love

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

October 26, 2020 by Dan Olinger

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

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

7 Stabilizing Principles in a Chaotic World, Part 2

July 16, 2018 by Dan Olinger

Part 1

So, here we go. Principles to deliver us from the fear and anger that characterize too many of us.

Number 1: Providence. There is a God in heaven, who directs in the affairs of people and nations.

The lunatics are in fact not running the asylum. All that stuff that’s got you twisted into knots? Well, the stuff that’s actually true—we’ll get back to that idea later—has come to pass through divine intention. That’s just a fancy way of saying that God’s done it.

That’s true of the stuff we like—God sends sunshine, and rain, and crops, and seasons (Psa 104)—but it’s true of the stuff we don’t like as well. God has his way in the whirlwind and the storm, the prophet tells us (Nahum 1.3).

Whirlwinds are nothing to mess with. In 1998 a tornado wiped out Spencer, SD. A week later I was there. The whole town was just gone. The water tank on top of the hill? Gone. The gas station? Gone, though the concrete pads for the pumps were still there. The corn silos? Gone. The telephone poles? Twisted off 2 feet above the ground. No buildings, except for 1 house that was inexplicably spared. And the whole thing lasted just 6 minutes.

At 8.30 pm there was a town, and homes, and businesses, and normal life. By 8.45 it was all gone.

Who did that? The mayor? The governor? The devil?

Not according to Nahum.

God did it. For reasons of his own, which we may or may not ever understand.

But you know what? There’s still a Spencer, SD. By the grace of God, and through the hard work of a lot of remarkable people, life goes on at Karen’s Beauty Shop and Trinity Lutheran Church and the baseball field.

It’s not likely that anything worse than that has happened to you; if it has, I haven’t seen you post about it on Facebook.

And if it has, then take courage in this: God is working his plan, for you and for everybody else.

And here’s the thing. God isn’t impersonal, or arbitrary, or unfeeling in all of this. He doesn’t throw the switch on the train track just to see what will happen, or just to shake things up for some warped form of amusement.

God cares. He loves—personally, individually, intimately, passionately. And with a wisdom you and I could never fathom, he conducts the symphony of your life for your greatest spiritual benefit and for his greatest glory. He knows what he’s doing, and he acts out of wisely directed love—in a way no one else you have ever known ever could.

This God—the creator of heaven and earth; the keeper of covenant promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the one watching over Israel, who neither slumbers nor sleeps; the lover of our very souls—this God is directing your steps, and mine, and everyone else’s to accomplish his perfect, delightful plan.

No, the lunatics are not running the asylum. God gave us Richard Nixon, and Jimmy Carter, and Ronald Reagan, and Barack Obama. And most recently he has given us Donald Trump. Love them or hate them, they are all—all—gifts from a wise and loving God, perfectly prepared and perfectly directed for the nation that elected them. That doesn’t mean they’re good, or wise, or effective. But it does mean that he is.

So why live in desperation, or rage, or panic, or frustration? Is there not a God in heaven? Do you not trust him? Does he not give peace?

Maybe, if you have no peace, you have no basis for it. Peace comes not from the political process, or health, or leisure, or physical resources. Peace, peace in your soul, comes from above, not from outside. Peace comes from the Prince of Peace (Isa 9.6), by whom we have peace with God (Rom 5.1), and through whom we find peace even with our enemies (Eph 3).

Think on these things. Breathe them into your reading, and listening, and surfing. And see if maybe your perspective, and thus your reactions, come to reflect peace more than panic.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Photo by Keith Misner on Unsplash

On Christian Convictions, Legalism, and the Fear of Man, Part 7

May 3, 2018 by Dan Olinger

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

In our working with this passage, so far we’ve covered just the first chapter, which sets the tone for the whole discussion. Today we’ll look at the rest.

As I noted in an earlier post, Paul lays down the basic principle in 1 Corinthians 8—since your brother’s spiritual health is more important than your personal freedom, you should sacrifice the latter for the former. In chapter 9, Paul uses himself as a personal example; in essence, he says, “I’ve sacrificed my rights for your benefit, so I’m not asking you to do anything I haven’t already done myself.”

In chapter 10, Paul gets more specific. Earlier I’ve said that Paul has agreed that the meat is fine, and that we are free to eat it. But that’s not really the whole story. The meat’s fine, indeed; but you’re not free to eat it in every circumstance. Here he gives three case studies—a no, a yes, and a maybe.

He begins by talking about worship (1Co 10.1-22). Remember how Israel fell into idolatry in the wilderness (1Co 10.1-15)? You can’t do that. You can’t participate in false worship, because worship matters, a lot. And you know about the Lord’s Table (1Co 10.16-22), right? Our worship means something to us too, doesn’t it?

All right, then. If your pagan friend is starting a new business, and wants good luck, and offers an idol sacrifice followed by a reception, you can’t go. Sure, the meat’s fine, but you can’t participate in false worship. Worship matters. A lot. That’s the “No.”

But the idol temple has opened up a little meat shop next door, where the priests sell off the extra meat. It’s good meat, at a good price. Feel free to buy it and eat it (1Co 10.25). That’s the “Yes.”

Now, suppose you have a neighbor invite you over for dinner. He serves steak. You don’t know where it came from, and, says Paul, you shouldn’t even care. Eat the meat (1Co 10.27).

Maybe.

Suppose there’s someone else invited to that dinner—another believer, in fact. He leans over to you, fear in his eyes, and says, “This meat has been offered to idols!”

What do you do then?

I’ll tell you what my instinct would be. I’d say, “Look, man, I understand your concerns. But this friend has invited us for dinner, and he’s lost, and I’ve been witnessing to him for years, and I’m not going to mess that up by making an issue out of something that shouldn’t even be an issue. I’ll talk to you about it later. But for now, trust me. It’s fine; eat the meat. Don’t be rude.”

And my instinct would be exactly wrong. 180 degrees wrong. Completely, backwards, wrong.

What does Paul say? Your brother’s spiritual health is infinitely important. Even though he’s mistaken, you look after him; you take care of him, even if that means being rude to your host (1Co 10.28-30)—and an unbelieving host, at that.

I don’t know of any culture where it isn’t rude to refuse an offered meal. You can try to lighten the offense, of course—“My friend, you have been so kind to us, and this meal looks delicious. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m not going to be able to eat this wonderful steak, because I’m a follower of Jesus.”

But it’s still going to be rude. Maybe he’ll ask why, and that may open up a door for the delightful grace of the gospel. But maybe he won’t; maybe he’ll just think you’re a jackass.

But here’s the thing. Your brother’s spiritual health is worth that risk. It is. Paul clearly says so.

So love your brother. Even if an unbeliever thinks you’re rude. Even if a fellow believer thinks you’re a legalist. Because your brother, the very image of God, is absolutely worth it.

There’s a lot more we could say about all this. I’d recommend a book if you’d like to study the concepts further. And yeah, the book just happens to be by a couple of friends of mine.

This will be my last blog post here for a while. I’m taking a break from blogging here so I can concentrate on blogging somewhere else. I’d love to have you follow that adventure if you find it interesting. If you don’t, that’s fine; I’ll see you back here, Lord willing, later.

Photo by niu niu on Unsplash

On Christian Convictions, Legalism, and the Fear of Man, Part 6

April 30, 2018 by Dan Olinger

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

So we’ve established that taking care of one another is more important than exercising our liberties. I think we’re ready now to talk about the fear of man.

Fear of man is a powerful disincentive to doing the right thing. We know what we ought to do, but we’re afraid of what people will think.

Looks to me like the group is about to do something we shouldn’t. I should speak up. But I don’t want to be That Person. I’ll just go along.
What that guy said about his wife is just reprehensible. I ought to take him aside and talk to him about it. But then he might not like me anymore. Hmm. It’s not that big a deal. Probably what he said doesn’t mean anything at all. I’ll let it pass, just this once.
If I befriend that unpopular person …
If I criticize what that cool Christian is doing …

Fear of man. It’s a menace.

I suspect that fear of man is the biggest reason that most Christians—most Christians—ignore Christ’s last and most important command. “Go into all the world,” he said. “And take the gospel to every creature.”

But we don’t. Not to the ends of the earth, not to the next state, not to our neighbor, not to the waitress who came right up to our table and started talking to us.

Nobody.

Because we’re afraid. Of them. Even the friendly ones. And especially the ones we already know.

Fear of man. It’s a menace.

But I’ve seen the charge leveled at people who clearly don’t deserve it. Can you see how someone following the clear principles of our passage might be accused of cowardice?

I have a right to eat meat offered to idols. It’s meat. There’s nothing wrong with it. But there’s this guy in the church who doesn’t think I should. So I won’t.

“Fear of man!” they cry. “You’re free! Free in Jesus! Be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage! Do The Thing! Don’t let fear of what that benighted legalist might think stop you from enjoying—celebrating—all that you are and have in Christ!”

Fair enough. But according to our passage, when we say that, we’re not thinking accurately, or precisely enough.

If I refuse the meat because I’m afraid of what someone will think, that’s indeed fear of man, and I need to deal with my soul about that.

But if I’m restraining myself because I care about that brother’s spiritual health—if I don’t want to encourage him to do something he thinks is wrong—then that’s not fear of man. It’s love for my brother.

It’s what every believer ought to do.

So don’t slander that kind of thinking. Celebrate it. Imitate it. Live that way.

Remember what the critic said? “Be not entangled with the yoke of bondage.”

That’s a Bible verse. Galatians 5.1. And it’s true. We ought not to be entangled with the yoke of bondage.

But the Bible isn’t a collection of inspirational quotations to be pulled out and used as ammunition against fellow believers without any understanding of the context.

What’s the “yoke of bondage” we’re not supposed to re-entangle ourselves with? In context (the entire book of Galatians), it’s attempting to earn salvation by keeping the law. Don’t do that.

But you know what else the context says? This verse is at the beginning of a paragraph. If you’ll read through to the end of the paragraph, you’ll find that Paul says, “By love serve one another” (Gal 5.13). That word serve is the same Greek root as the word bondage in verse 1.

Guess what? We’re free from the law, but we’re not free from everything. We’re bondslaves of Jesus Christ (Gal 1.10) (and yes, that thought is balanced by Gal 4.7, but the principle remains).

And, it turns out, we’re bondslaves of one another too. We serve one another. We put our brothers’ and sisters’ needs ahead of our own. That’s what we’re called to do.

How often, when you’re deciding whether or not to do something that believers disagree about, do you stop and consider the effect of your action on the believers around you? How often do you decide to serve your fellow believer instead of your own desire for freedom? How often?

I’m not asking you to be in bondage to the fear of man. If you labor under that burden—and most of us do, at one time or another—then take that burden to the cross and leave it there.

But serve your brother. Love your brother. As Christ has loved you.

Part 7

Photo by niu niu on Unsplash