Here’s a thought to make the soul stagger: if you are in Christ, then the God of highest heaven has made your heart his home. The Holy Spirit has moved in, so to speak, filling your soul’s halls and rooms with himself. And he will never, ever move out.

“If anyone loves me,” Jesus told his disciples, “he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him” (John 14:23). In Christ, not only do we have a home in heaven (John 14:2), but heaven has made a home in us now. Already, we feel some of the warmth of our Father’s fireplace, and hear some of his music dancing down the halls, and smell some of the food from his table, because the very Spirit of that home is here.

And what a Spirit he is. Richard Sibbes (1577–1635), one of the great Puritan theologians of the Spirit, writes that when the Spirit takes us “for a house for himself,” he

doth also become unto us a counselor in all our doubts, a comforter in all our distresses, a solicitor to all duty, a guide in the whole course of life, until we dwell with him forever in heaven, unto which his dwelling here in us doth tend. (The Works of Richard Sibbes, 5:414)

Before the Spirit brings us to heaven, he brings something of heaven to us. How foolish, then, to ignore or refuse this glorious guest — and how happy to host him well.

Entertaining the Spirit

Sibbes, in his seventeenth-century way, liked to talk of “entertaining” the Spirit, by which he simply referred to our showing him hospitality (as in the language of Hebrews 13:2, “Some have entertained angels unawares”). If the Holy Spirit dwells in us (Romans 8:9–11), then our great duty and joy is to entertain him, to welcome him, to lovingly host him until he brings us to heaven.

And how? Consider four pieces of counsel from Sibbes, a master in Spiritual hospitality.

1. Hear his voice.

The Spirit, like the best of guests, comes to speak with us. And though he may at times impart a prophetic word (1 Corinthians 12:8, 10), he speaks most clearly, and with final authority, in the pages of Scripture. These are the words he once breathed out (2 Timothy 3:16; 2 Peter 1:21), and for those with ears to hear, they are “living and active” (Hebrews 4:12), the Spirit’s breath still warm upon them.

“Read the Bible” is, I suppose, old counsel for most of us. But Sibbes alerts us to two common ways we read Scripture with ears muffled to the Spirit: by hearing selectively, and by hearing superficially.

“If the Spirit‘s words never wound us (and then heal us), we are not hearing his voice.”

First, he writes, “It is a dangerous grieving of the Spirit, when, instead of drawing ourselves to the Spirit, we will labour to draw the Spirit to us” (Works, 5:420). He has in mind the person who reads Scripture to hear not what the Spirit actually says — however uncomfortable it may be — but what he wants the Spirit to say. How easily I forget that the “living and active” word is also “sharper than any two-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12) — and the Spirit wields the weapon. If his words never wound us (and then heal us), we are not hearing his voice.

Second, Sibbes speaks directly into our hurried age:

Another way whereby we commonly grieve the Spirit of God is, when the mind is troubled with a multitude of business . . . for multitude of business begets multitudes of passions and distractions; that when God’s Spirit dictates the best things that tend to our comfort and peace, we have no time to hear. (422)

The Spirit’s voice can be drowned by the noise of a distracted life (Mark 4:19). We may hear his word in a quick, cursory way, as a husband hears his wife while rushing out the door. But “we have no time” to listen, unhurried and undistracted, so that the Spirit’s voice sinks down deep.

Hearing the Spirit — really hearing him — takes humility, time, and quiet, just as hearing a spouse or a friend does. We would do well, then, first thing in the morning, and perhaps at key moments throughout the day, to dismiss all other company from the soul and invite the Spirit to speak.

2. Heed his motions.

Intimately related to the Spirit’s voice are what Sibbes calls the Spirit’s “motions.” By “motions,” he refers not to what some today call “impressions” (often a sense that we should take some unusual course of action), but what many of us might call “conviction.” Motions are spiritual promptings to apply a specific part of Scripture — read, heard, or remembered — to a specific part of life.

Say, for example, that you hear a sermon or teaching on fasting, and (as happened to me recently) you sense your negligence in this spiritual discipline and feel the need to change. You may in that moment be feeling one of the Spirit’s motions, “sent to make way for God in our hearts” (Works, 5:426).

Now, the question is, What will you do? We likely can resonate with Sibbes when he says, “How many holy motions are kindled in hearing the word, and receiving the sacraments, etc., which die as soon as they are kindled for want of resolution!” (428). Sermon over, we leave the gathering, get caught in the current of the day, and forget what we felt (James 1:22–24). The Spirit has invited us to enjoy more of his presence and power, and by our actions we have silently said no.

How then do we heed the Spirit’s motions? Through what Paul calls a “resolve for good” (2 Thessalonians 1:11). Sibbes writes, “When the Spirit suggests good motions, turn them presently into holy resolutions. Is this my duty, and that which tends to my comfort? Certainly I will do it. Let not those motions die in us” (428). Sermon over, we leave the gathering and perhaps tell a trusted friend what we’ve felt, discerning if the motion was truly spiritual. If so, we might then make a plan for how we will “work out” the Spirit’s motions “with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12), laboring to open every door to him.

3. Hate his enemies.

Opening every door to him requires closing every door to sin. As Sibbes writes, “Who will think himself well entertained into an house, when there shall be entertainment given to his greatest enemy with him, and shall see more regard had, and better countenance shewed, to his enemy than to him?” (Works, 5:419). Holiness is far more than keeping some abstract law or code of conduct. Holiness begins with good hospitality.

“How many of our excuses for sin would wither and die if we remembered the holy guest in our souls?”

How many of our excuses for sin would wither and die if we remembered the holy guest in our souls? Where can we go from this Spirit? Or where can we flee from his presence? If we ascend to angry heights, he is there. If we make our bed in hidden fantasies, he is there. If we take the wings of the morning and sin where no human eye sees, even there he with us; even there his heart grieves (Ephesians 4:30).

Hear Sibbes’s spiritually sane counsel: “Take heed of little sins, which we count lesser sins perhaps than God doth” (429). Yes, take heed of little sins, for every sin, if given entertainment, will seek to destroy the Spirit’s work. Take heed of gossip and borderline shows. Take heed of greed and second glances. Take heed of bitterness and snap judgments. Take heed as you would of a thief at your door.

The counsel will not sound too strict to those who have enjoyed the Spirit’s fellowship. When he is Master of the house, and all enemies are outside, then the music plays, the feast arrives, the fires blaze; then the soul rests happy at home. And so, we will not hesitate to say, “Come and help me kill your foes” (Romans 8:13).

4. Have his grace.

Of course, anyone who has entertained the Spirit knows what it feels like to grieve the Spirit — to stifle his voice, kill his motions, welcome his enemies (Ephesians 4:30). And yet, even in the aftermath of those miserable moments, we need not wait to entertain him again — or worse, try to work our way back to a welcome. No, we can entertain him right here, right now, by agreeing to have his grace.

To entertain the Spirit is, in essence, to welcome the Spirit in his various offices. And his most precious office is to glorify Jesus (John 16:14). We are never more hospitable, therefore, than when we let him lift our eyes to Christ.

“Let not our despairing hearts cross the Spirit in his comforts,” Sibbes writes (Works, 5:428). To refuse the Spirit’s comfort, even after we have confessed our sin, may feel humble. But those who persistently refuse the Spirit’s comfort persistently refuse the Spirit himself, as much as a host who leaves his guest outside.

Let your broken heart take courage. The Spirit comes to us with grace. He comes with comfort. He comes to give us Jesus Christ.

Heaven’s Happiness on Earth

“It is the happiest condition in the world,” Sibbes writes, “when the soul is the temple of the Holy Spirit; when the heart is as the ‘holy of holies,’ where there be prayers and praises offered to God. . . . While the Spirit and his motions are entertained by us we shall be happy in life, happy in death, happy to eternity” (Works, 5:432).

The deepest, most durable happiness, a hint of heaven’s own joy, can be felt here below. It is the gift of the Holy Spirit to those who entertain him. So, hear his voice, heed his motions, hate his enemies, have his grace — and welcome the indwelling Spirit of joy.

Audio Transcript

The influence of a godly woman is not to be underestimated. Peter makes that point in 1 Peter 3, a chapter we’ve been focused on recently. We looked at 1 Peter 3:3 and asked, “How much jewelry is too much jewelry?” That was last time, on Monday, in APJ 1834. Earlier we looked at 1 Peter 3:1–2, two verses about the husband-wife relationship and how a wife responds to her husband’s ongoing sin patterns. That was APJ 1830. And we are back to this theme of a godly woman’s influence, especially on her husband, in 1 Peter 3:3–4. There’s a connection in this verse between a wife’s jewelry and her influence on her husband — an interesting connection made by Peter in his epistle and pointed out briefly by Pastor John in Monday’s episode. It’s a point expanded on in a sermon clip from a 1986 sermon by John Piper. Here he is.

You remember what it says of Sarah in Hebrews 11? Hebrews 11 begins with a definition of faith. “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for” (Hebrews 11:1), and all you see through chapter 11 are heroes and heroines who hope in God. For example, “By faith Sarah herself received power to conceive, even when she was past the age, since she considered him faithful who had promised” (Hebrews 11:11).

Fear-Fighting Hope

In other words, we learn from Sarah that women who are holy look away from the frustrations, the miseries, the tragedies, the obstacles of joy in this life to God. They reckon him faithful and sovereign and powerful and loving and kind and unfailing in his promises, and they strengthen their soul with hope and pick up and go on — dirty diapers and all, loss of a husband, divorce. They go on because they hope in God.

“Holy women hope in God and allow no terror to immobilize them in their duties.”

Not only that, but they are freed from something that tends to make life miserable. Look at the end of 1 Peter 3:6: “And you are her children, if you do good and do not fear anything that is frightening.” Do you want to be a daughter of Sarah? Hope in God, and allow that hope to drive fear out. Holy women aren’t afraid of things, except one — displeasing God. Or let’s not overstate the case; let’s be accurate and realistic. Let’s say it this way: holy women, who hope in God when fears and anxieties rise, make war on those fears with the weapon of the word until they drive it out, have hope filling them, and thus gain strength to get on with life. That’s number one in this text. Holy women hope in God and allow no terror to immobilize them in their duties.

Inner Adornment

Second, this hope in God results in a kind of clothing within. First Peter 3:5 says, “For this is how the holy women who hoped in God used to adorn themselves.” And the adornment is referring back to 1 Peter 3:3–4. Let’s read it. Here’s the description of the garment within:

Do not let your adorning be external — the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear — but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God’s sight is very precious.

Now, why did Peter bring up the issue of clothes and hairstyles and jewelry? It doesn’t seem to fit. Let me try to show you why I think he brought it up. I think verses 1 and 2 give us the clue that explains why he brings it up. He has in mind not only Christian wives of Christian husbands but Christian wives of non-Christian husbands. And he says to them, “Likewise, wives, be subject to your own husbands, so that even if some do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives, when they see your respectful and pure conduct.”

“The world can tell you how to attract men to yourself. Only the Scriptures can tell you how to attract men to God.”

Now, it’s Peter’s desire that Christian wives live in such a way that unbelieving husbands will be persuaded that God is real. Isn’t that an awesome challenge — to so live that the conscience of an unbelieving husband will be stricken with guilt, the reality of God will shine, and he will embrace her God? It’s an awesome call for this woman to influence her husband. But he warns them, “Don’t preach at him.” You see that. He says, “without a word.” That’s a warning to the wives. Watch out, lest you drive him away by nagging him about religion.

I think verses 3 and 4 are another warning for how not to try to win an unbelieving husband; namely, don’t try to do it with trendy hairstyles, a better tan, delicate jewelry, and clinging robes. You might attract him to the bedroom — and there’s nothing wrong with that — but you won’t attract him to God. And if your goal is to attract him or anybody to God, it’s got to be from within. The world can tell you how to attract men to yourself. Only the Scriptures can tell you how to attract men to God. And let me insert here for the single women that your hope ought to be in God, not in getting a husband, because the only husband worth getting is one who wants to play second fiddle in your life.

I had imagined mothering a large family would warm my world like a well-lit wood-burning stove. You would open the doors to our house and, like the music box of my childhood, a singular, sweet tune would play. You’d be welcomed by giggling children, prancing about like good-natured foals in a grassy field.

Moving across the world and living in a different culture didn’t squash my dreams of a houseful of children — it just made them more flavorful. We would serve the poor together, enjoy simple pleasures, and raise goats for the glory of God.

I am now six children in. The music box of our home often plays in a minor key, and on any given day my good-natured foals may look more like moody house cats hiding under the bed, ready to claw.

Children are spicy, not merely sweet. The weight of raising them is so complex it’s tempting to throw in the towel and settle for a hobby like collecting spoons. When their pain is your pain, when you sin in front of them and against them, when their behavior has you cringing in embarrassment, the task feels impossible and somewhat akin to death.

The Bible says kids are gifts from God, even a reward (Psalm 127:3), but if we’re honest, some days they feel more like leeches, sucking us dry of all time and energy.

Oddly Wrapped Gifts

Where we live now, people stick to one or two kids. They count our parade in disbelief and click their tongues in disapproval. It’s common to hear grown-ups here call children, especially the boisterous ones, little satans. That’s pretty offensive. For all my failures as a parent, at least I don’t call them that.

However, aren’t we Westerners often guilty of pursuing our personal goals so ruthlessly that our children seem in the way of bigger and better things? They are costly to our bodies, schedules, and wallets. Their little years can feel like a case of chickenpox, a season to get through as quickly as possible.

It’s natural to call children gifts from God when they emerge from the womb, stand on stage with combed hair, and make quilted forts in tranquility. In such moments, we swell with pride at our vibrant olive shoots and shiny arrows. But are they still rewards from our Lord when their anger is red-hot, they’ve been vomiting all night, and they harbor stony hearts?

Lord of the Little Ones

When such rewards look as desirable as a pair of socks unwrapped on Christmas morning, we look to the Giver of all things. Clustered inside of Mark 9:33–10:45, Jesus makes not one but three important statements about the value of little ones. We must close our fleshly eyes and set our minds on the Spirit to see them as Jesus does (Romans 8:5). Here, we discover that, to God, children are nothing like unwanted socks and everything like reward.

Greatest Among the Lowest

First, Jesus says, “Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me” (Mark 9:37). The context of these words helps us make sense of what Jesus is saying. On their way to Capernaum, the disciples passed the time by ranking each other’s importance. Instead of reprimanding them immediately, however, Jesus waits until they are reclining in a home. Perhaps he thought the issue called for a quiet room with quieted hearts.

He asks them about their conversation earlier. Where words once flowed like the milk and honey of Canaan, they suddenly evaporate. The disciples squirm in awkward silence (Mark 9:34). Jesus doesn’t need them to answer; he knows every case and point. But instead of belittling their desire for greatness, he corrects their means of measurement. The real measuring stick is lowliness, the man who is “last of all and servant of all” (Mark 9:35).

“We serve the lowest in order to gain the Greatest.”

He has their attention. They curiously watch the child called into the middle of the room. It’s here Jesus tells them that by welcoming children in his name, they welcome God himself. To become a servant to the weak, to the likes of children — those who normally come last and contribute little — is to understand and enter into the heart of God. We serve the lowest in order to gain the Greatest.

Why are children gifts from this first statement of Jesus? Because they shine a spotlight on true greatness and usher in God himself.

Protector of the Weak

Jesus’s second statement about kids, just five verses later, is a grim warning. Still seated among the small, Jesus says, “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea” (Mark 9:42). Does this warning sound over-the-top in an age that cultivates and celebrates the sexual curiosities and “gender choices” of children? Is a drowned man too violent a picture for those who lead children away from Jesus? In a society that prizes personal truths, such a warning may sound irrelevant at best, morbid and immoral at worst.

However, if we pass over Jesus’s words too quickly, we miss the protective heart of a father who treasures children. The judgment awaiting those who mislead Jesus’s most vulnerable followers is grave and guaranteed. Scripture is full of the Father’s protective care of kids, commanding fathers not to “provoke [their] children to anger” (Ephesians 6:4) and assuring us that the angels of believing children “always see the face of my Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 18:10).

Why are children gifts from this second statement of Jesus? Because only the most valued gifts require this extent of safe-keeping.

Kids Hold the Key

The third statement is found in Mark 10:13–16. Jesus’s attention has turned from the Pharisees toward his tiniest listeners, who flutter about him like butterflies on sweet-smelling hyacinth. He blesses their small heads with what must have been a smile, even laughter. Such tenderness is lost on the disciples, who rebuke the families for wasting valuable time. The Lord is grieved by their jumbled priorities. The biggest advocate of the young turns their rebukes around: “Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it” (Mark 10:14–15).

Kids hold the key to the kingdom. Children enter the world wearing nothing and needing everything. They cry for things they can’t even name. God isn’t surprised that we come filthy and poor. It’s his good plan. We don’t look to our 4-year-olds to pitch in on the mortgage or do their chores to earn a hug. How much more does our perfect Father love us through Jesus, not merit of our own? Instead of rebuking the children, Jesus invites them into his very embrace. It’s an invitation with one requirement: weakness.

“On their best and worst days, children are forever rewards and gifts.”

Why are children gifts from this third statement of Jesus? Because they teach us what our God is like and how salvation works.

The More Children, the Jollier

These three statements made by Jesus are sandwiched by adults acting grown-up in the worst kind of way — people grown-away from the One they need most: religious leaders trying to trick Jesus on the hot topic of divorce to look smart (Mark 10:2), a rich man who walks away from true treasure (Mark 10:17–31), and the Sons of Thunder calling dibs on the VIP seats of heaven (Mark 10:35–40).

The world may continue to call kids little satans. If we aren’t careful, we too will overlook and resent these noisy, messy, impossible mercies. Our houseful isn’t as neatly packaged as I had imagined. Our bathroom hosts many tearful retreats. Nevertheless, Jesus is clear that on their best and worst days, children are forever rewards and gifts.

Above one of my daughter’s beds is a canvas she painted of our stick-figure family, with these words crayoned above their heads: “The More Children, the Jollier!” What a good little theologian.