sanctification

On Building Spiritual Muscle, Part 3

January 20, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

So welcome to the gym. You’ll notice the mirrors on the walls (Jam 1.22-25), as well as several exercise machines scattered around the room. Let’s talk a little about what they are and how they work.

The first exercise machine we find described in Acts 20. Paul is returning to Jerusalem from one of his mission trips, and he stops in Miletus, the port nearest Ephesus, where’s he spent two years ministering in the recent past (Ac 19.10). Because he’s in a hurry to get back to Jerusalem for one of the annual assembly feasts (Ac 20.16), he saves some time by sending for the elders of the church in Ephesus. They gather there on the dock beside the ship, and he gives them a farewell address; he knows there’s trouble ahead in Jerusalem (Ac 20.22-23), and he knows he may never see them again (Ac 20.25). (I think he did see them again [1Ti 1.3], after he was acquitted on his appeal to Caesar [2 Ti 4.16-17] just after the end of Acts, but that’s not an issue here.)

He charges them to lead the church well. He closes by saying,

And now I commend you to God and to the word of His grace, which is able to build you up and to give you the inheritance among all those who are sanctified (Ac 20.32).

We see our word grace here. To confirm that this verse is relevant to our study, we need to ask two questions:

Does the context indicate that the word grace is being used in a narrower sense, of spiritual strength?
Is there some sort of means indicated here that tells us how to receive the spiritual strength?

In answer to the first question, Paul says that this grace “is able to build you up,” which is a pretty clear reference to spiritual strength. And in answer to the second question, he ties the grace to “the word”—the “word of his grace,” the “grace-giving word,” if you will.

So the first exercise machine is the Word, the Scripture. If you exercise on it, it will make you stronger.

Now I suppose I need to press the metaphor a little further.

If you go to the gym—the physical one—and sit at an exercise machine and pump away, but without engaging any weights on the cable, will that be any benefit?

Technically, yes; depending on how fast you pump, you might get some cardio benefit, and depending on the range of motion, you might get some improved flexibility out of it.

But will you build any muscle?

Nope.

You build muscle by tearing muscle fiber, and you do that by engaging resistance against the muscle.

You need to put weights on the machine.

How do you put weights on the Bible machine?

May I suggest some possibilities?

You do more than just read a verse or two and then get on with your day.
You read it extensively. It’s common among believers to read through the Bible each year. That’s certainly a great place to start.
You read it intensively. You read slowly, attentively, thoughtfully. You turn it over in your head. You draw conclusions and applications from it.
You reach beyond your grasp. You read what others have written about the passage, especially others with study tools that you may not have for yourself.
You memorize it, so you can turn it over in your mind anytime you have a spare minute.
You write down what you’ve learned, so it will be cemented more solidly in your mind.
You talk to others about it, both to hold yourself accountable and to benefit from their insights.
You find opportunities to teach it, because the best way to learn anything is to teach it.

I’m not suggesting that you need to study your Bible for hours every day; you don’t spend hours on any exercise machine, because life calls. But you put weights on the machine, to increase the benefit of the time you spend there.

And you build muscle.

Next time, a different exercise machine.

Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Photo by Jelmer Assink on Unsplash

On Building Spiritual Muscle, Part 2

January 16, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1

I’ve suggested that our lives ought to be oriented around the work God is doing in his people to make them—us—more like his Son. I’ve also suggested that this work can be compared to an exercise program.

Although I think the analogy is helpful, I also recognize that it isn’t really useful unless the Scripture gives us reason to think that the sanctification process is in some ways similar to physical exercise.

Is there any evidence of that? Is there a biblical word for spiritual strength? And are there “exercises” attached to it?

There are of course words in the Bible that are translated “might” or “power” or “strength.” The most well-known one, I suppose, is the Greek dunamis; I suspect you’ve heard a preacher somewhere say that “this is the Greek word from which we get our word dynamite.” It’s used often in the New Testament in reference to the “power of God,” and once we’re told that it “works in us” (Ep 3.20). So that might be a profitable study for us.

I’d like to direct your thinking, though, to a different word, one that might not come to mind in this connection. It’s the word grace.

I suspect you’re thinking that you know what grace means, and it’s not “strength.” You learned in Sunday school that it means “unmerited favor”—“God’s Riches At Christ’s Expense.”

And indeed it does. It refers to anything you’ve received that you don’t deserve.

But you also know that words have multiple meanings. If you look up pretty much any word, in pretty much any language, the dictionary will list several definitions, or nuances, for it. Humans are creative—because they’re in the image of God, who is creative—and we make up new meanings for our words all the time. (Teenagers are especially good at this.)

Thus one of the basic steps in studying any word is to determine the various meanings it has. In the case of grace (charis in Greek), it can have several meanings—for example, a present or gift (Ac 24.27; 25.9); credit (Lk 6.32-34); honor (Ac 2.47); and, yes, unmerited favor (Ac 15.11). But occasionally it’s used in a more specific, perhaps even technical, sense, of a particular thing you don’t deserve—namely, spiritual strength. You can see this especially in 2Co 12.9, where Jesus says to Paul,

“My grace is sufficient for you,
for power is perfected in weakness.”

Note the parallelism between these two clauses; grace is in parallel with power (Greek dunamis). It’s no surprise that this verse is often used in theology as a proof text for the omnipotence of Christ and therefore for his deity.

Grace is strength. So Paul tells young Timothy, “Be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus” (2Ti 2.1).

So here’s our biblical question: does the Scripture ever use the word grace in the sense of spiritual strength, where the context indicates a mechanism for building that strength—a spiritual exercise, if you will?

Does the Bible tell us how we can “exercise [Greek gumnazo, as in gymnasium] ourselves unto godliness” (1Ti 4.7)?

Well, the Greek word charis, “grace,” occurs 160 times in the New Testament; that’s quite a list of verses to go through. From those 160 occurrences, we need to select those that are speaking of spiritual strength; then from that smaller list, we need to select any occurrences that specify an exercise for building spiritual strength.

That’s gonna take some time.

Fortunately, there are people who have already done that work, and we can benefit from their labors.

There are three passages in the Scripture that seem to have what we’re looking for, and each of those passages specifies a different spiritual exercise.

The great thing about this exercise program is that it doesn’t matter what kind of shape you’re in at the moment; you can get started right away, and you don’t have to pace yourself to prevent a cardiac event.

Oh, and you have a Trainer who has the supernatural ability to impart his infinite strength to you whenever you need it, so you can keep making progress. “Just 10 more reps,” indeed.

Best fitness program ever.

Next time, we’ll drop by the gym and begin examining the exercise machines.

Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Photo by Jelmer Assink on Unsplash

On Building Spiritual Muscle, Part 1

January 13, 2020 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

What’s the most important question in the world?

I think my fellow Christians would agree with me that it’s the question of where you’re going to spend eternity. If there’s life after death, and if that life is eternal, and if there are different possibilities for the nature of that life, then it’s hard to imagine any question more important than that one.

Life and death. Heaven and hell. It doesn’t get any more consequential than that.

As the Philippian jailer put it so clearly and succinctly all those years ago, “What must I do to be saved?” (Ac 16.30).

And interestingly, according to the Scripture, the answer is remarkably simple and direct. As Paul replied to the jailer, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved” (Ac 16.31).

God has been kind to make the answer to such a consequential question so simple.

Over the years, quite a few Christians have behaved as though The Most Important Question is the only important question.

I said the prayer. I got my ticket out of hell. It’s all good.

Now. What do I want to be when I grow up? Whom do I want to marry? Where do I want to live?

But the Scripture doesn’t see conversion as merely a ticket to ride. Conversion is a commencement—it’s the start of something really, really big, a whole lot of which takes place before you get anywhere near heaven.

I’ve written on some of that before.

Conversion begins a lifetime of being changed, through the work of the Spirit of God, to be more and more like Christ—to the degree that we can be like someone who is God as well as man. It’s a life in which everything—everything—is being morphed, refreshed, improved, renovated (2Co 3.18).

For many Christians it comes down to trying to be good now. Trying to get better, to turn over a new leaf. And, like new year’s resolutions, it gets old and tired, and we end up not making much progress. I’ve known people who said, “I’ve tried the Christianity thing. Didn’t work for me. Wish it had, but it didn’t.”

But it’s not about trying to do better. It’s not just a New Life’s Resolution. It’s a sure, certain work, by the omnipotent and faithful Spirit of God, to conform you to the image of Christ.

Which brings me to what I often call The Second Most Important Question in the World:

How do I achieve reliable, steady spiritual growth?

Or, as I’ve titled this series,

How do I build spiritual muscle?

I suppose many Christians would reply, “You just pray for it.”

I’d like to suggest that that’s not really the right answer. I’m all for praying—in fact, we’ll get to that topic later in the series—but I’d suggest that that’s not the answer that the Bible gives to this question.

Yes, the Bible does say that if we lack wisdom, we should just ask for it (Jam 1.5). And the Scripture makes much of God’s generous willingness to pour out his blessings on us, if we’ll only ask (e.g. Lk 6.38). Prayer is certainly part of the answer. But it’s not the whole answer.

Perhaps an illustration will help.

Suppose I want serious abs. Ripped abs. A washboard. (Come to think of it, how do you know I don’t already have them? ?)

And so I pray: “Dear Lord, please give me abs.”

And I lie on the couch, watching TV and eating half-gallons of ice cream straight from the carton.

Six-pack?

Nope. Not outside of well-insulated cooler, anyway.

Doesn’t work that way. God could answer that prayer miraculously, of course. But he won’t, and not just because we don’t have “enough faith.”

There’s a way to get abs.

Now let me ask the application question.

If the Bible has told us how to build spiritual muscle—if it’s given us the exercises, so to speak—and we don’t do the exercises, do you think God’s going to give us spiritual muscle miraculously?

Sure, in the end our spiritual growth is a miracle. But I’d suggest that God has placed some of the responsibility for sanctification on us.

And for what it’s worth, the theology books, both Calvinist and Arminian, agree with me. Sanctification is a synergistic work between the Spirit of God and the believer.

So. How do we build spiritual muscle? What are the exercises?

Join me for the next few posts, and we’ll work through the biblical data.

 Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Photo by Jelmer Assink on Unsplash

On a New Year

January 2, 2020 by Dan Olinger 2 Comments

This is my 65th New Year. The first few I was completely unaware of, but since then, like a lot of other people, I’ve enjoyed the sense of excitement and optimism that our culture associates with the date. There’s something bracing about turning the page, starting out fresh, doing things better this time around.

Sometimes those among us who have half-empty glasses feel the need to point out a couple of things about the new year—as a public service, of course—

There’s really no such thing as a new start, you know. We carry with us the consequences of our previous sins and failures and misjudgments.
If the past is any guide, your good intentions are going to fade in a few days, and statistics show that pretty soon you’re going to be back in the same old rut.

As someone whose glass is perpetually half full—with contents that are quite tasty, thanks—I’ll observe that while those two statements are technically true, they’re practically false by virtue of their incompleteness. Let me explain.

First, it’s true that we carry with us the consequences of our past failures. The founder of my university used to say that if an inebriated bar patron loses an eye in a bar fight, and then gets gloriously converted, he’ll be forgiven, but he’ll never get his eye back. There are consequences of our sin that are inescapable.

True enough. But let’s not forget that he does get gloriously converted, and that’s nothing to slough over. And with conversion comes a whole raft of change and empowerment that will certainly affect the path that the convert takes for the rest of his life.

So yes, you do bring some baggage into this new year, and you can’t pretend that the baggage is weightless. But if you’re a believer, you have the Spirit of God indwelling you, changing your thinking, enabling you to act on that new way of thinking, and surely and powerfully bringing you, over time, into conformity with the Son of God (2Co 3.18). This new year is another step in that sure process.

Divine enablement is a powerful, powerful thing. If your New Year’s resolutions involve spiritual progress, they come with serious momentum behind them.

Now about that second point. Let me note first that statistics don’t “show” anything about the future. They show tendencies about past activities. But rare things do happen.

It’s demonstrably true that most people accomplish less toward their New Year’s resolutions than they intend. But that says nothing about how you’ll do on yours. The fact is that a minority of people do make and maintain significant changes. Somebody’s going to succeed; why can’t you be part of that group? Set reasonable goals, lay out a plan, pray for grace, and go for it.

Maybe you’ll accomplish less than you intend. Fine. But you’ll accomplish something. Refer to point 1.

So much for the naysayers.

My experience also tells me that some new years seem to hold more promise for change than others. In my lifetime, the Big One was Y2K, which involved the potential End of Civilization As We Know It and turned out to be, well, a dud. (Yeah, I filled some containers with water so we’d at least be able to flush the toilet after the End. Can’t hurt to make simple provisions.)

This one is 2020, which is a new decade, and a balanced number, and carries the connotation of clear vision, so who knows? Might be a big year.

But we make too big a deal about Big Years.

Of course our lives include major events—birth, marriage, parenthood, maybe a championship of something, or some other form of public recognition—but the important stuff, the really important stuff, is typically all about simple consistency and attentiveness and faithfulness. The wedding is a Big Deal, but the marriage involves simple daily kindness, gentleness, and thoughtfulness. The birth of your child is a Big Deal, but parenting is a daily slog that is sometimes difficult and frustrating but in the end leaves delightful memories.

So this year, steward your goals, and make them achievable. Make them less about the fireworks and more about faithfulness in the shadows. And watch God keep his promises for your growth in him.

Happy New Year.

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“No Peeking!”

December 16, 2019 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

When I arrived home after work one evening, one of my daughters, who was perhaps three or four years old at the time, met me at the door with delightful words.

“Daddy! I have something to show you! Take my hand, and close your eyes, and no peeking!”

So I took her hand and (mostly) closed my eyes and let her lead me through the house to show me the surprise she had prepared for me.

All these years later, I don’t remember what the surprise was. I’m sure it was one of those things that, in truth, is a bigger deal in the eyes of the child than in the eyes of the parent. I do recall keeping one eye slightly slitted open, because I was pretty sure that she wasn’t thinking about doorframes, and I didn’t want to get knocked out.

Now, why did she want me to close my eyes? Because even at her young age, she knew that joy is heightened by surprise, and surprise is intensified by anticipation. And why did I go along with her? Because I know and love her; because I trusted her to lead me to something good; and because I wanted her to enjoy seeing my joy when the surprise was unveiled.

Sometimes God meets us at the door, so to speak, and he asks us to take his hand, and close our eyes, and “No peeking!”

Most of us respond to that by drawing back and saying, “What? Where are you taking me? Is this gonna hurt?”

Don’t we know him? Don’t we trust him? Do we think he’s going to run us into a doorframe?

How hurtful do you suppose that is to him?

Why do we insist on seeing where he’s taking us?

He doesn’t hide the future from us to frighten us, or to disguise some evil and hurtful thing he has planned for us. He hides the future from us because he loves us—because he wants us to know the increased joy of anticipation and, eventually, revelation of the great things he has prepared for us, in both this life and the life to come.

And we should go along with him, not complaining and not asking accusatory questions, because we know him, because we trust him, and because we want him to enjoy seeing our joy when the surprise is unveiled.

When my daughter said, “OK, Daddy, open your eyes!” I looked first at the surprise—but then I looked immediately at her face, because I wanted to see her joy at my joy. That’s a priceless experience, to see unrestrained joy in the face of someone you love.

Instead of worrying about where God may be taking us—and deeply hurting him in the process—we should prepare to see his face and the joy that we have placed there by simply taking his hand, closing our eyes, and not peeking.

Photo by Nourdine Diouane on Unsplash

On Being Quiet

December 9, 2019 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

We live in a noisy age. It seems that everywhere we go, noise fills the pauses and even runs constantly in the background. In stores and restaurants, the music is constant and often quite loud. (How do people carry on any kind of meaningful conversation in those places?) In the elevator, there’s music—that’s even an official genre, apparently. Go to a professional sporting event, and every pause in the action is filled with the output of the stadium’s DJ. I’m told that what he’s playing is allegedly music. When you get into your car, you automatically reach over and turn on the radio, to fill your environment with music or, worse, people talking—people who quite clearly don’t know what they’re talking about.

I know I sound cynical. I’m not. But I do want to make a point.

Human beings need quiet as certainly as they need exercise. We need time to think, to reflect, to evaluate. To pray.

I’ve noticed that in many of the students I teach, quiet is disturbing. Too quiet. Distracting. Even our library has loosened up on the stereotypical quiet rules as an accommodation to the students’ professed need for background noise—think Starbucks—in order to study.

Our lives are often noisy in ways other than decibels. Many of us pride ourselves on how busy we are, how little time we have. That means, you see, that we’re important, that we’re making a difference. I’m busier than you.

Nyah, nyah, nyah.

My friends, these things ought not so to be.

Now, I know that sometimes we’re unavoidably busy. Some people have to work 3 jobs in order to pay for school. Some people have bedridden relatives or friends, and there’s nobody to share the burden. For most of us, there are seasons of life when we’re simply busier than normal and we have to just grit our teeth and try to get it all done without dying of exhaustion.

But busyness is not a lifestyle we are meant to choose.

We need quiet. Time to think. Time to meditate.

Meditate in your heart upon your bed, and be still (Ps 4.4).

Meditation isn’t emptying your mind, after the fashion of the Eastern religions. When you empty your mind, it’s like leaving your wallet sitting on the sidewalk; somebody bent on mischief is likely to show up.

In the Bible, meditation is focusing your mind on something and giving it your investigative consideration, turning it over and savoring it as you would good food. My colleague Jim Berg says that if you can worry, you know how to meditate; meditation is just the process of worrying without the pathological aspects.

So what should you focus your mind on? The Bible gives at least 3 legitimate topics:

Meditate on God himself (Ps 63.6). Who is he? What is he like? What do those attributes say about how you should think, feel, and live?
Meditate on God’s works (Ps 77.12; 143.5). What has God done? What is he doing today? What will he do in the future? What do those actions say about how you should think, feel, and live?
Meditate on God’s Word (Josh 1.8; Ps 1.2; 119.15, 23, 97, 99, 148). What has God said? What do those words say about how you should think, feel, and live?

I note that in order to meditate on God’s Word, you really have to have it in your head. You can’t think about something that isn’t there. I’ve written on that topic before; if you find the prospect of life-changing meditation appealing, that post might be worth reading again.

Recently I’ve been consciously not turning on the radio when I’m alone in the car. It’s a great opportunity to think, to muse, to meditate. I’ve also been cutting out late-night activities so that I can get enough sleep and still get up earlier, when the house is quiet.

There are lots of demands on us, and they deserve our attention and care. But most of us don’t need to be as busy as we are. Maybe we can’t be philosophers sitting on mountaintops or monks chanting in the abbey—in fact, we’re probably a lot more useful as we are—but we can be more thoughtful, more reasoned, more contemplative.

More quiet, to a useful end.

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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
After conversion: Progressive sanctification / Filling / Glorification
Conclusion

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 1 Comment

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 1 Comment

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.

Photo by madeleine ragsdale on Unsplash

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

April 12, 2018 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

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

Photo by niu niu on Unsplash