Audio Transcript

Can we make ourselves more holy if we treat our bodies more harshly? A great question from a listener named Garrett in Houston, Texas. “Pastor John, hello! I’ve recently been studying the life of St. Anthony through a book by Athanasius. I’m curious about your thoughts on asceticism, a practice of many Christians throughout the church age. Is this a biblical way to live and pursue holiness? Does it work? Is it biblical to hold such rigid self-discipline? I ask because of Colossians 2:23, where Paul defines ‘asceticism’ as ‘severity to the body,’ and that practice being ‘of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh’ (Colossians 2:23). What are your thoughts on the place of asceticism in the Christian life today?”

When Garrett says, “Is it biblical to hold such rigid self-discipline?” I don’t know what the word such refers to because I’m not familiar enough with the life of St. Anthony to pass judgment on his pattern of asceticism. So, let me just speak more generally, especially from the text of Colossians, because I think that’s what he’s really getting at. Is there a legitimate place for severity to the body called asceticism?

Self-Denial Gone Wrong

Whenever we hear the apostle Paul criticizing some teaching or warning against some practice, we have to kind of piece together from what he says what the false teachers are saying, like listening to one end of a phone conversation. That’s what we’re up against in Colossians.

There was some kind of false teaching going on that Paul was very concerned about, and it involved some kind of asceticism, some kind of severity to the body. It seemed to involve special visions — “worship of angels,” he mentions (Colossians 2:18) — and the insistence upon certain religious holy days (Colossians 2:16). And it seems that there are clusters of very basic rules — “elemental principles” he calls them (Colossians 2:8, 20) — being forced upon the church so that, if you don’t follow these ascetic rules about food and drink and days and visions and angels, you’re not a Christian.

Now, Paul’s main criticism of what was happening is that it diminished Christ: Christ, the all-supplying Head of the church (Colossians 2:19); Christ, the Creator of the world (Colossians 1:16); Christ, the one who upholds all things (Colossians 1:17); Christ, supreme over all things (Colossians 1:18). The whole system of this false teaching was diminishing Christ in all those ways.

So, let me read some texts, and let’s listen for those kinds of false teachings.

Merely Human Traditions

First, Colossians 2:8:

See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to elemental [principles] of the world, and not according to Christ.

Now, we’ll see what those elemental principles are in just a moment. But notice: the problem here is that these merely human traditions and these basic religious elemental principles are replacing Christ. It says, “not holding fast to Christ,” “not exalting Christ,” “not living according to Christ.”

Forgetting the Head

Now, Colossians 2:16–19:

Therefore let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food and drink, or with regard to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath. These are a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ. [Like a body casting a shadow, Christ is the body and the shadow is all those things that are being exalted above Christ.] Let no one disqualify you, insisting on asceticism and worship of angels, going on in detail about visions, puffed up without reason by his sensuous mind, and not holding fast to the Head.

So again, we see that the issue is not holding fast to Christ. What he’s being replaced with is food, drink, festival, new moon, Sabbath. And since asceticism is mentioned, probably the reference to food and drink means, “Don’t eat them; don’t drink them,” rather than, “You must eat them; you must drink them.” Either way, the elemental rules are replacing the way of Christ.

Puffed-Up Ascetics

Then one more text. Colossians 2:20–23:

If with Christ you died to the elemental spirits of the world, why, as if you were still alive in the world, do you submit to regulations — [and I think these are the elemental principles he’s concerned about:] “Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch” (referring to things that all perish as they are used) — according to human precepts and teachings? These have indeed an appearance of wisdom in promoting self-made religion and asceticism and a severity to the body, but they are of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh.

So there you get something of a picture of the false teaching in Colossae involving worship of angels, visions, severity to the body by abstaining from certain foods and drinks, keeping certain religious holidays, following these elemental principles and rules — “Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch.” Twice we’ve heard Paul say that the problem is that these are not “according to Christ” — you are not “holding fast to the Head.” All the other defects with this false teaching about asceticism and severity to the body, all of them are of “no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh.”

Killing Sin or Feeding Sin?

So, this false teaching at Colossae is failing in two ways: one, it isn’t glorifying Christ, and two, it isn’t defeating sin. It’s producing puffed-up Christians, and it is diminishing Christ.

So here’s the issue with asceticism. Asceticism has a legitimate place in the Christian life, as does the thankful enjoyment of food and drink that God gives us. Eating and drinking can become gluttony with a loss of self-control, and not eating and drinking can become boastful and Christ-diminishing. That was happening at Colossae.

“Is Christ being exalted or is self being exalted? Is asceticism killing sin or feeding sin?”

So the question is not simply, Do you eat or don’t you eat? Do you drink or don’t you drink? Do you sleep or don’t you sleep? Do you deny yourself certain legitimate pleasures or don’t you? That’s not the main question. The main questions are, Is Christ being exalted or is self being exalted? While crucifying the sin of gluttony, are you feeding the sin of pride? Is asceticism killing sin or feeding sin? Those are the key questions.

Godly Asceticism

We can’t just say that asceticism is bad because the false teachers at Colossae were using it. Paul himself and Jesus taught that we should make sure by self-denial that we are not being enslaved by any good thing. For example, Paul says in 1 Corinthians 9:25–27, “Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. . . . So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.” And the word discipline there means “give my body a black eye.” I mean, this is a pretty strong word, sometimes translated “I pummel my body.” In other words, Paul is hard on his body when he needs to be hard on his body in order to protect himself against sin and unbelief.

And then, in 1 Corinthians 6:12, he says, “‘All things are lawful for me,’ but I will not be dominated [or controlled or enslaved] by anything.” In other words, the issue is not that food and drink or other legitimate pleasures are sinful, but that we ought not to be enslaved or dominated or controlled by anything — good or evil. Part of the strategy by which we discern whether we are enslaved is self-denial — called asceticism, if you wish. And so, Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). In other words, we dare not treat all asceticism as bad. And of course, we should not treat God’s good gifts — of food and drink and friendship and marriage and hundreds of other delights in this life — as evil.

“Deny yourself in order to defeat sinful bondage and show that the Giver is more precious to you than the gift.”

Paul was probably warning against the same false teaching of Colossae when he wrote 1 Timothy 4:4: “Everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer.”

Enjoy and Deny

So, one way to sum up things would be to say, one, we will glorify Christ if we receive his good gifts with thankfulness, which shows that he’s the good and generous Savior. And two, we will glorify Christ by strategically denying ourselves some of his good gifts in order to show that he, and not his gifts, is our greatest treasure. And the problem of the false teaching at Colossae was that severity to the body was being put into elemental principles or rules that, instead of exalting the worth and beauty and grace of Christ, were feeding the ego of the ascetics. This calls for great wisdom and insight into our own hearts.

So, two guidelines to close:

Enjoy God’s good gifts with thankfulness to make much of him and his grace and his generosity.
Deny yourself in order to defeat sinful bondage and show that the Giver is more precious to you than the gift.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15122034/the-purpose-of-election-is-a-church-beautified

Had you been there that very moment, watching from a distance, you wouldn’t have observed anything dramatic. I’m talking about the moment Abraham (still called Abram at the time) stepped out of his tent and gazed into the heavens, looking at the stars.

You may have heard him muttering something or other, perhaps at some point raising his hands or bowing to the ground. These gestures wouldn’t have seemed out of character to you because everyone knew Abram was a deeply pious man. And being tired, since it was the middle of the night and all, you probably would have left Abram to whatever he was doing and headed to bed.

You would not have known that this was a defining moment in Abram’s life. You certainly wouldn’t have guessed this was a defining moment in world history that would impact billions of people. Because it would have seemed so undramatic.

But that’s the way moments like these — moments that powerfully direct and shape the arc of history — often appear at first. And in this case, what made the world-changing minutes of stargazing so quietly monumental was that this old man, in the deep recesses of his heart, believed God.

Pushed Nearly Beyond Belief

To understand the profundity of this defining moment, however, we need to see how this old man’s belief had been pushed to the very brink.

It all began in Genesis 12, where God delivered to Abram a promise that would have been incredible on its own, quite apart from the fact that Abram, at age 75, and Sarai, at age 66, as yet had no children:

Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” (Genesis 12:1–3)

So, “by faith Abraham obeyed,” packing up his household and setting out, though “not knowing where he was going” (Hebrews 11:8). And when he and his small tribe arrived at Shechem, God spoke to him again and said, “To your offspring I will give this land” (Genesis 12:7).

Time passed. God’s blessing rested on Abram and his tribe, which included his nephew Lot’s household, and their combined possessions and herds grew larger — so large, in fact, that Abram and Lot had to separate into two tribes. Still, Abram had no offspring — the key to the fulfillment of the Lord’s greatest promise to him. Nonetheless, the Lord once again affirmed his promise (Genesis 13:14–16).

More time passed. God continued to prosper whatever Abram did. And once again, the Lord appeared to him and said,

Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great. (Genesis 15:1)

But for Abram, now in his eighties, and Sarai in her seventies, there was still the same glaring problem. Amid all the abundant blessing of prosperity God had showered on him, there was one conspicuous, crucial place of poverty: Abram still had no offspring.

Desperate Prayer of a Man of Faith

It was at this point that Abram could not contain his anguished perplexity over the ongoing void at the core of God’s promises, and it poured out in a desperate prayer:

“O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said, “Behold, you have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir.” (Genesis 15:2–3)

The apostle Paul later wrote, “No unbelief made [Abram] waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised” (Romans 4:20–21). But in this prayer, do we overhear Abram’s faith wavering?

No. What we’re hearing is not unbelief, but sincere perplexity. And there’s a difference. Abram’s perplexity is similar to the young virgin Mary’s perplexity when Gabriel tells her that she will “conceive in [her] womb and bear a son.” She responds, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” (Luke 1:30, 34). It’s a reasonable question; virgins don’t get pregnant. Abram’s question is also reasonable with regard to nature; barren women past childbearing years do not get pregnant.

God was not offended or dishonored by Mary’s or Abraham’s sincere perplexity, which is why he responds to both with gracious kindness. And God’s answers are also reasonable, even if his reasonableness often extends far beyond the limits of human reason (“Is anything too hard for the Lord?” Genesis 18:14).

So, in answer to Abram’s sincerely desperate prayer, God graciously invites him to step outside.

Starry, Starry Night

God says to Abram,

“Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” (Genesis 15:5)

Here, suddenly, is a defining moment for Abram. God’s answer doesn’t include how Abram is going to obtain descendants. All God does is reaffirm, and even expand the scope of, what he has already promised. In other words, “I’m going to give you more offspring than you can count or even imagine. Do you believe me?”

And old Abram, with an old wife and a childless tent, looking up into the night sky so full of stars that in some places they looked like clouds of light, with the word of the Lord ringing in his mind, realizes that whatever God is doing is about something much bigger than he has yet grasped, and so he resolves to trust “that God [is] able to do what he [has] promised” (Romans 4:21).

[Abram] believed the Lord, and he counted it to him as righteousness. (Genesis 15:6)

“The world would never be the same because of that moment on that starry, starry night.”

No one, not even Abram, could have seen just how history-shaping, how destiny-determining, this moment was, when a man was justified — counted righteous — in the eyes of God simply because he believed God. Because a man believed God’s promises over his own perceptions. Because a man trusted God and did not lean on his own understanding (Proverbs 3:5). The world would never be the same after that moment on that starry, starry night.

Joy Beyond Belief

I’m not saying it was smooth faith-sailing from then on for the man God renamed Abraham, “the father of a multitude of nations” (Genesis 17:5). It wasn’t. The Hagar and Ishmael event, as well as others, were still in the future. Isaac, the first of the promised offspring, wouldn’t be born for another fifteen years or so. And God had another defining moment in store for Abraham on the slopes of Mount Moriah. The path of faith is a rugged one, and almost always more demanding than we expect.

But after that night, Abraham did not waver in his belief that God would, somehow, do what he had promised. And God did. He made both Abraham and Sarah, and all who knew them, laugh for joy — “joy inexpressible and full of glory” (1 Peter 1:8) — when Isaac was finally born. For that’s where the rugged path of faith, the hard way that leads to life (Matthew 7:14), ultimately leads: to “fullness of joy and . . . pleasures forevermore” (Psalm 16:11).

“The path of faith is a rugged one, and almost always more demanding than we expect.”

God leads most of his children, who are Abraham’s children because they share Abraham’s faith (Romans 4:16), to defining moments of faith, moments when our faith is pushed nearly to a point beyond belief, or so it seems to us. These moments may not appear dramatic to others. But to us, in the deep recesses of our hearts, everything is on the line. And at these moments, everything comes down to a simple but profound, and perhaps anguishing, question: Will I trust God?

What usually isn’t apparent to us is how significant the moment is for an untold number of others. For it is often true that in “obtaining [as] the outcome of [our] faith, the salvation of [our] souls” (1 Peter 1:9), what also results in the years and centuries that follow is the salvation of others — so many, perhaps, that they would boggle our minds if we could see them.

When you believe God, he counts it to you as righteousness, as full acceptance from God himself. And when you believe God, it leads to the Isaac-laughter of inexpressible joy as you at last see God do for you what he has promised. And when you believe God, you will share inexpressible joy with a host of others who, because you believed, will be laughing in joy with you.

We hugged, said our goodbyes and “I love you.” He walked with us to the car, turned, and walked away. And as we sat there looking at his back, I cried my heart out. Our firstborn child was launched, and I felt like my insides were being ripped out.

Two years later, we had a repeat. Once again, after goodbyes, “We love you,” and hugs, another son walked us to the car. Watching him as he turned and walked away, those same deep heart cries rose up in me.

One last time, a few years later, goodbyes and “I love you” were said, and hugs were given. We went to the car and watched as our youngest son turned and walked away into his new life. And yes, we sat there looking at his back and I cried my heart out.

Not that I would never see our sons again, of course. But when our kids left home, I was keenly aware that my life would dramatically change. For years I had anticipated this day and often thought I couldn’t survive the emotion of it all, but I did. It’s been many years now since those goodbyes. And today I am so grateful to God for his sustaining grace, and for the surprisingly sweet joys he’s given in each season of life since.

New Strength After Kids

I had been a “full-time” mom, and so obviously when our sons left home, the whole structure of my life altered. No more hurried breakfasts to get out the door in the mornings. No games to go to late in the day. No large meals to prepare that would satisfy teenage boys. No kids hanging out at the house or event-planning with other parents. Oh, yes, life was going to be different, and I wasn’t at all sure I was going to like that!

Early on after the kids left, I found myself on my knees before God with a kind of blank, empty feeling, when I found these words:

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named, that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being. (Ephesians 3:14–16)

That good word assured me that God would fill me with his strength for the new season ahead.

Six Lessons for Empty Nests

We moms want to be good mothers, and we give everything we have to our children. As Christian moms, we feel a special calling to raise our children to love Jesus and follow him, which can seem especially weighty. And on top of it all, our identity can get so wrapped up in our children that we forget who we are. So when it comes time for the kids to leave home, it’s hard! And it’s sad. But we need not stay stuck in sadness. We can move forward into adult relationships with our children which have a sweetness all their own.

“Our identity can get so wrapped up in our children that we forget who we are.”

If you are in the transition years, anticipating the day when your kids leave home, or are already adjusting to an empty nest, here are some practical steps that have been a great help to me.

1. Pray fervently.

No doubt you have prayed for your children since before they were born. Keep praying! As you pray for your child who is no longer under your daily care, you will discover your prayers will become deeper and your relationship with both God and your child will be enriched. Remember, you can cast your anxieties on God, because he cares about you — and your child (1 Peter 5:7).

2. Place your child in the arms of God.

I never understood what it meant to “let go” of my children. Then someone suggested, rather than letting go of my children to float out into some kind of never-never land, I can deliberately place them into the strong and loving arms of God where they are protected and cared for. “The eternal God is your dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms” (Deuteronomy 33:27). This has been a great comfort.

3. Perspective helps.

The aim of parenting is to raise little humans to become productive adults. Throughout the child-raising years, we want to create a nurturing environment so our children will develop and mature. We want our children to be adults. In a sense, we raise them to leave.

4. Prioritize your husband.

While our kids are home, they often require the biggest chunk of our time and energy, but the priority still should be our husband. Make time for him when the kids are home, so you’ll know each other when they leave. Have fun together now, so that you will enjoy each other later.

5. Personal development is essential.

Take care of yourself — physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. Develop an interest or involvement while your kids are home that will carry over into the empty-nest years. One way to do this is to cultivate friendships and fellowship with other women in your church.

6. Plant yourself by streams of water.

“A tree planted by streams of water yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither” (Psalm 1:3). Get rooted, and stay rooted, in God’s word, take delight in God’s Son, maintain fellowship with God’s people. When you do this over the years, you will be fruitful in every season of your life.

Enjoy Being a Child Again

Most Christian moms, like me, focus on God’s love for our children. We remind ourselves that God loves our kids more than we do — and he does. We help our children understand and accept God’s love for them. But I discovered, when my boys left home, I’d nearly forgotten that God loves me, too. He cares about me. He knows my needs. He wants to bless me because I am his child.

“I discovered, when my boys left home, I’d nearly forgotten that God loves me, too.”

Mom, if your kids have just left home — or are soon to leave — you are about to enter a new season with great potential for fruitfulness. As young women we bore the fruit of the womb. Then the childrearing years were full of great blessing, energy, and vitality. These years were times of hope, of spring and the warm summer sunshine. But, surprisingly, the empty-nest years can be a very productive and fruit-filled season, too.

When kids leave home, parenting takes on new and rewarding dimensions. Daily life is different, for sure, but you are still, and always will be, your kids’ mom. In fact, you no doubt will discover as I have, that as the years move on and you and your kids grow older, your relationships will deepen and enrich on many levels. At the same time, fruit that you bear in this new season of life can have an even wider impact now as you stay connected to your local church. Look for ways to be involved with the younger women in your church. You are a seasoned woman who can nourish the upcoming generation of women.

Be encouraged, dear mom. God is with you and loves you through every season of life. He will not forsake you. He wants to bless you and make you a blessing!

O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come. (Psalm 71:17–18)

In his book The Whole Christ, Sinclair Ferguson notes that many Scottish pulpits once bore the words of John 12:21 on the inside, so that only the preacher could see them. Whenever a pastor stood in such a pulpit, he would find himself confronted with the same words some Greek visitors once spoke to the apostle Philip:

Sir, we wish to see Jesus.

We wish to see Jesus. Deep in their souls, all God’s people wish the same from their pastors. “Sir, would you tell me of Jesus? Would you show me again my King in his beauty? Would you warm my heart with another glimpse of his glory? Would you uncloud the heavens and give me a sight of him?”

And deep in their souls, God’s faithful pastors wish to say yes. Their hearts beat with the famous words of John the Baptist, that prophet of the lifted voice and pointed finger: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). At their best, pastors are matchmakers between the bride of Christ and her glorious Groom.

Yes, at their best. But of course, pastors are not always at their best. Sometimes, a small inner voice suggests, “He must increase, and I must too.”

Alone in the Jordan

Even as a young pastor — with months, not years, of official ministry behind me — I feel this split ambition. At times, the words “he must increase, but I must decrease” burn like holy fire in my bones. And at other times, they just burn.

Maybe, my flesh sometimes proposes, I can show others Jesus while also showing something of myself. Maybe I can win others’ hearts to Christ while also winning their hearts to me. Maybe some of the glory I preach can fall upon my shoulders. But then I take a closer look at the context of John’s words, and I find the rebuke, and the help, I need.

Perhaps you remember the situation. God had given surprising fruit to the ministry of the Baptist, that desert-dwelling, locust-eating prophet. His sermons about the Christ had drawn thousands to his river pulpit in the Jordan. Some Jews wondered if John himself might be the Christ (John 1:19–28).

And then, at the height of the awakening, the crowds leave as quickly as they came, for the Lord, whose way John had been preparing, suddenly appears on the way (John 1:29–31; 3:22). John finds himself knee-deep in the increasingly obscure Jordan of his ministry, the banks once so full of people now nearly bare. His disciples draw the humbling conclusion: “Rabbi, he who was with you across the Jordan, to whom you bore witness — look, he is baptizing, and all are going to him” (John 3:26).

All are going to him. Moments like these reveal a man’s heart. Has he preached Christ for Christ’s sake, or for the sake of a bustling ministry? Has he counted baptisms for Christ’s kingdom, or for his own? Has he rejoiced to hear others praise Jesus, or praise John?

In words that likewise deserve a place on every pulpit, John leaves no doubt: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30).

Heart of the Baptist

To be sure, John spoke these famous words at a unique moment in redemptive history. The age of the Christ had come; therefore, the age of old-covenant prophecy had ended. And when the sun rises, all candles can be blown out (to paraphrase Karl Barth). For John, then, “I must decrease” meant “my ministry of preparing the way must end.”

Yet God requires the same “decrease,” on a spiritual level, from all who have been charged to proclaim “not ourselves but Jesus Christ as Lord” (2 Corinthians 4:5). And in the verses preceding John’s declaration, he opens up his humble, Christ-loving heart to show us where words like his come from.

‘All I Have Is from Above’

A person cannot receive even one thing unless it is given him from heaven. (John 3:27)

John’s first response sounds a note of spiritual realism. The crowds, the baptisms, the confessions of sin, the repentance, the surprising spiritual fruit — all of these were, in John’s eyes, not earned, but “given.” From the start, John knew his ministry was a received ministry, a bestowed ministry, a given ministry. And so, wherever he looked, he could see no good thing that did not bear the label “Gift.”

No pastor today is a prophet like John, but our ministries — small or large — bear the same gracious character; they are all “given . . . from heaven” (see Acts 20:28). All our successes are little Isaacs, children beyond the power of flesh and blood, pointing to the God who “calls into existence the things that do not exist” (Romans 4:17) through the ministries of frail men. And so, Christ must increase.

‘I Am Not the Christ’

You yourselves bear me witness, that I said, “I am not the Christ, but I have been sent before him.” (John 3:28)

During the height of his ministry, John found need to clarify rumors circling on the banks of the Jordan. “He confessed, and did not deny, but confessed, ‘I am not the Christ’” (John 1:20). And now again, he makes the same confession to his disciples, whose words effectively urged him to act like he, not Jesus, was Israel’s Christ.

“In a strange irony, we who preach Christ sometimes can act like we ourselves are the Christ.”

In a strange irony, we who preach Christ sometimes can act like we ourselves are the Christ. Sometimes we consider ourselves indispensable to the mission. Sometimes we hunger for others’ praise as if we ourselves could satisfy a soul. Sometimes we rise early and go late to rest, not from holy zeal, but from a sense that, unless we build the house, the others labor in vain (Psalm 127:1–2).

We may do well, silly as it sounds, to regularly repeat the Baptist’s words to the rumors circling within: “I am not the Christ.” And therefore, I must decrease.

‘The Bridegroom Is My Joy’

The one who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. (John 3:29)

There is more than one kind of must. There is the must of duty: “I must decrease, because Christ deserves prominence.” But there is also the must of delight: “I must decrease, because joy in Christ compels me.” And here we reach the inner chamber of John’s heart, the secret spring of his humility: joy — and not just any joy, but the joy of the bridegroom’s friend.

“Here we reach the inner chamber of John’s heart, the secret spring of his humility: joy.”

The bridegroom’s friend, John tells us, enjoys a peculiar kind of joy: not the joy of attention, but the joy of attention giving. He would rather “stand and hear” the bridegroom’s voice than have ten thousand stand and hear his own. He would rather live unseen in the Jordan, and watch all Galilee, Judea, and Jerusalem stream to Jesus, than draw the crowds to himself. He would rather see the bride’s eyes from the side, as she stares into her Groom’s, than to see them head-on.

“He has obtained the height of his wishes,” John Calvin writes. “He has nothing further to desire, for he sees Christ reigning and people listening to him as he deserves” (Calvin’s New Testament Commentaries, 4:81). To be seen as Christ’s minister, to be heard preaching Christ — these are partial joys, and often tinged with self. But to see others loving Christ, and to hear them worship him — these are full joys, complete joys, the first bells of the coming wedding.

He Must Increase

We would be wrong, of course, to deny that faithful pastors deserve the love and respect of their people. “Esteem them very highly in love because of their work,” Paul tells the Thessalonians (1 Thessalonians 5:13). But a pastor’s “work” is the same as John’s: not the work of winning others to ourselves, but the work of winning them to Jesus. In other words, pastors deserve their people’s esteem only as they help their people esteem Jesus more.

We cannot offer others joy in ourselves. We cannot offer them peace. We cannot offer them forgiveness or hope or rest of heart. But we can offer them Christ. We can preach from the aisle, as it were, leaving the altar clear for the presence of their bridegroom.

And to that deep request in every Christian’s soul — “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” — we can respond, “With all my heart.”

Audio Transcript

To be a Christian is a wonderful thing. The greatest thing, in fact. To find forgiveness in the cross of our Savior, to be united to Christ by his Spirit, to have the Father as our own Father, and to commune with him as his child — these are the greatest gifts a creature can receive. And so, we give thanks. And yet we also look forward to our resurrection, and to new bodies that will enjoy God forever without any sinful impediments to our giving God all the glory he is worthy to receive from us — and by it, experiencing the fullest possible joy we can experience in ourselves. Can’t wait!

But for now, we wait. For all the incredible gifts and blessings we now have in Christ, to be a Christian in this life doesn’t mean we are free from our disordered loves. We’re not. Every Christian feels an ongoing civil war on the inside, in our twisted loves and longings. We both love God and find in us the remains of a treasonous impulse against the God we love, in our attraction to sin. The Bible explains this civil war. Arguably, Romans 7:14–25 makes the point. Less arguably, Galatians 5:16–17 makes the point too.

So then, what do we Christians — redeemed by Christ’s blood, sealed by the Spirit, adopted by the Father — what do we do with the disordered loves that we find still at work inside of us? Pastor John explained at the end of a sermon on Romans 7, preached in 2001. Here he is, drawing out pastoral application.

“We should not be surprised when we meet in ourselves some really excessive and distorted bodily desires.”

In view of all that the Bible says to us about our condition, our fallen condition with this body of death, and our sinful condition with the body acting in treason to join forces with the power of sin to tempt us — in view of the fact that there’s a law of sin still active, and there’s a body of death — we should not be surprised or thrown off balance when we meet in ourselves, and our children and our spouses and our loved ones and our colleagues and our roommates and our neighbors, some really excessive and distorted bodily desires.

Let me give you some examples, and then say how I think we should respond.

Excessive and Distorted Desires

Remember, we are being redeemed in stages. Guilt is taken away right now. All your sins are forgiven right now. The Holy Spirit is dwelling in your life by faith, if you’re a believer, right now. No condemnation is hanging over you at all right now. And yet, we wait for the redemption of our bodies, and those bodies are bodies of death, and places where sin sets up a base of operations often, and tempts us with excessive and distorted bodily desires.

For example, we see excessive desires for leisure, tempting us to laziness and sloth. We see excessive desires for food, tempting us to gluttony and all of its damaging effects. We see excessive desires for drink, tempting us to alcoholism. We see excessive desires for sex, tempting us to lustfulness and fornication and adultery.

And on top of all of those excessive desires, this law of sin operating in our members produces distorted desires. That shouldn’t surprise us either. The whole world is bent out of shape under the fall. That’s much of the point of Romans 1–3. It’s much of the point of part of Romans 8.

For example, we see distorted desires for food. My father-in-law treated people, before he died, who had this incredible hankering for gray river clay in Georgia. They ate clay until it filled their bowels and they died. He would warn them not to take laxatives because it would kill them. Why would anybody want to eat clay?

Or the whole issue of binging — bags of cookies and so on. Those are distortions of a good thing called appetite, desire. Or we know about distorted desires of sex. The desire to have satisfaction with one of your own sex, whether homosexuality or lesbianism or bisexuality, is one of many kinds of fallen distortions. Another example would be the distortions of desire for pleasure, a kind of high, and people resort to marijuana or speed or cocaine or LSD.

Why? What are these distortions, these artificial ways of getting some kind of satisfaction and happiness? The world is just shot through our bodies. These bodies of death are shot through with excessive desires and distorted desires. There’s not a person in this room who doesn’t have one of those.

Who Will Deliver Me?

Now, what do we do? I’m calling you, pleading with you week after week for a biblical realism in Jesus Christ. In Christ, by faith, we are united to him. Before any of this is fixed, hear this now: by faith we become united to Jesus. Faith alone! We are united to him, and his purchased pardon becomes perfectly ours, and his perfect righteousness clothes this excessively desiring, distortedly desiring body first. This is the gospel.

“Will you make war all your life until your body is finally redeemed at the resurrection? That’s the issue.”

Now, what’s the issue then? The issue in your life, believer, is not, Do I have excessive desires? Do I have distorted desires? I say it with joy in my heart for those of you who struggle with homosexuality or with eating disorders or with drugs or with laziness — I say it with joy in my heart: The issue is not whether you have those excessive and distorted desires. The issue is, will you say, “Who will deliver me from this body of death?” and look away from yourself and your resources and say, “Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ, who gives the victory”? And will you not make peace with the law of sin and find yourself at home in the body of death, but rather make war all your life until your body is finally redeemed at the resurrection? That’s the issue.

So you walk up to me at the end of the service in five minutes and say, with trembling, “I’d like you to pray for me because I’ve never told anybody, but I really struggle with homosexuality.” I’m not going to be surprised. Happens a lot. You say to me, “Nobody knows what I’m doing with food. Nobody knows.” I’m not going to be surprised; nothing surprises me anymore.

But I will call you to a massive hope that through faith, there is justification, and through faith, there is forgiveness. And then, by that same Christ, comes incrementally — sometimes in leaps and bounds, and sometimes through long, agonizing wrestling — a triumph that will be secured in the last day because of the blood of Jesus.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15115600/how-paul-motivates-impossible-love-in-marriage

From the opening chapters of the Bible, God makes it clear that humanity was created to enjoy life with God, and God in life — to experience the radiance of his presence and listen to him speak “close up.”

Adam and Eve walked with God in the garden, which God himself has provided for this very purpose. And they are charged to turn the whole of creation into a place where God can be known and enjoyed (see Genesis 1:28 and 2:15–16). Relating to God, for them, was natural and unhindered. After the events of Genesis 3, of course, everything gets so much harder.

“From the opening chapters of the Bible, God makes it clear that humanity was created to enjoy life with God.”

God’s grand plan for his people and his world remains the same, but suddenly the way to God is littered with obstacles, as the ease of relating to God is replaced with struggle. In fact, it’s not altogether clear how our first parents are supposed to relate to God as they leave the now inaccessible garden behind (Genesis 3:24). The task they were commissioned to do in Genesis 1:28 remains, but it now will be tackled against the grain of a broken creation and without the immediate presence of the Creator. Which brings us to Genesis 4.

First Recorded Prayer

After the exclusion of the original couple from Eden, the narrative immediately jumps to the birth of Cain and then Abel. The intriguing note of Genesis 3:15 has set us up to expect an individual who is able to undo the recently created chaos of sin.

Both brothers are pictured bringing offerings to God (the awareness of our obligation to the one who made us remains intact), but the violent events which follow do little beyond showing that the hope of humanity must be found elsewhere — and yet, remarkably, God has continued to speak to his people. Cain’s evil quickly spirals further out of control, as he settles down in a city (Genesis 4:17), rather than continuing to “fill the earth and subdue it,” and then fathers a dynasty of self-reliant men, culminating in the brutality of Lamech, who boasts to his wives that if anyone messes with him, he will exact disproportionate revenge (Genesis 4:24).

At this point in the tragic narrative, we find these words:

And Adam knew his wife again, and she bore a son and called his name Seth, for she said, “God has appointed for me another offspring instead of Abel, for Cain killed him.” To Seth also a son was born, and he called his name Enosh. At that time people began to call upon the name of the Lord. (Genesis 4:25–26)

Initially, Genesis 4:25 raises our hopes. Cain and Abel are not to be the sole heirs of Adam — there is another son, Seth. Eve’s own words, highlighting that he is another “offspring” (same word in Genesis 3:15), lead us to expect more detail, and hopefully a bright counterpoint to the darkness of Cain and his line. However, we get no details whatsoever about Seth. He is born, and then his sole contribution to the unfolding plan of God is to sire a son, Enosh.

Like his father, Enosh makes no contribution to the narrative beyond providing a descendant. All this makes it doubly puzzling when the birth of Enosh leads people to begin calling on the name of the Lord, apparently for the first time.

Why Pray Now?

The phrase “at that time” in the first five books of the Bible tends to introduce significant incidents (for example, Genesis 12:6; 38:1; Deuteronomy 1:9). In this case, the striking nature of the action (calling on the name of the Lord) is a further signal that something important is going on. But it is puzzling — what could possibly have occasioned this “new start” in humanity’s relationship with God?

Seth is born, but does nothing else. Now Enosh is born, and similarly, there appears to be nothing remarkable about his birth. So what are we to make of this? What prompted them to seek God in this way now?

It’s theoretically possible that this is simply a chronological note. Given the fact, however, that not one word is wasted in the opening chapters of the Bible, and every phrase seems loaded with significance for the unfolding narrative, this seems highly unlikely. Rather, it seems that starting to “call on the name of the Lord” is the right response to the fact that Cain and Abel, Seth and Enosh have all shown up, but there is, as yet, no sign of the promised Serpent-Crusher of Genesis 3:15. The waiting — and the appealing to God to act — has begun.

We Ask for What He Promised

This is the first address to God after the fall — and it is a cry to God to act by fulfilling his promises. In the Institutes, John Calvin says, “Just as faith is born from the gospel, so through it our hearts are trained to call upon God’s name” (III XX.21). I think that’s what’s going on here in Genesis 4. The announcement of Genesis 3:15 has brought gospel hope to life, which in turn leads God’s people to ask God to act. The gospel gives birth to gospel-shaped prayer.

“Prayer is a means of communion with God, but far more often it is simply asking God to do what he has promised to do.”

As we look at prayers throughout the Bible, it becomes increasingly apparent that they are dominated by this single concern: to see God act to fulfill his promises as he advances his plan of redemption in our world. That’s not to say, of course, that our relationship with God can be reduced to this one thing. There are lots of activities that we are invited or commanded to engage in as part of our relationship with God (like praise, or repentance, or intercession, or lament, or thanks).

When it comes to prayer, however, the Bible seems to have a much narrower focus than we would normally allow. Prayer is a means of communion with God, but far more often it is simply asking God to do what he has promised to do.

Until Prayer Is Unnecessary

This simple observation, which flows naturally from Genesis 4:25–26, does cut through much of the guilt and confusion we often feel about prayer. Prayer begins with asking God to do his gospel work. This is presumably why Jesus can encourage us to pray unhypocritical, to-the-point kingdom prayers (Matthew 5:5–14). Prayer isn’t primarily communing with God, let alone twisting his arm, but asking God to do what he is already committed to doing (see Luke 11:5–13).

It is easy to miss the significance of Genesis 4:25–26, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t a beautifully gospel-shaped clue to how people like you and me are to relate to the God who loves us this side of the fall. We are to pray — asking God to do what he has promised — until that day when prayer is no longer needed, because all things have already been made new and all his promises have been brought to perfect fruition.

But until then? We keep praying like people of the day of Seth and Enosh, asking God to act for our good and his glory.

It’s not a long drive — just thirty minutes — but it’s an intense one. I’m always a strange mixture of anxious and excited. It’s normally a Monday afternoon, and my destination is a place the three of us call “The Wardrobe.”

The three of us are Ray Ortlund, T. J. Tims, and myself. And “The Wardrobe” is what we call Ray’s new study, not because it’s in any way cramped, but because for the three of us it represents a gateway into a better world. Monday afternoon is when the three of us typically get together to pray and catch up, and specifically to confess our sins.

The New Testament repeatedly shows us the need to be transparent with one another. John urges us to “walk in the light” (1 John 1:7), James to “confess your sins to one another and pray for one another” (James 5:16). The former charge appeals to us: we all like the idea of living in transparency. It’s what excites me as I drive to Ray’s house. But the former comes as a result of the latter — in other words, walking in the light comes as we confess our sins. That’s the part I always feel a little anxious about. Transparency can’t happen without confession. We need to practice James 5:16 in order to enjoy 1 John 1:7.

Doorway to the Light

Being honest about our sins requires being honest not just with God, but with one another. We might think this latter dimension would be the easier of the two: if we’ve already come clean to God, surely it’s no big deal to come clean to each other? But I find the opposite to be the case. God already knows the worst about me. I’m never admitting something he doesn’t already know about — more fully than I do. But with Ray and T. J., that’s not the case. I can really lose face by confessing my sins to them.

There are other reasons we can find confession to another person difficult. Being open makes us vulnerable. At times in the past, I’ve risked some openness with someone and been met with a blank stare, or a really insensitive response. Sometimes it’s hard to know if we want to risk transparency. But we’re actually missing out if we don’t. Both John and James show us the benefits:

If we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin. (1 John 1:7)

Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. (James 5:16)

Real, deep fellowship is birthed through this kind of honesty. James even says there is healing that takes place. The very act of confessing our sins, and entrusting them to the knowledge of believing friends, is already doing something in us. It pours health and light into the broken and darkened places of our hearts.

How to Hear Another’s Sins

I’ve found this fellowship, healing, and light in my times with Ray and T. J. All three of us are in some form of full-time pastoral ministry, which I know can be isolating for many pastors. But I’ve never felt so deeply known by others before. It’s embarrassing to confess what I must confess, for sure. But it is also liberating. I don’t have to pretend. I’m not sitting on something, wondering if it’s going to be discovered. They truly know the worst about me (and I about them!), and it makes our continued affection for each other all the more precious.

I’ve been trying to think through how we got here — what marks of these two men have helped me be so open with them.

Be Unshockable

Neither Ray nor T. J. has collapsed in shock when I’ve confessed something to them. I think it’s because they know their own hearts well enough. When we know our own depravity, it’s hard to be surprised at someone else’s.

“When we know our own depravity, it’s hard to be surprised at someone else’s.”

I think this is why Paul describes himself as “the foremost” of sinners (1 Timothy 1:15). I doubt he’s suggesting that, out of all people, he has the greatest capacity or worst track record when it comes to sin. When someone is aware of just how messed up his own heart is, it can be hard to imagine there’s someone else out there who is more messed up.

If we’re unshockable — because we know how sinful and depraved we are — we make it much easier for others to confess. If I share a particularly distressing sin, and you respond in surprised disgust, I’ll think twice about admitting anything like that to you (or perhaps anyone) ever again. But if you respond with a measure of understanding, knowing your own heart to be prone to sin (even if in different ways), I find it much easier for me to be honest with you next time.

Be Reciprocal

It is hard to be transparent with someone if they’re never really transparent with us. Between Christian friends, building trust requires sufficient mutuality. It’s hard to keep bearing our souls if the other person remains closed. We do have different personalities and experiences, so we won’t all naturally open up with one another to the same extent. But all the same, honesty begets honesty. Someone else’s transparency makes it easier for us to be transparent, and vice versa.

“Honesty begets honesty.”

Ray and T. J. have always been open with me. They’ve never hesitated to entrust me with their struggles. Their example makes it so much easier for me to do the same.

Be a Good Listener

Once, I shared with Ray about a particularly distressing sin of mine. He carefully listened before asking one or two searching questions, making sure he had as full a picture of the situation as he could, and making sure I was giving him the whole story and not holding back important details. And his loving listening made the counsel he gave me all the more deep and insightful.

If you want to invite another’s honesty, learn to listen well. “If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame” (Proverbs 18:13). We are to be “quick to hear, slow to speak” (James 1:19).

Listening well also means remembering well. We don’t serve each other well if, after someone has disclosed something significant, we quickly forget what it was and how it had affected him. Remembering his struggles is part of how we bear his burdens. Only then can we care well for him by following up and doing all we can to encourage him to repent well and keep fighting.

Be a Friend

Lastly, it takes time to cultivate the trusted, confidential, deep fellowship that fosters this kind of mutual transparency — this walking in the light together. Occasionally, we might find ourselves experiencing a moment of glorious, transparent light-walking with a believer we hardly know. But those moments tend to be rare. What we all really need are committed brothers or sisters walking alongside us for the long haul — not just a drive-by confession here and there.

What we’re really talking about here is true friendship. Paul tells us to “Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God” (Romans 15:7). Honesty, encouragement, faithfulness, and loving rebuke when necessary — these are traits we find in our friendship with Christ. The greatest way to foster transparency with one another is to cultivate in us Christ’s heart for one another.

This is what I have experienced with my true friends, Ray and T. J. It is what makes our Monday meetings in “The Wardrobe” a gateway into a better world — a world where we walk openly in the light of the Light.

Audio Transcript

Good Monday morning, everyone. A big week ahead on the podcast: Next time, on Wednesday, we’re going to look at what we as Christians do with our disordered desires. We still have those disordered loves in us. So what do we do with them? That’s Wednesday. Friday, we look at whether or not we can become more holy if we treat our bodies more harshly — a key discussion on asceticism.

But first, the week starts as we look at the power of our adversary — the devil. The Bible tells us that Satan has been disarmed. So what did he get disarmed of? What powers did he have that he no longer possesses? That’s the question from a podcast listener named Dan, in Altoona, Iowa. “Pastor John, hello! Colossians 2:15 tells us our Savior Jesus Christ ‘disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them.’ Great text! But what is here meant by ‘disarmed’? Was there something they were wielding then that they do not wield now? If so, what is the weapon Paul speaks of here in this text?”

I love this question because I love the glorious truth, not only of Colossians 2:15, but the way verses 13 and 14 prepare for it and put a massive foundation under it. So let’s read the whole unit, and then I’ll give a couple answers to the question, In what sense did the death of Christ strip Satan and his demons of their weapons? Here are the verses:

You, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him [Christ], having forgiven us all our trespasses [how?] by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside [how?], nailing it to the cross. [And here comes the key verse we’re being asked about:] He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him [in Christ and in the cross]. (Colossians 2:13–15)

Forgiven and Made Alive

This is one of the greatest passages, I think, in the Bible about what really happened when Christ died. So let me describe six terrible and wonderful things in the order in which they happened in this text, and end by describing the glorious disarming of rulers and authorities.

1. Legally Condemned

We were dead in trespasses and sins. All human beings are spiritually dead and blind to the reality of the glory of Christ. We are as dead to spiritual truth as a human corpse is dead to being touched. Paul describes the legal nature of this condition in Colossians 2:14 with the phrase “the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands.” In other words, we’re not only spiritually impervious to God’s touch, but we are legally condemned by the long record of sins that stood against us.

2. Debt Nailed

God took that long list, that record of sins, and put it in the hand of Christ, and drove a spike through it and through his hand so that he became a substitute for us, bearing the punishment for the record of our debts in his own death. He nailed it. The text says, “nailing it to the cross” (Colossians 2:14).

3. Debt Canceled

Then verse 14 makes explicit that this nailing of the record of our debt to the cross canceled — “canceling the record of our debt” (Colossians 2:14). It is canceled. The debt is canceled because the debt of punishment that we owed to the justice of God has been paid in the punishment of Christ on the cross.

4. Record Set Aside

Then Paul adds, “This he set aside” (Colossians 2:14). Literally, it says he “took it out of the midst” — very unusual thing to say. In other words, in the courtroom of heaven, where our record of debt guarantees our condemnation, nobody can find it. It’s taken. Where did it go? This was in the folder here just a minute ago. It’s taken out of the midst. It’s gone. “As far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:12).

5. Forgiven

Then he makes explicit that the effect of our sins being nailed, and the record of debt being taken out of the way, is that we’re forgiven (Colossians 2:13). He applies to us personally what Christ accomplished perfectly. When we are united to Christ by faith, his punishment becomes ours and his righteousness becomes ours, and God counts our sins against us no more.

6. Made Alive

Paul says in verse 13, therefore, “God made [you] alive together with him.” Because our sins are forgiven, he makes us eternally alive. Now, we’re no longer a corpse that can’t be touched by spiritual reality. We see Christ for who he is, and we are moved to prefer him and prize him and treasure him and love him and trust him above all things.

Devil Disarmed

And now, on the basis of those six terrible and glorious realities, we see in verse 15 that something amazing happened to the rulers and authorities, to Satan and his “cosmic powers . . . in the heavenly places,” as it says in Ephesians 6:12. This is Colossians 2:15: “He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.” The word translated disarmed means literally stripped. It’s used one other place — namely, in Colossians 3:9, where the Christians are to strip off their old nature.

So, what we see first in verse 15 is that just when people thought Jesus was being stripped of his clothing, and shamed in nakedness at his final trial, and led in triumphal procession to Calvary, what was really happening was the reverse. Namely, Satan and his demonic forces were being stripped. They were being shamed. They were being led in triumphal procession. I’m going to mention two ways (there are more) that the achievement of the death of Jesus in verses 13 and 14 brings about this stripping (or this disarming) of Satan and his rulers.

No More Condemnation

First, we know from Revelation 12:10 that Satan, by the very meaning of his name, is the great accuser. Satan can do a lot of damage to us physically, emotionally, and relationally in this world, but he can only condemn us or damn us or bring us to eternal ruin in one way — namely, by a valid accusation of our sins before a holy God.

“The power to accuse God’s people successfully has been taken away.”

If he can do that, we’re done for. If he can make our sins stick in the courtroom of heaven as he accuses us before the judge of the universe, we’re doomed; we’re hopeless. And the point of verses 13 and 14 is that the record of debt that Satan could use to accuse us and condemn us has been nailed to the cross. The one damning weapon that he has — namely, unforgiven sin, with which he could accuse us — has been stripped out of his hands.

This is what Paul meant, I think, when he said in Romans 8:33–34, “Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died.” So, the first way that the demonic world was stripped and disarmed by the cross is that the power to accuse God’s people successfully has been taken away. That sin is already punished. It was nailed to the cross. We can’t be accused with it.

No More Fear of Death

And the second thing, the only other thing I’ll mention, is a glorious thing experientially now — namely, Satan was robbed. The powers and the rulers, the authorities, were robbed or stripped of their power to hold us in slavery to the fear of death. Now, I get that straight out of Hebrews 2:14, which is an absolutely amazing, wonderful verse

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood [that is, we’re human], he himself likewise partook of the same things [he became human], that through death he might destroy [nullify, abrogate, revoke, abolish] the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil.

“When Christ died in our place, he took the sting out of death.”

When Christ died in our place, he took the sting out of death because he took sin out of death. He took condemnation out of death. And so he took fear out of death, which means that the second great weapon of the devil that was stripped from him is the power to hold us in bondage, which is what the next verse in Hebrews says: he held us in bondage through fear of death our whole life long (Hebrews 2:15).

He can’t do that anymore. He has been disarmed of the weapon of fear of dying, because the sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law, and all of it has been satisfied and punished on the cross.

Glories of the Cross

So, you can see why I love Colossians 2:13–15. The riches of these verses are infinite. I encourage you to spend hours pondering the glories of what God achieved for us on the cross, especially as it relates to the devil and the evil rulers and authorities — and I’ve only mentioned two. There are other ways that Satan has been stripped, but these two are wonderful. Power to condemn us with sin stripped. Power to terrify us with death stripped.