Audio Transcript

God is all-sovereign, all-powerful. And he is all-happy in himself. He lacks nothing. And he wants things from us. So, does he need us or need what we can give him? Matthew is trying to put these pieces together in his email to us today. “Pastor John, hello and thank you for your ministry,” Matthew writes. “Early in your wonderful book Providence, on page 43, you talk about how God has full glory. We don’t give him any glory he doesn’t inherently possess already. What God creates is never essential to God. That seems to be the point of Acts 17:25. So, we ascribe glory to God, ‘the only God,’ and we ascribe that glory to him ‘before all time’ — before creation even existed (Jude 25).

Considering this, does this mean if we glorify God by enjoying him, we can say that he created us not because he needed anything from us, but that he created us solely to share in his delight of delighting in himself? In other words, God’s self-delight in himself seems to have nothing to do with his neediness, but it is the greatest gift conceivable to the creation! That God is self-sufficiently happy, in himself, is the best news in the world for us to hear. Am I following your line of thought here? If so . . . wow!”

Wow, indeed. And Matthew is following me.

God is self-sufficiently happy in himself.
God created us not because he needed anything from us. He has no needs, no deficiencies.
He created us so that we would share in the delight that he has in himself.

On those three points, he’s tracking perfectly with what I think and what I believe the Bible teaches. As Jonathan Edwards put it, “It is no deficiency in a fountain that it is prone to overflow.” But what Matthew is really following here is not so much me as the Bible. So, let me try to sum that up.

Self-Sufficient God

We read in the Bible that God the Father says he loves the Son with pleasure. “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). God the Father takes pleasure in God the Son. And in John 14:31, the Son says, “I love the Father.” So, in the fellowship of the Trinity, there is an eternal mutual love — not the kind of love (this is so important to get) that loves in spite of defects, the way God loves us, but the kind of love that is only delight. The Father and the Son find in each other the totally satisfying reality of a perfect, all-glorious God.

“The eternal happiness of God in God is the foundation of our eternal happiness in him.”

In 1 Timothy 1:11, Paul refers to the glory of our happy God: makariou theou, “blessed God.” It’s not the kind of blessedness that is translated “praise” or “honor,” but rather “happy,” the same as in the Beatitudes — the “happy God.” It belongs to God’s nature from eternity to be perfectly happy in the fellowship of the Trinity. That’s the foundation of saying he has no needs. He did not create us to meet any needs or to make up for any deficiencies.

Act 17:25 says, “[God] is [not] served by human hands, as though he needed anything [How clear can that be? He doesn’t need anything], since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.” Mark 10:45 says that the Son of Man did not come into the world to recruit servants to meet his needs. “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

And Psalm 50:12–15 says,

If I were hungry [God says], I would not tell you,     for the world and its fullness are mine.Do I eat the flesh of bulls     or drink the blood of goats?Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving,     and perform your vows to the Most High,and call upon me in the day of trouble;     I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.

That’s the glorious dynamic of God’s self-sufficiency. Did we notice, as we heard Psalm 50, that in that text (and in Acts 17:25 and in Mark 10:45) the effect is such good news? The effect of God having no needs — that is, being self-sufficient — is the basis of his meeting our needs. That’s the glory of talking about this.

In other words, God’s self-sufficiency is the basis of grace, the overflow of grace, which is why Paul says in Ephesians 1 that everything is done to the praise of the glory of his grace (Ephesians 1:6, 12, 14). Because grace is the apex. It’s the highest point of God’s God-ness. He spills over. His self-sufficiency is the basis of his grace, his love.

Glorifying by Enjoying

Now, I think we need to just pause and let that sink in, Tony, because I think a lot of people hear us — you, me, Desiring God — talk about God’s self-sufficiency, and they feel like we’re dealing in some high-level, obscure, irrelevant, theological speculation about the nature of God that has no bearing on our daily lives. Good night! How absolutely wrong is that?

When the Bible speaks of God’s infinite, ultimate self-sufficiency, it ties it together with God’s being a generous, gracious, overflowing, need-meeting God. So, in Acts 17:25, the fact that God is not “served by human hands, as though he needed anything” leads to this: “He himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.” And in Mark 10:45, the fact that “the Son of Man came not to be served” leads to this: “[Instead, he came] to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” And in Psalm 50:15, the fact that God doesn’t need to be fed by anybody else leads to this: “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you.” And that next phrase in Psalm 50:15 ties it together with the glory of God. It says, “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.”

In other words, the giver gets the glory. The one who meets the needs of others gets the glory because it shows his overflowing fullness. When Isaiah 43:7 says that God created us for his glory, it means God created as the overflow of his fullness, the overflow of his greatness, his beauty, his worth (we call it his glory), so that his glory would be our all-satisfying treasure. That’s how you glorify an infinitely valuable treasure: by treasuring it, by treasuring it above everything else, by being satisfied in his self-giving revelation above everything else.

God did not create to become glorious. He created to share his glory for the enjoyment of his creatures. And wonder of wonders, our enjoyment of the all-glorious God is the very means by which his glory shines most brightly in the creation. The eternal happiness of God in God is the foundation of our eternal happiness in him. And our supreme happiness in God is the seal that we put on the supreme worth of God’s glory, which is why we never tire of saying that God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him.

When it comes to confessing our sins, many Christians fall into one of two errors — both of which steal joy, disrupt peace, and undermine assurance.

On one side are those we might call non-confessors, Christians who rarely confess specific sins to God. Maybe the reason is theological: “Christ has already covered all my sins, so why keep confessing them?” Or maybe, having a thin grasp of grace, they cannot endure the exposure and shame confession brings. Or maybe they simply don’t take the time to pause, examine themselves, and bring their sins before God. Either way, they seldom say anything like, “Father, I have lusted” — or gossiped, envied, overeaten, fumed — “and I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

On the other side (a side I know well) are those we might call repeat confessors, Christians who bring the same moment again and again before God, repeatedly asking for forgiveness. They sin, they feel conviction, they confess — yet they still feel unforgiven. So, they confess again a little later, and then again, perhaps three or four (or more) times, just to be safe and sure. As often as not, however, their repeated confessions do little to blunt the sharp blade of conviction. Their guilt is a demon only time can cast out.

To both kinds of Christians, Psalm 32 speaks a needed and blessed word. “Confess,” it says to the first group, “and receive again the gift of God’s pardon.” “Confess once,” it says to the second group, “and listen for the shouts of God’s mercy.”

Following the psalm, we might describe healthy confession in four parts: Heed God’s hand. Name your sins. Receive God’s forgiveness. Be glad in him.

1. Heed God’s Hand

Day and night your hand was heavy upon me. (Psalm 32:4)

Psalm 32 sings of sins forgiven and guilt forgotten, of a King who reigns in grace and welcomes sinners with favor. But early in the psalm, David also laments the sorrows of those who, for whatever reason, refuse to walk through the only door that leads to such joys: confession. Looking back to his own season of unconfessed sin, David writes, “I kept silent” (Psalm 32:3). And what a miserable silence it was.

David doesn’t share his specific sin with us, nor does he say how long his silence lasted. But he does tell us that his unconfessed sin began sabotaging both soul and body, turning his bones brittle and sapping his strength, dogging him by day and lying down with him at night (Psalm 32:3–4). The Lord’s hand lay heavy upon him.

You likely know something of the feeling. A shameful comment escapes your mouth, maybe, or a twisted thought tempts you into dark places, or a session of scrolling sends you spiraling into jealousy or self-pity. For an hour, a few minutes, even a moment, you turn away from your God. Then guilt rises — but you immediately smother the feeling. No, you say to yourself, that wasn’t sin. Or maybe Yes, it was sin, but let’s just move on. But you can’t move on. Time passes. Conscience presses. Attention fails. Sleep flees. “Your hand was heavy upon me” (Psalm 32:4).

And then you remember: this hand, this heaviness, is mercy. Your offended God has not left you alone, has not handed you over and allowed sin to sear your conscience. He disturbs you because he loves you. He disrupts your peace to remind you of your disrupted communion with him — and to invite you back. He calls you to confess.

“Confession is God’s own gift for restoring communion with God.”

Some, to be sure, suffer from an overactive conscience that smites them when God does not. For such Christians, distinguishing between God’s hand and their own hand (or Satan’s hand, for that matter) takes wisdom and counsel from others. But many of us, especially those who confess sin less often, can learn from David to heed God’s hand, however lightly or heavily it rests upon us. And we can let that hand lead us to what David does next.

2. Name Your Sins

I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” (Psalm 32:5)

David may have remained silent in his sin for far too long, but once he opens his mouth, he does not hold back. In a single verse, David uses three groups of three to press upon us the honesty and earnestness of his confession.

Note, first, the threefold repetition of my: “my sin . . . my iniquity . . . my transgressions.” Whatever the extenuating circumstances, and whoever else may have been guilty as well, David knows that his sins are his, and so he owns them without excuse. In an echo of Nathan’s rebuke, he says before God, “I am the man” (2 Samuel 12:7).

Second, consider the three words he attaches to his deeply personal guilt: sin, iniquity, and transgressions. David would not (as we so often do) call sexual immorality “stumbling,” or hatred “irritation,” or lies “mistakes.” He takes biblical words upon his lips and names his guilt as God does. Many have described confession as agreeing with God about our sin — and so David does here. Each word is blunt, humbling, unvarnished, and true.

Third, observe the three ways David describes his speech toward God: “I acknowledged . . . I did not cover . . . I will confess.” He does not mumble his “I’m sorry”; he does not address God distractedly. Instead, he fully, freely, and thoughtfully exposes his heart before God.

A confession like David’s might be short or long; it might take many words or few. The specifics will depend, in part, on the severity of our sin and the length of our silence. But whether short or long, the key is to look our sin full in the face and confess its ugliness outright. David deals seriously with his sin here. And he discovers, as Charles Spurgeon once said, “When we deal seriously with our sin, God will deal gently with us.”

3. Receive God’s Forgiveness

You forgave the iniquity of my sin. (Psalm 32:5)

David has now confessed. He has ended his stubborn silence, bowed his weary head, and named his sins before God. And then, into the quiet of his confession comes a response as stunning as it is simple: “You forgave.” God forgave — just like that? Just like that the heavy hand was lifted? Yes, just like that. David may have waited to confess; God did not wait to forgive.

We know from David’s other psalms (like Psalm 51) that some time may pass before we feel fully forgiven. We also know from David’s life that God’s forgiveness does not always remove deeply painful consequences (as with Bathsheba and Uriah). But in this psalm, David would have us remember and embrace the promise almost too wonderful to be true: God is ready to forgive as quickly as we confess. He needs no long penance; he requires no probation. Our confession and his pardon belong in the very same verse (Psalm 32:5).

The brief end of verse 5 — “you forgave the iniquity of my sin” — pithily stresses the point. But for those prone to linger in guilt even after earnest, open confession, David captures God’s forgiveness from several other angles as well. Indeed, as varied as Scripture is in its vocabulary of human evil (sin, iniquity, transgressions, and more), we find just as many descriptions of divine mercy.

“David may have waited to confess; God did not wait to forgive.”

If we feel burdened, heavy laden with guilt, he forgives (a word that means “to carry away”). If our sin seems to stand boldly before us, he covers it (Psalm 32:1). If we cannot forget our former failures, he pledges not to count them as we do (Psalm 32:2). When we feel exposed, he is our hiding place; when endangered, he preserves us; when besieged with accusations, he surrounds us with shouts of deliverance (Psalm 32:7).

We have no guilt for which God has not a corresponding grace. For in Jesus Christ (the Messiah David hoped in but didn’t yet know by name), God has forever out-mercied our sin.

4. Be Glad in Him

Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart! (Psalm 32:11)

David, freshly forgiven, ends his psalm with a shout of joy. And anyone who has felt deep guilt wiped clean can understand why: the forgiveness of sin brings a greater freedom than any prisoner has felt upon release, even if confined for life. Yet consider David’s final line closely, and you will see that his highest joy comes from something even greater than forgiveness.

A forgiven husband rejoices not simply in the absence of guilt but in the restored presence of his wife. A forgiven friend gives thanks not only for those words, “I forgive you,” but for the ensuing days of lost friendship found. And a forgiven Christian sings not merely of a clean conscience but of a reconciled God. We are “glad,” David says — in forgiveness, yes, but far more deeply “in the Lord” (Psalm 32:11).

Confession, in other words, is God’s own gift for restoring communion with God. Confession is a doorway out of misery, the prodigal’s path home, a river that looks black as death but lifts us onto brighter shores.

If we believe as much, then we will quickly heed the hand of God that bends us to our knees. We will name our sins, starkly and thoughtfully and without excuse. We will receive God’s forgiveness, believing him to be as good as he says and as kind as he promises. And we will be glad in him, the God who condemned our sin at the cross and now delights to cast it from us as far as east from west.

Jesus did not come into this world to save isolated individuals scattered here and there. He came to gather to himself a new community — a new kind of community, a beautiful community, set apart by God’s grace, here in a world driven by idolatry and seething with rage.

Of course, Christianity is more than communal. It’s also personal. For example, in Psalm 23, David uses the first-person singular pronouns I, me, and my seventeen times in six verses. And Psalm 23 never uses we, us, and our. But who would accuse David of having written a narcissistic psalm? The gospel rightly leads us into a personal relationship with Jesus, for his glory, our salvation, and the good of others. If our Christianity is not deeply personal, then it is nominal, which is unreal and no good to anyone.

“Jesus is enough to pull people closer together than we would ever be without him.”

But what I’m emphasizing in this article is this: original, apostolic, authentic Christianity is, in the wisdom of God, richly communal. Our relational solidarity together is not an optional frill for extroverts. How dare we trivialize what Christ values? “Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (Ephesians 5:25). It’s our overt love for one another that makes him more visible in the world today (John 13:34–35). Jesus is enough to pull us closer together than we would ever be without him.

The Communion of Saints

The New Testament repeats and deepens this emphasis. We are “joined together” as “a holy temple” in the Lord, “being built together into a dwelling place for God” (Ephesians 2:21–22). Together we embody his kingdom counterculture, a radiant “city set on a hill” (Matthew 5:3–14). We are like the parts of a human body, vitally interconnected (1 Corinthians 12:12–13). I could go on and on.

No wonder, then, that the Apostles’ Creed teaches us to declare, as essential to Christian orthodoxy, “I believe in the holy catholic church, the communion of saints.” If we are not pressing more deeply into this sacred reality together, then our Christianity is not just deficient; it is defective.

Sometimes I wonder about us. What keeps our generation of serious-minded, Reformed Christians from a more life-giving experience of community? Does our wonder stop at the familiar doctrines we keep returning to? Maybe it’s just me, but the relational vitality of real Christianity seems underdeveloped among us. Where are the Calvinists who are known for prizing and nurturing and guarding and enjoying and spreading the relational glories of our shared life in Christ?

Are lasting, deep, and honest friendships included in what we really, really care about? Good preaching, yes. But beautiful community? I don’t know a single Christian anywhere opposed to it. But then I wonder why we often seem to be busier with other concerns.

God Is More Glorified in Us

The central theme of Christian Hedonism is wonderfully stated with words many of us know and respect: “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him.” So many of us embrace that vision, and we rejoice deeply in it.

“Christian Hedonism shines most brightly when it not only fills one heart but a whole room.”

But at a practical level, how does that bold conviction work best? We gain an insight when we focus on two words in there: us and we. Obviously, we wouldn’t be wrong to say, “God is most glorified in me when I am most satisfied in him.” But there is wisdom in articulating Christian Hedonism in terms of us and we. Consistent with the whole of authentic Christianity, Christian Hedonism shines most brightly when it fills not just one heart but a whole room.

Yes, delight in the Lord can be seen in me or in you as individuals. But it is seen more captivatingly in us together. When Christ is visible not only in you, and not only in me, but also in the relational dynamics between you and me, then we are more prophetic. Then we might compel the attention of our generation.

Where Weakness Belongs

Personally, I can’t imagine trying to walk this earthly path to glory except shoulder to shoulder with other fainthearted, weak-kneed stumblers like me. Here’s why. Sooner or later, we all discover that our hearts can go insane with impulses opposite to the gospel we revere.

And it isn’t preaching and books and articles alone that get us back on track. We need those helps, for sure. But a big part of our own theology is pointing us, over and over, toward the life and walk we can share together. How wonderful! It is so great not to be alone in our weakness and failures. God has mercifully located us in among his people, where aspiring Christian Hedonists who are sometimes lousy at Christian Hedonism still belong. Christian Hedonism doesn’t exist to keep the weak out; it exists to draw more sinners in — and keep them in, and keep them growing, by keeping them encouraged.

Here then is how all of us can grow. We come together, thanks to our God-given, grace-sustained belonging. We take it on faith, and we come on in. Then, again thanks to God’s grace, we dare to face our weakness. We dare to walk together in courageous honesty. Abstract ideals cannot help us, no matter how admirable they might be. But consistent honesty about our actual shortcomings does help.

Who Hears Your Confessions?

How do we start moving into that kind of community? James 5:16 leaps off the biblical page as a realistic path forward: “Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” That simple command raises a personal, practical question: To whom do I confess my sins?

Of course, if you and I are always fully glorifying God by being fully satisfied in him, then we don’t need James 5:16. But we do need it. We love Jesus, we delight in him, we long for him. He has won our hearts, way down deep. But sadly, we get complicated. Sometimes we get bored and “blah” with him, or restless to run from him, or proudly resentful toward him, and so forth. So much foolishness, so many contradictions, within! We are serious sinners. We are deeply flawed. We are pervasively weak. Aren’t we?

That is a big part of the reason Jesus put us in his church, where we’re all serious sinners, deeply flawed, pervasively weak. Let’s get real about it together, with concrete specifics, among the people we belong to in our own churches.

That We May Be Healed

I respect the realism of Martin Luther:

May a merciful God preserve me from a Christian Church in which everyone is a saint! I want to be and remain in the church and little flock of the fainthearted, the feeble and the ailing, who feel and recognize the wretchedness of their sins, who sigh and cry to God incessantly for comfort and help, who believe in the forgiveness of sins. (Luther’s Works, 22:55)

With Luther, we long for saintliness. But he understood that true saintliness gets traction in the fellowship of sinners who come out of hiding and start confessing. They live in James 5:16. It isn’t rocket science. It’s basically simple. We confess, we pray, and we start healing.
What chance does the holiness of Christian Hedonism have, then, if we hide our private failings while waving a public banner of theological correctness? Our own private willpower fails us. We need to get together, in our churches and small groups, and, with no coercion or shaming, come clean about how we aren’t living faithfully.

Then we can bow together. We can pray for one another. And the promise of Scripture is that we will experience healing, renewal, and joy, all to the glory of God.