creation; and that, a new creation, cleansed once for all of sin and temptation and now to be enjoyed in purity by the purified for all eternity.

But let me take it a step further.  If it comes as reward, it also comes as equipping.  This is, after all, a gift of God’s grace, not just our weathering the trial, but the trial itself.  Somehow, though we may struggle to perceive it, suffering is sent as part of our defense against the assaults of ungodliness.  Our suffering, if nothing else, must teach us to rely more fully on our Strength and Shield in Christ Jesus.  Indeed, it drives us into the strong tower of His presence with us.  Talk about a deepening fellowship!  He stands with us in the trial, indeed, surrounds us in the trial.  I think, as I so often do, of those defensive formations of ancient battle.  Think the square of British defense, allowing mere infantry to withstand the assault of cavalry.  How?  Because the weakened, the wounded and disarmed, are set in the middle of the square, surrounded by a perimeter of the armed and stalwart.  Or, think of that Scottish formation, a circle bristling with spears, its members secure behind that façade of pointy defense, whereas those who would attack must necessarily be exposed to those weapons.  So, the man of God, facing trial, finds himself hedged in round about by the power of God, a power against which no enemy can suffice or win through.  And so, as we watch those assaults faintly spend their energies against His powerful presence, we know more fully the reliability of our God, and the fellowship that is ours in Him.  We see how dearly He loves His children, and how far He is willing to go to see them defended and secure.  And love deepens in response.

One last thought, this from the Wycliffe Translators’ Commentary.  When we find ourselves suffering for Christ, there is indeed cause for joy.  For, if we are suffering for Christ, it can only be that those who oppose Christ have found our efforts on His behalf sufficiently effective as to deserve their efforts to oppose us.  Now, again, that’s no cause for us to go out and seek to provoke opposition.  That’s not the point.  If we are suffering simply for being offensive, we are not suffering for Christ, we’re suffering for being boneheads.  There’s no honor in that, no reward.  But if we steadfastly seek to walk godly in this ungodly world, if we persist in doing what’s right when all around us are urging us to do wrong, well, it’s going to offend those around us, for our godliness cannot help but expose their sinfulness, even if only by comparison.  And they will know.  And knowing, they will not like it.  They will feel their darkness threatened and strike out at the light.  Congratulations!  You are the light, or at least the bearer of the light.  Your armor, it would seem, is shining and well-tended.  Your character is showing, and your devotion.  These assaults, then, though painful, come as proof, and as such, as reassurance.  You are indeed your Father’s son, pursuing your Father’s business.  Rejoice, then.  Count it all joy.  You have held true to your King, and those who stand against Him have noticed.  So has He.  And He is proud of you, rejoices in you, is greatly pleased to tell that opposing army, “He’s one of Mine.  He’s My boy.”

The Cause and the Limit (02/21/25-02/22/25)

I suppose it’s rather poor form to start turning to the negative aspects of a passage so near to concluding one’s efforts at considering it, but that is how things sifted themselves out in this case.  It’s hard, after all, to talk about suffering without recognizing the negative components of that experience, but that’s not really where I’m looking in this case.  First, as I have noted along the way already, we have need of distinguishing what sort of suffering is in view here.  On the one hand, we can have a propensity for supposing that any sort of suffering must be a disciplinary matter, a penalty for sin, even if it does not come as the full penalty.  You get the sense of that in how we see the Jews responding to sickness, and no surprise there.  Did not Moses lay down all manner of laws concerning the uncleanness of sickness?  If it’s unclean, that must mean there was sin involved.  Okay, so the Protestants can jump in here, and observe that all have sinned, so really, all are sick.  But there’s something else happening.

Remember when Jesus healed the man born blind?  They saw this man, and were sure sin must be at the base of his suffering, so they asked Jesus, “Who sinned?  Him or his parents?”  (Jn 9:1-3).  And look at Jesus’ reply!  “Neither.  This has come about in order that the works of God might be displayed in him.”  It’s not about sin, though to be sure, had Jesus desired to do so, He could no doubt have listed sins innumerable in the case of both parents and son.  But neither was this life-long suffering pointless misery.  And there’s something to bear in mind as I consider my stepson in his life-long malady.  I may not see the point, I may not understand why this has been chosen for him, but as I know my God, I can be sure there is a point, and that point is to His glory.  Will He, even yet, choose one day to display His works in this young man?  Young?  He’s in his forties now.  Young doesn’t really fit, except to point out by contrast that I am now an old man.  But here, the case is explicit.  This is for God’s glory.  And with that, He healed the young man, and indeed, the young man testified, testified boldly in the face of angry inquisitors, that here was One clearly doing works that could only have come from God (Jn 9:33).  And all they could see was a sinner.  And yet, they could not see the same in themselves.

But the point is made by this example, not just in regard to physical maladies, but applying also to the sort of opposition this man faced before the Sanhedrin.  Suffering is not necessarily a mark of God’s anger.  Now, it must be said, that suffering is likewise not necessarily a mark of His approval.  Note that in this case, I am leaving the matter of cause out of the equation.  After all, our deceiving hearts are such as will likely find reason to suppose good cause behind bad suffering, and bad cause behind good suffering.  We are sadly adept at misconstruing cause and effect, generally to our advantage, but sometimes simply to suit our current attitudes.

So, yes, suffering is not necessarily a mark of God’s anger.  And I would say that is always going to be the case when that suffering is truly for Him.  That is the baked-in assumption in James’ prescription to count it all joy.  It assumes godly purpose in the suffering, whether it is in fact for having stood firm as a defender of the faith, or whether it is simply a disciplinary exercise come to increase our endurance (Jas 1:2-3).  In these cases, yes, suffering is a gift of God’s grace, come clearly for our good, and solely for our good.  But there remains what we might call corrective discipline, which yes, we could account as punishment for sin.  And here, too, for the believer, we may find that this suffering is a gift of His grace.  By this corrective discipline, we may, nay, we will come to repentance.  It is assured for us, because God is for us.  That doesn’t make it any more pleasant, and it doesn’t assure a welcome in our soul when the discipline comes.  God knows that.  He’s not expecting us to gleefully ask for more, when such corrective actions are necessary.  Through His representatives, He lets us know that this is the case, that He understands.  “All discipline seems not joyful in the moment, but sorrowful.  Yet to those trained by it, it yields afterwards the peaceful fruit of righteousness” (Heb 12:11).  It comes for training, not breaking.  As Jesus tells His churches, “Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline.  Therefore, be zealous to repent” (Rev 3:19).

The call, then, is to seek discernment as to the cause of suffering, to seek the power of God by which to stand fast in faith in the midst of suffering, and to pray for wisdom that we may benefit from the result of suffering.  Through all, hold clear before you that if we suffer together with Him – and that is the critical determinant, together with Him – we shall also be glorified with Him (Ro 8:17).

Matthew Henry makes clear for us that suffering itself is neither the proof nor the determinant of value.  On the one hand, a man may suffer justly for bad cause.  And beloved, make no mistake.  That is still true of the believer, just as of the unbeliever.  We are not, sadly, immune to committing grievous sins.  Our distinction is in that having done so, we will hear the Spirit’s call to repent of such things, to commit to a new, more godly course of action, and to seek that forgiveness which is ours in Christ.  That, I should observe, does not ensure freedom from consequences.  No.  We must face our errors head on, and face the cost, seeking, so far as it lies in our power to do so, to set things aright.  We may need to seek out the one against whom we sinned in hopes of rectifying the matter.  We may be called to make amends, certainly to ask their forgiveness, if that remains a possibility for us.  Indeed, our pursuit of their forgiveness may very well be the first they knew of our sin.  But it’s also entirely possible that their forgiveness will not be received, that our efforts to make things right will be rejected, and the grudge held.  We may even find ourselves before a civil court to face legal consequence for our ill-considered actions.  So be it.  God’s justice is upheld, and in that, His glory is seen.

Now, there’s another limit Mr. Henry sets before our eyes, the equal and opposite case.  It may come to pass that the cause for our suffering is a good cause, which is to say, our suffering is indeed on account of our belonging to Christ and upholding His glory.  And we may even bear up under that suffering, refusing to be bowed by it.  But observe, if in doing so our mindset is bad, then again, unless this serves to correct our mindset, there is no value in that suffering.  May it be that if we find ourselves in that position, it does indeed prove to be a disciplinary, corrective action undertaken by God that we might come to have a more godly mindset.

But all of this simply to say that not all suffering is for Him.  I suppose we must accept that all suffering is in fact from Him.  Boy, that’s going to offend some sensibilities, isn’t it?  But I am not suggesting that God is, in this manner, the author of evil.  I am saying that even the most potent of evils must bow to His command, must constrain itself to the limits He sets.  We went through this in considering Job.  But recognize that God is not ashamed to admit to this Himself.  “I form light and create darkness.  I cause well-being and I create calamity.  I am the LORD who does all these” (Isa 45:7).  If we love God, we must accept that He is Who He says He is.  And this is Who He says He is.

Now, then.  We have considered how suffering comes as a test of our faith, a faith we might recall comes itself from God as a gift of His grace.  The implication for us who believe?  If suffering has come our way, God has already determined that we are fully capable of withstanding that suffering, of passing the test of faith.  That must include both the power to stand and the godly mindset to do so rightly.  It may not seem so at the start.  We may have to battle our own mind before we can battle the opposition rightly.  See reference to this in any number of David’s psalms.  They often enough start with what we would certainly account a rather ungodly thirst for vengeance.  But as God works, the thought life changes.  A greater concern for God’s purpose overrides the personal wound of suffering.  But know this from the outset:  God knows you can pass this test.  You, likely enough, will conclude at some point that you cannot.  So very often we reach that point of, “I can’t take anymore!”  And then we discover we have reserves of which we did not know, reserves that tap into the very power of God, by His design and His determined purpose.  And so, we grow, and growing, we stand fast.

That must stir us to contemplate the opposite face of the coin of suffering.  If our life is running along smoothly, all is happiness and joy, and blessings in every direction, our natural reaction is going to be to rejoice.  Nobody, after all, or at least only a few rare individuals, actively seeks out opportunity to suffer, even for Christ.  And honestly, that’s not the call anyway.  But rather than celebrate our comfortable existence, perhaps we would be wiser to question the implications.  If my life is so easy and comfortable, where is that discipline of my Father’s love?  Why is it that He finds me yet incapable of withstanding even the slightest testing?  Could it be that I have capitulated to the world and not even noticed?   Oh, assuredly, that’s a possibility.  That it is final and damning is not, not if you indeed belong to Christ.  But it may very well be time for a tune up, time to check oneself, to seek out my Lord for answers and instruction, and to set myself more fully and clearly on the path of righteousness once more.  Now, it may very well be, I suppose, that this period of ease is in fact a blessing.  I need not suppose comfort an assurance of His disapproval than to suppose that suffering must imply sin.  The common thread would seem to be this:  Don’t assume circumstances signify what you think they do.  Don’t accept the creaturely response to stimuli.  Seek wisdom.  What’s up in this case, Father?  What should I be learning?  What should I be doing?  Are we good?

You know, it’s a question we probably find ourselves more inclined to ask of one another as believers.  Are we good?  If it seems there may be tensions arising, we want to sort it out, don’t we?  If we feel we may have caused some offense about which we are unaware, we wish to be made aware so that we can rectify the matter and restore fellowship.  This same mindset needs to be ours in our fellowship with God.  If anything, it is more needful than ever in that relationship. 

Okay, God, I think we’re on good standing, but are we?  Have I done aught to offend?  Are there sins I have hidden from myself, things in which I am fooling myself with some false sense of righteousness?  No doubt there are.  So, be gentle in Your answer, but expose to me those things You desire that I might work to set to rights, and in doing so, let me lean more fully and wholly upon Your strength, Your wisdom, to address the matter.

You know, I started typing that as merely an example, but it is indeed a prayer, my prayer.  And I have no doubt but that it’s a much-needed prayer.  I can become far too confident of my rightness.  It’s a disease of the soul, to be sure.  And it won’t correct itself.  Lord, if this is where You are at work, let me be active in coming alongside You in that work.

Okay, let’s try and wrap this up.  It’s been a long study for so short a passage.  This gift of suffering is indeed a great honor paid us, given that it comes only as God assesses us able to withstand.  It comes, then, as something of a progress report.  I appreciate the way Clarke describes this, as being, “the opportunity to suffer on Christ’s account.”  It’s not a downturn to be weathered, it’s an opportunity to shine.  And what a privilege it is.  The world, as we have observed, treats us as it does because it is how they would treat Jesus, given the chance.  Of course, they have neither the chance nor the power for that, and so, we may perhaps feel their vengeance, the outworking of their frustrated desires.  But beloved, that simply demonstrates that we are recognizably His.  As we observed earlier, it means we’ve been doing something for Christ, something significant enough as to draw this response of ire.  Our faith shows.  Whether we’ve been making active and concerted effort to evangelize, or whether we’ve been quietly going about our own business, our faith shows.

And by our response to such mistreatment, anger, and rejection, we find ourselves with the opportunity to acknowledge the humiliations our Lord suffered.  We demonstrate that much more fully and completely that yes, in fact, we are one with Him, and honored to be so.  We value His fellowship more highly than anything this world has on offer, and yes, that includes this fleshly life.  Of course, it helps to know the soul continues, and that the soul has its home in the immediate presence of Christ.  It’s interesting to observe that I have, by my randomly delayed evening reading schedule, been making my way through some Table Talk articles from last month’s issue, with is central topic of death.  Much is said in regard to this assurance we have, that when this body is done, whether in the grave, or, at least in my estimation, whether in ashes, the soul will be at once brought to its perfection, and ushered into the immediate presence of Jesus, to be with Him henceforth forever.

Now, as I’m on this digression, I would note a point of, let us say curiosity.  The articles are quite determined to emphasize the distinction between the immediate arrival of the soul in heaven, this resting largely on Jesus’ declaration to the thief on the cross next to Him that, “today you will be with Me in paradise” (Lk 23:43), and the eventual joining of soul to resurrection body at the return of our King to His kingdom on earth.  In other words, they insist there remains something of that now and not yet condition for those who have died.  But I wonder.  If God dwells in realms outside the scope of time, and if we are right in supposing that He experiences the whole expanse of time as one, would it not be that those souls who have gone to be with Him likewise experience the now and the not yet as simultaneous occurrences?  I considered that earlier in terms of that brief separation of Father and Son as Jesus took on the sins of all mankind, how a timeless God must experience that breach eternally, even as He enjoys that inward fellowship of His being eternally.  Might it not be the same for us, that we experience both the waiting and the fulfillment as eternal, side-by-side experiences?  I know.  Purest supposition, but it does have me wondering.  But be that as it may, we shall be with Him, and I am quite sure that this in and of itself will be more than sufficient cause to rest joyfully at His feet, or wherever He will have us.  This indeed is worth all, the pearl of greatest price, as He described it.  I am His!  What can compete with that?

I think yet again of that horrible news out of the DRC.  And I am glad to report that I was able to reach out to my brother who translated for us, and he and those others we met are safe, well west of the conflict.  But for those who met their demise in the churches to the east, yes, it is horrible to read of their murder.  And yet, for them, it has been no horrible news.  They have gone home.  Their souls are even now in the presence of Him for Whom they died, and I am quite sure that they rejoice in their homecoming.  Indeed, they have come into pure joy, a place in which sin and suffering find no entrance, in which every tear has been wiped away.  Even if it be the case that they are now waiting for that final day, as are we, still they have the better situation, don’t they?  We are still in it, still among the tents of Kedar, still tested by temptations and tried by trials.  For them, the testing is over, and indeed, the greatest honor paid them in that they were granted this opportunity to know their faith tested to the uttermost, and found sufficient.

I can only hope and pray that should this same privilege be mine, I would go through the trial with faith intact, with a heart unmoved from devotion to my God.  Should it come to that, may I be found to have a faith like that of Stephen, like that of Polycarp, like that of these African brothers, willingly submitted to the will of my Father, even to the point of death, even death on the cross.  No, it’s not a thing I contemplate with any sense of desire, nor do I think I should.  But I pray earnestly that should such a test come, I will be held in the power of my God, and made able to stand, faith held fast, and glorifying my God.  May it be that, like Paul, like so many who have gone before, I may be found singing His praises to the end, and thanking Him for honoring me with this privilege of suffering for His name’s sake.