Culture – Page 8

On Aspirations in the New Year

January 7, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

In my previous post I noted the importance of paying attention to the little opportunities for compromise that our culture routinely sets before us. As Solomon noted, even the little foxes can plunder the vines (SS 2.15).

I’d like to extend that thought to the positive side.

With the New Year, most of us—for completely illogical reasons, since calendrically speaking there’s nothing particularly historically significant about the annual day we call “January 1”—give some thought to turning over a page of self-improvement, sometimes including resolutions for change in the new year.

We ought to do that continuously, but whatever. :-)

I recently came across an essay by the old Keswick pastor and devotional writer F. B. Meyer (incidentally, the man who introduced D. L. Moody to Great Britain), called “The Common Task,” that we might consider as we seek self-improvement.

Meyer notes that lots of people are convinced—and some of them rightly—that their station in life is beneath their abilities—as he put it, that one’s “life afford[s] no outlet for the adequate exercise of his powers.” He offers some mollifying and sharpening thoughts to those in that situation.

I should note that Meyer is clearly not suggesting apathy or lack of aspiration; his biography demonstrates the kind of productivity that evidences devotion, effort, and energy. By all means, take a survey of your gifts and abilities, and seek ways to steward them for the greatest good in the world.

Be all that you can be.

But most of us know that we can aspire to things that we will never reach. Only 45 people in history have ever been POTUS; millions of others haven’t, but not for lack of thinking about it. You’re probably not going to be a star athlete, and I’m most certainly never going to be a fighter pilot, thanks to a bum ear—and the grace of God.

What do you do with the Now, even as you aspire to the Then?

Meyer offers several observations, from which I’ve selected and reworded for the current century.

God has a plan for you, and it will happen. God is attentive to your situation, committed to your fulfillment, and able to bring it to pass. You are where and what you are by his benevolent plan, which includes an eternal future.
No matter what your circumstances are right now, you can fulfill your most important goal—Christlikeness—in the midst of them. In Meyer’s words, “We ought … to be very careful how we fulfill the common tasks of daily life. We are making the character in which we have to spend eternity.”
Doing anything well—even trivial things—makes a difference.
- The excellence you develop prepares you for doing greater things later. “You cannot be brave in a crisis if you are habitually a coward. You cannot be generous with a fortune if you are a miser with a limited income.”
- The way you handle small responsibilities is evidence of who you truly are. And God notices.

“There are great tasks to be fulfilled in eternity: angels to be judged; cities to be ruled; perhaps worlds to be evangelized. For these, suitable agents will be required: those who can rule, because they have served; those who can command, because they have obeyed; those who can save others, because they never saved themselves. Perhaps even now, our Heavenly Father is engaged in seeking those among us who can fill these posts. And he is seeking them, not amongst such as are filling high positions in the eyes of men, but in the ranks of such as are treading the trivial round and fulfilling the common task.”

In this New Year,

aspire;
plan;
steward your abilities;
and serve, with diligence and energy, wherever the Master places you.

Happy new year.

Photo by Jeremy Perkins on Unsplash

On Persecution, Revised

January 4, 2021 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Just over two years ago I wrote a couple of posts on the persecution of Christians. I said then, and I’ve thought for a long time, that for American Christians to speak of being “persecuted” was unbecoming. Americans haven’t suffered anything close to what saints in history have—read Foxe’s Book of Martyrs sometime—and there are plenty of Christians on the planet today who are suffering things that Americans can’t even imagine. Numerous times I’ve said something to the effect that “If you want to talk about suffering, I can take you places and show you suffering. You are not suffering. Stop whining; it’s a flesh wound.” Sticks and stones, and all that.

Yeah, I’ve got that whole bedside manner thing down just fine. Mr. Sympathy.

My thinking on this issue is changing.

First, because lack of sympathy is just wrong, because it’s not Christlike. There’s certainly a place for encouraging fellow believers to get back into the fight (Ep 6.10-18; 2Ti 2.3-4), but words—my words—should be filled with grace. Regardless of the issue being addressed, slapping people around is just uncalled for.

Well, maybe not completely regardless. TV “evangelist” shysters and child sexual abusers deserve whatever they get.

But that’s off the point here. :-)

Sympathy. Words of grace. Needed.

There’s a second, issue-related reason my thinking is changing. One of the books I’ve read over this longest-ever Christmas break is Paul Grimmond’s Suffering Well, from Matthias Media, an Australian publisher perhaps best known for its “Two Ways to Live” tract.

Grimmond has given me a lot to think about. He’s done the hard work of gathering and thinking carefully about pretty much all the biblical data on suffering. He’s not the first to have done that, but he has pointed out something that I’ve never noticed before.

On the question of persecution, which is just one type of suffering, Grimmond notes (in his Chapter 6) that the biblical passages on persecution focus more on verbal and attitudinal than physical assault—the very kinds of things that my thinking had been discounting.

Jesus emphasizes verbal abuse in the Beatitudes (Mt 5.11-12) and in his later teaching (Mt 10.24-25; Mk 8.34-38). Grimmond notes, “Jesus knew from the beginning that his followers would struggle as much with what we might now call mental and emotional abuse as they would with physical abuse.”
Paul does the same in Php 1.27-30; 1Th 1.4-7; 2Co 4.16-18.
As does Peter, in 1P 4.12-14.

Grimmond continues, “The great danger for Christians living in the West is not physical death at the hands of persecutors, but the slow, spiritual death of a thousand tiny compromises crouched at our door, waiting to devour our hearts. … At the moment we need it most, we have let go of a robust theology of belonging to Christ and suffering for him. … As a result, we fail to teach each other to live without shame in the face of the more subtle pressures in our culture.”

I’d recommend that you buy the book and read it thoughtfully.

What does the biblical emphasis mean to us in these days?

Persecution comes with the territory. It’s an unavoidable consequence of following Christ publicly. Don’t be surprised, and don’t assume that God’s not watching.
Lots of persecution comes in subtle forms, what Grimmond calls “a thousand tiny compromises.” We need to pay attention and live thoughtfully—or as Paul puts it, “walk circumspectly, not as fools but as wise” (Ep 5.15).
Verbal abuse and exclusion offer opportunities to represent Christ well by displaying calmness under pressure and grace toward the adversaries, who genuinely think that they’re doing the right thing (Jn 16.2). When the whole world is reactionary, easily offended, and chaotic, grace stands out like a meteor trail in the night.
Every opportunity for compromise gives us a chance to exercise our spiritual muscles and thereby get stronger. It’s a joy to run up the stairs two at a time after years of getting winded at every exertion.

May I encourage you—graciously and sympathetically—to welcome these little oppositions without seeking them, and to use them calmly and graciously as opportunities to be more like your Master?

Happy new year.

Photo by James on Unsplash

On Thanksgiving

November 26, 2020 by Dan Olinger

Here’s my annual Thanksgiving post.

Even in tumultuous times, we have much to be thankful for.

Photo credit: Wikimedia

After the Storm

November 12, 2020 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

In the American West, where I grew up, the sky is big. The land in Eastern Washington is flat, and the horizons are long and low. As a result, you can see a thunderstorm a-comin’ for a long ways. You can see the sheets of rain falling from the thunderhead long before it reaches you, and in the summer I used to enjoy sitting out in the pasture and just waiting for it. Then it would arrive, the warm rain, and you could get completely soaked and not care—indeed, you could relish it as a delightful experience.

The aftermath was enjoyable too. There was the decrescendo of the storm, the petering out of the patter of the rain; the petrichor; and the calm silence, all the quieter in contrast with the recent rage.

If we learn anything from the life of Jesus, we learn that he is sovereign and active in the storm as well as in the peaceful, pastoral scene we think of when we hear him called “the Good Shepherd.” We learn that he accomplishes his will as certainly and easily in the storm; we might even say, if I can do so reverently, that he does some of his best work precisely at those times.

We’ve been through a storm, haven’t we? We’ve been surrounded by chaos, much of it intentionally designed; we’ve been told by people we trust that we need to be angry, agitated, active, desperate; that Those People are evil incarnate, and irremediably dangerous, and if we don’t stop them, It’s All Over.

God has graciously designed us humans so that when the situation turns desperate, we’re able to cope with it in surprising ways. There’s adrenaline, which can empower a man of average build to lift a car off someone. There’s the flight response, which enables us to get outta here faster than we ever thought possible.

But adrenaline’s a dangerous drug (so to speak), and we don’t do well as drug addicts; we don’t thrive under constant chaos and ongoing pumped-up responses to perceived threats—real or exaggerated.

We’re made for peace—peace with ourselves, peace with one another, peace with God.

The storm can be exciting—the adrenaline rush can be stimulating and energizing—but we’re not designed to live there.

In the face of the greatest storm in cosmic history—that day when the heavens were darkened, the Godhead was rent, the sins of the world crushed the Creator himself—Jesus had a surprising message for his friends.

Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful (Jn 14.27).

Peace in the storm, with a view to long-lasting peace after the storm.

So how shall we, as disciples of Christ, live after the storm? Paul writes to Jesus’ disciples in Thessalonica,

⁹Now as to the love of the brethren, you have no need for anyone to write to you, for you yourselves are taught by God to love one another; ¹⁰for indeed you do practice it toward all the brethren who are in all Macedonia. But we urge you, brethren, to excel still more, ¹¹and to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life and attend to your own business and work with your hands, just as we commanded you, ¹²so that you will behave properly toward outsiders and not be in any need (1Th 4).

After the storm, peace. Excel at loving one another. Get all stirred up about leading a quiet life. Mind your own business. Make something. Be a wholesome, productive, contributing part of the community.

Especially given that much of the recent storm was of our own making, how about if we just live quietly, peaceably, faithfully for a while?

You know what Paul talks about right after this? Jesus’ return (1Th 4.13-18). It’s coming. What say we focus on how the Good Shepherd will deliver us, rather than on fighting transient earthly opponents with carnal weapons?

Photo by Paul Carmona on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 12: Gratitude

November 5, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father (Col 3.17).

It’s no accident that we come to the end of this relatively lengthy series two days after the US presidential election. Now, regardless of the election’s eventual outcome, it falls to us to decide how to respond to its results—to decide whether we’re going to live in peace with our so-recent political opponents, whether we’re the “winners” or the “losers.”

Paul concludes the passage we’ve been studying with a call to thankfulness, or gratitude. Everything we do, he says, should be done for Christ and in gratitude through him to the Father.

I’ve written on this idea before. And so has Paul. Have you noticed that three of his four admonitions in this paragraph include thanksgiving?

We live out peace in connection with thankfulness (Col 3.15).
We encourage one another with thankfulness (Col 3.16).
We do all things with thankfulness (Col 3.17).

This is a pervasive concept in biblical thinking. God has been unimaginably good to us—so good, in fact, that literally everything evil about the world pales in comparison.

What do you have to be thankful for?

No matter who is president of the US, or which party controls the Senate or the House of Representatives or the Governor’s Mansion or the County Council or the Mayor’s Office,

You’re living far better, in measurable ways, than 90% of the people in the history of the world.
There’s plenty of air to breathe—even if you have difficulty breathing.
Purified, drinkable water still falls from the sky—even if it falls at inopportune times.
Food still grows right out of the dirt.
The sun gives us light and warmth every day, without fail.
There is beauty to be seen and heard and appreciated all around us—in birds, in flowers, in rocks, in waterfalls. Even in morning glories, the bane of my childhood weed-pulling experience.
God is alive, and great, and good, and engaged in our world, and directing all things to a certain conclusion that is, he assures us, good (Ro 8.28).
If you’re a believer, you are regenerate (doubly alive), and forgiven, and befriended, and cared for, and loved, and escorted to that good end.
And you are endowed with a mission, a purpose to live, one that you are well equipped to carry out, one that will certainly succeed, and one that will eventuate in perfect relationships and perfect glory.

There’s not a government or official in all the history of all the universe who can negate or even endanger any of that, or who can compete with that for any of my confidence or my fear.

God is great. God is good.

Let us thank him.

And let us live out that gratitude with a confidence and joy and grace that makes even our “enemies”—who are, when all is said and done, our fellow images of God and the ordered objects of our grace—to be at peace with us (Pr 16.7).

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 11: Encouragement

November 2, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with thankfulness in your hearts to God (Col 3.16).

We live in the light by living out love (Col 3.14) and peace (Col 3.15).

But we need to go a step further.

I suspect that a lot of people would prefer to keep to themselves and mind their own business. Especially these days, we see a lot of confrontation and shouting and volleys of snarkitude—what we used to call “flame wars” back in the early days of the internet—and some people say, “You know what? I am so done with that.”

Someone I know often says, “People are the worst.” And theologically, that’s true (Rom 3.10-18).

But that’s only half the story.

People are also in the image of God (Gn 1.26-27; 9.6; James 3.9). And like God, they are not solitary persons; as God is in eternal fellowship among the persons of the Godhead, so we are designed as fundamentally social creatures; one of the first things God said about the first human is that it was not good that he should be alone (Gn 2.18). And following his eternal plan, God is in the process of gathering, from every ethnicity and nation, a people for his name—a large assembly that no one can number, united in corporate praise to God.

Sure, there are introverts, and they’re not inherently less godly than extroverts.

But a solitary life is not in our genes, or in our cards. We’re designed for relationships.

And the “friends” or “followers” we see on social media are not often healthy patterns for those relationships.

Paul says in our passage that as we grow individually in our relationship with God—which we do initially through the “Word of Christ”—we necessarily move outward, interpersonally, with what we’re learning. It’s not enough to hold our relationship with God close to the vest, as “a very private matter”; part of our growth is interacting with other believers about what we’re learning.

There are at least two reasons for that.

First, as a long-time teacher, I know that the best way to learn something is to teach it. As a simple example, I minored in Greek in college, and I’ve used it repeatedly in the years since: in my work in publishing back in the last century, and in my private study, and in my teaching at BJU since 2000. This year I volunteered to teach a section of Greek 101 to meet a scheduling need—the first time I’ve ever taught Greek.

Boy, am I learning a lot.

I’ve been capable in Greek for many years. But now I’m realizing how many details I’ve lost over the years because I just didn’t have any reason to recall them.

Leaps and bounds. Just by teaching 101.

You’ll understand your relationship with God significantly better if you’ll describe it to others. I promise.

There’s a second reason to share your faith with other believers: they’ll reciprocate. That may involve telling you what they’ve learned, thereby adding to your storehouse of understanding. It may involve encouraging you in the difficult times, cheering you through the rough spots. It may be as simple as listening to you and really hearing you. There’s a benefit in that.

And so Paul says we should be “teaching and admonishing one another”—and he specifically names our worship together as one of the ways we do that. We’re not just “friends” on some social media platform, trying to impress others with how delightful our lives are, or to shame them into thinking—and voting—the way we do. We’re partners, colleagues, in the great work of God in gathering and developing a people for his name.

We seek to achieve that goal before any other.

Part 12: Gratitude

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 10: Peace

October 29, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful (Col 3.15).

From love (Col 3.14), Paul turns his attention to peace.

We all say we want peace, but very few people actively behave in ways that make peace more likely.

There are reasons for that.

In the first place, there are people who pursue peace in all the wrong ways. They think we’ll have peace if we just refuse to fight—but because they don’t take into account the presence of evil in the world, their actions end up increasing the potential for violence rather than lowering it. “If wishes were fishes … .”

In other cases we see people who talk about peace but don’t live by their own rules. Those of us of a certain age well remember the “peace movement” of the 1960s, and the violence wrought in the streets of Chicago during the 1968 Democratic Convention by “anti-war” protestors. And the protestations of “peace” by the leaders of the USSR, which was, as one pundit put it, “the peace of the graveyard.”

This sort of thing can lead to cynicism. An acquaintance of mine, visiting Greenville, questioned the name of our “Peace Center for the Performing Arts.” “Peace?” he said, with a hint of a sneer. I explained to him that it was named for Roger C. Peace, a Greenville newspaper publisher and philanthropist. That seemed to settle him down.

So now we have to make excuses for naming things for peace. Stinkin’ pinko commie freaks.

All of this is just distraction.

The fact is that God is a God of peace (Rom 15.33; 16.20; Php 4.9; 1Th 5.23; Heb 13.20). It’s the essence of his character. (And yes, he’s a God of war as well [Is 59.17-20]; as “The Greatest Generation” has shown us, often those who have seen combat are the most eager for and delighted in peace.)

It should be no surprise, then, that God has brought peace between himself and us (Ro 5.1) and that he brings peace to his people (Ro 1.7; 8.6; 15.13). But interestingly, he has not promised us external peace; in fact, Jesus told his disciples that they would have tribulation (Jn 16.33; cf Mt 10.34) and even persecution (Lk 21.12), and that as history progressed there would be troublous times (Mt 24.6).

So where is the peace?

It’s on the inside, not the outside. Jesus leaves his peace with us (Jn 14.27), and it rules in our hearts (Co 3.15; Ro 8.6; 15.13; Ga 5.22; Php 4.7). We’re empowered to be an oasis of peace in the midst of swirling chaos.

That means that we can “follow peace with all” (Heb 12.14). We can be de-escalators of conflict, sources of resolution in disputes.

Let me tell you something I’m ashamed of.

I was in Ghana, on a long overnight public bus trip from Accra to Wa, where my team was going to minister for 3 weeks. The driver stopped for a restroom break, and I saw that someone was trying to get a couple of my female team members to pay to use the restroom. I knew that we had never had to pay at this location before, and I jumped to the conclusion that they were trying to take advantage of “rich Westerners.” It was 2 or 3 am, and I was really tired, and I just decided to refuse to cooperate. I said we weren’t going to pay. (The girls had already used the restroom.) The man followed me back to the bus, arguing all the way, protesting that he had to collect the money. (It amounted to about 50 cents.) I steadfastly refused. The principle of the thing, you know.

A Ghanaian man, also riding on my bus, stepped between us and began to de-escalate the confrontation. He and his wife paid the fee and refused to let me reimburse them.

I was deeply, deeply ashamed.

People with peace in their hearts simply don’t act the way I had.

My brethren, let us “follow after the things which make for peace.”

Part 11: Encouragement | Part 12: Gratitude

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 9: Love

October 26, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Paul has begun laying out a lifestyle that brings unity and comity. It begins, he says, when we recognize that everyone, even our “enemy,” is in the image of God. We build on that recognition by exercising forgiveness, even as Christ has forgiven us. Now, in the longest section of our passage, Paul lays down a series of four attitudes that will drive our actions toward unifying the body of Christ and peacemaking in our social circle.

¹⁴Beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity. ¹⁵Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful. ¹⁶Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with thankfulness in your hearts to God. ¹⁷Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks through Him to God the Father (Col 3).

He begins with love.

Love gets a lot of talk, but not much actual doing. And in fact, it’s as much about doing as it is about feeling. My longtime friend and colleague Randy Leedy has defined agape love as “a disposition of the will, a self-sacrificing commitment to secure the highest interests of its object, independent of the object’s attractiveness or the prospect of repayment.”

Notice a couple of things.

First, love is not just a feeling. It is a feeling, an emotion, of course. It is far from sterile.

We all know this. Those of us who are married know how ridiculous our union would be if there were no feeling—what an old roommate of mine used to call “zing.” We men don’t do things for our wives simply because it’s our duty—and our wives would not be pleased if we did. There is certainly an emotional component.

But there is action. None of us wants to hear “You say you love me, but … “ Love goes beyond the feeling; it takes action on behalf of the loved one.

When you love someone, you do something about it.

A second thing to notice is that love is fundamentally not self-centered. You’re not in the relationship just for what you can get out of it. We’ve looked at that idea earlier in this series with reference to sexual ethics. But it goes far beyond our sexual desire and expression. The one who loves is focused on the needs of the loved one, and he is oriented toward satisfying those needs to the extent that he can, with no limit to the sacrifice he is willing to make.

Jesus himself emphasized that idea when he said, “When you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you” (Lk 14.13-14a).

You’re not living out love because your life will be better if you do. You’re living out love because life will be better for everybody else if you do.

Does this principle have implications for how we live during an election season? during a pandemic? during a period of racial strife?

You bet it does.

We are impelled to care lovingly for fellow believers who vote for Biden, or for Trump, or for Jorgensen, or even for nobody at all.

For those who protest in the streets, or for those who think that’s a sin.

For those who wear masks, or for those who refuse to.

Even for those who say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.”

Yes, even for Yankees fans.

The biblical lifestyle is one of serving, caring for those we find repulsive or those who mash all our buttons.

It’s not about winning.

Winning comes, eventually.

But not because we sought for it.

Part 10: Peace | Part 11: Encouragement | Part 12: Gratitude

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How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 8: Beyond Tolerance

October 22, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

¹²So, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience; ¹³bearing with one another, and forgiving each other, whoever has a complaint against anyone; just as the Lord forgave you, so also should you (Col 3.12-13).

Having established a basis in who we are in Christ, Paul turns now to how we live that out. Because we’re chosen by God, because he has made us his treasured possession (“holy”), because he loves us (“beloved”), we respond to his grace toward us by extending grace toward others. Just as we “took off” the old, worn-out clothing of “the old self,” now we “put on” a “self” that lives in grace.

This grace, like a diamond, is multi-faceted:

“Compassion” is pity or mercy. Paul spends 11 chapters of Romans detailing how God saw our deep sin, and even though enraged, he responded with a plan to rescue us, making right what we never could, so he could “be just, and the justifier of him who believes in Jesus” (Ro 3.26). He accepted the sacrifice of Christ in our place, then sent the Spirit to indwell and teach us, and even to pray for us when we don’t know how to pray for ourselves. And Paul summarizes all 11 chapters as “the mercies [compassions] of God” (Ro 12.1). We’re called to treat fellow believers like that, even though they don’t deserve it. (That’s what mercy means.) And we’re to do that from our “heart”—in the Greek, our “guts.” We’re to feel this compassion from the very depths of our insides. That’s what God did for us.
“Kindness” is simply “goodness”—being good to people, treating them as we would wish to be treated. God has shown us kindness (Ro 2.4; Ep 2.7; Ti 3.4) when we had shown none to him (Ro 3.12).
“Humility” is valuing the welfare of others above our own, and serving them. We’re called to do that because, shockingly, even Jesus did the same for us (Php 2.3ff). God gives grace to such people while resisting the proud (1P 5.5).
“Gentleness” used to be called “meekness.” It means not using force even though you could. We’ve all see the way a large but loving father cradles his newborn child. We’re supposed to treat one another that way (Ep 4.2), even those who are at fault (Ga 6.1)—and even those who are not believers (Ti 3.2). Why? The not-so-surprising answer: because that’s how Christ has treated us (2Co 10.1).
“Patience” is bearing up under trials; it’s the endurance of the athlete, who knows that there is a trophy at the end of the competition. God is patient not only with us, but even with those who he knows will eventually and finally reject him (Ro 9.22).
“Bearing with” someone is to put up with him. It’s what we today call “tolerance”—you don’t like it, but you put up with it, for the sake of a greater good.
“Forgiving” is literally “extending grace to” someone, treating him graciously, marking the bill as “Paid” (Lk 7.42-43).

We talk a lot about “tolerance” today. I’ve heard some comment that “tolerance” really isn’t good enough, because it’s putting up with something that you don’t like, rather than accepting the person despite his problems. As we’ve noted above, our treatment of one another should include “putting up with” them, but this passage clearly calls for much more than that. In the end, not only must we not reject the brother who votes for the Other Guy—not only must we “tolerate” him—but we must receive him, care for him, embrace him as a treasured part of our Father’s great collection of images of himself.

Grace.

Freely we have received; freely give.

Part 9: Love | Part 10: Peace | Part 11: Encouragement | Part 12: Gratitude

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How Not to Have a Civil War, Part 7: Breaking Down the Walls

October 19, 2020 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

¹⁰and [since you] have put on the new self who is being renewed to a true knowledge according to the image of the One who created him— ¹¹a renewal in which there is no distinction between Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and freeman, but Christ is all, and in all (Col 3.10-11).

Paul bases his journey into the light not on what we do, or even what we should do, but in who we are. If you’re a believer, you’re not who you were born to be. That’s the old self, or what Paul consistently calls “the old man,” or “the natural man” (1Co 2.14). The old man is not who we want to be:

He’s been crucified, put to death (Ro 6.6).
We’re to “put off” that guy, like old, worn-out clothes (Co 3.9; Ep 4.22).

Now, “since Jesus came into [your] heart,” you’re not that guy anymore. You’re a new self, a “new man,” which “is created in righteousness and true holiness” (Ep 4.24)—“created,” because it didn’t exist before Christ gave you spiritual life.

And what’s this “new man” all about? What kind of person is he? What’s he like?

Put bluntly, he’s like God. Our passage says he is “renewed to a true knowledge according to the image of the One who created him”; God, the Creator, is the pattern, and we, the creatures, are in his image. That image has been marred by our sin, and God is in the process of restoring it, renewing it. Paul here mentions the specific part of the image that he’s focused on: knowledge, or accurate recognition based on personal experience, the way you “know” the face of your spouse or your children or a lifelong friend. In Christ, we know things as they really are.

And how are they? In Christ, “things” are completely changed. We “know” one another primarily as in Christ—as brothers and sisters in the most important family ever envisioned or formed. The ways we normally categorize people—ethnicity (“Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised”), cultural practice (“barbarian, Scythian”), socioeconomic status (“slave and freeman”)—fade into irrelevance in the blinding light of our common glory in Christ.

We’re family. We’re in Christ. That’s all that matters.

Christ is in me. He’s in you. He’s in her, and him, and those over there. And we are in him.

What can possibly drive us apart?

Disagreements over cultural differences? Over life experiences? Over politics? Over denominational distinctives?

Pssssshhhhhh. Trivia. Let’s not be ridiculous. Christ is a stronger adhesive than that.

I have friends who are going to vote to place in the most powerful human position in the world someone that I will never vote for, under any circumstances.

The most powerful human position in the world!!!!

Someone I would never vote for!!!!

Under ANY circumstances!!!!

We are in Christ. Together. And forever.

One election, or two, or a thousand, will never drive us apart.

No matter the temporary, earthly consequences of that election.

We’re in Christ.

Nothing else even comes close.

In the parallel epistle to this one, Paul writes that the “new self” is “created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ep 4.24).

There’s the image of God again. And this time Paul speaks not of knowledge, but of righteousness—which, thanks to Christ’s sacrificial death, has been restored to us, as it was In the Beginning (2Co 5.21)—and of holiness.

My Christian brothers who vote badly—very badly—are righteous. They are bathed in the righteousness of Christ. That makes how they vote insignificant to my regard for them, relatively speaking.

My Christian brothers who vote badly—very badly—are holy; that is, they are the special possession and treasure of Almighty God—which puts them literally in a class by themselves. Their vote is not going to change that.

I’d better take care how I treat God’s treasured collection. And since I’m part of that collection myself—through no fault of my own—I’m going to treat them with the kind of delighted care that’s only appropriate.

What kind of church do you suppose we’d have if we lived that way?

And what kind of society do you suppose we’d have if its ragingly angry members saw the contrast between how they’re treated by their peers and how we treat our brothers and sisters?

Part 8: Beyond Tolerance | Part 9: Love | Part 10: Peace | Part 11: Encouragement | Part 12: Gratitude

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

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