I have a friend who once informed me that I am boring. She may not have said it in quite those words, but I knew what she meant. Apparently, I have a habit of repeating myself. If I tell someone a story, I easily forget and then tell them the same story later. It's difficult to do otherwise when there are so few entertaining events in one's life. I can only tell about not liking coffee very much so many times before I'm bound to tell it to the same person twice.
And with that, I offer a warning. I feel like this post could appear to be very similar to the one I wrote just a few days ago about Jesus' effective sacrifice. This is rightfully so, I think, but I do apologize for any way in which I may seem to repeat the same ideas. The idea of Jesus' sacrifice being a final sacrifice flows from the fact that it is effective. Because Jesus' death on the cross is able to wash away the stain of guilt and sin, it's the final sacrifice. It's all that's needed, because it's totally sufficient.
That isn't what it was like for the priests in the Old Testament. Because animal sacrifices were ultimately ineffective, the task of sacrifice was never fulfilled. The priest could never say, "Well, there's that. We can stop this whole messy business now." Instead, a constant stream of bleating animals made its way to the altar. Ever single year the high priest went into the Most Holy Place with the blood of the sacrifice to seek atonement, and every day other sacrifice were offered. Hebrews 10:11 says, "Day after day every priest stands and performs his religious duties; again and again he offers the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins."
Then Jesus comes and offers the self-sacrifice to which all the earlier sacrifices had pointed. And that's the end. Nothing else is needed. Hebrews 10:12 says, "But when this priest [Jesus] had offered for all time one sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God." The seated Jesus contrasts with the priest who is standing at the altar. One's work is completed; the other waits to sacrifice again.
The finality of Jesus' sacrifice underlines its sufficiency. It is "once for all" (Heb. 7:27). There is a temptation, however, to doubt the sufficiency of what Christ has accomplished. Many would say, "You're saying that salvation is found in Jesus, and that's it? That's ridiculous." In our culture that values self-help books and "pull yourself up by your own bootstraps" individualism, the idea of salvation resting solely in the act of another doesn't gel very well.
The same problem existed in the New Testament era as well. Just read the book of Galatians. Christians were distrustful of a salvation through Jesus alone, so they wanted to make it "Jesus Plus _________." Jesus Plus Circumcision. Jesus Plus Sabbath-keeping. Jesus Plus Dietary Laws. In such thinking, grace needs an amendment--something to tack on to it so that we have something to contribute to our own saving. Today it might be Jesus Plus Church Attendance. Jesus Plus Giving Money. Jesus Plus Not Drinking. Jesus Plus Getting an Ichthus Tattoo and Listening to Hillsong.
So let's remember that Jesus did the work for our salvation, and it means that we don't have to. That's a good thing, too, because we don't have the power to save ourselves. It takes God to reconcile mankind to God, and he did it on the cross.
The end.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Jesus' Effective Sacrifice
My friend Charlie is a madman. A few days ago, he wrote his sixth blog post of the month of June. SIXTH! With a week left in the month, too! He's written before about how one of his goals is to keep up with how much I write, and now he is certainly demolishing me in that regard. So kudos to him. I, however, am happy with the rhythm I have found for myself. Fridays are my day off from my internship, so I sleep in, wake up, read a little, eat a ham sandwich for lunch, and then write a blog post. Look at me, with my routines and habits. I'm such an adult.
This post is the second in a three-part set on Jesus' sacrifice and how it relates to his role as the great high priest as found in Hebrews. Last week I wrote about how Jesus offered a self-sacrifice, so if you haven't read that one, you should go ahead and do that. Right now, I want to discuss how Jesus' sacrifice, in contrast to the animal sacrifices of the Levitical priesthood, is effective is cleansing mankind from sin.
It is easy for a person, having spent a long time performing religious acts, to begin to think that those acts are what brings salvation. I would think that this was the case for many Jews who brought a bellowing goat to the priest to be sacrificed. Forgiveness is easy in this scheme. Go sin, grab an animal, slice its throat, and get a clean slate. Such a person would probably have trouble swallowing the statement found in Hebrews 10:4: "It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins."
That's where Jesus' sacrifice is so different. He does not stand at an altar slaughtering animals whose blood in itself is unable to get the job done. Jesus' death on the cross has real power to forgive sins. Where the Levitical system fell short, Jesus accomplishes the redemption of mankind. While animals sacrifices were able to make a person ceremonially clean on the outside, Jesus' sacrifice heals the wound of sin and guilt. Hebrews 9:13-14 says:
Sadly, there are many people in the world who distrust the effectiveness of Jesus' sacrifice. They feel that their sins are too many, too heinous, too shameful, and simply too big for Christ to cover over. They think, "Sure, God may be willing to forgive everyone else, but he doesn't know what I've done. I have said, thought, and done too terrible of things to be able to be forgiven." These people let their guilt and shame to push them farther and farther from Christ's outstretched, scarred, and powerful arms.
Mark Driscoll writes, "You are more evil than you have ever feared, and more loved than you have ever hoped" (Death by Love, 68). In contrast to those who feel their sin is unforgivable, some of us downplay the significance of our sin, imagining that we are basically good people who really haven't done that much wrong. This is an inaccurate way to think, however. Sin does indeed dirty us to the point that we need an incredible rescue to save us. Some people push aside the weight of their sin, while others undervalue the effectiveness of Christ's sacrifice. Both sides are true. Our sin is a big deal, and it's dangerous to think otherwise. But that is exactly what makes the good news so good. Because God and his love are big enough to forgive us through Jesus' effective sacrifice. When we're tempted to doubt the power of Christ's blood, let's remember just how effective that blood is.
This post is the second in a three-part set on Jesus' sacrifice and how it relates to his role as the great high priest as found in Hebrews. Last week I wrote about how Jesus offered a self-sacrifice, so if you haven't read that one, you should go ahead and do that. Right now, I want to discuss how Jesus' sacrifice, in contrast to the animal sacrifices of the Levitical priesthood, is effective is cleansing mankind from sin.
It is easy for a person, having spent a long time performing religious acts, to begin to think that those acts are what brings salvation. I would think that this was the case for many Jews who brought a bellowing goat to the priest to be sacrificed. Forgiveness is easy in this scheme. Go sin, grab an animal, slice its throat, and get a clean slate. Such a person would probably have trouble swallowing the statement found in Hebrews 10:4: "It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins."
That's where Jesus' sacrifice is so different. He does not stand at an altar slaughtering animals whose blood in itself is unable to get the job done. Jesus' death on the cross has real power to forgive sins. Where the Levitical system fell short, Jesus accomplishes the redemption of mankind. While animals sacrifices were able to make a person ceremonially clean on the outside, Jesus' sacrifice heals the wound of sin and guilt. Hebrews 9:13-14 says:
The blood of goats and bulls and the ashes of a heifer sprinkled on those who are ceremonially unclean sanctify them so that they are outwardly clean. How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God!
Sadly, there are many people in the world who distrust the effectiveness of Jesus' sacrifice. They feel that their sins are too many, too heinous, too shameful, and simply too big for Christ to cover over. They think, "Sure, God may be willing to forgive everyone else, but he doesn't know what I've done. I have said, thought, and done too terrible of things to be able to be forgiven." These people let their guilt and shame to push them farther and farther from Christ's outstretched, scarred, and powerful arms.
Mark Driscoll writes, "You are more evil than you have ever feared, and more loved than you have ever hoped" (Death by Love, 68). In contrast to those who feel their sin is unforgivable, some of us downplay the significance of our sin, imagining that we are basically good people who really haven't done that much wrong. This is an inaccurate way to think, however. Sin does indeed dirty us to the point that we need an incredible rescue to save us. Some people push aside the weight of their sin, while others undervalue the effectiveness of Christ's sacrifice. Both sides are true. Our sin is a big deal, and it's dangerous to think otherwise. But that is exactly what makes the good news so good. Because God and his love are big enough to forgive us through Jesus' effective sacrifice. When we're tempted to doubt the power of Christ's blood, let's remember just how effective that blood is.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Jesus' Self-Sacrifice
One of the requirements for my degree at Ozark is that I take two doctrine classes. These classes are difficult to say the least, as the primary assignment in each of them is to produce a 20-25 page paper regarding some theological aspect of the subject matter. I took both of my doctrine classes last year--Doctrine of the Church in the fall and Doctrine of Christ in the spring. If you were around me much last year, it may have been easy to tell when the due date for my doctrine papers was coming up. For one thing, I would start growing a nasty, wispy beard because I considered myself too busy to shave and become presentable. Also, I would become even more irritable and socially distant than normal and would rarely be found playing cards or going out to Chick-fil-A. So if you were ever walking around campus last year nervous about the homeless guy walking around mumbling to himself with his head down, don't worry. It was just me in Term Paper Mode.
For my Doctrine of Christ class last semester, I wrote my paper on Jesus' role as the great high priest, as found primarily in the book of Hebrews. I really enjoyed my subject, and I learned a lot while researching. For the next three posts, I'll be drawing from my paper and the research that went into it to discuss several aspects of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross, as well as what it means for us and how we live and minister to others. After these three posts, I'm probably going to be due for another post in which I make fun of the fact that I'm single. People love those.
Sin demands that judgment be meted out against the offender. This is bad news for humankind. As rebellious, sinful people, we deserve to be the objects of God's wrath. Fortunately for us (and thanks to God), sacrifice was given as a means to attain forgiveness. In Old Testament times, animal sacrifices were offered, and herein lied the central function of the Levitical priesthood. There were all sorts of sacrifices: burnt offerings, fellowship offerings, sin offerings, grain offerings, etc. All of these sacrifices came to a climax on the Day of Atonement, when the high priest would take the blood of a sacrifice into the Most Holy Place to atone for the sins of the nation. The ministry of the priests was glued to the altar, and animal sacrifices were the hapless victims of the system.
If Jesus is now our great high priest, as the New Testament affirms (Heb. 4:14), he needs a sacrifice to offer. Now there are a lot of things I don't know about the gospels, but I can't think of any instances when Jesus butchers a goat on an altar. No, the picture we get of his sacrifice is something else entirely. John the Baptist calls Jesus "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world" (Jn. 1:29). Jesus claims that he came "to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mk. 10:45) and that he lays down his life "of my own accord" (Jn. 10:18). Hebrews notes that Jesus "offered himself" (Heb. 9:14) and makes "the people holy through his own blood" (Heb. 13:12). Jesus is not a priest who brings in the third party of livestock to make atonement. He is a priest who offers himself. He is both "priest and oblation" (Thomas F. Torrance, Atonement 81).
So what's our reaction? First should certainly be wonder, awe, and intense thanksgiving. I remember thinking about the idea of Jesus as our shepherd when I was younger. I thought, "The idea of a shepherd dying for his sheep is silly. A human life is worthy infinitely more than a sheep's life. That's ridiculous." But how much more ridiculous is it that God (whose worth is distanced from ours so much more than a human's from a sheep's) would offer himself for the sake of mankind? And still, that's what happened. And it's a fact that should cause unceasing amazement within ourselves. Dennis Kinlaw puts the absurdity (but the wonderful truth) like this:
Second, if Jesus sacrifices himself, how much more should we be self-sacrificing? It's idiotic for us to be okay with Christ giving himself for us so that we can loaf around and be comfortable and think that God is there to serve us. In my Bible reading this week, I've been reminded how little room there is for selfishness in the Christian life. A Christ-follower must "deny himself and take up his cross daily" (Lk. 9:23). We are told to offer ourselves as "living sacrifices" (Rom. 12:1). Christ calls us to climb up on the altar. Of course, our sacrifice is not like his in the sense that it atones for the sins of the world, but we are charged to expend all we have of ourselves for the sake of Christ. So what do you need to sacrifice?
In an unrelated note (which is how I like to end many of my posts, because I'm awful at conclusions), our middle school group at Suburban is going to be going on a mission trip to work with Union Gospel Mission in Salem, OR next month. Several of the students are working with me to keep up a blog so that others can see how we're preparing, and we'll update it while we're there so that people can see what we're doing. So the link's on the sidebar. Check-a-check-a-check it out.
For my Doctrine of Christ class last semester, I wrote my paper on Jesus' role as the great high priest, as found primarily in the book of Hebrews. I really enjoyed my subject, and I learned a lot while researching. For the next three posts, I'll be drawing from my paper and the research that went into it to discuss several aspects of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross, as well as what it means for us and how we live and minister to others. After these three posts, I'm probably going to be due for another post in which I make fun of the fact that I'm single. People love those.
Sin demands that judgment be meted out against the offender. This is bad news for humankind. As rebellious, sinful people, we deserve to be the objects of God's wrath. Fortunately for us (and thanks to God), sacrifice was given as a means to attain forgiveness. In Old Testament times, animal sacrifices were offered, and herein lied the central function of the Levitical priesthood. There were all sorts of sacrifices: burnt offerings, fellowship offerings, sin offerings, grain offerings, etc. All of these sacrifices came to a climax on the Day of Atonement, when the high priest would take the blood of a sacrifice into the Most Holy Place to atone for the sins of the nation. The ministry of the priests was glued to the altar, and animal sacrifices were the hapless victims of the system.
If Jesus is now our great high priest, as the New Testament affirms (Heb. 4:14), he needs a sacrifice to offer. Now there are a lot of things I don't know about the gospels, but I can't think of any instances when Jesus butchers a goat on an altar. No, the picture we get of his sacrifice is something else entirely. John the Baptist calls Jesus "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world" (Jn. 1:29). Jesus claims that he came "to give his life as a ransom for many" (Mk. 10:45) and that he lays down his life "of my own accord" (Jn. 10:18). Hebrews notes that Jesus "offered himself" (Heb. 9:14) and makes "the people holy through his own blood" (Heb. 13:12). Jesus is not a priest who brings in the third party of livestock to make atonement. He is a priest who offers himself. He is both "priest and oblation" (Thomas F. Torrance, Atonement 81).
So what's our reaction? First should certainly be wonder, awe, and intense thanksgiving. I remember thinking about the idea of Jesus as our shepherd when I was younger. I thought, "The idea of a shepherd dying for his sheep is silly. A human life is worthy infinitely more than a sheep's life. That's ridiculous." But how much more ridiculous is it that God (whose worth is distanced from ours so much more than a human's from a sheep's) would offer himself for the sake of mankind? And still, that's what happened. And it's a fact that should cause unceasing amazement within ourselves. Dennis Kinlaw puts the absurdity (but the wonderful truth) like this:
Normally, shepherds keep sheep so they can eat them and wear the wool or sell them so someone else can eat or wear them. Now Jesus tells us about a shepherd who keeps sheep, not so that he can eat or wear or sell them, but so that the sheep can actually eat and wear him. (Let's Start With Jesus, 86)
Second, if Jesus sacrifices himself, how much more should we be self-sacrificing? It's idiotic for us to be okay with Christ giving himself for us so that we can loaf around and be comfortable and think that God is there to serve us. In my Bible reading this week, I've been reminded how little room there is for selfishness in the Christian life. A Christ-follower must "deny himself and take up his cross daily" (Lk. 9:23). We are told to offer ourselves as "living sacrifices" (Rom. 12:1). Christ calls us to climb up on the altar. Of course, our sacrifice is not like his in the sense that it atones for the sins of the world, but we are charged to expend all we have of ourselves for the sake of Christ. So what do you need to sacrifice?
In an unrelated note (which is how I like to end many of my posts, because I'm awful at conclusions), our middle school group at Suburban is going to be going on a mission trip to work with Union Gospel Mission in Salem, OR next month. Several of the students are working with me to keep up a blog so that others can see how we're preparing, and we'll update it while we're there so that people can see what we're doing. So the link's on the sidebar. Check-a-check-a-check it out.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Jubilee
As you may or may not know, right now I'm in Corvallis, Oregon doing a youth ministry internship with Suburban Christian Church. This last week, I spent one afternoon playing around with blog stuff for a project that I'll let you all know about in the near future. One thing that I learned in my research is that, whereas Blogger blogs are defaulted to only allow other Blogger members leave comments, you can change that so that anyone can leave a comment. So now all of you non-bloggers who have been kept silent for so long now have your chance to speak up. I really would like to hear from you, because I do appreciate you, even though I don't know who you are. If you want to tell me I'm wrong or add to what I say or whatever, feel free. So when you comment and it says "Choose an Identity," you just have to pick "Name/URL" and put your name. Or, if you are an attractive female and have been looking for an opportunity to confess your love for me but are just too bashful, you can do that anonymously.
I've been working on reading through the gospel of Luke recently. In my preaching class last semester, for every sermon we wrote, we got to pick between two passages. When we were working on our gospel sermons, my friend Morgan commented that I must really like Luke, because it seemed like I always chose the passage from there if it were available. I think it's more likely that the Luke passages just happened to be shorter, and I was lazy and wanted to do as little research from the commentaries as possible.
As I have been reading Luke, I have been trying to see how Luke 4:18-19 plays itself out throughout the gospel as a whole. Hopefully you are somewhat familiar with this passage. Jesus is in the synagogue in his hometown of Nazareth, and he stands up to give a Scripture reading. He then reads aloud a somewhat adapted version of Isaiah 61:1-2:
As you read the next couple chapters of Luke, you see this mission statement in action. He's casting out evil spirits, healing paralytics and lepers, preaching the gospel of the kingdom, criticizing oppressive Sabbath regulations, raising the dead, and forgiving sins. Everywhere he goes, this liberating power overflows to the oppressed around him, to those badgered by disease and demons and "religion" and death and sin. Clearly, the "year of the Lord's favor," the Jubilee, oozes from Jesus' ministry. He walks through a world broken by sin and crumbling from the effects of the Fall, and he begins putting it all to rights.
As I have been reading these chapters, I have had to ask myself, "How is my ministry imitating Jesus'? How am I bringing hope and healing and restoration to the oppressed around me?" Because the truth is that, even though my context is much different from first-century Palestine, I still walk among people under oppression of various kinds. Some are under financial oppression (of course globally, but also locally). Some are oppressed by disease and sickness. Some are oppressed by terrible family situations. Some are oppressed by distorted self-image. Some are oppressed by guilt and past mistakes. Some are oppressed by addictions. Some are oppressed by loneliness or rejection. And then all who do not yet know Christ are imprisoned to sin. In short, the world is in a lot trouble.
What are we doing about it? What can we do about it?
First, I think we need vision. We need to see the problems. If I can step outside of Luke for a moment, in Mark 6:34, Jesus is trying to get away with his disciples when a crowd of people meets him. The text says that "he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd." But first it says "Jesus landed and saw a large crowd." Jesus sees the people, not just as a faceless mass, but as his beloved who are in need. If we're going to minister like he did, we have to honestly see people for who they are and where they are and how they need Christ.
Second, we need to do what we can to meet the needs of those around us. In Luke 5:12-16, a leper comes to Jesus, asking to be healed. The text says, "Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man" (Lk. 5:13). That's a pretty incredible statement in itself. Jesus touches the unclean. While others would cast such a person out of the town, Jesus gets right in his face. Following Jesus means we engage the world, that we feed the hungry, aid the poor, shelter the homeless, care for the sick, and advocate for the voiceless.
Third, we preach loud and often. Jesus said, "I must preach the good news of the kingdom of God to the other towns also, because that is why I was sent" (Lk. 4:43). People need more than what we can physically give them. In Jesus, the kingdom and reign of God breaks through into our messed up world, and its our duty to make sure the world knows about it. Life in Christ is starkly different than life apart from him. It means freedom, grace, love, and forgiveness. But, as Paul points out, "How, then can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?" (Rom. 10:14). So let's tell them. Maybe that's why we were sent.
I've been working on reading through the gospel of Luke recently. In my preaching class last semester, for every sermon we wrote, we got to pick between two passages. When we were working on our gospel sermons, my friend Morgan commented that I must really like Luke, because it seemed like I always chose the passage from there if it were available. I think it's more likely that the Luke passages just happened to be shorter, and I was lazy and wanted to do as little research from the commentaries as possible.
As I have been reading Luke, I have been trying to see how Luke 4:18-19 plays itself out throughout the gospel as a whole. Hopefully you are somewhat familiar with this passage. Jesus is in the synagogue in his hometown of Nazareth, and he stands up to give a Scripture reading. He then reads aloud a somewhat adapted version of Isaiah 61:1-2:
The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.He then rolls up the scroll, sits down, and says "Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing" (Lk. 4:21). I have often heard this section of Luke labeled as Jesus' inauguration speech. It does seem like Luke positions it here for a reason. It is placed right at the beginning of Jesus' ministry. In Luke 3, he is baptized by John and then tempted by Satan in the wilderness. He then returns to Galilee, to Nazareth, and this is what he has to say. It is really the first public teaching that we find in Luke. It's like Jesus' purpose statement. He reads a passage about God anointing someone who will bring freedom and liberty for the imprisoned and oppressed, and he says, "Yep, that's me."
As you read the next couple chapters of Luke, you see this mission statement in action. He's casting out evil spirits, healing paralytics and lepers, preaching the gospel of the kingdom, criticizing oppressive Sabbath regulations, raising the dead, and forgiving sins. Everywhere he goes, this liberating power overflows to the oppressed around him, to those badgered by disease and demons and "religion" and death and sin. Clearly, the "year of the Lord's favor," the Jubilee, oozes from Jesus' ministry. He walks through a world broken by sin and crumbling from the effects of the Fall, and he begins putting it all to rights.
As I have been reading these chapters, I have had to ask myself, "How is my ministry imitating Jesus'? How am I bringing hope and healing and restoration to the oppressed around me?" Because the truth is that, even though my context is much different from first-century Palestine, I still walk among people under oppression of various kinds. Some are under financial oppression (of course globally, but also locally). Some are oppressed by disease and sickness. Some are oppressed by terrible family situations. Some are oppressed by distorted self-image. Some are oppressed by guilt and past mistakes. Some are oppressed by addictions. Some are oppressed by loneliness or rejection. And then all who do not yet know Christ are imprisoned to sin. In short, the world is in a lot trouble.
What are we doing about it? What can we do about it?
First, I think we need vision. We need to see the problems. If I can step outside of Luke for a moment, in Mark 6:34, Jesus is trying to get away with his disciples when a crowd of people meets him. The text says that "he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd." But first it says "Jesus landed and saw a large crowd." Jesus sees the people, not just as a faceless mass, but as his beloved who are in need. If we're going to minister like he did, we have to honestly see people for who they are and where they are and how they need Christ.
Second, we need to do what we can to meet the needs of those around us. In Luke 5:12-16, a leper comes to Jesus, asking to be healed. The text says, "Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man" (Lk. 5:13). That's a pretty incredible statement in itself. Jesus touches the unclean. While others would cast such a person out of the town, Jesus gets right in his face. Following Jesus means we engage the world, that we feed the hungry, aid the poor, shelter the homeless, care for the sick, and advocate for the voiceless.
Third, we preach loud and often. Jesus said, "I must preach the good news of the kingdom of God to the other towns also, because that is why I was sent" (Lk. 4:43). People need more than what we can physically give them. In Jesus, the kingdom and reign of God breaks through into our messed up world, and its our duty to make sure the world knows about it. Life in Christ is starkly different than life apart from him. It means freedom, grace, love, and forgiveness. But, as Paul points out, "How, then can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?" (Rom. 10:14). So let's tell them. Maybe that's why we were sent.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Ground for Faith
My heart is glad right now. When I began writing this blog 23 months ago, I did it primarily to pick up chicks. But beyond that, I did it because I think that life is best lived in conversation and that we would all be better people if we could learn from each other's experiences and thoughts. That is why I am so happy when the Bloggolution sidebar on the right is added to, because that means that another of my good friends has started a blog. There are a couple new ones over there, as well as Jim's revived one, so be sure to check those out.
Having been involved with church throughout my life, I've sat through many Bible lessons. Many of these lessons concern the topic of faith, and rightly so. Faith is one of the key concepts in the Christian life. Most of the time, whoever teaches the faith lesson will naturally ask, "So what is faith?" And one student will inevitably answer with the famous passage from Hebrews 11:1: "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." I can't really improve on that definition. The Bible tends to put things pretty well. I wonder, however, if there can be a big difference between being able to spout out a well-known verse on faith and really understanding faith. Because what I have been realizing is faith is something other than how I tend to think about it.
In the perceptions of many (including me, usually), there is a dichotomy between thought/reason/logic and feeling/emotion. When a person acts, they either do it based on what their mind tells them or what their heart tells them.
One danger to faith is overthinking. We don't always do a great job a jumping unless we see a safety net. A tendency can be to look at a situation and reason out the best course of action. If, logically, our decision will be successful, safe, and relatively predictable, then it is worthwhile. If, on the other hand, it doesn't make sense and seems irrational, we'll abstain. Unless, of course, we are acting on faith. In our minds, faith means abandoning what makes sense and what normally happens. Where does faith rest, then? In our emotions. Because if reason and emotion are different from one another, and if reason and faith are different from each other, then emotion and faith must be one in the same, right?
This sort of understanding of faith expresses itself in how we judge which people are "faithful." If a person steps out and does something that doesn't itself make much sense, and they say something like, "I just feel like this is what God wants me to do," we'll think, "Wow, that person just has so much faith." Acting on feelings and intuition is how we've often come to understand faith. A faithful person is one who does crazy things for God, not because they think that's what God wants them to do, but because they feel like that's what God wants.
I think this is a misunderstanding of faith, however. It is true that our faith should not be based on our reason or logic, because sometimes God works in ways that our beyond our finite understanding, and he calls us to walk roads that we may not be able to see clearly. At the same time, our faith should not be based on our feelings. God may want us to take actions that don't feel right. True faith stands neither on reason nor on emotion. It stands on God. We can be wrong with regard to what we think, and our emotions can change and be misleading. But God is secure. He's the only truly firm foundation on which we can build our lives. He is the vine; we are the branches.
I've needed to wrestle with this even over the last couple weeks. There are times in which I do not think that I should be in Oregon for the next three months. Surely my ministry would be more effective if I were in an environment that I was already more comfortable with, right? If I didn't have to go through all the steps of building all new relationships and learning a new town and learning to drive a new car. At other times, it certainly doesn't feel like I should be in Oregon either. I miss my friends and family, and how can I serve God when I have these negative emotions weighing me down? In the midst of these forces is when faith is needed most. I'm not in Oregon because it makes sense. And I'm not in Oregon because it necessarily feels like where I should be. I'm in Oregon because God loves it and has something for me to do here. And that's good enough for me.
One of my favorite Bible verses about faith is Romans 4:18. When speaking of God's promise to give the aging Abraham a son, Paul writes, "Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations." There was no reason for Abraham to reasonably think that he would gain a son. He and his wife were at the age for shuffleboard, not pregnancies. Abraham also couldn't have felt like he would have a son. He probably felt more like he should be drinking fiber and watching CSPAN. But because God said it would happen, Abraham believed; he had faith. His faith rests in God.
So where is your faith? Is it in the power of your mind? Or in the strength of your emotions? Or in the God who never fails us, who keeps his promises, and picks us up when we fall down, and who leads his sheep like a Good Shepherd?
Having been involved with church throughout my life, I've sat through many Bible lessons. Many of these lessons concern the topic of faith, and rightly so. Faith is one of the key concepts in the Christian life. Most of the time, whoever teaches the faith lesson will naturally ask, "So what is faith?" And one student will inevitably answer with the famous passage from Hebrews 11:1: "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." I can't really improve on that definition. The Bible tends to put things pretty well. I wonder, however, if there can be a big difference between being able to spout out a well-known verse on faith and really understanding faith. Because what I have been realizing is faith is something other than how I tend to think about it.
In the perceptions of many (including me, usually), there is a dichotomy between thought/reason/logic and feeling/emotion. When a person acts, they either do it based on what their mind tells them or what their heart tells them.
One danger to faith is overthinking. We don't always do a great job a jumping unless we see a safety net. A tendency can be to look at a situation and reason out the best course of action. If, logically, our decision will be successful, safe, and relatively predictable, then it is worthwhile. If, on the other hand, it doesn't make sense and seems irrational, we'll abstain. Unless, of course, we are acting on faith. In our minds, faith means abandoning what makes sense and what normally happens. Where does faith rest, then? In our emotions. Because if reason and emotion are different from one another, and if reason and faith are different from each other, then emotion and faith must be one in the same, right?
This sort of understanding of faith expresses itself in how we judge which people are "faithful." If a person steps out and does something that doesn't itself make much sense, and they say something like, "I just feel like this is what God wants me to do," we'll think, "Wow, that person just has so much faith." Acting on feelings and intuition is how we've often come to understand faith. A faithful person is one who does crazy things for God, not because they think that's what God wants them to do, but because they feel like that's what God wants.
I think this is a misunderstanding of faith, however. It is true that our faith should not be based on our reason or logic, because sometimes God works in ways that our beyond our finite understanding, and he calls us to walk roads that we may not be able to see clearly. At the same time, our faith should not be based on our feelings. God may want us to take actions that don't feel right. True faith stands neither on reason nor on emotion. It stands on God. We can be wrong with regard to what we think, and our emotions can change and be misleading. But God is secure. He's the only truly firm foundation on which we can build our lives. He is the vine; we are the branches.
I've needed to wrestle with this even over the last couple weeks. There are times in which I do not think that I should be in Oregon for the next three months. Surely my ministry would be more effective if I were in an environment that I was already more comfortable with, right? If I didn't have to go through all the steps of building all new relationships and learning a new town and learning to drive a new car. At other times, it certainly doesn't feel like I should be in Oregon either. I miss my friends and family, and how can I serve God when I have these negative emotions weighing me down? In the midst of these forces is when faith is needed most. I'm not in Oregon because it makes sense. And I'm not in Oregon because it necessarily feels like where I should be. I'm in Oregon because God loves it and has something for me to do here. And that's good enough for me.
One of my favorite Bible verses about faith is Romans 4:18. When speaking of God's promise to give the aging Abraham a son, Paul writes, "Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations." There was no reason for Abraham to reasonably think that he would gain a son. He and his wife were at the age for shuffleboard, not pregnancies. Abraham also couldn't have felt like he would have a son. He probably felt more like he should be drinking fiber and watching CSPAN. But because God said it would happen, Abraham believed; he had faith. His faith rests in God.
So where is your faith? Is it in the power of your mind? Or in the strength of your emotions? Or in the God who never fails us, who keeps his promises, and picks us up when we fall down, and who leads his sheep like a Good Shepherd?
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