I remember a line in the television show that men in the Poldark family were known for being “hasty, sharp-tempered, and strong in their likes and dislikes.” This sentiment has struck me as masculine. Not because God approves of hastiness or sharp tempers (he doesn’t), but because men ought to have something of what lies behind them: strong convictions.

How rare are warm-blooded men of zeal these days, men of strong likes and dislikes — even within the church? When ambitious men of the world spend time around men of the church — men supposedly imaging Christ’s likeness, possessing Christ’s Spirit, and commissioned to win eternal spoils — do we fault them for sensing an absence of purpose, a coolness of flame, a dryness of ambition? Do they see men “who by patience in well-doing seek for glory, honor, and immortality” (Romans 2:7)? Do they feel ashamed of their small pursuits and eager to cast them off for the Christian man’s pulse and existence?

“How rare are warm-blooded men of zeal these days, men of strong likes and dislikes — even within the church?”

Or do they not wonder what these Christian men really wake up for in the morning? It isn’t clear. They’re moderate in their likes; moderate in their dislikes. They remain room-temperature. They never have that look in their eye. They smile and smile, but never laugh from the belly, nor give a firm handshake or word when the occasion calls. That man, that weapon, that sword is beat into a plow.

Relaxing Among Idols

Can you imagine such men sitting by peacefully in Athens in the first century? They rest among the commotion, waiting for friends to arrive. Initially they may have been startled by the many idols bought, sold, and displayed. Beautiful statues of Greek gods and goddesses fill the city, some saying it was “easier to find a god than a man.” This is not true worship, the thought might come. But as a few moments pass, they begin to wonder, What’s for lunch? . . . And what’s taking Timothy and Silas so long to get here?”

Now witness another man of God, a man of strong likes and dislikes, seated in the very same place.

Now while Paul was waiting for them [Timothy and Silas] at Athens, his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols. So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and in the marketplace every day with those who happened to be there. (Acts 17:16–17)

We can imagine him looking around, tapping his fingers at first. Then we see him begin to sway and nod and take a deep breath. Perhaps he bites his lip; then clenches his fist. A fire is kindled in his chest, fed by the words seared on his heart — “I am Yahweh; that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to carved idols” (Isaiah 42:8).

Why should these exquisite nothings receive the praise that belonged exclusively to his God? Why do men buy “not-gods” and call them gods? How dare they embrace false deities in the Lord’s marketplace, while breathing the Lord’s air, under the Lord’s sun? Why did their idolatry feel comfortable parading at noonday? What are these but offenses against the Holy One; Philistines mocking to be answered?

He cannot, like so many other men, sit quietly and watch. He must open his mouth and speak of Christ to give vent his fuming soul.

Hunted

Jews were tracking Paul. They recently stirred a mob against him in Thessalonica, then agitated the crowds against him in Berea. They would eventually follow him to Athens as well. If anyone had an excuse to keep a low profile, it was him. If anyone had a reason to take this time “off,” it was him. Yet he did not pour water on the flame from those buckets of “practicality” so plentiful in our own day. Troopless, he went in alone.

He rose to his feet as a man possessed — a man who did not count his life of any value nor as precious to himself, if only he could finish his course and his ministry to testify to the gospel of the grace of God (Acts 20:24). He walked over to the people, looked at a group of potential attackers, and spoke grace. In the synagogues, he reasoned with Jews; in the marketplace, he open-air preached to Gentiles. Not occasionally, but daily.

He soon became a spectacle to the people. “What does this babbler wish to say?” some asked. “He seems to be a preacher of foreign divinities,” others answered (Acts 17:18). They requested to hear more of this strange teaching, news of this “Jesus” (Acts 17:18–21).

When he’s invited to preach in the Areopagus, he concludes his sermon,

The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead. (Acts 17:30–31)

When they heard of resurrection, some mocked. Others said they would hear him again. “But some men joined him and believed, among whom also were Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris and others with them” (Acts 17:34).

On Active Duty

When you witness Paul provoked into preaching day after day, what do you see?

When I see Paul risking his life to charge into the hostile city alone, I witness the New Testament equivalent of David running at Goliath, Jonathan and his armor-bearer charging the Philistines, Phineas piercing the rebellious couple, Joshua campaigning into the Promised Land. “We do not wrestle against flesh and blood,” Paul explains, “but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12). According to Paul, our armor, our enemy, our warfare, is not less urgent or real for being unseen, but more.

“Our armor, our enemy, our warfare, is not less urgent or real for being unseen, but more.”

When we hear him standing and heralding to anyone who would listen, there stands one who descends from a lineage of men possessed with God’s own jealousy. God is passionately, rightly jealous for his name on earth; Paul shares that jealousy. God detests his praises going to idols; Paul does too. Paul’s Master did not sit idly in heaven, but came to earth calling for repentance and announcing the good news and becoming good news — how could the servant sit idly after Jesus had proclaimed, “It is finished” (John 19:30)?

And can you see Paul’s great conquest at Athens? Paul took the battlefield proclaiming Jesus — dead and now alive. Some laughed, some procrastinated, but others believed. He walked away with immortal gains — the souls of Dionysius and Damaris and the others won to King Jesus.

Where Flags of Satan Fly

When you consider the man wondering about his lunch and the apostle Paul fighting demons over souls, which man are you more like? Which man do you want to be?

This contrast challenges me because, too often, I find myself identifying with the docile man. “What should I have for lunch?” is the daily theme — while Rome burns, devils laugh, and Christ is belittled or altogether ignored.

But I want to be more alive. I want to feel more concern for Christ’s name. I want to be consumed in the flames of my Lord’s likes and dislikes. I long for my little candle to be engulfed in his forest fire. And I want to turn with vengeance upon any and all distractions from this devotion to Christ. Don’t you?

Don’t you want to look around at the flags of Satan flying overhead and care about Jesus and souls enough to be provoked? The sins of his city so affected Lot that he lived day after day “tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard” (2 Peter 2:8). Don’t you want these reminders to affect you and spur you on to greater love, greater prayer, greater boldness?

Stirred by the Zeal of God

What could happen if a group of men and women awoke from complacent slumbers, provoked and sent forth with God’s own jealousy into a community? If more professing Christians felt triggered by idols and shared a “divine jealousy” for the church (2 Corinthians 11:2)? If we obeyed Paul to “Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good” (Romans 12:9). Genuine love. Genuine abhorrence. Genuine clinging to what is good, stirred by God’s own zeal to do what is good.

With these, under the blessing of God, the world can yet again be turned upside down.

Distress discloses who we really are. It wrings us, bleeds us, drags the soul to the surface to account for itself. I am the best me with a happy wife, obedient children, loyal friends, suitable bank account, and (as a pastor) humble sheep. But when the child screams inconsolably (again), when the wife is anxious, when friends and finances blow away, when sheep refuse to be shepherded, then who am I? Isn’t it easiest to “trust in the Lord with all your heart” when you don’t really feel any need to?

The devil thought so. In response to God’s celebrating Job, Satan sneers,

Does Job fear God for no reason? Have you not put a hedge around him and his house and all that he has, on every side? You have blessed the work of his hands, and his possessions have increased in the land. But stretch out your hand and touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face. (Job 1:9–11)

In other words, prosperity props up his righteousness. That twisted spirit is always incredulous about integrity. What happens next will reveal the spirit; the squeeze will spill the juice.

Predators and Pray

David was a man squeezed repeatedly throughout his life — and aren’t we thankful? His psalms pour forth as sweetest wine pressed in adversity. As we (unwillingly) explore affliction and wander through nights of uncertainty, everywhere we go we seem to find the inscription: Here stood David. Travel into the valley of death, into utter despair, into conflicts of soul and with Satan — there he waits to sing to our griefs, name our sorrows, and point us to the light of hope in God. His music comforted the tormented Saul and many Sauls since.

Psalm 27 is another psalm juiced from the winepress. The exact circumstances remain unclear; all we know is that vultures circle overhead; he is being hunted.

When evildoers assail me     to eat up my flesh,my adversaries and foes,     it is they who stumble and fall.

Though an army encamp against me,     my heart shall not fear;though war arise against me,     yet I will be confident. (Psalm 27:2–3)

He knows men wish to murder him. If he pens this on the run from King Saul, his adversaries are mighty indeed. If he writes this later as king, he knows men would step over his carcass to hold his crown. He imagines his opponents, vast and cannibalistic: “when evildoers assail me to eat up my flesh . . .” These men are beasts, omnivorous, arrayed, teeth bared and lurking.

What emerges from the inner man? A defiant faith in God. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1). Here is the shepherd boy who stared down the predator of Gath and returned with the head of the foe. And with the foul stench of death’s breath upon his neck, he pens next his life verse. As the black dogs chase, what man comes forth from the depths? A worshiper.

One Thing I Ask

Feel how supernatural this is: as assassins lurk in the corridor, David’s distracting desire, his consuming passion, is to be away with his God. The hounds gather at the base of his tree, yet see him gazing up at higher branches, longing to be nearer the heavens.

One thing have I asked of the Lord,     that will I seek after:that I may dwell in the house of the Lord     all the days of my life,to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord     and to inquire in his temple. (Psalm 27:4)

When fear showed its crooked smile, he longed to gaze upon the beauty of his God. Here we find no atheist in the foxhole, nor even a mere monotheist, but a lover of God whose mind, even in this nightmare, daydreamed about seeing the King in his beauty. As Charles Spurgeon writes, “Under David’s painful circumstances we might have expected him to desire repose, safety, and a thousand other good things, but no, he has set his heart on the pearl, and leaves the rest.”

While his own life teeters in the balance, he teaches us what ours is about. As the Miner sifts him, the sand falls through; the one jewel remains. He longs “to enjoy the constant presence of God,” comments Derek Kidner:

Note the singleness of purpose (one thing) — the best answer to distracting fears (1–3) — and the priorities within that purpose: to behold and to inquire; a preoccupation with God’s Person and his will. It is the essence of worship; indeed of discipleship. (Psalms 1–72, 138)

To dwell with God all the days of his life, to see something — see Someone — “to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord” and to speak with him in his palace — this was everything to him. Life was not to rule, to slay giants, to marry and have children, to amass wealth, to eat, drink, or be merry — the continuance of these was not his one request. Worship was. As evil men swipe at the silver cord, he, like Mary after him, chooses the good portion that cannot be taken from him: to sit at the feet of his Lord.

Most of us will never have people try to kill us. But we can learn the priority of worship from the dark distresses of David. The object at the end of his soul’s longing was a glory to be gazed upon. Traveling back to David’s game of thrones — life hanging in the balance, his picture on the dartboard — we find a man not only after God’s own heart, but after God himself. On the caption to his own wanted poster, he scrawls, David, a man seeking the face of God, was here.

Summons Behind Our Seeking

I am convicted by the singularity of David’s request and marvel at the circumstances from which it arose. When offered one thing, Solomon asked for wisdom; David, like Moses, asked to see God’s face. What am I asking for? As I audit my life, what is the one thing I am seeking after? Is it to see my God’s majesty all the days of my life? Do my desires reach nearly that high?

My tepid heart warms to discover that this seeing that makes eternally happy is not just the man’s desire, but God’s desire for the man. David’s obsession to see God was in obedience to his command. David sings the secret later in the psalm:

You have said, “Seek my face.”My heart says to you,     “Your face, Lord, do I seek.”Hide not your face from me. (Psalm 27:8–9)

Our highest worship never climbs higher than a response. Behind our one request is always his command: “Seek my face.” Christianity is not about us scaling to the gods and invading their heaven, but about God descending to us and giving us his. Which means we do not persuade him to be seen; he persuades us to see. And at what price he makes his argument. When did Jesus intercede most ardently for David’s one request on our behalf? On the eve of his securing it at the cross: “Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory that you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world” (John 17:24).

Jesus Christ, David’s son and David’s desire, offers us more than a psalm or sympathy in our darkest moments. He gives himself. As we fumble in despair, he doesn’t just point us to God; he tabernacles among us as God.

“Christianity is not about us scaling to the gods and invading heaven, but about God descending to us and giving us heaven.”

And somehow, he too was hunted. Satan protested of him, “Does he fear God for no reason?” The armies of men arrested him by night, mocked him, flogged him, and crucified him. They did assail him to eat up his flesh. Strong bulls of Jerusalem surrounded him; they opened their mouths wide at him like a ravening lion (Psalm 22:12–13). And who was he then, crushed in the winepress of the Father’s wrath? “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). Beneath the midnight of God’s wrath, in the valley of the second death, see inscribed upon a tree: The Son of God, the son of David, was here.

And he was there, Christian, so we could be where he is to behold his glory forever.

We Shall See Him

O saint, you will see him soon. How then shall we wait? Make David’s prayer your own so that when you see him you may have confidence before him and not shrink in shame at his coming (1 John 2:28). Imagine that coming. The sight of him will not only bless but beautify; you shall be like him, for you “shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2). And we will see him as he is, no longer as he once was in his agony. Let the prince of preachers heat your heart:

We shall see him, not with a reed in his hand, but grasping a golden sceptre. We shall see him, not as mocked and spit upon and insulted, not bone of our bone, in all our agonies, afflictions, and distresses; but we shall see him exalted; no longer Christ the man of sorrows, the acquaintance of grief, but Christ the Man-God, radiant with splendour, effulgent with light, clothed with rainbows, girded with clouds, wrapped in lightnings, crowned with stars, the sun beneath his feet.

O Lord our God, heaven’s Radiance and our Desire, one thing we ask of you and one thing will we seek after: to dwell in your kingdom all the days of our lives, to gaze upon your beauty and to inquire of you in a world remade. When our hearts are now tried and crushed, may what comes out be a song that begs to see more, that pleads to see, finally and forever, your face, unveiled but not unrecognized — your face, a heaven of beauty and the beauty of heaven.

Audio Transcript

Welcome back to the podcast. Tomorrow marks the 506th celebration of Reformation Day, commemorating the October 31st when Martin Luther fearlessly published his Ninety-Five Theses, mailing one copy to the archbishop and posting another copy on a prominent church door. Whether it was dramatically nailed to that door with a hammer, or more likely glued to the door with a paste brush, Luther’s document set in motion a wave of reformation that we honor half a millennium later.

But given how much time has elapsed since this event, we can find ourselves questioning what exactly we’re celebrating. Is it the profound recovery of the truth of justification by faith alone in Christ alone? Is it the liberation of the Bible into the language of the people? Is it the end of indulgences? The rejection of papal authority? The dismantling of the priest class as mediators between God and man? Or perhaps is it all of these things, all combined? Pastor John, as you honor the enduring legacy of the Reformation, what’s your primary cause for celebration?

Let me fudge on the word primarily. I’d like to replace it with five other words, but I couldn’t think of five other words. I did think of five other questions; I just couldn’t think of words to go with them. I thought of two, but I gave up on five words. So I’m going to replace your question with five, but I will — at the end I think — answer exactly what you’re asking. So here we go.

1. Ultimate Celebration

First, what am I celebrating ultimately? That is, what’s at the top as the goal of all things when I celebrate the Reformation?

“What am I celebrating ultimately? The answer is the glory of Jesus Christ.”

The answer is the glory of Jesus Christ. In Calvin’s response to the Roman Catholic Sadoleto, he said, “You . . . touch upon justification by faith, the first and keenest subject of controversy between us. . . . Wherever the knowledge of it is taken away, the glory of Christ is extinguished” (John Calvin: Selections from His Writings, 95). I think the same point could be made on issue after issue in the disputes of the Reformation. So ultimately, we celebrate the exaltation of the glory of Christ.

2. Foundational Celebration

Second, what am I celebrating most foundationally? So the first one was most ultimately; the second one is most foundationally. That is, what’s at the bottom, as the ground of all things, when I celebrate the Reformation?

The answer is the free and sovereign grace of God. When Martin Luther came to the end of his life, he regarded his book The Bondage of the Will as his most important work. And the reason is that he regarded the issue of human autonomy versus sovereign grace as the key underlying issue of the Reformation. He said,

I condemn and reject as nothing but error all doctrines which exalt our “free will” as being directly opposed to this mediation and grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. For since, apart from Christ, sin and death are our masters and the devil is our god and prince, there can be no strength or power, no wit or wisdom, by which we can fit or fashion ourselves for righteousness and life. (What Luther Says, 3:1376–77)

Which means that as long as someone insists on ultimate human self-determination, they fail to grasp the depth of our need, and they obscure the greatness of the free and sovereign grace of God, which alone can give life and faith. So I’m going to celebrate that as bottom. That’s the bottom.

3. Celebrated Achievement

Third, between the glory of Christ at the top and the free and sovereign grace of God at the bottom, what am I celebrating in between as the greatest achievement of God — flowing from grace, leading to glory?

The answer is the decisive achievement of the cross of Christ in providing peace with God for guilty sinners. Four times in the book of Hebrews, the author underlines and emphasizes the work of Christ in the forgiveness of sins as “once for all.” I love this phrase and the way he uses it in Hebrews 7:27; 9:12, 26; 10:10.

This is the first one: “[Christ] has no need, like those high priests, to offer sacrifices daily, first for his own sins and then for those of the people, since he did this once for all when he offered up himself” (Hebrews 7:27). So I will be celebrating that the finished and complete work of Christ — in providing imputed punishment for our sins and imputed perfection for our righteousness — was once for all and cannot be reenacted in the Roman Catholic mass so as to become a necessary point of transfer of that decisive grace. It was purchased once for all for us and given to us through faith in Christ alone.

4. Celebrated Scripture

Fourth, between the glory of Christ at the top and the free and sovereign grace of God at the bottom, what am I celebrating in between as the decisive means of my enjoyment of peace with God that Christ achieved?

Answer: the inspired word of God in Scripture — read and known by every Christian. The church of the Middle Ages cut people off from the word of God. They had done so intentionally. It was a capital crime in the 1400s in Britain to translate the Scriptures into English so people could read them. They burned people alive for reading fragments of the English Bible — even children.

They believed that God did not offer his fellowship to be enjoyed through a personal encounter with him in his word, but rather through the ministry of priests and sacraments. This was evil, and the chasm created between Scripture and the people of God has not been closed to this very day.

I’ve mentioned before my experience in Europe where a nun was converted at eighty years old and had never read the Gospel of John. A Roman Catholic professional religious woman never had read the Gospel of John. That is symptomatic of a deep evil in cutting people off, historically and today, doing things that subtly discourage the personal encounter with God through Christ in his word. So, I will be celebrating the personal preciousness and access to the word of God for my daily means of enjoying personal fellowship with my Father in heaven.

5. Celebrated Truth and Experience

And the last question: What great Reformation truth will I be celebrating concerning how I experience the living Christ through his word?

“Faith is the decisive, primary way I enjoy what Christ purchased and what the word makes possible.”

Answer: I will be celebrating the truth that faith — acted directly on Christ through his word, not mediated by priestly sacraments — is the decisive, primary way I enjoy what Christ purchased and what the word makes possible. Here’s what I read this morning in my devotions that made my heart sing. I was reading in Ephesians 3 that unspeakably great prayer, where Paul says, “[I pray] that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith” (Ephesians 3:16–17). That’s amazing. Christ dwells.

Now, this is a prayer for Christians. This is not a prayer for conversion. We think, “Oh, that means Christ knocks on the door and then comes in.” That’s not it. He’s in; we are Christians. He’s praying for saints in Ephesus, that Christ would dwell — that is, consciously, alive, present, at home, experienced. How? Through faith: “so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.” He’s praying for Christians who already have Christ. This is a prayer for real, authentic experience of the living Christ.

So, when I embrace the crucified and risen Christ as my supreme treasure — alive, present, at home in me — that very faith, that embrace, is the sufficient instrument for the enjoyment of his fellowship. That will be my primary, daily celebration.