Good Friday, everyone — literally. It’s Good Friday on the calendar, a day set apart for serious joy, set apart for us to dwell on the death of our Savior Jesus Christ. This holiday is no funeral. It’s a celebration. It’s that odd celebration of ours, and “the main song” of eternity, that eternal song about the “unparalleled beauty and worth of the reigning Lamb, Jesus Christ, who was slain” (APJ 1601; Revelation 5:6–14).

Today’s episode is not Good Friday focused, per se. But perhaps we will get into the majesty and mystery of the cross in God’s design. The question I think leads us here. We’ll see. It’s from a listener named Tim. “Pastor John, hello and thank you for this podcast. First Timothy 2:3–4 says God desires all men to be saved. He desires that end. But not all men are saved. Does that mean (1) God will not do what he wants to do? Or (2) God cannot do what he wants to do? It has to be one of these two options, right?”

No, because what the Bible shows over and over again is that there are, in many cases, two wants — W-A-N-T-S — two wills in God, not just one. So it’s not accurate to say that God will not do what he wants to do, since in choosing to do what he does not want to do, he’s doing, in another sense, what he does want to do. It would be superficial to jump to the conclusion that God is schizophrenic or double-minded or perpetually frustrated because, in the infinite complexity of God’s mind and heart, there are ways that he experiences multiple desires — layers of desires or wants or wills — in perfect harmony, each expressing some aspect of his nature in proper unity with other aspects.

God’s Wills in Scripture

Let me illustrate what I mean when I say the Bible repeatedly points to these different levels or ways of wanting or willing in God. For example, now, in 1 Timothy 2:4, the text that Tim is asking about, Paul says, “[God] desires” — that word is thelei in the Greek, which means “wills” or “desires” — “all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” But he does not save all. Now, why not?

Everybody has to face this, not just certain groups. Everyone who believes, as all Christians do, in the wisdom and power and goodness of God would say that the answer is that some other will — or some other desire or commitment of God — takes precedence over the desire for all to be saved. I think everybody would say that.

One group, sometimes called Arminians, says it’s because God is more committed to our free will, our ultimate self-determination, than he is to saving all. The desire to preserve human self-determination takes precedence over the desire for all to be saved. That would be the way an Arminian would describe it. The other group, sometimes called Calvinists, says that God is more committed to glorifying his own free and sovereign grace than he is to saving all.

Now, I think this second answer is right. One of the reasons I do is because of what 2 Timothy 2:25–26 says.

God desires repentance and withholds it.

In 2 Timothy 2:25–26, Paul says that we should exhort sinners with patience and gentleness, and “God may perhaps grant them repentance leading to a knowledge of the truth,” which is a phrase from back in 1 Timothy 2:4. In other words, the reason some people believe and some do not believe is not because they have ultimate self-determination, but because God may or may not grant them to repent and believe. It’s a gift of sovereign grace.

“God wills that all be saved, but in another sense, he does not will that all be saved.”

So God wills that all be saved, but in another sense, he does not will that all be saved. One of these inclinations is a real expression of compassion, and the other is a real expression of sovereign wisdom and the freedom of grace. Now, I’m going to come back to that with an illustration from history that might make it a little more intelligible, but let’s keep giving illustrations of this idea of multiple layers of willing or desiring in God.

God forbids murder and ordains it.

Here’s another example. He commands, “You shall not murder” (Exodus 20:13). His will is that people not murder. That’s God’s will. But Acts 4:27–28 says that “Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel,” in murdering Jesus — they all teamed up and murdered him — did “whatever [God’s] hand and [God’s] plan had predestined to take place.” God planned the death of his Son at the hands of murderous, wicked men. Our salvation hangs on this reality. This is at the center of the gospel. This issue of God’s sovereignty over sinful men is at the center of the gospel, not some marginal theological dispute. God’s will that his Son be murdered took precedence over his will that people not murder.

Bible students, for centuries, have seen this and have called these two wills by various names, like “will of command” and “will of decree.” Another set of phrases is “moral will” and “sovereign will.”

God forbids false witness and sends it.

Here’s a third example of these two layers or levels or kinds of willing in God. “You shall not bear false witness” (Exodus 20:16). God’s will is that people tell the truth and not be misled, not think false thoughts, and not deceive others. Yet in 2 Thessalonians 2:10–12, it says,

[People] refused to love the truth and so be saved. Therefore God sends them a strong delusion, so that they may believe what is false, in order that all may be condemned who did not believe the truth but had pleasure in unrighteousness.

They “believe what is false.” They speak what is false. They think what is false. Paul says God sent this delusion as a punishment. God’s will that people believe the truth and speak the truth is subordinated, in their case, to God’s other will, which is manifest in his sending them further into deception.

God cares for the wicked and destroys them.

Here’s another example. In Ezekiel 33:11, God says, “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live.” Yet God often in the Bible justly takes the life of the wicked. Isaiah 11:4: “He shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.” He does not have pleasure in the death of the wicked. That is, he does not desire it. Nevertheless, he brings that death about. “I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal; and there is none that can deliver out of my hand” (Deuteronomy 32:39).

God afflicts, but not ‘from the heart.’

Here’s one more example of these two wills in God. This example may take us most explicitly into God’s soul. At least, I have found for myself and for many people that Lamentations 3:32–33 is really illuminating concerning the nature of God and how his willing works. Here’s what it says: “Though he cause grief” — though God caused grief — “he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not afflict from his heart or grieve the children of men.” Now, this is really amazing. God does cause grief. God does afflict the children of men, but then it adds, “not . . . from his heart” (Lamentations 3:33). That’s a very literal and good translation.

“All of the wisdom and all of the moral realities that form God’s choices come from within God himself.”

Now, what are we to make of that? He wills to do it, but he does not will to do it “from his heart.” You can see why I say that the Bible, over and over, points to the mind and heart of God as complex: willing one thing, willing also that this other will not be put into action. And this is not owing — as it would be, say, in our case — to external forces. Nobody’s twisting God’s arm. All of the wisdom and all of the moral realities that form God’s choices come from within God himself.

Washington’s Example

Here’s an analogy that I said I would give to help perhaps make this a little more intelligible. This comes from The Life of George Washington. Chief Justice John Marshall wrote The Life of George Washington and tells the story that there was a certain Major André who had committed treason and put the new American republic at risk. George Washington signed André’s death warrant. He’s about to be executed. And John Marshall comments in his biography, “Perhaps on no occasion of his life did the commander-in-chief obey with more reluctance the stern mandates of duty and policy.” Two wills were operating in Washington: compassion and justice. One commentator on Washington’s decision said,

Washington’s volition to sign the death-warrant of André did not arise from the fact that his compassion was slight or feigned [unreal], but from the fact that it was rationally counterpoised by a complex of superior judgements . . . of wisdom, duty, patriotism, and moral indignation.

Then he adds, “The pity was real, but was restrained by superior elements of motive.” Washington had official and bodily power to discharge the criminal, but he had no sanctions in his own wisdom and justice to do it.

Similarly, I would say the absence of a volition in God to save does not necessarily imply the absence of compassion. It’s real. That willing in God, that desiring in God, is real. The fact that there are two wills in God points to a profound but complex unity in revealing aspects of God’s nature that are both true and both real. In our own experience, we may feel them as conflicting or as frustrating, but I think it would be rash to say that God experiences his compassion and the justice of his wrath that way. They are harmonious in God. He reveals them both to us so that we can get some true glimpse of what God is really like.

I remember a line in the television show that men in the Poldark family were known for being “hasty, sharp-tempered, and strong in their likes and dislikes.” This sentiment has struck me as masculine. Not because God approves of hastiness or sharp tempers (he doesn’t), but because men ought to have something of what lies behind them: strong convictions.

How rare are warm-blooded men of zeal these days, men of strong likes and dislikes — even within the church? When ambitious men of the world spend time around men of the church — men supposedly imaging Christ’s likeness, possessing Christ’s Spirit, and commissioned to win eternal spoils — do we fault them for sensing an absence of purpose, a coolness of flame, a dryness of ambition? Do they see men “who by patience in well-doing seek for glory, honor, and immortality” (Romans 2:7)? Do they feel ashamed of their small pursuits and eager to cast them off for the Christian man’s pulse and existence?

“How rare are warm-blooded men of zeal these days, men of strong likes and dislikes — even within the church?”

Or do they not wonder what these Christian men really wake up for in the morning? It isn’t clear. They’re moderate in their likes; moderate in their dislikes. They remain room-temperature. They never have that look in their eye. They smile and smile, but never laugh from the belly, nor give a firm handshake or word when the occasion calls. That man, that weapon, that sword is beat into a plow.

Relaxing Among Idols

Can you imagine such men sitting by peacefully in Athens in the first century? They rest among the commotion, waiting for friends to arrive. Initially they may have been startled by the many idols bought, sold, and displayed. Beautiful statues of Greek gods and goddesses fill the city, some saying it was “easier to find a god than a man.” This is not true worship, the thought might come. But as a few moments pass, they begin to wonder, What’s for lunch? . . . And what’s taking Timothy and Silas so long to get here?”

Now witness another man of God, a man of strong likes and dislikes, seated in the very same place.

Now while Paul was waiting for them [Timothy and Silas] at Athens, his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols. So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and in the marketplace every day with those who happened to be there. (Acts 17:16–17)

We can imagine him looking around, tapping his fingers at first. Then we see him begin to sway and nod and take a deep breath. Perhaps he bites his lip; then clenches his fist. A fire is kindled in his chest, fed by the words seared on his heart — “I am Yahweh; that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to carved idols” (Isaiah 42:8).

Why should these exquisite nothings receive the praise that belonged exclusively to his God? Why do men buy “not-gods” and call them gods? How dare they embrace false deities in the Lord’s marketplace, while breathing the Lord’s air, under the Lord’s sun? Why did their idolatry feel comfortable parading at noonday? What are these but offenses against the Holy One; Philistines mocking to be answered?

He cannot, like so many other men, sit quietly and watch. He must open his mouth and speak of Christ to give vent his fuming soul.

Hunted

Jews were tracking Paul. They recently stirred a mob against him in Thessalonica, then agitated the crowds against him in Berea. They would eventually follow him to Athens as well. If anyone had an excuse to keep a low profile, it was him. If anyone had a reason to take this time “off,” it was him. Yet he did not pour water on the flame from those buckets of “practicality” so plentiful in our own day. Troopless, he went in alone.

He rose to his feet as a man possessed — a man who did not count his life of any value nor as precious to himself, if only he could finish his course and his ministry to testify to the gospel of the grace of God (Acts 20:24). He walked over to the people, looked at a group of potential attackers, and spoke grace. In the synagogues, he reasoned with Jews; in the marketplace, he open-air preached to Gentiles. Not occasionally, but daily.

He soon became a spectacle to the people. “What does this babbler wish to say?” some asked. “He seems to be a preacher of foreign divinities,” others answered (Acts 17:18). They requested to hear more of this strange teaching, news of this “Jesus” (Acts 17:18–21).

When he’s invited to preach in the Areopagus, he concludes his sermon,

The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead. (Acts 17:30–31)

When they heard of resurrection, some mocked. Others said they would hear him again. “But some men joined him and believed, among whom also were Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris and others with them” (Acts 17:34).

On Active Duty

When you witness Paul provoked into preaching day after day, what do you see?

When I see Paul risking his life to charge into the hostile city alone, I witness the New Testament equivalent of David running at Goliath, Jonathan and his armor-bearer charging the Philistines, Phineas piercing the rebellious couple, Joshua campaigning into the Promised Land. “We do not wrestle against flesh and blood,” Paul explains, “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” (Ephesians 6:12). According to Paul, our armor, our enemy, our warfare, is not less urgent or real for being unseen, but more.

“Our armor, our enemy, our warfare, is not less urgent or real for being unseen, but more.”

When we hear him standing and heralding to anyone who would listen, there stands one who descends from a lineage of men possessed with God’s own jealousy. God is passionately, rightly jealous for his name on earth; Paul shares that jealousy. God detests his praises going to idols; Paul does too. Paul’s Master did not sit idly in heaven, but came to earth calling for repentance and announcing the good news and becoming good news — how could the servant sit idly after Jesus had proclaimed, “It is finished” (John 19:30)?

And can you see Paul’s great conquest at Athens? Paul took the battlefield proclaiming Jesus — dead and now alive. Some laughed, some procrastinated, but others believed. He walked away with immortal gains — the souls of Dionysius and Damaris and the others won to King Jesus.

Where Flags of Satan Fly

When you consider the man wondering about his lunch and the apostle Paul fighting demons over souls, which man are you more like? Which man do you want to be?

This contrast challenges me because, too often, I find myself identifying with the docile man. “What should I have for lunch?” is the daily theme — while Rome burns, devils laugh, and Christ is belittled or altogether ignored.

But I want to be more alive. I want to feel more concern for Christ’s name. I want to be consumed in the flames of my Lord’s likes and dislikes. I long for my little candle to be engulfed in his forest fire. And I want to turn with vengeance upon any and all distractions from this devotion to Christ. Don’t you?

Don’t you want to look around at the flags of Satan flying overhead and care about Jesus and souls enough to be provoked? The sins of his city so affected Lot that he lived day after day “tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard” (2 Peter 2:8). Don’t you want these reminders to affect you and spur you on to greater love, greater prayer, greater boldness?

Stirred by the Zeal of God

What could happen if a group of men and women awoke from complacent slumbers, provoked and sent forth with God’s own jealousy into a community? If more professing Christians felt triggered by idols and shared a “divine jealousy” for the church (2 Corinthians 11:2)? If we obeyed Paul to “Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good” (Romans 12:9). Genuine love. Genuine abhorrence. Genuine clinging to what is good, stirred by God’s own zeal to do what is good.

With these, under the blessing of God, the world can yet again be turned upside down.

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