The hit CBS show Undercover Boss has enjoyed a decade-long run based on a simple premise. Conceal the identity of a high-ranking leader of a company as he or she works among ordinary employees — and make the big reveal of the boss’s true identity at the end of each episode. Part of the fun is how some folks begin to piece it together along the way.

Of all designations used for Jesus Christ, the most undercover one is “Son of Man.” It shows up seemingly everywhere in the Gospels (over eighty times across all four), as a distinct way Jesus refers to himself in the third person. Jesus is not shy, in other words, about calling himself “Son of Man.” But what does it actually mean? It is surprisingly rare elsewhere in the New Testament, and unlike “Son of David” or other designations, it is not common in the Old Testament or Jewish tradition either.

As we reflect on Jesus this Advent season, it is right to ask the very question he asked his disciples: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” (Matthew 16:13). “Son of Man” may sound simple on the surface, but this phrase masks the astounding depths of the person and work of Jesus.

Revealing: Man Among Us

Let’s begin with what seems quite obvious about the phrase: “Son of Man” reveals someone is truly human. On the surface, the title seems to work just like, say, Aslan’s affectionate way of calling the four Pevensies “Sons of Adam” and “Daughters of Eve” to distinguish them from Narnian creatures. The offspring of a human shares the same nature.

Early church writers generally understood “Son of Man” along these lines. They treated it as a beautifully succinct reminder that Jesus is fully human, often as the opposite pole of “Son of God.” Here are a few examples that capture the Christmas spirit of the phrase (italics mine):

Ignatius (d. 140s): “Jesus Christ — who according to the flesh is of the lineage of David, the Son of Man” (Letter to the Ephesians, 20.2).
Justin Martyr (d. 165): “He spoke of himself as ‘Son of Man,’ either because of his birth through a virgin . . . or because Adam was his father” (Dialogue with Trypho, 100.3).
Irenaeus (d. 202): “Our Lord is . . . Son of Man, because from Mary he has his generation according to humanity, being made Son of Man” (Against Heresies, 3.19.3).
Tertullian (d. 220): “Christ is neither able to lie, that he would pronounce himself ‘Son of Man’ if it were not truly so, nor could he be regarded as son of man if he were not born of a human” (Against Marcion, 4.10.6).
Origen (d. 253): “The Son of God is said to have died, namely, with regard to that nature that was able to accept death — and he is designated ‘Son of Man’” (On First Principles, 2.6.3).

The church fathers, then, chart a course for seeing “Son of Man” as a three-word way of capturing the essence of the nativity: Jesus took on flesh and was born of a virgin. This fits nicely with the hypothesis that — assuming Jesus regularly spoke this phrase in Aramaic (bar enash) — it would sound to his hearers like a simple idiom for “a man like me.”

There is only one problem: Jesus uses “Son of Man” in ways that stretch far beyond mere humanness.

Concealing: Divine Man in Heaven

Several times, Jesus states that, as “Son of Man,” he will sit on a heavenly throne, come with the clouds, receive glory and power, and be surrounded by angels (Matthew 24:30; 25:31; 26:64; Mark 13:26; 14:62; Luke 21:27; 22:69). Surely this is not normal for a man! A reader with ears to hear will be drawn to Daniel 7 as the key for how “Son of Man,” while revealing Jesus’s humanity, simultaneously conceals Jesus’s heavenly status.

“‘Son of Man’ sounds simple on the surface, but this phrase masks the astounding depths of the person and work of Jesus.”

In Daniel’s vision of heaven, the Ancient of Days takes his throne of judgment, and “with the clouds of heaven there came one like a son of man . . . and to him was given dominion and glory and a kingdom” (Daniel 7:13–14). The setup is staggering. Someone is enthroned with God in heaven to rule forever, and he appears as a “son of man” because he is better than the beastly kings of earth (Daniel 7:17).

By deftly applying phrases of Daniel 7 to himself, Jesus unveils that he is that Son of Man. And Daniel’s vision is not about simple flesh and blood. It is ripe for far more.

Preexistence: In this vision, Daniel glimpses the preincarnate Son in the throne room — just as Isaiah saw Jesus’s glory (John 12:37–41; Isaiah 6:1–10), and Ezekiel saw a “man” enthroned in the highest heaven (Ezekiel 1:26–28).
Present authority: Multiple times, Jesus invokes his identity as Son of Man to claim authority on earth that no mere man could claim, such as unrestricted forgiveness of sins (Mark 2:5–12) and lordship over the Sabbath (Mark 2:28). Jesus’s divine prerogatives are rooted in his status as heavenly Son of Man.
Suffering to accomplish redemption: Jesus also connects “Son of Man” with the vicarious suffering of the Isaianic “servant” (Isaiah 52:13–53:12) when he predicts how, as Son of Man, he would suffer and die for sins (Mark 9:31).
Heavenly enthronement: Upon his ascension, Jesus is enthroned as Son of Man at the right hand of the Father on high (Acts 7:56; cf. Revelation 1:12–16) — further connecting the phrase to Psalm 110:1. Having accomplished salvation, the man Jesus Christ now reigns in heaven.
Return in glory: Finally, Jesus will return from heaven as Son of Man, the divine judge and eternal king (Matthew 19:28–30).

On closer inspection, “Son of Man” is just as much about Jesus’s divinity as it is his humanity.

This title proves to be perhaps the most effective way Jesus reveals and conceals who he really is. By using “Son of Man,” he is able to minister undercover, so to speak, on earth. For many observers then and now, the cryptic phrase just states the obvious: he’s human. But those who know the Scriptures see that “Son of Man” conceals something amazing: he is the one divine-man, grounded in heaven!

Our Son of Man

When Daniel glimpsed this heavenly reality, he was thoroughly overwhelmed (Daniel 7:28). What is our own response this Advent, as we see with greater clarity than even Daniel that Jesus Christ as Son of Man is truly man — born in Bethlehem, placed in a manger — but also much more?

He came down from heaven as Son of Man among the sons and daughters of Adam. Why? So that, through his divine authority and self-giving, he might make us to be children of the living God. The Son of Man descended from the heavenly throne room to win a people for himself, that in him the “saints of the Most High shall receive the kingdom and possess the kingdom forever, forever and ever” (Daniel 7:18).

How, then, should we answer Jesus’s question, Who is this “Son of Man”? He is nothing short of God-made-flesh, who reigns in heaven, yet was born of a virgin — our brother and our friend.

Audio Transcript

God can prevent every trial from entering our lives. He can. And he doesn’t. Why not? That’s the question every believer must eventually answer, especially if you believe God is all-powerful. If God is all-powerful, why does he allow trials into our lives? Why does he let the car break down in the middle of nowhere?

To that end, we have a fascinating clip to address this very point, a clip from a 1996 sermon that marked the 125th anniversary of Bethlehem Baptist Church. Pastor John was preaching Jeremiah 32:36–42. To introduce the text, he shared a poem and a personal story. Have a listen.

Our aim is to celebrate the sustaining grace of God for 125 years, and my first question is, What is that? What is sustaining grace? And I want to put it in a four-line poem that I took about an hour to figure out yesterday, and I want to say it over and over again, because when I take the time to put truth in a rhyme, it just helps me. It helps me. So you have to tolerate this. What is sustaining grace?

Not grace to bar what is not bliss,     Nor flight from all distress, but this:The grace that orders our trouble and pain,     And then, in the darkness, is there to sustain.

“Grace does not prevent pain, but orders it, arranges it, measures it out, and then, in the darkness of it, sustains us.”

Now, the reason I stress this is that if we were to celebrate a grace this morning that bars us from what is not bliss, and that gives flight from all distress, and that does not order our pain, it would be biblically false and experientially unrealistic. Our experience and the Bible teach us that grace does not prevent pain, but orders it, arranges it, measures it out, and then in the darkness of it sustains us.

Car Accident and an Air Tube

For example, yesterday, Bob — I’m going to borrow your story. (You go to him and get it corrected afterward if I’ve missed anything.) He told us in that other room over there that God ordains that the people of the Lord, from time to time, take stones and make memorials out of them, so that when they look at them and children say, “What’s that?” parents and others can say, “That’s because God did that.”

And then he told the story of how, a little less than ten years ago, their daughter was in a very serious automobile accident — so serious that she would have died. But the car behind, providentially, had a doctor in it. The doctor, providentially, had in his pocket an air tube. He also had the presence of mind, and got to her just as she was turning blue, to force this into her throat, and she lived. And he did her wedding here in 1992. And as he looked at her, doing the wedding as the pastor, and saw these little scars that remained, he said to her, “Those are a memorial of sustaining grace.”

“God ordains that the people of the Lord, from time to time, take stones and make memorials out of them.”

Now, Bob is not naive. He knows that if God can manage a doctor in the car behind, and if God can manage a little air tube in his pocket, and if God can manage to put him on the scene with the presence of mind and the saving action to save her life, he could have stopped the accident in the first place.

Not grace to bar what is not bliss,     Nor flight from all distress, but this:The grace that orders our trouble and pain,     And then, in the darkness, is there to sustain.

A Radiator and a Catfish

Another story, a little lighter this time. Noël, Abraham, Barnabas, and Talitha are in the car, two Saturdays ago, driving from here to Georgia. The car breaks down three times, and Daddy is at home, comfortable. The third time it broke down was about an hour outside of Indianapolis on a lonely stretch on Saturday afternoon. And the radiator crumbles to pieces, basically. The car overheats. They’re off on the side of the road — a baby, two kids, a mom, and no daddy. What do you do on Saturday afternoon?

A 67-year-old farmer stops and says, “Can I help?”

And Noël says, “Well, we just need a motel and a garage somewhere on Monday morning. Where are we?”

And he says, “Well, would you be willing to come stay with us, my wife and me?”

Pause.

“Well, I’m not sure we would want to impose.”

And he says, “You know, the Lord says that when you serve people in need, it’s like serving the Lord.”

And she says, “Well, can we go to church with you tomorrow morning?”

And he says, “Can you take a Baptist church?”

Not only is he a farmer, but he is also a retired aviation mechanic, and he sets them up. Monday morning, he drives to Indianapolis at 6 a.m., buys the radiator, puts it in, will not charge her for the labor, and they’re on their way mid-morning on Monday. And the icing on the cake is that he has a pond on his farm, and Abraham catches a nineteen-inch catfish.

Now, if God can manage a farmer on the scene who happens to be a Christian — and a Baptist to boot — and an aviation mechanic, and an open home, and a heart for the hurting, and a fishpond, he could have saved the radiator. And he didn’t because sustaining grace is

Not grace to bar what is not bliss,     Nor flight from all distress, but this:The grace that orders our trouble and pain,     And then, in the darkness, is there to sustain.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/14928035/the-effects-of-being-greatly-loved-by-god

It begins as a low, steady hum before twisting to urgent whispers, growing louder, tugging for more attention: Go ahead, buy just one more item; slip into one more coffee shop; numb yourself on social media. You deserve to be happy.

So you go for it: tossing a few more pretty pillows into your Target cart, purchasing yet another latte, indulging in a greedy gaze of that glamorous Instagram account. Or you pack for a beach vacation, hoping it will revive your spirits and usher in the winds of peace — only to find yourself tired, beaten down, and spiritually parched. A stale barrenness remains lodged in the crevices of your soul.

Especially in seasons of sadness, loneliness, and stress, it’s tempting to turn to fleeting pleasures for comfort, isn’t it? I remember a time when life seemed crushing, and I was desperate for something to comfort me.

God, in his kindness, gave me the solution: a Bible-saturated life.

Lost at Home

Our family had moved 1,100 miles across the country, with four young children, and I was lost, treading in deep, swirling waters. Everything important to me as a woman felt unfamiliar: our neighborhood, our home, the grocery store, the pediatrician’s office, the church. Even after the boxes were unpacked, I remained unsettled.

Our 4-month-old daughter stopped sleeping with any measure of consistency, our 2-year-old son continually asked when we were going “home,” and our 6- and 8-year-old boys tiptoed into our bed during the pitch of night, craving security in the midst of upheaval.

While my husband went to work each day, I remained at home: comforting my children, filling sippy cups, homeschooling, and completing circular, unending chores.

I appeared calm and ordered, but inside I was crumbling. Exhaustion, loneliness, and hidden waves of sadness engulfed me. I pushed it down, prayed haphazardly, opened my Bible randomly, and told myself that God understood. A verse here or there would have to suffice in shoring up my soul.

It was a horribly broken system. And it was failing.

Surprising Comfort

Then, one ordinary Friday, I packed up our children and journeyed to the library. My fingers traveled the book spines, desperately seeking something, and then paused on a book called The Pleasures of God.

I brought the book home, and during the children’s rest time began reading. Later, in the hush of night, after the dishwasher was emptied and the crumbs swept, I curled up on the sofa and read more. It did not take long: my brittle soul was watered as I was pulled back to the Bible — reading, rereading, and cross-referencing, awakened to truths that had always rested within arm’s reach. How could I have missed this?

Simple. I had not spent consistent time before the Lord (1 Samuel 12:24), with a quiet heart (Psalm 37:7), an open Bible (Psalm 119:18), and prayer (Isaiah 59:2).

As I began to unearth what makes God happy, reading verse by verse, chapter by chapter, Old Testament to New Testament, it was as if I had new eyes, seeing the magnificence of God through a kaleidoscope of unspeakable beauty. A new passion ignited within me: feast on Scripture every day, for all of life.

Reviving the Tired Soul

I can hear someone respond, “Just read more of the Bible and life will improve?” Perhaps you are doubtful.

Remember this: the Bible is not merely a book. As Hebrews 4:12 tells us, “The word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

Bible reading has become my treasure hunt as I grab hold of Hebrews 4:12, expecting that God will speak to me through every passage: convicting, teaching, and encouraging. Day by day, he awakens me to who he is and what he desires. Day by day, he brings his comfort to parts of my soul out of reach from every other.

“When we open God’s word, he speaks, moving and shifting our souls. To treasure the Bible is to fully live.”

When we open God’s word, he speaks, moving and shifting our souls. To treasure the Bible is to fully live. How tragic, then, to shelve your Bible until Sunday morning rolls around — or to settle for only a verse here or there.

Just this morning I delighted in the reminder of Psalm 19:7–11:

The law of the Lord is perfect,     reviving the soul;the testimony of the Lord is sure,     making wise the simple;the precepts of the Lord are right,     rejoicing the heart;the commandment of the Lord is pure,     enlightening the eyes;the fear of the Lord is clean,     enduring forever;the rules of the Lord are true,     and righteous altogether.More to be desired are they than gold,     even much fine gold;sweeter also than honey     and drippings of the honeycomb.Moreover by them is your servant warned;     in keeping them there is great reward.

Do our tired souls need reviving? Do our sad hearts need rejoicing? Do our dim eyes need enlightening? We will find it all in God’s word. No wonder David describes Scripture as more precious than gold and sweeter than honey. More precious, too, than any pillow we could buy — and sweeter than any latte.

Gifts, Not Substitutes

As women, we naturally crave beauty, relationships, and rest. These desires are not wrong: we are made in the image of God — a God who authored beauty in his creation, made us for relationships, and ordained us for Sabbath rest. God himself designed the physical, the touchable, the earthly. Beautifying our homes, longing for deep friendships, and retreating to relax with family are good gifts from a good God.

But when these longings become disordered, sneaking in and claiming preeminence, our lives begin to implode. Our desperate reaching is a sign that our soul isn’t well, a cue that our footsteps are on dead-end paths. Only God can satisfy our souls. When he is first, other pleasures fall into their fitting places. Do we enjoy them? Yes. But they no longer govern us. Our unchanging God does, through our yielding to his word.

“When troubles and uncertainties erupt, and they will, remember that there is no substitute for the Bible.”

Tend to your own soul by quieting your heart, opening your Bible, and listening. There are no shortcuts. Do whatever necessary: rising early, canceling subscriptions, saying no to the temporal. And when troubles and uncertainties erupt, and they will, remember that there is no substitute for the Bible. Seek comfort and instruction in God’s word, and listen to him speak.

Open Bible, Quiet Heart

Elisabeth Elliot famously said, “The secret is Christ in me, not me in a different set of circumstances” (Keep a Quiet Heart, 20).

My circumstances did not change for the better after our move all of those years ago: I was still in the same unsettled situation, and life was lonely. For four years, I remained rootless, at least from a worldly perspective. My husband’s ministry kept us traveling on Sunday mornings, so I did not have a singular church home and flourishing friendships. The busyness of raising and homeschooling four young children was a work I loved, yet it was a heavy burden to carry without a support group of mothers nearby. My closest friends and family were a thousand miles away. Although I became acquainted with a few neighbors on a surface level, deep and godly friendships during that time were absent.

Yet there was a holy purpose hidden in that season, one that I see clearly now, as God lovingly pried earthly comforts from my grasp, turning my lonely heart directly back to himself through immersion in his word. I learned to abide in the Bible and trust him.

My children are grown now, and life looks different. But one thing has not changed: my soul’s need for Bible-saturated living. This is a lifelong pursuit, not a one-and-done conquering.

Recently, that old familiar feeling crept back, tugging as fresh trials unfolded. I began to neglect communion with God, choosing to curl inward. Feeling spiritually parched and a little sad, I thought, What do I need? More time for me? More time to serve myself? A vacation? More understanding? A friend who “gets it?”

Nope. Just an open Bible, the life-giving Spirit, a quiet heart, and prayer.

ABSTRACT: For the first 1,500 years of church history, most Christians believed Paul wrote the letter of Hebrews. The resurgence in Greek scholarship at the time of the Reformation, however, revealed serious concerns with Pauline authorship, not least of which is the large stylistic discrepancy between Hebrews and Paul’s other letters. In the time since, though many have tried to tie authorship of Hebrews to others in the apostolic band — from Barnabas and Silas to Apollos and Luke — doubts still render the matter uncertain. Nevertheless, even in the absence of a known author, the authority of Hebrews rests secure. Christians for two thousand years have heard the voice of Christ in the letter of Hebrews, and possessing this God-breathed epistle is far more valuable than knowing its author.

For our ongoing series of feature articles for pastors, leaders, and teachers, David Mathis explores what we can and cannot say about the authorship of the letter of Hebrews.

“It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”

Famously, that was Winston Churchill’s description of Russia in 1939 when asked about the nation’s intentions and interests. “I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia,” he conceded. Then he added his zinger.

Over the years, many have sought to apply Churchill’s memorable line to other puzzles, such as husbands admitting (whether comedically or with genuine humility) to their inability to grasp the endearing mysteries of their wife.

In New Testament studies, the line may apply most aptly to the epistle to the Hebrews, one of the most enigmatic of the field’s enduring riddles. Romans and Hebrews, of similar length, may be the two great pillar epistles of Christian theology, and yet far more is known, and certain, about Romans. With Romans, we get the systematically reasoned heart of Paul. With Hebrews, we get another learned, powerful, complementary voice — but whose? Turning to Hebrews, one thinks about the strange Melchizedek figure and the complex argument of chapter 7, the arresting warning passages in chapters 6 and 10, and the opening catena of Old Testament quotations in chapter 1 that many readers struggle to understand in context.

William Lane begins his impressive two-volume commentary with this tribute:

Hebrews is a delight for the person who enjoys puzzles. Its form is unusual, its setting in life is uncertain, and its argument is unfamiliar. It invites engagement in the task of defining the undefined.1

And the biggest riddle of them all is information that church history, and the faithful today, do not consider to be lacking for any other New Testament document: who wrote it.

Could This Be Paul?

Unlike Paul’s epistles — and all other New Testament letters, except the epistles of John — Hebrews does not begin with the name of its author. Nor does it in any place divulge his name, or give any telltale clues as to his identity. The closest information we have is the mention of Timothy, as an associate, at the close: “Our brother Timothy has been released” (Hebrews 13:23). Assuming this to be the Timothy we know from Acts 16–20 and the epistles of Paul (and especially the two letters addressed to him), the author of Hebrews seems to be from the Pauline circle. So the question has long been, Might it be Paul himself?

“The canonicity of Hebrews stood essentially unchallenged by the end of the fourth century. Paul was presumed the author.”

When we consider the history of the recognition of Hebrews in the Christian canon, we cannot ignore the early assumption that it was from Paul. The extant records are not extensive, but the Eastern church plainly accepted Hebrews as Pauline. However, acceptance was slower in the West, though it solidified by the time of Augustine (354–430) and Jerome (347–420). The epistle’s strikingly high Christology proved valuable in combatting the Arian heresy, which confessed Christ as mere creature, not eternally God. The canonicity of Hebrews stood unchallenged by the end of the fourth century. Paul was presumed the author.

For the next millennium and more, that position remained essentially unquestioned as many read the Scriptures in Latin. However, new queries began to arise at the Reformation as scholars went ad fontes (back to the sources), read the Greek for themselves, and became comfortable enough in the New Testament to spot the stark differences in Paul’s typical style and that of Hebrews.

Some scholars, clinging to Pauline authorship, have attempted various explanations for the manifest differences in style. Perhaps Paul wrote in Hebrew, and Luke, say, translated the letter into Greek. Or maybe Paul cowrote with another member of the apostolic band. Perhaps Paul’s amanuensis (secretary) had a longer-than-normal leash, giving this epistle a distinctive style compared with his other thirteen letters. (Such a rationale suffices for the more moderate differences of the Pastoral Epistles, but not for Hebrews.)

However, the best argument against Paul as author comes in the letter itself.

Not Paul

Even though the author of Hebrews does not leave us his name, he does refer to himself in a revealing statement at the beginning of chapter 2 — and in doing so he speaks in a way that we can acknowledge, on good authority, that the apostle Paul emphatically would not speak.

Speaking of the Christian gospel (and the new covenant in contrast with the old) as “such a great salvation,” the author writes, “It was declared at first by the Lord, and it was attested to us by those who heard” (Hebrews 2:3). Note carefully three parties in view here. First is “the Lord” Jesus himself. He not only came as the great salvation, and to accomplish the great salvation, but he told of it. He himself preached, taught, and declared it. Then Hebrews mentions a second group: “those who heard” — that first generation of apostles and Christians, who followed Jesus’s life, witnessed his death, saw him resurrected, and believed. They saw and knew and heard Jesus for themselves. Then the author of Hebrews puts himself in a third group: “it was attested to us by those who heard.”

Based on what Paul writes elsewhere, and how he reasons and understands his call as an apostle of Christ, Paul would not put himself in this third group, which received the message through another group, and did not receive it directly from the mouth of the Lord. For instance, Paul writes to the Galatian church about the gospel he preaches, “I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ” (Galatians 1:12). Critical for Paul, as an apostle “untimely born” (1 Corinthians 15:8), was that he met the risen Christ face to face on the road to Damascus and received the truth, and his commission, from Christ himself.

Hebrews 2:3 thus leads many post-Reformation scholars to say, with Lane, about the author, “It is certain that he is not Paul.”2

Who Could It Be Now?

J.A.T. Robinson (1919–1983) comments in his 1976 book Redating the Testament about the writer to the Hebrews,

The mantle of the Apostle [Paul] has in part fallen upon the writer himself. He can address his readers with a pastoral authority superior to that of their own leaders and with a conscience clear of local involvement (Heb. 13:17f.), and yet with no personal claim to apostolic aegis. There cannot have been too many of such men around.3

Many have agreed that we’re dealing with a very limited pool of candidates, even if we can’t claim to know that pool exhaustively.

Tertullian (c. 160–220) suggested Barnabas, who partnered with Paul in gospel triumphs on the first missionary journey (Acts 13:1–15:35). Some have wondered whether the author’s closing reference to the epistle as a “word of encouragement” (13:22) might allude to the name Barnabas, “which means son of encouragement” (Acts 4:36). However, Paul and Barnabas didn’t remain in the same circle indefinitely. The two had “a sharp disagreement” about Mark and “separated from each other” (Acts 15:37–41), doing so before Paul met Timothy (Acts 16:1).

Others have suggested Silas (Silvanus), who was together with Paul and Timothy for the writing of 1 Corinthians, 1 Thessalonians, and 2 Thessalonians (and also helped with 1 Peter). Memorably, Martin Luther suggested Apollos, who appears to be “the kind of person who wrote Hebrews.”4 Acts 18:24 describes Apollos as a Jewish native of Alexandria, “an eloquent man, competent in the Scriptures.” However, the train of early church fathers from the city of Alexandria does not mention Apollos as a possibility. Would the Alexandrian church have forgotten that one of its own authored such a masterpiece?5

In the end, the suggestions of Barnabas, Apollos, and Silas meet the same fate: we do not have writing samples from them to compare. However, we do have an additional candidate to mention from whom we do have extensive writing — and even then, it’s not conclusive.

Someone Like Luke

One of the first names to be suggested in church history was Luke. Origen of Alexandria (c. 184–253) found the epistle’s theology to be complementary to Paul’s but its style plainly foreign to his (“the verbal style of the epistle . . . is not rude like the language of the apostle . . . but . . . its diction is purer Greek”), and Origen wondered aloud about Luke or Clement of Rome (c. 35–99, not to be confused with Clement of Alexandria, c. 150–215). John Calvin (1509–1564) and the German Hebraist Franz Delitzsch (1813–1890) both went on record favoring Luke.

B.F. Westcott (1825–1901) claims in his Hebrews commentary that “no impartial student can fail to be struck by the frequent use of words characteristic of St. Luke.”6 Henry Alford (1810–1871) was also struck: “Readers of this commentary will frequently be struck by the verbal and idiomatic coincidences with the style of Luke-Acts.”7 Many have joined them in observing “resemblance of style” or “stylistic similarities.”

More recently, Southwestern Seminary professor David Allen published a full monograph in 2010 titled Lukan Authorship of Hebrews.8 There is indeed a case to be made for Luke. Students who have advanced enough in Koine Greek to know Hebrews well, and then read through Luke-Acts, will notice similarities of expression, with Alford and Westcott. Clearly, both Luke-Acts and Hebrews belong to a finer level of Greek than the rest of the New Testament documents. If we start with known authors of New Testament books, as Allen suggests, then Luke seems to be the clear choice. And if we could count Luke reliably as the author of Hebrews, we would have him as author of nearly a third of the whole New Testament (and perhaps also as Paul’s amanuensis for 1–2 Timothy and Titus).

However, we are not limited to known authors, and as Allen himself concedes in his commentary, the most we can say is that “someone like Luke must have been the author.”9 Lane captures the humbling truth: “The limits of historical knowledge preclude positive identification of the writer.”10

Canon Fodder

The question, then, that has attended the riddle about the epistle’s author is canonicity: If we cannot convincingly establish the identity of the author, can we reasonably receive Hebrews as part of the New Testament canon — the rule, or measuring stick, of our faith, Holy Scripture?

The church, as a whole and throughout time, has long held to relative certainty about the author of all other New Testament books. Of the 27 books, 21 were written by Paul (13) and members of Jesus’s original twelve — Matthew (1), John (5), Peter (2). In addition, we know the identity of four other New Testament writers, clearly associated with Christ and his apostles: Mark wrote his Gospel in association with Peter; Luke wrote his and Acts as a companion of Paul; James and Jude were (half) brothers of Jesus (Matthew 13:55; Mark 6:3; Galatians 1:19; Jude 1), with James in particular serving prominently in early-church leadership (Acts 12:17; 15:13; 21:18; 1 Corinthians 15:7; Galatians 2:9). Apostleship, we might say, is at the center of canonicity, but not the entirety of it. For this reason, many have spoken of “apostolicity” and applied the adjective apostolic broadly.

Hebrews, then, pushes us one degree further. If it was written by Luke, we have no further concern, as his Gospel and Acts are recognized without question. But since we remain uncertain about Luke — or suspect another author who was not an apostle or close associate — then further rationale is needed.

In fact, we may have enough evidence to consider the author of Hebrews an associate of Paul’s and a member of the Pauline circle, since Hebrews 13:23 refers to “our brother Timothy,” who seems to have been well-known to both the writer and his readers. But we need not pretend to be more sure than we are. This uncertainty can serve us well. It presses us to answer the question of canonicity by another means: not by the identity of the author, but by the glory of God shining through Scripture.

Supernatural Encounter

John Piper makes the case — which applies so well to Hebrews. Leaning on 1 Corinthians 2:11–13 (“we [apostles] impart [the thoughts of God] in words . . . taught by the Spirit, interpreting spiritual truths to those who are spiritual”), Piper writes,

Apostolicity is the supernatural transmission of naturally incomprehensible reality to spiritually discerning people (“those who are spiritual,” 1 Corinthians 2:13), through writing that is “taught by the Spirit.” This means that the recognition by the church of the apostolicity of the 27 books of the New Testament was neither a mere historical judgment about who wrote the books nor a mere preference for some over others. Rather, the historical judgments and the corporate preferences were the outworkings of the supernatural encounter between the unique work of God in the writings (“words not taught by human wisdom”) and providentially discerning Christians endowed with the Holy Spirit (“interpreting spiritual truths to those who are spiritual”).11

“The epistle, even without identification of its author, manifests the peculiar glory of God in Christ to his people.”

That “supernatural encounter” between Christ and his church, confirmed over generations, is key. The upshot, as this dynamic relates to Hebrews, is that the epistle, even without identification of its author, manifests the peculiar glory of God in Christ to his people, and as Michael Kruger writes, has been “understood to bear the essential apostolic deposit.”12 A.T. Lincoln summarizes, “In the providence of God, the church catholic rightly heard in Hebrews the apostolic gospel that witnessed powerfully to God’s decisive action in Christ and to its implications for faith and life.”13 To this, I would add, with Piper, that in the hearing the church has seen, for centuries, and continues to see, not only truth but beauty: the self-authenticating glory of Christ.

God Only Knows

Origen’s third-century statement on Hebrews has endured: “Who wrote the epistle, in truth, God knows.” We are not sure of his name, but we can surmise some important details about “the kind of person who wrote Hebrews,” whoever this “someone like Luke” was. Though not Paul himself, the author was part of the apostolic circle, and known to readers as proximate to Paul and Timothy. He likely had a Jewish background, with Hellenistic upbringing and training.

Scholars uniformly admire his Greek: “a master of elegant Greek”;14 “the most elegant stylist among the New Testament writers”;15 “the finest Greek in the New Testament, far superior to the Pauline standard both in vocabulary and sentence-building.”16 Andrew Trotter claims, “The writing of Hebrews is easily the finest in the NT, both in its use of grammar and vocabulary, and in its style and knowledge of the conventions of Greek rhetoric.”17

In the end, far more important than our having his name is our having the letter that the risen Christ breathed out for his church through this man.

Look to the Reward

From beginning to end, Hebrews sounds the consistent refrain, as many have captured it, Jesus is better. Not only as God, but now as man, he is superior to the angels (1:4; 2:9–10), “worthy of more glory than Moses — as much more glory as the builder of a house has more honor than the house itself” (3:3). Better than Joshua (4:8–10), better than David and Aaron and Melchizedek, he provides a better hope (7:19) through mediating a better covenant (7:22; 8:6). He has prepared for us a better country (11:16) and will raise us, after death, to a better life (11:35). Foreign as some parts of the letter may feel, we are called again and again, without riddle, to look forward, in the pursuit of real and lasting joy.

“From beginning to end, Hebrews sounds the consistent refrain, as many have captured it, Jesus is better.”

Whatever the standard of comparison, Jesus is better. He himself is our better and abiding possession, and our great reward (10:34–35). Hebrews summons us to seek such holy satisfaction, to know our God as one who “rewards those who seek him” (11:6), to release our grasp on the treasures of this age by “looking to the reward” (11:26), to “consider Jesus” (3:1), and run with endurance, “looking to Jesus . . . who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross” (12:1–2).

Riddle, mystery, and enigma though Hebrews may be, its vision and value have never been in serious doubt.

Audio Transcript

Today we address a critical spirit. The question comes to us from a listener named Alan. Here’s his email. “Pastor John, thank you for your insight on many topics in this podcast. My question for you is this: What does the Bible say about a critical spirit? What is a critical spirit? I assume holding high expectations is not the same thing as having a ‘critical spirit.’ So when do high expectations become sinful judgmentalism? And how can I fight against this tendency of focusing mostly on the failures of others?”

Wired to Be Critical

That last question is exactly the right question to ask for all of us, and I include myself here. John Piper is wired to be critical. I remember taking a personality test, I think it was Myers-Briggs, ages ago. And my letters came back. I can’t remember exactly, but I think it was INTJ or something like that. This is not the kind of person you want to live with. I remember they said, “Okay, here is your number, Piper, and here’s the narration of what that personality type is like.” And do you know what one of the mottoes was? The motto was, “There’s always room for improvement.”

Now, it’s good to know that about yourself, because it means that you’re a hard person to live with. Nobody likes to be under an incessantly scrupulous eye that basically says, “Well, no matter how hard and how well you do your job, it could have been done better.” I mean, that makes for a pretty oppressive marriage or Sunday school class or church. So I had to be really on top of the sinful proclivities of this way that I was just born. There are no excuses here. I’m not trying to make anything easy.

That’s why I say this last question is so right: What can we do, or how can we think, or are there steps we can take so that we do not become hypercritical people? And if we’re wired that way, can we be changed or exercise self-control to channel it into properly analytical efforts and not people-ruining ones?

Combatting a Critical Spirit

So what are the strategies that I have found in the Bible and in my own life that might be helpful here not to be a hypercritical or judgmental person? You’d have to ask my wife how successful I’ve been at this, but I’m sure bent on being better.

1. Recognize your own faults.

Let’s zero in on the word judgmental, just because Alan referred to it, and Jesus addresses it directly.

Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, “Let me take the speck out of your eye,” when there is the log in your own eye? (Matthew 7:3–4)

In other words, “I’m a super hypercritical person; I see specks everywhere.” But how can you talk about taking the speck out of another’s eye when you’ve got a log hanging out of your own eye? Jesus says,

You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye. (Matthew 7:5)

So, Jesus’s answer to the question of how not to be hypercritical about the speck in your brother’s eye is to be deeply aware of the log in your own. Now, I don’t think that means that the very thing you spot in the other person, which you think is a speck, is worse in you than in him. I don’t think it means that. That doesn’t work. But what it means is that there’s plenty about me, before God and man, that should disincline me to be quick to judge others for specks, because if I got the just judgment that I deserved, it would be devastating.

That’s, I think, the gist of what it means, and it really, really works. I mean, that has a deep effect on slowing down your criticism of others, or at least de-intensifying it, because you know that if God were to treat you with the same rigor that you’re now treating another person, you’d be undone.

2. Remember what you’ve been saved from.

This is really an extension of the first point. Never lose sight of what you have been saved from, or how much it cost, and how much remaining corruption there is still in you. And I base this on Ephesians 4:32: “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

“We treat people better than they deserve because God treats us better than we deserve.”

Forgiving as you have been forgiven carries an implication. And the implication is this: being ready to treat people way better than they deserve, because we have been treated so much better than we deserve. So even though we don’t call it forgiveness when we are less critical at the front end of a relationship, the root is the same. We treat people better than they deserve because God treats us better than we deserve. And it cost Christ his life for God to treat us that way.

3. Give thanks.

Fill your heart and mouth with thanksgiving for everything. Ephesians 5:20: “[Give] thanks always and for everything.” Be an amazingly overflowing thankful person. In other words, be radically, radically grateful. Practice waking up in the morning with thankfulness, walking through the day with thankfulness, going to bed at night with thankfulness, because a thankful spirit pushes out a critical spirit.

4. Grow in love.

Meditate on what love is and how essential love is to the Christian. What does it mean to love people? And I think most of us should memorize all of 1 Corinthians 13. That chapter is only 13 verses long. It’s the most important chapter on love in the Bible. And you can memorize it in a week if you put your mind to it, and then say it to yourself over and over again for a year or so, and see what happens.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:4–7)

Goodnight! Memorize that, say it and say it, pray it and pray it, until it’s you, and God will heal you of much of your hypercritical spirit.

5. Ask how criticism helps.

This is really pragmatic. People doubt the value of this, and I’ll explain why they shouldn’t. Ask yourself this: What good is it going to do for anyone for me to constantly feel so critical of others? What good is it going to do anybody — me or them? Now, you may think a question like that is emotionally useless: “So what? I mean that doesn’t change me. Asking that question doesn’t change me. It doesn’t help me.”

Well, if that were true, if that question were useless, why did Jesus say, when he was trying to help us overcome anxiety — which is just as hard to get rid of as a critical spirit — “And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” (Matthew 6:27). So, here’s my paraphrase: It doesn’t do any good to be anxious. It’s pointless. Nothing happens, right? Well, why are you anxious? You’re accomplishing nothing.

And I know a lot of people here, then, say, “Well, how does that help?” So say that about being hypercritical: it just doesn’t do any good. Now that’s not the only strategy, but add that to your arsenal of weapons because Jesus said that’s a good question to ask when it comes to a lot of sins: What good are they doing? Are you helping anybody with that particular bent?

6. Look at the world.

Cultivate a view of life, hour by hour, that is more expansive — bigger heart, global, universal, all-encompassing, God-entranced. Look at the whole of life. Look at the whole of the universe. Look at the whole of nature. Look how big it is, and look at all of its dazzling wonders, and be amazed at the world you’re walking through.

So my favorite lit teacher in college, Clyde Kilby, put it like this. (This is one of his resolutions for mental health.)

I shall open my eyes and ears. Once every day I shall simply stare at a tree, a flower, a cloud, or a person. I shall not then be concerned at all to ask what they are but simply be glad that they are. I shall joyfully allow them the mystery of what Lewis calls their “divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic” existence.

So this afternoon, I’m walking back after chapel, across my revelatory bridge, listening on my phone to the history of the Baptists, and it hit me: Turn that thing off. You can listen to that while you’re brushing your teeth. You are walking under God’s blue sky. Look up. Look at those clouds, John. Just look at them. Let him minister to you. You’re inside all day long. You get ten minutes under God’s glory, and you’re going to listen to a book?

“A thankful spirit pushes out a critical spirit.”

Much of our hypercritical bent is owing to the fact that our world has shrunk down to the tiny little situation where this molehill of a speck in a person’s eye — this molehill of a problem — looks a hundred times bigger than it really is because we have made our world so small that this feels big. We have focused our lens so narrowly that we can’t see the glories all around us. So that’s number six.

7. Praise always.

Fill your mind and your heart and your mouth with praise. That’s very much like thanks, but not quite the same. Decades ago, I read this quote from C.S. Lewis. Tony knows it. Lots of you who are listening probably have heard this. Let me say it again, just because it’s so healing. Oh, my goodness. When I first read this, it just washed over me like a cleansing flood for how not to be a cranky person. Here’s what Lewis said about praise:

The most obvious fact about praise . . . strangely escaped me. I thought of it in terms of compliment, approval, or the giving of honor. I had never noticed that all enjoyment spontaneously overflows into praise. . . .

The world rings with praise — lovers praising their mistresses, readers their favourite poet, walkers praising the countryside, players praising their favourite game — praise of weather, wines, dishes, actors, motors, horses, colleges, countries, historical personages, children, flowers, mountains, rare stamps, rare beetles, even sometimes politicians or scholars. . . .

I had not noticed how the humblest, and at the same time most balanced and capacious, minds, praised most, while the cranks, misfits and malcontents [and may I add: hypercritical types, INTJ types] praised least. (Reflections on the Psalms, 109–10)

So there it is. The remedy to not be a cranky, hypercritical misfit is to be full of praise. So, fix your eyes on God and the wonders of his creation and redemption, and be filled with praise.

One of the reasons to read the Old Testament is so you can be shocked at the right times when reading the New Testament. Philippians 2, for example, is a wonderful, glorious passage — but it becomes a shocking passage when read in light of Isaiah 45.

Isaiah 45 records the prophet’s oracle concerning Cyrus, king of Persia. Despite being a pagan ruler, Cyrus is the Lord’s anointed, his christ with a lowercase c (Isaiah 45:1). Though Cyrus does not know Yahweh (God’s personal name, Exodus 3:14), Yahweh knows Cyrus, names Cyrus, calls Cyrus, and equips Cyrus to fulfill God’s purposes by restoring the fortunes of Israel following their exile to Babylon (Isaiah 45:4–5). And Yahweh acts in this way so that all people will know that “I am the Lord, and there is no other, besides me there is no God” (Isaiah 45:5–6).

“One of the reasons to read the Old Testament is so that you can be shocked when reading the New Testament.”

In fact, the uniqueness of the Lord becomes the dominant theme in the oracle of Isaiah 45. Again and again, Yahweh asserts his unique divine prerogatives. He alone is the Creator God. He forms light and creates darkness (Isaiah 45:7). He sends showers to the earth and causes plants to grow (Isaiah 45:8). He is the potter who forms the clay and the father who makes all mankind (Isaiah 45:9).

God Over All

Isaiah draws our attention back to Genesis 1:

Thus says the Lord,who created the heavens     (he is God!),who formed the earth and made it      (he established it;he did not create it empty,     he formed it to be inhabited!). (Isaiah 45:18)

Not only did he alone create the world, but he alone governs it from beginning to end.

Thus says the Lord,     the Holy One of Israel, and the one who formed him [Cyrus]:“Ask me of things to come;     will you command me concerning my children and the work of my hands?I made the earth     and created man on it;it was my hands that stretched out the heavens,     and I commanded all their host.” (Isaiah 45:11–12)

And not only is Yahweh alone the Creator God; he alone is “a righteous God and a Savior” (Isaiah 45:21). Yahweh is distinct from all the gods of the nations, since the pagans “carry about their wooden idols and keep on praying to a god that cannot save” (Isaiah 45:20). Yet even the nations will one day recognize the futility of their idols and acknowledge the God of Israel (Isaiah 45:14).

There Is No Other

Again and again in this chapter, the Lord, through his prophet, shouts that he alone is God. Hear the trumpet blast of God’s absolute uniqueness sound seven times in this one chapter.

Verse 5: “I am the Lord, and there is no other, besides me there is no God.”
Verse 6: “There is none besides me; I am the Lord, and there is no other.”
Verse 14: “They will plead with you, saying: ‘Surely God is in you, and there is no other, no god besides him.’”
Verse 18: “I am the Lord, and there is no other.”
Verse 21: “Was it not I, the Lord? And there is no other god besides me, a righteous God and a Savior; there is none besides me.”
Verse 22: “Turn to me and be saved, all the ends of the earth! For I am God, and there is no other.”
Verse 24: “Only in the Lord, it shall be said of me, are righteousness and strength.”

And that is why it is no surprise in this passage when Yahweh declares,

By myself I have sworn;     from my mouth has gone out in righteousness     a word that shall not return:“To me every knee shall bow,     every tongue shall swear allegiance.” (Isaiah 45:23)

As the only supreme God, he has no one greater by whom he can swear (Hebrews 6:13), and his sure and certain word establishes that all shall bow to him and him alone. Every tongue will confess that Yahweh is Lord.

One Shocking Name

But what is not surprising in Isaiah 45 becomes unbelievably shocking in Philippians 2. Like Isaiah, Paul is celebrating the anointed of the Lord, Christ Jesus himself. Whereas Cyrus did not know the Lord, Jesus does, and his humility and obedience is the model for our own. Jesus humbled himself, and his obedience extended all the way to death, even death on a cross (Philippians 2:6–9).

And then the turn. Because of his humility and his obedience, God has highly exalted him. He has given him the supreme name in the cosmos. And what does this exaltation and name-giving mean? It means that “at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:10–11).

“Jesus, the man from Nazareth, is not just a great prophet or the anointed king. He is Lord, the Lord, Yahweh himself.”

Paul knows what he is doing. He knows that this fundamental Christian confession — Jesus Christ is Lord — does not merely declare him to be a human ruler like Herod or Caesar. He knows that he is echoing the words of Isaiah in that great monotheistic chapter. The chapter that rang with “there is no other god” is now shockingly, surprisingly, incredibly redeployed to declare that Jesus, the man from Nazareth, is not just a great prophet or the anointed king. He is Lord, the Lord, Yahweh himself, come in the flesh to rescue and redeem, to suffer and to save.

Yes, Paul knows what he is doing. And he knows that he’s not the first to do so.

Jesus Is Lord

The shepherds heard it first, declared by angel tongues on the night of Jesus’s birth. The good news of great joy for all people shockingly brought together Isaiah’s words in a simple sentence. “Unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11). Not merely the Lord’s Christ (like David or even Cyrus). This Christ is the Lord himself, now laying aside his divine privileges and emptying himself, humbling himself, taking on the form of a servant, and being born in the likeness of men.

Now when the ends of the earth turn to be saved, they don’t merely turn to the Creator God. They turn to the God-man from Nazareth, the boy from Bethlehem. Jesus is Lord, and there is no other. Jesus is Lord, and there is none like him.

I met my aunt Margaret for the first time when I was ten. She was in a wheelchair in the middle of the front room, drooling uncontrollably, unaware of my presence, incontinent, and unable to take care of herself. And yet my uncle Gale cared for her, and he did so tenderly.

They were high school sweethearts, but now she was dying of brain cancer after only fifteen years together. My uncle didn’t abandon her. He didn’t get a mistress. No, he had publicly vowed, “in sickness and in health, till death do us part” — and he was faithful to his word. A few years later, she died. This is a biblical picture of marriage: joy through servanthood, faithfulness, and self-denial.

But times have changed. Our societal expectations for marriage have gone through a radical transformation, and those changes have affected many in the church.

Changing Expectations

One commentator describes the transformation this way: “The old attitude was that one must work for the marriage. The new attitude is that the marriage had better work for me” (Jonah Goldberg, Suicide of the West, 267). My uncle worked for his marriage. He was willing to forgo short-term pleasure for the sake of his wife, his children, and the glory of God. He believed that keeping his marriage vows would enhance his joy in this life and in the world to come.

But those who expect marriage to “work for me” often assume that “God just wants me to be happy” in the thin and predictable ways. Their focus is on me and my immediate needs. They will most likely bail when any significant, protracted marital trouble comes.

Here is how University of Virginia sociologist W. Bradford Wilcox sums up our new marital expectations:

Prior to the late 1960s, Americans were more likely to look at marriage and family through the prisms of duty, obligation, and sacrifice. . . . But the psychological revolution’s focus on individual fulfillment and personal growth changed all that. Increasingly, marriage was seen as a vehicle for a self-oriented ethic of romance, intimacy, and fulfillment. In this new psychological approach to married life, one’s primary obligation was not to one’s family but to oneself; hence, marital success was defined not by successfully meeting obligations to one’s spouse and children but by a strong sense of subjective happiness in marriage — usually to be found in and through an intense, emotional relationship with one’s spouse. The 1970s marked the period when, for many Americans, a more institutional model of marriage gave way to the “soul-mate model” of marriage.

Professor Wilcox’s “soul-mate model” is a fruit of expressive individualism. The assumptions behind this model are a moral solvent, dissolving the covenant bond of marriage. At its center is a potent, marriage-wrecking lie: God just wants me to be happy — and that is “happiness” as I choose to define it. Couples have used this lie to justify abortion, divorce, adultery, abandonment, and all kinds of selfishness.

“God wants couples to pursue a greater long-term marital happiness through Christlike self-denial.”

The problem with this lie is that it twists an important truth. God does want us to be happy, but he defines the terms, and immediate happiness is not God’s primary goal. God wants couples to pursue a greater long-term marital happiness through Christlike self-denial. God expects us to deny self — to defer immediate marital gratification — in order to experience greater long-term happiness. There are times in marriage when such self-denial takes great faith.

Beneath the Lie

This lie is a deeply rooted cultural assumption, and assumptions can be difficult to address because they are often subconscious. They seep into us through television, movies, literature, media, music, and our educational system.

For instance, one way they rise to the surface and become visible is through consumer advertising. Ad agencies get paid to identify the assumptions that motivate us. Here are some examples — each, if internalized a certain way, could be devastating to a marriage:

Outback Steakhouse invites us to eat at their restaurants because there are “No rules. Just right.”
McDonalds tells us to buy French fries because “You deserve a break today.”
Reebok urges us to buy their running shoes “Because you’re worth it.”
And Nike, throwing all restraint to the wind, urges us to “Just do it!”

The assumptions expressed by the mind of Christ, however, are strikingly different. Do we “deserve a break today”? Are we really “worth it”? And above all, should we give into sinful passion and “just do it”? No, we live by a deeper logic that counters the selfishness and presumption of the world around us: the logic of the cross. We deserved eternal death, but Christ humbled himself and died so that we might experience the full and abundant life.

“Jesus found joy through self-denial, and so will husbands and wives.”

The deepest marital happiness comes through self-denial, humility, unselfishness, patience, kindness, and the crucifixion of our me mentality. Ultimately, the wise Christian couple pursuing a happy, God-glorifying union will model their marriage on Christ and him crucified. Jesus found joy through self-denial (Hebrews 12:2), and so will husbands and wives.

Deny Yourself for Her

Again and again, Scripture gives us glimpses into the mind of Christ. After predicting his death and resurrection, Jesus turns to his disciples and says,

If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. (Matthew 16:24–25)

“Take up a cross? Are you kidding?” The cross was an instrument of torture, death, suffering, and shame. But Jesus urges us to save our lives by doing just that — taking up our cross.

We save our marriages through denying ourselves — making our spouse’s happiness as important as our own. We apply the principle of the cross. We do this with the conviction that happiness deferred in patient obedience to God is much greater than happiness immediately gratified.

Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave, even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. (Matthew 20:26–28)

Happy, fruitful marriages do not think mainly in terms of rights. They think from the mind of Christ. Jesus died to his rights to give us ours before God. Husbands and wives who follow him do the same.

Do nothing from selfishness or vain conceit, but in humility consider others more significant [or important] than yourself. (Philippians 2:3)

The closest “other” in your life is your spouse — the person that sleeps with you, eats with you, worships with you, and raises your children with you. Applying this principle gets really practical.

The Lie’s Fruit

As the lie proliferates in North America and beyond, the fruits are painfully obvious. Self-denial is an indispensable part of the glue that makes the marital covenant work. Without a willingness to deny self, people are less willing to marry, or they don’t stay married. In 1970, about 70 percent of Americans over age 18 were married. Today, for the first time in U.S. history, that number is 50 percent and falling.

“Marriage isn’t changing,” notes sociologist Mark Regnerus. “It’s receding. In an era of increasing options, technology, gender equality, ‘cheap’ sex, and secularization, fewer people — including fewer practicing Christians — actually want what marriage is. That’s the bottom line.”

Collapsing marriage also means collapsing fertility. We are not producing enough children to replace ourselves. Were it not for immigration, the population in North America would be shrinking. Thankfully, fertility rates in the evangelical church are better than the national average.

Rejecting the Lie

What can we do to reject the lie? We can start with the assumption that we don’t deserve to be happy. As we have already noted, the cross shows each of us what we deserve — death, and that is the bottom line. Therefore, no matter how bad our marital circumstances, we are always getting better than we deserve. Those who believe this can continually thank God for his kindness, in spite of their marital problems.

We can also reject the lie by believing that holy people are happy people, and marriage is one of God’s primary tools to produce personal holiness. “To be holy as he is holy,” notes Bruce Milne, “is the prescription for true and endless happiness. To be holy is to be happy . . . there is no joy like that of holiness” (The Message of Heaven and Hell, 52).

I have found it helpful to think of marriage as a spiritual gymnasium in which I strengthen personal holiness. Marriage toughens the muscle of forgiveness. It strengthens the willingness to love an enemy. It enhances the ability to humble myself and receive criticism. Marriage also teaches the crucial words, “I’m sorry. Would you please forgive me?”

In the marital gym, I also strengthen the crucial muscle of perseverance. Most marriages face a moment when the couple would like to call it quits but, if they persevere, almost always later admit that would have been a mistake. Focus on the Family once did a study of couples who persevered through the desire to divorce, only to find that five years later, most of those who persevered now described themselves as happy in their marriage. Persevering when the going gets tough requires self-denial, but it often solves many lesser problems.

Two Slaves Become One

Ambrose Bierce, a nineteenth-century short-story writer, not known for being a Christian, nevertheless summed up marriage with these insightful words: “Marriage is a community consisting of a master, a mistress, and two slaves, making in all, one person.” My insightful wife sums up the mind of Christ in marriage this way: “Every fruitful, happy marriage begins with two funerals.”

This is how the mind of Christ thinks. It thinks like my uncle Gale. Reject the lie that immediate happiness is the goal. Yes, God does want us to be happy, but the deepest, most lasting happiness comes only to those who deny themselves and take up their cross daily. They serve unselfishly, consider their spouse more significant than themselves, persevere through marital troubles, practice forgiveness, and grow in humility. These are the marriages that maximize long-term happiness, and in such a way that God gets the glory.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/14919026/can-you-forgive-those-who-do-not-repent

Audio Transcript

If you want to understand John Piper and why he does ministry the way he does, I think you must understand David’s bold claim in Psalm 119:99: “I have more understanding than all my teachers, for your testimonies are my meditation.”

Understanding God’s word rests on personal meditation, not simply in surrounding yourself with the sharpest academic minds. This text proved vital to Pastor John’s early formation in ministry. The broader context of Psalm 119:97–100 is important too. On the podcast we talked briefly about this text once, back in APJ 1533. There, Pastor John, you talked about why, when we have so much good Bible scholarship, we still must be trained to study the Bible for ourselves. And on Twitter, you’ve cited verse 99 a few times. Here are two of those tweets, both provocative. “In my 20s I knew I could not out-read my liberal professors. But I took heart from this verse that I could out-meditate them. So can you” (6/15/20). And a couple of years earlier, you tweeted this on the same text and said, “One true citation from God’s word may silence a whole semester of human speculation” (6/16/18). Wow.

So I was wondering, Pastor John, can you don your biographical hat? Can you take a Bible truth and apply it with one life — in this case, applying Psalm 119:97–100 to your own formation?

Well, I will try. Let’s read the psalm. Not everybody knows these verses. So, they are very, very precious, and I hope they are to the folks who are listening or will become so. And by the way, just a little comment here before we read it. It is not even in my notes. Torah, the word for “law,” means, basically, “instruction.” So, if people have in their mind that law just means “rules” — that’s all it is; it’s just rules, rules, rules — you need to get that out of your brain. It’s more like, “Oh, how I love your instruction. Oh, how I love everything you say.”

Oh how I love your law!     It is my meditation all the day.Your commandment makes me wiser than my enemies,     for it is ever with me.I have more understanding than all my teachers,     for your testimonies are my meditation.I understand more than the aged,     for I keep your precepts. (Psalm 119:97–100)

Awakening Heart and Mind

Now, I think the first thing to say here is this: When I was undergoing an awakening to the life of the mind at Wheaton College between 1964 and 1968 under the influence of Clyde Kilby; C.S. Lewis; Stuart Hackett, my philosophy teacher; Francis Schaeffer, indirectly; and the whole English department, where I was a major, two things were growing in me, which relate to this text.

One was the deepening and intensifying of my affections — my emotions, my heart response — to the good, the true, and the beautiful, and ultimately, of course, the highest good and the highest affections for God himself and his word. That’s one thing. The other was a similar intensifying of my analytical bent toward probing, and questioning, and scrutinizing, and defining, and dissecting — all the while, as a lit major, knowing that Wordsworth had warned, “We murder to dissect.” I said, “I get that. I’m sorry, William. I’m not killing anything. I’ve tried not to.” But it is a danger; it is. If you dissect something, you kill it first.

“I love your instruction, Lord. I value it. I embrace it. I cherish it. I enjoy it. I long for it. I admire it.”

So I have always felt like I am two kinds of person in one: a highly analytical question-asker and a romantic pursuer of deep and authentic, satisfying emotional responses to what I see and experience.

So when I read Psalm 119:97, “Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day,” the two persons inside of me latch on to those two words. One of me took hold of the word love: “I love your instruction, Lord. I value it. I embrace it. I cherish it. I enjoy it. I long for it. I admire it. I eat it. I drink it. It makes me happy. It awakens life and joy and hope in me.” And the other me took hold of the word meditation: “I will think about your law. I will probe into your law. I will ask questions of your law. I will analyze your law and press for definitions in your law until I squeeze from your law every drop of reality juice that I possibly can.”

So that double response to Psalm 119:97 — (1) loving God’s word and (2) meditating on God’s word — set the course of my life. It really did. I think that everything I have done, written, or spoken has been shaped by the double grasp of God’s word in these two ways.

As the Word Works

Now, what you pointed out in those tweets was that over the next six years of my seminary education (three years) and doctoral studies (three years), I found that my bent toward loving the reality that biblical texts were seeking to communicate and spending long hours staring at the texts — wrestling, digging, querying, praying — paid more dividends for me than if I had spent all of that time reading secondary sources. That’s what I discovered.

Now, I wish — I’ve dealt with the Lord a lot of times on this, and I’ve had to have him rebuke me because of my discontent. But I could wish that I read faster, and comprehended more quickly, and remembered things long enough that I could be a person who is both widely read and intensely focused on particular biblical texts. But I’m not that person; I’m not. And so, I have opted to be a very focused text analyzer and reality lover, rather than being a widely read scholar.

So I tweeted, “I knew I could not out-read my liberal professors. But . . . I could out-meditate them.” Or I wrote, “One true citation from God’s word may silence a whole semester of human speculation.” In a sense, that’s my biographical living out of Psalm 119:98–100, the other part of the text you cited:

Your commandment makes me wiser than my enemies,     for it is ever with me.I have more understanding than all my [graduate-school] teachers,     for your testimonies are my meditation.I understand more than the aged [I was in my twenties then],     for I keep your precepts.

“One true citation from God’s word may silence a whole semester of human speculation.”

So there’s a double progression here. It moves from enemies, to teachers, to elders. And I can out-understand them all, it says. And it moves from “your word is with me,” to “your word is my meditation,” to “I obey your word.” There’s a progression in both the people and in the action. So, the overall point, it seems to me, is the more seriously and diligently and lovingly you dig into God’s word, and let it dig into you, the more likely it is that you will be wiser and more insightful than those who get their learning another way — no matter how much older than you they are.

Rigorous Attention

So I know it would be utterly presumptuous now to draw the inference: “I have been wiser than all my teachers and all my enemies and all my elders for these fifty years.” And the reason that would be absolute folly to talk like that is — there are several reasons — there are others besides me who meditate on God’s word, of course.

But here’s what I will say with a couple of anecdotes. When I was in seminary, I took every possible course with the teacher who valued this kind of rigorous attention to the text. This is Daniel Fuller. One time, a well-known visiting scholar came to the seminary. You would know his name, Tony. Lots of our listeners would know his name. He’s not living anymore. But he came to just teach one course. He was a world-class New Testament scholar. I said, “Man, I’m signing up for that class.” And I was so eager to learn from this giant.

About two or three classes in, my hands are just up, sticking up. I’m raising my hand regularly in the class and asking particular questions about the texts and about why he’s using them. This man was not used to that. His face would turn red, and he was manifestly unhappy with such questions. So do you know what I did? I dropped the class. I said, “Look, for me, education meant, not being lectured to with what I could read in his books, but having my capacities of seeing and savoring deepened and ripened and intensified by rigorous observation and analysis and celebration with someone who’s better at it than I am. Help me do this.” And so, I signed up for another class with Dan Fuller, because, man, was I growing in leaps and bounds in my capacities.

Text Plus Reality

One more anecdote. When I got to Germany for graduate school, I had formed habits. So now for three years, I’ve been forming these habits. I had formed habits of observation and analysis and text querying that were very fixed in my methodology. I knew how I profited from Scripture. They were so fruitful. My methods were so fruitful in what they yielded from meditation, that nothing could dislodge them. In fact, I came to tears sometimes sitting in classes, grieving over what the students in my classes were having to deal with, because they were so inadequate. I didn’t see anything in the German methodology of those days in that school that came close to the fruitfulness of the methods of observation and analysis that I had learned.

And my love for the reality that the authors of Scripture were trying to communicate had created a habit of mind that was impatient with mere textual gamesmanship that stayed at the grammatical, logical, historical level, while never pushing through the words to the reality that was driving and animating everything in the Bible.

So, these two habits — rigorous analysis of text plus earnest love for the reality behind them (Psalm 119:97) — proved to be very unusual among my fellow graduate students in Munich, Germany, in the early seventies. And I say this as a tragedy: there was such a fascination with almost everything but the actual nitty-gritty of the wording of the text and the glorious reality that the text was trying to communicate. Time and again — and this is embarrassing even — in discussions, I would listen for a while, and then I would hesitantly ask a question to my three or four fellow students who were talking. I would ask a question about some grammatical particularity in the biblical text that seemed to have an implication for reality that they were not latching onto, and there would be silence. You hit your ball over the tennis net, and it never comes back.

Keep Looking

So, to this day, Tony, my personal testimony is that my limited scholarly focus has not suited me to be a world-class scholar, but that very limited focus on loving the instruction of God and the reality behind it, and meditating assiduously on God’s expression of that reality in his word, has taken away from me any sense of being intimidated when it comes to a confident rendering of what God is communicating in his word.

And I think that is tremendously encouraging for young aspiring pastors to hear: if they will love God and love his word, and if they will give themselves untiringly to careful handling, meditation, on God’s text, they will never have to be cowed by their enemies, their teachers, or the aged — even the aged John Piper. They will be able, on their own, to get what they need and preach the word.