Audio Transcript

Welcome back to the podcast. On Monday, last time, we looked at a duality at work in our Bible reading, of how God encourages us and then warns us. There’s a healthy balance of encouragement and warning that we need in the Christian life, and we get that balanced diet as we read through the entire Bible as a whole. And that leads us nicely into something else we are going to encounter in the Bible as we read, and we’re actually going to encounter this together over the next two days in the Navigators Bible Reading Plan.

We are going to be reading together Philippians 3:8–11. As we do, it reminds me of a couple mistakes to avoid in the Christian life, specifically about our precious Savior, Jesus Christ. One mistake is to simply emphasize him as the victor — as the King who is enthroned in heaven, resurrected, shining, sovereign over the universe, triumphant. On the other hand, we can overemphasize Jesus as victim — as the suffering servant, only as the bleeding Lamb who died for us on the cross. In Philippians 3:8–11, Paul holds together both of these glorious realities — of Christ’s weakness and his power — and then he braids them together into our experience of the Christian life. It’s a remarkable example of theology in application, as Paul wants us to experience Christ in “the power of his resurrection” as we “share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.” In other words, we experience his victorious power not by escaping the suffering of this life, but by enduring the suffering of this life. Pastor John, do what you do so well, and just walk us through this text and explain how Paul pulls this off.

In 1992, I listened to one of J. Oswald Sanders’s last messages. He was 89 and a great missionary statesman. He told the story of an indigenous missionary who walked barefoot from village to village, preaching the gospel in India. After many miles, he comes to a certain village, he tries to speak the gospel, but he’s spurned by the leaders and the people in this village. So, discouraged, exhausted, he goes to the edge of the village and lies down under a tree and sleeps.

When he wakes up, the whole town was gathered to hear him. And the head man of the village explained that they had come out while he was asleep to look at him, and they saw his blistered feet. And they concluded that he must be a holy man and that they had been wrong to reject him, and they were sorry and they wanted to hear the message that he was willing to suffer so much to bring them.

Upside-Down Logic of Salvation

Now, that kind of story can be repeated again and again in the history of the church as Christians fulfill Colossians 1:24, which says that we complete in our own sufferings what was lacking in the afflictions of Christ — namely, a personal, individual, flesh-and-blood presentation in our own bodies, our own suffering, of the love of Christ and the power of Christ. So, from the beginning of Christianity in the ministry of Jesus to this very day, people have failed to recognize what I would call (and you’ve pointed out now in Philippians) the precious upside-down logic of salvation — namely, that power comes through weakness. The power of Christ comes through our weakness, and salvation comes through our suffering.

“Jesus was able to save others in spite of their sin because he refused to save himself in spite of his righteousness.”

Do you remember the chief priests as they saw Jesus hanging on the cross? They mocked him and said, “He saved others; he cannot save himself” (Matthew 27:42). What they failed to see, and so many people fail to see it today, is that it was precisely by refusing to save himself that Jesus was able to save others. Or to say it another way, Jesus was able to save others in spite of their sin because he refused to save himself in spite of his righteousness.

As you said, Tony, this weaving together of weakness and power, suffering and salvation is carried right through the Bible. And Christ suffered not to spare us in this life our suffering, but to show us how to suffer, to give us power to suffer — and in our suffering to experience the triumph of his salvation, both for ourselves and for others through suffering.

Knowing Christ in Two Ways

Let’s read it and then make a couple of comments. This is Philippians 3:8–11:

I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith — that I may know him . . .

Pause. So, now that he’s clothed with a righteousness from God that is not his own — by being in Christ, having union with Christ — Paul says that, with this already-salvation that he’s tasted (as being clothed with the righteousness of God in Christ), he says his aim is to know God or to know Christ in two ways.

And here they come. First, that I may know “the power of his resurrection.” And second, that I “may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death” — in other words, “that I may know a share of his sufferings in my own life” — “that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.”

So, Paul put together these two great Christian aspirations: “I want to know his power, the kind of power that raises the dead, and I want to live and minister in that power. And I want to embrace a life of sacrifice and suffering as God wills in the service of his mission: the salvation of sinners, the building up of the church.”

Our Death, Your Life

What confuses a lot of people and creates the prosperity gospel is that the only conception we have, many of us, of resurrection power is that of course it will keep Paul from suffering. That’s what power is for, right? What else is resurrection power for except to protect us and keep us from suffering?

And the answer is no, that’s not the way. It’s upside down. Not in this life for Christians living for the salvation of others — that’s not what resurrection power is mainly for. The power of Jesus was not used to escape the cross. And in Paul’s life and our lives, the present power of the resurrection gives life to other people through our sacrifices. And then, in the end, Paul hopes through that to attain the resurrection from the dead.

So, here’s an illustration of how this worked in Paul’s life. This is 2 Corinthians 4:8–10, 12:

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. . . . So death is at work in us, but life in you.

In other words, Paul’s suffering, his carrying the death of Jesus in his scars, is the way the power of the resurrection brought life to other people. “Death is working in us; life is working in you — through our suffering, through our sacrifices.” The power of the resurrection did not keep Paul from sacrifices. It turned his sacrifices into manifestations of life-giving power in the salvation of sinners. And as he said in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “[Christ’s] power is made perfect in [my] weakness.”

What Wins People to Christ

We all know this is true when we think about it, just from our own experience. People don’t fall in love with the worth and beauty and greatness of Jesus because they look at rich, healthy, comfortable Christians. They don’t. If that’s all they see, why wouldn’t they just conclude that we live for the same worldly things they do? If that produces conversion, it’s not conversion to Jesus, but to more money. What wins people to the infinite beauty and worth of Jesus is that they see people for whom Jesus is so precious that they are willing to endure suffering to follow him.

So, when Paul says in Philippians 3:10, “I want to know him in these two ways: his power that gives life and his sufferings that cost life,” he wasn’t confused. He had been mastered and formed by Jesus, who saved us with his omnipotent power through suffering and death.

The New Testament quotes Psalm 110 more than any other Old Testament passage. The apostles and the early church loved Psalm 110 for its majestic depiction of the Lord Jesus Christ and his reign over all nations.

One of the most striking citations of Psalm 110, however, comes from Jesus himself. To understand the meaning of the psalm and its fulfillment in him, consider Jesus’s appeal to Psalm 110:1 in Matthew 22:44. At the end of a long discourse with his opponents (Matthew 21:28–22:14), Jesus turns to Psalm 110 to explain his identity:

“What do you think about the Christ? Whose son is he?” They said to him, “The son of David.” (Matthew 22:42)

Their answer is certainly correct. Any student of the Old Testament would have answered the same way. Jesus, however, isn’t satisfied. He reveals their deficient messianic understanding by asking them a question about Psalm 110:1:

He said to them, “How is it then that David, in the Spirit, calls him Lord, saying, ‘The Lord said to my Lord, “Sit at my right hand, until I put your enemies under your feet”’? If then David calls him Lord, how is he his son?” (Matthew 22:43–45)

Though the Messiah would come from David’s line, he would not be just another king of Israel — another Solomon. No, “something greater than Solomon is here” (Matthew 12:42). David himself recognized as much when he spoke of his future son as “my Lord.” Fathers, after all, do not address their sons as “Lord.”

But what made Jesus’s appeal to this psalm so powerful that no one dared to ask him more questions (Matthew 22:46)? To appreciate the full significance of Jesus’s use of Psalm 110:1, we first consider the psalm in its original context.

Psalm 110’s Messianic Priest-King

Psalm 110 depicts David’s hope in a messianic priest-king who will rule the earth. The psalm opens with Yahweh’s speech to David’s future Lord:

The Lord [Yahweh] says to my Lord [Adonai]: “Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool.” (Psalm 110:1)

The promises of the Davidic covenant stand behind this speech. God had promised to give David a son and to establish the throne of his kingdom forever (2 Samuel 7:12–16). Psalm 110:1 reveals that this son is none other than David’s Lord (Adonai), who would one day reign over his enemies from Yahweh’s right hand (representing Yahweh’s kingship, power, and authority).

“David’s greater son is the Son of God who took on flesh to obtain our redemption.”

This kingly hope stretches back to the beginning. The imperative “rule” in Psalm 110:2 echoes the creation mandate given to Adam, the first priest-king in the biblical storyline (Genesis 1:26–28). Adam failed to subdue and rule the earth, but David’s Lord will reclaim dominion for humanity in a fallen world filled with evil forces. He will fight his holy war with an army of ready and willing volunteers on the eschatological “day” of his power (Psalm 110:3).

Surprisingly, this king will also hold a permanent priesthood (Psalm 110:4). David recognized that a son from the tribe of Judah did not qualify for the Levitical priesthood. Therefore, the future priest-king will belong to the order of Melchizedek, the ancient priest-king of Salem (identified with Jerusalem in Psalm 76:2) who shared a meal of bread and wine with Abram and blessed him after his victory in battle (Genesis 14:17–20). Since Melchizedek preceded the Mosaic law, his priesthood reflects Adam’s regal priesthood. David’s offspring will reunite the offices of king and priest in his own person, thus embodying God’s creational ideal for humanity.

The future son will also defeat his enemies. He will “shatter kings on the day of his wrath” and fill the nations “with corpses” (Psalm 110:5–6). He will even conquer the spiritual powers behind them when he shatters the “head” — an allusion to Genesis 3:15 — over the wide earth (Psalm 110:6). David’s Lord is the seed of the woman who will crush the head of the serpent, ending Satan’s tyrannical reign when he lifts up his own head in victory (Psalm 110:7). This priest-king will extend his rule from Jerusalem and bless the offspring of Abraham like Melchizedek of old.

Will the True Priest-King Please Stand Up?

Jesus’s quotation of Psalm 110:1 in the temple signals that he is the messianic priest-king of Psalm 110. Ironically, shortly after confounding the religious authorities in the temple, Jesus is put on trial before Caiaphas the high priest (Matthew 26:57–68). Jesus may be in the dock, but Caiaphas is the one on trial. During his examination, Jesus sheds more light on the answer to his question in the temple. When asked if he is the Christ, the Son of God, Jesus appeals again to Psalm 110:1:

You have said so. But I tell you, from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven. (Matthew 26:64)

Jesus is indeed the Messiah, the Son of David, but by appealing to Psalm 110:1 (and Daniel 7:13–14) in his answer to Caiaphas, Jesus reveals how he would fulfill those Old Testament texts. Jesus would not ascend an earthly throne in Jerusalem to defeat Rome; he would instead ascend to heaven to take his seat at God’s right hand and rule the nations and the spiritual forces of evil behind them. Moreover, his exaltation to God’s right hand would come through a bloody cross. Suffering is the path to glory. First death, then resurrection, then ascension to his heavenly throne.

Perhaps we go too far to suggest that David anticipated a resurrected Messiah reigning in heaven when he penned the words of Psalm 110, though he probably understood more than we give him credit for. After all, he did expect the Messiah to defeat the serpent (Psalm 110:6), rule the nations (Psalm 110:5–6), and hold a priesthood “forever” (Psalm 110:4), implying an end to the Mosaic covenant and the Levitical priesthood, along with its animal sacrifices. Psalm 110 may very well reflect David’s belief that the Messiah would deal with the ultimate problems of sin, death, and separation from God by overcoming the serpent’s power and reclaiming Edenic fellowship with God.

Such messianic hopes come together only in the life and ministry of Jesus Christ. Indeed, as Jesus hints in his response to Caiaphas, and as the rest of the New Testament makes clear, Psalm 110:1 is fulfilled in a resurrected Savior.

Exalted King, Undying Priest

The New Testament authors recognized that some Old Testament texts prophetically predicted specific details about the life and ministry of the Messiah — for example, that he would be born in Bethlehem (Micah 5:2). They also recognized that God sovereignly orchestrated certain persons (like Melchizedek), events (like the exodus), and institutions (like the priesthood) to function as types of Christ. Psalm 110 has elements of both. David prophesied that his greater son and Lord would reign from Zion over the world as a priest-king (though exactly how that prophecy would come to pass remained uncertain). David also recognized that the priest-king Melchizedek was a type of the Messiah to come (Psalm 110:4). Both elements of Psalm 110 reach their fulfillment in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

Preaching on the day of Pentecost, Peter proclaimed that Jesus’s resurrection and ascension into heaven fulfilled the words of Psalm 110:1 (Acts 2:34–35). According to Peter, God made Jesus “both Lord and Christ” when he raised him from the dead and seated him on the highest throne in the universe (Acts 2:36).

The author of Hebrews concurs. After Jesus made purification for sins, “he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high” (Hebrews 1:3; see also 1:13). Having fulfilled the old covenant sacrificial system with his sufficient self-sacrifice, Jesus rendered it obsolete and inaugurated the new and better covenant.

And with the new covenant came a new priesthood after an order greater than Levi’s. Melchizedek’s priesthood served as a type of Jesus’s permanent priesthood because Genesis — containing no record of Melchizedek’s birth, death, or family history (Hebrews 7:3) — presents Melchizedek as one who lives (Hebrews 7:8). Jesus became a priest after the order of Melchizedek on the basis of an indestructible life (Hebrews 7:16), meaning that he rose from the dead, never to die again. He holds his priesthood permanently and is therefore “able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them” (Hebrews 7:25).

Psalm 110:4 is true of Christ only if the prophecy of Psalm 110:1 is fulfilled in a resurrected king who took his seat not in an earthly Jerusalem, but in a heavenly Zion.

Our Lord and David’s Lord

So, how could David’s son be David’s Lord? The ultimate answer is that David’s greater son is the Son of God who took on flesh to obtain our redemption. For Jesus to ascend to heaven in fulfillment of Psalm 110:1, he first had to defeat sin, Satan, and death. To defeat sin, Satan, and death, he had to fully atone for sins. To fully atone for sins, he had to be human like us, and he had to be God for us. Only God can satisfy the demands of his own infinite holiness and righteousness. Only God can truly and fully propitiate God’s own wrath. Yet only as man could he represent us, obey the law for us, die the death we deserve, and stand in our place, bearing our guilt. The ultimate fulfillment of Psalm 110 could come about only through one who is the God-man: David’s son yet David’s Lord.

Psalm 110 anticipates the hope of the gospel, which, according to the apostle Paul, was “promised beforehand through [the] prophets in the holy Scriptures” (Romans 1:2). This gospel, says Paul, is about God’s Son, “who was descended from David according to the flesh and was declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 1:3–4). Our Lord and David’s Lord. Psalm 110 is a majestic psalm because it speaks of Jesus, our majestic Savior.

In the winter of 2001, I was a sophomore at Furman University in Greenville, South Carolina.

As a freshman, I had become part of a ministry called Campus Outreach. Its theology was called “Reformed,” which I did not grow up with. In my teens, I heard talk about God being “sovereign,” but I had never wrestled with the extent of his sovereignty — that he was sovereign over all, over good and evil, over angels and demons, over sunny days and natural disasters, over my good deeds and my sin, and (most uncomfortably) over my own will and choices. But once I saw the verses, dozens of them (if not hundreds), I couldn’t deny that the Bible taught that God’s sovereignty was absolute, over all, no exceptions.

But what I also knew from two decades of human life, and from dozens (if not hundreds) of verses, is that I was accountable. I had thoughts and feelings. I had a will and made real decisions that mattered and had consequences. So, how do I reconcile these two — not just my experience versus what the Bible says, but what the Bible says versus what the Bible says?

So, that winter of 2001, a pastor from Minnesota, named John Piper, spoke at our Campus Outreach New Year’s conference in Atlanta, and not long after that event, I visited desiringGod.org to look for more messages.

There I listened to a sermon he had preached that Christmas Eve. And this one message put together for me — so clearly and memorably — how these major theological truths of God’s sovereignty and my human responsibility come together in my everyday Christian life and experience. The sermon was on the end of Romans 6 (verses 22–23), but at a key moment, Piper flipped over to Philippians 2:12–13 to explain this real-life dynamic. As he did so, lights went on for me one after another.

So, 23 years later, it’s personally significant for me to be assigned these verses, and I pray that for some in this room, new lights might go on like they did for me in those days. How the truth of God’s sovereignty and his choices relates to my responsibility and my choices, in fighting against sin and for Christlikeness, doesn’t all come together at once. Much of it is a lifetime journey. Yet, for me, there was a particular sermon, and a particular text — Philippians 2:12–13 — where new categories were created that have deeply affected my everyday life.

Humbled and Exalted

Last Sunday, we stood in awe at the foot of the mountain of Christ’s accomplishment for us in Philippians 2:5–11. First, he chose to become man. He did not cling to the comforts of heaven, but he emptied himself of that privilege. Precisely because he was God, gracious and merciful, full of steadfast love and faithfulness, he took on our creatureliness and limitations, and the pains and frustrations of our fallen world. His emptying himself was not an emptying of his deity, as if that were possible, but it was a taking, as verse 7 says. His emptying came through addition of humanity, not subtraction of deity. He

emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. (verses 7–8)

Then came that amazing “therefore” in verse 9: “Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name.” In the biblical pattern of self-humbling from Exodus to the Epistles, Jesus stands at the center as our greatest example: he humbled himself, and therefore God exalted him. Jesus went down, down, down: human, death, the cross. And his Father brought him up: up from the grave, up in the ascension, up to the very throne of heaven. So we walked through three truths about the example of Jesus.

Which leads us right into verses 12–18, and how Paul turns from Jesus’s obedience and his reward to ours. So this morning, we look at three truths about our following his example. Or how we become like Jesus.

1. We follow the one who obeyed and was rewarded.

There is a second huge “therefore” in Philippians 2. The first one was verse 9. Jesus humbled himself; therefore God exalted him. Now, verse 12: in light of Jesus’s self-humbling and God’s exalting him, therefore . . .

I can see at least two ways this “therefore” works in verse 12. One is the straightforward charge He is Lord; therefore obey. God has highly exalted Jesus. Now his name is above every name, and at his name every knee should bow and every tongue confess he is Lord. Therefore, Christians, obey. Simple as that. He is Lord; we are servants. He says it; we do it. Children obey their parents; servants obey their masters; and all the more, creatures, obey your Creator, and Christians, your Lord.

But there’s also another way this “therefore” works: as an appeal to desire, as a pattern and promise of reward. I say that because the word “obedient” just appeared in verse 8 (and “obey” in verse 12). Jesus was “obedient to the point of death,” and because he obeyed, he was rewarded. Therefore, Christians, obey like Jesus so that you might be rewarded like Jesus. Humble yourself, like he did, that you too might be exalted.

Which is crazy countercultural for self-exalting sinners! We want to be exalted, so what do we do? Exalt ourselves: in our own minds, in our words and humble brags, in what we post online, in how we angle for opportunities. And God says to us in our folly, “No, sinners. I do the exalting. Exalt yourself, and I’ll humble you. But humble yourself, and I will exalt you.”

So, “therefore” in verse 12 is an appeal to desire and a profound glimpse into what it meant for Jesus to endure the cross “for the joy set before him” (Hebrews 12:2). As man, Jesus humbled himself, obeying to the point of death, by looking to the joy of being exalted by his Father. And so too for us as we obey him. Christian obedience is not from sheer duty and force of will. We obey for the joy set before us.

And Paul puts his own joy on display in verses 17–18. Jump down there:

Even if I am to be poured out as a drink offering [this is his self-humbling obedience] upon the sacrificial offering of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all. Likewise you also should be glad and rejoice with me.

Paul calls the Philippians’ obedience “the sacrificial offering of your faith.” This is like Romans 12:1: the Christian life of faith “as a living sacrifice.” God’s people no longer offer slaughtered animals as sacrifices, as they did under the first covenant, but offer themselves, all they are, their whole lives, in obedience to him. This is what Paul is giving his life to: that Christians — like the saints in Philippi, and like us — would be living sacrifices, obedient to Christ.

“Don’t presume that God will defeat your sins while you’re passive. And don’t presume to fight sin on your own.”

And Paul, in prison in Rome for his labor, says to them, “Even if I die in this prison, I rejoice.” The pursuit of joy got him into prison, and joy will be his if he never makes it out of prison — because he looks forward to the reward of being with Christ and having worked for others’ joy in Christ. And in this joy, Paul casts his work in self-humbling terms. The Philippians’ lives of obedience are the main sacrifice, and his labor is just the drink offering, the side offering, the supplement to their healthy, obedient Christian lives.

So, first, like Paul and like Jesus, we obey our Lord in joy, anticipating reward. We follow the one who obeyed and was rewarded.

2. We work out the salvation he worked for.

Now, the rest of verse 12:

Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling . . .

So, the obedience that Christ, through Paul, is calling for here is “work out your own salvation.” I realize that sounds like nails on a chalkboard for some ears. If so, perhaps I could just warn you: this might feel uncomfortable for a few minutes. Remember, we’re praying for biblical categories. And to get there, we may need to sit in the challenge of this “work out your own salvation.” It’s in the Bible. And this is a good translation. The Greek doesn’t fix our discomfort but might only make us cringe a little bit more. What if we said, “produce your own salvation,” or “give rise to your own salvation,” or “grind out your own salvation”?

As we sit in this tension, it’s okay to remember Christ’s obedience on the front end and underneath — and in just a few minutes, we’ll see that we have even more help on the back end. But we need to linger here. Just because there’s help in front and back doesn’t mean our lives in the middle aren’t real. We need to stay here in the call and dignity of the Christian life to be, to think, to feel, to will, to act. God is sovereign, and we are responsible.

This word for “work out” is a typical word for “work” but with an intensifying prefix. The kind of work we’re getting at here is not just overflow. Some work feels effortless. But this work means expending effort. It’s the kind of work that requires effort to move inward desires into outward acts. In other places, this word is translated “produce” or “accomplish” or “perform.”

So, this is not just overflow. It requires counting, reckoning, considering (as in verses 3, 5, and 6). There is effort to be given, energy to be expended, work to be done. “Work out your salvation,” Paul says. Not “work for” — Jesus uniquely worked for our salvation in verses 5–11 — but now we “work it out.”

Our Gift and Duty

An important question to ask at this point is, Salvation from what? Paul implies the Philippians need deliverance, but from what? Well, what’s clearly at stake in chapter 2, going back to 1:27, is their unity (their fellowship, their relationships in the church). Paul says he longs to hear that they “are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the gospel.” And 2:2: “Complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.” He’s saying that because, at present, they’re not that. Then verse 3: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit.” Note that: two specific sins from which the Philippians and we need deliverance — selfish ambition and conceit.

And Paul has more specifics to give in verse 14: “Do all things without grumbling or disputing.” Okay, so now we have at least four specific sins from which Paul says to “work out your salvation.” Want it, will it, act it, produce it. Christ died to save you from grumbling — from constant complaining and criticizing and scoffing and wallowing. He died to deliver you from petty disputes. So, trust him and don’t grumble. Trust him and be free from disputing.

The new category this leads to is this: the Christian life is both gift and duty. Fighting sin is both a gift from God and a duty we act. Increasing holiness is both gift and duty. It is a gift of grace we receive from Jesus, and the way we receive a grace that involves our own thoughts and desires and actions is by having the thoughts and desires and doing the actions. That is, living out the gift, or working out your salvation.

Look over to Philippians 3:12. Two of the best texts for getting this dynamic of the Christian life as both gift and duty are right here in Philippians. So, first 2:12–13. Now 3:12:

Not that I have already obtained this [resurrection to eternal life] or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.

This is so important in getting the order right between God’s working and ours. Paul says, “I press on to make it my own” — I count, I will, I act, I choose righteousness, I fight sin, I press on. Why? “Because Christ Jesus has made me his own.” Mark this: I don’t become his by pressing on. Rather, because I am his, because he already took hold of me, I strive and strain and press on. He worked for my salvation. Now I work it out over sin. (Other key texts that show this gift-and-duty dynamic: Hebrews 13:20–21; Romans 15:18; 1 Corinthians 15:10.)

The Christian life is grace from beginning to end. Some graces we receive instead of our effort and action (justification), and some graces we receive as our effort and action.

Look, Trust, Pray, Act

This leads us to verse 13. But let me first try to make this more practical. Let me take you back to my time at Furman University. Now it’s the fall of 2002, my senior year, and I’m trying to figure out what to do after graduation. And I am awash in anxiety. I didn’t remember being so anxious in my life before then, and I don’t remember being as anxious since.

So, I needed deliverance from anxiety. What do I do? Just wait? How do you seek to be free from oppressive anxiety when God is sovereign and you are responsible? As one who is justified by faith in Jesus, how do I work out my salvation? First, I need truth to work with. I need a specific word to believe. So I found three biblical promises about anxiety:

Do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. (Matthew 6:34)

Humble yourselves . . . under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:6–7)

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6–7)

I printed them out, posted them next to my bed, and reviewed them every morning when I woke up and every night when I went to sleep. And (with Christ before me and his Spirit in me), I worked out the grace of my deliverance from anxiety. God gave me the gift of deliverance from the dominance of anxiety in that season. And that doesn’t mean I don’t still fight anxiety as it comes in new ways in new times and seasons of life. But I know how to fight: recognize it, address it with promises of reward, pray for help, and act.

So whether it’s sinful anxiety, selfish ambition and conceit, grumbling and disputing, or sinful anger or lust or greed, work out the deliverance Christ has worked for you. Don’t presume that God will defeat your sins while you’re passive. And don’t presume to fight sin on your own. Look to the sovereign Christ, trust his promises, pray for his help, and act the miracle you seek to have from him.

Shining Unity

And just to comment very quickly on verses 15–16: I think Paul has in mind the relationship between unity in the church and witness in the world like he did in 1:27–28. There he said that our “standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the gospel” leads to the church “not [being] frightened in anything by your opponents” — and this is “a clear sign to them of their destruction, but of your salvation.” In working out our salvation against the relationship-killing sins of selfish ambition, conceit, grumbling, and disputing, we come to stand out “in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation.” Unified in Jesus, we “shine as lights in the world.” How? “Holding fast to the word of life,” that is, the message about true life, eternal life — the life and death of Jesus in place of our death to give us life.

So, if ever you find yourself discouraged about the “crooked and twisted generation” in which you find yourself, remember two truths from Philippians 2: (1) this is nothing new for Christianity (this is how it usually is in this age), and (2) grumbling and disputing are not the Christian response. But exactly the opposite. The Christian response is this: hold fast to our word of life, work out our salvation from grumbling and disputing, and shine as lights in the world, not as more of the same darkness.

What about that last phrase in verse 12, “with fear and trembling”? Now our third and final truth.

3. We have his Spirit at work in us.

We finish with the end of verse 12 and with verse 13:

Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.

What in the world could Paul mean here by “with fear and trembling”? Perhaps “fear and trembling” sounds only negative in your ears. Fear and trembling — yikes. How about “with hope and joy”? Why fear and trembling?

Scripture has a broader vision for inward fear and outward trembling than modern people do. Throughout the Bible, “fear and trembling” is what wise, in-touch, healthy humans do when they find themselves in the presence of God almighty. Like Moses at Mount Sinai, as we saw in Hebrews 12:21: “I tremble with fear.” And Paul talks about how the Corinthians received Titus as a messenger from Christ “with fear and trembling” (2 Corinthians 7:15).

Or perhaps most instructive of all is the way the Gospel of Mark ends: with the women who found the tomb empty and heard from the angel, “He has risen; he is not here.” Mark 16:8: “They went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had seized them.” Or, as Matthew 28:8 reports, “They departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy.”

“Fear and trembling” is not only the response of someone taken aback by great horror, but also of someone struck with great joy. It’s the response of a believing heart in the presence of God himself — and it’s the appropriate response of a Christian who learns that God himself has come to dwell in me.

Verse 13 provides, essentially, a threefold confidence for us as we expend energy and effort to obey our Lord and live the Christian life. So, as we close, let me turn to verse 13 and address it to you.

First, brothers and sisters in Christ, you have God in you! How awesome to have the Holy Spirit, poured out on us, sent into our hearts, dwelling in us, leading us, working in us. You are not on your own to fight against sin and for Christlikeness. You have God in you! This is no standard joy. This is cause for fear and trembling.

Second, he is in you not only to will but even to work. God works in us to (will and) work our work. He gives us new desires and willing, and even then, he doesn’t leave us to ourselves. He is in us to prompt, to lead, to empower, to execute our working out those holy desires through the exertion of effort.

Third, all this stands on the rock of God’s own joy, his delight, his good pleasure. He is not reluctant in helping us fight sin and pursue Christlikeness. He is happy to do it, thrilled to do it. He delights to do it. He works in us, in our willing, in our working, for his good pleasure. We work with the grain of God’s own joy when we work out our deliverance from sin.

So, we close with this question: What sin or sins came to mind this morning in our time of silent confession? Or, what do you most often confess week after week? Brothers and sisters, don’t just say it again, move on, continue in sin, and make empty confession again and again. Work out your salvation. Act the miracle. With Jesus before you and beneath you, and his Spirit in you and through you — hemmed in on every side by his grace — work out your salvation. Will it, work it, act it, do it — with prayerful dependence in every step.

Jesus Willed and Worked

What makes possible our having the Holy Spirit at work in us to will and work is that first the Spirit was at work in Christ to will and to work. How he worked for the joy set before him is an example we follow. How he worked by the Spirit is imitable. But what he accomplished at the cross for us is inimitable.

At this Table, we do not mainly remember Jesus as our example but as the one who worked for us in a way in which we could not work for ourselves.

Oh, the paradox of this human body. How wonderful — and how terrible.

For those with eyes to see, our Creator’s brilliance will be on unusual display next month at the Summer Olympics as the world’s fastest, strongest, and best-conditioned bodies compete for the gold. For some, it will be the apex of their human glory. For others will come massive letdown, even humiliation.

The rest of us also know our bodies as instruments of both glory and humiliation. Apart from athletic achievement, many of us live in the glories of sight and taste, of bodily movement, of balance and coordination, of acquiring and honing new skills. Our bodily abilities may not be Olympic, but they can be stunning in their diversity and precision, especially when compared to the far more limited and focused abilities of animals — and in view of the sorrow of disability.

At the same time, however, how familiar we are with bodily weakness, shame, and humiliation.

God Made Brother Ass

When C.S. Lewis quotes Saint Francis on the human body, he too speaks of glory and humiliation:

Man has held three views of his body. First there is that of those . . . who called it the prison or the “tomb” of the soul, [those] to whom it was a “sack of dung,” food for worms, filthy, shameful, a source of nothing but temptation to bad men and humiliation to good ones. Then there are [others], to whom the body is glorious. But thirdly we have the view which St. Francis expressed by calling his body “Brother Ass.”

Lewis then comments, “All three may be . . . defensible; but give me St. Francis for my money.” He continues,

Ass is exquisitely right because no one in his senses can either revere or hate a donkey. It is a useful, sturdy, lazy, obstinate, patient, lovable and infuriating beast; deserving now a stick and now a carrot; both pathetically and absurdly beautiful. So the body. (Four Loves, 93)

Long before Lewis, the apostle Paul also spoke of our present “body of humiliation” (sōma tēs tapeinōseōs) as well as our coming “body of glory” (Philippians 3:21). What Scripture teaches about the human body is not simple but textured. The Creator’s design is magnificent, even in this present age with its layers of sin and the curse. We can only imagine how able and beautiful were those first two bodies God made, before they fell into sin. We do not reside in Eden. Nor have we Christians yet reached our final homeland in the Zion that is to come.

Story of the Body

For those in Christ, we view our bodies in layers — layers of a redemptive history. Our bodies are not only fearfully and wonderfully complex but vitally en-storied. Understanding our past (as human), our future (in Christ), and our present (in the Spirit) is critical for duly appreciating, chastening, and making the most of our bodies in this life. So let’s rehearse the story.

1. Sin has seized our bodies.

After remembering that God designed and made our bodies, and that “the body is . . . for the Lord, and the Lord for the body” (1 Corinthians 6:13), the next truth to recall is that we, and our bodies with us, are fallen.

Sin wracks our bodies, not only in the effects of the curse into which we’re born, but also in our own culpable desiring and doing of evil. The bodies God gave us to image him as we move about his created world have become bodies of sin and death (Romans 6:6; 7:24; 8:10). No longer the original unfallen creations, nor yet the coming imperishable bodies, they are now “mortal bodies” (Romans 6:12; 8:11), dishonored in our sin (Romans 1:24). We will be judged for what we do in the body (2 Corinthians 5:10) — and apart from God’s redemptive provision, we will be thrown, soul and body, into hell (Matthew 5:29, 30; 10:28).

2. God himself took a body.

That redemptive provision, stunning in so many ways, begins with the incarnation, when God himself took a human body in the person of his eternal Son — and not only took on the full flesh and blood of our human bodies but also gave up his human body to death on a cross to cover our sin and rescue us (Philippians 2:8).

If you come to the Christian Scriptures with questions about your own body, one of the first surprises will be how much the New Testament talks about the physical body of Jesus Christ (Romans 7:4; 1 Corinthians 10:16; 11:24, 27, 29). His human body is the turning point in the story of our bodies. Jesus bore our sins in his body on the tree (1 Peter 2:24). And Hebrews 10, so memorably, puts Psalm 40 on the lips of Jesus, when he came into the world as man: “A body have you prepared for me. . . . Behold, I have come to do your will, O God” (Hebrews 10:5–7; Psalm 40:6–8). Hebrews 10:10 then comments, “By that will we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.”

Because sin, its curse, and death have infected us in both soul and body, the divine Son assumed both human soul and body, and gave his body up in sacrificial death to rescue us, soul and body, who are joined to him by faith.

3. God himself dwells in our bodies.

Next, and perhaps the part of the body’s story most often overlooked, is that God himself not only became human in Christ but also now dwells in his people by his Holy Spirit. When 1 Corinthians 6:19 says, “Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God,” the emphasis is not on how impressive our bodies are. Rather, the focus is the spectacular reality that God himself, in his Holy Spirit, has taken up residence, as it were, “within you” — that you have the Spirit. This is almost too good to be true. It is news to receive with the kind of pulsating joy that comes “with fear and trembling” (Philippians 2:12).

Paul makes it plainest in Romans 8:9–11. If you are in Christ,

the Spirit of God dwells in you. . . . [And] if Christ is in you, although the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you.

“You not only have indwelling sin, but now also have the indwelling Spirit.”

In case you missed it, if you are in Christ, “Christ is in you” — his Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Christ, “dwells in you” (as Paul says three times). You not only have indwelling sin, but now you also have the indwelling Spirit. Our human bodies have become temples, dwelling places for God, whom we have in the person of his Spirit.

4. We glorify God now in our bodies.

Now, because of Christ’s work outside of us, in his human body — and because of his Spirit’s work in our own souls and bodies — we live to the glory of God. So 1 Corinthians 6:19–20 says to us in Christ: “You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.”

Our bodies of humiliation already, though not yet fully, have become instruments for God’s glory. And they are being redeemed both as we (positively) magnify God in our affections and actions of love for him and neighbor, and as we (negatively) “by the Spirit . . . put to death the deeds of the body” (Romans 8:13).

So, we pray like Paul that “Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death” (Philippians 1:20). Given the depth and pervasive effects of sin in our bodies, we might think we need to get out of these bodies in order to glorify God, but because of Christ’s body, and the dwelling of his Spirit in our bodies, we can now honor Christ and glorify God in our bodies. So, in Christ, we realize how our bodies are “for the Lord” (1 Corinthians 6:13).

Whereas we once presented our bodies to sin, we now present them to God as living sacrifices (Romans 12:1). We do not sacrifice our bodies for Christ in the way he sacrificed his body for us — that is, redemptively. He died (and rose again) to rescue us. We live for him (which could lead to dying) as those rescued by him. His sacrificial death is the cause; our sacrificial living is the effect. And to that end, we discipline our bodies (1 Corinthians 9:27), refuse to let sin reign in our mortal bodies (Romans 6:12), and so pray and act that our bodies “be kept blameless” till the day of Christ (1 Thessalonians 5:23).

5. We await a spectacular bodily upgrade.

Our future, forever, will be embodied — beyond our best imagining. At that coming day of Christ, he “will transform our lowly body [literally, “the body of our humiliation”] to be like his glorious body” (Philippians 3:21).

Here we live, as Jesus did, in a state of humiliation. Even as we experience some of the original glories of our human bodies, they are short-lived. Soon enough, we age, or suffer tragedies and losses, and we realize more and more what a state of humiliation this life is for our bodies. And if Christ does not return first, we soon endure the humiliation of death.

But for those in Christ, the dishonor of death will give way to the glory of resurrection. Our natural bodies will be sown, in death, like seeds that will spring up and blossom, through Christ’s resurrection power, into bodies of glory like his risen body.

What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. (1 Corinthians 15:42–44)

Note: this will be a spiritual body. Not merely a spirit, like a ghost, but a spiritual body fit for the fullness of the Holy Spirit in the rock-solid world of the new heavens and new earth.

Praise the Man of Heaven

If you are in Christ, your resurrection body will be spectacular. No more aches and pains. No more colds and COVID. No more sprains, contusions, and broken bones. No more heart attacks and strokes and cancer. No more devastating physical and mental disabilities.

Soon enough, you will shine like the sun in your perfected, strong, imperishable, glorified human body. And the best part of it all isn’t what your body will be like, but whom our imperishable bodies and souls will help us to know and enjoy and be near and praise: “the man of heaven.”

Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust [Adam], we shall also bear the image of the man of heaven [Jesus Christ]. (1 Corinthians 15:49)

Our focus in the new heavens and new earth won’t be our bodies. Our perfected bodies will get the many distractions of our previous humiliations out of the way. They will enhance and support our making much of our King. But the focus in glory will be the one that we as Christians eagerly await right now — the man of heaven.

Of all the amazing feats of the Holy Spirit in the apostolic age, surely one of them is the fact that the team who led the early church was comprised of once-confused, “uneducated, common men” (Mark 8:14–21; Acts 4:13). What might we learn from them as we seek to build healthy leadership teams in our churches?

Paying careful attention to their example and instruction gives us a few vital paths toward healthy pastoral teams.

Clarify Expectations and Roles

First, the apostles were clear on their expectations as a team. Jesus instructed them that they were to be his witnesses (Acts 1:8). They understood that they were not to prioritize serving tables, but instead should devote themselves to preaching and praying and shepherding (Acts 6:2–4; 1 Peter 5:1–4).

As to the different roles on the team, we don’t find much help, which is itself instructive. But we do see in numerous places that God equips leaders to be more effective in specific areas (1 Corinthians 12:4–11; Ephesians 4:11). Therefore, clearly defining the expectations of each leader and the part he plays is helpful (and can be crucial). We might add to this the need to clarify timelines. In an age of high mobility, people may desire to transition from one role to the next more quickly than we expect. I know a pastor who surprised his co-laborer a year into a church plant, sharing that he expected to plant yet another church the following year.

In terms of goals, some pastors orient toward numbers. Others aim at public teaching without private shepherding. I know of another who wanted to preach more and didn’t expect to be involved in administration. Still another thought he and his colleague would be co-planter-pastors when the other thought he would serve as senior pastor.

Get prayerfully honest and clear about what is expected of each other and for how long. Overcommunication is better than under-communication.

Ensure Doctrinal Agreement

The apostles preached a specific gospel (Acts 2:14–41). Paul warns the Ephesian elders of the need to “pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock” because of false teachers coming in (Acts 20:28–30). The well-known statement of anathema is thrown upon any who teach a different gospel (Galatians 1:9). “I know whom I have believed” (2 Timothy 1:12), Paul says, and so must each member of the pastoral team.

You can maintain unity on doctrine and practice by asking good questions up front and implementing clarifying documents. What statement of faith will you use as a church? Will you use an elder affirmation of faith? If so, what will be included and what will not? If not, you’ll still need to have ongoing ethical and doctrinal conversations for the purposes of clarity and unity.

As to philosophy of ministry, how will you handle church membership? How will you sing? Will you preach consecutive expositional sermons, topical sermons, or something else? Will you be elder-led or elder-ruled? How will you practice baptism? How will you approach restorative church discipline, children’s ministry, youth ministry, and community groups? How will each of you be paid?

You won’t agree on every fine point of philosophy, but you should enjoy enough philosophical agreement that you can continue moving forward. Share books, podcasts, and articles like this one, and talk about them together. Don’t assume each elder is in the same place he was three years ago.

“A culture of competition dies amid a culture of encouragement.”

At our church, we use an elder affirmation of faith that is tighter than our membership statement of faith since the work of eldership has serious implications (James 3:1). We also ask questions for incoming elders related to the philosophical ministry of the church. Lastly, each elder on our team regularly fills out a yes-no questionnaire to affirm that his doctrinal commitments haven’t changed. Rather than assuming agreement, keep humbly pursuing clarity while enjoying the unity you have.

Pursue Humility

The apostles received a hard and profound lesson when they were caught discussing who was the greatest: “If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all” (Mark 9:35). One of the best ways to embrace that principle is to remember more counsel from the chief Shepherd: “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?” (Matthew 7:3).

The apostles also pursued humility by remembering they were men under authority. We can see this conviction in their being of one accord through prayer (Acts 1:14). Also, remember Peter quickly telling Cornelius to get up when the latter bowed before him: “Stand up; I too am a man” (Acts 10:25–26).

Even when it may have been tempting not to share their authority, they seem eager to replace the apostate Judas with Justus or Matthias, given particular requirements of unity (Acts 1:21–23). Likewise, they are glad to give Paul and Barnabas “the right hand of fellowship” (Galatians 2.9).

Paul’s counsel in Philippians 2:1–4, where he calls the church to have the same love and be of one mind, sums up the spirit of the apostles. If we ask, “How can we have that unity in our teams?” Paul answers, “Humility — counting others more significant than yourselves.”

It’s easy to see another elder’s problem and complain about it. But it’s far more difficult to see the plank that is in your own eye. Also, the temptation to appear the greatest is strong and stubborn. Therefore, if you are going to experience leadership unity and effective ministry, labor (individually and collectively) to pursue humility and learn to appreciate each other’s gifts and idiosyncrasies.

Daily ask the Lord to reveal your sin. Daily die to it. Daily ask the Lord to help you see the goodness and grace of your fellow leaders. Confess areas of pride and covetousness to one another, and forgive as you have been forgiven. Pursue humility, and enjoy a team that has the same mind, the same love, and the same eternal joy.

Develop a Culture of Encouragement

Another way to strengthen your leadership team is to honor and encourage each other. Scripture commands this encouragement in numerous places (1 Thessalonians 5:11; Hebrews 10:25). Paul says we should make a kind of holy competition to “outdo one another in showing honor” (Romans 12:10).

We see this practice exemplified in how the apostles talk about Paul and Barnabas in the letter to the Gentiles in Acts 15:25–26. They openly call them “our beloved Barnabas and Paul.” They then honor them by telling the churches how they risked their lives for Christ. Imagine how it must have encouraged those men to have the apostles and elders speak so affectionately and openly. May we do the same in our teams.

I planted a church with another brother, and we agreed that he would preach less and serve more in other areas. I was aware that this would make me appear more important than him. But I knew better. Without this brother, not only would our church sink, but my family and I would sink. Therefore, I went out of my way to encourage him in the presence of the congregation. I would speak of his powerful sermons. I would call attention to the hidden work he was doing. He does the same for me. Almost fifteen years later, this culture has only increased. We begin elders’ meetings by regularly sharing ways we have been helped and encouraged by one another. Every members’ meeting begins this way as well.

A culture of competition dies amid a culture of encouragement. Make it normal to call attention to each other’s graces.

Keep Christ Central

The apostles cared about evangelism (Acts 4:20), they cared about the health of the church (Acts 2:42–47), they cared about the physical needs of those around them (Acts 6:1–6), and they cared about doctrine (Acts 15:8–11), but they never lost sight of their central purpose: treasuring Christ together.

Peter’s final words in his second letter call us to “grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity” (2 Peter 3:18). Paul calls the message that unites us “the gospel of the glory of Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:4). John understands that Jesus saves us “so that we may know him” (1 John 5:20).

Our tribalistic times have not left the church untouched. Some groups center on missions and evangelism. Others center on the health of the church or social concerns. All very good! However, if Christ is not central in your leadership team, you will fall apart. You know that already, but it is easy to forget.

The glory of Christ is the sun, and our leadership teams orbit around him. As long as we not only believe that truth, but regularly champion it as well, our teams will experience a joy that is full (John 15:11).

Audio Transcript

Comforted, warned, threatened. Comforted, warned, threatened. Comforted, warned, threatened. Does your Bible reading feel like an emotional roller coaster? Mine does a lot of times. And I know that is not my experience alone. So, is this experience by design? Another really important Bible question today that you have sent to us. And we’ve had a lot of those over the years, as you can see in the APJ book on pages 1–46 — the longest section in the book — talking about Bible reading and Bible memorization.

This next Bible-reading question is from a young man who listens to the podcast. “Hello, Pastor John! Every day I seem to get happy and feel comforted. And every day I feel sad and worried. Almost like it switches in a moment. The reason for this is the words of comfort and warning from Jesus and Paul. For instance, I’m happy to hear Jesus say, ‘Whoever comes to me I will never cast out’ (John 6:37). But then I hear him say, ‘No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God’ (Luke 9:62). Then I hear Jesus say to the seemingly mature church of Ephesus that if they don’t repent, he will take their lampstand out of its place (Revelation 2:1–7). Is it right to feel sort of emotionally pushed back and forth like this so regularly in my Bible reading? Is this healthy and normal for the Christian life to feel like this — comforted, then warned, then threatened? Is the Christian life in this fallen world meant to feel like this by design?”

That’s such a good question. There are over four hundred imperatives in the writings of Paul, over a thousand in the four Gospels. Now, what this means is that when Paul says in Romans 8:29 that God predestined Christians to be conformed to the image of Christ — that is, to be holy like he’s holy, to love like he loves, to be morally perfect as he’s morally perfect — the means by which God brings that about, that predestined reality, is by hundreds of commands given to those predestined saints. That’s the key thing. He uses commands that we must take seriously because they are his appointed means for our moral perfecting, our glorification.

Commanding the Justified

There are people who think that because we are justified by faith alone, there are no imperatives that we must obey in order to show that our justifying faith is genuine and that we’re true Christians. But in fact, the way God brings us to the final state of glory, moral perfection, is by means of commanding us to stay on the narrow way that leads to life. The fulfillment of these commands is rooted in the fact, now, that we are already justified, already forgiven, already accepted because of what Christ has done for us and our attachment to him by faith. But it is unbiblical to say that because we’re already forgiven, already accepted, there’s no need for God to command us to do anything. That’s unbiblical to say that.

It’s unbiblical and foolish to say that God gives no threats of destruction for disobedience. That’s not true. God’s means of bringing about what he has predestined to take place — namely, our holiness, our glory, our perfection — is to command us to be holy and then, by the Spirit, enable us to do what he commands us to do. St. Augustine was right when he prayed, “Command what thou wilt, O God, and give what thou commandest” (Confessions 10.29.40).

New-Covenant Commandments

And here’s what our friend, who sent this question, is drawing our attention to: God uses both promises and threats to motivate that obedience to his commandments. Lest anybody say, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don’t even need the word commandments. We shouldn’t even use the word commandments in the New Testament. That’s an Old Testament idea. We don’t live by commandments in the New Testament. That’s law. We live under grace.” To that I respond,

“By this we know that we have come to know him, if we keep his commandments” (1 John 2:3).
“Whoever keeps his commandments abides in God, and God in him” (1 John 3:24).
“This is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome” (1 John 5:3).
Jesus said in John 14:15, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”

“The Christian life in this fallen age is a pattern of continuous confident faith and occasional threatened fear.”

And so on. People need to read their Bibles and not just make theological pronouncements about what the Bible means without paying close attention to texts. The difference between the old covenant and the new covenant is not the absence of commandments, but the presence of power to keep them. “I will write my law on your heart and cause you to walk in my statutes” (see Jeremiah 31:33). That’s the heart of the new covenant. Obedience to commandments is the fruit of the Holy Spirit and the fruit of faith. Paul calls it “the obedience of faith” (Romans 1:5).

Promises and Threats

What our friend is pointing out is that God motivates us to this obedience by using promises and threats. And his experience is that threats make him feel sad and worried, while promises make him feel happy and comforted. And he wonders if this is normal. Is it the way God designed the Christian life to be in this fallen world? Now, I can’t get inside his head or heart to pass any judgment with any confidence on whether this particular Christian experience of his is healthy and normal. It might be, so I’m not going to base my counsel on his experience, but on the biblical pattern.

The biblical pattern is that God motivates positively with promises and negatively with threats and warnings. The positive pattern looks like this: God’s promise leads to confident faith, which leads to obedience. And the negative pattern looks like this: God’s threat leads to fear, which drives us back to confident faith, which leads to obedience.

Here’s an example of the positive. Hebrews 13:5–6:

Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said [here comes the promise], “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” So we can confidently say, “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?”

So, the promise is this: “I will help you and never forsake you.” The confident faith: “So we can confidently say, ‘The Lord is my helper; I will not fear.’” And then the obedience: we stop loving money by believing that promise.

And here’s the negative side. Romans 11:18, 20–21:

Do not be arrogant toward the [broken-off Jewish] branches. . . . They were broken off because of their unbelief, but you stand fast through faith. So do not become proud, but fear. For if God did not spare the natural branches, neither will he spare you.

So, the threat is this: God won’t spare breaking off your branch if you are arrogant. That causes fear. I don’t want to be a broken-off branch. This fear drives you away from boastful self-exaltation and self-reliance and leads you back to humble faith in Christ. And then the obedience is that you stop boasting over Jewish unbelievers.

How Faith and Fear Relate

Here’s what’s important to see about the way the two emotions relate to each other — confident faith on the one side, fear on the other side. They’re not equal or balanced in the Christian life. Confident faith is the continuous, lasting, normal condition of the Christian heart in this age. But because of sin, God also uses fear as a temporary warning to drive us back to Christ, his cross, his forgiveness, his acceptance, his love, and faith when we’re tempted to sin.

But that’s not the only difference between these two emotions. It’s not just that faith is to be continuous and fear is to be temporary, but also that a confident feeling of faith is the end, and a threatened feeling of fear is a means to drive us to the goal. So, continuous versus temporary is one difference, and end versus means is another difference.

So yes, the Christian life in this fallen age is a pattern of continuous confident faith and occasional threatened fear. This is the way every healthy family raises kids. We want our kids to be overwhelmingly, dominantly happy and confident that there’s an ongoing, continuous trust in the goodness and helpfulness of their parents. But we also want them to know the boundaries — where they could get themselves killed in the street or in an electric socket — and for their own good they don’t cross the boundaries. They feel fear of the discipline that’s going to come to them if they cross the boundaries and are tempted to cross them.

God is a good Father toward us. He knows how to bring his predestined children home to glory, and he uses both confident faith and the feeling of fear that comes through his warnings.

Father’s Day is a wonderful common-grace gift, an explicit reminder to fulfill a gracious obligation God has placed on us: “honor your father” (Exodus 20:12).

But for some fathers, this day is a painful reminder of ways they haven’t been able to fulfill all a typical father’s responsibilities, often due to circumstantial or physical weaknesses largely or wholly outside of their control. Which means that, for some, Father’s Day can seem to highlight more shame than honor.

I imagine Father’s Day might have had that effect on my own father. You see, Dad suffered from a humiliating affliction, a mental illness that took a significant emotional, relational, and sometimes economic toll on our family. His affliction was, in certain ways, our affliction — a fact of which he was all too painfully (and no doubt shamefully) aware.

But Dad was an honorable man — more than he probably knew. And I’d like to share why, both as a way to honor my father’s memory and as a way to encourage fathers who battle shame over ways their weaknesses have limited their fathering capacities. Because our weaknesses, if we steward them as faithfully before God as we’re able, can reveal greater, more spiritually significant strengths than those our afflictions steal from us (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Background of My Boyhood

My most vivid early memory of my father is seeing him running over the crest of a hill to rescue me.

One spring day when I was three years old, my good mother sent me out in a jacket to play in the backyard. When I came back in, she noticed I was lacking my jacket, so she sent me back out to retrieve it. I, however, being three, quickly forgot about the jacket when I saw the path, one that wound off through an adjacent meadow leading to . . . where? Some wonderful Land of Oz? It seemed like a good idea to find out. So, off I merrily went.

All I recall of the journey was that the meadow path shortly gave way to grassy hills, and the Oz I discovered was just some strange houses bordering a busy, loud highway. Just when I realized that there’s no place like home, I also had the frightening realization that I had no idea how to get back there. I was lost and alone and little. All I could think to do was to sit down and cry.

I don’t know how long I was gone, but it was long enough for my mother to search in vain for me, begin to panic, and call my father at work — and for him to come home and join the search (which by that time also included a policeman).

My cries had turned to despairing chest heaves when I looked up and saw the beatific form of my father cresting a hill, running toward me. Daddy! In my (emotionally enhanced) memory, there’s a golden glow around him. The man who loved me most, the man I loved most in the world, had left everything to find me and bring me home — the best place in the world. I was flooded with joy inexpressible.

That memory captures my father as I knew and viewed him as a child. He seemed larger than life. His presence (even when absent) permeated the atmosphere of my world and filled it with a unique brightness.

The background of my boyhood,The apple of my eye,The meaning of my manhood,The sun in my young sky,The shelter in your sovereignty I felt with you close by:You were my young world.

Meaning of My Manhood

To most, Dad wouldn’t have appeared extraordinary. He wasn’t a prominent leader, didn’t have a socially prestigious job, and wasn’t physically imposing. But when I was young, he wasn’t ordinary to me. To me, Dad was the paragon of manhood.

I remember how he stood straight and exuded an unpretentious confidence when he walked. I remember his big, strong, calloused hands. He wasn’t an excessive talker, but when he spoke, he looked people in the eye and treated them with dignity, honesty, and good humor — laughing easily. And when he gave his counsel, it was measured and wise.

He taught me what it meant to work hard through instruction and example. Throughout my childhood, Dad got up at 2:00 in the morning to drive downtown to the Emrich Baking Company, load his truck, and deliver baked goods to scores of restaurants and hospitals. A couple of times, I rode his route with him. Few things are as wonderful as the smell of a bakery in the early morning and spending the day with a father you deeply love and admire.

Dad taught me how to skate, throw a baseball and football, and play golf. I can still see his graceful swing and how the ball would sail off the tee, landing way down the fairway. If at all possible, he attended my hockey, baseball, and football games and even coached some of my teams. He taught me to compete hard and show my opponents respect.

But of all the ways he shaped me, two were most formative. The earliest one was how dearly Dad loved my mother. When he was well, I never heard him utter an unkind word to or about her. And he would by no means tolerate us kids showing her disrespect.

Then, when I was about nine years old, Dad experienced a spiritual renewal. His faith in Jesus became noticeably more vibrant. He studied his Bible more earnestly, prayed more openly, and became more engaged in the life of our church. It’s hard to overstate the profound and lasting impact this had on me.

The resolution in your walk,The strength in your hand,The easy laughter in your talk,The poise in your stand,The power of your presence my respect would command:You filled my young world.

Devastating Weakness

However, there was a shadow that followed Dad throughout his adulthood. There were these strange, brief, episodic seasons when, for inexplicable reasons, this normally even-keeled, loving, kind, honest, patient, hard-working man suddenly began speaking and acting completely out of character. For a short time, he became a different person. These episodes were then followed by a bout of stubborn depression. Dad was left as confused and disturbed by these episodes as everyone else was.

“Don’t underestimate the powerful influence a debilitated father can have on his children.”

Until age fourteen, I was blissfully unaware of this shadow, since its last emergence occurred when I was too young to remember. But in 1979, when Dad was 47, the mysterious malady struck again with devastating effect. Suddenly, he began to descend into madness. He stopped sleeping. He made bizarre declarations about God, the universe, and people he loved. He hallucinated, turned suspicious, and, for the first time in my memory, said harsh things to my mother.

Dad had to be hospitalized, and his illness was finally diagnosed: manic depression (later renamed bipolar disorder). He was placed on numerous medications, which mercifully helped stabilize his moods, but which also dampened aspects of his gregarious personality.

Dad was never quite the same again. His illness and its treatments significantly limited his capacities to concentrate and engage socially as he had before. He had to push himself to participate in the activities he had previously enjoyed so much — and that we had enjoyed with him. He found it hard to trust his own mind, and having been humiliated in front of his family, friends, church community, and coworkers, he found it difficult to take initiative in the ways he had before.

Strong Legacy of a Weak Father

But Dad’s weakness caused different strengths to manifest in him, ones that I now view (as an adult and a father myself) as even more honorable than the ones I perceived as a child.

I watched Dad persevere in suffering. Only those who have experienced severe depression understand the indescribable darkness he battled. My own experiences of depression (low grade compared to his) have increased my respect for him greatly. He battled valiantly. I know at times he fought the temptation to end it all. But he didn’t surrender. Out of love for God, his wife, and his family, he endured.

I watched Dad resist self-pity. I never heard him complain. When I would ask him how he was doing, he was humbly honest about difficulties he faced, but never in a way that telegraphed self-pity or solicited mine.

I watched Dad model faithfulness. He did not reject or express bitterness toward God because of his affliction. When his health permitted, he faithfully continued to worship at his local church. And I have priceless memories of Dad expressing his longings for heaven, when he would at last be whole and free to enjoy all that God prepared for those who love him.

And I saw in Dad — and Mom — deeper dimensions of what it means to love. Among the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed is the steadfast covenant love Dad and Mom extended to each other over the three decades following that devastating episode in 1979. Both suffered due to Dad’s illness, each in different ways. Life and marriage did not turn out as they envisioned when they married in 1954. But they stayed together, for better and worse, in sickness and in health, and determined to love each other, which at times called for steely resolve, desperate prayers, and deep faith in Jesus.

Mom in particular lived out a beautiful sacrificial love for Dad, tenderly caring for him for the rest of his life. And Dad loved her for it. Few had the privilege to see what a wonder this was. I was privileged beyond measure.

I Remember

Life is hard. Brains can be just as defective as hearts, hands, legs, and livers. Dad, like many fathers, suffered in ways beyond his illness. He suffered the indignity of losing the capacity to be the kind of husband, father, and grandfather he wanted to be.

But his formative impact on me by no means ended when the worst of his affliction struck. His example of perseverance, faithfulness, and love are just a few of the ways he continued to shape my character and prepare me to face my own bewildering afflictions.

Though the days of childhood have now long since passed by,I still see you clearly in my memory’s eye,And I remember, Dad,I remember . . .

The constant love I felt from you,The disciplining grace,The ear I told my dreaming to,The pleasant, patient face,The faith that did not die despite the dark of your disgrace:You shaped my young world.

In June 2010, one last disease brought Dad’s earthly sojourn to an end. Now he knows fully what he knew only in part (1 Corinthians 13:12). Now he is whole and free to enjoy all that God prepared for him. The lyrics I’ve woven throughout are from the song I wrote and sang for his funeral. I wish I would have written and sung them to him before he died.

But I do remember. I remember how he ran over that hill to rescue his frightened, lost little boy. I remember how profoundly he filled and shaped my young world. But even more profoundly, I remember the strengths that manifested in him because of his weaknesses. His influence didn’t die when he no longer was able to be what he was when I was young. And it didn’t die when he did. I am still learning from him. My admiration and respect for him has only increased as I’ve aged.

To fathers who have suffered in ways that seem to have robbed them of being the kind of father they desperately wish they could be, and who perhaps experience Father’s Day as a painful (or shameful) reminder, I say this: Don’t underestimate the powerful influence a debilitated father can have on his children. Remember, even in the worst of times, that God’s grace will be sufficient for you — in ways you may not yet see and perhaps may not live to see. Steward your weaknesses as faithfully as you’re able. For there are dimensions of God’s power that manifest most clearly to fallen people, like me, through your weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Since Christ saved me, I have been fascinated by war. I learn about conflicts I can see to feel the gravity of that cosmic war I can’t. Although few know it, the unseen conflict is no less vicious or valorous, gory or heroic, real or requiring than wars of men, but much more. I try to enter the psychology of the soldier to better know how to conduct myself in spiritual battle.

Paul does the same as he calls Timothy forward: “Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him” (2 Timothy 2:3–4).

Paul’s words have convicted me of my comfortable, lax, civilian Christianity. Does a civilian-soldier exist? I wondered. Maybe as a minuteman of sorts — one who lives his civilian life but can be ready in a minute for conflict when necessary. “Entangled in civilian pursuits and occasionally experiencing service” — that seems too apt a description.

So, it is helpful for me to witness a man in the Old Testament who illustrates Paul’s disentangled soldier: Uriah. At this point, David has impregnated Uriah’s wife, Bathsheba, and so David calls Uriah home from war to sleep with Bathsheba in hopes of covering over the adultery.

Uriah’s single-mindedness is heroically tragic. Yet we need to drink from his spirit. Observe, then, six marks of this soldier slain for refusing to play civilian.

The Soldier’s Speech

The first mark that distinguished the soldier was his speech.

When Uriah came to him, David asked how Joab was doing and how the people were doing and how the war was going. (2 Samuel 11:7)

One way to discriminate the lieutenant from the layman is by the topics of conversation they draw out of others. We all have conversational centers of gravity, don’t we? Most of us know our Mr. ESPN, Mr. and Mrs. Netflix Series, Ms. News and Politics, Neighbor Gossip, and Mrs. Grumble About Her Kids. No matter how far away the current conversation appears to you, they rarely fail to cross land and sea to bring you to their default subject. Out of hearts, mouths speak.

For the active soldier, his center is war. He may go along with some small talk, but his heart is not to talk small. How could it be? Men are dying, his brothers fighting, the enemy planning, arrows flying — what has he to do with the latest entertainments? David knows he speaks with a man of war and cannot detain him with empty pleasantries or lesser topics. How is the commander, how is the army, how is the war prospering?

Men of God, what is your heart’s topic of conversation? When people speak to you, do they know your center of gravity is Christ crucified, the human soul, Scripture, eternal life, and the world to come?

The Soldier’s Silence

If Uriah is first distinguished by his speech, he is next distinguished by his actions in silence.

Then David said to Uriah, “Go down to your house and wash your feet.” And Uriah went out of the king’s house, and there followed him a present from the king. But Uriah slept at the door of the king’s house with all the servants of his lord, and did not go down to his house. (2 Samuel 11:8–9)

David requests that Uriah go home and refresh himself, get comfortable, stay a while, eat, rest, and enjoy the lawful pleasures of home. To help him relax, he sends servants with “a present” — perhaps some food, some wine, and a few chocolate-covered strawberries.

Remember, “No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him” (2 Timothy 2:4). Yet here is the one who enlisted him (or who ranks above the one who enlisted him) telling him to take off his armor and take it easy. Does his troubled conscience quarrel with his king or seek to impress him with how committed he is? No. He quietly goes outside the palace doors and, when he thinks himself outside of eyesight, lies down among the servants. His actions speak volumes of his valor where his words speak none.

Men of God, does your left hand know what your right hand does with its sword? Do you sound a trumpet before or after you serve Christ? Are you the soldier or the civilian when you think no one else is watching?

The Soldier of Speculation

The third mark of our soldier is the chatter that surrounds him.

When they told David, “Uriah did not go down to his house,” David said to Uriah, “Have you not come from a journey? Why did you not go down to your house?” (2 Samuel 11:10)

True soldiers of the cross must be the subject of civilian rumors and speculations. Despite their best efforts to carry out their master’s business with little attention for themselves, their single-mindedness and self-denial eventually expose them as warring men. “Good works are conspicuous, and even those that are not cannot remain hidden” (1 Timothy 5:25). And when they do, the bees must buzz about that strange fellow who does or doesn’t do such and such, one so different from themselves.

“Paul lived a life that needed the resurrection of Jesus Christ to be true. Do we?”

Even David, Israel’s great champion (now reduced to Israel’s great citizen) is puzzled by this man so like himself before his fall. If David went out with Joab and Uriah (as he should have) instead of strolling rooftops, helping Satan tempt him to a mighty fall, he might have admired Uriah. Instead, he is left to wonder, Why will this stag avoid the trap? Has he not traveled from far away? David couldn’t resist the journey across the street for Uriah’s wife; he staggers that Uriah should come all this way and not go to her.

Men of God, do others whisper about you or seem confused by your pursuit of Christ (even in the church)? Or are you so entangled that no one notices any difference?

The Soldier’s Self-Denial

Fourth, we find Uriah’s crest: resolved self-denial. Uriah explains to David why he won’t go home:

The ark and Israel and Judah dwell in booths, and my lord Joab and the servants of my lord are camping in the open field. Shall I then go to my house, to eat and to drink and to lie with my wife? As you live, and as your soul lives, I will not do this thing. (2 Samuel 11:11)

Why does he avoid going home? Why does he deny himself lawful pleasures? Judah and Israel and God himself dwell in tents; his captain and his band of brothers camp in open fields. Should they eat spears and arrows while he eats meat? Should they be drunk on adrenaline while he grows intoxicated in his wife’s love? “As you live, and as your soul lives,” he will not do this thing. Get him drunk to entrap him; he will still prefer your door to his own while duty calls (2 Samuel 11:12–13).

Men of God, have you intentionally laid aside any civilian pursuits because you were sympathetic with your brothers and ambitious for greater usefulness?

The Soldier’s Surety

Fifth, Uriah, the soldier of Israel, knew how to remain faithful under command. In one of the sickest motions of David’s mind, we read,

In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab and sent it by the hand of Uriah. In the letter he wrote, “Set Uriah in the forefront of the hardest fighting, and then draw back from him, that he may be struck down, and die.” (2 Samuel 11:14–15)

When the man clings to his resolve, David moves to plan B. In the morning, he writes the assassination letter and sends it by the hand of Uriah. David is so confident in Uriah’s honor, so trusting of his sense of duty, that he sends his own death warrant with him, knowing he will not open it. Here is a dark moment indeed for the one after the Lord’s heart.

Would-be soldiers today can struggle with authority, with chains of command. Baristas take orders; we take suggestions. The modern spirit is very civilian, but the soldier’s aim is to please the one who enlisted him. What C.S. Lewis spoke has come to pass:

When equality is treated not as a medicine or a safety-gadget, but as an ideal, we begin to breed that stunted and envious sort of mind which hates all superiority. . . . The man who cannot conceive a joyful and loyal obedience on the one hand, nor an unembarrassed and noble acceptance of that obedience on the other — the man who has never even wanted to kneel or to bow — is a prosaic barbarian. (Essay Collection & Other Short Stories, 667)

Men of God, do you acknowledge men above you and gladly submit? Could they trust you with your own death warrant? Have you learned to follow, knowing that someday you may be called to lead?

The Soldier’s Scars

Sixth, soldiers bear the marks of active duty on their bodies (or in their graves).

As Joab was besieging the city, he assigned Uriah to the place where he knew there were valiant men. And the men of the city came out and fought with Joab, and some of the servants of David among the people fell. Uriah the Hittite also died. (2 Samuel 11:16–17)

Uriah never made it back to his front door. David “killed him with the sword of the Ammonites” (2 Samuel 12:9). Joab pressed Uriah closer to the walls of the city where archers stood to kill. Strategically un-strategic. To pacify David’s anger at losing other men in the scheme, he explains, “Your servant Uriah the Hittite is dead also” (2 Samuel 11:18–21) — wink. David responds, “Do not let this matter displease you, for the sword devours now one and now another” (2 Samuel 11:25) — wink, wink.

Uriah knows the peril of his mission. Chosen suffering separates soldiers from civilians: “Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 2:3). Uriah, the good soldier of a treacherous king and now corrupted commander, charges forth against a wall with valiant men below and raining arrows above. He could have been home with his wife, but instead he died on the field with a dagger in his back. Praise God our own commander knows no such ruthlessness or faithlessness.

Men of God, do we hope to offer to the Lord a civilian life that costs us nothing?

The Soldier’s Salvation

Paul goes on to explain to Timothy what makes such a service worth it. First, forgoing civilian pursuits in service for Christ really does “please the one who enlisted him” (2 Timothy 2:4). Second, Paul writes, “Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David.” Paul sees before faithful soldiers a “salvation that is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory” (2 Timothy 2:8–10). The active soldier for Christ is always the gainer, never the loser.

Uriah died fighting under God’s banner for God’s people; Paul suffers under God’s banner for the sake of Christ’s people. He chooses to suffer as a combatant (and exhorts Timothy to the same) because God’s mission shall not fail. He does not count his life dear to himself because Jesus Christ, the offspring of David, instead of putting his soldiers to death as they fight his wars, has decided the war by dying and rising from the grave to save them. He does not steal his bride by another’s blood; he purchases her with his own.

So, men of God, do we see the glorious end of the soldier’s service? Paul lived a life that needed the resurrection of Jesus Christ to be true. Do we?

Though I grew up in a less-than-perfect family (like every human), one positive thing my family did marked me forever. Every Saturday night, my siblings and I, one after the other, would take a bath and then deliver our shoes to my dad to be polished, all in preparation for the Sunday-morning worship service at the Toledo Gospel Tabernacle. There was never a debate about whether we would go. We never needed to fit church into the family calendar. The weekend schedule of the Tripp family was planned around the one thing we would never think of missing: Sunday worship. For that, I will be forever grateful.

It seemed like we were always the first family to arrive. My dad hated being late for church. And because he had lost much of his hearing in World War II, we always sat right up front. I heard well over a thousand sermons in that church, preached from all over God’s word. I learned all of the great hymns of the faith, many of which I can still sing by memory. I learned the core doctrines of the faith as I sat there with Mom and Dad.

I grew up thinking that “going to church” was a normal part of life. It didn’t seem religious to me or super-spiritual or like some unique commitment. From my youngest days, it seemed to be something that all Christian families did. For my family, there was no exception to this Sunday rule. Even on vacation, my mom and dad would locate a church for us to attend. I am so thankful for the way this important spiritual habit was nailed into my understanding of life.

But as I look back, I’m not sure my mom and dad ever talked about preparing our hearts for worship.

Everyone a Worshiper

Luella and I are the parents of four children, all adults now, and when they were growing up in the house, we committed to talking with them about the importance of Sunday. I was a pastor, which meant we were in church every week, so we wanted to ensure church attendance was more than just a routine. We didn’t implement any rituals or habits on Saturday night (like my dad did) but instead had an ongoing conversation about worship. Specifically, worship is not first an activity that we participate in, but our identity as human beings.

Note the words of Romans 1:25: “They exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever! Amen.” Clearly, when Paul uses the word worship here, he is not referring to a formal religious concept. He is talking about something that happens in our daily lives. We must understand — and help our children understand — that worship is much more than a religious activity. At its most basic, worship concerns core human identity.

Every human being is a worshiper. God wired every human being with this impulse for worship to drive us to our Creator. So, the most irreverent, irreligious person worships. Paul doesn’t divide people into those who worship and those who don’t. No, Paul divides people by who or what they worship. And there are only two choices: you will worship your Creator, or you will worship something in creation.

“You will worship your Creator, or you will worship something in creation.”

As a parent, you want to use the situations and relationships in your children’s lives to remind them of this spiritual reality. Maybe you do so when a daughter is obsessing over somebody liking her in school or being accepted by her peers. Perhaps sports or academic success has become something of an idol for your son, and you can use that concern as an opening to have the conversation once again about his identity as a worshiper.

My youngest son was a basketball player in high school, and he was practicing out in the backyard one day. I heard the ball stop bouncing, and he came inside and asked me, “Dad, when do you know if a good thing like basketball has become an idol in your life?” Praise God, praise God, praise God! I was thrilled in that moment because it meant that our fifteen-year-old boy had come to grasp his identity as a worshiper and that his heart was prone to run after idols. That was the result of divine grace by means of many conversations and comments.

Every Week a Reminder

If our children begin to recognize their identity as worshipers and the tendency of their hearts to chase after the creation instead of the Creator, then the Sunday gathering starts to make more sense. No longer is it a weird religious activity with singing and reading, standing and sitting. No longer is it merely a duty, an inconvenience, or even a fun social event to run around with friends. Instead, corporate worship gets attached to the core of who they are as human beings and how they operate. On Sunday, we gather together to be confronted with our idolatry so that we can confess it and know the freedom of worshiping God alone.

In the same way, you want to talk with your kids about the most beautiful relationship they could ever have — their relationship with God. We were created to live in a worshipful, obedient, and dependent relationship with our Creator. But sin shattered that perfect relationship and separated us from God. And the consequences have been plaguing us ever since.

God did not design us to live independently of him. Healthy independent living is a delusion. Only as we submit to, fellowship with, and depend upon our Creator will we be who we are supposed to be and do what we are designed to do. We need help not just because we are sinners or failures in some way, but because we are beings designed by a wise, loving, and good God for dependent living.

The regular gathering of the church is the assembly of God’s needy children. It’s a reminder that we are created for him and that life is only ever found in him. The church gathering weekly reminds us to lay down our pride, our self-sufficiency, our delusions of independent strength, our fear of what others will think, and our self-righteousness, and to humbly open our hearts, confessing our need once again to the One who has the power and willingness to help.

Prepare Their Hearts

Sunday worship makes sense only if you understand that you were made for relationship with God, that by instinct and design you are a worshiper, and that because of sin, your heart will chase after created pleasures that promise life and freedom but fail to satisfy.

Talk to your children about their need, their weakness, and their dependency. Contrast those qualities with a society that encourages independence and isolation. Teach them about the beautiful reminders Sunday worship provides. And by grace, may they grow excited about communing with God and the saints every week!

Audio Transcript

Boredom and purpose are the two themes we’re talking about this week. They’re related. Last time, on Monday, we looked at God’s purpose in our boredom — basically, that God plans for human beings to be frustrated by their experience in this world until they realize that they were made for God. It’s a really helpful reminder.

And today we continue talking about purpose as we seek to find and follow God’s will for our lives. We’re on the topic because tomorrow, in the Navigator’s Bible Reading Plan that we’re reading together, we launch into Philippians and study one of the key, essential texts for learning to discern God’s will. I’m talking about Philippians 1:9–10. Read those verses especially carefully, because in them we learn that following God’s will requires that we “approve what is excellent.” In other words, we taste test our way to discerning God’s will. He intends that we have a faculty, a palate, for tasting what is true and what is pleasing.

The question today is from a podcast listener named Tenielle. She asks about another text, but Philippians 1:9–10 is going to factor in here. Here’s the question: “Pastor John, Romans 12:2 says, ‘Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.’ Pastor John, what does Paul mean when he says ‘by testing’?”

That is a really, really good question. I love it because it means she is really paying attention. She is looking at the book, and she cares about the words, and I love people who care about the words of Scripture. And she is obviously reading from the English Standard Version, I think, because that phrase is translated in different ways. Let me just give it again: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God.”

Spiritual Litmus Test

“By testing.” Now, that phrase — “by testing you may discern” — is the translation of one Greek word, dokimazō. The standard lexical definition goes like this: “to make a critical examination of something to determine genuineness, such as metals by fire.” And interestingly, it is used in 1 Corinthians 3:13, where it says, “Fire will test [and that is the word, dokimazō] what sort of work each one has done.” So, our works at the last day are going to be tested by fire.

The idea is that the genuineness of something — in this case, the will of God in Romans 12:2 — is found out by an appropriate test. For metals, it is often fire. For genuine ripeness in fruit, it would be like tasting. And for genuine health in a horse, you might look at his teeth. And here, interestingly, powerfully, in Romans 12:2, the thing to be recognized is the will of God — namely, “what is good and acceptable and perfect.” And the question is, So, what is the test? Do you look at the teeth of the will of God? Or do you put your tongue on the behavior you are testing? Do you put some match to it? What is the test? And Paul answers, “The renewal of your mind is the test. By the renewal of your mind, you will be able to discern by testing what is the will of God.”

Here is the picture I have in my mind: my renewed mind — renewed by the word of God, renewed by the Spirit of God, renewed by soaking in the revealed nature of God in Scripture — is litmus paper that turns green when the good and acceptable and perfect will touches it. Green: go for that. And it turns red when it considers some act that is not the will of God. It is not good. It is not acceptable. It is not perfect.

So, my mind is being shaped by God into the kind of mind that, when it contemplates a behavior or an attitude or a word, there is something that reflexively says no or yes to it, because of the way our mind has been formed.

Approve What Is Excellent

Here is a great example that shows you how the mind is being renewed for this very purpose. It is Philippians 1:9–10, where Paul is praying that this would happen. He prays like this: “It is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve [now, there is the word] what is excellent.”

“The renewed mind has the spiritual taste so that when something is seen to be of God, it tastes good to us.”

So, he is saying that what happens to your love is that love gets more knowledge in Scripture, and love gets more insight in Scripture, and love gets more of everything it needs to be the kind of litmus paper it needs to be, so that when you are out there in the world, and you are navigating at work every day, and you don’t have your little lists in your pocket to say, “Oh, where is a list I can consult?” — well, you can’t consult a list for every decision you have to make. I would say 90 percent of the decisions we make through the day don’t have a list that applies to them.

You have got to make judgment calls over and over again as to what is good, what is acceptable, what is perfect. And that is why our minds are being renewed day by day.

Delightful Taste

Let me say one more thing that I think is crucial here. The translation “discern by testing” might give the impression that all that is implied is, well, you test, you discern, and you know that is the will of God. You don’t like it, but you do it anyway.

That is not what is going on. The word dokimazō doesn’t just mean to prove and discern. It means to prove, and then when something is found to be genuine — approve of it. We know that because in Romans 1:28, it says the sinners did not approve to have God in their knowledge. And that is the word, dokimazō. They didn’t want it. They didn’t love it.

And so, the renewed mind is the mind that not only has the mental or intellectual or knowledge or insight capacities to discern something that is good and acceptable and perfect, but it also has the spiritual taste so that when something is seen to be of God, it tastes good to us. We delight in it. We approve of it.