It is a sure sign that we are sinners that we tend to be more concerned about what we do than what we are. That is, our guilt or peace oftentimes is the fruit of our own judgment of how often we commit a known sin, less often grounded in what we think and how we feel. I may hate my brother, but if I can keep myself from killing him, well, how bad could I be?
In Romans 1 Paul is setting about the business of explaining the universal guilt of men before God. There he answers the telling question, “What about the innocent native in Africa who knows nothing of Christ?” by affirming that all men everywhere both know who God is, and reject that knowledge. Before we have done anything we stand guilty, if only because our eyes tell us there is a God and our hearts hate that truth. Paul then, however, in describing the universal sinful condition of all men outside of Christ adds this condemnation—neither were they grateful.
If it is true that all men exist—were made to glorify God—our gratitude failure is not simply a failure of manners, akin to forgetting to write a thank-you card for a gift. Instead it is like adultery, like murder, like cosmic rebellion. How so? Well, a failure to be grateful is grounded in the conviction that we are due better than what we have been given. We are all born with an expectation of a certain level of comfort, a certain level of fulfillment, a certain level of pleasure. When these exceed our expectations we believe all is right with the world. We have received our due. When they fall below our expectations, however, we grumble, we complain, we howl. We scratch our heads thinking something is wrong with the universe.
Something is wrong with the universe—us. The lost are, well, lost. They have not been changed. They do not have the Holy Spirit. They are on their own. But we complain just like them. We have the same set of expectations, and so mimic their grumbling. We, because we are worldly, look at the world and our place in it just like the world.
Gratitude, however, isn’t the fruit of happiness, but its root. When we give thanks, when we look at the world and our place in it realistically, remembering what we are due in ourselves, what we have, and all that we have been promised in Christ, we are astonished, overwhelmed. And therefore overjoyed.
I have an amazing wife who loves me, and our Lord. I have friends who love me, and their Lord. Most important of all, I am beloved of the Father. How could I ever even begin to think “It isn’t enough”? And, when I fail, my Father forgives me, His Spirit works in me, and I get better. Saint, thanksgiving isn’t a holiday to be observed, but a lifestyle to be practiced. Give thanks. And when you are done, do it again.
Is everything a matter of right and wrong from God’s point of view? How should we determine issues that would be “gray?”
No, there are no gray areas from God’s point of view. Neither should there by gray areas from our point of view. There are, however, issues that are not moral issues. Suppose, for instance, that the dictionary suggests that both “grey” and “gray” are fitting spellings for that color that is somewhere between black and white. If I choose “grey” over “gray” I have not fallen into gray, or grey matter. If I asked you pick a number from one to ten, I can’t imagine what sin I would charge you with should you choose 7, or 2, or in fact any number from one to ten. This does not mean these are what we call grey matters. They are instead what we call adiaphora, matters not touching on morals.
This is important to understand especially when we find ourselves trying to make important decisions. We are so eager to know “God’s will” that we sometimes seek that will where He has not spoken. When a person is trying to decide, “Should I take this job or that? Should I buy this house or that?” my counsel is usually, “Try to discern if either choice is sinful. If neither is, do the spiritual thing, which is to do what you want.”
That said, we often fall off the other side of the horse by forgetting to apply broader moral principles. That is, we may think, “If the Bible does not say, ‘Thou shalt not buy the house on 13 Mockingbird Lane’ then it must not be a sin,” when in fact it could be a sin. Perhaps the house is more than you can afford, and buying it would be poor stewardship. Perhaps it sits right next to a cigar store, and you have in the past allowed tobacco to rule over you, and wisdom suggests you flee temptation. This kind of moral calculus can certainly be subtle. It can lead us into some deep waters. God, of course, always knows what is right. We don’t always know, but we should. Now, suppose I think it is foolish to buy the house, but you think it wise. Suppose we break out our moral calculus, and are not able to agree. But suppose we agree that it is a close call, that it looks from our limited perspective to be “grey.” Such ought to mean that we not get in a horrible tussle over the issue. It does not mean, however, that there is no right answer.
Here’s a real life example- headcoverings. I believe that the Bible teaches that husbands should have their wives cover their heads when we gather together for corporate worship. I believe it for exegetical reasons, and for historical reasons. I think those who don’t so believe are wrong on the issue, wrong in their exegesis, and wrong in their understanding of history. I also think that many of the men who hold this different view are far more godly than I am. I am willing to concede that some things in the Bible are more clear than others, and that the case against headcoverings isn’t completely out in left field. There’s still a right and wrong, and God knows it clearly. But God has made it clear that we ought not to be jumping down each others’ throats on matters that are less clear. How do we know which issues are less clear? There’s the rub. In most disagreements, the real disagreement is here. One helpful hint for my own practice is to look again to church history. If the church has felt that issue x is clear and important, I want to submit to that. If the church has recognized the issue to be less clear, I want to treat it that way.
It’s one of my favorite lines, not just because of how funny it is, but how true. “I’ve talked long enough about me… how about you talk about me for a while?” We are all, I suspect, our own favorite subjects. Such is foolish enough, but the sadder thing is that we tend to think we must be the favorite subject of everyone else. We are dressing before going to attend a friend’s retirement ceremony, worrying about whether people will be put off by the small spot on our tie. The solution isn’t to stop worrying about the spot. The solution is to realize that we are not going to be the center of attention at our friend’s event. Our friend’s friends are not coming to the event to evaluate our tie, but to celebrate the life work of the honoree.
We make, often, the same mistake when it comes to the providence of God. “Why,” we ask, “are You doing this to me Lord?” It’s true enough that the sovereign God wastes nothing, and is as efficient as He is sovereign. But might it just be that His principle concern about my hardship is how it will work in the lives of others? Might it just be possible that we are playing a part in someone else’s story? Maybe the one who needs your help is Jesus hungering or thirsting. Or maybe your hunger and thirst is there so that someone else can be Jesus to you. What we know for certain is that the story is about His glory.
We move through our days sinfully looking at ourselves as the star of the story, and all others playing roles of varying lesser importance. The truth is that my friend who just gossiped about me is, just like me, being sanctified, being remade into the image of Christ, and the tussle we are engaged in is a part of God’s plan for me, but just as much for him. That annoying person driving slowly in the left hand lane on the highway, believer or not, bears the image of God just as much as I do, and will continue into eternity just like I will. (And likely is annoyed that I am tailgating him.)
All of us together are but players in the one story, with one Star, Jesus of Nazareth. It’s not about me. It’s not about the people I envy who have more lines in the play. It’s not about those who envy me for my time on the stage. It’s about the hero of the story, who lives to glorify the Author and Director of the play. His stage direction is simple- Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself- Philippians 2:3. When we think the story is about us, we hearken back to our natural father, who rebelled against the more humble role he was called to play. We, however, have been adopted, through the work of the Star, as the children of the Author and Director. Let us learn to be humble, and content.
Dunamis Fellowship and Sovereign Grace Fellowship continue tonight our weekly Bible study at 7 eastern. Tonight is part four of our look at the Lord’s Prayer, Lord, Teach Us to Pray. All are welcome to attend at our home. You can even come early (6:15) and we’ll feed you a meal. You can also watch on Facebook Live, RC-Lisa Sproul. We hope you join us as we consider together the Lord’s Prayer.
I get that some Christians don’t like snow. They associate it with bitter cold, backbreaking labor, dangerous travel and expensive heating bills. One day all these men and women will be fully sanctified, and will no longer make that mistake. Snow is not just an astonishing gift, but it is a gift with God’s own signature on it. My own associations with snow include childhood, which was a blessed time for me. They include snow-skiing, sled riding, hot chocolate, crackling fires, Steelers playoff football, Christmas, quiet, spotlessness, snow days, snow men, snow caves, even snow dragons. When I was a boy growing up at the Ligonier Valley Study Center it was not uncommon for the students, the staff and their families to light up a few Coleman lanterns, clear off an acre of snow and enjoy ice skating on Mr. Campbell’s pond late into the night.
Those are all great reasons to be moved by snow. Every one of them would be just as potent if the snow itself were simply innumerable copies of each other. None of those blessings listed above require that each flake, from every snowfall, every neighborhood, every year, be a distinct, unique creation unlike any other flake that has ever fallen. That is God showing off. That is God winking at us. That is Romans 1 in a warm, white blanket. Why does He do it? Because He can. Because He is not the God of either/or but the God of both/and. He is the profligate God, doing it exactly right precisely by overdoing it. He is the God of excess, of extravagance.
And He is the God who is beauty. I confess that I am no expert on beauty. I know enough to know that “Beauty is in the eye of the behold” is just as dumb and likely just as dangerous as “We all have our own truth.” Defining beauty, however, is where it gets tough. One cannot measure it in a test-tube. Beauty is elusive, ephemeral, quicksilver. There is one other thing I know however. The essence of beauty is the harmonization of complexity. It is taking the many and making it one. It is hundreds of instruments played by hundreds of musicians becoming symphonic. It is no wonder that the Creator of the universe, itself an immeasurable ode to the pleroma of God, would take the staggering diversity of trillions of unique ice sculptures and bring them together in unity, in the harmony of a tapestry in countless shades of white.
Is snow cold? Of course it is, but not as cold as the heart that can’t be warmed by it. Is snow wet? Of course it is, just wet enough to bring life to the dry and desert land of the hearts of those who don’t love it. Is snow heavy? Of course it is, just heavy enough to lift our downtrodden spirits. Snow is a good and perfect gift from our heavenly Father who loves us all together in the swirling move of the Spirit and one at a time in union with our Lord.
