sanctification

The Gifts of Salvation, Part 19: And So It Begins

May 20, 2019 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Introduction
Our relationship to sin: Conviction / Repentance / Regeneration / Forgiveness / Redemption / Justification
Our relationship to God:
Before conversion: Election / Drawing / Faith
At conversion: Reconciliation / Positional sanctification / Adoption / Union with Christ / Spirit Baptism / Sealing / Indwelling / Assurance

Part 19? And so it begins?!

Yep.

So far we’ve looked at what God has done for us, and to us, to move us away from our slavery to sin. I’ve identified 6 stages or facets of that process.

And now we’re 13 stages or steps into the process by which God makes us his own. Even before we knew him, he was 3 stages into that process. And then came the Earthquake, that moment when we were converted, and a whole bunch of things—I’ve identified 8 of them—happened simultaneously, in a glorious instant.

But all of that is prologue. Now that we belong to God and are no longer slaves to sin, we have a life to live, one that Jesus spoke of as “abundant” (Jn 10.10). The instant is over, and the long process of life in Christ has begun.

What does that look like? How does it happen?

Where do we go from here?

And so it begins.

You may recall a term we used earlier, in Part 12, which I called “Ownership.” At conversion, God makes us his own, and he sets us apart as his special property. I compared that to my wife’s “fine china” collection, which is kept in a special place and used only for special occasions—because it’s, well, special.

The biblical word for that “specialness” is holiness—being set apart. And another form of that same word, though it doesn’t look related in English, is sanctification. When we were converted, God “sanctified” us by setting us apart as his treasured possession. Back in Part 12 I called that “positional sanctification.”

But there’s a second, and much more complex, stage of sanctification.

Why?

Well, you don’t put cheap dishes in the china cabinet. You upgrade them.

God has indeed put his stamp on us, and we do belong to him. But he’s not content with leaving us as he found us; he’s not only going to clean us up—in fact, he’s already done that—but he’s going to change who we are, down to the very core of our being. He’s going to change us from cheap china to fine china, made from the very best clay, sculpted to perfection, painted and glazed with the artistry of the very finest technicians.

What does that look like for us, who are not in fact dishes, but human beings?

He’s going to make us like his Son. Like Christ.

You may recall that that’s one of the things he says he’s “predestined” in us. We are predestined, Paul says, to be “conformed to the image of his Son” (Rom 8.29). God has committed himself to seeing us through to the point where we are as much like Jesus as it is possible for people—who aren’t God—to be.

Interestingly, God has chosen to take his time doing that.

We know that he can do anything, and if he wants to, he can do it in an instant. He made fermented wine in an instant* (Jn 3), and thereby demonstrated (among other things) that he’s the Lord of time. He made the entire cosmos in just 6 days.

And yet he conforms us to Christ’s likeness slowly, over a long process—as Paul puts it, “from glory to glory” (2Co 3.18), one step at a time.

Why?

I dunno. But thanks for reading. 🙂

Maybe because we’ll appreciate it more or understand it better that way. Maybe because he’s designed some kinds of healthy growth to take place slowly.

But becoming sanctified is a process that takes us the rest of our lives. Every day, in a series of kind providences, God is chipping away at you, polishing you, upgrading your thinking and your feeling and your doing to make it a little tiny bit more Christlike. We call that “progressive sanctification.”

And as Peter notes, one of the main ways he does that is through trials (1P 1.3-9). Like athletes in training, we improve by facing hardships and enduring them, overcoming them, and doing so a little more effectively every time we work out.

Now, there’s a purpose in life that’s worth something. There’s a goal that gives meaning to the most inexplicable things that happen to us.

There’s real hope.

* I know, I know. That’s an argument for another post. When I feel like it.

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The Gifts of Salvation, Part 12: Ownership

April 25, 2019 by Dan Olinger

The first step in our new relationship with God is simply ownership—that is, he takes possession of us. We become his. I’ve characterized this as a gift, because it is.

We hesitate at the idea because it’s been so often abused in human relationships. Our culture has come to realize that no human being has the right to own another, and we’re horrified at slavery, both past and present instances.

We should be. The Bible condemns the way we humans have practiced slavery by making it permanent (Lev 25.10), by making it abusive (Eph 6.9), and by making it commercial (1Ti 1.10). When humans own other humans, nothing good ensues.

But God is not fallen and abusive like us. He does own us—twice, because he is our Maker, and he is our Redeemer—and he treats his people with grace and generosity and care and love and fierce devotion.

There’s a particular word the Bible uses of the fact that at salvation we become God’s property. It’s the word sanctification. It simply means “holiness”; sanct- is the Latin word for it, and holy is the Anglo-Saxon word for the same thing. At its most basic, the word just means “apart.” When we say that God is holy, we mean that he is in a class by himself, or unique. When God says that we are holy, he means that he has set us apart for himself—that we belong to him.

Let me illustrate.

When my wife and I got engaged, it was the practice for couples to acquire two sets of china, one for everyday use, and another (much more expensive) set for special occasions. This second set we called “fine china.” (I’ve noticed that many couples these days aren’t doing that. Good for them.) Following the expectations of the day, we set that up. My wife bought a set of everyday china on sale somewhere, and we registered at a department store for her chosen fine-china pattern (Noritake Cumberland, for those who care about such things). We got a bunch of it as wedding gifts and then filled in the missing pieces ourselves later.

The everyday china went in the cupboard in the kitchen. The fine china went in a dedicated “china cabinet” out in the dining room.

And then I learned the thing that puzzles every newlywed husband.

You can’t use the fine china.

If I want a muffin before I go to bed, I’m allowed to use the everyday china from the cupboard. But if I open the china cabinet? Nope. Not allowed to get in there. And if I put a piece of fine china in the microwave? Or the dishwasher?

I shudder even to think about it.

Why is that?

Because the fine china is special. It’s set aside for special use.

And that is a secular illustration of what holiness is.

When you came to Christ and were regenerated. God moved you—I say this reverently—from the cupboard over his sink out to the cabinet in the dining room, and he made you his special possession. You belong to him. And just as my dear wife would sometimes stand in front of the china cabinet and just take pleasure in what she had there, so he delights over us as his special people (Zeph 3.17).

There’s more to sanctification—lots more—than just this concept. We’re going to come back to it again in a few posts. But what we’ve been talking about here is what we call “positional sanctification.” That’s where God makes us special—holy—by setting us apart for himself. He has a special place for us, and a special regard for us, and a special use for us. We’re not like other people—not because of who we are, but because of what he has made us. (Fine china is made out of dirt, just like the everyday stuff. The difference is what the artist has done with what he has.)

And that’s why Paul (Rom 1.1), and even Jesus’ half-brothers James (Jam 1.1) and Judas (Jude 1.1), take such delight in referring to themselves as “bondslaves” of Jesus Christ. We were designed to belong to this delightful Master.

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New Leaves

December 31, 2018 by Dan Olinger

New Year’s Eve. Last day of the old year; looking forward to the new.

There is something in us that makes us reflective at this season. We think through the past year and often make resolutions for the new.

This year, things will be better. Life will be better. We will be better.

Humans being complicated, this general optimism—or at least desire for improvement—is countered by cynics (they would call themselves realists) who confidently predict that it won’t last. Some of them seem irritated that anybody’s even trying. The most obvious example of that, I suppose, is at the gym, where the regulars are frustrated that for the first week or two of every January they can’t get to their usual machines because of the crowds—and their irritation is increased by the fact that the interlopers don’t even know how to use said machines.

I feel their pain—though I’ll admit that I haven’t done much at the gym this last semester, mostly due to schedule constraints of my first-semester teaching schedule. If I were going to start an exercise program, I think I’d start in December—or any time other than January. But as it happens, my gym is closed for 2 weeks precisely at the end of December, so that’s out.

Anyway, while recognizing the inconvenience that the optimists are to the cynics, at least at the gym, I’d like to suggest that they lighten up a little. If history is any guide, a lot of people will set out on a course of self-improvement this week, and the great majority of them will apostatize before the month is out. But does that mean that they shouldn’t even try? Or that they shouldn’t at least aspire?

Isn’t aspiration, the desire to get better, the desire to succeed, an essential part of being a healthy human? Isn’t it part of the image of God in us?

And if it is, shouldn’t we start down that path, and encourage others to do the same? Is that hopelessly naïve, or is it just healthy?

God certainly knew that we would fail when he created us, and he went ahead and did it anyway. He knew that Abraham’s descendants would be unfaithful lovers in the extreme, but he chose and blessed them anyway. He knew that Moses would strike the rock in rage, and that the same Israel who stood at Mt. Sinai and cried—with one voice—“All that the Lord has spoken, we will do!” (Ex 19.8), would refuse to take the land when God gave it to them. He knew that David would sin with Bathsheba. Jesus knew that Peter would deny him—and that Judas would betray him. And God chose them all anyway.

The Judas story is particularly intriguing. The Scripture doesn’t tell us Judas’s motive for the betrayal—though earlier it describes his motive at Bethany as greed (Jn 12.6). Some have speculated that like some of the other Jews, he wanted Jesus to overthrow the Romans and establish a political Messiahship. Maybe he did. If so, Jesus’ treatment of him is interesting.

It appears that Jesus set up a “buddy system” among the Twelve; we know that he sent them out in pairs on at least one preaching tour (Mk 6.7), and the accompanying list of the apostles appears to list them in pairs—Peter and Andrew, James and John, and so forth (Mt 10.2). If this is a “buddy list” of long-term “roommate” relationships, with whom does Jesus pair Judas?

Simon the Zealot (Mt 10.4).

And what’s the significance of that?

The designation Zealot is a reference to an activist group of the day who opposed the hated Roman occupiers with what we would call today “asymmetrical warfare.”

Simon was a guerrilla fighter. He was a terrorist.

But a changed one. He followed Jesus, and unlike Judas, he stayed true to that commitment to the very death.

So maybe—maybe—Jesus paired Judas the malcontent with Simon the (converted!) Zealot to let him see up close what a redeemed terrorist and Roman-hater looked like.

Maybe he was giving Judas a chance.

In any case, the God who knows all doesn’t go all cynical on us just because he knows we’ll stumble or even fail spectacularly.

We shouldn’t think like that either.

So make your plans, and your resolutions, for the new year. Set off down that path, with determination.

And if you proceed unevenly—you will, you know—get up and keep going.

For what it’s worth, I’m rooting for you.

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On Christian Convictions, Legalism, and the Fear of Man, Part 1

April 12, 2018 by Dan Olinger

If you’re a believer, as I am, then we are together in Christ. His death has paid the price for our sin, and his righteous life has been credited to us. We stand before a smiling God, who is well pleased in us, as he is well pleased in his Son.

So we’re free.

Free from the stain and penalty of sin, free from its power to compel us to evil, free from the need to try to win God’s favor by being good enough, free from any sense of impending doom.

Life in Christ is very, very good. It’s joyous. We, of all people, should be dancing like no one is watching (2Sam 6.12-21).

And this life in Christ includes even more. It’s a long process of God’s working in us to conform us ever more closely to the image of his Son (Rom 8.29; 2Co 3.18). Through his empowerment, we take off the old way of life like a dirty suit, and we put on a new lifestyle of sparkling, beautiful righteous behavior (Eph 4.17-32).

And that’s where it starts to get tricky.

The Bible speaks of this process, called sanctification, as being a cooperative work between God and man. God directs and empowers it, but we’re not just lying on the couch waiting for it to happen. The New Testament is filled with imperatives—commands—for God’s people. Hundreds of them. We should roll up our sleeves and get to work at this business of good works—not because they’ll save us (Titus 3.5), but because that’s what God’s people “naturally” do, by his grace. Faith without works is dead (Jam 2.20).

How does that look in action? The devil, as they say, is in the details. What actions of the old lifestyle do we stop doing? If we’re not bound to keep the Old Testament Law, how do we exercise that freedom? How do we prevent being entangled again in the yoke of bondage (Gal 5.1)? And what do we do when we disagree?

This is a really big topic, and there have been whole books written on it; I’ll be pointing some of those out along the way. But there is a section of Scripture specifically devoted to the question, and I’d like to spend a few posts sharing some thoughts about that section that I don’t see being emphasized in many of those books.

We’ll get to the biblical section in the next post, but to start with I’d like to lay down some principles we all ought to agree on:

God’s people are given the Holy Spirit to illuminate their thinking on what the Scripture says (1Co 2.9-16).
But God’s people still have broken thinkers, limited by the damaging effects of sin. We’re not glorified yet. So God’s people will disagree with one another about specific ways to apply the Scripture’s teaching.
Every believer is of infinite worth.
The unity of believers is one way God shows the world, seen and unseen, that he is capable of bringing together people who should be fervent enemies (Eph 3.1-12).
The spiritual health of our fellow believers is partially our responsibility. We’re a body, and God calls us to take care of one another (Eph 4.11-16).

These ideas should drive our thinking when we find ourselves in disagreement with other professing believers. We should seek to reach agreement in our understanding of Scripture, but we should expect a certain degree of disagreement, and we should care for one another in times of disagreement as certainly as in times of agreement.

Next time, we’ll start into the particulars—the details. You know, where the devil is.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

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