Things fall apart. It’s the second law of thermodynamics. It’s Romans 8:20 happening all around us. It’s a reality I increasingly experience in my body as I pass through the second half of middle age. Cracks permeate everything — including every church I’ve known.

Christian relationships encounter all the temptations common to man. That’s why Christian churches will rarely experience a kind of unity that knows no conflict or struggle.

But an absence of conflict and struggle is not what God has in mind for Christian unity in this age. As I’ve explained more thoroughly elsewhere, God gives unity as part of our inheritance in Christ (Ephesians 1:5, 11), but Christian oneness has a participatory dimension through which God accomplishes some glorious work in us and the world. So when God, through Paul, commands us to eagerly “maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:3), he intends for this endeavor to be hard — for some very good reasons.

But more than that, God intends our churches to experience seasons of noticeable disunity. In fact, these seasons are necessary, because they bring to light some very important realities. The old hymn pinpoints it well:

Tho’ with a scornful wonderThe world sees her oppressed,By schisms rent asunder,By heresies distressed.Yet saints their watch are keeping;Their cry goes up, “How long?”And soon the night of weepingShall be the morn of song.

“An absence of conflict and struggle is not what God has in mind for Christian unity in this age.”

When it comes to Christian unity in this age of things falling apart, the reality we experience is “sorrowful” over our frequent factions, “yet always rejoicing” over the future grace of perfected unity set before us (2 Corinthians 6:10).

By Schisms Rent Asunder

Church schisms happen, as we all know. And they get a lot of bad press from Christians and non-Christians — often much deserved, as we also know. But schisms perform necessary functions in the church by revealing numerous areas requiring attention. Let me address three types of division in the church.

1. Fleshly Schisms

Paul illustrates the first type of schism in his blunt reproof of the Corinthian church:

I, brothers, could not address you as spiritual people, but as people of the flesh, as infants in Christ. I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for it. And even now you are not yet ready, for you are still of the flesh. For while there is jealousy and strife among you, are you not of the flesh and behaving only in a human way? (1 Corinthians 3:1–3)

Fleshly schisms plagued this church. They were divided into partisan loyalties and impressed by worldly wisdom and rhetoric (chapters 1–3), easily swayed by those who slandered Paul in his absence (chapter 4), tolerating shocking sexual immorality (chapter 5), suing each other in civil court (chapter 6), damaging each other’s faith over issues of Christian freedom (chapter 8), and more. Paul didn’t call them false Christians; he called them fleshly Christians — people governed more by carnal discernment and desires than by the Spirit in numerous areas.

“True Christian unity can be experienced and maintained only where Christlike love governs.”

True Christian unity can be experienced and maintained only where Christlike love governs — the kind Paul describes in 1 Corinthians 13. Therefore, it’s a much-needed mercy to bring our unity-killing fleshliness into the light so we can see it and repent. And church schisms often perform that function.

2. Maturity Schisms

A second type of schism overlaps with the first, but its function is distinct enough to highlight. I call them maturity schisms.

Any healthy, evangelizing, disciple-making church will have differing levels of maturity among its members. And when people of diverse maturity levels come together, conflicts will erupt. Different life experiences, scriptural knowledge, and overall sanctification will stretch the church.

Differences in maturity run many different ways. A younger person might have more life experience in a certain area than an older person. Or someone who’s been a Christian a long time might be more governed by the flesh than a newer convert. Or a less formally trained saint might have a more profound, life-transforming grasp of Scripture than a seminary-trained saint. On top of that, some members who “ought to be teachers” may have regressed in maturity by habitually indulging sin, and so they need milk again (Hebrews 5:12).

Here’s my point: the maturity diversity that’s part of normal, healthy church life produces a complex relational recipe for a lot of misunderstanding and plenty of pride-fueled conflicts. Positively, this gives us all opportunities to learn from each other and grow in grace. Negatively, we don’t always seize these opportunities, and sometimes they grow into various schisms.

3. Necessary Schisms

Paul also addresses a third type of church schism in 1 Corinthians 11:19:

There must be factions among you in order that those who are genuine among you may be recognized.

As Jesus taught in the parable of the weeds in the wheat (Matthew 13:24–30), our churches in this age will remain a mixture of Christians and non-Christians, no matter how seriously we take membership. Some weeds, thankfully, will become wheat by the end. But some are weeds, and often it’s schisms — factions — that reveal them.

And some of these weeds grow into a league of their own, as we know from urgent apostolic warnings of false teachers:

I appeal to you, brothers, to watch out for those who cause divisions and create obstacles contrary to the doctrine that you have been taught; avoid them. For such persons do not serve our Lord Christ, but their own appetites, and by smooth talk and flattery they deceive the hearts of the naive. (Romans 16:17–18)

You must remember, beloved, the predictions of the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ. They said to you, “In the last time there will be scoffers, following their own ungodly passions.” It is these who cause divisions, worldly people, devoid of the Spirit. (Jude 17–19)

These false Christians are “fierce wolves” that prey on the flock of God, “men speaking twisted things, to draw away the disciples after them” (Acts 20:30), causing distress in our churches by their heresies. And one clear way we can recognize that they are not genuine is by the disunity they create due to “contrary doctrine” and “ungodly passions.”

Gifted Unifiers

In addressing church unity, Paul explains why godly, mature, loving, wise, Scripture-soaked, straight-talking leaders in various roles are such valuable gifts to any church. They

equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ. (Ephesians 4:11–13)

This is a hard calling, requiring proven character, wisdom, knowledge, and a track record of “walk[ing] by the Spirit” (Galatians 5:16). Therefore, church leaders must not be spiritually immature (1 Timothy 3:1–7) lest they pour the gasoline of fleshliness on the flames of emerging church schisms rather than the water of sacrificial love and godly wisdom.

Mature leaders foster cultures in their churches that help saints pursue “the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” And they’re not naive. They know that factors like fleshliness, maturity diversity, and false Christians make this corporate pursuit hard. But they also know it’s necessarily hard. In this age.

‘How Long?’

But this age isn’t forever. An age approaches when weeds will not grow among the wheat, when our sinful flesh will no longer influence us, and when whatever different maturity levels may exist will no longer result in conflicts. “We [will] all [finally] attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13). We will all experience the unity that is our inheritance in Christ, and all be one, just as Jesus and the Father are one (John 17:21).

Till then, let’s not give up the fight to be one. In this fight for unity, we experience numerous aspects of the Father’s varied grace. Forced to wrestle with our own sin as we pursue unity, we experience much-needed sanctification by the Spirit. And as we struggle to attain and maintain unity, we discover and experience priceless dimensions of the love of Christ and display it for the world (John 13:35).

And our desire to experience the “not yet” promise of the completed, perfected, harmonious oneness of the body of Christ causes us to long, groan, and pray for the age to come. It keeps us saints watching and crying out, “How long, O Lord?” And the promised joy of perfected unity set before us fuels our hope that “soon the night of weeping shall be the morn of song.”

When I was a kid in the seventies, we often sang a song at church events and camps with this lyric:

We are one in the Spirit;We are one in the Lord.And we pray that all unity will one day be restored;And they’ll know we are Christians by our love.

I remember thinking it was a bit corny; then as a teenager, I blew it off as clichéd as well as stylistically dated. But looking back now, I can see this lyric is actually quite profound, reflecting in simple words the sophisticated theology of Christian unity.

It’s a strange logic: in Christ, we’re already one, but we’re not yet one, so we must strive to achieve, maintain, or restore our oneness, until we finally attain our perfect, eternal oneness.

Strange Logic of Heaven

What makes this unity logic strange is that it begins with the assertion that we’re already one — otherwise, it follows a natural logical progression. But that’s just the thing: this logic is not natural; it’s supernatural. It’s the logic of heaven.

And it isn’t applied only to unity. We see this logic throughout the New Testament. The kingdom of God has come (Luke 17:20–21), and at the same time the kingdom of God is in the process of coming (Matthew 16:28). Christians have “been saved” (Ephesians 2:8), and at the same time we are in the process of “being saved” (1 Corinthians 1:18). Christians “have been sanctified” (Hebrews 10:10), and at the same time we are in the process of “being sanctified” (Hebrews 10:14).

“In this era, our status as redeemed saints is complete, but our experience of redemption is partial.”

So, when it comes to Christian unity, it shouldn’t surprise us that we’re told we “are all one in Christ” (Galatians 3:28), while at the same time becoming one (Ephesians 4:13). This logic reflects the nature of this awkward age between the inauguration and the consummation of Christ’s kingdom, which Christian theologians call the era of the already–not yet. In this era, our status as redeemed saints is complete, but our experience of redemption is partial. We are becoming what we are.

But as strange as this heavenly logic might sound, it makes very practical sense in our day-to-day lives as Christians. Here’s how.

‘Already’ Fuels ‘Not Yet’

God’s inexpressible gift of salvation in Christ is something we inherit from our Father as his adopted children (Ephesians 1:5, 11). But this inherited gift has a participatory dimension:

Our justification (Romans 3:23–25) and the faith to receive it are given to us by God as a free (inherited) gift of his grace, and
the evidence that this grace-gift is at work in us comes through our (participatory) “obedience of faith” (Romans 1:5).

It’s the participatory dimension of our inherited gift of salvation (and countless facets of this gift, like Christian unity) that explains the New Testament’s teaching on grace and works. The New Testament teaches that we are saved by God’s grace alone (Ephesians 2:8–9), and that works are necessary to our salvation (James 2:24). This can sound like a contradiction, but it’s not. Our works are not necessary in the causal sense — we don’t merit salvation by our works. Our works are necessary in the evidential sense — the fruit of works organically grows on branches that by faith abide in the “true vine” (John 15:1, 5).

This is the new-covenant reality of “by grace through faith” (Ephesians 2:8). We are saved by grace alone through the gift of faith alone, and the observable evidence that we are heirs of God’s gracious gift of salvation is manifest through our “work[s] of faith and labor[s] of love” (1 Thessalonians 1:3) — our obedience of faith. That’s what Jesus was getting at when he said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15). And it’s what his brother, James, was getting at when he said, “I will show you my faith by my works” (James 2:18).

Now, here’s how heaven’s already–not yet logic works as it pertains to our inherited oneness as Christians. Believing that we’re already one fuels our faith in God’s promise that, ultimately, we will be perfectly one. And it fuels our hope that all the obedient works of faith and labors of love to achieve, maintain, or restore our unity in this partial age — as discouraging and futile as they might appear to us at times — are not in vain in the Lord (1 Corinthians 15:58).

Our Duty: Tenacious Grace

Paul employs this heavenly logic when he urges the Ephesians (and us) to pursue unity in the opening verses of Ephesians 4:

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit — just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call. (Ephesians 4:1–4)

Christian unity is part of the inherited gift we receive when God, by his free, sovereign choice in election (Ephesians 1:4–6), calls us into the body of Christ. But it is also our participatory duty to “maintain the unity of the Spirit” as part of this gift of God’s calling.

To get some idea of the demanding nature of this duty, this obedience of faith, we just need to consider the little word all in Ephesians 4:2. We must bear with one another “with all humility and gentleness.” When was the last time you truly felt eager to maintain unity in a situation that required you to exercise all humility or all gentleness — in other words, in the middle of a significant, frustrating disagreement? Yeah, me too.

“This is love with rebar in its resolve; this is love with a spine of steel.”

This is nothing less than a call to tenacious grace and Calvary love. What happened on Calvary? Death. Voluntary death. Voluntary death for the sake of love. Voluntary death for the sake of love on behalf of those who don’t deserve that kind of love. This is love with rebar in its resolve; this is love with a spine of steel.

When Jesus commanded us to love one another just as he has loved us (John 13:34), this was the kind of love he was talking about.

By Our Love

That old chorus we used to sing fifty years ago ended on a convicting refrain: “And they’ll know we are Christians by our love.” It’s a close paraphrase of Jesus’s words in John 13:35: “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” This might be a good time to bring that old chorus back.

Repeat that refrain a few times together as a church and, if the Spirit moves among us, it will provoke some hard questions. Especially when we think of how Jesus longed and prayed for our unity:

I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be 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. (John 17:20–21)

It requires the self-sacrificial love of tenacious grace to die to our own remaining sin and graciously bear with the remaining sin in other saints. But it’s this love that bears witness that we are followers of the One who laid his life down for his friends (John 15:13).

This unity is our inheritance in Christ. We are already one. Believing this fuels our faith in God’s promise that, ultimately, we will be perfectly one. And it will fuel all the obedient works of faith and labors of love that achieve, maintain, or restore our unity in this partial age. But we can’t do it alone. We need the Helper (John 14:26). For the love it requires to maintain the unity of the Spirit comes from the Spirit of unity himself.

Why is unity in the church so hard? If you’re like me, this question can prompt tears.

Mentioning tears tells you I’m not talking about disunity in the church in general. I’m talking about disunity in churches we know and love, and between Christians we know and love.

And for the most part, I’m not talking about disunity fueled by higher-level disagreements over primary Christian doctrines (ones that define the bounds of Christianity) or even secondary doctrines (ones that define, say, the bounds of a denomination). I’m talking about the far more common kind of disunity fueled by the endless variety of conflicts that break apart relationships, and even whole churches, because earnest, sincere Christians fail to humbly, gently, patiently “[bear] with one another in love” and cease being “eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:1–3).

If you’re like me, you’ve seen too much of this, and you wonder, sometimes with tears, “Why is unity in the church so hard?”

But, if you’re like me, this question might also reveal misguided assumptions we have about what Christian unity is supposed to be like. What I found lurking behind my question (and I don’t think I’m unusual here) was this assumption: unity between Christians who love and trust Jesus, are filled by his Spirit, and largely agree theologically, should not be this hard. It seems reasonable on its face. But a reasonable assumption doesn’t make a right assumption, especially when the Bible doesn’t support it.

Unity Has Always Been Hard

Don’t get me wrong: God is all for unity between God’s children. Scripture describes the experience of unity as “good and pleasant” (Psalm 133:1), and it commands all Christians to diligently pursue “being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord” (Philippians 2:2).

“The Bible nowhere promises that the pursuit of unity won’t be as hard as it often is.”

But nowhere in the Bible does God promise that the pursuit of unity, even among real, Spirit-filled, earnest Christians, won’t be as hard as it often is — any more than it promises that battling our indwelling sin won’t be as hard as it often is, or that suffering won’t be as devastating as it is, or that the whole endeavor of Christian love (of which pursuing unity is one aspect) won’t be as costly and humanly impossible as it is.

If anything, the fact that the New Testament records so many Christians struggling and failing to be unified should tip us off that unity is anything but easy. We only need to read through the letters of Paul to see this. Here’s just a small sampling of how often he addresses the issue of unity:

He reproves the Corinthians for their “quarrelling” and “divisions” (1 Corinthians 1:10–11).
He warns the Galatians against the dangers of “rivalries, dissensions, divisions” (Galatians 5:20).
He entreats “Euodia and . . . Syntyche [in Philippi] to agree in the Lord” and pleads with others to intervene (Philippians 4:2).
He instructs the Colossians, “Forgive each other as the Lord has forgiven you” (Colossians 3:13).
And he exhorts the Ephesians not to indulge in “corrupting talk” so as to “not grieve the Holy Spirit of God,” and to put away “all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander . . . along with all malice” (Ephesians 4:29–31).

I could quote many more. Which is why I say that the Bible doesn’t support our assumptions that Christian unity shouldn’t be as hard it is to attain and maintain. It’s been this hard since the earliest days of the church.

Why Unity Is Hard

Okay, so God doesn’t promise that unity won’t be hard — and, apparently, it’s always been hard. But that still leaves us with the question, “Why is unity in the church so hard?”

There are, of course, an endless number of factors. Consider that at any given time a church may be under heavy spiritual assault (Ephesians 6:12), infiltrated by wolves in sheep’s clothing (Acts 20:29), plagued by “rivalries, dissensions, divisions” stirred up by unbelievers who think they’re Christians (Galatians 5:19–21), trying to tempt immature believers to engage in partisan quarrels (1 Corinthians 3:1–4), and on and on.

But I’ll give two important high-level reasons we glean from Scripture for why unity in the church is as hard as it is — indeed, why, for our ultimate joy and his glory, God designed it to be as hard as it is.

Our Unity Refines Us

Scripture tells us that Jesus “himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness” (1 Peter 2:24). In other words, Jesus’s substitutionary, atoning death purchased the gift of our forgiveness (he “bore our sins”) and the gift of our holiness (“that we might die to sin and live to righteousness”). Our holiness is a gift of God’s grace. Which means anything God designs to transform us into the likeness of his holy Son is a great gift. But sanctifying gifts tend to arrive in painful packages, because learning to die to sin and live to righteousness is almost always hard and often painful.

“Our pursuit of unity is designed to give us many opportunities to die to our own sin and bear with the sin of others.”

That’s why “maintain[ing] the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:3) is usually hard. Paul says it requires that we “put off [our] old self, which belongs to [our] former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires” — die to sin — “and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” — live to righteousness (Ephesians 4:22–24). Our pursuit of unity is designed to give us many opportunities to die to our own sin and bear with the sin of others.

Our Unity Exalts Christ

What image comes to mind when you hear Jesus’s words, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35)? I tend to imagine some kind of idyllic Christian community of love — a kind of Christian community I’ve never seen, even in Scripture, even in those first sweet chapters of Acts.

What image did Jesus have in mind? We can see it in the previous verse: “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another” (John 13:34). Jesus was about to “lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). And he told his friends (all of us) to love one another “just as I have loved you.” Jesus was envisioning a cruciform community of Christians whose sacrificial love for one another frequently required them to take “the form of a servant,” pick up their cross, and “count others more significant than [themselves]” (Philippians 2:3, 7).

The pursuit of unity is hard because the love of God is costly. The love of the Father and the Son was most clearly and climactically displayed on the cross, and so our love for one another is designed to publicly display Godlike love in the world. “By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers” (1 John 3:16). That’s how all people will know we’re Jesus’s disciples.

Never Give Up

The pursuit of Christian unity in a local church is a high calling. It’s a means of our growing in Christlikeness through sanctification, and it’s a means of proclaiming the otherworldly love of Christ through demonstrating the otherworldly love of Christ in a love-starved world.

It can be a heartbreaking pursuit in view of how often we fail. But let’s keep it in perspective. It’s no less surprising that we too frequently fail to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace, than that we too frequently fail to continually abide in Jesus (John 15:4), strive for holiness (Hebrews 12:14), pray without ceasing (1 Thessalonians 5:17), love our enemies (Luke 6:27), bless those who persecute us (Romans 12:14), or count it all joy when we experience various trials (James 1:2).

Let’s not allow our failures to obey to become excuses to keep disobeying. Let’s put the 1 John 1:9 grace of God on public display by confessing and repenting of our sins and receiving God’s and one another’s forgiveness. And then let’s put the tenacious, gracious love of God on display by resolving to never give up, “so far as it depends on [us]” (Romans 12:18), seeking to “maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”

Christian unity is a high call, and a hard call. In fact, it’s impossible apart from “the help of the Spirit of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:19), for apart from him we can do nothing (John 15:5). But that’s the way it’s supposed to be. For unity is not about fulfilling our idyllic expectations, but about displaying the reality of the redeeming, sanctifying love of God.

The Bible’s most well-known and beloved declaration of God’s faithfulness might be Lamentations 3:22–23:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;     his mercies never come to an end;they are new every morning;     great is your faithfulness.

We hear it echoed in many of our hymns and songs, like the refrain from the much-loved hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness”:

“Great is thy faithfulness!” “Great is thy faithfulness!”Morning by morning new mercies I see;All I have needed thy hand hath provided —“Great is thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me.

We love this text, and the songs it inspires, because we find God’s faithfulness to be one of his most comforting attributes. But one fact we might overlook when we quote or sing these verses is that this great declaration of God’s great faithfulness was made in the context of severe affliction.

God-Given Affliction?

The book of Lamentations is one long, tearful lament over profound suffering. At the time, the Jewish people were suffering at the hands of the ferocious Babylonian army. The author of Lamentations recognized that this affliction came directly from the hand of the Lord, who in afflicting his people was being faithful to his word (Lamentations 2:17).

“Can we derive hope from what God will faithfully accomplish for us through our afflictions?”

Now, when we endure suffering, we take comfort in God’s faithfulness to keep his promise to ultimately deliver us from our suffering (2 Corinthians 1:10). And that’s right — we should. So did the author of Lamentations (Lamentations 3:21). But can we derive hope, as the author of Lamentations did, not merely from God’s promise to faithfully deliver us from our afflictions, but from what God will faithfully accomplish for us through our afflictions?

The biblical answer to that question is a resounding yes. And for the sake of our encouragement, let’s examine some of God’s redemptive purposes when, in faithfulness, he afflicts us.

Delivered from Wandering

Psalm 119, that long, beautiful, ancient acrostic poem, is precious to many Christians — and for good reason. Because it is, in part, an extended celebration of and appeal to God’s faithfulness to do just what he promises us.

Like the author of Lamentations, what provokes the psalmist to write is a “severe affliction” (Psalm 119:107), a significant aspect of which is unjust persecution at the hands of ungodly, powerful people (verse 161). Yet, as one who believes in God’s sovereignty over all things (verses 89–90) and in God’s goodness in all things (verse 68), the psalmist recognizes his affliction has also come from the hand of his good God:

I know, O Lord, that your rules are righteous,     and that in faithfulness you have afflicted me.
(Psalm 119:75)

The psalmist isn’t hesitant to express to God his sorrow over this affliction (verse 28) and the toll it is taking on his whole being (verse 83). But he also expresses to God the good he discerns the affliction is working in him:

Before I was afflicted I went astray,     but now I keep your word. (Psalm 119:67)

It is good for me that I was afflicted,     that I might learn your statutes. (Psalm 119:71)

The psalmist is someone who hungers and thirsts for righteousness, the kind of person whose longings, Jesus later said, would be satisfied (Matthew 5:6). And though he may not have expected, at the outset, that one of God’s chosen means to satisfy his longings would be affliction, it is a discovery he makes during his season of anguished wrestling.

As a result, he grows to love God’s word “exceedingly” (Psalm 119:167). It becomes “the sum of [all] truth” to him, “a light to [his] path” (verse 105) and his refuge when he feels threatened (verse 114). So, he meditates on it throughout the day (verse 97) and finds it “sweeter than honey” (verse 103) and more valuable than gold (verse 72).

In his suffering, the psalmist discerns God’s loving correction to his proneness to wander, and therefore he finds comfort in both his affliction and God’s promise to deliver him from it, which enables him to say,

This is my comfort in my affliction,     that your promise gives me life. (Psalm 119:50)

Delivered from Faithless Fear

Genesis 32 contains the strange story of Jacob literally wrestling all night with God. Physically wrestling with the Almighty is strange enough. But even stranger is that when the enigmatic figure “saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint” (Genesis 32:25). Why does God afflict Jacob with a dislocated hip?

We can deduce one reason from the story’s context. At the Lord’s command (Genesis 31:3), Jacob is returning to Canaan after twenty years of working for his uncle Laban. He had originally fled Canaan after learning his twin brother, Esau, planned to kill him for stealing Esau’s rightful paternal blessing. Hoping that Esau’s desire for revenge had cooled with time, Jacob sends a messenger to inform Esau he is coming home. The messenger returns with news that Esau is coming to meet him — with four hundred men (Genesis 32:6). This terrifies Jacob, so he pleads with the Lord:

Please deliver me from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau, for I fear him, that he may come and attack me, the mothers with the children. But you said, “I will surely do you good, and make your offspring as the sand of the sea, which cannot be numbered for multitude.” (Genesis 32:11–12)

In other words, he pleads with the Lord to be faithful to his word. The Lord answers by showing up in bodily form at night and wrestling Jacob. During the struggle, he somehow reveals to Jacob who he is, and at sunrise he injures Jacob’s hip. But Jacob refuses to let God go without a blessing — this time not a stolen blessing, but one bestowed because he is willing to persevere in faith for it.

But why the hip? In part, because God purposes to help Jacob fear his word more than the threats of an angry brother. And so, the night before Jacob’s encounter with Esau, God faithfully afflicts him so he can’t flee again out of fear of man, but instead is forced to trust God’s faithfulness to his promise.

Delivered from Dangerous Pride

In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul describes how the Lord had graciously granted him surpassingly great “visions and revelations” that were so wonderful and rare in human experience that he, through his indwelling sin, was tempted with conceit (2 Corinthians 12:1–7). And so, he explains, the Lord had graciously granted him “a thorn . . . in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass [him], to keep [him] from becoming conceited” (2 Corinthians 12:7).

At first, he pleads with God to deliver him from this demonic affliction. But the Lord replies, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). This is another wonderful revelation for Paul, which moves him to say with gratitude,

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Corinthians 12:9–10)

Through this affliction, God was faithfully delivering him from a greater danger than a demonic tormenter: Paul’s own sinful pride.

God of All Comfort

These stories illustrate three ways God mercifully manifested his faithfulness to his beloved children through ordaining their afflictions. He delivered them from a proneness to wander from him, a faithless fear, and the deadly danger of sinful pride.

And these are only three of God’s redemptive purposes in our suffering. Scripture reveals more, if we have ears to hear. But these examples demonstrate God’s counterintuitive ways of being faithful to the “unchangeable character of his [ultimate] purpose” (Hebrews 6:17):

I will make with them an everlasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them. And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me. I will rejoice in doing them good . . . with all my heart and all my soul. (Jeremiah 32:40–41)

“When it comes to his children, God’s purposes in our afflictions are always redemptive.”

Can we derive hope, not merely from God’s promise to faithfully deliver us from our afflictions, but from what God will faithfully accomplish for us through our afflictions? The biblical answer is a resounding yes. Because when it comes to his children, God’s purposes in our afflictions are always redemptive, since “we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

The more we see God’s faithfulness in our afflictions, the more meaningful we will find Paul’s exclamation, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction” (2 Corinthians 1:3–4). And the more meaningful we will find the passage that inspired the great hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” because we will realize that included in the “all” of “the God of all comfort” is the comfort that God, in his steadfast love, has in faithfulness afflicted us.

Scripture tells us that “every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights” (James 1:17). But have you ever received a good gift from the Father that arrived in a package that appeared to be anything but good?

Jesus came into the world to make the Father known to all whom “he gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12, 18). He came to help us “see what kind of love the Father has given to us” (1 John 3:1), that “as a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him” (Psalm 103:13). He wanted us to know that the Father abounds “in steadfast love and faithfulness” toward us (Exodus 34:6).

This is why, when Jesus promised us, “Whatever you ask of the Father in my name, he will give it to you” (John 16:23), he made sure we understood the Father’s heart toward us:

Which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him! (Matthew 7:7–11)

It’s an astounding promise of astonishing goodness and faithfulness: “For everyone who asks receives” (Matthew 7:8). Why? Because our Father wants our “joy [to] be full” (John 16:24).

However, Jesus, of all people, also knew that some of the good gifts our loving Father gives in answer to our prayers — some of his best gifts, in fact — arrive in painful packages we don’t expect. When we receive them, we can be tempted to think the Father gave us a serpent when we asked for a fish, not realizing till later the priceless goodness of the gift we received.

“Some of the good gifts our loving Father gives in answer to our prayers arrive in painful packages we don’t expect.”

Why would the Father do this? As just one in the great cloud of God’s children across the ages, I can bear personal witness that he does it so that our joy may be full. And I’ll offer that witness here, with the help of one of history’s most beloved pastors and hymn writers. Because both he and I know how important it is to trust the Father’s heart when we’re dismayed by what we receive from his hand.

Near Despair an Answered Prayer?

John Newton was the godly eighteenth-century English pastor most famous for penning the hymn “Amazing Grace,” which describes the best gift Newton ever received from the Father: the forgiveness of his sins and eternal life through Christ.

But at times he also received, as I have, gracious gifts from God that amazed him in a different sense. He expressed this amazement in a lesser-known hymn, “I Asked the Lord That I Might Grow,” which begins,

I asked the Lord that I might growIn faith and love and every grace,Might more of his salvation know,And seek more earnestly his face.

’Twas he who taught me thus to pray;And he, I trust, has answered prayer;But it has been in such a wayAs almost drove me to despair.

I remember vividly the first time I experienced the reality Newton describes here, just after I turned 21. Following an extended season of asking God for the gifts Newton described in his first verse, I received an answer that had the same effect as that second verse. It devastated and disoriented me. I found myself reeling.

Download Not Available

Like Newton,

I hoped that, in some favored hour,At once he’d answer my request,And by his love’s constraining powerSubdue my sins, and give me rest.

Because my prayers reflected a sincere “hunger and thirst for righteousness” (Matthew 5:6), I assumed God would answer my prayers with a sort of download of growth in grace. And I envisioned this occurring as God led me through “green pastures” and along “still waters” (Psalm 23:2).

However,

Instead of this, he made me feelThe hidden evils of my heart,And let the angry powers of hellAssault my soul in every part.

“I assumed God would answer my prayers with a sort of download of growth in grace.”

As it turned out, the holiness and righteousness I (and Newton) hungered for — greater freedom from sin and greater capacities for faith and love and joy — were not available in a download. Such sanctification is available only if we’re willing to enter a “training in righteousness” (2 Timothy 3:16). And apparently the best training environment for us was a “valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23:4).

Lipstick on a Pig?

The season of disorientation and confusion usually lasts a while before we grasp what’s going on. And while it lasts, we feel dismayed. What’s happening? Did we do something wrong? Is God angry with us? Newton voices the confusion we feel:

Lord, why is this? I trembling cried;Wilt thou pursue this worm to death?

At this point, we can also be tempted to doubt God’s goodness. Having sincerely asked him for a good gift, a gift Scripture says aligns with our Father’s desire for us, and having received in return a severe trial or affliction, we can wonder if our attempt to interpret God’s answer as a good gift is like trying to put lipstick on a pig. Perhaps God simply gave us a serpent instead of a fish after all.

I mean, what kind of loving father intentionally gives his child pain when he asks for joy?

The Father often lets us wrestle with that question for some time, allowing the pain to do its sanctifying work. But when the time is right, he will reveal his answer, which Newton concisely captures:

This is the way, the Lord replied,I answer prayer for grace and faith.

These inward trials I now employFrom self and pride to set thee free,And break thy schemes of earthly joy,That thou may’st seek thy all in me.

See What Kind of Love

Like John Newton, I had asked the Father for what I wished and found him faithful to give me what I asked for, though I didn’t expect it to come in the package I received.

But Jesus, the Son, the Firstborn, came into the world to help us, through his teaching and example, to “see what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God” (1 John 3:1). And one manifestation of the Father’s love is to sometimes answer his child’s request for joy with a painful experience if it will result in his child ultimately experiencing more profound good and greater joy than if he withheld the pain. Because our Father wants our joy to be full.

And there’s a great cloud of God’s children bearing witness to the goodness of the Father’s painful gifts, each from his own experience. They would recite for us the famous proverb:

My son, do not despise the Lord’s discipline     or be weary of his reproof,for the Lord reproves him whom he loves,     as a father the son in whom he delights. (Proverbs 3:11–12)

They would quote the famous epistle:

[Our earthly fathers] disciplined us for a short time as it seemed best to them, but [our heavenly Father] disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it. (Hebrews 12:10–11)

And they would “Amen” the famous psalmist, whose painful discipline produced this prayer: “In faithfulness you have afflicted me” (Psalm 119:75).

For when our training in righteousness has done its sanctifying work, one of the peaceful fruits is that we learn to joyfully trust the Father’s hand because we’ve learned to trust the Father’s heart.

When my daughter Eliana was 6 years old, I wrote her a lullaby that included these words:

You, Eliana, remind me each dayThat God does answer the prayers that we pray.And though the night falls and we cannot see,He will bring light when the time’s right for you and me.

These four lines are packed with profound meaning for me. I rarely can sing them without tears. They refer to an extended season of what Christians call spiritual darkness, or a dark night of the soul, or a faith crisis, which I experienced the year before Eliana was born.

Since I told this story in some detail a number of years ago, I won’t recount it all here. I do, however, want to recount the moment God brought light into my night, because it was a transformational moment when I experienced the biblical truth David describes in Psalm 139:

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,     and the light about me be night,”even the darkness is not dark to you;     the night is bright as the day,     for darkness is as light with you. (Psalm 139:11–12)

I say it was a transformational moment, not merely because light pierced my darkness, but because it drove home David’s poetic point: that just because “the light about [us] be night” and we, for various reasons, lose sight of God, it does not mean the Light is gone. In this moment, I experienced that God really is faithful to keep his promise to be with us when we walk through the valley of deep darkness (Psalm 23:4) — whether we perceive him or not.

Though the Night Falls

One spring day in 1997, for reasons too complex and distracting to describe now, God, who had been the Sun of my world since my youth, suddenly became eclipsed in the sky of my spiritual sight. I couldn’t perceive him at all. Existential darkness covered me; the light about me was night (Psalm 139:11). And my faith was in a full-fledged crisis.

This terrifying experience was foreign to me. But as I desperately ransacked the Bible and books searching for answers, it quickly became clear that this experience wasn’t foreign to saints in Scripture.

In one sense, this should have been clear to me prior to this crisis, given how often I had read the descriptions of dark nights like mine in the Psalms, Job, Ecclesiastes, Lamentations, and so on. But in another sense, it’s understandable why it wasn’t. When we haven’t personally experienced such disorienting blackouts (and the disturbing doubts that typically accompany them), it’s almost impossible to imagine what “darkness without any light” is really like (Lamentations 3:2).

Now, I found myself walking through a “valley of deep darkness” (Psalm 23:4). I found myself praying with Heman the Ezrahite, “You have put me in the depths of the pit, in the regions dark and deep” (Psalm 88:6). I found myself crying out with David in desperation,

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest. (Psalm 22:1–2)

And I found myself wondering what incomprehensible darkness covered Jesus when he made this desperate cry.

“God sometimes ordains dismayingly dark nights of the soul to descend on his children for redemptive purposes.”

The Holy Spirit used my darkness to illuminate for me the Bible’s clear witness that, for various and deeply good reasons, God sometimes ordains dismaying dark nights of the soul to descend on his children for redemptive purposes. And God had provided these scriptural witnesses to help people like me “not be surprised at the fiery trial . . . as though something strange were happening” (1 Peter 4:12). Their experiences gave me a frame of reference as I sought to navigate my way in the dark.

And We Cannot See

Navigation, in fact, became a helpful metaphor to me during this time. To explain what I mean, let’s look at David’s description of spiritual darkness with more context:

Where shall I go from your Spirit?     Or where shall I flee from your presence?If I ascend to heaven, you are there!     If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!If I take the wings of the morning     and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,even there your hand shall lead me,     and your right hand shall hold me.If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,     and the light about me be night,”even the darkness is not dark to you;     the night is bright as the day,     for darkness is as light with you. (Psalm 139:7–12)

In beautiful poetry, David says that it doesn’t matter where he goes — whether to the dwelling of God or the dwelling of the dead, whether to the place where the sun rises or where it sets — God is there with him. And if we widen the lens to include Psalm 139:1–6, we’d hear David say God isn’t merely with him, but God fully knows him. God is acquainted with all of David’s ways, even his thoughts. When David is in such a dark place that God seems absent, God is fully present with him and fully cognizant of him. For there is no such thing as darkness to God.

‘Various Trials’ Theological Seminary

Why was David able to make such profound theological assertions? Because he received his theological education in the seminary of “various trials” (James 1:2), where his courses were “many dangers, toils, and snares” — and spiritual darkness. He practiced theology as if his life depended on it.

So, when David exulted in God’s continual knowing and guiding presence, even when deep darkness descended, he wasn’t waxing poetic over some romantic ideal; he was speaking of a reality he had experienced. Hard-won experience had taught him to navigate life by trusting God’s reliable promises, not his unreliable perceptions and emotions — especially in the darkness.

I remember when the thought “fly by the instruments” hit me while trying to figure out how to navigate my stormy darkness. When pilots fly planes into dense, dark clouds, they lose all points of perceptual reference. Their normally reliable perceptions suddenly can’t be trusted anymore, since they can feel like they’re flying horizontal and straight when they’re actually spiraling gradually toward the ground. Survival in this situation depends on trusting what the plane’s navigational instruments tell them over what their perceptions and emotions tell them. They must fly by the instruments.

That’s what David learned in the realm of faith — and so must we. One of the hardest and most valuable lessons we learn during our stormy, cloudy, spiritual nights is to trust what the instruments of God’s promises tell us over what our perceptions and emotions tell us. Such seasons force us to exercise faith. Which is why so many faithful biblical saints learned to “walk by faith and not by sight” during seasons of great desperation (2 Corinthians 5:7).

Why We Long for Light

As necessary and valuable as it is for us to learn to trust God in the dark — that he’s with us and fully knows us when we cannot see — we still deeply and rightly desire to experience that truth. We long for God to “lighten [our] darkness” (Psalm 18:28) because “God is light, and in him is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5). We long for light because we long for God.

“We long for light because we long for God.”

And so, on Saturday, August 23, 1997, while alone in the house, I threw myself on the living-room floor and pleaded with God (again) for light and deliverance. I prayed something very specific: “Lord, if you just somehow whisper to me that you’re still there, and I’m your son, and this whole dark season is something you’re allowing for your good purposes, I think I can endure anything. All I need is for you to whisper to me that I’m your son!”

And God answered. He answered in such way that all the attempts my inner skeptic has made to explain it as something other than an answered prayer seem so improbable as to be incredible. (If you’d like to know specifically how, I describe it here; in short, God spoke not through an audible whisper but through a friend directing me, unaware, to a specific passage of Scripture.) And when God answered, he brought light into my night. In his light I again saw light (Psalm 36:9).

Then, quite unexpectedly, one more aspect to this story occurred, which only made it harder to explain away.

When the Time Is Right

Several months after these events, my wife and I joyfully discovered we were expecting our second child. When we found out we were expecting a girl, we began searching for the right name. We ended up choosing Eliana, which in Hebrew means my God answers. We chose it as a memorial to that moment of answered prayer.

Eliana was born on Saturday, August 22, 1998. The day after her birth, I got to thinking, “It was somewhere around this time last year that God answered my prayer.” So, I got out my journal and realized Eliana had been born exactly 365 days after that answered prayer, on the corresponding Saturday one year later. A shiver of awe passed through me, and grateful praise filled my mouth.

God had been faithful, not only to his promise to cause “light [to] dawn in [my] darkness” (Psalm 112:4), but also to his promise to be fully and attentively present in my darkness, even when I couldn’t perceive him. And that’s why, even 25 years later, it brings me to tears almost every time I sing,

You, Eliana, remind me each dayThat God does answer the prayers that we pray.And though the night falls and we cannot see,He will bring light when the time’s right for you and me.

When a wolf looks at sheep, what does he see? Food. His motivation for getting close to sheep is not to care for their needs or protect them from danger; it’s to feed on them. But in order to get close to sheep, a wolf employs deceptive tactics to keep the sheep from discerning his dangerous presence before he can achieve his aims.

That’s why Paul called false teachers in the church “fierce wolves” who don’t spare the flock (Acts 20:29), a metaphor he likely adapted from Jesus, who described false prophets as leaders “who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves” (Matthew 7:15). What makes these leaders false is not merely that they teach false doctrines, but that they have false aims. Their aim is not “love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith” (1 Timothy 1:5) but something else. It’s an aim they hide from the sheep, an aim that causes them to view the sheep as a means of satisfying some ungodly appetite.

Jesus, switching to a tree metaphor, said, “You will recognize them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). And Paul labored to help sheep spot the “fruits” of disguised “wolves” infiltrating the flock. Let’s look at three of these fruits as described by Paul in 2 Timothy 3, where Paul offers a description of the “opponents” Timothy can expect to meet in his ministry (2 Timothy 2:24–26).

Pious Disguise

The first characteristic of a wolfish leader Paul describes is someone who “[has] the appearance of godliness, but [denies] its power” (2 Timothy 3:5). It’s worth looking at his full description:

Understand this, that in the last days there will come times of difficulty. For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power. Avoid such people. (2 Timothy 3:1–5)

We can summarize such leaders this way:

Their Wolfish Aim: self-indulgence
Their Sheeplike Clothing: “the appearance of godliness”
Their Recognizable Fruit: a lack of personal holiness (“denying its power”)

“Wolves can be very good at concealing their motives from sheep.”

Now, just by reading Paul’s list of these leaders’ selfish pursuits, you’d think they’d be easy to spot. But frequently they’re not, because wolves can be very good at concealing their motives from sheep. They move into positions of leadership because their guise of “godliness” is convincing, at first. But then their influence begins to cause a decline in the spiritual health of a church.

One such leader I worked with a few decades ago was in a pastoral position for years before he was discovered. I remember feeling a growing intuitive uneasiness around him before I saw any clear evidence. It was hard to put a finger on what was wrong, but something seemed off, and not only to me. There was a deficit of spiritual authenticity. His teaching and example seemed to lack power. Then the disguise began to slip, and other discerning leaders pressed until his secret, selfish, immoral pursuits were exposed.

I’m not suggesting that our every uneasy intuition is accurate. Fruit becomes apparent over time, so watch for patterns. Watch for a permissive application of “grace” and an orientation toward worldliness and self-indulgence. Watch the way a leader handles money. Watch for subtle signs of laxness regarding sexual ethics. Note other spiritually discerning people’s uneasiness regarding the leader. Watch for a leader’s defensiveness, condescension, and lack of transparency when challenged. And if a culture of manipulation and fear develops around a Christian leader, that’s cause for concern, since a wolf tends to appear godly but loves badly.

Opposing Truth

Another characteristic of a wolfish leader is someone who “oppose[s] the truth” (2 Timothy 3:8). This is what we expect from a wolf, since they’re false teachers. And again, we might assume they’d be easy to spot right away. But often they’re not. Their influence, at least at first, is usually more insidious and ambiguous than we expect. Paul describes them like this:

Among them are those who creep into households and capture weak women, burdened with sins and led astray by various passions, always learning and never able to arrive at a knowledge of the truth. Just as Jannes and Jambres opposed Moses, so these men also oppose the truth, men corrupted in mind and disqualified regarding the faith. But they will not get very far, for their folly will be plain to all, as was that of those two men. (2 Timothy 3:6–9)

One way to summarize such leaders is this:

Their Wolfish Aim: self-promotion (selfish ambition)
Their Sheeplike Clothing: an image of spiritual power and/or theological erudition
Their Recognizable Fruit: manipulation of susceptible people, impressive appearance of spiritual power accompanied by advocacy for doctrines that undermine the gospel, opposition to godly leaders

Though Paul isn’t necessarily describing wolfish leaders’ strategic progression in these verses, it’s often the case that such leaders are sneaky to begin with, and only later become more openly oppositional, when they’ve consolidated a critical mass of influence.

‘Creepy’ Leaders

False teachers tend to creep in. When Paul says they “capture weak women,” we might be tempted to interpret this through a #MeToo grid, but he’s not referring to their preying on women sexually (though some, no doubt, did). He means these wolves single out those who, for various reasons, are particularly susceptible to deception, and convince them that they can be part of something new God is doing, something more powerful and spiritually important than whatever the church’s faithful, humble, godly leaders are teaching.

What makes these false teachers compelling is that they are able to demonstrate an appearance of whatever spiritual power impresses the Christian community they’ve crept into. In a continuationist context, they may appear to possess impressive gifts of the Holy Spirit, while in a cessationist context, they may appear to possess impressive theological and spiritual knowledge. These gifts or knowledge can confuse even godly leaders at first, since the sheeplike clothing can appear legitimate even if something seems off.

Showing Their Teeth

But eventually, wolves begin to show their teeth. That’s why Paul says such teachers in the church are like “Jannes and Jambres,” the names Hebrew tradition gave to the Egyptian sorcerers who wielded impressive magical power in their opposition to Moses (Exodus 7:10–12). Paul calls them “corrupt,” because their wrong teaching isn’t coming from a mere and sincere misunderstanding of the Scriptures, but from an intent to use the Scriptures to advance or protect their personal image of power and importance. When true gospel doctrine, either publicly taught or personally applied, threatens or thwarts the social (and usually financial) capital they covet, they aggressively and ruthlessly “oppose the truth,” and their folly becomes plain.

Watch for a pattern of pursuing church leadership positions that seems unhealthy. Watch for a charming charismatic personality that in the past has left a disproportionate number of disillusioned and wounded people in its wake. Watch for claims to and apparent demonstrations of the kinds of spiritual power valued in the church, but which encourage a troubling dependency on and loyalty to the leader(s). Watch for a group forming around a leader, noticeably comprised of susceptible, spiritually weak members, that begins to manifest distrust in godly church leaders. Watch for a pattern of conflicts with godly leaders and resistance to submit to leaders in general.

Adversity Avoidance

The third characteristic of a wolfish leader is someone who avoids “persecutions and sufferings” for the sake of Christ and his gospel (2 Timothy 3:11). This characteristic is implicit when Paul writes to Timothy,

You, however, have followed my teaching, my conduct, my aim in life, my faith, my patience, my love, my steadfastness, my persecutions and sufferings that happened to me at Antioch, at Iconium, and at Lystra — which persecutions I endured; yet from them all the Lord rescued me. Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while evil people and impostors will go on from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived. (2 Timothy 3:10–13)

Here’s how I would summarize such leaders:

Their Wolfish Aim: self-preservation
Their Sheeplike Clothing: “confident assertions” (1 Timothy 1:7) and controlling leadership that give the appearance of courage
Their Recognizable Fruit: avoidance of personal sacrifice and public persecution for the sake of preserving reputation, status, wealth, and comfort

A wolflike leader might project a very confident image, he might rationalize domineering and manipulative behaviors as characteristics of a “strong leader,” and he might point to numerous strenuous performances that he asserts are “sacrifices.” But his confidence, his leadership, and his “sacrifices,” when examined carefully and honestly, tend to benefit him more than those he “serves.”

That’s why here, as elsewhere, Paul refers to his persecutions and sufferings as a fruit of a true Christlike leader. Paul isn’t pointing out his personal greatness when he speaks of enduring “far greater labors, far more imprisonments [than the false teachers], with countless beatings, and often near death” (2 Corinthians 11:23). He’s contrasting the fruits.

“True Christlike leaders bear fruits that evidence a willingness to sacrifice for Christ and his people.”

In the United States in particular, Christians suffer few of the kinds of persecutions and sufferings that Paul and the Christians of his day endured. So a wolflike leader can meld in much easier. But still, true Christlike leaders bear fruits that evidence a willingness to sacrifice reputation, status, wealth, and comfort for Christ and his people that stands in contrast to the self-promoting, self-enriching, self-indulgent aims of wolflike leaders. Pay careful attention, and you’ll see them.

Pay Careful Attention

That’s exactly what Paul said to the Ephesian elders in his parting words to them before heading to certain imprisonment and probable death for the sake of Jesus:

Pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock, in which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to care for the church of God, which he obtained with his own blood. I know that after my departure fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock; and from among your own selves will arise men speaking twisted things, to draw away the disciples after them. (Acts 20:28–30)

Careful attention would have to be paid because those “fierce wolves” would be wearing sheeplike clothing. Their emergence would be subtle — they would even infiltrate the team of elders (like Judas among the disciples). They’d have an appearance of godliness, seem to possess impressive spiritual power, and exude an image of confidence and courage. Many of the sheep would find themselves swayed. The elders would need to remind themselves and their flock of what Jesus had said: “You will recognize them by their fruits.”

And if they paid careful attention, the fruits would point to this: a wolflike leader preying on the sheep to satisfy his own ungodly appetites.