Certain people have created some level of controversy over this question. Some seem to believe that when we bring our petitions before the Lord we are exhibiting a lack of faith if we acknowledge our desire that His will be done rather than ours. This purportedly a. casts a shadow on God’s character, for of course He lives for nothing other than doing our will and b. binds God’s hands such that He cannot bless us, because of our lack of faith. We are, according to this perspective, to pray believing that what we think is best is best. They also expect us to believe God has already given us what we are about to ask for.
Poor Jesus
If only Jesus had been blessed with the eyes of faith. There are multiple reasons why this perspective is out of whack. None is more potent, however, than the obvious example of our Lord and Savior, the spotless Lamb of God, praying in just this way. On the night in which He was betrayed, in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed that the cup He was facing would pass. That cup, the wrath of the Father, was about to be poured out on Him. Jesus, understandably, asked if there were any other way possible for His bride to be redeemed. Was there some plan b available, and if so, could He please take it?
Plan B
“Nevertheless,” He prayed, “not My will but Thine be done.” Did Jesus lack faith in His Father? Was His Father just about to say, “Yes, there is a plan b. Much less painful for You, and just as redeeming for them. Let me tell… What? Did You just say, ‘Nevertheless, not My will but Thine be done?’ Oh Ye of little faith. Now I have no choice but to follow plan A. Such a pity.” How preposterous.
Following Jesus
If Jesus prayed this way, and He did, how much more should I? Have you ever prayed something foolish? Have you ever asked Him for something that would harm you or others? Do you really think that He, as our loving Father, would give us gifts that harm us, if we ask for them?
Resting
This error carries with it the aggravating circumstance of spiritual pride. It argues that refusing to pray, “Nevertheless not my will but Thine be done” is a deeper exhibition of faith, that praying such exhibits a woeful lack of faith. Which position, however, requires the greater faith? That depends a great deal on what we mean by faith. In one sense it takes a great deal of faith to believe that our desires not only can but should trump God’s will. It takes a faith on par with believing up is down, in is out and the moon is made of green cheese. That prayer, however, that requires more trust, a deeper belief in, resting in, God’s goodness and power, is the prayer of Jesus- Father, You know best. I trust You. Do as You wilt. As we pray such with Jesus we say with Him, “Father, into Your hand we commit our spirits.
It would be our expectation that a given culture would follow the pattern of the riddle of the Sphinx. Oedipus was asked- what begins on four legs, moves to two, and ends with three? Oedipus was allowed to pass on his way because he recognized this as man. We begin as babies, crawling on all fours. As we mature we move to walking. But as age comes, we require the aid of a cane to get around. Cultures do begin young, and then they mature. But I’m not sure that the end looks like an old man with a cane. I’m afraid that we may go out less with a whimper than a whine. We will be wearing pampers, not Depends, and drinking formula rather than prune juice. We will not die, culturally speaking, of too little energy, but too little maturity. We’re going to baby ourselves to death.
When the future comes to dig among our ruins, what will they find? Not long ago it became something of a fashion craze for adults to wear pacifiers around their necks. They’ll find us buried in underwear by SpongeBob Squarepants. They’ll find that we fashion our movies out of comic books and our favorite streaming shows from when we were kids. And then they’ll find us curled around our idols, cups from Starbucks, our bottles of choice.
Cultural decline is recognized less by gross moral failure, and more by movement away from the vestiges of the image of God in us. We are moving away from ourselves, for instance, when we move away from our calling. The dominion mandate not only abides for believers after the fall, but is essential to what all men are. But we, because we are children, no longer build. Instead we consume. This is true not only in terms of “work” as such, but in terms of culture as well. We are mining our pasts, consuming our parents. Our architecture copies older forms, at random, not to honor them, but to save the trouble of making any progress. Our visual art looks more like a child’s temper tantrum, than an adult seeking to see the world through God’s eyes.
Economically speaking, it is the same. Children, by and large, consume more than they produce. Which is exactly what we do. I spent years bemoaning the evil of government debt, only to discover that it is dwarfed by consumer debt in this country. It doesn’t take a government bureaucrat to be a fool. Ordinary citizens do just fine. An adult labors to leave a heritage to his descendants. A child simply consumes. An adult is someone who delays gratification now, for the sake of the future. A child lives for today. We have an economy of Mcjobs because we have a workforce of Mcchildren.
We have our meals cooked for us at the supermarket, and our entertainment provided through 5G. Even the “engine of growth” that is the internet is dominated by sites providing tools for shameful, juvenile behavior. Our heroes are adults who play children’s games. Hollywood is a shrine to the fun of playing dress up. And every city of size has its skyline dotted with temples dedicated to men playing little league for pay.
We finish school now in our mid-twenties, if all goes well. We marry even later than that. We begin, if we manage to do so at all, to save money in our thirties, after we have paid off the debt we accumulated along the way. And then, being the mature people that we are, we start plotting out early retirement, so we can play more sooner. Once we hit that age, we start clamoring to our Uncle Sam to take better care of us. From cradle to grave we long for the cradle, and march inexorably to the grave. And all along the way we rush off to the gym, or the cosmetics counter, or the hairdresser, or the plastic surgeon, all so we can hide what the Bible says we should be pleased with, that we are growing older.
Worse than all this folly that so infects the broader culture is that we in the church have drunk so deep of it. Our Book commands that we honor our fathers and mothers, but we treat them just like our neighbors treat their mothers and fathers, as burdens to be managed, rather than resources to learn from. Our Book tells us to honor the hoary head, but we cover it over with hair coloring. Our Book instructs us that we should seek out wisdom, that we should aspire to become patriarchs and matriarchs, and we at best joke about and at worst lie about our age.
This is an opportunity, a chance to be a city shining on a hill. If we would jettison the foolishness of our age, and begin to honor age, we would not only stand out, but we would be blessed as well. Remember that our Father not only calls us to honor our fathers and mothers, but promises that if we will, it will go well for us in the land. If we would honor age, we would be blessed with wisdom from on high. If we would speak well of our fathers, if we would rise up and call them blessed, then our Father in heaven would speak well of us, He would rise up and call us blessed. The call here isn’t to turn our back on the exciting, flashy and new to embrace the drab and dusty. Instead it is to enter into riches, to a wealth that is immune to rust and moth. When we honor those who have entered their golden years, when we long ourselves to enter into our golden years, then we will have a harvest of gold. Then we will have gold to pass on to our children, who will in turn cause us to stand in the gates.
How easy it is for us to find comfort in the distance between us and hardship. We know famines happen, but not here. We know political dissent is repressed, but not here. We know Christians are persecuted. But not here. The first century church was known for its capacity to identify with brethren in differing nations, experiencing different hardships. We, on the other hand, can be counted on to support famine relief and say a prayer for the persecuted. And then we can be counted on to forget.
For Whom the Bell Tolls
Our Lord, however, is bringing the blessing of persecution closer to home. In the past month two ministers of the gospel, one in Canada and the other in England, surely the two nations on the planet most like our own, have been dragged off to jail for the crime of publicly preaching and proclaiming the Word of God. Another congregation, also in Canada, has had its building seized by the state for the same offense. Two offended the ruling elite by not buying into the bio-terror and meeting to worship the One whom they fear. The other offended the ruling elite by reading what they Bible has to say about marriage being between one man and one woman.
Removing the Offense?
The temptation we face, knowing this is coming near, is to look for ways to avoid trouble. How can we keep from stepping on the landmine, from walking into the crosshairs of the state? How can we not offend, while not removing the offense of the gospel? While it is certainly possible to offend without the offense of the gospel, there is no way to remove the offense of the gospel and keep the gospel. What we fail to realize is that we are hated because of our very reason for being. The offense is not a bug, but a feature. We are hated for acknowledging that we are sinners. We are hated for affirming our dependence on His grace. We are hated for believing we are forgiven and beloved of the Father.
No King But Christ
The greatest offense of the gospel to the world, however, is right here- Jesus reigns. They, in the end, just as it was in the first century, can abide no ruler above them, nor anyone who acknowledges such. The Roman government didn’t give a hoot what any of its citizens thought about sin and substitutionary atonement or resurrection or repentance or forgiveness. They were perfectly content to let Christians believe in these things and proclaim them to the world. As long as the Christians were willing to confess the one sacred truth of Rome, Kaiser ho Kurios– Caesar is Lord.
The Blood of the Saints
Christians were dipped in pitch, tied to stakes and lit on fire to bring light to Nero’s garden parties. They were crucified, one beside the other for mile after mile on the Appian Way. They were used for entertainment as wild beasts tore them to pieces in the Coliseum. Not because of any theological dispute. Not because of a philosophical dispute. But because of one dispute- who is Lord. The very first creed of the church was this, Christos ho Kurios– Christ is Lord.
No Neutral Ground
We will be able to live in peace with our neighbors. We will not have to face the loss of our church buildings, jail time for preachers, social ostracism nor death, so long as we are willing to deny the Lordship of Christ. Gather or not. Mask or not. Vaccinate or not. Approve perversion or not. It’s all just distraction and misdirection. No strategy will save us. We’re going to have to serve somebody.
Right from the get-go we have something of an epistemological/ontological problem. I mean, right? That is, there are differences that are easier to see, and then there are differences that are more central, but harder to discern. On the ontological side the whole of the order of salvation, or ordo salutis, describes the difference. The believer has been regenerated, given the gift of faith, is indwelt by the Spirit, gifted by the Spirit and grows in grace and wisdom. The unbeliever has none of these. But we lack magic soul-exposing glasses by which we can judge these invisible changes.
While we cannot see into the souls of others, Jesus does tell us that we can read fruit. That, however, may not be as easy as we think. Suppose you knew a man who not only was unfaithful to his wife, but was unfaithful with the wife of another man. When his paramour becomes pregnant with his child he then murders her husband. Or consider another man who spent years studying the Word of God. He boldly went into hostile lands and proclaimed that same Word. He spoke with Jesus in the context of the utmost intimacy. He was even known to cast out demons in Jesus’ name and to heal the sick. Those two piles of fruit are radically diverse. Yet we would be wrong on both counts if we affirmed the first was not a believer and the second was a believer. For of course the first is King David, the second Judas Iscariot.
Unbelievers are more than capable of living visibly “righteous lives.” And believers not only still battle against sin, they often lose those battles in public and spectacular ways. Which is why I would suggest that the best distinguishing mark isn’t that believers sin less, though that certainly may be the case, but that believers repent more. We are the repentant.
I would argue, in fact, that before we begin to talk about the fruits of repentance, or fruit befitting repentance we recognize that repentance is fruit. It is cultivated by the Spirit in us, and blossoms into God-honoring sorrow for our sins, but also God-honoring confidence in His grace. Indeed the fruit befitting repentance, I would suggest, while it should include committing of fewer sins, or sins less flamboyant, is more the fruit of the Spirit. The repentant bear love, for they know they have been forgiven much. The repentant are marked by joy, for they know they have been forgive much. The repentant are at peace, for they know they have been forgiven much. The repentant are patient, for they know they have been forgiven much.
Christians ought to know this. I wish still more, however, that unbelievers would have to confess it. Rather than grumbling that we are a holier-than-thou people, I wish they, at least in their moments of honestly, would admit that we are a more-repentant-than-thou people. I pray a day will come when we will be known more for humility than pride, joy more than anger. Until that day comes, however, I will continue, by His grace, to repent for my failure to obey His law.
We are fools. That’s a good starting point. Every mother’s son of us was made in the image of God. We are all together by nature children of wrath. Our heavenly Father is remaking those of us who have been born again by His Spirit into His children, through His grace. Yet, at every step along the way we face the compulsion of judging ourselves by ourselves. We want to know how we stack up against other image bearers. How silly to think the petty things that distinguish us from each other could compare with the august majesty that we all have in common. We insist sin has wreaked less havoc in and through us than it has in and through others. Which is rather like arguing that we destroyed Hiroshima less potently than Nagasaki. We loudly insist that our sanctification is more potent than another’s. How could we believe our actual holiness has a measurable significance in relation to our imputed righteousness, His righteousness that covers us?
The essence of what we are, humans, sinners, saints, is shared equally among each respective group. Yet we want to measure and emphasize the minuscule differences. And of course we botch up these tiny measurements. Our thumbs are too clumsy for such fine tools, and our eyes too myopic. We grade ourselves on one curve that inflates our virtues, and grade others on a curve that inflates their vices. All because the important thing to us isn’t what we are together, but what we are alone, what sets us apart from everyone else. In judging ourselves by ourselves we forget ourselves and what we really are.
What defines me truly is precisely what I have in common with so many others. My dignity is wrapped up exclusively in His image in me. My shame is wrapped up exclusively in my common sin. Best of all my glory is wrapped up in the glorious truth that I am among the many brethren of the First Born, and that because of His covering of me. Where I stand in line with all the others in each of these categories can’t possibly matter.
This doesn’t, of course, undo appropriate roles I find myself in. There are those that I am called to lead, as a husband and father, as a teacher, as a pastor. And there are those I am called to follow, as student, as a congregant, as a citizen. Remembering all we have in common, however, reminds me that I do not lead because I am greater than those I lead, nor that I follow because I am lessor than those I follow. My children, my students, my flock, these are all my brothers. And my teachers, my elders, my civil leaders, they too are all my brothers. I have no reason to lord it over anyone because all that is good in me is our common Lord.
I’m in good company in my folly. The disciples, for three years jockeyed for position. The saints ever since have marched in their footsteps, trolling for honors. I pray, however, that I might treasure this trophy, attain this accolade, secure this status- that I would be a world-champion repenter. And for that, I repent.
