Audio Transcript

By far the hardest part of my work on this podcast is reading the sorrow-filled emails we get, and especially those from parents who have lost young children. Some of you who are listening are enduring tremendous pain, which is so evident in the stories you share with us. And the sorrow of losing a child is only made heavier when that loss may be connected to a parent’s own decision, as is the case in this email from an anonymous woman. “Pastor John, I have been passing through a very dark and hard time since the recent loss of my unborn baby girl. My expected delivery date passed, and I was told to go to the hospital for an induced labor. I delayed that decision, trusting that I would eventually deliver my baby girl without any forced labor needed. A week later, I was told my baby died in the womb.

“I was shattered by the news. I feel directly responsible for my child’s death. I feel God should have given me a sign or something. Why did he allow my baby to die? It’s been seven weeks, and it still feels like yesterday. The pain is fresh every day. My heart is broken. I cry whenever I remember the whole scenario. I find it hard to pray. When I do, I now doubt if God still hears me. I am weighed down to the point that I feel my faith failing.”

When I was in Africa in 1996 visiting missionaries, I met a young Quaker missionary couple who had been there for fifteen years. The year before I got there, their eighteen-month-old daughter was backed over in a car and killed by a visiting missionary in their front yard. And as I was visiting them those months later, their computer was broken, they had car trouble, their housing was being taken from them because the landlord had defaulted on a loan. And in all of that, this couple, to my utter astonishment, was radiant with hope and with the love of Jesus Christ. They had not even gone home to bury the baby. They buried the baby in Kenya and pressed on with the work.

Now, I’m very aware that this young woman who has written to us can respond to that story in two very different ways. She can be angry with me or upset, as though I were trying to shame her that she hasn’t yet felt that kind of hopeful. But she doesn’t have to respond that way to my story. She can respond by saying, “Thank you, God, that you gave to that Quaker couple such grace to survive that unspeakable tragedy and survive it in hope. I don’t feel that way, God, but I want to, and I ask for that miracle to happen in my life.” She could respond that way. I hope she does.

So, here are a few thoughts that I pray God would use to give this kind of sustaining grace to our brokenhearted mom.

1. We just don’t know.

First, we don’t know if your baby would have died anyway, and so we don’t know if you were part of the reason the baby died. We just don’t know. There are too many variables. You don’t know. As much as you feel responsible, you don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.

2. Waiting need not be negligence.

Second, you referred to your negligence. Maybe it was — I don’t know enough to pass judgment — but frankly I doubt it. I doubt that you were negligent. Millions of women have passed their due dates and waited for birth without inducement. All the Piper babies were late, some as much as three weeks. To wait for a natural readiness need not be negligence.

3. Your child’s life goes on.

Third, your baby’s life did not end. If you persevere in faith, you will be with your child in due time. I tried to spell out the reason for believing that in APJ 514. You can go listen to why I believe that. There are just many significant reasons, even biblical ones, that I think are compelling. Don’t assume your baby is dead — not ultimately and not eternally — and that you’ll never know what that baby would turn out to be as God mysteriously gives it mature life.

4. God reigns with goodness and wisdom.

Fourth, I don’t know what you have been taught about the sovereignty of God over life and death, but the biblical truth is that God is sovereign over who lives and who dies and when and how they die. James 4:15 says, “If the Lord wills, we will live.” This is why, when Job’s ten children died all at once in a collapsing house, Job arose, tore his robe, shaved his head, fell on the ground, and worshiped and said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21).

“God is doing a thousand things you cannot see. All of them are wise. All of them work for your good if you trust him.”

It is no true comfort to believe that death is controlled by the evil of Satan or the meaninglessness of chance. That is not a comfortable theology. What comforts us in death — ours and those we love — is that the all-wise, all-governing God has good reasons for whom he takes and whom he leaves and when he does it. Your baby did not die in vain. God is doing a thousand things — yes, ten thousand things — you cannot see. All of them are wise. All of them work for your good if you trust him.

5. God is not against you.

Fifth, even though we don’t know 99 percent of what God is doing in the calamities of our lives, we do know a few of his purposes, because he tells us in the Bible why he appoints suffering for his precious children. For example, James 1:12 says, “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.” Every loss is a test from God of our love for God. Our faith and love are being tested to prove that they are real and to make them stronger.

Paul said of his own experience of suffering, “We were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead” (2 Corinthians 1:8–9). God has dealt you, just like Paul, a very painful blow, just like he did Ruth and Naomi in the Old Testament. But he is not against you. He wants you to trust him even more deeply than you do now or ever have.

6. Regret need not paralyze.

Sixth, it is possible to live with a lifetime of regret and not be paralyzed or miserable. The apostle Paul regretted all his life that he had been a murdering persecutor of Christians. To the end of his life, he called himself the chief of sinners because of this horrible history in his life. But instead of paralyzing him, it made him even more effective, a more effective minister of mercy because of the mercy shown to him after his sin. He wished it had not happened, because it was sin. To kill Christians is sin. But he knew God could make even a history of sin serve his saving purposes. You can read that in 1 Timothy 1:12–17.

7. God cleanses and forgives.

Seventh, whatever measure of sin or guilt attaches to you because of your child’s death, God is ready to forgive it. We don’t know. I just don’t know — and I don’t think you know — what measure of involvement was there. But you do know this: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). The slate wiped clean.

8. God promises his help.

And finally, what we can know for sure in this situation is that God’s will for you is that you fight the good fight of faith and that you win — you win (2 Timothy 4:7). He promises to help you. He speaks these words over you right now from Psalm 91:14: “Because you hold fast to me in love, I will deliver you.” Or again in Psalm 32:10: “Steadfast love surrounds the one who trusts in the Lord.” Or once more, Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves” — he saves — “the crushed in spirit.” Or circling back to Job, who lost all ten of his children, James says this: “We consider those blessed who remained steadfast. You have heard of the steadfastness of Job, and you have seen the purpose of the Lord, how the Lord is compassionate and merciful” (James 5:11).

So, be steadfast. Trust him. He’s going to bring you through this humble, strong, wise, kind, confident.

A friend of mine recently asked me, given my 25-plus years of experience as a worship leader, “Why are men less likely to sing, or sing enthusiastically, in corporate worship?” Obviously, this isn’t the case in every church. But the question derives from a real phenomenon, one I’ve seen too often to deny, even in solidly evangelical, gospel-loving churches.

In my experience and observation, answering that question is probably not as simple as we’d like. It’s easy to assume the problem is mainly a man problem — that our men are spiritually indifferent or passive, or that they have immature hang-ups over worship songs and style.

Now, these factors may well contribute to the problem. But it’s also possible that we as leaders inadvertently may be contributing by either missing or underestimating some other important factors that hinder male participation in congregational singing. So, I’d like to briefly provide some historical context to this problem, and then I have five questions for church leaders to consider if a disproportionate number of their men aren’t singing.

Our Pop-Music Revolution

People don’t sing together like they used to. And in saying this, I’m not referring to the so-called “worship wars” of the past fifty years. I’m referring to a time that has passed out of living memory, a time when popular music was very different than it is now.

Up through most of the nineteenth century, communal singing in general (not just in church) was a regular and significant part of most people’s lives. Families sang together, neighbors sang together, workers and guild members sang together, warriors sang together, and tribes, villages, and towns sang together.

Singing was a primary way groups of people rehearsed and celebrated their shared sense of identity — their history, beliefs, traditions, and values — and passed them on to succeeding generations. It was also an important way they lamented their shared experiences of suffering and death together. And singing together was a major part of social entertainment. Of course, there were always popular, exceptionally talented musicians who would perform for audiences. But for the most part, pop music — the songs everyone knew — were composed for people to sing together.

“The primary instruments of corporate worship are not guitars, keyboards, and drums, but the congregation’s voices.”

But the twentieth century brought revolutionary changes to how pop music was made and for whom it was composed.

First came the emergence of the music-recording industry. It became possible to record exceptionally talented performance artists at a quality level people enjoyed listening to (keep that phrase in mind). Then it became increasingly affordable for the average person to buy these recorded songs (on records) and the devices required to play them (record players).

These changes were followed quickly by the straight-line winds of broadcasting technologies — first radio, then television, then the Internet — which blew away the folk-level communal singing in which everyone used to participate. In fact, the switch had largely occurred by the onset of World War II: recorded songs by performance artists primarily composed to be listened to had largely replaced songs composed for group singing.

Together, these shifts had a massive effect on how people viewed the purpose of pop music. Once, it was a way for an intergenerational group to celebrate or lament what they shared together; now it was seen primarily as a source of personal entertainment — and, almost simultaneously, as a vehicle for individual expression and generational identity.

Today, churches are among the few places left in our society where a community of people, regardless of musical aptitude, regularly sing together. But the pop music revolution has also significantly influenced how we sing (and don’t sing) in our churches.

Five Questions for Leaders

The above historical overview is admittedly brief and simplistic. But my purpose is to remind church leaders that many of our congregational singing issues, including the intergenerational tensions we experience, have their roots in these significant shifts.

So, with all this in mind, I’d like to suggest five diagnostic questions church leaders can consider regarding male participation in congregational singing.

1. Do we adequately teach men why we sing together?

In centuries past, leaders could assume most men would have experiential understanding of the significance of a verse like this:

Praise the Lord!Sing to the Lord a new song,     his praise in the assembly of the godly! (Psalm 149:1)

But we can’t assume this anymore. Nowadays, outside of a church, the only other place men are likely to sing together with enthusiasm is at a sporting event.

How well do our men understand why the Bible commands corporate singing? More pointedly, how well are we teaching them? Addressing the topic in an occasional sermon is helpful but not enough. Pastors and worship leaders need to regularly weave teaching about singing into the corporate worship time. I’m not talking about long teaching moments, but regular, brief explanations of what we’re doing and why it’s important.

2. Do we foster an environment that encourages men to participate?

One of the ways popular culture has influenced corporate worship is that our singing is now commonly accompanied by a worship band instead of an organ or piano. Now, in general, I don’t consider this a negative development. I led a worship band in a church for eighteen years, and both men and women in the congregation sang strongly.

But our people are shaped by our pop culture, where bands perform for the entertainment of an audience. Therefore, we need to keep in mind that the more congregational singing resembles a concert (dimmed lights, instrumental virtuosity, stage effects, loud sound levels), the more it signals to the congregation that they are an audience. And generally speaking, men tend to participate less in audience singing.

So, as leaders, how effectively are we fostering an environment that encourages men to sing? The primary instruments of corporate worship are not guitars, keyboards, and drums, but the congregation’s voices — male voices as much as female voices. If our men aren’t singing, perhaps we should seriously consider scaling down the band.

3. Do we sing about things men find inspiring?

Our popular culture has also influenced the content of many modern worship songs, leading to a disproportionate focus on individual spiritual experience. One thing I know is that men are moved by songs that offer communal expressions of strong affections for shared vision, beliefs, and values. So are women, of course. But when I’ve attended churches whose songs are primarily about intimate individual experiences, I’ve noticed a significant reduction in male participation.

So, if the men in our churches aren’t singing enthusiastically, it’s possible our song repertoire has a deficiency of songs that inspire men to sing.

4. Do we sing songs designed for communal singing?

Many modern worship songs have robust theological content and are skillfully crafted for communal singing. But there are also many modern worship songs that make for clunky congregational singing — even though they sound great when performed by well-rehearsed recording artists and church worship bands. The less predictable a song’s meter, and the more idiosyncratic its placement of lyric syllables, the harder it is for a congregation to learn (not to mention its visitors). And again, in general, if men feel tentative in singing, they are more likely not to sing.

On a related note, if worship leaders introduce new songs to a congregation too frequently, eager to incorporate the latest greatest, it also will result in tentative singing and a loss of male voices.

5. Do we sing songs men can sing?

This last question also addresses an issue stemming from the influence of our society: today’s popular music favors male tenor voices. This is why many Christian recording artists and worship leaders are tenors. But approximately 80 percent of men sing in the baritone or bass registers.

So, if there is a dearth of volume in male voices, we might be singing too many songs in keys too high for men to sing comfortably. This point might seem obvious, but I have been in many corporate worship settings where the majority of the songs have been sung in tenor-friendly keys.

Help the Men Sing

I realize that I’ve only scratched the surface here. But my aim has been to help my fellow leaders keep in mind that spiritual indifference, passivity, or immaturity may not be the causal factors — or the only causal factors — discouraging our men from singing.

If we want to cultivate a culture of strong communal singing, we can at least begin by examining whether we’re teaching its importance, fostering a helpful singing environment, choosing our song content well, and singing songs designed for group singing and set in helpful keys. If the men in our churches aren’t singing, let’s make sure we’re doing our part to help them.

Once there lived a young boy who struggled to obey his mother. Now, you may be thinking, What a boring story. That boy is just like every other child. And so he was — except that he disregarded his mother’s wishes for a very particular, well-formed reason: his mother was a teller, never a shower.

“Eat less sugar,” she would mumble to him, a half-chewed chocolate muffling her voice.

“Stop using the iPad,” she would say, without bothering to look up from her phone.

“Finish your homework,” she would tell him, all while the dirty dishes grew from pile to peak.

“Go and get some exercise,” she would call upstairs, never much mounting the steps herself.

“Drink water, not soda,” “Eat fruits and vegetables instead of junk food,” “Choose sleep over media,” “Give thanks rather than complaining,” “Listen before speaking” — he heard her commands. But he never saw them.

Though his mother reminded him (nearly every day, in fact) that her instructions were “good for him,” over time the boy came to believe that her rules must not have been very good at all. For if they were actually good, she would have done more than say them. She would have lived them.

Regrettably, I’m sometimes not so different from the boy’s mother, especially in one area: submission to authority.

Words to Live By

In the spirit of Ephesians, I often pray our son would embrace parenting as given by God for his good. “Children,” Paul writes, “obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.” But for as much as I herald Ephesians 6:1, I find it harder to heed Ephesians 5:22: “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.”

One moment, I’m calmly explaining to our toddler that obedience to me as his mom, imperfect as I am, honors God — and the next, I’m unnecessarily quarreling with his dad. As I do, disrespect runs across my face, annoyance through my voice, and unbelief in my heart.

I can’t choose to trust God’s will for children while rejecting his will for wives. He breathed the Bible’s every word into existence (2 Timothy 3:16), and he calls all people — toddlers, seniors, boys, girls, marrieds, singles, husbands, wives — to “live . . . by every word” (Matthew 4:4).

Not just know every word (which would be wise). Not just tell others to obey every word (which is called for). But, first and foremost, live by every word for ourselves. And for wives, submission to our husbands, as the God-appointed head of our household, is one word we are called to embrace with our lives.

To be clear, embracing submission does not mean remaining silent. A submissive wife still speaks up. She asks questions, expresses concern, disagrees. She isn’t afraid to share her heart’s longings or spirit’s burdens with her husband, nor is she afraid to tell others of marital abuse. But what she does fear is a wife’s millennia-old temptation to rule over him whom God has appointed as her head (Genesis 3:16; Ephesians 5:23).

In the wider world, God commands both men and women to submit (Hebrews 13:17; Romans 13:1). But in the home, the call primarily rests on the wife — and therefore on the mother. Given how much time is spent as a family under that roof, mothers are in a unique position to teach children that God gives authority for their good — if only we ourselves believe it to be true.

How much more readily might young children submit to parents, to teachers, to church leaders, to governing authorities, and (we pray) to God himself, if they spent a decade watching Mom lean into Dad’s leading, seek to support his endeavors, respond with respect during disagreements — in other words, if they watched Mom happily submit to Dad?

Words of Life

When our hearts buck against submission, perhaps we forget that the words we’re called to live by are the words of life. I don’t mean words that better our physical bodies, increasing our lifespan on earth. I mean words that lead to bottomless joy in our souls, whether in life or in death, because they draw us ever deeper into our all-satisfying God (Psalm 16:11). The words this God speaks are “the words of eternal life” (John 6:68).

“How honorably we treat our spouse communicates to little ears and eyes how seriously we take God’s word.”

Wives, how otherworldly it is that Ephesians 5:22 exists within the universe of John 6:68. Whatever society may shout, submission spells neither inferiority nor disgrace. No, when we lean into a husband’s leadership, we lean not ultimately into the ways and wishes of a sinful man. We lean into the perfect, life-giving word of God.

What an opportunity mothers have! Where the world would call the Bible archaic (at best) and oppressive (at worst), we can show our children that submission to God’s whole law makes Christians neither fools nor victims. It makes us happy, abundantly so.

Words He Lived

Granted, we may not always feel happy as we submit. Voluntarily yielding to another is a demanding act of self-denial — the kind of act that Jesus says is the stuff of true disciples: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). But he also tells us that death to self is the stuff of real life: “Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it” (Luke 9:24).

When a wife presses into the most difficult aspects of Christian obedience, her life will shout to her sons and daughters that Jesus is telling the truth. In the Christian life, spontaneously “feeling like” doing something is not a prerequisite for actually doing it — trusting God’s promises is. And his word assures us that self-sacrifice, as strenuous as it may be in the moment, is the mainstay of unshakable joy. How meaningful might the lesson be for children if they not only heard mom say it but watched mom live it?

And there is only one way sinful mothers can: through Christ. He does not just demand we deny ourselves; he denied himself the splendors of heaven to do his Father’s will (John 6:38). He does not merely command we take up our crosses; he took up his own cross “to the point of death” (Philippians 2:8). And he does not simply wonder whether losing your life will lead to gaining your life. No, even now — even as you read this — he is enjoying the fruits of his sacrifice. The tomb is empty, but the right hand of God is not (Hebrews 12:2). Jesus sits there in glorious joy. And from there, he has given us his Spirit to empower similar acts of seemingly impossible obedience (John 15:26).

That’s how mothers live the words of life before the eyes of their children — by looking to the Christ who already lived them. When submission feels like a cross, that doesn’t prove submission wrong. It proves submission biblical, Christlike, and life-giving, in the upside-down way only a Spirit-indwelt believer can comprehend. And isn’t that the kind of Christian we hope our children will become someday?

Mothers Who Live

If there were ever a fly on the wall of marriage, it is our children. How honorably we treat our spouse communicates to little ears and eyes how seriously we take God’s word. Behind closed doors and Facebook posts, is the Lord of heaven and earth worth obeying? Our kids know our soul’s response by heart. They have been paying close, close attention to our lives.

Oh, let us not be the young boy’s mother. She heard, and she commanded — but she never did (James 1:22–24). And though she may have deceived herself, she did not deceive her son. He knew she didn’t really believe the “good words” she spoke. If she had believed them, she would have lived them.

Instead, let us be the mother of James 1:25. This mother “looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts.” This mother “will be blessed in [her] doing.” Her life will commend God’s commands to her children as words to live by — as words of life.

Audio Transcript

We talked about holiness and good works last time, and why our holy deeds are not filthy rags. That’s a common myth that needs to die. And we’re back on the topic of purpose, looking at what it means to be successful in our 9-to-5 jobs. That’s because today in our Bible-reading plan we read Proverbs 16:3 together: “Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” That makes me think about work. And I know many of you listen to this podcast on your drive in to work in the morning, so this seems especially relevant right now. We’ve focused several podcast episodes on careers and calling, overworking, laziness, purpose and personal productivity — all those things we’ve covered, and for that see the APJ book on pages 67–94.

We get so many questions here because we don’t want to waste our lives. And that means we don’t want to waste our jobs. We invest so much of our lives at work, and it’s a place to pursue excellence. But why? And how? To what level? What does success look like here, on the jobsite and in the office? The question to get us started is from Dylan. “Hello, Pastor John. In Colossians 3:22–24, Paul exhorts his readers to ‘work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.’ Does this mean that any work not done in excellence is sinful? And how do we apply God’s view of work to cleaning our house, writing a paper for school, or working a 9-to-5 job? I have been feeling guilty about the way I handle these things for months now, and I’m not sure if I’m just being lazy, self-righteous, or am I disobeying the Lord?”

The first thing, with regard to his guilt, or feeling guilty, is that the Bible handles guilt in two ways — and both are very important, not just one. One is the blood of Jesus that covers all our sin, including how we do our work (and none of us does our work as well as we could; we’re always falling short of the ideal). One is the blood of Jesus that cancels our guilt. And the other is to resolve to walk and work faithfully before the Lord in the freedom of that forgiveness.

If we try to use the blood of Jesus as a free pass to walk in sin, our conscience will rise up and protest, thank God. And if we try to walk in faithfulness and obedience without relying on the blood of Jesus for forgiveness and enablement, we will either fail in despair or we will look like we succeed and become proud. It’s the two together — the blood of Jesus and the resolve of walking and working faithfully, obediently — that’s the key to the peaceful life of being forgiven before God and being vigilant over our hearts and minds as we go about our daily tasks.

So, what is God’s will for how we should do our ordinary work? And then in particular, what does working “as for the Lord” mean in Colossians 3:23? Let’s get the bigger picture first.

Before the Face of God

In the Bible, God makes a total, absolute claim on our lives, all of our lives — including all of our work of whatever kind. Everything in our lives is to be done before the face of God — in reliance upon God’s grace, according to God’s guidance, for God’s glory.

Listen to these amazing passages. This is Colossians 3:17: “Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Isn’t that amazing? Every word, every deed “in the name of the Lord Jesus.” Or 1 Corinthians 10:31: “Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” Or Proverbs 3:5–6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways” — all your ways — “acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” Or Proverbs 16:3: “Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” Or one of my favorites, from Romans 14 (just because it’s so amazingly sweeping in calling us to live Godward lives):

The one who observes the day, observes it in honor of the Lord. The one who eats, eats in honor of the Lord, since he gives thanks to God, while the one who abstains, abstains in honor of the Lord and gives thanks to God. For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living. (Romans 14:6–9)

Amazing. I love it. Oh, how I want to live to the Lord, before the Lord, always with reference to the Lord. All those texts have one basic message: We belong to God. We are not our own. Everything we do, from morning till night, is to be done in a Godward way, before his face — in reliance on his grace, guided by his will, aiming to make him look magnificent and glorious as our all-satisfying treasure. That’s what work is for. That’s what all of life is for.

And I don’t know whether Dylan knows my book Don’t Waste Your Life, but there’s a chapter called “Making Much of Christ from 8 to 5,” which tries to grapple with, How do you go about doing your daily work so as not to waste what it’s for?

How Do We Work?

Now, just a few words about Colossians 3. Here’s the text that Dylan is exercised about. It’s got the phrase in it, “work . . . as for the Lord and not for men.” It goes like this: “Bondservants, obey in everything those who are your earthly masters, not by way of eye-service, as people-pleasers, but with sincerity of heart, fearing the Lord. Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord.” As for the Lord. So, work “as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ” (Colossians 3:22–24).

“Everything we do, from morning till night, is to be done in a Godward way, before his face.”

So, work “as for the Lord.” And Paul modifies this command in five ways so we can know — there’s not much doubt here — how Paul thinks about this. There are five modifiers to what he means by “as for the Lord.”

1. Not to be done with “eye-service,” as men-pleasers: That is, you’re not just angling to impress others when you do your work. God, not others, is the one you have in view. You’re working in a Godward way first, not a manward way.

2. The opposite of eye-service is “sincerity,” he says. In other words, you really mean the good that your work is aiming to do. The work is not to impress others. The work is what it is. It’s for the good of others.

3. “Fearing the Lord”: in other words, fearing displeasing the Lord — having a reverential desire to please the Lord in the way you do your work.

4. Working “heartily”: literally “from the soul” — that is, not half-heartedly but putting your whole self into it.

5. Expecting a great reward from the Lord: Even if man gives you nothing for it, that doesn’t matter in the end. What matters in the end is that you’re going to get totally overabundance — a poured-down, pressed-together, overflowing-in-your-lap reward from the Lord.

Now, all five of those guidelines for how we do our work for the Lord are given to us not because the Lord needs our work. He doesn’t. Acts 17:25: “[God is not] served by human hands, as though he needed anything.” God doesn’t need our work. That’s not the point. Paul gave us these instructions because this will bring the greatest joy to us when we work this way, and it will show that God is our greatest treasure.

The walk to school from our back door takes 195 seconds, give or take. This means our morning story has to hit its narrative climax somewhere around two minutes, leaving a solid minute for the dénouement, or a minute to set up for the next installment of the escapades of George, the renegade alley cat, and Mrs. CluckCluck, our neighbor’s hen.

Our walk-to-school micro stories, though hardly long enough for the dignifying label of story, are the most anticipated part of our morning routine. My daughters are drawn to these scrappy sidewalk episodes both because of their own nature as story-formed beings and because of the nature of stories to delight and direct us. But the compelling power of stories is double edged: that stories draw us in should give us pause as parents to take care with the models we offer our children.

Story-Formed Beings

In an attempt to get at the essence of our love for stories, we could begin with the sweeping narrative model that teaches us who we are and that forms our expectations for what is and what might be. We can root our love of story in what Kevin DeYoung has called the “biggest story,” or Scripture’s archetypal story.

What we call “redemptive history” is, at its essence, a narrative arc from creation through the fall, through covenants and disobediences and exiles, to Christ’s incarnation, his atoning death and triumphant resurrection, his ascension, the launch of the early church and its growth with the spread of the gospel — all of which look forward to the consummation of time in Christ’s return, his final judgment, and the creation of a new heavens and earth. Because redemptive history’s claims encompass all of reality — and give reality a beginning, middle, and ever-after end — Scripture sets expectations for what it means for a story to be a story. It offers a framework for plot itself by establishing a setting, introducing a problem, and developing the rising tension into a climax from which all possible resolution follows.

Scripture’s redemptive story arc hardly means that all stories ought to end or develop the same way, but the storied-ness of redemptive history provides an explanation for what we could call “narrative hunger” — a deep suspicion that nothing in this world is static and a hopeful anticipation that anything and everything might move along such an arc.

Because the Bible’s redemptive narrative encompasses all of human history, we know we can find ourselves somewhere along its immense story arc — somewhere deep in the growth of the global church. And our placement within this larger story teaches us, in part, to make sense of who we are. This expansive narrative, however, also echoes in each individual experience of turning from sin toward God in a life transformed by the gospel. Thus, while we encounter redemption as one massive story, we also experience it as countless little stories of justification, sanctification, and glorification.

Making Like Our Maker

The shape and significance of redemptive history is but one way to explain how we are story-formed. We could also probe the doctrine of creation, for example, to connect our status as creatures to our capacity and desire to create stories. God authors reality as its Creator. In an analogous way, J.R.R. Tolkien argues, we as sub-creators make worlds out of words. Although fictional worlds display massive creativity, they cannot free themselves from the ethical and even theological logic of the world God has made since, at a minimum, they are authored and read by humans who live in God’s world. In other words, whether authors choose to embrace or defy the moral underpinning of reality, that foundation is always there like an open question in any work: How does this story stand against reality?

Instead, if stories are made by humans who are made by God, who, in turn, frames reality, then authors can offer beauty, goodness, and truth in a host of invented worlds — and readers, in turn, will be able to recognize and be surprised by the familiar good, even if the encounter looks wildly different. Thomas Austin captures the deep moral transfer from God’s created world to fictional worlds in his song lyric, “Just because it didn’t happen doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” While places or characters might be “invented” as opposed to “historical,” the significance or meaning of actions, motives, and events are not “made up” but rather carried over from our world to another world.

Moral and theological truths are not, meanwhile, merely politely present in fictional worlds; they tend to leap out and trounce us. In his recent Rabbit Room newsletter, Andrew Peterson recalls in stories a “great power to tell the truth beautifully.” It is perhaps no surprise that we tend to use violent verbs to describe the experience of reading such literature: “That last chapter really got me.” “It arrested my attention.” “I was seized by that scene.” “Her sacrifice struck me.” The violent language is not merely hyperbole; metaphors acknowledge the great power in stories to compel our hearts and minds to behold truth.

Powerful Models

But stories’ great power is not limited to making us feel deep in our bones only what is good, lovely, right, pure, excellent, admirable, praiseworthy. Stories tend to make compelling whatever they present. Much of the power of stories comes from their ability to help us see, in magnified terms, what had become small and commonplace to us. Stories linger and extrapolate. And that act of taking time creates and stages compelling models for us, training our desires.

“Stories tend to make compelling whatever they present.”

While I argued earlier that stories cannot “free” themselves from God’s moral universe as creations of God’s creation (humans), stories (and the worlds they offer) absolutely can war against God’s moral framing of the world or proliferate seductive alternatives, much in the way God’s creatures can rebel against him, suppress his truth in unrighteousness, and cast about for anything else to satisfy.

So yes, Thomas Austin is delightfully right: “Just because it didn’t happen doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” But buyer beware: just because it didn’t happen doesn’t mean it is true. And all those marvelous, sympathetic things that didn’t happen tend to compel us both when they are morally true and when they are not. Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene is a sustained defense of the positive moral and theologically formative power of stories, but Spenser is all too aware of stories’ power as “painted forgeries”: his villain in book 1 is a powerful artificer — a “maker-upper” — named Archimago, and he is out to destroy Redcrosse, the knight of holiness, with every compelling fiction he can conjure.

Hold Fast Through Fiction

As parents, it can often feel overwhelming to meet the basic needs of our children. If children are so drawn to stories and if stories are so formative, the risks feel considerably higher as we gather stories to feed their hearts and minds. And our expectations are high; we care not only about the vitality of our children’s moral imagination (what is good in the world and how to order our lives in the pursuit of it), but we also care for their theological imaginations (God as the greatest good to pursue). So, how might we as parents eager to give good gifts to our children distinguish between the less-than-obvious scorpion-versus-eggs stories?

One of my go-to questions is to ask, “What does this story want me to want?” Stories appeal to our imitative natures as humans made in the image of God by offering us all kinds of models, and these models are often sympathetic and deeply knowable. When fictional characters offer us their interior monologues and very thoughts through an omniscient narrator, such access gives us a profound opportunity to see the world through their eyes: an Anne of Green Gables and her quest for bosom friends, for example, or Robin Hood and his ethics of theft from noble Norman thieves.

This intimacy with characters, in turn, raises the question, “What kind of a world does this character offer me, and how does the story as a whole react to the desires of any given character?” For example, Kenneth Grahame’s Mr. Toad has an inexhaustibly high opinion of himself, but the rest of the woodland creatures (and the narrator) reject it, and when they can’t reform it, they reprove it, often by a humor that judges it.

With our children, we can take a story as a whole or characters one by one to weigh what kinds of actions, motives, and events are held up to be good, lovely, right, pure, excellent, or admirable. Practice fitting names to their reactions to the logic and lore of fictional worlds. My parents used to pray nightly over my siblings and me that the Lord would give us the grace to hate what is evil and cling to what is good (Romans 12:9), and then they gave us ten thousand fictional friends to love and with whom to explore what it might mean to hold fast.

When it comes to confessing our sins, many Christians fall into one of two errors — both of which steal joy, disrupt peace, and undermine assurance.

On one side are those we might call non-confessors, Christians who rarely confess specific sins to God. Maybe the reason is theological: “Christ has already covered all my sins, so why keep confessing them?” Or maybe, having a thin grasp of grace, they cannot endure the exposure and shame confession brings. Or maybe they simply don’t take the time to pause, examine themselves, and bring their sins before God. Either way, they seldom say anything like, “Father, I have lusted” — or gossiped, envied, overeaten, fumed — “and I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

On the other side (a side I know well) are those we might call repeat confessors, Christians who bring the same moment again and again before God, repeatedly asking for forgiveness. They sin, they feel conviction, they confess — yet they still feel unforgiven. So, they confess again a little later, and then again, perhaps three or four (or more) times, just to be safe and sure. As often as not, however, their repeated confessions do little to blunt the sharp blade of conviction. Their guilt is a demon only time can cast out.

To both kinds of Christians, Psalm 32 speaks a needed and blessed word. “Confess,” it says to the first group, “and receive again the gift of God’s pardon.” “Confess once,” it says to the second group, “and listen for the shouts of God’s mercy.”

Following the psalm, we might describe healthy confession in four parts: Heed God’s hand. Name your sins. Receive God’s forgiveness. Be glad in him.

1. Heed God’s Hand

Day and night your hand was heavy upon me. (Psalm 32:4)

Psalm 32 sings of sins forgiven and guilt forgotten, of a King who reigns in grace and welcomes sinners with favor. But early in the psalm, David also laments the sorrows of those who, for whatever reason, refuse to walk through the only door that leads to such joys: confession. Looking back to his own season of unconfessed sin, David writes, “I kept silent” (Psalm 32:3). And what a miserable silence it was.

David doesn’t share his specific sin with us, nor does he say how long his silence lasted. But he does tell us that his unconfessed sin began sabotaging both soul and body, turning his bones brittle and sapping his strength, dogging him by day and lying down with him at night (Psalm 32:3–4). The Lord’s hand lay heavy upon him.

You likely know something of the feeling. A shameful comment escapes your mouth, maybe, or a twisted thought tempts you into dark places, or a session of scrolling sends you spiraling into jealousy or self-pity. For an hour, a few minutes, even a moment, you turn away from your God. Then guilt rises — but you immediately smother the feeling. No, you say to yourself, that wasn’t sin. Or maybe Yes, it was sin, but let’s just move on. But you can’t move on. Time passes. Conscience presses. Attention fails. Sleep flees. “Your hand was heavy upon me” (Psalm 32:4).

And then you remember: this hand, this heaviness, is mercy. Your offended God has not left you alone, has not handed you over and allowed sin to sear your conscience. He disturbs you because he loves you. He disrupts your peace to remind you of your disrupted communion with him — and to invite you back. He calls you to confess.

“Confession is God’s own gift for restoring communion with God.”

Some, to be sure, suffer from an overactive conscience that smites them when God does not. For such Christians, distinguishing between God’s hand and their own hand (or Satan’s hand, for that matter) takes wisdom and counsel from others. But many of us, especially those who confess sin less often, can learn from David to heed God’s hand, however lightly or heavily it rests upon us. And we can let that hand lead us to what David does next.

2. Name Your Sins

I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” (Psalm 32:5)

David may have remained silent in his sin for far too long, but once he opens his mouth, he does not hold back. In a single verse, David uses three groups of three to press upon us the honesty and earnestness of his confession.

Note, first, the threefold repetition of my: “my sin . . . my iniquity . . . my transgressions.” Whatever the extenuating circumstances, and whoever else may have been guilty as well, David knows that his sins are his, and so he owns them without excuse. In an echo of Nathan’s rebuke, he says before God, “I am the man” (2 Samuel 12:7).

Second, consider the three words he attaches to his deeply personal guilt: sin, iniquity, and transgressions. David would not (as we so often do) call sexual immorality “stumbling,” or hatred “irritation,” or lies “mistakes.” He takes biblical words upon his lips and names his guilt as God does. Many have described confession as agreeing with God about our sin — and so David does here. Each word is blunt, humbling, unvarnished, and true.

Third, observe the three ways David describes his speech toward God: “I acknowledged . . . I did not cover . . . I will confess.” He does not mumble his “I’m sorry”; he does not address God distractedly. Instead, he fully, freely, and thoughtfully exposes his heart before God.

A confession like David’s might be short or long; it might take many words or few. The specifics will depend, in part, on the severity of our sin and the length of our silence. But whether short or long, the key is to look our sin full in the face and confess its ugliness outright. David deals seriously with his sin here. And he discovers, as Charles Spurgeon once said, “When we deal seriously with our sin, God will deal gently with us.”

3. Receive God’s Forgiveness

You forgave the iniquity of my sin. (Psalm 32:5)

David has now confessed. He has ended his stubborn silence, bowed his weary head, and named his sins before God. And then, into the quiet of his confession comes a response as stunning as it is simple: “You forgave.” God forgave — just like that? Just like that the heavy hand was lifted? Yes, just like that. David may have waited to confess; God did not wait to forgive.

We know from David’s other psalms (like Psalm 51) that some time may pass before we feel fully forgiven. We also know from David’s life that God’s forgiveness does not always remove deeply painful consequences (as with Bathsheba and Uriah). But in this psalm, David would have us remember and embrace the promise almost too wonderful to be true: God is ready to forgive as quickly as we confess. He needs no long penance; he requires no probation. Our confession and his pardon belong in the very same verse (Psalm 32:5).

The brief end of verse 5 — “you forgave the iniquity of my sin” — pithily stresses the point. But for those prone to linger in guilt even after earnest, open confession, David captures God’s forgiveness from several other angles as well. Indeed, as varied as Scripture is in its vocabulary of human evil (sin, iniquity, transgressions, and more), we find just as many descriptions of divine mercy.

“David may have waited to confess; God did not wait to forgive.”

If we feel burdened, heavy laden with guilt, he forgives (a word that means “to carry away”). If our sin seems to stand boldly before us, he covers it (Psalm 32:1). If we cannot forget our former failures, he pledges not to count them as we do (Psalm 32:2). When we feel exposed, he is our hiding place; when endangered, he preserves us; when besieged with accusations, he surrounds us with shouts of deliverance (Psalm 32:7).

We have no guilt for which God has not a corresponding grace. For in Jesus Christ (the Messiah David hoped in but didn’t yet know by name), God has forever out-mercied our sin.

4. Be Glad in Him

Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart! (Psalm 32:11)

David, freshly forgiven, ends his psalm with a shout of joy. And anyone who has felt deep guilt wiped clean can understand why: the forgiveness of sin brings a greater freedom than any prisoner has felt upon release, even if confined for life. Yet consider David’s final line closely, and you will see that his highest joy comes from something even greater than forgiveness.

A forgiven husband rejoices not simply in the absence of guilt but in the restored presence of his wife. A forgiven friend gives thanks not only for those words, “I forgive you,” but for the ensuing days of lost friendship found. And a forgiven Christian sings not merely of a clean conscience but of a reconciled God. We are “glad,” David says — in forgiveness, yes, but far more deeply “in the Lord” (Psalm 32:11).

Confession, in other words, is God’s own gift for restoring communion with God. Confession is a doorway out of misery, the prodigal’s path home, a river that looks black as death but lifts us onto brighter shores.

If we believe as much, then we will quickly heed the hand of God that bends us to our knees. We will name our sins, starkly and thoughtfully and without excuse. We will receive God’s forgiveness, believing him to be as good as he says and as kind as he promises. And we will be glad in him, the God who condemned our sin at the cross and now delights to cast it from us as far as east from west.

I hesitate to say this as a missions pastor, but I’m a pretty locally minded guy. I’m naturally inclined to pay attention to the people, places, and tasks at the tip of my nose. Faraway friends and places become far too easily out of sight, out of mind. I’m often more interested in the happenings of the city council meeting than the breaking world news on BBC.

Perhaps you resonate. Perhaps, like me, you are a nearsighted Christian trying to keep your eyes on what seems like a distant mission. You know God has called the church to make disciples of all nations, yet you have trouble connecting your daily life with this remote work. A host of important and immediate concerns push the peoples of the world to the periphery of your prayers and attention.

The church, by the very nature of her mission, is to be attentive to global gospel advancement (Matthew 28:18–20; Acts 1:8). But how can we stay excited about God’s work among all peoples? How might we keep the needs of the nations before our churches, our families, and our own souls?

Reflect on the Glory of God

First things first: we won’t be concerned with God’s globe if we aren’t concerned with God’s glory. Right thinking about the nations begins with right thinking about God. Believers don’t ultimately become world Christians by watching more news and spending more time in the ethnic food market. We become world Christians when we encounter the God who deserves and demands worldwide worship.

The psalmist summons the people of God to “declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples” (Psalm 96:3). Why? “For great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised” (Psalm 96:4). The logic of these two verses is simple: God’s people are to proclaim his glory all over the planet because his greatness compels it.

God is so glorious — so deserving of worship — that the praise of one people group is simply not sufficient. Our God is not like the petty pagan gods of the nations who supposedly rule over limited parts of creation (like the rain god or the god of fertility). Rather, he reigns as King over all creation and all nations (Psalm 47:7–8). Therefore, it is fitting for the infinite depth of God’s greatness and beauty to be magnified by a diversity of worshipers. We appreciate the voice of a gifted solo singer, but there is something especially magnificent when a multitude of voices comes together in glorious harmony. Similarly, God shows off his supremacy by patchworking together a multiethnic quilt of people who are joyfully committed to his praise.

And when we see God as he truly is, it will grieve us to watch the nations run after worthless idols (Psalm 96:5). We will long to see a multitude of idolaters from every place on the planet exchange their images in order to join the everlasting song of the one true God.

Read with Global Glasses

The theme of God’s glory among the nations permeates the pages of Scripture. As you work through your Bible-reading plan, take note of how many passages relate to God’s promises for the nations. When we read with global glasses, we discover that Christ’s commission in Matthew 28 is not the start of God’s heart for the nations but the extension of his ancient redemptive plan.

We see in the first pages of Scripture that God intended to fill the earth with people who image him rightly (Genesis 1:26–28). Even after the fall, God remained committed to blessing all the families of the earth through his promised offspring (Genesis 12:3). Throughout Israel’s history, God revealed that this particular ethnic group would be the means by which he saves all nations (1 Kings 8:43, 60; Psalm 67:2; 72:8–11; 96:1–13). And when Israel failed, the prophets left us with the hope of a coming Davidic King who would bring salvation to the ends of the earth (Isaiah 49:6).

At the end of the Gospels, this messianic King spilled his blood to purchase a people from every tribe and tongue. Then he recommissioned his new people (the church) to fill the earth with disciples of Jesus, which begins to unfold in the remaining books of the New Testament.

“We won’t be concerned with God’s globe if we aren’t first concerned with God’s glory.”

As you regularly open the Scriptures with your family, small group, or church, draw attention to the global references along the way. Don’t let your kids miss the fact that Romans is a missionary-support letter. Remind your small group that Philippians is a missionary thank-you note. Draw your church into the eschatological excitement of Revelation 7, when we will worship the slain but risen Lamb alongside brothers and sisters from every tribe and tongue and people and nation.

Personalize the Needs of the Nations

How do we move from scriptural awareness to real-life application? Many believers have begun to pray for the nations using resources like Operation World, Joshua Project, or (the more recent) Stratus Index. As valuable and informative as these are, the content they provide may feel theoretical and impersonal to some of us. If you are anything like me, the data can paralyze you. Should I pray for the Kanura tribes of Nigeria or the Kahar of India? Do I focus on the unreached, the unengaged, or the persecuted?

If the overwhelming amount of information discourages you, I’d encourage you to shift your attention to peoples and places to whom you have a natural and specific connection. In other words, personalize the global needs. Instead of trying to blanket the whole globe in prayer, familiarize yourself with one region of the world that you, your family, or your church have some personal ties to or interest in.

Consider rekindling friendships with foreign believers whom you crossed paths with at some point. Did your family ever host an exchange student? Has your church cared for a particular immigrant population? Leverage these connections and capitalize on modern technology to revive relationships, and see how this might lead to more inspired involvement in the missionary cause.

Another way to make global missions personal is to simply reflect on the cultures or places that interest you. Were you fascinated by the people group you read about in a recent missionary biography? Do you frequently eat a particular ethnic food? Do you enjoy entertainment or art from someplace where the gospel has never gone? If you are already interested in these people and places, let Great Commission objectives infuse that fascination.

And remember, the nations are at your doorstep. You may not be able to travel much overseas, but in our globalized age you likely have many nationalities represented in your neighborhood. Look for opportunities to interact with and learn about them. Expose your family to different foods, languages, cultures, and worldviews. Taking these steps will give you a more practical understanding of the difficulty of missions and will fuel your prayers for God to open “a door of faith to the Gentiles” (Acts 14:27). But be warned: this may be the pathway God uses to draw you overseas. I have friends whose relationships with Somalis in their neighborhood eventually compelled them to engage in full-time ministry in the Horn of Africa.

Commit to Gospel Partnerships

When all is said and done, however, the most practical way I’ve found to make missions feel like “a small world after all” is to partner with brothers and sisters doing gospel work among the nations. The more specific and personal the subject, the more excited I am to pray and be involved. I regularly intercede for a little church in Higuito, Costa Rica, because a dear mentor and friend is a pastor there. I stay tuned into gospel work in the Arabian Gulf because God has stitched my heart to a brother and his family who labor there.

I would have to forget these friends in order to lose sight of the nations and churches they serve. My commitment to these partners keeps me tethered to God’s mission in the world. So, consider the dear ones you know serving overseas, and devote yourself to their ministry. Contribute financially. Encourage them regularly.

If you aren’t acquainted with any missionaries or national ministers, ask your church leaders whom they would recommend getting to know. Though it can feel costly to invest in someone who may soon move halfway around the world, strive to build lasting relationships with members of your church who are considering long-term work overseas. Committing to these people will make remote missions feel local, and these partnerships will keep gospel ministry in distant lands at the forefront of your mind and near to your heart.

Audio Transcript

Holy works and filthy rags. It comes up time and time again, and it’s the topic of a question from Hanley in New Zealand. He’s onto the topic. And it’s a timely one as he reads Nehemiah 13 — and as many of us read Nehemiah 13 — to finish out the book in our Bible reading today. Here’s his email: “Hello, Pastor John! I’m a young believer from New Zealand and I thank God for his work through you. I am confused as to why the saints of the Old Testament regularly pray to God to regard them according to their own righteousness. Most notably for me right now are Nehemiah 13:14, 22, 30–31. Is this a practice for us today? Do we bring to God our righteous deeds and ask him not to forget them? I’ve never prayed that way. Never even considered it. I guess my default is to think of ‘all’ my ‘righteous deeds’ as ‘filthy rags’ (Isaiah 64:6). Do you remind God of your righteous deeds? Should we? And why do we need to?”

Okay, Hanley, let’s buckle up because I’m going to pack a lot into a very short space here — a kind of mini-theology of good works, how they relate to faith, how they relate to rewards, how they relate to prayer.

Filthy Rags or Holy Deeds?

Let’s start with Isaiah 64:6. You are not alone in thinking that this verse teaches that all Christian good works are filthy rags in the sight of God. That is a profoundly mistaken reading of that verse. The verse just before, Isaiah 64:5, says, “You meet him who joyfully works righteousness, those who remember you in your ways.” This is a commendation of righteousness in the people of God. God does not despise the righteous deeds of his children done by faith. What verse 6 is referring to in calling righteous deeds “filthy rags” is the hypocritical works that flow from nothing. They have an outward show of righteousness, but inside, dead men’s bones rooted in pride, just as Jesus referred to it (Matthew 23:27).

That misunderstanding of Isaiah 64:6 has caused many Christians to believe that it is impossible for a Christian to please God. If their best works are filthy rags, there’s nothing they can do to please him. This is a profoundly unbiblical notion through and through.

For example, consider how Paul commends the Philippians: “I have received . . . from Epaphroditus the gifts you sent, a fragrant offering, a sacrifice acceptable and pleasing to God” (Philippians 4:18). Their generosity to Paul was pleasing to God. It was not filthy. Or Hebrews 13:16: “Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.” Hebrews 11:6 holds the key: “Without faith it is impossible to please [God].” But Christians have faith. We have faith. And that faith in God’s blood-bought grace, with all its fruits — the fruits of faith and grace — pleases God because it depends on God, not the self, for doing good.

Think what a horrible thing it would be to say that the fruit of the Holy Spirit in the Christian life is filthy rags. I can hardly stand to even think about it. They are not filthy rags. They are God’s precious gift and work in us.

Rewards for Faithful Labor

Let’s take it a step further. If God, in fact, in his grace and power enables us to do things that are good, he is going to reward them, not ignore them. He’s going to say, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:21). Works of faith are going to be rewarded, not thrown away as filthy rags.

And God intends for us to hope for and expect these rewards. Second Corinthians 5:10: “We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil.” Or consider Matthew 10:42: “Whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward.” Or Ephesians 6:8: “Whatever good anyone does, this he will receive back from the Lord.”

There’s no thought in these texts of anybody earning salvation or even earning rewards. The idea of earning is not present. In order to earn something, you supply some labor that someone needs so that they’re now in your debt to pay you wages. God has no needs, and he pays no wages among his people. He bought us by grace; he sustains us by grace; he enables us to do good works by grace. And we do the works trusting that grace. And in that way, we confirm (as Peter says) our “calling and election” (2 Peter 1:10).

Essence of Uprightness

Now we’re in a position to see what’s really going on in the Old Testament when, over and over again, God’s righteous servant pleads his own integrity, his own uprightness, to claim his help from God.

I think Psalm 25 is one of the best places to see what’s going on in the psalmist’s mind concerning his own integrity and his own righteousness, his own upright behavior. In Psalm 25:21, he says, “May integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait for you.” Now, clearly, he does not think that his integrity and uprightness are filthy rags, and he doesn’t think that they are performed in his own autonomous strength, because he says, “[because] I wait for you.” The essence and root of his integrity and his uprightness is that he’s looking away from himself to the mercy and the power of God.

“God does not despise the righteous deeds of his children done by faith.”

He’s not sinless though. Psalm 25:7: “Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions.” Psalm 25:11: “For your name’s sake, O Lord, pardon my guilt, for it is great.” Psalm 25:18: “Consider my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins.” And after confessing his sins three times at least (I think there’s one more verse), Psalm 25:21 says, “May integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait for you.”

He’s just confessed his sin three times. He called his transgressions great. There is real sin left in the lives of the saints — in all of us. There is also real contrition and real confession and real forgiveness and real lives of integrity and uprightness. And David prays and asks that his integrity and his uprightness would preserve him.

Praying Like Nehemiah

So, when Nehemiah — finally got to your text — prays four times something very similar about his obedience to God’s commands, he’s doing something similar to what David is doing. He says, “Remember this also in my favor, O my God, and spare me according to the greatness of your steadfast love” (Nehemiah 13:22). He’s not doing anything essentially different from what David does in the Psalms or doing anything different from the way the New Testament treats our good deeds as Christians. He’s saying, “I’m not perfect, but I have trusted you, and I wait for your steadfast love, and I have acted in my integrity, and I have sought to be obedient to your commandments. May this be remembered before you at the day of salvation.”

Should we pray that way? Should we call to mind regularly our integrity, our uprightness before God? And here’s a guideline that I would say, because I don’t do that very often either, just like you. I think a safe guideline for when we should pray this way is that this kind of praying comes to the fore in times when we are embattled and accused of things that we did not do. So, we pray, “O Lord, you know my heart. You know I am being accused unjustly. I pray that you will remember my integrity and my truthfulness, and vindicate me before my enemies. And if not in this life, O God, vindicate me and reward me according to your mercy in the last day when you remember how I walked in my integrity.”

So, I think that’s the way we should pray from time to time when we are embattled the way the psalmists were and the way Nehemiah was.

Wars rage for it, blood spills for it, leaders trade men for it — the crown.

Souls exchange God for it, young men deceive for it, Christ has been sold for it — money.

Fathers desert families for it, Pharisees crucify their Messiah for it, men sell their souls for it — glory.

Yet what are these when placed beside that which God himself says it is not good for man to be without (Genesis 2:18)? What crown is brighter? “An excellent wife is the crown of her husband” (Proverbs 12:4). What treasure is more desirous? “She is far more precious than jewels” (Proverbs 31:10). What splendor better demands his attention? “Woman is the glory of man” (1 Corinthians 11:7).

She is the night to his day, the moon to his sun, the suitable one God fashioned from him and for him (Genesis 2:18; 1 Corinthians 11:8–9). Man’s first recorded words sing not to Eden’s garden nor even to Eden’s God, but to her, Eden’s queen. The libraries of the world burst with man’s adoration, continuing stanzas started in the garden:

This at last is bone of my bones     and flesh of my flesh;she shall be called Woman,     because she was taken out of Man. (Genesis 2:23)

Yet, as with lesser crowns, lesser jewels, lesser glories, she too can draw unwatchful hearts from supreme love for God. Pure loves, towering loves, as the angels high and fair, fall faster and descend deeper, down to the depths of devils. Brother has backstabbed brother for her, a thousand ships have sailed for her, heaven has been refused for her — woman.

Jesus warns against a man’s inordinate love for his helper with utter seriousness: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own . . . wife . . . he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26).

Romantic Suicide

Any love that leads a husband to disobey God, abdicate his responsibility, choose her over Christ in the moment of decision or the drift of a lifetime — such is not love from above. This age catechizes with romance novels and Romcoms, commends a carnal love, a love that pinches its incense before Aphrodite and Eros. As with Romeo and Juliet, it is a godless, idolatrous infatuation, a romantic suicide.

But this is not Christ’s love for his bride. Although Christ’s love for his bride is unrivaled — it travels to hell and back, sheds its precious blood, wears her sin and shame, empties itself to raise her to his throne — still, it contains not one ounce of idolatry. It never trades light for dark. It never terminates on just the two of them. It does not surpass or exclude or impede his love for his Father. Instead, love for his church is cast within the wild sea of masculine love between a Father and his only begotten Son. He draws us up into a love older and higher: “O righteous Father, . . . I made known to them your name, and I will continue to make it known, that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them” (John 17:25–26).

So when Jesus says, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own . . . wife . . . he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26), he does not mean, “Love your wife less or you cannot be my disciple.” He means, “Love her to the full, as I have loved my church, and love me with all.” He means, “You shall love me, your God, with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength.” When juxtaposed, when put as rivals, when one must be chosen and the other denied, a husband and wife must both choose God above their spouse. His throne is so exalted that even the highest love for a wife is considered hatred in comparison. “You shall have no gods, no other beauties, no other loves above me or apart from me.” As Augustine prayed, “He loves thee too little, who loves anything together with thee, which he loves not for thy sake” (Confessions, 10.29.40).

This is personal to me because I grew up believing the “you-complete-me” love story that chases happiness away from God. She would be my morning, my meaning, the Alpha and Omega of my heart. I offered my confession of a helpless romantic. Maybe other men didn’t need to be warned of a distorted love for wife, but I did, even before I had one. Maybe other men needed to be warned to get serious about cherishing and nourishing their wife. Still he offers the same to all would-be disciples: husbands, if you come to Jesus and do not hate your own wife — that is, love her significantly less than the all you love him with — you cannot be his disciple.

Heeding Her Voice

Ever since the garden, man has struggled to keep proper boundaries. Consider Milton’s commentary on Adam as he follows Eve into rebellion:

However, I with thee have fixed my lot,Certain to undergo like doom; if deathConsort with thee, death is to me as life;So forcible within my heart I feelThe bond of nature draw me to my own,My own in thee, for what thou art is mine;Our state cannot be severed; we are one,One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself. (Paradise Lost, 9.952–59)

Milton’s picture is of a perverse fondness. This is plausible, as God does not just confront Adam about eating from the tree, but says, “Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you . . .” (Genesis 3:17). The issue is not that he listened to what she said; the issue is that he preferred what she said to what he knew God had said. Her wish became his command. In that moment, when she nakedly offered him the fruit, he did not, as it were, hate his wife by refusing her. In his heart, her voice became a god’s.

A woman’s voice is powerful to a man. I have seen men double, triple in stature by their wife’s word, just as I have seen men shrink by half and run to ruin by heeding her voice. These latter once slew a thousand Philistines with a jawbone. I knew them long-haired, in the prime of their strength and power. But then they married (often ill-advisedly). The wayward wife made for a wayward husband — one flesh.

“We love her as she ought to be loved — we love her best — only when we love her as our wife and not our god.”

False teachers crept into homes through podcasts and feeds, capturing weak women first, and their deferential husbands next. Her social media posts foretold his theological compromise. Her response to tragedy infected his: “Do you still hold fast your integrity? Curse God and die” (Job 2:9). Instead of preferring God’s voice, replying that she speaks as one of the foolish women might, he listens. He considers. And soon, he chooses his rib over his soul. “If death consort with thee, death is to me as life,” I fear will be written upon their tombstones.

Toppling Kingdoms

Adam knelt to this distorted love for wife, but Solomon was ruined by it. Even though God’s law explicitly stated, “You shall not enter into marriage with them, neither shall they with you, for surely they will turn away your heart after their gods,” we read of the wisest of men,

Solomon clung to these in love. He had 700 wives, who were princesses, and 300 concubines. And his wives turned away his heart. For when Solomon was old his wives turned away his heart after other gods, and his heart was not wholly true to the Lord his God, as was the heart of David his father. (1 Kings 11:1–4)

Nehemiah — leveraging the sins of Solomon to confront husbands of his generation who married unbelieving women — struck fellow men over the issue. His public diary reads,

I confronted them and cursed them and beat some of them and pulled out their hair. And I made them take an oath in the name of God, saying, “You shall not give your daughters to their sons, or take their daughters for your sons or for yourselves. Did not Solomon king of Israel sin on account of such women? Among the many nations there was no king like him, and he was beloved by his God, and God made him king over all Israel. Nevertheless, foreign women made even him to sin.” (Nehemiah 13:25–26)

Idolatrous wives made even Solomon sin. He was beloved of God, he was given unmatched wisdom, he stood lofty in the annals of kingship, and yet even he was led into idolatry, first of these women, then of their gods. Is this not in Paul’s field of vision when he reiterates, “Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers. For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness?” (2 Corinthians 6:14)? None. And I have watched a man I discipled wander into the dark forest after her, never to return.

King over Crown

I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come. (Luke 14:20)

The feast is ready; God now calls those formerly invited to come to his banquet. Yet in Jesus’s parable, “they all alike began to make excuses” (Luke 14:18). The first bought a field and needed to go see it. The second bought oxen and headed off to examine them. The third married a wife and thought to excuse himself. The master, incensed at their refusals, swore, “I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet” (Luke 14:24).

Some men will not be in the kingdom of God because they were too busy with their marriages. They had vacations to get to, dates to go on, sex to enjoy, dreams to accomplish. They would love to come to Christ, really, but you know . . . the marital life. Maybe next time. Notice that, in what follows, Jesus does not elaborate upon the land or the oxen but on the relationship.

Now great crowds accompanied him, and he turned and said to them, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:25–26)

God gave her to him that he would lead her to the banquet, and she would help his journey there, to go hand in hand to taste of real life together with the children God gave them. The Master, not she, must have preeminence. She did not create you. She did not die for you. She is not Lord of heaven and earth. She cannot raise the dead. She cannot pay for one sin or sustain your life one second. She does not give every grace, bestow every gift.

She is a gift from him. She was never created to bear that awful burden of love. We love her as she ought to be loved — we love her best — only when we love her as our wife and not our god.

On October 7, 1805, nine men signed their names to a document that would govern their lives and efforts to proclaim the gospel throughout India. The document became known as the Serampore Form of Agreement (sometimes inaccurately called the Serampore Covenant). The signers, many of them pioneers in the history of baptist missions, included William Carey, Joshua Marshman, William Ward, John Chamberlain, Richard Mardon, John Biss, William Moore, Joshua Rowe, and Felix Carey (William Carey’s son). In the Agreement, the signers accepted eleven principles that would henceforth guide the mission work in India, with the “hope that multitudes of converted souls will have reason to bless God to all eternity for sending His Gospel into this country.”

Reading the Agreement today, we might be surprised by the number of themes that continue to prevail among missionaries and missiologists: an emphasis on cultural anthropology, the desire for self-supporting churches, the priority of Bible translation and education, and more. So, although originally written to guide missionary work two centuries ago, this document remains profoundly relevant today, not only for missionary service but for every disciple of Christ seeking to make him known in an increasingly globalized world.

Wherever we need to remember our priorities as pilgrims in this present world — at home, school, or work, or while traveling, running errands, or hosting neighbors — the Serampore Agreement serves as a timeless teacher.

Serampore Priorities

William Carey arrived in India in 1793, sent out by the recently formed Baptist Missionary Society. After first establishing work in Calcutta (now Kolkata), Carey relocated to Danish-controlled Serampore in West Bengal in 1800, where he ministered until he died in 1834. There he joined Joshua Marshman and William Ward, and together they formed a new church, with Carey as the pastor and Marshman and Ward as deacons.

“God delights to answer prayers that reflect his holy cause.”

Five years later, with an increasing number of new missionary recruits arriving and new converts being added to the fellowship, they agreed to review the church-leadership structure and recent progress of the work and establish parameters for future ministry. It was in this missional-ecclesial context that the Agreement was formed.

The document consists of eleven convictions that set forth “the Great Principles upon which the Brethren of the Mission at Serampore think it their duty to act in the work of instructing the Heathen.” The Agreement calls the missionaries to fix their “serious and abiding attention” on these principles. Recognizing that the Lord, in his sovereignty, had planted them at Serampore and given them difficult work to do, they wanted to put their hands to the plow with diligence and perseverance under his own mighty hand.

In what follows, I do not summarize every article in the Agreement (though I encourage you to read the short document yourself). Instead, I aim to highlight three priorities expressed in the document that characterized these early missionaries and that remain priorities for Christians today.

‘May our hearts bleed’

What drew Carey and others to India in the first place? In his Enquiry, published about thirteen years prior to the Agreement, Carey argued that the commission given by Jesus to the apostles in Matthew 28:18–20 “laid them under obligation to disperse themselves into every country of the habitable globe, and to preach to all the inhabitants, without exception, or limitation” (An Enquiry, 7). Carey’s claim did not fall on deaf ears. Fired by zeal to see people from across the globe yield to Christ, scores of missionaries were sent out by churches to the far reaches of the world.

This same zeal sets the tone for the whole Serampore Agreement. Article 1 states,

In order to be prepared for our great and solemn work, it is absolutely necessary that we set an infinite value upon immortal souls; that we often endeavor to affect our minds with the dreadful loss sustained by an unconverted soul launched into eternity. . . . If we have not this awful sense of the value of souls, it is impossible that we can feel aright in any other part of our work. (article 1)

Remembering that many millions of people lay under the power of darkness was indispensable for the multiform work of missions in West Bengal. Though the missionaries engaged not only in evangelism but also in education, cultivation, business, translation, and much more, the lost state of souls and the danger of eternal damnation was the raison d’être for their labors. Forgetfulness of such an awe-full reality would result in work that focused merely on temporal needs — perhaps improving the conditions of unbelievers but failing to hold forth salvation.

Belief in eternal judgment has dissipated of late in our Western context. No longer do many fear “the punishment of eternal destruction” that will come “on those who do not know God and . . . do not obey the gospel” (2 Thessalonians 1:8–9). Prone to forget that every person we meet has an eternal future, our interactions become less salty; we lose a little of our luster. The Agreement reminds us that we all walk on the precipice of eternity: “Life is short . . . all around us are perishing, and . . . we incur a dreadful woe if we proclaim not the glad tidings of salvation. . . . Oh! may our hearts bleed over these poor idolaters, and may their case lie with continued weight upon our minds” (articles 4, 1).

‘In all weathers’

The work in West Bengal and the surrounding regions progressed slowly. A man named Krishna Pal became the first recorded convert of the mission work, seven years after the work began in 1793. In 1805, at the formation of the Serampore church, more converts were present, and two men, including Krishna Pal, became deacons.

Patience had to mark every aspect of the work. In article 2, the missionaries expressed the necessity of gaining as much information as possible about the local customs and religious practices so that they could “converse . . . in an intelligible manner.” They wanted to learn how and what the locals thought, “their habits, their propensities, their antipathies, the way in which they reason about God, sin, holiness, the way of salvation,” and more, recognizing that only by such careful interaction would they “avoid being barbarians to them.” Such knowledge is not gained overnight; it develops over time through relationships, conversations, and assiduous study.

To carry on conversations with the natives almost every hour in the day, to go from village to village, from market to market, from one assembly to another, to talk to servants, laborers, etc., as often as opportunity offers, and to be instant in season and out of season — this is the life to which we are called in this country. (article 4)

Why this approach as opposed to a rapid succession of mass rallies or constant movement from town to town? “It is absolutely necessary that the natives should have an entire confidence in us and feel quite at home in our company” (article 6). Force, aggressive behavior, pressing for quick results — all these would “sink our characters exceedingly in their estimation.” The missionaries understood that the work of gathering, building up, and watching over souls did not happen in a day. “We must be willing to spend some time with them daily, if possible, in this work. We must have much patience with them, though they may grow very slowly in divine knowledge” (article 7).

Such patience is the fruit of deep trust in the providence of God. The promises of Scripture undergirding their understanding of God’s sovereign orchestration of his plan to redeem a people from all nations proved “fully sufficient to remove [their] doubts, and to make [them] anticipate that not very distant period when He will famish all the gods of India, and cause these very idolaters to . . . forever renounce the work of their own hands” (article 1). They understood themselves as fishers of men in the great fishing fleet of the King, called to work “in all weathers,” firmly convinced that while they may plant or water, only God could give the increase.

In our instant age — instant food, instant communication, instant “friendships” — we desperately need the virtue of patience. Christian formation takes time. Lots of it. While the Lord is able to cause rapid success (like saving three thousand people through Peter’s Pentecost sermon), in his perfect wisdom, he more frequently brings about slow change. The work of the kingdom requires fortitude and determination. These come not from inner reserves of strength, but from a deep dependence on and confidence in the Lord of the harvest.

‘Root of personal godliness’

The explosion of missionary activity out of Scotland and England in the late eighteenth century began with the spark of prayer — a monthly meeting committed to “pray to the Lord Jesus that the work may be carried on . . . that the kingdoms of this world may become the kingdoms of our Lord” (Sutcliff, Persuasives to a General Union in Extraordinary Prayer, 81).

The Serampore team recognized that all their labors depended on them “being instant in prayer” (article 10). Naming David Brainerd as an example, they enjoined themselves to “secret, fervent, believing prayer,” without which they would not be fit “instruments of God in the great work of Human Redemption.” They also committed themselves to united prayer “at stated seasons, whatever distance may separate us,” with the intention to wrestle together with God “till He famish these idols and cause the heathen to experience the blessedness that is in Christ.”

“Prayer is the engine God has ordained to drive forward his kingdom in this world.”

Prayer is the engine God has ordained to drive forward his kingdom in this world. In a little address to fellow pastors, John Sutcliff wrote, “[Christ] is pleased in these matters not only to command us to ask, but to represent himself as waiting to be gracious . . . as ready to bestow these mercies whenever we shall earnestly pray for them” (Persuasives, 79). God delights to answer prayers that reflect his holy cause. Jesus taught the disciples to begin their prayers by asking for his kingdom to come (Matthew 6:9–10).

When Carey wrote his Enquiry, he estimated the world population at 730 million, with some 122 million professing the name of Christ. He, his teammates, and many churches in Great Britain committed themselves to pray for the gospel to run among those 600 million who lived in darkness. And the result of those prayers? The Great Century of world missions. Today, the estimated world population is eight billion. The Joshua Project estimates that only eleven percent follow Christ. What might God be pleased to do if his people committed to pray for his kingdom to come?

Unreserved Resolve

Originally written to guide the work of the Serampore missionary team, the Serampore Form of Agreement remains relevant today, not just for missionaries, but for every follower of Jesus committed to the glorious cause of declaring the “good news of peace through Jesus Christ,” that “he is Lord of all” (Acts 10:36). The risen Lord sends his church into the world for this purpose. May we resolve ourselves, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to

give ourselves up unreservedly to this glorious cause. Let us never think that our time, our gifts, our strength, our families, or even the clothes we wear, are our own. Let us sanctify them all to God and His cause. Oh, that He may sanctify us for His work! (conclusion)

Amen. May it be so.