Thanksgiving at it's root, it's core, it's source, is a deeply theological act. As a matter of fact, thankfulness is a theology in microcosm, as it shows what we truly believe about God, ourselves and the world we experience. As I wrote last November, Thanksgiving presupposes that one gives thanks to someone or to some thing/being. So then just how does an atheist or an agnostic observe Thanksgiving? Beyond having gratitude to other people who maybe directly or even indirectly contributed to his life, how does he reconcile the blessings that cannot be ascribed to any human entity, such as the universe we live in, to the gift of life itself, among many others. I reflected further on just how one could be truly thankful without being thankful to someone. If human life was just a happy accident as the evolutionist would postulate, then how does thankfulness work within that worldview?
Nevertheless, all through this month of November, we have been barraged on social media with friends' lists of things for which they are thankful. And for good reason, there is much to be thankful for: our lives, our health, our families, our jobs and so much more. Gratitude and thanksgiving are things that both Christians and non-believers alike encourage. Even the popular press and media this month speak of ways that we can be more thankful. So the questions I ponder are: What differentiates the gratitude of the believer from that of the non-believer? Or is there even a difference? And can it be more than just a passing fad that we observe each year during the month of November?
These are the thoughts that have percolated through my mind for the past few weeks. And my conclusion follows the Parable of the Sower that Jesus expressed in both the Gospels of Matthew and Luke ... like seeds that fall on poor soil, gratitude just won't take root and produce in just any soil. No, gratitude and thankfulness only grow in the soil of humility.
THE ONE WHO GAVE THANKS
And as he entered a village, he was met by ten lepers, who stood at a distance and lifted up their voices, saying, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us." When he saw them he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And as they went they were cleansed. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice; and he fell on his face at Jesus' feet, giving him thanks. Now he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus answered, "Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner? And he said to him, "Rise and go your way; your faith has made you well." [which could be more accurately translated as "your faith has saved you."] Luke 17:12-19
In his commentary on the Gospel of Luke, Kent Hughes related the story this way: On the outskirts of an unnamed village on the borderlands of Samaria and Galilee, ten leprous men stood before Jesus in various stages of decay, their clothing torn in perpetual mourning, their skeletal heads uncovered, their lips unveiled as they warned others, "Unclean, unclean!"
They looked as though they had climbed out of their graves. But they were living, sensitive human beings, feeling souls living in the nether world of society's fringe while they physically rotted away. So from a safe distance they shouted the traditional plea, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" They were both loud and persistent. "Have mercy on us!" "Master have mercy!" "Have mercy please!"
Once Jesus saw them, he immediately responded. However, this time there was no touch as he had previously given to a leper. Neither was there the pronouncement, "Be clean!" [Luke 5:13]. He simply told them, leprous as they were, "Go show yourselves to the priests." The command was to do what a cured leper would do, following the regulations stipulated in Leviticus 14, which required examination by a priest. If they were found to be cured, they would joyfully then complete an eight-day ceremony and then be reunited with their families.
Jesus' command required faith, and we can surmise that not all of the lepers were of the same mind. No ten people would be. Some were convinced they should go to the priest immediately. Others demurred. After all, it was a long way to the temple. If Jesus could heal them, why did he not just do it? What fools they would be if they tried to see a priest but still were leprous. On the other hand, they had everything to gain and very little to lose. The consensus was to give it a try. So they set off at their stumbling lepers' pace.
"And as they went, they were cleansed." It was a mass healing! There were no mirrors to reflect the dramatic change, but they saw it in each other instantly. From cadaverous faces reemerged ears, noses, eyebrows, lashes, hairlines. Feet -- toeless, ulcerated stubs -- were suddenly whole, bursting shrunken sandals. Knobby appendages grew fingers. Barnacled skin become soft and supple. It was like ten new-births. The dust of a wild celebration quickly began in the bright sunlight of northern Israel nearly 2,000 years ago.
Among those ten lepers was a Samaritan. Normally Jews did "not associate with Samaritans" [John 4:9]. and likewise Samaritans with Jews, but these men had been united by their common misery -- nine Jews and one Samaritan in a suffering community. And when the healing occurred, the Samaritan was seized with "an irresistible emotion of gratitude" and, captive to this spontaneous gratitude, put off going to the temple to rush back to Jesus. The ceremonial clean bill of health could wait. His spiritual obligation overrode his ceremonial need. So the Samaritan and the Jews parted company. The thankful Samaritan knew he had two to thank -- God and Jesus; he just did not know that the two were one.
First he said thank you to God: "One of them, when he saw that he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice." Earlier he had loudly pled for healing, and now he was loud with his praise. According to Hughes, the Greek for "loud voice" is recognizable to the English ear, for it is the two words from which we get megaphone, here reversed phones megales. He was mega-voiced in his praise to God.
Then he thanked Jesus: "He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him -- and he was a Samaritan. He literally "fell upon his face" at Jesus feet. At the very least, he recognized Jesus as an agent of God. More likely, he realized that Jesus was king. The Samaritans were well-acquainted with the messianic Scriptures, and this man saw Jesus in that light. He returned to Jesus with a heart giving glory to God and thanks to Jesus as he recognized God's power in him.
Jesus asked three closely coordinated questions, all freighted with amazement: "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" The questions were not rhetorical. The human Jesus [who had placed his omniscience at his Father's discretion] expected all ten to return, glorifying God, and then to receive the ultimate blessing he had prepared for them. Jesus was disappointed.
But evidently the other nine lepers were so caught up in their newfound wholeness that it did not occur to them to return to Jesus. This is understandable on one level. After all, Jesus did tell them to show themselves to the priests. Of course they were thankful. How could they be otherwise? And they were deeply happy. And they were eager to get back into everyday life.
Can we not sympathize with their not returning to Jesus? Yet there is a deadly problem here -- God was not at the center of their gratitude. Only the foreigner, the Samaritan, gave praise to God. The other nine were so earthbound, so like the shrewd manager and the rich man of the preceding parables, that they missed the spiritual dimension altogether. Vague gratitude to divinity was not an adequate response to what had happened. Christ wanted their hearts! By failing to glorify God and return to that thank Jesus, they missed the greatest possible moment of their existence.
So what was the fundamental difference between the Samaritan and the other nine? Perhaps the Samaritan knew more than the other nine that he did not deserve Jesus' healing. He knew well his standing before the Jews and knew that Jesus could have just healed the other nine and left him out of it. In humility, the healed leper returned to give Jesus praise and thanksgiving. Jesus responded, "Your faith has made you well." Not only was he healed on the outside but his soul had found healing and salvation as well.
The difference between a believer's words of thanksgiving and that of a non-believer is that the believer directs his thanks to God, his Maker. When a non-believer makes a gratitude list, it is not about the the things that God has done for him that he is thankful for. Rather, it is more of a "these are the things in my life that I am happy about" kind of list. In thinking about the good things he has in his life, he feels a boost of happiness.
Like the Samaritan leper, a believer's gratitude comes from a humble heart that acknowledges we are but dust. God created us and breathed in us the breath of life. He sustains us each day. We are completely dependent upon him and can do nothing apart from him [John 15:5]. Everything we have is a gift of his grace. As Peter said in Acts, "nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he, himself, gives to all mankind life and breath and everything" [Acts 17:25].
A humble heart knows its position before the God of the universe and bows in reverence, awe, wonder and gratitude. Such a heart knows that it is unworthy and undeserving of God's grace. In reference to this story of the ten lepers our worshipful response -- or lack thereof -- reflects the depth of our understanding of God's mercy and goodness. The first and greatest response to the gospel of grace is thankful worship. When we know the holiness of God, the wisdom of God, the power of God and the rich grace of God, we realize how amazing it is that we are able to stand in his presence at all, let alone receive his gift of salvation.
Yet it is in this fertile soil of humility that thanksgiving grows and thrives. Any other soil that denies God's holiness, wisdom, power and sovereignty will only speak words of thanksgiving, but without deep roots it will not thrive or last. Like the nine other lepers, it will gladly take the good gifts God bestows but won't truly honor and thank him for who he is and what he has done.
In the soil of humility, thanksgiving grows even in the darkest of nights and in the fiercest of climates where suffering and trials bear down hard. This is why Paul could say that we are to give thanks in all circumstances [1 Thess. 5:18]. This then is where much of the world's efforts at thanksgiving and gratitude break down. It is easy to give thanks when the harvest is plentiful. But to continue to give thanks in the midst of trial reveals the type of soil in which that thanksgiving resides. The soil of humility will produce thanksgiving in all seasons -- in sunshine and rain, in plenty or in want.
So this Thanksgiving, let us evaluate the soil of our hearts. Is our gratitude something we will move on from and forget come December 1st? Or is it the natural outflow of a heart that knows that everything it has comes from God's grace? Like the Samaritan leper, are we wonderstruck and amazed that God would extend his kindness toward us, or do we take his good gifts without ever acknowledging the hand that provided it?
Do we really know just how much we have been given?
And let us pray for God's grace to till the soil of our hearts, nourish them with his Spirit and water them with the same water he offered to the Samaritan woman -- the only water that can satisfy the thirst of our souls.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Monday, August 3, 2015
Can a Human Soul Truly Declare ... Jesus is Better?
You may have heard the modern worship anthem Jesus is Better by Austin Stone Worship in which Aaron Ivey, the lead worshiper, boldly declares "Glory! Glory! We have no other king but Jesus Lord of All! Raise the anthem, our loudest praises ring ... We crown Him Lord of All!" The song relates all the benefits we have as a result of the gospel and it's redemption of our souls then ends with a series of comparisons beginning with "In all my sorrows, Jesus is better ... make my heart believe" before proceeding to "in every victory, Jesus is better ... make my heart believe" and then on to "more than any comfort, Jesus is better ... make my heart believe" then rising to a crescendo with "more than all riches, Jesus is better ... make my heart believe" finally then climaxing with "our souls declaring ... Jesus is better ... make my heart believe! Our song eternal ... Jesus is better ... MAKE MY HEART BELIEVE!" It is truly both a beautiful yet a haunting song ... a large group of people pouring out their very hearts before their eternal king while at the same time imploring their divided hearts to believe the very words they are singing at the very moment they are singing it. How can this even be possible? Can the human heart really be that fickle? Sadly yes! And much more so.
The reasons for this paradox vary, but the chief reason is the self-idolatry in our hearts. Left to our own affections we will always prefer lesser satisfactions to the satisfaction of Christ, because the lesser ones appeal to the god of self -- a ravenous, insatiable, fickle idol indeed -- while true satisfaction in Christ requires that we assassinate that god. Most of us will never know what it means for the joy of the Lord to be our strength until we've had our endemic idolatry pulled out from underneath us and all our other crutches kicked away. For many of us, Jesus won't be our absolute treasure until we are all out of other options.
God wants us broken so that any power in us can be undeniably attributed to Him. If self-reliance could reliably and ultimately contribute to our success and fulfillment then God's glory would be diminished having to share precious space with our lesser glory. But we are not glorious, even in our self-made victories. The apostle Paul put it this way in 2 Corinthians 4:7-10: But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.
God has made us frail, breakable, so that He will get the glory, so that the fame of our fortunes will belong to Him. But look at the promises Paul also makes on God's behalf ... in all this affliction we are promised to be kept secure. Perplexed, but not despairing. Persecuted, but not forsaken. Struck down, but not destroyed. Even if we die, we will live. What a gospel this is! The believer cannot be stopped, even if you were to kill him.
Yet we are prone to doubt. The cynic in us wonders why God's glory requires our brokenness. Yet God knows our hearts ... far better than we do ourselves actually. He knows the sin in us; deceiving us into trusting ourselves and doubting Him. He also knows that refinement requires fire. He actually designed it that way. And God does not deal in our brokenness to keep us lowly and ineffective. He does it for our own joy, knowing that our hearts will never find the heights of happiness it seeks in anything other than the glory of God. He does it so that we may be conformed to the image of Christ, who Himself became conformed to the image of broken, frail humanity. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it, Jesus tells us [Matthew 16:25]. Brokenness makes us more like our crucified Savior, and if we share in the suffering of our Savior, we will share in his resurrection and glorification as well [Roman 8:17 and Philippians 3:10-11]. Seemingly, God must raze us before He raises us.
Yet when our heavenly Father looks upon the broken messes that are our lives, He doesn't snicker or even sigh. He just ministers to us a sweeter comfort than any temporary or worldly comfort than we'd sought before. We are told by the psalmist, The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise [Psalm 51:17]. God doesn't despise us in our brokenness; He comforts us in it. The greater the brokenness, the greater our impulse to trust Him. The greater the trust in Him, the greater the joy of our salvation. So, then, the further to the end of ourselves we go, the more of Christ we will enjoy.
What then does it mean to find Christ at the end of ourselves? Just as the prodigal son "came to himself" [Luke 15:17], it means coming to your spiritual senses, realizing the void inside and inability to help yourself, and then confessing these realities in an act of repentant trust in God. When our idols come crashing down upon us, we give up the artifice of self-reliance and open up to the wonders of what Jared Wilson calls "gospel wakefulness." The way to this blessed state of affairs is always brokenness, always the despair of self. To honestly proclaim the greatness of Christ requires honestly confessing the bankruptcy of our own souls.
As Jesus began His earthly ministry, He read from the scrolls of Isaiah:
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.
In Luke 4:18 Jesus applied this prophecy to Himself, in effect announcing that the year of the Lord's favor begins in and through Himself. This is why Jesus, and John the Baptist before him, preached the kingdom was not some far-off event one could study in charts and diagrams but was actually an event breaking into human history in those very days!
And as He began this announcement, He unfurled the great proclamation of the kingdom that we call the Sermon on the Mount, which itself began with a preamble of sorts, which we call the Beatitudes, which leads off with a promise: Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven [Matthew 5:3]. This paradoxical announcement of the kingdom tells us that, surprisingly, it is not for the rich, the powerful or the well-connected but rather for those who are spiritually poor. Jesus would later say that it is not the healthy who need a doctor but rather the sick [Matthew 9:12]. The underlying truth of the human condition, in reality, is that we are all spiritually poor/sick, it is just that few of us ever actually "see" the depth of our depravity and need. And who goes to the doctor if he thinks he is well? As a result then, even the true perception of our spiritual condition ends up being a gift from God Himself.
Thus shockingly and maybe even painfully, we must admit that our steps into the kingdom requires us to embrace both God's sovereignty and our own personal spiritual poverty all at the same time. And the extent of our joy upon entering the kingdom is typically proportional to extent to which we actually feel our own poorness of spirit. We can either acknowledge both sincerely and intellectually, "I am a sinner and so I need the Lord's forgiveness," or we can cry out from the depths of our very souls, "God have mercy upon me, a sinner!" as the tax collector did in Luke 18:13. The atoning work of Christ will cover all degrees of what is genuine faith, but Wilson says "the actual joy of 'gospel wakefulness' requires a depth of felt brokenness in which the phrase 'poor in spirit' makes much more sense than intellectual sense."
And the blessing the poor in spirit actually receive is nothing less than the very kingdom of heaven itself, with all the abundant life and eternal riches it holds. The kingdom itself is a treasure, which is often hidden from our spiritual senses while we are seeking earthly satisfactions everywhere else, but once it has been dug up and discovered in the rocky soil of our sin and suffering, we will with great joy sell all we have to claim it. We finally become like the singers of the song Jesus is Better, which could literally be the anthem of those whose souls have become truly gospel-aware, and we begin to behold the glorious vision of the gospel of God's grace and we start to see the soul-stirring inheritance that is ours in Christ. When we have felt deeply the spiritual poverty of self-rule, we begin to be prepared for the riches of the King, which are immeasurable, unsearchable, glorious and full.
The reasons for this paradox vary, but the chief reason is the self-idolatry in our hearts. Left to our own affections we will always prefer lesser satisfactions to the satisfaction of Christ, because the lesser ones appeal to the god of self -- a ravenous, insatiable, fickle idol indeed -- while true satisfaction in Christ requires that we assassinate that god. Most of us will never know what it means for the joy of the Lord to be our strength until we've had our endemic idolatry pulled out from underneath us and all our other crutches kicked away. For many of us, Jesus won't be our absolute treasure until we are all out of other options.
God wants us broken so that any power in us can be undeniably attributed to Him. If self-reliance could reliably and ultimately contribute to our success and fulfillment then God's glory would be diminished having to share precious space with our lesser glory. But we are not glorious, even in our self-made victories. The apostle Paul put it this way in 2 Corinthians 4:7-10: But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.
God has made us frail, breakable, so that He will get the glory, so that the fame of our fortunes will belong to Him. But look at the promises Paul also makes on God's behalf ... in all this affliction we are promised to be kept secure. Perplexed, but not despairing. Persecuted, but not forsaken. Struck down, but not destroyed. Even if we die, we will live. What a gospel this is! The believer cannot be stopped, even if you were to kill him.
Yet we are prone to doubt. The cynic in us wonders why God's glory requires our brokenness. Yet God knows our hearts ... far better than we do ourselves actually. He knows the sin in us; deceiving us into trusting ourselves and doubting Him. He also knows that refinement requires fire. He actually designed it that way. And God does not deal in our brokenness to keep us lowly and ineffective. He does it for our own joy, knowing that our hearts will never find the heights of happiness it seeks in anything other than the glory of God. He does it so that we may be conformed to the image of Christ, who Himself became conformed to the image of broken, frail humanity. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it, Jesus tells us [Matthew 16:25]. Brokenness makes us more like our crucified Savior, and if we share in the suffering of our Savior, we will share in his resurrection and glorification as well [Roman 8:17 and Philippians 3:10-11]. Seemingly, God must raze us before He raises us.
Yet when our heavenly Father looks upon the broken messes that are our lives, He doesn't snicker or even sigh. He just ministers to us a sweeter comfort than any temporary or worldly comfort than we'd sought before. We are told by the psalmist, The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise [Psalm 51:17]. God doesn't despise us in our brokenness; He comforts us in it. The greater the brokenness, the greater our impulse to trust Him. The greater the trust in Him, the greater the joy of our salvation. So, then, the further to the end of ourselves we go, the more of Christ we will enjoy.
What then does it mean to find Christ at the end of ourselves? Just as the prodigal son "came to himself" [Luke 15:17], it means coming to your spiritual senses, realizing the void inside and inability to help yourself, and then confessing these realities in an act of repentant trust in God. When our idols come crashing down upon us, we give up the artifice of self-reliance and open up to the wonders of what Jared Wilson calls "gospel wakefulness." The way to this blessed state of affairs is always brokenness, always the despair of self. To honestly proclaim the greatness of Christ requires honestly confessing the bankruptcy of our own souls.
As Jesus began His earthly ministry, He read from the scrolls of Isaiah:
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.
In Luke 4:18 Jesus applied this prophecy to Himself, in effect announcing that the year of the Lord's favor begins in and through Himself. This is why Jesus, and John the Baptist before him, preached the kingdom was not some far-off event one could study in charts and diagrams but was actually an event breaking into human history in those very days!
And as He began this announcement, He unfurled the great proclamation of the kingdom that we call the Sermon on the Mount, which itself began with a preamble of sorts, which we call the Beatitudes, which leads off with a promise: Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven [Matthew 5:3]. This paradoxical announcement of the kingdom tells us that, surprisingly, it is not for the rich, the powerful or the well-connected but rather for those who are spiritually poor. Jesus would later say that it is not the healthy who need a doctor but rather the sick [Matthew 9:12]. The underlying truth of the human condition, in reality, is that we are all spiritually poor/sick, it is just that few of us ever actually "see" the depth of our depravity and need. And who goes to the doctor if he thinks he is well? As a result then, even the true perception of our spiritual condition ends up being a gift from God Himself.
Thus shockingly and maybe even painfully, we must admit that our steps into the kingdom requires us to embrace both God's sovereignty and our own personal spiritual poverty all at the same time. And the extent of our joy upon entering the kingdom is typically proportional to extent to which we actually feel our own poorness of spirit. We can either acknowledge both sincerely and intellectually, "I am a sinner and so I need the Lord's forgiveness," or we can cry out from the depths of our very souls, "God have mercy upon me, a sinner!" as the tax collector did in Luke 18:13. The atoning work of Christ will cover all degrees of what is genuine faith, but Wilson says "the actual joy of 'gospel wakefulness' requires a depth of felt brokenness in which the phrase 'poor in spirit' makes much more sense than intellectual sense."
And the blessing the poor in spirit actually receive is nothing less than the very kingdom of heaven itself, with all the abundant life and eternal riches it holds. The kingdom itself is a treasure, which is often hidden from our spiritual senses while we are seeking earthly satisfactions everywhere else, but once it has been dug up and discovered in the rocky soil of our sin and suffering, we will with great joy sell all we have to claim it. We finally become like the singers of the song Jesus is Better, which could literally be the anthem of those whose souls have become truly gospel-aware, and we begin to behold the glorious vision of the gospel of God's grace and we start to see the soul-stirring inheritance that is ours in Christ. When we have felt deeply the spiritual poverty of self-rule, we begin to be prepared for the riches of the King, which are immeasurable, unsearchable, glorious and full.
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