Jon Bloom

A Brief Life Still Burning

That’s what M’Cheyne was: a God-besotted man, a God-enthralled man. What I found so captivating about him was how captivated he was by Jesus. He was on fire, but not with mere zeal. His heart burned with holy divine love, the kind that is ignited only when one is truly near the holy Fire that burns but doesn’t consume. We can debate for decades over apologetic arguments and textual criticism. We can doubt and wrestle with endless questions. But we can often discern in minutes when we encounter someone who has encountered the Real Thing.

On an overcast day in August 2013, I stood in the churchyard of St. Peter’s Free Church in Dundee, Scotland, staring at the gravestone of Robert Murray M’Cheyne. As I did, I felt a surge of emotion that transported me 24 years into the past and 3,700 miles west, back to the moment I first met the godly young man whose remains lay buried beneath my feet.
The moment occurred in a makeshift bookstore when I was 23 years old. The church my wife and I had begun attending had just hosted a pastors’ conference and had kindly left the book tables up to give us regular folk a chance to pick through the literary leftovers.
As I was browsing, I came upon a small greenish book titled Robert Murray M’Cheyne. It was authored by a nineteenth-century Scottish pastor I had never heard of (Andrew Bonar) and recorded the life of another nineteenth-century Scottish pastor I had never heard of. I knew next to nothing about Scottish history, let alone Scottish Christian history, so I don’t remember what moved me to buy that book. But I did.
And I am profoundly grateful that I did. Because the godly young man I came to know in the pages of that book shaped me in ways few others have. I even named our first dog after him.
Death to Remember
Robert Murray M’Cheyne was born on May 21, 1813. But like many who lived before the advancements in medicine we now take for granted, M’Cheyne wasn’t long for this world. He died of typhus on March 25, 1843, before reaching his thirtieth birthday.
The day his frail body was laid to rest in St. Peter’s churchyard — the church he had pastored for a mere six and a half years — seven thousand people showed up to honor his memory, grieve their sense of profound loss, and thank God for the grace they received through him. That alone speaks volumes of the kind of man M’Cheyne was.
It is remarkable how God so often uses a death to stop his people in their tracks and force them to think seriously about what life and death truly mean. In fact, that’s precisely what he did with M’Cheyne twelve years earlier.
Life-Changing Death
At age eighteen, M’Cheyne was a bright honor student of classic literature at the University of Edinburgh who fully enjoyed the partying scene of his day. Having been raised attending church, M’Cheyne considered himself a Christian, but he was a Christian of the nineteenth-century Scottish “Bible Belt” variety. He professed faith in Christ, but his heart really loved the worldly delights of his intellectual pursuits and active social life. That is, until he was throttled by a death.
In the summer of 1831, his beloved older brother David succumbed to a deep depression that quickly wore him down in body and soul. His body didn’t survive the ordeal, but by God’s grace, his soul did. In the days before his death, David found profound peace in Jesus’s atoning death for him. His face seemed to shine with an inner radiance.
Robert was gripped both by the grief of his devastating loss and by his brother’s spiritual transformation. And God used this terrible event to bring about Robert’s own spiritual transformation.
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‘The Shadow Proves the Sunshine’ How to See God in Spiritual Darkness

A number of years ago, I was having dinner with a dear friend who was experiencing a season of significant spiritual darkness. He was struggling with doubt. He hadn’t given up his faith, but he felt the pull. Internally, he was wrestling over what appeared to him like dissonant truth claims. Externally, he was wrestling over the profound brokenness and suffering of the world, some of which had suddenly emerged in his family.

We’re a lot alike, my friend and me. We both take life very seriously and process information, observations, and experiences through a similar inner reality detector, overseen by our skeptical inner inspector. We both have a melancholic streak, and since we’re both amateur musicians, we’re both drawn to songwriters whose compositions reflect and articulate our complicated perceptions of reality.

So, as my friend described his wrestlings, he read me some quotes from a songwriter who had once been a Christian but had since lost his faith. The lyrics were raw, honest descriptions of life in the world as the songwriter now saw it — like Ecclesiastes, but without any hope that God exists and will bring any ultimate justice or redemption. My friend admitted the lyrics were dark, but at the time they seemed to him to describe reality more accurately than the gospel-laced songs we sang together at church.

He knew that, years earlier, I had wrestled with similar questions during a spiritually dark season, so he wanted to know what I thought. The first thing that came to my mind was the title phrase from an older song by Switchfoot: “The Shadow Proves the Sunshine.” Those five words launched us into a fruitful discussion about the nature of spiritual light and darkness.

What Are Light and Darkness?

Imagine you and I are sitting in a booth at a restaurant, and I asked you the following questions. If you can, pause for a moment after each question and try to answer it before reading on.

In the physical world, what is light — that thing emitted by the sun, or a fire, or a light bulb?

If you attempted an answer, my guess is that, even if you found it harder than you expected, you came up with one or more fairly accurate descriptions of what light is.

If you referred at all to darkness in your previous answer, try now to explain what light is without any reference to darkness.

If you made an attempt, my guess is that, perhaps after finding it a little more challenging, your answer likely was essentially the same.

Now, describe to me what darkness is without making any reference at all to light. But you have to say more than “darkness is dark”; you have to describe what darkness is without contrasting it at all with light.

Could you do it? Can you meaningfully define what darkness is with no reference or inference to light at all? If you can, please share your definition with me, because I think it’s impossible. And here’s why.

Why We Have Eyes

Light, as we experience it in the world, is electromagnetic radiation. In other words, light is actually a thing. But darkness is the absence of light. In other words, darkness isn’t a thing, it’s the absence of a thing. Trying to describe darkness without any reference to light is like trying to describe nothing without any reference to things. Nothing is the negation of things (no thing). Without things, the term nothing would be completely meaningless. And I think the same is true of darkness; it’s the negation of light. Without light, the term darkness would be completely meaningless.

The fact that light exists is the reason we have eyes. We wouldn’t have them if we lived in a universe in which light didn’t exist. And though millions of people can survive and thrive in our world even if their ability to see is for some reason disabled, they’re only able to do so with help from others who can see.

What’s true about eyes is true of all our physical perceptional abilities. The reason we, as a species, have them is because the reality we live in requires them.

Now, if we live too much in our heads and philosophically ponder how we know what’s really real, it’s possible to get stuck in a skeptical solipsism and like Descartes doubt just about everything, which leads to some very dark places. Because reality is more complex and multidimensional than our individual reasoning power alone can detect. And here is one way our physical senses can ground us: the very existence of our perceptional abilities bear witness to the nature of physical reality. The reason we have eyes is because light exists.

Why We Have Spiritual Eyes

All of this leads me to that line from the Switchfoot song: “The shadow proves the sunshine.” In addition to physical perceptions, we also have spiritual perceptions. And we have these spiritual perceptions for the same reason we have our physical perceptions: because the reality we live in requires them. We wouldn’t have them if we didn’t need them.

How is it that we even know to call spiritual darkness dark? And when we perceive reality and our own existence to be dark and foreboding, why do we describe it as dark and why does it feel foreboding? Why does it depress us and make us anxious and fearful? I think it’s because, even if our reasoning powers alone can’t make sense of everything, our spiritual perceptions — what Paul calls “the eyes of [our] hearts” (Ephesians 1:18) — tell us that spiritual light exists.

Darkness is not a thing; it’s the absence of a thing. We know what darkness is because we know what light is. Light, on the other hand, is not dependent on darkness to exist. That’s why the apostle John said, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5). Something can obstruct the sun’s light and produce a shadow that makes our surroundings dim, but the obstruction does not extinguish (overcome) the sun.

What the Shadow Proves

As I told my friend that evening, this reality doesn’t answer all the hard questions or address every doubt. As an apologetic, it’s not even specifically Christian. But I do believe it is a pointer to the nature of ultimate reality, and a precious one to those who find themselves walking through darkness.

We have eyes because there is a sun. So why do we have spiritual “eyes” that long for spiritual light? When we’re walking through the valley of shadows, how is it that we discern the shadows? If we say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night” (Psalm 139:11), how is it that we can still distinguish day from night?

It is, I believe, because our very experience of spiritual darkness bears witness to the existence of spiritual light. The shadow itself proves the sunshine. And if that’s true, if we seek the sun rather than the shadows and all the questions they raise, what we’ll find is the light of the world, which is the light of life (John 8:12).

This has helped me in my seasons of darkness, and it helped my friend in his. Perhaps it will shed some needed light into your life or the life of someone you love.

A Brief Life Still Burning: The Unlikely Impact of Robert Murray M’Cheyne

On an overcast day in August 2013, I stood in the churchyard of St. Peter’s Free Church in Dundee, Scotland, staring at the gravestone of Robert Murray M’Cheyne. As I did, I felt a surge of emotion that transported me 24 years into the past and 3,700 miles west, back to the moment I first met the godly young man whose remains lay buried beneath my feet.

The moment occurred in a makeshift bookstore when I was 23 years old. The church my wife and I had begun attending had just hosted a pastors’ conference and had kindly left the book tables up to give us regular folk a chance to pick through the literary leftovers.

As I was browsing, I came upon a small greenish book titled Robert Murray M’Cheyne. It was authored by a nineteenth-century Scottish pastor I had never heard of (Andrew Bonar) and recorded the life of another nineteenth-century Scottish pastor I had never heard of. I knew next to nothing about Scottish history, let alone Scottish Christian history, so I don’t remember what moved me to buy that book. But I did.

And I am profoundly grateful that I did. Because the godly young man I came to know in the pages of that book shaped me in ways few others have. I even named our first dog after him.

Death to Remember

Robert Murray M’Cheyne was born on May 21, 1813. But like many who lived before the advancements in medicine we now take for granted, M’Cheyne wasn’t long for this world. He died of typhus on March 25, 1843, before reaching his thirtieth birthday.

The day his frail body was laid to rest in St. Peter’s churchyard — the church he had pastored for a mere six and a half years — seven thousand people showed up to honor his memory, grieve their sense of profound loss, and thank God for the grace they received through him. That alone speaks volumes of the kind of man M’Cheyne was.

It is remarkable how God so often uses a death to stop his people in their tracks and force them to think seriously about what life and death truly mean. In fact, that’s precisely what he did with M’Cheyne twelve years earlier.

Life-Changing Death

At age eighteen, M’Cheyne was a bright honor student of classic literature at the University of Edinburgh who fully enjoyed the partying scene of his day. Having been raised attending church, M’Cheyne considered himself a Christian, but he was a Christian of the nineteenth-century Scottish “Bible Belt” variety. He professed faith in Christ, but his heart really loved the worldly delights of his intellectual pursuits and active social life. That is, until he was throttled by a death.

In the summer of 1831, his beloved older brother David succumbed to a deep depression that quickly wore him down in body and soul. His body didn’t survive the ordeal, but by God’s grace, his soul did. In the days before his death, David found profound peace in Jesus’s atoning death for him. His face seemed to shine with an inner radiance.

Robert was gripped both by the grief of his devastating loss and by his brother’s spiritual transformation. And God used this terrible event to bring about Robert’s own spiritual transformation.

In the fall after David’s death, Robert enrolled in the University of Edinburgh’s Divinity Hall, where, over the course of several months, he too was born again to a living hope. There he studied under, among others, the great evangelical pastor-scholar Thomas Chalmers, and he forged deep, lasting friendships with other godly young men — Andrew Bonar being perhaps his closest.

Over the next few years, Robert experienced a profound growth in grace, developing a burning passion for the Scriptures, personal holiness, and evangelism that would characterize him for the rest of his brief life. But as true as that description is, it doesn’t explain why less than twelve years later, seven thousand showed up to his funeral, and why I’m still talking about him 34 years after reading his brief memoir a century and a half after his death.

He Had Been with Jesus

The truth is, it’s impossible for me to capture the power of M’Cheyne’s life in a brief bio sketch and a few quotes, though he said and wrote some beautiful and memorable lines. You may have heard a few of them quoted, such as this well-known excerpt gleaned from one of his personal letters:

Learn much of the Lord Jesus. For every look at yourself, take ten looks at Christ. He is altogether lovely. Such infinite majesty, and yet such meekness and grace, and all for sinners, even the chief! Live much in the smiles of God. Bask in his beams. (Memoir and Remains of Robert Murray M’Cheyne, 293)

While words like these give us a small glimpse into his great soul, the real power of this quote comes from knowing the soul from which it came, as evidenced in how he really lived. M’Cheyne’s enduring impact on me wasn’t so much what he said, but who he was: a truly holy man.

If such a description sounds more off-putting than attractive, it may be because we have the wrong connotations associated with holiness, such as sanctimonious, “holier than thou” aloofness — which is not true Christian holiness. For as John Piper says, “Human holiness is nothing other than a God-besotted life.”

That’s what M’Cheyne was: a God-besotted man, a God-enthralled man. What I found so captivating about him was how captivated he was by Jesus. He was on fire, but not with mere zeal. His heart burned with holy divine love, the kind that is ignited only when one is truly near the holy Fire that burns but doesn’t consume.

We can debate for decades over apologetic arguments and textual criticism. We can doubt and wrestle with endless questions. But we can often discern in minutes when we encounter someone who has encountered the Real Thing.

That’s what makes M’Cheyne so compelling. He was a man who had encountered the Light of the World, and he radiated that Light of Life to everyone around him, from the educated and erudite to those in the slums of Edinburgh to the working-class residents of Dundee, where he so briefly pastored. He was “a burning and shining lamp,” and his people had “[rejoiced] for a while in his light” (John 5:35) because they recognized that this young man “had been with Jesus” (Acts 4:13).

Life to Remember

That’s why thousands were drawn to St. Peter’s churchyard in March of 1843 and why I was drawn there 170 years later: this young man’s life is worth remembering.

For those who knew him, their gratitude was laced with deep grief because to lose a burning and shining lamp in a dark world is a great loss. His dear friend Andrew Bonar captured what many were feeling that day when he said, “Never, never yet in all my life have I felt anything like this: It is a blow to myself, to his people, to the church of Christ in Scotland.” And yet to have glimpsed the Light in the lamp — the Light we long most to see — is a great, gracious gain.

And thanks to that same dear friend’s labor of love in publishing M’Cheyne’s memoir and the few literary remains he left behind, untold thousands in the generations since have been able to experience this great, gracious gain. What a gift it has been! Of the book, the great Charles Spurgeon said,

This is one of the best and most profitable volumes ever published. The memoir of such a man ought surely to be in the hands of every Christian and certainly every preacher of the Gospel. (Bonar, Robert Murray M’Cheyne)

I am no Spurgeon, but I can tell you that the young man I met in the small greenish book 34 years ago is worth knowing — and remembering. I don’t know if you’ll end up naming your dog after him, but I expect you will join me thanking God for the day you opened the book and glimpsed the burning and shining Light that filled Robert Murray M’Cheyne.

A Faithful Man Who Can Find?

I first got to know the man who became my father-in-law when I began to date his beautiful, godly daughter. That was half his life ago, and two-thirds of mine. It didn’t take me long to size him up; Glenn was a man of immense, transparent integrity.

His reputation had preceded him. He was known in our church to be a man who loved Jesus, who loved his wife, and who loved his two daughters. He was also looked on and respected as a leader.

But when his beautiful, godly daughter put me in privileged proximity to him, I discovered what he was really like: he surpassed his reputation. And now, after forty years of firsthand experience, I can honestly say that my respect for this man has only increased.

If I had to sum up my father-in-law’s character in a single word (which in reality doesn’t do him justice), I would choose the word faithful. Glenn is a faithful man, by which I mean he is true to his word. Which also means he is a rare man in this fallen world.

Rare Like Gold

The wise, Spirit-inspired writer was sadly spot-on when he penned these words:

Many a man proclaims his own steadfast love,     but a faithful man who can find? (Proverbs 20:6)

The author is referring to the kind of man who displays an overall consistency between his words and his works, between what he professes to believe and how he behaves, between what he promises and what he performs.

This is the way just about every man wants to think of himself — or at least wants others to think of him. But the truth is, not many men are essentially and consistently faithful.

But my father-in-law is one of those exceptional men. Like gold, he is a rare find. In fact, his is a rarified kind of faithfulness, a kind that exceeds the common-grace variety. His faithfulness is a supernatural outgrowth of his being united by faith with Jesus, his Lord. His faithfulness is a fruit of the Holy Spirit (Galatians 5:22).

And one of the great benefits I’ve received from being in privileged proximity to such a man is witnessing what this fruit looks like after a lifetime of faithfulness.

Gift of Being Taken for Granted

One such fruit is that my father-in-law is a man you can take for granted. Lest that sound insulting rather than honoring, here’s what I mean: Glenn is a man whose word you can trust. As I explain in True to His Word,

In Scripture, when a person is described as “faithful,” it’s almost never referring to how much faith that person possesses, but to how much faith others can place in that person — how much others can trust him to perform what he promises. A faithful person honors, cherishes, maintains, and guards the faith of those who put their trust in him. (12)

“There are few gifts a man can give to us more precious than the gift of our being able to assume his trustworthiness.”

There are few gifts a man can give to us more precious than the gift of our being able to assume his trustworthiness. We might be tempted to say that love is more precious, but at bottom, faithfulness is an inherent expression of love (see 1 Corinthians 13:7–8). It is a person’s love that honors, cherishes, maintains, and guards the faith of those who put their trust in him. This is Godlike love, since Scripture repeatedly describes God as showing “steadfast love and faithfulness” to his people (Psalm 25:10).

That’s the gift my father-in-law has given his wife, his daughters, those of us in his extended family, his friends, his fellow church members, his neighbors, the innumerable people he worked for and with during his vocational life: the gift of assuming his trustworthiness.

Who can possibly put a price on that?

What a Faithful Man Builds

It’s almost poetic that my father-in-law spent his vocational life in construction, because what he’s built relationally with his trustworthy character is strong, durable, and beautiful, like what he built with his skillful hands.

I see it in his marriage. His steadfast love and faithfulness to the beautiful, godly wife of his youth has meant that for 57 years (and counting) Lois has been able to stand on the vows Glenn made to her before God without fear that the floor of his fidelity would collapse underneath her.

I see it in his family. Like every father and grandfather, he gets his share of teasing and suffers the indignities of needing to be tutored on pop culture and new technologies. But he has the loving respect of his daughters, his sons-in-law, and his grandchildren because they all have been the beneficiaries of his steadfast love and faithfulness. They all trust him. This is perhaps most clearly seen when one of them brings some fault or sin to his attention; they do it because they know he can be trusted to receive it.

I see it in the church where he’s been a faithful, involved member for over forty years. He’s still known as a man who deeply loves Jesus, his wife, his family, and his church. And he’s still respected as a leader, though not just for what he does but who he is. Leaders and laypersons look to him because he truly cares for them, listens to them, serves them, encourages them, prays for them — in other words, he extends to them his steadfast love and faithfulness. Therefore, they trust him.

I see it in his neighbors — former neighbors, I should say. Last year, after my wife and I purchased and moved into the home where Glenn and Lois had lived for 44 years, we got to attend a farewell picnic the neighborhood threw for them. And if you could have heard the stories. As I listened, I realized these folks had come to see Glenn as something of a neighborhood chaplain. He not only knew everybody; he knew them personally. He had taken particular interest in each of them; he had come to their aid in need; he had offered his ear, his counsel, and his prayers when they were in pain. Even now, when he comes to the house, his former neighbors start making their way over to greet him. It speaks volumes, doesn’t it?

My father-in-law built many impressive things with his hands during his life. But in my estimation — and more importantly, in God’s estimation — the most impressive things he built were the relationships of love and trust through his steadfast love and faithfulness.

Putting God on Display

As a skilled master builder, my father-in-law knows better than most just how important a foundation is to the structure it supports. So, it’s no small thing when I say that the firm foundation of Glenn’s life, the granite upon which everything else in his life is built, is God and all God promises to be for him in Jesus.

But as a man who loves the glory of God, Glenn would not want this metaphor to be misunderstood. As John Piper says,

Foundations are invisible and are seldom thought about in the daily life of the house. They are taken for granted. They are silently assumed. But God wills not only to be the massive, silent, unseen foundation beneath the walls of our . . . lives; he also wills to be the visible capstone adorning the top and the brightness of the glory that fills the house for all to see.

That’s why, when we met for breakfast recently, Glenn told me, as he has repeatedly over the years, this time with tears, “I just want to put God on display.” That is the heart cry of an exceptional man, a man who has known through experience the steadfast love and faithfulness of God and can’t help but long to extend that kind of love to others in the hope that, through him, they too will come to know the Fount from which it springs.

And Glenn has put God on display, in both word and deed. God has not merely been the firm foundation of Glenn’s life; God has been visible at every level in the entire edifice of his life.

Honor of a Lifetime

The apostle Paul tells us that we must “pay to all what is owed to them,” including “respect to whom respect is owed [and] honor to whom honor is owed” (Romans 13:7). So, it’s only right that I pay what I can of the respect and honor I owe this faithful man. It is an immense and joyful debt of profound gratitude.

But Glenn has a far better payment of respect and honor coming to him. And it’s coming directly from the mouth of the God Glenn so deeply loves and so beautifully displays. It is the exceeding riches of respect and honor God will bestow on all of his faithful children, and it will more than pay off all the outstanding debts any of us owe to each other:

Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master. (Matthew 25:21)

The Severe Kindness of Jesus: Hearing Mercy in His Hard Words

Jesus has a popular reputation with many as a gentle, lowly teacher and healer who calls the sick, the shamed, and the sinners to come to him and receive his grace and kindness. And for good reason: Jesus is the most fundamentally kind and gracious person you’ll ever encounter.

But if you come to him only expecting to experience the comforting side of his grace and kindness, you may be in for a shock. Because Jesus is also the most discerning and honest person you’ll ever encounter. And by “honest” I mean that he’s often more honest than you want him to be. He can be ruthlessly honest — to the point that he can sometimes seem cruel, not kind.

Jesus has an unnerving ability to slice through all of your misconceptions, delusions, and self-deceit with a simple phrase that exposes the secret thoughts and intentions of your heart — ones you hardly knew you had. He wields his discernment with the innocence of a dove and the wisdom of a serpent, which can make him unpredictable. Sometimes he can be severe when you expect him to be gracious, and gracious when you expect him to be severe. You often don’t see his exposing statements coming.

So, when you come to Jesus, certainly expect to receive his grace and kindness. But don’t expect them to always feel comforting. Because sometimes his kindness is severe and feels anything but comforting.

Come for Rest or Death?

In the Gospel accounts, Jesus invites people to come to him a number of times. But sometimes, these invitations sound radically different. Let’s examine two of them.

We’re all familiar with the first one, because it’s one of the most well-known, beloved, comforting statements Jesus ever uttered:

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:28–30)

This invitation explicitly reveals the gentle and lowly Jesus we, for good reason, find so attractive. It aligns with the Jesus of much popular imagination, who bids weary souls to come to him to receive restful, reviving grace.

But the second invitation reveals a different dimension of Jesus’s grace, and it has a very different effect on his hearers:

If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. (Luke 14:26–27)

This invitation doesn’t align so well with Jesus’s comforting reputation. In fact, it sounds more like a dis-invitation. Instead of comforting, we find it disturbing.

If this invitation is disturbing to us who have heard it many times, imagine how offensive and disorienting it would have sounded to his original Jewish audience who heard it from his lips — most of whom thought they really wanted to follow him. They had been taught since childhood to honor their father and mother if they wanted God to bless them with long lives (Exodus 20:12). Now Jesus commanded them to hate their parents (as well as their siblings and children) if they wanted to follow him. And far from promising them a long, blessed earthly life, Jesus required them to embrace a death sentence if they wanted to be his disciples — the worst death sentence imaginable, in fact: Roman crucifixion.

This second invitation is as relevant to us disciples today as the first. So, where is the kindness of Jesus in this severe invitation?

What Jesus Came to Reveal

We could consider many other disorienting words of Jesus. Like when he told us not only to hate those who love us (as in Luke 14:26–27), but also to love those who hate us (Matthew 5:43–45). Or when he told a would-be disciple to sacrifice the needs of his ailing father (Luke 9:59–60). Or when he told another would-be disciple to abruptly leave all those he most dearly loved — and to endure the misunderstanding, hurt, and scorn they would feel for him (Luke 9:61–62).

In order to perceive Jesus’s kindness in his severe, discomforting, disturbing invitations, we need to keep in mind what he is doing through his words and works:

First, Jesus is revealing what God is like in his full triune nature.
Second, Jesus is revealing what we are like in our full fallen nature.

I think it’s accurate to say that Jesus was doing both kinds of revealing in everything he said and did, though some of his words and works reveal more of one than the other. But both revelations are gracious and kind, and both are necessary for his gospel to make sense to us.

What God Is Like

In the teaching and deeds of Jesus that have rightly earned him the reputation as loving, gentle, and forgiving — typified in his beautiful, comforting invitation to the weary and heavy laden (Matthew 11:28–30) — he is revealing God’s fundamental nature: “God is love” (1 John 4:16). The primary reason Jesus came was to reveal this love:

God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. (John 3:16–17)

Jesus came to announce the good news that God — because of the fathomless, merciful love pouring out from the core of his triune being — is offering to every one of his enemies full forgiveness and reconciliation. And Jesus came to accomplish all that was required to make that forgiveness and reconciliation possible by receiving, through his own death in our places, “the wages of sin” we’ve accrued (Romans 6:23). That is what God is like: willing to so love his enemies that he’ll die in our place to make us his children (1 John 3:1).

“When Jesus spoke severely, he did so, ultimately, for kind, gracious, servant-hearted reasons.”

This, above all else, sets Jesus apart from abusive, narcissistic leaders who might use both kind and harsh words to manipulate and deceive people for their own benefit. For he did not come “to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:28). When he spoke severely, he did so, ultimately, for kind, gracious, servant-hearted reasons — one of which was to help us see more clearly our own sinful thoughts, intentions, and idolatrous loves.

What We Are Like

When Jesus disturbs and disorients us, when he offends us and makes us cringe, it’s helpful if we read his words through the lens of John 3:19:

This is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.

Jesus didn’t come only to reveal God’s love to us; he was also “appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel . . . so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed” (Luke 2:34–35). He came to reveal our hearts to us.

This is often what’s taking place when Jesus issues his offensive invitations and responses. This is why we hear him make bewildering, even repulsive claims, like he did after he fed the five thousand and then said, “Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life” (John 6:54). This provoked many to respond, “This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?” (John 6:60). Jesus wields an otherworldly discernment and wisdom as he calls out his sheep (enemies who will receive his gospel offer of forgiveness and reconciliation) in the midst of wolves (enemies who won’t). The Lord, “who know[s] the hearts of all” (Acts 1:24), was revealing those hearts.

And through his sometimes cruel-sounding words, Jesus is still revealing our hearts, what we really, truly treasure. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21).

Behold His Severe Kindness

In Romans 11:22, Paul, speaking of God’s mercy and his judgment, writes, “Behold then the kindness and severity of God” (NASB). But in speaking of Jesus’s hard words, we can say, “Behold the severe kindness of God.” Because if Jesus doesn’t reveal to us the deceitfulness of our sin, we may continue to be ensnared by it and never “obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God” (Romans 8:21).

So, when Jesus, on one hand, extends to us his comforting invitation to come to him and find rest for our souls (Matthew 11:29) and then, on the other hand, issues to us his discomforting warning that unless we renounce all that we have we cannot be his disciples (Luke 14:33), he is not speaking out of both sides of his mouth. He is speaking out of his one gracious and kind heart by revealing both God’s incomparable love for us and whether or not we love God. The former is intended to comfort us; the latter is intended to test us.

But to all who receive him — who hear his offensive words and ultimately say, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” — Jesus gives “the right to become children of God” (John 1:12; 6:68). And these children discover that Zion’s great “stone of stumbling [and] rock of offense” (Romans 9:33) was, in every word and work, always pursuing them with goodness and mercy so they might dwell in his house forever (Psalm 23:6).

And these will then fully know what Jesus means when he says, “Blessed is the one who is not offended by me” (Matthew 11:6).

How to Build (or Break) a Habit

If we want to be faithful followers of Jesus, we need to pay careful attention to our habits. Because we hand over much of our lives to our habits, much more than we probably realize.

James Clear, author of Atomic Habits, describes a habit as “a behavior that has been repeated enough times to become automatic” (44). Neurologically speaking, habits are “mental shortcuts learned from experience,” behaviors that our “conscious mind [passes off] to our nonconscious mind to do automatically” (46).

Now, take a moment and consider how many actions you’ve taken today while your conscious thoughts were focused on something else. Did you get dressed? Did you eat? Did you tie your shoes or a necktie? Did you apply makeup? Did you operate a smartphone? Did you walk through a cluttered room without breaking anything? Did you drive a vehicle or ride a bike? Did you do so on a busy street? If you were to log, for a week, all the simple and complex tasks you do that require little to no conscious awareness on your part, you would be amazed. And you’d come away with a deeper appreciation for the massive influence your habits wield on your life.

Behaviors that become automatic, ones we stop noticing after they become habitual, are powerful — for good or for ill. Which is why it’s important for us to occasionally take notice of them. And all the more because the benefits or consequences of our habits compound over time.

Compounding Power of Habits

Clear explains the compounding power of habits:

The same way that money multiplies through compound interest, the effects of your habits multiply as you repeat them. They seem to make little difference on any given day and yet the impact they deliver over the months and years can be enormous. It is only when looking back two, five, or perhaps ten years later that the value of good habits and the cost of bad ones becomes strikingly apparent. (16)

For people like us, who like fast results from our efforts and immediate gratification of our cravings, this is a sobering discovery. It helps explain why we often struggle to stick with new resolves. It also helps explain why we formed many of our bad habits in the first place (and why we find them hard to break). If we look to short-term outcomes to measure our success, we’ll likely be discouraged. Because, as Clear says,

Your net worth is a lagging measure of your financial habits. Your weight is a lagging measure of your eating habits. Your knowledge is a lagging measure of your learning habits. Your clutter is a lagging measure of your cleaning habits. (18)

And I would add that your spiritual health and growth and fruitfulness are lagging measures of your spiritual habits. Acquiring good habits and breaking bad ones require patience, perseverance, and faith — exercises that yield many and varied benefits themselves.

“Goals get us nowhere without the good habits required to achieve them.”

We’ve all been taught that if we want to achieve something, we need to set goals. In principle, that’s true. Yet how many goals have you set that have gone unachieved? Why didn’t they work for you? In part, because defective systems trump good aspirations. In other words, your habits undermined your goals. Goals get us nowhere without the good habits required to achieve them.

Building a Habit in Four Steps

So, how do we build the habits required to achieve the prize we desire? And how do we break habits that are impeding our pursuit?

When it comes to habit-building (and breaking), there isn’t just one way. Clear, however, provides four helpful steps he’s gleaned — first from his very difficult experience after suffering a serious head injury, but also from extensive research in the neuroscience of habit formation. The four steps are cue, craving, response, and reward. Clear describes how they work together like this:

The cue triggers a craving, which motivates a response, which provides a reward, which satisfies the craving and, ultimately, becomes associated with the cue. Together, these four steps form a neurological feedback loop — cue, craving, response, reward; cue, craving, response, reward — that ultimately allows you to create automatic habits. (50)

Understanding how this “habit loop” works also helps us when it comes to breaking bad habits.

Below, I attempt to concisely take Clear’s general insights and help us see how we can benefit from them as Christians. Keep in mind that these steps merely describe strategies for habit-making and breaking from the neurological perspective. For Christians, forming habits will always involve more than neuroscience: it will involve faith in God’s promises, joy in Christ, and reliance on the Spirit. So, as you read, exercise your ability to take common-grace knowledge and apply it for spiritual purposes.

1. Cue

Every habit we develop begins with a cue, something that “triggers your brain to initiate a behavior” — a behavior your brain associates with a desired reward (47). Hunger is an obvious example; it’s a cue to eat. Over time, we develop lots of cues around eating: certain times of the day, certain places, certain events, certain activities, certain moods, and so on.

The same is true of all our habitual behaviors. Seeing the television remote, the Bible on the table, the phone notification, the running shoes, the vending machine, the prayer list, the sensual image — all these can become behavioral cues.

Make good cues obvious: When it comes to creating a good habit, we need to identify new cues that our brains associate with the desired behavior and then think through ways to make the cues more obvious to our brains. Clear suggests we fill out the sentence “I will [BEHAVIOR] at [TIME] in [LOCATION]” and then place cues strategically as brain triggers (71). With repeated practice over time, our brains will associate these cues with the beneficial behavior.

Make bad cues invisible: Breaking bad habits also can begin by removing cues that prompt detrimental behavior. Clear says, “Many people think they lack motivation when what they really lack is clarity” (71). So, he advises us to look for these unhelpful cues and write them down. Then think through ways to reduce or eliminate the kind of “sight” that triggers our brains.

Let me give you a personal example of changing cues. Because I decided I wanted to set my mind on things above before going to sleep, instead of “things that are on earth” (Colossians 3:2), I decided to charge my smartphone in another room (removing a cue that triggers my undesired behavior) and set my Bible or a spiritually edifying book on my nightstand (inserting a cue that triggers my desired behavior).

2. Craving

The power of a cue is that it produces a craving. Clear points out that a craving is

the motivational force behind every habit . . . [because] without craving a change, we have no reason to act. What you crave is not the habit itself but the change in state it delivers. (48)

In other words, when we think we crave a soda or cigarette or sitcom or social media plunge, it’s not really those things we crave. What we crave is the pleasure or relief our brains associate with those behaviors. In fact, researchers have found that typically more dopamine is released in our brains when we anticipate the pleasure than when we actually engage in the behavior.

Make good cravings attractive: When it comes to creating and sticking with a good habit, willpower isn’t enough. Our brains must learn to associate a new behavior with a craving — the anticipation of the behavior producing some reward. Ideally, the ultimate goal this behavior helps us achieve provides sufficient motivation. Often, at first, we need to find creative ways to make the behavior itself attractive until our brains more clearly associate the behavior with our ultimate goal.

Make bad cravings unattractive: When it comes to breaking a bad habit, again, the inverse is true. We need to teach our brains to stop associating a learned detrimental behavior with a craving for pleasure. We do this by explicitly rehearsing the ways the behavior actually works against our greater pleasure until our brains interpret it as an undesirable and unattractive means of pleasure.

Any of us who’ve tried to change our eating habits in order to drop weight or promote better bodily health understands the importance of these two strategies. Because given how persuasive cravings can be, if we didn’t find creative ways to enhance the attractiveness of healthy foods and decrease the attractiveness of unhealthy foods before our brains made the craving switch, we most likely reverted back to our bad habits.

3. Response

A craving pushes us to respond in a way that will achieve the desired reward. When a particular response is repeated enough times (depending on a number of factors, this might be few or many times), it becomes a habit (like drinking a soda, smoking a cigarette, watching a sitcom, or plunging into social media).

Make good responses easy: When it comes to creating a good habit, “simply putting in your reps is one of the most critical steps you can take” (144). Of course, some habits are easy to establish, while others are very challenging. Either way, “much of the battle of building better habits comes down to finding ways to reduce the friction associated with our good habits” (155). We need to look for ways to minimize obstacles and increase convenience when it comes to desired behaviors. We all know that the easier a behavior is, the more likely we are to do it.

Make bad responses difficult: When it comes to breaking a bad habit, we do the opposite. As Clear says, “When friction is high, habits are difficult” (158). So, we need to look for ways to “increase the number of steps between [us] and [our] bad habits” (213). This is where recruiting accountability partners and restricting our future choices by “burning bridges” are often helpful.

I have a dear friend who put this strategy into practice. A number of years ago, he was actively fighting a sinful habit of viewing online porn, but his job required him to be frequently online. So, he subscribed to a service developed by a Christian ministry that tracked his online behavior and made it visible to his accountability partners. Making it more difficult and painful to indulge his destructive habit helped him break free from it.

4. Reward

In the end, the only reason we develop a habit is to pursue a reward. As Clear says,

The cue is about noticing the reward. The craving is about wanting the reward. The response is about obtaining the reward. (48)

“Christ is a reward for whom it’s worth building and breaking every habit necessary to obtain.”

As Christian Hedonists, we say amen! We believe that the ultimate reward of every good habit — great or small, easy or difficult — is to increase our satisfaction in God. That’s why Paul sought to “discipline [his] body and keep it under control” (1 Corinthians 9:27), so that he could “press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:14). Paul was pursuing the great, imperishable Reward: that he might “gain Christ” (Philippians 3:8). And Christ is a reward for whom it’s worth building and breaking every habit necessary to obtain.

As I mentioned earlier, in this fallen age our brains don’t always make the association between a particular habit and our ultimate reward. And so, “immediate reinforcement helps maintain motivation in the short term while [we’re] waiting for the long-term reward to arrive” (192).

Make it satisfying: When it comes to creating a good habit, we are wise to look for ways to make it feel as rewarding as it is. Because “we are more likely to repeat a behavior when the experience is satisfying” (185). And since “one of the most satisfying feelings is the feeling of making progress” (204), creating or using some kind of habit-tracker can provide the kind of incentive to keep us going.

Make it unsatisfying: When it comes to breaking a bad habit, you can probably fill in the answer yourself: find ways to make it costly. Again, inviting an accountability partner to monitor your behavior and/or committing to an undesirable consequence can provide enough disincentive to avoid the harmful behavior.

Habits Are Allies or Enemies

Why have I given so much space here to habits? Because of the massive influence they wield in our lives. And because they do so largely outside of our conscious awareness. When our habits serve our goals of living in a manner worthy of our calling and gaining Christ, they are invaluable spiritual and physical allies. When they impede those goals, they are spiritual and physical enemies. Given the compounding effects they have on us over time — for good or for ill — we are wise to occasionally take notice of them so that we can make the necessary adjustments.

I hope what I’ve covered encourages you to think more about your habits, and that you go on to learn more from what both Scripture and neuroscience have to teach you. Because I’ve only just scratched the surface. Habits are complex, affected by our genes, our temperaments, our experiences, our family and friends, our churches, our cultures, our health, our preferences, our strengths and weaknesses, our unseen spiritual influences, and more.

We’ve all been given a race of faith to run. And if we run faithfully with endurance, laying aside every encumbering weight and sin, we are promised a glorious, incomparable, imperishable, eternal prize: Jesus Christ. Paul exhorts us to “run that [we] may obtain [him]” (1 Corinthians 9:24). So, we take our habits seriously. Because they influence the way we run — for good or for ill.

When Sharp Disagreements Separate: Lessons for Churches in Conflict

Luke describes the rift that opened between Paul and Barnabas over John Mark in his typical understated way: “There arose a sharp disagreement, so that they separated from each other” (Acts 15:39). No elaboration, no circling back later in Acts to tell us how this story ended. We just watch Barnabas sail off to Cyprus with John Mark while Paul and Silas head to Syria and Cilicia.

Really? Paul and Barnabas? Friends whose names go together like David and Jonathan, or like Peter and John? These brothers who had spent a year together teaching the new Gentile converts in Antioch, and then risked life and limb together for the gospel on that first missionary journey? These colleagues who became the first missionary team at the special direction of the Holy Spirit himself (Acts 13:2)? And they couldn’t reconcile a disagreement over John Mark?

We can be left wondering, If Paul and Barnabas couldn’t stay together, what hope do we have when difficult and painful disagreements arise in our churches and between leaders we love and trust? These are times that try Christians’ souls. What are we left to think?

In a careful look at the story, we can see that the God of hope wants to fill us with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit we may abound in hope, even when sharp disagreements separate godly people (Romans 15:13).

Who Was Right?

Here we have two of the most trusted apostolic leaders in the early church, at an impasse over whether John Mark should join them on their second missionary tour, considering how he’d left them during their first (Acts 15:37–38). We’re not told why Mark left, only that Paul was convinced Mark wasn’t ready to give it another go, and that Barnabas was equally convinced he was.

Which apostle was right? Based on Luke’s sparse description, we aren’t sure. But since Scripture gives us a good sense for the quality of men that Barnabas and Paul were, we can consider how each man might have viewed the disagreement.

Barnabas: Gracious, Discerning Mentor

Barnabas’s name speaks volumes about him. His actual name was Joseph, but the apostles had dubbed him “Barnabas” (son of encouragement) because he was so gracious and encouraging (Acts 4:36). He seems to have had an extraordinary ability to discern the true spiritual quality in a person that others might not perceive. Arguably, the best example of this manifested in his discernment of Paul’s true spiritual quality.

Soon after Paul’s conversion, when most Christians were still terrified of him, who was willing to take the risk and advocate for Paul with the apostles? Barnabas (Acts 9:27). And when Gentiles started coming to Christ in Antioch, who did the apostles trust enough to go and assess the genuineness of their conversions? Barnabas (Acts 11:22). And when Barnabas discerned the Antioch revival was the Holy Spirit’s doing, who did he discern would be best at helping these new Gentile Christians understand the gospel? Paul, the former zealous, gospel-hating Pharisee (Acts 11:25–26). Given his track record, one would think Barnabas had earned the right to be trusted regarding his assessment of John Mark.

Paul: Experienced, Discerning Frontier Missionary

We all know that Paul, the great “Apostle to the Gentiles,” became the most trusted theologian, ecclesiologist, and missiologist in the early church. The Holy Spirit chose to preserve more of his epistles regarding those fields than any other single writer’s in the New Testament. That’s some serious credibility capital. And the content of his instruction and counsel wasn’t the result of quiet academic research and reflection, but of incredibly rigorous firsthand experiences of doing frontier evangelism and church planting in violently hostile environments.

According to Luke’s account, John Mark had left the first missionary team before things really heated up in Pisidia, Iconium, and Lystra — where Paul seems to have suffered the most violent persecution of the team (Acts 13:13–14). So, when assembling a team for a second tour, knowing from experience the kinds of adversity and danger they were likely to face, Paul’s refusal to further jeopardize the team’s effectiveness, safety, and morale (by including a member who’d already shown himself unreliable) seems eminently wise. Given his track record, one would think Paul had earned the right to be trusted regarding his assessment of John Mark.

What Are We Supposed to Learn?

To me, both these men seem to deserve the benefit of the doubt. It’s easy to simply assume Paul, not Barnabas, must have been right, since the historical narrative of Acts follows Paul, not Barnabas. But that’s an assumption from silence. It does appear that Silas was a very good choice for Paul. But later in Paul’s life, we hear him describe Mark as a “very useful” ministry colleague (2 Timothy 4:11), which tells us something happened to change Paul’s assessment of him. From what we know about Barnabas, it’s altogether possible that Mark’s regaining of Paul’s confidence was, at least in part, the result of the time he spent under Barnabas’s influence.

So, what are we supposed to learn from this “sharp disagreement” if Scripture is silent on whether one or both were at fault or whether they ever reconciled? Did Paul and Barnabas sinfully fail to “[bear] with one another in love” and “eager[ly] maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:2–3)? Or did they reach the righteous, God-glorifying conclusion that, given their situation, the wisest, most loving, unifying option for them was, paradoxically, to separate?

There is no definitive answer to these questions. In each case, we’d have to say, “It depends.” But Acts 15:36–41 will yield gold to those willing to dig for it. Here are five nuggets I’ve found.

1. When God seems silent, listen up.

The fact that God does not reveal to us if either or both apostles were right or wrong is one of the many biblical examples of God manifesting his wisdom through silence. I like to call God’s silence the “dark matter” of divine revelation. It’s never vacuous, but substantial. When he withholds details from us, he’s usually communicating something else. Think of the next four nuggets as examples.

2. The godliest of people can fail.

If this sharp disagreement involved some personal or leadership failure on the part of one or both men, which is possible, we shouldn’t be shocked. Neither was infallible and, like the rest of us, they “[stumbled] in many ways” (James 3:2). Just that possibility reminds us that the Bible doesn’t hide the weakness and failures of its godliest saints and that we and our leaders are weak and fail too.

3. Not all apparent failures are actual failures.

We need to have a category in our minds that it’s possible neither man was wrong. Perhaps Paul rightly discerned that John Mark wasn’t yet ready to participate in the trip Paul was about to take — and Barnabas rightly discerned that God wanted Mark to accompany him.

Perhaps Silas was ready to endure the dangers and rigors of Pauline ministry (Acts 9:16), while Mark was ready to train under Barnabas’s patient, encouraging leadership, contributing to his becoming “very useful” in Paul’s later ministry. That possibility can help guard us from jumping to conclusions when decisions look like failures to us. It may not be the case. Which is why Paul admonished Christians in 1 Corinthians 4:5 to “not pronounce judgment before the time.”

4. The foolishness of God is wiser than men.

If that was the case with Paul and Barnabas, couldn’t the Holy Spirit simply have made the truth clear to them in a way that prevented their sharp disagreement? The answer is yes. But how do we know if that would have yielded the most God-glorifying outcome? Isn’t it possible that God had ten thousand gospel-spreading and saint-sanctifying purposes in this event? We’re not privy to the millions of present and future, visible and invisible factors that go into God’s providential orchestrations of such things. Which is why Paul also admonished Christians in 1 Corinthians 1:25 that “the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.”

5. Get used to ‘unsearchable’ and ‘inscrutable.’

It’s good for us to remember that we’re all in our fallen conditions because of the tragic belief that we could, like God, manage the knowledge of good and evil ourselves. Therefore, when we encounter a providence that causes us pain and grief for reasons we don’t understand, we can, without sin, cry, “Why, O Lord?” (Psalm 10:1). But it is a sin to assume, in our grief, that “the Judge of all the earth” (Genesis 18:25) failed to do right just because his unfathomable knowledge and wisdom led him to make judgments we find unsearchable (Romans 11:33).

Pursue Faithful Disagreement

As a principle, the more distant we are from other Christians’ sharp disagreements, the less we know of the circumstances or details, the wiser we are to refrain from passing judgment on them.

But when it comes to sharp disagreements between Christian friends we know or within our own churches, let us take very seriously the counsel given us from one of the parties involved in the dispute over John Mark: “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (Romans 12:18). No doubt, this counsel came from much hard-won experience.

Note the words “if possible.” These words carry the implication that, for all sorts of reasons, it’s not always possible for brothers and sisters to remain yoked together in ministry. But it is always possible to trust God’s sometimes mysterious, inscrutable purposes; to not pass judgment prematurely; to be quick to forgive others, “as God in Christ forgave [us]” (Ephesians 4:32); and to let love cover a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8). For “love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (1 Corinthians 13:7). Ministry partnerships sometimes must end, but “love never ends” (1 Corinthians 13:8).

It’s inevitable that disagreements will arise between Christians. Our call is to pursue faithfulness in disagreement, with love always being our aim. Given that the separation between Paul and Barnabas is an anomaly in what the Holy Spirit preserved in Scripture for our instruction, I think it’s safe to assume that most disagreements ought to be reconciled without separation. But when separation occurs, we can glean a lot from the little we know of Paul and Barnabas’s parting.

For Fathers of Young Children: Lessons from the Last Graduation

I love to listen to my younger teaching colleagues at Desiring God when they describe their lives as fathers of young children. I smile (sometimes inwardly) to hear of the short nights, the energy-demanding days, and the challenges of discerning how to fulfill their callings as fathers alongside their other demanding callings as husbands, vocational ministers, and significantly invested members and leaders in their local churches. I smile because I remember. That was me two decades ago, though it feels like yesterday.

When our twins were born in December 2004, our other three children were eight, six, and not yet two years old. I was in the thick of learning how to be a father while also overseeing a rapidly growing ministry (Desiring God) and also serving as an elder, worship-ministry leader, and small-group leader in our church. I remember all the wrestling, counsel-seeking, and book-reading I did as a young father. I remember the second-guessing, the trials-and-errors, and what must have been thousands of conversations with my wife, Pam. I remember times we felt in over our heads. I remember all those difficult decisions and course corrections we made together along the way. And I remember many — only God knows how many — earnest, sometimes desperate prayers we prayed together.

Those were full, busy, often trying years. But what makes me smile as I listen to my godly young colleagues is remembering mainly how wonderful those years were — a perspective one tends to see clearer in retrospect than in the messy, muddling middle of it all.

Fresh Reflections of an Older Father

A few weeks ago, our twins graduated high school, ending more than a quarter-century of shepherding our five children from birth to adulthood. Which makes me something of a veteran father (though certainly not an expert). So, my colleagues wondered if I’d be willing to write down some words of counsel for fathers of young children. While I could say many things, here are three lessons that I find myself frequently reflecting on these days.

1. Teach them with your life.

The most memorable things you are likely to teach your children are the beliefs you clearly embody. Let me share two ways this has recently hit home.

My wife and I both have parents who recently celebrated milestone birthdays: my mother turned ninety in 2022, and Pam’s father turned eighty this spring. And both of us prepared tributes in their honor. In mine, I described the incalculable impact my mother had on me as I watched the ways she sacrificially loved and served disabled people in Jesus’s name — typified in how she loved the vulnerable little disabled girl that she and my father adopted into our family. In Pam’s tribute to her father, she described the incalculable impact his deep, manifest love for Jesus had on her — typified in the worshipful tears he shed as she sat next to him during Good Friday services when she was very young.

“The most memorable things you are likely to teach your children are the beliefs you clearly embody.”

What’s revealing about these tributes is that, among all the intentional ways our parents sought to teach us when we were young, what stood out to us were ways they unintentionally taught us. My mother didn’t sacrificially love and minister to disabled people in order to teach me. Her love flowed out of her heart; it was part of who she was. Pam’s father didn’t express his tearful, grateful love for Jesus in order to teach Pam. His love flowed out of his heart; it was part of who he was.

Now that our own kids have reached adulthood, they’ve been reflecting on their childhoods and describing ways Pam and I influenced them. Their descriptions are similarly revealing. For all the intentional time and effort I put into our morning Bible times and family devotions, none of my children (yet) have included those in their descriptions. What stands out to them are memories of our imperfect faith and love as they manifested in the unprogrammed, unpolished, unscripted moments of life — ways we unintentionally taught them.

That neither I nor my children highlight intentional Bible teaching times when recalling our parents’ influence doesn’t mean those times were unimportant — they were important. It’s just that most of our intentional teaching times serve the slow, gradual, cumulative process of our children’s knowledge acquisition, and those times usually don’t imprint as clearly in their memories as epiphany moments, when they see ways we actually live what we believe.

Therefore, your most powerful and memorable teaching moments are likely to occur when you’re not consciously trying to teach your children at all. They will most clearly remember what flows out of your heart as part of who you are. Your children will most clearly remember the Bible teaching you embody.

2. Be patient with your green peaches.

My daughter Eliana is among the most patient, even-keeled people I know. She has a faith in Jesus that functions as a substantial ballast in the boat of her soul. As a result, she’s a calm, stabilizing presence when there’s relational conflict, and a tranquil, reassuring presence for anxious souls. Not surprisingly, then, as a mother, she’s a remarkably patient and wise presence for her three young children.

But Eliana wasn’t always patient and even-keeled. When she was young, her precocious mind, determined will, quick wit, and extensive vocabulary could make her a formidable force. When she didn’t agree with a parental decision (which was often), she had an innate ability to argue like a skilled courtroom lawyer. And when she got angry (which was not infrequent), she could wield her words like a rapier. Too often, I responded too quickly and too strongly and sinfully to the ways her immaturity and her own sin manifested when she was a child.

Now as I watch Eliana wisely and patiently respond to challenges from her own young, bright, eloquent children, I see more clearly ways I could have served young Eliana more effectively. It makes me wish that as a younger father I had had more of the wise, gracious patience of a man like Henry Venn.

Rev. Venn (1724–1797) was a spiritual mentor to the eventually influential Charles Simeon (1759–1836) and pastored a church not far from the church Simeon served in Cambridge, England. When Simeon was still a young minister, he could be “somewhat harsh and self-assertive.” Once, when Simeon had left the Venn home after one of his frequent visits, Henry’s daughters complained to their father about Simeon’s abrasive arrogance. The wise older pastor responded by gesturing to a peach tree in the back garden and saying,

“Pick me one of those peaches.” But it was early summer, and “the time of peaches was not yet.” They asked why he would want the green, unripe fruit. Venn replied, “Well, my dears, it is green now, and we must wait; but a little more sun, and a few more showers, and the peach will be ripe and sweet. So it is with Mr. Simeon.” (27 Servants of Sovereign Joy, 321)

So it was with Eliana.

“Graciously view your children as green peaches that require patient tending over the years of child-rearing.”

Beware the premature assumptions that your young children’s challenging behavior can produce in you. In my experience, such assumptions have usually been inaccurate. James’s instruction that we be “quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger” (James 1:19) is excellent counsel for fathers. Choose to graciously view your children as green peaches that require patient tending over the years of child-rearing. With time and consistent love (in all its tender and firm expressions), they will ripen with “a little more sun, and a few more showers.”

3. Give grace to their failures.

The longer I’ve been a father, the more I’ve reflected on the father of the Prodigal Son from Jesus’s beautiful parable (Luke 15:11–32). And the older my children have become, the more moved I have been by the way that wandering son thought of his father after his miserable and disastrous failure.

Having broken his father’s heart and wasted the wealth his father had given him, whom did he finally turn to for help after his selfish, sinful pursuits left him destitute? The very father he had dishonored. Why? I think it’s because this son knew his father’s heart. He knew his father was “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exodus 34:6). He knew that if he turned to his father, he would find a refuge from his self-afflicted misery.

Reading this parable now, as a more experienced father, I hear in the son’s rehearsed repentant speech not the young man’s fear of his father’s rejection, but an anticipation of his kindness — a fundamental kindness that had always been a refuge of safety for this failing son. In his readiness to forgo his sonship, I hear his weight of guilt and shame, how unworthy he felt to receive the mercy he was likely to meet when he returned home. And yet (at least it seems to me), it was his father’s kindness that was leading him to repent (Romans 2:4).

As a father, you will want to do your best to guide your children away from making sinful choices that grieve you. But of course, you will not fully succeed. So, among the most wonderful, Godlike gifts you can give your children, even from their earliest days, is becoming a refuge of mercy, grace, steadfast love, and faithfulness when they fail. This will not necessarily prevent them from someday launching off on some prodigal path. But they are not likely to forget your kindness — and someday, that kindness might be the means of grace God uses to lead them home.

Long Days, Short Time

I don’t remember where I first heard this quote, but it captures a poignant truth: “When our children are young, the days are long, but the time is short.” One day you’re herding them like cats into the car, and then suddenly you look over and they’re driving the car. One day you’re watching your squirmy second grader sing in a school recital, and then suddenly you’re watching him receive his diploma. And you wonder where all that time went.

Though you’ve likely heard it a hundred times already, this will occur faster than you think. Soon, you will find yourself saying it to younger fathers. And smiling to yourself.

When your children are young, do your best to keep the long game in view. If you embody the love of Jesus in your spheres of calling (albeit imperfectly), deal patiently with your “green peaches” as they ripen toward maturity (albeit imperfectly), and seek to become a safe refuge of mercy, grace, steadfast love, and faithfulness when your children fail (albeit imperfectly), you will heap priceless blessings on them. This isn’t a formula that will ensure they embrace Christ. But you will leave them a legacy of Christlike love they will never forget; a fragrance of Christ that will long linger in their memories.

Entrusted with Agony: How to Love a Suffering Soul

Recently, a friend asked me to share some advice for how to be a caring presence for people experiencing deep emotional pain. He didn’t ask this because I’m a trained counselor or therapist — I’m not. He asked because, even from my high school days, people have sought my help in dealing with all manner of difficult, complex, and sensitive afflictions.

As I thought back over decades, dear faces and names came to mind — most of them remarkable, loving, spiritually earnest, bright, kind Christians — who at some point found themselves facing the kinds of tribulations that afflict and sometimes overwhelm us as fallen humans. I’ve had the painful privilege of walking alongside them as they endured debilitating depression, suicidal despair, tormenting mental illnesses, deep inner wounds from past sexual abuse, various kinds of undesired and dismaying sexual dysphoria, spiritually dark and disorienting faith crises, and more.

I mean it when I say it’s been a privilege. It is no small thing when others entrust us with some of the most tender, vulnerable parts of their souls.

None of this, however, qualifies me to speak as some kind of expert soul physician — because I’m not one. This is something I think I can speak to not because I’m an expert, but because I have some extensive experience. And since we’re all called at times to the ministry of being a caring presence for someone in pain (as well as receiving such care when we’re in pain), we can share lessons we’ve learned with each other. So, what might I say to my 20-year-old self if I had ten minutes to counsel him on how to be a caring presence for sufferers?

Caring Presence

In the Christian sense, a caring presence is someone who listens carefully and sympathetically to troubled souls in order to accurately understand the nature of their affliction and struggle, and then eventually seeks to help them put it in biblical perspective and see (or remember) how their suffering fits into God’s redemptive, providential purposes. In other words, the primary care we’re called to offer a suffering saint is hope.

“The primary care we’re called to offer a suffering saint is hope.”

When our souls are in turmoil, we all crave peace. And the peace we crave doesn’t come from having all our why questions answered, but it’s a peace that surpasses understanding, a peace that comes only from the God of peace (Philippians 4:7). This peace comes from the hope that God is working all things, even (especially!) our suffering, together for our ultimate good (Romans 8:28) — a hope that comes only from the God of hope (Romans 15:13). Good Christian soul care always aims to help a hurting person “hope in God” (Psalm 42:11).

In such a short space, I can’t give much specific advice on how to counsel a suffering soul, because so much depends on what someone is suffering and why. I can share some brief reflections about being the kind of caring presence a hurting person can turn to in dark moments. And to do that, I’ll use Micah 6:8 as a framework:

He has told you, O man, what is good;     and what does the Lord require of youbut to do justice, and to love kindness,     and to walk humbly with your God?

A deeply just, kind, and humble person has the fundamental qualities required to be the caring presence a suffering person needs. But for reasons that will become clear in a few moments, I will address these requirements in reverse order: humility, kindness, and justice.

Discernible Humility

I’m beginning with humility because of these words from Jesus:

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. (Matthew 11:28–29)

Weary, burdened souls didn’t come to Jesus just because he proclaimed himself “gentle and lowly.” They were already coming to him because they could discern, from observing and listening to him, that he was someone who offered them the rest and safety they craved. Jesus had a gentleness about him that sprung out of a fundamental lowliness that made him approachable — a safe person to come to for those longing to escape the burdens they bore from external oppression and internal sin and disorders.

A fundamental humility is also what makes a disciple of Jesus approachable. A disciple who walks humbly with God shares with Jesus a high view of God’s holiness (Psalm 130:3–4; Hebrews 12:28–29), the doctrine of sin (Romans 3:23), the fallen nature of the world (Romans 8:20–21), and God’s fathomless mercy in the gospel (Romans 5:6–11). This disciple “can deal gently” with other struggling souls “since he himself is beset with weakness” (Hebrews 5:2). Having a clear-eyed grasp of our own depravity and desperate need for God’s mercy means we won’t be shocked when we’re confronted with someone else’s.

If weary souls burdened by false teaching, disorders, and sin discern in us, as many did in Jesus, an authentic humility that manifests in the ways we gently deal with others, they are likely to come to us for the help — the hope — they need.

Loving Kindness

In 1 Corinthians 13, what were the first words Paul chose when describing the nature of Christlike love? “Love is patient and kind” (1 Corinthians 13:4). Scripture, of course, teaches that love is far more than patience and kindness, but it’s worth keeping in mind that these were foremost on the apostle’s mind as he, under the Spirit’s inspiration, wrote his profound, beautiful description of what it looks like when we love one another.

Such descriptions of Christian love are laced through Paul’s writings. For instance, Colossians 3:12 says, “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” It’s clear that God’s children are to love kindness.

That’s because God loves kindness. Not only do we see this in Jesus, but we see it in God’s most famous Old Testament self-description: “The Lord, the Lord God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in lovingkindness and truth” (Exodus 34:6 NASB 1995). It is, after all, the kindness of God that leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4).

So, if distressed souls discern that we, like God, love kindness, that we have a disposition to extend mercy, grace, and patience to those who need them, they are likely to come to us for the help — the hope — they need.

Judicious Counsel

What does it mean “to do justice” to a person experiencing significant emotional pain? One crucial thing it means is to be as judicious — as wise, prudent, honest — as possible with any counsel we give. What does this look like?

A judicious counselor is careful. Whenever we are ministering to another soul, especially a suffering soul, we must remember that “death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21). Our words can heal or wound, reveal truth or obscure it. Therefore, it’s imperative that we be “quick to hear [and] slow to speak” (James 1:19). I’ve learned from experience that there is often more going on in a person than I initially perceive. To adequately understand the nature of someone’s struggle and situation requires patient listening and good clarifying questions.

A judicious counselor is truthful. There are many dimensions to truthfulness, but I’m going to focus on one common pitfall for counselors: the temptation to speak more than we actually know or to claim that we identify with the sufferer’s experience more than we actually do.

“When others come to us for help, that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re the best person to help them.”

When others come to us for help, that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re the best person to help them. Perhaps God has equipped us to provide them some helpful insight, or perhaps our calling is to guide them toward someone better equipped to help them. Either way, we must be honest and forthright about the limits of our knowledge and experience and not speak authoritatively about topics of which we have little understanding. This is why I addressed the qualities of humility and kindness first. Humility helps guard us from the pride of presuming we are wiser than we are or of desiring the admiration of suffering people more than we desire their well-being. And kindness helps us keep the well-being of sufferers — their finding hope in God — our foremost priority.

Lastly, a judicious counselor is trustworthy. As I said earlier, it is no small thing when others entrust us with tender, vulnerable parts of their souls. Therefore, we must vigilantly guard what they share with us in confidence, even if it requires us to “swear to [our] own hurt” (Psalm 15:4). For “a gossip betrays a confidence, but a trustworthy person keeps a secret” (Proverbs 11:13 NIV). Only in the most extreme and rare cases, when someone’s safety is at stake, do integrity and love demand that we share necessary information with the appropriate parties and authorities.

If souls in anguish over sensitive kinds of suffering discern that we are a judicious counselor and will handle what they confide in us carefully, truthfully, and in a trustworthy way, they are likely to come to us for the help and hope they need.

Where Care Begins

Obviously, volumes more could be (and have been) written about how to care well for those suffering significant emotional pain, but it all begins with being the kind of person that others can trust with their suffering. That kind of person hopes in God, is discernibly humble, loves kindness, and is judicious in the ways he or she treats suffering saints. That kind of person is very likely to be a caring presence for weary, burdened souls and to help them find the peace and hope that only God can provide.

Appointed and Disappointed: Four Lessons for Passing Leadership

As you grow older, you increasingly find yourself at milestones that feel a bit surreal. For instance, this July, John Piper and I will mark three full and wonderful decades of ministry partnership that, by God’s grace, resulted in the birth of the mission we call Desiring God.

Why does the milestone feel surreal? Well, for starters, it’s strange to think that John and I have now been working together for the majority of my life. It’s also strange to realize that I’m entering the fourth quarter of my vocational career (should the Lord sustain my life and abilities). And a strange dimension of seeing the end of my vocational ministry on the horizon has been preparing for and experiencing the natural, necessary series of ministry disappointments.

What I mean by disappointments is not what you probably think of as disappointments. What I mean are the times when the Lord “dis-appoints” us from roles and responsibilities to which he had once “appointed” us. For every appointment, there will be a corresponding disappointment; for every calling we embrace, there will eventually be a corresponding calling to release.

Preparing for our eventual disappointment is a crucial aspect of faithful Christian stewardship. But in my observations over the years, it’s also often a neglected aspect. We find plenty of resources aimed at helping Christian leaders enter their leadership seasons, but it’s surprising how comparatively few there are to help leaders exit those seasons — despite the fact that how we end often says more than how we begin (Ecclesiastes 7:8; 2 Timothy 4:10).

“For every calling we embrace, there will eventually be a corresponding calling to release.”

I don’t claim to be an expert in leadership disappointments, but I can share with you some core values I gleaned from Scripture that helped prepare me for the disappointments I’ve experienced. And to do that, I need to provide you with a little historical context.

Appointed and Disappointed

In 1993, when John Piper graciously extended me the offer to become his first full-time administrative assistant, he didn’t know he was hiring Desiring God’s first CEO — because Desiring God (DG) didn’t exist yet (we launched it together the next year). This was fortunate for me because I likely wouldn’t have gotten the CEO job. I didn’t have a degree in theology or business. I was an anthropology major with no experience leading an organization. God does like to choose unlikely people.

What I did have, when John and I decided to start this ministry, was his trust. He knew that we shared the same theological vision and passion for spreading it. And despite my deficiencies, God had equipped me with enough leadership ability, creativity, risk tolerance, and resourcefulness to be an effective catalyst — to get things up and going and recruit other gifted people to join us as the ministry rapidly grew.

I realized in those first years, however, that if God granted DG growth and longevity, I would need to hold my leadership role with open hands. God had appointed me to steward it for a season, but sooner or later seasons change. The ministry could outgrow my ability to lead it effectively, or God could choose to redeploy me somewhere else. At some point, God would disappoint me from my leadership role and appoint someone else to lead. So, all along I asked our board to watch me carefully and help me discern when a change needed to be made.

Though I served as the founding CEO for about twenty years, much of my tenure was comprised of a series of delegated disappointments, of handing off responsibilities and initiatives I started or conceived to others more gifted than I was. Eventually, this included handing the role of CEO to someone who could fill it more effectively than I could. Looking back, these disappointing decisions were among the most consequential I ever made as a leader. And the most consequential of those tended to sting, since they required me to assess and discuss my deficits honestly with colleagues and board members. This forced me, though, through repeated practice, to internalize and be guided by the following four core values.

1. Love Jesus’s increase supremely.

Over the years, John the Baptist became one of my biblical-leadership mentors, mainly because of the way he responded to his disciples who were concerned that the crowds were leaving him to follow Jesus.

You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, “I am not the Christ, but I have been sent before him.” The one who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease. (John 3:28–30)

I love this man. John was more in love with the God of his calling than his calling from God. What gave him joy was seeing the bride increasingly drawn to the bridegroom. And when his role in helping make that happen began to diminish, it didn’t diminish his joy. He quietly and happily began to step aside.

“John the Baptist taught me to love the increase of Jesus’s glory more than my role in that increase.”

John the Baptist taught me to love the increase of Jesus’s glory more than my role in that increase. And he taught me that the way a leader relinquishes his role for Jesus’s sake might just speak loudest of his love for Jesus.

2. View yourself as a steward.

The apostle Paul also became a leadership mentor for numerous reasons, but I’ll focus here on one. When it came to the ministry he received from the Lord Jesus, Paul viewed himself primarily as a servant of Christ and a steward of the gospel entrusted to him (1 Corinthians 4:1). And since “it is required of stewards that they be found faithful,” the way he carried out his ministry was shaped by his constant awareness that someday he would “give an account of himself to God” (1 Corinthians 4:2; Romans 14:12).

Consequently, Paul’s example profoundly shaped how I came to view myself and my role. I am a servant-steward tasked with laboring for the joy of others (2 Corinthians 1:24), and I must labor in such ways as to avoid giving unnecessary offense to my Christian brothers and sisters as well as to unbelievers (1 Corinthians 10:32).

3. Watch for and support your successor.

Leaders often keep their eyes peeled for possible successors — and often for the wrong reasons: to eliminate the competition. Which is what Saul tried to do when he saw David’s star begin to rise in Israel (1 Samuel 18:9–11).

But Saul’s son, Jonathan, the heir apparent to Saul’s throne, saw something very different in David: a kindred God-entranced soul (1 Samuel 18:1). Eventually, Jonathan discerned that God had chosen David, and not himself, to be the next king. And the way he responded is why he became another mentor for me:

Jonathan, Saul’s son, rose and went to David at Horesh, and strengthened his hand in God. And he said to him, “Do not fear, for the hand of Saul my father shall not find you. You shall be king over Israel, and I shall be next to you. Saul my father also knows this.” And the two of them made a covenant before the Lord. (1 Samuel 23:16–18)

Jonathan’s humility and faith is stunning, and so rare in this world. He didn’t merely step aside for David, but he loved, comforted, defended, and encouraged him in God’s calling on his life.

If, out of “bitter jealousy [or] selfish ambition,” we feel threatened by a potential successor, it’s crucial that we recognize this Saul-like response as “earthly, unspiritual, demonic” (James 3:14–15) and repent of it. Because it poses a clear and present danger to whatever mission we serve.

I learned from Jonathan that, when circumstances allow it, a Christian leader can and should befriend his successor and do everything within his power to help him launch well into his season of leadership.

4. Love them to the end.

Jesus is, of course, the perfect model of leadership, but we never see him disappointed from his role because he is the Lord himself. However, this description of the way Jesus loved his disciples made a huge impact on me as a leader: “He loved them to the end” (John 13:1). Whatever circumstance resulted in the end of my leadership season, I wanted the same to be said of me. A faithful Christian leader loves those he leads to the end.

In 2010, I knew that DG had outgrown my abilities to lead it effectively. And to put simply what wasn’t simple in experience, the Lord made it clear that my colleague, Scott Anderson, was the leader he was raising up for the next season. So, we worked with our board to create a transition process that culminated in Scott being installed as our CEO in 2015. And I officially took a role as a member of DG’s teaching team.

Due to Scott’s leadership, as well as the remarkable team he has assembled, the ministry is more fruitful, more focused on our mission, more efficient, and healthier than it’s ever been. And my profile within the ministry is as small as it’s ever been. The next generation has taken over, and they are doing everything better than I ever could.

Humble Joy of Heaven

How do I, as the founding leader, feel about all this? Honestly, it’s hard to imagine being happier. This is what I had prayed for in the early days. I think it’s a taste of the humble joy of heaven, where every saint overflows with joy as they see Jesus increase and remember how God so graciously gave them each a small, temporary role in that increase.

I wish I could say I embodied these values perfectly through my disappointments. I didn’t. But they nonetheless shaped and guided me. And I believe the Lord honored my imperfect striving and blessed my friendships with the men who were appointed to take over after me.

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