Advent gets me through the winter.

Now, the Minnesota winters are nothing to trifle with. They can last a full four months, sometimes five. Before long, these winters feel like half the year. Yet even as a South Carolina native, I endure them well enough with the help of a good Advent.

The light and warmth of a Christian December go a long way in taking the edge off these long, dark, cruel winters. Before long, it’s January. Yes, two frigid months still lie ahead. However, year after year, I find that a good, deliberate, relished spiritual journey up to Christmas helps shorten the winter up here in the northern latitudes.

Marvels of the One Who Comes

One of the best ways to savor the Advent season is to linger over the striking glories of those many Old Testament prophecies that anticipated the coming of Christ. We have our beloved passages from Isaiah, and one we often reach for, from his contemporary, is Micah 5:2–5.

Like Isaiah, Micah writes some seven centuries before the coming of Christ. God gave him a glimpse, and put a word in his mouth, that would feed God’s people for seven hundred years with well-founded hope. Still today these verses confirm for the church the power of our God and his word, with the majesty and humility of Christ.

The wonders of our God, and his sending his own Son at Christmas, are far past finding out. Yet even here, in a prophecy that predates the first Christmas by seven hundred years, we glimpse three stunning glories of the one who “comes forth” at Christmas, the one we await again each Advent.

1. He Comes from Modest Stock

We might be so familiar with the name Bethlehem that we miss the wonder of it. It may not have been the tiny backwater that Nazareth was, but it was modest, even with its regal overtones.

“One of the best ways to savor Advent is to pause over the striking glories of the main prophecies that anticipated Christ’s coming.”

Originally known as Ephrath (Genesis 35:16, 19; 48:7), it was first remembered in ancient Israel as the burial place of Jacob’s beloved wife, Rachel, who died giving birth to Benjamin. Later, after centuries in Egypt, the wilderness wandering, and the nation’s establishment in the promised land, the town was known as Bethlehem during the period of judges and subsequently.

But the city’s associations with Rachel were eclipsed when Israel’s second king, and greatest sovereign, came to the throne around 1000 BC. Then the little town was exalted with its shepherd of humble origin. So Micah prophecies,

you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah,     who are too little to be among the clans of Judah,from you shall come forth for me     one who is to be ruler in Israel . . . (Micah 5:2)

The first glory of the one coming forth is that he comes from Bethlehem. In Micah’s day, God had already done this once with David — the shepherd rising to the throne. Now, some three centuries later, the prophet tells of another ruler who will arise, and ascend, like David, and from David’s own line and town. In fact, God had promised this, in essence, to David during his lifetime:

I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come from your body, and I will establish his kingdom. . . . And your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me. Your throne shall be established forever. (2 Samuel 7:12–16)

David’s son Solomon was a first fulfillment of the prophecy, but he too, like his father, died. He could not reign forever. What this first glimpse from Micah establishes (at minimum) is not only the Coming One’s pedigree in David’s line, but also his humanity. Clearly, the one coming forth will be human, David’s own offspring, and, for all his majesty, a human ruler (“descended from David according to the flesh,” Romans 1:3).

Besides, why would anyone anticipate this coming Messiah could be anything other than human? Still, the prophet, speaking on God’s behalf, gives another glimpse in the next line.

2. He Comes from Ancient Times

What the prophet says next might lead us to wonder if the little town is not the Messiah’s origin but his portal. He comes from Bethlehem, yes, yet also through Bethlehem:

. . . from [Bethlehem] shall come forth for me     one who is to be ruler in Israel,whose coming forth is from of old,     from ancient days . . . (Micah 5:2)

He is from Bethlehem, yet not ultimately from Bethlehem. Rather, mysteriously, this coming one is “from of old, from ancient days.” He is a human ruler, descended from David, and rising up like David from a modest upbringing, but he is more than a human king. And this is not David reincarnate, or some ancient champion, back from the grave — or even an angel in human flesh. This is somehow the Ancient of Days himself, the only one who truly is “of old” — God himself come as man, through the portal of Bethlehem, to rule as man. Bethlehem is his threshold; an unwed maiden his door; but his origin is divine, before the foundation of the world.

3. He Comes to Shepherd with Strength

Still, Micah forecasts more. Yes, he is fully man, and yet somehow also divine — both God and also somehow man. But Micah tells us not just his essence but his manner, not only who will rule but how he will reign:

And he shall stand and shepherd his flock in the strength of the Lord,     in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God.And they shall dwell secure, for now he shall be great     to the ends of the earth.And he shall be their peace. (Micah 5:4–5)

This is exceedingly good news for his flock, his people — and horribly bad news for their enemies.

He will “shepherd his flock,” says Micah, a picture of compassion and concern, loving provision and protection. And he will do so “in the strength of the Lord.” In other words, he will be a strong shepherd, strong enough that his flock might dwell secure under his rule and enjoy real peace in him — and this will mean the opposite for the foes of his flock.

That their shepherd is strong is ominous for their enemies. And that their shepherd is strong is a sweet balm for his people: “they shall dwell secure . . . he shall be their peace.”

Peace to His People

The coming of such peace, in the Strong Shepherd, to the ends of the earth, is a stunning Christmas declaration. Still today, these living words in an ancient prophet are an invitation to all, to any who would bow to embrace the God-man. But these words are not a promise to all. They are a promise of peace to those who receive him, even as they are a portentous warning to those who will not bow.

When he comes, the multitude of the heavenly host say,

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased! (Luke 2:14)

His advent will not mean peace for unrepentant rebels. But for his flock, his happy subjects, his glad worshipers, his dear friends, his second coming will bring the peace and final safety for which our souls have always ached — a grace truly worthy of the phrase “eternal security.”

And till then, we wait — even and especially in winter — feeding, as our forebears did, on the light and warmth of his promised Advent.

How do you feel when you see the word prayer in a sermon title, or when the preacher announces that today’s sermon is about prayer? Oh no. Here we go.

Not many of us feel like we pray enough. We might even pray a good deal, and even earnestly, and still feel a gnawing sense of guilt when the topic comes up, just like when the subject of evangelism comes up. Preachers know this. Do you want to make people feel guilty? Talk about prayer and evangelism. Few of us feel instinctively like we do enough of either.

Added to this, we have the pervasive secular assumptions of modern life — that all that matters is the seeable, hearable, touchable, tastable. The otherworldly, especially the divine, is unwelcome and even out of bounds in polite company. We’re bombarded with the secular vision and its effects daily, through screens and through relationships with people influenced by screens, and through people influenced by other people who have screens. You can’t escape the influence of secularism without totally withdrawing. The question is not whether you’re being influenced, but whether some other, greater influence is getting and keeping traction in your soul.

God will not have the prevailing influence in your life if his practical means of influence mainly feel obligatory. But God himself doesn’t intend for his means to be obligations. They are not means of duty but means of grace. As J.C. Ryle says,

The “means of grace” . . . such as Bible reading, private prayer, and regularly worshiping God in Church . . . are appointed channels through which the Holy Spirit conveys fresh supplies of grace to the soul.

I did not come to Oakhurst this weekend to make you feel guilty, nor did I come just to visit family (nice as that is); I came mainly because I want you to enjoy “fresh supplies of grace to your soul” through hearing God’s voice in his word, having his ear in prayer, and belonging to the covenant fellowship of the local church. In the Sunday school hour, we focused on God’s word; tonight, we’ll focus on fellowship. Now in these moments, we turn our attention to prayer.

Three Wonders of Prayer

My specific prayer this morning is that the Spirit of God, dwelling in you, might be pleased to begin or renew a shift in your perspective on prayer — a shift in your mind and in your heart from prayer as obligation to prayer as opportunity, from prayer as duty to prayer as delight, from prayer as burden and dread to prayer as blessing and joy.

In that hope, I’d like for us to linger over three wonders of Christian prayer, and close with a few ideas for practical prayer habits in our lives.

1. Our Father Not Only Speaks But Listens

We start here with a summary of our focus in the Sunday school hour: our God is a speaking God. The preamble to Christian prayer is that God speaks. Prayer is responsive. Prayer is talking to God, but it’s not a conversation we start. God initiates. He is communicative. He is talkative. He speaks first, and oh does he love to speak!

He reveals himself in his creation (Romans 1:19–20).
He reveals himself climactically in his Son (Hebrews 1:1–2; John 1:1, 14).
He reveals himself in the God-breathed words of Scripture (2 Timothy 3:16; 2 Peter 1:20–21).

Then, amazingly, this Great Speaker himself stops and stoops. He cups his ear, and motions to us to speak. “What do you think? What do you feel? What do you need?” Our Father wants to hear from his children. He wants us to pray to him in view of who he’s revealed himself to be.

So, in prayer, we his creatures and his children respond to our Father’s words in our own words. Prayer is speaking to the God who has spoken first, responding to the God who has initiated the relationship and conversation. And we pray to God as our Father. The true God is not a distant, distracted deity. We don’t need cheat codes, flailing arms, or repeated phrases to seize his attention.

Amazingly, God himself loves his people, smiles on us, and is gladly attentive to our needs. He wants to hear from his children and make them happy forever in him. He wants us to pray to him as “our Father” — which is an especially Christlike way to pray.

Call Him ‘Father’

Ancient Israelites knew God’s covenant name (Yahweh) and approached him in worship and prayer in view of his covenant love and faithfulness, but they did not dare to call him “Father.” Calling God “Father” is new in the human life and ministry of Jesus. And when Jesus taught his disciples (and us) to pray, he began with “Our Father . . .” Repeatedly, particularly in the Gospel of John, Jesus calls the God of Israel “Father.” Especially memorable is his own extended prayer to his Father in John 17, on the night before he died:

Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son that the Son may glorify you. . . . And now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had with you before the world existed. . . . Holy Father, keep [the people you have given me] in your name, which you have given me, that they may be one, even as we are one . . . just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. . . . 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. O righteous Father, even though the world does not know you, I know you, and these know that you have sent me. (John 17:1, 5, 11, 21, 24, 25)

Jesus calling God “Father” is not only modeling for us how to pray, but this is also an invitation for how to draw near to God — as our loving, gracious, generous heavenly Father.

However, we sinners need more than Jesus’s example and invitation. Being sinners, rebels, undeserving of God’s riches — in fact, deserving of his punishments — how can we, in honesty and not utter naivety, call the living God “Father”? God may indeed speak to sinners like us, but does he listen? And listen as a Father? That leads to a second wonder.

2. God’s Son Secures and Certifies Our Access to God’s Ear

Now let’s go to two passages in Hebrews: Hebrews 4:14–16 and 10:19–23. Perhaps you looked at these this week, or even this morning, and thought, Huh, these seem very similar. They are. And they are structurally and conceptually central for the epistle to the Hebrews.

“God will not have the prevailing influence in your life if his practical means of influence mainly feel obligatory.”

You could see all of Hebrews 1–4 as an extended introduction, chapters 11–13 as the extended conclusion, and chapters 5–10 as the heart, the main body and message. And of those middle chapters, 5–7 portray Jesus as the great and final high priest, and 8–10 show him to be the great and final sacrifice. That’s the heart of Hebrews: the person of Christ as our priest, and the work of Christ as our sacrifice.

These two parallel passages in chapters 4 and 10 are like the entrance and exit to the heart of the letter, and they express the main pastoral burden of the letter: Draw near to God, hold fast to Jesus. Don’t coast, don’t drift, don’t fall away. Don’t stop believin’, but cling to Jesus, and draw near to God in him.

So, I want to read both passages to you, back to back, and as I do, listen for six emphases they have in common:

the mention of the great high priest,
whose personal name is Jesus,
who has passed through the heavens (the curtain) into the very presence of God, and therefore
the call to hold fast our faith in him,
to draw near to God through him, and
to do so with confidence

And to be clear, this relates to more than prayer, but no less than prayer — and for now, prayer is perhaps the signature expression of our drawing near. Hebrews 4:14–16 says,

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Now, here’s Hebrews 10:19–23:

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, the first note struck here is that we have the great and final high priest! We have him already, right now. He has come at long last. He died as the great and final sacrifice for our sin. He rose in triumph over sin and death, and he ascended, going through the heavens, through the curtain, into the very presence of God Almighty, where he sat down, his work complete, at the right hand of Majesty.

We have him. This is no longer a future promise. This is a present reality! So, hold fast your trust in him, and your confession of him as Lord. And with confidence, with boldness, with surety, draw near — with your whole life, drawing near to him through his word, and drawing near to him with his church, and in particular drawing near to him in prayer. That’s the joint message of the two passages.

Boldness to Approach

Now, there are a couple of additions in Hebrew 10. The first is in Hebrews 10:19–20:

We have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us.

This is new with the coming and ascending of Jesus. The old way of the temple and its priests and rituals and escalating spaces of holiness, from the court of the Gentiles to the common Jews, to the Holy Place, to the Holy of Holies — that whole temple cultus — wasn’t the real thing. It was symbolic (Hebrews 9:9); it anticipated the real thing, which didn’t come until Jesus came and rose and went into heaven as our pioneer. In Jesus, we have a new and living way into the very presence of God that was not available to Abraham, not available to Moses, not available to David, not available to Isaiah and Jeremiah and Ezekiel, but now new to us who are in Christ. What an opportunity!

A second added detail is Hebrews 10:22:

let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.

What does Hebrews mean by “our hearts sprinkled clean” and “our bodies washed with pure water”? And how does that lead to our being able to draw near to God with confidence, especially in prayer?

This mention of sprinkling goes back to Moses and the people of Israel who had escaped slavery in Egypt. At Mount Sinai, God makes his covenant with them, and to enter the covenant, the people offer sacrifices in Exodus 24, and Moses takes the blood (“the blood of the covenant”) and throws half against the altar, representing God. The other half, he throws — that is, he sprinkles — on the people.

In this physical act of flinging animal blood on the people, something more than the mere physical is happening. In and of itself, the sprinkled blood doesn’t do anything to change the people or deal finally with their sins. But by this act, this memorable act, the people enter into covenant with God.

And if you were to ask an Israelite a few months later, “Hey, how do you know you’re in covenant with God?” one answer he might give is, “I remember the blood sprinkled on us. A drop landed on my left shoulder. It was real; it happened. I can assure you I’m part of the people in covenant with God. I had the blood of the covenant on me.”

Washed and Sprinkled

But now Hebrews 10 takes this to a new-covenant level. Hebrews 10:22 says that in Christ we have had “our hearts sprinkled clean.” How did that happen? Through faith. Faith in the heart trusts that when Jesus died on the cross, and shed his blood — objectively, publicly, unquestionably, indisputably — his life was standing in for mine. His death was the death I deserved.

But faith like this isn’t quite as cut-and-dried for the Christian as blood on the shoulder was for the ancient Israelite. There’s still some subjectivity here with faith. Jesus’s sacrifice is objective, but how do I know I’m included? My heart was sprinkled, not my shirt. And so, Hebrews draws in the new-covenant inauguration ritual, baptism, to help: “. . . and our bodies washed with pure water.” Baptism represents the washing away of sin in our hearts, in the inner person, but baptism is also external and objective and memorable. If you were baptized as a believer, and baptized in a faithful church community of reasonably diligent and discerning Christians (who were saying, in effect, through baptizing you, “We believe you truly believe and Jesus’s blood covers you”), then remember that baptism as support for your assurance, and pray with confidence.

Baptism is not just a drop on your shirt, but your whole body submerged in water, saying, “This one belongs to Jesus. This one has saving faith.” Remember that event, and draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith. How precious is a good believer-baptism! It didn’t save you, but God means for it to help assure you that you’re saved through faith in Jesus — and help you to come confidently in prayer.

So, the Father not only speaks but listens. And the Son secures and certifies our access to God’s ear in prayer. That’s it, right? Should we pray to close?

Well, not so fast. If only our lives were so simple! They are not. We have our ups and downs, our seasons of dullness and doubt, our struggles, our indwelling sin, our weaknesses — oh so many weaknesses, no matter how much we try to project ourselves as strong. And so, there is one more critical wonder of Christian prayer.

3. God’s Spirit Helps Us in Our Weakness

Let’s finish with Romans 8:26–27, and this is so precious for the wonder and power of prayer, and it is perhaps often overlooked in our day. Romans 8:26–27 says,

The Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, when you pray, you pray as one who has the Holy Spirit of God dwelling in you. God himself has taken up residence in you. This is almost too good to be true. In a way that was not part and parcel of God’s first covenant with Israel, the risen and glorified Christ has poured out and given his Spirit to dwell in new-covenant Christians (John 7:38–39).

Now, our having the Spirit (Romans 8:9, 23) does not mean we own or control him. He also has us too. He is in us, and we are in him (Romans 8:5, 9). He is “sent into our hearts” (Galatians 4:6), given to us (Romans 5:5; etc), supplied to us (Galatians 3:5), and not just once but ongoingly (Ephesians 1:17; 1 Thessalonians 4:8). Through faith, we receive him (Romans 8:15; etc). And so, as the New Testament makes plain in several places, the Spirit dwells in us (Romans 8:9–11; etc) and prompts, empowers, and guides our prayers (Romans 8:26–27; Ephesians 6:18; Jude 20).

For Christians, there is a special relationship between our prayers and our having the Holy Spirit. Ephesians 6:17–18 says to “take . . . the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication.” And Jude 20–21 says, “You, beloved, building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in the love of God.” God doesn’t just want to hear from us and open the way to him, leaving it in our court. He gives us his own Spirit, in us, to prompt our hearts to pray, to enable us to pray, and as Romans 8 says, to pray for us when we don’t know what to pray.

Getting Practical

So, as men and women of the gospel, fed by God’s word, flanked by our fellows in Christ, we cultivate habits of prayer in three main spheres: secret (Matthew 6:5–6), with company in our marriages, families, and churches, and as regular anchor points in our lives (1 Thessalonians 5:17; Romans 12:12; Colossians 4:2). We have the opportunity to punctuate our lives with prayer and take the seams of our days as prompts to pray.

We turn general intentions into specific plans. We find our regular times and places. Our prayers are scheduled and spontaneous — in the car, at the table, in bed. We pray through Scripture, in response to God’s word. We adore, confess, give thanks, and petition. We learn to pray by praying, and by praying with others.

And we end on this note. Lest you think of prayer as simply asking God for things, let’s clarify what is the great purpose of Christian prayer: that God himself would be our joy. C.S. Lewis says this so memorably:

Prayer in the sense of petition, asking for things, is a small part of it; confession and penitence are its threshold, adoration its sanctuary, the presence and vision and enjoyment of God its bread and wine. (“The Efficacy of Prayer,” 7)

Brothers and sisters in Christ, in light of the Father’s listening ear, the Son’s securing and certifying achievement, and the Spirit’s amazing indwelling and prompting and help, I hope that you would not leave here this morning feeling guilty or under obligation, but that a shift might begin or continue in you — from obligation to opportunity.

Prayer is an opportunity to enjoy “fresh supplies of grace” to your soul, the best of which is the enjoyment of God himself.

Twenty-five years ago, I was a freshman at Furman University in Greenville, South Carolina. I had grown up in the church. I made a profession of faith at age eight and was baptized. God had blessed me with a home church that loved the gospel and taught me that I could trust the Bible. However, looking back now, I can see that something was missing in my Christianity.

There was a deep struggle in my soul: I wanted to be happy, and I felt guilty for wanting it. My ache to be happy, I suspected, was more a liability than an asset. Living the Christian life, I assumed, was about my ability to put aside what I really wanted to do.

You too want to be happy. And you can’t escape it. All your life you’ve been trying to satisfy your deep-down longing for real joy by finding that perfect possession or perfect spouse, enjoying good food, knowing influential people, collecting reliable friends, traveling to scenic places, winning at sports (whether as a player or a fan), achieving success at school or work, and getting your hands on the latest gadgets. Our unsatisfied longings gnaw at us late at night as we scroll through social media and flip from channel to channel and let another episode autoplay.

Now, most of us aren’t endlessly miserable. Not yet. Not at nineteen or twenty. We find measures of satisfaction in the moment, but we don’t stay satisfied, not deep down. Did God make us this way? And if so, why did God hardwire us to ache for joy? Why this universal search for satisfaction?

Surprised by Joy

I remember as a college freshman, with my very duty-oriented faith, beginning to feel a kind of fascination with joy. As a kid, I had sung, “I got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart.” Joy, when mentioned in church, often came off so light and flippant. And yet that one fruit of the Spirit’s nine (Galatians 5:22–23) connected most with the deep longings for happiness I was just beginning to realize as a college freshman.

As I read more of the Bible, I was amazed by what I found about joy and delight. It was the Psalms in particular that awakened me to the possibility and promise of real joy — joy that is not icing on the cake of Christianity, but an essential ingredient in the batter. Three psalms specifically captured my attention.

Soul-Thirsts for God

First, Psalm 37:4: “Delight yourself in the Lord.” And not just this command, but then this promise: “and he will give you the desires of your heart.” You mean at root God isn’t suspicious or frustrated by my desires? He made my heart to desire, and means to satisfy, not squash, my deepest longings? And where will that happen?

Second, Psalm 16:11: “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” Real joy comes not only from God as a gift from his hand, but in seeking his face. God himself — knowing him, enjoying him — that’s what he made your desires for. He made your restless human heart for real satisfaction — in him. He made your soul to thirst, and he meant for you not to deny your thirst but to satisfy it, in him.

Third, Psalm 63:1: “O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” This resonated deeply with me. I wanted this, and wanted to be more like this.

The Psalms had my attention. Again and again, they tapped into my soul, discouraged my sense of mere duty, and highlighted the central place of the heart — both in honesty about the many sorrows in this life, and in hopefully commanding me to “rejoice in the Lord” (Psalm 40:16; 64:10; 97:12; 104:34; 105:3; 118:24).

It was almost too good to be true to discover that my undeniable longing to be happy wasn’t just okay, but good, and that the God who made me actually wanted me to be as happy as humanly possible in him. For me to learn, and then begin to experience for myself, that God wasn’t the cosmic killjoy I had once assumed, but that he was committed, with all his sovereign energy and power, to do me good (Jeremiah 32:40–41) — it took weeks, even months, for such good news to land. I’m still not over it today.

And more good news was still to come.

All to the Glory of God

I knew from growing up that “the glory of God,” which often seemed like a throwaway Christianese phrase, was important. Turning pages in my Bible, I found it everywhere, like 1 Corinthians 10:31: “Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.”

God made the world, and made us, that he might be glorified. The Bible is very clear, and our own sense of justice resonates with the rightness of it, that God made us to glorify him. But that creates a crisis for many of us. Does God mean for me to pursue his glory or my joy? I want so badly to be happy, and the Bible commands, not condemns, my rejoicing in God. And I know I’m supposed to want him to be glorified in my life. Are his honor and my happiness two tandem pursuits in the Christian life? If so, how do we pursue both?

Then came the most remarkable discovery: our happiness in God glorifies God. My pursuit of the deepest and most durable joy, and God’s pursuit of his glory, are not two pursuits but one. Because, as John Piper champions in his book Desiring God, “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him.” God’s design to be glorified and my desires to be happy come together in one amazing pursuit: the pursuit of joy in God.

Do You Enjoy Him?

God is not honored when we pay tribute to our own iron will by saying to him in prayer or church, “I don’t even want to be here, but I’m here.” What honors him, what glorifies him, what makes him look good, is joy and satisfaction in him. God is most glorified when we say with the psalmist, “You are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you,” and “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” We say, “Nothing makes me happier than to know you, Father, through your Son, Jesus, and to be here with you over your word, or in prayer, or in corporate worship. Jesus, you are my joy. You are my treasure. You are my delight. You satisfy my soul.” In those words, and in the heart behind them, God is glorified.

“Not only does God invite us to believe him, trust him, fear him, obey him, and worship him, but to enjoy him.”

What is the most important truth you’ve learned in college? I posed this question to myself in thinking about what I wanted to say to you this morning. Of the countless new facts and liberating discoveries I made in those all-important, trajectory-shaping college years, what has proved most life-changing? Here’s one way I would put it: For me, the single most important breakthrough in all my college learning was finding that God is not just the appropriate object of the verbs believe, trust, fear, obey, and worship, but also he is the most fitting, most satisfying, most worthy object of the verb enjoy.

Believe God, trust God, fear God, obey God, worship God, yes! But do you enjoy him? Not with the small enjoyment of chuckling at a clever commercial, but the large enjoyment of basking before an ocean. Not the thin enjoyment of humming along with a pop song, but the thick enjoyment of coming to the long-anticipated pinnacle of a symphony or a great novel. Not the shallow enjoyment of acquiring some new gadget, but the deep enjoyment of reconnecting and catching up with a longtime friend.

Not only does God invite us to believe him, trust him, fear him, obey him, and worship him, but to enjoy him. Psalm 34:8 says, “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!”

Learning to Fly

So, in light of that single greatest discovery in my college years, let me ask just briefly this morning what it means for the daily and weekly rhythms of the Christian life.

In other words, how do we get involved? What steps, humble as they may be, can we take? How do we position ourselves to receive the grace of God, to receive his joy? In his mercy, he has not kept it a secret how he provides ongoing grace and joy for the Christian life. I like to summarize it in three parts — three previews of what our focus will be tomorrow night.

1. Hear His Voice

Each new day introduces a fresh occasion to hear his voice in the Scriptures, not mainly as marching orders, but as a meal to feed our souls. Not just for soul nutrition, but for enjoyment. God wants our regular sitting down with his Book to be more like coming to dinner than going to the grocery store. Don’t try to store up truth for tomorrow or next week. Come to enjoy him today. Like the Israelites in the wilderness, when God gave them manna, simply gather a day’s portion and enjoy.

2. Have His Ear

Some call it prayer. When we enjoy God, prayer begins to be a way not just to ask God for things we would enjoy, but to enjoy God himself. In prayer, we respond to what God says to us in his word, and in doing so, we commune with him, both asking for more of him and experiencing him in prayer, in the moment, as our greatest enjoyment. The heart of prayer is not getting things from God, but getting God.

3. Belong to His Body

Finally, then, is belonging to his body. One vital manifestation of life in the church is corporate worship. When we pursue our joy in God, corporate worship becomes the stunning opportunity to gather together, not just with fellow believers, but with fellow enjoyers of God.

How might it change corporate worship for you — not just in church on Sunday morning, but also here in chapel — to look around and think, “These students and professors not only believe in the truth of Christianity but they enjoy the God of Christianity.” As we sing, we are enjoying Jesus together. As we pray, we are enjoying him together. As we hear his word read and his message preached, we are uniting our hearts together in the God who himself, in the person of his Son, became one of us, lived among us, suffered with us, died for us, rose triumphantly from the grave, and now sits in power — with all authority in heaven and on earth — at his Father’s right hand, and is bringing to pass, in his perfect patience and perfect timing, all his purposes in our world. For our everlasting joy. Together.

One Great Possession

Coming to enjoy God — not just believe him, trust him, worship him, and obey him, but enjoy him — has changed everything for me. It’s changed how I approach the Bible, how I approach prayer, and how I approach corporate worship and fellowship. But there’s still one last piece missing: What about love for others, especially when it’s costly? Will enjoying God move me toward others, or away from them? Will joy in God move me toward hard, painful, costly needs in this fallen, sin-sick world, or away from them?

My answer, which I can testify to in experience now for 25 years, is that finding joy in God liberates us to truly love others. I leave you with one amazing testimony: Hebrews 10:32–34. The situation is that some in this early church were put in prison for their faith, and others, instead of going into hiding, went public to visit them in prison. In doing so, they exposed themselves to the same persecution their brothers were receiving:

Recall the former days when, after you were enlightened, you endured a hard struggle with sufferings, sometimes being publicly exposed to reproach and affliction, and sometimes being partners with those so treated. For you had compassion on those in prison, and you joyfully accepted the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one.

So, these early Christians put themselves in harm’s way by coming forward to provide food and basic needs for their friends in prison, and they too were persecuted. Their possessions were plundered, whether by official decree or mob violence. And how did they receive it? Hebrews 10:34: “You joyfully accepted the plundering of your property. . .” What? How? Can you see yourself joyfully accepting the plundering of your possessions? Where did this come from?

The answer is in the last part of Hebrews 10:34: “. . . since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one.” The word for “property” is the same word, in the plural, as the word for “possession.” Literally, “you joyfully accepted the plundering of your possessions [plural] because you knew you had a better and abiding possession [singular].” Because you had God as your heavenly treasure, you were able to accept the loss of your earthly treasures in the calling of love — and not just accept, but accept with joy. You joyfully accepted the loss of your finite, earthly, limited possessions because you had the infinite, heavenly, all-satisfying singular Possession, whose name is Jesus Christ.

So, do you enjoy God? When you enjoy God, you are finally free to surrender your small, private enjoyments (called sacrifice) for the greater enjoyment of meeting the needs of others (called love).

I wake up hungry every morning. So do you.

We may or may not awake with empty stomachs, but deeper down, our souls growl ferociously. However much we try to satisfy that hunger elsewhere, and however many live in denial, God made our souls to hunger for him, and feed on him.

We want when we awake — and want and want and want. Some turn immediately to breakfast. Others dive right into an electronic device or screen. Some roll over and try to wrestle a little more joy from sleep. Yet the hunger remains. And that is no accident. God made us to start each new day with this ache — as a call to turn afresh to him.

Great Discovery of 1841

In his much-acclaimed autobiography, George Mueller (1805–1898), who cared for more than ten thousand orphans in England throughout his ministry, tells of a life-changing discovery he made in the first half of 1841.

In a journal entry dated May 7, he captures the insight he stumbled into that spring. The entry is one long paragraph of 1,500 words that rewards careful and multiple readings.

Over the years, I have read it again and again and seem to profit from it more each time. Mueller’s life-changing insight has proved significant in my own life. As I again reread this journal entry in recent days, I noticed several distinct aspects of this one lesson, which could be identified and sequenced to benefit readers today.

In short, Mueller’s great discovery was that “the first great and primary business to which I ought to attend every day [is] to have my soul happy in the Lord.” What a find! Just about any other duty would land as burdensome, but “get happy”? That is a deeply refreshing task.

Mueller restates the point as “the first thing to be concerned about was . . . how I might get my soul into a happy state.” The discovery is set against the backdrop of other things that are not his, and your, first calling: “not how much I might serve the Lord,” not setting the truth before the unconverted, not benefiting believers, not relieving the distressed, not behaving in the world as fits a child of God. None of these real, critical callings is “first and primary.” None of these is “the first thing.” Most important is not pouring out but first filling up. First thing first: get your soul happy in God. Find happiness in him. Obey your hunger for God and feast.

But then we ask, How? How does hunger lead to happiness?

Feed on God

Mueller answers that hunger becomes happiness as we satisfy our empty souls on God — which implies a certain kind of approach to God. We come to get, not to give. Many human satisfactions come from various deeds and achievements. Others come through reception of goods or honor. Still others come through the intake of food and drink. Among these other desires, God made our souls to long for such consumption — to receive God as food, to take and chew and savor. And to receive him as drink, slake our thirst, and revel in the satisfaction.

So, Mueller clarifies his lesson: “The first thing the child of God has to do morning by morning is to obtain food for his inner man.” He draws on the language of both nourishment and refreshment (as well as being “strengthened”). He approaches God, he says, “for the sake of obtaining food for my own soul,” and as he lingers in God’s presence, he tries to “continually keep before me that food for my own soul is the object of my meditation.”

Next, we might ask, Where? Where do you turn to find such food for your soul?

In His Word

Mueller’s answer — simple, and unsurprising, yet profound and transformative — is the word of God. To make sure we don’t miss it, he asks the question for us and answers it: “What is the food for the inner man? Not prayer, but the word of God.”

“Hunger becomes happiness through satisfying our empty souls on God.”

Now we pick up a vital part of the lesson. Mueller says that for years his practice was to awake and go straight into prayer. It might take him ten minutes or even half an hour to find enough focus to really pray. He then might spend “even an hour, on my knees” before receiving any “comfort, encouragement, humbling of soul, etc.” He had the goal right: get my soul happy in God. He had the direction right: come to feed on God. But he had the posture wrong. Or he had the order wrong. The lesson he needed to learn was come first to hear, then to speak. That is, first hear God’s word, then pray in response.

In God’s word, “we find our Father speaking to us, to encourage us, to comfort us, to instruct us, to humble us, to reprove us.” God’s word nourishes and strengthens the soul. His word leads, provides, warns, steadies. Then in prayer, we speak to God in response to what he’s said to us in his word.

Through Meditation

At this point, we might assume we know how to take in God’s word: just read it. After all, that’s what you do with a written text, right?

Mueller has one more clarifying word, and it might be his most important for us today: “not the simple reading of the word of God . . . but considering what we read, pondering over it, and applying it to our hearts.” In other words, he feeds his soul on God’s word through what he and many other great saints have called “meditation.”

This meditation is a crucial aspect of the lesson, and for us, almost two centuries later, it increasingly has become a lost art.

Mueller’s first mention of “meditation” clarifies what kind of reading he means: “The most important thing I had to do was to give myself to the reading of the word of God, and to meditation on it.” He then makes plain that meditation concerns the heart. Mere reading might fill the head, but meditation aims to comfort, encourage, warn, reprove, instruct, and feed the heart.

He doubles back to explain what he means again. “Meditate on the word of God” includes “searching as it were into every verse, to get blessing out of it . . . for the sake of obtaining food for my own soul.” Having chewed on one bite and savored it, “I go on to the next words or verse, turning all, as I go on, into prayer for myself or others, as the word may lead to it, but still continuously keeping before me that food for my own soul is the object of my meditation.”

He comes back once more to say he means “not the simple reading of the word of God, so that it only passes through our minds, just as water runs through a pipe, but considering what we read, pondering over it, and applying it to our hearts.” This series of three verbs may be the most help he gives us as to how we might meditate ourselves and not simply read.

Mueller would have us slow down, pause, and reread so that we might consider what we read, ponder over it, and apply it to our hearts — that is, not only or mainly to our practical lives but first and foremost to our inner person, to our hearts.

Such a deliberate, affectional reception of God’s word naturally leads us into prayer.

Then Prayer

Now, don’t think Mueller, in this life-changing lesson, is eschewing or marginalizing prayer. Rather, by putting prayer in its proper place (in response to God’s word), he helps prayer flourish.

Having heard from God in his word, and considered it, pondered over it, and applied it to my heart, “I speak to my Father and to my Friend . . . about the things that he has brought before me in his precious word.” Meditation soon leads to a response — in fact, “it turned almost immediately more or less into prayer.” The time when prayer “can be most effectively performed is after the inner man has been nourished by meditation on the word of God.” Now, having heard our Father’s voice all the way down into our souls, we find ourselves able “really to pray,” and so to actually commune with God.

Communion with Jesus

You’ll find in Mueller’s May 7, 1841, journal entry that “meditation and prayer” is for him synonymous with the phrase “communion with God.” To commune with God is not only to address him in prayer, nor is it simply to hear from him in his word. Communion involves both his speaking and ours. This is a Father-child relationship. God speaks first in his word, and we receive his words with the hunger, delight, and unhurried pace that fits the word of our Father and divine Friend. Then we speak humbly yet boldly in response, adoring our God, confessing our sins, thanking him for his grace and mercy, and petitioning him for ourselves, our loved ones, and even those who seem like enemies.

This hearing from God and responding to him Mueller calls “experimental [that is, experiential] communion with the Lord.” With “my heart being nourished by the truth,” he is “brought into experimental fellowship with God” in meditation and prayer. And not only with God the Father but “the Lord” Jesus, the risen, reigning Christ, seated on heaven’s throne, dwelling in us by his Spirit, and drawing near to commune with us through his word and our prayer.

Afterword

Several times, Mueller emphasizes that such communion with God is never a means to ministry and feeding others, yet God often appoints leftovers. Such early-morning meals, deeply savored in the soul, may “soon after or at a later time” prove to be “food for other believers,” but this is not the goal. Fodder for ministry is not the first and primary business each day, but food for our own souls. The point, and prayer, is soul-satisfying communion with the risen Christ.

Such a hungry and hedonistic approach to each new day was life-changing for Mueller. And it gave him the help and strength, he says, “to pass in peace through deeper trials, in various ways, than I had ever had before.” This approach has been significant for me too. Perhaps it will be so for you as well. As Mueller exults, “How different when the soul is refreshed and made happy early in the morning!”

Talk about the Holy Spirit? That’s always been tricky. After all, he is the Spirit, the Wind, the great unseen Enigma, that most mysterious and hidden Person of the ineffable Godhead.

Also, we live in times that can make thinking and speaking about the Spirit all the more difficult. For one, pervasive secular influences pressure us to deal with concrete phenomena — the seeable, hearable, touchable, tastable. The effect is a subtle but strong bias against the Spirit. With Jesus, we’re talking real-life humanity, at least in theory; with the church, we’re talking real-life fellow Christians; with creation, we’re talking tangible, sense-able, the world that surrounds us; with anthropology, flesh and blood and our own undeniable inner person. But the Invisible Wind is almost a no-starter for the mind shaped by secular influences.

What’s more, many Christians have the unfortunate tendency to quickly turn Spirit-talk to “manifestations of the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 14:12) — that is, spiritual gifts and especially controversial ones like speaking in tongues. All too soon, we are not even talking about the Spirit and the real heart of his work but mainly speculating about ourselves and telling strange stories.

In Scripture, the Spirit himself does not receive the front-and-center attention that the Father and the Son do. He often hides in compact, meaningful phrases and works quietly in the theological background. Of course, this is the Spirit’s own doing. He is the author of Scripture, thrilled to shine his light on Father and Son, to carry along prophets and apostles in word ministry, and to empower the words and deeds of the eternal Word himself. Scripture’s brevity of focus on the Spirit isn’t oversight or suppression. The Spirit likes it that way — he did it that way.

‘Life in the Spirit’

Still, hide and work quietly as he may, he does step forward in a place of striking prominence, in one of the greatest letters ever written, at the very climax of Paul’s magnum opus: “The Great Eight.”

Romans chapter 8 is one of the few spots where the Spirit pulls back the curtain and says, in effect, “I will tell you a little bit about myself: as much as you need to know, but not too much, and not for too long.” For centuries, devoted Christians have given special place to the promises and wonders of Romans 8, which is well summarized in the ESV with the heading “Life in the Spirit.” Romans 7:6 sets up the contrast that follows in the rest of chapter 7, and into chapter 8:

We serve in the new way of the Spirit and not in the old way of the written code.

Romans 7:7–24, then, rehearses the challenges of serving under the oldness of the previous era and its law (holy, righteous, and good as it was), and Romans 8:1–27 bursts into the joys and benefits of living in the newness of the Spirit. In Christ, the Spirit is not only with us, as he was with old-covenant saints, but now, poured out from heaven in new fullness by the risen Christ, the Spirit testifies to us of our status, intercedes for us in our weakness, and even dwells in us as the present, personal power of the Christian life. Consider these three Spirit-glories in Romans 8, working from the outside in.

Sonship: He Testifies to Us

First, the Spirit speaks to us — and not any insignificant word. His is the foundational word about our most foundational identity. And it’s a weighty word, a testimony — knowing with certainty what has already happened, he testifies to us about what is truly the case, like a witness in court, in order to persuade us of the truth.

Not only are we creatures of the Creator, humans formed from humble dust, and not only are we sinners who have turned against our King, but now, in Jesus Christ, God’s unique Son, we too are “sons of God” (Romans 8:14). “The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God” (Romans 8:16). He is “the Spirit of adoption as sons” (Romans 8:15) who solemnly testifies to assure us that we are God’s chosen — not mere creatures but beloved children drawn into his family, who now irrepressibly cry out, “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15). Already we are children. The Spirit knows this and bears witness to it so that we, too, might confidently know and embrace it.

Hidden and enigmatic as the Spirit may seem, he is not some silent force but a revealing, speaking, leading Person. He is “the Spirit . . . of revelation” (Ephesians 1:17), who not only “carried along” the prophets and apostles as divine mouthpieces (2 Peter 1:21; Ephesians 3:5) but still speaks, says, indicates, and testifies (1 Timothy 4:1; Hebrews 3:7; 9:8; 10:15; Acts 20:23; 1 John 5:6) through the living word of Scripture. He still prompts and leads God’s people (Romans 8:14; Galatians 5:18).

His profile may often seem unpronounced, but he is not silent. If you know yourself to be a beloved, chosen child of God, the Spirit is the one who awakened and sustains that recognition in you. Without him, sinners may cry out for help to a distant, unknown deity. With him, saints cry out for the care of our Father. And that crying out leads to the second glory of the Spirit in Romans 8.

Intercession: He Prays for Us

To be beloved children — “heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17) — is almost too good to be true. Yet so it is in Christ. But this towering ideal of sonship doesn’t mean Romans 8 is unrealistic about our lives in this sin-sick and cursed world. The heights of God’s grace do not ignore the depths of our lives. We suffer. We groan. We know ourselves to be weak.

Because of human sin, God subjected the creation to futility, and

the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Romans 8:22–23)

We know ourselves to be children through the Spirit’s testimony. Yet we still wait for the public formality and revealing. Yes, we are heirs, but still to come is our full inheritance. In the meanwhile, we groan. In this life, we navigate seasons and sequences of pain. At times (if not often), we come to forks in the road where we don’t even know how to pray — whether to be spared pain or to endure it faithfully, whether for respite from our groanings or holy persistence in them.

“Hidden and enigmatic as the Spirit may seem, he is not some silent force but a revealing, speaking, leading Person.”

Here, amazingly, the Spirit helps us in our weakness: “The Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26). In the agonies and complexities of this age, we come wordless before God, unable even to articulate the heart of our sighs and groans. “We do not know what to pray for as we ought” (Romans 8:26). And oh, what comfort in these moments to have God himself at work in us praying to God for us. Beyond our ability to ask as we ought and even articulate our prayers, the Spirit appeals to the Father for our everlasting good.

Christ’s intercession for us (Romans 8:34) is outside of us, in heaven, where he sits at the Father’s right hand, having accomplished his atoning work and risen again to make good on it through his life. The Spirit’s intercession is in us, prompting us to pray and empowering our prayers (Ephesians 6:18; Jude 20). The Spirit is not only deep in God (1 Corinthians 2:10) but also deep in us (Romans 8:26–27) — which leads to a third Spirit-glory in Romans 8, perhaps the most astounding of all.

Indwelling: He Lives in Us

In Romans 8, and elsewhere in the New Testament, we find a bundle of mind-bending claims about God himself and Christ dwelling in us by the Holy Spirit. Paul hammers it on repeat in verses 9–11:

The Spirit of God dwells in you. [You] have the Spirit of Christ. . . . Christ is in you. . . . The Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you . . . his Spirit . . . dwells in you.

In case you missed it: if you are in Christ, you have the Spirit. You have him. He dwells in you. God himself has taken up residence, as it were, in your body and soul — in you. In a way that was not part and parcel of God’s first covenant with Israel, the risen and glorified Christ has given his Spirit to new-covenant Christians (John 7:38–39).

Our having the Spirit (Romans 8:9, 23) does not mean we own and control him. He also has us. He is in us, and we are in him (Romans 8:5, 9). He is sent into our hearts (Galatians 4:6), given to us (Romans 5:5), supplied to us (Galatians 3:5), and not just once but continually (Ephesians 1:17; 1 Thessalonians 4:8). And through faith, we receive him (Romans 8:15). So, as Paul repeats elsewhere, the Spirit dwells in us (1 Corinthians 3:16; 2 Timothy 1:14). This is what it means to have “Christ in you” (Romans 8:10; Colossians 1:27).

God Only Knows

If you are a Christian — if you claim Jesus as Lord and delight in him, and he is transforming you — consider what you’d be without the Spirit, without his opening your eyes and giving you a new heart and new desires. Without his still, quiet, daily promptings and leadings. Without his ongoing supply of spiritual life to your soul. Without his sealing and keeping your heart from your still-indwelling sin.

Jude 19 mentions those “devoid of the Spirit.” We get some glimpses as to what at least some people without the Spirit look like: scoffers, who speak up to put the truth down; those who follow their own ungodly passions and cause divisions; in short, “worldly people” (Jude 18–19). If that’s not you, if you are different, what has made you different? Might it be the Holy Spirit? However little you realize it and stay conscious of it, your life, from the smallest details to the biggest, is pervaded by the reality of having the Spirit. God only knows what you’d be without him.

Numerous Things He Does

Best of all, do you trust and treasure Jesus and love to speak of him? As Fred Sanders so helpfully observes, “The people most influenced by the Holy Spirit are usually the ones with the most to say about Jesus Christ” (The Holy Spirit, 3). He also quotes Thomas Goodwin, that the Spirit “is that Person that leadeth us out of ourselves unto the grace of God the Father, and the peace and satisfaction made by Jesus Christ” (21). Have you been led out of yourself to lean on the grace of God? The Spirit does that. Have you ever experienced peace in Christ? The Spirit did that. Have you enjoyed satisfaction in Jesus? The Spirit, the Spirit, the Spirit.

In him, we receive the washing of regeneration (1 Corinthians 6:11; Titus 3:5), the righteousness of justification (Romans 14:17; 1 Corinthians 6:11; 1 Timothy 3:16), and the holiness of sanctification (Romans 15:16; 1 Corinthians 6:11; 2 Thessalonians 2:13; 1 Peter 1:2).
He teaches us (1 Corinthians 2:13; 1 Thessalonians 4:9; John 6:45) and gives us spiritual life and energy (1 Corinthians 12:11; Ephesians 3:16).
We worship in the Spirit (Philippians 3:3).
He gives us love for others (Colossians 1:9), joy (Romans 14:17; 15:13; 1 Thessalonians 1:6), peace (Romans 14:17; 15:13) — indeed all “the fruit of the Spirit” (Galatians 5:22–23).
He fills us with hope (Romans 15:13; Galatians 5:5), stirs our hunger for God, and turns our attention to “the things of the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 2:14; Romans 8:5), rather than sinful distractions.
He seals us (Ephesians 1:13; 4:30) and keeps us faithful to guard the gospel (2 Timothy 1:14).
In him, we also enjoy “the fellowship of the Holy Spirit” (2 Corinthians 13:14; Ephesians 4:3–4; Philippians 2:1; Hebrews 6:4) with others who have the same Spirit in them.

“It is characteristic of the doctrine of the work of the Spirit,” says Sanders, “that it is expressed in lists, wonderfully various lists of numerous things the Holy Spirit does” (162).

We can scarcely trace the “numerous things” he does in and for us. For born-again Christians, the Spirit’s work in our lives, in our thoughts, in our desires, in our wills, is far deeper and more expansive than we can even sense. To receive him, to have him, is to walk in a newness of life that touches and affects everything — yet in such a way that doesn’t keep the spotlight always on him.

Talking about the Spirit is admittedly tricky. But oh, how grateful we might be to have him! We can live in the holy confidence that the supernatural Helper dwells in us. How awesome to have the Holy Spirit.

You bring some strange things to our ears.

Some in Athens said it to the apostle Paul. Some in America will say it to faithful preachers today. Of course, strange is a relative term. What’s familiar to some is foreign to others — whether in multicultural cities or, even now, in more rural and monolithic places because of the Internet.

More generally, human life in God’s wonderfully wide and detailed world presents us with the challenges of strangeness in the midst of our familiarities. But don’t we grow as various strangenesses become familiar? A strange food might become a new favorite, or a strange person, a new friend. Even as our circle of familiarity expands, maturity involves navigating an endless parade of strangenesses, both for ourselves and in others. So does growing as a Christian, and particularly as a preacher.

Stranger Things at Mars Hill

Paul encountered a matrix of strangenesses when he was brought to Athens in Acts 17. Having enjoyed a string of gospel successes, not without persecution, in the cities of Philippi, Thessalonica, and Berea, he arrived in Athens to wait for his coworkers. This waiting then led to one of his most memorable messages. Can we imagine the apostle waiting around anywhere, especially in a city like Athens, without finding a way to preach about Jesus?

Paul’s celebrated visit to Athens, and its infamous Mars Hill, turns on this concept of strangeness. Now, Paul at Mars Hill received all sorts of fresh attention twenty years ago in conversations about postmodernism and dialogues with the “emerging church.” Without rehearsing those, let’s look from a preacher’s perspective, as Paul navigates five flashpoints in the Athens account. Then we’ll gather up some lessons for preachers today.

1. His spirit is provoked locally.

Paul is supposed to be waiting. He might have buried his attention in some ancient equivalent of an electronic device. He might have sunk himself into reports from faraway parts of the empire. Surely after such challenges (and fruitfulness) in three other cities, he could have used some downtime. He could have laid low and waited in Athens without being emotionally present. Instead, Paul looks up and around. He embraces his setting, his specific locale, with its specific needs. He observes his surroundings and sees a city full of false gods. And it stirs him:

Now while Paul was waiting for them at Athens, his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols. (Acts 17:16)

We too will do well to attend, like Paul, to the locale in which God has placed us, rather than losing ourselves in distant dramas or the daily pining for something new. Has it ever been easier to fill our limited consciousness with inactionable reports from far, far away, and be provoked by the remote, while ignoring our immediate surroundings?

2. He takes reasonable initiative.

Paul reasons, and does so day after day. He doesn’t react with an outburst, but being righteously provoked, he responds with the measured, mature initiative of daily reason, rather than volatility. He doesn’t pretend to lance it all at once in one diatribe, or force his passions into the wrong places, but he reasons in spaces that welcome a sober-minded approach:

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 17:17)

Far too often, holy provocations devolve into unholy reactions. We do well to follow Paul, and seek holiness, Christlikeness, in both our spirits and in our next steps.

3. Misunderstanding leads to further opportunity.

In the marketplace, Paul converses with two major strands of unbelieving thought (non-Christian hedonists and stoics). Neither the progressives or the unbelieving conservatives had been prepared for Paul’s message. They both find it strange. Yet here in the public square, while some react obstinately, others show an openness to hear more. Surely, Paul does not mean to be simply strange or misunderstood, but when he is, not all is lost. One faithful step leads to another — they invite him to speak again:

Some of the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers also conversed with him. And some said, “What does this babbler wish to say?” Others said, “He seems to be a preacher of foreign divinities”— because he was preaching Jesus and the resurrection. And they took him and brought him to the Areopagus, saying, “May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting? For you bring some strange things to our ears. We wish to know therefore what these things mean.” Now all the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there would spend their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new. (Acts 17:18–21)

Luke, who compiled the account, plainly is not impressed with this Athenian fixation on news. (Imagine if he saw us today!) He does not commend them for giving so much time and attention to the drivel of daily novelties. Rather, he sets their lust for the ephemeral in contrast with the strange, timeless glories they soon will hear from Paul. His message is indeed news, and yet utterly different than the trivialities and speculations they are accustomed to consuming. They are settling for news; Paul will offer the News.

4. He preaches the familiar and strange.

Would Paul pass up the chance to commend Jesus before a captive audience? Undeterred by being mocked and misunderstood before, he speaks again, and begins by commending his hearers and seeking common ground. He even appeals to their own poets (verse 28). He will not be needlessly strange. He does not delight in simply being provocative. Strange is not his goal. He aims to win them to the risen Christ, and he will leverage familiarity where he can. But as agile as he may be with this approach, he will not adjust the heart of his message — the resurrection of Jesus — even when that was the showstopper before. He may start with the familiar, and quote Greek poets, but he moves inescapably through what he knows they will hear as strange:

So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: “Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. . . . 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 17:22, 30–31)

5. He knows when to stop.

When the strangeness of resurrection again brings chaos to Athens, Paul doesn’t power through stubbornly. He won’t pretend to do it all in one sermon. He trusts God to give him another day.

What is the response to the message at Mars Hill? Again, some fire insults, but others express intrigue, and soon join him and believe:

Some mocked. But others said, “We will hear you again about this.” So Paul went out from their midst. But some men joined him and believed. (Acts 17:32–34)

Some Insult, Others Inquire

Brother pastors, observe that in and of itself, mocking is no clear reflection of the faithfulness or fruitfulness of preaching Christ. Wise preachers do not take mocking as an indicator of failure, nor as an indicator of success. Twice in Athens some mock Paul, which may seem like a failure compared to his homiletic triumphs elsewhere. However, others say, “We will hear you again.” And then, in the end: “some men joined him and believed.”

In Athens, the message of Jesus and his resurrection landed on the hearers, unavoidably, as strange. But then comes the great divide, both in the marketplace and again at Mars Hill: some insult, others inquire.

“Has it ever been easier to fill our limited consciousness with inactionable reports from far, far away?”

Any audience of sufficient size will have its insecure, closeminded types for whom the strange can only be threatening. Surely, some new message can’t be real and true if they, in their brilliance, are not yet aware of it! So, some write it off right away: “What does this babbler wish to say?” Attack the preacher, rather than face down his message.

But others, in the same audience, respond very differently. They may scratch their heads, and not yet understand, but they start asking genuine questions.

Marginalize Mockers

As Christian preachers, we accept the reality up front that proper strangeness in our message both provokes insults in some and intrigue in others. And a preacher like Paul doesn’t let the mockers distract him.

On the one hand, we are not surprised to be mocked. We suspect scoffers will come, and we’re ready to give them a deaf ear. Unbelieving hearers, dead in sin and devoid of the Spirit, do not submit to the gospel of Christ. Indeed, they cannot (Romans 8:7). Of course, our message lands on them as strange, if not appalling, and it remains strange, unless the Spirit opens their eyes. We think it not strange that some think it strange enough to mock.

On the other hand, how foolish it would be to distract ourselves with the mockers. Or to call special attention to the mocking as some great badge of our own faithfulness. Rather, we have the example of Paul at Mars Hill, who, so far as we can tell, wholly overlooks, with a holy disregard, these mockers and concerns himself instead with those asking honest questions.

This second group, these “others,” also initially found the message strange, but they found the strangeness intriguing: “you bring some strange things to our ears. We wish to know therefore what these things mean” (verse 20). The Spirit is at work. Paul hadn’t failed because Christ’s resurrection landed on them as strange, but now he had opportunity, at their invitation, to say what these things mean and press for saving faith.

Strange, Not Strange

For preachers, the reality about strangeness in our preaching is at least twofold. First, to preach the real Christ, and proclaim his resurrection, will mark us off as strangers and exiles in an unbelieving world. Hebrews 11:13 is not just about old-covenant, pre-Christian saints, but also faithful new-covenant believers: they “acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.” We are strangers here, for now, and our message will be heard, unavoidably, by many, as strange.

Still, second, we also soon ask, Who’s really believing the stranger things? The time comes, with even the most secular of people, to ask, like Paul elsewhere, “Why is it thought incredible by any of you that God raises the dead?” (Acts 26:8).

As Christian preachers, we might ask ourselves, Do I avoid or minimize scriptural truths in the pulpit that land as strange on people today? Do I reckon head-scratching and unfamiliar questions to be a sign of failure in my preaching? Or, conversely, do I over-index on the strange, aiming inordinately to provoke, assuring myself that mocking and criticism are sure badges of my faithfulness, and all the while drawing attention to myself and my manliness, rather than to Christ?

Whether in Athens or America, we cannot be faithful without preaching some strange things. Yet these strangenesses — like the Trinity, the incarnation, the resurrection, the ascension — are often the most glorious realities of our message.

Let’s be faithful to our strange and wonderful Scriptures, work like Paul to be familiar where we can, and then gladly, and with great hope, bring some strange things to their ears.

No one wakes up an Olympian. No athlete competes against the world’s best by natural ability alone.

Among other things, the Olympics display the plasticity of human bodies and skills. Granted, many of the world’s top competitors may have been born with some unusual abilities and proclivities, but nature alone did not get them to the highest level. Rather, training separates Olympians from natural athletes. And this is by God’s design. He made the human body to be formed and re-formed through the gift and grit of training.

Human Plasticity

It is a wonder that God made us both fixed and pliable creatures. On the one hand, you cannot grow a third leg. There are basic givens to our humanity that cannot be altered, no matter how much we’d like it otherwise. But on the other hand, you can significantly strengthen and condition the two legs you have. Our bodies are trainable. You cannot train yourself to breathe underwater, but you can train to greatly increase your VO2 max.

Athletics offer a fresh, vivid, concrete reminder of the power of human plasticity, and not just of our bodies but also of our minds and hearts. And as Christians, recipients of the priceless gift of delighting in God through regeneration and Spirit-indwelling, we now do not just spontaneously delight in God or not. Every day we are conditioning our souls, in at least some small degree, to delight in God or be indifferent toward him.

To be clear, “plastic” in this context doesn’t mean cheap or easily breakable. The plasticity we’re focusing on here is how neuroscientists describe the human brain. That is, our brains flex and shift. They re-form and re-grow. They learn and adapt and change — not simply in what information they store, but in their actual makeup and shape. They are not static but plastic, ever changing in small increments and degrees that are not easily discerned in the moment but produce vast effects over time.

And as with our brains, so also with our souls. Our hearts and desires are not givens but pliable and plastic. We are ever shifting and re-forming in tiny increments that snowball over time. Our choices not only express who we are but also affect who we will be.

What gets our best attention and affection today profoundly conditions what we will desire and delight in tomorrow.

Condition Your Soul

Strange as this plasticity may sound to modern ears with our mechanistic metaphors for our humanity (like “hard-wired” or “processing”), the concept was not foreign to the apostle Paul.

In 1 Timothy 4, he writes to his protégé Timothy about conditioning his soul. That is, he assumes Timothy’s mind and heart are pliable, bendable, plastic. His inner person, like his outer, is re-formable and re-shapable within the bounds of God’s created order.

Both for the health of Timothy’s own soul and for his effectiveness in Christian ministry, he needs to give attention to himself and to his teaching and persist in these things (1 Timothy 4:16). He is to devote himself “to the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching.” He should not neglect the abilities he’s been given but “practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress” (1 Timothy 4:13–15).

Over time, the disciple will not stay the same. He will either get better or get worse. The health of his soul and his spiritual abilities and inclinations will either grow and mature (“progress”) or deteriorate and atrophy into spiritual lethargy, dullness, and apathy.

More Pliable Than Your Body

Most memorably, Paul says, “Train yourself for godliness” (1 Timothy 4:7). Here he likens the conditioning of the eternal soul to the conditioning of the physical body:

While bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come. (1 Timothy 4:8)

Running, weights, and HIIT workouts train and condition the body for the present life — and indeed have “some value.” But training in godliness — that is, conditioning the soul in spiritual likeness to Christ — reshapes the inner person for eternity and “is of value in every way.”

“Our choices not only express who we are but deeply shape who we will be.”

Not only is the soul, like the body, malleable — with its various likes and dislikes, its delights and disgusts, its preferences and apathies — but the inner person is even more trainable than the physical body. The shape of our objective bodies is more stubborn than the shape of our subjective desires and delights. We may be quick to overlook this countercultural reality since we cannot see (with physical eyes) the inward changes like we can with outward changes to the body.

What’s Your Five-Year Trajectory?

What, then, might we do about this truth, demonstrably biblical, yet lost on so many of us in the modern world — that our desires and delights are condition-able and not simple givens?

The question is not whether we are training our souls right now or not. Oh, we are training them. Unavoidably so. With every new day, in every act and choice. With every thought approved and word spoken and initiative taken. With every desire indulged or renounced. With every meditation of our hearts in spare moments. With every click, like, and share. With every podcast play, video view, check of the scores on ESPN, or browse of the headlines news. With every fresh opportunity to show love and compassion received or rejected. In all the little moments that make up our human days and lives, we are constantly becoming who we will be and ever reshaping what our hearts pine for and find pleasing. The question is not if we’re reshaping our souls but how.

And if you wonder how, you might start with an audit of your habits and patterns and ask, Am I conditioning my soul to delight in Jesus in five years, or to be apathetic toward him? The way I go to bed, and how I rise. How I approach meals, and the calendar, and commutes. The way I work and rest, my vocational labor and recreational leisure. And in it all, how I treat and take initiative toward others, or seek to minimize and avoid them.

Perhaps today, if someone were to ask you, “Do you trust in Jesus and delight in him?” you could quickly answer, “Yes, I delight in him.” But what do your patterns say? And what kind of heart will your habits produce in time? This week, this month, even today, are you conditioning your soul to delight in Jesus five years from now or to be indifferent to him? What will be the long-term, heart-effects of your investments in Netflix or social media or your garden or house-projects or favorite team?

You might ask, right now, in this season of life, am I feeding and growing and strengthening my delight in Jesus or starving it? And what lesser joys and delights am I feeding that will, in time, eclipse and choke out my delight in God if I continue to shape my soul in these ways? Am I daily putting my soul within earshot of God’s grace? Am I seeking to shape my heart to the texture of Scripture? Am I re-forming and re-consecrating my desires before God by lingering in prayer? And who am I spending most of and the best of my time with? How will my heart be reshaped by the hearts of those people whose opinions are coming to matter most to me?

You will become more like what and who you fawn over. So, do you continue to fawn over Jesus, and prioritize others who do the same?

Morning and Evening

Especially significant in this regard are our morning and evening routines. Where do you turn first in the morning to meet and direct the desires of the new day? Do you put the world’s horizontal demands first or “go vertical” with God? Do you open his Book to hear from him, see his Son with the eyes of faith, and continually, one day after another, shape your heart to delight in the truly delightful?

And what typically occupies your attention, the musings of your heart, once the day is essentially done and you move through the routine of “gearing down” for bed?

Rome wasn’t lost in a day, nor is Christian faith — typically. The dulling and disappearance of faith is usually the effect of spiritual conditioning not just yesterday but through yesteryears.

Saving faith hears God’s word, sees him as true with the eyes of the soul, and embraces him as desirable. Saving faith is not indifferent to what it sees or apathetic toward who God is and what he has said and done in Christ. There is in genuine faith an eagerness, a desire, a thirst, a hunger, and a foretaste of satisfaction. Faith says to Jesus, “I want you. I delight in you.”

And saving faith perseveres. It keeps wanting — meaning it makes choices today that condition the soul not for indifference to Jesus but for delight in him.

“Embroiled in petty priorities.” It was a devasting observation, and I resonated with it.

I came across these words recently from an evangelical statesman saddened to watch some Christians “responding with increasing nationalism, sometimes with almost frightening ethnocentrism.” They are “caught up in a flag-waving nationalism,” he said, “that puts the interests of my nation or my class or my race or my tribe or my heritage above the demands of the kingdom of God.”

His tone was hopeful, even as he spoke with seriousness about those who had “become embroiled with petty priorities” — trivialities, he said, “that constitute an implicit denial of the lordship of Christ.”

Most surprising of all to me was that these words had been written more than thirty years ago.

‘World Christians’

That evangelical leader is Don Carson, and he was writing in the early 90s. In the final chapter of The Cross and Christian Ministry (1993), he sounds a call for “world Christians,” that is, genuine believers in Jesus who

(1) self-consciously set their allegiance to Christ and his kingdom “above all national, cultural, linguistic, and racial allegiances,”

(2) commit themselves “to the church everywhere, wherever the church is truly manifest, and not only to its manifestation on home turf,”

(3) see themselves “first and foremost as citizens of the heavenly kingdom and therefore consider all other citizenship a secondary matter,” and

(4) are “single-minded and sacrificial when it comes to the paramount mandate to evangelize and make disciples” (116–117).

I first read Carson’s words about ten years after their publication, but now, another two decades later, they feel even more prescient. The need remains. Seasons of flag-waving come and go, but the New Testament vision of world Christians endures.

How might we, then, evaluate ourselves and whether we are such “world Christians”? Has our world’s course and patterns and “cultural moments” dulled the global scope and Great-Commission interests of our faith? How might we freshly check our own souls — particularly in the hype of an election year — whether we are world Christians or worldly ones?

The New Testament’s key texts on heavenly citizenship come from three different epistles and authors: Paul to the Philippians, the first letter of Peter, and the epistle to the Hebrews. To linger over these key texts, let’s ask four questions to gauge if our sense of heavenly citizenship is alive and well.

1. How singular is my citizenship?

First comes a question about identity and primacy. Sometimes we hear the language of “dual citizenship” — that Christians, in this life, are both citizens of heaven and citizens of our earthly nation. At one level, of course, this is true. Our various earthly citizenships are real and consequential, and so too, if we are in Christ, and have his Spirit, we are truly citizens of heaven as well. For that, the go-to banner is Philippians 3:20: “Our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

At another level, however, the “dual citizenship” language can be misleading. “Dual” might give the impression of equal priority and weight. But for the relative importance of these citizenships, try this: evaluate the significance of earthly alongside heavenly, and of momentary alongside eternal. Philippians 3:20 says nothing about duality of citizenship. It mentions but one citizenship: heaven’s. Paul does not pause to emphasize that Philippian believers are Roman citizens as well, with all the attendant rights and duties of that citizenship. Rather, the apostle dares to declare to believers in Jesus, living in the Roman colony of Philippi, “our citizenship is in heaven,” with no qualifications about their earthly status besides.

“Our life-orienting allegiance is not to an earthly fatherland but to our heavenly Father — and to his Son, at whose name every knee will bow.”

And if so with Roman citizenship two millennia ago, then so too for whatever earthly citizenry we find ourselves born or received into today. If we are in Christ, our most fundamental identity and allegiance is to Jesus and his church, far above and beyond any earthly nation. Our citizenships are starkly asymmetrical. In light of eternity and the preciousness of Christ, we are Christians first, and a thousand times Christians, before we are Americans or Canadians or Filipinos. World Christians, Carson writes, see themselves “first and foremost as citizens of the heavenly kingdom and therefore consider all other citizenship a secondary matter.”

In Christ, our life-orienting allegiance is not to an earthly fatherland but to our heavenly Father — and to his Son, at whose name every knee will bow, beginning with ours.

2. What’s my default perspective?

Second comes a question about recurring perspective. We might say, Do you intentionally and regularly reset your mind and heart to the values and interests of heaven or of earth? And where does your soul habitually default?

In contrast to the citizens of heaven, Philippians 3:19 says this about earthly citizens: “Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things.” It’s one thing to deal with “earthly things.” We all live in this world and unavoidably engage with the things of earth. But it’s another thing to set our minds on earthly things, to default to them, to reset and recalibrate our energy and attention over and over again to the world’s standards and priorities and interests, rather than heaven’s.

In similar language, Colossians 3:2 says, “Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” The question isn’t whether “earthly things” come into our daily purview, and indeed occupy, in various degrees, much of our waking hours. The question is perspective and mindset. Do we engage the countless things of earth with heaven’s vantage and values? Do we reset and return to Christ’s own perspective through rhythms of hearing his voice in his word, having his ear in prayer, and belonging to his body in the covenant fellowship of the local church? Or do we default to news and politics, ESPN, the market, the weather, the latest obscure digital updates on the lives of friends and family?

However earthy our lives and callings, in Christ we “seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God” (Colossians 3:1). With our eyes regularly glancing upward, we actually will be more effective and fruitful down here, navigating life with heavenly wisdom and proper perspective, rather than being swallowed up in petty priorities. Those concerned most about God’s global cause will do the most and best at home. Hearts in tune with the Great Commission will make us far more effective, not less, in our local context.

3. Do I profess (and practice) a ‘stranger’ status?

Some are strangers and don’t know it. Others know it but try to hide it. In the great faith “hall of fame” chapter, Hebrews 11, the author speaks of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Jacob, and all the pre-Christ examples of faith, saying,

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. (Hebrews 11:13–14)

Not only were they “strangers and exiles,” but they acknowledged it. How so? Not simply in their own hearts, but they said it out loud (“people who speak thus”). They were not heaven’s citizens in camouflage, living and looking just like their fellow earthly citizens. Rather, they were different to the core, knew it, owned it, lived it, and said it.

So, ask yourself, Am I a stranger here on earth in any real senses, and am I willing and eager to make that known? Do others know that I’m different than the rank and file, and how do they know that? To draw in 1 Peter, do I, as a sojourner and exile here, abstain from the passions of the flesh that wage war against my soul, and is my conduct in the world honorable, so that even those who speak against me see the genuine good I do (1 Peter 2:11–12)?

4. Where, really, is the source of my hope?

Sadly, some profess Christian faith, yet manifestly find their day-in, day-out animating hope elsewhere. This gets to the heart of Carson’s concern thirty years ago, and the ongoing need in our day.

This world is clearly no utopia. We all long for change, but where, really, do we look for that change? What or who will bring about the changes we ache for? At bottom, what is our heart’s driving hope for the changes we so desperately need in our own lives and in our world?

Healthy humans can’t help but hope — whether it’s politics and parties, human intellect and progress, wealth and riches, work or escape from work, we hope in something, or someone. The question is whether your hope, my hope, is a distinctively Christian hope or just a small variation on the world’s unbelieving dreams.

For Christians, Hebrews 13:14 says, “Here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.” That city to come is “the heavenly Jerusalem,” “the city of the living God” (Hebrews 12:22), made not with human hands but the hands of God himself (2 Corinthians 5:1), and prepared by Christ (John 14:2–3). In the end, this holy city, the new Jerusalem, will come “down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband” (Revelation 21:2).

With this city in view, we are dissatisfied with any and every mere human nation. We “desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one,” knowing our God “has prepared for [us] a city” (Hebrews 11:16). And from that city, the citizens of heaven await our Savior (Philippians 3:20). This is our primary identity, our default perspective, our glad profession, and our orienting hope as world Christians not “embroiled in petty priorities.”

This message is part 1 of a three-part seminar on practicing the habits of grace in a hectic world. See here for the other two messages:

Let me start with a text before we do some more orienting work on where we’re going this weekend. Let’s get a little glimpse of the early church, the church that endured these various heresies and challenges of legalism, distraction, and competition in the first century. We get this little glimpse, like a little honeymoon moment, early in the Book of Acts. Peter has preached, three thousand people have come to faith, and then we find this out in Acts 2:42–47. Here’s what they do:

And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.

This is an amazing, shining, warm, bright moment. Early in the church, before persecutions come one after another, and before the Book of Acts moves from one obstacle to the next, we have this little, early moment. Who wouldn’t want these things? Awe coming upon every soul? Many wonders and signs? People want to sign up for signs and wonders. They want to see the spectacular.

And they were sharing their stuff. They weren’t forced to have all things in common. They chose to do this. They were selling their possessions. They were attending the temple together. They were receiving their food with glad and generous hearts. It was so ideal. They were praising God, and they had favor with all the people (that will change). God added to their number day by day those being saved.

Who doesn’t want to be part of a church like this? What’s the recipe? We want to know. What were they doing that had the Holy Spirit flowing through them like this? We want to be part of a church like this. We want to have lives like this. People want to sign up for numbers increasing and signs and wonders being performed.

Spectacularly Unspectacular

In Acts 2:42, it’s just so unspectacular. It’s so normal. In Acts 2:42, what did they devote themselves to? “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching.” The apostles were teaching the word. They had this message about Jesus called the gospel, and they were teaching Jesus from the Old Testament Scriptures. This is the apostles’ preaching and teaching about Christ and how we should live. Then it mentions “the fellowship” — we’ll say more about that tomorrow morning, and focus on it as a means of grace.

We have teaching. We have the word being taught. We have the community, the fellowship, the company, the congregation. There’s the breaking of bread. (I take this to be a reference to both the sharing of their meals and to the Lord’s Supper.) And we have the prayers. It’s very basic, normal stuff. It’s Bible teaching, prayer, the gathering of the congregation, and fellowship. And in the midst of that, they share food and the Lord’s Supper. These are very unspectacular things.

And yet, that’s what our focus is going to be on this weekend. As we think about distraction, competition, and legalism, we don’t want to just survive but to thrive in the Christian faith, with joy. So we’re going to talk about these seemingly mundane, very ordinary, electric-with-power means of grace for the Christian life.

This is our outline here for tonight and for tomorrow. As we’re breaking this into three sections, it’s important that we do some introductory work here first tonight. Tonight is going to be the most principled, theological, or visionary component of the three sessions. Then I’m going to try to get way more practical tomorrow morning and afternoon.

Tonight, we’ll start off with an introduction to the means of grace. We want to get our theology right at the outset. What’s the deal with the means of grace? How does that relate to our habits of grace? And tonight we’ll introduce God’s “chief” and “soul” means of grace: the word. That’s what Jonathan Edwards called it. Tomorrow morning, God willing, we’ll come back and do some practical focus on the word, and I’ll introduce prayer. Then in our final session, I’ll focus on some practical aspects of prayer, and then tackle this remarkable and often forgotten means of grace called “the fellowship.”

Clarify, Simplify, Inspire

Let me state here my aims for us in our time together tonight and tomorrow. Here’s my aim for these sessions: I want to clarify, simplify, and inspire. I’d like to clarify the source of the Christian life in God’s ongoing grace for us and how to access that grace. Then I want to simplify our pursuit of God’s grace through his appointed means. God has told us how he means to bless us. He has told us how he means to have the flow of his grace coming into our lives. I want to rehearse those things and then seek to sync up the habits of our lives with the remarkable flow of his grace.

Then I want to inspire you to cultivate habits of grace in your life, whatever season of life and whatever your personal bent, so that you can develop habits that would help you to know and enjoy him. And in knowing and enjoying him, to glorify him. It’s all so that he would be glorified in our delight in him and in the expressions of that delight, as it works its way out into our lives. It’s so that we would let our light shine in such a way that others would see our good deeds and give glory to our Father (Matthew 5:16).

My hope here is to keep the gospel and the energy of God at the center. As we talk about these actions, these efforts, and these initiatives we might take, we don’t want to fall into our own version of Christian legalism. We’re going to put the gospel at the center and the grace of God at the center.

Then we’re going to want to emphasize corporate dynamics as well. This is often overlooked in discussions of the spiritual disciplines. It becomes a very me-and-God-oriented thing, which is good. That has its place, but there are also amazing things in the Christian life that are corporate. There are means of grace that are corporate.

I want to present God’s means of grace and your own habits that develop around those means as not just accessible and realistic but truly God’s means for your knowing and enjoying Jesus, for a lifetime. That’s where we’re going, as our goal: we want to know him, enjoy him, be close to him, and hold fast to him, that he would be the great, personal life and source of our spiritual survival and thriving — and do so for a lifetime.

This is what we aim at: we aim at lives that glorify God through hearts that are happy in him, through souls satisfied in Jesus. That’s going to happen through his ongoing supply of grace to our lives, and he has given us his appointed means of grace. Then we’re going to seek to have our own habits and corporate habits whereby we access his grace and know, enjoy, and glorify him. We want to see God glorified through our joy by God’s threefold means of grace in our own habits of grace.

Primer on the Means of Grace

Session one is an introduction and a focus on the word. I want to introduce “the means of grace,” this concept, and then talk about God’s first and foremost means of grace for our Christian lives. Just to set this up, let me talk about Proverbs 21:31, which is a great means text. One danger in applying Christian theology and human responsibility would be that we think our means — the things that we do — just bring about our ends no matter what, as if it’s just a closed system, as if it’s pure cause and effect. We’re responsible; we get it done. That’s it.

Or we could have a more fatalistic view, thinking, “Well, it really doesn’t matter what we do because God’s the one who does things decisively.” So, we need to bring these two together theologically and experientially when we talk about the means of grace. It’s just a little glimpse of glorious means all throughout the Bible, once you see it:

The horse is made ready for the day of battle,     but the victory belongs to the Lord.

Now, a godly king gets his horses ready for the battle. If he has a battle, he prepares for the battle. Get your soldiers ready for the battle. Prepare, execute, have a strategy, engage. And he’s not so naive as to think that there are no prayers to be prayed and a God to be leaned on and seen as the One who decisively does it. You can have the best army and chariots and guns and tanks, and if God decides you lose the battle, you lose the battle.

Means are important in the Christian life. If God appoints that a nail be in a board, he also appoints a hammer and a hand driving it into the board. Or as a father and a homeowner, I can’t help but think of faucets and light switches. One reason I think about this is that I have a father-in-law who’s a plumber. I did not grow up in a plumber’s family — my dad was a dentist. He did stuff around the house, but he also hired other people to do stuff around the house. I didn’t grow up a handyman. So, when I became a homeowner for the first time fifteen years ago, it was all new to me, and I felt all this pressure because my wife’s dad is a plumber. If something goes wrong, she just expects me to fix it. I’ve had a lot of learning to do.

But an amazing thing about the plumbing or the electricity in the house is that if you want some water, you don’t just walk around the living room going, “Water, fall on me. Water, give me water.” No, the home has been plumbed and wired, so to speak, in a certain way. You go to the sink to get water, and then you turn on the sink. You do the action. You engage the means, and hopefully, water comes out of the spigot. When you do that, you don’t celebrate and say, “Look what I did. I made it water. I made the water come out.”

Or maybe you walk into a room to turn on the lights. By the way, Canadians — you guys are funny sometimes with the hotel lights. The same thing happened to me in Montreal. I could not figure out the lights in Montreal, and it took me about ten minutes last night to figure out the lights in the hotel. There are mood lights, and there are all sorts of different lights. When the lights come on, because I flick the switch, I don’t celebrate that I did it. The city provided the electricity, and some electrician wired up the walls and got the outlet installed.

But it would be silly for me just to walk around and demand that light to come on or to have water without engaging the appointed means. That’s the kind of thing we’re dealing with here in the Christian life. God has told us that he has provided power, he has wired things up, and he has provided various switches. He provides faucets where we engage the means and get the flow of water.

Now, here’s where we’re going in this session. First, we want to talk about the God of grace. We have to start with him. He’s the personal provider of this grace. It’s not this rogue thing, a power that you try to access and find. It’s his power through his Spirit. Second, he has given us his appointed means of grace. Third, we’ll talk about various habits in our lives for accessing his grace. Fourth, we want to emphasize the end of the means as well. To have a means implies there’s an end. You have to have an end of the means. We’ll talk about that and introduce his first and foremost means: his word.

1. Know the God of grace.

First, let’s celebrate the God of grace. First Peter 5:10 says,

And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.

Our God is a God of grace. When he reveals himself to Moses, he reveals himself as “a God merciful and gracious, full of steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exodus 34:6). This is the kind of God who is overflowing. He’s eager to help his children. He wants to shed his grace. The very coming of Jesus is the climactic expression of his grace.

So, we have a God of grace. That’s a very important starting point in coming to the means of grace — that we see that we don’t have this miserable God who’s holding back his stuff. He wants to give. He’s happy, he’s generous, and he wants to give his grace to his people, especially as they come through his means.

First Timothy 1:11 says, “Sound doctrine [is] in accordance with the gospel of the glory of the blessed God.” I just want to linger over the word makarios, which means “blessed” or “happy.” Our God is the infinitely happy God. He’s not miserable up in heaven. He’s infinitely happy. He lives for all eternity in the infinite bliss of the Trinity. He’s the happy God who radiates out with his glory and, because of that, has a gospel to save sinners.

And then in 1 Timothy 6:15 he says of this God, “He is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion.” Our God is overflowing in his riches, in his goodness, in his fullness. That fullness comes to us and meets us in his grace toward us sinners.

So, first and foremost, we have the God of grace. And then very importantly, we need to recognize how this grace manifests in our lives, and how it comes to meet us.

The Grace of Justification

The God of grace justifies us. You may be familiar with this language of justification, of God justifying us. If you’re not, I’ll try to explain it. If you are, glory with me in it, that the God of grace does this for his creatures.

Romans 4:4–5 says, “Now to the one who works, his wages are not counted as a gift but as his due.” So, if you work, you get wages, and they aren’t given to you as a gift. They’re what you are due. You deserve the wages. You enter into this arrangement, and you get the wages.

Then Paul continues, “And to the one who does not work but believes—” The opposite in this contrast he sets up is that one is working for it, and the other is believing. He is contrasting belief here. He says, “To the one who does not work but believes in him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is counted as righteousness” (Romans 4:5).

Justify means he counts them righteous. He accepts them fully. He declares them to be in the right with him. “Faith,” at the end of the verse, goes back to “belief” at the beginning of the verse. This is justification by faith. This is coming before the holy God for his acceptance not on the basis of anything we do. We are coming to him to believe in him. We come as the ungodly, and by faith — because of Jesus and his righteousness in our place — we are justified. We are declared to be in the right. Working is one path, and belief is another. That’s the realm of justification.

Here’s more of his blessedness, his fullness, his riches, his goodness, and his lovingkindness. Titus 3:4–7 says,

But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us [justification], not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by his grace we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life.

Not only is he excluding from our acceptance with God poor works, partial works, or flawed works, but he is also excluding works done in righteousness — the best works you can do. God justifies us by his grace. Our full acceptance before the holy God is not based on anything we do. Our habits of grace, however good, even if they’re done in righteousness, do not earn our right standing with the holy, rich, blessed God. That comes through faith in Jesus Christ. God justifies.

The Grace of Sanctification

You might just say, “Well, that’s enough. That’s enough grace for me. I’ll just take that grace and go home.” But God says, “I’m the God of all grace. I have more grace than that. That justification is spectacular good news, and I’m not done.” This is double grace — what Calvin called duplex gratia. This is the grace of God that sanctifies. Sanctification, our own becoming holy, is not an annoyance or a burden; it is another grace.

Titus 2:11–12 uses the same kind of language. He just talked about the appearing of God’s mercy and goodness and lovingkindness in Jesus. Now we’re talking about how the grace of God has appeared. Jesus is God’s grace, embodied and personal. The passage says, “For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people —” Then you might say, “Oh, that’s great. Grace means there’s nothing for me to do, right?” Well, there’s some grace here for your training. He continues,

The grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age. (Titus 2:11–12).

Brothers and sisters, self-control, uprightness, and godly lives — these things aren’t burdens. This is more grace. God is more gracious than to just save you from your sin, forgive your sin, reckon you righteous, and then leave you in the misery of your sin. He says, “I want to save you out of your sin, I want to forgive you of it, and then I want to pull you out of the misery of your sin.” Ungodliness is miserable. Worldly passions are miserable. Self-control, uprightness, and godly living empowered by grace is double grace.

Now we’re getting into how this grace works in our lives as a means, and how we might work. We don’t work in justification. We only believe. But in sanctification, we get to work. We act, and we put some effort in by grace. Here’s how it happens. Paul says, “By the grace of God, I am what I am” (1 Corinthians 15:10). So you might think, “Oh — grace. Does that mean you’re going to find the apostle Paul on a couch?” Probably not with Paul. (It’s not that the couch is a problem. There’s a time for couches, though I don’t know if Paul had any time for it.) Instead he says,

But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them, though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me. (1 Corinthians 15:10)

Now, when Paul said he “worked harder than any of them,” do you know what he’s talking about here? He’s not talking about bums in Crete or the lazy folks in Galatia or whatever; he’s talking about the other apostles. Paul must have had such a gargantuan work ethic that he could say something like this in utter humility. I don’t think there’s any posturing here. I don’t think there’s any pride. I think it was just so well-known. Paul was just wired differently. Peter is not the same. John is not the same. But Paul is just Herculean.

But you know what? Paul says, “That’s the grace of God. It’s not I.” All these long journeys, all that he went through, all the labors and works — he does it by grace. I’m not saying you have to be as tireless as Paul. What I’m saying is that the grace of God empowers us to make effort. There’s no effort for justification. You cannot earn God’s acceptance. But in grace, you can experience the joy of walking in real holiness.

Here’s the dynamic as Paul talks to the Philippians about it:

Beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. (Philippians 2:12–13)

He didn’t say work for it. That would be in the realm of justification. If he said work for it, that would be a breach of justification. He’s saying, “Work out your salvation. God is saving you. You’re righteous in Christ. Work it out.” How? Is it that in your own effort you work it out? No, he says, “For it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13). God works in you.

We saw this in the Titus text about the Holy Spirit being given to us richly. The reason that justified sinners don’t become lazy or antinomian is that with this gift of justification, which you did not earn with any of your works, another gift comes. His name is the Holy Spirit, and through him God loves to continue to pour out his grace.

He’s at work. He works in you by the person of his Holy Spirit, both for your willing and working, which is deeper in us than we can sense. We’ll see that tomorrow when we talk about the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is deeper in us than we can even sense. He’s at work in us for our will and for our work, for God’s good pleasure.

The Grace of Glorification

We’ve spoken of the grace of justification, the grace of sanctification, and then there’s a triple grace (and another one, and another one, and another one). This is the last one we’re going to do for right now. The grace of God glorifies.

Second Thessalonians 1:11–12 says, “[May God] fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you—” At this point we think, “Amen. To him be the glory. Glorify Jesus.” Then Paul surprises us here and says, “. . . and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ” (2 Thessalonians 1:12).

So, Christ is being glorified in us Christians, and we are being glorified by grace in him. There is a coming glory, a glory that’s already happening in our lives as we grow in holiness and Christian maturity. Second Corinthians 3:18 talks about moving from one degree of glory to the next. There’s a final glory coming, and it’s coming by grace. It’s when the groom glorifies his bride with himself. Ephesians 2:4–7 says,

But God, being rich in mercy [more “richness” language], because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ — by grace you have been saved — and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.

This is what he has begun in you if you have faith in Jesus, and this is what he will do for endless ages. He will lavish on us the immeasurable riches of his grace in Christ Jesus. So, the God of grace justifies, sanctifies, and glorifies. We are in a matrix of God’s grace in Christ in the Christian life. And God has given us appointed means of grace.

2. Grasp the means of grace.

How do we pursue sanctification? How do we pursue one degree of glory to the next? There are God’s appointed means of grace. Now, sometimes people talk about the spiritual disciplines. It’s a common term. It’s a subtitle in my book because I tried to set it up within the genre of spiritual disciplines.

But I like the term “means of grace” because I want to try to coordinate our actions with God’s actions. I want to see that first and foremost, we have the God of grace, and then in light of who he is, we’re now taking action from a creaturely posture of receiving his grace, rather than only the language of “spiritual disciplines.” Spiritual disciplines could begin and end with you. They could be about what you have to do.

“My most pressing need is not to master the Bible but to be mastered by God through his word.”

This is why D.A. Carson says, “Means of grace is a lovely expression less susceptible to misinterpretation than spiritual disciplines.” That’s your good Canadian brother right there. Or consider J.I. Packer. (Look at all these Canadian voices! He’s originally from England, but he spent a lot of time in Canada.) I first got onto this term “means of grace” from this quote from Packer: “The doctrine of the spiritual disciplines is really a restatement and extension of the classical Protestant teaching on the means of grace.”

Then Packer gives us a little helpful summary. What are these means? We have to know what these means are. Packer is going to help us here. There are four means of grace, he says: “The word of God, prayer, fellowship, and the Lord’s Supper.” He gave us four. We’ll keep coming back to that.

Here’s another quote by J.C. Ryle. As far as I know, he never lived in Canada. He’s a good British brother. He says,

The means of grace are such as Bible reading, private prayer, and regularly worshiping God in Church, wherein one hears the Word taught and participates in the Lord’s Supper. I lay it down as a simple matter of fact that no one who is careless about such things must ever expect to make much progress in sanctification. I can find no record of any eminent saint who ever neglected them. They are appointed channels through which the Holy Spirit conveys fresh supplies of grace to the soul, and strengthens the work which he has begun in the inward man . . . Our God is a God who works by means, and he will never bless the soul of that man who pretends to be so high and spiritual that he can get on without them.

Don’t you want that? Don’t you want fresh supplies of grace to your soul from the Holy Spirit? Thank you, J.C. Ryle. We’ll come back to Ryle.

So then, how might we approach these means? I think there’s a helpful paradigm here in Zacchaeus and Bartimaeus. They’re back-to-back stories in the Gospel of Luke. I wonder if Luke’s putting them back to back to get at this very purpose. Whether he’s trying to do that or not, let’s look at the story of Zacchaeus and Bartimaeus.

Bartimaeus and the Road

Jesus drew near to Jericho, and there was this blind man sitting by the roadside, right? He was by the road. That’s significant. He didn’t think, “Well, let me just go wander in the wilderness, and maybe I’ll bump into the Messiah.” He’s by the road. You’re going to get help by the road. Position yourself by the road. Then it says,

And hearing a crowd going by, he inquired what this meant. They told him, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.” (Luke 18:36–37)

Because he was by the road, Jesus was going to come by him. The passage continues:

He cried out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” And those who were in front rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he cried out all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” And Jesus stopped and commanded him to be brought to him. And when he came near, he asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?” He said, “Lord, let me recover my sight.” And Jesus said to him, “Recover your sight; your faith has made you well.” And immediately he recovered his sight and followed him, glorifying God. And all the people, when they saw it, gave praise to God. (Luke 18:38–43)

The reason the grace comes to Bartimaeus is that he’s by the road. He went to the place where grace was passing. Jesus wasn’t over there in the wilderness. He was coming down the path, and Bartimaeus was by the path, and so he has the encounter with Jesus. He asks for mercy and receives the grace of healing because he’s by the path where Jesus is passing.

Zacchaeus and the Tree

Now, let’s see what happens with the wee little man, Zacchaeus.

He entered Jericho and was passing through. And behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus. He was a chief tax collector and was rich. And he was seeking to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd, he could not, because he was small in stature. So he ran on ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see him, for he was about to pass that way. And when Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried and came down and received him joyfully. (Luke 19:1–6)

Zacchaeus doesn’t run out into the desert and hope to encounter the Messiah out there. He hears Jesus coming. He comes to see Jesus. He sees he’s too short and there’s too big of a crowd, so he goes up to a sycamore tree by the road, gets up in the tree, and gets Jesus’s attention. He positions himself along the path where the grace of God will be passing. Here’s what Jonathan Edwards had to say:

Persons need not and ought not to set any bounds to their spiritual and gracious appetites.

By that, he means that you can’t want too much to be happy in God. You don’t have to curtail that. There are no bounds on your desire to be happy in God, which is what you were made for. He continues:

Rather, they ought to be endeavoring by all possible ways to inflame their desires and to obtain more spiritual pleasures. Endeavor to promote spiritual appetites by laying yourself in the way of allurement.

In other words, cultivate your desire for God’s grace and for God’s Son by laying yourself in the way of allurement, along the paths where Jesus will be passing. If he tells us where he is going to be passing, we should position ourselves along those paths.

His Voice, His Ear, His Body

So then, what are these means? How do we put ourselves on the path of God’s grace? Why don’t we come back to Acts 2:42 where we started? It says,

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

Remember that we saw Packer mention the word of God. We saw Ryle mention Bible reading and the word being taught. “The apostles’ teaching” is mentioned here. The apostles were doing word-ministry and teaching. Then you have “the fellowship,” the body of Christ, the corporate dynamics of the covenant people together in relationship with each other. They are a means of God’s grace to each other, which is an amazing thing. It’s not just God’s word that is a means of grace, but we are means of grace to each other, back and forth. And finally it speaks of “the breaking of bread and the prayers.” I think the Lord’s Supper as a means of grace fits in the context of the fellowship, in the corporate life of the church.

Here’s how I organize them. Here are my three principles, my way of doing it. You could take a pie and cut it into twelve pieces, or eight pieces, or four pieces. I like to cut my pie into three pieces. I’m cutting the pie of the means of grace into three pieces, and I have reasons for that. I’ll show you those briefly. Here’s my summary:

Hear his voice in his word.
Have his ear in prayer.
Belong to his body in the fellowship of the local church.

I’m making the effort to make it personal here. We hear his voice in his word. Don’t hear his voice out in the wilderness. Don’t close your Bible and “hear his voice.” That’s your own voice talking to yourself. You hear his voice in his word. You have his ear in prayer and belong to his body in the context of the local church.

Matrix of Means

So, where does this threefold matrix come from? I think it’s a whole-Bible doctrine for me. This is a whole-Bible synthesis. You test it this weekend or next week, for months and for the rest of your life. See if this is a viable three-part summary of God’s means of grace.

I do think it’s Trinity-like, in the sense that it’s a kind of whole-Bible synthesis. I think God is very clear that his first and foremost means of grace is the initiative he takes in revealing himself in his word and climatically in his Son, who is the Word. Clearly, he means for his people to respond in prayer, and he doesn’t create those people as individuals alone, but in the context of the church. So, there’s my three-dimensional bringing together of his means of grace that we will be walking through tonight and tomorrow.

I think you can observe the pattern in Hebrews. This is what I’ve often done. I love Hebrews. If you’re allowed to have a favorite Bible book, mine is Hebrews. Hebrews does a really good job of summarizing these. Some of the best texts on hearing God’s voice are in Hebrews. We’ll see those in a minute. We also see this amazing passage about drawing near to the throne of grace with confidence, which means at least a kind of prayer and having his ear. And then regarding fellowship, I don’t know what to say except that Hebrews has probably the two best texts on fellowship.

Hebrews does this so well. You can see God’s means of grace in wanting the Hebrews to persevere. He commends God’s ongoing speaking through his word by the Spirit, approaching the throne of grace in prayer, and then enduring in the context of the local church.

Over time, I think the Psalms shaped me the most, and I started to see this more and more. There are so many texts in the Psalms about God’s word, God’s ear, and the congregation of the covenant fellowship. We could spend hours on it, but we won’t spend hours on it. I’m going to race through it in a few minutes. Here’s the pattern.

God’s Voice in the Psalms

In the Psalms, hearing God’s voice comes from his word. Psalm 19:7–8 says,

The law of the Lord is perfect,     reviving the soul;the testimony of the Lord is sure,     making wise the simple;the precepts of the Lord are right,     rejoicing the heart;the commandment of the Lord is pure,     enlightening the eyes.

The Bible is God’s personal revelation of his law, testimonies, precepts, and commandments. Psalm 29:4 says,

The voice of the Lord is powerful;     the voice of the Lord is full of majesty.

And Psalm 46:6 says,

The nations rage, the kingdoms totter;     he utters his voice, the earth melts.

It’s a symbol of his power. It’s a sign of his power that he doesn’t take out the divine sword or the divine muscles. All he has to do is speak. He’s that powerful. The nations do their raging, their plotting, and he just speaks, and it all melts. As Psalm 68:33 says, “Behold, he sends out his voice, his mighty voice,” and with it comes much grace for its people.

On the flip side, sin is not listening to his voice. The Psalms lament those who do not listen to God’s voice. It’s very basic. Our Father says, “Son, daughter, listen to my voice. You will be safe if you listen to your daddy’s voice and obey your daddy’s voice. You have a gracious daddy who’s speaking so that you can have joy and be protected and not go into misery. Listen to my voice.” But he says,

My people did not listen to my voice;     Israel would not submit to me.So I gave them over to their stubborn hearts,     to follow their own counsels.Oh, that my people would listen to me,     that Israel would walk in my ways! (Psalm 81:11–13)

He speaks to the wilderness generation. They’ve come out of Egypt, they’ve been through the Red Sea, and they’re on the cusp of going into the promised land. God has given them promises. He has said, “Go take the land.” They see the giants, and they’re getting fearful. Psalm 106:24 says,

Then they despised the pleasant land,     having no faith in his promise.

He had promised, saying, “I’m going to give you this land. Obey the promise.” The passage continues:

They murmured in their tents,     and did not obey the voice of the Lord. (Psalm 106:25)

It’s a tragedy when his people do not attend to his voice, and it’s delight, joy, glory, and life when his people attend to his voice.

God’s Ear in the Psalms

The Psalms are also a massive example of having his ear in prayer. The psalmist prays,

Give ear to my words, O Lord;     consider my groaning.Give attention to the sound of my cry,     my King and my God,     for to you do I pray.O Lord, in the morning you hear my voice;     in the morning I prepare a sacrifice for you and watch. (Psalm 5:1–3)

And Psalm 17:6 says,

I call upon you, for you will answer me, O God;     incline your ear to me; hear my words.

Don’t you see it in the Psalms over and over again? The psalmists know that God stoops, and he listens. He wants to hear from his people. Not only does he reveal himself in his word, but he wants to hear from his people. He wants this to be a relationship. He doesn’t just broadcast it. He speaks and then wants to hear from his people in prayer.

The psalmists pray for his ear. They ask:

Hear the voice of my pleas for mercy,     when I cry to you for help,when I lift up my hands     toward your most holy sanctuary. (Psalm 28:2)

O God, hear my prayer;     give ear to the words of my mouth. (Psalm 54:2)

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord!     O Lord, hear my voice!Let your ears be attentive     to the voice of my pleas for mercy! (Psalm 130:2)

I say to the Lord, You are my God;     give ear to the voice of my pleas for mercy, O Lord! (Psalm 140:6)

And as they ask for his ear, as they pray for it, they’re already confident that he hears. So they not only pray for his ear; they declare that they have his ear:

The Lord hears when I call to him. (Psalm 4:3)

O Lord, you hear the desire of the afflicted;     you will strengthen their heart; you will incline your ear. (Psalm 10:17)

I call upon you, for you will answer me, O God. (Psalm 17:6)

The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous     and his ears toward their cry.The face of the Lord is against those who do evil,     to cut off the memory of them from the earth.When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears     and delivers them out of all their troubles.The Lord is near to the brokenhearted     and saves the crushed in spirit. (Psalm 34:15–18)

The psalmists celebrate having his ear:

In my distress I called upon the Lord;     to my God I cried for help.From his temple he heard my voice,     and my cry to him reached his ears. (Psalm 18:6)

Blessed be the Lord!     For he has heard the voice of my pleas for mercy. (Psalm 28:6)

You heard the voice of my pleas for mercy     when I cried to you for help. (Psalm 31:22)

Come and hear, all you who fear God,     and I will tell what he has done for my soul.I cried to him with my mouth,     and high praise was on my tongue.If I had cherished iniquity in my heart,     the Lord would not have listened.But truly God has listened;     he has attended to the voice of my prayer. (Psalm 66:16–19)

You might say, “Well, maybe he would listen to David because David was a king. David had this special role. But does this apply to me?” The answer is that this applies to us all the more in Jesus. We have all the more reason, because of Jesus, to know that the Lord hears our prayer.

We’ll talk about that foundation. We’ll talk more about Jesus’s high priesthood, his coming into the throne room, and his pouring out his Spirit so that even as we cry out, it is God himself, the Spirit, crying out in and through us. You have all the more reason than ancient Israelites and Davidic kings to know that he hears your prayer if you are in Jesus.

God’s Body in the Psalms

Belonging to his body and having fellowship appears in the Psalms as well. This is the congregation of the righteous in the Psalms:

I will tell of your name to my brothers;     in the midst of the congregation I will praise you. (Psalm 22:22)

I will thank you in the great congregation;     in the mighty throng I will praise you. (Psalm 35:18)

You get the point. Again and again, the psalmist is not alone. He’s with fellows, covenant fellows, which has pretty clear application for us.

3. Practice habits of grace.

God’s matrix of grace for the survival and joy of his people’s souls includes hearing his voice in his word, having his ear in prayer, and belonging to his body in covenant fellowship. What about these various habits of grace? If those are the means of grace — word, prayer, and fellowship — what about our habits? What is a habit?

This is from Charles Duhigg’s book, Power of Habit. He says,

Habits emerge because the brain is constantly looking for ways to save effort. Left to its own devices, the brain will try to make almost any routine into a habit because habits allow our minds to ramp down more often so that the mind can attend to something else.

This is from Gretchen Rubin:

The real key to habits is decision-making, or more accurately, the lack of decision-making.

So, if every time you get in a car, you have to go through the process of thinking, “Should I put the seat belt on or not?” habit comes along to help with that. Or when the light turns red, do you want to stop at that moment and have a decision-making party and ask, “Well, the light turned red, what should I do about this?”

No, the life-saving habit is to just hit the brakes. The life-saving habit is to say, “It’s Sunday morning. Let’s worship with God’s people.” We don’t need to have a decision-making party here on whether to go this week. Or if it’s Saturday morning, do you ask, “Should I start the day with God’s word?” It’s a good habit to form.

What do good habits do? Habits free our focus to give attention elsewhere. They protect what’s most important. They keep us persevering. They’re person-specific, and they can change in various seasons of life. You may have habits that are not lifelong but just for this season. Habits can change. They’re driven by desire and reward. Your brain generates habits because there’s some reward that you’re looking to, however consciously or subconsciously, which is very important for forming spiritual habits.

Habits also change us. They condition us. You’re not hardwired in such a way that habits themselves aren’t part of changing you. Habits are part of a process of you being changed, your neural plasticity, and the changing of your soul and your heart by these habits.

As we already saw, “the grace of God has appeared . . . training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions” (Titus 2:11–12). We are being trained by God’s grace. God’s grace should form various habits in our lives for the ongoing flow of his grace and the ongoing changing of our souls, of our hearts. It’s reforming us for self-control, for upright and godly lives.

All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness. (2 Timothy 3:16)

If I had more time, we would talk about training and the importance of it. We’re in an Olympic city. When you train for the Olympics, it changes your body. You condition the body. And when you are trained by grace, or you train in righteousness, it changes your heart, it conditions your heart, it makes you more able to delight in God rather than all the stuff of the world.

A big question for Christians as we look at the various habits and patterns of our life is this: Am I conditioning my soul to delight in God or the world five years from now? You may be believing right now, but if we audited the habits of your life, perhaps you are conditioning your soul to no longer believe in five years. The question for us, if we want to delight in God, is this: Am I conditioning my soul to delight in Jesus?

4. Long for the end of the means.

This relates to the end of the means. It’s the reason why we’re doing it. There’s an end. And the end is John 17:3, which says,

And this is eternal life, that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.

Or consider Philippians 3:7–8, which says,

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.

Knowing Jesus and enjoying him is the reason that we talk about the means. We could have gathered this weekend and done meditations on the glory of Christ (which is my preference). That’s what we want to do, and that’s where this is going: enjoying Jesus, delighting in Jesus, talking about Jesus. But I’m hoping that by focusing on the habits of grace we’re preparing ourselves for how to enjoy him and conditioning ourselves for enjoying him so that we can see him, know him, and enjoy him. He, enjoying him, is the great end of all these means.

Engaging His Voice

Finally, I’m going to close by introducing the word, and then we will come back tomorrow morning to talk more practically. How do I engage the word? If the word is God’s first and foremost means of his grace — God reveals himself through his speaking — how might I go about accessing his word? Tonight, let’s introduce the principle. God’s first and foremost means is his word. I told you Hebrews had great texts:

Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son. (Hebrews 1:1–2)

This is the Book of Hebrews’ way of saying that Jesus is the Word. He’s the speaking of God. He’s the climactic revelation of God.

Then, in Hebrews 3–4, taking up the Old Testament text from Psalm 95, it says, “The Holy Spirit says . . .” (Hebrews 3:7). This is so important. When he’s talking about Old Testament Scripture, he doesn’t say, “The Holy Spirit said this once.” Rather, he says, “The Holy Spirit says . . .” He’s saying it right now. He said it then, and he continues saying it right now, as you hear it. The passage continues:

The Holy Spirit says, “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.” (Hebrews 3:7–8)

That’s what he’s talking about, then, when he says, “The word of God is living and active” (Hebrews 4:12). It’s not a dead word. It’s not like God spoke in the past, but he’s not saying it right now by his Spirit to his people.

The word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account. (Hebrews 4:12–13)

The Holy Spirit continues to speak God’s word. Then the last warning in Hebrews 12:25 says, “See that you do not refuse him who is speaking.” He is speaking. It’s amazing to see this live, present doctrine of God’s ongoing speaking by his Spirit here in Hebrews. Our God is a talking God. He’s a speaking God.

What Is God’s Word?

Let me give you a quick summary of God’s word, because what I want to do is get outside of our thinking only of God’s word as this book that we flip through. The book is infinitely precious. But sometimes, if we just think about the letters on the page and not the larger concept and all that it means for God to reveal himself and speak to us, we may not appreciate what we hold in our hands. Our God is a talking God.

He spoke to create. That’s how he created the world. It was not a show of power with his hands, but speaking. And he speaks through creation. In Psalm 19:1, it says, “The heavens declare the glory of God.” He spoke in human words through his prophets, like the text we already saw about his law, testimonies, precepts, and commandments from Psalm 19:7–11. He speaks definitively in his Son, who is the Word, as we saw in Hebrews 1. John also says, “In the beginning was the Word . . . And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:1, 14). That’s the climactic revelation of God.

So, what is the word of God? Here’s my summary. Just think about the concept of God’s speaking. He speaks, he reveals himself, he’s communicative, he’s talkative. Isn’t that amazing that we have a God who speaks? Where would we be if he did not speak? He speaks to create, he speaks through creation, and he speaks particularly through his prophets. And then his word, spoken through the prophets, is written down and preserved in Scripture. When you hold that book in your hand, this is the preservation of God speaking.

Next comes his incarnate word. That’s his word made personal in his Son. Jesus is the Word of God. I put this in because I was marveling over that this morning in Matthew 17. Moses is there, Elijah is there, and Peter is like, “Oh, let’s build three tents. Moses can have a tent, Elijah can have one, and Jesus can have one.” And the voice speaks from heaven,

This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him. (Matthew 17:5)

I mean, how amazing is that? In the presence of Moses, he says, “Listen to him, the beloved Son.” That’s what Moses was anticipating. The great prophet Elijah anticipates the coming of the Son.

Then we have the word preached or spoken. That’s the gospel. This is the main way the New Testament uses the word word. In the New Testament, when you see “word,” it’s usually not referring to Scripture. That’s the word Scripture. The word word usually refers to the gospel.

Then Christ’s spokesmen, his apostles, write down their letters and their Gospels — the New Testament. So we have the prophets’ word, and we have the word about Jesus, captured by the apostles. So when we take up our Bible — this is such an amazing thing — we have here not only a record of what God has spoken into the world for his people, but we have the speaking. This is the Holy Spirit speaking to us in God’s Word.

Gather a Day’s Portion

Let me give you this last thing as we go. I want to give you one practical thing because, between now and tomorrow when we talk through the practicals, there’s a morning. I’d like to influence your morning tomorrow, if you would let me, before you come out. I call this “gather a day’s portion.”

This is my reminder for me in a world of distraction, competition, and legalism — in a hectic world — to have my focus be where it should be when I pick up my Bible in the morning. A temptation for me is, “How much can I do here?” rather than, “Can I feed my soul? God, would you feed my soul this morning?”

This comes from Exodus 16. God’s people are in the wilderness. They’ve come out of Egypt, and he’s going to give them this gift called “manna.” This is not exegesis that I’m doing here. This is a parallel, an analogy.

Behold, I am about to rain bread from heaven for you, and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion every day. (Exodus 16:4)

Here’s what’s behind it. Your Father wants to provide food for you every day. Don’t store it for tomorrow. Don’t store it for next week. Don’t fill a barn. These are daily provisions. The passage continues:

Whoever gathered much had nothing left over, and whoever gathered little had no lack. Each of them gathered as much as he could eat. (Exodus 16:18)

Lamentations 3:23 talks about how his mercies are new every morning. And Jesus prays, “Give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11). Sometimes God gives you daily bread in five minutes. Usually, it’s a little longer than that. Sometimes it’s twenty minutes. Sometimes you may really wrestle with him like Jacob, and it might be an hour.

But I want to encourage you tomorrow morning to come before him and pray, “God, would you give me a day’s portion? Would you feed my soul this morning? Even more than my stomach is hungry, because I slept all night and need breakfast, my soul is hungry. Would you feed my soul this morning in your word?”

So, “gather a day’s portion” is my reminder not to try to do too much in morning devotions and have them get hectic. I don’t want to miss the main thing. My most pressing need is not to master the Bible in a few short months or weeks but to be mastered by God through his word, just a little each day, on the arc of a lifetime.

Developing a daily habit of feeding on him in Christ is more like a marathon than a sprint. It’s not hectic and hurried, but it’s coming before him saying, “Father, would you feed my soul this morning?”

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.