The Slow Departure From Christ (July 31, 2005)
"Guard your heart."
I remember that admonition from a message given to a group of us pastors by the president of the Baptist General Conference some years ago. It is from Proverbs 4:23: "Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life." I don't remember much else of his sermon, except that he was concerned about Christian leaders who fall away, and he urged each of us to be vigilant about our own walk with Christ.
That phrase "guard your heart" came to mind after I tried to answer a missionary friend who asked me why another missionary had apostatized. I wrote, "I have no idea why she turned her back on God - any more than I know why Judas betrayed Christ, or why Hymenaeus and Alexander made shipwreck of their faith (1 Tim 1:19-20), or why Demas "loved this world" (2 Tim 4:10). I just know that it happens. Billy Graham's friend and fellow evangelist Charles Templeton became an atheist. I don't know why."
In the parable of the sower (Luke 8:5-15), Jesus said that some fall because the devil takes the word from their hearts; others because of trial and testing; and others because they care about life's "worries, riches and pleasures." Beyond that, I'm not sure the "why" question has an answer. Why do some succumb to the devil's attack, or break faith under pressure, or fall into temptation? God knows.
In one of his books C. S. Lewis notes that apostates never seem to reach their state of unbelief by careful reasoning and thought, or with decisive, conscious renunciations that are the reverse image of their conversions. Instead, they just gradually drift into their loss of faith. They find that they have rejected it almost by default, having crept away with slow, imperceptible steps that are inevitably joined to acts of disobedience. I think Lewis was right.
For the love of God, beware of those slow, imperceptible steps. Guard your heart. Read the Scriptures, pray daily, and don't even think about skipping church this Sunday. Do good and shun evil, and trust Jesus. I'm afraid my counsel is no more profound than that.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Sunday, July 24, 2005
What Is The Biggest Problem? (July 24, 2005)
The Indian tribe that I worked with in Colombia had all kinds of problems, like alcoholism, chemical dependency, child sex abuse, malnutrition, recruitment into left-wing guerrilla causes and fearful reprisals from right-wing death squads. So it was with some surprise that I heard my 20-year-old Arhuaco friend comment on the issue that he thought to be the most urgent one facing his people. It was jealousy!
I thought he was laughably wrong about that, but it was easy to see why he felt that jealousy was the biggest thing his people had to overcome. It was because he regarded himself as a victim of their envy. He had just graduated from high school and wanted to go to college. Other tribesmen thought that further education would make him insufferably proud, and so they opposed his dream. Jealousy, he concluded, was a cancer eating away at the Arhuaco soul, and it had to be defeated so his people could make progress.
Well, his people had other things to worry about too. But I noticed in my friend a tendency that I've seen often in other people and that no doubt exists in me as well: the conviction that whatever concerns me most should most concern you. My problem is the problem and why aren't more people doing something about it?
A couple years ago I attended a Christian conference where a well-known speaker told us that the biggest evil facing America was racism. Really? Racism? I would have picked abortion. I am sure that the speaker, a black man, endured racial profiling every time he hailed a cab or stepped into an elevator with a white woman. That's a
bad break, I know, but when it comes to a hierarchy of moral outrages in America, the simple fact is that we haven't killed tens of millions of blacks lately - we've killed tens of millions of babies. That's worse.
My favorite answer to the question "What is wrong with the world?" comes from G. K. Chesterton, who responded simply, "I am." "I" is the person whose bad behavior I must labor to find most troubling. The biggest problem in the world today is neither Muslim terrorism nor third world debt nor abortion nor racism nor jealousy, but my sin.
The Bible says, "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others" (Philippians 2:4). Your issue is not the world's biggest issue. Other people have problems too, and they're as urgent or more urgent than yours. Worry about their problems. And when it comes to yourself, the biggest thing
you really have to worry about is your own sin.
The Indian tribe that I worked with in Colombia had all kinds of problems, like alcoholism, chemical dependency, child sex abuse, malnutrition, recruitment into left-wing guerrilla causes and fearful reprisals from right-wing death squads. So it was with some surprise that I heard my 20-year-old Arhuaco friend comment on the issue that he thought to be the most urgent one facing his people. It was jealousy!
I thought he was laughably wrong about that, but it was easy to see why he felt that jealousy was the biggest thing his people had to overcome. It was because he regarded himself as a victim of their envy. He had just graduated from high school and wanted to go to college. Other tribesmen thought that further education would make him insufferably proud, and so they opposed his dream. Jealousy, he concluded, was a cancer eating away at the Arhuaco soul, and it had to be defeated so his people could make progress.
Well, his people had other things to worry about too. But I noticed in my friend a tendency that I've seen often in other people and that no doubt exists in me as well: the conviction that whatever concerns me most should most concern you. My problem is the problem and why aren't more people doing something about it?
A couple years ago I attended a Christian conference where a well-known speaker told us that the biggest evil facing America was racism. Really? Racism? I would have picked abortion. I am sure that the speaker, a black man, endured racial profiling every time he hailed a cab or stepped into an elevator with a white woman. That's a
bad break, I know, but when it comes to a hierarchy of moral outrages in America, the simple fact is that we haven't killed tens of millions of blacks lately - we've killed tens of millions of babies. That's worse.
My favorite answer to the question "What is wrong with the world?" comes from G. K. Chesterton, who responded simply, "I am." "I" is the person whose bad behavior I must labor to find most troubling. The biggest problem in the world today is neither Muslim terrorism nor third world debt nor abortion nor racism nor jealousy, but my sin.
The Bible says, "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others" (Philippians 2:4). Your issue is not the world's biggest issue. Other people have problems too, and they're as urgent or more urgent than yours. Worry about their problems. And when it comes to yourself, the biggest thing
you really have to worry about is your own sin.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Strength In Weakness - Devastating Weakness (July 10, 2005)
Two quotes came to mind as I continue glorifying God for the faithful love of the people of Faith Bible Church. One quote is from Osama bin Laden and the other is from the Apostle Paul.
Bin Laden, gloating over his 9/11 triumph, said to a room of supporters, "When people see a strong horse and a weak horse, by nature, they will like the strong horse." This is true. Strength - animal or human, physical or abstract - is seductive. We gather around successful people and admire their power and hope to absorb some of it. The Bin Ladens and Hitlers of the world exploit this love of strength by their sheer brutal aggression. If they are strong and strike hard and win, they know that some people will like them and will follow them, and will only turn away if they become weak.
Christians, though, discipline themselves to be pleased with goodness no matter how weak its condition, and to be repelled by badness no matter how strong its form. Holiness, not power (or any other kind of success), must be that which delights and pleases and excites us - even if that holiness never seems to win any battle or finish first in any contest.
The Apostle Paul never would have been mistaken for one of bin Laden's "strong horses". Like Jesus he "had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him" (Isaiah 53:2). What could be appealing about a prison inmate in chains, dependent on others' charity and unable to control his judicial destiny? Who wants to get close to that? Well, a few saints were willing. In 2 Timothy 1:16 Paul writes, "May the Lord show mercy to the household of Onesiphorus, because he often refreshed me and was not ashamed of my chains."
I have a fresh appreciation for those who are not ashamed of a man's “chains.” I know chains - at least metaphorical ones. I feel their weight dragging on me and their links constricting me, and I know how bad they make me look. But on Sunday mornings the iron grip lightens as faithful brothers and sisters in Christ gather with me and worship the Lord.
Thanks be to God for every noble soul who pities a weak horse, who delights to refresh a prisoner in chains. May our good God enrich you all with the rewards of Onesiphorus.
Two quotes came to mind as I continue glorifying God for the faithful love of the people of Faith Bible Church. One quote is from Osama bin Laden and the other is from the Apostle Paul.
Bin Laden, gloating over his 9/11 triumph, said to a room of supporters, "When people see a strong horse and a weak horse, by nature, they will like the strong horse." This is true. Strength - animal or human, physical or abstract - is seductive. We gather around successful people and admire their power and hope to absorb some of it. The Bin Ladens and Hitlers of the world exploit this love of strength by their sheer brutal aggression. If they are strong and strike hard and win, they know that some people will like them and will follow them, and will only turn away if they become weak.
Christians, though, discipline themselves to be pleased with goodness no matter how weak its condition, and to be repelled by badness no matter how strong its form. Holiness, not power (or any other kind of success), must be that which delights and pleases and excites us - even if that holiness never seems to win any battle or finish first in any contest.
The Apostle Paul never would have been mistaken for one of bin Laden's "strong horses". Like Jesus he "had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him" (Isaiah 53:2). What could be appealing about a prison inmate in chains, dependent on others' charity and unable to control his judicial destiny? Who wants to get close to that? Well, a few saints were willing. In 2 Timothy 1:16 Paul writes, "May the Lord show mercy to the household of Onesiphorus, because he often refreshed me and was not ashamed of my chains."
I have a fresh appreciation for those who are not ashamed of a man's “chains.” I know chains - at least metaphorical ones. I feel their weight dragging on me and their links constricting me, and I know how bad they make me look. But on Sunday mornings the iron grip lightens as faithful brothers and sisters in Christ gather with me and worship the Lord.
Thanks be to God for every noble soul who pities a weak horse, who delights to refresh a prisoner in chains. May our good God enrich you all with the rewards of Onesiphorus.
Sunday, July 3, 2005
Christ, And Christ Alone (July 3, 2005)
One of my favorite verses is St. Paul's statement to the Corinthians: "For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified" (1 Cor. 2:2). Though I have always loved those words, I admit that one of them used to strike me as odd. Why did Paul say that he resolved to know nothing but Christ - didn't he really mean preach or proclaim or discuss nothing but Christ? He seemed to suggest that while with the Corinthians he governed not only his words but even his thoughts to exclude anything that wasn't about Jesus. Why was that?
Maybe I understand a little better now. Thoughts bleed into words, and out of the heart the mouth speaks. That which occupies the mind will come forth in one's message, and what a man mentally acknowledges or mentally ignores will carve the channels through which his words flow.
There were many things that Paul could have worried about when he first visited the pagan city of Corinth and tried to plant a church there. Would he be able to preach eloquently? He would not think about it. He wrote, "When I came to you brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom" (1 Corinthians 2:1). Would his emotional and physical health hold out? He would not bother about that either. As a matter of fact, he wasn't able to hold himself together too well: "I came to you in weakness and fear and with much trembling" (1 Corinthians 2:3).
But neither fear of failure nor desire for success nor any other concern - substantial or trivial - would budge Paul from his main thought, which was that "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief" (1 Timothy 1:15). This was the conviction that he wanted to hold before his mind when all other thoughts conspired to exclude it. It was the thought that had to dictate and circumscribe his message to the Corinthian congregation, a church destined to experience a thousand distractions and a thousand temptations to dishonor the Lord.
Many of you who read this page will know about my own recent sorrows, that I too am "in weakness and fear and with much trembling," that the sun that now rises on my day seems cold and black. I embrace as my own Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 1:8: "We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life."
But I don't despair of eternal life. In my heart I know, if I know nothing else, that Jesus Christ was crucified for sinners, that he rose from the dead, and that - unworthy though I am - there is "laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me at that day - and not to me only, but to all who have loved his appearing" (2 Timothy 4:8).
Pray for me. And, for the sake of the gospel that I preach, pray that like my namesake I will, when clouds gather, know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified.
One of my favorite verses is St. Paul's statement to the Corinthians: "For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified" (1 Cor. 2:2). Though I have always loved those words, I admit that one of them used to strike me as odd. Why did Paul say that he resolved to know nothing but Christ - didn't he really mean preach or proclaim or discuss nothing but Christ? He seemed to suggest that while with the Corinthians he governed not only his words but even his thoughts to exclude anything that wasn't about Jesus. Why was that?
Maybe I understand a little better now. Thoughts bleed into words, and out of the heart the mouth speaks. That which occupies the mind will come forth in one's message, and what a man mentally acknowledges or mentally ignores will carve the channels through which his words flow.
There were many things that Paul could have worried about when he first visited the pagan city of Corinth and tried to plant a church there. Would he be able to preach eloquently? He would not think about it. He wrote, "When I came to you brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom" (1 Corinthians 2:1). Would his emotional and physical health hold out? He would not bother about that either. As a matter of fact, he wasn't able to hold himself together too well: "I came to you in weakness and fear and with much trembling" (1 Corinthians 2:3).
But neither fear of failure nor desire for success nor any other concern - substantial or trivial - would budge Paul from his main thought, which was that "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief" (1 Timothy 1:15). This was the conviction that he wanted to hold before his mind when all other thoughts conspired to exclude it. It was the thought that had to dictate and circumscribe his message to the Corinthian congregation, a church destined to experience a thousand distractions and a thousand temptations to dishonor the Lord.
Many of you who read this page will know about my own recent sorrows, that I too am "in weakness and fear and with much trembling," that the sun that now rises on my day seems cold and black. I embrace as my own Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 1:8: "We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life."
But I don't despair of eternal life. In my heart I know, if I know nothing else, that Jesus Christ was crucified for sinners, that he rose from the dead, and that - unworthy though I am - there is "laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me at that day - and not to me only, but to all who have loved his appearing" (2 Timothy 4:8).
Pray for me. And, for the sake of the gospel that I preach, pray that like my namesake I will, when clouds gather, know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified.
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