New Testament – Page 12

On Healthy Minds in Troubled Times, Part 4: Perspective

February 1, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: This Has Happened Before | Part 2: Confidence | Part 3: Selflessness

As Paul navigated the troubled times in which God called him to minister, he paused in Philippians 3 to reflect on where he was aiming—and to contrast that with the direction his life had been aimed before. He marveled at the way God had changed his perspective.

The NRSV suggests two sections to this chapter: “Breaking with the Past” (Php 3.1-11) and “Pressing toward the Goal” (Php 3.12-4.1). Paul begins by looking back at what he valued Before Christ—complete devotion to the Law, climbing the ranks of those who held themselves up as examples of committed and devout followers of Moses:

He was circumcised 8 days after birth, as the Law required—in other words, he was born into Judaism, not a later convert. He had devoted his entire life to keeping the Law.
He’s of the stock of Israel—both his parents are Jewish.
He’s of the tribe of Benjamin—one of only two tribes descended from Israel’s favorite wife, the tribe of Israel’s first king (for whom Paul is named), the tribe where the capital and Temple were, the only tribe that remained with Judah during the rebellion of the northern tribes under Jeroboam, the tribe of whom Moses said in his final blessing, “May the beloved of the Lord dwell in security by him, who shields him all the day, and he dwells between his shoulders” (Dt 33.12).
He’s a “Hebrew”—he speaks the mother tongue as his heart language.
He’s a Pharisee, the sect devoted to the strictest obedience to the Law, tithing even his herbs and spices (Mt 23.23). Josephus, a Jewish contemporary of Paul, described the Pharisees as men “who valued themselves highly upon the exact skill they had in the law of their fathers, and made men believe they were highly favored by God” (Antiquities 17.2.4) and “who are esteemed most skillful in the exact explication of their laws” (War 2.8.14), and he notes that “the cities gave great attestations to them on account of their entire virtuous conduct, both in the actions of their lives and their discourses also” (Antiquities 18.1.3).
He persecuted the Christian “heretics” with incomparable zeal.
He stood “blameless” before the Law—an impressive claim, considering the breadth of the Law’s demands.

But now, having met the very Jesus whom he was persecuting, he views all of that former obsession, all of that former glory, as just trash (Php 3.8); the word can refer to garbage or even to excrement, as the KJV renders it. What he had held so close he now finds not merely worthless, but repugnant, malodorous, reprehensible.

Get it out of here; it’s stinking up the place.

Talk about a change of perspective.

So what does he value now? Where is his focus? To what goal are his energy and effort directed?

Christ.

Knowing him (Php 3.8).
Being united with him (Php 3.9).
Replacing his own righteousness with Christ’s (Php 3.9).
Suffering with him (Php 3.10).
Dying with him (Php 3.10).
Rising with him (Php 3.11).
Winning with him (Php 3.14).

Paul closes the chapter by contrasting this new perspective with that of the world.

They prioritize their appetites (Php 3.19).
They “set their minds on earthly things” (Php 3.19).

Paul, in stark contrast, understands that his “citizenship is in heaven” (Php 3.20).

His Philippian readers knew precisely what he was talking about. Nearly a century before, in 31 BC, Octavian had defeated Antony and Cleopatra at Actium. He had rewarded his soldiers by giving them land near Rome. He then rewarded the owners of that land, who were now displaced, by moving them to Philippi and designating that city a Roman “colony” (Ac 16.12) with extensive privileges, including exemption from some taxation and the full benefits of Roman law as if they were still in Italy.

The Philippians knew what a privilege citizenship was. And they knew what it was to be a citizen of a faraway place that was truly home.

And so are we.

We are God’s servants here, stewards of what he has entrusted us with, but this world is not our home, and our eyes are elsewhere. Anything we can achieve here is essentially worthless unless it affects what is waiting us at home.

And anything that draws our hearts away from home, or interferes with our commission to take others home with us, has to go.

We don’t live for Philippi, even though we live there for now.

Part 5: Focus

Photo by André Ventura on Unsplash

On Healthy Minds in Troubled Times, Part 3: Selflessness

January 28, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: This Has Happened Before | Part 2: Confidence

In troubled times, “looking out for Number One” is absolutely the wrong thing to do. Just as a threefold cord is not easily broken, so we as believers benefit by facing the certain troubles as a unified body, looking out for and supporting one another. Troubled times are the worst times to be fragmented or to go it alone.

Paul pleads with the Philippian believers to be

of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose. Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others (Php 2.2-4 NASB).

This verb “to be of [a] mind” occurs 10 times in this brief letter (Php 1.7; 2.2 [2x], 5; 3.15 [2x], 19; 4.2, 10 [2x]); it’s a major theme. How we think, how we set our attitude, has everything to do with how we fare in this world.

The kind of mind Paul describes here goes against our instincts. When we have problems, we’re inclined to give attention to them, not to the needs of others. But that’s illogical, even if natural. If we concentrate on our own problems, there’s just one person trying to take care of them—and that one person is limited in his creativity and strength. But if he takes that limited strength and creativity and applies it to the problems of others—many others—they will all benefit. And as they reciprocate and turn their attention to helping him with his troubles, he gets the input of exponentially more creativity and strength than he could ever have applied to his concerns by himself.

Paul spends the rest of this chapter giving examples—and he begins with the greatest of all. Christ himself provides the supreme example of selflessness by not clinging to his divine privileges, but adding to his person a genuinely human nature, living among us, and even dying in our place—and dying the most cruel and ignominious death ever conceived.

Because I’ve written elsewhere on this passage, I won’t develop it at length here. But Christ is certainly the ultimate example of selfless service in troubled times. And as we are “in him” (Php 3.9), we are certain to be empowered by him to live as he did (Php 2.13).

There are three more examples that fill out the chapter.

Paul encourages the Philippians to imitate him (Php 2.17-18). This is not an apostle holding himself up as some great one—that would make nonsense of the entire chapter—but a man who has learned to serve, and who counts all his earlier achievements, which are considerable (Php 3.4-6), as rubbish, in order to win Christ and be found in him (Php 3.7-8), inviting his friends to join him in this delightful and joyous exercise. “Come on in!” he shouts, “The water’s fine!”

Another example is Timothy. Amidst a school of fish “looking out for Number One” (Php 2.21), Timothy swims upstream; he “will genuinely be concerned with your welfare” (Php 2.20). When Timothy arrives, the church will do well to follow his example.

But in the meantime, Paul is sending Epaphroditus (Php 2.25). Everything we know about this man is in this verse and one more later in the epistle (Php 4.18). It’s intriguing that he’s named for the Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite; his name literally means “On Aphrodite,” a term that gamblers would use as a wish for luck. From that pagan background he came to Christ and is probably a leader in the church at Philippi, who has come to Rome to serve Paul for an extended time and is now returning, carrying this letter.

Selfless service. Rapt attention to what others need, at the expense of your own assets.

This is how you deal with troubled times.

Part 4: Perspective | Part 5: Focus

Photo by André Ventura on Unsplash

On Healthy Minds in Troubled Times, Part 2: Confidence

January 25, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: This Has Happened Before

As we noted in the previous post, Paul writes his letter to the Philippian church from house arrest in Rome, probably toward the end of the two years he was confined there. And that two-year period follows another two-year stint in confinement in Caesarea, all on the same false charge.

Four years. Four years of sitting and waiting for justice—punctuated by a shipwreck in the middle.

How’s your day going?

We would expect Paul to do some complaining in this letter—life’s not fair; what’s going to happen to me now; nobody loves me; so this is the thanks I get. “Scary!”

Nope.

Right out of the gate Paul exudes confidence.

He offers “grace” (the Greek greeting) and “peace” (the Jewish greeting) to this little church, followed immediately by a word of thanksgiving (Php 1.2-3).
He tells them he prays for them with “joy” (Php 1.4) because they are sharing in his experiences—as will become clear later, with financial as well as other support (Php 4.18). Turns out it’s simply not true that “nobody loves me.”
He’s confident that God will finish the work he has started (Php 1.6).

Ah. There, my friend, is the basis of his confidence in troubled and trying times.

There is a God in heaven, and he is sovereignly and certainly working his plan.

Paul’s “trouble with the law” has advanced his calling, the spread of the gospel (Php 1.12). You see, he hasn’t just been sitting around for four years wishing he could be on the road founding churches. At least for the two years of Roman house arrest, he’s been tended by Roman guards, probably in 6-hour shifts, perhaps even chained to them. Four soldiers a day, a captive audience. Chained or not, they can’t leave; Paul is their military post. And apparently, some of them have listened to what their prisoner said; the “whole imperial guard” (Php 1.13) knows that he’s a prisoner for the cause of Christ. And they’re not just gossiping about the interesting prisoner; later in the same letter Paul sends greetings from “saints … of Caesar’s household” (Php 4.22). Caesar’s staff, his guard, maybe even his family include believers. It’s not likely Paul could have accomplished that by traipsing around the empire planting churches.
Fellow believers, Paul says, are emboldened by his example and are speaking the word without fear (Php 1.14). Scores, perhaps hundreds, of believers are more than making up for the loss of Paul’s public voice. Where there was one voice, there is now a throng. The word goes forth with more volume, more power, than it had while Paul was free.
Some people are even spreading the word in an attempt to supplant the now absent authority of the apostle (Php 1.15-17). Paul, not jealous for his personal position, simply rejoices that the word is going forth (Php 1.18).
Paul thinks it’s likely that he’s going to win his appeal and gain release to preach again (Php 1.19). (I’m pretty sure he’s right—there’s good indication in the Pastoral Epistles that Paul engaged in travels not recorded in Acts, and there’s a very strong early-church tradition that he went to Spain.)
But whether he wins or loses his case, Christ is exalted, and that’s been the real goal all along (Php 1.20).

Since God’s plan will be accomplished, and since the “worst” that can happen—death—is actually victory, what’s the reason for things to be “Scary!”?

But things look so … dark. We might face opposition, or deprivation, or suffering, or persecution.

Indeed. On the day Christ commissioned Saul as apostle to the Gentiles, he told him he would suffer. He told Ananias, the believer who healed Saul of his heaven-sent blindness,

“Go, for he is a chosen instrument of Mine, to bear My name before the Gentiles and kings and the sons of Israel; for I will show him how much he must suffer for My name’s sake” (Ac 9.15-16).

And Saul, now Paul the apostle, tells the believers in the little church at Philippi that this is the common fate—no, the “privilege”—of all believers (Php 1.29). Persecution means you’re confronting successfully the lostness of the world and contrasting it with the grace and hope that is in Christ. It means you’re doing it right.

Confidence. Not fear.

Go, in this thy might.

Part 3: Selflessness | Part 4: Perspective | Part 5: Focus

Photo by André Ventura on Unsplash

On Healthy Minds in Troubled Times, Part 1: This Has Happened Before

January 21, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

One common human characteristic is to think that whatever you’re facing is new. One benefit of being an old codger like me is that 66 years is long enough to realize that that just ain’t so. Even within a single lifetime, history tends to run in cycles—I’ve written about that before—and Solomon has famously told us that there’s nothing new under the sun (Ec 1.9).

What the church is facing these days is not new or even unusual; in fact, it’s pretty tame by historical standards. The American church in particular has had an extraordinary run of good times, of perhaps unprecedented opportunity to “lead a quiet and peaceable life” (1Ti 2.2) for literally centuries. While anything could happen, even the most pessimistic and nightmarish predictions that I hear from the prophets of doom don’t come close to what the church experienced in its first two centuries, or during the Inquisition, or even under Communist rule in the last century.

In the first century, even before Emperor Nero went cuckoo for cocoa puffs and blamed the fire in Rome on the Christians, there was violent opposition to the practitioners of The Way. Preaching the resurrection of Messiah—or anything else about him—was ruled illegal within a few days of its occurrence (Ac 4.18). Within a year or so the first preacher was violently killed by a mob (Ac 7.54-60), with the approval of the local government (Ac 8.1; 26.10). A decade later the first apostle was executed by Judea’s puppet “king,” Herod Agrippa I (Ac 12.1-2). And a little more than a decade after that, Paul returns to Jerusalem only to be attacked by a mob—in the very Temple precincts!—under the demonstrably false charge that he had brought a Gentile into the Court of the Women (Ac 21.27ff). He is jailed for more than two years, even though the Roman arresting officer believes him innocent (Ac 23.29), just on the off chance that the governor can squeeze a bribe out of him (Ac 24.26). To thwart an assassination conspiracy, Paul appeals to Caesar, gaining safe passage to Rome, where he waits under house arrest for another two years (Ac 28.30).

Keep in mind that Paul has been commissioned by the risen and ascended Christ himself as the apostle (“sent one”) to the Gentiles, a task that requires a lot of traveling around and talking to people, as Acts 13-21 make abundantly clear. Spending four years in jail for something you didn’t do—indeed, for a charge that every official along the way has pronounced unfounded (e.g. Ac 25.13-20)—puts a pretty significant crimp in your life’s calling.

Toward the end of those two years renting a house in Rome, waiting for his appeal to be heard, Paul writes a letter to the first church he founded in Europe, the one at Philippi, over in Macedonia (northern Greece). He wants to thank them for a generous gift they’d sent him (Php 4.15ff) and explain what’s been happening with one of their members, Epaphroditus, who’s been with him in Rome for some time (Php 2.25).

In the letter he takes the opportunity to catch them up on events in Rome, and to encourage them to stay faithful to Christ even though times are tough.

As I’ve been studying this epistle lately, it has occurred to me that its major points form a pretty good list of how we should react to troubled times—how we should think, how we should respond, how we should proceed.

It’s also occurred to me that hardly any Christians I know—at least, the ones I know who are making the most noise—are putting the list to work. Maybe it would do us all good to run the list through our heads and do a little introspection and self-evaluation.

Can’t hurt, right?

We’ll get started in the next post.

Part 2: Confidence | Part 3: Selflessness | Part 4: Perspective | Part 5: Focus

Photo by André Ventura on Unsplash

On Living by the Loopholes

January 18, 2021 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

One of the most famous stories in the Bible didn’t actually happen—it’s a parable—but like all of Jesus’ teaching, it shows remarkable insight into the way people think. And it reminds us that not much about us has changed since he walked the earth. There is, indeed, nothing new under the sun.

I’m speaking of the parable of the Good Samaritan. We all know the story.

There’s a man walking from Jerusalem to Jericho. That’s about 14 miles as the crow flies (and pedestrians don’t), down a steep and winding road through rugged, rocky, outcropped desert—what American Westerners would call Badlands. In the other direction, of course, it’s steeply uphill, a feature that in those days encouraged brigands. You hide behind a rock, and you wait for a lone (foolish) exhausted traveler to struggle pantingly by, and you make short work of him.

And so, where the robber meets the road, someone does that to this guy, leaving him shekel-less and beaten by the side of the road. A profitable day’s work.

And along comes a priest, somebody who really ought to care—but he doesn’t. He leaves the man helpless and dying in mid-desert under a hot sun. In essence, he kills him in his heart by leaving him to what can only be death.

Along comes a Levite, another full-time Jewish worker, another one who Ought to Care. And he doesn’t either.

Then comes the Samaritan.

This story doesn’t hit us the way it would have hit Jesus’ hearers, because we don’t revulse at the word. Maybe we should reset the story in our own culture.

Along comes a radicalized Muslim. A communist-sympathizing BLM agitator. An Antifa rioter.

Nancy Pelosi. Kamala Harris. AOC.

A Democrat.

You know, somebody like that.

And he defies all expectations. He is moved by what he sees, and he acts to help the man, providing first aid, taking him to medical care, paying his costs because he’s a robbery victim and has no means—and then he just leaves, not seeking anything in return.

He’s a friend—from the victim’s perspective, an invisible, anonymous stranger, but a friend.

You may be surprised to learn that my main point today isn’t this convicting story—though there’s plenty here for all of us to be convicted about.

My point, as reflected in the title above, is what happens before Jesus tells the story.

A lawyer—that is, a specialist in the Torah, the Law of Moses—asks Jesus what he needs to do to gain eternal life (Lk 10.25). Jesus says essentially, “What do you think?” The questioner dips into his area of expertise and delivers a perfect summary of the Mosaic Law—in fact, the same summary that Jesus Himself delivers elsewhere: love God, and love your neighbor (Mt 22.34-40). Jesus says, “You’re right; do that.”

And then the man, the lawyer, looks for a loophole: “Um, just how, exactly, would you define the word neighbor?” It depends, you see, on what the meaning of the word is is.

And now Jesus tells the story.

And he chooses as the protagonist precisely the person that every one of his hearers would have said is most certainly not his neighbor.

What’s the point?

Who is my neighbor?

It’s anyone who needs my help.

Anyone.

Most especially the surprising ones. The Others. The enemies.

In 2004 Vermont Governor Howard Dean was a candidate for the Democratic nomination for president. At a campaign event a voter chided Dean for speaking so harshly about his neighbor, President Bush. Dean replied, “George Bush is not my neighbor,” thereby nicely illustrating the very human tendency Jesus was combating with the parable.

We’re all for ethics, all for kindness, all for grace, when we’re the potential victim. But when grace is called for from us, we want to live by the loopholes. In this instance, you see, it’s different.

No. It’s not.

How different would our world be today, do you suppose, if Christ’s ambassadors represented him with the kind of grace that surprises and shocks precisely those who hate them? What if the behavior of Christians was actually … surprising? What if it didn’t look precisely like the behavior of everyone else on the battlefield?

What if?

Photo credit: The Good Samaritan, by Jacob Jordaens, c. 1616 – si.wsj.net, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19655930

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

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash

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

Photo by Jens Lelie on Unsplash