Category: pastoral theology

This will probably be my last post here for a while. This week I've been in Covid-jail so I've written a flurry (Preaching that Cuts Like a Hammer, Let the Law Speak to Your Flesh, and Take Heart: God is Disciplining You). But now the 2nd red line has nearly faded so I'll soon be back to doing stuff for Speak Life. Follow me there and on Twitter @glenscrivener

The King and the Maiden

Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard wrote a story to explore the mystery of the incarnation. It's called the Parable of the King and the Maiden. In it, a King falls in love with a maiden but he despairs of ever being with her. If he propositions her in his finery, how could she truly consent? She would always feel obligated to obey the king and yet "all the power in the world cannot unlock the human heart—it must be opened from within." If he simply elevates her to the palace, "she would be overwhelmed. How would he ever know if she loved him for himself, or for all that he had given her?"

There was only one thing for it, the king would truly have to descend to her level — to live as a pauper and meet her as an equal.

He did not just take on the outward appearance of a servant, he became a servant–it was his actual life, his actual nature, his actual burden. He became as ragged as the one he loved so that she could be his forever. It was the only way. His raggedness became the very signature of his presence.

This is the glory of the incarnation. It is not really a veiling of glory, but a demonstration of the true glory of the King. His stooping is his greatness and those who see it grasp his heart of hearts.

In a sense Jesus takes the premise of "Undercover Boss" more seriously than the TV producers. If you haven't seen the show, "Undercover Boss" is a paint-by-numbers reality program where CEOs stoop to becoming low-level employees in their own businesses. Of course they can't look like a CEO or the jig is up. They go undercover to see life on the other side and at the end of each episode there is a reckoning: having seen their employees up close, they punish the lazy and rude and they lavishly reward the hard-working.

Jesus doesn't just come as Undercover Boss though. He comes as Undercover Suitor, wooing the world, up -close and personal. Yet the incarnation, while being Christ's definitive stooping, is not the only stooping. Check out Luke 9; Matthew 25; and Hebrews 13.

The Little Ones

Then he said to them, “Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. For it is the one who is least among you all who is the greatest.”

— Luke 9:48

Trace the logic of this incredible verse from the end to the beginning: God the Father puts Jesus into the world saying: "The way you treat Jesus is the way you treat Me." Jesus is Undercover God — revealing his true glory in his stooping. But now Jesus puts little ones into the world—weak, helpless, defenceless people—and Jesus says: "The way you treat this little child is the way you treat Me." 

This is a life-altering verse. Because it means we can encounter Jesus not just in his word but also in his world. Do we want to embrace Jesus? Then in the name of Jesus embrace the little ones.

As an aside, it's worth knowing that in England 95 children enter the care system every day. Over 100 000 children are looked after away from home. There are over 2000 children waiting for adoption in England. Jesus says “Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me." Here's a really good reason to support fostering and adoption—in fact it's the best reason—you will meet God. 

Down through church history people have spoken in this way of Christ hiding himself in the world. The stooping greatness of Jesus continues. It did not cease with the incarnation and the cross. Christ continues to come to us disguised as our life and playing the parts we might least expect. 

The Last, the Least and the Lost

Remember in Matthew 25, the parable of the sheep and goats. The sheep say to King Jesus:

‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

— Matthew 25:37-40

Undercover Jesus strikes again! Yet his lowly presence in our midst does not conceal his identity, it reveals his true self. The Father is known in his stooping Servant, Christ. And Christ is known—yes, in his word and by his Spirit—but he is also known in the lowly. Jesus is hidden in the little ones. And, as Matthew 25 tells us, he is also hidden in the least, the last and the lost. But we will miss Jesus if we will not stoop.

The Stooping God

There was an old Jewish saying among the Rabbis. They asked one another why appearances of God were so rare. In the early parts of the Bible God would show up and people would see him. Why can’t people see God any more? And a Rabbi answers, “Because nowadays no one can stoop so low.” God hides himself. He hides himself in a penniless carpenter who becomes a travelling preacher who becomes a bleeding sacrifice. He hides himself there and truly reveals himself. Because his greatness is always a stooping greatness. But he has not stopped hiding himself. He comes to you and continues to come to you dressed as the details of your life and playing the characters you normally ignore: that homeless man, that lonely prisoner, that starving refugee, that needy friend, that difficult child. 

Jesus is not just above you, commanding your compassion. He is not just in you, inspiring your compassion. He is in them, receiving your compassion.

Do you want to embrace Jesus? Then embrace the little ones. Embrace the least, the last and the lost.  And you can embrace the lonely and the left out too. That's the wonder of Hebrews 13:12-13

The Lonely and the Left Out

Jesus also suffered outside the city gate to make the people holy through his own blood. Let us, then, go to him outside the camp, bearing the disgrace he bore.

In the book of Hebrews, the location of Jesus is mentioned in most chapters. Throughout the letter Jesus is said to be 'at the right hand of the Father.' And he is. But in the final chapter the writer tells us another place to meet Jesus: outside the camp. Sure, we can meet Jesus as we approach God's throne in prayer (Hebrews 4:14-16). Sure, we can meet Jesus among the Lord's people on the Lord's day (Hebrews 12:22-25). But afterwards, when you walk down Mount Zion and into the world there is another kind of encounter  you can enjoy. You can go outside the camp—outside the safe place, the clean place, the place where God is known. And as you go there, you are not leaving Jesus behind, you are meeting him afresh.

So 'let us go to him.' Not just the him above us at God's right hand. Not just the him in his word by the Holy Spirit. Let us go to him in his world. Undercover Jesus will see you now. Will we see him?

A sermon (from 13 minutes in):

Let's build on the last two posts (here and here). They happened to be about preaching but they raise a deeper question about listening to God. Are we hearing God's challenges to us? Might God be speaking to us in the specifics of our lives but we're deaf to it? Spoiler alert: the answer is, absolutely.

My contention is that God our Father is speaking to us far more than we may think but that, generally, we pay little attention.

And the reasons we pay so little attention are just what we've been exploring in the last two posts. We fail to grasp:

1. The law and gospel distinction;
2. The three uses of the law; and
3. The difference between flesh and Spirit.

If we were solid on these points we would know:

1. I am secure in Christ, no matter my daily disobedience;
2. God, nonetheless, has much to teach me and instruct me in; and
3. I can and must let God's corrections 'speak to my flesh'.

In other words I can expect God to correct me. And I can let God correct me without self-protection, self-justification or self-condemnation.

Usually, though, we don't see things like that. I mean, be honest, when you read the title of this blog post, what was your reaction? "God is disciplining me?? How dare you! How could you possibly know!"? We think of discipline as a rare occurrence for wayward children. But that's not how the Bible speaks:

⁴ In your struggle against sin, you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood. ⁵ And have you completely forgotten this word of encouragement that addresses you as a father addresses his son? It says,

⁷ Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children. For what children are not disciplined by their father? ⁸ If you are not disciplined—and everyone undergoes discipline—then you are not legitimate, not true sons and daughters at all. ⁹ Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of spirits and live! ¹⁰ They disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness. ¹¹ No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.

¹² Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. ¹³ “Make level paths for your feet,”^{[Proverbs 4:26]} so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed.

— Hebrews 12:4-13

From this it seems obvious that every child of God should expect ongoing fatherly discipline—not just the naughty kids who have to stay behind after class. Everyone. "Endure hardship as discipline" says God's word. So, do I experience hardship? Check. OK, my default understanding should be: My Father is specifically and intentionally training, correcting, chastising, and rebuking me (all those words are used in this passage).

I may not understand the whys and wherefores of God but neither is it foolish or fruitless to ask what he might be up to. On this understanding God is far more present and active in the ups and downs of our lives than many are comfortable with. Because one response to this is: "No, God does not 'pay us back for our sins', that would be a denial of the gospel! There is 'no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus', (Romans 8:1), this means God will never bring consequences into our lives for our sins."

This is why I spent so long setting out the three truths above. Before heaven I have no sins to answer for: I have the spotless righteousness of Christ. But on the earth, I live in Adam's world, inhabiting Adam's flesh and this whole realm is one of death, curse and consequences. We know for a fact that Christians must face the consequences of sin in this world because, for one thing, every one of us will die.

Christ's death does not shield me from my death, instead it transforms it from 'perishing' to 'falling asleep.' The same is true for all the consequences I experience in this world. I still experience them. Wonderfully, though, I experience them not as the punishment of a Judge but as the intentional and custom-made discipline of a loving Father. It is the fire, not of wrath, but of refinement. 

"Don't be surprised by the fiery trial" therefore (1 Peter 4:12). And don't be surprised when sin's consequences play themselves out in your life—you still have Adam's flesh and you live in Adam's world. Receive the law's diagnosis of those persisting sins. Receive the Father's discipline in your difficult circumstances. In Jesus you can finally take your sin seriously because your own ego has been taken out of the equation. Your ego was crucified with Christ (Galatians 2:20), the real you is now hidden with Christ in God (Col 3:3). Now you can address your sins without self-protection, self-justification, or self-condemnation. Now you can properly deal with them and not for any heavenly brownie points but for the sake of those you've harmed.

In all this I need to know in my bones that Christ is stronger than Adam, that the Spirit is stronger than the flesh, and that the Father's love is stronger than my present sins and circumstances. (That's why I started this series with preaching—I need these truths ringing in my ears constantly). But with that security I can, and I should, let the law and the Lord's providence speak to my flesh. It is no denial of the gospel to accept that my sins have consequences—consequences that I feel in this world. And God is speaking through those hardships to bring a Father's discipline.

It's true that in the midst of suffering many Christians can lose themselves in superstition, extreme scrupulosity and introspection. After the hardship hits they become convinced: "I know why this happened..." and then they name a certain sin from their past. Maybe they correctly identify the cause. Probably they don't. But anyway it's the wrong question. Because the goal is not to figure out how to avoid the Lord's discipline. The goal is to learn from it, because everyone is disciplined. It's a case of 'playing the ball where it lies' to use a golfing analogy. And to hear what the Lord is saying in the midst of the hardship.

So bring to mind a hardship right now. Your circumstances are not random and you are not alone. There is a Father's loving purpose woven into the details of your life—even, and especially, the difficult ones. Christ has brought you through the Red Sea in baptism, he accompanies you in the fiery-cloudy pillar of his Spirit, he feeds you with the daily bread of his word and all of it is motivated by relentless, unbreakable, redeeming love:

² Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble and test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands. ³ He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD. ⁴ Your clothes did not wear out and your feet did not swell during these forty years. ⁵ Know then in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, so the LORD your God disciplines you.

— Deuteronomy 8:2-5

We've been talking about preaching that cuts like a hammer. Such preaching has an impact, but it's not incisive, it's blunt. There's a power to it but it's also vague and leaves you feeling battered.

Last time we saw two problems: firstly, a failure to distinguish law and gospel (and to properly preach the latter); and secondly, a falling between two stools when it comes to the third use of the law. Cuts-like-a-hammer preachers kind of believe the law applies to Christians but they kind of don't too. So they preach (vague) advice to the Christian (3rd use-ish) but in more of a guilt-inducing way (2nd use-ish). Instead of judicially pronouncing death for sin, the preacher 'steps on our toes' for failures of discipleship. And it all cuts like a hammer. For more, read the previous article. But here I want to press into a crucial third distinction that we must understand...

The Flesh and the Spirit

This line from Luther's commentary on Galatians 2:17 is transformative if we grasp it.

"Get things straight. You let the Law talk to your conscience. Make it talk to your flesh."

(For more pearls from Luther's commentary see my collection here)

This discernment between flesh and conscience (or flesh and Spirit) is the very heart of the Christian life, of all pastoral wisdom, and it must inform our preaching. Let me explain.

The realm of the flesh is Adam's—a realm of weakness, folly, suffering, sin, law, and consequences. All of us are born into this realm, it is our natural state. But also—here's a crucial truth to acknowledge—we remain in the flesh even after we're born again by the Spirit.

That is made clear by Paul just three verses later:

I was crucified with Christ and I no longer live but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20)

Christ came into our world of the flesh (John 1:14), taking on our human nature. On the cross he even took our sin (2 Corinthians 5:21). Having taken us to himself, Jesus died our death. Shielding us in his own body, he bore the wrath, curse and condemnation our Adamic lives deserve. He then crashed through to the other side of death, sin and wrath. He stands again on the far side of curse and condemnation: risen; vindicated; glorified. By the Spirit we have been united to Christ and now his curse-bearing death counts as ours.

So then, in Christ I am crucified to the old realm, and at the same time I live in this Adamic world. Galatians 2:20 is very clear about that. Though I have Christ's Spirit, until resurrection I remain in Adam's flesh. And here's the central point of this post: the law totally applies to my flesh.

Law and the-old-world-order and the flesh and consequences all go together. And while I live far above these realities by the Spirit and in Christ, I live slap-bang in these realities according to the flesh. The law does not define my standing with God, it does not grant me any righteousness of my own, it does not condemn me before heaven and it cannot actually achieve in me the holiness it commands. But it is God's good life proclaimed to me, it is 'holy, righteous and just' (Romans 7:12) and it absolutely applies to Adam's flesh and Adam's world. Which is where I live till Christ returns. So while the law can never tell my conscience "You have sinned yourself out of God's love." The law can—and must!—speak to my flesh to say 'No, that stuff is death, and you're dead to it'. 

Once we make this Spirit / flesh distinction it frees the preacher to return to that first distinction: law and gospel. We can preach the text, applying it to the Christian, exploring its details, letting it bite, calling for repentance in specifics, letting conviction fall where it may, and—this is crucial—proclaiming the perfect obedience of Jesus, his sin-bearing death, his resurrection-righteousness and his priestly intercession for us, sinners that we are.

To those in the flesh, the preacher gives it both barrels—the law that kills and the life-giving gospel: "the Son of God loved you and gave himself for you." And to the degree we're assured of a life-giving gospel, we will be able to press into our sin and failures without self-protection or self-justification. We can let the law talk to our flesh.

Or else, just preach a random assortment of commands, examples and doctrines and instead of 'killing and making alive', just tread on some toes before saying 'Tricky, isn't it? Let's pray for God's help.' But that kind of preaching is a slow and painful death. It cuts like a hammer.

Stay tuned for one more post of this series where I'll apply these distinctions to another area of the Christian life: our experience of God's discipline.