Imperative Discipleship ("The Importance of Christ's Preeminence")

Pivotal moments.

It's never simple. As the young, it is simply whether or not we want chocolate or vanilla. We belabor the point, ice-breathed dairy melting in front of us while we beg for another moment to select our desserts.

Eventually, time travels. Our choices turn to which young lady we will ask to the dance--once again belaboring the point. Pros, cons, lists, and focus groups among friends commence until we finally resort to our middle-school days and drop our sweetheart a note, asking them to "check yes if you like me."

The list continues.
Secondary education, spouse, job, location, and which tie to wear to your father's funeral.

Then it's all over. Mouth gasps, eyes close, and the last choice in your life no longer lies in your hands, as family selects your final resting place.

Yet how many times do we reach pivotal moments without recognizing them as such? Who is to say whether or not, on a certain night, one might find himself sitting at a desk, realizing that life has been passing by without a second glance? Or who is to say that a sudden tide of regret will not rush in and crash its breakers over an individual when they least expect it, hurling them into a moment of decision?

Perhaps this is part of what makes the mundane holy. Because, at any moment, one may find himself swept from the shores of normalcy into the strange and rough current of the unexpected, forced into a pivotal decision while on one's knees before the Almighty.

I find myself there.

Complacency sets in when suddenly, I realize where I am--and I hate it. It is far too often that I find myself, like Hosea's unfaithful wife, prostituting myself to my own idolatrous fancies, while my Savior stands with arms open. As Christian apologist and author C.S. Lewis wrote:

"We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."

I fear that I love the gifts far more than I love the Father. I take the good and twist it, use it for my own advantage, and spit in the face of the Giver exclaiming "Give me more!" Those terrestrial pleasures, stolen gifts of God set as idols, own my heart more than I'd care to admit.

How can this result in anything but heart-wrenching terror? For we must "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in Him." It is in this time--this painful, yet imperative acknowledgement--that a pivotal decision must be made.

A secondary salvific moment? Nay. A re-dedication, even? Of sorts.
Perhaps moreso a realization that, truly, I am dead.

The decision to carry our crucifix is one made daily. Each day, we die to ourselves and remind ourselves that we are clothed in Christ's righteousness--dead to sin and alive in Him. We must be immersed in a desire for the gospel, preaching it to ourselves daily. What did Jesus say, but "Blessed are they who hunger & thirst for righteousness."

Our pivotal moment, then, comes in our choice to continually lose ourselves in the gospel.

addict of mercy.

theyre no different than any other addicts really.

dealers and takers. those giving it out and putting it in. 

strong aftertaste. strong desire for more. 

burning inability to function without it.

just a little taste and you're hooked. everything else pales in comparison.

its all you can do to keep it to yourself. you have to share it.

even though you know its more costly than you dare admit to yourself.

you cant just find it anywhere. the addicts sometimes have to search.

it takes work to find. finding it is only half the battle too. 

it doesn't come cheap. it costs a lot for buyer and seller alike.

it sets in fast. once you find yourself hooked theres no going back.

sure. there may be times when you relapse. when you find yourself running low.

but these folks are like any addict. theres always a little more left.

this stuff is strong. it makes the addict generous with his addiction.

if he sees someone without it he makes sure they get as much as they need.

if he sees someone with it he makes sure they join forces. 

gosh. it messes with your mind.

makes you do things you would never have considered before the addiction set in.

it keeps each addict acutely aware of those who aren't addicted yet.

they make it their goal to get those folks hooked.

its too good to keep to yourself. trust me. 

im not nearly as strung out on this stuff as i want to be. but im getting there. 

i need it desperately.

and then i need to give it away.

its an addiction i tell you.

im an addict of mercy.

When God Doesn't Provide

"Everyone should go on a mission trip. You'll be amazed at how the funds come in!"

The university president set the microphone down and dismissed the students from chapel. As everyone hurried off to class, I sat there quietly. Frowning. Disgruntled. Staring at my shoes. 

You know why? Because I knew, in my international experiences, it wasn't true.

The funds don't always come in. Sometimes, you're left floundering for cash.

Worst of all, God is distant and doesn't seem to be interested. 

What do I do when God doesn't provide? 

I did it. I went to Africa. Everyone told me the money would pour in and I didn't need to worry about it. "You'll be amazed at how God provides!" Everyone told me to be confident. So I was. But, almost a year later, I still was unable to raise all the money I was supposed to pay. 

Then I did it again. I applied to go to the Middle East. Got accepted. Trusted God to come through to raise funds for an internship I know I was supposed to accept. The chance to work with Muslims hits such a strong chord in my heart. 

Did God come through? No. Not yet. 

In fact, I got contacted by the organization from last summer reminding me I still owed them money.

Two weeks before my first fundraising deadline for Iraq.

"Pray as big as your Dad" says Mark Driscoll. But does that mean that God will give everything I want? Of course not. But I'd think that He would provide for those who seek to go to the most dangerous places on earth for the sake of the gospel.

There are a lot of reasons why God doesn't provide. 

To build faith in the divine. To build dependance on the miraculous.

And sometimes, for reasons that make no sense and are never revealed.

Guess what? That's how this post ends. 

That's where I'm at right now. Trusting that Iraq is where I'm supposed to be.

Trying to fundraise, but not knowing how the funds will come.

That's it. He is faithful.

Worthy is the Lamb.

Amen.

This Post Is Gonna Remind Ya That You're Mortal

Exaltation through martyrdom.

That's a great way to win friends, influence people, and get retweeted.

Okay, maybe not.

Quick story break. Like most folks here at Cedarville, I go to church every Sunday. I grab my glasses, clean socks, and (what I've termed) my "worship-leader plaid" shirt and head to Dayton. Biggest concern is getting there before the opening song; otherwise I'm forced into the "walk of shame," where I lower my head and plod into the sanctuary laden with guilt for my lack of punctuality.  

(Trust me, it's really embarrassing). 

But guess what? I was in northern Tanzania this summer. And you know what the biggest Sunday church concern is there? It's whether or not the coffee is Folger's or Starbucks special blend.

I'm kidding. It's whether or not the Muslims are going to bomb their church again. 

Aftermath of a church bombing in Arusha, an area of northern Tanzania.

I'm not trying to make light. And I'm also not trying to make another slam at our churches here in the States (personally, I love coffee at church...and Starbucks will be in heaven). But I'm trying to establish a perspective--this type of martyrdom still happens. I think we know that, but we don't always really get that. And sometimes it takes visiting a place where martyrdom--your own martyrdom--is a real possibility to really understand that.

But yeah. Exaltation through martyrdom. 

Philippians has become my favorite New Testament book (fun fact: Hosea is my favorite Old Testament book--I plan to preach on that sometime soon, so there's my unashamed plug that says you should ask me about that passage). It's the first chapter that particularly stands out to me...specifically verse 20.

"My eager expectation and hope is that I will not be ashamed about anything, but that now as always, with all boldness, Christ will be highly honored in my body, whether by life or by death."

Interesting. That "Christ will be highly honored." Exalted, if you will. I'm a bit of a theology-junkie, so I find it fascinating that the Greek word here is hupsoo, (ὑψόω) which means to lift up, raise up, or exalt. 

**oh look, cool Greek words! You may pause here to go put on a V-neck, get some coffee, and get that Greek word tattooed on your forearm, you little hipster you.**

And grow a hipster mustache while you're at it!

Okay, and we're back.  Check this: Paul's main concern is Christ's exaltation. And notice, he isn't terribly concerned with how that happens. He isn't concerned whether it's by his life or by his death. His only concern is that Christ is highly honored--exalted. 

Spoiler alert: Paul gets martyred. And Christ gets exalted. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Little note to my post-graduation plans. I'm planning on going to northern Iraq this summer for an internship with an faith-based NPO. Now, as you know, Iraq isn't on the "TOP 10 BEST VACATION SPOTS" for 2013 (or any other year, for that matter). It's dangerous--particularly for Christians. Now, chances are everything will be fine. 

Check out Preemptive Love Coalition at preemptivelove.org 

But it's a strange thing to think about working in a place where you are faced with your own mortality every single day. It's a strange thing to know that anything, including martyrdom, is a possibility in an unstable area like the Middle East. 

Exaltation through martyrdom. 

Ah. To face our own mortality and eternal destiny each day.

But in the end, what does it matter? "My eager expectation and hope is that...Christ will be highly honored in my body, whether by life or by death." 

Let us live each moment corum deo--"before the face of God."

Sin-Soaked Idolatry

"Worship is the continuous outpouring of all that I am in light of my chosen god." 

Worship. It's a funny thing because it has different meanings to different people. But we don't need another blog post convincing us that worship is more than the songs we sing. We need the reminder, but it's a common topic for the bloggers. Let's just assume we understand that point already.

Worship is an outpouring of my life. It is where I place my time, money, effort, thoughts, words, deeds, and emotions. Every time I make a choice during my day, I am prioritizing something over something else (for example, I often prioritize sleep over homework). Even in these little choices, we see where our loyalties truly lie.

I make little idols for myself daily. Not out of things that are bad, but out of good things. This is the way that sin gets ahold of us--it's been Satan's approach from the beginning. One author I read once said that Satan often tempts us with getting good things by the wrong means. Evil, which is nothing more than a twisting of goodness, exemplifies this point. Look at sex as a great example: God created sex as a beautiful and lovely thing. But sin taints and twists and defaces this gift from God and makes it a broken and dirty idol that we worship.

Idols don't even have to be as drastic as something like a poor view of sex--it can even be found in materialism. This isn't a knock on the American church--materialism is a problem even in places where the poverty level is extraordinarily high. It's a sin problem, after all (though it is true that this particular sin may hit home with the West more than the Eastern church). There have been times where I've walked in a store for one thing and, before I know what's happened, I'm at the counter with more than I ever intended to buy. Or I've bought things I really didn't have the money for.

Yet, to quote Mark Driscoll, "the problem is not in the mall, but in us" ("Who Do You Think You Are?") It comes down to a heart problem. Our hearts are desperately wicked, filthy, and sin-soaked. They naturally desire to worship ourselves, others, and anything besides the One who deserves our worship just by His very existence. 

To worship anything other than the Triune Deity is utter treason. 
It is the highest form of idolatry.

I challenge myself, and you too, my dear friend, to make daily choices to combat heart idols. Borrowing from ideas found in Kyle Idleman's "Gods at War," anything that we find our identity in other than Christ is immediately an idol. 

And how dare we have any gods before Him. 

The Problem of Grace

Confession: the implication of grace often seems mere academic theory.

Grace is extended, but not for me. Grace is theoretically excellent, but pragmatically non-existent.
What seems far more prevalent upon the realm of reality are the damning labels, staggering guilt, and hellish demons--leaving little room for an abstract, metaphysical idea of grace.

"In this twilight, how dare you speak of grace" sings Marcus Mumford ("Broken Crown").

This addition to the blogosphere is for myself. The words of this post are honest--I have never been one for masking the issue at hand. The fact is that sometimes I cannot live in the light of grace.

Grace makes sense academically. I can perform an exegesis of biblical texts on grace. The theological implications of unconditional grace are cognitively understood and believed. But I often find it more difficult than I care to admit to take what I believe and grant it permission to make a change in my anthropological perceptions--including the perception of myself.

But, first, can we not see that the atonement is sufficient? Love and justice agree at the cross. Often, I think of this grace, this agreement of love and justice, as applying to me one day, but not right now. I consider that it will be enough to cleanse me before Heaven, but not enough to free me from all guilt before then. Yet the penman of Hebrews blatantly puts the question on the table, writing:

                "How much more will the blood of the Messiah, who through the eternal
                 Spirit offered Himself without blemish to God, cleanse our consciences from
                 dead works to serve the living God?" (Heb. 9:14)

But, second, are we not granted a futuristic vision of what lies ahead for those of us that struggle with a gracious acceptance of forgiveness? From the Patmos-exiled apostle, we read the following:

               "Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God,
                and the authority of His Messiah. For the accuser of our brothers and sisters,
                who accuses them before our God day and night, has been thrown down."
                                                                                                               (Rev. 12:10)

But, third, should it not be encouraging to understand that the word-game, accusation-laden labels that are thrown in the face of the Christian hold no power? As a friend of mine once profoundly stated, "The only label Christ gave to us was 'dead'--and He said that to all of us." The Pauline letter to the church of Corinth carries this to its glorious conclusion, in which we read:

               "Such were some of you--but you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified."
                                                                                                               (1 Cor. 6:11)

We have attained eternal life, both "already, and not yet" as the theologians are apt to say. This itself is an undeserved aspect of grace and mercy. St. Augustine, says of the immortal state that "God leads us to eternal life [only] for his mercy's sake" (as quoted in Summa Theologica, St. Thomas Aquinas). When our undeserved eternal reward is considered through the lens of Christ's sufficiency, how can we help but to worship the God from whom all blessings flow--especially grace!

"There is a centre of history and it's the cross" writes theologian John Piper. If that "centre of history" makes no difference to my life now, then what is the purpose for which I have given my life to Christ? What a foolish enterprise and mission! "Of all people, most to be pitied" says Paul of a non-existent resurrection. The same may be said of a non-existent grace.

May God-sent guilt draw us to repentance.
May false guilt be sent back to hell.

"I saw heaven open and before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice He judges and wages war. His eyes are like blazing fire and on His head are many crowns. He has a name written on Him which no one knows but Himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood and His name is the Word of God...He who was seated on the throne said 'Look--I have made everything new'. " (excerpts; The Revelation of Jesus Christ, 19:11-13, 21:5).

A grace that cannot reach to where you are is no grace at all.

A "Theology-Junkie" Goes to Africa

I openly admit that I have an affinity for deep theology and long Greek words.

It's not my fault, really. Just sometimes I enjoy a good mulling over of Calvinistic theology or the Wesleyan approach to remaining sin or comparing pre-millenial eschatology with historical pre-millenial eschatology.

And yes, I admit it. Not only do I understand the terms supralapsarian and perichoresis, but they often make their way into casual dinner conversations at college (much thanks to Alex Boucher for those fantastic conversations).  

I didn't choose this kind of "thug life." This "thug life" chose me.

Or was predestined for me before the foundation of the world, according to John Calvin.

One thing I learned in Africa: sometimes you have to keep the gospel simple.

Now--don't hear me saying that theology isn't important. Your theology determines your anthropology, as it's been said. Theology informs your view of God, which will then inform your view of people and how you interact with them. That means it's important.

But, sometimes, I have to stick my thoughts on the dispensational approach to the nation of Israel over on the bookshelf and bring the basics of the gospel back to the forefront of my life and interactions. 

While in Africa, our team was able to share the gospel in over half a dozen secondary schools. 

This is the family. We were still at the awkward "I-don't-know-you" stage at this point.

And at times, it felt like we were giving the most obvious and basic points of the gospel. There was no deep theology, no heated Calvinistic/Arminian arguments, and no questions of whether or not that African drum should be used in the worship service. 

We came back to the basics. 

>> We are created with value and worth.

>> But we are separated from God by sin.

>> Jesus died to bring us back to Himself.

>> It's not enough just to know this--we have to put our faith in it.

Revisiting those basics was not only good for the students.
It was good for those presenting as well--it reminded us of the complexity, yet simplicity of the gospel.

And what was cool was that, after the presentation of the basics, the students needed more. They would ask us questions about academics, relationships, and religion. They asked simple questions. But often, they asked hard questions: "How do I live as a Christian when my family is Muslim?" or "Isn't Jesus just a good prophet?" or "How can God have a son that is still one with Him?"

And that's where theology and study of the Bible came into play. For instance, I lost count of the amount of time we spent trying to explain Trinitarian perichoresis. We didn't realize that's what we were doing, but in explaining how the three persons of the Trinity are unified, that's exactly what we were doing. And God gave all of the team just the words and verses we needed to explain and answer the questions we were asked.

We should always be trying to know more about God. Theology is important. But as I heard a preacher once say, we lose sight of Jesus when theology merely becomes an academic pursuit as an end in itself.

After all, the demons know Scripture too...and they shudder.

Satan is one of the best theologians in the universe, and he's damned for eternity.

I'm often guilty of falling in love with an academic theology instead of the God who died for me. I trust that I will never grow tired of learning more about the Messiah. But I hope that I will never forget the basics of my faith.

Africa taught me to hold fast to the basics of the faith.

And not just to hold fast to them--but to share them with the nations.