When Mourning Moves Mission

Everyone loves the mountaintop experience. You know what I mean. It’s that sweet sense of joy that comes with a deep awareness of God’s presence. Those times nurture us and strengthen us. We need  them. It is inevitable, however, that those seasons on the mountaintop will be met with seasons of sorrow, seasons in which it is more difficult to perceive the presence of God, seasons of mourning. You don’t have to live long on this earth to learn that life comes with suffering, and suffering comes with sorrow. Knowing that experience is unavoidable. So it’s reassuring to know that Jesus understands this and is attentive to our pain. And it’s good news to hear him say

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted (Matthew 5:4).

But is there purpose in our pain? Does our mourning have meaning? Will God bring good from our sorrow?  To answer those questions we have to step back and consider the larger context of the beatitudes within the Sermon on the Mount. The Sermon is not simply a list of rules to be kept or a new law to be followed. The Sermon on the Mount is formative and transformative. It’s about becoming a new kind of person. It’s about becoming the kind of person who brings hope and healing to a broken world. It’s about becoming the kind of person who can pray “Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10). And it’s about being that kind of person in times of joy and sorrow. Cultivating the character described in the beatitudes makes us into that kind of people.  So if righteous sorrow forms us into kingdom people, then we must conclude that

Sorrow for our broken world motivates mission to heal the world.

What sort of sorrow?

There’s more than one kind of sorrow. And we need to be clear on the sort of thing Jesus is talking about. For starters, he’s not talking about sorrow over worldly trouble. Perhaps you are grieving because you’ve been fired from a job. But you were fired because you lied to your employer. That’s not what Jesus has in mind here. There’s a difference between righteous sorrow and being sorry you got caught.

When it comes to righteous morning, there are two kinds of sorrow. The first involves sorrow over our own sin. The second involves sorrow over the world’s brokenness.

Let’s start with the first. When the Holy Spirit begins to convict us of sin, it should produce sorrow. We should mourn our depravity. We should mourn our rebellion against God. We should grieve over the separation our transgression has created between us and God and the negative impact it’s had on the people around us. And that grieving should move us toward Jesus, who comforts us with the knowledge of his love revealed most perfectly in his atoning death and resurrection.

And as we are drawn closer to Jesus, the Holy Spirit will increase our mourning over the brokenness of the world. God’s good world is groaning as it awaits liberation from bondage to the power of sin and death. The evidence of that bondage should be clear to all. The last week brought news of how the British government withdrew life support from twenty-three month old Alfie Evans and deprived him of food, because his life was not deemed worthy of care. My heart grieves to live in a world that cares not for our most vulnerable. I hope yours does, too. Not long ago I traveled to Guatemala and saw first-hand a community of people who survive by digging through the city dump for recyclables to sell. This includes kids who don’t have time for school because they must join their families in the search for trash to sell. My heart grieves for them. I hope yours does, too. I mourn every time I drive by the Planned Parenthood clinic just around the corner. My heart is filled with sorrow to live in a society that sees human life as a throw-away, and my soul aches for the women who feel like walking through those doors is their only option. I hope yours does, too.

From Mourning to Mission

If you look, you’ll discover this second kind of mourning in Jesus.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing (Matthew 23:37).

The rebellion of God’s people was plain to our Lord. And it grieved his heart. But he did not wallow in his sorrow. He did something about it. The brokenness of our world motivated Jesus to heal the world. So he set his tear-stained face toward the cross, and he offered his life in place of ours. And he did it to keep his promise to comfort those who mourn their own sin and the sin of the world.

Now this is tough. Because our first inclination is to run from pain. But Jesus runs toward it. Not because he loves pain, but because he loves people. And if we want to be his followers, then our holy sorrow should motivate us to engage the world with the hope of healing that comes through Christ alone. Christian discipleship means running toward the places where the world is in pain. It means embracing the sorrow of Jesus for the sorrows of this world. It means knowing that he goes ahead of us and that he offers comfort to us on the way. And, more importantly, it means knowing he will offer comfort through us to our neighbors and the nations.

Dr. Matt O’Reilly is pastor of St. Mark Church in Mobile, Alabama, a fellow of the Center for Pastor Theologians, and adjunct professor at Wesley Biblical Seminary and Houston Baptist University. Hear him on the So What? Podcast, connect on Facebook, or follow @mporeilly.

Easter Means Mission

Our celebrations of Christ’s resurrection at Easter tend to be narrowly focused. The focus, all too often, drills down onto the individualistic issue that the resurrection makes personal salvation possible. Christ has been raised so that you can go to heaven. Now don’t get me wrong. I happily affirm that the salvation of each person depends on the historical bodily resurrection of Christ: “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins” (1 Cor 15:17). The problem comes when we fail to consider how the implications of the resurrection extend beyond individual salvation. And in doing so we don’t have to worry about overlooking or neglecting the personal saving power of the resurrection. To the contrary, we establish it. 
So, what is the resurrection about? If we turn to the Gospel of John, we soon discover that the resurrection of Jesus is the basis for the Church’s vocation in the world. Easter means mission. Consider the words of Jesus to his disciples on the evening of the day of his resurrection: “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you” (John 20:21). The first thing Jesus does is set before his closest followers the task he intends them to fulfill. He is sending them out into the world with a mission, a mission that flows out of and is similar to the one for which Jesus himself was sent into the world. And what is this mission? John has at least two things in mind: reconciliation and new creation.
Mission as Reconciliation
Twice during this first post-resurrection meeting, Jesus tells the disciples, “Peace be with you” (20:19, 21). His mission to them is a mission of reconciliation. And rightly so, for all human beings come into the world estranged from God. To draw on John’s own language, “No one has ever seen God” (1:18). God is light. We stand in darkness. Jesus comes to make peace between God and us so that we can become the children of God, so that we can experience the pure and unqualified joy of seeing God’s glory. 
And he does this reconciling work in his own body. This is why the incarnation is so important. This is central to the significance of the Word made flesh. Because he is fully God and fully human, he brings the two disparate parties together in his body. God and humanity are reconciled in the very body of Jesus that died on the cross and was raised from the dead. Without the incarnation and bodily resurrection, there is no reconciliation between God and humanity. This is what the Father sent Jesus to do, and Jesus says, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” If the Father sent the Son to work peace between God and the human race, then Christ sends his Church to be agents of that peace making mission to the rest of the world. 
Mission as New Creation

But the mission goes much deeper than any initial reconciliation between God and humanity. John also gives us a few clues to help us understand that our mission is to cultivate the new creation that God is working through Christ and the Spirit. We know John likes Genesis. No first-century Jewish writer starts out a book with the words, “In the beginning,” and does it on accident. He is intentionally drawing on the creation narrative in Genesis 1 to inform our reading of the Gospel. And if Genesis 1 is telling the story of creation out of nothing, then John 1 is telling the story of new creation out of the old. John 20 offers a couple more clues that Jesus has been sent to work new creation. Ever notice that John is telling us about the most important day in the history of the world and never says a word about anything that happens while the sun is up? The story starts in the dark of early morning only to jump forward to the dark of evening. Morning, evening; evening, morning. That John is drawing on Genesis 1 ought to be clear. If it isn’t, John repeatedly reminds his readers that this is the first day of the week. If Genesis 1 tells story of cosmic creation structured by seven days of evenings and mornings, John 20 sets up the story of the resurrection as the work of God on the first morning and evening of the new creation. And as the Spirit hovered in the darkness over the face of the primordial waters, so now the Spirit is at work in the darkness of that first Easter morn raising the dead as the first act of God’s new creation. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” If Jesus has been sent by the Father to inaugurate the new creation, the Church has been sent by Jesus to cultivate it. 
The Whole Easter Package

If our job, then, is to be agents of reconciliation between God and the world and to cultivate the new creation everywhere we go, then personal salvation is obviously included in that along with much, much more. And our vision of salvation is enlarged way beyond the old “go to heaven when you die” sort of “fire insurance” that has so often characterized American Christianity. The mission is to facilitate peace between God and the nations. That peace is part and parcel to personal salvation, but it is neither a salvation of mere forgiveness nor is it a salvation of escape. Rather, it is salvation in which we are made new creatures for life in the new creation. It is incarnational. It is transformational. It’s the whole package. Easter is mission.

Epiphany and Gospel-Passion for the Nations

Today is Epiphany, the day on which the Church celebrates the arrival of the Magi to honor and give gifts to the Christ child. The Magi were foreigners come to honor Christ as king. Matthew is commonly known as the gospel to the Jews; so it may strike some as somewhat peculiar that the first evangelist would place an account of the journey of these (non-Jewish) Magi prominently near the beginning of his gospel. When we remember, however, that the Old Testament – the Psalms and Isaiah not least – is full of passages that anticipate the day when Israel’s Messiah shall rule the nations, it shouldn’t surprise us that the gospel to the Jews would highlight a vignette in which representatives of the nations flock to worship “the child who has been born king of the Jews” (Matt 2:2).

Given this focus on the gospel for the nations, the lectionary yesterday directed us to Ephesians 3:1-12, in which Paul explains the mystery that God has kept hidden for ages, namely that “the nations have become co-inheritors and participating members of the covenant promises in Christ Jesus through the gospel” (Eph 3:6). That the nations have been incorporated into the promises of God to Abraham and his descendants drives the passion of the apostle to the Gentiles. It is that passion that motivated him to write (despite his sufferings) in hope that the churches – then and now – would catch his passion. So, as we celebrate and anticipate the ongoing in-gathering of the nations, here are three reasons drawn from Ephesians 2 and 3 for why we as Christians should have a passion for getting the gospel to every nation. 
1. Because God is Passionate about the Nations
There’s a reason that the gospel accounts of Christ’s suffering and death have come to be known as passion narratives. Our word “passion” comes from a Latin word that means to suffer, and if you care so deeply about another person that you are willing to suffer for them to the point of death on a cross, then it’s safe to say you are passionate about them. When Paul starts talking about what is accomplished in the cross in Ephesians 2:11-22, his focus is on its instrumentality in creating peace between Israel and the nations. The uncircumcised have been reconciled to the circumcised; those alien to the commonwealth of Israel have been made citizens; strangers to the covenant are now participating members. “The blood of Christ” has done away with division and hostility between Israel and the nations to create “in Christ” a “new humanity in place of the two” (Eph 2:13-15). The cross is not only about individual forgiveness (it is about that because that’s how you get in!), but also about creating a worldwide and international single people of God in Christ. If the cross means anything, it means that God is passionate about incorporating the nations into the family of Abraham through the preaching of the gospel. And if God is that passionate about the nations, then his people must be passionate too. 
2. Because We are the Nations
If you are reading this as a Christ-following Jew, then you are permitted to skip on to number three. I’m writing as an American of Irish descent, which means that when Paul writes in Ephesians 2:11-12 about the Gentiles who are “aliens from the commonwealth…strangers to the covenants….having no hope and without God in the world,” he is talking about me, and everyone else who is not physically descended from Abraham. Of all people, we should be passionate about getting the gospel to the nations because we are the nations. Those who by grace have been “brought near by the blood of Christ” and made citizens of the commonwealth of Israel and members of the covenant have benefited incalculably from the passion of God for the nations. Shall we now not also passionately desire the unreached peoples of the world to likewise share in those rich blessings of God’s extravagant mercy? We should be passionate about getting the gospel to the nations because the passion of God has brought the gospel to us. 
3. Because an International Church Displays the Richness of God’s Wisdom
This is the plan, the design, the point of everything. This is what history is all about. If you want to know why God made all things, why God made you and me and the world, the answer comes in Ephesian 3:10; he did it so that “through the Church the wisdom of God in its many-splendored variety might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.” As someone once said, “It’s not about you,” and it’s not about me. As it turns out, it’s about God. Creation is about God. History is about God. The Church is about God, and about displaying the magnificently rich and varied wisdom of God. I’ve read that the Greek word rendered above as “many-splendored” is one that would be used to describe a garden with every imaginable color of flower. That’s the rich variety of the wisdom of God, and richness like that could never be properly displayed in a single homogeneous people-group. It takes a diverse people to display the beauty of the multifaceted wisdom of God. Thus the mystery of God has been revealed: the nations have been incorporated into the one people of God. God desires a Church made up of every nation because God has designed the Church as the stage on which is displayed the magnificence of the beauty of his incomparable glory. If we want the world to marvel at the wisdom of God, then we ought to be passionately taking the gospel to the nations in order that the wonder of the wisdom of God might be displayed as he has designed. 
So, how’s your passion for the nations this Epiphany? I hope it’s on the rise and that the words of the Psalmist will well up within you:

May God be gracious to us and bless us
 and make his face to shine upon us,
that your way may be known on earth,
 your saving power among all the nations.
Let the peoples praise you, O God;
 let all the peoples praise you!
Let the nations be glad and sing for joy,
 for you judge the peoples with equity
 and guide the nations upon the earth.
Let the peoples praise you, O God;
 let all the peoples praise you (67:1-5)!

The Desire of God

“For God so loved the world” may be the most well-known and oft memorized verse of scripture ever. And rightly so. It summarizes the heart of the Christian gospel, the good news that God’s passionate love is revealed in the presence of Christ. I came across an article last week, of which the title alone caused me to think afresh about the nature of God’s love for us. The article was called, “God Desires You far More than You Desire Him,” and it got me to thinking: We know God loves us, but how often do we remember that he also desires us?
God’s Desire for Us
The word “love” has come to mean different things to different people. From sports to books and food to friends, we “love” all sorts of things. People fall in “love” and out of “love”. I remember once hearing a comedian point out that you have to love your family, but you don’t have to like them. Everyone knows that we don’t mean the same thing in each instance. We also know that none of these examples really get at what scripture means when it speaks of God’s “love” for us. This whirlwind of contemporary meanings and uses makes it difficult sometimes to reflect on the profound reality of God’s love for us, which means we sometimes need fresh language to energize our understanding of God’s self-revelation. 
That’s why I like the word “desire”. It’s a word that gets at a person’s deepest motivations and longings. We do what we desire most to do, for good or ill. The language of desire communicates something about our affections and our passions. I find it a helpful term when I reflect on John 3:16 and the surrounding verses. You don’t give your only son for people that you love in the same way you love a slice of pizza. You don’t descend from heaven for people that you might fall out of love with. You do those things because they are motivated by desires that are at the heart of your identity. 
Desire and Descent
In John’s gospel, this self-giving desire of God for us is understood in terms of incarnation and crucifixion. If we read John 3:16 closely, we will find that the love of God is the cause that results in the incarnation and the crucifixion. Jesus tells Nicodemus that he has descended from heaven and that he will be lifted up (on the cross) for the purpose of granting eternal life to those who believe. John wants his readers to know that these two events (and everything in between) are the demonstration of God’s desire to rescue the world from perishing. The birth of Christ and the death of Christ are the revelation and demonstration of the desire of the triune God for us, a desire that is infinite in intensity and stronger than we can possible conceive or imagine. 
Desire and Disbelief
That God so desires us is striking. What is even more striking is that he desires us despite our disbelief. Whether they are the words of Jesus or the narrator’s commentary, the following verses make this point: Jesus comes not to condemn the world, but to a world that is condemned already (3:18). He came to a world lost in the darkness of unbelief, “He came to his own, but his own did not receive him” (John 1:11). Remarkably, Jesus doesn’t look at the unbelieving world and say with arms crossed and face scowled, “You’ll get what’s coming to you.” To the contrary, he descends to us in order to take up our humanity, redeem it, and provide a way to escape the condemnation under which we naturally stand. He desires us despite our disbelief. 
Desire and Darkness
Most of us don’t think of ourselves as those who desire darkness, but John likes to paint things in stark contrast to make a strong point. So, for John, there is light and there is dark. Jesus is light. Everything else is dark. We do well to indulge the gospel writer and do a little diagnostic self-analysis. Are there times when we choose to walk away from the light of Christ and toward darkness. What about when we go all day (or multiple days) without taking time to engage in private worship? Are we desiring light or darkness? What about intentionally harmful words to a spouse or unnecessarily harsh attitudes towards our children? Are we choosing light or darkness? A little white lie? Light or darkness? Derogatory comments about our boss behind his or her back? You get the picture. Sometimes diagnostics can be a little depressing. Thanks be to God that at the heart of the good news is the truth that God’s desire for us does not depend on how much we desire him. To borrow the language of the creed, Christ came down from heaven for us and for our salvation, and he did it not because we desired him but because we didn’t. 
Desire and Worship
One of the most common questions I’ve received since the start of my pastoral ministry is this: If God knew that human beings would sin and bring all this hurt and pain and brokenness and damage into the world, why did he still choose to create the world with us in it? It’s a hard question, but I think we can get toward an answer by reflecting on the depth of God’s desire for us. To do so we need to remember that the cross is not Plan B. Our sin did not take God by surprise; he was not wringing his hands in desperation wondering what to do next. No, when God chose to bring the world into existence, he did so with the full knowledge that he would take on human flesh and die a gruesome death to atone for our sin and reconcile us to himself. And he still chose to to make the world. And he still chose to make us. 
We always do what we most desire. Apparently, God desires us more than he desires avoiding the exceeding pain of a whip on his back, thorns in his brow, nails in his wrists, and the weight of the world’s sin on his shoulders. A friend and colleague recently observed that when we begin to realize that, the only thing to do is to worship him and give ourselves to him for whatever he wants. God’s desire for us gives birth to our desire for him. 

Advent and the Reality of the Kingdom

I’m preaching a series of four sermons on Luke 1-2 this Advent that focus on four promises that are kept in the events surrounding the birth of Jesus. This past Sunday’s sermon was on “The Promise of a King”. 

And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end (Luke 1:31-33).

The Old Testament is full of promises that God would one day send a special king. From the blessing of Jacob in Genesis 49 that, “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet,” (10) to the word of the Lord to David in 2 Samuel 7, “I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom…I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever” (12-13). Also well-known is Isaiah 9:7, “His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and forevermore.” 
When we come to Luke’s account of the birth of Jesus, we tend to focus on the nature of Jesus’ virginal conception. That is certainly there, and there are several good reasons that we should take it be historically accurate. But in the text itself, the nature of Jesus’ conception functions secondarily in relation to the angel’s message that Mary’s baby will reign over the house of Jacob and sit on David’s throne. That is, when we ask the question: what is the major thing Luke wants us to hear in the angel’s message to Mary? The answer is that all the promises of God to raise up a king to rule in wisdom and righteousness over Israel and the nations are kept and answered with a resounding “Yes!” in birth of Jesus of Nazareth.
We commonly refer to Jesus as “Lord” and “King”, and we often speak in terms of his kingdom. However, I wonder how much we spiritualize the reign of Christ in such a way that we make it out to be rather less real, less relevant to the real issues in life. I fear that far too often we look to the governing authorities, the kings of this world, to deal with the real, external, and visible problems (like poverty and the economy) and turn to Jesus for sentimental comfort with internal and invisible matters. We want King Jesus to be lord of our lives, but we don’t expect him to say much (or anything) about how the powers actually run the world.
But when I read Luke I am struck by the reality of the kingdom. After Mary goes to stay with Elizabeth, she celebrates that God has kept his promise by overturning the power structures of the world: “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly” (1:52). This theme continues into Acts (Luke’s second volume) where we read of Jesus’ ascent to the throne of heaven, an image of his kingly authority if ever there was one. The opponents of the first Christians certainly perceived that early Christian proclamation posed a threat to the power of the Roman Empire. In Acts 17:7, the believers in Thessalonica are accused of “acting contrary to the decrees of the emperor, saying that there is another king named Jesus.” And at the end of Acts Paul is in Rome, the capital city, waiting to declare the gospel of King Jesus to Caesar himself. If there is anything Luke wants us to understand, it is that the kingdom of God in the reign of Jesus Christ is as real, indeed more real, than any governing authority in the present age.
One thing that makes it difficult for us to remember the reality of Jesus’ reign is that it is not marked by the typical things we associate with rule and authority. The kingdom of Jesus is not characterized by any palace nor capitol building. The advance of this kingdom is not made visible by missiles and tanks. Nor is it marked by national boundary. Instead, it is marked by the increasing obedience of the people in whom the Spirit of God dwells. And it is all the more real for it. 
Advent calls upon us to catch a fresh vision of the reign of Christ over all the nations. Christ is not merely responsible for reigning over “spiritual” matters while the governing authorities handle the real business of running the world. He claims lordship over every affair, and every authority is responsible to reign and govern  as stewards of the world that Christ claims his own. The responsibility of the people of God is to be constantly, if not frustratingly, reminding the world that the resurrected Jesus is King of the world. The task is not easy. It will be rejected as exclusivistic and derided as impractical. But it is our task, nevertheless, to disciple the nations by teaching them to obey King Jesus. Advent insists that nothing less will do. 

Life in the Spirit

But you are not in the flesh; you are in the Spirit, since the Spirit of God dwells in you.” Romans 8:9

It’s easy to forget sometimes that the Christian life is about more than forgiveness of sin. Don’t get me wrong! Forgiveness is hugely important. But it’s not the end of the story; it’s only the beginning. One of the ways that scripture describes the ongoing process of Christian discipleship is with the language of living in the Spirit. But what is life in the Spirit? How is this new life nurtured and developed? What is it’s goal?
Romans 8 is one of the chief places that the Apostle Paul develops the theme of life in the Spirit, and he does so in contrast to life in the flesh. When Paul uses these terms flesh and Spirit, he is referring to opposing powers or principles of control. The Spirit is God’s own Holy Spirit who indwells believers and empowers them to live transformed lives that honor and please God. The flesh is the opposite controlling power that is antagonistic to the work of God’s Spirit. In developing these concepts Paul invites his reader to ask: Am I controlled by the flesh or the Spirit? He also wants his readers to begin reflecting on what it looks like to live under the influence and control of the Holy Spirit as they seek to live in ways that are honoring to God.
Life in the Spirit begins with the life of the mind.
Paul makes just this point when he says, “For the mind of the flesh is death, but the mind of the Spirit is life and peace” (Rom 8:6). Being transformed into the likeness of Christ begins with the life of the mind, which means that as believers we need to be intentional about the way we order our habits of thinking. There are innumerable voices out there vying for a piece of our thought life. From radio to TV, billboards to social networking, someone wants us to think about their show, their product, their idea, or their agenda. The question for us is whether our thoughts will be shaped by those voices or by the Spirit of God.
But how do we develop habits of mind that are shaped by the Spirit? The Church has often pointed to the means of grace as concrete and specific tools used by God to transform our thinking and our living. Regular study of scripture alone and with a group, prayer, corporate worship, and sharing in the sacramental life of the Church are only a few ways that we can develop a disciplined thought life. Memorizing scripture is enormously important as well. My grandfather has made a habit of memorizing several chapters of scripture at a time (and sometimes even whole books!). It’s not hard to guess what occupies his thinking most of the time. Life in the Spirit begins with the life of the mind. Who is shaping our thinking?
Life in the Spirit is life free from sin.
The struggle against sin is sometimes so profound that it’s almost impossible to believe that God’s Spirit intends us to live lives that are pleasing to God, lives free from sin. But no matter how tough it may be to believe, Paul makes just this point by implication in Romans 8:7-9. He claims that the mind of the flesh is hostile to God. It is not willing submit to God; indeed, it is not able to submit to God. Then Paul says something staggering: “You are not in the flesh.” Here’s the logic: those that are in the flesh are unable to please God. You are not in the flesh but in the Spirit. Therefore, you are able to please God. If Paul is right that those in whom the Spirit dwells are able to please God, then he must mean that those who have the Spirit are able to successfully resist temptation to sin, because sin is not pleasing to God.
Let me be clear. I’m not saying that it’s impossible for Christians to sin. I am saying that life in bondage to sin is not God’s design for the normal Christian life. Life in the Spirit means that the Spirit empowers people to obey God, to honor God, to resist those things that bring feelings of guilt and condemnation. It turns out that the good news is better than we could of imagined. Not only is the penalty of our sin forgiven, but the power of our sin is destroyed. Life in the Spirit means life free from sin.
Life in the Spirit is holiness now and resurrection later
Many times when we talk about life in the Spirit and the holiness that is the fruit of life in the Spirit, we forget that this life is driving forward towards a goal, and that goal is nothing less than resurrection from the dead. We catch a glimpse of this in Romans 8:11 where Paul says, “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.” For Paul, God is the one who raised Jesus from the dead. Thus, if the Spirit of God dwell in us believers, then we have the sure and certain hope of the resurrection of the dead along with Christ. The presence of the Spirit in the present produces the transformed life of Christlikeness and holiness; the presence of the Spirit also guarantees the future resurrection of the body when Christ returns. This is important because death is a consequence of sin, and until death is defeated and its effects reversed, the consequence remains. Life in the Spirit means the full overthrow of all the effects of sin. Bondage to sin is broken in the present; the death that is the result of sin is reversed in the future. And that is good news.
So, life in the Spirit begins with the transformation of our thinking and works its way out into every aspect of our living as we await the day when death will be fully and finally overthrown and our bodies raised from the dead. Christian discipleship is about much more than forgiveness. The question is: Are we living in the Spirit?

There Are Some Things that Blow Me Away

I preached yesterday on Peter’s denial of Jesus from Mark 14:66-72. And even though the sermon is over, I keep going back to think about it. While Jesus was being interrogated by the High Priest, Peter was being questioned by a servant-girl; while Jesus spoke truly despite the danger, Peter called down a curse and swore that he did not know the Lord. Such a stark contrast between fidelity and faithlessness.
The thing that blows me away is the reality that Jesus went to the cross to bear the consequences of Peter’s sins, the man who denied that he knew him and likely spoke a curse against him. Jesus died for Peter’s sin of denying Jesus. I don’t get that; it blows me away!
What could motivate the Lord to act with such profound and unfathomable kindness? What could cause him to act for the eternal benefit of this turncoat? Not long before Peter had stood before the others and declared Jesus to be the Christ; now he swears he knows him not. And Jesus was obedient unto death for him. Wow. The more I reflect on this portion of Mark’s narrative, the more I realize I simply don’t get the great and glorious grandeur of the majesty of the kindness of the One who alone is God. There is a richness to his mercy that confounds me. We speak of grace so often (and perhaps sometimes quite flippantly) that the word sometimes seems to lose meaning. When I pause to reflect on the grace of Christ that he would bear the wrath of God against Peter in Peter’s place, I wonder if we should not use that word more carefully. He took the curse for the one who cursed him. And he took my curse. The pure selflessness of love like that is far above my feeble understanding.
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