I have often said that when I get to heaven, I want to tell C.S. Lewis how very much he helped me. We recently read his book The Abolition of Man in our study group. I was so grateful to once more hear these ideas on education expressed so clearly. How important it is to teach children not just the facts, but the correct emotional responses to those facts. You cannot truly teach and ignore morality, or you end up with "men without chests," trying to rule their bellies (instincts, lusts, etc.) with their head. As an educator, you may concoct some "reason" for them to do the right thing, (i.e. why they should die for others) but ultimately that concocted reason will not be enough to affect their behaviors in the heat of the moment. Lewis says that you rob a piece of their soul by failing to awaken in them the proper sensibilities, to teach them to correctly recognize what is objectively right and good and beautiful and awe-inspiring -- and also what is evil and hideous deadly. By stripping them of the "passions" and teaching what you think are only "facts", you leave them vulnerable to propaganda when someone comes along and whips those untrained emotions into a frenzy and channels them in a direction that suits the propagandist. The Bible says that all men have the moral law written on their hearts -- that there indeed do exist "objectively correct" emotional responses to facts and objects, i.e. we are repulsed by cowardice, we are in awe of a powerful waterfall. (God's Word is the ultimate standard undergirding these emotional responses.) But by making all emotional responses nonsense and debunking them, modern educators kill humanity itself. Lewis says, we laugh at honor and then are surprised to find traitors in our midst. We debunk transcendent design and God's soaring purpose for Man, and then wonder why teens kill themselves. If they don't buy into the concocted "alternate" reasons that educators come up with to replace God's own -- then they see no reason to be honorable or to go on living or whatever else we are trying to teach them. Ultimately, when this kind of education is carried out, students learn to "see through" everything, which is to "see" nothing. (As Lewis, says, debunking is good when it eliminates what is false in order to see what is true -- that is, it is important for the window to be transparent -- but when the garden and the trees are transparent too what are you left with?) If students are not taught the givens -- or even that there are certain givens, on which everything else hangs -- they are left with nothing, the abolition of man. I left this book praising God for His "datum". Derived from the Latin word for "give", a datum is a "gift" -- a given or absolute that God has graciously provided. I praise Him for His gracious generosity to us, giving us Truths on which we can stand firm and teach our children with confidence. When we educate, we must do so in light of these unchangeable Truths or we have done nothing.
"See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception, according to the tradition of men, according to the elementary principles of the world, rather than according to Christ." (Colossians 2:8)
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Help from Godly Teachers and a Puritan
Three sources have been helpful to me recently in building a better understanding of sanctification. This subject has caused me concern, because I have never felt like the reality I saw fit completely with my understanding of the Bible, so I knew my understanding must be off somewhere. I understood that little by little, I was being changed to become more like Christ. I was to work out my salvation with fear and trembling, while at the same time God would be working in me to will and act according to His good purpose. I was to fight the sin that so easily entangles and obey God's Word, and the Holy Spirit would gradually make me more like Christ. The work would not be complete in this life though -- not until I faced Jesus would the work be finished. To me, this sounded as though the effect should be cumulative: My understanding was that, as I worked out my salvation, these sins should be decreasing and plaguing me less and less.
In the early days following my salvation, that seemed to fit my experience, and I did see myself becoming what I thought was better and better, taking on good habits like going to church, reading the Bible, controlling my temper and lusts, serving others, and letting go of sins I had enjoyed, such as flirtation, indulging in excesses and making work and achievement my god.
But as I went on in life with Christ, I began to perceive correctly the depth of my sin. The motives I had thought were pure, were not totally pure. There was sin mixed into everything I did. I could see that some sins still were lurking, ready to flare up in a moment, like my self-exaltation, jealousy and selfishness. Although I had learned to fight them and seemingly conquer them, they could still rise up horribly, seemingly without warning. I could see that sin was not just "doing," but "being". I was tortured as I became more aware of just how deep the sin issue went. The more I learned about the holiness of God, the more aware I was of my own lack. I actually seemed more aware of my sin and more plagued by it 17 years after salvation than I had been 5 years after it.
A passing comment by John Piper caused me to wonder about my assumptions on sanctification. At a speaking engagement he briefly said something to the effect that he used to think that sanctification had a cumulative effect, that after 30 years, he would be 30 years less impatient. His point was that this was not the case, but he didn't elaborate, so I was left to wonder what he meant. Why wouldn't he be 30 years less impatient after 30 years of working it out with fear and trembling?
Recently, I heard John MacArthur preaching on "At the Same Time, Just and Sinner." He painted this picture: At salvation, you are justified before God, declared righteous (justification). But you are still a sinner. You are like a dung-heap covered in snow. You have been declared righteous on the basis of the righteousness of Christ. But you are by no means righteous. You have been given a "new man," a new nature,(regeneration) that is able to fight the sin. But nothing has been taken away. Sin still hangs on you, pervading everything. It is like a rotting corpse strapped to your back, polluting all that you do, and issuing bile and poison that will kill you if you are not constantly working to kill it, slash it, rip at it. He said that the "new man," given by God's grace, is what enables you to fight, giving you a desire for the righteous and a hatred for sin. But the putrid sin is still there.
Then I read Puritan John Owen, and more of the picture seemed to come together. The sin remains for one purpose: to conform you to the image of Christ (sanctification). You fight sin by building the godly trait that opposes it. So you fight pride by cultivating humility. You fight selfishness by cultivating selflessness. Maybe pride itself NEVER decreases (although sometimes it does). But either way, your arsenal of humility grows and grows and you win more and more battles. And when you see Christ, and that wretched load of prideful sin drops off, all that is left is the humility, the selflessness. We are supposed to fight sin as though we could root it out. But we realize that the real goal of the battle is to be conformed to the image of Christ. It is like the man commanded to push against a 1,000-pound boulder everyday for 10 years. At the end of 10 years, maybe the boulder has not moved, but the exertion has produced muscle in every inch of his body.
This explanation of sanctification has brought me such joy in the battle. The topic is vast, and I will always be learning more, but I praise God for these wise teachers helping me along in my understanding and freeing me to fight the sin and recognize its depths without despair.
In the early days following my salvation, that seemed to fit my experience, and I did see myself becoming what I thought was better and better, taking on good habits like going to church, reading the Bible, controlling my temper and lusts, serving others, and letting go of sins I had enjoyed, such as flirtation, indulging in excesses and making work and achievement my god.
But as I went on in life with Christ, I began to perceive correctly the depth of my sin. The motives I had thought were pure, were not totally pure. There was sin mixed into everything I did. I could see that some sins still were lurking, ready to flare up in a moment, like my self-exaltation, jealousy and selfishness. Although I had learned to fight them and seemingly conquer them, they could still rise up horribly, seemingly without warning. I could see that sin was not just "doing," but "being". I was tortured as I became more aware of just how deep the sin issue went. The more I learned about the holiness of God, the more aware I was of my own lack. I actually seemed more aware of my sin and more plagued by it 17 years after salvation than I had been 5 years after it.
A passing comment by John Piper caused me to wonder about my assumptions on sanctification. At a speaking engagement he briefly said something to the effect that he used to think that sanctification had a cumulative effect, that after 30 years, he would be 30 years less impatient. His point was that this was not the case, but he didn't elaborate, so I was left to wonder what he meant. Why wouldn't he be 30 years less impatient after 30 years of working it out with fear and trembling?
Recently, I heard John MacArthur preaching on "At the Same Time, Just and Sinner." He painted this picture: At salvation, you are justified before God, declared righteous (justification). But you are still a sinner. You are like a dung-heap covered in snow. You have been declared righteous on the basis of the righteousness of Christ. But you are by no means righteous. You have been given a "new man," a new nature,(regeneration) that is able to fight the sin. But nothing has been taken away. Sin still hangs on you, pervading everything. It is like a rotting corpse strapped to your back, polluting all that you do, and issuing bile and poison that will kill you if you are not constantly working to kill it, slash it, rip at it. He said that the "new man," given by God's grace, is what enables you to fight, giving you a desire for the righteous and a hatred for sin. But the putrid sin is still there.
Then I read Puritan John Owen, and more of the picture seemed to come together. The sin remains for one purpose: to conform you to the image of Christ (sanctification). You fight sin by building the godly trait that opposes it. So you fight pride by cultivating humility. You fight selfishness by cultivating selflessness. Maybe pride itself NEVER decreases (although sometimes it does). But either way, your arsenal of humility grows and grows and you win more and more battles. And when you see Christ, and that wretched load of prideful sin drops off, all that is left is the humility, the selflessness. We are supposed to fight sin as though we could root it out. But we realize that the real goal of the battle is to be conformed to the image of Christ. It is like the man commanded to push against a 1,000-pound boulder everyday for 10 years. At the end of 10 years, maybe the boulder has not moved, but the exertion has produced muscle in every inch of his body.
This explanation of sanctification has brought me such joy in the battle. The topic is vast, and I will always be learning more, but I praise God for these wise teachers helping me along in my understanding and freeing me to fight the sin and recognize its depths without despair.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
On Donuts and Pursuing Holiness
I love Mother's Day because I love being a mom. This year, my family didn't do their traditional breakfast in bed, since we decided that none of us wanted to get up that early. Instead, we did breakfast on the couch at midnight. (Breakfast always consists of a cup of coffee with my favorite Krispy Kreme donut -- chocolate on top and white cream in the middle. I only eat them on Mother's Day and my birthday.) But my kids did still make cards, with notes inside. John has taught them well that you don't just sign a card -- you write a note. I hope they never stop doing that. Their notes are my most precious gifts, encouraging me in a way nothing else ever could. My son thanked me for spurring him to godliness, Leah called me her mother and friend. These words I store away in my heart as treasures.
I still remember looking at my babies in wonder that God would give me such a precious trust. How honored and humbled I felt to be the one they depended on for love and discipline. My heart was full because I knew this was my life's work -- I had been born to be their Mommy. My fierce but foolish love determined that I would be the perfect mom and they would be perfect children -- or I would die trying. And indeed I have died. Many times. How self-exalting and vainly ambitious to set such a ridiculous goal in the first place. No job is better suited than motherhood to battling these very sins.
My love is as fierce for my children today as the hour I first held them, even though long ago it became evident that perfection was out of the question for either of us. I realize that that is not a cause for sorrow. Our imperfections rub against each other and scrape off the self-centeredness here, the pride there, the independence from God in other places. My children force me to see myself as I really am -- and I am accountable to do that and so much more for them.
When the dust settles from this Divine work, we will face Him as He is, we will have the likeness of the humble servant, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross scorning its shame. I can only say I am so thankful for these unique children -- John, our strong lover of all that is just and logical; Leah, our dreamy songbird, just drifting along. At times the work is wearisome, and I am tempted to let up. At other times the joy is sweet, as I see glimpses of what by faith they are becoming. Together we pursue Holiness in a way only God could orchestrate.
I still remember looking at my babies in wonder that God would give me such a precious trust. How honored and humbled I felt to be the one they depended on for love and discipline. My heart was full because I knew this was my life's work -- I had been born to be their Mommy. My fierce but foolish love determined that I would be the perfect mom and they would be perfect children -- or I would die trying. And indeed I have died. Many times. How self-exalting and vainly ambitious to set such a ridiculous goal in the first place. No job is better suited than motherhood to battling these very sins.
My love is as fierce for my children today as the hour I first held them, even though long ago it became evident that perfection was out of the question for either of us. I realize that that is not a cause for sorrow. Our imperfections rub against each other and scrape off the self-centeredness here, the pride there, the independence from God in other places. My children force me to see myself as I really am -- and I am accountable to do that and so much more for them.
When the dust settles from this Divine work, we will face Him as He is, we will have the likeness of the humble servant, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross scorning its shame. I can only say I am so thankful for these unique children -- John, our strong lover of all that is just and logical; Leah, our dreamy songbird, just drifting along. At times the work is wearisome, and I am tempted to let up. At other times the joy is sweet, as I see glimpses of what by faith they are becoming. Together we pursue Holiness in a way only God could orchestrate.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Uniting Church and Home
I just finished a book John bought called Uniting Church and Home by Eric Wallace. It corresponds with an issue that has concerned us for the past few years: Are we ministering in a way that is biblical, and, therefore, most effective, rather than just doing what most churches do nowadays?
This book advocates making disciples by nurturing households and organic relationships rather than the typical church "programs". The author does a good job of laying out the problems created by fragmenting families into different age groups for church activities and keeping families so busy with church they have extremely limited time for one-on-one intimacy with believers or unbelievers. He also lays out the benefits of ministering to households rather than individuals, training fathers to lead and having older, mature households "adopt" singles or single-parent households.
When it came to the how-to's of actually doing this in our culture, he was again very good at laying out a plan -- the problem was I wasn't totally convinced of his plan. He suggests starting with one Sunday School class that is age-integrated and focuses its lessons on how to apply doctrine as a family, with families taking turns teaching. My hesitation with what he was proposing was that the class as he described it sounded rather lame. I found myself wondering how this would really work. We have men that God has greatly gifted to teach His Word. They are a gift to the body of Christ and I want to -- need to -- hear from them. The age-integrated classes, as he described them, featured a rotation of families as teachers (he encouraged even letting the children teach). I can't imagine this class would not be of the dumbed-down, "pool your ignorance" style, with the practical side way out of balance.
This book raised my hopes for a better way to disciple and evangelize and extend God's Kingdom here, but its solutions did not end up totally satisfying. But, to its credit, the book has my mind churning with ideas.
This book advocates making disciples by nurturing households and organic relationships rather than the typical church "programs". The author does a good job of laying out the problems created by fragmenting families into different age groups for church activities and keeping families so busy with church they have extremely limited time for one-on-one intimacy with believers or unbelievers. He also lays out the benefits of ministering to households rather than individuals, training fathers to lead and having older, mature households "adopt" singles or single-parent households.
When it came to the how-to's of actually doing this in our culture, he was again very good at laying out a plan -- the problem was I wasn't totally convinced of his plan. He suggests starting with one Sunday School class that is age-integrated and focuses its lessons on how to apply doctrine as a family, with families taking turns teaching. My hesitation with what he was proposing was that the class as he described it sounded rather lame. I found myself wondering how this would really work. We have men that God has greatly gifted to teach His Word. They are a gift to the body of Christ and I want to -- need to -- hear from them. The age-integrated classes, as he described them, featured a rotation of families as teachers (he encouraged even letting the children teach). I can't imagine this class would not be of the dumbed-down, "pool your ignorance" style, with the practical side way out of balance.
This book raised my hopes for a better way to disciple and evangelize and extend God's Kingdom here, but its solutions did not end up totally satisfying. But, to its credit, the book has my mind churning with ideas.
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