Reacting To What He Says

How good of Jesus to speak to me where I need to grow. He is attentive–both to what he wants to do in and through me and what must be addressed in me for that growth to happen. And, in love, he speaks to what needs to change, he addresses words of grace (although sometimes they come in a direct and provocative way!), and he seeks to draw me more fully into that life I do truly long for.

But I don’t always react well. Sometimes, I push back against what he has to say. And I am not the only one.

After Jesus addressed–in both words and through actions–the corruption that existed in the Temple in his day, he had some “exchanges of words” with the religious authorities. They didn’t like what he was doing; they (obviously) felt somewhat threatened by him. And, so, in a gentle but clear way, he spoke to them. He told a parable . . . about a vineyard and some tenants . . . to help them see themselves more clearly. (You can read the parable in Mark 12:1-12.)

But they pushed back against what he said . . . even though it was what they needed to hear.

Mark tells us:

They were seeking to seize Him, and yet they feared the people, for they understood that He spoke the parable against them. (Mark 12:12)

I notice three things here–three things that sometimes also influence my way of responding to Jesus.

Let’s start with the last thing Mark mentions. They realized that Jesus was speaking to them and about them; he “spoke the parable against them.” They “got it!” They knew Jesus was addressing them, although he did it in parable form.

This is important to see. Even when Jesus might be speaking in parables, even when I am reading Scripture that doesn’t name me in particular, it could well be that Jesus is speaking to me. He might just be addressing something in my life.

Do I “get it”? Am I aware that, often, Jesus is intending to speak to me? Or do I sit in the church service, listening to the Scriptures read and taught, and draw the conclusion that this word is really good for somebody else but probably not for me? Too often I find myself immersed in a passage of Scripture, concluding that that person really needs to hear this . . . overlooking the possibility that Jesus is, actually, intending to speak directly to me.

But what happens once I see that Jesus is speaking to me, about me, addressing me? I often pick up where these religious people were.

They “were seeking to seize him.” They wanted to control him; they wanted to get him on to their turf and get him to see things their way. Wow–that is a bit too much like what I try to do (even though I might be a bit more subtle).

When I do hear Jesus speaking to me–in a message preached or a passage read or in personal time in Scripture or prayer–I try and control what he is saying. I explain it away, I rationalize why these words don’t apply to me, I find excuses why what he is saying can’t really have application to my life or my situation. I do anything but let his words speak plainly into my life. I try to “seize him” by re-interpreting his words so that they don’t address me . . . or don’t address me so clearly.

Does Jesus really want me to forgive the way he forgives me? Certainly he doesn’t intend for me to forgive that person! After all, what that person did was so unforgivable!

He can’t intend for me to go the extra mile in this situation? After all, I risk being taken advantage of by those who don’t really care for me!

Love God with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength?! Surely that is a bit overstated! Jesus must mean that I should live a more balanced life and make some room for God in my life . . . doesn’t he?

And we are also told that the religious leaders “feared the people.” In this case, it left them hamstrung; they wanted to railroad Jesus but weren’t sure they could do that because they were a bit too concerned about appearances. So, although I might not be contemplating quite the same actions as these leaders, I still think this influences me. That is, I am way too concerned about what other people think. I “fear the people” around me rather than simply listening to Jesus and taking him at his word, regardless of the impact.

So, I react to what Jesus says . . . but not always in healthy ways. Worried about what others might think of me, and attempting to diminish the impact and scope of what Jesus is saying to me, I end up pushing away from him. My reaction to his words leave me the poorer, diminishing my experience of life with him.

Maybe the thing to do–rather than react to Jesus’ words–would simply be to listen.

When the Going Gets Tough

Paul’s life was hardly an easy lot. From the very beginning of his journey with Jesus, he faced hardship, opposition, persecution, challenges. He was no stranger to how hard things can be for one who follows Jesus–and yet he seems to overflow with joy.

In his letter to the Philippians, that is clear. Although he is not where he’d like to be (after all, who wants to be in prison, forgotten and overlooked?!), he still writes to friends to share his joy with them and encourage them in joyful, Jesus-focused living. Amazing!

Part way through chapter two, after writing about living life in a Jesus-way and noting that such living is possible because God moves in the souls of Jesus followers to provide both the impetus and the empowerment for such living, Paul encourages his readers to live such a life without grumbling. In other words: Stop griping about the challenge of living out this life and embrace it as a gift from God and get on with it!

But notice what else he adds to the end of this encouragement:

Do all things without grumbling or disputing; so that you will prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world, holding fast the word of life . . . (Philippians 2:14-16)

Paul’s so honest about life. He says that (even in his day) this world can sure be crooked and perverse. The first word is the root from which we get the English word “scoliosis” (referring to curvature of the spine). It means twisted, bent out of proper shape. The second word speaks of something that distorted resulting in an image or a path that is all wrong. What a description of how life, at times, appears: all bent out of shape and distorted so that life doesn’t make sense.

And how does Paul think the Philippians (and, for that matter, all friends of Jesus) are going to live lives that are holy and blameless in that kind of setting? He suggests that part of what enables us to live such “children of God” kind of lives is as we “hold fast the word of life.”

The “word of life” is one way that Paul speaks of the Gospel–the truth of what God has done and is doing in the world through the life, death, resurrection, ascension, and glorification of Jesus, the Son. The Gospel is God’s plan to rescue sinful people and make them into his own children. That is the word of life.

But Paul says that the followers of Jesus need to “hold fast” the word of life. What does that mean?It’s an interesting expression; the verb doesn’t appear often in New Testament.

A great picture that conveys the sense of the word is found in Acts 3:5. There the word is used to speak of what a lame man did as Peter and John passed by, thinking that he might receive something from them. He “latched onto” them; this was not casual glance. The man clung to PEter and John in anticipation, he held fast, he gave them his full and undivided attention. 

And Paul tells us that a significant part of how we survive and thrive in a world that distorted and twisted is by latching on to the Gospel message that is the real word of life.

When the going gets tough (and, really, it always is), then the followers of Jesus cling even more tenaciously, intentionally, and consciously to the message of truth, the word of life, the glorious good news of what God is doing in and through our friend and Savior, Jesus.

I know that when I feel the toughness of life, I do want to hold on to something. But often, I end up latching on to things that are not really going to help me. Maybe I tighten my grip on my possessions, thinking they will provide me security. Perhaps I latch on to power or reputation, hoping that my sense of self will weather the storm. It differs from trouble to trouble, but like all of us I look for something that will be dependable in the midst of a twisted and broken world.

And Paul’s words come back to me. The invitation to live out Jesus’ kind of life is attractive. And a significant way to give in to that kind of life and live well in the midst of a twisted and broken world is to get an unyielding grip on the truth of the Gospel.

So, what are you holding on to today?

Not a Dim Bulb

It has become a more complex problem, selecting light bulbs for the light fixtures around home. The choices have become multiplied! There are different kinds of light (some more “natural” others “warmer”), they draw different amounts of electricity while still insisting they give similar amounts of light, some are supposedly more ecologically friendly . . . it’s hard to just go in and get a “sixty-watt bulb” these days. But what that reminds me is that there are a variety of components that go into making light what it is.

Paul tells the Philippians that they are “light.” Specifically, they “appear as lights in the world” (Philippians 2:15). He states this after inviting them to embrace a life fully given over to Jesus’ way of life.

It seems that Paul is saying that because they belong to Jesus, because they have come to share his life, they are, in fact, lights in the world. But he in calling them to give themselves more intentionally to this life. Why? Perhaps to cultivate their “light-ness.”

As I listen to Paul’s words, it seems to me he touches on a number of things that hinder might hinder my “light-ness.” He writes:

Do all things without grumbling or disputing; so that you will prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world, holding fast the word of life . . . (Philippians 2:14-16)

So, when in the midst of the challenges of life, as I am growing into this life Jesus shares with me, when I grumble and complain, my “light-ness” is diminished. When the way I handle living in relationship with others is more about me than about Jesus, I can appear to be little more than a dim bulb . . . the light is not shining very brightly. It isn’t evident that I am a child of God and that Jesus is working his life out in and through me when all that is coming out of mouth is the kind of bickering and complaining that those who don’t know Jesus are all too familiar with.

But it is not just my demeanor that might get in the way of my “light-ness.” Paul refers to ”holding fast the word of life.” The expression “word of life” in Paul’s writings is a reference to the Gospel–the message of truth about who Jesus is and what he came to do in rescuing people from their sin and bringing them in to life with God. And when I do not hold on to the message of the Gospel tightly–holding fast the word of life–than my “lightness” diminishes. I might be relatively free from grumbling, but if the message being broadcast from my lips and my life isn’t focused clearly on Jesus and who he is and what he has done and what he is doing, than I can appear to be little more than a dim bulb . . . the light is not shining very clearly.

This world in which we live is a dark place. Jesus intends to draw people out of the darkness and into his life. And those who already know him are privileged to be lamps, lights, that help others move from darkness into that light. And we share in that by being–by his grace and through his Spirit–”light.”

When I spend my days grumbling, it’s hard for others to see what I live for. The light is dim. When I am bitter about how Jesus is shaping me to love and care for others, it’s hard for others to see that there is a different kind of life available. The light is dim. When I “buck up” and live without real complaint but without any real message of life, no one sees in and through my life a witness to the light they so desperately need. The light is dim.

I don’t want to be a dim bulb. I want to live in a way that enlightens the world around me. So . . .

Enough of the grumbling. Enough with the pushing against what Jesus is doing. And more of making much of Jesus who is doing this incredible thing in me of making me like him!

The Proof is in the . . .

I am staggered when I really catch a glimpse of just what it is that God is doing in and through and for people. That God is even interested in “messing with” our lives is amazing; but that he does such good and gracious and kind and wise things . . . it can take my breath away.

It seems to me that such thoughts often must have gone through Paul’s mind. He finds such outrageous and deep and carry-me-away kind of joy in Jesus because of what God is doing in and through him. Just contemplating the grace of God that reaches him–reaches us–in and through Jesus seems to stir waves of joy in Paul.

That’s a bit of what I taste when I read Philippians. I hear and see and savor Paul’s joy in Jesus . . . and I long to experience if for myself all the more. And, because of God’s work in us, we can.

Paul says that God, having begun this amazing transformative work in us, will bring it to completion (Phil. 1:6). And he explained that as we give ourselves to a Jesus-kind of life, the transformation does not come because of our effort or competency or spiritual acumen; we are transformed because God, himself, is working in us to produce both the longing and the outcome (Phil. 2:12-13).

We are undergoing grace-based, Jesus-produced, Spirit-empowered, Gospel-centered, God-glorifying transformation. All who have come to Jesus to find life are undergoing a life transformation by his doing. Amazing. And in the process, how do we live?

Well, for me, at times it is clear that I really don’t “get it.” I lose sight of what God is doing. And you know how I know (and how others who know me know)? It becomes evident in my grumbling.

Having recounted the life-saving journey and sacrifice of Jesus to rescue us (Phil. 2:1-11) and having invited us into a participation in that life and having affirmed to us that our being transformed into partners in that life is God’s gracious doing, Paul then writes:

Do all things without grumbling or disputing; so that you will prove yourselves to be blameless and innocent, children of God above reproach in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you appear as lights in the world . . . (Philippians 2:14-15)

Paul calls us to live like Jesus. He tells us God is working to reproduce Jesus’ own servant-character in us. He cheers us on to give into that process because God is working it in and through us. And then he says . . . “So, stop griping!”

Such a needed word! In my heart of hearts, I really do want to grow up to look like Jesus. I can think of no more glorious or wonderful ”destination” than to share in the life and ministry and character of the Beloved of God. But just as God begins to shape and mold, nudge and press, trim and change what doesn’t quite look like Jesus in me, I wince and complain, I whine and grumble.

But Paul says that if I would only get on with living this life “without grumbling” I would “prove” to be a child of God. So does that mean that we, somehow, “earn” our standing as children of God by maintaining a good attitude? Of course not. Adoption into God’s family comes by grace through Jesus alone. We are his children by his doing, not our own.

The idea behind the word “prove” is not “make to be” but closer to “show to be.” We don’t make ourselves to become the beloved children of God by refraining from grumbling as God is transforming us, but we do make it evident that we are, in fact, his children when we graciously embrace and welcome his re-creating us in Jesus’ image without all the griping.

If we really believe that we are his, if we really embrace his love for us, if we really understand that Jesus has made us accepted and acceptable before God, if we really grasped that what he is doing is making us “better” by reproducing the character of the Son in us, than no matter what comes into our lives, whatever comes our way, we would “do all things without grumbling.” We wouldn’t complain about how poorly we are being treated but would like for the opportunity, in every moment, to yield to life-changing grace. 

We are his children by Jesus’ doing. And the proof? What “testifies” to our status as children? When we embrace the life he is working in us without grumbling.

Growing By Giving In

I see it in my own life. I hear it from others. I watch fellow disciples wrestle. We want to grow. We want to grow in our experience of life with Jesus. We want to come to understand more about the God who loves us and to grasp, in a tangible and palpable way, how to keep in step with the Spirit.

And it is when I am at the growing edge of life, when we face those moments and opportunities that take us beyond what is already familiar and manageable, that we balk, that I hesitate.

Hearing, or reading, or knowing, or sensing what it just might be that Jesus wants for me, I resist. And I tell myself (and others who might be listening!), “I just can’t do it. It’s not in me.”

Like the woman I spoke with who told me she didn’t know it was “in her” to really love her husband. Or the friend who talked about not knowing whether it was “in him” to step into a fresh opportunity for serving. Or the young man who was struggling with whether he was up to finding some kind of regular pattern of time with Jesus because he wasn’t sure it was “in him” to do so.

When faced with challenges in growing–even when we truly want to grow–we often take an internal spiritual thermometer reading and conclude, “Nope! Not in me. Don’t see it. Not there. I guess there won’t be any growth this time.”

But as common as that response might be, it really overlooks a staggering insight–a truth that could actually open the door for transformative living.

Paul begins to unpack this idea in his letter to the Philippians, as he explains how it is that they are to live like Jesus. In Philippians 2, Paul lays before them the picture of how Jesus lived. And he tells them that they (and we!) are to live in the same way.

Of course you can hear them say back to Paul: “”Nope! Not in me. Don’t see it. Not there.” They might look at themselves and what they “bring to the table” and conclude they just aren’t up for this “living like Jesus.” And then Paul writes:

Work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for [His] good pleasure. (Philippians 2:13)

He isn’t calling them to get “more saved.” The idea of “working out your salvation” is more about getting into it, living it out, inclining yourself to what is–it’s not about earning or meriting or achieving salvation. But then comes the insight.

God is at work in you. He intends to provide both the willing and the working; both the internal “umph” and the necessary “ugh” for you to grow. All that is missing for growth, in some sense, is an inclination to give in to that.

“Nope! Not in me. Don’t see it. Not there.” Well of course not–not in and of yourself! But God is there, by his Spirit and because of Jesus. And if we just give in to his invitation to growth, we might really be surprised by the power of his willingness in us and the effectiveness of his enablement.

Growth comes, not by trying harder to do what you don’t think you can do, but by admitting that apart from his grace growth won’t come. And then, giving in to that grace; taking God at his word that he will provide both the willing and the working for growth. Growth comes by giving in.

He Chose

I continue to think about being a servant–the idea that Jesus invites his friends and followers into a serving-life. That is his kind of life, so that is the kind of life he invites us to participate in.

These thoughts are rooted in what Jesus tells his friends (as, for example, recorded in Mark’s Gospel; see “Going Along Willingly” and other recent posts on Mark) as well as reflections on Paul’s words in his letter to the believing community in the city of Philippi (as in the post “Hold On . . . to the Right Stuff”).

Journeying through both sections of Scripture, it seems clear that although we are invited into servanthood, we don’t have to live there. That is, we could chose to not live as servants.

Jesus says “whoever wishes” can join him in living as servant (Mark 10:42-45). His followers were arguing about position and power and Jesus points them in a different direction so as to experience his kind of life.

Paul enjoins the believers in Philippi writing, “If there is any encouragement in Christ . . . [if there is any] affection and compassion . . . [then] make my joy complete by being of the same mind . . . doing nothing from selfishness of empty conceit . . . [but] have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 2:1-5). He contrasts the way that many (even believers) live in selfishness and points them to an alternative life of serving exemplified by Jesus himself.

Jesus said that he came to serve, and to give his life for others (Mark 10:44-45). And Paul explained that Jesus emptied himself, entered our world, humbled himself, and served to the point of death (Philippians 2:5-9). What this all means is that Jesus chose. He chose to live as servant.

It is true that this is really who he is; he doesn’t pretend or merely act the servant role. But this also means that he did not serve begrudgingly or unwillingly. He didn’t give his life under coercion or reluctantly. He wasn’t serving out of a “must” but out of a “want to” kind of heart.

And the invitation–by Jesus and reflected by Paul–is to this kind of willing servanthood.

How then are we to respond when it becomes clear that our hearts are not so willing? What is our response to the invitation when, in taking the pulse of our own spiritual hearts, we discover we aren’t so interested and not really all that willing to live as servants in line with Jesus’ kind of life?

For me, I think what needs to happen is that I need to choose to give in to the invitation. I can hold back, argue that it is not in me to live that way, and choose not to respond to the call to live a life of servanthood. But choosing that, I am choosing to not experience life with Jesus.

I think of Peter, in that boat on the sea of Galilee, storm-tossed and troubled, seeing Jesus coming walking on the water (Matthew 14:22-36). How totally unimaginable and inconceivable! A man walking on water. But then, Jesus calls to Peter. “Come, Peter, walk with me!” Peter could have held back. He could have argued that it wasn’t in him to live that way. Men don’t walk on water. He could have chosen to not respond to the call . . . and he would have lost out on a rich experience of life with Jesus.

But Peter didn’t hold back. He chose. He stepped out. He walked on water. Jesus provided all that was necessary for Peter to respond to what, initially, must have seemed like an impossible invitation.

I don’t want to hold back. When Jesus calls me to a life of servanthood. I want to choose. I want to step out. I want to walk on water.

Going Along Willingly

I think it was a classic Dennis the Menace comic where Dennis, having gotten himself into a bit of trouble, has been sent to the corner. There, on his time out, he sits on his chair, facing the wall. And he says, “I may be sitting down on the outside but on the inside I am standing up!”

How true to life! We can do what appears to be the right thing and, all the while, harbor massively wrong inclinations on the inside. We can go along with what is required or demanded or asked of us . . . but we don’t always go along with a joyful willingness.

I was thinking along these lines as I continue to reflect on Jesus’ invitation to life as a servant (the topic of the last few posts). Jesus isn’t calling us to a different kind of life than his own; he was (and continues to be) a servant. So, that is the life he shares with those who want to follow him. And, Jesus is not inviting us to merely do servile things; his is a call toward becoming or being a servant.

Seeing this, I do (at times) feel that Jesus’ kind of life must be the life I am looking for. I would like to share his life, to experience his kind of life. So, I find in my soul through the work of his Spirit, this longing to give in to the invitation to servanthood . . . sometimes.

I listen again to his words:

“Whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant; and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be slave of all. For even the Son of Man [speaking of himself] did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:43-45)

And my attention is caught by how he speaks about himself. He doesn’t simply do servile things; he is one who serves. In the same way that he invites us, his friends and followers, to be servants, so he is. He came into the world to serve. But Jesus says a bit more than that.

In his serving, he tells me that he also came “to give his life a ransom for many.” Therein we find a great and life-altering theological truth–Jesus offers his life as a substitutionary sacrifice on behalf of sinners. (See Paul’s comment on this 2 Corinthians 5:21 and the lengthy picture of this sacrifice in Isaiah 53.) But my attention is caught–as I think about servanthood–by the idea that Jesus gave his life in serving. Yes, there is the idea of substitution in what Jesus says here. But there is also the idea that Jesus serves willingly.

He tells us that he gives his life. He is not dragged into this self-giving servanthood. He is not coerced or forced. He gives his life. That is a fundamental characteristic of a genuine servant.

You’ve probably been “served” by someone who wasn’t a willing servant. You know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of such activity. The serving is not gracious; the effort made by the servant seems too costly; the appreciation you express for the act of service is met with shrugs and stares making it clear that you have no idea how put out the servant is in his or her serving. Although such servants bear the name “servant,” they are not going along willingly. They are truly not serving, they are only working the program.

Jesus is different. He serves willingly. He serves because it is his character and his delight to serve. He serves because he wants to. And that catches my attention and troubles me more than a bit. Because so much of my serving is so far from willing.

I serve because . . . well, because I think life will go better, or because I can’t afford to be seen as selfish or self-focused, or because I want to make a good impression (on others or on God), or because I am feeling the need to make up for some bad stuff I have done. But I don’t know that I serve, willingly and from the heart, because I see being servant as my identity in Christ.

And when I see that, I am reminded again why we need such a Savior. Jesus is so much more than a “good teacher” or a “spiritual coach.” He doesn’t simply explain to us that life as servant is the life to be experienced; he models that life for us and then, by his grace and through his Spirit, he actually undertakes the work of transforming us from the inside out so that we serve willingly, with delight, because we have come to find ourselves in him.

And I realize that I do have moments when I taste that. I serve . . . willingly . . . and it is sweet. It is life.

On the Receiving End of Things

I am still thinking about the way I relate to God and what it means for Jesus to be the one who came to serve and that our God is the one who works for those who wait for him. As mentioned in an earlier post, this is not to inappropriately reverse roles in my relationship with the living God–he is still and will always be God, he is sovereign, he is supreme, he rules; and I will always be subject to him, adoring him for his glory and goodness.

But at times, as friends and followers of Jesus think about being “servants of God,” we can get a little fuzzy in our thinking about what that “serving” really looks like, what it means.

Seeing as Jesus came as servant, not looking to get other to serve him (Mark 10:45), and knowing that our God is not served by human hands as if he needed anything from us (Acts 17:25), then there must be a right way to think about our serving and a wrong way to think about our servanthood. If we think in our serving we are rescuing God, helping him out, making up for some lack in him, if we think we are giving back to Jesus for all he has given us–then in our serving we are misunderstanding what we “bring to the table.”

There must be a way to think of our serving God in terms of our growing dependence upon him ushering into our participating with him in what he is doing in our world and through our lives. That is, our serving is much more about joining him than about adding to him. Such a view would be rooted in our appropriately dependent life of faith and would see him as being the marvelously sufficient and grace-giving God that he is.

This thought is, undoubtedly, some of what forms the background for the idea we find in the letter to the Hebrews:

And without faith it is impossible to please [Him], for he who comes to God must believe that He is and [that] He is a rewarder of those who seek Him. (Hebrews 11:6)

What does this mean? What is implied? A significant part of this must mean that whenever we approach God–including our willing serving–we must approach him with the faith (confident reliant trust) that he is the one who will be doing the “rewarding” in our relationship. That is, he will always be the benefactor and we will always be the beneficiary in our relationship with him. He will always be the supreme giver, we will always be fundamentally on the receiving end of things.

And this thinking allows me to move into a life of service–serving others for his sake and seeing myself as servant of the living God–without inappropriately over-appreciating what I bring nor under-appreciating that, because of grace and because of his character and nature, I will always be on the receiving end of his goodness and care . . . even in my serving.

I Just Don’t See It

How do we live–dependent on the Spirit and following passionately after Jesus and pursuing the glory of God–when life just doesn’t seem to be playing out the way we had hoped? When I don’t get my “preferred future,” I have a hard time keeping my perspective. I readily gripe; I too easily complain; I tend to pull away from the Lord rather than lean in to him. Trouble troubles me that way; I know I am supposed to face it differently . . . but I don’t . . . often.

Talking these things through with friends over the past weeks, I think I have come to see something that I hadn’t quite clearly seen before. There is a way of seeing, in the midst of trouble, that helps me get through it. Let me illustrate it by drawing on the book of Acts.

In Acts 6, we meet Stephen:

Stephen, full of grace and power, was performing great wonders and signs among the people. But some men from what was called the Synagogue of the Freedmen, [including] both Cyrenians and Alexandrians, and some from Cilicia and Asia, rose up and argued with Stephen. But they were unable to cope with the wisdom and the Spirit with which he was speaking. (Acts 6:8-10)

Clearly, Stephen was a remarkable disciple; living “all out” for Jesus. The Spirit was using him in a marvelous and God-honoring way. In fact, so effective was Stephen, that his enemies (and the enemies of the Gospel) decided he had to be stopped.

[Stephen's opponents] secretly induced men to say, “We have heard [Stephen] speak blasphemous words against Moses and against God.” And they stirred up the people, the elders and the scribes, and they came up to him and dragged him away and brought him before the Council. (Acts 6:11-12)

Well, Stephen makes his defense. He speaks freely and plainly; he makes it clear that he is not speaking blasphemous words against Moses or God or the temple. But his enemies will hear none of it. They are bent on his destruction.

But being full of the Holy Spirit, [Stephen] gazed intently into heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God; and he said, “Behold, I see the heavens opened up and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.” But they cried out with a loud voice, and covered their ears and rushed at him with one impulse. When they had driven him out of the city, they began stoning him. Then falling on his knees, he cried out with a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them!” Having said this, he fell asleep. (Acts 7:55-60)

This is evil! Stephen is falsely accused. Stephen is mistreated. Stephen is attacked because he believes in Jesus. Stephen is killed because he tells the truth about Jesus. His death is evil; it is a bad thing. But, when we step back and look at how Stephen’s life plays out and what happens as a result and how the Lord was working in and through it all . . . well, we begin to see it differently. Luke later writes:

So then those who were scattered because of the  persecution  that occurred in connection with  Stephen  made their way to Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word. (Acts 11:19)

What does this mean? God was working, in and through Stephen’s death, to move the Gospel into the Gentile regions of the world. Wow! We see that and we can say, “Praise God! Stephen’s death wasn’t a waste. God was doing something in the midst of that seeming tragedy. Although evil was intended, God was doing something more.”

The problem is . . . I don’t say that when I am in the midst of my trouble. And why don’t I say such things? Because I mistakenly think I know what the story is all about.

If we thought that Acts was about how successful and how brilliant and how effective Stephen was, then Acts would be a tragedy. Or if we only had the first eight chapters of Acts and did not know what the final outcome was of Stephen’s death, then we might feel that Acts was a sad and sorrowful tale. It is only because we do know the end–revealed as it was in the further telling of the account of Acts–that we can catch a glimpse of what God was doing and we do not feel overwhelmed by the evil that befell Stephen. We can make sense of Stephen’s death because of where God’s story is going.

But I don’t have the privilege of knowing the chapters that lie ahead in my life. I only can read my life up to today. And when I am facing trials and trouble, heartache and sorrow, I find it hard not to conclude I am in a tragedy . . . I am living out a sad and sorrowful tale. But the truth is, I only draw such a conclusion because I just don’t see it . . . I just don’t see what is ahead, what God is doing, where this is all going, what turns the story will take tomorrow, and the next day, and the next . . .

If only I could trust God that he is writing a story, in our lives, that involves us . . . but that has Jesus as the star and has his own glory as the reason for the story . . .  and that what he is writing with our lives will make wonderful and glorious and joy-inducing and satisfaction-producing sense when we learn the rest of the story. If only . . . if only I would trust him.

Facing Trouble . . . Together

Jesus alerted us; he said that while we are in this world, awaiting his return, we will face trouble (John 16:33). Peter encouraged us; he wrote that we should not be surprised when we have to face trouble (1 Peter 4:12). James charges us; he calls us to face trouble with unshakable joy (James 1:2). And Paul wrote the Philippians that it was their privilege to not only believe in Christ, but to suffer for his name sake (Philippians 1: 29).

When I think of these words about suffering, I readily think of martyrs, both past and present. Those are the ones who are facing trouble and trials and tribulation. And, that is true. But it is also true that each of us faces varying degrees of difficulties and trouble and sorrows in our daily lives. (Paul underscored that idea in Romans 8:22-23 when he wrote about our “groaning” as we await a full salvation that we have only begun to taste.)

Having told the Philippians (and those of us who are reading that letter!) that we can anticipate various kinds of trouble, he begins reflecting on how trouble is to be faced. He writes:

Therefore if there is any encouragement in Christ, if there is any consolation of love, if there is any fellowship of the Spirit, if any affection and compassion, make my joy complete by being of the same mind, maintaining the same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose. (Philippians 2:1-2)

Seeing as there really is encouragement found in Christ as we look to him, seeing as the love we share can bring consolation and comfort, seeing as we do share a common life together in the Spirit . . . Paul says that the way forward is to face trouble together. Same mind, same love, united in spirit, intent on one purpose.

He is not telling us to “get together” and come up with a game plan to figure out what we want, collectively, and to go for it. He is saying that seeing as we are sharing the same life, because of the same Savior, through the power of the same Spirit, we ought to be living for the same end. The reality of the life we have in Christ should shape the way that we live, together, in facing trouble.

The trouble with trouble is that it often pits one against another. Wife against husband, children against parents, co-workers against one another or against management, deacons against church leaders. That there is trouble should not catch us by surprise. That we don’t face it together, however, ought to be a profound wake up call.

The reason that we don’t face trouble together is, fundamentally, because we look at the trouble with an eye on differing ends. We each face trouble with a subtle, beneath the surface, “what’s in this for me” perspective. We approach the trouble as if it is about coming through it, coming out on top . . . maybe even winning.

What Paul sees is something altogether different. He looks at trouble and sees followers of Jesus growing and going through it together . . . because of how they are looking at it. He is calling us to face trouble–personal, corporate, big, small–as if finding Jesus in it, experiencing Jesus through it, depending on the Spirit in it, tasting love in the midst of it was what it was all about.

Facing trouble, together, is not about coming to some agreement about what we want to get out of it. Facing trouble, together, is about realizing that Jesus is doing something in and through and by and along side of it that will result in us being more taken with him, more concerned about his glory, more given over to what he wants.

If we could but see that. If we could be of that kind of like-minded, intent on that purpose. It would transform how we face trouble . . . together.