Christ-centered Sanctification

This week’s reading in one our classes found me thirsty and left me quenched. One quote that I highlighted was “The foundation of sanctification is rooted not in humanity and their achievement of holiness, but in what God has done in Christ, and for us in union with Him.” The author, Sinclair Ferguson, depicts Christ as “our source and our model” for holiness. Not only do we find in Him our identity (righteous and free) but also we find in Him our blueprint for living (imitator and glorifier).

Ferguson’s depiction specifically of union with Christ I thought incredibly helpful in understanding holy living. Everything about who I am as a Christ-follower is defined by Jesus Himself. I have lived a perfect life - because He has. I have victory over death and sin - because He has. I no longer carry the weight and burden of guilt for my sin - because He has. All that I have, I have from Christ. All that I am, I am only through Christ. All that I will be, I will be in Christ. I am a free man “who has been brought from death to life” and the life that is lived within me is no longer mine but Christ’s.

The freedom, from not only death and sin, but from the slavery of having to accomplish holiness on my own is a liberating one. My moralistic, ‘good boy’ complex can sometimes plague and paralyze me. Christian culture, which unfortunately sometimes reinforces my misguided attempts toward holiness, weighs me down with inaccurate measures of what the standard of holiness is supposed to be. This week’s reading reminds me that the standard of holiness is Christ Himself. My responsibility to holy living, and how I view myself, is now not only as a sinner deserving of death but also a new creation living in grateful response for the life I have in Him.

A Missing Piece

I have never had a problem understanding or relating to passages of Scripture in which people whether it be Isaiah, John the Baptist, Peter or Paul remark of themselves in light of who God is. Some loose paraphrases: Woe is me, for in comparison to Your holiness, what comes out of my mouth is painfully messy. I am not worthy to even attempt to mess with the sandals that God-man is wearing. Don't look at me, LORD, You're just too good and I'm crazy messed-up. Sign me up as the leader of the mess, the chief of sinners.

Grace is so incredibly amazing when we see ourselves accurately in light of who God is because it cultivates in us humility partnered with gratitude where we can finally begin to look our Maker in the eye and respond to His offer with "Thank you for loving this mess."

But a problem I have experienced over time was the ability to grasp whether God would ever be able to actually use this mess. Continuous second guessing of abilities and giftedness, the ticker at the bottom of my brain displaying all of the mess in my life that should disqualify me from being used by God and the paralytic force that comparison to others has in keeping me off of the field of play. How could God use me?

But in my reading this week, I was given a glimpse into what I would consider to be a beautiful response to this question - it's about empowering grace. It was if God was saying "I am best able to use you when you are most able to need Me." Looking back over my life, specifically in ministry, the times in which I most experienced the fulfillment and satisfaction of being used by God were those times in which I acknowledged myself to be completely unqualified and utterly dependent. When I knew I brought nothing, in and of myself, to the table and surrendered myself fully and desperately, to the work of His grace. I want grace not only to generate a response of humble gratitude toward Him but propel me to live everyday in ridiculous dependence on Him. This is the power of the Gospel...

And He has said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong. (2Co 12:9-10)

He Giveth More Grace

Not my own words but echoed in my utterly dependent heart...

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater
He sendeth more grace when the labours increase
To added afflictions, He addeth His mercy
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace

When we have exhausted our store of endurance
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources
Our Father's full giving is only begun

His love has no limits, His grace has no measure
His power has no boundary known unto men
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.

Annie Johnson Flint - He Giveth More Grace

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
2 Cor 12:9

A Heavenly Welfare System

We're reading a book in one of our classes called "Transforming Grace - Living Confidently in God's Unfailing Love." In one of the chapters he highlights a ‘token economy’ metaphor to underscore our limited view of God’s grace: what I do becomes what I earn. Or in our relationship with our Father: what God gives is in response to what I’ve done. He says that when we mix God’s generosity with our efforts, not only do we become frustrated with our own performance, but we also become hesitant to ask God to intervene and help us when we actually need him.

I went into this section of the book hoping to find some practical answers to how to experience God’s grace. I most certainly found practical but not comfortable. I don’t want to live, as the book puts it “by a heavenly welfare system.” I fight it. It’s humiliating. It’s desperate. It’s dependent. I want to have my spiritual savings account in which I can deposit spiritual acts of kindness, service, worship and, when things get tough, can draw upon it when I really, truly need it. But grace reminds us that we have nothing good to deposit and only Christ from Whom to withdraw.

Even in writing this, I feel myself fighting this notion. It reminds me of one of the practical struggles of being in seminary. My family is now on Medicaid and I don’t like it. I don’t want to receive a ‘hand-out.’ I don’t want to burden an already-broken, in-the-reddest-of-reds government system. But we need it. Without it, we would incur so much debt through a c-section than I could probably ever pay for in ministry. I do the same in my prayer life. I fight asking God for help and unfortunately make Him into an over-burdened entity. But He loves to give good gifts to His children. This experience of grace, daily grace, something God loves to pour out through Christ, is so hard to understand but so freeing to live within. I want to stop fighting it. He sees my debt, daily, and declares it paid in full through Christ. So I can approach Him with confidence and humility saying:

Father,
I need you AGAIN. Send grace.
Your ever-dependent and grateful son,
Chad

Proper Motivation

A quote stood out to me today from our introduction to preaching course that I thought powerful and convicting enough to share. It's one of those concepts that I've wrestled with over the past few years. Reading the book, "The Prodigal God" stressed a very similar notion that I think rarely gets addressed because I believe we're rarely honest enough to admit it:

"The right things done for the wrong reasons are wrong."

I find myself wanting to qualify the phrase a little in order to make it less convicting. How can you make a blanket statement that its wrong to do the right things? What about those times when we have mixed motives and do something out of obedience rather than out of joy? The more I read the story of the prodigal elder brother, the more I see the truth in this statement. His goal was to do the right thing - to maintain his father's property, to be dutiful in everything as a son, to not sway to the right or to the left or even step near the path that his younger brother was taking. But his motive (and the motive of every Pharisee like me that ever lived) was not one of gratitude and expression of love for his father. It was one of manipulation. If I'm good...then God will... Keller states it like this - "wanting the Father's things and not the Father."

Thankfully, in God's grace, He sees our hidden motives and oftentimes works in spite of them. He sees that there is a part of me that wants to pursue seminary to 'know more of the Father's things' and He reminds me that relationship, truly knowing a person, has just as much to do with the heart as it does the mind. Knowing the importance of trusting God will remain a concept until the rent is due and there's $50 in the account. Believing that God is good in difficulty is theoretical until someone you love is tragically taken from you. That's why David's prayer for God to search and know His heart involves finding those wrong motives and correcting them.

Search me, O God and know my heart. See if there is any wicked way in me and lead me in the way everlasting.

The Call and the Fall

Part of our reading this week had to do with distortions that can arise when we are following God’s call on our lives. Pride, the temptation to believe that we are responsible for our gifting, and envy, the temptation to evaluate and compare giftings, are as core to us in our fallenness as seeds are to fruit. Human achievement (look what I can do) and human audience (see what I can do) influence us to places of pride in our calling. Inordinate desire (I find meaning in what I do) and competition (I can do it best) can corrupt our motivations in how we carry out our calling.

There is probably no sin, in following our call, that is better ‘masked’ than pride and envy. We learn over time how to disguise our motivations to be noticed by wearing false humility and spouting ‘glory to God’ phrases while internally giving ourselves the glory and fantasizing about how far our gifts will take us. We develop abilities to find prominence and position by evaluating our passion and our giftedness in the pale light of where it ranks in the bell-shaped curve of ministry effectiveness or theological intelligence.

I speak so strongly on it because I’m so guilty of it. It is a daily dependence on God’s grace to scour the prideful and envious recesses of my heart. As a musician, most of my learning of how to hone my gifts had to do with other’s evaluation of me or what rank I received in competitions. While there’s nothing wrong, in itself, with evaluation or competition, what goes on within my heart is what needs daily guarding: a posture of humility. I pray for God’s constant intercession to remind me He alone is the source of all giftedness and the One to whom all glory and credit and praise and honor is due. I am the instrument. He is the composer of the song, the maker and player of the instrument and ultimately, the audience.

Recovering Idealist

Today - Saturday. A day off from classes and a morning scheduled to run with a new friend around Forest Park, the Central Park of St. Louis. We spent about an hour running and attempting, through labored breathing, to talk stories and histories. We talked about how we share a similar leaning in our personalities, a leaning that can often be a blessing but more often than not can be a curse: we're idealists.

Idealism on the surface sounds pretty good. By definition (and I'm selecting one of many) is the practice of forming ideals and living under them. Creating in my mind the 'best case scenario' for something. The problem comes when the 'best case' becomes at best the 'mediocre case scenario.' When living under what you hoped for becomes less than hoped for. Whether it be in a relationship, work, church, seminary, I have the tendency, as I think many of us do, to create ideals and then subsequently become disappointed or frustrated when my creation becomes tarnished by the realities of living in a sin-laden world.

This tension between ideal and real is so often the tension I live in with regard to my walk with God, with my family, with seminary. I paint ideals of who He 'should' be and I'm reminded later that His ways are higher than my ways. I create pictures of who I want to be as a husband or father or brother or son and two minutes later find myself wanting to delete what just came out of my mouth. I think learning Biblical Greek will be such a mountaintop experience to be able to, on my own, translate the Holy Word of God and then in Chapter 10 of my Greek Primer exercises find myself fumbling and stumbling through what the word for 'is' is.

What it all comes down to ultimately is that the ideal has been, is and always will be Jesus. There's nothing and no one better. He will never fail apart or fall short of ideal. He never changes. And even when I do or my illusions of best case scenarios do, He offers grace. Grace to say, "I am the ideal, the perfect plan, and it was part of this perfect plan to take the fall for imperfect, sinful, pessimistic people."

God is the perfect idealist. His plans and pictures of what is best never fail. I don't want to be an idealist anymore. I want Him to be.

Play-doh and Plato

In his chapter on the global and practical nature of calling (“Everyone, everywhere, everything” in the book "The Call"), Os Guinness highlights a distortion that occurs in our day to day lives - the chasm that occurs when we separate the holy from the daily, thereby creating a ‘double standard’ in faith. What was created was a two-tiered way of living, one way in the ‘perfect’ or holy way of life and the other in the ‘permitted’ and more mundane tasks of life. He argues that ‘sadly, this view of calling flagrantly perverted biblical teaching by narrowing the sphere of calling and excluding most Christians from its scope.”

Can I get an Amen? Not merely because we can all probably point to experiences and circumstances in which this dualism has played out in the church but because we can all probably point to situations in our own lives in which this dualism has paralyzed or frustrated us. As a parent of a two year old, when this distortion begins to take root in my relationship with him, I begin to view my role as ‘father’ taking a backseat to my role as ‘pastor.’ Giving him a bath becomes a task that delays me from ‘bathing’ in the lofty spiritual pursuit of refining my theology. And when more of the responsibilities of parenting weigh on me, I find myself sometimes feeling ‘bogged down and delayed’ rather than ‘invited’ to participate in something equally holy.

In this pursuit of ‘calling’ in ministry, I pray that God would continue to remind me and call me back to a universal way of holy living, the kind of living that finds fulfillment and purpose in living meaningfully between Play-Doh and Plato, between tricycles and in the Trinity, between reading “Once upon a Potty” and “In the Beginning, God” I fight the dualism everyday and I pray, as Guinness highlights, that I would be better off to blur the distinctions and see both as purposeful.

Jesus, come in.

I'm wrestling with how to actively participate in this formal pursuit of God called seminary. Everyday I'm confronted with what feels like a crossroads where two questions are asked, two signs are posted: This way for knowledge about God ----> This way for participation with God <----.

In the first option, I'm the one basically in charge. I decide what comes in and what goes out. I decide what to spend my energy on and what gets shelved. I choose the questions that get asked and I come up with the answers that 'fit' what I want my theology to look like. And I do this all of the time already in my devotions. I attempt to scale down large, epic narratives in Scripture to my own little backyard playground. I attempt to confine attributes like "holy" and "sovereign" to abstract concepts that prove my faith to be the right one. And the further I head down this road, the more God becomes an acquaintance, someone I know by association, but not someone I know by experience.

But the second option has a different scenery altogether. When I let Him do the narrating, do the telling of the story, do the asking of the questions, I find myself instead the one not doing the inviting but rather the one who was invited. Invited to step into the large, epic narrative and stand in wonder and awe at Who He is and what He's done. "Holy" and "sovereign" become attributes to be celebrated and marveled. The very thought of even being invited into such a marvelous and breathtaking story is completely humbling.

I'm beginning to understand Emmanuel - God with Us in light of all this. I just read an example of this in a reading today on "knowing" God. It's one thing to talk about a person who is not in the room. We control the conversation. But when the person enters the room, our conversation has to change. We can no longer speak in the abstract about the person. He has to be part of the discussion. When Jesus came to earth and contained Himself into His own creation, the storyline took a remarkable turn. He was now here demonstrating to us who He was. No more speculation, no more wondering what He might look like. Here He was. God with us.

My prayer is that Jesus would, everyday, enter into this conversation of seminary. And not just seminary, but anywhere I go. Come in, Jesus. Inhabit. Lead the discussion. Ask the questions. Teach me what it is to know You. And LORD, everyday, may I stand in awe and wonder at the opportunity to be invited to participate.

Who's the main character of my story?

We've been spending some time in our theology course talking about the idea of 'story' as it relates to theology and knowledge. And something that has been standing out to me over these discussions has been the professors' emphasis on contrasting individualism (it's all about me) with corporate identity (it's all about us).

I seem them fighting a hard fight between what the Bible says our stories are about and what our culture says we're about. One professor, as an example, highlighted how our generation approaches the Word of God. Do I come to it looking for little energy drinks of inspiration to get me through my day? Do I see it as my ammo for proving my theology or way of thinking? Do I see it as the manual "How to get into heaven - a 2000 page step by step approach." He highlighted that in each of these examples, the central focus in our motivation is ultimately and unfortunately on us.

And over the past several years, I know God has already begun writing this new chapter in my life by making louder the question - Who is this story of your life about, Chad? He invites us to be a part of the bigger story, the story of redemption rather than leave the story centered on one broken man who found a fix. This doesn't discount personal and individual salvation but it should welcome us to participate in a wedding feast that involves a groom, the Son of Man, and the bride, His church.

When it ends with me, and in my thinking and living, unfortunately, it often does, the story might be entertaining or dramatic for a time but after a short amount of time will be completely forgettable. When it ends with Him, and His glory, and His ultimate plan to use His people to shine His light all over this darkness, we receive the joy of being part of something so much grander, so much larger, so much better, so much more memorable.

I recall some lines I wrote a few years ago when God began to change the course of this story for me:
Every page and every line
Everyone was made to find
Every day a grand design...

The only One, the only God
The only place to find true love
The only hope beyond this life

We were made to wear His glory
We were made to tell His story

We all are monuments
Living our days to display You
To show all the world its about You, around You
Beginning and middle and end

We all are testaments
To make Your name known to all nations
To tell of Your Son and His story, Your glory
He died and then rose again

We all are monuments, testaments, tapestries, open books
Write Your story on our hearts.

I don't know much...

As I was getting out of my car returning from school, I had one of those out of body experiences. You know the ones I'm talking about. When you've reached the point of absurd and you finally step back to actually realize it. I was sounding as close to Aaron Neville as a thin, white 37 year old can sound singing the line "I don't know much, but I know I love you..." At first, I didn't know where the line or the song originated because I didn't have the radio on (and if I did I would hope it would not be tuned to a station that would regularly spin this song) but then, after laughing at how ridiculous I was, realized that it actually followed a line of thinking on the drive home. I've realized how little I know. Little I know about language, little I know about theology, little I know about much of anything. But I know I love God. I know I love His mercy. I know I love His perfect and sovereign plan for the world and for my life. I know I love and cherish the forgiveness that was extended to a sinner like me. I know I love the dependent fact that without Him, I would not exist. I really don't know much, but I know I love Him...and join with me in finishing the rest of the chorus (don't pretend you don't know it) - 'and that may be all I need to know.'

There's more to learn, most definitely. But ultimately, my prayer in this whole journey is that what is learned, what fills this brain and heart of mine, leads me to love Him even more deeply.

It's does make one iota of a difference...

I have class tonight but today spent some time interacting with some of our assigned readings. I thought this story was of particular interest. As I've been learning the greek alphabet I always laugh at the letter "i - (iota)." Not because it's pronounced like the name of that cute little green source of wisdom from the Stars Wars movies but because the phrase that always pops in my head is "This doesn't make one iota of a difference." And today, my reading reminded me where that phrase originates and how my thinking on that little letter has changed...I'll try and summarize the reading up to save time and space while hopefully maintain its accuracy:

In the early church (around 325 AD) the hottest debate was whether Jesus was merely man or God/man. The key terms in both camps were the greek words homoousios and homoiousios. The first means basically 'the same' and the second one means 'similar'. One letter (the iota) in the Greek makes the world of difference between Jesus as merely man and Jesus as the Son of God. The argument in the article I was reading was about some people's assertion that doctrine has the potential to divide people. And one man's assertion (Athanasius of Alexandria) that one iota DID indeed matter was absolutely divisive (He was seen as a "hairsplitting fundamentalist") but ultimately essential.

So the next time that phrase comes into my brain, I will certainly remember that it DOES make one iota of a difference.

What are you for?

Today was convocation and what felt like a very monumental time for us newbies. Within the service, we all stood and he reminded us of our calling, our commission and our commitment to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I don't know what lately has been going on in me but I've been a tearful mess more often than not. Joyful tears when I think of the love of Christ, humble tears when I think of what He's saved me from, and expectant tears, when I think of how each one of us He uses. What a tremendous honor to serve the King.

A couple of thoughts that stand out to me from today:
1. The reminder that the Gospel is at work in us and through us but it is never dependent on us. We all fall into the temptation to ride on our gifts and abilities slowly beginning to believe that we are responsible for God's work. But then we screw up. He stressed the question: "Where are you going to go when (not if) you sin?" The need for a Savior is vital to a ministry's success. He alluded to a time when Martin Luther was encouraging a friend of his who had failed some of his congregation members. I'm paraphrasing but Luther's response was something along the lines of "Do not for a second believe that you are not a hard-boiled sinner." But always in partnership with that thought is the mercy and compassion of our Savior, who knows how we've failed and embraces us in the work of Christ. More tears.

2. My first theology course was a pleasant surprise. One major nugget that came of this morning was this:

"Don’t tell people what you’re against, tell them what you are for."

The tendency in learning theology is to see it as a platform for argument and division. I loved his perspective of telling people what you believe rather than taking apart what someone else believes. Our tendency as human beings and as Christians is to 'cast out' those who may hold a contrary belief and declare them 'wrong.' And sure there may be justification to declare someone's thinking as 'wrong' but instead of staying there, focus on communicating to them what it is we believe. What it is we love. And why it is we love it.

First Day of School (and Blog)

If I'm going to get anything done and eventually post anything about this experience of seminary, without getting tangled up in all of the pressures to be clever or witty, I have to make a conscious effort to write without any kind of audience in mind.  So that being said, if Chad is the only one to ever read this blog, than he definitely will succeed in reaching his audience.  

Today was the first day of school.  The typical pictures of yellow school busses, Snoopy lunchboxes and mandatory pictures in front of the house need to be replaced with me riding my motorcycle to class, saving money by eating at home after class and receiving my less-than-flattering student ID picture.  

Beginning Greek was the first order of business today.  The professor reminded us of something that has been a theme over the past week through orientation.  This learning doesn't end with you.  Every labor, every work of memorization, every alpha to omega of this process is about being equipped to equip.  

We learned the alphabet today:

All babies get diarrhea eventually.  Zorro ate the ice caps.  Let's munch nuts excessively, okay?  Pigs really smell terrible.  Under five chairs, psychologists wink.  (our first quiz is tomorrow).  

Learning my own deficiencies in knowing languages, even the english language.  See?  I even started that sentence without a subject.  Chad is learning his own deficiencies in knowing languages. 

Second order of business was Preparation and Delivery of Sermons.  Some gleanings that I know will stay with me were the humility that is necessary in order to preach as well as the power of God's word, not the preacher, through the Holy Spirit, to do the work of change in a person's heart.  A couple of quotes that came of it:

I have often lifted up my hands in astonishment and said “how can God bless such feeble instrumentality?” Charles Spurgeon

"The meaning of the passage is the message of the sermon.   The truth of the passage is the message of the preaching.  The authority of the author is the authority of the preacher.  The power of the Word becomes the privilege of the preacher."

This whole morning really was an exercise in humility.  I know I don't deserve to be here, to be taught and shepherded by some great and wise people.  But God has given the blessing and I am completely grateful.  I left this class reminded of the awesome privilege of being God's son and the awesome responsibility of serving as one of His instruments.