Imagine that moment when Jesus first opened his mouth to begin his Sermon on the Mount.

The Gospel of Matthew sets the scene. Jesus has been baptized by John (3:13–17) and endured forty days of wilderness fasting and temptation (4:1–11). He has quietly begun his public ministry in the region of Galilee and called his first disciples (4:18–22). He started by teaching in synagogues. But now as his fame spreads, the crowds swell, and his ministry is increasingly consigned to open air (4:23–25).

Seeing the crowds, Jesus goes up a mountain. The gentle slope will serve as a natural theater where he might be seen, and his words heard, by the masses.

Has humble Galilee ever seen anything like this — anyone like this? Not only does this tradesman’s son heal, but he speaks with a captivating weight. The scribes borrow their authority (as they should) from Scripture as they teach and explain God’s word. But this man, perfectly in sync with Scripture, somehow speaks on par with Scripture — and even in some enigmatic sense, his authority seems to rise above it.

There are whispers. Might this be the prophet to come? Might this be the Messiah himself? It all makes for an electric moment — the air thick with energy and excitement.

A hush ripples through the crowd. He is about to speak. What will Jesus say? How will he start? What will be the first topic he addresses at such a poignant moment?

He opens his mouth and says, “Blessed . . .”

Ninefold Happiness

Remarkably, Jesus’s first topic — his repeated first topic — is to the blessedness, the happiness, of his hearers. He assumes they want to be happy, and he makes an extended appeal — a holy, perceptive, profound appeal — to their happiness. Not just once but over and over again.

The refrain of these precious opening words, which will come to be known as “the Beatitudes,” addresses the deep and enduring desire of the human heart to be happy — that is, blessed.

Blessed are the poor in spirit. . . . Blessed are those who mourn. . . . Blessed are the meek. . . . Blessed . . . Blessed . . . Blessed . . . Blessed . . . Blessed . . . Blessed . . . (Matthew 5:3–11)

Nine times Jesus makes his stunningly hedonistic appeal and tops it all off with the exhortation — for those in the face of persecution no less — “Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven” (5:12).

The opening salvos of Jesus’s most famous sermon promise true happiness. His refrain is reward; his charge is “rejoice and be glad.” Many of us today are so familiar with these Beatitudes that we miss the shock, the scandal, the gall of a preacher unleashing such a pleasure-seeking manifesto on an unsuspecting audience.

Our Blessed God

Part of the reason we miss this edge in Jesus’s message is because our word blessed has lost much of its power. In the first century, blessed was no overused hashtag. It wasn’t Christianese, suffering from overuse and shallowness. “Blessed” in the Hebrew Scriptures was “the man [whose] delight is in the law of the Lord” — so rich and full and sweet a delight that “on his law he meditates day and night” (Psalm 1:1–2). Blessed was no small promise from the mouth of Jesus to the ears of the crowds.

“The kingdom of heaven is, first and foremost, the sphere of God’s happy smile and favor.”

The Greeks had mused about the “blessedness” (makarismos) of their gods as “the transcendent happiness of a life beyond care, labor, and death . . . the happy state of the gods above earthly sufferings and labors” (TDNT). In 1 Timothy, Paul applies the term to the Father of Jesus Christ. He is “the blessed God” who has entrusted Paul with “the gospel of his glory” (1:11). He is “the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords” (6:15).

Accordingly, Peter van Mastricht, favorite systematician of Jonathan Edwards, would come along centuries later and define divine blessedness as God’s

perfect enjoyment of his own self, from which there is said to be fullness of joys with his face (Psalm 16:11). In it is contained not only an exact knowledge of his own self, a knowledge proper to him alone (Romans 11:34; 1 Corinthians 2:11), but also a fullness, repose [rest], and joy in himself, in the communion of the persons, and in all his works (Proverbs 8:30; Matthew 17:5). (Theoretical-Practical Theology, 2:489)

In other words, to be God is to be happy — infinitely, unshakably happy. Because what makes him happiest — who makes him happiest — is infinite and unshakable: himself. God is not an idolater; he has no greater joy than himself. He is supreme being — highest, infinitely so, in value, glory, beauty, and happiness. God is far and away, utterly unrivaled, the most valuable and most delightful reality. And before anything else existed, through his creative mind and hands, he was fully satisfied in himself. He alone is the bottomless source of all delight, even for himself. He is God, and to be God means to possess and enjoy infinite bliss. And apparently, to be inclined to share it.

Our Blessing God

What’s so stunning in Jesus’s repeated call to true happiness is that it presupposes God’s willingness, even eagerness, to extend his own happiness to his creatures. The blessedness Jesus promises is the blessedness of God himself shared with his people. In fact, as his disciples and their expanding circle come to learn, Jesus himself stands among them as the fully human (and divine) expression of God’s happiness.

Jesus comes as an extension of his Father’s own blessedness, and he offers that blessedness to those who hear him in faith. The kingdom of heaven — so prominent in Jesus’s teaching — is, first and foremost, the sphere of God’s happy smile and favor.

Unexpected Conditions

Still, the repeated invitation to such blessedness is not yet the end of the surprise. Nine unexpected, seemingly upside-down qualifications follow Jesus’s ninefold promise of God-given happiness. Counter to our natural expectations, these promises are not for the strong, the glib, the proud, the vindicated, the exacting, the worldly triumphant. This happiness, the happiness that comes from God himself, is on offer to the weak, the lowly, the despised, the ones who look foolish and shameful in the eyes of the world —

the poor in spirit . . . those who mourn . . . the meek . . . those who hunger and thirst for righteousness . . . the merciful . . . the pure in heart . . . the peacemakers . . . those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake . . . . (Matthew 5:3–10)

The blessed God is not into icing the cakes of otherwise happy people. He takes the empty and fills them, from the very bottom, with his surpassing blessedness. He takes the needy and shares with them his own boundless bliss. He recruits those who lack, that he might fill them. He receives the dependent, that his own joy in them might be seen to be as rich and full and thick as divine joy really is.

The happy God, in his fullness and bounty, in his infinite joy and delight, generously overflows to give, enrich, comfort, feed, extend mercy, show himself, adopt, vindicate, and reward all who will abandon the pretense of being fine without him and gladly receive the lavish abundance of his grace and mercy.

Happiness Rewards the Humble

Jesus’s opening lines in this sermon call us to acknowledge the depth of our emptiness, recognize the extent of our neediness, even glory in our lack and our dependence, and acclaim the fullness of God’s generous provision and contagious happiness.

He is both the blessed God and the blessing God, who sent his own Son not only to speak of our blessedness in him but to secure it. The happy God is the giving God — giving mercy, the kingdom, the whole earth, and great reward (Matthew 5:3, 5, 7, 12). He comforts and satisfies (5:4, 6). He reveals his own heart to his children and calls them his sons (5:8–9).

This happy God and Father makes his sun rise, and sends his life-giving rain, even on the evil and unjust (Matthew 5:45–46). He rewards those who seek him in secret (6:4, 6, 17). Indeed, he knows what his children need before they ask, and he is eager to give good things to those who ask (6:8, 32; 7:11). He feeds them far better than the birds (6:26) and clothes them far better than the lilies (6:30). He gives daily bread, forgives debts, and delivers from evil (6:11–13, 15).

“Blessed . . . Blessed . . . Blessed . . .” Jesus says. And he invites us into the very happiness of God.

Audio Transcript

Welcome back to the podcast. This week we’re talking about pastoral ministry. Can single men pastor — or must pastors be married?? That’s today. And then, how much should pastors make? That’s up next.

So, Pastor John, we know that many professing Christians around the world claim that church leaders must be single men who have taken a vow of clerical celibacy. We of course disagree with that. For Protestants like us, pastors are typically married men. So we face a question in the opposite direction — and it’s a question recently asked by two different listeners. First, Josiah. “Pastor John, thank you for sharing your insight with us week after week on this podcast. Do you believe a first requirement for eldership is that he have a wife and kids?” Then Josiah cites 1 Timothy 3:2–4 and Titus 1:6. And Blake, another listener, likewise asks if a single, non-married man is eligible to be a church elder. What would you say to Josiah and Blake?

Whether a single man is permitted biblically to be an elder or pastor boils down to whether two passages — one in 1 Timothy 3, the other in Titus 1 — mandate that elders must be married. If they do, that settles the matter: we obey. If they don’t, then we have to ask whether there are other passages or other pointers or principles that would suggest it’s permitted or wise or unwise to have pastors who are not married.

Here are those two most immediately relevant texts:

He must manage his own household well, with all dignity keeping his children submissive, for if someone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he care for God’s church? (1 Timothy 3:4–5)

This is why I left you in Crete, so that you might put what remained in order, and appoint elders in every town as I directed you — if anyone is above reproach, the husband of one wife . . . (Titus 1:5–6)

Assuming Marriage

A couple of observations are, I think, especially relevant. First, Paul does not say here or anywhere else that elders must be married. He could have said that very clearly. It would’ve been easy in Greek to say that. (It would’ve been easy, of course, in English to say that.)

“Paul does not say here or anywhere else that elders must be married. He could have said that very clearly.”

For example, Titus 1:7 says, “An overseer, as God’s steward, must be above reproach” (see also 1 Timothy 3:2). And the Greek dei — “must,” “has to be,” “is necessary” — makes it an explicit necessity. No questions. Paul could have said, “an overseer must be married,” but he didn’t say that. What he said was, first, the elder “must manage his household well.” And second, if he’s a husband of one wife, he can be considered. Neither of those statements amounts to an explicit mandate for marriage.

So, it appears that marriage was assumed, but that it was not explicitly commanded. And I expect that it was assumed because ongoing, lifelong singleness in cultures was so rare that it scarcely needed addressing. That’s the first observation.

Another observation is the assumption that the elder would not only normally be married, but that he would normally have children. Both passages assume that the elders have wives and have children. So, if we’re going to infer that marriage is required for the pastorate, on the same grounds, it seems to me, we would need to infer that a pastor have children, not just a wife.

So, if I’m right that in these texts there is a strong assumption that a man will be married with a family if he’s a pastor, and yet there’s no explicit command that he be married or have children, then my question becomes this: What other considerations in the New Testament might help us decide whether it’s wise to have a pastor who is not married — or to expect that he would be or require that he would be?

Exemplars of Singleness

Now, the first consideration we might look at is that neither Jesus nor Paul was married and yet fulfilled roles of leadership and teaching and care for the churches very much like a pastor. Nothing is ever said about Jesus being married or single. The topic of his own marriage never comes up. There is no wife in the story of the Gospels, and it would be a total fantasy — some people have spun out that fantasy — to claim that he was married.

Paul, on the other hand, tells us more than once that he was not married. For example, in 1 Corinthians 9:5, “Do we” — meaning Barnabas and he — “not have the right to take along a believing wife, as do the other apostles and the brothers of the Lord and Cephas?” In other words, they certainly do have the right, and yet there are practical reasons why marriage for Paul would have been unwise. He didn’t use his right. The call on his life was just constant movement — and a lot of it in jail, enduring almost constant suffering. Marriage would probably have been constantly dangerous and miserable for a wife.

Whatever the reason, he wasn’t, and he makes it explicit in 1 Corinthians 7:7–8: “I wish that all were as I myself am. But each has his own gift from God, one of one kind and one of another. To the unmarried and the widows I say that it is good for them to remain single, as I am.” It seems to me that the singleness of Jesus and the singleness of Paul imply that an unmarried man can have an exceptionally fruitful ministry and be an effective pastor.

Then add to this the amazing praise that Paul sings to the benefits of singleness. And here’s what he says (this is 1 Corinthians 7:32–35):

I want you to be free from anxieties. The unmarried man is anxious about the things of the Lord, how to please the Lord. But the married man is anxious about worldly things, how to please his wife, and his interests are divided. And the unmarried or betrothed woman is anxious about things of the Lord, how to be holy in body and spirit. But the married woman is anxious about worldly things, how to please her husband. I say this for your own benefit, not to lay any restraint upon you, but to promote good order and to secure your undivided devotion to the Lord.

Single and Married Pastors

We’re tempted to say, then, “Well, Paul, why don’t you just make singleness a requirement for the pastorate?” I mean, the church went off the rails at one point and did that.

“Sexual desire is intended ordinarily to be satisfied in marriage. And that goes for pastors too.”

And Paul would say, I think, in response to that question, first, that sexual desire is intended ordinarily to be satisfied in marriage. And that goes for pastors too. First Corinthians 7:1–5 are amazing verses. Second, while there are advantages to singleness in the pastorate, there are great advantages also to marriage in the pastorate, not only in the matter of sex, but also in the matter of firsthand knowledge about marriage and parenting and the stresses and joys of ordinary family life. All of that is a great benefit for pastors. And having a wife at your side — oh my goodness — is a great ministerial blessing, I testify. When Paul is singing the praises of singleness, he’s not singing them as though there were no corresponding praises for marriage, especially in the pastorate.

My conclusion is that the reason Paul assumed marriage for the pastoral role in 1 Timothy and Titus was that it was culturally normal and it was a great advantage in knowing how to manage a household and empathize with married people in the church. And that was the norm: most people were married. But also I conclude that marriage is not an absolute requirement for the eldership or pastorate, and that, along the lines of 1 Corinthians 7, there are advantages of being single in that role. So, if I were on a search committee for the next pastor of our church, I would assume we’re looking for a married man who has a family. But I would not rule out a gifted single man whose life and ministry had shown and borne real fruit.

Audio Transcript

I cast my cares on God, and those cares keep finding their way back to me. So how do I get rid of those cares for good? We get that question a lot. Today it comes in the form of an email from a listener to the podcast named Claire. Claire writes, “Hello, Pastor John and Tony! I’m a Christian college student and I listen to APJ all the time. Pastor John, I was recently rereading your book Battling Unbelief. In the first chapter, you mention 1 Peter 5:7 and that we should be ‘casting our cares on God.’ I have often wondered about this command and how you do it. How do you cast your cares? Do you simply tell God you’re giving up your worries? Additionally, once you do cast them, are we expected to forget those worries? Or can we expect them to come back to us?” Pastor John, what would you say to Claire?

Suppose you lived in a village with about five hundred people and no army, no fortress, and suppose you heard that an enemy army of five thousand armed soldiers was coming against you to take your village and destroy its inhabitants. Now, that would be in your heart a burden. It would be an anxiety, and the kind of thing Peter says in 1 Peter 5:7 should be cast on the Lord, right? “Cast your anxieties onto the Lord.” Or Psalm 55:22: “[Roll] your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you. He will never permit the righteous to be moved.”

And suppose that there was a king, with an army of fifty thousand soldiers, who had pledged himself to protect you and your village when you call him for help. So you send a messenger to the king and plead with him to come and protect you against the enemy, and he sends a royal messenger back with a message with the official king’s seal on it that says, “I will protect you. The enemy will not overwhelm you.” Signed, “The King.” Now, what would it mean for you at that moment to cast your burden, to cast your anxiety, onto the king?

Surely, the answer is this: to the degree that you trust the king’s promise to protect you, to that degree, your burden will be lifted. If your trust is small, you will still feel burdened, but if your trust is great, your burden will be light. So the key to casting your burdens, your anxieties, onto the king is to trust the word of the king, the word of promise, which, of course, includes trusting that he has the power to do what he says he’ll do, that he has the wisdom to be as strategic as he needs to be, that he has the will, or the desire, or the commitment to do what he says. Trust will involve all those things, but trust is the key to letting your burden go, putting your burden on the king.

What Kind of God?

When it comes to casting our anxieties onto God, the most fundamental thing is for God to tell us what kind of king he is. Is he the kind of God, the kind of king, that wants to load his people down with burdens like slave labor — as the Israelites in Egypt were loaded down with making bricks without straw, because that’s the kind of king Pharaoh was? Or is he the kind of God that loves to lift burdens off of his people? What kind of God is God?

“God will never surrender the glory of being the all-sufficient provider and deliverer.”

That has to be settled, and God has to tell us and show us what kind of God he is. Oh, how liberating, how thrilling it was — I can remember it — for me when I first saw the texts that I’m going to read right now. I had never quite articulated for myself that God really is this way. This is the kind of God who created the universe, who sent Christ into the world, who governs things by the providence of his wisdom. He really is this kind of God. So here they are.

Giver

Acts 17:25: “[God is not] served by human hands as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.” In other words, God has no needs at all. He doesn’t need me. He doesn’t need my slave labor. On the contrary, he shows his divine fullness, wisdom, power, love by giving, not getting.

Deliverer

Here’s Psalm 50:12, 15. God says, “If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the world and its fullness are mine. . . . call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.” What an amazing two verses. In other words, never think that you can glorify God by sacrificially providing for him, providing your labor for him, as though he depended on you for anything. God is not glorified by being your beneficiary. He’s glorified by being your benefactor. “Call on me,” he says, “in the day of trouble; I will deliver you” — not the other way around. “I’ll deliver you, and you will glorify me for my delivering you.” He’ll never surrender the glory of being the all-sufficient provider and deliverer.

Worker

Isaiah 64:4 — oh my goodness, this is glorious. I remember the first time I saw this and had it pointed out to me what kind of uniqueness God claims for himself. “From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you.” Okay, now what’s the uniqueness here that nobody has seen? “. . . who works for those who wait for him.” In other words, what makes God unique among all the pagan gods of the nations is that he doesn’t look for help; he provides help. He works for those who wait for him. Baal and Nebo, those Babylonian gods, they’re like idols sitting on carts that you’ve got to drag around with yokes over your shoulder, whereas our God carries us. We don’t carry him.

Supporter

And maybe the text that amazed me the most of this cluster that I’m reading was 2 Chronicles 16:9: “The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to give strong support to those whose heart is blameless toward him.” What that really says is that God is prowling around; he’s on the lookout for people who let him work for them, for people whose hearts will turn to him and trust him to be strong on their behalf. God is looking for ways, so to speak, to show off his power for us, not against us — for the sake of those who humble themselves under his mighty hand and trust him to work for them. Amazing.

Servant

One more text to illustrate the point, and it goes right to the heart of the matter because it has to do with the incarnation and what God was up to when he sent Jesus. Here’s Mark 10:45: “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” In other words, at the very peak of the revelation of who God is — namely, in the incarnation of his own Son — the point he makes again is this: “I’m not coming to recruit help. I’m not coming to be served. I’m coming to serve. I’m the Savior here. I’m the helper here. I’m the rescuer here. I’m the provider here. I’m the all-wise guide here. I’m the treasure here. Don’t switch roles with me. Be needy, be satisfied, be trustful.”

Trust the All-Sufficient God

So, the answer to our most fundamental question — What kind of God are we dealing with when it comes to burden bearing? — is that we are dealing with a God who is so full he does not need our help to be more full, to be better, to be more effective, to be more satisfied, to be more glorious. All of his fullness — all of his excellence, his effectiveness, his glory — is shown for his people by his working for them, not them working for him. He lifts burdens. We don’t lift his. So with this glorious, massive reality of the kind of God that we are dealing with, what it means to cast your burden or your anxiety on the Lord is that you listen to his promises concerning your situation, and you trust him that he is the kind of God who is strong enough, wise enough, good enough to take onto his strong shoulders your concern and fulfill his promise to you.

“God is the kind of God who is strong enough, wise enough, good enough to take onto his strong shoulders your concern.”

Now, notice that the command in 1 Peter 5:7 to cast your anxieties on the Lord is preceded by the statement that God is mighty and followed by the statement that God cares. It goes like this: “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, . . . casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:6–7). Therefore, the casting of our anxieties means trusting his might and trusting his care to fulfill specific promises that he makes to his children in their various situations of life.

So as I’m facing a situation of anxiety, I admit that I cannot provide God’s needs. That’s not my job. He doesn’t want me to take that role. I’m helpless. God is all-sufficient, so I call to mind a promise like Isaiah 41:10, my go-to precious promise, where God says to me personally (I can hear him saying my name almost), “John, I will help you. I will strengthen you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” — a wonderful promise. And I trust that promise at that moment, and that trusting is the casting of my anxiety onto him. If, by grace, I am able to rest in the promise, the burden is lifted, and I can walk into the scary situation without fear.

So, never cease to be amazed that God is not a man that he should be served, but he is God, and he delights to show his power and his care not by burdening us, but by lifting our burdens. Trust him for this.