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No House Divided Against Itself Will Stand: A Consideration of the One Will of God
The Importance of Confessing One Will in God
The inspired creedal imperative, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one!” is not merely an appeal to ethical monism—meaning that we Christians are to worship the one true God alone. The oneness of God in Deuteronomy 6:4 speaks to the metaphysical reality that separates or distinguishes Him from idols and the false gods of the nations: His simplicity. The Second London Confession of Faith elucidates this notion of God’s simplicity by writing, “The Lord our God is but one… without body, parts, or passions.” However, before we can understand what it means for God to be one or simple, we must first understand what it means to be a creature.
Creatures are composed of what we are (i.e., an essence) and that we are (i.e., our existence). However, the dilemma is that creatures cannot be the cause of their existence, for no essence can precede and be the cause of its existence (e.g., Lily did not bring herself into existence). Consequently, the cause of creaturely existence must be found outside the domain of creation, and its existence must not be caused—it must be the fount of existence. If one were to turn to philosophical demonstration to discover such a cause, one could postulate the existence of an uncaused transcending cause of all things whose existence is of itself (i.e., self-subsisting being). But of more sure footing for the believer, Scripture reveals that this simple or non-composed Creator, whose existence is from Himself and not another, is the One whom Exodus 3:14 calls “I AM WHO I AM.” Or, as illustrated in the burning bush, it is I AM whose fire or existence does not depend on another but whose life burns from Himself.
Turning our attention to God’s will, its relevancy when considering His oneness lies in preserving monotheism. To highlight this concern, we must consider what establishes the ability to will. Put into question form: “What provides a person with the power to will compared to an inanimate creature like a rock?” The simple answer is its nature. A creature’s nature determines what powers it can exercise. For instance, a bird’s nature gives rise to the possibility of flying, unlike a human’s nature. Similarly, a creature possesses the ability to will if its nature provides the capacity of said power.
When considering the philosophical and historical articulation of the will, it has typically been distinguished between the sensible (or lower) appetite and the intellectual (or higher) appetite. The sensible will desires goods based on sensory perception (sight, hearing, taste, touch, etc.). For example, it is good for the nature of an animal to eat; thus, when said good is presented to it via the senses, the will is aroused and motivates the animal to pursue it.
In contrast, although man possesses these same sensible desires of the will as some other creatures, he also exercises dominion over these sensible desires by a higher power of the soul that distinguishes him from the rest of creation: reason. In other words, although all things are created in the likeness of God—because effects in some way reflect their cause—Scripture asserts that man is created in the image and likeness of God (Gen. 1:27), and what makes man in God’s image is his power or capacity to reason (i.e., the intellect). Consequently, for man, it is the intellect that guides the will. One could even say that every person has the power to will because every person possesses the power of intellect, which is able to perceive things as good in themselves, and, in turn, the will is drawn out to possess and rest in those goods.
Scripture asserts that man is created in the image and likeness of God, and what makes man in God’s image is his power or capacity to reason.
Furthermore, the intellect can distinguish between lesser and higher goods and choose the higher, although it may cause harm or difficulty. The preeminent example of man deferring the lower will’s desire for a greater good was our Lord when He cried out in the garden of Gethsemane, “Father, if it is Your will, take this cup away from Me; nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done” (Verse reference). For our Lord, it was a good to preserve life, but it was a greater good to obey the will of His Father.
Correspondingly, because God is an intellectual Being, this entails that He, too, possesses a will. In simpler terms, it is the nature of divinity to will. However, this does not entail that God wills as man does: that some outside good moves His will. If this were so, God would be susceptible to passions and mutability as man, thus consigning Him to the order of creaturely being as its chief Being. Moreover, neither can we say that God’s will is a property of divinity, as it is a property that a person exercises; instead, following the maxim that “all that is in God is God,” so, too, is God’s will one with His essence.
At this juncture, we arrive at a difficulty after contrasting God’s will with the creature’s will. Specifically, how do we reconcile God’s one will with the three divine persons? Or we could ask: “Does experience not testify that each person has their own will; hence, should not each divine person also?” To answer, we must first consider how each human person possesses their own will because each is an individuated instance of humanity: human nature, not personhood, gives rise to the power to will. However, this metaphysical sequence breaks down for the divine persons because each divine person is not a separate individuated instance of divinity. Instead, “A divine person is nothing but the divine essence . . . subsisting in an especial manner.”[1] In other words, the Father is the principle or fount of divinity as the unbegotten One; the Son’s divinity is from the Father as His begotten Word; and the Spirit’s divinity is from the Father and Son as Love proceeding. Therefore, because each person possesses the entirety of the divine essence according to their particular manner of subsistence, each divine person also possesses the one will of God.
If one were to deny that each divine person possesses the one divine will according to their particular manner of subsistence by positing multiple wills in God (i.e., one will for each divine person), then what one would run the risk of is seriously undermining their commitment to monotheism. The reason is that, as shown above, the ability to will is rooted in nature. Hence, if there are multiple wills in God, this would metaphysically entail that there must be multiple natures. Consequently, if there are multiple natures because there are multiple wills, the best one could then conceive the Trinity as is a society of “Gods” in unison or bound by some overarching principle. However, Christians do not believe the Lord to be one in unison of wills as a society of divine persons. Instead, we confess God to be one in Being and will, with each divine person possessing the one divine nature and will according to their particular manner of subsistence.
In conclusion, the consideration of the one will of God is a notion that safeguards Christians from practically inferring polytheism. Moreover, it is the one will of God that we can find our rest in because God is not like man that He should change His mind. In other words, because God’s will is one with His essence, this entails that the very divine will that chose us, that redeemed us by sending God the Son to die for sinners such as us, and that promises to present us before Himself as holy and blameless in glory, is a will that cannot change. Therefore, with this blessed assurance that God’s will for our salvation lies in His immutable nature, we can confidently strive on our journey to Zion above to follow our Lord’s words and example, “Not My will, but Yours, be done” (Luke 22:42).
[1] John Owen, Communion with the Triune God (Carlisle, PA: The Banner of Truth Trust, 2009), 2:407.
Deeply Disappointed, Greatly Loved: Trusting Our Father’s Painful ‘No’
You are not answering my prayers, I repeated, a scowl in my voice that sounded more murderer than missionary.
My arms were about to give out after fifteen hours of flying with my double-ear-infection infant, whose screams drew every eye toward me, either in pity or loathing. My hands still reeked of my six-year-old’s vomit, which I had caught an hour earlier. My husband might have given me a break if he weren’t in the bathroom scrubbing his pants after our toddler’s diaper leaked brown everywhere. The stink polluted economy class, as if the sounds we contributed weren’t offensive enough.
It wasn’t our first rodeo traveling halfway around the world like beetles flipped on our backs. Our international travels form an ugly scrapbook of mishaps, with photos of feverish kids trying to sleep on airport carpet. I thought this time around would be different. How could it not be? Hundreds of people were praying. I imagined the golden bowls in heaven swirling with the incense of our friends’ and family’s prayers (Revelation 5:8). Surely, Jesus inhaled it with pleasure. The slightest wink or grin from my Father’s sunny face could keep our children at 98.6 degrees, their bodily fluids internal, and our plane punctual.
Where were those hundreds of prayers now? Had God misplaced them like a set of keys or muted them like an obnoxious ad? The Lord’s “no” stabbed like the throbbing inside my infant’s ears.
Praying While Weatherworn
This story isn’t special. Every one of us has extended a precious prayer and received what feels like a hailstorm in return. Or if not a hailstorm, maybe the cold silence of space. We are disturbed. What does this mean? How can we risk asking again, with its emotional toll? Are our longings safe with God? Can we receive the Lord’s “no” while reclining all the heavier against his chest, or should we question the safety of his embrace?
If only bad travel were the worst of it. Perhaps the Lord’s “no” grows fangs when your child stays sick, your marriage breaks, or cars collide. What happens when, after years of living desperately on your knees, the prodigal doesn’t return, mental illness gains momentum, or progress fighting besetting sin has little praise to report? We may ask, like Joni Eareckson Tada, “Who is this God I thought I knew? Who is this God who bids us crawl over broken glass just for the pleasure of his company?” (When God Weeps, 78).
Let’s zoom out and take a breath. Our disappointment with God can shrink our world. Without realizing it, we’re the horse with blinders, the scientist glued to his microscope, the painter shading in a nose’s shadow — so fixated on a part that we forget the whole. Just as we break from the office for a walk in the woods, we need the fresh air of a wider perspective.
“Can we receive the Lord’s ‘no’ while reclining all the heavier against his chest?”
Stepping back does not dismiss the painful mysteries of unanswered prayer and disappointment with God. When we look outside our experience, we are not forgetting or minimizing. We are saying, “I’m drowning, and I need a rock to hold onto. This one, gut-wrenching experience is sand I cannot stand on. Give me a place to put my feet.”
Thankfully, some thousands of years ago, King David turned the same cries into Psalm 69.
No Match for Majesty
He begins by saying, “Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold” (Psalm 69:1–2). Counselors advise paying special attention to the word-pictures people use to describe themselves. But it doesn’t take a professional to see that David’s drowning language means he’s not feeling too hot.
David is overwhelmed by sorrow. He’s brokenhearted, ashamed, and afflicted. He laments, “More in number than the hairs on my head are those who hate me without cause” (verse 4). Is there a friend to be found for David? Perhaps the loneliness would have been tolerable if the Lord had spoken up sooner. Instead, David admits, “I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God” (verse 3).
But as we read on, we watch David leave the cubicle for somewhere greener. He rightly speaks his hurts and complaints — to a point. Honesty is God’s prescription for prayer, but if David stopped at his life-and-death feelings, it would make for little more than a juicy coffee date. The magic happens when he sets aside mystery for majesty.
The majesty of a God who plucks us from the sea of our circumstances by his “saving faithfulness” (verse 13). The majesty of a God whose love does not flicker like a tired lightbulb but shines steadfastly (verse 16). The majesty of his abundant mercy, heaped up and spilling over like plates at Thanksgiving dinner (verse 16). Majesty of such magnitude that his imprisoned people revive and sing (verse 32).
Majesty louder than man’s contempt (verse 12) and available to the sackcloth-clad (verse 11). Majesty that transforms lone-rider men and women into decisive followers, those who can say in seasons of hailstorm and silence, “But as for me, my prayer is to you, O Lord” (verse 13). David is like the mountain climber motivated by the view from the top, only the panorama David is after holds the majesty of Zion (verse 35).
If majesty is heavyweight our world, we will make songs in the muck like David (verse 30). We will learn to give thanks while friendless and think of the precious reality ahead more than the presently disappointing one (verse 35). When our circumstances scream, “God is absent,” our prayers will reflect the confidence that “the Lord hears the needy” (verse 33).
Jesus Sang It Better
David prays this way, but so does Jesus. David may have felt like his old friends were now offering him poison for food and sour wine for drink (Psalm 69:21), but Jesus literally put his lips to a sour sponge on the cross (Matthew 27:34). Matthew Henry connects Christ to Psalm 69: “His throat is dried, but his heart is not; his eyes fail, but his faith does not. Thus our Lord Jesus, on the cross, cried out, Why hast thou forsaken me? Yet, at the same time, he kept hold of his relation to him: my God, my God.”
David sings Psalm 69 well, but Jesus sings it better. For Christ’s words rang out even as the world went black, with hell’s fury before him and a rag stuffed down his throat. David felt underwater, but Jesus suffocated and drowned. While we are continually with the Lord (Psalm 73:23), Jesus was the Lamb left to the wolves. If Jesus trusted God there, can we not trust him here?
Here — in the majesty of a love that, as the old hymn says, is “vast, unmeasured, boundless, free, rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me” (“O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus”). Those who swim in that ocean endure hailstorms and silence without turning to stone. They may wince at their ugly travel scrapbook, but they count on a last page that glitters. Their hearts are soft, their prayers frequent, their requests risky. Instead of withdrawing at the Lord’s “no,” they pray all the more, knowing George Herbert to be right when he calls prayer the “soul’s blood” and the “church’s banquet.”
When the mysteries of life are rightly ordered by the majesty of God, we sing like Jesus, David, and all the saints resting in “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1).
The Future of New Calvinism
I was intrigued by Aaron Renn’s recent article The Maturation of New Calvinism. His thesis is that “New Calvinism has shifted from an ‘All-Star team’ model designed to exert influence over the broader evangelical world to a post-superstar model that primarily serves its own community. This represents the maturity of the movement, perhaps putting it on a sustainable footing for the future.” And what is that future? He believes it’s a future of being a subculture within broader evangelicalism rather than being what it may have once aspired to—a gatekeeper or shaper of evangelicalism. Its particular subculture is made up of “educated strivers in urban centers, college towns, and professional class suburbs.” Renn believes that New Calvinism would do well to simply embrace and serve this narrow but significant demographic rather than attempting to reach far beyond it.
All Stars
Renn points out rightly that many of the “all-stars” who were first associated with the movement, who took a leading role in it, and whose ministries drew many people to it have now died (e.g. R.C. Sproul, Tim Keller), retired (e.g. John Piper—from local church ministry, at least), or moved on (e.g. Mark Driscoll). It is certainly true that the movement does not have the same kind of “statesmen” it did in the heady days of the first Together for the Gospel. By and large, these leaders have not been replaced by younger alternatives whose voices reach far into broader evangelicalism. While this new reality means the movement is not drawing as many people as it once did, Renn believes this is actually a positive development as it ultimately offers greater stability and viability.
Taking my cue from Renn, I want to share a few of my thoughts and recollections about the early days of the movement and consider what its future may be.
Beginnings
I have no knowledge of anyone who was deliberately trying to manufacture a new wave of Calvinists around the turn of the century. Thus, I have understood the New Calvinism to have begun in a kind of spontaneous and decentralized way—a way that was unique to the early days of the internet but repeated across a host of interests, hobbies, subcultures, and even religions.
While there may have been many background factors, an especially important one was this: A lot of people in Western contexts found themselves restless in their traditional churches or church growth churches. They were looking for an alternative that promised something more—more than the triteness of church growth philosophies and more than the deadness of certain traditional churches. Some took the route of the Emerging Church and gravitated toward theological liberalism. Some took the route of the New Calvinism and gravitated toward theological conservatism.
In my understanding, then, this movement began on a peer level with people passing along sermons, books, and articles and forming online communities through the early forms of social media—forums and blogs. (Remember: at this time there was no YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, or podcasts.) As people engaged with this content, they went in search of churches that were pastored by men who believed the same things as the people they were reading or listening to—Piper, Sproul, MacArthur, and so on. This movement had all the passion and brashness of youth and grew quickly.
A Weak Core
In these early days, there was a lot of excitement about TULIP and the Five Points. There was excitement about the Five Solas, perhaps especially around 2017 and the 500th anniversary of the Reformation. Calvinistic soteriology was the heart of it all and to so many it was eye-opening and heart-stirring.
But over time, people stopped writing books and preaching sermons about Calvinism. The doctrine became assumed instead of explicit and optional instead of necessary. It became acceptable to be a four-point Calvinist or perhaps something more like a three-and-a-half-point Calvinist. The nomenclature changed from “New Calvinism” or “Young, Restless, Reformed” to “Gospel-Centered” at least in part because this framing deprioritized Calvinism and allowed broader inclusion. Now people could be part of the movement even if they did not want to accept or be associated with Calvinism or Reformed theology.
It quickly became apparent that the New Calvinism was not made up of a pure traditional Calvinism much less a pure and traditional expression of Reformed theology and practice. Not many were reading or following the Westminster Confession, The Belgic Confession, The London Baptist Confession, or other historical guides to Protestant faith and practice. Not many were following the regulative principle of worship or teaching their children the various catechisms. To use an analogy, the New Calvinism was never Amish furniture made of real hardwood but Ikea furniture made up of a veneer that covered a softer core. If this was true at the start, it became truer still as time went on. Many of the people who latched on to the movement and even began to lead it were interested in some level of Calvinistic soteriology, but not in a full and historically grounded expression of Reformed Christianity. Many latched onto it because for a time it was on-trend and exciting.
A major shift took place when what had once been a classic early-internet movement—decentralized and uncontrolled—began to become institutionalized. Institutions began to decide the issues that would define the movement and gatekeep the people who were permitted to influence it. Eventually, different institutions began to compete among themselves which caused both contraction and division. The core shifted from shared doctrine to shared institutions and allegiances. Commonality was no longer one of theology but of affiliation or loyalty. Now the New Calvinism was several New Calvinisms that no longer got along very well.
I Miss the Early Days
I often miss the early days of the movement—the days when people were drawing wide boundaries and expressing wonder at common theology. It was a time of excitement over shared doctrine and it was a joy to experience it. There was excitement in these days, though also arrogance and naiveté. It did not take long to learn that there was far less commonality than anyone had thought and that the movement was far less sanctified and unified than we believed. It took less to upend it than any of us would have imagined.
I will need to leave it to historians to explain exactly what happened, but certainly the sense of togetherness could not sustain all the theological differences or the differing perspectives on race and racism, pandemic responses, changing politics and presidencies, and so on. It seems to me that the movement sputtered on the basis of cultural factors as much as theological ones. Either way, it is now but a shadow of its former self and never reached the heights it had aspired to. As Renn says, “New Calvinism’s ability to project influence over the evangelical field has radically diminished.”
The Future
I wish I could speak confidently about the future of New Calvinism. Part of the difficulty in doing so is that the movement as a whole has pretty much ceased to exist. A label like “New Calvinism” doesn’t mean much anymore. “Young, Restless, Reformed” may have been accurate 20 years ago, but many who first fit the label are no longer very young, very restless, or very Reformed. “Gospel-centered” was tried and found wanting or inadequate. Whatever the movement is or was, it has now splintered into many parts, some of them antagonistic toward the others. There are few leaders who are respected across each of the splintered groups which means there is nobody who is likely to be able to bridge divides and bring reconciliation. I foresee no return to the unity of the early days.
But what I do see is lots of ministries continuing to create and distribute excellent resources. We have been spoiled with an endless flow of books, Bibles, and study resources and I have every reason to believe that will continue. Seminaries will continue to train future pastors who value these doctrines and love to exposit God’s Word. Even better, I see lots of churches continuing to press on with the doctrines of grace at their core and an emphasis on preaching the Word at the center of their worship. This may be the most enduring and important legacy of the movement.
Circling back to Renn, he says “New Calvinism has shifted from an ‘All-Star team’ model designed to exert influence over the broader evangelical world to a post-superstar model that primarily serves its own community.” That much seems demonstrably true. He also says that what remains best serves “educated strivers in urban centers, college towns, and professional class suburbs” and the movement should be content with this. I both agree and disagree.
I have spent time with Christians in something like 40 different countries that span a host of languages and cultures. I have been amazed to see the reach and the impact of resources we associate with the New Calvinism. Way out in the bush in southern Africa, far from electrical grids or running water, I spotted an ESV Study Bible on a pastor’s desk beside a stack of MacArthur commentaries. Deep in the south of Chile, I had several people bring copies of my books in Spanish so I could sign them. In India, Brazil, Mexico, and Mozambique I’ve been to bookstores filled with the books this movement has created, all translated into local languages. I have seen trucks loaded with 9Marks books bumping along rutted roads to deliver them to far-off places where these may be the only books local pastors will own.
So even as we necessarily analyze the movement from a North American and Western-world perspective, I think it’s important to appreciate the inroads it has made elsewhere, often delivering resources where they can be used and appreciated by people who have little interest in the petty quarrels that have torn so much apart. And so perhaps the future of New Calvinism is beyond the Western world and even the developed world and is even now putting down deep roots in the unlikeliest of places. We can but hope and pray.
A La Carte (March 21)
A note for my fellow Canadians: It appears that beginning in early April, books from American sources—which includes many of our favorite Christian publishers—will be subject to a 25% tariff. If you are planning to purchase books anyway, you may want to do so before that date. My understanding is that e-books will not be subject to the tariff.
Today’s Kindle deals include a book from Christopher Ash on teaching the Psalms and Katie McCoy’s excellent To Be a Woman.
I appreciated reading Daniel Strange’s reflections on ARC 2025. “How do you judge something where you heard things that made you gasp ‘Wow!’ (in a good way) and ‘Wow!’ (in a less good way)? As a conservative evangelical theologian and someone interested in cultural apologetics and evangelism, I wonder how many (if any) cheers we should give ARC and the cultural trend it represents.”
This is an interesting tale of God using a person in unexpected ways.
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“Leadership is about more than influence—although it certainly isn’t about less. It is also about taking responsibility for the influence that we have. The leader takes responsibility to influence others in the right ways and unto the right ends or goals. Leaders don’t just influence; they take responsibility to ensure that they are influencing rightly.”
Bethel McGrew: “This is the abyss that yawns before the mother or the father who has ushered a child through irreversible, body-wrecking procedures. It’s no wonder so many of them angrily turn away, just like so many mothers and fathers who have aborted their unborn children.”
Barnabas Piper shares 7 standards for good writing. “Each standard is open for debate, but combine them all and a sieve of sorts is formed to sift the poor works and let through the quality ones.”
I have only ever heard the term “surrender to ministry” in the American South, though perhaps it’s used elsewhere. Jason Dees explains what he appreciates about it.
“All things for good” is a promise God’s people must take by faith and cling to with tenacity in times of great difficulty. We need to believe that God has the ability to work all things for good and to trust that he actually is working all things for good.
Christians aren’t distant spectators with a cold propositional knowledge of God; they are children who know their Father personally and are loved by him extravagantly.
—Sam Luce & Hunter Williams
A Nation Divided, My Irrelevancy, the Finished Atonement
We had been hearing about the arrival of Roger Olson’s book, Against Calvinism, for quite some time. It happened to arrive just before I left for Australia, so I did not have time to do much more than review his comments on 1 Timothy 2:4 (here). I have now returned home, so I got his book recorded to mp3 and
Help Me Live a Genuine Life
Audio Transcript
Authenticity is the theme of the week here on the podcast. On Monday, we heard from Mark, who struggled to reconcile how Jesus’s life and death could have been fully scripted out by God, fully acted out by Christ, and all be authentically lived out by Christ. It was a really interesting discussion to start the week.
But today we look at our own authentic living, living authentically with our affections. It’s a topic on the table because we read Romans 12:9–13 together today. Here’s the question it inspired in a young man, a 23-year-old listener named Francisco who lives in Mexico City.
“Pastor John, hello to you! I desperately want to be the type of man who exhibits Romans 12:9–13 in his life. ‘Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality.’ I have sought to make this the mantra of my life for the next year. There’s a lot here to digest. As you read this text, what stands out to you? Are there any keys in here that you would see to help me live out such a godly life, not from duty, but from a genuine affection inside of me?”
Oh yes, there are some things in this text that I think are going to be very helpful. At least, they help me. I think they are designed by God to help all of us live the Christian life. And I love this question, Francisco (and greetings to Mexico City). I love this question because it gives me a chance to say some things about living the Christian life, things in this text that I think are broadly relevant to virtually everybody, not just you.
The list of thirteen commands in Romans 12:9–13, thirteen short commands, presents us with the very common question of how to go about obeying commands (thirteen commands) in a Christian way — a Christian way, not to earn salvation and not to fall into lawlessness and say, “Oh, commands don’t matter. It’s all grace. You don’t need to do anything.” Between those two mistakes, there’s a way to live the Christian life. So, that’s what I want to think about from Romans 12.
Affectional, Impossible Change
The first thing I notice is that six of these thirteen commands are directed straight to the affections, the emotions, the feelings, the heart — not to bodily action first. Don’t do something first, but rather, go straight to your heart. “Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil. . . . Love . . . with brotherly affection. . . . Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit. . . . Rejoice in hope” (Romans 12:9–12). And the other seven are really specific ways to love.
Romans 12:8, the verse just before this paragraph, says that such merciful service, all these seven ways of loving, are to be done with cheerfulness. “[Let] the one who does acts of mercy [do them] with cheerfulness,” which is an affection and emotion. In effect, all these commands, every one of them, involve the heart, the affections, the desires. Paul is not commanding outward behavior that comes from a wrong kind of heart. He’s not interested in that. That’s why that first word is, “Let love be genuine” (Romans 12:9). And really, the word is anypokritos. You can even see it in English: an-hypokritos — not hypocritical. Let love not be hypocritical.
“This is the transforming power of the mercies of God. They take away fear.”
I hate sham love. In other words, I don’t like outward behavior that looks Christian but isn’t coming from a new heart. He never says just, “Serve,” but “Rejoice to serve.” He doesn’t say just, “Avoid evil”; he says, “Abhor evil.” He doesn’t say just, “Know about hopeful promises”; he says, “Rejoice in hope.” He doesn’t just say to Christians that they should love others; he says, “Love with brotherly affection.” These are just stunning commands, straight to our emotions, our affections, our heart.
One reason it’s crucial to see the necessity of changed feelings is that it confronts us with the impossibility of doing this without God’s supernatural power. That’s one of the points. You can put on a show at church, right? You can make yourself smile. You can make yourself sing. You can make yourself do stuff. But you cannot make yourself abhor what you don’t abhor, or love what you don’t love, or rejoice in what you don’t rejoice in. You can’t do it. So, these commands confront us with the impossibility of doing them without God’s supernatural help. By commanding our emotions, Paul is signaling that we must have a profound change from the inside out.
So, the way to pursue obedience to these commands, Francisco, is this: indirectly, we have to pursue a new heart, a new set of desires, a new constellation of preferences. That’s the work of God through his word, by the Spirit.
Preparing to Approve
This takes us back to the beginning of the chapter, because Paul knows what he’s going to do here, and he’s helping us prepare our lives to do it. Chapter 12 starts like this: “I appeal to you therefore” — and we’ll come back to that therefore — “brothers, by the mercies of God.” So, I’m appealing to you, in all these commands, “by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, [so that you approve] what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:1–2).
That word “approve” (dokimazō) means more than “test and discern,” the way it’s translated in the ESV. It means “test and discern and approve.” It’s not just a mental calculation. It’s a heart evaluation. Paul is saying, “Be transformed with a renewed mind such that your mind and heart assess, evaluate, prioritize, and feel things differently — and approve of different things than the world does. Don’t be conformed to this age. Be deeply changed. Have new preferences. Approve and disapprove of different things than the world does, and which you once did.”
Romans 12:1 gives the key to how that happens: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God . . .” Don’t be conformed to the world. Be transformed. That is, be amazed and humbled and happy and empowered by the unspeakable mercies of God toward you in your unworthiness. Be so amazed, so humbled, so happy, so empowered that you are transformed with a mind and heart that have new affections, new desires, new preferences, new approvings and disapprovings.
Transforming Mercies
Then we notice the therefore. The whole section of Romans 12–15 begins with therefore — meaning, on the basis of Romans 1–11. “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God” (Romans 12:1). That word therefore signals that Paul is saying to us, as we consider his several dozen commands in chapter 12, “Go back now. Go back now and review eleven chapters of God’s stunning mercies to you. Go back! Review God’s stunning mercies to you.”
Why does he make that connection? Because the way we are transformed is by seeing the greatness of the glory of the mercies of God toward us in our hopeless sinful condition. Romans 6:6: “Our old self was crucified with him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing.” It’s the truth of what happened to us in Christ that does away with our old affections of sin. Or in Romans 6:14: “Sin will have no dominion over you” — that means chapter 12 is going to come true for you — “since you are not under law but under grace.” You’re under these mercies of God that are laid out in chapters 1–11. Or Romans 8:3–4: “By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.”
So, when Paul says in Romans 12:12, “Rejoice in hope,” what is he referring to? He’s referring to the great Romans 8: “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died” (Romans 8:32–34). In other words, nobody can separate us from the love of Christ or the love of God. These chapters 1–11 are the mercies of Romans 12:1: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God,” be transformed before you try to put on a show of outward godliness.
This is the transforming power of the mercies of God. They take away fear. They take away craving greed for the world. They take away craving for revenge. They make us deeply confident and happy in the care of God. And that changes everything.
Become What You Are
The thirteen commands of Romans 12:9–13 describe who we are — not just who we ought to be but really who we have become in the mercies of God, as we die with Christ and rise with Christ and are indwelt by the Spirit. “Become what you are,” Paul says several times in his letters. And 2 Corinthians 3:18 puts it like this: “Beholding the glory of the Lord” — that is, in this case, the glory of these precious mercies. Beholding these mercies, “[we] are being transformed . . . from one degree of glory to another.”
So, Francisco, the key to obeying these commands in Romans 12 is to come at them indirectly through the doorway of Romans 12:1–2, and through all the glorious mercies of God in chapters 1–11. Immerse yourself in these. Let these be your treasure. God will transform you into the kind of person that can gladly obey these verses in chapter 12 from your heart.
A La Carte (March 20)
Today’s Kindle deals include some excellent books you’ll want to consider: Embracing Complementarianism which will help you live out your complementarian convictions, Parenting without Panic which will help you raise your kids in this world, and Plugged In which will help you live well with all your digital technologies.
(Yesterday on the blog: The Unique Christian Contribution to Politics)
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Our spiritual maturity will never exceed our knowledge of the Bible.
—Albert Mohler