Truth #1: I have a widescreen tv and a Blu-ray disc player, a stove and an oven and a dishwasher, a car that runs fairly dependably, a house to live in and groceries in my pantry; some pets, a family, fairly good health and a somewhat capable mind; a guitar, a piano, a Bose stereo, a computer, a sense of humor, a family physician, health insurance, life insurance, home-owners' insurance, books and bookcases, lamps and lightbulbs and eyeglasses; clothes and shoes, a few friends, memories, regrets, and worries and difficulties. I have goals and ambitions, successes, defeats, sadness and joy. I have it all.
Truth #2: All I have is Christ.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Why We Need the Puritans
Why should those seeking to develop a truly biblical counseling approach give special consideration to the Puritans? Because they were the first Protestant school of Biblical Counseling. J. I. Packer, who is most conversant with the writings of these men, puts it well:
". . . the Puritans . . . were strongest just where evangelical Christians today are weakest . . . Here were men of outstanding intellectual power, in whom the mental habits fostered by sober scholarship were linked with a flaming zeal for God and a minute acquaintance with the human heart."
Today’s biblical scholars don’t understand the human heart, Packer says, while our counselors don’t know the Scripture. But the Puritans were an entire generation of men who combined these two strengths. He goes on:
"The hollowness of our vaunted biblicism becomes apparent as again and again we put asunder things God has joined . . . we preach the gospel without the law, and faith without repentance . .. in dealing with the Christian experience we dwell constantly on joy, peace, happiness, satisfaction, and rest of soul with no balancing reference of the divine discontent of Romans 7, the fight of the faith of Psalm 73, or any of the burdens of responsibility and providential chastenings that fall to the lot of the child of God. . . they consult their pastor, and he perhaps has no better remedy than to refer them to a psychiatrist! Truly, we need help, and the Puritan tradition can give it."
(excerpt from an article by Tim Keller; read the rest here)
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Tuesday Text
I used to read this and be slightly troubled: “I write these things to you about those who are trying to deceive you. But the anointing that you received from him abides in you, and you have no need that anyone should teach you” (1 John 2:26, 27). What, John? How terribly uninformed of you. Surely you’re familiar with this: “And he gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:11-14). Hmph. No need of anyone to teach us, indeed.
My former, mild hmph-ing illustrates the need to grasp basic principles for interpreting Scripture, one of the primary ones being, of course, that Scripture interprets itself. Put another way, passages like that one in 1 John, passages that may seem confusing, are interpreted in light of very clear passages that speak to the same issue. Specifically, such New Testament thoughts as John's above often need the knowledge of pertinent Old Testament thought in order to be understood correctly. There is a very simple reason for that: New Testament writers are writing in light of Old Testament truth that they are intimately familiar with. They now understood what the Old Testament had been talking about all along, and so their writing often refers back to that older revelation. John's statement goes back to the prophet Jeremiah.
“Behold, the days are coming, declares the LORD, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, not like the covenant that I made with their fathers on the day when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt, my covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, declares the LORD. But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the LORD: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be my people. And no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the LORD,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the LORD. For I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more” (Jeremiah 31:31-34).
Thus, John and Jeremiah are both talking about the same thing--the power of the new covenant, of the new birth--by which the true knowledge of God is birthed in the heart of forgiven sinners. John’s language for this gracious act of God is "the anointing that you received from him abides in you." Jeremiah’s language is "I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts." Jeremiah’s vision of a future surety, the true knowledge of God, has become a reality for John and for those Jew and Gentile believers to whom he is writing. This kind of knowledge of God could never be taught; it is a gift of revelation from above. It will come to its full culmination in the new kingdom, when we behold him face to face ("And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God'" [Revelation 21:3; compare with Jeremiah 31:33] ).
(P.S.--I won’t even mention the terrible misuse and abuse the biblical meaning of “anointing” has received at the hands of the pseudo-“charismatics” and such. Sigh. That word, too, is rooted in Old Testament realities that inform New Testament usage, and a responsible study of it would go a long way toward correcting the silly statements about this and that speaker you hear tossed around.)
My former, mild hmph-ing illustrates the need to grasp basic principles for interpreting Scripture, one of the primary ones being, of course, that Scripture interprets itself. Put another way, passages like that one in 1 John, passages that may seem confusing, are interpreted in light of very clear passages that speak to the same issue. Specifically, such New Testament thoughts as John's above often need the knowledge of pertinent Old Testament thought in order to be understood correctly. There is a very simple reason for that: New Testament writers are writing in light of Old Testament truth that they are intimately familiar with. They now understood what the Old Testament had been talking about all along, and so their writing often refers back to that older revelation. John's statement goes back to the prophet Jeremiah.
“Behold, the days are coming, declares the LORD, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, not like the covenant that I made with their fathers on the day when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt, my covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, declares the LORD. But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the LORD: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be my people. And no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the LORD,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the LORD. For I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more” (Jeremiah 31:31-34).
Thus, John and Jeremiah are both talking about the same thing--the power of the new covenant, of the new birth--by which the true knowledge of God is birthed in the heart of forgiven sinners. John’s language for this gracious act of God is "the anointing that you received from him abides in you." Jeremiah’s language is "I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts." Jeremiah’s vision of a future surety, the true knowledge of God, has become a reality for John and for those Jew and Gentile believers to whom he is writing. This kind of knowledge of God could never be taught; it is a gift of revelation from above. It will come to its full culmination in the new kingdom, when we behold him face to face ("And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God'" [Revelation 21:3; compare with Jeremiah 31:33] ).
(P.S.--I won’t even mention the terrible misuse and abuse the biblical meaning of “anointing” has received at the hands of the pseudo-“charismatics” and such. Sigh. That word, too, is rooted in Old Testament realities that inform New Testament usage, and a responsible study of it would go a long way toward correcting the silly statements about this and that speaker you hear tossed around.)
Friday, August 13, 2010
Part 2 of The Azalea Chronicles
Part 2 of The Azalea Chronicles, in which I attempt to come through with the second part of what was purported to be a two-part post. There. And on to the topics at hand. How did my pruning attempts go; did I make any improvement in the looks of the front of our house; and most importantly of all, why is any of this worth blogging about? I shall attempt to answer.
As I mentioned in the previous post, I did pare down those azaleas, big time. To my daughters' horror, I lopped and cut and pruned them until they were mere shadows of their former selves. I sliced, diced and shredded (didn't mean to do that). I was a bit horrified myself as our lush, jungle-like azaleas were suddenly transformed into docile, mealy-mouthed bush sorts of things, but not even that--mostly just shy bare limbs of wood, with sprigs of green sticking out here and there just to show they were still alive. Here's a picture of the results.
Okay fine, this isn't me and these are not my azaleas. But the shocking denuding done to these is just the same shocking denuding that I did to mine. I just can't ever find my camera cord.
Now I understand that large, older shrubs like mine can be pretty much cut down to the nub, maybe six inches or so from the ground, and will come back just fine. I can't expect any blooms next spring--I lopped all those right off--but it should put out new growth, which I should definitely pay attention to in a timely manner so that the whole big overgrown thing doesn't happen again. So I may cut 'er down a little more, just to show 'er who's boss. And her children, too. (The several random trunks which surely were never planted on purpose). (Obviously I need to learn a bit more about botany or gardening.) The other tall shrub things are still just there, a little less tall, and maybe they need to be whacked down to 6 inches high as well, but I still need to consult a professional about all this. So all in all, it definitely looks different. Better? Don't know about that.
But here's the reason I'm even writing about all this on my blog. It's not because I'm looking to start posting gardening tips or lots of oh-so-humorous accounts of my day--no, the reason I wanted to write about it was because of the thought process that got started that day as I was whacking away at the azaleas. Any time I do any bit of gardening, which is usually just pulling a few weeds, the analogies start popping into my head and they are just so... analogous. Just so true and so helpful. So as I'm cutting severely away at this azalea, removing so much of it that it seemed I may end up killing the thing instead of improving it, I thought of John 15:1-8: "I am the true Vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch in me that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit."
So this is azalea, not grapes, and it's a matter of appearance, not fruit-bearing, so the analogy had to leave off what I was doing at some point. But still, I was imitating the work of a husbandman--taking away the branches that weren't pleasing to me, and didn't suit my desires. Mere aesthetic appearance, of course, is not nearly as important as a dead, fruitless branch. The silly problem of an azalea branch growing to the left when you need it to grow to the right is nothing compared to the seriousness of a branch apparently attached to the trunk, yet that just doesn't bear fruit. Something's really wrong with that branch, not just annoying. Something looks alive when really it's not. Something is proving by its lack of fruit that it's not really connected to the life of the vine.
And so here must come the Husbandman with his sharp blade. For this branch, the one described in John 15:1-8, it's not to prune, or to train back, or to improve an appearance. It's to remove. Perhaps he lifts up the branch once more, just to be sure. Perhaps he examines it one last time, searching in vain for the fruit that should be there. He is a long-suffering Husbandman and he is kind; he takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked. But alas, there is no fruit, just like last time, just like every time before, and the time has come for the inevitable. He wields the knife; the fruitless branch is severed from whatever attachment it bore to the vine; it falls to the ground with a thud, and there it lies withering until at last it is gathered up with the other fruitless branches, thrown into a pile, and burned. This is the end of all such branches who profess a life in the Vine, who boast of their capabilities but who bear only lots and lots of foliage and no real evidence of their union to their Lord. It is a tragic thing. "Abide [remain] in me," commands our Lord, the True Vine of Israel, to the disciples (minus Judas) who huddle near him at the end: "You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you" (John 15:16).
The Lord Jesus is not inviting the disciples to come hang out with him overnight. He's promising them that those who are in him in a regenerated way will bear fruit ("If you abide in me and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish and it will be done for you.") It's one of those many puzzling places in the Bible where we are commanded to do what we cannot do (think Jesus to Nicodemus, "You must be born again"). None of the disciples can manage by self-effort this kind of abiding; none of them can make themselves become attached to Jesus in a life-giving way, none of them can simply will fruit to pop out, none of them have any hope of asking whatever they wish for and having it happen. But Jesus can do it. He can give life; he can cause abiding, and growth and fruit; he can so transform their minds by his abiding word in them that their wish is his command.
Enough already; a long post, longer than people (according to statistics) are willing to read on a blog post, so if you've read this far, congratulations, you're not a statistic. I still didn't talk about a lot of other analogies I thought about as I pruned the azaleas, about how severe his pruning of the fruit-bearing boughs must sometimes be, about how it seems like some pruning could be the death of one yet. You draw those analogies. I'll just leave it at this--I think God wants his people to know a little something about gardening. And I think he wants us to see that he is the Husbandman who will do what is right; he is the Master Gardener of us all.
As I mentioned in the previous post, I did pare down those azaleas, big time. To my daughters' horror, I lopped and cut and pruned them until they were mere shadows of their former selves. I sliced, diced and shredded (didn't mean to do that). I was a bit horrified myself as our lush, jungle-like azaleas were suddenly transformed into docile, mealy-mouthed bush sorts of things, but not even that--mostly just shy bare limbs of wood, with sprigs of green sticking out here and there just to show they were still alive. Here's a picture of the results.
Okay fine, this isn't me and these are not my azaleas. But the shocking denuding done to these is just the same shocking denuding that I did to mine. I just can't ever find my camera cord.
Now I understand that large, older shrubs like mine can be pretty much cut down to the nub, maybe six inches or so from the ground, and will come back just fine. I can't expect any blooms next spring--I lopped all those right off--but it should put out new growth, which I should definitely pay attention to in a timely manner so that the whole big overgrown thing doesn't happen again. So I may cut 'er down a little more, just to show 'er who's boss. And her children, too. (The several random trunks which surely were never planted on purpose). (Obviously I need to learn a bit more about botany or gardening.) The other tall shrub things are still just there, a little less tall, and maybe they need to be whacked down to 6 inches high as well, but I still need to consult a professional about all this. So all in all, it definitely looks different. Better? Don't know about that.
But here's the reason I'm even writing about all this on my blog. It's not because I'm looking to start posting gardening tips or lots of oh-so-humorous accounts of my day--no, the reason I wanted to write about it was because of the thought process that got started that day as I was whacking away at the azaleas. Any time I do any bit of gardening, which is usually just pulling a few weeds, the analogies start popping into my head and they are just so... analogous. Just so true and so helpful. So as I'm cutting severely away at this azalea, removing so much of it that it seemed I may end up killing the thing instead of improving it, I thought of John 15:1-8: "I am the true Vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch in me that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit."
So this is azalea, not grapes, and it's a matter of appearance, not fruit-bearing, so the analogy had to leave off what I was doing at some point. But still, I was imitating the work of a husbandman--taking away the branches that weren't pleasing to me, and didn't suit my desires. Mere aesthetic appearance, of course, is not nearly as important as a dead, fruitless branch. The silly problem of an azalea branch growing to the left when you need it to grow to the right is nothing compared to the seriousness of a branch apparently attached to the trunk, yet that just doesn't bear fruit. Something's really wrong with that branch, not just annoying. Something looks alive when really it's not. Something is proving by its lack of fruit that it's not really connected to the life of the vine.
And so here must come the Husbandman with his sharp blade. For this branch, the one described in John 15:1-8, it's not to prune, or to train back, or to improve an appearance. It's to remove. Perhaps he lifts up the branch once more, just to be sure. Perhaps he examines it one last time, searching in vain for the fruit that should be there. He is a long-suffering Husbandman and he is kind; he takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked. But alas, there is no fruit, just like last time, just like every time before, and the time has come for the inevitable. He wields the knife; the fruitless branch is severed from whatever attachment it bore to the vine; it falls to the ground with a thud, and there it lies withering until at last it is gathered up with the other fruitless branches, thrown into a pile, and burned. This is the end of all such branches who profess a life in the Vine, who boast of their capabilities but who bear only lots and lots of foliage and no real evidence of their union to their Lord. It is a tragic thing. "Abide [remain] in me," commands our Lord, the True Vine of Israel, to the disciples (minus Judas) who huddle near him at the end: "You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you" (John 15:16).
The Lord Jesus is not inviting the disciples to come hang out with him overnight. He's promising them that those who are in him in a regenerated way will bear fruit ("If you abide in me and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish and it will be done for you.") It's one of those many puzzling places in the Bible where we are commanded to do what we cannot do (think Jesus to Nicodemus, "You must be born again"). None of the disciples can manage by self-effort this kind of abiding; none of them can make themselves become attached to Jesus in a life-giving way, none of them can simply will fruit to pop out, none of them have any hope of asking whatever they wish for and having it happen. But Jesus can do it. He can give life; he can cause abiding, and growth and fruit; he can so transform their minds by his abiding word in them that their wish is his command.
Enough already; a long post, longer than people (according to statistics) are willing to read on a blog post, so if you've read this far, congratulations, you're not a statistic. I still didn't talk about a lot of other analogies I thought about as I pruned the azaleas, about how severe his pruning of the fruit-bearing boughs must sometimes be, about how it seems like some pruning could be the death of one yet. You draw those analogies. I'll just leave it at this--I think God wants his people to know a little something about gardening. And I think he wants us to see that he is the Husbandman who will do what is right; he is the Master Gardener of us all.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Bible is Everything
"If we will not listen to the Bible we will listen to nothing, and if we will not be changed by [the Bible] we will be changed by nothing." (Quoting Alistair Begg, heard on the radio this morning commenting on Luke 16:19-21.)
"And he said, 'Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father's house— for I have five brothers—so that he may warn them, lest they also come into this place of torment.' But Abraham said, 'They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them.' And he said, 'No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, 'If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.'"
"And he said, 'Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father's house— for I have five brothers—so that he may warn them, lest they also come into this place of torment.' But Abraham said, 'They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them.' And he said, 'No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, 'If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.'"
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Part 1 of The Azalea Chronicles
We have an azalea plant that is trying to take over one side of our house. I wish I had a picture of how it looked, to show you that this is true, but I failed to take one earlier (and it is now too late, as you shall learn). However, here is a picture I found on Google that somewhat depicts the former state of our azalea here at the house.
That is a very pretty house, I think. And that large azalea looks much like ours did when it was in bloom this spring, including the whole covering up the windows thing, except theirs looks like it has at least been touched by pruning shears before.
In fact, all our foundational shrubs and hedges had gotten quite out of hand. They were all very large and quite intimidating to me. I'm not a gardener, though I love gardens and timidly like to wish I were one (a gardener, not a garden). The larger and shaggier our shrubs and hedges became the more I left them alone, looking the other way when I walked past, often even whistling to keep my nerve up. It became ridiculous and something had to be done. Well look here, you can see for yourself. See these beautiful young ladies, who just happen to be some of my nieces and soon-to-be-niece (I think; when are you guys ever going to set a date?) but anyway, look just past them, over their heads, and you'll see who I'm talking about.
The Towering shrubs and hedges. They're much taller than foundational shrubs and hedges ever should be.
So finally, about four days ago, I just snapped. Into action, and I said, this is it. I'm taking down those towering monstrosities and especially that insane azalea (it looked, by then, like some snaggle-toothed monster because I had sheared the section that was covering my bay window but left the other half looming and veering crazily skyward).
I had bought an electric hedge trimmer about two months ago but did not have the nerve to get it out of the box. David my husband, Protector and friend was home and with me on this project, so he did the honors, and also made a trip to Lowes for a shovel, some loppers, some potting soil and a new rake (because our plan wasn't just to destroy and remove but to beautify and add, as well).
(This is just a shot of me as I wish I looked in my garden. I've just been wanting to use this picture for something. But back to the real project.)
I did not know what I was getting into. Had I known, I would surely have hesitated; I might even have called the whole thing off. I did, in the middle of the project, make a desperate phone call to the lady at Ace Hardware who is a horticulturist and has helped me with plants before. I got her voice mail and tried to sound nonchalant, asking her "just to call me when she got a minute" and I'd like to "hire her to come by sometime and help me identify some shrubs and give me some advice on how to prune them" and stuff like that. I really wanted to scream "Come to my house right now!!! Where are you? You have about two minutes to call me back or so help me..." But I didn't. And she never did call me back, anyway.
So, you're probably ready for me to get on with some descriptions that would explain all this... melodrama, and I'm anxious to, believe me, but this post has been long enough, so I'll call it Part 1, and the next post I will call Part 2, In Which I Begin to Hack Away at the Azalea. Then you'll see more what I'm talking about (just like I did). So stay tuned.
That is a very pretty house, I think. And that large azalea looks much like ours did when it was in bloom this spring, including the whole covering up the windows thing, except theirs looks like it has at least been touched by pruning shears before.
In fact, all our foundational shrubs and hedges had gotten quite out of hand. They were all very large and quite intimidating to me. I'm not a gardener, though I love gardens and timidly like to wish I were one (a gardener, not a garden). The larger and shaggier our shrubs and hedges became the more I left them alone, looking the other way when I walked past, often even whistling to keep my nerve up. It became ridiculous and something had to be done. Well look here, you can see for yourself. See these beautiful young ladies, who just happen to be some of my nieces and soon-to-be-niece (I think; when are you guys ever going to set a date?) but anyway, look just past them, over their heads, and you'll see who I'm talking about.
The Towering shrubs and hedges. They're much taller than foundational shrubs and hedges ever should be.
So finally, about four days ago, I just snapped. Into action, and I said, this is it. I'm taking down those towering monstrosities and especially that insane azalea (it looked, by then, like some snaggle-toothed monster because I had sheared the section that was covering my bay window but left the other half looming and veering crazily skyward).
I had bought an electric hedge trimmer about two months ago but did not have the nerve to get it out of the box. David my husband, Protector and friend was home and with me on this project, so he did the honors, and also made a trip to Lowes for a shovel, some loppers, some potting soil and a new rake (because our plan wasn't just to destroy and remove but to beautify and add, as well).
(This is just a shot of me as I wish I looked in my garden. I've just been wanting to use this picture for something. But back to the real project.)
I did not know what I was getting into. Had I known, I would surely have hesitated; I might even have called the whole thing off. I did, in the middle of the project, make a desperate phone call to the lady at Ace Hardware who is a horticulturist and has helped me with plants before. I got her voice mail and tried to sound nonchalant, asking her "just to call me when she got a minute" and I'd like to "hire her to come by sometime and help me identify some shrubs and give me some advice on how to prune them" and stuff like that. I really wanted to scream "Come to my house right now!!! Where are you? You have about two minutes to call me back or so help me..." But I didn't. And she never did call me back, anyway.
So, you're probably ready for me to get on with some descriptions that would explain all this... melodrama, and I'm anxious to, believe me, but this post has been long enough, so I'll call it Part 1, and the next post I will call Part 2, In Which I Begin to Hack Away at the Azalea. Then you'll see more what I'm talking about (just like I did). So stay tuned.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Various Thoughts, Ruminations and Hopefully Non-Platitudes
Just some completely random thoughts today:
I so like and appreciate Tim Challies. I don't know another internet writer/presence/person with more to offer and a sweeter, humbler soul than him. And besides that, it's fascinating to see how his career has come along in the seven or so years I've been reading (and listening to) him.
Relationships are hard, at home and in the church. We have to love each other. (It's different in the workplace; certain things are required of us there, but not like with family.) We can't run away. We're called to speak the truth in love (Ephesians 4:10-16) to each other when everything in us wants to ignore, pout, quietly leave, rail against. We're called to press in tighter when the going gets rough. It's contrary to our flesh, our society and our desires. It is the way of the Cross.
John Calvin is cool and helpful. I have a booklet entitled "Golden Booklet of the True Christian Life" which is simply Chapter Six of Book III of his "Institutes." That little book talks about things like those mentioned above: the true Christian walk and calling of a disciple (as opposed to the grandiose and silly things we sometimes like to make it). We're called to self-denial, he explains; but beyond that, we're called to take up our Cross and follow the Lord Jesus. Cross-bearing, Calvin says, is more difficult than self-denial.
I appreciate my family. I feel so inadequate in my efforts for them. I either over-do or under-do; my weakness and stumbling in this become more apparent to me everyday. "For we all stumble in many ways." It makes me (after I remember to think about it) more consciously dependent on, and earnestly desirous of God's mercy for them, for us all. In the end, all our best efforts will be seen to have been far short of the perfection required in order to accomplish the great tasks we've been given (loving our husbands and children, being a Proverbs 31 lady, etc.) But what will be seen is the perfect accomplishment of our Lord and Savior in his sinless and perfect obedience, including his death on the Cross. In his resurrection, we are made to share in his very own perfection, righteousness and glory. What a thought; what a hope! It spurs me on to renewed effort and willingness to die to myself daily and finish well the race set before me.
Well, those are some of my thoughts for the day. Be blessed in your day.
I so like and appreciate Tim Challies. I don't know another internet writer/presence/person with more to offer and a sweeter, humbler soul than him. And besides that, it's fascinating to see how his career has come along in the seven or so years I've been reading (and listening to) him.
Relationships are hard, at home and in the church. We have to love each other. (It's different in the workplace; certain things are required of us there, but not like with family.) We can't run away. We're called to speak the truth in love (Ephesians 4:10-16) to each other when everything in us wants to ignore, pout, quietly leave, rail against. We're called to press in tighter when the going gets rough. It's contrary to our flesh, our society and our desires. It is the way of the Cross.
John Calvin is cool and helpful. I have a booklet entitled "Golden Booklet of the True Christian Life" which is simply Chapter Six of Book III of his "Institutes." That little book talks about things like those mentioned above: the true Christian walk and calling of a disciple (as opposed to the grandiose and silly things we sometimes like to make it). We're called to self-denial, he explains; but beyond that, we're called to take up our Cross and follow the Lord Jesus. Cross-bearing, Calvin says, is more difficult than self-denial.
I appreciate my family. I feel so inadequate in my efforts for them. I either over-do or under-do; my weakness and stumbling in this become more apparent to me everyday. "For we all stumble in many ways." It makes me (after I remember to think about it) more consciously dependent on, and earnestly desirous of God's mercy for them, for us all. In the end, all our best efforts will be seen to have been far short of the perfection required in order to accomplish the great tasks we've been given (loving our husbands and children, being a Proverbs 31 lady, etc.) But what will be seen is the perfect accomplishment of our Lord and Savior in his sinless and perfect obedience, including his death on the Cross. In his resurrection, we are made to share in his very own perfection, righteousness and glory. What a thought; what a hope! It spurs me on to renewed effort and willingness to die to myself daily and finish well the race set before me.
Well, those are some of my thoughts for the day. Be blessed in your day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)