Lost in Christ

While our current culture of “expressive individualism” may have accelerated it, it’s actually been going on for a while within the church. Sometime in our past, in order to battle dead, lifeless religion, we started talking instead about a “personal relationship” with God through Christ. I think the emphasis originally would have been on relationship as the counterargument to religion. That being a Christian wasn’t just about observing some formal construct but was more akin to living out a family connection.

Over time, though, as our culture became more about the individual rather than the family, so too our personal relationship with Jesus may have become more about being personal than a relationship. “You and me, Jesus” became the emancipation cry of many throughout the last generation or so. And as the old nature is wont to do, the “You and me” became more and more about “me.”

This morning, a couple of verses in Galatians reminds me again that it’s not at all about me. That when I believed and entered into a personal relationship with Jesus my personal identity was lost.

For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.

(Galatians 3:27 ESV)

Baptized into Christ . . . Have put on Christ . . .

Implication? Lost in Christ.

The language of salvation is all about the loss of personalization. When I believed I was baptized into Christ with the Spirit (Mk. 1:8, 1Cor. 12:13) — something I later portrayed symbolically when I was baptized by men with water. At that moment, when faith was first exercised, I was literally immersed or submerged into Jesus. Or another literal way of rendering it, I was overwhelmed by Jesus. I was fully engulfed by the Son so that a holy God could look down and no longer see me but instead His holy Son. So much so, that from heaven’s vantage point, I was no longer I. Because, as one literal translator puts it, I was “introduced into union with Christ.” My life now intrinsically and intricately bound with His.

As Paul puts it, I had put on Christ. That is, I was robed with Christ. I was literally “sunk into the clothing” of the One who died for my sin and rose again from the grave to prove it. He, not me, defines our personal relationship.

In relationship? Yes. Personal? Yes, again. But personalized? Still about me? Nope. Not at all. In fact, my personal identity was done away with when I was crucified with Christ. Who I was was put to death so that, “it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Gal. 2:20). This morning I’m chewing on the reality that I am lost in Jesus.

Lost? Really? Yeah, I’m thinking really. Read on.

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

(Galatians 3:28 ESV)

My personal identity, whether Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, or any other personal attribute or identifier is gone in Christ Jesus. There’s no more “individual” to seek to “express” other than to individually, and collectively, reflect Him. My “preferred pronoun” is now “in Christ Jesus”. My “best self” realized only when I am conformed to Another’s likeness (Rom. 8:29).

Introduced into union with Christ. O, that I might live into that divine truth. To believe and behave that while now in a personal relationship with Jesus, He alone is the Person who defines the relationship.

Lost in Jesus. Only then am I really found.

Amen?

Only by His grace. Always for His glory.

Color Me Blue . . . Again! (2010 Remix)

Wanna know what a man looks like who has not only met the Lord, but has also been molded by the Lord? Wanna see what a woman looks like whose character has been shaped by the marvelous light into which she’s been brought into by faith? Then chew on Psalm 112 for a bit.

That guy delights in God’s commands and deals generously with others. That gal conducts her affairs with justice and remains confident amidst bad news.

But there’s one part of the bio that arrests my attention. And it causes me to pause before for I shade it too quickly with my red colored pencil (the color for “the people of God”, those washed in the blood). Had to do a double take before proceeding. Apparently, the same sort of thing happened 14 years ago. Here’s how I wrote about it on May 14, 2010.

---

Okay, so as much I determine to be “fully engaged” in my morning readings, sometimes I do end up a bit on “autopilot”. Reading — even underlining with my colored pencils — but not really “all there” at certain points. Such was the case this morning. But when I “came to,” when focus was restored, I had been reminded of a pretty amazing truth.

So, here’s how it went down . . .

I start in on my last reading, Psalm 112 (I have 4 readings each morning laid out for me in The Discipleship Journal Bible Reading Plan). It’s kind of at this point that I guess I’m somewhat on autopilot. I underline the first three words, “Praise the Lord”, with a brown colored pencil as I’m on the watch for verses relating to praise and worship (there’s a few of those verses in the Psalms). I read on and then I underline that last part of verse 4, “He is gracious, and full of compassion, and righteous.” I underline it in blue, ’cause that’s the color I use for verses about God. I recognize these words as the descriptors used by God Himself, about Himself, when He revealed His glory to Moses (Exodus 33:19, 34:6). They’re underlined there in blue, too. Yesterday I came across them in Psalm 111:4 and colored them blue there, as well. So, I read them here in Psalm 112 and I color them blue again. But then, as I read on, and my mind starts to fully engage, I realize something: Psalm 112 isn’t about God, it’s about a man.

“Blessed is the man who fears the Lord, who greatly delights in His commandments
. . . he is gracious, merciful, and righteous.”

(Psalm 112:1b, 4b ESV)

And it’s a bit of a “wow” moment for me. Yeah, that’s exactly what happens to the man, or woman, who has been brought into relationship with the Lord — to the one who fears the Lord; to the one who loves His word and pursues Him. God works an “extreme makeover” in their lives such that they start to reflect something of the glory of God in their character, in how they’re now spiritually wired.

This guy described in Psalm 112 that I underlined in blue is the product of God’s sanctification. His righteousness, imparted by faith, becomes a reality in how he lives. The grace he has been shown by God, starts emerging more and more in how he relates to others. The mercy of God which has so radically changed his life, becomes more and more the filter through which he sees others. These attributes, indicators of the glory of God, show themselves increasingly in the one who pursues God.

So, my bit of “brain fade” this morning — my mistake in underlining a verse about a man with the “color” of God — was used, I believe, by the Spirit of God to grab hold of me and evoke a bit of “awe factor.” To generate some praise and worship with the reminder that God has undertaken a work in my life, and in the lives of all those who love Him.

“For those whom He foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son”

(Romans 8:29 ESV)

Or, as Peterson puts it:

“God knew what He was doing from the very beginning. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love Him along the same lines as the life of His Son.”

(Romans 8:29 MSG).

God has undertaken a work by which He has determined to weave His character into ours. To make us more like Himself. How amazing is that? Pretty amazing!

Praise the Lord! Blessed is this man! He is more gracious today than yesterday, by the grace of God. He understands mercy more today than he used to, through the mercies of God. He desires to order his life in righteousness because of the righteousness of God credited to him by God through faith in Christ. This man is way far from being perfect, he has still such a long way to go, but oh, he is so confident that the work which God has begun in him, God will complete in him (Phil. 1:6).

Just color me blue!

Again (2024 add).

By His grace. For His glory.

Amen?

Where’d It Go?

If yesterday’s readings covered one of my favorite chapters, 2 Samuel 9, this morning I endure one of my least favorite, 2 Samuel 11.

What a dolt David was! He should have been where kings ought to have been, going out to battle. He should not have been looking where kings should not look, on the nakedness of his subjects. He should not have been lusting after, and then sleeping with that which no man should lust after, another man’s wife. And he should not have been conspiring to put to death one of his most trusted and faithful soldiers in order to cover up what, before God at least, could never be covered up.

Ugh! So much for being a hero. But the “double ugh” is that there but for the grace of God go I. Maybe not the same details, or to the degree of severity, but not being where I should be, coveting what I should not covet, and covering up what really can’t be covered up . . . yeah, there go I.

How the mighty had fallen. There’s no joy in watching a train wreck occur. In fact, it downright empties the soul to consider, as one friend put it at coffee last week, that those we want to admire, esteem, and put on a pedestal are “screw ups.” Because, as he said, it reminds us that we’re all “screw ups.” Yup, just as soon skip chapter 11 if I could.

But that’s the thing about the gospel, isn’t it? The gospel is such good news because there’s always bad news. There’s redemption because there are people in need of redeeming. There’s a Savior ’cause we are all sinners. And I see the Savior this morning in the midst of David’s sin.

In 2 Samuel 12, David’s busted. Nathan is sent by God to bring to light what David had hoped would remain a deep, dark secret. Not only did David strike down an innocent man in order to take his wife to be his wife after he had got her pregnant, but in doing so, says the LORD, “You have despised Me.” (2Sam. 12:9-10). David’s covetousness for Bathsheba was, at its core, contempt for His Sovereign. His determination to put Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, to death was actually an act displaying disdain for His Maker. And David knew it.

David said to Nathan, “I have sinned against the LORD.”

(2Samuel 12:13a ESV)

But where sin increased, grace abounded all the more (Rom. 5:20).

And Nathan said to David, “The LORD also has put away your sin; you shall not die.

(2Samuel 12:13b ESV)

If you’re reading the NLT, grace abounded in that the LORD had “forgiven” David’s sin. If you’re reading the NIV, grace had “taken away” David’s transgressions. But reading the ESV, I’m left to chew on the divine declaration that the LORD had “put away” David’s sin. Forgiven because His sin had been taken away. But taken away and put where? Where’d it go?

Cue everyone’s most trusted Sunday School answer — Jesus! David’s sin was put away because it was put on Jesus. That’s where it went.

God put away David’s sin when He laid on Jesus the iniquity of us all (Isa. 53:5-6). When the Father “made Him to be sin who knew no sin” (2Cor. 5:21), David had a place for his sin to be put away to. All of it! The sin of chapter 11, as well as the sin that would trip him up in subsequent chapters. All the sin from all the chapters of David’s life, the LORD has put away!

Thus, while sin would have its consequence, there would be no condemnation (Rom. 8:1). Not for David, nor for me. Praise God!

How’s that for good news found in kind of a crummy chapter?

By God’s grace. For God’s glory.

Always at the Table

2 Samuel 9. Rank it among my top chapters in the bible. Mark it as a favorite story of favor shown.

Wanna talk to me about types and foreshadows? David, a type of Christ the king, seeking someone to show the kindness of God to for the sake of a promise made to another (1Sam. 23:18, 24:20-22; 2Sam. 9:1, 3, 7). Mephibosheth, a cripple with a heritage that was by nature in competition for the king’s throne, helpless to stand on his own; a foreshadow of all who have known the King’s favor though they themselves were marked as weak, sinners, and enemies (Rom. 5:6, 8, 10).

And what I’m chewing on this morning is that, despite Mephibosheth’s continuing infirmities, frailties, and sinful propensities, he ate always at the king’s table.

So Mephibosheth ate at David’s table, like one of the king’s sons. . . . So Mephibosheth lived in Jerusalem, for he ate always at the king’s table. Now he was lame in both his feet.

(2Samuel 9:11b, 13 ESV)

Where did he eat? At the king’s table. How often? Always. In what condition? Lame in both his feet. And remind me again, where did this lame guy eat and how often? He ate always at the king’s table. Hmm . . .

Let’s look up the original meaning for that word translated always. Does it really mean what it seems to mean? Continually. Indefinitely. Perpetually. Sounds like always to me.

Even when he took the king’s table for granted? I’m thinking. Even when he arrived less than presentable? Sounds that way. Even when he despised his own weakness and the uselessness of his crippled feet? Yup, I’m guessing even then — especially then — his place was still set. What about when he just plain and simply blew it, when his actions that day were despicable and/or his attitude that week was just plainly horrible?

He ate always at the king’s table . . . and always really means always.

After all, he wasn’t there because he deserved it. He wasn’t there because he earned it. He was there because of kindness shown for the sake of another.

Me too.

Lame in my feet, crippled in my conduct, unable to stand on my own before a thrice holy God (Isa. 6:3, Rev. 4:8), I have been raised up and seated in heavenly places (Eph. 2:6). At a table I can only imagine. What’s more, I am welcomed — and more than welcomed, exhorted — to confidently approach a throne which I have no right, apart from Christ, to approach (Eph. 2:18, 3:12, Heb. 4:16).

And how often can I take my seat at this heavenly table? What are the hours when this glorious throne is open for me to access? Continually. Indefinitely. Perpetually. Always.

To sinners who are essentially lame in both feet, He is the Savior who shows the unfathomable, limitless, kindness of God for the sake of a promise made to another (Gen. 17:3-8, Gal. 3:7-9).

Cue Casting Crowns . . . Not because of who I am, but because of what He’s done. Not because of what I’ve done, but because of who He is.

Always at the table.

And always means always. Amen?

By His grace. For His glory.

Not At All Inferior . . . Because I Am Nothing

Paul covers a lot of ground with the church at Corinth through the letter we count as his second. But underlying it all is his contending for their affection, for “room” in their hearts (2Cor. 7:2a). And so, as Paul wraps up his letter he makes his final plea.

Though reluctant to be goaded into a battle of boasting by the super-apostles who sought to discredit him, Paul engages for the sake of a flock who have been tempted to fall in line behind self-proclaimed messengers of God rather than remain loyal to the divinely commissioned servant of Christ, the one who had been a faithful steward of the gospel (1Cor. 4:1-2). He engages not so he can maintain a following, but in order to present the bride he has betrothed as a “pure virgin to Christ” (2Cor. 11:1-2).

And it’s how Paul wraps up his “boasting” that’s got me thinking.

I have been a fool! You forced me to it, for I ought to have been commended by you. For I was not at all inferior to these super-apostles, even though I am nothing.

(2Corinthians 12:11 ESV)

I was not at all inferior . . . I am nothing.

Okay, that doesn’t sound like it should go together. To my way of think “nothing” is always inferior to everything. Nothing is inferior in power, in influence, and certainly in rank to anything that can be identified as a thing and is not nothing.

Behold, on this side you have a single strand of wet noodle; on that side, nothing . . . which is inferior? Don’t know what you’re gonna do with a wet noodle, but whatever it is it’ll be more than what you can do with nothing. So how could Paul stand up to the trash-talk of these self-promoting celebrities and declare, “I was not at all inferior” and yet also declare, “I am nothing.”

As I chew on it, I think it’s because the reason he was not inferior was because he was, in fact, nothing. He had been crucified with Christ (Gal. 2:20). And everyone knows that those who are dead and buried are essentially nothing. It was no longer he who lived, but Christ who lived in him and thus called the shots for all that was done by him. And so, because it was the risen Son of God now living in him and through him, though he was nothing, he also was certainly not at all inferior.

True of Paul, true of me, as well. Led by the Spirit, that’s what Paul says in another of his letters.

For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.

(Colossians 3:3 ESV)

Who has died? I have died. Ergo, I am nothing.

What is hidden? My life is hidden. Logical conclusion? I am nothing.

Hidden how? Hidden in who? Hidden with Christ in God. Inferior then? Second rate? Not at all! Nope! Not in the least! Uh, uh! Not me!

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

(Romans 12:37 ESV)

We may not be super-apostles, or even super-disciples, but our union with Christ is our super power. While we might be counted low by the world’s estimation, because of the great love with which God loved us, we have been made alive together with Christ and been raised up with Him and seated in the heavenly places (Eph. 2:4-6). Because we are no longer our own. Because we are nothing. Because we are “in Christ Jesus”.

By His grace. For His glory.

Content? Really?

I’ve gotten pretty comfortable with verse 9. Relatively easy for me to believe it. Find myself regularly quoting it. Even often willing to share it. It’s a kingdom principle, after all. It’s a supernatural dynamic which, by faith, we can experience. Bring on verse 9!

But [the Lord] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

(2Corinthians 12:9 ESV)

There you go. Another reading of a well-known, and I think, a well-worn verse. All sufficient grace. Power made perfect in weakness. Therefore, I’m okay with a “thorn in the flesh” keeping me in line (v.7) if that means Christ’s power resting on me. Bring it on!

But then, verse 10! Screech! Slam on the brakes. Wait a minute! Really?!?

For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

(2Corinthians 12:10 ESV)

Maybe I can get to being content with weaknesses — with feebleness and frailty, with want of strength and capacity. Maybe, as other translations put it, I might even be able to believe that I can be more than just content but that I might even be able to take pleasure (CSB), or delight (NIV) in physical and emotional infirmities. But also in insults and hardships and persecutions and calamities? Wait a minute! I’m all for power, but at what cost? At the cost of that kind of weakness? Evidently.

Content with insults? Okay with mental injury when it’s for the sake of Christ? Fine with stress, even stress to the breaking point if it comes from wanting to follow Jesus? Accepting, maybe even welcoming persecutions from this kingdom because of my allegiance to another kingdom? Preferring distress and affliction to ease and comfort if it’s anguish suffered on behalf of the Savior?

Content? Really? I gotta chew on this.

What does it mean to take up my cross and follow Christ? Certainly the cross doesn’t bring to mind comfort. Yet, if I’m picking up what Paul is laying down, it can be carried with contentment. It can be regarded as good. Preferred over the alternative of not following Jesus. It can be chosen rather than chafed at. It can be born willingly, by His all sufficient grace, as we are transformed into believing that it’s just part of walking in the Way.

For when I am weak, then I am strong.

And being strong is good, right?

O Lord, teach me, enable me, to be content with the hard stuff of weakness so that I might know the reality of Your presence and power.

By Your grace. For Your glory.

The Abundance of His Steadfast Love

Hovering over Psalm 106 this morning — started it yesterday, finished it today. It’s the biography of a people. Not just any people, but God’s people. His chosen ones, His nation, His inheritance (106:4-5). A story of their repeated sin, of His repeated saving, and again of their repeated sin. You would think that where miraculous saving has occurred, multiplied sinning would cease — evidently not. But I don’t need to read Israel’s bio to know that, I have my own story. And that’s what’s got me chewing this morning on the abundance of His steadfast love.

Many times He delivered them,
but they were rebellious in their purposes
and were brought low through their iniquity.

Nevertheless, He looked upon their distress,
when He heard their cry.
For their sake He remembered His covenant,
and relented according to the abundance of His steadfast love.

(Psalm 106:43-45 ESV)

Many times . . . He delivered . . . He looked . . . He heard . . . He remembered . . . according to the abundance of His steadfast love.

I can’t fathom the abundance of His steadfast love. It’s more than just the frequency of His love — though, praise God, it is nothing less. If it was just about an allotted number of “passes”, then I’d be in danger of using up all mine and running out. But it isn’t. And so, I’m not. Praise God for the abundance of His steadfast love!

Yeah, more than just quantity, His abundance is about quality. It’s about the depths of a love which is deeper than I can imagine. It’s about the breadth of His love, wide enough to cover sin of all sorts, and not just what I can imagine doing but also sufficient to cover the sin I cannot imagine doing. It’s length is forever, the abundance of an unfailing and surely to be realized promise. And it’s height? From heaven . . . for God so loved the world that He sent His Son!

If I ever get comfortable with thinking I’ve grasped the love of God, then I’m pretty sure I’ve underestimated it. And if I’ve underestimated it, it’s probably because I’ve overestimated myself, thinking of myself better than I am and thus His love needing to be less abundant than it truly is.

God’s abundant love is not something you grasp, it’s something that takes hold of you. It’s never fully realized, but something which can be fully rested in. Not something to acknowledge and then move on from, but something which forever we will want to lean into.

. . . that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge . . .

(Ephesians 3:17b-19a ESV)

To know the love that surpasses knowledge. How’s that for a lifelong ambition? As one songwriter has penned, “It’s like trying to fit the ocean in a cup” (Three Minute Song by Josh Wilson).

Praise God for the abundance of His steadfast love!

The limitless source of His grace. His eternal signature for His glory.

I Did It My Way

Chronological snobbery. Ever heard that term? First coined by C.S. Lewis, it essentially is the belief that whatever was before was inferior. That our thinking today is better than the thinking of yesterday simply because we are “more advanced” than back then. That our present convictions must be better than then convictions held in previous generations simply because of “how far we’ve come.” And if our convictions are better, then certainly our actions must be better too.

For the believer, the temptation may not only be toward such chronological snobbery but also towards “covenantal” snobbery. That, because we are no longer “under law,” somehow we must be holier. But I think a better paradigm for the child of God may be the one I encountered this morning in Psalm 106.

Both we and our fathers have sinned; we have committed iniquity; we have done wickedness.

(Psalm 106:6 ESV)

This posture has a radical way or orienting the Scriptures. Rather than read of the ancients as those “before Christ” who didn’t know better and thus were unlike us, instead their stories become our stories. Instead of them being the “lower bar” we compare ourselves to as those having a superior righteousness, they actually become a mirror. They are us. And there, but for the grace of God, we would go. And, though the circumstance and details might be different — if we are really honest with ourselves — too often there, despite the grace of God, we have gone.

Case in point. Brother Saul. Not Saul who would become Paul, but Saul who became king. The king who could sing at the end of his days, “I did it my way!”

Saul was a progenitor of the pragmatic. Though he knew the playbook of how things should be done in theory (aka in obedience to the LORD), the rules he followed were dictated more by the pressure of how things actually were. Expedience seemed to be the deciding factor.

For example, before heading into battle, a sacrifice needs to be made and the LORD needs to be sought, but the one charged with such tasks, Samuel, is running seven days late and Saul’s army is getting antsy. So, what does Saul do? He offers the burnt offering himself (1Sam 13:8-13). He did it his way.

Or, what about the time Saul is told to utterly destroy an enemy people, not sparing anyone and devoting to destruction all they possess? Instead, Saul spares the king and is selective on what is destroyed, keeping “the best of the sheep and of the oxen and of the fattened calves and the lambs, and all that was good” and devoting to destruction only that which was “despised and worthless” (1Sam. 15:1-9). Again, doing it how he thought best given the circumstances.

And if the witness of two incidents isn’t enough, the Spirit ensures we know about a third.

And when Saul inquired of the LORD, the LORD did not answer him, either by dreams, or by Urim, or by prophets. Then Saul said to his servants, “Seek out for me a woman who is a medium, that I may go to her and inquire of her.” And his servants said to him, “Behold, there is a medium at En-dor.” So Saul disguised himself and put on other garments and went, he and two men with him. And they came to the woman by night. And he said, “Divine for me by a spirit and bring up for me whomever I shall name to you.”

(1Samuel 28:6-8 ESV)

Saul, the one who had expelled the mediums from the land (28:3), now sought one. Saul who knew better than to play with occult, now opted for it. After all, the LORD wasn’t speaking to him so how was he practically going to get the divine direction he so desperately needed? If not from God, then from a man of God — even it was a dead man of God (28:11).

So, how do I read this? With a bit of chronological snobbery? With a bit of covenantal snobbery? Feeling like the people of God today (aka me) have come so far from the people of God back then (aka King Saul)?

Am I indignant or should I be identifying? Condemning or complicit? Glad that I’m not a sinner like him, or aware again that I’m a sinner more like him than I really care to admit? That, when the going gets tough and the pressure begins to press, I too have the propensity to step out and do things my way.

Jesus died for people like us — Saul and me. For those who occasion to trust in ourselves more than in our God.

Ours, then, is to confess our sins. Knowing that He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins. The blood able to cleanse us from all sin and snobbery, even the sin and snobbery of thinking I can do it my way.

Forgiven by His grace. Forgiven for His glory.

Dimensions

Ever done it? Have you ever laid on the grass or on the beach on a clear day and just looked up? Like, looked waaay up? Trying to spot where the sky ends and realizing afresh you can’t? Or, how about being away from city lights on a clear night and looking up into the cosmos? In wonder at what your eye can see but knowing how little of it is actually being seen. If you’ve done either of those things, or something similar, then you’ve done it. You’ve measured the love of God.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is [the LORD’s] steadfast love toward those who fear Him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far does He remove our transgressions from us.

(Psalm 103:11-12 ESV)

As high as the heavens are above the earth . . .

How high are the heavens above the earth? Pretty high! Then, how great is the steadfast love of the LORD? Pretty great!

Can you comprehend how high are the heavens? Not really. Then, can you comprehend how great the steadfast love of the LORD? Probably not.

As far as the east is from the west . . .

How far is the east from the west? To quote any five-year-old, “Like, infinity?”

What compelled the Father to send His Son in order to atone for our sin so that He could justly “remove” our sin to such an extent? The steadfast love of the LORD. Which is pretty high and pretty great! For the LORD is “abounding in steadfast love” (Ps. 103:8b).

As high as the heavens are above the earth. As far as the east is from the west. Those are the dimensions. The dimensions of God’s steadfast love.

Chew on that for a bit!

Oh, and there’s one more measurement to consider. We know how high (higher than we are able to think). We know how wide (so wide there are no end points). The songwriter also lets us in on how long.

The steadfast love of the LORD is
from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him.

(Psalm 103:17 ESV)

What’s the shelf-life of the LORD’s love? Forever! What’s the expiration date on it? Never! Indefinite, unending, perpetual, always always.

There! We’ve measured the love of God. We’ve defined its dimensions.

Nah, we haven’t. You can’t measure the measureless.

But we can respond to it.

Bless the LORD, O my soul,
and forget not all His benefits,
who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy.

(Psalm 103:2-4 ESV)

God’s steadfast love, not just for measuring. Meant for wearing. Much more than unfathomable dimensions, the undeniable experience of the redeemed. Pretty high. Pretty wide. Pretty much forever.

Only known by His grace. To Him be all glory.

Bless the LORD!

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made;
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

(The Love of God, Frederick Martin Lehman © 1923, 1951 by Hope Publishing)

Grieved Into Repenting

Truth is, give me the choice between happy and sad and I’ll take happy every time. Don’t care much for sad. Just as soon avoid sorrow. Even less a fan of the sort of heartache caused by someone calling me out on something I need to be called out on.

Although I know I should welcome “constructive feedback”, when it’s input about my iniquities it can sting — like really sting! More often than not, it’s hard to hear when it hits home and brings to light something I’d prefer remain hidden. But as I read 2Corinthians 7 this morning, I’m reminded there’s a place for and blessing associated with experiencing what Paul calls “a godly grief”.

As it is, I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting. For you felt a godly grief, so that you suffered no loss through us. For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death. For see what earnestness this godly grief has produced in you . . .

(2Corinthians 7:9-11a ESV)

Paul had grieved those at the church in Corinth with a letter he had written in which he had said some tough stuff that needed saying. If the letter Paul’s referring to here is 1Corinthians, perhaps what brought them sorrow was Paul’s strong rebuke concerning tolerating sin in their midst . . . or allowing congregational politics to fracture their fellowship . . . or their trigger-finger in being willing to go to court in order to settle disputes among themselves . . . or their disregard for the Lord’s table. Whatever the matter was it had brought grief and sorrow to the believers at Corinth. But, says Paul, it was a productive sorrow. A godly grief. A sadness that led to turning things around. Heartache which revived an earnestness for the kingdom. They were grieved into repenting.

And I’m reminded that sometimes, though I don’t welcome it or like going through it, being made sorrowful or suffering grief can be used of God as part of His sanctification toolkit. In this case, it’s not sadness borne of misfortune. Nor is it sorrow due to what someone else is going through. Instead, it’s grief which comes from being confronted with, or made aware of, sin in my life.

I don’t like even typing that . . . sin in my life. But sometimes God will open the door on rooms I’ve tried to keep closed. Sometimes He’ll cause me to peek under the carpet where I’ve swept some dirt. Sometimes he’ll send a friend to shed light on something I’ve tried to keep hidden in the dark. And in those sometimes, it causes grief, it produces sorrow. The soul is downcast. The gut is in knots. The chest weighs heavy. Not a place I like being.

But it can be a productive place. Though it’s a barren feeling, when this sort of sorrow leads to repentance, it actually bears the fruit of righteousness (Heb. 12:11).

It’s not a grief which results in shrinking away in hopeless despair, but grief that compels us toward God’s holy throne. Grief which moves us to enlist the One who ever lives to make intercession for us (Heb. 7:25). Grief which moves us to confessing our wrong-doing and asking for forgiveness. Grief that reminds us afresh that we are loved sons and daughters of God, not because of our worthiness, but solely because of the finished work of His Son on Calvary’s cross.

A grief which results in us being grieved into repenting. So that, at the foot of the cross, our sorrow for sin is swallowed up by a fresh encounter with an ocean of grace. Our grief giving way to gratefulness. Our sadness displaced by joy, knowing again that if we confess our sin, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1John 1:9).

Nope, don’t like sad. But when it’s a sad caused by the inner voice of the Spirit or by the audible voice of a brother or sister being obedient to the Spirit, when it’s sad shedding light on an area that needs to be brought to light, I want it to be a sad which produces a hunger and thirst for righteousness, His righteousness. I want it to be a regret that results in reconciliation and a renewed abiding with the Savior. While I don’t much like going through it, I want to be grieved into repenting . . .

Only by His grace. Always for His glory.