← Part 2 (1:9-20)  ΑΩ  Part 4 (2:8-11) →

Remember how much anticipation surrounded report card time when you were a kid?

I wasn’t even that concerned about grades, actually, but I knew that the local Taco Bell in Eau Claire, WI, gave out a free taco for every “A” on a report card, and free tacos were something I was very concerned about.

Can you imagine getting a report card on your church from God? Sheesh. Would your church get free tacos for anything? What would it be failing? That’s some scary stuff.

But that’s exactly what happens in Revelation chapters 2-3. Right before things start to get really weird in chapter 4. N.T. Wright helpfully summarizes the contents of these two chapters:

“The seven letters, of which this is the first, are sharp and pointed messages to the churches in question, and, through them, to the many other Christian groups already in the area – and to all others, then and now, who can listen in to what the risen Lord is saying. The letters all follow the same pattern. They begin with a reminder of some aspect of the description of Jesus in chapter 1. They continue by congratulating the church on what has been going well (only in Laodicea is there nothing to praise), and then warning about what has been going badly (only in Smyrna and Philadelphia is there no fault to be found). The letters then end with a solemn warning and promise: the spirit is speaking to the churches, calling Christians to ‘conquer’, and promising them some aspect of the glorious future which God has in store. We should not imagine that Christians in Ephesus are only promised the right to eat of the tree of life, or that those in Smyrna are only promised that they will escape the second death, and so on. All the promises, and all the warnings, are for all the churches” (Revelation for Everyone, 11-12)

So, here’s my question: Why would God give report cards to churches that are already pretty beaten up? They’re doubting. They’re worried. …Is this really going to be helpful? But remember what I said in my first post. Many of these believers, in their fear that they had ben wrong about who Jesus really was, were throwing in the towel on their faith or compromising and mixing their faith with Roman Caesar-worship in order to escape trouble. On the one hand, doubt is understandable. Everyone doubts. Jude reminds us to have mercy on those who doubt (v. 22). On the other hand, unchecked doubt eventually leads to trouble. These believers were allowing their doubts and fears to result in syncretism–the mixing of the worship of God alone with other religions and rituals. If you’re familiar with the Bible at all—particularly the Old Testament—you know that when human beings decide to pick out the bits and pieces of the Bible that they like best and mix them together with their favorite philosophies and popular spirituality, God starts laying mushroom clouds. His words to the churches in Revelation 2-3 are actually incredibly tame and reserved in comparison.

Where the Ephesians are excelling is in doctrine. Free tacos for everyone on doctrine. For anyone who thinks God only cares about love and doesn’t care about doctrine, this is one of the first place I’d go to demonstrate the contrary. He says,

“I know that you cannot tolerate wicked people, that you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. …[Y]ou have this in your favor: You hate the practices of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate” (vv. 2,6).

The words used here suggest that the main problem with these false apostles and the Nicolaitans is that there doctrine if off. They’ve got the gospel wrong. They’re spreading some sort of false teaching, the Ephesians recognize it, and they won’t tolerate it. Plus 1 for the Ephesians.

The problem is that the Ephesians don’t love well. Again, God says,

“Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first. Consider how far you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first.” (vv. 4-5)

Not to resort to the cliche of cliches, but God is making it clear to the Ephesians that love is a verb. They have forsaken (a very strong word) the love that they had at first. What love? Love for God? Well, that could be part of it. But what’s mainly in focus is love for people in the form of good works, charity, encouragement, and service. We know this because the remedy for the problem is to “repent and do the things you did at first.”

I’m reminded of what Paul says in 1 Corinthians 13: “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.” Or James, saying, “Faith without deeds is dead.” (2:26) In 1 Timothy 4, Paul urges believers to keep a close watch on their “life and doctrine.”

It seems to me that some believers imagine that because they’re so strong on doctrine, head knowledge, biblical understanding, theology, etc., that all of that will cover for their lack of real, tangible acts of love, kindness, charity and giving. They play lip service to love because it’s not their sweet spot. They’re better with books. People are messier and harder to love than books.

On the other hand some believers imagine that their great love gets them off the hook for knowing what they’re talking about. They figure that paying close attention to what the Bible teaches about God, the human condition, the sacrifice of Christ, and the work of the Holy Spirit is strictly optional. It’s all up for debate and you can kind of pick and choose what you like, discard what you don’t like, and as long as you love, God’s not even going to grade you on doctrine.

Wrong. Wrong.

So… Where do you get free tacos? Does doctrine, theology and Bible study come easy to you? Or does love come easy to you? Neither? Both? In my experience, most people have to work especially hard at one or the other.

So, may we aspire to be strong-minded lovers. Big-hearted sages. Great Bible students overflowing with great compassion, and servants with theological steel in our spines.

← Part 1 (1:1-8)  ΑΩ  Part 3 (2:1-7) →

Do you remember cassette tapes?

Try hard.

If you were born after 1985, you probably never actually owned one, but you definitely saw your dad’s Journey, The Police, and Tony Robbins tapes in the glove box of his Chevy Lumina, right?

The thing I loved most about cassettes by far was the making of mix tapes. Making a great mix tape—particularly if you were making it for someone else (The girl from the roller rink maybe?)—was a very subtle art form that required a lot of attention to pacing and flow. Someone once said, “The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don’t want to [burn out], so then you got to cool it off a notch.”

That sage advice reminds me a lot of the pacing and flow of the first chapter of Revelation. As we saw in my last post, John opens with one of the most forceful and powerful assertions of God’s power and sovereignty in all of Scripture (see 1:4-8). He kicks it off with a killer, to grab attention. And then… he takes it up a notch.

John hears a voice—as loud and clear as a trumpet (v. 10). And as he turns toward the voice he doesn’t hear, but sees something staggering:

“…Someone like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest. The hair on his head was white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, and coming out of his mouth was a sharp, double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.”

What would be your reaction if you saw such a thing?

Now, “son of man” isn’t a term referring merely to Jesus’s human nature. “Son of Man” was Jesus’s preferred way to refer to himself and it was a title that was drawn directly from Daniel 7, in which Daniel sees “…one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all nations and peoples of very language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.”

We don’t know how, but somehow John knew that the being he saw in his vision was this unspeakably powerful “Son of Man” of Daniel’s vision, coming to bring his judgment and rule on the earth. His attire (drawing on imagery from Daniel 7:9) makes it clear that he is completely and perfectly holy. His blazing eyes symbolize the fact that he is an all-seeing, all-knowing judge. His voice reminds us that when we hear him speak, we are hearing the voice of the one and only God of Israel (cf. Ezek. 43:2), and the sword coming out of his mouth emphasizes the power and judgment his voice will bring. His face shining like the sun reminds us that no one can look upon Almighty God unaided without blinding their own eyes.

God has taken the vision up a notch. And John response is right:

“When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead” (1:17).

N.T. Wright says, “For some, Jesus is just a faraway figure of first-century fantasy. For others, including some of today’s enthusiastic Christians, Jesus is the one with whom we can establish a personal relationship of loving intimacy. John would agree with the second of these, but he would warn against imagining that Jesus is therefore a cozy figure, one who merely makes us feel happy inside. To see Jesus as he is would drive us not to snuggle up to him, but to fall at his feet as though we were dead.” (Revelation for Everyone, 7)

We should love Jesus. He loves us. We should feel we can approach him. He has died for that. But we should never make him small. We should never think of him as our “pal.” We should never think of him in ways that domesticate him or bring him onto our level, as though he is not the ruler of all the universe, of which we are an infinitesimally small part.

But listen. After God takes the intensity of this revelation up a notch, he knows he needs to bring it down a notch. The weary and worried believers that are being addressed are already terrified because of their persecutors. Should they also be terrified of their savior? Of course not. And so John sees this staggeringly powerful God place his right hand on him and say, “Don’t be afraid” (v. 17).

Don’t

be 

afraid.

Again, imagine the effect this must have had on the battered, broken, scared and doubting believers. Is there anything they would have needed to hear more? “Don’t be afraid.” I imagine God meant more than just, “Don’t be afraid of what you’re seeing at this moment.” He meant it more deeply—more comprehensively: “Don’t be afraid of what you’re experiencing. Don’t be afraid of what’s happening around you.”

Why? Why not fear? Why should we not be afraid?!…

Because, “I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and now look, I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades.”

We need a God that big. For all of the terrifying, unsettling, depressing and defeating things we see in the world and in our lives, we need a God who would absolutely terrify us… if he did not kneel down to us, meet our eyes, place his hand on our shoulder and say, “Don’t be afraid. I’m bigger than all of this. And I am with you. I am for you.” A Jesus who is your “buddy” or “pal” will not be big enough and strong enough to rescue you when life falls apart. Don’t think of him that way. “Fun” as that may be, it makes him smaller than what you’re going to need. A Jesus who has long hair, a well-trimmed beard, and wears Birkenstocks (as in all of the most historically inaccurate church basement portraits) will not be powerful enough to take on your worst enemies. He will not be able to conquer death and sadness. He will not be able to raise the dead and flood the earth with justice.

So let us never make him small. Let us envision Jesus, like John, as more powerful and terrifying than we can possibly imagine. Even as we remember that he died for us, and says to us even now, “Don’t be afraid.”

← Introduction  ΑΩ  Part 2 (1:9-20) →

I would imagine that everyone has had the experience of suddenly realizing they might be wrong about something important.

In November, I was in New Jersey getting ready to catch a flight out of LaGuardia. It was 9am and I was having a leisurely breakfast in my hotel because I knew it was an hour drive to the airport and I didn’t need to be there until 11am, thinking my flight left somewhere around 12:30pm. …Until an alarm went off in my head and made me think, “Wait… Do I need to be at the airport at 11am, or does my flight leave at 11am?! Bleepity bleep! I think it might leave at 11….” My stomach sunk, my heart rate tripled, and suddenly my breakfast wasn’t as leisurely.

We’ve all experienced something like that, right?

Many of the earliest Christians in Asia Minor (modern day Turkey) had an experience like this with regard to the single most important thing in their lives. They had made up their minds that a poor carpenter named Jesus, who they had never seen, never met, and had only heard about from a man named Paul (or some other traveling evangelist), was actually the God who spoke the universe into being. He had been executed by the Romans, but they believed that he had risen from the dead and was now the ruler of all the kings of the earth, reigning over the world.

But even as they looked up and worshiped their king, they looked around and things seemed very… off. Things didn’t look how they expected them to look if Jesus really was ruling the world.

Rome and the Caesars were still dominant on the political landscape. Their communities and churches were being denigrated, persecuted and executed by mocking opponents. They were having to meet in secrecy and were under constant pressure to give up on their ridiculous beliefs about Jesus and give in to the Roman demand that they worship Caesar alone as their king.

In short: They wanted to believe that Jesus was truly the sovereign king he claimed to be. That he was really in charge. That he was governing the world in love and justice. But everything around them urged them to doubt that he was. They had become fearful that they had been wrong about Jesus, and as a result many of them were throwing in the towel on their faith, or compromising and mixing their faith with Roman Caesar-worship in order to escape trouble.

Revelation is written for a single purpose: To say to those believers, and to every believer who has looked around at the world and wondered if they were wrong to believe that Jesus is really risen and reigning over the world: “Breathe deep. You weren’t wrong.”

John begins his address with one of the strongest affirmations of the presence and power of God in the entire Bible:

“Grace and peace to you from him who is, and who was, and who is to come, and from the seven spirits before his throne, and from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.”

Think about what an encouragement just those two verses would have been to weary and worried Christians. What did he just say to them? He said: God IS. He was. And he will come. He is bringing much-needed grace and peace to you through his powerful and perfect Holy Spirit (more on the “seven spirits” thing below). Jesus Christ is faithful. He will not let you down. He has risen from the dead. You weren’t dreaming. And he is the ruler of all the kings of the earth. Caesar, your persecutor, who appears to be sovereign over you is not. Breathe deep. You weren’t wrong. Jesus is who he said he is.

And not only does John remind them who God is, he reminds them who they are as followers of Christ: They have been freed from the power of their sinful ways by the sacrifice of Jesus himself (v. 5). They are sons and daughters of the King, and they represent the King on earth as his kingdom (v. 6). And they are called to be priests of God, bringing the message of God to a world desperately in need of it (v. 6). Their lives are not meaningless. They are not throwaways. In fact, because they have been adopted by the King, their lives could not possibly be more significant.

And even if they doubt those things, God assures them that they will soon be certain. He is coming. And everyone who opposed him will mourn and weep because they will realize against whom they have rebelled. How does God know? Because, “‘I am the Alpha and the Omega,’ says the Lord God, ‘who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty’” (v. 8).

So, what’s the message for us in this passage? First of all, is John even speaking to us—Christians living in the 21st century? On the one hand, John clearly addresses his letter to the seven churches in Asia. So maybe all of this was just meant for them and it really has nothing to do with us. On the other hand, numbers are always significant in the Book of Revelation, and they are almost always symbolic. The number seven was known throughout the Old Testament as the number of “perfection” or “completeness,” and as will become even more clear later in the book, it continues to fill that function in Revelation. In verse 4, for example, it could be that the “seven spirits” before the throne refers to the seven angels of the churches that we’re about to hear about. But since the address is from God, his son Jesus, and the “seven spirits,” it seems even more likely that the seven spirits actually refer to the one, perfect and complete Holy Spirit of God. John has been in communion with the triune God—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—and is now extending grace and peace to the churches on behalf of the Trinity.

Which means that while John’s specific audience is the seven churches of Asia, the number seven is no coincidence. He means to address the complete people of God; The church worldwide—you, me, and every believer who has and ever will live.

So what does God, through John, intend to say to us? His message is this: Christian, do you doubt? Do you hurt? Do you ever worry that you have believed a fairy tale, and that now you’re just “making believe”? Do you look around at this world with all of its shootings and war and societal ills and poverty and abuse—or even just look at your own life with its challenges, worries, stresses and disappointments—and say, “How could God possibly be in charge? How could God possibly be ruling over this? Will he ever come? Will all of this ever be made right?”

And God’s unequivocal answer to you—and to every worried, doubting believer who has asked any or all of these very good questions—is, “I AM. I was. I always have been. And I always will be. I will come. Every eye will see me. Suffering will be destroyed. Death will be undone. Hurts will be made right. Abuse, pain and deformity will be rolled back. Evil will be eradicated. This world and all of its brokenness will be enveloped in perfect peace, justice, love and beauty.

I am the Alpha and the Omega. You weren’t wrong. Breathe deep. Look to the sky. I am coming.

← Preview  ΑΩ  Part 1 (1:1-8) →

When I said that I was going to be blogging my way through Revelation, a friend of mine said, “…Because nothing brings Christians together in harmony like eschatology.” I got a kick out of that. But you have to know what “eschatology” is and be able to pick up on heavy sarcasm to think it’s funny.

Eschatology is the part of biblical studies that deals with “last things”—often described as “the end of the world,” although I think that’s a really misleading way to think about it since Revelation certainly does not tell the story of the end of the world. Almost exactly the opposite, in fact. It tells the story of how God, often working in concert with the followers of his son, Jesus, will recreate the world. It tells the story of how God will remake this world as a newer and better Eden—an Eden centered on the blazing beauty and glory of Jesus, who fully and finally reigns over his new creation in perfect peace, justice and love, having destroyed all evil and death and crying and brokenness forever.

And somehow, despite all of that, the book of Revelation tends to make Christians go to the mattresses like no other book. Which is amazingly ironic and sad, really, given that the book repeatedly pictures the people of God in perfect unity, standing before their beloved king, singing and worshiping and enjoying him together. There must be a way to study this book and take it seriously without divisiveness and without throwing stones at people who understand it differently. I so enjoyed working through this book together with my Life Group. I don’t think we all unanimously agreed on the meaning of almost anything in Revelation. But we loved and honored each other all the way through it. And if it’s possible on a small scale, it’s possible on a large scale. So, throughout this series, my hope is always to put forward my own understanding of this book in dialogue with those who may disagree—never deriding those who disagree. I’ll expect commenters to do the same.

I mentioned in the “preview” for this series that Revelation is for worshipers. It paints a portrait of a massive and beautiful and majestic God, who deserves all glory and honor. Revelation is for doubters. It lets us know that we are a part of a story that has a certain ending, because it is written by the one true sovereign. Revelation is for the weak but willing. It puts steel in the spine of those who desire courage and boldness. Revelation is for conquerors. It reminds us from whom our greatest strength comes and for whom we’re conquering. Revelation is for the evil. It reminds them that their time is short. And Revelation is for the broken. It reveals for us how all of the shattered pieces will be put back together again.

When a film begins, there’s always some opening credits, and often something along the lines of, “Based on actual events” and then “Little Boston, California. 1902″ to set you up for what follows. So, a few opening credits to give credit where credit will be due, and to set you up a bit for what follows:

First, I’ll be leaning heavily on three biblical commentaries by three different scholars who have three different perspectives on the book: Revelation for Everyone, by N.T. Wright; The Book of Revelation, by G.K. Beale; and Revelation, by Grant Osborne (one of the few new testament scholars out there who bucks the “two initial” first name trend). They’re all excellent, and you’ll see along the way who I tend to resonate with the most. I’ll quote them when it’s appropriate and necessary, but know that you’re going to hear them echoing throughout my writing.

Second, I’m going to try to avoid as much as possible academic terms like “preterist,” “futurist,” “idealism,” “premillenial,” “amillenial,” “postmillenial,” “post-trib,” “pre-trib,” “mid-trib,” “a-trib,” “dub-trib,” “fancy-trib” and “extra-crispy-trib.” Because, seriously… Who cares? Maybe we can just talk about Revelation like real people who… you know… have jobs and mow the lawn and eat cereal. If you want to use those words to impress people, that’s cool with me. They don’t impress my wife when I use them, so I’m just gonna skip ‘em.

Third, Revelation is “based on actual events.” Except it isn’t. It is and it isn’t. Everyone recognizes that Revelation is full of strange symbols. But all of the biggest disagreements about Revelation are really, at their root, all about how much of it is symbolic and how much of it isn’t. But here’s one word I want to encourage everyone to be very careful with: Literal. It is an extremely misunderstood word and it’s really open to misinterpretation, so I’d love it if we could avoid it entirely.

If you or I do use it, here’s what we should mean by it: “Reading literature according to the kind of literature it is.” Another way to say it is that “literal” means “reading literature according to its genre.” Every piece of literature has a genre—the rules and customs that tell a reader how to read something.

Think of it like the Sunday paper. There are lots of different “genres” in the Sunday paper. And we all know that they’re not all meant to be read the same. We all know that when we read a story on the front page, we’re supposed to be reading mainly for facts and information. The author is claiming some semblance of objectivity and reporting an event as accurately as possible. But we also all know that when we read the editorial page, we’re supposed to reading for biases and opinions. The author is not claiming any sort of objectivity (or, at least, they shouldn’t be). They’re arguing a side. They’re trying to convince you of their viewpoint. And we know that when we read the comics, we’re not supposed to be looking for facts and information at all. Comics are a different genre than an editorial or a front-page story.

So what does it mean to read Garfield literally? It doesn’t mean to read it as though there’s really a fat, orange, condescending cat that loves lasagna and has a love/hate relationship with a hopelessly stupid dog, and the author is trying to document their lives for historical interest. To read Garfield literally means to read it as a comic strip. To read Garfield literally means to understand that the story of the comic strip didn’t really happen, and that if the author is trying to convey a message, he’s conveying it symbolically, or comically. I think that’s where we often go wrong with Revelation, Genesis 1, and many other biblical texts.

To read something literally means to read something according to the kind of literature it is. So, some readers believe that Revelation is a more or less straightforward account of how things are going to unfold in the future, and that it uses very little symbolism whatsoever, and believe that at some point in the future there will be a physically real dragon on earth and locusts that kind of look like horses with women’s hair and lions teeth, etc. These readers claim to be reading Revelation “literally.” But some readers believe that Revelation is a highly symbolic form of literature, conveying its message by powerful and staggering images that represent events or realities in the past, present and/or future. These readers also should claim to be reading Revelation “literally.” Both kinds of readers have made a decision (whether they know it or not) about what kind of literature Revelation is, and how it’s meant to be read.

All of that to say, everyone should be reading Revelation “literally”—wrestling with what kind of literature it is. So let’s try to avoid using the word “literally” as though it’s some sort of biblical moral high ground (i.e. “I take Revelation seriously because I read it literally”). Instead, let’s try to understand why people are inclined to read this book the way they do, try to figure out how God intended for it to be read, and see if we can find a way forward in understanding Revelation with unity even amidst wildly divergent perspectives.

I hope that’s as geeky as I get through this entire series. I’d rather not talk about the book itself and how to understand it. I’d rather read it with you and watch it paint us a portrait of a staggeringly powerful God and King who is more beautiful and just and vengeful and loving than we have ever imagined. So here goes…

Well, not “forget” so much… more like “lost track of.” I’ve been amazingly busy with work, which is funny because my “work” is normally called “play.” Because you play the drums rather than work the drums. Get it? Isn’t that funny? Yes. It is funny.

But I really do want to get the rest of the notes for May readings posted. So I’ll get that done. And then I have some other things to post… really controversial and pot-stirring stuff that will undoubtedly make EVERYONE mad at me. Just kidding. Or am I?

OH MY GOSH THE SUSPENSE YOU GUYS…

In the meantime please join me in wishing the young Bryan McWhite a very happy birthday. He is an incredible dude and I am a better man for having met him. I texted him that earlier but I feel like I should say it publicly.

Thank you, Bryan, for your friendship and your influence on my life.

Imagine that you were given the one thing you want more than anything.

What’s the one thing you want most? It doesn’t really matter what it is, but imagine that one thing. Let’s say it’s a brand new top-of-the-line Polaris snowmobile. Now imagine that someone wants to give you this dream of a machine for nothing. They want to give it to you absolutely for free. They want to give it to you as an act of sheer grace and kindness. Good news, right? Amazing news! Now imagine that this gracious giver tells you that there’s just one string attached: If you scratch, dent or ding the snowmobile up, it will be taken away from you forever and you can never ride a snowmobile ever again.

Is the offer still good news? Not really. Sheesh… that one “string” really sucked all the fun and joy and goodness out of that gift, didn’t it? I mean, would you even ride the thing? I doubt I would. If I even accepted it, I’d probably wrap it in bubble wrap, stick it in storage and never ride it. Maybe try to sell it to someone before it depreciates…

That same “string” could have the same effect on the gospel—God’s absolutely free, gracious offer of rescue through Christ the Savior. What if God told you that if you trust in Christ and choose to follow him with your life, you will be adopted as a son or daughter of God, you will be empowered by the Holy Spirit, your life will take on a new and unimaginable significance, that your sins and all the ways you’ve rebelled against God would be erased from the record, and that one day you will be able to enjoy the sheer joy of God in his perfect world?

But then God tells you that there’s one string attached.

If you screw up too much; If you don’t measure up; If you have any serious scratches, dents or dings in your holiness over a long enough timeline, then you’ll loose this gracious gift of rescue. Is the offer still good news? Not really. Again, the “string” sucked all the joy and goodness and peace out of the gift.

This is one of the things that makes the gospel so wonderful. There are no strings attached. In John 10 Jesus says, “My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father’s hand” (vv. 27-29).

It is a terrible mistake to think that we receive our salvation by God’s sheer grace, but then we keep our salvation through our own effort and merit.

Many of us think this way. I mean, haven’t you ever wondered if God was at the end of his patience with you? Have you ever wondered if maybe God was so tired of your disobedience that he was ready to end his relationship with you? I certainly have—particularly in the last year. When are you most prone to entertain those thoughts?

Even if we don’t think this way, many of us tend to live this way. We go about our lives believing that if we sin too much, if we don’t give enough, if we don’t share the gospel enough, if we don’t measure up for long enough, eventually God will get sick of our failures and take back his gift of salvation. He’ll cast us off, wash his hands of us, and kick us to the curb. And so we go through life trying not to make any “big” mistakes, and with a paralyzing fear that prevents us from daring anything great for God.

Why would you take risks? Why walk into enemy territory? Why risk dings and dents in our lives? Just stay at home, right? That’s the kind of thinking that believing that we keep our salvation by being good leads to.

Today, let the freedom to fail give you the courage to fight. Today, know that God’s love for you in Christ is everlasting. Today, know that the Cross is greater than your sin and failures. Today, know that God is infinitely patient with those who are united to his Son, and will breathe fresh life into you whenever you turn from your sin and reassert your devotion to his mission and his call on your life. Believe me. I have experienced that very thing.

You are his sheep. The Father has given you to Christ. He is greater than all. And nothing—not even your own failures—can snatch you out of his hand.

Who killed Jesus?

It seems like a simple enough question and answer, right? Anyone who’s read through any one of the gospels might say, “Well, Pontius Pilate did. He gave the order to have Jesus crucified.” And that answer isn’t wrong. But it’s not the best answer. Some people might remember what they read earlier in the Gospel of John: “He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him,” and say, “Well really it was the Jewish leaders. Pontius didn’t really want to crucify Jesus, but the Jewish leaders pushed him to do it.” And that answer isn’t wrong. But it’s not the best answer.

People who really know the depth of their own sin, and who understand what Jesus did for them on the cross might say, “It was me. I crucified Jesus.” As the song goes, “It was my sin that held him there until it was accomplished.“ And that answer isn’t wrong. In fact, it’s almost the best answer.

But not quite.

In John 10, Jesus is explaining the depth of his love for his followers—his sheep. He says, “I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me—just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep. …No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again” (vv. 14-15, 18).

This makes perfect sense if we just take a moment to connect the dots: Jesus is the God who spoke galaxies into existence, set the earth spinning on its axis, invented life and designed the tree from which his own cross was made. So… let’s try this again. Who killed Jesus? Who killed the architect of the universe and the Commander In Chief of the Armies of the innumerable angel warriors of Heaven?

Who killed Jesus? God did. That’s the best answer.

Jesus chose the cross. He chose this path. He chose death. He chose his death because he’s the only one who could choose it. He’s the only one who has “authority to lay his life down” and “authority to take it up again.” No one can take his life from him. I mean, how do you take life from the designer and giver of life? You don’t. No one can.

So why did he choose to give it up? Why did he lay his life down?

We have to start with the answer we gave to the question in yesterday’s post: He chose death first and foremostly for the glory and fame of God. This is the highest design of the death of Christ: God’s fame.

But, of course, there is another answer. Even though we are very, very small, he loves us so very deeply. “I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me…and I lay down my life for the sheep.” Oh, how he loves us. No man has greater love than this: That he lays down his life for his friends.

Have you ever stopped to think about why Jesus healed people? Why did he make that such a big emphasis of his ministry? I mean, if the “real” reason Jesus came was to die on the cross for the sins of his people, why did he do so much healing? Did he do it just because he could? Was it just sort of a nice thing he decided to do for a few people on his way to his “real” mission of dying as a sacrifice? Couldn’t Jesus have saved us without doing so much healing and teaching? Why did he spend three years teaching and healing when he could have gone to the cross much faster than that?

Part of the answer is given in John 9. Some of Jesus’s disciples came to him and asked him about a blind man. Most people in Jesus’s day believed that if someone had a handicap or a birth defect or a disease it must be because either that person or his or her parents had sinned so grievously that God had punished the person with their handicap or disease. These disciples want to know why this particular man was born blind. Was it his fault or his parents’ fault? Who was to blame? They figured that it had to be one or the other. No one is blind for no reason, right?

Well, that’s true. No one has a handicap, or gets sick, or experiences suffering for no reason whatsoever. There is no such thing as meaningless suffering.

But the disciples still needed some correction in the way they were thinking about the blind man. Jesus explained to them, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned…but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him” (v. 3).

Now, think about what Jesus just said. A lot of us might not like that he said it once we think through it. He’s saying that this blindness was given to the man for a very specific purpose. Namely, “so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

But take it another step: If this man’s blindness was given for a very specific purpose, then (to state the obvious) it had to have been given by someone. Already some of you are squirming in your seat. Would God really give someone blindness? Does God deliberately hand out handicaps to people? Does that fit with the way you want to imagine God? If not, the way you think about God may need to be adjusted.

So lets put it all together: God gave this man two or three or four decades of blindness on purpose. And the reason was so that God could display his glory when Jesus came along and healed the man.

And now we’re circling back around to the question about why Jesus spent so much time healing people during his brief earthly ministry. What did Jesus come to do? The best answer is not, “He came to die for sins.” That’s really important. But why did he come to die for sins? There is a higher purpose. There is a bigger reason.

The reason Jesus came is to display the glory of God.

This is the most important thing that Jesus’s life is about. Jesus’s coming into the world wasn’t mainly about dying for our sins. It wasn’t mainly about teaching us how to live. It wasn’t mainly about healing us or wowing us with his miracles. Jesus came into the world first and foremostly for the glory of God. He came for God’s fame.

Why does God deliberately give people handicaps? Why does God plan painful events in our lives? Why does God ordain the fall of spiritual leaders? These all have a purpose. None of them are meaningless or useless. In all of these things, God aims to bring glory to his name through the life and death of Jesus, and his continuing work by the Spirit through the church in the world.

It may sound obvious, but it’s worth reminding ourselves once in a while: We are not at the center of the universe. God is. We are not ultimate. God is. We are very, very small, and God is very, very great. But when we live our lives in the light of this awesome reality, our lives do become deeply significant and beautiful and good and pleasing both to ourselves and to our great God.

So may we all live in the joy of being small and peripheral, and live in the joy of God being huge and central. May we be pleased to have him increase, and us decrease.

If you woke up one day and told your brother or sister that you are a race car driver, do you think they would believe you? What if you told your husband or wife that you’re actually an astronaut or a CIA agent? Your job at Sports Authority is actually just a clever cover. Think they’d buy it? What about if you told your kids you’re a space alien? Actually, my kids would probably say, “Yeah. Makes sense. Cool.”

But none of those are even half as hard to believe as it would have been for Jesus’s half-brothers (Mary and Joseph’s other sons) to believe that Jesus—whom they had grown up with; whom they had known all their lives; whom they had seen spill food on himself and trip and scuff up his knee, and learn to throw a ball—that their brother Jesus was actually God. The God who created the earth that brings forth food, and who designed the human body to be able to self-repair a scuffed up knee, and who threw the stars across the galaxies in the beginning.

Jesus might as well have tried to convince them he was a race car driver.

In John 7 Jesus’s brothers are trying to convince him to go public with what they thought of as some sort of magic and healing road show. They said to him, “No one who wants to become a public figure acts in secret. Since you are doing these things, show yourself to the world” (v. 4). They weren’t urging him to seek a larger following because they cared about the gospel or about Jesus’s plan to initiate the Kingdom of God on earth. After all, as John tells us, “Even his own brothers did not believe in him” (v. 5).

Have you ever heard someone say, “If Jesus wanted me to believe in him, why wouldn’t he just show himself to me?” Seems reasonable, right? Couldn’t Jesus put all doubt about his resurrection and divinity to rest if he just appeared in public again? Maybe do an interview on CNN? “My guest tonight on Anderson Cooper 360° is Jesus of Nazareth….”

But seeing isn’t always believing, is it? Jesus’s own brothers didn’t believe him. Not at first, anyway. His brother James did eventually believe and he became a key leader in the church in Jerusalem. But in Matthew 28:17 we’re told that even some of the people who saw Jesus standing before them resurrected still doubted him. I mean, Jesus was practically ascending into heaven before their eyes, and these doubters are saying to each other, “Yeah, I’m just not sure. I don’t buy it. I have a cousin who can do some stuff like that….” I mean what more could you ask for to overcome your doubt than to have the resurrected Christ standing right there in front of you?!

So the problem isn’t that Jesus doesn’t show up on our front step and dispel our doubts. The problem is that our hard hearts would prevent us from truly seeing him even if he did. The problem is that even if our eyes work just fine, apart from God’s saving grace we are completely blind. The Bible says that “The god of this world”—the devil—“has blinded the minds of unbelievers” (2 Cor. 4:4).

Unbelievers aren’t dumb. They’re not unreasonable. They’re not stubborn or close-minded or more affected by evil than any one of us. They’re blind. They are incapable of choosing to see something that they simply cannot see.

Can you see Neptune without a powerful telescope? Why not? What if you just decided to choose to see Neptune with your unaided eyes? Could you see it any better? Of course not.

Unbelievers can only see the truth and love and beauty and majesty of Jesus when God chooses to give them the grace that changes their hard hearts, brings light to their darkened minds, and gives sight to their blind eyes. So let us give thanks every day for the reality that we only see the truth of Christ because we have been given eyes to see. We have been given the ability to believe the gospel. We have been given hearts that can love God—all of his grace alone.

And may we ask his sight-giving grace to flow along with our words when we share the gospel with blind people.

My kids would rather have dinner at Chuck E. Cheese’s than Fogo de Chao or Manny’s Steakhouse. I mean… for real? I’m disappointed in myself. I thought I had been a pretty good father. How could they possibly prefer pizza of questionable quality peddled by a large rodent over the most beautiful and tender steaks known to man? It just defies all good sense.

Unless… well… you’re a kid. Then it makes perfect sense because most kids haven’t developed a taste for great steak yet. They have no idea what they’re missing. You can’t fault a kid for picking a lackluster pizza over steak so tender you can cut it with a butter knife. But you could (and should) fault an adult for making the same choice. An adult should know better, right? If you choose Chuck E. Cheese’s over Fogo, you’re either a kid, a vegetarian or a moron. Those are the only possibilities.

After Jesus fed five thousand people with no more than five small loaves of bread and a couple of fish, the people came looking for him—this man who had performed a miracle unlike anything they had ever seen. And do you know why they were looking for him? Wait for it…

They wanted more food.

In John 6 the people find Jesus and he speaks to them very directly. He says, “You are looking for me, not because you saw the signs I performed but because you ate the loaves and had your fill. Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you” (vv. 26-27).

They came to Jesus looking for more bread and fish, rather than for “food”—spiritual sustenance—that endures to eternal life. And Jesus says to them: You’re looking for me because you want some more Chuck E. Cheese pizza, while I’m trying to offer you Manny’s steaks. Your desires are warped. You’re seeking the wrong thing.

It seems to me that we do this quite a bit when we seek God in Christ. Think about your prayer life. What do we spend most of our time in prayer (however much time we spend in prayer) asking for? If you’re like most people, the majority of your prayers are focused on the health of your family, things at work, concerns about finances, stuff at school, the lottery, maybe friends and relational issues. Is it wrong to pray for these things? Of course not (well, maybe the lottery). God invites us to pray for anything we truly believe he may want for us (John 14:13-14).

But is it wrong to pray for these things to the exclusion of things that will really matter long after we die? Absolutely. It wasn’t wrong for the disciples to seek Jesus for food. But it was wrong for them to prioritize asking him for something as ordinary as food over asking him for spiritual sustenance.

Think about this: What do you regularly pray for right now that will truly matter in 5 billion years? The health of your family? It won’t matter. Things at work? They won’t matter. Finances, school, the lottery? None of it will matter in five billion years. What will matter? Humility. Living with hearts full of love. Hearts that overflow in generosity. Minds that are pure and holy. Patience and kindness. Self-control and gentleness. Satisfaction and contentment in Christ. A God-centered view of everything in our lives. These are the things that will truly matter in 5 billion years. So these are the things we should prioritize now when we seek Christ in prayer.

May we not settle for bread when he offers us food that endures to eternal life.