A Life of Last Days

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Every day, I see pictures of two men whose influence has outlived their time on earth. At my desk, I reread the laminated life story framing Steve’s face, on the 4×6 card prepared for family and friends at his funeral last year. Every time I get into my car, I see Nick’s picture that I folded and tore from the program at his memorial service last year.

Every day, I see their faces and remember something really important. I’ve kept thinking, “I really should write about this…”

And this week, I can’t get away from it. Tonight, I added another picture beside Nick’s. Silas, a nineteen-year-old, a son-brother-uncle-friend, was buried today.

What do Steve, Nick, and Silas teach me? In three different ways, the same thing: life is short, and every day could be my last.

I remember talking with Steve’s son after his funeral. “Any regrets about the days leading up to Dad going into the hospital? Anything you feel like you missed?” After battling long with cancer, beating cancer, and suffering cancer’s return, Steve had gone to the hospital with concerning symptoms. But nobody expected the hospital stay to end the way it did. Steve went to sleep, and three days later, God took him.

There were no cognizant last moments. Steve didn’t get the chance to formulate the last words he’d want his family to hear before he was gone. Did they miss that?

“No, not really,” Jordan shook his head and smiled a little. “If Dad had known that his last words were going to be his last words, he would have just said the same things he already said. He told Mom, ‘I trust the Lord with my soul – how much more can I trust Him to care for my family?’ He was constantly telling us that he loved us, that God is sovereign, that he was at peace trusting the Lord.”

Steve didn’t know those words would be his last. And yet…if he had, he would have said exactly what he did. He spoke a legacy of last words.

I remember sitting at Nick’s memorial service a few days after Steve’s funeral. Though we both studied on the same campus, I never met Nick. But when a student dies, it seems right for the student body to gather and collectively honor the Lord in lament and worship. So I went.

Pastors, parents, sisters, fiancée, friends – everyone who spoke at the service said the same things. Nick was a godly young man who pleased the Lord, honored his authorities, welcomed outsiders, and loved his friends, family, and fiancée well. His character was above reproach, blameless. He was passionate for the kingdom and its advance in his home country of Canada.

Nick’s death was inexplicable. He had gone to a park with his fiancée, sister, and friends, and collapsed. All medical interventions couldn’t bring him back. He was young and healthy. Why…?

Nick got up that morning with no idea that was the last day of his earthly race. And yet…if he had, I imagine he would have done exactly what he did. He went to classes to prepare for ministry. He loved the people around him. He walked with God. And then God took him.

So this week, here we are again. Silas got up on a Saturday morning with no knowledge that was his last day. And yet…if he had, I imagine he would have done exactly what he did. He brought joy to his sisters by his words and acts of service. He spent time with the people he cared about, who cared about him. And then God took him.

Each man lived a life of last days.

Life really is a vapor. We never know which day will be our last.

When a believer dies, we have a sure hope that we will be reunited in resurrection…but it still hurts. “Where, O death, is thy sting?” will be a rhetorical question in the future, when Jesus swallows up death in victory. Right now, it’s a real question with a real answer.

“Where is your sting, Death?”

It’s right here. It’s in that casket, it’s beside that grave, it’s in the tears of the saints who remain when one departs. We know his soul is with the Lord, but we grieve the loss of the beloved’s words and living presence with us. That’s what we lose at death.

So if I believe that my life is in the hand of the Lord, and I am not promised another moment past this one, what would I want my last day to be? How do I know if I am faithfully stewarding the time God gives me for His kingdom’s cause?

If at death I lose the opportunity to love people with words and presence, then every day I live should maximize opportunities to do those things. Every morning, I aspire to ask…

How can I speak words today that will encourage? How can I speak love to my neighbors? What should I write that might build up a brother’s faith? What saint should get a letter, email, text from me?

How can I use physical presence to bless people today? Whom can I be with? Who may need a hug, a hand on the shoulder, a smile? Whom will God put in front of me that just needs to be seen?

And at the end of the day, I want to go to sleep trusting my soul to the Lord, with a clear conscience. If I wake up in His presence, which would certainly be far better, I want that day to have been a faithful investment in the kingdom. May I speak every word as if it would be my last, and live a life of last days, for the glory of the King.

Peace in Christ

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I know, starting with a super-long quotation is not the best writing strategy. And I know, I tend to skip reading the quoted Bible verses too. Resist the urge to skim, and savor this text:

“Wherefore remember, that ye being in time past Gentiles in the flesh, who are called Uncircumcision by that which is called the Circumcision in the flesh made by hands; That at that time ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in the world: But now in Christ Jesus ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ.

“For he is our peace, who hath made both one, and hath broken down the middle wall of partition between us; Having abolished in his flesh the enmity, even the law of commandments contained in ordinances; for to make in himself of twain one new man, so making peace; And that he might reconcile both unto God in one body by the cross, having slain the enmity thereby: And came and preached peace to you which were afar off, and to them that were nigh. For through him we both have access by one Spirit unto the Father.

“Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God; And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone; In whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord: In whom ye also are builded together for an habitation of God through the Spirit.” (Ephesians 2:11-22)

Aliens. Strangers. Hopeless. Godless. These are the words Paul used to describe anyone who was not a Jew. We had no provision to relate with God in any degree, utterly estranged in destitution. We had no divine law except what was written in our hearts, no revelation except what we saw in nature, no promises extended whatsoever. We had no words from God providing us with clarity of what He expected from us, and we had no chance of fulfilling His requirements. Peace with God? Peace with other people? No way.

And then there were the Jews. They had been given covenants of promise. These were the chosen of God: the people to whom He had revealed His law amid thunder and lightning on the holy mountain. They had His words, spoken through the mouths of prophets and seers. They knew precisely what He expected. They had peace with God, right?

Wrong. Revelation from God does not equal peace with God. And revelation from God did not produce peace with people “not like us.”

When Christ came, He had to break down the wall separating Jew from Gentile, to abolish the enmity germinated by the law that the Jews had and we did not. Christ came to make peace between Jew and Gentile by bringing us together in His own body.

But the reconciliation is not exclusively horizontal. Christ came to reconcile Jews and Gentiles alike to God. We were all estranged. We were all at enmity with God. We all required the work of another to slay that enmity and bring us in peace to the God we had offended.

Christ came to preach that offer of peace both to us who were far away and to them who were closer to truth. Being closer to God than their Gentile counterparts did not give the Jews peace, because they still needed the complete work of Christ just as we did.

The law given to the Jews did not provide them with access to God. It revealed their hopeless inability to fulfill God’s righteousness. The law, which was holy and good, became enmity toward God: they knew what God expected and failed to do it. They had the covenants of promise and broke them. We only have access to God, Jew and Gentile alike, through Christ and by the Spirit He has given.

Christ’s work on the cross is finished, so the enmity of the law is abolished. He grants us His Spirit so that we now can obey what God has commanded.

Christ was punished for our acts of rebellion so we can be at peace with God.

Christ has made us part of His own body so that we can be accepted in Him.

Christ has made us members of the household of God, sharing in the fellowship of the ones He has made holy.

Christ has established us as stones in the temple He is building, founded upon Himself as the cornerstone heralded by both prophets and apostles.

Christ is building us together in Himself to be a dwelling place of God through His Spirit.

So look at Christ. Consider what He has done. Remember who you were. Look at each other, and see how the Savior unites people from every category we can create. Salvation by grace through faith brings peace with God that gives us peace with each other, in Christ.

“For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. And if ye be Christ’s, then are ye Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” (Galatians 3:27-29)

Pecans, Papaws, and the Gift of Memory

October 14, 2019 – My niece was perched on the porch steps, sorting a rock pile to select a suitable candidate. The pecans beside her would be no match for her brute strength, provided she could just find the right pounder.

Fortunately for the integrity of the porch, her papaw stepped outside. “Rosie, I have a nutcracker. Come inside and I’ll show you.”

She popped up and stomped in behind him, closely followed by her older sister Reni. Papaw cleared the table. The cacophany of his rummaging through the kitchen drawer made my phone call a challenge, but he eventually found what he was looking for: two silver nutcrackers.

Seated at the table, with Rosie and Reni pressing against him, he gave a demonstration with full explanation. My conversation ended, and I hung up in time to watch and listen.

“You put the pecan inside, like this, and hold it in place, and then squeeze these metal parts together, but not too hard. If you want, you can take the pieces and turn them like this, then break each half apart even more.”

Their blue eyes sparkled, riveted on Papaw’s hands holding the shiny metal and now fragmented pecan. This was exciting stuff! A new world opened to their minds, a world in which nuts can be enjoyed without the assault and battery of whatever surface the girls happen to be sitting on.

“See, then you can break apart the rest with your fingers, and get the meat out. This part is the meat of the nut.”

Rosie’s hearty voice echoed, “Yeah, we gotta get the MEAT!”

Reni wanted to try, so Papaw wrapped his hands around hers and they cracked another pecan together.

A lump formed in my throat as I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture. I had already felt a bit sentimental as soon as I saw Rosie’s pink wool hat loaded with nuts. Pecans still in their shells mean something special to me.

See, childhood summer visits to MY papaw’s house guaranteed immense delight. On those roadtrips to Mississippi, I anticipated many things: a full set of Sugar Creek Gang mysteries on a shelf in the living room, a screened-in porch out back with tables for board games, an outdoor fridge stocked with orange and grape sodas, a massive hammock in the shade, a huge yard where we could play football, mayhaw bushes on the fence, and pecans everywhere. The yard was a veritable pecan orchard, and the ground was a treasure trove of nutty goodness.

For a kid, it was paradise. We’d play all day, in and out of the house. Then, in the evenings, we’d crack pecans and eat them. My fingers would get sore, and often my impatience would land a bitter, crunchy piece of inner shell between my molars. Oh well. The citronella lamps smelled funny, but a weird smell was better than swarms of mosquitoes. Mississippi summer evenings are warm, but that porch magically always had a breeze.

I learned to crack pecans at Papaw’s house. Now for the rest of my life, every time I see them unshelled, I think of him. I can still see his hands squeezing the silver nutcracker, and I can hear his quiet voice telling a joke or a story. He always made me laugh, with his dry humor and Southern country boy persona. He teased as only a papaw can, gently needling but never belittling. He’d get this look in his eyes, though, so you could tell (if you knew him) when he was kidding.

I love that man, and I miss him. He died when I was fifteen. I didn’t realize the pain of losing him would grow deeper as I grew older. My sixteenth birthday, there was no silly granddaughter card with the same scrawl as every other year, “I love you, Papaw.” High school graduation, college graduation, my brother’s wedding…he wasn’t there. And that still hurts.

How can something as insignificant as a pecan evoke such an array of profound emotions?

The gift of memory. God created us with the ability to remember, to associate events and emotions and facts with items or songs or smells or pictures. We see and hear and smell and taste, and we remember. And this gift is for more than mere sentimentality. It helps us look to the Lord and keep trusting Him while we wait for His promises to be fulfilled.

May 25, 2021 – The story of God’s people is a story of waiting…for a looooooong time. Waiting for the promised son. Waiting for deliverance from bondage. Waiting for a home. Waiting for a word. Waiting for the Deliverer. How do you wait so long for something you can’t see without losing heart? Remember. Look at the things you CAN see, and remember.

The Old Testament is full of commands to remember, and God gave His people help to obey. Feasts, fringes, offerings, and more filled their calendars and their homes.

“Chew these herbs, and remember how bitter was the slavery of Egypt.”

“Eat this meat, and remember the way I delivered you from both your slavery and your sin.”

“Build this fort, camp out in it with your kids, and remember how I provided safety for you in the wilderness.”

“Bring this lamb to the temple, sacrifice it, and remember that your sin demands a bloody death but my grace provides a substitute.”

“Look at that rock pile from the riverbed, and remember the time I piled a river into a heap so you could cross over safely, with all your kiddos and your cattle.”

Perhaps the sweetest material remembrance God’s people now enjoy is communion. In this, I think, we taste the sweetest blessing of the gift of memory in two directions.

Eat this bread. Drink this cup. Remember His body broken and blood shed for you in the past. Remember that He is coming in the future. Remember what happened. Remember what will happen. Remember that He is waiting to eat this bread and drink this cup until He sits with you in the kingdom. He remembers His people and anticipates a feast with us around His table by refraining from what He freely gives to us now. Remember this. Remember Him.

Pecans aren’t anything special. But they remind me of something precious. They evoke joy in the blessings I had with my Papaw, sorrow in my present ache for his presence, and then longing for eternity in God’s presence with all God’s people.

A piece of bread and fruit from the vine aren’t anything special. But they remind us of our precious Savior, His death, and His return. As we touch and taste and chew and swallow something so miraculously ordinary, may our hearts be enflamed with love and longing for him.

I’d love to hear from you below! What memories stir your longing for eternity? How has the Lord’s Table deepened your affection and anticipation for Christ? How can we use the gift of memory to bless our neighbors, children and otherwise?

Practical Polity in Acts 15

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One blessing of seminary education is the opportunity to clarify thinking about topics I may not have otherwise spent time on. This is one such essay considering what it practically looks like for a church to be elder-led, congregation-ruled, and deacon-served (congregational polity). I am grateful for God’s gift of the church and the chance to keep growing in love and knowledge with God’s people!

The New Testament was written in a culture dissimilar to the modern West, with our present affinity for individuality and objectivity. The practical outworking of congregational polity and elder leadership may not even be a question raised by churches existing in a communal culture. Community decision-making under clearly defined leadership is still a routine practice in many cultures that more closely mirror that of first-century Palestine: a group of people gathers, discusses all the issues, listens to the leaders, and then makes the decision. People routinely thinking and choosing in community probably understand congregational church polity more readily than we who live in a culture that idolizes individualism. Congregational church polity works itself out as elders are entrusted with leadership for direction and instruction, deacons are leaders in service, and the congregation collectively makes decisions regarding the life of the church.

The narrative of Acts 15:1-33 provides a helpful example of these dynamics in action. When a serious question arose in Antioch regarding the practices of Gentile converts, the conflicted parties returned to Jerusalem to confer with the apostles and elders. According to verse 4, the discussion was raised in a gathering of the church, not simply the elders. Converted Pharisees voiced their concerns, and the church leaders considered their input (15:5-6). There is no clear textual reason to assume the discussion was limited to elders and apostles. Rather, Peter had to stand and get everyone’s attention to hear the report of Paul and Barnabas, relevant to the whole dialogue. Subsequently, James announced the leaders’ conclusion based on Scripture from Amos’s prophecy. The whole church then affirmed agreement and sent a delegation back to Antioch with letters answering the question (15:22).

This text suggests several practices relevant to the church today. First, the apostles did not consider their authority exclusive of the elders’: they did not independently make the decision, but rather submitted to the collective leadership of both offices. If this was the apostles’ practice, the church body should certainly value and submit to elder leadership. Second, the conversation was open to input from the entire church. Elders should hear and consider the opinions and concerns of the church family. Third, the apostles and elders were responsible to lead the conversation and ground the church’s thinking in Scripture. The church should respect the elders and expect to hear the authority of God’s Word in their words. Last, the final decision was voiced by one leader, James, and then approved by the entire church, not only the apostles and elders.

Although New Testament practices did not include Robert’s Rules of Order, this narrative shows the church gathered to make decisions, led by elders, but collectively affirming the final decision, even claiming the authority of the Holy Spirit (15:28). If these apostles and elders (many of whom personally saw the risen Christ and penned words of Scripture) welcomed discussion among the church on a matter of such theological significance, and made the decision with the church’s affirmation, it does not seem reasonable to assume that a modern board of elders is better suited to make decisions than the gathered church. The description of Acts 15 illustrates the practical outworking of congregational polity.

The role of deacons as leaders of service is integral to the enacting of such decisions. In the church’s infancy, the apostles commended that the church appoint men to oversee the necessary practical service (Acts 6:1-7). (This narrative provides yet another example of communal decision-making under appropriate leadership.) The deacons’ role was facilitating and coordinating the church’s efforts and resources so that all needs were met. Deacons do not possess decision-making authority intrinsic to their office greater than the rest of the church. Rather, when the whole church makes decisions, the deacons are often a key part of fulfilling them practically. God has gifted the church with people and power to accomplish all that He calls us to do.

How do you see congregational polity in practice, in Western cultures or others? I’d love to learn from you in a comment below.

Baptism with the Spirit

(Writing this paper for a theology class was so helpful to me. I’m grateful for this semester’s opportunity to grow in understanding and appreciating the work of the Holy Spirit!)

From the first prophet to the latter prophets, God’s people anticipated a time when the Lord would send the Spirit upon all his people (Num 11:29; Ez 26:26-27; Joel 2:28-29). This universal expansion of scope and internal experience of depth would surpass the old covenant saints’ limited and transient knowledge of the Spirit’s work. When John the Baptist ended the intertestamental prophetic silence, the heart of his message was the coming of the Messiah, who would baptize the repentant with the Holy Spirit. This baptism with the Spirit is the fulfillment of prophecy: a greater new covenant relationship with God through the indwelling of the Spirit, resulting in power for mission, unity, communion, and holiness. This paper’s brief survey of relevant New Testament passages will further suggest that this baptism occurs at the time of conversion and not as a secondary experience.

Defining Baptism with the Spirit

Of the seven New Testament references to baptism with the Spirit, six are connected with the preaching of John the Baptist. The only component of John’s message directly quoted in all four gospels is his prophecy that the Christ would baptize “with the Spirit” (Matt 3:11; Mark 1:8; Luke 3:16; John 1:33). In Acts 1:5, Jesus references John’s baptism as a point of comparison for what was coming soon: the disciples would be baptized “with the Holy Spirit.” Following Pentecost, Peter quotes Jesus’s words in Acts 11:16. It seems that the Gospel authors saw this Spirit baptism as the key theme of John’s preaching. John the Baptizer heralded a superior baptism by a superior Baptizer, the fulfillment of prophecy and inauguration of a new work.

The words of Jesus and Peter in Acts 1 and 11 directly connect the baptism of the Spirit to the day of Pentecost. Immediately before Jesus ascended, he repeated the promise that Spirit baptism was yet future, though only days away (Acts 1:5). Peter then references “the beginning” as the time when the Holy Spirit came and the believers at Jerusalem spoke in tongues, which was clearly the day of Pentecost (Acts 11:16; 2:2-4). The result of this initial fulfillment of the promised baptism with the Spirit was a unified church on mission, boldly preaching the gospel and joyfully living in community (Acts 2:40-47).

There is some overlap between the terminology of baptism and filling with the Spirit. The prophecy of Pentecost was baptism, and the description of Pentecost was “they were all filled with the Spirit” (Acts 2:4). Spirit fullness is both described throughout Acts and prescribed in Ephesians (Acts 4:8; 9:17; 13:9; Eph 5:18). Spirit baptism may be compared to water baptism, an initiatory event picturing the present reality and future lifestyle of repentance and faith. Once baptized in water, a believer continues “to walk in newness of life,” though he is not repeatedly baptized (Rom 6:4). To be baptized with the Spirit is an initiatory filling with the Spirit: the filling continues, though the baptism is not repeated.

In a discourse on the diversity of gifting and unity of membership in the body of Christ, Paul writes “by/in one Spirit we are all baptized into one body” (1 Cor 12:13). The most fundamental identity of a Christian is his union with Christ, which is realized at the point of conversion and demonstrated in union with the church, Christ’s body on earth (Eph 1:3-14; 2:19-22; 5:29-32). Being baptized into Christ’s body can only reference conversion. Whether this is the same baptism John prophesied depends on the exegetical significance of one prepositional phrase. English translations are divided in their rendering of the Greek phrase en eni pneumati: “by one Spirit” or “in one Spirit.” The Greek preposition en can express both means and agency. The translation by indicates agency: the Spirit is the one baptizing believers into the body. The alternate translation in indicates means: Christ does the baptizing, by means of the Spirit, into his body. The latter connects this text to the prior references of baptism with the Spirit, clarifying that it occurs at the moment a believer is united to the body of Christ – his conversion.

For four reasons, the baptism of 1 Corinthians 12:13 should be understood with the latter rendering: “in/with one Spirit we are all baptized into one body.” First, as Wayne Grudem notes, the translation in/with parallels the structure of 1 Corinthians 10:2, a baptism by means of one entity into the location of another.^[1] Second, “in/with” maintains continuity of translation. It is difficult to see a compelling reason to translate the phrase en pneumati and a cognate of baptism differently from the other six New Testament occurrences: “with the Holy Spirit.” Third, Daniel Wallace observes that this text presents a superlative parallel to John’s baptism. In John’s prophecy, Christ is explicitly the agent of the baptism.^[2] There is no other reference in Scripture to the Spirit’s being an agent of baptism. Finally, the strongest argument for “in/with” is the underlying grammatical structure: the passive voice verb “we are baptized,” followed by the preposition en with a dative case noun. If the noun, “one Spirit,” were to indicate agency, the more likely wording would be the preposition hypo or dia followed by a genitive case noun.^[3] Perhaps the translation that best conveys the function of means and maintains the English continuity from prior texts could be “with one Spirit we were all baptized into one body.”

This text, therefore, is the clearest proof that the baptism with the Spirit prophesied by John and promised by Jesus occurs at conversion, when the believer is united to the body of Christ. The context highlights spiritual gifts and the necessity of diverse unity in Christ’s body. Baptism with the Spirit ushers the believer into the new covenant ministry of the Spirit who indwells, unifies, and bestows gifts to edify the church and proclaim the gospel (1 Cor 12:7). In Acts 2, 10, and 19, the reception of the Spirit was followed by speaking in tongues. J. Rodman Williams rightly observes that the gift of tongues was “clear evidence that the Holy Spirit had been given” in these accounts.^[4] However, 1 Corinthians 12:4-11 teaches that there is no single gift given to all believers. This contradicts the conclusion that tongues must be the proof of Spirit baptism, since baptism with the Spirit is promised to all who believe.

Considering Possible Secondary Experiences

An alternate position proposes that baptism with the Spirit is a secondary experience that believers must earnestly seek subsequent to conversion, and several passages in Acts would seem to suggest this. The first baptism with the Spirit, Pentecost, was certainly secondary to conversion. However, this experience was unique to the earthly ministry of Jesus. Jesus had told his disciples that it was necessary for him to leave so he could send the Spirit; as long as Jesus was with them, the Spirit would not come (John 16:7). Pentecost was a formative event for the birth of the church, not a normative event for the life of the church.

In Acts 1:8, Jesus issued a prophetic imperative that his followers would be his witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and “to the end of the earth,” and the Spirit’s coming at Pentecost would inaugurate the mission. When the gospel reached Samaria in Acts 8, people were converted, but the Holy Spirit did not “[fall] on any of them” until the apostles arrived and laid hands on them (Acts 8:5-17). The text may seem to use synecdoche: “the apostles heard that Samaria had received the word of God” (Acts 8:14). However, to this point in Acts, the narrative has not emphasized the place of conversions, focusing instead on the people who were converted (2:41, 47; 4:4, 21; 5:13-14; 6:1). In Acts 6:7, Luke references conversions in Jerusalem immediately before the persecution that scattered the church. Samaria’ssubsequent reception of the word is more than a literary device: it is a significant and shocking step for Jewish Christians with deep prejudices. The delay of receiving the Spirit by the Jewish apostles’ hands affirmed the unity of the fledgling church: Samaritans were included in the one body.

The account of John’s disciples in Acts 19:1-7 may seem to indicate a delayed reception of the Spirit following conversion. However, the text does not suggest that these people were converted prior to Paul’s teaching; their conversion and Spirit baptism were parts of the same event.^[5] It seems significant that the intermediate step of laying on hands occurs for new believers who had been previously baptized by John. Perhaps this was necessary to emphasize that they had finally received what John prophesied: the Christ’s baptism with the Spirit.

Scripture is void of commands to seek a Spirit baptism secondary to conversion. Acts 2, 8, and 19 do not provide a plan for believers to follow, and there is no textual indication that the early church saw these events as prescriptive. Rather, Christians in Acts believed the gospel, and God chose to baptize some with the Spirit by means of the apostles’ laying hands on them. It is an exegetical stretch to infer from these descriptive passages that Jesus expects his people must follow a process to receive what he expressly promised: he will baptize with the Spirit all who come to him, uniting them to his body and blessing them with new covenant power.

This position does not discount the validity or value of experiences called “second blessings,” or baptism with the Spirit following conversion. God blesses awareness and repentance of sin, earnest desire for the Spirit’s fullness, and humble faith. Grudem explains that these actions taken by many sincere believers desiring a second blessing are commanded in Scripture, and they certainly lead to spiritual growth. He further suggests that what is considered a second experience may actually be the genuine conversion of nominal churchgoers.^[6] If experience is interpreted by Scripture, believers can understand these experiences to be significant parts of the ongoing filling with the Spirit that is commanded following salvation.

Conclusion

The promise of baptism with the Spirit is fulfilled for every Christian at conversion: he is united to Christ’s body, given gifts to edify that body, and empowered for holiness. Baptism with the Spirit initiates the ongoing fullness of the Spirit, strengthening the believer for warfare as the Spirit wields his sword against the kingdom of darkness (Eph 5:18-6: 20). Just as at Pentecost, the baptism of the Spirit is missional. May his church be so filled and empowered to proclaim the gospel, until the joy of his presence in us is augmented by our presence before him.

^[1] Wayne Grudem, Systematic Theology: An Introduction to Biblical Doctrine (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2000), 768.

^[2] Daniel Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics, (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1996), 32, 374.

^[3] Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics, 433-435.

^[4] J. Rodman Williams, Renewal Theology, vol. 2: Salvation, the Holy Spirit, and Christian Living, (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1990), 211.

^[5] Gregg R. Allison and Andreas J. Kostenberger, The Holy Spirit, Theology for the People of God (Nashville, TN: Broadman & Holman Publishers, 2020), 395.

^[6] Grudem, Systematic Theology, 779-780.

The Missionary “No”

The first missionary journey undertaken by the fledgling church had been a glorious success. At great personal cost, Paul and Barnabas heralded the good news to the Gentiles, and God saved many. The apostles had reported and reconnected with their sending church, ministering at Antioch again.

But Paul’s pastoral heart will never be settled in one location. His care for the churches in many cities stirs him to venture out again. The first time, the Holy Spirit had spoken to the church leaders to commission Paul and Barnabas. This time, Paul says, “Hey Barnabas, let’s go!” Both are equally valid means of initiating a missionary endeavor.

Barnabas determines to take John Mark, but Paul flatly denies the decision. This conflict between Paul and Barnabas may have seemed a missional hindrance, but it did result in two teams taking the gospel in two different directions. The narrative stays with Paul and Silas, commended to God’s grace again by the church, for their mission.

Off to a great start, they pick up Timothy in Lystra and make the rounds to deliver messages and encourage the churches. Paul’s evangelist heart is not content to return, however, before preaching Jesus to people who never heard His name. The team turns east, “to preach the word in Asia.”

But no. The way is shut. The Holy Spirit forbids them.

What? Isn’t God all about “Go”? What’s with the “No”?

They wanted to preach the gospel in a region that was steeped in idolatry, ignorant of the true God and the good news of Jesus. Buddhism, Hinduism, animism, shamanism – we know the spiritual darkness of Asia. Why did the Holy Spirit forbid Paul and his team from taking the light there?

The team turns to Mysia, and then tries to go preach in Bithynia, “but the Spirit suffered them not.”

What? Again? Doesn’t God want the gospel preached everywhere? Why does He keep saying “No” when the team moves toward the unreached?

They reach Troas and connect with Luke, seeking another place to preach. And in the night, Paul sees a vision. A man from Macedonia asks for help. The team’s enthusiasm has not waned from repeated “No.” They are ecstatic to be so called by the Lord and immediately journey west.

Why did God wait to give Paul the vision? He could have skipped the false starts by issuing the call back in Galatia. Why didn’t He immediately send His missionaries where He wanted them to go?

We could say, “Perhaps it was timing. God wanted them to reach Philippi on a certain day, so He delayed their arrival.” Okay. But they did hang out in Philippi for “certain days” before meeting Lydia at the river. The narrative doesn’t indicate that anything significant happened until then.

“Perhaps God was building their anticipation for the work He’d do.” Maybe.

“Perhaps God was testing their resolve for the ministry.” Could be.

“Perhaps God wanted to teach them to trust Him and walk in close communion with Him.” Also a possibility.

We might think of many answers. But ultimately? It’s all speculation. We can’t be certain why God said “No,” because He doesn’t say why.

So what’s the point of these reflections?

I think most people who have taken strides toward the unreached have been baffled by a missionary “No.” You tried something. You went somewhere. You prayed, you burned with desire to preach the gospel.

And God said, “No.”

And you say, “Ummmmm…is that a ‘No, not here?’ Or a ‘No, not yet?’ Am I missing something?”

Since God is all-powerful, and He wants His name praised in all the earth, why is so much of missions uphill both ways? Why does it seem so hard sometimes to just get to the place so we can preach the gospel there? (Sometimes I feel like Riley in the movie National Treasure, wishing for a clue that simply read, “This is where the treasure is. Go there, find it, and spend it wisely.”)

But I see this morning in Acts 16 that our missional wanderings are not a recent phenomenon. Paul wasn’t dependent on governments to grant visas. He wasn’t denied paperwork, or redirected by health issues, civil war, political unrest, or a pandemic. If God sovereignly spoke “NO” through the Holy Spirit but ultimately spoke “YES” through a midnight vision then, He can certainly direct with “yes” and “no” through the circumstances of our world now.

What do we do with that? I think we do the same thing Paul and his team did. Keep preaching the gospel, wherever we are. Keep talking with the Lord, rejoicing and resting in Him. Keep trusting that God is accomplishing His will in us and in His world. And keep trying to reach the unreached.

(How have you seen God work in your life through a missionary “no”? I’d be encouraged to hear whatever you’d like to share in comments below.)

It Ain’t Right

The large room was comfortably filled with people, friends and family, friends that are family. A slideshow played on large screens, the reel of a life filled with meaning. The background murmur of many conversations was occasionally interrupted by a laugh or sob, in the irony of grief mingled with fun memories.

Standing a few yards from the casket, I asked a friend how he was doing. “I’m okay.” He shared funny stories and final memories of his friendship with a dear brother. Then his voice failed and his eyes filled. He shook his head and managed three more words. “It ain’t right.”

True statement. It ain’t. We know this.

We know it when a mother loses her boy, and her heart is never the same.

We know it when a tiny casket is lowered into the ground, and with it hopes and dreams for a life gone at its beginning.

We know it when one rocking chair is robbed of its occupant, and another beside it creaks with the weight of lonely longing.

We know it when every graduation, birthday, holiday, or wedding rolls around, and joy is always mingled with the ache of who is missing from the pictures.

Death is never “right.” He is always the villain. If his approach is swift and surprising, or if he slowly saunters closer with sluggishly suffocating grasp, we always wrestle and recoil in rage or horror.

People created for eternal life always die too soon. My friend at the funeral home knew it. I know it. You know it.

Is that okay to say? Can we agree “it ain’t right?” We don’t mean that as a moral judgment, but as acknowledgement that death disrupts what we were created for: bearing the image of eternally living God. Death displays the end of our fall from this design.

But death is not the end.

“It ain’t right,” he stammered. My brother is not a man of many words, but after a long pause and a hard swallow, he had three more. “But God knows.”

What does that mean? It means everything. God knows.

He knows that death “ain’t right.” He knows the sting of death. The Father watched His Son tortured, abused, and murdered. He added to the agony, pouring out righteous wrath for my sin on His perfect Son. The just One died for the unjust, the most unfair death in history. God knows the horror of dying.

He also knows the end of death.

Jesus lay in cold, stony tomb as His followers caved to despair and grief. Yet before His body decayed (His body like ours, of bone, tendon, muscle, vein, and nerve), death was reversed. His heart leaped to life, beating, pounding, pulsing blood through His arteries. His diaphragm contracted, and air rushed into His lungs. The miracle of perfusion restored strength to limbs and thought to mind. His eyes opened, and He sat up. Freed from graveclothes, He folded them into a tidy pile and left them on the bed of death.

Light blazing, thunder roaring, earth quaking – the stone rolled away from the door. The sentinels guarding a dead Man became as dead men when He stepped out from His grave, the LORD of LIFE.

Jesus entered everything that “ain’t right” in our world. He faced our greatest enemies, took their most devastating blows, and then decimated them.

Curse, be cursed. Death, be damned. You are vanquished, and Jesus is Victor.

God knows, the beginning and the end of death. He shows us the first glimpse of resurrection, eternal life, in Jesus. And He knows everything in between, every step that brings His people closer home.

In this between, why do we still die? If Jesus is Lord, and we live in Him, why do we still gather at funerals? Because He has already redeemed us from the grave, but not yet completed the work of restoring all things.

As He does this, even death is servant to the Lord of Life. How could it be otherwise, when death’s terror unleashed on Jesus accomplished its own destruction and the eternal blessing of God’s people?

“But God knows” is a posture of humble trust in this sovereign Lord. He does know best. His wisdom surpasses mine. When He deals the undesired answer, will I bow in worship to gratefully receive His gifts, trusting the goodness of His heart – His heart that knows the sting of death?

Because of Jesus, not even death can separate us from His love. It ain’t right. But He knows. And He is near.

The Paradox of Pain

Reflections from Romans 8

The burden of temporal life is that joy, however great, is always mingled with pain. Even in the most glorious moments, we feel the ache of eternal beings destined for unspoiled holiness, who are presently trapped in bodies and a world cursed by sin.

The most spectacular sunrise over the Grand Canyon, the majestic thunder of Niagara Falls, the monolithic grandeur of Yosemite – all these scenes groan and travail in pain, waiting for redemption from the sin that has corrupted their former glory.

The sweetest display of affection from a child, the most deeply comforting embrace of a friend, even the covenantal promises of a wedding day – all these come with the guarantee of pain to follow as fallen beings will certainly fail to love one another perfectly. We yearn for restoration to the flawless image of Jesus that secures our perfect fellowship with Him, and each other.

The beauty of Christian life is that pain, however deep, is always mingled with joy. Even in the darkest moments of agony, we feel the hope of eternal beings living in a cursed world, who are guaranteed full redemption and restoration.

The searing loss of close relationship is mitigated by the present nearness of Jesus and the promise of eternity with Him. The sting of death is salved by the living hope of Jesus’ resurrection.

Because Jesus is the wounded and victorious Lord of Life, the wounds that Death now inflicts are the flailing jabs of a defeated, dying enemy. One day, Death will gasp its final breath and dissipate into distant past.

We will see Jesus, and He will reveal glory in us. He will free us “from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.”

And so we wait, believing Him with patient hope.

While we wait, our pain becomes a platform for divine intercession. The Spirit prays for us, the Father works for good in us, and Jesus always loves us. By His love, even the direst of circumstances make us “more than conquerors through Him that loved us.”

Perhaps the greatest paradox of all is the cross that displayed this love. He did not spare Himself from suffering, our suffering, even death. The most heinous crime of history was the means of redeeming criminals. Jesus’ death was the purchase of life. God suffered the death of His Son. The One Who worked that for good will certainly be faithful to use our pain for good as well.

Though we grieve and groan while awaiting redemption, “the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

Come, Lord Jesus.

Until then, nothing will “separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Move No More

September 2019

Since I was a child, I knew exactly what I wanted to be: a missionary. When I went to college, though, I chose to major in education instead of missions, because that seemed practical. Always passionate about missions, I was excited to take the one missions class required for all majors. (Ironically, that’s the only class in which I ever forgot a project until the night before its due date, and the only class in which I failed a quiz.)

However, even if I had majored in missions, taken every class, and read every book, I sort of doubt that would have prepared me for one very difficult aspect of mission work.

You can study language learning, cultural adaptation, church planting strategy, discipleship philosophy, and biography, but I don’t know if that would prepare you for this part either.

You can find much instruction about entering a different culture well, about establishing and doing ministry.

But how do you leave?

How do you pour out your soul for one year or ten years or thirty years, tie your heart to other people’s, and then walk away?

— They had worked in China for one year that seemed in some ways like a decade. Constant police harassment, political unrest, recurring illnesses, and ministry frustrations abounded. Then their toddler was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy, and they left the life they had established to get answers and help for him. They didn’t know then that they wouldn’t be returning to that life.

— An Australian man and an American woman had met on their field in Central Asia. Working side by side, they decided to partner for life, and they got married. A few years later, her lupus necessitated access to quality healthcare. Tears rolled down her face as she explained, “I’ve seen quite a few people come and go in my time here. None left because they wanted to. I just never thought it would end like this for me.” They sold and gave away their belongings, packed up, and moved to Australia.

— His appearance, Gandalf-like, was one of both humor and wisdom. The lines on his face were in the right places, etched there by a lifetime of smiling. He passed around a picture of his family and recounted stories from their years of service.

A friend asked, “So what was it like for you guys when you left China?”

He paused thoughtfully.

“Well, there’s a difference from when you leave but you know you’re going back. You’re going to doctor’s appointments and shopping, and you’re excited about what you can do in the States, because, ‘Hey! We’re getting ready to go back!’ But when you leave…” He stopped talking, and his eyes filled with tears. “But when you get back to the States, and you realize, ‘We’re not going back,’ that’s just a very different and difficult thing.”

— They had moved to the jungle in their fifties. She’d had lupus for years, but she always found ways to love people with every bit of strength she had. They learned language, taught, translated, built both buildings and people. They started what became a very large medical ministry. But the jungle is a harsh place, and it will take its toll on even a healthy body. After eleven years of its afflictions, they said a month of tearful goodbyes in the bush and relocated to the capital, where they can continue ministry and access medical care as needed.

— A strange place had become home. They learned the language, built friendships, and taught the Word. They walked through personal and ministry joys and griefs, and they saw the birth of church where there had been none. Then ministry partnership disintegrated, and they chose the humbling road of grace to protect the unity of the fledgling church. That road led them to a different country, to start all over again.

— Their family seemed to be the perfect fit for their field. Their skill set and personality couldn’t have been more needed. They laid a foundation for a lifetime of fruitful service. Then tragedy struck, and for their family’s health they couldn’t stay. So they left, to go serve in a different field.

— He had prepared his entire life for one thing: preaching the gospel to Muslim people groups. God brought him a wife with the same vision, and they became a fabulous team. They moved to a closed country and thrived in ministry and family life. Then violence erupted, and they were forced to evacuate. Though they planned to return, painful circumstances grounded them in the States.

—
Every story (and not one is fictitious) has two things in common. One, they left because of circumstances beyond their control. Two, they were broken in the leaving.

Why? Why does God work this way? There are so many unreached fields, and so few willing to go labor in them. Why wouldn’t God intervene for those laborers to stay where they have given their hearts? Why do they have to move?

There is a level of fortitude required just to make it to an unreached field. Simply showing up and physically existing in those locations demonstrates persistence and passion. To press on through the adversity, to feel less of an alien and more of a neighbor, to find increasing fruitfulness in the field where God put you – that is nothing less than a miraculous work of grace. Why cut that short with another move?

September 2020

Perhaps there isn’t a clear, specific answer for the “why” question.

I’ve moved so many times I lost count. The last I remember was that it was sixteen moves by the age of sixteen. Military and missions make for a life of transitions. I was born into both, and choosing to follow Jesus for myself has included the latter.

Returning to the States last fall, I was clinging to the hope of settling somewhere. “Do I have a problem, that I can’t seem to land anywhere longer than a couple years? Commitment issues, maybe? Let me prove that I can put down roots, live somewhere long enough to become useful and really invest.”

During my travels back, I jotted down the stories above. They seem to deflate the desire for stability. These folks gave every effort to stay, and they still had to move. So throughout this past year, I’ve mulled over questions of going and staying and leaving. I’ve reached the conclusion that…

…there is no conclusion, except to be faithful. And patient. And hope in the promises of God’s kingdom. And rest in the security of a Father’s care.

In all the coming and going, the settling and uprooting, the eager greetings and tearful goodbyes, God is doing a mysterious work of grace in the nations, and in His servants. The more we leave, the more we lean towards the promise of a kingdom where God Himself plants His people, and we “move no more” (2 Samuel 7:10).

If I move sixteen more times in the next sixteen years, I’m confident it will be so because that is most strategic for what God is doing in the world and in my heart. The kingdom’s advance exceeds the scope of my perspective, but Providence means confidence.

If we’re friends, you may need to remind me of this. Like circumstances, I am given to change…but this conclusion is worth clinging to.

One day, when our Father has fulfilled every promises to His people, we will move no more. Until then, may every transition move us closer to His heart, while we work and wait.

Comfort of Love

Philippians 2:1-4, Part 2
(You can read Part 1 here: Consolation in Christ)

“If [there be] any comfort of love…”

Is there any comfort to be found in love?

What does comfort actually mean? The word’s etymology casts a beautiful shade of meaning. The Latin prefix com-means “together, with”; the root FORT means “strength.” With strength.

Comfort is no limp-wristed pat on the back. It is not merely a conciliatory expression of sympathy. It is a nearness, a proximity that brings strength. As it eases grief, it gives power to the beneficiary. Comfort renders aid, alleviates pain, and empowers for the next step.

Do we find comfort in love? Sure. We crave comfort from many sources, perhaps none so much as relationships. But what love is Paul referring to here? Is this a generic comfort from any generic love?

Consider the context. This clause is preceded by “consolation in Christ” and followed by “fellowship of the Spirit.” Two persons of the Trinity are providing the consolation and fellowship. For that reason (and another to be explored later from 2 Cor 13:14), I think I may safely say that the source of this love is divine.

So is there any comfort to be found in the love of the Father, demonstrated by the Son and dispersed by the Spirit (1 John 4:9, Rom 5:5)? Oh, yes.

By contrast, I am comforted by love from people, but I immediately think of two limits to that comfort.

Life in our present reality is transient. When you’re semi-nomadic, you come and go, and friends come and go. One challenge of being a single semi-nomad is that nobody comes and goes with you. Sometimes that is wearing. The comfort will run out, because the proximity we share will eventually be gone. The comfort of nearness waves goodbye from behind the security checkpoint, or rolls down the driveway, or stays behind on a muddy airstrip. The comfort of human love is limited by change.

Besides this, there is a human fear that if we were really known, we would not be accepted. In a strange irony, we enjoy the comfort of companionship; but we hide, just like our mother Eve behind her fig-leaf façade. Surely there would be an end of loving acceptance if all our failures, struggles, and sins were made plain. The comfort of human love is limited by fear of rejection.

Divine love is another kind. The comfort of God’s love is as limitless as He is. The omnipresent God never leaves. His presence fills the earth, and His Spirit fills me. Nothing can change His love for me or remove His presence from me (Rom 8:38-39; Ps 139:7-13). The comfort of God’s love is stable.

Safe in Christ, I do not fear rejection. There is no more for Him to discover about me that could end His love. Fully seen by the God Who searches and knows, I am yet loved – all the way to redemptive atonement. Wholly unworthy in the sight of utter perfection, I am yet loved.

I am received, not with passive resignation, but with active welcome. He did not roll His eyes and enter the broken reality of existence under humanity’s curse. He did not shrug and walk to the cross, carrying the weight of the cross and condemnation for my sin. He does not sigh and grudgingly concede a place at His table to repentant sinners.

No. His scandalous incarnation, righteous life, sacrificial death, glorious resurrection, and benevolent invitation are filled with passionate joy for His beloved.

This is a love that comforts eternally. He laid down His life for me, not when I was His friend – but when I was His enemy, and He would have me for His bride. Not because He knew the best of me – but because He knew all the very worst of me, and He would provide the salvation I could not earn.

If there any comfort of this love…since there is comfort of this love, then what?

Paul hasn’t reached his point yet. There are two remaining “if”’s to be considered.