It has been said that there are three requirements for a fulfilling life. Are you listening?  High school graduates?  College students? Those starting life? Those in mid-life? Those in golden years? 1. A clear sense of personal identity: Who am I? 2. A strong sense of personal mission: Why am I here? 3. A deep sense of life’s meaning: What is the purpose of it all? If we settle for superficial answers, we’ll be disappointed and face the threat of a cynical or delusional life. It is of great importance that we look for answers in the right place—and recall the great prayer of Augustine: “Dear Lord, You have made us for Yourself and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in You.” Here is the answer we need. 

Prisoner 174517 was one of only 3 survivors out of a group of 650 Italian Jews transported to Poland in 1944. One day in the Auschwitz death camp, prisoner 174517 was thirsty. 
“Seeing a fat icicle hanging just outside his hut in the Auschwitz extermination camp, he reached out of the window and broke it off to quench his thirst. But before he could get the icicle to his mouth, a guard snatched it out of his hands and dashed it to pieces on the filthy ground.”
‘Why?’ the prisoner burst out instinctively—’Why?’ the guard answered with brutal finality, ‘Here there is no why.’”
To Prisoner 174517, the “Italian Jewish scientist and writer, the guard’s answer was the essence of the death camps—places that defied all explanation for their absolute evil. In the face of their horror, explanations born of psychology, sociology, and economics were pathetic in their inadequacy” (Long Journey Home: A Guide to Your Search For the Meaning of Life,” Os Guinness).
The ‘Why?’ Question
Some things defy explanation. They seem inexplicable or gratuituos. But we still ask “Why?” 
It is a question we ask our whole lives. It looks for a reason, a purpose, a motive– an explanation for the way things are.
“Why?” was a question God began asking in the earliest days of human history. To Cain—“Why are you angry?” To Abraham—“Why did Sarah laugh?”
Moses asked, “Why is the bush not burned up?” Nathan asked David, “Why have you despised the word of the Lord?” Job asked, “Why did I not die at birth?”
Jesus repeatedly asked “why” questions – “Why are you anxious?” “Why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye?” “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’ and do not do what I say?” “Why do you not believe me?” Most dramatic of all: “Why have you forsaken me?”
Here There Is No Why
“Why?” cuts through the superficial and requires explanations, a reason, a motive, a cause, a purpose. Without experiencing anything close to the horrors of the Auschwitz, people all over the world—out of the frustrating emptiness of life, agree with the brutal finality of the guard’s answer, “Here there is no why.” 
What a sad conclusion.
Evidently, Job felt this despair when under the unspeakable weight and misery of his suffering, he cried out, “Why did I not die at birth?”  Sometimes life hurts so much, and seems so unexplainable that we cannot see clearly enough to answer the ‘why?’ question. But we go on asking because we feel compelled to find answers.
We Seek a Final Explanation
“Unique among living species, human life is aware of itself, yet we find ourselves in a world that doesn’t explain itself. So we’re impelled to ask why things are as they are and how we fit in. What gives life to life? Why is there something rather than nothing?”
“Deep inside us we know the facts of the matter are not the end of the matter. So we seek a final explanation, a source of meaning that goes as far back as one can go, an ultimate answer before which all questions cease.”
“This will to find meaning is fundamental. It is ‘the primary motivational force in man,’ according to psychiatrist Viktor Frankl. ‘Meaning is not a luxury for us,’ says philosopher Dallas Willard. ‘It is a kind of spiritual oxygen, we might say, that enables our souls to live.’”
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Written by Edward T. Welch |
Monday, April 3, 2023
Even his opponents could see this: “Teacher, we know that you are true and teach the way of God truthfully, and you do not care about anyone’s opinion, for you are not swayed by appearances” (Matt. 22:16). Of course, their remarks were a form of flattery by which they hoped to trap Jesus, but they were true remarks nonetheless. Jesus’s imperviousness to the opinions of others was part of his teaching with authority, and it was one of the features that distinguished his ministry from that of all the other Jewish leaders.

It might be encouraging to know that fear of rejection has been a problem for a number of illustrious people throughout history. For example, Moses warned the leaders and judges of Israel about this very thing (Deut. 1:17). He knew that people reverence the opinions of others, show favoritism, and honor some people above others because they fear rejection from those whom they consider important.
This human tendency was an especially important issue for Israel’s judges. For example, if an Israelite had to judge a case involving a prominent metalworker, he might have experienced a certain pressure to make the judgment light or waive the penalty altogether. Otherwise, the metalworker might reject the judge the next time he needed his help. In other words, judges could be controlled by a defendant if the defendant had something that judges wanted. In such situations, people would become big and God’s justice would become small.
I wonder how many of us fear those who have more money, more power, more education, more attractiveness than we do. We could ask this question: Do I single out certain people and groups for their approval and acceptance because they can give me what I think I need? It could be a boss who does my annual review, a neighbor whose friendship enhances my status, a person who could help to make the church budget, or a spouse whose acceptance and approval are all- important.
King Saul is a specific biblical example of someone who experienced fear of rejection. In 1 Samuel 15, God commanded Saul to completely destroy the Amalekites. God then gave the armies of Israel grace to defeat these people, “but Saul and the people spared Agag [the king of the Amalekites] and the best of the sheep and of the oxen and of the fattened calves and the lambs, and all that was good” (1 Sam. 15:9). When the prophet Samuel confronted Saul with his gross disobedience, Saul confessed his sin but also justified it: “I feared the people and obeyed their voice” (1 Sam. 15:24).
Saul may have made this justification for one of two reasons. Perhaps he really did feel pressured by his generals to bring home some of the spoils of war. In that case, his excuse was indefensible in light of God’s endless warnings not to fear people. Or perhaps Saul reasoned that Samuel would accept his excuse because fearing others was such a common, human thing to do. After all, since fear of others is part of our fabric, how can we be held responsible for it? Regardless of which alternative represents Saul’s true motives, his fear of others had catastrophic results: it was the reason Saul lost his kingdom.
The Pharisees in the New Testament shared King Saul’s fear of rejection. They craved acceptance and approval from the people, and they were afraid they wouldn’t get it. Many Pharisees boasted that they didn’t believe in Jesus, and they even accused those who did of living under a delusion (John 7:45–49). Yet some leaders could not ignore Jesus’s authoritative teaching and miracles, and they quietly believed in him. In other words, they believed that Jesus was sent from God and was the Messiah for whom they had hoped and prayed.
You’d think that with such a conviction these leaders would become Jesus’s disciples immediately and seek to persuade the others to believe. Yet that didn’t happen. Their faith quickly withered. Why? They feared confessing their faith because of the possible reactions of those in the synagogue, “for they loved human praise more than praise from God” ( John 12:43 NIV). They felt they needed the praise of people. They feared rejection more than they feared the Lord.
Our Own Fear of Rejection
It sounds all too familiar. Sometimes we would prefer to die for Jesus than to live for him. If someone had the power to kill us for our profession of faith, I imagine that most Christians would say, “Yes, I am a believer in Jesus Christ,” even if it meant death. The threat of torture might make some think twice, but I think most Christians would acknowledge Christ regardless. However, if making a decision for Jesus means possibly spending years being unpopular, ignored, poor, or criticized, then many temporarily put their faith on the shelf. “Death is not imminent, so why hurry into such a rash decision?” “There will be time later to get things straight with God.” In other words, “Kill me, but don’t keep me from being liked, appreciated, or respected.”
Remember that one word: evangelism. I am sure that many teens would rather die than have their friends catch them hanging out with the church youth group or doing Christian drama on the streets. Aren’t the most popular mission trips the ones that take us far from our own neighborhoods? Africa is easy; our own neighborhoods are a constant challenge. Has anyone consistently had the boldness and clarity of Jesus to testify about the gospel? Never. Has anyone consistently avoided the fear of man in evangelism? Certainly not. There is a “foolishness” inherent in the message of the cross. The clear proclamation of the gospel does not make us look good. It doesn’t make us popular.
“Peer Pressure” and the Praise of God
The praise of others—that wisp of a breeze that lasts for a moment—can seem more glorious to us than the praise of God. Jesus himself told the Jewish leaders, “How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?” ( John 5:44).
Today we might call the Pharisees people pleasers. We would say they “struggled with peer pressure.” Since all of us are affected by it at one time or another, we are almost sympathetic toward such behavior. But people pleasing is perhaps the most tragic form of the fear of man. Teenagers constantly make unwise decisions because of it. Adults, too, look to other people for their cues. We wait for others to take initiatives of love. We spend too much time wondering what others may have thought about our outfits or the comments we made in the small-group meeting. We see opportunities to testify about Christ, but we avoid them. We are ruled by our own reputations. As we follow these Old Testament stories, the problem feels as though it is other people, but, in truth, the problem lies within us.
Jesus stood in stark contrast to this Pharisaic concern. He did not show favoritism; instead, he reached out to male and female, rich and poor, and people of all races and ages. He did not take a poll of what was popular before he began to teach; instead, he spoke truth that was often unpopular but could penetrate the heart. “I do not receive glory from people,” he said ( John 5:41). Even his opponents could see this: “Teacher, we know that you are true and teach the way of God truthfully, and you do not care about anyone’s opinion, for you are not swayed by appearances” (Matt. 22:16). Of course, their remarks were a form of flattery by which they hoped to trap Jesus, but they were true remarks nonetheless. Jesus’s imperviousness to the opinions of others was part of his teaching with authority, and it was one of the features that distinguished his ministry from that of all the other Jewish leaders.
This attitude also characterized the ministry of the apostle Paul. He exhorted his churches to be imitators of him as he was an imitator of Christ (1 Cor. 4:16; 1 Thess. 1:6). By this, he was encouraging his disciples to imitate his life and doctrine, an imitation that included seeking the praise of God rather than men (1 Thess. 2:4). Paul was not a people pleaser. He was a people lover, and because of that he did not change his message according to what others might think. Only people lovers are able to confront. Only people lovers are not controlled by other people. Paul even indicated to the Galatians that if he were still trying to please man, he would not be a servant of God (Gal. 1:10). That is how seriously he took the fear of man.
Not that this came naturally. Paul had the same fleshly instincts we do, and he knew it. As a result, he beseeched the churches to pray for him: “[Make supplication] also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel . . . that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak” (Eph. 6:19–20).
Excerpt taken from Chapter 2: “People Will Reject Me”, When People Are Big and God Is Small: Overcoming Peer Pressure, Codependency, and the Fear of Man by Edward T. Welch. Used with permission
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Perkins held to double-predestination is well-known: it was memorably laid out in the large fold-out chart which accompanied his work, A Golden Chain (rev.1592). In that work Perkins describes individual human destiny as sovereignly determined by God, with all persons either being predestined to salvation in Christ, or damnation apart from him. The idea of a “golden chain” comes from Romans 8:29-30, expressing the idea that each of God’s elect people will be called, justified, sanctified, and then glorified, and that this sequence is unbreakably invincible.

A Seminal Reformed Theologian & Father of Puritanism: Why You Should Read William Perkins (1558-1602)
William Perkins (1558-1602) is remembered today as ‘the father of English puritanism.’ This is largely because his work managed to combine Reformed predestinarian theology with a highly practical approach to Christian living and piety. This kind of ‘practical divinity’ came to characterise the puritan movement of the seventeenth century. Yet even in his own day Perkins came to be regarded as a pre-eminent Reformed theologian, preacher and author. From his position at Cambridge – first as a university academic, and then as a local preacher – he managed to combine accessibility with theological depth in ways that appealed to academic and non-academic audiences alike. If you visited Cambridge in the 1590s you would find Perkins’s sermons and lectures eagerly attended by students and townspeople, and the output of the official university press being dominated by his books. Perkins became the best-selling English Christian author of his generation and the next, and his influence only spread after his death as his works were gradually translated for foreign audiences. On my count, no fewer than 550 editions of Perkins’s various works were printed in the early modern period, including editions in English and Latin, and translations into Dutch, German, Spanish, French, Czech, Hungarian, Irish, and Welsh. His influence can be detected in the deliberations of the Synod of Dort (1618-19), the Westminster Confession of Faith (1646), and in the theology, piety, and approach to pastoral ministry of virtually the entire puritan movement in England, New England, and beyond.
Perkins’s practical approach to predestination.
Perkins’s contributions were many. He made especially important contributions to Protestant preaching, ethics, pastoral counselling, and the role of conscience in the Christian life. But his most notable contributions were in theology, especially relating to predestination and Christian assurance.
That Perkins held to double-predestination is well-known: it was memorably laid out in the large fold-out chart which accompanied his work, A Golden Chain (rev.1592). In that work Perkins describes individual human destiny as sovereignly determined by God, with all persons either being predestined to salvation in Christ, or damnation apart from him. The idea of a ‘golden chain’ comes from Romans 8:29-30, expressing the idea that each of God’s elect people will be called, justified, sanctified, and then glorified, and that this sequence is unbreakably invincible.
The implications of this theological paradigm have bothered many, especially considering how unabashedly it is portrayed in Perkins’s chart. Many have simply inferred what they expect to be its implications from looking the chart itself, leading to accusations of fatalism and of inducing despair.
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