A Rant to the Christian Alarmist

(Warning: here follows an epic rant...)

I'm more than a little annoyed and vexed by Christians who cite passages like Mt. 24 and list instances of local, insignificant weather phenomena and minor military skirmishes (in the grand scheme of things) and draw the conclusion that this must be the fulfillment of said prophecies about "wars and rumors of war", about "earthquakes and pestilence", about the end of the world, etc.

Consider: The world is bigger than your particular region. Even if you are in a zone where there is some catastrophe, that doesn't mean the sky is falling all over the planet. Additionally, thanks to the advent of the information age and the instant, global availability to know of every little catastrophe, it may seem to you like these things are manifestly more frequent now, when in reality it's only that you now have the ability to know about every corner of the globe immediately whereas you didn't before.

Society (globally) is not "more godless than it ever has been". In fact, it is actually more Christian than it ever has been. Africa was virtually an unreached, pagan continent 150 years ago whereas today the sub-Saharan part is predominately Christian (no comment on the health or sincerity of said Christians, but nevertheless...) China has over 100 million Christians, the majority of which are more sincere than your average "Christian" in lands where Christianity has been the default religion until late, and the Chinese church continues to grow. The countries where the church is growing at the fastest rates are places like Iran, Afghanistan, and the like.

Consider: In the days of the early church, the emperors married their sisters/mothers and also castrated boys and married them as "wives". Prostitution was a duty, pedophilia was acceptable, and literally throwing unwanted babies on the trash heap to be eaten by dogs was standard practice. Are you sure society is "worse than at any point in history"? Consider that the rate of military deaths over the last 15 years is at an all time historical low relative to the world population. Are you sure that "there are more wars/violence than ever"? Lastly, consider the promise of Christ in which He declares "I will build my church and the gates of hell will NOT prevail against it."

Dear Christian, before spewing your next panicky, doomsday rant (on Facebook or anywhere else), consider that the Church is bigger than your particular country and that its history is bigger than your current generation. Consider that the Church has always gone through hardship and persecution and that if you are not in this situation currently, you are the exception, not the rule. Consider that, while modern western culture has plenty of problems, it is certainly not worse than the Roman empire in which the early Church lived and thrived. Consider that, as Tertullian wrote, "The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church," and that the death of lukewarm "Christendom" can only be a good thing. Consider these things and stop your alarmist panicking which makes us all look bad and fails to understand the history of the global Church or take seriously the promises of Christ. Thank you.

End rant.

Anxiety and the Peace of God

Jesus said a lot of challenging things in the Sermon on the Mount: love your enemies, don't be angry, don't judge, don't lust. But right in the middle of Jesus' most famous discourse, He says what might be the most difficult command of the whole sermon, “Do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” (Mt. 6:34) We are faced with the temptation to anxiety daily if not constantly. To be clear, Jesus is not saying that we should just drop out of school, live moment to moment and not think or plan for the future. That’s not spirituality; it's irresponsibility. Jesus Himself thought about the future, made plans, and yet he did not “worry”. What He's warning us against is something more sinister. 

What is anxiety?

The original word implies being pulled in different directions, being distracted and divided. And that’s exactly what anxiety does: it divides our attention, our thoughts, and our heart so that we are living neither fully in the present nor in the future. Anxiety sets you against yourself. It keeps you from being whole. Psychologists define it as “a negative emotional state of uncertainty because of real or potential future problems or challenges.” Again, this is not just thinking about the future, but allowing the uncertainty and potential difficulties of the future to distract and even paralyze you.

There are a number of reasons why we experience anxiety. Some of those are tied with survival and provision. Jesus prefaced His anti-anxiety call with those very examples: “Do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?” Tied closely with this is the anxiety we experience over our performance. This goes beyond mere physical provision. We tend to latch a sense of our own worth onto our accomplishments. It's not just about not starving but, “Am I successful? Have I proven myself capable? Have I 'made it'?” This kind of anxiety comes in both personal and professional flavors—relating to family as well as career. Some of our reasons for anxiety are more existential. We worry about if our life has meaning and what meaning it has. We worry about our own unavoidable, impending death. We deal with a sense of anxiety over being good enough, and feel guilt for not meeting up to our own standards, whatever they may be. Some of our anxiety is social. "Will he like me? Will she accept me? Will those people respect and love me? Will they judge me and exclude me?" It's more than likely that we've all dealt with some of these—and probably on a recurring basis.

In light of all the possible grounds for anxiety, Jesus’ words “do not worry about tomorrow” seem more like an impossible challenge than any real comfort. But it's worth asking why the Bible calls us not to worry. To begin with, God desires our blessing and anxiety is contradictory to that, dividing us and pulling us apart. But there is another reason. In reality, anxiety is an act of pride, and that in at least a couple ways. First, anxiety is always future-oriented. It's kind of a prophecy about the future—usually a false prophecy. The truth is we don’t actually know the future. When we allow ourselves to be consumed by worry, we are basically living in a future that we’ve created in our own minds. But that’s the problem: only God can make the future. And in that sense, our anxiety sets us up in the role of God. Not surprisingly, it turns out horribly. Secondly, anxiety is a result of pride because it occurs when we calculate our own resources and abilities to overcome potential problems and then somewhere deep down we realize: we are insufficient. It is the result of exhausted self-reliance.

Why we cannot free ourselves from anxiety

Anxiety is in itself an unpleasant experience, and so people are naturally uncomfortable staying in that state. We try to end our worry, to get free of it in one of two basic ways.

The first is to try to change the equation. If we worry about being successful enough, we set about working harder. If we worry about finding a mate, we set about making ourselves more attractive. Just consider how much advertising is geared toward this idea! If we worry about our abilities not being enough to meet a challenge, we seek to enhance those abilities. Of course, to some degree that’s okay. If you’re worried about failing your math test, you may just need to study harder and then you’ll be less worried. However, the problem is there are some things—many things actually—that we cannot change. Sometimes people will seek to shortcut the reality of our inability to change the equation. We try to convince ourselves that we’ve changed the equation when in reality we haven’t. We hurl self-aggrandizing embellishments at our anxiety like pebbles at an angry bear about to devour us. We tells ourselves pleasant lies about how we are successful and important—though this may not actually any basis in reality. And sooner or later there comes a time of crisis when these lies we tell ourselves begin to crumble. All of a sudden our fictitious ego-stroking runs into the jolting reality of our own insufficiency. It's at that point that people often turn to the second attempt to avoid anxiety.

We hide. We attempt to distract ourselves with other activities, with excessive amounts of entertainment, social interaction, food, drink, sleep, sex or drugs. In a word, we try to suffocate our anxiety under a pillow of amusement, but it tenaciously refuses to die. We are just putting off the inevitable and when our anxiety comes back, it’s all the more vicious for our attempts to kill it.

The problem is that both of these ways of “coping” with anxiety misunderstand what causes it in the first place. Both methods do not work because they have the same root as anxiety itself: self-reliance. Anxiety comes in the first place when we consider potential future problems and realizes that our current resources aren’t enough. But then our attempt to overcome the resultant anxiety are just further based on self-reliance! Either we try to squeeze more out of self, convincing ourselves that our resources are actually enough, or we simply run from the problems because we've realized that our resources are not enough.  In short, the whole problem of anxiety begins with being locked in the vicious cycle of self-reliance, and this is why we can never get free from it by continuing to look to ourselves. We need someone else to break the cycle.

What frees us from anxiety

The answer is that what frees us from worry is not a what but a Who. Peter says in his first epistle, "Cast your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you." (1 Pet. 5:7) We are freed from anxiety not because we know something, but because we know Someone—Jesus. Our anxiety is based on not knowing the future and our inability to deal with it's challenges. But the reality is that we don’t need to know the future; we just need to know the One who holds the future. Freedom from anxiety is not about seeing the path of life in front of us, but about knowing the One who holds our hand as we walk on that path, even if we cannot see the next step forward.

In the midst of great suffering and before his own martyrdom, not knowing at the time if he’d be killed or not, the apostle Paul wrote, “I know whom I have believed and am confident that He is able to keep what I have committed to Him until that Day.” (2 Tim. 1:12) He didn’t say “I know what’s going to happen” or “I know I can handle it”. Rather, though the future was ominous and Paul knew that martyrdom was a challenge he didn’t have resources for, he still had confidence. He knew in Whom he had believed—in Christ—and he knew that Christ had the resources to make sure everything worked out in the end, in “that Day”. 

During his first imprisonment, Paul wrote the following in Php. 4:6-7, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.” Paul repeats the frequent Scriptural call not to live in anxiety, but rather to entrust our circumstances to God, to His resources. And here’s the promise Paul notes: peace which surpasses understanding. He does not promise peace that comes from understanding. Paul is not saying, “Just pray and God will explain everything.” He’s not saying, “God will show you the full plan for how He’s going to work it out.” No! If God did do that, we’d just trust our understanding. Instead, the peace God gives us is a peace which surpasses understanding, not based on information or calculation, but on trusting the heart of God. We walk by faith, not by sight.

The reason we can be freed from anxiety is not because we see the future, but because we see Jesus. He also stood on the brink of the unknown—on the edge of the grave. Yes, He had the promises of the Bible as we do, but as a man He had to trust His Father in the darkness. However unlike us, Christ was forsaken in the darkness. The Father let go of His hand on the cross so that He could take our hand and never let go. Christ was cut off from the resources of the Father so that we might always have access to His resources. And yet, the Father did not leave Him forever. He rose Him up in glory just as He had promised. Jesus went through the dark night of death, loss, shame, guilt, failure—and came out into the dawn of glory and eternal blessedness. The resurrection is proof that whatever we go through, as those who love God, really will work out for good. It's proof that He really does care for us. He has dealt with our death and guilt, He has given our life meaning, He has proven our worth in giving His life for ours, He has accepted us, does not judge us for our crimes but loves us with an everlasting love. And when we see Him, His heart, what He did for us on the cross—our anxiety melts away like frost before the relentless spring sun. We might not see what is down the road, we realize fully that our resources will not be enough, but we know that He cares for us, Has cared for us in giving Himself for us. That is the peace that surpasses understanding.

This article is based on an excerpt from my sermon "Anxiety and the Peace of God", available in Russian here. If you enjoyed this article and want to catch future posts, don't forget to subscribe to the blog.

Palm Sunday and False Worship

It was Sunday before the Passover. The crowds had come out from Jerusalem in throngs to worship Jesus as the promised Messiah. They laid their own clothes on the road before Him in a costly gesture of recognition. He rode upon a donkey just as the prophesies foretold. They cried out “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!” But—Jesus wept. He cried over Jerusalem which stood before Him, mourning the fact that the city didn’t recognize Him, didn’t recognize this day. But here’s the strange part: the crowd worshiping Him, waiving palm branches—they had come out from Jerusalem. So what does Jesus mean that they didn’t recognize Him?

There’s a hint in the words the crowd declared. The phrase, “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!” is taken from Ps. 118. This was a Psalm that the Jews traditionally sang as they went up to Jerusalem for the Feast of Tabernacles. This was a feast that pre-figured the coming Kingdom of God. It was a celebration of harvest and joy. They would also use palm branches in their worship on the Feast of Tabernacles. But that’s the problem: Jesus wasn’t coming to Jerusalem on the Feast of Tabernacles. He was coming for Passover, for the sacrifice of the Lamb.

Jesus wept because He knew the crowd didn’t recognize Him for who he was and what He really came for. He knew they didn’t worship Him for who He was, but rather for what they could get out of Him. They were more than happy to worship a Messiah who was going to establish God’s Kingdom and reign over Israel in peace and prosperity, kick out the occupying Romans and generally make life great. But that’s not exactly what happened. When Jesus didn’t come and set Himself up as the new Ruler over Israel, didn’t drive out the Roman, the crowd’s tune changed. In fact, we read that many in Jerusalem just days later joined in the cry before Pilate, “Crucify Him!” That only showed that most of them weren’t worshiping Jesus in the first place, only what they could get from Him.

Too often those who claim to worship Jesus have a similar approach. We are happy to worship as long as things are going smoothly, as long as we think that Jesus will give us what we want from Him. We look to Him as a means to our various ends of improvement, comfort, prosperity, etc. But what about when that doesn’t happen? What about when sickness is not met with healing but with death? What about when things go from bad to worse? What about when following Jesus means that our family turns away from us, that we lose a job, that we suffer? We’re all for the feast of joy and happy to worship Jesus when we think He’s come to give it to us right now. But what about when what’s actually coming is slaughter? The truth is, sometimes Jesus doesn’t give us what we hoped for or expected. When that’s the case, what is our reaction? Will our cries turn from, “Blessed is He…” to “Crucify Him!”? Do we get bitter, resentful, even hateful towards God? If so, we show that we weren’t really worshiping Jesus in the first place, only what He could give us. Like the consumeristic crowd outside of Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, our worship is often false because we see Jesus as a means rather than the End in Himself. He is worthy of our worship not because of what He gives us, but because He has given us Himself.

This article is based on an excerpt from my sermon on Palm Sunday 2015, available in Russian here. If you enjoyed this article and want to catch future posts, don't forget to subscribe to the blog.

Negative Holiness

Holiness—this word has been twisted and misunderstood more than many in the biblical lexicon. Modern society finds the concept of “holiness” unsavory at best—something akin to lima beans: you realize it might theoretically be good for you, but it still triggers your gag reflex. If the term is used at all, it’s usually only as an accusation or an insult. “Oh, he's so holy!” is not generally a compliment on someone’s spiritual maturity, but rather intended as an indictment against an obnoxiously self-righteous person.  Sadly, when we hear the word “holiness", we’re more likely to picture the Pharisees than Jesus. Even as Christians, the word often carries for us a vague feeling of burden and drudgery. And to be honest, most of the reason holiness has gained this distasteful reputation is probably the fault of Christians. 

Beginning in the 19th century, the so-called “holiness movement” started gaining popularity among certain groups of believers. Of course, Christianity has always had an ascetic fringe. But in modern society, it is largely this movement that has led to the association of the word “holiness” with moral prudishness, extreme and extra-biblical rules, a fixation on “avoiding the world”, and making oneself “perfect”. It’s important to note a couple things about these “holiness clubs”. First, they were born out of a theological underpinning which believed that man could, through rigorous moral effort, actually attain a state of sinless perfection—“total sanctification”. The power of the Holy Spirit in our lives can and should make significant changes. But a movement that says we can attain a state of sinlessness in the present life essentially denies the total depravity of man and claims for its proponents a level of spirituality that event the Apostle Paul did not ascribe to himself. (Php. 3:12)

Second, these holiness societies often demanded complete abstinence from even moderate alcohol use, tobacco, dancing, playing cards, the theatre and other “worldly” forms of entertainment. Of course, the fact that the Bible knows no such prohibitions didn’t dissuade the “holiness” advocates from insisting on them. They, apparently, wanted to be holier than God Himself—an endeavor which never works out well. And as with the Pharisees of old, it has ultimately done more to push people away from God than bring them near. Despite their misguided methods, the earliest groups were generally motivated by a desire for a deeper experience of God. But the modern residue of this movement—which still lives on in quite a few fundamentalist and Evangelical groups—clings to the self-imposed prohibitions yet with little real thirst to experience God. In addition, it’s notable that the “sins” these groups focused on were usually the more visible and “carnal” sins, rather than things like pride, gossip and unforgiveness which the Bible condemns at least as much as the others.

This is all tragic because, though the Bible calls us to holiness, this sort of pharisaic prudishness is not at all what God invites us to. Scripture speaks of the “beauty of holiness” but too often Christians have turned it into something grotesque. The word “holiness” in Scripture literally means to be “separated” or “set apart”.  We tend to think of this as being separated from sin, from the world, from fleshly habits, etc.  There certainly is that aspect to true holiness.  But it would be better to understand the meaning of holiness as “dedication”.  Scripture presents the “separation” of holiness not as primarily separation from something, but separation to something—or to Someone in the case of the Christian.  Holiness as the Bible defines it is, first and foremost, being wholly given to God, and only separated from those things which would hinder our intimacy with Him. 

Many Christians see holiness like celibacy: primarily concerned with what you abstain from. No wonder holiness seems so unattractive to modern society! But the picture of biblical holiness is that of a marriage, not of celibacy. Yes, the holiness of a marriage does include vows to separate yourself, to “abstain” from all other lovers, but the point of marriage is not in abstaining from something. The purpose of marriage is to fully devote yourself to your spouse—to cleave to them exclusively, to delight in one another and be one with them.

For too many Christians, the focus of “holiness” is in giving things up, avoiding this, or not doing that. They define holiness in almost completely negative terms.  But that’s not the point of holiness. Biblical holiness is not about self-denial for its own sake.  Biblical holiness is about complete union with Christ, cleaving to Him. And only as a consequence of the primary purpose do we deny those things that hinder our closeness with Him.  Holiness is not about what you give up, it’s about what you gain: intimacy with Christ. 

Defining holiness as avoiding sin is like defining marriage as avoiding adultery. While a marriage cannot be healthy when either spouse is involved in adultery, the lack of adultery in a marriage is no guarantee of a good marriage. There are plenty of marriages that, while no adultery is present, are still cold and loveless. Fidelity is a necessary condition for a good marriage, but it is not sufficient by itself to ensure a good marriage. And just as a good marriage is more than avoiding adultery, true holiness is more than avoiding sin—never less, but definitely more. This is the mistake of the Christian who defines holiness as primarily what he avoids, rather than Whom he enjoys.

We need to learn to see holiness not so much as a state of behavior, but as a state of relationship. The truth is that some Christians are so interested in “holiness” that they care nothing for Jesus. That is, their “holiness” consists primarily in looking at themselves and making sure they are up to par, rather than looking at Christ and delighting in Him. All of their “holiness” amounts to little more than glorified navel-gazing. This is like the husband who is fixated on being a good husband. He wants so much to have a good marriage—if only his wife would get out of the way and quit messing it up! Of course, the truly good husband is the one who is not hung up on how good of a husband he is, but who is fixated on loving, serving and being one with his wife. Similarly, the truly holy Christian is the one who thinks very little about his achievements in holiness, but thinks a great deal about loving and enjoying Jesus.

Of course, there are things we must deny in pursuing intimacy with God.  That is part of holiness, just as forsaking old lovers is part of marriage.  Jesus said in Mk. 8:34, “Whoever desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.”  There is an obvious element of self-denial in these words. But the end of the phrase is the point of everything that comes before it: to follow Jesus, to be with Him. We must realize that anytime the Lord calls us to “deny self”, it is not so He can deprive us of something, but so He can give us something so much better—Himself.  He asks us to let go of the stone in our hand only so He can fill it with bread. 

So let’s stop defining holiness primarily by what we give up and realize that the essence of true holiness is intimacy with Christ. If we have made the keeping of rules the measure of holiness—especially extra-biblical, self-imposed rules—let us repent of neglecting our Bridegroom. May we begin to define holiness not in terms of what we avoid, but of Whom we enjoy.

This article is based on an excerpt from my sermon on 1 Peter 1:13-16 “Holiness vs. Religion” available in Russian here. If you enjoyed this article and want to catch future posts, don't forget to subscribe to the blog.