Worth
Seeing someone struggle through a situation you’ve experienced before, it’s completely natural to want to reassure them it won’t last forever. In hindsight, we see our own growth that came from adversity. But not all experiences are universal, and an outcome that you think is worth suffering for may not be worth anything for someone else.
Telling someone their struggle will result in a positive outcome is not only dismissive of their pain, but also raises their expectation for an earthly, proportionate reward. Life doesn’t happen transactionally; you don’t evaluate the cost and ROI of every crisis or difficulty and decide what you’re willing to live through.
“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces.” James 1:2-4
This is something that is easy to say and hard to hear, even from someone like James who faced more than enough of his own trials. Is he being dismissive? Is he trying to comfort, or is he trying to teach?
When we view trials as a ‘cost’ for a later prize, our relationship with God becomes transactional. Our actions become motivated in attaining or earning a reward, instead of humility and obedience. Then we wonder what is the point of suffering if we don’t see any results.
But longsuffering, which is a gift of the Holy Spirit, is endurance. It’s an ability to bear hardship without an end in sight. Our faith in God can not be dependent on the assumption that every negative experience comes with an equally positive one. There are going to be times when nothing seems worth the pain you’ll feel.
Scriptures promise blessings on those who are faithful, whether it’s a crown of life or eternity with Jesus. It isn’t wrong to anticipate those blessings, or find comfort in their eventual appearance. But equating those with earthly rewards sets up impossible expectations and invites frustration for our lives as they are now.
Created Good
So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.
Genesis 1:27
When we wonder how we, individually, might reflect God’s character, we tend to think of our kindest personality traits or our unique skills. But if we are created in the image of God, then we reflect his character before any of our actions could. Like a child who resembles her mother, the family resemblance was put in us from the beginning, and while our choices can enhance it they can’t create it.
God created things, and called them good. Before their acts of worship or sacrifices, before any of their ‘good’ works were accomplished, he called them good. That has to be our starting point for how we think of our own goodness, and how we think of others’.
If we are good, it’s because we look like him who is Goodness. There is no room to boast, for it comes from outside of ourselves.
For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.
1 Corinthians 13:12
Goodness can also be terrifying, like a light that is too bright. When we use our limited understanding to try and see the true, unrestrained character of God, we are looking into the sun. We can’t even comprehend the fullness of it; it’s beyond us. And because we can’t fully understand it, we may not even recognize it.
Our limited definition of “good” usually includes the absence of pain, hardship, or death. It has connotations of pleasance, painlessness, enjoyment, beneficence. It is whatever gives us the most happiness with the fewest hurt. And if we were to judge God’s goodness based on our definition, most of us would say it isn’t usually there. He withholds things we want, allows us to feel pain, and doesn’t always protect us from terrible loss. Either God is not good, or we don’t understand his goodness.
Our concept of goodness is painfully temporal. We have to reframe our perspective to something more eternal.
We already do things all the time that we don’t enjoy, or even cause us pain, precisely because we think it is good. We eat healthy food because it is better to be healthy than sick. We initiate difficult conversations because it is better to be honest and helpful than to be comfortable. It’s like training for a marathon. Pain can be bad, but it can also be good when it means you’re getting stronger.
Just like the pain of physical exertion can lead to strength, God uses painful and difficult moments in our lives to lead us to a higher good. It doesn’t mean those moments were secretly good all along, or that your feelings have been invalidated. Rather, they become reframed in the story God is telling through you.
There is an appeal something higher than our immediate desires or understanding. Just because something is powerful, or maybe even dangerous, doesn’t mean it isn’t good.
The Root of Goodness
“Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!”
Psalm 34:8
We all make assessments about what is right and what is wrong, what is good and what is bad. It’s an inner conscious, an almost inherent sense of morality. But where does our idea of goodness come from? Most people can recognize it, but it’s harder to define it or draw its boundaries. Why is courage admired and cowardice despised, even for the sake of self-preservation? Why is honesty preferred to deceit, even when it causes complications?
We don’t get to determine what goodness is. Goodness is defined not by earthly laws or human morality, but only by the character of God. It is when things are most aligned with who he is.
Because of the fallenness of the world, because of our freedom to choose sin and selfishness, we are not always in alignment. People and situations can be far from God, and therefore far from good. But God doesn’t change, so that means his goodness doesn’t either. It is not dependent on a positive outcome, a happy feeling, a narrowly-missed disaster. It can be as present in a celebration as it is in a disaster. When we expand our definition, we can recognize it in more places.
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”
James 1:17
Some people have a hard time awarding something value if it isn’t explicitly from God, however explicitly that could ever be to us, anyway. But if everything good is from God, that means everything, whether or not it is found in a church building.
Goodness comes from a pure love of God, from wanting to be like him and not from wanting to increase our own virtue.
When we are told that ‘goodness’ is something we’re meant to have, that we should be filled to bursting with it, it’s easy to get overwhelmed. We have to confront our weaknesses and decide to act better, and it usually feels like gritting our teeth and trying to force positive vibes. Is that really goodness, though? Jesus rebuked the pharisees who spent their lives trying to check all the right boxes because even though their outward actions seemed ‘good,’ their inner lives were filled with pettiness and corruption.
You can be outwardly ‘good,’ you can be what the world calls ‘good,’ and still be painfully empty of God’s goodness.
The true goodness of God is not something you can earn. But it is something that has already been given to you. It was given to you when you were created in his image, and given again when the Holy Spirit took up residency in you. Like a child takes after a parent, you already have the family resemblance.
Knowing that goodness is a gift and not a prize isn’t permission to stop trying at all. It isn’t a free pass to pursue your selfish ambitions and neglect the work in which God calls us to participate. It is freedom to do the work without the pressure of completing it.
Stop striving and living like you are fully responsible for manifesting the goodness of the Lord in your life. Rest in his provision and peace, knowing that it’s there even when you can’t feel it. Remain confident.
And when he calls you into action, into pursuing him and being drawn close, do not turn him away.
Adjusting to the dark
“Why must holy places be dark places?”
C.S. Lewis
Many times, faithfulness is like being in a dark room. And instead of fleeing, you slowly let your eyes adjust. And just as soon as you can make out a few shadowy objects, you’re lead into deeper darkness.
And all of life can feel like an unending journey into darker darkness. Each room that comes is impossibly dark for a long time, and all of the squinting and straining does nothing. All you can do is sit in the darkness and wait for something else to give you sight.
This is a world where he doesn’t show himself clearly, he only gives us glimpses. He hides himself and his voice, and asks us to believe what our senses and minds say is impossible. We are lead into places we don’t understand.
That uncomfortable darkness reveals our faithfulness, or lack thereof. We are forced to come to terms with the inadequacy of our greatest strength and the failures of our strongest virtues. We are brought to a place where we cannot rely on ourselves, where no light in our world could guide us.
“In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith— more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire— may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.”
— 1 PETER 1:6-9
It’s hard to feel excited about faithfulness, when all it appears to be is survival or refinement. Those moments in the dark do not feel very victorious. There is little pride in being pulled through the trials and barely making it by the skin of your teeth. But to be at one’s lowest, to have had sleepless nights and worried days, and still say, “I believe. I trust,” is the whole of faithfulness.
You cannot remove faith from the uncomfortable darkness. It’s understanding the incomprehensible by understanding that you can not understand it. The faithfulness of the Holy Spirit is what empowers us to believe and keep believing.
Same
God’s faithfulness means, in part, that he is who he says he is. Even when we disagree or claim, in ignorance, that what seems contradictory to us must be untrue. The Bible teaches that God is love, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t also just. His goodness is not in conflict with his holiness, or his compassion with his truth. He simply is, and he does not change.
The God that fulfilled his promises to Abraham, Moses, and David is the same God we pray to today. Jesus, who ate with sinners and healed the sick, is the same Messiah we worship now. And the Holy Spirit who empowered the apostles is the same Spirit living in us.
In a lot of ways, God’s faithfulness is expressed when we lack it ourselves. He has promised never to forsake those who love him, and because he never changes, neither does this promise. Nothing we could ever do, say, or experience has the power to drive God away forever. No one is cast off forever, despite our wandering.
If we are faithless, he remains faithful— for he cannot deny himself.
2 Timothy 2:13
In some ways, the faithfulness of God is a culmination of all his other characteristics— it is every virtue fulfilled. Because he is truthful, because he will not abandon us or change his mind about redeeming us, we can rest in knowing that his love his always available. His patience will never run out, his mercy will never end, and his goodness will never be overturned. Our part is to trust that he is who he says he is, and always will be.
“True faith is never merely a source of spiritual comfort. It may indeed bring peace, but before it does so it must involve us in struggle.”
Thomas Merton
Is having faith as simple as making a decision?
A decision is certainly involved. There is a moment where you acknowledge something as truth, a point where commit yourself to something. It is not a matter of fact, a decision resting on rational analysis. Faith is, in part, a belief. But ‘faith’ is not solely the one-time acknowledgment of Jesus as lord. It is not a step you take to move into something else.
Neither is faith simply a feeling. It is not a hope that God exists somewhere out there, or a vague sense that all is right in the world. Feelings are fleeting, and oftentimes heavily influenced by circumstances. A faith that is subjected to constant change isn’t faith at all.
To have faith means to accept that God directs every part of the spiritual life. It’s not the absence of doubt, nor is it an unexplainable experience. It is the man crying out to Jesus, “I believe, help my unbelief!”
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day...
— 2 Timothy 4:7-8
Sometimes it seems like the only thing the Bible has to say about faith is that it will be tested. Among God’s promises for goodness, direction, and purpose are his promises for comfort, strength, and courage during the inevitable times of grief, weakness, and fear.
During Bible times, there were very real, physical trials between a person and their relationship with God. Christians were condemned, turned out by their families, tortured or killed. This still happens in the world today, but barriers to faith in American culture in 2019 look very different. Apathy, selfishness, hesitation to be associated with particular politics, these can keep us from putting our trust in Christ. Not to mention the sharp pain and apparent betrayal of personal suffering.
In times of scarcity, God’s provision is more apparent. In times of uncertainty, God’s promise of direction is better understood. Because of his faithfulness, he will provide all these good things. And our faithfulness is in response to still trusting and believing when those provisions aren’t apparent.
Sent
by Sarah Bourns
I have been stunned as I read through the book of John to notice how often Jesus tells his listeners that He was sent by the Father. It seems that he concludes almost every statement with the qualifier “because The Father has sent me,” and he consistently deflects attention from himself and towards “the One who sent me.”
Curious, I did a little study on the word “sent” in the book of John and found 41 times that it is used by Jesus in this way.
So, why was it so important that Jesus’ disciples knew He was sent by the Father? Is there a difference between going and being sent?
The word Apostle can literally be translated as “the sent ones,” and was often used in political or business language to mean one who acted on the full authority of the sender to the extent that he accurately represented the sender’s mission. Today, we would probably use the term “ambassador” for someone in that role.
Ambassadors can’t send themselves. They don’t go of their own free will; they are only appointed, commissioned, and dispatched by someone else. They are sent to a specific place to do a specific task. They are the audible voice and physical presence of the one they represent.
If we are to understand what it means to be sent by Christ into the world then we need to understand how Christ was sent into the world by the Father.
Jesus was sent in person
God didn’t yell from heaven, “Come back to me!” He first came to us. Jesus not only delivered the Father’s message in person, he was the message as a Person. We, also, are to be sent out in the flesh to the ends of the earth, as the physical embodiment of Christ’s message and presence. May we not expect people to come to us and to our church buildings, but for us to go to them.
Jesus was sent as a Son
He called God his Father. Jesus did not come as an employee, but as a son, in the exact image and likeness of God. His mission on earth was born out of his relationship to the Father. We too have been sent, not as hired hands with only a distant connection to the vision or a vague sense of purpose, but as sons and daughters. We share his mission because we share his DNA. May it be said of us, “Like Father, like son,” and “Like Father, like daughter.”
Jesus was sent as a Servant
God did not wrap his greatest gift to humanity in a fancy package. Instead, he sent Jesus to a small town, to live among poor people, to lead a simple life, and to disciple 12 men for only 3 years. Jesus didn’t need to be a hero. He washed feet, worked as a carpenter, hung out with misfits, and died as a criminal. Not very glamorous or noteworthy. Are we also content to be sent simply, quietly, and without a lot of fanfare? Christ gives us to the world as servants with towels, not as heroes with capes, because he is building his Kingdom, one changed life at a time. May we not assume that we have anything special to offer except Christ in us.
Jesus was sent with power and authority
Jesus knew he had a mission— to bring glory to the Father by redeeming people from every tongue, tribe and nation. He also knew this mission would absolutely be accomplished because God sent his Spirit of power to carry it to completion. Jesus said he did only what he saw the Father doing, trusting that he was anointed with all the power and authority of heaven. And Christ told his disciples that we would do even greater works because we have the same power of the Holy Spirit within us! God doesn’t call us into his mission without fully equipping us for the task and anointing us with his authority. How can we be anything but willing, bold and fearless?
We don’t go on our own initiative; we didn’t dream this mission up. We only do what the Father is doing and go where the Father is working. And how do we know what to do and where to go? Because, before Jesus ever sent his disciples out, he sent the Holy Spirit to reign in each one of his followers.
So, may we confidently go to the ends of the earth, or the end of the street, as those who have been sent.
Passion
by Sarah Bourns
My generation has informally been dubbed the “Passion Generation.” Evidently, we’re full of fire and zeal and a longing to change the world.
I’m exceedingly expectant that because of this great passion, today’s young adults will affect major changes in issues of poverty, trafficking, creation care, disease eradication, racial reconciliation, reaching the lost and more.
But passion alone can’t accomplish long-term fruit.
Movements that are just fueled by righteous indignation and fervor can quickly burn out. Focus gets distorted, leaders go crazy, or they don’t actually accomplish anything except hyping people up.
I’ve seen too many of my friends and students, not to mention myself, be quick to jump on every train that says it’s off to make a difference. It’s just so exciting to take a stand on something that matters!
But if we’re honest, it’s also trendy to be earth conscious, it’s popular to talk about social justice, it’s fashionable to wear Tom’s shoes, and famous people everywhere are giving their money to clean water and AIDS prevention. It’s all the rage really.
And, don’t get me wrong—those are all good things. Praise God that more and more people are finding creative ways to engage our society in helping a world in need.
I just wonder if deep change and lasting impact comes that easily and if it really looks that cool.
We live in a culture that promises quick change, and that we can look good while we’re at it— “Like this on facebook and you’ll feed a hungry family for a week.” “Wear this shirt and you’ll help overthrow an evil war monger.” “Buy these shoes for yourself and you’ll provide shoes for a child in poverty.”
Yes, we can get pretty pumped up about things like this (and maybe more of us should be). But is that all we’ve been called to as followers of Jesus? Is there more to being “passionate” about a cause than donning a wristband?
No one can deny that Jesus was pretty passionate. He threw tables. He drew crowds. He yelled at hypocrites. He started a movement.
But around Easter time when we speak of the “Passion of Christ” what do we actually mean?
We’re referring to Jesus’ deep suffering, his anguish and sacrifice and surrender. His willingness to die.
Jesus’ passion was much more than emotion and enthusiasm; it was gut-wrenching abandonment to the will of His Father, no matter the price he would pay.
In fact, the first definition of the word “passion” in my dictionary is “the sufferings of Jesus Christ from the Last Supper until his crucifixion.”
When Jesus called his disciples to join him in his movement, he wasn’t just asking for a brief commitment or a culture-savvy stance on a hot-button issue.
The kind of passion he ignited in his followers cost them much more than a t-shirt and lasted longer than a passing fad.
Think of all the ways he so openly spoke about the cost of discipleship:
Deny yourself, pick up your cross and follow me
Give away all that you own and be my disciple
The way is narrow and few find it
Hate your father and mother and sister and brother and come follow me
Foxes have holes and birds have nests but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head
Die to yourself
It’s no surprise that many people stopped following Jesus when his teachings got too difficult to swallow or he required more than they wanted to give.
Jesus even asked Peter at one point if he also wanted to leave. And Peter answered “To whom would we go? You alone have the words of eternal life.” (John 6:68)
Ask every one of the 12 disciples (most of whom died for the sake of Christ) if it was worth it to join Jesus, and they would say absolutely yes! The cost was great, but the reward was even greater.
Their lives had no other meaning apart from being caught up in the plan and purpose of Jesus.
These men were the first in our Christian heritage to be part of the unending line of passionate disciples who “loved not their lives even unto death” (Revelation 12:11).
History and present-day missiology confirm that most major advancements of the Gospel into dark places have been fueled by suffering and martyrdom.
And quite frankly, that unnerves me, because I do desperately want to see the unreached experience Christ’s Truth and Light. I would even say I’m pretty passionate about that. But does my passion also include an expectation, perhaps even a longing, to suffer? Can I agree with Paul who said, “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death” (Philippians 3:10)?
Paul’s main (or only?) objective in suffering is that he might know Christ.
He is more passionate about a person, and less about a cause. His desire above all is to draw near to Jesus himself, more so even than bringing others near to Jesus. He would willingly and joyfully suffer because of his love for Christ, not just because of his love for people and especially not just for love of a movement.
I’m learning, slowly but surely, that passion about anything less than the Person of Jesus and his glory can easily fade, disappoint, drain me, or accomplish very little. But as I fix my eyes on Christ and come to know him more, he fuels me with his vision and purpose for reaching his lost and hurting world.
So may we, the Passion Generation, not hesitate to count the cost, take up our cross, and follow Jesus Christ himself, who is infinitely more worthy than the most worthy cause. He alone has the words of eternal life.
Accomplishment & Identity
Over and over and over again, we put on different roles like a layer of dragon skin. Skin other people force on us, skin we wished we had, skin that makes us look like something else. Skin we don like armor to protect the soft, smooth selves within us. We grow into them, or maybe they grow into us. It’s easy to forget these dragon skins haven’t been a part of us forever. But it always gets peeled off, usually painfully.
Relationships end, interests change, people leave. If you have good health today, you are not guaranteed good health tomorrow. When the scales begin to flake off, when we realize this identity we’ve built for ourselves may not be quite as permanent as we wanted, we’re left scrambling for another skin to grow into.
If the statements I use to evaluate my worth aren’t won’t be true in every circumstance, then they can’t be what actually gives me value. Our God-given identity can’t be something that is easily taken away. But if I’m not what I look like, not what I do, not who I know, not where I am, then what am I? What is actually under the layers that I’ve hidden myself in?
You aren’t what you accomplish. It’s good to find joy in your work, to take pride in providing, to be committed to doing whatever you do the best you can. But it’s easy to confuse a list of accomplishments with our inherent value.
Your worth is not in a relationship with your productivity. You are not the money you make or the titles you have. You are neither your failures nor your successes.
Instead, you are a beloved child whose sense of self does not depend on whether or not you’ve failed at something today, or will tomorrow. You have an identity that is not in jeopardy with every mistake, achievement, or crisis.
Jesus moves people from servants to sons. He doesn’t distribute salaries, exchanging fair payment for labor. He gives an inheritance.
Rather than view ourselves as beloved children of the Father, we treat ourselves more like corporations. We try to extract everything of value out of us, judge it against our competitors, and do whatever we can to keep producing something worthy of attention. Like a business, we treat our inherent worth like it has a number attached. And with our successes we see it grow, and with our missteps we see it decline. There is no room for mistakes, but there is also no room for rest or change. Because what is an artist who doesn’t create, or a family provider with no provisions?
When our value comes from outside ourselves, from a relationship that’s been given and can’t be taken away, nothing we do could ever make us less worthy of love. You aren’t your failures. And you aren’t your successes. If it doesn’t matter when you’re at the bottom of the leaderboard, then it doesn’t matter when you are at the top. Finding a sense of fulfillment in your work isn’t the same as hinging your identity on it. But what is it, exactly, that is so fulfilling? Maybe it’s collaboration in achieving a common goal, or participating in a movement you believe in, or completing something to the best of your abilities. But maybe it is also confirmation of the idea that you are worth loving if you can achieve.
This truth, that you are a beloved and cherished son or daughter of God, is not something that’s just there to make you feel better when things fall apart. In the moment of your biggest success, you cannot be made more valuable, more worthy of love, than you are in the lowest of lows. Because your identity is not in a relationship with what you do. Because you are already, in every moment, loved beyond comprehension.