Archives For glory

The Pornified Mind and the Glory of God

June 4, 2013

A new film is set to release this year; the protagonist is a guy who values, “My body, my pad, my ride, my family, my church, my boys, my girls…and my porn.” As best as I can tell from the trailer, when he finally encounters a girl who meets his porn-infused standards, he’s surprised to find out she has some standards of her own. Her porn, though, is chick flicks—stories of tender, strong, fictional gentlemen who will meet her emotional and physical needs; needs which our principle guy finds he is hardly qualified to meet.

I’m over at Project TGM today. Continue reading  The Pornified Mind and the Glory of God. 

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If you’re interested, I also wrote at The Gospel Coalition this week.

Increasingly, doubt and doubters are given platforms in church culture, and I see some good reason for it: arrogant certainty in rules and principles has led into a legalism of culture and spirit. The only answer for many dechurched or post-evangelicals is to circle their doubt like the drain in a bathtub. The problem with it, though, is the only place it leads is down.

Continue reading Doubt Your Doubts. 

 

In discipline, glory, seasons, sin, singleness, Uncategorized
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Dried Grass and Crumpled Flowers

April 24, 2013

When God knit this person together, He did so with an optimism of the best sort for everyone else and a pessimism of the worst sort for herself. If there is good to see in others, I will see it, and if there is anything out of place in me, I will caricature it until it is as ugly to the rest of the world as it is to myself. Others call this narcissism. I call it human-nature.

We’re all plagued with an evil eye toward ourselves—even if our greatest flaw is thinking the best of ourselves and the worst of others. Thinking the best of ourselves comes laden with baggage of the self-sufficient, and who needs sufficiency of self if we have not been failed by all others because of our inability to keep them satisfied? “I don’t need nobody else, just me,” is the blight of men everywhere since the enemy fell from legions of angels whose sole concern was Other Than, if only because nobody else could satisfy self like self.

There are a myriad of ways out of this navel gazing—and trust me, I’ve tried them all—but the only one that works is putting two eyes toward the cross and centering them there.

Jesus did it for the joy set before Him, though, and we do a disservice if we do anything motivated by anything other than the same joy. Too often we talk about “bearing the cross” and “picking up our cross,” and I don’t want to mislead you, making you think anything about the Christian life is anything less than a cross. It isn’t. But it is so much more than the cross—and therein lies the joy set before us.

The narcissism that keeps us desperate for the approval of man, the compliments of others, and the affirmation of the achieved, is desperately flawed in that it sets its joy on something less than eternal.

So press on, friends, for the joy set before you. Endure the cross of your ugliest aspects and the gross imperfections of others—this world is a vapor and what lasts is so much more. Treasure, too, the beauty found in others and in yourself, but do it with an eye toward the eternal where the only One we’ll be making much of is Christ.

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In beauty, glory, heaven, joy
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Did God Grow Tired?

March 25, 2013

We know Jacob, the one who wrestled with God, because flannel-graphs and coloring books told us the story of a man who went toe to toe, head over head with the Almighty. We know God wins, because God always wins, but it was Jacob who showed determination: I won’t let go until you bless me.

Would the Almighty have let go first if Jacob hadn’t said so?

I ask myself this often. How much does my determination result in what God considers a blessing?

I ask it that way on purpose because what I consider a blessing might not be what God considers a blessing.

God blessed him, yes. Changed his name, yes, but touched things that felt right, knocked them out of place so that they were right. And left him with a limp.

I wonder if this was the blessing Jacob thought he would get. I wonder if walking with a limp for the rest of his life was the sort of reward he wanted for pressing in, doing battle with God.

Here’s what I pause on this morning: When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him.

Did God grow tired? Did He sigh in frustration as He finally did the only thing He could do to make the man stop? I worry about that. I worry that God grows tired of me. That He is tired of my pestering, my asking. That He wearies of me when I am driving, walking, laying, talking, and there are prayers punctuating my breathing “Help me. Don’t leave me. Show me.” I worry that God will knock something out of joint, leave me with a limp. I worry that the tightrope I am trying to walk, careful, measured steps that guard me from being ungrateful or a badgering witness, I worry that God will finally knock me off completely.

And I know He will not. I know He is Father and He is good, but it doesn’t stop the wrestling, or the worrying. Sometimes I wonder if the wrestle or the worry is in itself the limp with which I walk.

You and I and all of us, we walk with limps. Probably so accustomed to the limp that we barely recognize it anymore, it is the way we walk, slowly, painfully, determined, though seemingly normal, for us. But a limp is only proof that we have wrestled and He has won.

‘Tis all in vain to hold thy tongue,
Or touch the hollow of my thigh:
Though every sinew be unstrung,
Out of my arms Thou shalt not fly;
Wrestling I will not let Thee go,
Till I thy name, thy nature know.

Charles Wesley

What limp are you walking with today? Is it an Ebenezer? Your “thus far?” Or do you feel debilitated by your limp?

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In abiding, glory, grace, seasons
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Real Men & Real Women: Tough & Tender

February 26, 2013

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The Young, Restless, & Reformed Complementarian crowd is often caricatured by a flannel shirt wearing bearded young man who gulps craft beers and talks theology from scribbled notes off his moleskin notebook. He quotes Piper and Packer and Paul. He opens doors for his sisters and uses the word “damn” with frequency, except when his simple fundamentalist Baptist mother is around. He never feels completely capable of leading anyone because he feels like he’s playing catch-up for all his years of not. He drinks his coffee black.

Because the movement has historically been so stalwartly male, made of all things growly and gruff, there just hasn’t been a similar caricature for the female side of YRRC. Though if you were going to attempt a one, she’s probably an avid Pinner, crafting the perfect home for her bearded [future] husband, reading Proverbs 31 and feeling like she falls short of everything except being a wife of noble character (and only because the YRR guy wouldn’t choose anything less than nobility of character for his wife). She probably shops at Whole Foods, or for the more frugal, Trader Joes. She writes Bible verses on index cards and tacks them to kitchen cabinets.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

One of the enemy’s favorite tactics is to take what God has not called ultimate and make it so. If he can confuse the Christians, get them to devour one another, well, he can call it a day. No need for the Crusades part deux, Jesus came to bring a sword, and by golly, the first people we’re gonna use it on is one another.

One particular area of glee the enemy is basking in these days is the division he’s bringing to the Church concerning gender roles. And he does it by making caricatures rampant.

Humanity is important, which means individuals are important, which means men and women are important, which means what men and women do is important, and if the enemy can make what we do (or have done) more important than what God has done, he will seem to have won this particular battle.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A concern of mine I see as I stand on the sidelines, and am being invited into the midst, is that we are taking caricatures of men and women and making them ultimate. For the YRR complementarian man, he thinks a principal way of Being A Man is fighting for his sisters: he wants them to be protected and flourishing—only he’s a little clumsy at it sometimes and it can come off like he’s being a chauvinist. For the complementarian woman, it’s to find a husband as quickly as possible—not because she’s half a person without him, but because how can she prove she’s a distinct helper if she’s not helping anyone? For the egalitarian man, he wants to serve his sisters by fighting to give them a voice where traditionally the most a woman can do in the Church is change diapers and hand out bulletins (Note: both tasks are valuable, I’m not knocking them, just how they limit the abundantly distinct gifts of women.). For the egalitarian woman, she has distinct powerful words burgeoning up inside of her and wants desperately to share them with the world; she wants to help, even if she ends up just sounding shrill.

Theologically we’re not at all alike, but practically I think we are.

I don’t think we all are. But I think we are sort of kind of maybe are.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hear me out.

If the enemy’s favorite tactic is to distract us by what is not best, so we would miss what is, wouldn’t you say he thinks he’s succeeding in some respects (Gen. 3.1-5)?

We have brothers who are fighting on behalf of their sisters, wanting to see their strengths utilized and maximized within the bounds of scripture, and we have sisters who want to do what they were created to do: help bring wisdom, counsel, a distinct voice, a feminine voice.

We’re not so different after all.

But if we continue to get distracted by terminology, practicality, and sustainability, we’re going to lose sight of the beautiful simplicity of the Gospel. I am not saying a theology of gender roles is unimportant here—I’m saying the world and its constructs are dead to us, we boast in the cross alone (Gal. 6.14).

Piper said, “We’re not here to make men and women, we’re here to make disciples.” And my heart leaps inside of me when I hear that. Practice is important, but our practice should be to make disciples in the shadow of the cross, not to make mini-mes. “Come and die” is our mantra, “it’s gonna hurt” should be our caveat.

There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free,
male nor female, for you are all one in Jesus Christ.
Galatians 3:28

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Are you trying to fit yourself into a caricature of what your church or your theology deems you to be? Can I plead with you to not? You are doing a disservice to your theology, your brothers and sisters, and most of all the Gospel, if you make your position or personality ultimate.

Brothers, help your sisters. Fight for them when they are being marginalized. Fight for them not because you want them to lead you, or because you think it will make you more capable of leading them, but because the more you fight for your sisters, the more they will fight for you, and the more you will contend for the Gospel together as one.

Sisters, fight for your brothers. Help them see things in different distinct ways, help them with gentler tones and aspects of humanity that have been characterized as feminine. There is a deep need in the Church today for strong gentleness, ferocious lovingkindness, and articulate passion, and you are absolutely built to bring it to the table. But bring it for the sake of the Gospel, not your voice.

“Jesus is tough and tender, absolutely will get in the face of wicked, self-righteous leaders, and then hug a child. So when we come to Christ, men get appropriately tougher and appropriately more tender, and the same thing happens with women. It’s like the last chapter, the end of a movie. There’s a sense that my life makes sense, my experiences make sense. I am a female, but it’s a bigger deal than that, I am a part of a greater story, I have a sense that I’m bringing to the table not just my femininity, but my spiritual gifts. I am not just a man, but I’m here to give my life away for the body of Christ. And that only happens when we come to Christ.” —Darrin Patrick

For the sake of the gospel, friends, be like Christ. Tough and tender, both for both, all at once, all one in Jesus Christ.

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As always, comments are closed on Sayable, but also as always, you’re invited to join the conversation over on Facebook or on Twitter.

In beauty, complementarian, glory, gospel, identity, singleness, spiritual growth, theology, Uncategorized, Women and Theology
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Yet

February 22, 2013

The nations shall see your righteousness,
and all the kings your glory,
and you shall be called by a new name
that the mouth of the Lord will give.

A friend and I have an ongoing conversation in which we always decide we agree, but in which I usually come back later with some grievance. He says that a woman who doesn’t feel lovely before marriage won’t feel lovely afterward, and I say that God loved us while we were yet sinners so it’s not too much to expect a man to at least try to follow suit.

I think we are both lazy in our estimation of what loveliness is.

You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord,
and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.

It’s been a whole year since I’ve felt lovely. I know it exactly because it was the second week of Lent last year that the little lie crept in and began to strangle out the good and beautiful that grew inside of me. A year is a long time for a lie to fester, especially if you put off addressing the lie until 365 days later. Which I am now doing.

Last week one of my classmates read from Psalm 139. He read it through once, quickly, then teased it apart a bit for us, then asked us to close our eyes and imagine we were saying those hallowed words to God Himself.

Tears pooled in my eyes and I could barely breathe at the end of it all.

I could barely say those words to a friend, a roommate, myself, but to God?

Later that night I was telling a friend what happened and I was embarrassed, not to tell her, but to even confess it myself. Even before a word is on my tongue, He knows it. He knit me together in my mother’s womb. He hems me in, behind and before. I am fearfully made. I am wonderfully made? My days were formed for me?

My days?

Even the past 365 days?

You shall no more be termed Forsaken
and your land shall no more be termed Desolate
but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her
and your land Married
for the Lord delights in you,
and your land shall be married.

It’s hard to not feel wasted inside, overgrown with weeds of lies and weeds of wishes. But that He formed these days for me? Every one of them? Crafted in secret, hewn in His hands, for His glory, these days?

Today I will disagree with my friend yet again: Christ loved me while I was yet a sinner, dead in my ways, covered over by thorns and thistles and lies as big as years. He saw that and called it worth loving, not because I was lovely but because I knew I would never be.

For as a young man marries a young woman,
so shall your sons marry you,
and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride,
so shall your God rejoice over you.
Isaiah 62.2-5

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In beauty, glory, gospel, grace, sin, singleness
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