God reveals himself to his people in the Bible. The opening chapters of Genesis show us that God is relational. Indeed, all true theology is relational theology since God, in his triunity, is a relational God. God relates to his creatures, especially those made in his image, in a manner suitable to their creatureliness. Because God is wise and good, he does not relate to Adam in the garden in a manner that utterly confuses him. Rather, there’s a beautiful simplicity concerning how Adam must live in relation to God, which was friendship with God based upon his gracious condescension.

Now, that does not mean we are not frequently confronted in God’s word, as Job was, with the supreme, infinite majesty of our God. God is infinite in his perfections; he possesses unchangeable omniscience; he enjoys eternal omnipotence. To him alone, we can say with David, “Yours, O Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty. . . . You are exalted as head above all” (1 Chronicles 29:11). Our God “is clothed with awesome majesty” (Job 37:22).

However, we also find that much of what pertains to us as humans is also attributed to God. We read of God’s “face” (Exodus 33:20), “eyes” (and “eyelids,” Psalm 11:4), “ear” (Isaiah 59:1), “nostrils” (Isaiah 65:5), “mouth” (Deuteronomy 8:3), “lips” (Isaiah 30:27), “tongue” (Isaiah 30:27), “finger” (Exodus 8:19), and many other body parts. What’s more, sometimes we read of God possessing human emotions. He is sometimes jealous or grieved (Deuteronomy 4:24; 32:21; Psalm 78:40; Isaiah 63:10). After Adam sins, God, who has just made the world by acts of divine power, wisdom, and goodness, asks Adam, “Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9).

God Without Passions

What are Christians to make of these declarations of God? Is God eternally unchangeable in his being, or does he, like humans, have the capacity to change? Can God really experience distress or learn something new? What does it mean for God, who is Spirit, to “get angry”? Does God really need to ask Adam where he is, as if he can’t find him?

If we are committed to the biblical and theological view that God is unchangeable (see Psalm 102:26–28), we are affirming that in God there is no change in time (he is eternal) or location (he is omnipresent) or essence (he is pure being). God does not change, nor can he change (Malachi 3:6; Isaiah 14:27; 41:4). Thus, there are no “passions” in God, as if in his essence he can be more or less happy or more or less angry. God is what he always was and will be (James 1:17) in the infinite happiness and bliss we call divine “blessedness.”

An immutable God does not have passions; or, as John Owen famously said, “a mutable god is of the dunghill.” We do not deny that God has affections (for example, wrath or hatred), but affections like wrath in God are either acts of his outward will or they are applied to God figuratively.

Passions refer to an internal emotional change, which are suitable to humans. Think of our blood pressure rising with anger. God’s jealousy — a metaphorical way to speak of him — helps us to understand outward acts of his will. When God wills for the wicked to be punished, sometimes in the most severe way (like the flood in Noah’s time), we can speak of the “anger of the Lord.” Because God is holy and righteous, he must punish sin. When he outwardly executes his punishment, the Scriptures often speak of his fury or wrath. But to suggest that Achan, for example, could upset God so that God is less happy is to make Achan into God and God into Achan (see Joshua 7).

God’s Amazing Stooping

God relates to his image-bearers in a way that does justice to the history of redemption. He condescends and, for our sake, sometimes appropriates to himself “passions” that, while not properly true of his being, are ways of speaking that help us to understand how he will relate to us in terms of his purposes and will.

“God relates to his creatures, especially those made in his image, in a manner suitable to their creatureliness.”

Herman Bavinck (1854–1921) explains the importance of God’s dealings with us in this way: “If God were to speak to us in a divine language, not a creature would understand him. But what spells out his grace is the fact that from the moment of creation God stoops down to his creatures, speaking and appearing to them in human fashion” (Reformed Dogmatics, 1:100). If he did not, we would be left in a cloud of unsearchable darkness concerning who God is and what he is doing in the world.

Now God’s “stooping” and “appearing” are not mere anthropomorphisms in the sense that he is accommodating to us in terms of the language he uses. Rather, the humanlike language used of God in the Old Testament is fulfilled wondrously in the person of Christ in his incarnation.

Anthropomorphic Christ

The Son related to God’s people in the Old Testament by dwelling in their midst (1 Corinthians 10:4). According to Owen, in dwelling with his people, the Son

constantly assumes unto himself human affections, to intimate that a season would come when he would immediately act in that nature. And, indeed, after the fall there is nothing spoken of God in the Old Testament, nothing of his institutions, nothing of the way and manner of dealing with the church, but what has respect unto the future incarnation of Christ. (Works, 1:350)

This is a beautiful way to understand the Old Testament. These anthropomorphisms attributed to God are not only a form of accommodation on his part in terms of his covenantal relationship with his people, but they set the stage for the incarnation of the Son of God. Yet, since the Son is the reason for all things (Colossians 1:16), it goes without saying that anthropomorphic language concerning God is not merely prospective of Jesus but derives from him from the beginning.

Owen adds that it would have been absurd to speak of God continually by way of anthropomorphisms (such as grief, anger, repentance, and so on) unless it was intended that the Son would take to himself “the nature wherein such affections do dwell” (350).

“What is impossible for God, who cannot change, is possible in Christ because of the glory of the incarnation.”

Everything anthropomorphically yet not properly attributed to God is actually properly attributed to Christ as God-man. Jesus, who has arms and eyes, a heart and soul, also grieves (Mark 3:5) and expresses indignation (Mark 10:14). What is impossible for God, who cannot change, is possible in Christ because of the glory of the incarnation. In him we can affirm both God’s unchangeability and his ability to express human passions. The Son of God, as one person with two natures, is both unchangeable and changeable; he experienced an infinite joy in the deity but also, while on earth, an inexpressible sorrow in his humanity.

Always Set to Be Man

Our Lord Jesus is not only the fulfillment of all promises, which are yes and amen in him (2 Corinthians 1:20), but the fulfillment of all truth concerning who God is toward his creatures. The Lord’s hand (arm) is not too short to save because his “hand” is his Messiah who is able to save to the uttermost (Hebrews 7:25). Hands are what we use to work, and God works with his hand (Jesus) our salvation.

God often spoke of himself in human terms because the Son was always set to become the true human, the one truly in the image of God (Colossians 1:15), who allows the faithful to see God by faith in this life and by sight in the life to come. As important for us as his divinity is his humanity — a humanity that such stooping language in the Old Testament always anticipated.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15588443/how-to-become-a-coworker-of-god

Joab’s charge to play the man still endures, immortalized in Scripture. “Be of good courage, and let us be courageous for our people, and for the cities of our God, and may the Lord do what seems good to him” (2 Samuel 10:13).

Joab, facing enemies from the front and from the rear, took some of his best men and faced the Syrians ahead. The rest of his army would turn with his brother, Abishai, to meet the Ammonites to their back. Here we find the iconic words of Joab to his brother:

“If the Syrians are too strong for me, then you shall help me, but if the Ammonites are too strong for you, then I will come and help you. Be of good courage, and let us be courageous for our people, and for the cities of our God, and may the Lord do what seems good to him.” (2 Samuel 10:11–13)

This battle scene, equal to the best of Braveheart, Gladiator, or 300, began, if I may comb things out just slightly, with a man’s beard. Or, to be precise, the beards of several bushy men.

Sheered Like Sheep

David had sent several bearded messengers to meet the newly crowned King Hanun of the Ammonites, who succeeded his father, Nahash. David expressed his condolences for the deceased Nahash by dispatching these warm-chinned chums to “console [Hanun] concerning his father” (2 Samuel 10:2). Nahash had remained loyal to David — the neighboring kings kept the peace between each other. David’s delegates extended, as it were, the right hand of good will to Hanun.

A hand Hanun would not shake.

Led by the folly of suspicious counsel, the princes of the Ammonites convinced Hanun that these servants did not come to comfort but to conquer. “Has not David sent his servants to search the city and spy it out and to overthrow it?” (2 Samuel 10:3). And this is where things get rather hairy for the King. How should he respond?

He decides to shame David’s men and make them a spectacle. “Hanun took David’s servants and shaved off half the beard of each and cut off their garments in the middle, at their hips, and sent them away” (2 Samuel 10:4). He left multiple cheeks exposed.

Like sheep, Hanon sheered these men. These trees lost half their leaves; these lions, half their manes. When David heard of the barber-ous deed, he sent to meet them because they were “greatly ashamed.” The king acknowledged their humiliation and told them, “Remain at Jericho until your beards have grown and then return” (2 Samuel 10:5).

And what would David do next? Touch a man’s goat, and it’s time for court; touch a man’s beard, and it’s time for war.

Still Waiting in Jericho

In the twenty-first century, we might miss how hostile this act really was, how deeply shaming for an Israelite man in that day. If King Hanun cut off half of our beards today, it would be considered less shameful than strange. Also, not very effective — for each could just shave the other half off and still fit in with society. So why did this razor cut them to the heart? Why wait outside Jerusalem until it grew back? One historical commentary states, “What may seem like a ‘prank’ was in fact a direct challenge to David’s power and authority, and precipitated a war between the two nations” (336).

And beyond its spitting upon David’s outstretched hand of peace, consider the prominence of the beard in Israel.

First, in Israelite culture, the beard served as a sign of mature masculinity. All Israelite men grew beards; God commanded it, “You shall not round off the hair on your temples or mar the edges of your beard” (Leviticus 19:27). Beards were a facial billboard for manhood, distinguishing men, at first glance, from boys and women.

The full, rounded beard was a sign of manhood and a source of pride to Hebrew men. It was considered an ornament, and much care was given to its maintenance. In fact, the wealthy and important made a ceremony of caring for their beards. Custom did not allow the beard to be shaved, only trimmed (Leviticus 19:27; 21:5), except in special circumstances [such as great lament or distress, see Jeremiah 41:5; Ezra 9:3]. (Dictionary of Biblical Imagery, 80)

Thus, to cut off the peacekeeper’s beards was, quoting again, to “symbolically emasculat[e] them and by extension David” (IVP Bible Background Commentary, 336). Not to split hairs, but the beards also served as a sign of masculine might: “Beards worn during ancient periods were viewed with great reverence and often symbolized strength and virility” (Eerdman’s Dictionary of the Bible,158). To hack at it was to hack at a symbol of their manliness.

What of the Beardless?

The connection between manhood and unmown cheeks today has flowed down through church history, like oil running down the beard of Aaron (Psalm 133:2).

Augustine, commenting on Psalm 133, writes, “The beard signifies the courageous; the beard distinguishes the grown men, the earnest, the active, the vigorous. So that when we describe such, we say, he is a bearded man” (Augustine’s Commentary on Psalms, John, and 1 John). Or take Charles Spurgeon, who told his students that “Growing a beard is a habit most natural, Scriptural, manly and beneficial” (Lectures to My Students, 99). Or take ministers during the Reformation who grew manhood’s symbol to defy the celibate, clean-shaven faces of the Catholic priesthood.

Or overhear our day questioned by C.S. Lewis in The Screwtape Letters as the senior demon writes his nephew, “Thus we have now for many centuries triumphed over nature to the extent of making certain secondary characteristics of the male (such as the beard) disagreeable to nearly all the females — and there is more in that than you might suppose” (118).

So, what of the beardless?

Rome’s men were clean-shaven in biblical times (as were the Egyptians). When these beardless came to the bearded Christ, they not need grow one to enter the kingdom of God. They, like we, are saved by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone — apart from any strands of good works, lest the hairier among us boast. Of course, on the face of it, beards hold no salvific design, nor are they commanded. Even the shaved can be saved. Nor do beards make us men. Some boys living in basements, addicted to video games and porn, grow beards. But here we walk a fine line. Does this then relegate the beard, that ancient landmark, to a matter of obsolete decoration, of mere preference?

“If you walk according to your God-given masculinity, you are a bearded man, whether you have hair on your face or not.”

I know more than a few godly men who testify that though they try, the fig tree does not blossom, nor is fruit found on the vine. Little islands of hair sprout, but the lands never form the continent. They are more Jacob than Esau — whose mother glued “the skins of the young goats on his hands and on the smooth part of his neck” (Genesis 27:16) to pass as his hairy brother (and the older did come to serve the younger, Genesis 25:23; 27:15, 42). Chin wigs, my brother, are no solution.

The solution is to be the man God made you to be. Many today, if not most, will not have beards and are not the lesser for it. This article, with all its bearded banter, has nothing negative to say to you. We agree with Shakespeare that, “He that hath a beard is more than a youth,” but not when he continues, “and he that hath no beard is less than a man” (Much Ado about Nothing, 2.1). For if you walk according to your God-given and God-matured masculinity, you are a bearded man, whether you have hair on your face or not. To understand that statement, consider the wonder of why God made beards.

O Beard, Where Art Thou?

Why did God make men with the capacity to grow beards? Why grow beards at all, or why not give them to children and women, like some speculate of the dwarves of middle earth?

Is it not because God delights in the distinctions he made? The day and the night, the land and the water, the heavens and the earth, the man and the woman — “Good.” For centuries, he hid the chromosomal signatures in every cell in our bodies, where only he could delight in them, but he did not leave himself without a witness, even to the unscientific. He shaded the man’s face with his pencil from the very beginning. What ecstasy of Adam observing the beautiful and smooth face of Eve — like me, yet not.

“We paste false beards on women and shave the beards of men, catechizing the children that there isn’t any difference.”

This appreciation is under assault in many places today. Figuratively speaking, our culture dislikes everything about beards. We paste false beards on women and shave the beards of men, catechizing the children that there isn’t any difference. Hair is just hair. With enough hormones, anyone can grow them. Claiming to be wise, we have become fools, exchanging the glory of God for images (Romans 1:22–23) — and now we barter away our own.

That makes literal beards, in my opinion, worth having. Beards protest against a world gone mad. In other words, beards beard. They testify, in their own bristly way, that sex distinctions matter, that manhood will not be so easily shaven, shorn, or chopped by the Huruns of this world. Its itchy and cheeky voice bears witness, “Male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:27).

Audio Transcript

Good Monday morning, and thank you for joining us again on the Ask Pastor John podcast. We start this new week with a great Bible question here today from a listener named Bill. It’s the kind of question that drops us right into a discussion over how our hearts work. Here’s Bill’s question: “Pastor John, hello! Can you explain to me 1 Peter 2:11, and how these ‘passions of the flesh’ actually ‘wage war against’ the soul? How do these passions threaten the soul? Can you explain how this works? Thank you!”

Let’s start by clarifying a few words in this verse. For example, the word passions. “I urge you . . . to abstain from the passions of the flesh.” The word is simply “desires,” epithymiōn. They can be good desires in some contexts, or they can be bad desires. The word itself doesn’t decide whether they’re good or bad. What decides that in this verse is the added phrase “of the flesh”: “Abstain from the [desires] of the flesh.” But even that is not a full explanation of why the desires would be so destructive and make war on the soul. So, what does flesh mean? How does the term flesh make its desires bad and dangerous, destructive to the soul?

Two Meanings of ‘Flesh’

The word flesh can mean simply the human body, as it does, for example, in 1 Peter 4:1, where it says that “Christ suffered in the flesh.” There’s nothing evil about Christ’s flesh, his body. And so, not all desires of the body or the flesh would necessarily be evil, right? Jesus had the desire for food when he was hungry. He had the desire for water when he was thirsty. He had the desire for rest when he was tired. These desires of the body, or the flesh, are not evil.

But the word flesh in the New Testament has other meanings as well. For example, Paul uses it to define the rebellious mind of the fallen human nature in Romans 8:7, where he says, “The mind of the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God’s law; indeed, it cannot. Those who are in the flesh cannot please God” (Romans 8:7–8).

The flesh is seen as that part of human nature that is without the Holy Spirit, and is in the sway of sin, and cannot submit to God. Flesh is man in rebellion, without God, without the Spirit. So, what makes the desires of the flesh evil and dangerous is when they cross over from being innocent wishes for food and drink and rest, or any legitimate pleasure, into the service of the rebellious human self.

“The desires of the flesh become evil when they are disconnected from the will of God and become sovereign.”

Another way to say it would be like this: the desires of the flesh become evil when they are disconnected from the will of God and become sovereign or independent with their own will, their own desires, that don’t have any reference to God’s desires or God’s will. “I will be satisfied, and I don’t care what God says about the guidance or the limits of my desires. I will have my satisfaction of my desires — my way, my time, my degree, without any submission to God’s will.” Those are the “desires of the flesh.”

War for Satisfaction

So, when the desires of the body, which themselves may be innocent, become sovereign and independent of God, now the soul is enveloped in a sea of desires that are communicating to the soul continually that it should join them in the pursuit not of God, but of this world as the source of satisfaction. That is idolatry, and that is deadly and destructive. That is war on the soul.

Now, you can see this understanding of fallen, sinful human desires a little way later in 1 Peter 4:2, where it says we are “to live for the rest of the time in the flesh [that is, the body] no longer for human passions but for the will of God.” The desires, therefore, become destructive when they are disconnected from the will of God. They become sovereign, not subject to God, not subject to anybody. They are their own law. They will decide for themselves who their god will be, and where their satisfaction will be found, and they do not want God to have anything to do with it, especially as the source of their satisfaction.

“The life of the soul is found in being satisfied with God.”

And this is what Peter is warning against in 1 Peter 2:11. The reason such renegade, untethered, insubordinate, sovereign desires wage war against the soul is that the life of the soul is found in being satisfied with God. But when desires are cut loose from God and go after every other kind of idol, the soul is starved of what gives it life — namely, dependence on God, satisfaction in God, delight in God, feeding on God for its life, and joy in God.

Counterattack for Joy

We get an even clearer picture of what this warfare is like when we consider how Peter describes the rescue of the soul from such warfare or destruction. Here’s what he says in 1 Peter 1:14: “As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance.” That’s an amazing phrase. Notice that what we need to be set free from are desires that flow from ignorance — that is, ignorance of the superior worth and beauty and greatness of God, and all that he is for us in Christ.

When we don’t know the infinite desirability of God and how he’s for us in Christ, our desires will inevitably latch on to lesser things and drag the soul down away from Christ. So, the way out of soul-destroying into soul-saving truth is to see Christ and have a true knowledge of him — and his beauty and his worth — so that the soul embraces him, and with him a whole new constellation of desires.

Peter describes this in 1 Peter 1:8–9: “Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.” This is counter-warfare, right? This is the opposite of the destruction of the soul: finding Jesus infinitely worthy of love, finding Jesus infinitely worthy of believing. And so, you rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory.

This is the salvation, not the destruction, of the soul, because faith sees Christ for who he is, loves him, rejoices with inexpressible, glorious joy, and so attaches the soul to its life, the source of all its true and everlasting pleasures. In other words, we’re not in the grip of the desires of ignorance anymore. We are in the freedom of the desires rooted in true knowledge of Christ’s glory.

So, our counterattack on the desires of the flesh that wage war against the soul, our souls, is to pursue a true knowledge of the infinitely desirable Christ, and then to obey this truth by embracing it as our treasure — embracing him as our treasure — and rejoicing with inexpressible and glorified joy. That’s the battle that we fight. The desires of the flesh draw us away from the all-satisfying Christ, but God opens our eyes and draws us to the true glory. The one warfare leads to destruction; the counterattack of truth leads to salvation.

Have you ever had a time in your life that you would call “a crisis”? Some in this room might be in a time of crisis right now. I suspect that most of us — if we’ve lived long enough — can look back on some moment in our lives, some time, some season (if not many!) that we would identify as a crisis.

We might say that it felt like the very ground beneath our feet was shaking. We might describe it as our world being turned upside down. We reach for catastrophic language, as Psalm 46:2–3 does, to put words and concrete images to the tumult in our own souls.

It could be a national crisis. That can indeed whip up our anxieties. It may have been a national crisis that inspired Psalm 46. But a national crisis in the modern world — playing out far away, in the news and on our screens — can be a far cry from a personal crisis.

Psalm 46 was composed in a time of crisis, and it is preserved for us today for our crises. This psalm gives us a crisis-ready vision of God. The particular crisis that gave rise to these verses is left unidentified. This may not satisfy our curiosities, but it does show us the timelessness of our God. These words were not written for only one crisis, but many. And they are ready-made for our crises today.

Confident in Crisis

Psalm 46 casts the crisis in two life-or-death threats. The first and perhaps original threat is hostile nations, threatening Jerusalem. Verse 6 says that “the nations rage, the kingdoms totter,” and then in verse 9 we hear of war, bows, spears, and war chariots (or perhaps carts for making siegeworks against the city).

The second threat is nature. The earth and mountains, typically images of stability, are shifting. Verses 2–3 mention how “the earth gives way,” “the mountains [are] moved into the heart of the sea [and] its waters roar and foam,” and “the mountains tremble at [the sea’s] swelling.” The stable, secure earth and mountains are being overtaken by the restless, raging, unstable, dangerous sea. It’s a picture of natural cataclysm, perhaps even of end-times catastrophe.

“If God’s people can be without panic when the ground shifts, and the seas rage, and the nations rage, then we can face any crisis with confidence.”

And into this particular chaos, this crisis, these life-or-death threats to the city of Jerusalem, Psalm 46:2 says, amazingly, “We will not fear.” That’s how God means to help us with this psalm — to displace fear with confidence, to give us stable ground under our feet even in crisis. If God’s people can be without panic when the ground shifts, and the seas rage, and the nations rage, then we can face any crisis with confidence.

God of All Help

Whatever trouble comes, Psalm 46 tells us, with its first word, where to turn. Not to a change in circumstances. Not to our best efforts to fix the problem. Not to our anxious strategies to avoid pain and loss. But rather, to God.

God is our refuge and strength,     a very present help in trouble. (Psalm 46:1)

The entire psalm rings with the name of God. Verse 4: “the city of God.” Verse 5: “God is in her midst.” Verse 5: “God will help.” Verses 7 and 11: “the God of Jacob.” His covenant name, “the Lord,” appears in verses 7, 8, and 11. And then there’s the all-important verse 10: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

That’s where we’re headed: Stop raging and scurrying and plotting. Cease your frantic efforts. Be still, and bow to God. But don’t just bow; know. Know him. Know for the first time, or learn afresh, that he is God, and that as Jacob had him as his covenant God, so do we, and all the more, in Christ.

If God can handle the world’s ultimate undoing, and the nations raging against his own chosen people, he can handle your crisis. He can help in your trouble, however catastrophic it seems. This psalm will always be ready, because our God is always ready — which leads to what specifically this psalm tells us about our God. The power in this psalm is in its vision of God. It gives us God, so that we might not fear, but have real peace of soul in crisis by knowing him. Three main pillars uphold this vision of God in Psalm 46.

1. He Is Infinitely Strong

One of the overwhelming effects of Psalm 46 — perhaps the chief effect of the psalm — is that it communicates to our souls: “Your God is strong, with infinite strength.” Some call this a “psalm of confidence.” By rehearsing God’s strength, his people displace their fears, based on lies, with confidence in him, based on remembering who he is.

Which is why Martin Luther loved this psalm, and took this psalm as the inspiration for his great “battle hymn” of the Reformation, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” In the face of proverbial raging seas, and literal raging enemies outside the gates, God’s people have Strength himself on our side, however quick we can be to forget that.

If you were to try depict God’s infinite strength and power to a weary soul, how would you do it? It’s one thing to say “God is strong”; it’s another to show it, to make it concrete and tangible. How do you quantify divine strength? How do you provide glimpses of infinite power? I see at least four here.

The first two are verse 1: “God is our refuge and strength.” That is, he both protects and empowers his people. “Refuge” is defensive, a place of protection and safety. Like Helm’s Deep in The Two Towers, a refuge is a place to flee to for protection when an enemy is approaching. “Strength,” then, is God’s providing his people with the inner power to keep going. Energy and hope to keep breathing, keep walking, keep fighting. So “refuge and strength,” are outward and inward, defensive and offensive, the first two depictions of God’s strength, to help his people.

Third, then, is the last part of verse 6: “He utters his voice, the earth melts.” God doesn’t need fire to melt the earth. He doesn’t even need hands and arms. He doesn’t need a tool or laser. He only needs his voice. He only says the word, and the earth melts. The power of our God is seen in the power of his word. All he has to do is say it and it happens. Just as he spoke the world into being, and then into order, so he can dissolve it into chaos and out of existence, simply with his voice, if he so chooses. And with his voice, with his word, he can dispel fear from the hearts of his people and give them confidence in him.

Fourth, and related, is verse 9: “He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire.” In other words, God defeats the enemies of his people. No matter how fierce and strong and weaponized and terrible the army, when he’s ready, he says, “Enough!” And in the end, even as he now endures war and evil with patience, war will cease. There will be a full and enduring final peace. God, in his infinite strength, will see to it — and do it with his word.

So, the first pillar that upholds this crisis-ready vision of God is his strength.

2. He Is Attentively Present.

That is amazing, given his strength. That is amazing if you’re on his side, if he’s your God. And it is horrifying if you’re against him. Which is the second part of verse 1:

God is our refuge and strength,     a very present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46:1)

He is not only strong, with infinite strength, but he’s present to help in trouble. And not just present, but “very present,” attentively present. In other words, he is ready and eager to help. He is not only able to help when he chooses; he is eager to help. And he’s near, he’s present, he’s accessible.

Verses 4–5 expand for us what it means that God is “a very present help”:

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,     the holy habitation of the Most High.God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved;     God will help her when morning dawns. (Psalm 46:4–5)

The river in verse 4 is not the first mention of water in Psalm 46. What was the other water? The sea — the restless, raging, unstable, dangerous sea. The sea is threatening water. But now we have very different water: a river. That is, water that is predictable and life-giving. Water that keeps a city alive when cut off from the outside by the siege of a foreign army. This river, in the city of God, while it’s in crisis, is so precious that it doesn’t just keep the city alive, it “makes [the people] glad.” Even in the midst of crisis, there is gladness. There is joy, even in pain and threat. Because this life-giving river, who is God himself, is present with his people to sustain them in their crisis. Our God, as our refuge and strength, doesn’t only get us through crisis, but even gives us joy in crisis.

“God’s help does not mean that his people are kept from crisis, but that he keeps us through crisis.”

But this river and city raises an important question: where? This is a particular city which God makes glad with the water of life and the river of his presence. This is not any city. It’s Zion, the city of Jerusalem, the place God chose to be “in the midst of her,” so that “she shall not be moved” (Psalm 46:1), which is significant for us reading Psalm 46 as Christians. No longer is there a particular physical place where God has pledged his special favor and presence. Now, there is a particular person, God’s own Son.

Christians do not rally to a particular city; we rally to a particular person for refuge, strength, and very present help in trouble. And we do so together — to form a people. Which means the church is a critical context for finding joy in crisis. And this place, where God chooses to be present, in all his strength — once in ancient Jerusalem, and now in Jesus Christ, and his body — verse 5 says “shall not be moved.” Verse 2 spoke of mountains being moved into the sea. Verse 6 speaks of kingdoms tottering, that is, literally, being moved. Nature is moved, nations are moved, and verse 5 says God’s people, then in his chosen city, and now in his beloved Son, by faith, “shall not be moved” (Psalm 46:5).

Which doesn’t mean that God’s people never enter into any trouble. This psalm, with all its confidence in the strength and nearness and eagerness of God, never promises that we will be spared crisis. In fact, it assumes crisis. It readies us for crisis. And in the crisis, it promises God’s help, but not on our timetable. Verse 5: “God will help her when morning dawns.”

When Morning Dawns

In Exodus 14, as God’s people seek to escape from slavery in Egypt, with their backs against the Red Sea, and the Egyptians bearing down on them with “six hundred chosen chariots and all the other chariots of Egypt” (Exodus 14:7), the people panic. This is a crisis indeed, with no walled city, and no river of fresh water. And into this crisis, Moses, prompted by God, speaks these words his people, “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today” (Exodus 14:13). Then he lifts his staff, the sea parts, and God’s people walk through on dry land. The Egyptians follow, and so, at God’s command,

Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and the sea returned to its normal course when the morning appeared. And as the Egyptians fled into it, the Lord threw the Egyptians into the midst of the sea. (Exodus 14:27)

“For every crisis we face in Christ, and all its darkness, God has a dawn designed.”

For every crisis we face in Christ, and all its darkness, God has a dawn designed. He will help when morning dawns. Your dawn will come. God’s help does not mean that his people are kept from crisis, but that he keeps us through crisis. In his perfect timing, when the appointed morning dawns, he rescues his people from their trouble, having preserved them through the long night.

Which leads to a third and final pillar of this passage.

3. He Will Be Exalted.

Which might be surprising. If God’s infinitely strong, and attentively present and ready to help, isn’t that enough? What does God’s being exalted have to do with the help we need in crisis? Why, at the very height of Psalm 46, in verse 10, the climactic verse — the famous “be still and know” verse —why does God say here, “I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!”? How does God’s own declaration that he himself will be exalted feed our confidence?

To answer that, let’s get verse 10 in context. Verse 8 issues an invitation to the raging nations, those setting themselves up as enemies against God and his people. It’s almost a taunt, and also an invitation to any among God’s people who might be fearful:

Come, behold the works of the Lord,      how he has brought desolations on the earth. (Psalm 46:8)

Remember, all God has to do is say the word. As we saw in verse 9, when he chooses, in his perfect timing, he makes wars cease, breaks bows, shatters shields, burns chariots and siege works with fire. In other words, it is a lost cause to set yourself against the living God.

Verse 10, then, issues another word of invitation, again both to raging nations and God’s fearful people. And this is the climactic statement of the psalm. Raging nations, fearful people, “Be still, and know that *I am God.”

Did you catch that change of voice? The first invitation, verse 8, is from the psalmist: “Come, behold the works of the Lord.” But now, in verse 10, God himself speaks. He issues the invitation. He utters his voice, to the raging nations and tottering kingdoms — and oh, do we still know tottering kingdoms and raging nations!

And he speaks into the chaos, into the raging and tottering, “Be still.” Lay down your weapons. Cease your warring and deconstruction. Cease your rage and disorder. Be still, which is first a rebuke to the raging nations, to our turbulent world.

Happy to Be Human

However, it is also a word to God’s people, who hear him say it to their foes, and read it in their Bibles. Be still, church. You need not be anxious. You need not fear. You don’t need to go into a frenzy to help yourself and save your family and take your country back to the 1950s. Be still, and look to me. Rest from all your horizontal diversions and distractions and discouragement, and look up. Be still, and in that stillness, own that you are not God, and can be happy about it. You are not infinitely strong. You are not attentively present. You dare not be self-exalting. But know that I am God.

And then follows the two great declarations from the mouth of God himself, of his own certain exaltation. As surely as he is God, “I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted in the earth!” (Psalm 46:10).

Fortress Never Failing

For God’s covenant people in Israel back then, and for his covenant people today in Christ, our God’s exaltation is our salvation. His exaltation is our refuge and strength — and very present help in trouble. The surety of his exaltation is precious beyond words and gives us a place to stand when all around us seems unsure. The certainty that he will exalted is granite under our feet. It is the guarantee of our help. It is our fortress.

Psalm 46 ends with a powerful word. The word “fortress” in verse 7, and in the refrain in verse 11, the final word on which the psalm ends is an even stronger image of security than “refuge” in verse 1. This “fortress” is a picture of inaccessible height. Helm’s Deep is a refuge. Heaven in a fortress. Not just a strong bulwark but one never failing.

The refrain is beautiful in verse 7, but it comes with added force in verse 11, on the heels of God’s promise that he will be exalted. Not only is he infinitely strong, and attentively present, but he will be exalted. As surely as he is God, he will be exalted. And for his people, we have in this God, and his exaltation, an impenetrable fortress, come what may.

Stillness at the Table

As we come to the Table, we remember that Psalm 46 is not the last time the voice of the Lord uttered, “Be still.” God himself, in human flesh, slept in the middle of a raging storm. His disciples panicked. This seemed to be a life-or-death crisis. And when they woke him, Jesus was not frantic but spoke stillness into the crisis: “Peace. Be still.” And so, the calm of his own spirit settled over the raging sea: “the wind ceased, and there was a great calm” (Mark 4:39).

In Jesus Christ, we know the God of Psalm 46. And in him come together the saving strength and presence and exaltation of the one to whom we turn in crisis, and who speaks, “Peace, be still” into the raging storm of our soul.

Sometimes God makes us wait for doors to open in ministry because unwanted waiting is some of the best preparation for ministry.

By the fall of 2008, I already knew I wanted to be a pastor. It was my senior year at Wake Forest University. I had wondered whether I might be a high school teacher, so I had tried a couple of education classes. Thinking I might go into ministry, though, I also signed up for one memorable course in the divinity school, on the apostle Paul and his letters. The course was taught by a universalist lesbian. On the last day of class, she handed back our final papers and told me she thought I should consider Christian ministry. It was almost enough to convince me not to.

No, very much despite my experience in the divinity school, I still wanted to be pastor, largely because I had watched teenagers’ eyes light up, again and again, while we read about Jesus in the Gospel of John together. I came to faith through the ministry of Young Life, and then volunteered with the ministry throughout college. I spent much of my free time at East Forsyth High School, watching JV soccer games, playing ping pong, and telling 14- and 15-year-olds what God had done for me. I never felt more alive than when I was watching God use something in his word to set the filaments of their minds on fire.

After that one class, I stayed plenty clear of the divinity school, and decided to major in business with a minor in ancient Greek (probably the only one in my class to do that). When I graduated in 2008, I knew I needed more training to learn how to handle the Bible faithfully, so I went straight to Bethlehem College & Seminary, where I graduated in 2012.

Now ten years later, I’m still not a pastor.

Humility in Ministry

Now, to say I’m not yet a pastor is not to say that God hasn’t opened real doors for ministry. He clearly has. This article itself is but one sweet and unexpected evidence. But I’m not yet leading in the ways I thought I would be by now, which has given me a chance to reflect on why that might be. Why might God give me an ambition to lead, and bring solid confirmation of character and ability, and yet withhold certain opportunities to lead?

Because sometimes unwanted waiting is some of the best preparation for ministry.

“How many men have been given too much authority, too soon, and fallen headlong into the hands of hell?”

When the apostle Paul laid out what kind of man a pastor must be, he wrote, “An overseer, as God’s steward, must be above reproach. He must not be arrogant . . .” (Titus 1:7). Does arrogance feel spiritually dangerous, even ruinous, to you? Paul said the same to young Timothy: “He must not be a recent convert, or he may become puffed up with conceit and fall into the condemnation of the devil” (1 Timothy 3:6). Is anything more dangerous to a ministry — or to a soul — than unchecked pride? How many men have been given too much authority, too soon, and fallen headlong into the hands of hell?

The priceless gift of unwanted waiting in ministry is humility. A ministry without humility may seem to flourish for a time, but (as we’ve witnessed again and again) it ultimately harms those it claims to serve. Pride slowly erodes a ministry until it suddenly collapses on all involved. How kind of God, then, to save churches, families, and souls, by making some men wait until they can kneel low enough to lead well?

Cheerful in the Shadows

One of the best ways we can steward a season of waiting to shepherd is to learn to be a model sheep. Pastors worth following, after all, are always examples worth imitating.

“Shepherd the flock of God that is among you,” the apostle Peter writes, “exercising oversight, not under compulsion, but willingly, as God would have you; not for shameful gain, but eagerly; not domineering over those in your charge, but being examples to the flock” (1 Peter 5:2–3). So what kind of example are you becoming? Bobby Jamieson offers this counsel to aspiring leaders like me along these lines:

What good deeds do you do that are seen by few or none? When did you last volunteer for a menial task? Which title means more to you, “brother,” which you are, or “pastor,” which you hope to be? Is being a servant your idea of greatness?

One of the best things an aspiring pastor can do is serve outside the spotlight. Give elderly members rides to church. Serve in the nursery. Teach children Sunday school. Volunteer to serve food at, and clean up after, the wedding reception of a couple of church members you barely know.

Everybody wants to be a servant until they get treated like one. Pastors not only are servants; they get treated like servants. Prepare yourself now for both the work and its reception by serving others. The best preparation for the spiritual trials of the spotlight is serving cheerfully in the shadows. (The Path to Being a Pastor, 134)

“One of the best ways we can steward a season of waiting to shepherd is to learn to be a model sheep.”

How are you stewarding the shadows? If we could see how well these days were preparing us for the darker days of ministry ahead, we’d treasure the quiet, hidden work God is doing in and through us while we wait.

Keep the Room Clean

As I traveled with John Piper during the years I was his ministry assistant, I heard him tell some version of one particular story many times. Each time, the scene captivated and humbled me.

A significant reason I chose to come to Bethlehem College & Seminary was to sit under and learn from him. His preaching class was all I hoped for, and more. As you might imagine, he came each day brimming with some fresh insight from his devotions, eager to wrestle with us over something God had said. He had (and has) a relentless appetite for uncovering reality in Scripture and pressing it into human hearts, especially his own. Those hours were intense and refreshing, serious and exciting. I came away wanting to see all he could see in God’s word.

So, having had him as a teacher, and having admired him as a teacher, and having wanted to be a teacher like him, I leaned in all the more when he would tell this particular story.

When I was in seminary, I said to John McClure, the head of the youth department at Lake Avenue Congregational Church, “I’m available, and I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” And he said, “Well, we need a seventh-grade boys Sunday school teacher this year.” I said, “Count me in.”

I poured my life into those boys. There were about nine of them. . . . Four hours every Saturday afternoon I worked on my lesson. And at the end of that year, I said, “Now what do you want me to do, the same thing?” He said, “No, now we need a ninth-grade teacher.” So I said, “Okay,” and I jumped over a class and taught ninth grade.

Midway through that year, the Galilean Sunday School Class of young married couples said, “We would like you to teach our class if they can do without you teaching the youth.” This is the way it’s gone my whole life. My dad said, “Keep the room clean where you are, son, and he’ll open the door when the next one’s ready.”

I would pay to watch those nine 12-year-old boys under the waterfall of a young Piper’s love for Jesus.

The story sticks with and sobers me because of how much someone as gifted as he is poured into just a few kids week after week. Hours of thinking, praying, and preparing for a tiny crowd of preteens (who could probably care less how much time he spent). I can picture what those lessons were like — John, with all he had, trying hard to creatively capture their wandering attention with the beauty and worth of God. Am I that faithful in the quiet, secret ministries God has given me?

The story inspires me, though, because it reminds me that greater fruitfulness and responsibility in ministry often grow out of faithfulness in secret places.

Are You Faithful in Little?

While I traced the threads of humility, leadership, and waiting in Scripture, it dawned on me that, in one sense, our entire lives are one brief season of training for an eternity of ministry. Listen to how Jesus explains the parable of the talents:

It will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted to them his property. To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. . . .

Now after a long time the master of those servants came and settled accounts with them. And he who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five talents more, saying, “Master, you delivered to me five talents; here, I have made five talents more.” His master said to him, “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 25:14–21)

At the end of the age, he’ll say, “You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much.” Not, “You have been faithful over a little, and I have nothing else for you to do,” but, “You have been faithful over a little in this life, and I have so much more for you to do in the next.” Even the largest, most well-known ministries are small and brief next to all Jesus will one day entrust to us — if we’re faithful with the talents we have.

So, while you wait for some door to open, be as faithful as you can be with whatever work, however seemingly small, God has entrusted to you for now.

The right use of authority or power can make people glad. In our age, however, power is often immediately viewed with skepticism or outright disdain.

Of course, some level of skepticism isn’t completely unwarranted given the abuses of power in the world. These abuses have their roots all the way back in the garden, where we find that first misuse of power. In Genesis, God made Adam and Eve vice-regents over creation, but they failed to use their power in God-honoring ways. Instead, they took (an exercise of their power) what they never should have taken. The world has been suffering for their abuses ever since (Romans 8:20).

Today, when we scroll through headlines, we read plenty of stories of executives, politicians, and even pastors who have leveraged their positions in selfish and unethical ways. As a result, many people tend to view anyone who has power or authority with suspicion.

It’s absolutely necessary to identify, challenge, and rebuke sinful leadership. It ensures that people are cared for and God is honored. While many have rightly lamented abuses of power and authority, though, I do not see a corresponding celebration of godly displays of power and authority. If we want to cultivate healthy families, churches, and communities, we need more than negative reactions to bad leadership; we need a positive vision and good examples.

‘Happy Are Your Men’

In 1 Kings 10, the queen of Sheba, having “heard of the fame of Solomon concerning the name of the Lord” (1 Kings 10:1), wanted to see for herself whether these reports about Solomon were true. The queen poses hard questions to Solomon, and his answers take her breath away. She says,

The report was true that I heard in my own land of your words and of your wisdom, but I did not believe the reports until I came and my own eyes had seen it. And behold, the half was not told me. Your wisdom and prosperity surpass the report that I heard. (1 Kings 10:6–7)

Now hear what she says next: “Happy are your men! Happy are your servants, who continually stand before you and hear your wisdom” (1 Kings 10:8). The queen not only observes the shrewd leadership of Solomon, but also and extols the happiness of his people. The result of living under the wise rule of Solomon is gladness.

This kind of flourishing wasn’t limited to Solomon’s kingdom, but happens wherever godly leaders lead well: “When one rules justly over men, ruling in the fear of God, he dawns on them like the morning light, like the sun shining forth on a cloudless morning, like rain that makes grass to sprout from the earth” (2 Samuel 23:3–4).

Power That Makes You Glad

Have we been so busy lamenting the abuse of leadership that we’ve forgotten the value of leadership? Authority and power in and of themselves are good. Indeed, power rightly wielded is a pathway to joy. It might be helpful, then, to paint a positive picture of wise and good uses of authority. By casting some specific dimensions of such leadership, I want to help leaders lead in joy-producing ways and thus provide examples that are worthy of commending and imitating.

1. Humility

Leaders who make people glad do not think too highly or too often of themselves (Philippians 2:2–3). That is, they are lowly people who live among the people instead of hiding behind their privileges. Good leaders realize that God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble (James 4:6). This does not mean leaders are timid or unsure of themselves. Instead, it means that they are aware of their weaknesses (2 Corinthians 12:9), depend on Jesus (John 15:5), and consistently lean toward others.

One other note to strike: humble leaders link arms with those around them. That is, good leaders know they are part of team; they know how to listen, integrate others’ wisdom, and check for blind spots as they attempt to wisely navigate complex situations. Rather than going off by themselves to make decisions, humble leaders know how to work with others to pursue collective wisdom as they move forward. They are not the type of people who act as lone rangers from a foolish sense of self-sufficiency.

2. Servanthood

The greatest leader to ever walk the earth came to serve, not to be served (Matthew 20:28). In the Gospels, Jesus serves his people at every turn. He provides wine when it runs out at a wedding, he multiplies bread and fish when there isn’t enough to go around, and brings healing to the sick and broken. Most importantly, Jesus serves his people by going to the cross “to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:28). The King of the kingdom is a servant-king. In fact, Jesus tells us, “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all” (Mark 10:43–44). This kind of service does not abdicate its call to lead to appease unholy grumbling, but it does employ authority for the genuine good of others. And when that kind of holy servanthood begins with the leaders, it comes to mark the entire community of God’s people as we “through love serve one another” (Galatians 5:13).

3. Courage

Good leaders are courageous. When God calls Joshua to lead his people into the promised land, he tells him three times in four verses to “be strong and courageous” (Joshua 1:6, 7, 9). The idea of courage does not mean a total lack of fear. Instead, the courageous leader may have bouts with fear, but he does what needs to be done despite the fear. I remember standing between my sons and a fierce dog once. I felt some level of fear, but because I loved my boys, I overcame that fear and stood my ground.

At times, courageous leaders will have to make hard and unpopular decisions. When faced with difficult decisions, though fear may rear its head, the courageous leader presses on and fulfills his God-given calling.

4. Sober-Mindedness

Joe Rigney has described sober-mindedness as clarity of mind, steadiness of soul, and readiness to act. This description of sober-mindedness intersects some with the last point. Courageous leaders are ready to lead. Sober-mindedness adds the components of clarity of mind and steadiness of soul. When people are led by someone who sees the issues clearly and endures opposition with resilience, they themselves are better prepared to face the challenges of the day. Sober-mindedness is a picture of a man seated comfortably in his chair, facing an onslaught of criticism for his decisions or challenges to his ideas, and instead of thrusting himself forward, he remains calm and self-controlled. He knows who — and whose — he is. And he’s ready to act. After all, God calls leaders to lead.

If you ever have the chance to live through an active combat situation (I have), you’ll be glad for leaders who think clearly, remain steady, and courageously act in the moment.

5. Faithfulness

One of the greatest needs in our world today are leaders who are simply faithful. They are not trying to make themselves famous or lead the next revolution. Instead, they simply want to come to the end and hear, “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 25:23).

Someone once described a faithful friend at my church as having a “high say/do ratio.” In other words, if he says he’ll do something, you can be sure he’ll follow through. People will be happier when leaders consistently do what they say they’ll do.

6. Joy

Lastly, truly good leadership is marked by joy. I do not mean these leaders are chipper or superficially happy. They know how to weep when people weep, make tough decisions when they need to make tough decisions, and yet also laugh and smile when the world seems to be falling apart, because they know who has the whole world in his hands. Perhaps we could say these are seriously joyful leaders.

Good leaders know the world is broken, but they have a joy in Jesus that is deep and immovable. No matter what comes their way, they know that their greatest problem has been solved by Christ and that their future with Jesus is a fixed reality. And the joy of a leader very often gives rise to joy in his people.

This is what the world needs: leaders who are humble, courageous servants, are able to graciously receive criticism, maintain a sober mind, and are faithful and joyful to the end. If you are privileged to benefit from this type of leader, one who wields power in a way that makes people glad, then celebrate that reality as a gift from God. And pray that God would multiply such leaders in the days ahead.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15583319/the-messy-way-to-know-gods-will

Audio Transcript

Faith and hope — we need them both. But what exactly is the difference between them? It’s a new question today, and it comes from Kelly in Chickamauga, Georgia. “Pastor John, I share your passion for the intentionality of words. I have a question about two words in Scripture — namely, faith and hope. First Peter 1:21 says that Christ’s work was ‘so that your faith and hope are in God.’ My initial understanding was that faith is rooted in past grace — namely, the cross. But hope is rooted in future grace, specifically the revelation of Jesus (1 Peter 1:13). However, Hebrews 11:1 and 1 Peter 1:21 seem to define faith as something rooted in the future, while also distinguishing it from hope. So, Pastor John, can you help me understand the distinction then between faith and hope?”

Well, I’m glad Kelly shares my enthusiasm for the intentionality of words because I really believe words are dumb things until a meaner gives them an intention. So, that’s a good way to ask the question, and there are few things I think about more than the nature of faith and hope and how they relate to each other in the Christian life. So this is right in my present wheelhouse. I love thinking about this.

Here’s my understanding of the similarity and difference between biblical faith and biblical hope — and that’s really important to say biblical because the world has all kinds of meanings that they give to faith and hope. And I just want to ask, “What does the Bible mean by saving faith and hope?”

Hope: Future Confidence

Hope, as it is used in the Bible for the distinctive experience of Christian hope, is always a confidence concerning the future. It’s a confidence, not a finger-crossing wish. So that separates the Christian hope from most other uses of hope in the English language. Romans 5:5 says, “Hope does not put us to shame.” It is rock-solid, sure. You can be confident. That’s Christian hope, and it’s always future-oriented.

A key text would be Romans 8:24–25: “In this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” When we say that hope does not see what it hopes for, the reason it doesn’t see it is because it hasn’t happened yet. It’s future. “We wait for it with patience.” So that’s the distinctive mark of hope: it is always future-oriented and consists in a firm confidence of what we are hoping for — not just a wish.

Faith: Personal, Treasuring Trust

Now faith, on the other hand, is the bigger concept. It includes everything that we say biblically about hope, but it is more. Now that probably is going to surprise a lot of people. It’s a risky statement — that everything we can say about hope is in faith, but that it’s more. But I think that’s a true statement. I think it’s fair to say that biblical hope is biblical faith in the future tense. If you are focusing on faith as a faith that something will happen in the future, it is virtually the same as biblical hope. But faith involves more than confidence that something that God has promised will happen in the future. It is that; that’s why I say hope is in faith — it’s part of what faith is. But it’s more.

“Biblical hope is biblical faith in the future tense.”

The main distinction between Christian faith and Christian hope is that faith is in a substantial way a trusting relationship with a person. Faith says to Christ, “I trust you, not just your promises. You are a reliable person. You are a trustworthy person.” Now, that trust may often be future-oriented. We may mean in that moment, “I trust you to keep your word about this afternoon, taking care of me.” That’s faith, and it’s hope.

But in a specific moment, that trust doesn’t have to mean something future-oriented. It might mean that Christ has just said, “I died for you two thousand years ago. I bore your sins, John Piper, two thousand years ago. I absorbed my Father’s wrath for you two thousand years ago.” And I, listening to that, look him in the eye and say, “I believe you. I believe you. I trust you” — meaning, “What you have just said about the past I believe.” Hope doesn’t say that.

Of course, that has massive implications for future life, right? But faith isn’t only future-oriented; it is person-oriented in a significant way. And the mark of the relationship with the person is trust — a receiving, treasuring trust. But beyond this distinction, the Bible presents hope in God and faith in God in ways that are scarcely distinguishable.

Tasting Coming Joy

For example, when Psalm 42 says, “Hope in God,” I have leaned on this in my discouragement so many times. “Hope in God, John Piper. You shall again praise him, your help and your God.” That act — what the psalm is calling me to do — of hoping in God in the midst of my trouble is hardly distinguishable from trusting God. Hope in that psalm is, I would argue, virtually identical to faith in God as it relates to the future.

Now, Hebrews 11:1 is the place where we see this interweaving of faith and hope as close as they get, perhaps. It says, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for.” And, yes, I do think substance rather than assurance is the most helpful, accurate translation. That would require another podcast to give a reason for why that is and how the word hypostasis is used elsewhere in Hebrews. That’s another issue, but just go with it for now. I think that’s the right translation.

Here’s what I think it means. It speaks “of things hoped for.” In other words, there’s a reality in the future that God has promised and, in some measure, has revealed to us as precious — worth living for, worth dying for. And we are hoping to obtain it. That is, we have strong confidence that God will grant us this great blessing of experiencing fully what we are now hoping for in the future.

“Faith is the experience of the substance of future reality known, believed, tasted, and cherished now.”

Now, Hebrews 11:1 says that the substance of that future thing hoped for — that future reward or blessing — some substantial, essential element of it is experienced now in what he calls faith. Faith is the experience of the substance of that future reality known, believed, tasted, and cherished now.

Let me illustrate that with Hebrews 12:2. The writer says, “Jesus . . . for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame.” So God has assured Jesus that on the other side of the cross, on the other side of suffering and death, there would be a great joy to inherit. He could see it just over the horizon, and he hoped for it. And in that sense, it was one of those things hoped for from Hebrews 11:1.

I would argue that in the garden of Gethsemane, and even on the cross, Jesus was sustained — he endured — by tasting already the substance of that thing hoped for. He tasted something of that future joy that was set before him. And Hebrews 11:1 calls that experience faith. So, I would say in Hebrews 11:1 it is virtually impossible to completely distinguish faith and hope. The one is part of the other.

Faith and Hope Forever

Let’s look at one last text to show how close faith and hope are in the New Testament. Paul says in 2 Corinthians 5:6–7, “We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight.” So one dimension or element of faith is that it embraces as real things you can’t see — like the risen Lord Jesus. And Paul says, “We are away from the Lord. He’s in heaven; we’re on earth. We can’t see him. But though we can’t see him, we love him. We trust him.” We walk by faith, not sight.

But that does not mean that when we do see him face-to-face at the second coming, we won’t walk by faith anymore. Only one dimension of faith is replaced by sight. Not every dimension of faith is replaced by sight. We will still trust him in heaven. We will still feed on him as the living bread in heaven. And the same can be said of hope. We walked by hope and not by sight. And yet, when sight is finally gained, not all hope will disappear. Heaven will forever be a place of faith and a place of hope because there will always be a future in heaven, a future to hope for, and there will always be Christ to trust. He will always be the feast of our hearts.

In summary, then, hope is faith in the future tense. And everything that can be said about hope biblically can be said of faith. But faith is more than hope because it involves trust in a person, which may have a backward dimension as well as a forward dimension.

Ever heard of Elmer Gantry?

If not — or if the name only vaguely rings a bell — then you might, like many today, lack an important bit of context for understanding the origins of the so-called “Billy Graham Rule.”

The choice of the singular “Rule” also may represent two additional misunderstandings. Graham and his three closest ministry associates made four resolutions, not one — and importantly, they did not call them rules (to enforce on others) but resolutions (embraced for their own lives). Graham says it was an “informal understanding among ourselves.”

Just as He Was

In his autobiography, Just as I Am, published in 1997, Graham himself tells the story of the beginning of the now (in)famous “Rule” that bears his name. During a two-week crusade in Modesto, California, in October of 1948, the 29-year-old Graham found himself at a critical juncture.

He had been working as an evangelist for a large and long-established ministry called Youth for Christ. Now, he was beginning to launch out on his own, to begin a new work as an independent evangelist, and he and his team felt the weight of the public scrutiny they’d be under. And they longed not to become, or even appear to be, what characterized some evangelists in the first half of the twentieth century. They heard their share of stories, and personally knew evangelists whose “success” became devastating. Such men slid from one small degree of compromise to the next in their desires for money, power, and illicit sex, all under the cloak of Christian ministry and seeming fruitfulness.

Graham and his team were not the only ones aware of such stories. Twenty years before, in 1927, author Sinclair Lewis (1885–1951) — the “red-haired tornado from the Minnesota wilds,” as H.L. Mencken called him — published the satirical novel Elmer Gantry, dedicated to Mencken, his fellow satirist. The title character was a narcissistic, womanizing evangelist. And the book was as a sensation.

On the one hand, it was banned in Boston and denounced by evangelist Billy Sunday, Graham’s forerunner, as “Satan’s cohort.” On the other, it became the bestselling fiction work of 1927. And this just two years after the 1925 “Scopes monkey trial,” reported on by Mencken, as part of the growing social critique of “fundamentalist” Christianity. (The fictional Gantry would make another pop culture appearance in the 1960 summer film bearing his name, introducing the character, and his notorious lack of character, to yet another generation.)

Hallmark of Integrity

In the fall of 1948, as Graham contemplated leaving the security of a respected and rooted ministry to found his own evangelistic association, he saw an imposing obstacle on the horizon: “the recurring problems many evangelists seemed to have, and . . . the poor image so-called mass evangelism had in the eyes of many people.” Then he adds, “Sinclair Lewis’s fictional character Elmer Gantry unquestionably had given traveling evangelists a bad name” (127).

Importantly, Graham says these resolutions among the four founders “did not mark a radical departure for us; we had always held these principles.” Yet the act of resolving, and doing so together, had purpose and effect. “It did,” he says, “settle in our hearts and minds, once and for all, the determination that integrity would be the hallmark of both our lives and our ministry” (129). (The 500-word section in Graham’s autobiography on the four resolutions is available online at billygraham.org.)

First Up: Money

What, then, were these four resolutions (rather than one rule) that made up the “Modesto Manifesto,” as Graham and his team came to call it?

First, they renounced “the temptation to wring as much money as possible out of an audience.” I’m not aware of any public outcry then or today against this first resolve. Traveling evangelists had little accountability in those days. As they moved from town to town, supporters had no clear sense as to whether the evangelistic team had fallen behind on its costs, or was way ahead, and living in hidden luxury.

The temptation was great to push the extra buttons to wrest as much income as possible out of each town, like the televangelists of the next generation would learn to do on cable TV. Knowing the love of money to be the “root of all evils,” Graham and his team resolved then, ahead of time — before one subtle concession after another dulled their conscience to the danger and accustomed their tastes to indulgence — to steer clear of such “financial abuses” and to “downplay the offering” and “depend as much as possible on money raised by the local committees in advance” (128).

They wanted to make reasonable efforts, like the apostle Paul, not to be perceived as “peddlers of God’s word” (2 Corinthians 2:17) but as those who had “renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways” (2 Corinthians 4:2). Who knows what devastation, and shipwreck, they saved themselves, and others, by this early resolve to handle their finances with Christian integrity?

Next: Sex

Second, and now famously, Graham and friends resolved — expressly in light of their constant travel and being so regularly away from home — to take particular precautions against sexual sin. Graham writes,

We all knew of evangelists who had fallen into immorality while separated from their families by travel. We pledged among ourselves to avoid any situation that would have even the appearance of compromise or suspicion. From that day on, I did not travel, meet, or eat alone with a woman other than my wife. (128)

In contrast to Elmer Gantry, known for his sexual exploits, Graham and his team committed to take unusual care to protect their marriages, not indulge the suspicions of cynics, and work toward establishing a new reputation for their profession.

Then, Of Course: Power

The fourth Modesto resolution (we’ll come back to the third) addressed publicity, or truth in advertising. Graham and friends renounced “the tendency among some evangelists . . . to exaggerate their successes or to claim higher attendance numbers than they really had.” In other words, “we committed ourselves to integrity in our publicity and our reporting” (129). That is, the reporting and publicity that goes hand in hand with a lust for power and sinful ambition to swell influence. Is this not yet another resolution all can rally to?

Power in itself is not evil. And in local churches, the question is not whether pastors have power but how they use it, whether to serve self or the flock. So too with evangelists, holy influence is understandably desirous, to be put to holy use in gospel work. But deception and exaggeration, however seemingly good the intended end, poison the work. Graham and his team saw it then, before fame had clouded their vision, and they resolved to be honest and accurate. Oh, for more such “integrity in our publicity” today.

Finally: Pride — and the Local Church

Whatever the thinking behind Graham’s ordering, and whether third in the list was intended as the climactic position or not, it is no small inclusion that the third resolution purposed to commend, rather than criticize, local churches and their leaders. And especially given the particular traveling or “wider ministry” sphere of the team’s work.

In their own words, they determined “to avoid an antichurch or anticlergy attitude” (129). What troubled Graham, he says, was “the tendency of many evangelists to carry on their work apart from the local church, even to criticize local pastors and churches openly and scathingly.”

In an important sense, the resolutions about money, sex, and power aren’t all that surprising, or even probing. This deadly trio, while ruinous, does not represent the deepest sins of the heart. They are manifestations of unbelief and rebellion, but they grow in the soil of “the great evil,” as C.S. Lewis calls it: pride.

So, it’s actually this third resolution — the one that many eyes might overlook — that may be the most preceptive and profound, the most searching, the most unexpected and significant of the four: to not talk down churches and pastors.

Graham and his associates demonstrated admirable maturity and biblical anchorage in their relative youth in resolving for their new evangelistic endeavor to respect, bless, and partner with the local church, rather than criticize it.

Cherish the Local Church

Doubtless, they faced a great temptation at this critical juncture. Unproven and perhaps insecure about their own place in the constellation of Christian ministries, they might have focused on the evangelistic work local churches weren’t doing, which made Graham’s work necessary. Surely, the team heard the worst of stories about local churches and pastors as it traveled. With a prideful, self-serving mindset, it would have been easy to seize upon those, and ignore the other stories of God at work in local churches.

But the young evangelistic associates, with their emphasis on preaching the gospel, knew that faith in Christ not only creates new individual persons but also a new people. In his letter to the Ephesians, the apostle Paul celebrates this people as the church, the corporate body that has received the sovereign Christ as its head (Ephesians 1:22; 5:23), has been loved by him (Ephesians 5:25), and is nourished and cherished by him (Ephesians 5:29).

Paul himself had a traveling team, but when it came time to say how the manifold wisdom of God is made known not only in more and more earthly places, but also in the spiritual realm, he says it happens through the church (Ephesians 3:10). The hosts of heaven are watching. And not only is our God glorified in Christ Jesus and his perfect gospel but also in the church (Ephesians 3:21) and his imperfect people.

We will do well to remember not just one infamous Billy Graham “rule,” but all four resolutions, and particularly the one we may be most prone to conveniently overlook: cherishing the local church.