If I had to do what Bilbo Baggins did that day, I have wondered if I’d have had the strength and courage to do it. And I’m not talking about the fire-breathing dragon, or the gigantic, bloodthirsty spiders, or the caves filled with goblins. The demise of Smaug, it turns out, wasn’t the end (or even the peak) of Bilbo’s courage. No, the greatest challenge set before him would not make him confront an enemy, but a friend.

As Bilbo and his company of dwarves recover the lost and buried treasure from the fallen dragon, their leader, Thorin, will not rest until he finds one jewel in particular, the King’s jewel, the Arkenstone. As the hunt stretches over days, the mountain gives birth to the second, more dangerous threat.

Bilbo did not reckon with the power that gold has upon which a dragon has long brooded, nor with dwarfish hearts. Long hours in the past days Thorin had spent in the treasury, and the lust of it was heavy on him. Though he had hunted chiefly for the Arkenstone, yet he had an eye for many another wonderful thing that was lying there. (The Hobbit, 265)

This lust hardened Thorin’s heart and began to poison his mind. He soon refuses to deal with the elves and men (his potential allies) at his doorstep and foolishly lays the kindling for a great war. The hobbit senses the fierceness and perilousness of this greed, and so he takes a quietly brave step. He risks his friendship (and his life) to deliver the object of Thorin’s lust (which Bilbo had found and concealed) to the allies the dwarf was now treating as enemies. He sneaks from the camp and goes to the elves and men as they ready for war.

“This is the Arkenstone of Thrain,” said Bilbo, “the Heart of the Mountain; and it is also the heart of Thorin. He values it above a river of gold. I give it to you. It will aid you in your bargaining.” Then Bilbo, not without a shudder, not without a glance of longing, handed the marvelous stone to Bard. (273)

Bilbo’s most courageous act wasn’t creeping down into the dragon’s lair, but walking off alone to incense (and perhaps save) a friend who had gone astray. It wasn’t the big, scary enemy he had prepared for over miles and miles, but the sudden need that emerged in his own camp.

Benevolent Betrayal

Bilbo’s quiet midnight deed of bravery didn’t avert war altogether — goblins and wolves descended on the mountain shortly after, uniting dwarf, elf, man, and wizard. Nor did his actions go over smoothly with Thorin, who unraveled in rage and cast him out of the camp, warning him with violence to never show his face again.

As the Battle of the Five Armies comes to an end, though, and the eagles withdraw (evil having been soundly defeated again), Thorin lies seriously, fatally wounded. Before he dies, he calls for the hobbit.

There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. (290)

Bilbo had largely missed the great war, quickly vanishing behind his ring and then being knocked unconscious by a random, falling rock. With his parting words, Thorin wasn’t talking about fighting goblins and wolves; he was talking about a stone — about a benevolent betrayal. At the doorstep of death, he could now see just how free the hobbit was from the dwarf’s blinding lusts, and that he wisely prized what he could enjoy with others over anything he could have alone. After slaying his share of goblins and wolves, Thorin saw the wisdom and courage in a friend’s correction.

Yes, there may have been “more” at stake for Bilbo — dwarves and goblins and the fate of Middle Earth — but the lesson holds. Often the biggest, most dangerous dragons are the ones closer to home. The more unlikely courage is the courage to lovingly confront sin in those we love.

Wounds That Heal

Where do we see this kind of courageous confrontation in Scripture? We have striking examples of bold and loving correction — the apostle Paul confronting Peter, Nathan confronting King David, Jesus confronting his disciples. As I watched Bilbo hand over Thorin’s heart to the other side, though, my mind wandered to the apostle Paul’s second letter to a church whom he loved.

Despite his complicated and painful history with Corinth, we know Paul loved the believers there intensely. He says of them, “I feel a divine jealousy for you, since I betrothed you to one husband, to present you as a pure virgin to Christ” (2 Corinthians 11:2). As he watched some fall away from Christ, though, that intense love provoked an acute concern. Next verse: “But I am afraid that as the serpent deceived Eve by his cunning, your thoughts will be led astray from a sincere and pure devotion to Christ.” This fear led him to write a more severe letter of rebuke and warning (that we do not have). This was their Arkenstone moment. Later he says of that lost letter,

Even if I made you grieve with my letter, I do not regret it — though I did regret it, for I see that that letter grieved you, though only for a while. As it is, I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting. (2 Corinthians 7:8–9)

“Whom do you love enough to confront when necessary, even if it pains them?”

The letter clearly hurt to read. Almost all correction does, at least at first. Paul’s willingness to wound them, however, was not from a desire to harm them, but from a desire to heal them. “I wrote to you out of much affliction and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to cause you pain but to let you know the abundant love that I have for you” (2 Corinthians 2:4). Who loves you like that? Whom do you love enough to confront when necessary, even if it pains them?

Food and Cheer and Song

While some were grieved into repenting by Paul’s letter, the last four chapters of 2 Corinthians are a hard word for those who continued to reject and rebel against his message and ministry. He has unusually harsh words for those who won’t repent of their quarreling, jealousy, anger, and gossip:

I warned those who sinned before and all the others, and I warn them now while absent, as I did when present on my second visit, that if I come again I will not spare them. (2 Corinthians 12:20; 13:2)

Those who won’t turn from their sin will face discipline. A few verses later, he issues an even stronger warning:

I write these things while I am away from you, that when I come I may not have to be severe in my use of the authority that the Lord has given me for building up and not for tearing down. (2 Corinthians 13:10)

I don’t want to be severe, he says, but I will if I must. Because I love you, and want what’s best for you, I won’t tolerate sin in you. I’ll risk relational friction, and even separation, to rescue you from the fierce bonds of sin. What struck me recently, though, (and what echoes some of Thorin’s last words) are the very next verses:

Finally, brothers, rejoice. Aim for restoration, comfort one another, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you. Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the saints greet you. (2 Corinthians 13:11–13)

In other words, the purpose of all this severity is the felicity of fellowship — joy, restoration, comfort, unity, peace. Or in the kingly dwarf’s words, “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” Food and cheer and song represent countless things in life we enjoy together. The rewards of courageous confrontation, then, are the table of faith-filled fellowship, the laughter of serious joy, the glory of Christ-exalting worship.

The Greater Commendation

Now we can appreciate why Bilbo’s greatest courage was in carrying that rock and confronting a friend. Tolkien certainly seemed to think so, anyway. As Bilbo left the Arkenstone and began the long midnight walk back, not knowing yet whether he would lose his head for what he’d just done, “an old man, wrapped in a dark cloak” rose from his tent and stopped the hobbit.

“Well done! Mr. Baggins!” he said, clapping Bilbo on the back. “There is always more about you than anyone expects!” It was Gandalf. (274)

It’s at this point of the story — before the stubborn lust of Thorin, and not before the devastating fires of Smaug — where the hobbit receives his commendation.

Maybe God will call you to brave mountains and defy dragons in your lifetime. But he’ll almost certainly call you to give away an Arkenstone or two along the way — to boldly confront someone you love, to be willing to have hard, painful conversations behind the scenes, to call a wandering friend back into the joys of food and cheer and song again.

So, my fellow hobbit, is there a Thorin in your life right now who’s in grave need of your courage?

For a forgiven people, we can still be terribly bad at coping with our imperfection. I can be terribly bad at coping with the fact that, though redeemed, I am still deeply and pervasively imperfect.

My remaining imperfections regularly, even daily, disrupt and corrupt my thoughts, decisions, and conversations. How do you respond when you’re forced to see those same sins in the mirror again — the ones you have confessed, fought, and even overcome — only to have to rise, confess, and fight again? As God mapped out our narrow paths to glory, he chose that imperfection would be our constant (and unwanted) companion.

When I say imperfection, I’m not talking about unrepentant sin. “Whoever makes a practice of sinning is of the devil. . . . No one born of God makes a practice of sinning, for God’s seed abides in him; and he cannot keep on sinning, because he has been born of God” (1 John 3:8–9). Unrepentant sin should disturb us until we genuinely repent and receive mercy. It should unnerve us enough to keep us awake at night. It should ruin our mental health. God will not abide in any soul where sin still reigns.

He does, however, live in souls where sin remains. In fact, every person he chooses is still darkened by some imperfection. Our remaining sin is forgiven and expiring — the day we die will be the last day we sin — but our remaining sin is still very real, and powerful, and ugly. Almost unbearably ugly at times. How could this selfishness, or impatience, or lust, or laziness, or envy possibly still entangle me?

Because God has chosen, for now, that the forgiven still be imperfect.

Well Acquainted with Imperfection

So what does a godly life of imperfection look like?

The apostle Paul was aware of his own imperfection. “Not that I have already obtained this” — the resurrection of his glorified body — “or am already perfect. . . ” (Philippians 3:12). Even as an apostle, he was acutely aware of just how not-yet he was. He knew he was an unconditionally elected, irresistibly loved, blood-bought, Spirit-filled work-in-process. An unfinished apostle. Paul was fully aware that he was not yet what he would soon be.

He was aware of his imperfections, but not paralyzed by them. “Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own” (Philippians 3:12). He didn’t just sit back and wait for his resurrection to come, but pressed on to make it his own, from one degree of glory to another (2 Corinthians 3:18). Knowing that God would one day make him fully righteous at the resurrection, he was all the more hungry to grow in righteousness until that day. He worked out his salvation — he really, diligently worked, with fear and trembling — for he knew that God was at work — really at work — in him (Philippians 2:12–13).

Forgiveness, for Paul, was not an excuse to make peace with sin, but drove him further into war against sin. He didn’t see his imperfection as a reason to settle for less righteousness; he saw his imperfection as motivation for more righteousness — for more of Christ. And so he pressed on to have it, to have him.

Ambitious Imperfection

In the next two verses, the apostle draws us further into his earnest, focused, and imperfect pursuit of holiness:

Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. [I am not the glorified man I want to be.] But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:13–14)

What does he do in the face of all his many imperfections? He presses on. “Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on.” This is a picture of godly and ambitious imperfection in Christ — not clinging to a sense of self-righteousness or wallowing in the pit of self-pity, but pressing on to know more of Christ, to enjoy more of Christ, to live more like Christ.

To press on is unavoidably uncomfortable. It means meeting and overcoming resistance. The same word is used (in the same chapter) for persecution (Philippians 3:6). This pursuit of holiness is a steady, and at times aggressive, pursuit, a resilient pursuit, a determined pursuit. It’s not surprised by opposition or undone by setbacks. It’s a straining forward, he says. It keeps taking the next step toward godliness, even when the steps sometimes feel small or slow or sideways.

This resolve to press on is clarified and intensified by three life-changing mindsets — a disciplined forgetfulness, a focused longing, and an ambitious sense of security.

Disciplined Forgetfulness

We don’t often associate forgetfulness with faithfulness. Yet Paul says he presses on, “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead.” The word for forgetting is the same word used in Matthew 16, when the disciples forgot to bring bread on one of their trips with Jesus (Matthew 16:5). Paul’s forgetting, however, is no accident; it’s deliberate.

So what does Paul deliberately forget? Earlier in the chapter, he catalogues his proud attempts at self-righteousness, the ways he mocked God by trying to please God on his own (Philippians 3:5–6). He knows how sinful he once was: “I was a blasphemer, persecutor, and insolent opponent” (1 Timothy 1:13). But grace broke through his hardness, interrupted his defiance, and led him to Jesus (1 Timothy 1:13–15). So what would he do now with the evil he had done? He consciously leaves it behind.

Everyone forgiven by God carries the memories of awful, shameful sin. Our past apart from Christ, whatever past we have, is dark enough to make any of us despair. And Satan fights hard to see that it does. He’s an accuser by vocation (Revelation 12:10). He wants us to forget all that would lift and satisfy our souls — and to remember anything that makes us question God’s love for us. And we each give him plenty to work with.

To defy him, we have to learn to forget what God has forgiven — like the loaves of bread the disciples left behind. We can’t let the sins of our past, or even the sins we’re presently battling, keep us from stepping forward, by the Spirit, into greater obedience and faithfulness today.

Focused Longing

One way to forget the regrets that would undo us is to focus on what God has promised to those he has forgiven in Christ. “One thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

“The strength to endure imperfection comes from treasuring the one who died for our imperfection.”

What does lie ahead for the imperfect but forgiven? What is the prize of the upward call of God? The not-yet perfect apostle tells us earlier in the chapter, “I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Philippians 3:8). Knowing Jesus is the blazing fire under Paul’s persistent pursuit of holiness. Every other prize pales next to having him. Christ himself is the prize of the Christian life, the one reward worth all our obedience and sacrifice, our pearl of great price. The strength to endure imperfection comes from treasuring the one who died for our imperfection.

Can we not bear imperfection a little longer, and keep battling our remaining sin a little longer, if we know that at the end of our short, hard race here on earth is fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16:11) — a wreath that will always satisfy and never perish (1 Corinthians 9:24–25)?

Christ Made You His Own

A third life-changing mindset, and the most crucial, is hiding in verse 14: “I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Two verses earlier, he says, “I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.” The redeemed life of imperfection is a captured life of imperfection.

We can keep striving to lay hold of holiness only because we know that Holiness himself has laid hold of us — and he will never let go. If you belong to him, your imperfections are imperfections purchased and cleansed by the blood of Jesus. Any not-yet-ness you find in yourself is an opportunity to remember what he paid to make you his own — as you are, sins and all — and to remember that everything ugly about you, your sins and all, will one day be made whiter than snow and brighter than the sun.

“To be sure, you are not what you will be, but even as you are, Christ has made you his own.”

In the next verse, verse 15, the apostle writes, “Let those of us who are mature” — or “perfect,” same root word as in verse 12: “Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect” — “Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you” (Philippians 3:15). In other words, let those of you who are complete in Christ know you are incomplete. Let those of you who are mature know you are imperfect — and chosen, and bought, and captured, and loved. To be sure, you are not what you will be, but even as you are, Christ has made you his own.

So press through your imperfections into holiness, forgetting what lies behind and pressing forward toward all that lies ahead, so that you might experience and enjoy more of Jesus.

Audio Transcript

One of the great anxieties that parents face is the fear of what our own sins could do to corrupt our kids. It can be a paralyzing anxiety, one that has come up on the podcast in many different forms.

It’s the fear of those who believe in God’s judgment on generational sins, sins of the past being visited on future generations. More commonly, it’s the fear of young men and women born out of wedlock, or born into dysfunctional homes, who wonder if their past dooms their future family to a similar broken fate. It’s the fear of Christian parents of prodigals who are left wondering what they did to mess up their children so badly. It’s the fear of young men and women awakened to the potency of sin in their own hearts, and afraid to even have children because of what their own sins could do to corrupt those future kids. In each of these scenarios, we find the same haunting question lurking behind it all: Did my sin — or will my sin — ruin my child? In our new APJ book, you can see these scenarios on pages 192–93.

And the same question echoes in this heartbreaking email from a broken dad. He writes in anonymously. “Pastor John, my wife and I have four sons, ranging from twenty to eight. We recently found out our twenty- and fifteen-year-olds both claim to suffer from so-called ‘gender dysphoria.’ The twenty-year-old is walking with the Lord and knows it’s wrong, fighting his temptations, and trying to dwell in God for strength, and attends a solid, Bible-believing church. But he’s in college two hours away, and we are still worried for him.

“Our fifteen-year-old is not a believer. He’s in a public school, and we are now looking to move him to private Christian school and will continue to help support him. But he has been cold and not receptive. We have talked to our pastors and asked for prayer, but we feel so broken and so alone and so helpless in this season. What do we do to fight against the despair we face every day as failed parents? How did we fail them? Please help us, Pastor John. We are so torn and heartbroken.”

As I have thought and prayed more than usual about this question and this situation — which, of course, is multiplied ten thousandfold for Christian parents across the world — there are ten suggestions that I have for parents to consider (and I just say consider) when a child moves away from obedience to Jesus. It might be completely away; it might be partially away — whatever form it takes.

Here they are.

1. Grieve with hope.

Grieve deeply but not despairingly. Grieve while holding fast to the sovereign goodness and wisdom of God. Be like Job, who fell on the ground, tore his robe, shaved his head, no doubt wept his eyes out at the loss of his children, and said, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21). So, grieve deeply but not despairingly.

2. Look to the God of the impossible.

Do not assume while your child lives that he will not return to the path of obedience. “What is impossible with man” — and it surely seems impossible at times — “is possible with God” (Luke 18:27). Look to the God of the impossible.

3. Do not assume you’re decisively at fault.

Do not assume that your imperfections as a parent were decisive in causing this disobedience in your child. Don’t assume that. Read Ezekiel 18:1–32. I’ll sum it up:

Behold, all souls are mine; the soul of the father as well as the soul of the son is mine: the soul who sins shall die. If a righteous father begets a son who is violent, a shedder of blood, though the father himself has done none of these things, that son shall surely die. His blood shall be upon himself. The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, nor the father for the iniquity of the son.

The father shall not suffer, the mother shall not suffer, for the iniquity of the son. In other words, we cannot draw a straight line from our own parenting to our children’s sin or righteousness. The refrain running through the Bible is that failing parents can have good children, and good parents can have failing children. So, repent of all remembered sin, but don’t assume that was the decisive cause of your child’s disobedience.

4. Love your children on God’s terms.

Resolve to love your children on God’s terms, not the world’s terms. That is, love them with a readiness to sacrifice your life while standing for what God calls right and what God calls true, not what the world calls right and true. The effort to be loving by forsaking God’s way of truth and righteousness — which many are trying to do today — is to fail in love. “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free,” Jesus said in John 8:32. God’s truth is the path to love.

5. Speak truth to your child.

Whether in person or in letters or emails, speak truth to your child. Tell them what you believe, why you believe it, and why you believe it’s the path of love. Do not withdraw into self-pity or anger. Lean in with truth; speak to them. Once this is done, then wait. Don’t nag — don’t harass — but be sure you have spoken to them the fullness of the truth you believe is the path of love.

6. Communicate your love.

Communicate your love — the love that is willing and ready to go anywhere, do anything, at any cost to your life for the sake of the life of your children. Now, they may think that the truth you embrace cannot be loving because it does not affirm them in their sin, but they know in their heart when you are ready to give your life for them and that you are not selfish. They know. Your commitment to the Bible has made you ready to die for the good of others, especially your children. Communicate that readiness to them.

7. Pray without ceasing.

Pray without ceasing in the confidence that God is sovereign and merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love. And gather some friends — whether in person or in other ways — and join in prayer for each other’s children. Trust God as you pray that he will give good things to those who ask him, because that’s what it says in Matthew 7:11: “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” Expect him to give good things as you pray.

8. Discern how often to address the issue.

Measure — with prayerful, Bible-saturated wisdom — how often to address the issue with your child. I said a moment ago, “Don’t nag — don’t harass.” Some will be utterly closed to any communication. That’s tragic, but it’s real. So, rarely intrude where you have been forbidden. (Rarely — I didn’t say never.) Others will be more open. God will give you discernment. That’s what I trust. God will give you discernment — “wisdom from above,” as James calls it in James 3:17.

Sometimes you will just send a note of affection. “I love you.” That’s the text: “I love you.” Sometimes notes mentioning something precious about the Lord Jesus that you just read in your devotions. Maybe, “As a father pities his children, so the Lord pities those who fear Him” (Psalm 103:13 NKJV). You just say that. Sometimes the note will simply say, “Just thinking about you today.” That’s all.

9. Make the central gospel plain.

Periodically, make the simple, central gospel plain to the distant prodigal — the child who’s moving away. Make the central gospel plain. In other words, from time to time — God will make it plain how often (Once a year? Once every six months?) — remind them there’s always a way out, a way home to God and to you, because there may come a point when they want out.

They want out of their disobedience, but Satan is blinding them to any hope that it could happen, telling them there’s no way out; there’s no way back. And they may need help remembering what they once knew so well and has become cloudy. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9).

10. Press on with indomitable joy.

Press on with your ordinary life with brokenhearted but indomitable joy, and deny Satan the triumph of paralyzing you in your path of righteousness because of your child’s path of unrighteousness. Satan would love to take out two people with one bullet. Deny him that.

Yes, your child needs to see that you are not blithely indifferent to his disobedience. But just as important, he needs to see that Jesus is your supreme treasure and that the solar system of your life does not revolve around your child. He is not the sun in your solar system. Christ is. He doesn’t need you falling apart, retreating in self-pity, pouting. That’s not helpful. He needs you weak and triumphant in Christ.

Tidal Wave of Grace

Now, there are so many other things besides these ten things to say. When I finished them, I just kept thinking of others. We have to stop. But these are the thoughts that come to me just now as I was praying and preparing for this. So, let’s pray for each other, and may the Lord bring the day when there is a tidal wave of grace that sweeps thousands of precious prodigals into the arms of their parents and of the Lord Jesus.