Walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do. –Galatians 5:16–17

In seminary, this passage reshaped my vision of the Christian life. At one level, the passage is simple. It contains an exhortation (“walk by the Spirit”), a promise (“and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh”), and an explanation or rationale (the conflict described in verse 17). But as we meditate on this passage, we discover that it also offers a threefold vision for the Christian life as a whole.

Acknowledge the War Within

First, Paul insists that the starting point for the Christian life is recognizing the war between the flesh and the Spirit.

I say “starting point” because of the logic of verses 16 and 17. In seminary, I was taught that one way to clarify the logic of a passage like this is to read the verses in reverse order while keeping the logical relationship intact. In other words, turn an “A, because B” argument into a “B, therefore A” argument. “I eat, because I am hungry” becomes “I am hungry, therefore I eat.”

When we do that, the passage looks like this:

(Verse 17) The desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do. (Verse 16) Therefore (that’s the logical connection) walk by the Spirit, and you will certainly not gratify the desires of the flesh.

As Christians, we wake up every day in the midst of a war. Fleshly desires pull us in one direction; the desires of the Spirit pull us in the other. The status quo is a frustrated stalemate in which we are kept from doing what we want to do. Spiritual desires frustrate fleshly desires, and fleshly desires frustrate spiritual desires.

Starting with this recognition means we can be realistic about the difficulty of the war. The frustration we feel in the face of the passions of the flesh is real, and Paul encourages us to be honest about it. That’s where we begin as Christians.

Staggering Promise of Not

But according to Paul, we don’t have to stay there, because, second, we have a new destination. We don’t have to surrender. We can live a life in which we absolutely don’t gratify the desires of the flesh. This is a staggering promise. The “not” in verse 16 is intensified in the original Greek; it’s what’s called an emphatic negation. Paul essentially says, “If you walk by the Spirit, you will absolutely and certainly not gratify the desires of the flesh.”

Now, it’s important to be clear about what Paul is and isn’t promising. He’s not saying that our fleshly desires disappear altogether. Instead, he promises that we will not gratify or complete those desires. In other words, the desires may still be present and still at war with our spiritual desires, but now, as we walk by the Spirit, we won’t indulge them.

The basic idea is that all desires have a direction, a destination, a trajectory. They incline us towards some perceived good, some object that we believe will satisfy. In short, desires want to take us somewhere.

Where Do Desires Lead?

In Galatians 5, the desires of the flesh lead to the works of the flesh: “sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these.” Paul is clear that those who practice such things — by habitually gratifying those desires — will not inherit God’s kingdom. On the other hand, the desires of the Spirit lead to the fruit of the Spirit: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.”

So again, desires, whether of the Spirit or the flesh, have a destination, and when that destination is reached, the desire has been gratified. The itch has been scratched. Notice, however, the critical assumption Paul makes: the presence of the fleshly desire doesn’t mean that we have to indulge it. It’s possible to resist where our desires want to take us.

For Paul, walking by the Spirit doesn’t remove all fleshly tendencies and inclinations in this life. Instead, it interrupts them. It redirects them and reorders them so that they no longer dishonor God or harm people. It’s important to be clear on this point so that we don’t erect impossible and unrealistic expectations for the Christian life. In this life, the desires may still rise up, but according to Paul, they don’t have to master us. They don’t have to rule us. We don’t have to gratify or indulge them. We don’t have to scratch. We can be free.

But only if we walk by the Spirit.

Essential Bridge

Walking by the Spirit is the third element in this vision of the Christian life, and the bridge between our present struggle and the future victory. It’s the path that gets us from frustration to freedom. Which means that the pressing question for us is this: What exactly does it mean to “walk by the Spirit”?

The image is clear enough. Walking is a form of movement. It’s neither standing still nor running. It’s steady movement, in a particular direction, under a particular power (in this case, the Spirit). Galatians 5:24–25 sheds further light on the image:

And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also keep in step with the Spirit.

“Walk by the Spirit” corresponds to “keep in step with the Spirit.” It’s as though the Spirit sets the pace and we keep up. There’s a rhythm to our walking. Like a drummer, the Spirit lays down the beat, and we march along. This basic idea appears in various forms throughout Paul’s letters:

Walk rightly with the truth of the gospel (Galatians 2:13).
Walk by the Spirit (Galatians 5:16).
Be led by the Spirit (Galatians 5:18).
Keep in step with the Spirit (Galatians 5:26).
Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called (Ephesians 4:1).
Walk in a manner worthy of the Lord (Colossians 1:10).

“Walking by the Spirit is the bridge between our present struggle and the future victory.”

Other phrases that appear throughout the New Testament include walking in love, walking in the light, walking as children of the light, walking according to Paul’s example, and walking in the truth. In all of these examples, the idea is the same: there is a conduct, a “walking,” that accords with the gospel, the Spirit, and the truth. There is a way of life that fits the gospel.

Before We Can Walk

Walking by the Spirit flows from something more fundamental, though, and this is crucial. Before we can keep in step with the Spirit, we must first “live by the Spirit.” That is, we must possess life by the Spirit.

The life in question is resurrection life. We possess it because we belong to Jesus and have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. It’s what Paul elsewhere describes as “being made alive with Christ” (Ephesians 2:4). This is conversion, when God raises us from spiritual death by grace through faith in Christ.

He elaborates on this reality in the great gospel passage of Galatians 2:19–20:

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

“The Spirit is the animating power in our lives, shaping our daily decisions as we wake up in spiritual war.”

Crucified with Christ so that the flesh has been killed. Raised with Christ so that he lives on our behalf and we possess life by his Spirit. This is the good news which so transformed Paul and is able to transform us.

So, then, walking by the Spirit refers to our daily conduct, rooted in our union with Christ in his death and resurrection and empowered by the Spirit who redirects our desires to godly fruitfulness. The Spirit is the animating power in our lives, shaping our daily decisions as we wake up in the midst of the spiritual war. Paul’s call is for us to daily take up arms in the battle, to encourage and gratify our spiritual desires, and to keep in step with the Spirit because we belong to Jesus.

Audio Transcript

When it comes to global missions, we Christian Hedonists camp on a couple of incredible texts in the Psalms. There we find a couple of texts that have deeply shaped Pastor John and how he thinks of the church’s mission to the nations. The first one is, of course, an Old Testament prayer for the nations. “Let the peoples praise you, O God; let all the peoples praise you! Let the nations be glad and sing for joy” (Psalm 67:3–4). “Let the nations be glad” — that’s our prayer. But we don’t just pray to this end, because the psalmist also delivers a command to the people of God in relationship to the nations. It’s this: “Sing to the Lord, bless his name; tell of his salvation from day to day. Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples!” (Psalm 96:2–3).

So, let the nations be glad as they see our gladness in God. That’s a powerful tandem of texts. The first text became the title of Pastor John’s classic book on missions: Let the Nations Be Glad. And the second text, the command, was Pastor John’s choice text he preached recently at the 2021 Getty Sing conference in Nashville. Here he is explaining the connection between our joy, our singing, and our reach to the nations. He begins with an illustration from his marriage. Have a listen.

When we traveled together, which we did yesterday, coming down here on the plane, and which we’ve done for 52 years together, I have said to her countless times in airports, on elevators, “I’m so glad that you can go with me. It makes me happy that we can do this together.” And do you know that never once, in five decades, has she said, “You are so selfish. It makes you glad that I’m along — makes you happy that we can do this together. You are so selfish. Makes you glad — makes you happy.” Never once has she said that. The reason that this conference exists is found in the answer to the question, Why would she never think to say that? Why would it never enter her mind to say that?

Giving Voice to Gladness

The worth and the glory that we see in others is measured by the gladness that we have in their presence. My pleasure in her presence is a tribute. It’s not selfishness; it’s celebration. My pleasure is a measure of her treasure to me. And so it is with God and worship. God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him and his presence as our dearest friend. God has given singing to his people as one of the most precious and powerful expressions of our gladness in his glory.

“God has given singing to his people as one of the most powerful expressions of our gladness in his glory.”

It’s the gladness of Godward singing — especially through suffering, as Joni said last night. We say it again. It’s the gladness of Godward singing, especially through obedient suffering, that makes God’s glory shine most brightly. So, for those two reasons, I’m thankful to be here and that this conference exists.

Now my task, in these last few minutes, is to draw out some of the connections between the gladness of Godward singing and the finishing of the great task, of the Great Commission, to gather God’s elect from all the peoples of the world, or as Isaiah 35:10 says, to see all “the ransomed of the Lord . . . come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon on their heads.” So, I have five connections to draw your attention to. I’ll just point to them, and you can trace them out later, and I’ll give you a scripture for each one.

Singing Sends

First, the gladness of Godward singing sends the lovers of Christ to the nations. Psalm 96:2–4: “Sing to the Lord, bless his name; tell of his salvation from day to day. Declare his glory among the nations” — while you’re singing, do that — “his marvelous works among all the peoples! For great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised.” How many thousands of missionaries have heard their call in Psalm 96? “Declare his glory among the nations.” Do you hear that? “Declare his glory among the nations.” Sing to the Lord a new song — there, to them.

“The gladness of Godward singing sends the lovers of Christ to the nations.”

Every year at Bethlehem, when I was a pastor there for 33 years, we would have a missions conference, and at the close of the missions conference we gave an invitation to all those who in the conference for the last two Sundays had heard or felt what they sensed to be a compelling leading of the Lord to cross a culture, to take the gospel, spending the rest of their lives to do it. That’s a pretty high standard for an invitation. We would sing. We would stop. There would be no music, and no head bowed, and no eye closed, and I would wait. And Chuck, who helped me with that for so many years, was sitting over there as a precious partner in it, our worship leader.

And they’d come. They’d just get up out of their seats and come — twenty, fifty, one time two hundred. And then we’d get them connected with the nurture program. Then we’d close with a song:

We rest on thee, our Shield and our Defender!Thine is the battle, thine shall be the praise;When passing through the gates of pearly splendor,Victors, we rest with thee, through endless days.

That’s the hymn that the five Ecuador martyrs were singing when they were speared to death in 1956. And I believe with all my heart that as they walked to the front, uncertain and struggling, but sensing God’s leading to give their lives to world missions, that call was sealed with that song. Singing sends lovers of Christ to the nations.

Around the turn of the century, some 20 years ago, well-informed citizens might claim 20 sources of news. They’d watch a national and local TV news program, pick up a newspaper delivery or two each morning, wait each week or month on a few magazine subscriptions, forward some emails with bizarre threats, and tune in during morning and evening commutes to a talk radio station or two.

In the last 20 years, however, the number of sources has expanded to 200 . . . to 2,000 . . . to 200,000 . . . to 2 million . . . to 200 million . . . to 2 billion and beyond . . . to every person around the world who can open a Facebook profile, a couple burner Twitter handles, an Instagram account for public and one to hide from the parents, and on and on.

This revolution has implications for every corner of our lives, but perhaps none more consequential than that of Christian formation and discipleship.

From Curation to Algorithm

When pastors stepped into the pulpit 20 years ago, they held a knowledge advantage over most church members. They knew more about the Bible, more about other Christians around the world, more about history and theology. That didn’t mean the congregations would always agree. They could read the Bible for themselves. They could purchase the history books from Borders or Amazon. They could subscribe to Christianity Today. But this study required time, money, and effort.

At the time, it was still a curated world, controlled by editors and publishers and producers. Like pastors, these gatekeepers benefited from broad agreement. TV shows and periodicals could sell more advertisements that way. Pastors could focus on study and shepherding with one eye on the most popular cable news and talk radio hosts among their congregation.

The curated world has largely disappeared. The inconspicuous editor has been replaced by the opaque algorithm. And the algorithm knows more about us than any pastor or any editor ever could. The algorithm gives us what we might not even admit we want. Church leaders can only give us what they think we need.

Internet-Shaped Christians

Compared to 20 years ago, the Internet — not the local church — has become the primary place where Christians are formed today. Before their leaders ever speak, church members already know what they believe. And they expect their leaders to conform — or else. No wonder so many church leaders feel like they’ve lost their footing in the last two years.

“The Internet — not the local church — has become the primary place where Christians are formed today.”

Every pastor, of course, is led to think his situation is unique. Elders resign with accusations of theological drift. Younger members leave in frustration because pastors didn’t change their sermon to speak about the latest viral video. Deacons break decades-long friendships after they discover a new favorite YouTube channel.

In the aftermath, pastors reflect on what they did wrong. Did they unintentionally offend someone? Should they develop a new policy for when to revise the pastoral prayer? Did their favorite person to quote actually do all the terrible things that the podcast suggested?

When it’s happening to one pastor, it’s good to look in the mirror. When it’s happening to a denomination, it’s good to look at the culture of training leaders. When it’s happening in every single church, though, it’s a revolution.

The (Technological) Reformation

Revolution’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Martin Luther lived through a revolution. More than a century before Luther unwittingly launched the Protestant Reformation, Jan Hus had raised many of the same concerns about the medieval Catholic church’s ethical offenses. Hus, too, had the support of powerful political leaders in his native region of Europe. But Hus was executed as a martyr in 1415 at the Council of Constance. Luther died a natural death in 1546 after effecting schism with Rome. Under God’s providence, what made the difference?

Luther seized upon the print revolution of the early sixteenth century. And according to biographer Andrew Pettegree in Brand Luther, he effectively invented the popular theological treatise. He didn’t wait on the church hierarchy. He didn’t write only in scholarly Latin. He took his case straight from the Bible, straight to the people. This revolution of grace prevailed in much of Europe, and now continues to spread on every inhabited continent.

Today we’re living through the early days of a revolution of equal scale but with an uncertain outcome.

Terror to Bad or Good?

Luther and Hus remain heroes to the podcasters and YouTubers denouncing today’s church leaders as corrupt. If any figure in church history would have excelled in the volatile back-and-forth of Twitter, it would be Luther. Hus only wishes TikTok had been available on the road to Constance. If you’ve been hurt or outraged by corrupt denominational leaders, the Internet is your insurance. You don’t need a magazine editor or TV producer to investigate your story. They’ll sit at home and report on your Twitter Spaces. You have the power.

This revolution is a double-edged sword. It’s a terror to bad conduct. But sometimes it also slices the good. How can we, then, leverage this revolution for God’s glory?

Luther didn’t exploit the emerging celebrity culture and printing press for revolution’s sake. His revolution returned Christians to the ultimate authority of the word of God, which is “living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Hebrews 4:12). This word of God condemns anyone who taxes the free gift of the gospel (Galatians 5:12). This word of God exterminates the brood of vipers who speak good but practice evil (Matthew 12:34).

“Any technology revolution that returns the word of God to the center of Christian life and practice will be blessed by God.”

Any technology revolution that returns the word of God to the center of Christian life and practice will be blessed by God. For the accountability of the word, every true church leader gives thanks. For the videos of BibleProject, the sermons of John Piper, and small groups on Zoom during a pandemic, we give thanks. For Paul’s command that our speech should “always be gracious, seasoned with salt” (Colossians 4:6), we give thanks — and ask God for slower thumbs.

Wherever the word rules, no one who belongs to God should fear.

Stumbling Toward Sobriety

This is the day the Lord has made. Ultimately, the Internet holds together not in California server farms, but by the word of his power. And yet church leaders today can no less ignore the Internet than the pope could dismiss Luther as a wild German boar.

So what’s the solution to the crisis of church leadership at the dawn of the Internet revolution?

Shifting all our ministry online would make the problem worse. In fact, church leaders do well to tread carefully and even consider stepping away from social media. You don’t pass the glutton another pint and expect him to stumble toward sobriety. Sometimes the best defense against the Internet’s never-ending pseudo-events is ignorance. You may not be able to ignore the Internet, but you should probably ignore most Twitter beefs.

As the Internet has expanded our horizons to the whole world, most church leaders should feel released to focus locally. Ministries like Desiring God and The Gospel Coalition have grown in the last 20 years to help fill the void of digital discipleship and counter anti-gospel messages with biblical truth. But the best our staff can do is help support local church leaders — the ones who know the real you, not the Instagram selfie. We can’t, and won’t, break the body of Christ and pour the blood of Christ at the Table so that you might taste the Lord’s goodness in the forgiveness of sins. When you stray from the word, we can’t knock on your door and offer encouragement and prayer. We can’t preach the word in power after sitting by your bedside in grief.

Our Soul’s Best Defense

The Internet exposes false teachers even as it enables false teachers to spread their destructive heresies (2 Peter 2:1). In every revolution, good people suffer from darkness masquerading as light (2 Corinthians 11:4). The best defense or discernment in the digital age is a local church leader, submitted to God’s word, who knows your name and knows your weaknesses and loves you all the same.

When we reorient toward the local church, the Internet revolution will enhance — not supplant — the ministry of the word. Another Reformation, where God’s people read and heed his word, may unfold in real time. And God’s name will be praised in our spiritual unity, rather than being reviled in all our man-made division.

“Deconstruction” is a term that has increasingly been used in evangelical circles, especially over the past decade. But it is a confusing term, because there’s no single or simple definition for “deconstruction.” It has different meanings in different contexts. It has technical meanings in certain academic contexts and various informal meanings when current and former evangelicals use it to describe their (or others’) faith experiences.

It’s not surprising that many are asking some form of, “What does ‘deconstruction’ even mean?” It’s an important question and needs clarifying answers — certainly more answers than I can adequately cover here. But I hope to provide something of an introductory overview.

First, we’ll examine briefly where the term, “deconstruction,” came from, so we can, second, understand the primary ways evangelicals are using the term today.

Where Did ‘Deconstruction’ Come From?

In the 1960s, a French philosopher named Jacques Derrida (1930–2004) began to advocate for a postmodern philosophy of language and its relationship to our conceptions of meaning that he called “deconstruction.” It is an abstruse philosophy and notoriously difficult (some say impossible) to summarize. In fact, Derrida himself refused to summarize deconstruction, claiming that his whole life’s work was a summary of his philosophy.

Nevertheless, I’ll take a shot at summarizing it as I currently understand it — and stick with me, because knowing something of where “deconstruction” comes from will hopefully give us insight into why some Christians have adopted and adapted it to describe their experiences — and why many find it confusing.

A fundamental assumption undergirding Derrida’s philosophy is that humans, through biological evolution, developed the capacity to impose psychological constructs of meaning upon their world as a survival mechanism. In other words, meaning — as in the ultimate meaning of things — is a human psychological creation, not a discovery or divine revelation of absolute truth.
Therefore, deconstruction asserts that human language at best communicates, not absolute truth, but how a certain individual conceives of truth at a certain moment in time, in the contexts of his cultural, political, religious, environmental, and experiential influences.
Therefore, deconstruction asserts that philosophers (or theologians) consult written works of the past in vain to discover absolute truth or meaning, since all they’re encountering are other authors’ constructs of truth or meaning. And not only that, but the more distant a reader is culturally, linguistically, and historically from an author, the less the reader will understand what the author actually had in mind when he used terms like truth, justice, good, evil, etc.
And therefore, the philosophy of deconstruction asserts that in an effort to understand as much as possible what an author actually meant by the language he used, sophisticated methods of textual criticism must be employed to deconstruct the author’s words in order to decipher the conceptual constructs that shaped that author’s understanding of truth and meaning.

Let me try to simplify it even more. If I understand Derrida correctly, deconstruction is

A literary philosophy arguing that we’re wrong to assume that by merely reading an author’s words we can understand something about absolute truth, since our conception of truth — our constructs of what everything means — will be significantly different from the author’s; and
Deconstruction is a method of literary criticism that takes apart and analyzes an author’s use of language in effort to discern his construct of meaning.

For Derrida, there is no meaning outside the text of a philosopher’s written work — no absolute truth that the writer is shedding light on for the reader. There’s only the writer’s construct of meaning, of truth, represented in the text he wrote.

Which means that there is no absolute truth inside the philosopher’s text either. Just a reflection of how the author interpreted what the world means. Which, according to Derrida, is what meaning is for all of us: a human psychological construct shaped by multiple influences.

Why Have Christians Adopted ‘Deconstruction’?

So, why have Christians adopted the term “deconstruction” from a philosophy based on principles of philosophical naturalism? I think we can make a connection from something theologian Kevin Vanhoozer has written about Derrida:

The motive behind Derrida’s strategy of undoing [deconstruction] stems from his alarm over illegitimate appeals to authority and exercises of power. The belief that one has reached the single correct Meaning (or God, or “Truth”) provides a wonderful excuse for damning those with whom one disagrees as either “fools” or “heretics.” . . . Neither Priests, who supposedly speak for God, nor Philosophers, who supposedly speak for Reason, should be trusted; this “logocentric” claim to speak from a privileged perspective (e.g., Reason, the Word of God) is a bluff that must be called, or better, “deconstructed.” (Is There a Meaning in this Text?, 21–22)

Over the decades since Derrida introduced his philosophy of deconstruction, the term has worked its way into the common vernacular where it now has come to generally mean “a critical dismantling of tradition and traditional modes of thought.”

In other words, “deconstruction” has become a kind of shorthand term that, in addition to critically questioning traditional ways of thinking, also implies a refusal to recognize as authorities those who see themselves (or are perceived to see themselves) as ones who “claim to speak from a privileged perspective” about what truth is.

In the Christian world, this translates to critically questioning traditional modes of Christian belief, and often refusing to recognize as authorities those perceived as occupying privileged Christian institutional positions who “supposedly speak for God.”

Now, because this is only a brief overview, that explanation is unavoidably reductionistic. Christian experiences of deconstruction are complex and often very painful. But viewed from 30,000 feet, these characteristics — of questioning traditional Christian beliefs and rejecting supposed Christian authorities — are, I believe, why some have adopted the term.

What Evangelicals Mean by ‘Deconstruction’

And, I believe, it’s why some evangelicals (and former evangelicals) have also adopted Derrida’s term. Perhaps we might say it like this:

Deconstruction is a critical dismantling of a person’s understanding of what it means to be an evangelical Christian, and in some cases a refusal to recognize as authorities those perceived as occupying privileged evangelical institutional positions who “supposedly speak for God.”

But this definition still leaves plenty of room for confusion because the “dismantling” can look quite different for different people. For instance, here are four primary ways I hear evangelicals applying the term deconstruction.

Dismantling Harmful Cultural Influences

A smaller group of evangelicals use deconstruction to describe ways to protect historical evangelical doctrine and healthy practices. For example, in the final episode of the podcast, The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill, Paul Tripp says,

We should all be deconstructing our faith — we better do it. Because our faith becomes a culture, a culture so webbed into the purity of truth that it’s hard to separate the two. And we better do some deconstructing or we’re going to find ourselves again and again in these sad places. (Aftermath, 36:57)

“Deconstruction is a critical dismantling of a person’s understanding of what it means to be an evangelical Christian.”

If you listen to Tripp’s full quote, it’s clear that what he means by “deconstruction” is a critical dismantling not of historical orthodox Christian beliefs, or rejecting the oversight of New Testament-endorsed faithful, godly, spiritual leaders (Hebrews 13:7), but of cultural influences that distort and redefine the faith in unbiblical, harmful ways.

Dismantling Doctrines

A larger group use deconstruction to describe ways they have arrived at the conviction that certain historic evangelical doctrines must be adapted or altered. For example, in his book, Deconstructing Evangelicalism, Jamin Hübner writes,

Deconstruction simply refers to the process of questioning one’s own beliefs (that were once considered unquestionable) due to new experiences, reading widely, engaging in conversations with “the other,” and interacting in a world that is now more connected and exposed to religious diversity than ever before. (Deconstructing Evangelicalism, 20)

In the full context of his book, it’s clear that what Hübner means by deconstruction is “a critical dismantling” of evangelical beliefs that experience, education, and scientific discoveries have rendered obsolete or harmful. Hübner, like many, does not reject the Christian faith altogether, but claims that evangelicals in general distort the faith. And he refuses to recognize as authorities those he considers spokesmen of the “American-evangelical-industrial-complex” (18). I believe it’s fair to say that this generally is the position of numerous former evangelicals who now identify as “progressive” Christians.

Dismantling Christianity

A significant number of those who formerly professed an evangelical faith use deconstruction to describe their departure from Christianity altogether. This is probably the most frequent way I see the term used on social media. And it’s the use I prefer the least because it tends to conflate deconstruction with deconversion.

Now, likely most people who refer to their “deconversion” from Christianity (evangelical or otherwise) as their “deconstruction” went through a process of critically dismantling their understanding of what it means to be a Christian that resulted in their abandoning the Christian faith, and that’s what why they label it as deconstruction.

“Deconstruction is a process; deconversion is a result.”

But because they use deconstruction and deconversion synonymously, when some evangelicals now hear “deconstruction,” they immediately assume “deconversion.” But deconstruction is a process; deconversion is a result. And it’s only one possible result. Others go through a deconstruction process that results in a strengthened, invigorated faith.

Constructive Dismantling

In 1951, Francis Schaeffer, having recently moved his family to Switzerland to launch a new mission, suddenly found himself plunged into a spiritual crisis.

As Schaeffer contrasted the New Testament’s description of Christian love with the suspicious, angry, separatistic culture of American Protestantism he had been a part of for the previous two decades, he was “torn to pieces by the lack of reality.” He questioned whether Christianity itself was real. For agonizing months, he dismantled his beliefs and reassembled them piece by piece. As a result, Schaeffer emerged with a greater confidence in the core truth claims of Christianity and a deep, life-changing, ministry-shaping conviction that Christian truth and love are inseparable.

Schaeffer’s experience is not uncommon and so serves as a good illustration of the sort of “deconstruction” that represents the experience of many who still call themselves evangelical. However, the term most people recognize for such an experience is a faith crisis.

Responding to Deconstructing Christians

So, what does deconstruction even mean? It means different things in different contexts. It is a postmodern philosophical label that has been adopted by current and former evangelicals to sometimes mean navigating a faith crisis, to sometimes mean identifying harmful cultural influences that distort the true gospel, to sometimes mean questioning and rejecting traditional evangelical doctrines and authority figures, or to sometimes mean departing the Christian faith altogether.

How should we respond to deconstructing Christians? I hope to return in a future article to delve into this question in more detail, but the short answer is, we should respond as faithful Christians have long responded. In the typical ways evangelicals use the term, deconstruction isn’t new. Since the church’s earliest days, some have endured faith crises, some have been harmed by sinful cultural influences, some have questioned traditional doctrines and church authorities, and some have departed the faith. And to each person, whatever their struggle, we are called to extend the grace of Christ.

What does that mean? Well, the grace of Christ will have various manifestations and measures in various contexts. For as we see in the New Testament, grace comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s tender; sometimes it’s tough. We are to “give grace” in whatever way “fits the occasion” (Ephesians 4:29). Which means, what form of grace a particular struggler needs is an issue of prayerful discernment.

But it’s helpful to keep in mind that a deconstructing Christian is often someone in significant pain. Anyone, like me, who has gone through a faith crisis (or multiple ones) knows that it’s not some abstract academic exercise. Questioning our foundational beliefs and wrestling with doubts about them often feels like we’re being, in Francis Schaeffer’s words, “torn to pieces.” If you read more in-depth about Schaeffer’s faith crisis and reconstruction process, you will see how disturbing, disorienting, and frightening it can be to experience (or to watch a loved one experience).

So, as we seek to extend the grace of Christ to someone experiencing deconstruction — however passively or actively, however privately or publicly — it will be important to press in carefully, ask clarifying questions, and listen well, to inform how we do or do not respond, so that our love may “abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment” (Philippians 1:9).

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15081518/why-arent-pre-fall-adam-and-eve-the-model-for-marriage

Of the multitude of feasts celebrated in the popular culture of medieval Europe — wherein lie some of the key roots of the modern West — only two remain in popular North American culture today: Saint Patrick’s Day (March 17) and Saint Valentine’s Day (February 14). With Saint Patrick, we have two important texts by Patrick himself that reveal the true man. But who was Saint Valentine?

The name was a popular one in the Roman world, for the adjective valens expressed the idea of being vigorous and robust. In fact, we know of about a dozen early Christians who bore this name. Our Saint Valentine was an Italian bishop who was martyred on February 14, 269, after a trial before the Roman emperor Claudius Gothicus (reign 268–270). According to the meager accounts that we have, Valentine’s body was hastily buried, but a few nights later some of his associates retrieved it and returned it to his home town of Terni in central Italy. Other accounts list him as an elder in Rome. One embellishment has him writing a letter before his death and signing it, “your Valentine.”

“Saint Valentine was a martyr — yes, a lover, but one who loved the Lord Jesus to the point of giving his life.”

What seems clear, though, from all that we can determine, is that Saint Valentine was a martyr — yes, a lover, but one who loved the Lord Jesus to the point of giving his life for his commitment to Christ. For Christians to adequately remember Saint Valentine, then, we would do well to consider what it meant to be a martyr in the early church.

Witnesses and Martyrs

Our word martyr is derived from the Greek martys, originally a juridical term that was used of a witness in a court of law. Such a person was one “who has direct knowledge or experience of certain persons, events or circumstances and is therefore in a position to speak out and does so.”1 In the New Testament, the term and its cognates are frequently applied to Christians, who bear witness to Christ, often in real courts of law, when his claims are disputed and their fidelity is tested by persecution.

The transition of this word within the early Christian communities from witness to what the English term martyr” entails serves as an excellent gauge of what was happening to Christians as they bore witness to Christ. In Acts 1:8, Jesus tells the apostles that they are to be his “witnesses” (martyres) in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the end of the earth. At this point, the word does not have the association of death, although in Acts 22:20 we do read of the “blood of Stephen,” the Lord’s “witness” (Greek martyros), being shed. But it is really not until the end of the writing of the New Testament canon that the term martys acquires the association with death.2

At the very close of the apostolic era, the risen Christ in Revelation 2 commends his servant Antipas, his “faithful witness,” who was slain for his faith at Pergamum, “where Satan dwells” (Revelation 2:12–13). Pergamum, it should be noted, was a key center of emperor worship in Asia Minor, and the first town in that area to build a temple to a Roman emperor, Augustus Caesar. It may well have been Antipas’s refusal to confess Caesar as Lord and worship him that led to his martyrdom.3 It has been estimated that by the mid-first century, eighty or so cities in Asia Minor had erected temples devoted to the cult of the emperor.4

The word martys seems thus to have acquired its future meaning first in the Christian communities in Asia Minor, where the violent encounter between church and empire was particularly intense.5 In this regard, it was certainly not fortuitous that Asia Minor was “unusually fond” of the violent entertainment of the gladiatorial shows. There was, in fact, a training school for gladiators at Pergamum. Along with fascination with such violence, there would have been a demand for victims over and above the requisite gladiators. Thus, recourse was had to Christians, among others.6

And so, the word martys became restricted in its usage to a single signification: bearing witness to the person and work of Christ to the point of death. Stephen and Antipas were the first of many such martyrs in the Roman Empire.

Neronian Persecution

One of the most memorable clashes between church and empire was what has come to be called the Neronian persecution. In mid-July 64, a fire began in the heart of Rome that raged out of control for nearly a week and gutted most of the city. After it had been extinguished, it was rumored that the emperor Nero (reign 54–68) himself had started it, for it was common knowledge that Nero wanted to level the capital of the empire in order to rebuild the city in a style in keeping with his conception of his own greatness. Conscious that he had to allay suspicions against him, Nero fixed the blame on the Christians.

The fullest description that we have of this violence against the church is from the Roman historian Tacitus (about 55–117), who describes the execution of these Christians as follows:

To scotch the rumour [that he had started the fire], Nero substituted as culprits, and punished with the utmost refinements of cruelty, a class of men, loathed for their vices, whom the crowd styled Christians. Christus, from whom they got their name, had been executed by sentence of the procurator Pontius Pilate when Tiberius was emperor; and the pernicious superstition was checked for a short time, only to break out afresh, not only in Judaea, the home of the plague, but in Rome itself, where all the horrible and shameful things in the world collect and find a home.

First of all, those who confessed were arrested; then, on their information, a huge multitude was convicted, not so much on the ground of incendiarism as for hatred of the human race. Their execution was made a matter of sport: some were sewn up in the skins of wild beasts and savaged to death by dogs; others were fastened to crosses as living torches, to serve as lights when daylight failed. Nero made his gardens available for the show and held games in the Circus, mingling with the crowd or standing in his chariot in charioteer’s uniform. Hence, although the victims were criminals deserving the severest punishment, pity began to be felt for them because it seemed that they were being sacrificed to gratify one man’s lust for cruelty rather than for the public weal.7

A number of Christians — including the apostle Peter, according to an early Christian tradition that seems to be genuine8 — were arrested and executed. Their crime was ostensibly arson. Tacitus seems to doubt the reality of this accusation, though he does believe that Christians are rightly “loathed for their vices.” Tacitus’s text mentions only one vice explicitly: “hatred of the human race.” Why would Christians, who preached a message of divine love and who were commanded to love even their enemies, be accused of such a vice?

Well, if one looks at it through the eyes of Roman paganism, the logic seems irrefutable. It was, after all, the Roman gods who kept the empire secure. But the Christians refused to worship these gods — thus the charge of “atheism” that was sometimes leveled at them.9 Therefore, many of their pagan neighbors reasoned, they cannot love the emperor or the empire’s inhabitants. Christians thus were viewed as fundamentally anti-Roman and so a positive danger to the empire.10

‘Blood of Christians Is Seed’

This attack on the church was a turning-point in the relationship between the church and the Roman state in these early years. It set an important precedent. Christianity was now considered illegal, and over the next 140 years the Roman state had recourse to sporadic persecution of the church. It is noteworthy, though, that no emperor initiated an empire-wide persecution until the beginning of the third century, and that with Septimius Severus (reign 193–211).11 Nonetheless, martyrdom was a reality that believers had to constantly bear in mind during this period of the ancient church.

“Instead of stamping out Christianity, persecution often caused it to flourish.”

But persecution did not always have the effect the Romans hoped for. Instead of stamping out Christianity, persecution often caused it to flourish. As Tertullian (born about 155), the first Christian theologian to write in Latin, put it, “The more you mow us down, the more we grow: the blood of Christians is seed.”12 And as he said on another occasion: “whoever beholds such noble endurance [of the martyrs] will first, as though struck by some kind of uneasiness, be driven to enquire what is the matter in question, and, then, when he knows the truth, immediately follow the same way.”13

Surpassing All Earthly Loves

It was during the Middle Ages that the various stories of Saint Valentine circulated and were embellished, solidifying the remembrance of him as a martyr. But it was a medieval writer, Geoffrey Chaucer (1340s–1400), who explicitly linked romantic love to Saint Valentine in a poem entitled “Parliament of Fowls” that described the gathering of a group of birds on “seynt valentynes day” to choose their mates.

To what degree Chaucer influenced the later link between Saint Valentine’s Day and lovers is not exactly clear, but as early as the fifteenth century lovers were sending each other love notes on Saint Valentine’s Day. Of course, with the rise of the commercial cultures of the West in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, this practice was commodified and became an important part of the commercial world we see today. There is nothing inherently wrong with modern commercial traditions, but Saint Valentine’s Day is a good day to also remember that there is a love that surpasses all earthly loves: our love for our great God and our Savior, his dear divine Son, Jesus.

Audio Transcript

Welcome back to the Ask Pastor John podcast. Today we have an email from an anonymous listener: “Hello, Pastor John! All through the Bible we see angels speaking to believers. They speak sometimes in person and often in dreams. In that light, the worship pastor at my church recently mentioned to others that he had regular talks with one angel. I don’t see that dynamic so evident in Scripture — of ongoing conversations between believers and angels. It tends to be more of a monologue, mostly. Someone else in my church suggested the worship pastor is likely speaking to a demon!

“In APJ 1618, you addressed the ministry and purpose of angels today, but not how the angels interact with believers today. Do they? Are angels involved in our daily lives to this degree? Should we expect to hear from an angel? And would it even be possible to have an ongoing dialogue with an angel? Could a believer, claiming to talk with angels, actually be talking to a demon?”

Yes, it is possible that a person who claims to be talking to an angel may be talking to a demon. And the reason I say that is because the apostle Paul said in 2 Corinthians 11:14, “And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.” In other words, it’s part of Satan’s very nature that he’s deceptive and would love to distract the saints (at best), and delude them and destroy them (at worst), by drawing off their focus from Christ to angels. It is also possible that a person who claims to be conversing with angels is simply conversing with images or voices in his own head that are not in fact either demons or angels.

Four Reasons for Caution

But my main concern with people who claim to be conversing with an angel is not primarily that they are experiencing demons or hallucinations but that they are being drawn away from Christ and his provision of all that we need in our communication with God and our getting help from God. So, let me give four reasons from the Scriptures for why I think pursuing conversations with angels is a mistake.

Groping for the Supernatural

First, the Old Testament gives repeated warnings against turning away from the revelation of God revealed in Scripture through his appointed prophets to alternative means of communication with the supernatural. For example,

There shall not be found among you anyone who burns his son or his daughter as an offering, anyone who practices divination or tells fortunes or interprets omens, or a sorcerer or a charmer or a medium or a necromancer or one who inquires of the dead, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord. (Deuteronomy 18:10–12)

Now, I know that angels are not listed in that group, but the question we should be asking is this: “Why is God so resistant to our seeking means of communication with the supernatural other than himself and his appointed means of discerning his will, his ways, and his character through his word by his Spirit?” The question is not simply whether that list in Deuteronomy is exhaustive. The question is, Why is it even there? And there seem to be at least two answers in the Old Testament context for why it’s there.

First, seeking to communicate with the supernatural in these ways puts us in the category of pagan nations who are constantly groping around for some medium by which they can find absolute truth so as to make life worth living. This is considered an abomination by God because of how badly it reflects upon God and his having revealed himself to Israel in his appointed ways, which is the other reason why these mediums are considered an abomination.

They don’t just put us in the category of pagan nations, but they give the impression that God’s not real, or that he’s begrudging in telling us what we need, or that he’s insufficient in himself to provide the truth we need to live by. So, I would say that there is good indication in the Bible that we should be very, very cautious about seeking out ways of communicating with the supernatural that give the impression that God and his provision of Christ and prayer and his word and Spirit are inadequate.

No New Testament Examples

Second, I would point out that in all the epistles of the New Testament, which give us guidance for how the church is to live, there are no instances of ordinary Christians or apostles conversing with angels. Now, I know that doesn’t amount to a prohibition, but it certainly does amount to a caution and to an indication that such conversations are not essential for maturity in Christ. Indeed, they may be a sign of immaturity because it takes certain measure of maturity to benefit fully from the beautiful paths of communication God has provided in his word, in prayer, and by his Spirit.

‘Not Holding Fast to the Head’

Third, listen to Colossians 2:18–19:

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, from whom the whole body, nourished and knit together through its joints and ligaments, grows with a growth that is from God.

“When people begin to crave visions and to communicate with angels, something has gone wrong.”

Now, I can imagine that one person might respond to this text and say, “Nobody’s talking, Piper, about worshiping angels — just conversing with them.” Well, right, I know that, but here’s the point of the text: When people begin to crave visions and to communicate with angels, something has gone wrong with the way they are holding fast to the Head, Jesus Christ, and his all-sufficiency in nourishing the body of Christ, holding the body of Christ together, growing the body of Christ.

Paul is concerned not simply with people who are worshiping angels, but they’re replacing Jesus as the Head, esteeming angels more significant than the paths of nourishment and strength and help and encouragement that God has appointed through the Head, Jesus Christ.

God’s Open Throne

The fourth pointer away from conversations with angels, toward God, simply builds on what I just said in number three — namely, that God has provided such a precious, sure, and solid pathway to mercy and grace and help that it is an insult to him to act as though we need paths into the supernatural besides what he has taught in his word.

And I’m thinking here especially of Hebrews 4:14–16, which go like this:

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then [in view of this amazing high priest that we have, in view of his amazing capacities to sympathize with us] with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

“It is an insult to God to act as though we need paths into the supernatural besides what he has taught in his word.”

Now, what the writer to the Hebrews is laboring to do here is help us feel the wonder and the solidity and the sufficiency of the way God has made mercy and grace available to us — namely, at the throne of grace (this is God’s throne, not angelic intermediaries), through the finished work of the great high priest, Jesus Christ, in prayer, by faith, with the help of God’s Spirit.

Maturity in Ordinary Means

So, for those reasons, I would strongly discourage anyone from seeking to communicate with angels. I would regard the claim that one does such a thing to be a mark not of maturity but of immaturity in thinking that something more glorious, more satisfying, more amazing, more helpful, could be found through angel conversations than through the glory of God’s word and prayer by the Spirit in the fellowship of God’s church.

Our generation is disconnected, not merely from one another but from the past. How many of us know our great-grandfathers’ names? Our great-great-grandfathers? We perch ourselves on the highest branch in the family tree and tend to be unconcerned with that below. Our gaze is upwards. Functionally, we are the great-grandsons and granddaughters of no one — physically or spiritually. We wander the world, rootless.

Because of it, we struggle with more sin than we should, have smaller faith than we might, blow in the cultural winds more than we would, and shrink back before opposition more than we ought. We do not keep before us of what people we come, and this hinders our endurance traveling home.

Or so thought the author of Hebrews.

To a church that started off so well but now limped dangerously along, he rides his horse up and down the frontline with a foreign war cry to Western ears: “We are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who have faith and preserve their souls” (Hebrews 10:39).

Bloodline as Battle Cry

Instead of writing, “You got this!” Hebrews roots them in a family history of those who, by faith, had already done it. The “Hall of Faith” is not a list of demigods who did what we cannot. They are forefathers and foremothers, painfully human and made strong in God, and their stories are recorded to motivate us toward the same perseverance.

Hebrews asks us if we remember how, by faith, Noah prepared the ark, or Abel offered an acceptable sacrifice to God, or Abraham went out, not knowing where he was going — and implies, You, in reliance upon the same God, can do likewise. Or, do you recall Sarah, who believed God’s word and conceived a child, or Moses, who by faith esteemed the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt? This is your lineage — these are your people. You, if you are a Christian, are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who live by unseen realities and preserve their souls.

He concludes the brief tour of theirs and our spiritual family history,

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:1–2)

Because these are our family members, because they surround us as we run, let us lay aside weights and sin and run with endurance looking to Jesus. Do you read the Old Testament this way?

Family of Faithful Witnesses

Such an experience should greet us every time we open our Bibles, whether in front or in back. Sixty-six books, Old and New, introduce us to spiritual fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters who stumbled as we do, but who finally conquered by faith as we hope to. We turn page after page and watch how they finished their race, how they kept the faith, how they overcame temptation, repented their failings, trusted, hoped for, and hungered for God in their trials and sufferings. Their lives captured in Scripture to encourage us — their spiritual descendants — to run, without reserve, as the King’s people to the King himself. In other words, we press on today because of both whom we come from and whom lies before us.

Do we think of the redeemed men and women this way? Job, Moses, Abraham, Sarah, David, Elijah, Rehab, Ruth, Jeremiah, Joshua, Daniel, Shadrach, Meshack, and Abednego, Gideon, Hezekiah, Josiah — as family. If you serve the Living God, your God is the God of John, Paul, Andrew, Mary, Barnabas, the thief on the cross, Peter, Lazarus, the man born blind, Apollos, Timothy, Thomas, Pricilla and Aquilla, the formerly demon-possessed girl, the Philippian jailer, Cornelius, Philemon, Jude, James, Elizabeth — and on and on — each with different examples of Christ’s power to keep us by resilient faith.

We join this family of audacious ancestors through union to our brother, Jesus. “Know then that it is those of faith who are the sons of Abraham” (Galatians 3:7), and, “if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise” (Galatians 3:29). Even if we suffer the loss of earthly ties because of allegiances to Christ, each of us has inherited a hundredfold — mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers along with eternal life in Christ (Matthew 19:29). For so goes the promise to our father Abraham, “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them. . . . So shall your offspring be” (Genesis 15:5).

Not of Those Who Shrink Back

Do not miss that this spiritual family is a holy family; like Father, like sons. Our family believes and lives and acts from belief in God and his promises. And this, the author of Hebrews thinks, is vital for us to consider.

So do you struggle with the glittering things of this world? Reintroduce yourself to your great uncle, Moses, who considered the reproaches of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt (Hebrews 11:26).

Does a Potiphar’s wife tempt you to an adulterous affair? Count yourself a descendant of Joseph who, by faith, fled, exclaiming, “How then can I do this great wickedness and sin against God?” (Genesis 39:9).

Do you feel God calling you to the great unknown? Remember Abraham. Do the promises of God feel inconceivable? Remember the story of Sarah. Do you feel pressure from an ungodly family to forsake Christ? Consider Rehab who, by faith, received the Israelite spies (Hebrews 11:31).

Does your confidence waver concerning whether God can overcome this present darkness? Consider afresh that kingdoms bowed, mouths of lions shut, justice reigned, fires quenched, children resurrected, swords broke, that the weak through faith were made strong, the fainting grew valiant, foreign armies fled, and leave instructions with Joseph that your bones` be buried in a land yet unconquered (Hebrews 11:22, 33–35).

And do you fear persecution might one day overwhelm your faith? Don’t forget your family members “of whom the world was not worthy” (Hebrews 11:38). These wandered the world as outcasts, waded through mocking, whippings, imprisonment, and brutal deaths, by faith, awaiting the resurrection of the dead (Hebrews 11:35–38).

Are you growing tired or neglectful or sluggish of hearing? God does not leave you to yourself as a lone twig to figure it out. He gives you a tree of Lebanon to belong to. Relearn your great grandfathers’ and grandmothers’ names. As you look fully to Christ, remember that “we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who have faith and preserve their souls.”

“Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the unemployed,” wrote Oscar Wilde. “The poor should be practical and prosaic.” I can partially relate to this sentiment.

While I am not, in any estimation, to be numbered among the financially poor, I may be considered more impoverished in the currencies of independence and time. I am a father of five. My wife is currently recovering from COVID-19, and we are rounding out our second extended quarantine of the last two months. And in the last few days, two of our children’s stomachs have decided to expel their contents.

Our world orbits around need; and needs call for a more practical and prosaic season of life that all but excludes the possibility of romance, right? Quality time — undistracted and full of energy — seems like the privilege of the bourgeois.

But is it? Should we pause romance in this season? Should we simply acknowledge that we are shoulder-to-shoulder, not face-to-face, as we battle for the kindness and cleanliness of our kids?

Why Romance Is Worth Pursuing

I don’t believe we should pause romance in the demanding and chaotic world of parenting. Consider at least three reasons why.

First, delight in beauty is the sustaining substance of life. The battlefield of child-rearing is not for the faint of heart. Without consistent moments to be refueled together by the beauty of God in his creation (I’m thinking Psalm 19-style sunrises and sunsets, rich flavors, unforgettable melodies, and especially the divine image in each other), we will succumb to fatigue and forget why we’re raising the children to begin with.

Second, children need their parents’ affection for each other. God created parenting to be a completion of joy, an overflow of it. It is a Trinitarian image, whereby the mutual delight of the parents spills itself into creation. To quote thirteenth-century theologian Meister Eckhart (speaking in human terms and however imprecisely), “God laughed and begot the Son. Together they laughed and begot the Holy Spirit. And from the laughter of the Three, the universe was born.”

The nourishing and cherishing of Ephesians 5 doesn’t simply transfer to your children. “No one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church” (Ephesians 5:29) — I am convicted as I type. Spouses (with a special emphasis on husbands) are called to invest deeply into one another, with the nourishing and cherishing of one’s own body, implying more than mere functional living or co-laboring. “Cherish,” after all, is not a prosaic word. It is infused with deep delight, the kind of word husbands search for to express their affection in a poem or song.

Practical Advice for Married Couples

So, let’s get practical (but not prosaic). What might romance look like in the season of survival on the Serengeti that is parenting?

What follows is a list that mingles my own successes, failures, sin, and idealism, ranging from the mundane to the magical. Okay, mostly mundane. Most of it lives miles from a gondola in Venice, but placed on the battle for the souls of your children, every intentional face-to-face moment really helps. Take what helps.

1. Wake up together.

Most husbands need less sleep than their wives, but trying to coordinate either sleep or wake time can be good for your marriage. For us, it’s been wake time most recently. We get up most mornings before the kids are stirring. Yes, it’s dark. It feels like the middle of the night (because it is) and our eyes are bleary. But the world is quiet and we rehearse the mercies of God out loud to one another, and of course to him, as we paraphrase the Psalms. We directly thank him for the undeserved gift of one another — boom, romance.

2. Take a few minutes to connect.

This must be intentional, and it usually can’t be during dinner. Dinner is a wonderful opportunity to shepherd your children, but in most larger families, it is likely too chaotic to be a face-to-face moment with a spouse. The moment I’m speaking of is right after the kids are in bed. The reason it must be intentional is that you are likely drifting into a trance of fatigue, and some form of unwinding seeks your attention. But so does your spouse’s soul. And to turn to one another, without the television on or the phone in hand, and simply say, “Tell me about your day,” is fresh wind for your marriage. I might even recommend a few fun questions to pull from a hat in order to engage one another with more intrigue and substance.

3. Play.

After ten o’clock on most nights, my wife loses much of her filter to weariness and goes into full sass mode. She throws playful jabs my way and laughs until she cries, and I tend to amplify her delight with my over-the-top responses. It would probably look to the outsider like two middle school kids flirting, but it is an ironic display of marital safety and affection that is probably indispensable in this season. I would be hard-pressed to overstate the value of humor as a means of romantic connection.

4. Write to one another.

Even if you say you’re not a “words of affirmation” person, you are more than you realize. Your spouse is too. And when the words are written rather than simply spoken, they affect us powerfully. I think it’s because those words reflect deeper thought, deeper consideration, and deeper investment of time than something more spontaneous. That’s why a text message stating affection is good, but a sonnet is better. Or even a limerick if you’re not into iambic pentameter.

5. Get out into creation.

The heavens declare the romantic heart of God. The sun exclaims the joy and love of the Bridegroom (Psalm 19:1–5). A breeze whispers his gentleness, and the autumn leaves remind us of the beauty of Christ’s death. It doesn’t take the reservation of an Airbnb in Montana to engage the created world together. We sat on the back porch for a few minutes this week and marveled at the sudden bright yellows of the leaves behind the house. Consistent peeks outside or regular walks around the neighborhood, especially hand in hand, can bring peace to chaos. Speaking of hand in hand . . .

6. Show physical affection.

Keep holding hands in public. Or start holding hands in public. Half-mindlessly rub her back while you’re sitting on the couch. Don’t let the heckling of your teenagers keep you from a spontaneous hug in the kitchen. There was a moment, likely when you were dating, when the brush of your now-spouse’s hand was electric. The same desire, albeit without the giddiness, still resides in you. Touch is connection, and connection between two desire-laden, God-imaging souls is at the heart of romance.

7. Recall the wonders of God in your family’s life.

This is a clear command and practice in Scripture (see Psalm 136), and it is a poetic moment when practiced well. It ought to be a normative part of your prayer life, but we find it helpful to also formalize the practice. Each year on our anniversary, we pull out a journal and jog our memories about all the big events and sweet moments of the previous year. It is a connecting moment of sentiment, laughter, and gratitude.

8. Get away and dream.

This is a privilege that not all parents have the resources to enact. It requires willing babysitters (often family because of the sizable commitment) and sometimes money. We went three years without a night away at one point. And again, it doesn’t have to be in some exotic bungalow in Fiji. But one of our fonder marital memories was a simple switching of houses with my parents for a night so that we could come out of the winds and talk uninterruptedly about what the Lord might have for our future.

9. Play music.

I don’t mean that you need to turn your family into the Von Trapps. If anyone in your family can conjure a melody with voice or violin, all the better, but I am here referring to a simple song in the background. Whether it’s a hymn (Indelible Grace gets a lot of air time in our household), a soundtrack, or a beat to dance to, music awakens the soul. It allows easier access to emotion and meaning in the mundane moments. Use the gift of Spotify or a phonograph.

10. Speak the delights of God to your spouse.

While this is an admittedly shoulder-to-shoulder activity (since your collective gaze is elsewhere), it is akin to watching a sunset or a play, only with deeper relational weight. After all, you are fostering the romance between your spouse and the true Bridegroom. To speak the wonders of God’s holiness, his fatherly delight, and the wonders of his love, is to kindle the soul. So don’t just memorize Scripture. Memorize it in order to tell her of the dimensions of the love of Christ, and so fill her with the fullness of God (Ephesians 3:19).

Life, even the life of a child-chasing parent, is magical. And marriage, even the mostly shoulder-to-shoulder kind that is stretched to its limit by fatigue and chaos, is still a picture of Christ and the church. Ask your heavenly Bridegroom for eyes to see that afresh and the energy to enact a bit of intentional romance.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15076111/submissively-not-following-a-husband