Sobs shook my body. Nurses couldn’t help but squeeze a shoulder, hand, or foot whenever they entered the hospital room. Eventually, I’d cried so hard for so long that one felt the need to say, “You’re going to be okay, honey.” She must have thought it was the abdominal pain, or the bleeding, or the impending surgery.

“I know,” I whispered. “But I miss our baby.”

Considerate as they were, the staff struggled to understand my sadness. Perhaps no one who refers to an unborn child as “remaining fetal tissue” really can. They seemed to look away in discomfort whenever my husband and I called our baby what our baby was: our baby.

But now our baby was gone, as were deep breaths and clear thoughts. Did I cause this? I should have gone easier on my body. Was it my sin? I’ve been so impatient lately, even harsh. Maybe if I hadn’t — maybe if I had . . .

Never had I entered a valley quite like this.

Our Greatest Need in the Valley

The mysterious sorrow, the frantic questions, the lingering pregnancy hormones. In the days and weeks surrounding miscarriage, a mother’s faith often sits under fire, as we ache in ways we so little understand. We lost our child — but who was that child? Girl or boy? Mom’s nose or dad’s eyes? We’ll never hear her first word, or know his favorite food, or teach her to read, or watch him run. Much of our pain is the pain of receiving a gift along with so little time to unwrap, hold, and love it.

In its place stand questions that, left unanswered (or answered only by our pain), can distance us from who God is for us in Christ. Instead of clinging to him as “the Father of mercies and God of all comfort” (2 Corinthians 1:3–4), we can begin to wonder who he is, where he is, what he’s doing — and why it had to involve our baby never taking a breath. He whom we beheld as sovereign, good, and near to us the day we grasped a positive pregnancy test suddenly feels out of reach. We begin to cast him sidelong glances from afar. We had thought he was our good gift-Giver. Is he actually a cosmic and cool gift-Taker?

But the God whom we are so quick to doubt — he is quicker to respond. Throughout the ages, he put together a Book brimming with words not only true, but satisfying and strengthening. That is, a Book about himself. No matter how many our tears, mothers who take hold of its words can hold fast to God, eternal life, and godliness (2 Peter 1:3). Indeed, there is no other way through the valley of miscarriage.

When You Cannot See, Read

Like the mother who miscarries, the author of Lamentations was no stranger to loss. Babylon laid waste to Jerusalem before his very eyes. He saw attackers drag away children. He watched Israel’s rulers flee. He looked on as young and old groped for bread yet rose empty-handed, covered in the city’s ashes. When his eyes could take no more, he wept.

But even as his vision blurs and stomach churns, his mind holds fast to something far sturdier than Solomon’s temple: this.

But this I call to mind,     and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;     his mercies never come to an end;they are new every morning;     great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:21–23)

Though he swims in a sea of unthinkable grief, still he is able to reasonably say, “I have hope.” How? Because he has “this” — the truth of God’s unending love, mercy, and faithfulness — and because he calls that truth to mind. Whenever his pain rises up and shouts about who God appears to be in the moment, he directs his thoughts toward who God has revealed himself to be “from everlasting to everlasting” (Psalm 90:2).

“If we are not careful, wondering about God without talking with God can lead to wandering from God.”

Grieving mothers, how much greater is our access to truth and, through it, to our God? In the Bible, we can read the words God “breathed out” (2 Timothy 3:16) for us, each of which “proves true” (Proverbs 30:5) and “gives light” (Psalm 119:130). In his many sufferings, can you imagine the lengths to which Lamentations’ author might have gone to possess a single copy of the full Scriptures we have? Yet “this” was sufficient for his time of need. Might the entirety of the Bible be sufficient for us?

Though tears cloud our eyes, hormones our emotions, and sorrow our thoughts, we can arrive at truth and its only source, our God. For what we cannot see through the fog of loss and grief, we can read. Because of the Bible, there is no shortage of hope-restoring words to choose from (Romans 15:4).

At the same time, we are wise to spend what time and energy we have reading (and rereading) passages that address our darkest questions. Is God sovereign over miscarriage? If he is, what is he doing through it — and can he still be good in it? I wish I had space to respond. For now, I’ll leave you with the texts to which I turned (along with links to other resources that may serve you): Job 1, Isaiah 48, Psalm 91, Psalm 119, and Romans 8.

When You Cannot Pray, Repeat

Grief affects more than our ability to get truth into our minds; it can also keep us from getting truth out of our mouths in prayer. Upon parting with children we never cradled, fed, or dressed yet inexpressibly loved, we may feel little desire to address the One who either “didn’t spare them” or “couldn’t save them.” We tend to curl into ourselves, as we believe one of a hundred lies about God’s lack of interest or power.

Despite our unbelief, God stands ready to help through the Scriptures once more. In our most clouded moments, not only can we speak his word to ourselves, but we can repeat his word to him. When we do not have the words to talk to our Father, we have only to open the Book with a thousand pages’ worth of ways we might pray.

Lamentations 3:21–23 remains a fitting guide. The author, upon telling himself that God’s mercies “are new every morning,” turns immediately to address God: “Great is your faithfulness.” In the same breath, he draws truth in and then lets truth out and up as he turns it into prayer. And lest we think this was an easy task for him, consider the stanza he pens just before:

[God] has made my teeth grind on gravel,     and made me cower in ashes;my soul is bereft of peace;     I have forgotten what happiness is;so I say, “My endurance has perished;     so has my hope from the Lord.” (Lamentations 3:16–18)

No, he feels pain’s pull away from God and toward hopelessness just as we do. For despair often prefers to talk about God than to God, a habit suffering Christians must learn to resist. If we are not careful, wondering about God without talking to God can lead to wandering from God.

Scripture can return us to the tender speaking terms we once knew and now need, perhaps more than ever. Whether we turn a passage into prayer, as Lamentations’ author does, or pray a psalm word for word, or use one of the New Testament’s many petitions, God went to great lengths to ensure that grieving mothers could weep yet still speak to him. What love is this, that when we lack the words to say, he offers us his own.

Ever with Us

As we walk through the valley of miscarriage, our pain, when left to itself, will not be so kind as to reinforce a biblical view of God and suffering. Rather, sorrow will try to seize the upper hand on reality, bending our hearts into a posture of doubt, mistrust, or resentment.

But praise God, we need not feel, think, or even reason our own way back into his grip. His word open before us, we can read and pray a path across the valley. Though our stomachs will stop growing, and we’ll schedule no more ultrasounds for now, there is a way for us not only to withstand the loss, but to grow because of it: “by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4).

The valley we walk is not so low that God cannot get to us. Indeed, if we are in Christ, we need only open his word, and we will find that he is with us already: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23:4). Together, mothers, we can push past what our anguish might want to what we know our anguish needs: communion with God through his word.

I grew up in a revivalist church in the South. Every few years, we had a “crusade” with special weeknight services and a dynamic, out-of-town speaker. I remember singing “Revive Us Again” as our theme during one of those rallies. I didn’t realize at the time that we were singing Scripture, from Psalm 85:

Will you not revive us again,that your people may rejoice in you? (verse 6)

The history of God’s people, from the first covenant into the new, is a record of various seasons and undulations, corporate backslidings and surprising renewals. Easy as it might be to criticize aspects of the revivalist tradition, something is profoundly right and healthy in the Christian heart that longs for, and prays for, revival — that God’s people would freshly rejoice in him.

In every generation, our sense of the spiritual climate of our times is subjective, yet real. We find ourselves living in days either where true religion seems to be on the rise, or declining. When the tides are rising, we might pray that it become more than it already has. In times of apparent decline, we pray for the tide to turn. Either way, we pray for revival, broadly defined.

But then what do we do next? When our hearts swell with the longing, and with prayers, for God to send corporate renewal to his church, what might we devote our lives to, as we pray and wait?

Revival’s End and Means

An insight right there in Psalm 85, borne out across the Scriptures, gives us a critical and central component of every true revival of genuine religion. Verse 6 asks God for spiritual renewal (“Will you not revive us again . . .”) and clarifies what the heart of that renewal is (“. . . that your people may rejoice in you”). The end, or goal, of biblical revival is God’s people enjoying God, rejoicing in him, having him as our joy of joys.

Then verse 8 gives us a striking glimpse of God’s vital means in bringing about that end of his people rejoicing in him:

Let me hear what God the Lord will speak,for he will speak peace to his people, to his saints. (Psalm 85:8)

So, revival begins with God — through his speaking, his voice, his word. Man does not produce true spiritual revival; God does. And the way in which he does so is through his word. When God sends the fire of his Spirit to fall on the hearts of his people in some blessed local or regional renewal, the fire falls on the wood of his word.

Lay the Kindling

Psalm 85 is a precious testimony, but only one — and we have far more evidence across Scripture that God makes himself central in revival through his word. In every lasting renewal of true religion, God makes his own speaking, his own word, to be fundamental and prominent. Psalm 19:7 celebrates that the law of the Lord — his teaching, his word — revives the soul. The Spirit’s flame does not land without the kindling of his word, and so rallying to God’s word is a plain next step for those who long and pray for revival.

The central place of God’s word is pronounced in the revivals of true worship under the prophet Samuel and later under King Josiah. Samuel’s ministry begins with the acknowledgment that “the word of the Lord was rare in those days” (1 Samuel 3:1). So enter the young prophet, with God’s revealing himself “by the word,” and God’s word coming to all Israel through Samuel’s ministry (1 Samuel 3:19–4:1).

“Something is profoundly right and healthy in the Christian heart that longs for, and prays for, revival.”

So too with Josiah, who became king in his youth, and walked in the ways of righteousness, but for years his efforts at reform only went so far, until “Hilkiah the priest found the Book of the Law of the Lord given through Moses” (2 Chronicles 34:14). As stunning as it is to us, somehow they had misplaced the Book! Apparently, spiritual dullness had led to neglect, and neglect led to misplacing God’s word. But when the priest and king discovered the Book and read aloud to the people “all the words of the Book of the Covenant that had been found in the house of the Lord” (verse 30), then the fire of national renewal fell.

Grant Us Some Reviving

We see the centrality of God’s word in the spiritual renewal of his people yet again (and with special emphasis) in the after-exile revivals under Ezra and Nehemiah. In Ezra, fire falls in chapter 9, but not without decades of preparation recounted in chapters 1–8. Some eighty years prior, the first wave of Jewish exiles had come back to Jerusalem after Cyrus’s decree in 539 BC. Ezra chapters 1–6 recount this first return and the quarter century that follows (until 515 BC), with the beginning and (later) finishing of the foundation and temple, and the restoring of worship and the feasts.

Ezra doesn’t arrive until chapter 7, almost 60 years after chapter 6, and when he enters the scene, he’s introduced as “skilled in the Law of Moses that the Lord, the God of Israel, had given” (Ezra 7:6). Accent on the word given. Ezra received God’s word as given, and so studies it and obeys it and teaches it, not to amend or edit it, but as God’s given. “Ezra had set his heart to study the Law of the Lord, and to do it and to teach his statutes and rules in Israel” (Ezra 7:10).

Chapter 7’s description of Ezra as a man of God’s word sets the table for the revival to come. Ezra is “learned in matters of the commandments of the Lord” (verse 11), and even the Persian king, Artaxerxes, twice writes of Ezra as a “scribe of the Law of the God of heaven” (verses 12 and 21). Ezra, then, is expressly commissioned by the king to teach the word of God to the people.

Apparently, Ezra manifests such skill and familiarity with Scripture that even the pagan king recognizes that “the Law of your God . . . is in your hand” (verse 14), and so “the wisdom of your God . . . is in your hand” (verse 25). With the king’s blessing, Ezra gathers “leading men” (7:28), and they humble themselves with prayer and fasting, imploring God for safe travel (8:21), and come safely to Jerusalem (8:31).

In chapter 9, Ezra learns of the moral (and marital) compromise of God’s people with the surrounding nations (9:1–2). He is appalled and grieves, and “all who trembled at the words of the God of Israel” gather around him (9:4). Here the kindling is in place: a man of the word, now surrounded with those who tremble at God’s word. That evening, Ezra leads them in a prayer of repentance which has, at its heart, the nation’s infidelity to God’s word: “we have forsaken your commandments” (9:10).

As Ezra prays and makes confession, revival begins: “a very great assembly of men, women, and children, gathered to him out of Israel, for the people wept bitterly” (10:1). They plead with Ezra to teach them God’s word. The officials and elders issue a proclamation for all returned exiles, without exception, to gather in Jerusalem in three days — and so begins the work of renewal (10:11).

Awakening of Tears and Joy

This first renewal preserves the nation another thirteen years until the arrival of Nehemiah in 445 BC, with a new wave of exiles and a mission to rebuild the walls.

Nehemiah 1–7 tells the story of his authorization from Artaxerxes, coming to Jerusalem, overcoming opposition, and finishing the walls. Chapter 8 then bursts with the light of covenant renewal and spiritual revival under Ezra and Nehemiah working hand in hand — and now the centrality of Scripture is even more pronounced.

Ezra, the trained, skilled handler of God’s word, appears again among the gathered people “to bring the Book” (Nehemiah 8:1), physically and homiletically. He stands on a wooden platform and opens Scripture in the sight of all the people (and they stand in reverence of God). He reads from the Book and gives the sense (8:8) — that is, he and thirteen other priests, skilled in God’s word, explain and teach the Scriptures from early morning to midday. Strikingly, Nehemiah 8 characterizes the people, again and again, as attentive to, hearing, understanding, and responding to God’s word, first with mourning over their own sin and then, once further instructed, with joy — the very “[rejoicing] in you” of Psalm 85:6.

Ezra, Nehemiah, and the priests remind the people that this day is holy (not a fast day but the Feast of Tabernacles) and seek to replace the people’s grief with rejoicing in the mercy of God:

This day is holy to our Lord. And do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength. (Nehemiah 8:10)

Here we catch an amazing glimpse into the heart of revival as rejoicing in God. Strength (Hebrew maoz) is literally “refuge” or “stronghold” or “fortress,” a place of God’s protection. Mourning over sin is necessary, but in view of the stunning mercy of God, grief must soon give way to rejoicing. And this joy in the Lord is a stronghold, a refuge, for his people. Rejoicing in God, they are finally safe and protected, even from their own sin and its consequences. As John Piper explains,

The light was dawning that you can’t honor Yahweh as holy if you only grieve in his presence. Grief is good. Fear is good. Penitence is good. Tears are good. But not if that’s all you feel. God’s holiness is the purity and perfection not only of his justice but also of his mercy and grace. And cowering people do not magnify the glory of grace. (“The Joy of the Lord Is Your Stronghold”)

A day later, the people return “to study the words of the Law” (Nehemiah 8:13), and the revival continues in the fuel and guidance of God’s word, day by day, as they read from the Book (verse 18). In the next chapter, they read from the Book “for a quarter of the day” (Nehemiah 9:3). When revival came, God’s word was at the center, God himself working in power through his Spirit by the word.

Heart of True Revival

For those of us longing and praying for awakening today, on this side of the greatest renewal in history — the coming of God’s Word incarnate and the pouring out of his Spirit at Pentecost — what might we take away from these remarkable renewals in Scripture?

First, God will see to it that his people, in the ups and downs of their spiritual journeys in this sin-sick world, are renewed and revived. Even in our longing and praying for revival is already a great glimmer of God’s sovereign work. Then, second, when the Spirit’s fire comes in power, it falls on the wood of God’s word. In our holy longings and fervent prayers, we open the Book. We read it, reread it, meditate on it, memorize it, study it, teach it, preach it, live it, spread it. It will be the word of God that fans the flicker of our burning hearts into a flame.

And in and through his word, God himself will be the great prize. God in Christ will be the greatest gain in any true revival. The end will be his people’s fresh rejoicing in him.

Part 8 Episode 241 What do we mean when we say that the Spirit’s work in the new birth is irresistible? In this episode of Light + Truth, John Piper looks at John 3:1–10 to explore the beauty of this aspect of the Spirit’s sovereign work.

“When did you feel called to missions?”

This question often gets posed to current and former missionaries. For me, a particular ministry opportunity quickly turned into a call. I was studying and training for ministry and had an interest in cross-cultural work, but it only hit home when a professor said, “I have a friend in Ukraine who could use someone to teach the things we are learning in this class. Are any of you interested?” That need fit me, and my heart quickly grew toward God’s work there.

Are You Called?

A lot of people, however, feel confused about the term “called.” One person may believe his call places him outside the reach of evaluation — as if my sense of divine call obligates other people to treat me in a special way. A call to missions can sometimes seem to validate someone’s Christian faith, as if I am incomplete as a Christian unless God gives me the significance of cross-cultural ministry. Or we may say we are called when what we mean is that we feel drawn toward the spiritual and physical needs of people in a certain place. These interpretations tend to make the call an internal experience more interested in how I feel than with God’s purposes in the world.

The missionary call can also be expanded so widely that it stirs up improper guilt. The passionate singer-songwriter Keith Green gave this missions exhortation in 1982:

[Jesus] commands you to go. . . . “Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15 KJV). That’s right. . . . YOU ARE CALLED! In fact, if you don’t go, you need a specific calling from God to stay home.

And by “go,” Green did not mean just to a next-door neighbor. This was a call to cross-cultural evangelism in light of the overwhelming number of people who have never heard the gospel. Green wanted his listeners to feel guilty for not crossing cultures as missionaries. Such an exhortation cuts through the process of discernment about whether someone is called to missions and simply concludes that we are all called.

All Are Sent, Some Are Called

Green’s words remind us that the whole church is sent. Jesus sends the apostles in John 20:21 and tells them they will be his “witnesses” all over the world (Acts 1:8). The Great Commission addresses all of Jesus’s disciples with its charge to make disciples of all nations (Matthew 28:18–20). Peter makes clear that this sense of mission applies to everyone in the church when he calls his readers “a holy nation.” You were chosen, he says, “that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9).

But the whole church fulfills that mission by setting apart particular people to bring the saving gospel to new groups in different cultures. Instead of saying, “You are all called to cross-cultural missions,” we can announce to the church, “You are sent!” without specifying exactly where and how each person participates in that mission.

To help clarify how the church uses these terms, I propose that we reserve a missionary “calling” to people who have both an internal desire to be involved in this ministry and also the affirmation of the church, the institution that Jesus Christ has authorized and sent. A “call” to missions announces that a particular person will join the church’s mission in this particular task — crossing cultures in order to proclaim the gospel and establish the church.

Missionary Calling in the New Testament

God certainly directs his people into specific ministry assignments, but the New Testament does not emphasize the internal sense of calling to the degree that we often do. The apostles received distinctive divine calls — whether through the incarnate Lord saying, “Follow me” (Matthew 4:18–22), or, as with Paul, through an appearance of the risen Christ speaking directly to him (Acts 9:1–19). But these were extraordinary callings for extraordinary tasks. When we look at how the other missionaries were chosen in the book of Acts, we find a variety of means.

“Saying that we aspire to a missionary calling saves us from the twin dangers of overconfidence and indecision.”

In the examples of Silas, Timothy, and John Mark, they each seem to have joined a missionary team through a combination of desire, need, and opportunity. Paul needed a partner and so looked to Silas (Acts 15:40). Barnabas needed a partner and recruited John Mark back onto the team (Acts 15:37–39). Timothy “was well spoken of,” and Paul recruited him (Acts 16:1–3). These examples show us that while the whole church is sent to make disciples, individuals join particular branches of that task through a combination of factors.

That is not to say that the idea of a calling or vocation is without biblical evidence. “Calling” in the New Testament Epistles always refers in some way back to one’s conversion, the time God called one into his family (1 Corinthians 1:26). But in at least one text, 1 Corinthians 7:17, Paul also views our life circumstances as part of our calling. He writes, “Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him” (1 Corinthians 7:17). Paul means that when God calls you into his family, he calls you specifically, with all the relationships, positions, and history that you have. Were you married when he called you (that is, when you were converted)? Then God means to make you his child in that state of marriage.

It is from this text that Christians have developed the idea of one’s “calling” or “vocation” in life. Since God is sovereign over the events in our life, whatever he gives us to do can be a part of our particular path of discipleship. God means to make us Christians in whatever circumstances he gives us. That call may include caring for an elderly parent, or raising a child with special needs, or — if you happen to be born as the eldest son of a monarch — serving as a prince and king.

It makes sense, then, to refer to the task of cross-cultural missions as a calling, just as pastoral ministry, motherhood, running a farm, and simply living as the persons we are in the place God has given us are callings from God.

Learning from the Pastoral Call

That said, a pastoral calling works in a special way that would be helpful for missionaries to learn from. Protestant churches have long recognized that a man does not possess the authority of a pastor unless a church recognizes the God-given gifts that accompany that position. Many churches and denominations require that ordination be “to a definite work” (as the PCA’s Book of Church Order puts it). This is a “call,” a specific affirmation of someone’s gifts and of his fit for a particular task with recognized status and responsibility in the church. A man may feel called to preach the gospel, but he is only truly called to pastoral ministry when the church affirms that desire and gives him some responsibility.

In his handbook for future pastors, Bobby Jamieson prefers to say that a man “aspires” to become a pastor rather than “is called.” “Calling asks you to picture yourself at the end of the trail. Aspiration points out the path and tells you to take a step” (The Path to Being a Pastor, 30). An aspiring pastor asks the church to help him take the next step toward affirmation and responsibility.

Because pastoral ministry includes a specific authority to preach God’s word to God’s assembled people and to participate in the oversight of a local church, it requires definite and fairly high qualifications. But because missions can represent a variety of ministries, some of which are only tangentially related to spiritual authority in the church, we can easily dilute the calling. A person’s desire alone can be mistaken for a calling to a particular work.

If we adopted the careful language of a pastoral call for missionaries, we would clarify where someone is on the path to becoming a missionary. A subjective calling to cross-cultural ministry will be confirmed if and when God arranges it so that this person is actually engaged in that definite work.

Rather than speaking confidently of our calling to missions (and may the Lord call out many more!), we might be wise to say, “I desire to be a missionary,” or “I am preparing to be a missionary,” or “I aspire to be a missionary.” Since our knowledge of God’s call is tentative and aspirational, we can have a missionary burden, a desire for missions, an exploration of a call, or a sense that we might be called.

Opening Ourselves to God’s Leading

Aspiration announces that we are on a path. It says to the church around us, “Please help me discern the next step God would have me take.” It opens us up to evaluation and input, and places our desire for ministry within the appropriate context of the church’s mission. Saying that we aspire to a missionary calling also saves us from the twin dangers of overconfidence and indecision. If we aspire, then we do not announce confidently that we already have the call. And if we aspire, we are asking for the church’s affirmation rather than for a unique divine sign.

“Barnabas took Mark with him and sailed away to Cyprus, but Paul chose Silas and departed” (Acts 15:39–40). Did Silas receive a missionary call? Silas was certainly a well-respected church leader. He had been chosen, along with Paul and Barnabas, to bring the letter from the Jerusalem council back to Antioch (Acts 15:22). But Paul’s invitation here was enough to have him join the missionary team. God may have moved in a hundred ways before that day to prepare him for this call. But the crucial moment came when Paul said, “Why don’t you join me?” and Silas heard and accepted that call.

Instead of waiting for a miraculous sign, Christians can seek opportunities for ministry and use discernment to ask, “Would this ministry fit how God has made me?” Instead of boldly announcing that one is “called” to missions, Christians can ask for input from other mature believers. “I would like to be called as a cross-cultural missionary. How could I prepare for and pursue that calling?”

A call to missions is confirmed when the church sends someone who is willing, capable, and tested to proclaim the gospel and establish the church in another culture. When that happens, a missionary can be confident in God’s direction not only because of his subjective desire, but also because of the affirmation of God’s people in the church.

The Spirit’s Irresistible Call
What do we mean when we say that the Spirit’s work in the new birth is irresistible? In this episode of Light + Truth, John Piper looks at John 3:1–10 to explore the beauty of this aspect of the Spirit’s sovereign work.

Audio Transcript

What must I believe to be saved? And what truth, if I deny, will prove that I am unsaved? Theology and personal salvation is a hot topic in the inbox, based on your questions to us over the years. And it’s a broad category too, one that encompasses a lot of related questions, as we will see today.

This time the email comes from a twenty-year-old woman who writes this: “Pastor John, hello! I have been to many funerals in my young life — far too many, actually. The running theme of them all is that the person in the casket was nice and therefore is now in a better place. It’s all very thin cliché. Such a setting confronts me again and again with a massive question. And I think I know the answer intuitively, but I would like for you to put words to this.

“What role do personal theological convictions play in personal salvation? That’s what I never hear in these funerals. A text like Romans 10:9–10 has always come to my mind. What are some others? And how would you suggest a normal person like me, who doesn’t preach or write books, document my own theological heart convictions, the confessions of my mouth, in a way that can be recalled and remembered at my funeral, ‘when this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent’?”

This is a multilayered question. And every one of the layers — I see three, at least — is very important. And here they are (as I hear them) in the order that moves from the least to the most important, even though they’re all important.

Number one, the first layer relates to the kind of things that get said at a funeral that seem so disconnected from what really matters in a person’s life, especially in regard to the theological convictions that a person had.

Number two, another layer is how to live your life in such a way that you document your heart convictions so that they can be recalled at your funeral.

And the third layer of the question (to use her very words) is this: “What role do personal theological convictions play in personal salvation?” Now, that’s really big. So, let me take these one at a time. I think they are moving increasingly important in order.

Live Your Convictions

Two things have to happen if you want the truth to be told about your spiritual life and your heart convictions at your own funeral. One is that you live that life (that’s the most important) and that you hold those convictions. The other is that spiritually discerning people need to speak at your funeral, because, if they’re not spiritually discerning, you know what they’re going to say. “She had a nice sense of humor.” “She made really good desserts.” “She made people really feel at home.”

“There needs to be a heart embrace of Jesus and a life of love that confirms the reality of our faith.”

Now, those are good things. It is good to be remembered for those things. But honestly, when we’re standing on the brink of eternity at a funeral, looking over the edge into heaven and hell, and a person has lived a life of devotion to Jesus and obedience to his word and worship of his glory and advancement of his mission — that person ought to have somebody who is able to articulate what they believed and how they lived it out, delicious desserts and all. All of it.

Active and Verbal

Second, she asks, “How do I live my life in such a way that I document my heart conviction so that they can be recalled at my funeral?” And I think the answer is this: Be active in your obedience to Jesus, and be verbal about your foundational biblical convictions. The Bible teaches both of these: active in your obedience, verbal in articulating what you believe biblically.

Jesus said that we should “let [our] light shine before others, so that they may see [our] good works and give glory to [our] Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16), which is what you’d like people to do at your funeral: give glory to God because of your good deeds (1 Peter 2:12). And in Peter’s first epistle, he said that we Christians have been shown mercy so that we might “proclaim the excellencies of him who called [us] out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9). So, our lives are supposed to be visible in their good deeds and audible as we declare the truth of our biblical convictions about God, which are the foundation of those visible good deeds.

Lots of people think that all Christians need to do is live a life of good deeds, and that will be sufficient for blessing the world. That’s absolutely not true. It’s not sufficient. Nobody can read a saving message from our good deeds alone. A life of loving good deeds is essential, but it is not sufficient to lead anyone to saving faith in Jesus. There must be a verbal message about the truth of God and Christ and the way of salvation.

Paul said that saving “faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17). “The word.” “The word” means statements, propositions that carry clear meaning about the reality of God and his work in the world, his work in Christ, and the necessity of faith.

What Must I Believe?

Which brings me now to the third and hardest question. What role do personal theological convictions play in personal salvation? There are two (I think) crucial things to say in answer to that question.

First, there are true statements about God’s saving work that, if a person denies, shows by that denial that they’re not a Christian. The second thing to say is that the Bible teaches that believing that those statements are true in the Bible is not sufficient to show that you are a Christian.

The biblical support for the first statement is 1 John 4:2–3: “By this you know the Spirit of God: every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, and every spirit that does not confess Jesus is not from God.” In other words, there are doctrines like the incarnation (Christ come in the flesh) that are essential. If a person denies that the Son of God has become a human, he cannot be a Christian.

The biblical support for the second statement is James 2:26: “Faith apart from works is dead.” Demons have faith in that sense — that things are true; we believe things are true. So, it’s not enough if you want to be saved just to believe that things about God are true. There are some doctrinal statements that are necessary to affirm by a Christian, but that affirmation is not sufficient to prove that saving faith in Jesus is genuine. There needs to be a heart embrace of Jesus and a life of love that confirms the reality of our faith.

In the Hands of God

There’s one other related issue we just might have time to say a word about. People will ask at this point, “How much biblical truth do you need to believe to be a Christian? And how much error can you believe until you’re not a Christian?” Now, I have two responses to those two questions.

First, let’s not focus on minimums, but on maximums. In other words, let’s take as many people into as much biblical truth as we possibly can, rather than dwelling on the question, How little can people believe and still be saved?

And my second response is this: I think only God can answer the question, How much error can you believe until it shows you’re not saved? Now, I’m not contradicting 1 John 4:2–3 when I say that. There are some doctrines so essential that to deny them is not to be a Christian. What I’m saying is that there are hundreds of statements and commands in the Bible — ethical, theological, historical — and they are more or less essential for preserving the saving gospel. How many of those can a person deny until they show that their heart is not right with God, that they’re in rebellion? And I think only God, in the end, can answer that question.

We have to make decisions. Yes, we do. Practically speaking, we all have to make decisions on how we will define doctrinally our church membership, belonging to our organization or ministry. But when it comes to final salvation and the judgment of who’s finally saved and who’s not, after we have taken 1 John 4 into account, I think we better leave to God the call as to how much denial of biblical truth a person can make until it shows that his heart is really in rebellion against God.

The listing said they were “a fun-loving British family with two little boys, living in a three-story home in the Italian countryside. Au pair will get room and board, use of a vehicle, and two days off per week.” It sounded perfect. I emailed them, “20-year-old American college graduate, can be there in three weeks!”

The husband picked me up at the airport in Rome and drove like a kamikaze pilot toward his tiny village, delivering Wallace and Grommit-style commentary as we went. We pulled up to the house after dark. He grinned broadly, showing a few missing teeth along the sides. “Ready to meet the wife?”

The wife, Gillian, was in the kitchen — a tall woman with red hair, tanned freckles, and strong, capable hands. A short “hello,” and then she busied herself making me a cup of tea in silence. After a few tense minutes, he received a greeting as well: “Took you a bit.”

“Traffic was that bad,” he said meekly, the foolish grin pasted like a shield over his face. It was the first and last polite evening we had in that house.

Everyday Misery

Waking in my cold bedroom, the first thing I heard every morning was the muffled sound of Gillian’s raised voice. “What kind of . . . JOHN!! JOHN!! . . . Going to help me? . . . STOP IT, JAMES. . . . Guess I will just be getting the breakfast myself. . . . Arthur, THAT’S ENOUGH . . .”

I would trudge down to get the teakettle on the fire. The basement kitchen, built in stone like a dungeon, was the scene where our meals took place. John would sit down with that helpless grin, and both he and Gillian would speak very kindly to each other and the kids for the first few minutes. The boys would smile at me and say something cute. Then, without warning, they would scream, smack, or shout a naughty word at their parents. Gillian would ignore this, cutting up their bland vegetarian fare for them and giving short commands to John about his day.

Then suddenly she’d be screaming in their faces. John would look sheepish while she shouted at him, and then he would walk to the woodshop out back and stay busy for the day.

It was, indeed, a lovely home — built on the side of a breathtaking mountain on the outskirts of a cobblestoned village. We lived next door to a shepherd, ate eggs from the chickens outside, and bought bread at the panetteria and wine from a vineyard just over the mountain pass. Life in the village was as romantic and wholesome as I had imagined. But life in the house was chaos and emotional exhaustion.

And Gillian stood in the middle of it all, unhappily carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Contentious Wife

That image — of John trudging out to his work shed with a miserable Gillian inside — always reminds me of the Proverbs about the contentious woman.

It is better to live in a desert land     than with a quarrelsome and fretful woman. (21:19)

It is better to live in a corner of the housetop     than in a house shared with a quarrelsome wife. (21:9)

A continual dripping on a rainy day     and a quarrelsome wife are alike. (27:15)

When the writers of Proverbs thought of a contentious woman, they often thought of bad weather. A dry place where your parched throat aches for water, but all you get is sand. A maddening drip, drip, drip on your head, coming through the ceiling in the one place on earth you hoped to be dry and warm — your home. Rather than being a haven in the storm, the contentious woman is the storm. She is, herself, the poor weather conditions; her presence is an inhospitable place.

How does a woman end up here? Does any woman really decide to become the bad weather in her husband’s life? Or are the habits of contention like other, better habits — like joy, gratitude, and laughter — which develop with time and regular feeding?

We Contend for What We Desire

A woman doesn’t become contentious overnight. Her life, like everyone’s life, is made up of many individual moments and responses. But these small moments of decision build on each other to create the mountain of material that defines a character.

No wife sets out to be the sort of person you would move onto the roof to avoid. When a woman gets caught in this cycle of unbearable behavior, she does it because she wants what she wants but can’t get it. These habits of nagging, complaining, and contention start with unmet desires, according to James 4:1–2: “What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask.”

Listen to two women having coffee, and you will hear them describing their desires to each other. “We really need more space in the dining room . . .” “If he would just take me on a trip . . .” “I just want my mother-in-law to leave us alone . . .” “He just needs to be more of a spiritual leader . . .” “It’ll be so much better when the kids graduate . . .”

“A woman in love with Christ and the promise of a future with him is a woman filled with gratitude.”

When a woman pulls her house down around her own ears — with a stream of inhospitable complaints, wheedling orders, or picked fights — she is seeking something. She fights and quarrels because there is something she “cannot obtain.” Maybe it’s her husband’s attention. Maybe it’s the admiration of her friends. Maybe it’s joy or more comfort. Whatever it is, rest assured — her behavior is the outraged response of a disappointed woman.

Desire Disappointed

Sometimes, to be sure, those disappointments are deep and sincere; a married woman is the witness to her husband’s lifetime of sins and foibles. But haven’t we all seen the sad result when a woman gives up one of the most helpful tools in her arsenal — the art of feminine encouragement? What results is the perfect cycle: a nagging, bitter woman who becomes more bitter with every passing year, obsessing over the failings of her passive, grumpy man.

She can’t understand why her constant reminders don’t work. It doesn’t occur to her anymore to try a new language, the language of thanks and invitation — that sort of thing is for other women, women whose husbands do nice things for them. She desires and doesn’t have. She covets and cannot obtain. Discontent and ingratitude trace a direct path for her into quarrelsomeness.

All her railings against the husband, the children, and the broken dishwasher are a stand-in for her rage against God himself. God is the one who has really failed her. He is the one who withholds good things. He is the one who decided not to give her the afternoon she wanted, the husband she wanted, the job she wanted — the life she wanted.

Desire Fulfilled

Have you ever met a woman who is simply amazed at her own good fortune, who loves her life?

You watch her, confused. Why is she so happy in that house? Why is she so happy with that husband? Why is she so glad and grateful to have that job? Why on earth does she seem to smile and laugh her way from one trying moment to the next? How does she meet with the same circumstances you chafe under with a profound sense of her own blessedness to be a child of God?

If you watch these women travel through sorrow and suffering with their joy intact, you must eventually face the truth: perhaps contentment is not a product of circumstances. Perhaps your quarrelsome spirit arises not from the cards you were dealt, but from your heart of ingratitude. And perhaps the joy and gratitude available to you would also arise not from better circumstances, but from a renewed heart. Perhaps this is a heart you can ask your Father to give you, even now.

A woman in love with Christ and the promise of a future with him is a woman filled with gratitude. She is a woman to behold. She was dead, and now she lives. She was lost, and now she is found. She was blind, and now she sees. Her inheritance in Christ is sure and has begun to be realized even now in the gift of the Holy Spirit.

She has other desires, certainly. But she brings these desires to her Lord with an open hand. He teaches her many lessons in the giving and taking. Rather than finding that she covets and quarrels, she finds that she desires Christ and has him every moment, and thus everything else is gravy. Rather than hounding her husband to fulfill an ever-growing list of demands, she finds herself willing to search out and encourage what is already praiseworthy in his life.

Cure for Marital Quarrels

If you have suddenly heard the sound of your own voice in this article and have seen yourself in the contentious woman, know that you can become the sort of woman who builds her house instead of being bad weather indoors (Proverbs 14:1). Out of your heart can “flow rivers of living water” instead of a drip, drip, drip from the roof (John 7:38). Instead of a wasteland of criticism and contention, you can become an oasis of delight, nourishment, and rest for those closest to you.

Every day is an opportunity to turn in gratitude to your Father in heaven, who in Christ has already created a hospitable and safe place for you under the shelter of his wings (Psalm 91:1). In his name, you can become the sort of woman people come to in order to get out of the rain.

The Spirit’s Irresistible Call
What do we mean when we say that the Spirit’s work in the new birth is irresistible? In this episode of Light + Truth, John Piper looks at John 3:1–10 to explore the beauty of this aspect of the Spirit’s sovereign work.

Older women . . . are to be reverent in behavior. (Titus 2:3)

Though I wasn’t aware of it at the time, as a young girl I was always watching the older women in our small local church. I remember them — their faces, their names, their lives.

Without being overly serious, they were serious about their walk with God. They weren’t public speakers, but when they spoke, others listened. Though they didn’t draw attention to themselves, my attention was drawn to their grace and beauty, a beauty that transcended current fashion and hair trends. In many ways, they were just ordinary women, but there was something about them, a sense of depth and solidity that I remember to this day. In Titus 2:3, Paul calls this something reverence.

What is reverence? Would you be able to define it for a third grader — or for your neighbor or coworker? I’m guessing that you (like me) might falter, because reverence seems to have gone the way of the wall-mounted telephone. Reverence demands a fitting response to the true nature of things — whether persons, circumstances, or natural wonders. Someone who is reverent respects the respectful, laughs at the laughable, mourns over the mournful, and glorifies the glorious.

In Titus 2, Paul expects of the older women conduct that fits a holy person — conduct that corresponds to reality, to their redemption and sanctification in Christ. In a word, reverence.

Redeemed for Reverence

Such reverence may seem obsolete in our day, in part due to our society’s strong resistance to any sense of givenness — of reality — to which we must conform. Humans claim the right to determine their purpose, their gender, their identity, their authority, their morality. At the heart level, this is the creature’s rebellion against the Creator God, who alone determines reality.

“Reverent behavior is the overflow of a heart that lives in the presence of God.”

Since the fall, humankind has bent toward irreverence: demanding self-rule and autonomy, “seeking to transcend creatureliness and become one’s own origin and one’s own end,” as John Webster puts it (Holiness, 84). Such rebellion is as unfitting to reality as a gold ring in a pig’s snout or a king drunk in the morning (Proverbs 11:22; Ecclesiastes 10:16–17). Restoration to reverent living as a creature in renewed fellowship with the Creator requires nothing less than a work of redemption.

And that is exactly the reason Paul gives for the reverent behavior of older women in Titus 2. Reverence is in accord with sound doctrine (2:1) — in other words, with the gospel. “The grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people” (2:11), and the right response is that we “renounce ungodliness” and “live . . . godly lives in the present age” (2:12). Reverence fits redemption like laughter fits a good joke, or lemonade fits a humid summer afternoon, or books fit a library. It is as beautiful as expensive ointment poured out on Jesus’s feet (Matthew 26:10).

What sets godly women apart, then, is that their lives correspond to the reality that Jesus reigns and that he is their saving Lord. They trust the Trustworthy One. They serve the Sovereign One. Their lives are increasingly a testimony to the way life was meant to be. No longer curved in on themselves, they are oriented toward Jesus in all things.

Alive to God’s Reality

Reverent behavior is the overflow of a heart that lives in the presence of God. A godly woman doesn’t “temporarily disable” his holy presence, even for five minutes. Her speech is not slanderous (Titus 2:3) because she speaks the truth about others, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. Because Christ is her sovereign Master, she isn’t enslaved to anything (2:3), whether wine or working out, appearance or attention, envy or anxiety, fears or fantasies.

She loves her husband (2:4), because God has given her this one man to bless, serve, care for, and help in every way possible, so that he might be the man God has called him to be. She gives of herself to bless her children (2:4), even when she least feels like it, because Christ gave himself for her when she least deserved it. She is not controlled by her emotions (2:5), because her emotions are properly ordered under Christ. She is, as John Calvin writes, “consecrated and dedicated to God in order that [she] may thereafter think, speak, meditate, and do, nothing except to his glory” (Institutes, 3.6.1).

Maybe we should read that again. “Think, speak, meditate, and do nothing except to God’s glory”? Nothing? The sobering (and inspiring) answer is “Yes — nothing.” The call is inspiring because it gives us a glimpse of the beauty of gospel obedience. It is sobering because it leaves no part of our heart or life outside of the loving reign of Jesus.

Growing up, one of my cousins often refused to let me play with a handful of her toys on the grounds that they were “special to her.” (That was a long time ago. Today she is one of the most reverent women I know!) In our flesh, sometimes we hope for a similar loophole. We want just a little tucked-away corner, a junk drawer where we can stash our most “special” idols that we would prefer Jesus not touch, a small realm where we can keep our self-rule. But that little junk drawer is a place of irreverence, of absurdity, where we still try to live in unreality, sitting on an imaginary throne in a personal insurrection against God.

Housekeeping of the Heart

A life of reverence is a life of increasing surrender to God’s will. Even our reverence comes to us on God’s terms, not ours. We do not instantaneously become creatures who “do nothing except to God’s glory.” He made us creatures who grow — slowly, with intentionality, over time.

The pursuit of reverence is less like a clean house before guests arrive, and more like a perpetual cleaning day. It is like housekeeping our heart: turning on every light, opening every cupboard, and chasing away every remnant of rebellious self-rule, every stronghold of the world, the flesh, and the devil (1 John 2:15–17). This is the work of every day, not a one-and-done affair. To be reverent is to regularly repent of irreverence and always trust in the gospel reality of our forgiveness and reconciliation in Christ.

This steady drumbeat of repentance and faith is the means by which the reverent woman opens up her whole life in obedience to God, no exceptions, and the fruit of such reverence is stunning. By her reverent speech, appetites, affections, emotions, attitudes, actions, and submission (Titus 2:3–5), the gospel is magnified, not maligned (2:5), and the reality of the glorious reign of Jesus is adorned before an irreverent world (2:10).

Road to Reverence

What other means has God given us to cultivate godly reverence today? He has given us his word as his revelation of reality and of his will. We cannot merely consult it. We need to read and read and read it again, until we find God’s word “reading” us. He has also given us his ear. We go to God in prayer, asking of him the growth that he has already promised to give. God delights to answer such prayers.

He has given us his Spirit, who convicts us of our own false living, prompts us to specific surrender and obedience, and guides us into all truth (John 16:13). Finally, he has given us examples to follow. Besides the reverent women in our own lives, we have biographies of seasoned saints that both encourage and challenge us on the road to reverence.

As we grow increasingly reverent, we become more of who we truly are: children of light (Ephesians 5:8–10). With our gaze fixed on our Savior, we may wake up to find that a younger generation is watching us, learning to treasure the beauty of godly reverence.

The word priority refers to “precedence in time or rank.” A priority is the “thing regarded as more important than another or others.”

Interestingly, according to the Google Books Ngram, the use of the word priority in English spiked in use around 1940 (leading up to and during WWII), then plateaued in the fifties. Then usage rose again sharply in the sixties and seventies, and priority enjoyed its heyday in the eighties and nineties. Since around 2000, usage has declined precipitously and returned about to where it was in the 1960s. And I can’t help but wonder if our ability to prioritize well, or the energy and attention we give to prioritizing well, may have declined with the use of the word. (And how it relates to the advent of the Internet in the same twenty-five-year period!)

Priority can be a tricky concept. To prioritize one entity over another clearly means something, but it services a range of applications. And in this session of talking about the priority of the church, however theological we take it, this inevitably relates to our priorities, both as Christians, and in particular as pastors — since this is a pastors conference. It would be one thing to speak to the priority of the church in a local-church congregation — or imagine this, to a gathering of Christian lawyers or athletes. And we could. I hope we will.

But brothers, this is a pastors conference. This is a message for lead officers in local churches (variously called pastors, elders, overseers — three names for one lead office in the New Testament). And the applications here of “the priority of the church” are especially significant for those whose breadwinning vocation is leading and teaching the local church. I know there are nonvocational pastors in the room with other breadwinning jobs. But for the vocational guys, the full-time pastors, there is no vocational disconnect between Christ’s priority of his church and ours. If Christ’s priority is echoed practically and substantiated anywhere, where will that be if not first and foremost in the lead officers who are the church’s preachers and teachers?

Paul’s Pastoral Priority

And so, we come to Ephesians 3, and especially verse 10, which is not a complete sentence:

. . . so that through the church the manifold wisdom of God might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.

In chapter 2, the first half (verses 1–10) has celebrated our salvation in Christ by grace through faith, and then the second half has marveled at the stunning (horizontal) development of Gentile inclusion. For centuries, God focused publicly on the Jews. He prioritized Israel. By and large, Gentiles were separated from the true God, “alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world” (2:12). They were “far off” (2:13, 17).

But now, amazingly, in Christ, even Gentiles “have been brought near by the blood of Christ” (2:13). Jesus “has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility [between Jews and Gentiles] by abolishing the law of commandments expressed in ordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two” (2:14–15).

This reality, this “one new man,” made up of believing Jews and Gentiles, Paul has already called “the church” in 1:22, and that’s the term he uses again in 3:10 (and then 3:21 and then six times in 5:23–32).

In 3:1, Paul starts moving toward a prayer. He writes, “For this reason I, Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus on behalf of you Gentiles . . .” Then he breaks off and gives us the glorious aside of verses 2–13. He’ll come back to his prayer in verse 14, but first he wants to make sure we understand his special calling, and then the church’s. Paul’s is “the stewardship of God’s grace that was given to me for you” (3:2). He then speaks about “the mystery of Christ” — which is not an unsolved mystery but one that now has been made known. Previously it was hidden, until Jesus came. Now, it’s revealed. What is this mystery, once unsolved, now made known? Verses 6–11:

This mystery is that the Gentiles are fellow heirs, members of the same body, and partakers of the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.

Of this gospel I was made a minister according to the gift of God’s grace, which was given me by the working of his power. To me, though I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given, to preach to the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ, and to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things, so that through the church the manifold wisdom of God might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places. This was according to the eternal purpose that he has realized in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I take it that our focus in this session is this: What is the priority of the church for Christians? And in particular, for pastors: What’s the priority of the church for us? That’s where we’re headed: “The Church Prioritized” in the hearts and habits of her members and her ministers.

But might we first get our bearings, and spend our best focus, on a far more important prioritizer? Ephesians 3 is not concerned with our prioritizing. Not yet. Rather, here we marvel at God’s prioritizing of the church. And not just God as one, but also God as three.

So, before we get to us, as Christians and as pastors, let’s look at the priority of the church for God the Father, for God the Son, and for God the Spirit. (And hopefully this will be an exercise in proper prioritizing!) So, four truths about the priority of the church, with our hearts and habits coming last.

1. The Father prioritizes the church in his plan and purpose.

Verse 9 mentions his “plan”; verse 11, his “eternal purpose.” Let’s pick it up at verse 9:

[Paul’s calling is] to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God, who created all things. . . . This was according to the eternal purpose that [the Father] has realized in Christ Jesus our Lord. (verses 9, 11)

Verse 11 mentions God’s “eternal purpose” (prothesin), and verse 9, “the plan [oikonomia] of the mystery hidden for ages [and now revealed] in God, who created all things.” It’s the same language Paul has already used in Ephesians 1:9–11. In the gospel, he says,

[God has made] known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ as a plan [oikonomian] for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose [prothesin] of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will.

God the Father has an eternal purpose, before creation, and he has a plan that he works out, in his perfect timing, in history — as Lord of creation and Lord of history.

What is this eternal purpose and plan? Now we need chapter 3, verse 10. Paul says he preaches to bright to light God’s plan,

that through the church the manifold wisdom of God might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.

We have three parts here to verse 10 (working backward): (1) the rulers and authorities, (2) the manifold wisdom of God, and (3) how all that relates to the church.

Rulers and Authorities

In Ephesians 6:12, Paul will write — and this might be a helpful reminder in times when algorithms condition us for digital “culture war” — “We do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” And we have “in the heavenly places” here in Ephesians 3:10 as well.

“The rulers and authorities” are minimally, or mainly, “spiritual forces of evil,” the devil and demons, “the cosmic powers over this present darkness.” They are not earthly creatures, but heavenly ones, in the upper register or another dimension (however it works). And we might assume that good angels are looking on as well, as Peter says of the good news of Jesus — of his sufferings and subsequent glories, of his grace and our salvation — these are “things into which angels long to look” (1 Peter 1:12).

So, Ephesians 3:10 expands the audience. Previously, Paul has talked of (potentially) preaching “for everyone” (3:9) on earth, Jews and Gentiles, but now he says that also in view (presently) are “the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.”

Manifold Wisdom of God

God’s wisdom is what lies behind and is revealed alongside this mystery long hidden and now revealed in Christ. Remember what we saw in verse 6: “This mystery is that the Gentiles are fellow heirs, members of the same body, and partakers of the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.”

God’s wisdom becomes evident in the great unveiling that is the preaching of Christ. And God’s wisdom is said to be manifold, many-sided, varied. The gospel may be a simple message, and yet the divine wisdom it reveals is no simple, basic, one-dimensional wisdom.

The gospel of Christ overturns and surpasses and puts to shame the wisdom of man, and does so over and over again. That God would become man, with an ignoble birth and childhood in a backwater; that he would live in obscurity for three decades, and be despised and rejected by his own people at the height of his influence, and be crucified (of all deaths!) as a slave; then, after rising from the dead, that he would ascend and be enthroned in heaven (not in Rome), and pour out his Spirit, and bring the far-off Gentiles near with believing Jews into his new-covenant church — this is stunning, multifaceted, many-sided wisdom!

In the simple gospel of Christ, the manifold wisdom of God is on display in turning upside down the world’s wisdom and strength and nobility. Christ crucified is “a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:23–24).

“There is no more important gathering in the world than the church.”

And that phrase “both Jews and Greeks” — in one body, one new man from the two — is at the heart of what makes the wisdom of God so horrifying to “the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” (As Paul preached in Athens, “The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent,” Acts 17:30.)

Which leads us to the last key phrase in verse 10: “through the church.”

Through the Church

How does God’s making known his manifold wisdom, to the hosts of angels and demons, relate to the church?

My prayer here, for us as pastors, is that God might be pleased to lift our eyes up from the ordinariness and the smallness and the annoyances and the frustrations of everyday practical church life — that we might see the church more like our God sees his church. In the immeasurable riches of his divine and Trinitarian fullness — infinitely happy, and overflowing in joy and creative energy and redeeming grace — our God, in the gospel of his Son, is making known his manifold wisdom to the spiritual forces of evil.

And how does he do it? Verse 10 says “through the church” — not armies, not technology, not sports, not entertainment, not political maneuvering — but “through the church the manifold wisdom of God [is] now be[ing] made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.”

The church is his chosen instrument for showing the cosmic powers, good and evil, “the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!” (Romans 11:33). The reality and existence of the church — this seemingly unimpressive, lowly, ignoble, unwise, unwealthy, unaccomplished body of local Christians, covenanted to each other — his ragtag church, this otherwise unremarkable church shows Satan and his minions that their time is short. In effect: “You see the church, believing Gentiles joining with the Jews as one body? Checkmate.”

How does that work? God the Son takes human flesh and lives a lowly life in obscurity for thirty years. Then, just when he really begins to turn heads, Jews and Gentiles conspire to cut him down and end the story. The crucifixion looks like utter folly, not manifold wisdom. Then he rises again! But forty days later, he ascends to heaven and is gone. Now what? From heaven’s throne, the risen Christ pours out his Spirit, his gospel spreads through faith and repentance, and the church begins to grow and increase and multiply, and not only among Jews, but also Gentiles.

And as the church spreads from city to city and nation to nation, the seeming folly of the incarnation and the cross and the ascension is shown visibly to be manifold wisdom. Not all the earth sees it yet, but all the heavens do. And as this gospel advances, and the church grows, and Gentiles stream into the church, the manifold wisdom shines ever brighter.

So, the church — normal, local, ragtag, seemingly unimpressive, including Gentiles — bursts with spectacular cosmic significance, demonstrates the manifold wisdom of God, and shows the evil powers the surety of their doom.

God channels his global glory specially through his church. He is making known his manifold wisdom, not just in the physical realm but also in the spiritual — for all the universe to see. And how? Through the church.

Brothers, the main thing happening in the world right now, and at all times, is what Jesus Christ is doing in and through his church. And you are pastors! Is this still your priority?

In reflecting on the Father prioritizing the church in his purpose and plan, I couldn’t help but think about how Jonathan Edwards, on several occasions, writes of how God made the world to prepare a bride for his Son:

The spouse of the Son of God, the Lamb’s wife . . . is that for which all of the universe was made. Heaven and earth were created that the Son of God might be complete in a spouse. (Works of Jonathan Edwards, 13:271)

God created the world for His Son, that He might prepare a spouse or bride for Him to bestow His love upon; so that the mutual joys between this bride and bridegroom are the end of the creation. (Works, 13:374)

The creation of the world seems to have been especially for this end, that the eternal Son of God might obtain a spouse, toward whom he might fully exercise the infinite benevolence of his nature, and to whom he might, as it were, open and pour forth all that immense fountain of condescension, love, and grace that was in his heart, and that in this way God might be glorified. (Works, 25:187)

Let’s say more, then, about the Son.

2. The Son prioritizes the church in his purchase and his presiding.

Enthroned in heaven, Christ now presides over the universe. He reigns over all. He rules over the nations and the angelic realm with sovereign power, all authority in heaven and on earth given to him. And as he presides, he prioritizes his church.

We could turn to John 17 to see his priority, but let’s stay here in Ephesians: first, chapter 5, verses 23–30.

Chapter 5 makes the connection between human marriage and Christ and his church. Now, Paul’s “mystery” language relates to marriage. What was hidden for ages, and now revealed, is that all along, from the garden until now, human marriage has been patterned on the Son’s love for his church. And in our considering how the Son prioritizes his church, we have here both the decisive act, at the cross, in the past (the purchase), and his present attention to the church, as he reigns in heaven (presiding), for the good of his church.

In the past, says verse 25, referring to the cross, “Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” Jesus prioritized the church in his sacrificial death — to say the very least. He did not simply love humanity in general and so go to the cross to make salvation possible to any who might later decide to take him up on it. Rather, he loved the church, Paul says. He gave himself up for her. He had his bride in view, his people, his flock, his church. It was a particular redemption, a specific purchase, a definite atonement. Sufficient as his cross is for the sins of all, it is effective for his church. As Paul says in Acts 20:28, the Son obtained the church with his own blood.

But that’s not all. There are also present dimensions in verses 26–27:

[Jesus died] that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish.

Then, verses 29–30:

No one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body.

The Son bought the church with his own blood. And the Son rules the universe to sanctify her, cleanse her, wash her, prepare her to be presented to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any smear or smudge. From heaven’s throne, he nourishes and cherishes his church as his own body. He builds her and protects her and upholds her. He pays special attention to his church and her progress and health and joy.

The old confessions refer to this priority of the church as his “most special manner.” Westminster and 1689 say, “As the Providence of God doth in general reach to all Creatures, so after a most special manner it taketh care of his Church, and disposeth of all things to the good thereof” (5.7).

But there is one more thing we might say from Ephesians about the priority of the church in the eyes of the Son — which Michael Reeves celebrated for us so well last night as the climax of Ephesians 1: the church is “the fullness of him who fills all in all” (1:23).

The church, as his body, not only receives his care; the body also acts for him and from him. The head acts through his body. The body extends the will and heart and grace and designs of the head out into the world. Christ fulfills Adam’s mandate to fill the earth as the church grows and increases and multiplies — as his fullness, the church, fills all in all.

What priority, what privilege, what an unimaginably elevated role for the church — not only as beneficiaries but as agents, actors, arms, legs, hands, feet.

“Pastoral work is ‘get to’ work, not ‘have to’ work.”

So, what is Jesus doing in the world today? He is building his church, purifying his church, nourishing his church, cherishing his church — prioritizing his church. Yes, he rules over wars and natural disasters, over human sin, and over Satan, over rulers and authorities — and in it all, and through it all, his priority is building his church, and through his church extending the fullness of his reign to every tongue and tribe and people.

We have observed Christ’s “most special manner,” his priority of the church. What about the Spirit?

3. The Spirit prioritizes the church in his power.

Talk as we might about how the Spirit is active in the world outside the church — upholding the natural order, extending God’s common kindness, inspiring and assisting works of justice and mercy, and even industry and art and literature — when we look at what the Spirit does in Ephesians, and throughout the New Testament, it’s fair to say at minimum that he prioritizes the church. (The language of priority feels grossly inadequate.)

Just in Ephesians:

Those who believe the gospel, he seals “for the day of redemption” (1:13; 4:30).
He is given to us, as “the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of [God]” (1:17).
He gives us access to the Father (2:18).
By him, we “are being built together into a dwelling place for God” (2:22).
By him, the gospel has been revealed to the prophets and apostles (3:5).
By him, we are strengthened with divine power (3:16).
He is “the power at work within us” (3:20).
He unifies the church (4:3).
He fills us, leading us to address “one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart” and to give “thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” and to submit “to one another out of reverence for Christ” (5:18–21).
“The sword of the Spirit . . . is the word of God” and our offensive weapon (6:17).
He even helps us pray (6:18).

And when Paul finishes his glorious aside in chapter 3 (verses 2–13) and begins his prayer in 3:14, he prays in essence for the Spirit’s work in the church. And just to round out chapter 3, this prayer for the Spirit’s work in the church, which comes with the confidence that he will indeed answer this prayer, spills over into the doxology celebrating God’s ability “to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think.” And again the priority of the church is striking:

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen. (3:20–21)

How is God being glorified in our world today, and at this time? Stand in awe: in the church and in Christ Jesus. Through Christ, seated in heaven, and through his church, displaying him around the world in every major city and advancing on every tongue, tribe, people, and nation.

So, the Spirit seals, builds, reveals, strengthens, and fills the church. The bride of Christ is his priority (to say the least). However much he works (unsavingly) outside the church, his work is decidedly, emphatically, pronouncedly asymmetrical. He prioritizes the church.

4. We prioritize the church in our hearts and our habits.

Finally, then, what about the priority of the church in our lives?

Our Christian Priorities

1. We adopt the priorities of the Father, Son, and Spirit and resolve to rehearse the glories that our world conditions us to forget. Jesus Christ has triumphed and sat down at his Father’s right hand. He, our head, rules over the universe, and does so, amazingly, for and through the church. Don’t be snookered by the unbelieving world that what matters most is politics and sports, or whatever else seems for the moment so electric with importance. There is no more important gathering in the world than the church.

2. We prioritize the church over all other groups and associations in our lives, whether Christian or otherwise: institutions, workplaces, neighborhoods, teams, even ministries. In time, they all will perish. God will roll them up like a garment, but not the church. The church will remain. She will go through the final fire and endure. In time, the gates of Hades will prevail against all other societies, but not against the church.

3. We prioritize the church in the good we seek to do in the world. Among other good we might seek to do in our cities and towns, most important is our involvement in the body of Christ, in which eternal human souls find rescue from eternal suffering. As pastors, we help our people realize, whatever their vocation, that their single most important involvement for the good of others, among other noble causes, is engaging with and investing in the life, health, and mission of the local church.

4. We prioritize the church in our affection for individual believers. We learn to love with the eyes of Jesus: the weak, ignoble, and foolish (in the world’s eyes!) to whom we are joined, in Christ, in his church.

5. We take care to leverage what a resource we have in the church: for counseling and advice, for arbitration in disputes among Christians:

When one of you has a grievance against another, does he dare go to law before the unrighteous instead of the saints? Or do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if the world is to be judged by you, are you incompetent to try trivial cases? Do you not know that we are to judge angels? How much more, then, matters pertaining to this life! So if you have such cases, why do you lay them before those who have no standing in the church? (1 Corinthians 6:1–4)

6. We prioritize the church through covenant membership. Committing to a particular local church, and actively fulfilling our covenant, is the first concrete way the priority of the church takes root in our lives. We voice such a priority implicitly in our church covenants, as we make promises to each other to be the church for each other, not just in the good and easy times, but the bad. That’s what covenants are especially for: the hard times. It’s easy to stay with a church when it’s easy. It’s hard to stay when it’s hard. The priority of the church in our hearts finds expression in covenant membership in a particular local church. Christians will not adequately prioritize the church without committing to the fellowship and being held accountable.

Our Pastoral Priorities

Last, what about us as pastors?

1. Marvel at this calling. Brother pastors, without minimizing the righteous vocations of any non-pastors in our congregations, can you believe that we get to do this work? Pastoral work is “get to” work, not “have to” work. You don’t have to do this. You can get out of it if you’ve been stuck on “have to” for too long. I know there are hard days and hard seasons; there are stresses and strains that make our “get to” work feel like “have to” work. But brothers, in light of the Godhead’s priority of the church, is there any greater privilege and blessing in vocational life than getting to work on the one institution that has the special attention of God and over which the gates of Hades will not prevail?

If the rough and tumble of ministry has caused your vision of the church and its priority to get small and dull and boring, ask God to raise your head. Linger in Ephesians 1–3. Ask God to put his church back where it belongs on the map of your heart.

2. Seek to win your people to prioritize the church in their schedules. Some want “family-friendly churches” — to cater to their family idolatry. What if we cast a vision for “church-friendly families”? Instead of presuming the church adjust to dozens or hundreds of families, what if godly dads and moms adjusted their family rhythms to prioritize the church? What if we built our family lives around the few but important weekly flashpoints of church life?

3. Hold your people accountable to their membership covenant. The pastors set the tone for how seriously the congregation takes church membership. If the pastors aren’t diligent to oversee the flock, give regular upkeep to the roster, and pursue drifting members, your people will treat their church membership as a small, empty reality, and they will not prioritize the church.

4. In light of the priority of the church in the Godhead, we pastors might resist the temptation to ask less and less of people. When overly busy congregants complain that the church is doing too much or offering too much or gathering too often or for too long, we might patiently, graciously resist the impulse. We might say, “No, we’re not going to keep cutting and shortening and abbreviating and rushing. This is a priority in our lives as Christians — over work demands, over hobbies, over personal and family conveniences and comforts. We’re not going to apologize for opening the church doors. We’re not going to apologize for gathering Christ’s people for worship, for teaching, for prayer, for meals together. Church is priority enough to arrive early and stay late.”

5. In our own lives, exercise wisdom with news, social media, hobbies, and entertainment (including ESPN). Brothers, if you take out your phones and go to Settings, then Screen Time, you can see how many minutes per day are you on ESPN, or X (which is now largely overrun with politics), or some other social media, or YouTube TV, or Netflix. Do you know what you’re likely not doing well while you’re there in the digital world? Just a sampling: Communing with the risen Christ. Husbanding. Fathering. Pastoring a flock of eternal souls for whom you will give an account. That doesn’t mean there’s no space for rhythms of life and rest and pastimes and news. But that is a precious list to let slide.

Brothers, how much news? There was no telegraph until the mid-1800s. No radio until the 1920s. No television until the 1950s. No cable until the 1980s. No round-the-clock, nonstop news until 9/11, and until news (and commentary on it) essentially took over what was formerly social media, which continued the takeover of news by content that is more or less political. Today, without even trying at all (but just living in society), you will be far more informed and aware of national and world events than even the most diligent news-lovers could have been just two hundred years ago. Without even trying.

Would you fancy yourself a man “of Issachar” with “understanding of the times” to know what Christians ought to do and tweet about it (1 Chronicles 12:32)? Perhaps consider a serious audit and on your social media and news consumption. No wise, healthy pastor can just go with the world’s flow and saunter through the digital world without great vigilance.

6. If your priorities have drifted — over years, or through coasting, or through getting interested in other things, or through the disorientation of the pandemic and recent years — return to your former love and priorities. Perhaps as the years have passed, with complex influences and pressures, have you become “entangled in civilian pursuits,” to use the image of 2 Timothy 2:4?

What started as being where your people are, to provide spiritual leadership for them, has slowly become, over time, entanglement in secular affairs and undue distraction from your calling. I pray this conference is an opportunity to freshly see the glory of your work and make midcourse corrections, if needed.

7. Enjoy being a man of the Book. This last point is another “get to” point. Start your day in the Book. Linger over God’s word, without hurry, steeping your soul in it, meditating on it. And if you daily set your mind on the things above, you will become and remain the kind of man who prioritizes the church and whose instincts and heartbeat prioritize the church. You won’t first and foremost think of human solutions to the deepest, most intractable problems in our world, but you’ll think of conversion to Christ and life in his church — and perhaps God would be pleased to use that to restore to you the deep, durable joys of the pastoral calling.