longing transforms obedience.

I spend time every Sunday afternoon talking about the Bible with a handful of sixth grade girls.  It's been really helpful and challenging to think through how to present hard concepts in a way that will make sense to the girls without watering things down.  Every week the Lord's been exposing my own lack of understanding in the things I'm preparing to share with them, using it to instruct my heart as well.

A few weeks ago, the topic was sanctification.  The most helpful definition I found was Wayne Grudem's: Sanctification is a progressive work of God and man that makes us more and more free from sin and like Christ in our actual lives.

In other words, believers play an active role in the sanctification process.  Though the cross was a free work of grace on our behalf, and salvation comes about when the Spirit draws us (because we cannot see the loveliness or necessity of the cross unless he opens our eyes to it), sanctification is a progressive work of God and man.    We see this in verses like Philippians 2:12-13, "...work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for God is at work in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure,"  or Romans 8:13, "...if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live."

Of course, putting our sinful deeds to death is only possible because the Holy Spirit dwells within us, but there is still an element of responsibility-- of activity-- there that is undeniable.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately.  In myself I still see so much unfaithfulness and disobedience to God, starting with a daily struggle to spend time with Him.  I've sought better systems of time management, tried harder to value the things of God over shallow distractions, and still come up hopelessly short.  So I often throw out the discipline and decide just to wait around for things to be different-- to want to want Him more.  As if not pursuing God will somehow lead to loving him more.  It's a good thing God is so gracious, because my thoughts are pretty foolish A LOT of the time.

Here's what he's been reminding me: though actively fighting for sanctification is difficult, and though I will struggle against fleshly desires until the day that I die, God is so unbelievably good.  He has designed you and I for union with Himself.  And when we do pursue faithful obedience to Him, He changes our desires-- "longing transforms obedience" (C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory)-- so that what was once difficult or even drudgery instead becomes delight.  And God is glorified when I am satisfied in Him.  Isn't this a beautiful truth?

So I will continue to fight (with the help of the Spirit and the encouragement of other believers) for sanctification-- for self-discipline, knowing that the Lord's beauty shines forth when I learn to long for more of Him.

beware of introspection.

I've grown up in a culture that celebrates "finding yourself" and "knowing yourself", "self-help" and becoming  "self-aware" or "self-actualized".  I've noticed that Christianity isn't always quick to separate from these popular ideals, because, frankly, we are pretty fond of ourselves.  We like it when things are about us.  Right?  Introspection has been one category of self-love that I've been learning a lot about lately.

I was sitting in class the other night and my professor was discussing heart worship.  He was explaining the various ways we deceive ourselves into thinking the various lusts of our hearts aren't really so bad (avoiding the use of words like "lusts", for instance- instead, "misplaced priorities" or "bad habits").  He made a passing comment-- beware of introspection; and cited it to Martin Lloyd-Jones.  My ears perked up at the phrase and all at once I was instinctively curious and confused-- Wait. Introspection is a bad thing?  Because I'm pretty sure that is a frequent inner reality for me.

So I found the original quotation:
"I suggest that we cross the line from self-examination to introspection when, in a sense, we do nothing but examine ourselves, and when such self-examination becomes the main and chief end of our life.  We are meant to examine ourselves periodically, but if we are always doing it, always, as it were, putting our soul on a plate and dissecting it, that is introspection.  And if we are always talking to people about ourselves and our problems and troubles, and if we are forever going to them with that kind of frown upon our face saying: I am in great difficulty- it probably means that we are all the time centered upon ourselves.  That is introspection..." -Martin Lloyd-Jones, Spiritual Depression

For the last few weeks in particular, I've spent a lot of time inside my own head, analyzing and over-analyzing my own thoughts, behaviors and motivations.  I've been incredibly discouraged, because I am (surprise!) pretty screwed up and sinful.  Then I read these words from Lloyd-Jones, and I realized that I haven't been self-examining at all.  I've given in to blatant introspection, and my thoughts have been completely centered on myself.

How can I tell the difference?  Because it didn't lead to repentance.  It wasn't rooted in my understanding of a holy God that I can never measure up to and desperately need grace from to change, just to more thoughts about me and my own inadequacy.  Because it was condemning-- it didn't point me to the goodness and grace of Christ and his saving work on the cross.  Because it didn't draw me away from me, but further into me.

"For godly grief [over sin] produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death." -2 Corinthians 7:10

Lord, help me by your Spirit to seek repentance-producing, godly grief that honors you and your saving and sanctifying work in me.  Give me the strength and discernment to fight the entanglement of my own fleshly, introspective, worldly grief.

morning.

"Compassionate Lord,
Thy mercies have brought me the dawn of another day,
Vain will be its gift unless I grow in grace,
increase in knowledge,
ripen for spiritual harvest.
Let me this day know thee as thou art,
love thee supremely,
serve thee wholly,
admire thee fully.
Through grace let my will respond to thee,
Knowing that power to obey is not in me, but
that thy free love alone enables me to serve thee."

-puritan prayer, The Valley of Vision

on forgetting.

I'm realizing more and more that I definitely picked the right name for this blog.  There are plenty of things I don't forget-- song lyrics dating back to the late 90's/early 2000's, where Mark left his phone/keys/wallet, etc. last, where I'm supposed to be at any given time (I don't keep a planner!), specific (and even sometimes obscure) details that people have shared with me about themselves/their lives... the list goes on.

However, the things I do seem to forget are the ones that ought to be most planted in my heart.  And sometimes, I find there are things that I am even willing myself to forget.

I'm realizing that I have fallen into a very dangerous habit of deciding heartbreak isn't worth the trouble.  Let me explain- there are a few people in my life who I care about very deeply who do not know Christ.  Not only do they not know him, but they have no desire to know him- they are hostile toward even the idea of God.

For the last few years, this reality has been very difficult for me to deal with.  So for a long time, I did the only thing I could think of- I ran to the Lord and asked him to change their hearts, to draw near to them, to reveal himself to them.  I was in anguish over their souls.  I hurt for them and cried and looked to God's Word and clung to Christ.

But, more recently, I've been doing something else entirely.  Instead of seeing their hurts and their sin and their brokenness, and instead of pleading with the Lord to intervene in their hearts, I have tried desperately to forget.  Because somewhere along the line I decided that it hurt too much.

Before anyone starts feeling sorry for me, let me just point out what has become very clear to me in the last few weeks-- this "forgetting" I've been doing is completely unloving and totally self-serving.  There's no other way to spin it.  As it turns out, it is easier not to think about the things that burden my heart.  It's also sin.

I have not allowed the vulnerability of pain (over the same things that burden God's own heart!) to be a reality in my life, and I have not trusted in God's power to redeem- to draw near to hearts that are far from him, to open blind eyes, to bring new life.

Though my flesh would prefer that I could skip the hard, painful stuff, the Holy Spirit gently convicts with the reminder that a heart set on contemplating gospel truths cannot help but be broken for those who do not know them.  My heart has not been saturated with the gospel, and therefore the overflow of my heart has been selfishness and apathy.

In "A Gospel Primer", Milton Vincent lays out Paul's pattern of thinking in Romans 5-9.  In chapters 5-8, Paul shares numerous gospel truths-- because of Christ's sacrificial death we have the free gift of God's grace and everlasting love, we have been set free from sin, we are now in the Spirit, we are heirs with Christ and await future glory- these chapters are beautiful and filled with good news for believers.  Then, on the heels of his joy from knowing and delighting in these truths, Paul launches into chapter 9.  Here he shares that he has "great sorrow and unceasing anguish" (vs 2) in his heart for his kinsmen who do not know Christ.

I need fresh reminders of the gospel to rejoice in my salvation, to dissolve my self-centered tendencies and to break my heart anew for the lost.