My father died of COVID on January 4th of last year. My mother died of COVID just 48 hours and 3 minutes later. At the time, losing both parents within two days of each other felt like far more than I could take.

The depth of the grief and shock that my brothers and I felt was compounded because we had to tell Mom of Dad’s death over FaceTime. It was the most difficult conversation I have ever had, and we are fairly certain that the devastating news of her husband’s death contributed significantly to her dying so soon after. Having been separated for a week by two hospital floors, she lost the man who loved her most without getting the opportunity to say goodbye.

I share the circumstances of my parents’ deaths because I believe they highlight the kind of man and husband my father was.

In Health and in Sickness

For nearly 56 years, my father loved my mother with a fierce, self-sacrificing love — in health and in sickness.

“For nearly 56 years, my father loved my mother with a fierce, self-sacrificing love — in health and in sickness.”

My mother was seriously ill for well over half of their marriage. When I was 15, she was days away from dying from ulcerated colitis, which she had battled for several years by that point. If not for God putting her in the hospital that had the only surgeon in the country who was capable of doing this particular life-saving surgery, she would have died.

In those many months of suffering, I witnessed my father lovingly care for her when the pain was so severe that the only relief she could fathom was to die and be with the Lord. He was a full-time music professor during the week and was our church’s music minister on Sundays. And he was always a very present father for his three sons. When I was 15, my father’s care for my mother was daily marked by a love I could observe but not fathom.

In 1999, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. Once again, her suffering was intense, and his care was remarkable. My wife and I were teachers at the time, and we were off for the summer, so we decided to take the nine-hour drive to live with them for a month. Oh, what a month it was. His loving care for my mother in her sickness remained indomitable. He loved; I marveled.

And in Humility

Lest my reflections above tempt you to think that my father didn’t struggle with temptation and sin, he did something that has impacted me even more than his love for my mother. I actually believe it holds the key to understanding how he loved the way he did.

Throughout the entirety of my growing-up years, from elementary through high school, if my father realized he had sinned against me (or my brothers), he would come to me and say something like, “Daniel, I was wrong to do/say that. Would you please forgive me for sinning against you?” My father never merely apologized. If he thought that he had sinned against me, he asked me for forgiveness.

Every time my father did that, my admiration and respect for him grew. Here is a man, I thought, who walks in humility before God and others. Even more than his fierce love for my mother, my father asking his sons for forgiveness has impacted and shaped me, mainly because of what it revealed to me about his God.

Skies of Parchment Made

My father was a consummate musician. I remember him telling us boys of the time when Stan Kenton, the king of big bands in the 1940s and 50s, recruited him to play trumpet for him. For all the love my father had for jazz, though, he loved sacred music all the more.

For decades, my father taught music in Christian colleges, and while he did that, he would also lead worship on Sundays at our church. My mother would play the piano while he would direct the choir and lead corporate worship.

This was back in the days when churches would have “special music” in the worship service. Over the many years I heard my father sing solos, the song that left the deepest impression upon me (and I probably heard him sing it over twenty times) was the song “The Love of God” by Frederick M. Lehman.

The love of God is greater farThan tongue or pen can ever tell.It goes beyond the highest starAnd reaches to the lowest hell.The guilty pair, bowed down with care,God gave his Son to win;His erring child he reconciledAnd pardoned from his sin.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,And were the skies of parchment made;Were every stalk on earth a quill,And every man a scribe by trade;To write the love of God aboveWould drain the ocean dry;Nor could the scroll contain the whole,Though stretched from sky to sky.

Every time he sang it, my heart would burn within me. This is the song that revealed what made my father’s heart tick. He was a man who saw the love of the Father written large, and he couldn’t get over it. Whenever he sung of the Father’s love, you knew he was singing “to the praise of [the Father’s] glorious grace” (Ephesians 1:6).

Fuel of His Love

Often, when I think of my father, my mind goes to Luke 7, where we read of the sinful woman who shed tears on Jesus’s feet. She “wiped them with the hair of her head and kissed his feet and anointed them with the ointment” she brought with her (Luke 7:38).

When confronted by a Pharisee for letting a sinful woman touch him, Jesus says to him, “I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven — for she loved much” (Luke 7:47). Jesus is not saying that the woman was forgiven because she loved much. No, he’s saying that the evidence she was forgiven was that she loved much.

If we say, “Summer has come, for the temperature has reached 100 degrees,” we do not mean that summer has come because of the high temperature. We mean that the evidence of the arrival of summer is the scorching heat. Or, to say it a different way, the effect of summer is 100-degree weather. My father’s love for my mother and the humility needed to ask me for forgiveness was the evidence and effect of the Father’s great love for him, by which he was forgiven of all his sins. He loved much because he had been forgiven much.

What More Could a Son Want?

Over the many decades that I watched my father care for my mother, God the Father had graciously given me a regular glimpse of something of what it meant for Christ to love the church and give himself up for her (Ephesians 5:25). My father loved my mother like he did because he couldn’t get over how Christ had loved him.

“My father loved my mother like he did because he couldn’t get over how Christ had loved him.”

But that kind of love wasn’t limited to my mother; it spilled over into how he loved his sons — into how he loved me. My father was kind to me, tenderhearted, forgiving me, and humbling himself to ask for my forgiveness, because God in Christ had forgiven him (Ephesians 4:32). He was unwaveringly humble because he knew just how much mercy he had received in Christ.

As I look back on my father’s life, it’s clear to me that he was carried by love — not by a love of his own making, but by the love of the Father in Christ Jesus, poured into his heart through the Holy Spirit (Romans 5:5).

Oh, how I miss him. In my eyes, his life was lived to the praise of the Father’s glorious grace. What more could a son want?

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15376435/boldness-in-conflict-comes-from-god

One of the best things that a father can do for his wife and children is laugh at what God laughs at.

Now, some things are not laughing matters; for instance, God’s promises should never be laughed at. He’s someone you should laugh with, but never at. Consider Abraham and Sarah — first they laughed at what God said to them, but in the end, they came to see that the joke was on them. And it was a good joke too, good in every way.

He promised them a son in their old age. It was a long-hoped-for blessing, finally given after the realm of possibility had been left far behind. But upon hearing the news, they laughed, and not for joy. And if it wasn’t scornful laughing, it was close to it. Here’s what I mean:

God said to Abraham, “As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name. I will bless her, and moreover, I will give you a son by her.” . . . Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed and said to himself, “Shall a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old?” (Genesis 17:15–17)

We’re not told if Abraham laughed out loud, or just to himself. But his laughter isn’t gladness for news that he’s long wanted to hear. He’s laughing because common sense tells him it’s ridiculous for a man of his age to sire a son.

Sarah’s Snicker

When Sarah hears the news, she laughs too, and in her case there’s no question that she laughs out loud.

The Lord said, “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife shall have a son.” And Sarah was listening from the tent door behind him. . . . So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I am worn out, and my lord is old, shall I have pleasure?” And the Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh?” (Genesis 18:10, 12–13)

The Lord asks rhetorically, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” (Genesis 18:14). Embarrassed by her gaffe, Sarah denies laughing, but the Lord won’t let it pass. In fact, he mocks her laughter — and Abraham’s too — by telling them to name their child Isaac, which means “laughter” (Genesis 17:19). As the saying goes, “He who laughs last, laughs best.”

But the Lord isn’t the only one laughing in the end. We see Sarah join in — now laughing for joy at the absurdity of her blessedness. “And Sarah said, ‘God has made laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh over me’” (Genesis 21:6). She goes on to say, “Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age” (Genesis 21:7).

When Contempt Chuckles

We’ve toned down the scornful character of laughter in our time. I suppose it has something to do with egalitarianism — no one should feel bad, or be laughed at, ever. But I think that God knows more about laughter than we do. Can you hear the self-deprecation in Sarah’s final laughter? She’s been humbled and she’s glad. Perhaps there’s a lesson in this for us: those who laugh along with God at themselves laugh best.

“Those who laugh along with God at themselves laugh best.”

I’ve had a hard time finding a reference to God’s laughter in the Bible without detecting a little scorn in it. Take this, for instance: “He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord holds them in derision” (Psalm 2:4). The Lord laughs at kings who are foolish enough to plot against him. The verticality of the picture can’t be separated from its meaning. Without the downward glance, there’d be nothing to laugh at.

Fathers, our little worlds can seem inconsequential in the big scheme of things. But they’re microcosms — small versions of what we see in the big picture. And that means that our little worlds can, and even should, reflect what we see here in the second psalm — especially when it comes to our homes, and our work as fathers. A father’s laughter should have some scorn in it.

If that seems like a stretch, let me stretch this even more. The literary character who helped me make the connection between God’s laughter and a father’s laughter is none other than Tom Bombadil, that famously enigmatic figure in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring.

Laughter of the Master

Tom’s house is off the beaten track, as far off it as you can get if narrative speed is your overriding concern. But there he is anyway, laughing scornfully — mocking Peter Jackson, and anyone else who thinks he should have been left out of the trilogy — and living contentedly between the Old Forest and the Barrow Downs.

If you’ve only seen Jackson’s films and have never read the books for yourself, you probably have no idea who I’m talking about. But I’m sure Tom doesn’t mind being overlooked by Jackson (or by you). He’s a recluse and easy to forget — even Elrond forgets about him. But if Tom wanted attention, he’d be hard to ignore, because he just might be the most powerful creature in Middle-earth. Yes, you read that correctly. He might even be more powerful than Sauron, the Lord of the Rings.

How can I possibly say that? The giveaway is his laughter. That and the fact that his wife Goldberry says he is the master. No one can catch him; he evades every net, laughing all the while. He laughs at Old Man Willow when he rescues Merry and Pippin from the murderous tree. He laughs even when he saves the hobbits from the Barrow Wight, a spirit of darkness.

And his laughter isn’t maniacal or vindictive, as though in some way he felt threatened by these wicked creatures. His laughter is delightful — and we can’t help laughing with him. It’s as though he’s gotten down on his hands and knees to wrestle with children. When the powers of the world huff and puff and charge at him with all their might, he turns them upside down and exposes their tummies and laughs. Then he tussles their hair. (In the case of the Barrow Wight, he sends him off to his room beyond the confines of the world to await the final judgment because he’s been that naughty.)

But the most dramatic episode in which Tom demonstrates mastery is during his time at the table with the hobbits. It’s the end of a long rainy day, and Tom suddenly commands, “Show me the precious ring!” Then Frodo, to his own surprise, takes the Ring of Power out of hiding and hands it over to Tom without hesitation. What happens next surprises everyone at the table (as well as readers sitting at home).

Tom mocks the ring and its maker. He holds it up to his eye, bringing the Eye of Sauron to mind, and he laughs. Then, he puts it on his “little finger,” and he laughs again. And to the amazement of all, he fails to disappear! Instead, he takes it, flips it in the air, and makes it disappear! Then he leans forward and hands it back to Frodo with a smile, like an uncle who’s performed a magic trick to amuse and astound his nephews. No one can catch ol’ Tom — not even the Lord of the Rings.

Mirth of a Father

A father’s laughter is richer and more meaningful than most people suppose. I think even the bitterest feminist can’t help smiling when a father laughs. Levity can lighten the mood and grease the gears of the social machinery. But I’m getting at more than that — I’m getting at something more in keeping with Tom Bombadil and the second psalm.

A father’s scorn can put his family at ease. When he laughs at bumps in the night, or even bumps in the economy, a warm blanket of security can descend on everyone under his roof.

“Only the laughter of a master can put people at ease — the laughter of a man of strength.”

Naturally, what he laughs at should be laughable. If it isn’t, then his laughter will be forced and thin. (Weak laughter only increases the anxiety in the room.) Only the laughter of a master can put people at ease — the laughter of a man of strength, someone who is more dangerous than the dangers he faces.

To produce a feeling of security in those under your care, you truly must know how to keep them secure. A scornful laugh is based not on self-help platitudes but on genuine strength (at least if you want people to laugh with you and not at you behind your back).

And naturally, the secret source of a father’s strength, even in the most capable men, is God himself. He is the giver of physical and mental strength, and when those fail, he is still the bedrock basis of a father’s confidence, because even when fathers fail, God never does.

So, on this Father’s Day, let’s praise fathers for their scornful laughter. And even more, let’s praise our heavenly Father for his. And like Goldberry, may our wives, like the bride of Christ, be able to say to our little hobbits, “Fear nothing! For tonight you are under your father’s roof.”

The church of Jesus, near and far, at home and abroad, is on a global mission against the gates of hell.

Under God, and by the power of our all-authoritative Christ (Matthew 28:18), we raid the “domain of darkness” and carry captives to safety (Colossians 1:13). We go to spiritual sleepwalkers and say, “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you” (Ephesians 5:14). We break into the house of the strong man, still bound by the Stronger One, and “plunder his goods” (Mark 3:27).

You might imagine, given such a mission, that God would arm his church with some spectacular weapons. But surprisingly enough, we join Jesus in destroying the devil’s works not mainly by casting out demons, or working miracles, or engaging in power encounters, but by teaching the truth.

Go . . . and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. (Matthew 28:19–20)

Missions as a Teaching War

Teaching may seem like a weak weapon to wield against the devil. Do knights slay dragons by persuasion? But in God’s hands, faithful teaching undoes one of the devil’s favorite schemes, as old as Eden and as subtle as that ancient snake: false teaching.

As Andy Naselli observes in The Serpent and the Serpent Slayer, the devil acts sometimes with obvious, spectacular opposition, and other times with hidden, unspectacular craft. Or, he acts sometimes like a dragon, and sometimes like a serpent (Revelation 12:9). As dragon, he devours; as serpent, he deceives. As dragon, he persecutes and oppresses; as serpent, he seduces and ensnares. As dragon, he breathes fire; as serpent, he whispers falsehood.

And between the two, the serpent may be the deadlier. In Eden, Satan could have terrified Eve with his fangs; instead, he lured and lied with his tongue — with his teaching (Genesis 3:4–5). And so he still does (John 8:44). False teaching felled the world, and false teaching keeps it in oppression.

“At every stage of the kingdom’s advance, the lie of the garden dies by the truth of the gospel.”

So, at every stage of the kingdom’s advance — from Jesus to his apostles to the church — the lie of the garden dies by the truth of the gospel. Teaching wins back the world.

Teaching Launches the Kingdom

Jesus did more than teach during his ministry — he healed, worked wonders, and cast out legions of demons. He attacked the devil’s domain with both the right hand and the left. But teaching was the central assault.

Following his baptism and wilderness temptations, his public ministry began when he “came into Galilee, proclaiming the gospel of God” (Mark 1:15). Indeed, the Spirit anointed him “to proclaim good news to the poor” (Luke 4:18), a mission that ever rested on the front of his mind: “I must preach the good news of the kingdom of God . . . for I was sent for this purpose” (Luke 4:43). Preaching and teaching were “his custom” (Mark 10:1), what he did “throughout all the cities and villages” (Matthew 9:35). “You call me Teacher,” he told his disciples, “and you are right, for so I am” (John 13:13).

The healings, the wonders, the spiritual authority — these were all fingers pointing to his kingdom-heralding, gospel-giving words. In fact, without embracing his teaching, the souls of former demoniacs were merely emptied and swept, inviting worse darkness to enter (Matthew 12:45). Only “the truth will set you free” (John 8:31–32), Jesus told some would-be disciples. And so, he taught.

Teaching Spreads the Kingdom

The apostles were not confused about what it meant to carry on their risen Teacher’s mission. The book of Acts records many demons cast out, wonders worked, and diseases healed, but the emphasis again lands on teaching — or, in Luke’s broad vocabulary, proclaiming (Acts 4:2), preaching (Acts 8:4), disputing (Acts 9:29), speaking (Acts 16:13), reasoning (Acts 17:2), proving (Acts 17:3), persuading (Acts 18:4), explaining (Acts 18:26).

The apostles, like Jesus, demonstrated the kingdom in both word and deed, but they were clear that the deeds served the words (Acts 3:11–16). Ultimately, it was the apostles’ Spirit-empowered teaching that turned hearts, toppled idols, saved sinners, and founded churches. And so, it was to the devil’s shame, but the apostles’ glory, to hear the Jerusalem council complain, “You have filled Jerusalem with your teaching” (Acts 5:28).

And more than Jerusalem. By book’s end, the teaching had broken out of Judea, run through Samaria, and begun to reach “the end of the earth” (Acts 1:8), liberating captives all along the way. The last verse pictures Paul in Rome — doing what? “Teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ” (Acts 28:31).

Teaching Grows and Guards the Kingdom

As the age of the apostles ended, the mission against spiritual darkness did not. And unsurprisingly, the apostle Paul placed teaching at the center of the church’s ongoing advance. Not only did he charge Timothy, his spiritual son, to devote himself to teaching (1 Timothy 4:11, 13; 6:2; 2 Timothy 4:2), but he labored to create a legacy of teachers: “What you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men, who will be able to teach others also” (2 Timothy 2:2). Whatever happens, Timothy, make sure the church keeps teaching.

“Through teaching, God will grow and guard his kingdom in lands once ruled by lies.”

By teaching the truth, the elders of the church — and, under them, every member (Colossians 3:16) — proclaim the gospel and gather new believers; they also protect the gospel and guard believers from the ever-present threat of serpentine deception, including what Paul calls “teachings of demons” (1 Timothy 4:1). Such teachings are sometimes permissive, scratching ears and suiting passions (2 Timothy 4:3), and sometimes restrictive, banning marriage and forbidding foods (1 Timothy 4:3), but they are always false and always deadly.

And so, the church teaches and teaches and teaches — trusting that through teaching, God will grow and guard his kingdom in lands once ruled by lies.

God Empowers the Teaching

On the surface, Christian teaching may look unremarkable — as unremarkable as Jesus telling parables beside the sea, or Paul reasoning with some Thessalonian Jews, or Timothy unrolling the scroll to preach again. But through the ordinary words and phrases of faithful Christian teaching, God works wonders.

When the risen Lord Jesus told Paul to go teach, he also told him the effect his teaching would have:

I am sending you to open their eyes, so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me. (Acts 26:17–18)

Through teaching, God works miracles greater than the multiplication of loaves, or the deliverance of demoniacs, or even the raising of Lazarus. He shatters our delusive darkness. He forgives our innumerable sins. And he frees his people from the power of Satan, that serpent of false teaching and forked tongue, and wins us back to himself.

So, in the church’s global mission against the gate of hell, words are our greatest weapons.

Audio Transcript

We live in fractured and chaotic times. And we also know that God’s glory is important. So, when we survey our world, and we mentally run the numbers, so to speak, to find the evidence, which side of the scale tips? Does this world bring God mostly honor? Or does it bring God mostly dishonor? In creation, and in this drama of human history, which side is winning out?

I love unique, big-picture questions like this one today from a listener named Sam in Brighton, England. “Dear Tony and Pastor John, I have been listening to your podcast for two years now, and have found it invaluable in my own personal journey toward a Christ-centered life. The key foundation of the APJ ministry is that God wishes to be glorified in the everyday actions of his creatures, and that this is both satisfying and pleasing to him. I greatly enjoy the study of history and what it tells us about the human condition. My interests are in human conflict and approaches to peace. So often it appears, however, that human history is full of violence, war, and suffering. My question is this: How does this enormous weight of non-God-glorifying acts stack up against God’s desire to be glorified? I realize that God ultimately requires nothing from us, but how can he be satisfied if, quite possibly, there have been far more God-dishonoring acts across the span of human history than God-glorifying ones? How does the philosophy of Christian Hedonism answer this imbalance?”

Maybe there’s an imbalance — but maybe not. Sam’s observation is that on the one hand, the Bible teaches that God aims to be glorified in this world. That’s absolutely right. God says, for example, in 1 Corinthians 10:31, “So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” And Isaiah 43:7 says that God’s people are created for the glory of God.

And the prophets teach that eventually the earth will be covered with the glory of God like the waters cover the sea (Habakkuk 2:14). In Ezekiel 20, several times, it says that just when it seemed that the world or evil got the upper hand, God says, “But I . . . acted for the sake of my name” — my glory (Ezekiel 20:22). So, it’s really clear from the Bible that God intends for nature and history and redemption to serve the glorification of his excellence. Yes.

Then on the other hand, Sam points out, because he’s a student of history, that the world seems to be full of non-God-glorifying acts more, he would think, than God-glorifying acts. And he wonders how I would address that, especially from the standpoint of Christian Hedonism. So let me try in six steps.

Creation Declares His Glory

First, I would observe that nature, from the smallest subatomic particle to the largest gathering of galaxies, is constantly, without pause, and in millions upon millions of ways, declaring the power and the wisdom of God in this world. Every animal, every human mind and body, every flower, every tree, every cloud, every river, the sun, the moon, the stars, and all the interworkings of these realities — they all give an exquisite testimony to the brightness and truth of the glory of God.

“God is always and everywhere shouting the wisdom of all that he has made.”

It would be difficult to quantify this and say that somehow this is less, say, than the calamities of the world that might detract from the glory of God. God is always and everywhere shouting the wisdom of all that he has made. “The heavens [are telling] the glory of God” (Psalm 19:1). “In wisdom [he has] made them all” (Psalm 104:24).

And just this morning in my devotions, I read that section in Romans 1:18 to the end of the chapter, where it says everybody knows God, and the creation of the world, all the works that he has made, is revealing the invisible attributes of God. There’s just no room for saying that God is not revealing his glory continually through the things he’s made. So, that’s the first thing I would observe. It is an overwhelming testimony, and oh how blind the world is!

God Always Acts for His Name

Second, I would draw attention to the phrase in the Bible “that they may know that I am the Lord.” That phrase occurs 88 times in the Bible; 72 of them are in the book of Ezekiel. That’s amazing.

Even more amazing is that this phrase is used both when God’s people are being saved and when they are being judged. It’s used when secular nations are getting the upper hand and when they are being punished. So, I think the intention is that in all of history, whether we see it or not, God is acting for the sake of his name, so that someday we will have eyes to see the way he worked for his name and his glory in the events that did not seem that way to us at all at the time.

God’s Glory Often Shines Unseen

Third, and this is the most clear and specific and stunning illustration of what I just said — namely, the cross of our Lord Jesus. As Jesus comes to the end of his life, and he contemplates that in the next hours he will be crucified, he prays like this (this is John 12:27–28):

“Now is my soul troubled. And what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But for this purpose I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven: “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.”

In other words, in the absolute worst, most sinful event in the history of the world, the grace of God was being put on display, and nobody saw it. God’s glory was shining. The fact that nobody saw it doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. Later, through the eyes of faith and with divine interpretation, we do see it. That’s what 2 Corinthians 4:6 says — we do see it. But when it happened, nobody saw it. And I think that’s the way it is with most of what God is doing in this world in this fallen age.

Human Sin Magnifies God’s Grace

Fourth, when we ask why there is such pervasive failure on the part of God’s people in this world to live in a way that glorifies God, and why the Bible itself is such a relentless history of failure by God’s people, not to mention the nations, Romans 3:19–20 gives a remarkable insight.

Paul has just finished indicting the whole human race, Jew and Gentile, under the power of sin, and then he says this:

Now we know that whatever the law says [all those Old Testament quotations he’s just given to show the pervasive sinfulness of the human race] it speaks to those who are under the law [that’s Jewish people] so that every mouth may be stopped, and the whole world may be held accountable to God. For by works of law no human being will be justified in his sight.

In other words, one of the purposes of the history of failure among God’s people is to stop the mouth of every human being and make clear that no one can get right with God through law-keeping, but only through absolutely free, glorious sovereign grace. So, God intends to show that humans are in an absolutely hopeless condition, and thus to magnify the freedom and the beauty of his grace.

All Will Be Clear in the End

Fifth, this leads to the observation that in the end we will be able to see the God-glorifying purposes of God more clearly than we can now. Consider two images. You’ve probably all heard these. I find them both very helpful. First, the imagery of a tapestry. I think Corrie Ten Boom used to talk about this. Now we see the ugly loose strands at the bottom of the tapestry — nothing beautiful about it that we can see, except by the eye of revelation. But then we will see it from the top, and the tapestry will be complete. It will be beautiful, with the strands all in their proper place. And that will be what history is.

“In the end, we will be able to see the God-glorifying purposes of God more clearly than we can now.”

Or consider the image, similarly, of a painting. God is now painting a mural of universal history and creation and redemption. And as that mural comes into being, we see this corner; we see that corner; we see this darkness; we see that little bright spot. And we can’t make much sense out of it as a whole, just staring at history with all of its mixed colors and shapes. But in the end, when it’s complete, everything will fit together; everything will make sense. It will be a perfect display of the glory of God’s wisdom and power and grace.

We Will Delight in God Fully

The last thing I would say is this: Christian Hedonism says that God will succeed in finishing the tapestry and completing the mural in such a way that there will be a perfect communication of the perfections and beauties of God in all their proper proportion. And God will succeed also in creating a people for himself who finally have eyes to see that glory for what it really is — and hearts finally able, with appropriate intensity, to delight in God’s beauty the way they should. And that delight will be the consummation of the demonstration of the glory of the grace of God.

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.

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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.

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Perhaps you will feel the same discomfort I felt overhearing saints of old speak of death.

“He who does not prepare for death is more than an ordinary fool. He is a madman,” began Charles Spurgeon.

“Agreed,” said the good Doctor Martyn Lloyd-Jones. Men seem to ignore the plain fact that “the moment you come into this world you are beginning to go out of it.”

But this fact need not spell doom and gloom for the Christian, Spurgeon responded. “The best moment of a Christian’s life is his last one, because it is the one that is nearest heaven.”

“I concur fully,” Richard Sibbes chimed in. “Death is not now the death of me, but death will be the death of my misery, the death of my sins; it will be the death of my corruptions. But death will be my birthday in regard of happiness.”

“When Christ calls me home,” Adoniram Judson added, “I shall go with the gladness of a boy bounding away from school.”

“May I also interject?” asked Calvin. “We may positively state that nobody has made any progress in the school of Christ, unless he cheerfully looks forward towards the day of his death, and towards the day of the final resurrection.”

“This strikes me as true,” said Thomas Brooks. “It is no credit to your heavenly Father for you to be loath to go home.”

“And why should we hesitate?” Samuel Bolton questioned. It is the “privilege of saints, that they shall not die until the best time, not until when, if they were but rightly informed, they would desire to die.”

“Exactly.” For the child of God, “death is the funeral of all our sorrows,” reasoned Thomas Watson. “Death will set a true saint out of the gunshot and free him from sin and trouble.”

“Indeed,” John Bunyan added, “death is but a passage out of a prison into a palace.”

As I listened, I overheard the most disquieting questions. “Has this world been so kind to you that you would leave it with regret?” C.S. Lewis posed. “If we really believe that home is elsewhere and that this life is a ‘wandering to find home,’ why should we not look forward to the arrival?”

“Hear! Hear!” exclaimed William Gurnall. “Let thy hope of heaven master thy fear of death. Why shouldest thou be afraid to die, who hopest to live by dying?”

“I am packed, sealed, and waiting for the post,” cried John Newton. “Who would live always in such a world as this?”

Even snippets of their prayers issued a subtle rebuke. I could not help but hear one George Whitefield plead, “Lord, keep me from a sinful and too eager desire after death. I desire not to be impatient. I wish quietly to wait till my blessed change comes.”

This proved the final blow. These men anticipated death, viewed an early departure as a “promotion.” I lowered my gaze. I rarely think this way, rarely feel this way. Do I really believe in heaven? Do I really love my Lord?

Snuggled in This Life

My squeamishness, flipping through an anthology of Christian quotes, helped me realize that my discipleship has slanted too American, too shortsighted, too this-worldly.

“Are you packed and ready to go?” Well, I was hoping to set sail several decades from now, so —

“Has this world been so kind to you that you would leave it with regret?” Well, I wouldn’t give it a ten-star rating, but it certainly hasn’t been half that bad (yet). So yeah, maybe —

“Nobody has made any progress in the school of Christ, unless he cheerfully looks forward towards the day of his death, and towards the day of the final resurrection.” Well, that’s intense.

“It is no credit to your heavenly Father for you to be loath to go home.” I see — worthy point. No credit to Jesus either, I imagine.

“These men daily lived awake to the truths I daily profess to believe.”

These men daily lived awake to the truths I daily profess to believe; they inhabited them, longing to fly away and be with Christ. Although they loved families, enjoyed things of earth, and did good in this world, they nevertheless were unafraid to dive headfirst into those cold waters of death at the first moment their Master allowed. They believed, with Paul, that “to depart and be with Christ . . . is far better” (Philippians 1:23).

I discovered then just how snuggled by the fireside I had become in this world. A place I too readily felt to be home.

Epitaphs of Exiles

My heart can live too much here, too little there. “My life is hidden with Christ,” I must remind myself (Colossians 3:3). As this world seeks to entice my affections to linger in its marketplace, I desire to be more of a heavenly disciple. And if you love Jesus but think too little of the life to come, I know you will agree. Oh, that this might be a true inscription over our graves, and all the more since we live after the coming of Christ, and the down payment of the Spirit:

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.

For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city. (Hebrews 11:13–16)

Abraham, by faith, left his home in Mesopotamia, not even knowing where God was leading him (Hebrews 11:8). He lived in the promised land before he could call it home, dwelling there as a foreigner. Isaac and Jacob, heirs with Abraham of God’s promise, lived in tents of temporality; their home was not yet (Hebrews 11:9).

“Once God saved them, they refused to unpack their hopes again in this world.”

Abraham’s eyes were elsewhere. “He was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Hebrews 11:10). And he and his sons bore the heavenly insignia in their speech: they acknowledged, to anyone who cared to know, that they would live and die on this earth as exiles and sojourners (Genesis 23:4; 47:9). Once God saved them, they refused to unpack their hopes again in this world. The land far-off — big as God’s promise, sure as God’s word — held their allegiance. They made it clear that they sought a homeland not built by human hands.

As the world tried to tempt them back, the bait remained on the hook. Better to live in a tent in this world with a heavenly city before them than to dwell in the tottering kingdoms of men. They desired a better country, a heavenly one. And God is not ashamed to be called “the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob” (Exodus 3:6). He is not ashamed in the least to be the one they so hoped in, for he has prepared for them a city.

Still at Sea

So, is your mind mainly set on this world or the next?

This world is not our home, precious saint. We are not yet in our element. We fling open the window and send our dove about this earth, finding that it returns to us having found no homeland within this watery grave. But this world will be drained soon enough. The swells of judgment shall intensify and then subside. The new heavens and new earth shall arrive, and our Mighty Dove shall descend with a sword in his mouth for his enemies and an olive branch for us.

Until then, keep waiting, keep hoping, keep acknowledging, keep living in tents, longing for that moment when we can bound away from this world as the Father calls us home.

Audio Transcript

The love of money. When we think of the love of money, we tend to imagine the lavish life of a billionaire sultan in the Middle East. We think of superyachts. Or we think of a big tech CEO who catapults himself into outer space just for the fun of it. Mostly, the love of money we ascribe to the irreligious, the opulent, the secularist living out a lavish lifestyle with no care for God.

But the Bible speaks of the love of money in very different terms altogether, focusing on a love of money inside the heart of the preacher and the religious zealot — an idol that infects even the staunchest religious person, even those who claim to follow the law in detail and with great zeal: the Pharisee. And even those who claim great religious power, like the faith healer. Pastor John made this important and sobering point about the love of money in the soul of the religious in a 2019 devotional message. Here he is to explain it.

“The love of money is the root of all evils” (1 Timothy 6:10). The ESV says, “all kinds of evils” — that’s okay. It does say, “all evils.” “It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith.” So Paul says that underneath all evils, or all kinds of evils, like Pharisaism, is the love of money.

Reason? The love of money is synonymous with no faith. “Without faith it is impossible to please God” (Hebrews 11:6). “Whatever does not proceed from faith is sin” (Romans 14:23). All evils come from this. Hearts that are more content, more happy, more hopeful, more satisfied, more secure in stuff than in God is the root of all evils — all evils, including Pharisaism.

“The love of money is the root of all evils, including Pharisaism and lawless miracle-working.”

So let’s see it. Is that true? Let’s look at the Pharisees, let’s look at the rich young ruler, let’s look at Judas, and let’s look at Philippians 3. And we can do this quickly, because you’re going to see it right away. You won’t need any fancy-dancy exegesis from me to help you see what’s plain as day in the text. You just need to be drawn to it.

Money-Loving Pharisees

So Pharisees, number one. Let’s go to Luke — you don’t need to look these up. I’ll pass over them, but you can jot down the text if you want to, or get the tape. (“Tape” — that’s not the word anymore. Whatever you call it.) Luke 16:13–14:

“No servant can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.” The Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all these things, and they ridiculed him.

Matthew 23:25–28: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence.” Sound like “Your God is your belly” (Philippians 3:19)? “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people’s bones and all uncleanness [akatharsias].”

Almost everywhere in the New Testament where akatharsias is used, it refers to sexual perversion of all kinds — sexual uncleanness. Verse 28: “So you also outwardly appear righteous to others, but within you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.” Are you kidding me? The Pharisees, the most preeminent law-keepers? Jesus says, “No, really they’re full of greed, self-indulgence, sexual perversion, and lawlessness” — meaning, “God and his word are not their authority. Their belly, their appetites, their groin is their authority.” That’s what Jesus said about Pharisees.

Not exactly the way I typically think about squeaky-clean sinners called Pharisees. So I have to rid myself of this segregation of legalistic Pharisees over here and libertine lovers of money over here. That’s not the way Jesus sees the world.

Money-Loving Morality

Number two, the rich young man. Mark 10:17–22:

As [Jesus] was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt down before him and asked him, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: ‘Do not murder, Do not commit adultery, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Do not defraud, Honor your father and mother.’” And he said to him, “Teacher, all of these I have kept from my youth.” And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.

Who’s he? What’s going on here? “I kept them all. I have devoted my life to law-keeping and commandment-keeping. And Jesus says, “Well, let me just probe a little bit about where your heart is.” And as soon as he puts his finger on money, he’s gone. Whatever else was going on in this man’s life, commandment-keeping from his youth was a cloak of the love of money. That’s what Jesus is saying.

Money-Loving Miracle Workers

Number three, Judas. Now, I’m going to Judas not because he is heralded as a law-keeper, a commandment-keeper, but because he’s a preacher of the kingdom and a worker of miracles. Here’s Mark 6:7, 12–13: “[Jesus] called the twelve and began to send them out two by two.” I’d love to know who was paired up with Judas. “And [he] gave them authority over the unclean spirits [including Judas]. . . . So they went out and proclaimed that people should repent. And they cast out many demons and anointed with oil many who were sick and healed them.”

So, Judas cast out demons. Judas preached repentance. Judas healed the sick. We know he did for a couple of reasons. Number one, if they all had this power except Judas, he would’ve been exposed as a charlatan. But in fact, they trusted him to the end, all of them. To the very end they trusted him and gave him the best benefit of the doubt as he walked out from the Last Supper. No suspicions. That would not have been true if everybody could do miracles except Judas.

And second, we know it because Jesus himself made clear that unbelievers like Judas can do miracles. He said in Matthew 7:21–23,

Not everyone who says to me, “Lord, Lord,” will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. On that day many will say to me, “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name [just like Judas]?” And then I will declare to them, “I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.”

Remarkable how that word lawlessness turns up for the Pharisees, turns up for the rich young man, turns up for these folks.

Judas was a worker of miracles, a preacher of repentance, a minister of the kingdom, and he was a lover of money. He was a lover of money. He didn’t care about the poor. It says in John 12:6 that Judas did not care “about the poor, but . . . he was a thief, and having charge of the moneybag he used to help himself to what was put into it.”

“Judas was a worker of miracles, a preacher of repentance, a minister of the kingdom, and he was a lover of money.”

He sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, after three years of watching this most magnificent of human beings love, and doing the works himself. So, not only must we be aware of segregating religious Pharisees from the lovers of money — that’s a big mistake, if that’s in your head, like it was in mine — but also from segregating lawless miracle workers from lovers of money. There’s a lot of those around today.

The love of money is the root of all evils, including Pharisaism and lawless miracle-working. So Pharisees, and the rich young ruler, and Judas.

Money-Loving Boasters

And now the last glimpse is Philippians 3. Scholars debate who these enemies of the cross are in Philippians 3:18–19:

For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things.

They have hearts drawn like a magnet to the world and not to God. That’s the description in Philippians 3:18–19. And the question is who they are. There’s a big debate about whether they’re worldly libertines or rigorous Pharisees. Paul says they’re dogs, and they mutilate the flesh. They’ve turned circumcision into a mere mutilation because they don’t worship by the Spirit of God. They don’t boast in Christ Jesus. They live according to the flesh (Philippians 3:2–3). “If they want to compete, I’ll compete,” Paul says. And then you list his pedigree, which ends with, “I was a Pharisee” (Philippians 3:5).

So, is it those folks or these folks? And now I’m just saying that we don’t need to choose. It’s a big, big, big mistake to choose between those two groups. I think it’s naive. It’s naive in terms of human reality, as Jesus sees it, to say, “I think we need to separate those two out.” I don’t think Paul would say that. I don’t think Jesus would say that.

The Pharisees love money, and they don’t love God. So that’s the relationship between Pharisaism and the love of money that I wanted to point out.

Better Love Than Money

And the last thing is the greatness of God. So Paul said in Philippians 3:5–6, “[I was] a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless.” So I was the paragon Pharisee, which means, according to Jesus, Paul loved money. He had a heart that was finding more contentment, more peace, more security in the stuff of this world than in the fellowship and faithfulness of God.

In chapter 4, Paul admits this and tells us how he was freed, and I would like us to enjoy the same freedom that he found. Here’s what he says. He had just thanked them for their gifts, and he so much did not want to be seen as craving their money. “Not that I am speaking of being in need, but I have learned” — now that’s an important word because it is a confession. In other words, “I wasn’t always like this. I had to learn this. I was a Pharisee and seethed with discontent, and craved.”

Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need [I didn’t know it once. I didn’t know the secret once of being free from the love of money and having deep, sweet, restful contentment of soul]. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:11–13)

And so, we should ask in closing, What was that secret? What had he learned? And he gives us the answer very clearly that the secret that cut the nerve of the love of money and cut the duplicity of Pharisaism with one stroke — the same stroke — is found in Philippians 3:7–8:

Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.

That’s his secret: The greatness of all that God was for him in Christ, the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus. And compared to him, he said all the money, all the world, and all the moral accomplishments with one blow have become garbage compared to Christ.

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