Audio Transcript

Welcome back to the Ask Pastor John podcast. This podcast launched nine years ago yesterday, on John Piper’s 67th birthday. Amazing. We are grateful to God for his sustaining grace over these nine years. Someone recently alerted me to the fact that I have now been the host of this podcast for exactly twenty percent of my life. Amazing. The years have flown by. Pastor John is no longer 67. He’s now 76, as of yesterday, and still at it. To celebrate his birthday, we look back on his life today through the lens of a question, one we get a lot: Should I become a preacher?

It’s a question we get from many men who are thinking about vocation, calling, and whether ministry is the path laid out for them. In making such a big decision, many factors must be weighed. Of course, that’s true also in Pastor John’s case. He shared the story of his path into the pulpit in a new series of preaching videos we released on YouTube. Those videos were filmed back when Pastor John was 71 years old. The videos are now online, and you can find them all on YouTube. You’ll find a playlist comprised of 31 videos. But today I want to feature the audio from one of the early episodes, lecture number 1, titled, “The Making of a Preacher.” It gets at this question: Should I become a preacher? Here’s Pastor John’s story.

The longer I live — and I’m age 71 right now — and think about ministry, the more I believe in the power, the preciousness, and the necessity of preaching in the life of the church.

Some of you are watching this, maybe age 40 or 50, as a businessman, wondering if you should become a preacher. Others of you might be 15 years old. Others are in school, in college or seminary. And what I thought might be helpful to do immediately in this series on preaching is to tell my story. You might call it “The Making of a Preacher,” because it’s a story of quite significant improbabilities.

You may feel that way about yourself. And so, let me give you the short version of the things in my background that stand out to me as difficult and obstacles to preaching, and yet, which turned out to be, I think, the very forge in which God fired and made a preacher.

Paralyzed with Fear

So let’s start at seventh grade. Right around seventh grade, I discovered the fact that I couldn’t speak in front of a group without freezing. Now, this is not your ordinary butterflies that everybody jokes about. This is not your funny knocking of the knees and, “Oh, you’ll get over it.” This was a paralysis. This was really deep. To this day, I do not understand what it was, where it came from, why it was there — in its entirety anyway, the full explanation. I think I know part of why God did it.

But there I am now, entering junior high and high school and terrified in a paralyzing kind of way of any kind of public speaking — like in front of six people at church or a class at school. So for example, ninth grade science class, we all had to read a one-paragraph — you’re talking one paragraph — description of our project. And she, the teacher, was just going down the row. We’d walk up to the front and read the paragraph so the class knew what you were working on. As it was coming down my row toward me, I looked down. I could see my heart beating through my shirt here.

When it got to the person just behind me, as he was going up to speak, I stood up and walked out of the class. I went to the bathroom and cried. I wasn’t going to do it. I couldn’t do it. And I told her afterward, “I couldn’t do it.”

“In all the sorrows, as well as the happiness, God was making a preacher.”

In tenth grade, Mr. Vermilion was my civics teacher. He announced on the first day of class that there would be an oral book report that everybody had to give. My heart absolutely sank. I felt my throat and my shoulders freezing up. So I walked up to him afterward, and I said, “Mr. Vermilion, I can’t do that.” And he said, “Well, Johnny, you can’t get better than a C in this class if you don’t do it.” And I said, “That’s fine. I’ll take a C.” I got a C because I wasn’t going to do it. I couldn’t do it.

I never ran for any class office — president of the class, vice president, secretary, anything like that — because I knew you had to give speeches. When I was in the tenth grade, my mother — now, this is before any Christian psychology at all. We’re talking 1961 or 1962. My mother took me to a psychologist because it was so painful and difficult, and it felt like it was just a pall over everything in my life. The psychologist had me look at these, today I think I’d call them Rorschach charts, and just say what I saw. After an hour of this, I could tell that this psychologist was suggesting my mother was the problem.

Well, you could believe this is not making me happy because there was one person in the universe, under God, who understood me, loved me, was patient with me, and helped me work through this, and it was my mother. There was no way I was going to blame her. So we never went back to that.

Plea for Help

So I come to the end of high school having skipped every possible way of speaking in front of a group and at church, and I headed off to college with the most dreadful fear and trembling, because I knew at Wheaton College there was a required speech class.

In 1966, between my sophomore and junior year, Evan Welch, the chaplain, came up to me during summer school when I was taking chemistry to catch up with a pre-med plan. I was all excited that maybe God was making clear my life plan to be a medical doctor, and I was going to catch up with my science prerequisites and take chemistry. And he said, “Would you pray in chapel tomorrow?”

I found myself saying, “How long does it have to be?” Now, there’s about five hundred people who come to summer-school chapel, as I recall. And he said, “Thirty seconds or a minute.” I do not know how or why it happened, but I said, “Yes.”

Then I remember walking out on front campus alone and dealing with God. I haven’t made many vows in my life, but I made one. And I said this: “Father, if you would just get me through this, just get me through it, so that I don’t freeze and my voice doesn’t stop, I will never turn down a speaking opportunity for you again out of fear.” That was a really scary vow. He did get me through. I think I’ve kept the vow. And something broke.

Drawn to Preaching

Let me give you one more piece at college. That fall, I got mono and spent three weeks in the infirmary. During those three weeks, I was listening to Harold John Ockenga preach in the chapel, a couple hundred yards away, and everything in me wanted to handle the Bible like that.

After three weeks, I knew I couldn’t catch up in organic chemistry, and God basically said, in his way, “I don’t want you to do medical anyway. You should go to seminary and know my word.” That’s what I did. I married Noël, went off to seminary, spent three years loving studying the Bible, and knew that my call was to the word. I didn’t know what I’d do with it. I didn’t know if I could ever preach.

“I was absolutely amazed that I was standing in front of several hundred seminary students and faculty preaching.”

I won the Clarence Roddy Preaching Award my senior year. You can listen to this 18-minute sermon at the Desiring God website. I listened to part of it. Can’t believe it. What was I, 28 years old? No, no, 25 years old, I suppose, when I gave it. I used Big Bad John, which was a song popular in those days, to illustrate Ephesians 1:6. I was just amazed. I was absolutely amazed that I was standing in front of several hundred seminary students and faculty preaching this senior sermon.

Drawn to the Church

I went off to graduate school because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t feel any particular call to any avenue of ministry. And six years into teaching, which I loved, something rumbled inside me I could not resist. I was being pushed by a kind of disillusionment with the romance of academia, and I was being pulled by every sermon I heard because I said, if it was a good sermon, “Oh, I’d love to do that.” And if it was a bad sermon, I’d say, “We’ve got to do better than that.”

And on October 14, 1979, late at night writing in my journal, I could resist this desire no longer. I said to Noël in the morning, “What would you think if I resigned my teaching and looked for a church?” And she said, “I could see that coming.” And that’s what I did for the next 33 years — I preached.

Trust God and Take Steps

So as I look back over that story that brings me to today, it’s not the kind of story I would’ve planned. I wouldn’t want to live my teenage years over again at all. They were not very happy years — at least not at one level. And as I look back, all I can say is that in all the sorrows, as well as the happiness, God was making a preacher — not at all the way you would expect him to make a preacher. So, for you, the implication is that you have no idea — you have no idea what he’s doing in your life. And so, trust him, and then walk through the open doors where you feel called.

John Piper is founder and teacher of desiringGod.org and chancellor of Bethlehem College & Seminary. For 33 years, he served as pastor of Bethlehem Baptist Church, Minneapolis, Minnesota. He is author of more than 50 books, including Desiring God: Meditations of a Christian Hedonist and most recently Providence.

Motherhood’s rescue mission outside the gates of hell was supposed to look tidier.

But here we are.

One child has just yanked another’s hair. Sticky hands and messy bottoms (of two different children) have been wiped, but someone just somersaulted through another’s drawing space. Picture ruined, sadness abounds. Another child is hungry but — phew — distracted, scouring five bottomless laundry hampers for underwear. We hurriedly search for shoes to rush to lessons of all kinds. But we will be even later because a shoeless child rages after a half-dressed one to hijack back a pen identical to ten others in plain sight.

How can mothers possibly intercede for their children during little moments of chaos?

God in Small, Chaotic Spaces

Like her life “hidden with Christ” (Colossians 3:2), the glory of a mother’s rescue mission hides in small moments. Even if no one else sees and delights in a mother’s labor of love, God does. In fact, no one sees more or delights more than him. The mundane, however, will not last forever — God “has made everything beautiful in its time.” Though mothers now yearn for eternal assurances for their children, it is not for us to know “what God has done from the beginning to the end” (Ecclesiastes 3:11–12).

Anxieties pile on because the weight of eternity presses in. How will today’s messes translate into eternal joy with our children in the presence of the King? Little moments offer opportunities for big prayers — not as an oppressive obligation but as a way of casting anxieties on the God who cares for us (1 Peter 5:7).

God has promised our labor in Christ is not in vain (1 Corinthians 15:58), so we cast our anxieties at the throne during moments when it seems his kingdom has not yet entered our homes. Prayer surrenders our desire for certainty about their salvation and frees us to share gospel hope with our children without measuring results.

Massive prayers are more than an invitation for God to hear our pleas; they also invite him to speak back to us. When we pray, the indwelling Spirit counsels moms toward Scripture’s glorious promises to us and our children (John 14:26). He exchanges our proneness to unravel for eternal eyes, power, and joy to labor and trust him as we continue to intercede for the little hearts in our care.

Big Prayers for Small Moments

One day mothers will see what now remains hidden in heaven — golden bowls of incense filled with the massive, intercessory prayers of mothers crying out to God on behalf of their children (Revelation 5:8). Consider these three massive prayers for your mundane and messy little moments.

1. ‘Lord, save my children!’

Prayers for a child’s salvation are so massive and redundant that perhaps we tend over time not to want to bother God with them anymore.

The weight and value of our children’s eternities peek through in little moments. He is “not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness,” but is patient toward them, “not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:8–9). So we pray, “Lord, remove my child’s heart of stone and give him a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26)!” Messes do not need to hinder mothers. They are brief windows in which we can plead for salvation and fuel patient, tender gospel-preaching to the eternal beings we shepherd. “Lord, I see the sin in them (and in me!), and I know I cannot save them. Break in and capture their hearts. Help them to see!”

“When mothers pray, we invite our children into our desperation before the God of salvation.”

When mothers pray, we invite our children into our desperation before the God of salvation. Charles Spurgeon never forgot his mother’s unwavering plea: “Oh, that my son might live before thee!” (Devoted, 91). With consistency and fervor, we can invite our children in as we pour out our hearts to God.

2. ‘Jesus, fill us with your Holy Spirit.’

If there is one thing I have learned in motherhood about prayer, it’s that I often don’t know how to pray.

Jesus is unhindered by moms who yearn for communion with him but falter or abandon these hopes in little moments. Here’s good news for yearning moms: the resurrected King reigns in our inability. He promises that when we ask to be filled with the Holy Spirit, he will fill us (Luke 11:13). A mother’s plea invites the power of Christ to replace our anxiety with peace to know him more, and authority to display his glory in little moments. So we pray, drawing on Ephesians 3:14–21:

You have named and formed my family (verse 15).
You have endless riches to supply all my needs (verse 16).
Strengthen me and my children with power through your Spirit (verse 16).
Do for me what I cannot do on my own; do what your Spirit is meant to do — show us Christ, and fix our eyes on him (verse 17).
Be our firm foundation whether we see any fruit from our faithfulness (verse 17).
Through your powerful Spirit, show us “what is the breadth and length and height and depth” of your endless love (verse 18).
Empty us of anything less than your fullness (verse 19).
Do far more than we or our children even think to ask, through the power of your Spirit at work within us (verse 20).
May we, our children, our children’s children, and all generations glorify Christ (verse 21).

Mothers can pray child-specific verses. We can pray that our service, gifts, and teaching in the name of Christ will bear fruit. We can pray that our children would grow into men and women of the word, mighty warriors for Christ’s kingdom. We can pray that they would live for Christ, die for Christ, be all in for Christ. But let’s also pray for ourselves, that we would be filled with the Spirit, who enables us to pray and love well.

3. ‘Holy Spirit, give us more of Jesus.’

Jesus delights to fill us with his Spirit. And the Spirit delights to satisfy us — with more of Christ.

“Jesus delights to fill us with his Spirit. And the Spirit delights to satisfy us — with more of Christ.”

Jesus is our eternal portion (Psalm 73:26–28; John 6:35), but also our daily bread (Matthew 6:11). He is “good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him” (Lamentations 3:24–25). Little moments with our children now will turn into bigger moments after they have left our homes. Mothers want the gospel to one day pour out from their children’s hearts and lives. So we pray and ask the Spirit to satisfy us and our children (and our children’s children!) toward the day when we will fully know him (1 Corinthians 13:12).

Spirit, use this hair-yanking. Grow our children to beg you for more of Jesus until they get him.

Spirit, move in sticky hands and messy bottoms. Grow our children to be satisfied in the kind, gentle hands of our shepherd when they’re confronted with their own messes (Romans 2:4).

Spirit, shine behind sinful somersaults. Grow our children to be satisfied in the quieting presence of Christ, who sees their pain (Psalm 56:8), as they long for the day when sin and sadness will be no more (Revelation 21:4).

Spirit, fill hungers and reveal yourself in underwear searches. Grow our children to not distract their appetites but invite the bread of life to fully satisfy them (John 6:35).

Spirit, tardiness does not steal your power. Grow our children to be content in Christ when their plans don’t match your purposes (Proverbs 19:21).

Spirit, don’t waste our unnecessary pen collection. Surprise our children in their yearnings by teaching them the secret behind hunger and plenty (Philippians 4:12) — more of Jesus.

And as you do these things in them, Holy Spirit, do them first in me.

He Prays for Us

We live in a dark world. Massive prayers now for more of Jesus may prepare our children and generations to come for persecution, or for a time when they are stripped of all things but the one who never leaves. Whatever comes their way, may our children grow into godliness and contentment because a praying mom pleaded that Jesus would be enough.

Mothers, we don’t need to collapse under the weight of our mission, or pretend that only majestic prayers can intercede for our children. The Spirit helps mothers in their weakness when words fail us — the Spirit himself prays for mothers “with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26). And one day, what were once massive prayers in little moments will, in the light of glory, usher in massive praise forever.

When you live in constant pain, or struggle with chronic illness, discouragement is just part of daily life.

The simplest tasks can be exhausting. You consistently worry that you’re becoming a burden. Pain often leads to intermittent sleep, so you rarely feel rested. It’s hard to stay upbeat and cheerful. Since chronic conditions persist for a long time, or are constantly recurring, you depend on friends to encourage and support you — and then to keep encouraging and supporting you over extended periods of time.

I’ve lived with post-polio syndrome for nearly twenty years now, and I’ve also tried to care for others with chronic health issues for decades, so I’ve learned from both sides what’s helpful, sustainable, and frequently overlooked. It’s a long and difficult road for everyone involved, and each situation is unique, but here are some lessons about what to do, what to say, and how to pray for our friends who are hurting.

1. Keep checking in, even when others have stopped.

In my experience, one of the most helpful ways to serve our hurting friends is to check in regularly to see how they’re doing.

People with chronic pain and illness often feel alone and forgotten, especially if their condition leaves them homebound. Friends may rush to help when symptoms first start, but with pressing issues in their own lives, many stop staying in touch. They assume others are still visiting and offering support, but few people stay engaged months afterward, even as needs persist and increase. The paralyzed man in Bethesda had no one to help him into the pool, perhaps because, after 38 years of disability, people had stopped showing up (John 5:2–7).

If you’re going to visit, consider offering concrete help at the same time — anything from stopping by the grocery store to running errands to bringing a meal. As James reminds us, it’s easy to say, “‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body” (James 2:16).

Even if you stay only for thirty minutes, you could offer to load the dishwasher, straighten up the kitchen, or give a back massage while you talk. Or you could ask if there’s anything else you can help with or projects you can come back to work on. People usually won’t initiate the conversation about their own needs, but they may respond well to specific questions. However you try to help, always ask first, because what is a welcome blessing for some might feel intrusive to others.

2. Be quick to listen and slow to speak.

While we all want to say something profound and comforting, sometimes listening is the most comforting gift we can give.

Friends with chronic illness may not mention their latest symptoms or struggles for fear of sounding like chronic complainers, but they may welcome the opportunity to share what’s going on. Strive to listen without immediately passing judgment. Resist offering them a “cure” for their sorrow. And don’t pry if they’d rather not talk more about it now. Instead of asking the general question, “How are you doing?” you might ask instead, “How are you doing today?” which is more personal and easier to answer.

Remembering what not to say is often more important than remembering what to say. I say that as someone who has too often said too much. Don’t minimize what they’re going through. Don’t compare their suffering to others who are doing it “better.” Avoid sentences that start with “At least . . .” Don’t throw out platitudes like, “Count your blessings.” Don’t tell them that you know their condition will improve or that they will be healed, because no one knows what the future holds. Again, I give these examples as someone who regrets having said them all before.

“Remembering what not to say is often more important than remembering what to say.”

Faithful friends weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15). They acknowledge how difficult their situation is. They let their sick friends vent for a time, and then encourage them to put their hope in the Lord Jesus. They assure them that God will never leave them, and reassure them that their suffering will not be wasted. They remind them of the glory that awaits in heaven, where there will be no more pain or tears.

Many of us in this generation have heard cautions not to use Scripture like a baseball bat, as if we could bludgeon suffering people into feeling better, but don’t be afraid to share God’s word altogether. Since God’s word gives true comfort, by all means, bring verses to share, but do so patiently and with care. Choose the verses that have been meaningful to you in your trials, and explain why. For example, I have found hope in passages like these:

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. (John 14:27)

We do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:16–18)

This I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:21–23)

3. Take the most caring, most effective action: pray.

Pray consistently for your friends with chronic illness. They need prayer not only for their physical needs — including strength, healing, and reprieve from pain — but also for their emotional and spiritual needs. With chronic struggles, it’s common to feel discouraged, disillusioned, and depressed as days go by without improvement. While we can’t change their situation or outlook ourselves, God loves to work through our prayers.

When friends share their prayer requests, pray with them right away, if possible. Not only does it reinforce your genuine care, but it also ensures that you really do pray. It’s easy to stop earnestly praying for people with long-term conditions, but our prayers have great power (James 5:16), so don’t give up. Remind people that they aren’t forgotten by occasionally texting them what you’re praying for them.

“Be especially quick to listen and slow to speak when your friends are hurting.”

You might offer to pray with them through a psalm of lament like Psalm 13, 43, or 142. Lamenting together is a beautiful way to acknowledge what’s hard and to cry out to God with them, while entrusting their situation to him. Read a few verses at a time, followed by spontaneous words of request or trust. If your friend would prefer just to listen, try inserting their name into a psalm like Psalm 23, 46, or 139 as you pray it aloud.

Now Is Not Too Late

Ministering to people with chronic pain or illness can leave us exhausted if we believe it’s all up to us. Or, if we’ve made mistakes in the past and ended up hurting someone we wanted to help, we may wonder if our efforts are worth it. But caring for our wounded friends is not all up to us, and our imperfect efforts really are worth it. God will give us fresh strength and wisdom as we wait for him and serve by the power he supplies (Isaiah 40:31; 1 Peter 4:11).

If you’ve grown weary and stopped checking in, don’t let guilt keep you away. Instead, go ahead and reach out now, because it’s never too late. We cannot fix our friends’ problems, but we can keep showing up, meeting their physical needs, listening to their struggles, encouraging them in Christ, and bringing them before the only One big enough to heal, sustain, and deliver them.

Audio Transcript

One of the themes we address on the podcast is retirement and how to not waste the retirement years. We have talked about end-of-life decisions as well, but very little about inheritances and wills. We’ll we do so today, initiated by a really important question that came from an anonymous woman. Here’s what she wrote: “Pastor John, thank you for this podcast! My husband and I are in our seventies, both working and healthy, by God’s kindness. Of course, we’re all terminal, as you know.

“Here’s my question: We own a property valued at nearly two million dollars. Additionally, we own investment properties that will fund our expenses when we can no longer bring in income. My question is about who will inherit our assets when we’re gone. We have three children. One does not follow the Lord, one is a believer who married a spouse who is not very serious about the things of God, and one is disabled with mental illness. Our first two children are materially fine. Currently, I’m inclined to leave the bulk of our assets to Christian ministries and invest in the kingdom of God, with a modest trust fund set up for our third child. How do you navigate this decision? The Bible says, ‘A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children’ (Proverbs 13:22). But I feel an opposite approach would be wiser here. Is it?”

Well, first let me say that I am answering this question right off of our front burner because we too are in our seventies — the same as you. And just a few weeks ago Noël and I sat down with two lawyers, one of our sons, and a financial counselor from a Christian agency and had a big powwow about wills, trusts, and medical directives, to try to get our house in order.

We have been thinking a lot. We got the green light from two of our sons to be willing to function as executors — they don’t call them executors anymore, amazingly. You know why? Because it’s a masculine word. Oh my goodness — personal representative is what they say now. Isn’t that unbelievable? Just unbelievable. All right, okay. That’s another podcast.

So we involved a Christian financial service that we trust to give us good counsel, and Noël and I have spent a lot of time thinking and praying about the issue of inheritance. That’s the first thing to say — it’s right off of our front burner.

Positioned to Bless

The second thing I want to do is give a brief comment about two biblical passages. First is the one you mentioned: “A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children, but the sinner’s wealth is laid up for the righteous” (Proverbs 13:22). I don’t think the point of this proverb is that a good man should, or has a duty to, leave an inheritance to his children and grandchildren, but that in general, a good man has the resources and the ability to do it. The point of this proverb is that his children and grandchildren will experience blessing because they had a good man for a father and a grandfather.

I don’t think it’s a command, but a blessing, because the contrast in the second half of the verse goes like this: “But the sinner’s wealth is laid up for the righteous.” In other words, he thinks that — the wicked man, the sinner thinks — he’s accumulating wealth for himself and his heirs, but it’s not going to work out that way.

So, the point seems to be not that every person has a duty to leave an inheritance of any particular kind of material goods, but that the good person is in a position to do so, to bless his heirs, and the unrighteous man is not in a position to bless his heirs in the same way. Or to put it another way, children and grandchildren are blessed to have a righteous father and grandfather. Blessing will flow to them one way or the other, but not so the children of an unrighteous father.

Even that hope, I think, is only a typical proverbial generalization, because we know from the Bible that many ungodly people leave huge inheritances to their children, often to their ruin. For example, Psalm 17:13–14 says, “Deliver my soul . . . from men of the world whose portion is in this life. You fill their womb with treasure; they are satisfied with children, and they leave their abundance to their infants.”

“The righteous are in a position to leave a legacy, financial and otherwise, to their children and grandchildren.”

In other words, often, unrighteous people are very wealthy and leave lots of deadly money for their heirs. So some wicked men have great inheritances, but some righteous men are very poor. Proverbs 28:6: “Better is a poor man who walks in his integrity than a rich man who is crooked in his ways.” So, the point is that proverbs are generalizations, and in general, the righteous are in a position to leave a precious legacy, financial and otherwise, to their children and grandchildren.

Obligated to Save

Now, the other text I wanted to make a comment about — which she didn’t mention, but I think people will mention if they push into the Bible on this — is 2 Corinthians 12:14, where Paul thinks of himself as a parent to his churches and says, “For children are not obligated to save up for their parents, but parents for their children.” Now the point, I think, is not about inheritances in that verse, because even if it were, the argument wouldn’t work because of the way he relates to his churches — he’s not going to die in order to be a blessing to the churches.

The point is that parents are to support their children while they are growing up. So, whether we leave inheritances to children, and how much we leave to our children, should be decided, I’m arguing, on the basis of wider biblical teachings rather than on the basis of that proverb or that passage in 2 Corinthians.

Five Factors to Consider

So, let me mention five things that Noël and I have taken into account that might also inform our friend who’s asking this question and maybe some others.

1. Be generous while you’re alive.

Be generous to your children while you are alive and while you can see how they are doing and what their needs are. For example, when my father died and left me some money — left me and my sister some money — Noël and I had a wonderful time taking a picture of my dad from an old photograph, putting it in a card, writing a special little message about his legacy and sending a lot of money to each of our kids. We surprised them with some thousands of dollars because we just didn’t need it. We didn’t need the money that daddy left us.

“While your children are alive, bear witness to the sufficiency of Jesus by being generous to them.”

So the point is, while your children are alive, bear witness to the sufficiency of Jesus by being generous to them according to their real needs rather than waiting for the blessing to come only when you’re gone.

2. Remember the dangers of wealth.

Be aware of the dangers of wealth for yourself and for your children. Jesus said very plainly, “Only with difficulty will a rich person enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:23). Being rich is not necessarily a blessing. Far more often it is a curse. There are many legacies to leave children that are vastly more important than money. Be aware of that danger.

3. Beware when wealth comes easily.

This is especially true when wealth is gotten easily and quickly — for example, with inheritances. Proverbs 13:11: “Wealth gained hastily will dwindle, but whoever gathers little by little will increase it.” Or Proverbs 20:21: “An inheritance gained hastily in the beginning will not be blessed in the end” — in other words, as the prodigal son got all of his inheritance at once. “Give it to me, Dad.” Dad gives it to him, and he goes off and ruins his life with it. He wastes his whole life until God gets ahold of him. Not only is money dangerous, but money gotten quickly and easily is even more dangerous.

4. Designate actual dollar amounts.

Rather than leaving your entire estate open-ended to all of your offspring, consider picking an actual dollar amount. I’m not counting here actual things like furniture, or books, or some heirloom. I’m just talking about the actual cash, and leave a fixed amount to each son or daughter, and then leave all the rest to Christian ministries that you believe in.

This decision felt very freeing to Noël and me. We tried to decide what the house, and the car, and the saving accounts, if everything were liquidated, would be worth. Then we picked a number that each child would get — I think a significant, generous number, and yet a limited number that isn’t the totality of the estate. Everything else we’re going to leave to the National Christian Foundation. I presume you know about them. They distribute the money according to the way you want. It can go to your church. It can go to Desiring God. It can go to Bethlehem College & Seminary.

The reason it’s so much easier to leave your residual amounts to a foundation like that is because to change your will is difficult if you specify the ministries in your will, whereas I can get on the phone and within a minute change the place that the money will go out from the National Christian Foundation. So just a hint, if you decide to leave large amounts of money to Christian ministries, there’s an easy way to do it without specifying those ministries in your will. I’m sure you’re far ahead of me on that kind of research.

5. Take thought for special needs.

Here’s the last thing: By all means take thought for special needs, especially children or grandchildren with disabilities or other difficulties that would make life harder for them. So special trust accounts and things like that are a beautiful Christian act of love, I think.

So those are the ways, some of them, that Noël and I have thought so far. We don’t claim to be perfect in this. But let me stress in closing, as I’m sure you already know, that vastly more important than any financial legacy is the legacy of biblical truth, and the glorious gospel of Christ, and a life showing the love of Christ.

Today I want to try to help us experience prayer as the vocalization of abiding in Christ. When I speak of prayer vocalizing the experience of abiding in Christ, I have in mind three ways prayer vocalizes abiding.

First, there is the vocalization of our need and our desire to be attached to Christ, like a branch to a vine. I have in mind that first cry when God saved us by putting a taste for his life-giving, love-giving, joy-giving sap on the tongue of our souls so that we cried out, “Yes, Lord, yes. I want this! Make me yours. Fasten me to yourself, branch to vine, forever.”

And I also have in mind the recurring cry, when we feel like our branch is withering, that says, “Hold on to me. Keep me in the vine. Don’t let me go. Be my life. If there’s a disease in me, disenchanting me with the all-satisfying sap of yourself, then heal me, prune me, and cause your life to surge in me again.”

That’s the first way that prayer vocalizes abiding in Christ: it is both the first cry to become attached to the vine and the recurring cry to remain attached to the vine.

Second, there is the daily vocalization of our thankful, happy, desperate dependence — moment by moment — on his ever-flowing sap of life. This isn’t the desperate cry of, “Keep me!” This is the happy, thankful, expression of confident trust.

When I dropped my wife Noël off at the airport yesterday at seven o’clock in the morning, as she was on her way to her mother’s one-hundredth birthday, I pulled up by the Delta drop-off, took her hand, and prayed, “Father, Noël and I are so thankful to be your adopted children, with every amazing thing that this implies. We receive right now the promise that we can cast all our anxieties on you, because you care for us (1 Peter 5:7). We rest, we revel, in your care. We love being branches in the vine. Meet every need as Noël travels and as I go home to prepare tomorrow’s message. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

That’s the second way that prayer vocalizes abiding in Christ: expressing thankful, happy, desperate, confident dependence — moment by moment — on Christ’s life-giving, love-giving, joy-giving sap.

Third, there is the vocalization of our longing that Christ’s life and love and joy would flow through us into living fruit — the longing that this fruit would course with the same life and love and joy that we have by abiding in Christ.

“God saved us by putting a taste for his life-giving, love-giving, joy-giving sap on the tongue of our souls.”

So when I got home from the airport, I got down on my knees in my study and said, “Father, would you help me now prepare a message for chapel tomorrow that would bear much fruit? Would you grant that all the life and love and joy of Christ that I have known throughout these decades of abiding would become life and love and joy in the lives of those who listen?”

Six Ways We Abide in Christ

My aim is to help us experience prayer as the vocalization of abiding in Christ, as (1) the cry to abide in the vine, (2) the day-by-day expression of joyful, confident dependence on the vine, and (3) the longing that we would bear fruit because of our attachment to the vine.

To do that, it seems we should spend a good bit of our time pushing into the reality of what abiding in Christ is. I am going to point to six ways we abide in Christ.

1. Receiving Life from Christ

Let’s start with the picture in John 15:5: “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” The picture is of the disciple of Jesus as a branch and Jesus as the vine.

So, the least we can say is that abiding in Christ is the experience of getting our life from Christ. The sap of life flows into the branch if the branch is abiding, remaining in the vine. If there is no attachment to the vine, then there is no life in the branch.

2. Remaining in His Love

A second way to describe the experience of abiding is to say that we remain in the love of Christ. John 15:9: “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love.” So the life-giving attachment to the vine can be described as a love-giving attachment to the vine. The vine loves the branches. Love is flowing to the branches. The life that flows to the branches is the life of love.

So now the command “Abide in me” (John 15:4) and the implicit command “Abide in my life, which flows to you” become a little more concrete: “Abide in my love” (John 15:9). Essentially God is saying, “Keep on receiving and welcoming and enjoying and trusting and treasuring my love.” That is the experience of abiding in the vine.

3. Abiding in His Word

We can describe the experience of abiding yet another way. Abiding in Christ means abiding in his word, and his words abiding in us. John 15:7: “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you . . .” The phrase “my words abide in you” stands in the place where Jesus himself stood in John 15:4: “Abide in me, and I in you.” We see that “I, Jesus, abiding in you” becomes “my words abiding in you.”

“The experience of abiding in Christ is not only abiding in his life and love, but also in his word.”

And it is not just his words abiding in us, but us abiding in his words — just like we abide in him. According to John 8:31, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples.” So the experience of abiding in Christ is not only abiding in his life, and abiding in his love, but also abiding in his word. John says it again in 1 John 2:24: “Let what you heard from the beginning abide in you. If what you heard from the beginning abides in you, then you too will abide in the Son and in the Father.”

I take this to mean that the life and the love that flow from the vine into the branches are communicated to us and experienced by us through the word of Christ. The life of Jesus and the love of Jesus accomplish nothing in our lives apart from the word of Jesus.

There are no incognito Christians. Wordless experiences — that is, experiences without any conscious connection with Christ — are worthless experiences. Christ gets no glory from human experiences that we do not know to be from Christ.

We know experiences to be from Christ because of the word of Christ. For he says, “The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life” (John 6:63). And so we respond, “You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68). Therefore, we abide in Christ — we abide in his life and in his love — by receiving and welcoming and understanding and believing the reality mediated by the words of Christ.

4. Drinking from Christ

A fourth way to describe abiding in Christ is to see the connection between the branch drinking the life-giving sap of the vine and the soul-drinking Christ as the water of life or the soul-feeding on him as the bread of heaven. John 6:35: “Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.’” Coming to Christ so as not to hunger anymore and believing in Christ so as not to thirst anymore is the experience of abiding in Christ. Abiding is believing, understood as eating and drinking Christ.

“Prayer expresses thankful, happy, desperate, confident dependence on Christ’s life-giving, love-giving sap.”

Here it is again in John 7:37–38: “Jesus cried out, ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’” Notice that thirsting for Christ, coming to Christ, and drinking of Christ are replaced with believing in Christ. So the experience of believing in Christ is thirsting for Christ and coming to Christ and drinking from Christ — that is, abiding in Christ like a branch abiding in the vine and drinking the all-satisfying life and love that are in it.

Therefore, we can describe the experience of abiding in Christ as believing on Christ, provided we give the term believing its full-blooded meaning from the Gospel of John — namely, believing is thirsting, coming, drinking, and saying: “This is the end of my quest. Here is life and love and joy.”

5. Savoring the Son’s Joy

That word joy leads to a fifth way of describing the experience of abiding in Christ. In John 15:11, after drawing out the implications of the vine and the branches, Jesus adds this: “These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.”

Be sure to understand this in connection with the picture of the vine and the branches. He does not simply say that because we are abiding in the vine, our joy will be full. What he says is that because we are abiding in the vine, his joy will be in us, and therefore our joy will be full. In other words, what the branch receives from the vine is the very joy of the vine: “My joy [will] be in you” (John 15:11).

Let me give you a taste of what this experience is from Galatians 4:6. Paul says, “Because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’” Push into the reality of this. Think of it in terms of the vine and the branch. We are redeemed and made the legal sons of God by the death of Christ. And then he says that because we are his sons legally, God sends the Spirit of the Son — the Spirit of the vine or the sap — into our branch-hearts, shouting (krazō), “Abba! Father!” And how does the Son of God feel about his Father? He loves him: “I love the Father” (John 14:31).

That is, he takes infinite pleasure in the Father. He enjoys the Father. And he flows into our hearts, our branch, bringing that, being that, exulting in that. He does this, to use the words of John 15:11, “that my joy may be in you.” He flows into us, “That my joy in my Father made be your joy in your Father.”

So the experience of abiding in Christ is the experience of enjoying God by the Spirit of the Son of God enjoying his Father in us. If you find welling up within you the cry — spoken or unspoken, but real — that says, “Father! I need you. Thank you for redeeming me. Thank you for adopting me. Oh, how precious you are to me! I love you!” then guess what? You are experiencing the Spirit of the Son of God loving his Father in you. You are experiencing John 15:11, the joy of Christ himself becoming your joy, and your joy becoming full. You are experiencing what it means to abide in Christ.

6. Feasting on Calvary

Consider one last way to describe the experience of abiding in Christ. In John 6:56 Jesus says, “Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him.” The crucified flesh and the shed blood of Jesus are the wellspring of all the life and love and joy and words that we receive from the vine. To eat and drink at the cross is to get everything from the sacrifice of Christ.

In summary, I would arrange the first five ways of describing the experience of abiding in Christ like this:

First is the experience of the soul’s thirst and hunger drinking from Christ with satisfaction.
Second, as the branch drinks from the vine, it receives the life of the vine. No attachment to the vine, no life in the branch.
Third, as we drink from the life of the vine, we find it to be the life of love — Christ’s invincible love for us. And we rest in it and feed on it.
Fourth, as we drink from the life and love of the vine, we experience the joy of Jesus as our joy —the Spirit of the Son singing out his joyful love for the Father in our hearts.
Fifth, we find all of this mediated to us through the words of Christ so that his words become our life.

And finally, we discover that every benefit of abiding in the vine was secured for us by the crucified flesh and shed blood of Christ. And that sacrifice becomes for us the all-supplying bread and drink of heaven.

How Prayer Speaks

Now let’s revisit where we started, with prayer as the vocalization of this experience of abiding in Christ. There are (1) the prayers that vocalize the desire to abide in Christ, (2) the prayers that vocalize the daily reality of abiding in Christ, and (3) the prayers that vocalize the desire for fruit through abiding in Christ.

With Desperate Desire

First, there are prayers that vocalize the desire to abide in Christ. When Jesus asked the Samaritan woman at the well for a drink, she couldn’t believe that he, a Jew, would ask her. Then he says, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water” (John 4:10).

“You would have asked him” — this is where it all starts. There’s a sliver, a glimpse, of the life-giving vine right there in front of you, a glimmer of hope, and then comes an invitation: “Ask me. Just ask me.”

And many of us have responded: “Let me drink the living water. Attach me, Jesus, to yourself. Make me a living branch. Forever.” But if you haven’t tasted, haven’t asked to be grafted into the vine — this would be a good time. Vocalize to God your need and your desire to abide in Christ.

With Happy Trust

Then there are the prayers that vocalize the daily reality of abiding in Christ. These tell Christ — and tell the Father — that you trust him. Tell them that their love for you is your life and your joy. Tell Christ, in the presence of your spouse or children or friends, that his words are words of life to you.

Tell Christ that abiding in his love makes you glad. Say to him, on behalf of your family or your small group, and in their presence, “Jesus, your sacrifice, your words, your life, your love, your joy is everything to me. I taste them. They are my food and my drink. They satisfy my soul.” Tell him.

Do what the saints have done for millennia. Speak to the Lord of your trust. And tell him of the pleasures of abiding in Christ.

O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you;         my soul thirsts for you;my flesh faints for you,         as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary,         beholding your power and glory.Because your steadfast love is better than life,         my lips will praise you.So I will bless you as long as I live;         in your name I will lift up my hands. (Psalm 63:1–4)

They feast on the abundance of your house,         and you give them drink from the river of your delights.For with you is the fountain of life;         in your light do we see light. (Psalm 36:8–9)

With Fruitful Zeal

Finally, there are the prayers that vocalize the desire for fruit through abiding in Christ. This is the goal of life and love and joy flowing from the vine — a kind of life and a kind of love and a kind of joy that has in it a happy pressure to expand, to increase, by becoming the life and love and joy in others. That’s what it is to bear fruit.

Jesus says in John 4:14, “The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” Yes, and more than a spring: “Whoever believes in me [abides in me, drinks from me] . . . ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water” (John 7:38). Or, as Jesus says in John 15:5, “Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit.”

This is the sap of the vine, the living water, the very life and love and joy of the Son of God, coursing through your branch-life and then miraculously increasing — your joy increasing — in the life and love and joy of another.

And Jesus says, “Don’t be passive about this. Make this the great passion of your prayer.” He says in John 15:7–8, “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish [for every kind of God-glorifying fruit], and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit.” Jesus is saying, “Ask me! Ask me for God-glorifying fruit!”

When Christ’s words abide in you, when his truth, life, love, and joy abide in you, you will be given a spiritual taste for God’s fruitful will, and you will pray with Spirit-given passion, “O God, make my life fruitful. Let me not wither in the hot blasts of worldliness. Do whatever painful pruning you must do. Grant me so to drink that I become a spring — yes, a river! — and a fruitful branch. Oh, let me never be content until my joy in you bears fruit in the joy of others in you. By this, Father, are you glorified — that I bear much fruit. Do it. Amen.”

A slight breeze of discomfort blows a thought through my mind: What am I doing here? The room I’ve known for years suddenly takes an awkward shape. The silence, the stillness gives everything an unnatural quality, like a deer’s head mounted on a wall. Eyes are open, yet nothing moves.

As I finally settle into the stillness, distractions offer themselves from all sides. “My Father who art in heaven,” I begin to pray, “hallowed be thy name. In my city, exalt your name. In my life” — why are my feet so cold?

After I tiptoe back with socks, I kneel. Where was I?

Oh yes. “Exalt your name in my life, Lord. And please make your kingdom come and your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” — wait, what was that sound? One of the kids? What time is it? It cannot be.

As I glance down the hall, I notice books disjointed on the shelves beside me. Hmm, I should really read Holiness again. . . . I still can’t believe Amazon shipped the book with that damaged corner — I should have returned it. Packages, packages . . . wasn’t something supposed to come yesterday? What was it again?

Running from Solitude

Of late, I’ve noticed I’ve been getting worse at being alone. That sanctuary of solitude with God, a place where hours could pass unnoticed, has fallen victim to a life filled with activity. “Quiet times” have become harder to bear. Money-changers now sit in my house of prayer, noisily selling pigeons and livestock. And what is worse, I invited them in. But why?

“That sanctuary of solitude with God, a place where hours could pass unnoticed, has fallen victim to a life filled with noise.”

Blaise Pascal explains well enough why the unredeemed world hates silence. “Diversion. Being unable to cure death, wretchedness and ignorance, men have decided, in order to be happy, not to think about such things” (Christianity for Modern Pagans, 170).

Pascal sees men without God fleeing their Creator, and themselves, at every turn. This world swirls with hustle and bustle, men busily chase what they don’t want because fallen humanity will not — cannot — endure the frowning thoughts that meet them in stillness.

Thus, clamor keeps back the awful light of self-knowledge, the unwelcome truth that Adam’s race is a terminal patient, busy building vanities upon the seashore to keep him from considering that he is a creature, dying. Or as Jesus depicted, a branch withering, soon to be cast into the fire and burned (John 15:6). Pascal ventures, “I have often said that the sole cause of man’s unhappiness is that he does not know how to stay quietly in his room” (172).

Threats to Quiet

But of course, this is not the Christian’s case. God found us at midday, drawing water alone from the well. There, he told us of our sin and situation. But there too, he offered himself to us as living water. In the quiet moment, a bush burned before our souls; we removed our sandals to be broken and healed by his voice.

And this begins a pattern: Daily quiet times become opportunities to meet with God. Journals are filled. Words underlined. Prayers spoken. Tears shed. Songs sung.

“Slowly, if we fail to keep watch, the good portion, the one thing necessary, the quiet closet becomes forgotten.”

But slowly, if we fail to keep watch, the good portion, the one thing necessary, the quiet closet becomes forgotten. That rural religion — green, organic, discreet — moves closer to the city of metal, machines, and commotion.

Three dangers, I notice, threaten my desire for solitude with God.

First, a Friendly World

The world outside my room stands with hand outstretched, ready to invite me into its fellowship. John Bunyan described Christian’s path as leading through the stir of Vanity Fair. And so it is.

Some of what I have called “busyness” — building a career, seeking a spouse, pursuing happiness — Jesus calls indulging the “cares of this world,” the “deceitfulness of riches,” and “desires for other things.” When they threaten to choke out his voice in my life, gifts become thorns.

In the parable of the sower, Jesus says,

Others are the ones sown among thorns. They are those who hear the word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches and the desires for other things enter in and choke the word, and it proves unfruitful. (Mark 4:18–19)

God’s truth gets strangled in hearts and minds, not just by the fierce grip of persecution, but by the gentler hold of the American dream.

I need to be reminded,

Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. (1 John 2:15)

At times, I need to be confronted,

You adulterous people! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? (James 4:4)

At other times, I need to be shown,

Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica. (2 Timothy 4:10)

And always, I need to pray,

Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. (Psalm 90:14)

Second, a Thinning Soul

When I desire the world, when I grow too busy to be alone with God, when the world in my pocket entices me more than the world of the Scriptures, my soul stretches and thins, “like butter scraped over too much bread.”

My weakened desires take me away from God into my phone. I follow Jonah into the Tarshish of technology. And when I set sail several times, it becomes easier and easier to go again, and harder and harder to sit with God as before. My soul fidgets, anxious for something, anything to distract and entertain me. As I stick my hand in again and again for more and more salty snacks, my appetite for the great feast diminishes.

Third, a Shrunken Faith

Cutting myself off from the means of grace injures my faith. When I do return, the silent room questions me: Is all this really real? Against this suggestion, I must take up the shield of faith to endure the initial discomforts.

With warming feet, I continue, “Lord, please give me this day my daily bread, and forgive me — for my many distracted, neglectful, worldly transgressions — as I forgive those who trespass against me.”

Are you sure God hears you? the thought comes. Hours and hours that add up to days upon days amassing to years and years of nothing — if it’s all untrue.

“Lord, lead me not into temptation — nor into distractions — but deliver me from them and the evil one. For yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory. Amen.”

Upon that floor I return from a cold world to my Father’s presence.

Drawing near to him in solitude tests my faith that he exists and rewards those who will meet him there (Hebrews 11:6). If God does not exist or meet us, we do waste precious moments on a dream and a shadow. But blocking out the world and turning our back on doubt, our seeking says, I trust you. I need you. I long to be with you.

Will You Return?

Will he “who is [our] life” (Colossians 3:4) woo us away from the busy and noisy world? It is today as it was with Elijah:

Behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. (1 Kings 19:11–12)

Literally, God revealed himself to Elijah in “a voice, a thin silence.” God often forgoes the thunder, the tearing winds, the earthquake, the roaring fire, preferring to whisper to us through his word and Spirit in the quiet room. Will we visit our prayer closets, get alone, shut out the world and its distractions to sit again with our God who delights to meet with us?

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/14995449/how-do-we-expose-works-of-darkness

Does Christian Hedonism help us understand the Bible? That is, does the emphasis on magnifying the worth of Jesus by delighting in him above all else help us to know “the secrets of the kingdom” (Matthew 13:11)? I believe it does, and Matthew 13 is a great example why.

Matthew 13 is the “parables” chapter of the Gospel. In it, Jesus gives seven public parables (to the crowds), three private explanations (to his disciples), and two surprising statements on the purpose of parables. And in the midst of all of that, he also gives us two startling lessons about joy in God. What is joy in God — and what is it not? And how do we distinguish between true and false joy?

What Parables Reveal and Hide

The seven parables are easily organized into four groups:

A parable about how we hear the word (the sower and the soils, Matthew 13:3–9)
Two parables about the mixture of good and bad in this age, and their separation at the end of the age (the weeds, Matthew 13:24–30; the net, Matthew 13:47–50)
Two parables about the slow but sure growth of the kingdom (mustard seed, Matthew 13:31–32; leaven, Matthew 13:33)
Two parables about the value and worth of the kingdom (treasure in a field, Matthew 13:44; pearl of great price, Matthew 13:45)

The purpose of these parables, Jesus says, is both to reveal and to hide. The parables divide Jesus’s audience. Some come to know the secrets of the kingdom (Matthew 13:11), but others do not. Some have eyes that see and ears that hear; others see, but do not see, and hear, but do not hear. That is, some truly understand what Jesus says, and some do not. For the latter, the parables are a form of judgment, a further deadening of already dull hearts (Matthew 13:15).

Thus, the key issue in this chapter is understanding. When we hear the parables, do we truly understand them? Or do our hearts remain hardened and dull? And as we try to understand them, what difference, if any, does Christian Hedonism make?

Same or Different Joy?

When a Christian Hedonist reads Matthew 13, he naturally notices the word joy. It appears twice, once in verse 20 and once in verse 44. These are two of six total uses of the word joy (Greek chara) in Matthew. So, does meditating on the place of joy in these particular parables reveal anything significant?

One use of the word joy is likely familiar. “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field” (Matthew 13:44). The message is clear: our joy over finding the supreme treasure leads us to gladly sell everything in order to have that treasure. What we are willing to joyfully sacrifice is the measure of our treasure — and, in this case, that was everything.

The other use of joy occurs in Matthew 13:20. Here Jesus is explaining the parable of the sower and the four soils. The first soil is the path, and the birds devour the seed before it takes root. The second soil is rocky ground; the seed is planted, but lacks deep roots, and thus withers beneath the scorching heat. The third soil has thorns, which choke the life of the plant. And the fourth soil is the good soil, which produces an abundance of grain.

Now, given how joy is used in verse 44, we might expect joy to be associated with the fourth fruitful soil. To receive the word with joy must mean that we’ll bear fruit for eternal life, right? But instead, we’re surprised to discover that it’s the second soil that “hears the word and immediately receives it with joy.” This joy, however, proves to be only a flash in the pan; the joyful receiver has no root in himself, and thus falls away when trials and persecution come.

This parable presents a different angle on joy. We learn that receiving the word with joy does not guarantee that God is pleased or glorified. In this case, the presence of joy proves not to be the measure of the treasure, but instead a shallow and fleeting mirage.

Two Different Joys

Picture two men. One man has sold all he has. The other has received the word.

These two men, based on these two parables, could not be more different. In the end, one will be commended; the other will be condemned. One will have joy everlasting; the other will find himself weeping and gnashing his teeth in the outer darkness. And yet at this moment in each story, their faces look identical. They are both radiant with joy — one as he receives the word, the other as he sells all he has.

Now a new Christian Hedonist might be puzzled. He expected the presence of joy to make all the difference. Receiving the word with joy and selling everything with joy belong together, don’t they? And yet Jesus distinguishes them in his parables. And so we must press in further and see more than we have yet seen to understand the secrets of the kingdom.

Joy We All Want

What should we learn from the juxtaposition of joy in these two parables?

The juxtaposition of joy reinforces that we are dealing with a mixed field. As in the parable of the weeds, the wheat and the tares grow up together until the harvest. Or again, with the parable of the net and the fish, the kingdom “gathers fish of every kind” (Matthew 13:47), both the good and the bad. But they are not sorted until the end of the age. And the presence of joy at any given moment in this age isn’t an infallible mark that one is wheat or a tare, a good fish or a bad.

Even though joy is found among the wheat and the tares, it is still possible to distinguish them. The parables about the slow but sure growth of the kingdom may help here. The joy that we’re after is joy like the mustard seed: it may start small, but it grows to be a large tree. It’s like the leaven in the dough that comes to pervade the entire loaf. Thus, in looking for joy, we are looking not merely for a snapshot; we are looking for a growing and increasingly pervasive sense of joy in the kingdom.

The Christian Hedonist also, however, notes that the key distinction between the joy of the Treasure-Seeker and the joy of the Second Soil is the response to trials and tribulations.

Trials Prove Our Joy

Trials reveal the quality of our joy. In looking for joy, we’re after a supreme joy in God that endures hardship and affliction.

“Trials reveal the quality of our joy. We’re after a supreme joy in God that endures hardship and affliction.”

The two parables of joy express the importance of trials explicitly; they simply locate the trial at different points. The Treasure-Seeker faces his trial at the outset. He finds the treasure and must decide whether to leave it buried in the field, or to sell all in order to buy the field, and with it, the treasure. And he passes the test. The loss of his possessions is nothing compared to the value he places on the treasure. The roots of his joy run deep, and thus he gladly lets goods and kindred go in order to gain it.

On the other hand, the Second Soil faces his trial after receiving the word with joy. The scorching heat tests the depth of his roots. His joy does not pervade the whole loaf. His is a shallow joy, and its superficiality becomes evident when trials and conflict come. He abandons the word of the kingdom in order to keep his goods and kindred.

Have You Understood?

After speaking his parables and giving his private explanations, Jesus asks his disciples, “Have you understood these things?” (Matthew 13:51). Today he asks us the same question. Have we understood the secrets of the kingdom? Seeing, have we truly seen? Hearing, have we truly heard?

Christian Hedonism, with its focus on the worth of Christ in the joy of his people, has helped. By focusing on the presence and juxtaposition of joy in these parables, we’ve seen more. We can bring out of our treasure what is new and what is old (Matthew 13:52).

“The presence of joy is the measure of our treasure, and the quality of our joy is tested by suffering.”

We see that a snapshot of joy isn’t enough. A moment of joy, on its own, tells us very little. The wheat and the tares grow together, and their joy can sometimes look identical. And so we are looking for joy that endures. We are looking for joy that works its way into all of our lives and grows from seed to tree. We are especially looking for joy that keeps rejoicing even in the face of hardship, affliction, trials, and loss. The presence of joy is the measure of our treasure, and the quality of our joy is tested by suffering.

These are not merely academic questions. We can intellectually grasp the point of the parables and still lack true understanding. We can see the point and still miss the point.

The real test is not whether we’ve mentally grasped what Jesus said. The real test is how our hearts respond when we find the treasure in the field. The fundamental question is what happens when the scorching sun beats down on our faith. Does our joy die, or does it endure? Does it just endure, or does it grow?

My wife and I ask each other a routine question about technology — and it may not be what you expect. Yes, we ask if the other heard us, and we ask to put down the phone for a while during family time. We, like most families in the digital age, have a ways to go to instill better technology habits in our homes. But the most frequent question we ask each other is, Did you see this online?

While that may seem like an odd question to ask, it reveals a much deeper issue with technology, one we often fail to consider amid concerns about screen time, app limits, and Internet filters. The question reminds us that we live in a personally curated and expertly crafted world of information, driven by algorithms that often wield significant influence over our lives and our outlook on the social and ethical issues of our day. The world you see online is often very different than what I might see, which in turn makes it difficult to address many of the root problems of our day.

Is Technology Neutral?

In this past year, many Christians are beginning to wake up to the reality that technology is not a neutral tool that we simply choose to use for good or ill.

From the ways that misinformation and conspiracy theories alter our perception of truth and reality, to the massive exposés of major social media companies about how their products are changing our social fabric, it has become clear that technology is not simply a tool; technology is a force that can radically shape our lives, often by pushing us toward specific ends that clash with the goals of the Christian life.

Take, for example, the ways these tools push us to comment on every breaking news story or cultural event the moment they happen. We are encouraged (and often far more than encouraged) to immediately share our opinion, often without context or knowledge of a particular issue. Instead of cultivating wisdom and restraint (James 1:19), technology often pushes us toward gut-level reactions, partisan talking points, and appeals to our tribes, all while we craft and manicure our online identities.

These technological goals and ends can be seen in the writings of the French sociologist and Protestant theologian Jacques Ellul (1912–1994), in which he describes technology as a movement that captures humanity in its grip and transforms everything in the name of efficiency (The Technological Society, 80). We perceive this move toward the technical and this drive toward efficiency in the ways we are constantly encouraged to see technology as only making our lives easier, increasing our productivity, and facilitating our abilities to form connections with others online.

Almost everything in life is touched by technology. And because it has become so ubiquitous, we are losing the ability to think critically about its role in our lives. We often fail to see how these very tools, especially algorithms, are shaping our view of the world, including how we see ourselves and our neighbors.

Algorithmic Catechism

One of the most prevalent forms of technology that subtly alters how we see the world around us, including our neighbors, is artificial intelligence (AI), or what is popularly referred to as the algorithm. While basic algorithms are a set of coded instructions, AI is a broader term encompassing dynamic systems that allow for a machine to adapt along the way through the use of highly sophisticated algorithms and machine learning. Often in conversation, AI sounds more like an element in the plot of a science-fiction movie than the driver of the common devices of social media platforms that we use each day, sometimes for the better part of the day.

“Whether we realize it or not, algorithms are discipling each of us in very particular ways.”

Whether we realize it or not, algorithms are discipling each of us in very particular ways — by curating the news we see, the things we purchase, the entertainment we enjoy, at times functioning in ways that seem almost human — all feeding the sense that this world is ultimately all about you. While AI may seem innocuous at first, it can also have devastating effects on our relationship with God, our spouse, roommates, those in our local church, and our broader communities as we opt for efficiency over wisdom and the virtual over the embodied.

Assumed and Assimilated

Over the past year, we saw countless calls to rein in “Big Tech,” a term focused on the outsized influence of certain technology companies like Meta’s Facebook, Amazon, Twitter, Google, and others. On both sides of the political aisle, a focused effort began to alter how these companies do business and how much influence they have over the digital public square.

Behind many of these calls for regulation is a sense that these companies, including their algorithms, negatively shape us as a society or censor certain views to increase profit margins. While these issues are obviously complex (and Christians will disagree on the nature and boundaries of various proposals), one reality is increasingly understood: technology is often assumed and assimilated, rather than questioned and examined, in our lives. We need to take a hard look at these tools and seek to navigate them with biblical wisdom and insight.

One of the most effective tools used to keep us constantly connected and online these days is the algorithm. It serves a perfectly curated and personalized world for us each time we log in or scroll through our social media feeds. Many of us have been hooked by these systems that create these intricate and curated online experiences to keep us engaged and constantly connected. While these personalized experiences are beneficial to an extent in terms of convenience, they also run the risk of isolating us from one another and further exacerbating the striking divides we face throughout society.

Impulsive Urge to Check

You know that nagging feeling or impulsive drive to check your phone one last time before you doze off to sleep? Or the seemingly mechanical urge to check what you missed overnight before your feet even hit the ground?

In our digital age, we also regularly feel an urge to check these devices even without any notification or sign of something we may have missed. From “phantom vibration syndrome,” where we feel like our device is vibrating even if it isn’t, to our proclivity to see everything around us as a potential status update, we are being profoundly shaped by technology every day.

“We have been conditioned to relentlessly check our devices, and many of us struggle to simply disconnect.”

This point is aptly illustrated in the Netflix documentary The Social Dilemma, where one expert interviewee stated that the question isn’t if you check Twitter in the morning after waking, but whether you check it before or while you use the bathroom each morning. We have been conditioned to relentlessly check our devices, and many of us struggle to simply disconnect. In the digital age, it’s far too easy to begin to see others as mere cogs in a giant machine rather than as individual and embodied souls with moral agency and accountability.

How Is Technology Shaping You?

While technology has obvious benefits and can be harnessed to love God and love our neighbor (Matthew 22:37–39), it has become increasingly difficult to step back and evaluate these tools with ethical clarity and biblical insight.

Amid the good of technology, Christians need to recognize the ways that algorithms are constantly expanding our moral horizons by opening options we never thought possible and allowing our sinful hearts to use these technologies to exploit others, manipulate truth, and stoke division. While common vices like anger, greed, lust, and arrogance are not new, they are nevertheless exacerbated in a digital-first world where we have new opportunities to indulge them and in turn abuse these technologies in ways that treat our neighbors as nothing more than a means to an end.

One of the dangerous tendencies is to shift our moral responsibility with these tools to others by refusing to acknowledge our roles, not only in their development, but also in how we use them. Wisdom calls us to evaluate the design and the goal of the tools we interact with each day because of the profound ways that we are being shaped and formed with each use.

True change won’t come until we admit these technologies did not arise, and do not operate, in a morally neutral vacuum — but within a pervasive environment of sin and a society-wide desire for complete moral and personal autonomy. While there is some truth to the view that technology mediates much of our experience online, we simply can’t abdicate our moral responsibility and blame the rise of fake news, polarization, and other social maladies solely on these technologies, without acknowledging that these tools function like jet fuel poured on a society already aflame with self-seeking sin and pride.

Two Steps Forward

What are we to do in this age of algorithmic influence? First, knowledge may be half the battle. Often, we simply fail to understand how these tools are shaping us and how they are conditioning us toward their end goals of higher engagement and time spent glued to our devices. Having a biblical view of technology can help retrain our minds to question these advances before simply assuming that they will always align with our values and goals for life.

There is a growing library of resources to aid you in this battle ranging from classic authors like Jacques Ellul, George Grant, and Neil Postman to contemporary thinkers such as Andy Crouch, O. Alan Noble, Jeffrey Bilbro, John Dyer, and Tony Reinke. While each engages these issues with different perspectives, they can each help us expand how we think about the role of technology in our lives as well as how we use technology wisely and responsibly.

Second, by recognizing how we are being formed, we can seek to counter that transformation through cultivating realistic and healthy habits with technology. Technology isn’t going away, and so bold claims of ridding our lives of these tools may not be the most effective long-term solution. As Paul reminds us in Ephesians 4:17–24, the Christian life involves more than putting off old habits; it also involves putting on new habits directed at forming us to be more like Christ.

These habits will range from family to family and person to person, but the goal is to shape our mind and heart to become more like Christ, who is the very wisdom of God (1 Corinthians 1:24). A one-size-fits-all checklist may seem efficient in the short term, but it does not take into account different personalities and maturity levels. Our goal is to become wiser and more mature, not just better rule followers.

Algorithms Do Not Rule

Being trained in wisdom may mean limiting screens, turning off recommendation algorithms and notifications, taking regular sabbaths from social media apps, or even removing some digital distractions from your life — for a season or entirely. Wisdom may mean different practices for different people, but in an age like ours, it will always mean focus and restraint.

While it’s true that algorithmic technologies have the power to not only respond to our behavior but to modify it, conditioning us to act in troubling ways to greater and greater degrees, we are not powerless pawns, and our behavior online is not a foregone conclusion, no matter how subtle and powerful the algorithms may become.

Under God, humans chose to develop these tools, and we can choose how to use them — or not. Indeed, the biggest question for Christians in this algorithmic age — given what we know of the nature of our sin and our vulnerability to temptation — is not if these tools are shaping us, but rather if these technologies are transforming us to be more like Christ, or if we are being discipled into conformity to this world (Romans 12:2).