http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15869022/why-do-we-thank-god-for-our-faith

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

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

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

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

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

Redeemed for Reverence

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

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

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

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

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

Alive to God’s Reality

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

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

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

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

Housekeeping of the Heart

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

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

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

Road to Reverence

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

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

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

“Embroiled in petty priorities.” It was a devasting observation, and I resonated with it.

I came across these words recently from an evangelical statesman saddened to watch some Christians “responding with increasing nationalism, sometimes with almost frightening ethnocentrism.” They are “caught up in a flag-waving nationalism,” he said, “that puts the interests of my nation or my class or my race or my tribe or my heritage above the demands of the kingdom of God.”

His tone was hopeful, even as he spoke with seriousness about those who had “become embroiled with petty priorities” — trivialities, he said, “that constitute an implicit denial of the lordship of Christ.”

Most surprising of all to me was that these words had been written more than thirty years ago.

‘World Christians’

That evangelical leader is Don Carson, and he was writing in the early 90s. In the final chapter of The Cross and Christian Ministry (1993), he sounds a call for “world Christians,” that is, genuine believers in Jesus who

(1) self-consciously set their allegiance to Christ and his kingdom “above all national, cultural, linguistic, and racial allegiances,”

(2) commit themselves “to the church everywhere, wherever the church is truly manifest, and not only to its manifestation on home turf,”

(3) see themselves “first and foremost as citizens of the heavenly kingdom and therefore consider all other citizenship a secondary matter,” and

(4) are “single-minded and sacrificial when it comes to the paramount mandate to evangelize and make disciples” (116–117).

I first read Carson’s words about ten years after their publication, but now, another two decades later, they feel even more prescient. The need remains. Seasons of flag-waving come and go, but the New Testament vision of world Christians endures.

How might we, then, evaluate ourselves and whether we are such “world Christians”? Has our world’s course and patterns and “cultural moments” dulled the global scope and Great-Commission interests of our faith? How might we freshly check our own souls — particularly in the hype of an election year — whether we are world Christians or worldly ones?

The New Testament’s key texts on heavenly citizenship come from three different epistles and authors: Paul to the Philippians, the first letter of Peter, and the epistle to the Hebrews. To linger over these key texts, let’s ask four questions to gauge if our sense of heavenly citizenship is alive and well.

1. How singular is my citizenship?

First comes a question about identity and primacy. Sometimes we hear the language of “dual citizenship” — that Christians, in this life, are both citizens of heaven and citizens of our earthly nation. At one level, of course, this is true. Our various earthly citizenships are real and consequential, and so too, if we are in Christ, and have his Spirit, we are truly citizens of heaven as well. For that, the go-to banner is Philippians 3:20: “Our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.”

At another level, however, the “dual citizenship” language can be misleading. “Dual” might give the impression of equal priority and weight. But for the relative importance of these citizenships, try this: evaluate the significance of earthly alongside heavenly, and of momentary alongside eternal. Philippians 3:20 says nothing about duality of citizenship. It mentions but one citizenship: heaven’s. Paul does not pause to emphasize that Philippian believers are Roman citizens as well, with all the attendant rights and duties of that citizenship. Rather, the apostle dares to declare to believers in Jesus, living in the Roman colony of Philippi, “our citizenship is in heaven,” with no qualifications about their earthly status besides.

“Our life-orienting allegiance is not to an earthly fatherland but to our heavenly Father — and to his Son, at whose name every knee will bow.”

And if so with Roman citizenship two millennia ago, then so too for whatever earthly citizenry we find ourselves born or received into today. If we are in Christ, our most fundamental identity and allegiance is to Jesus and his church, far above and beyond any earthly nation. Our citizenships are starkly asymmetrical. In light of eternity and the preciousness of Christ, we are Christians first, and a thousand times Christians, before we are Americans or Canadians or Filipinos. World Christians, Carson writes, see themselves “first and foremost as citizens of the heavenly kingdom and therefore consider all other citizenship a secondary matter.”

In Christ, our life-orienting allegiance is not to an earthly fatherland but to our heavenly Father — and to his Son, at whose name every knee will bow, beginning with ours.

2. What’s my default perspective?

Second comes a question about recurring perspective. We might say, Do you intentionally and regularly reset your mind and heart to the values and interests of heaven or of earth? And where does your soul habitually default?

In contrast to the citizens of heaven, Philippians 3:19 says this about earthly citizens: “Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things.” It’s one thing to deal with “earthly things.” We all live in this world and unavoidably engage with the things of earth. But it’s another thing to set our minds on earthly things, to default to them, to reset and recalibrate our energy and attention over and over again to the world’s standards and priorities and interests, rather than heaven’s.

In similar language, Colossians 3:2 says, “Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” The question isn’t whether “earthly things” come into our daily purview, and indeed occupy, in various degrees, much of our waking hours. The question is perspective and mindset. Do we engage the countless things of earth with heaven’s vantage and values? Do we reset and return to Christ’s own perspective through rhythms of hearing his voice in his word, having his ear in prayer, and belonging to his body in the covenant fellowship of the local church? Or do we default to news and politics, ESPN, the market, the weather, the latest obscure digital updates on the lives of friends and family?

However earthy our lives and callings, in Christ we “seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God” (Colossians 3:1). With our eyes regularly glancing upward, we actually will be more effective and fruitful down here, navigating life with heavenly wisdom and proper perspective, rather than being swallowed up in petty priorities. Those concerned most about God’s global cause will do the most and best at home. Hearts in tune with the Great Commission will make us far more effective, not less, in our local context.

3. Do I profess (and practice) a ‘stranger’ status?

Some are strangers and don’t know it. Others know it but try to hide it. In the great faith “hall of fame” chapter, Hebrews 11, the author speaks of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Jacob, and all the pre-Christ examples of faith, saying,

These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. (Hebrews 11:13–14)

Not only were they “strangers and exiles,” but they acknowledged it. How so? Not simply in their own hearts, but they said it out loud (“people who speak thus”). They were not heaven’s citizens in camouflage, living and looking just like their fellow earthly citizens. Rather, they were different to the core, knew it, owned it, lived it, and said it.

So, ask yourself, Am I a stranger here on earth in any real senses, and am I willing and eager to make that known? Do others know that I’m different than the rank and file, and how do they know that? To draw in 1 Peter, do I, as a sojourner and exile here, abstain from the passions of the flesh that wage war against my soul, and is my conduct in the world honorable, so that even those who speak against me see the genuine good I do (1 Peter 2:11–12)?

4. Where, really, is the source of my hope?

Sadly, some profess Christian faith, yet manifestly find their day-in, day-out animating hope elsewhere. This gets to the heart of Carson’s concern thirty years ago, and the ongoing need in our day.

This world is clearly no utopia. We all long for change, but where, really, do we look for that change? What or who will bring about the changes we ache for? At bottom, what is our heart’s driving hope for the changes we so desperately need in our own lives and in our world?

Healthy humans can’t help but hope — whether it’s politics and parties, human intellect and progress, wealth and riches, work or escape from work, we hope in something, or someone. The question is whether your hope, my hope, is a distinctively Christian hope or just a small variation on the world’s unbelieving dreams.

For Christians, Hebrews 13:14 says, “Here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.” That city to come is “the heavenly Jerusalem,” “the city of the living God” (Hebrews 12:22), made not with human hands but the hands of God himself (2 Corinthians 5:1), and prepared by Christ (John 14:2–3). In the end, this holy city, the new Jerusalem, will come “down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband” (Revelation 21:2).

With this city in view, we are dissatisfied with any and every mere human nation. We “desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one,” knowing our God “has prepared for [us] a city” (Hebrews 11:16). And from that city, the citizens of heaven await our Savior (Philippians 3:20). This is our primary identity, our default perspective, our glad profession, and our orienting hope as world Christians not “embroiled in petty priorities.”