contentment (10) treasure

A man was walking across a cow pasture when his foot hit something. He bent over, rubbed his aching toe, and noticed the corner of a box sticking out of the ground. Curious, he grabbed a stick, dug away the dirt, and opened the lid. His heart thumped as he reached in and felt the solid weight of gold. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then covered the box with chunks of turf. He went home and sold everything he had, from the coat on his back to the roof over his children’s heads, and bought the pasture, cows and all. The whole town thought he’d gone crazy. He ended up a richer man than he’d ever been before. (Matt 13:44-46)

We have a great treasure. We have Christ himself! Yet we complain about what we don’t have. We envy those who with more than us. We write bucket lists. We regret what we’ve given away. We wish life had turned out differently. We have enough, but we’re greedy for more. We whinge when things don’t go our way. We worry we don’t have enough stored up for the future. We look back longingly at the things we left behind.

And all the time we tell ourselves that discontent is just a little sin. But we don’t notice how it eats away at our lives, our relationships, our faith. We fail to see the idolatry at its heart, how we have become adulterous lovers and false worshippers, seeking fulfilment apart from God. We abandon his living water and look for satisfaction, security and significance in the leaky wells of this world, then we’re surprised when we are left empty.

If we grasped just how great our blessings are in Christ – how richly he supplies every need, how tenderly he watches over us, how bright our future is with him – would we ever feel like we lack anything? I think we’d be content. More than that, I think that, even in sorrow, we’d rejoice to be found in him.

If you’re anything like me, it won’t be easy to learn this lesson. It won’t be easy to find your contentment in Christ alone. It will be a life-long battle. It will be challenged every time you suffer, every time you fail, every time you notice someone is better off than you. But it’s worth fighting, because it’s a battle to treasure Christ over all.

Contentment isn’t horizontal. It doesn’t come from comparing ourselves with others. It doesn’t come from counting our blessings. It doesn’t come from thinking about those worse off than us. Paul never tells us to be content because we have more than someone else.

Contentment is vertical, not horizontal. It comes from knowing Christ. We will become content when we learn to turn to him every time we feel dissatisfied; when we trust him to care for us; when we value him above everything and everyone else.

We find satisfaction in him, for he alone can fulfil our deepest longings. We are secure in him, for he will never leave us. We have significance in him, not because we have done great things, but because he has done great things for us.

Jesus is the secret of contentment.

I am a long way from learning this. I guess you are too. So let’s pray together that we learn to be content.

You'll find some follow-up questions, and the rest of this series, at TGC Australia

Image: Alton Hoard (British Museum)

in fear, for his glory

This post is, oh, only about 3 months out of date. But hey, a lot has happened since I wrote it. Anyhow, here it is.

In a month or two I will be giving my first conference talk.

I feel a bit like Paul, if you will allow me to rip a verse out of context: "I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling" (1 Cor 2:3).

Except in my case the fear and trembling come from less godly motivations. I want to succeed. I want this event to succeed. I want to impress people. I want them to like, respect, admire me. I could go on - I'm a type A person! My ambitions are boundless! - but I'd embarrass myself (like I already haven't) and you, too.

My gut clenches; my mind hazes over. People say, "You'll be great!" - my mother, who's not at all one-sided, plus a few faithful friends who have far more respect for me than I deserve - and all I can think is, "Now there's further to fall!". I remind myself that it's a small conference among friends; but it doesn't really help.

There's just one thing that helps. It's one of my favourite Bible passages, Philippians 2:1-11. It keeps coming into my head, driven by the Spirit. When I feel the fear welling up, I repeat to myself (and yes, this is pretty much the 1984 version of the NIV, 'cos my brain is stuck there):

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit ...

Selfish ambition. Vain conceit. Sums up the worst of my motivations quite nicely.

And the alternative:

...but in humility consider others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but to the interests of others. You attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus.

Putting others' interests above my own. Valuing them more than myself. Doing this for their sake, not mine.

And then the model, Jesus Christ:

Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being found in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to death—
even death on a cross!
Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name ...

This isn't about me. It never was. It's about me laying down my life for the sake of others. And if, in the process, I get cold toes and a wriggly tummy, well, that's a small price to pay.

I just pray I can forget myself and serve others for the sake of Christ. Not for my own glory, but for his:

... that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:1-11)

For his glory.

what I'm listening to: you can trust that man

It's one of my favourite stories about Jesus.

A woman, who's been bleeding for 12 years, touches the very edge of his cloak, and feels in her body that she's been healed.

He asks, "Who touched me?" She comes trembling, and falls at his feet.

He says, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” (Luke 6:40-56)

In Annabel Nixey's talk about this woman,* she asks, do we really want this woman's faith? Or do we want something more exciting?

Jesus lifts up this woman as an example, and he says, "See her faith." ... Faith is the guts of how we relate to God. ...

The faith that this woman had in this moment, we are to have in every moment.

So what was it? It's that she had empty-handed trust, and that this trust was in Jesus.

This woman came to Jesus with nothing, and she knew it. She was no great achiever. She was a receiver.

But if I'm honest, even when it comes to God, I want to be independent. I want the glamour faith. I want the independent dependence.

There's no such thing! There is simply no such thing.

When you look at this woman trembling in front of Jesus, do you want to be like her? I'm happy to learn from her. I don't know that I want to be like her.

And yet she is the example that Jesus holds up of how to treat him. 

Me too. I'd love the glamour faith, not the broken faith. But only when I'm broken do I learn what it  means to cling to Jesus. Yet my faith is no more perfect than this woman's:

But here's the comfort. This woman is held up as an example of faith, but her faith wasn't perfect.

It was tentative at first. It was wrapped up in the superstition that she had to touch Jesus. Jesus heals her anyway.

Maybe you look at your Christian friends and family, and you longingly think, "I wish I had her faith."

Look at this woman. She didn't have some mysterious quality. She simply trusted in Jesus. 

Maybe you look inside yourself, and maybe you ask yourself, "Do I have faith? Do I have enough faith? Do I have the right kind of faith?"

It wasn't about whether she had perfect faith.

It's about who her faith was in.

Instead of examining my own faith, I am learning to look away from myself and to Jesus:

We need to lift our eyes, look to Jesus, stop the self-analysis, look at Jesus.

Do you trust that man? Because we have even more reasons to trust in Jesus than this woman did.

You can trust that man. He went on to die for his people. Right after this, he raised Jairus' daughter from the dead. Who does that? He went on to punch through death himself in the resurrection. He gave us his Spirit.

And so we know that he is going to come back, and he's going to bring a whole kingdom where there will be no more bleeding. There will be no more need for doctors. There will be no more dying.

We need to lift our eyes and look forward to that kingdom.

I've been wondering what this woman would say to us. I don't think she'd say, "Look at my faith." I do think she'd say, "Look at him!"

Look at Jesus. You can trust that man.

* This is from Annabel Nixey's talk from Equip 2013. I wrote about another talk from this conference - Anna Moss on Mary and Martha - here. I highly recommend these talks. I found them very encouraging.

what I'm listening to: Mary, Martha, and Jesus

Have you ever wondered what to make of the story of Mary and Martha?

You can skip the next paragraph if you already know it.

Jesus is at Martha's house. Her sister Mary sits at Jesus' feet, listening to what he has to say. Martha is getting hot and bothered in the kitchen. She marches up to Jesus and says, "Lord, don't you care that I'm doing all the work, while Mary just sits there?" Jesus says, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing matters. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her." Luke 10:38-42

Huh? So it's okay for me to do all the work while my sister just sits there? Why is it better for her to sit listening, while I do the serving? Who's going to get all this done if I don't???

Maybe, like me, you feel a little sorry for Martha.

In this brilliant talk by Anna Moss,* she explains that busyness vs. sitting still isn't really the issue. It's that Martha has forgotten who the dinner is all about - who life is all about:

Martha is distracted. She's so distracted that she's forgotten that the dinner is all about Jesus.

She's trying to serve Jesus, but her serving has stopped her even seeing him. It's stopped her relating to him. It's stopped her listening to him.

He's right there in her living room, and she's not seeing him. She's not hearing him.

Instead of being amazed that Jesus, the holy one of God, has come into her home to share a meal with her, she's worried and distracted by sandwiches and dip.

Doesn't that sound familiar? We can be so busy serving Jesus, that we don't even stop to see him:

Maybe you can relate to Martha. You slog away at church, faithfully and consistently, trying to serve, and it just seems that no one notices, or even acknowledges what you're doing. You start feeling resentful, maybe even a bit self-righteous: "I'm the one who's regular and reliable. I'm the one who turns up when others pull out."

Or maybe you persist in your marriage even though it's tough. You work hard with your parents and children. But it feels thankless. You feel unappreciated and overlooked: "Maybe God doesn't care I'm doing all this." Your serving can end up damaging and breaking relationships, rather than blessing and building them.

We end up distracted from Jesus when we try to do it all ourselves.

Have you become distracted? Have you stopped coming to Jesus as the empty, broken person that you are, in daily need of his help and his grace in your life? Have you stopped seeing him as your treasure? As the one that you just can't do without?

It all becomes about me - my schedule, my strength, my achievements - rather than about Jesus:

Sometimes we want to fit Jesus in with our schedule, into where we're comfortable, and into our need to feel competent and in control.

We had our third child last year, and recently I went back to work at my church. I wanted to go back feeling strong and competent, on top of things, and in control. I wanted people to say, "Wow! How do you do it all?". I wanted to serve God from a position of strength; but instead, I felt weak and vulnerable. I didn't want to feel that way.

But let me say this: there is no other way to serve him. He doesn't want us bustling around, self-reliant and self-absorbed. He doesn't want us to give on our terms, in ways that make us look good and feel in control.

When it comes to Jesus, we can't rely on the things we've achieved. We can't rely on our qualifications, or how well our kids are going. We need to respond to him on his terms, not our own. We don't have anything to offer him. We come to him with empty hands.

We don't like to feel needy. But Jesus wants us to receive from him:

It's easy to give people things we want to give them. We want to give Jesus our competency. We want to give him our agenda. We want to show off our abilities.

But what does Jesus want to receive? How does he want to be served? What really communicates our love for him?

He wants to give to us. He wants to determine what's best for our lives. He wants to redirect our hearts, and for us to treasure him more than any plan we've ever made. He wants us to be needy for him.

But being needy doesn't sit comfortably with us most of the time. Personally, I find it easier to stay busy; easier to keep active, and to feel useful.

It's easier to feel needed and useful than to feel needy and broken. It's easier to serve others with our competence, on our terms, in ways that we feel comfortable, than to admit how desperately messy, needy, and weak we really are.

In the end, the story of Martha and Mary isn't really about whether we're busy or not, but about our attitude to Jesus:

You see, at the heart of this story isn't the question, "Are you too busy?". It's a deeper question about our attitude, not so much a question about our activity.

So on the days that you're flat out and really busy; or when you've got time to sit, rest and read your Bible; what matters is that we depend on Jesus. That we choose his agenda, whatever the day. That we choose to trust him, and rely completely on his grace.

When Jesus comes to their house, who's the host? It's not Martha, is it? It's Jesus. It's always his party, not ours. He wants to give, and he wants us to receive.

Martha wants to give him food; but he's the only one who can give the food that really satisfies, the food that will never be taken away. He wants to give us the good portion, the very best of gifts: eternal life.

He wants to set us free from the treadmill of having to achieve and needing to please. He's come to serve.

Our lives are busy, and sometimes we can't avoid this. But even then we can turn to Jesus and receive from him. I was so encouraged by Anna's story of her friend:

We can choose what is better in the midst of all the things going on in our lives.

One of my closest friends is a single mum with four young kids. As you can imagine, there's a whole lot of running around, and not a whole lot of sitting round for her.

She shared with me recently how hard it is to keep trusting Jesus when things just seem so wrong. She often feels overwhelmed, and she wonders how to keep going.

But she said this: "I have to keep trusting Jesus. I've got no where else to go but to him. I have to trust that he's big enough for this. It can be a fight to trust, but I know that he's in control of my life, that he cares for me, and for my children. I often feel so weak, but I'm in his hands."

Things can feel like they're unravelling, but with Jesus, I can keep going. He wants to serve us. He's big enough to give us what we need.

Where else have we to go, but to the feet of Jesus? Choose what is better. Don't miss the mark. Listen to him, and let him serve you.

* This is from Anna Moss's talk from Equip 2013. I highly recommend these talks. I found them very encouraging.

what I'm reading: the smile of God

How do you keep your eyes fixed on Jesus? (Col 3:1-4) Here's one way I do it.

Every year I read one or two books about God's character or the cross. I do this on my mornings off, sitting in a cafe, sipping my spiced chai.

I recently read Knowing God. Finishing the last page was bittersweet. I wondered what I could possibly replace it with.

Then I remembered Tim Chester's The ordinary hero. It's been on my shelf for a while, waiting for an opportunity. I'm 4 chapters in, and loving it.

Here's a bit that spoke to me. It's for anyone who trusts in Jesus:

God doesn't merely tolerate you. In Christ he smiles upon you as a Father ...
 
Why should we think that God would abandon us when he's already given us his Son? Why should we think there's any limit to his love when he's already given what was most precious to him? ...

You're not made right with God by what you do. You don't do it in the first place, so why suppose you could undo it! ... Perhaps this is the ultimate humiliation. Not only can we not contribute to our salvation; we can't even wreck our salvation. But who cares? ...

Our heavenly Father is not a stern father who needs to be placated by his Son. Maybe your human father was like that. Stern. Distant. Maybe you approached him hesitantly or reluctantly. But your divine Father isn't like that. The Son's actions are the outflow of the Father's love. ...

The Son didn't placate God to make him favourably disposed to us. No, it's the other way round. The work of the Son starts with the love of the Father. ...

God doesn't merely tolerate us. He delights in us. We make him sing for joy (Zeph 3:17) ...

When you look into the face of God, what do you see? Do you see a frown? Do you see a judge? A schoolmaster? Or do you see a smile?

In Christ, God smiles upon us. Who can resist that smile?

Tim Chester The ordinary hero 39-46.

what I'm reading: the still point of your turning world

I think this is wonderful:

Many people say, “Sure I believe that Jesus is a great teacher, but I can’t believe what they say about him being God.”

That creates a problem, because his teaching is based on his identity claim. ... He is the One who created the world.

Here is how his historian NT Wright puts it:

How can you live with the terrifying thought that the hurricane has become human, that fire has become flesh, that life itself became life and walked in our midst?

Christianity either means that, or it means nothing. It is either the most devastating disclosure of the deepest reality of the world, or it is a sham, a nonsense, a bit of deceitful playacting.

Most of us, unable to cope with saying either of those things, condemn ourselves to live in the shallow world in between.

In the end, you can’t simply like anybody who makes claims like those of Jesus.

Either he’s a wicked liar or a crazy person and you should have nothing to do with him, or he is who he says he is and your whole life has to revolve around him and you have to throw everything at his feet and say “Command me.”

Or do you live in that misty “world in between” that Wright says no one can live in with integrity? Do you pray to Jesus when you’re in trouble, and otherwise mostly ignore him because you get busy?

Either Jesus can’t hear you because he’s not who he says he is—or if he is who he says he is, he must become the still point of your turning world, the center around which your entire life revolves.

Tim Keller's King's Cross 44-45.

what I'm reading: untameable love

It's all very well knowing that God is in control when you're going through a hard time. Well, actually, it's more than "very well" - it's hugely comforting, because he's our loving, wise Father. But at the same time, it's scary, because he's in control and we're not.

Tim Keller captures this tension perfectly as he reflects on the disciples' reaction to Jesus calming the storm:

Why were they more terrified in the calm than they were in the storm? Because Jesus was as unmanageable as the storm itself.

The storm had immense power - they couldn't control it. Jesus had infinitely more power, so they had even less control over him.

But there's a huge difference. A storm doesn't love you. ... Nature is violent and overwhelming - it's unmanageable power, and it's going to get you sooner or later.

You may say, that's true, but if I go to Jesus, he’s not under my control either. He lets things happen that I don’t understand. He doesn’t do things according to my plan, or in a way that makes sense to me.

But if Jesus is God, then he’s got to be great enough to have some reasons to let you go through things you can’t understand. His power is unbounded, but so are his wisdom and his love. ...

Jesus is filled with untameable love for you. ... He can love somebody and still let bad things happen to them, because He is God – because he knows better than they do. ...

If you have a God great enough and powerful enough to be mad at because he doesn't stop your suffering, you also have a God who's great enough and powerful enough to have reasons that you can't understand. ...

Is he safe? "Of course he's not safe. Who said anything about being safe? But he's good. He's the King."

Tim Keller's King's Cross, 54-55; quote at the end is by CS Lewis.

what I'm reading: a huge and heroic sanity

Two years ago, I started Chesterton's Orthodoxy, the account of one man's journey to the Catholic faith.

I read the introduction and the second chapter. I wrote about it here and here and here.

And then I stopped. (Or did I get part-way through the third chapter? I don't recall, but a few vague jottings in the margins confirm it.)

The other day I picked it up again. I'm reading it during my *cough* bathroom breaks.

There's much I don't agree with in Chesterton's theology, but I am in awe of his depth of insight and power of expression.

In chapter 3 Chesterton writes about the emptiness of modern philosophy: "Every man who will not have softening of the heart must at last have softening of the brain."

Here's my favourite quote from this chapter. If you like, you can skip straight to the glorious paragraph at the end.

Joan of Arc was not stuck at the cross-roads, either by rejecting all the paths like Tolstoy, or by accepting them all like Nietzsche. She chose a path, and went down it like a thunderbolt. Yet Joan, when I came to think of her, had in her all that was true either in Tolstoy or Nietzsche, all that was even tolerable in either of them.

I thought of all that is noble in Tolstoy, the pleasure in plain things, especially in plain pity, the actualities of the earth, the reverence for the poor, the dignity of the bowed back. Joan of Arc had all that and with this great addition, that she endured poverty as well as admiring it; whereas Tolstoy is only a typical aristocrat trying to find out its secret.

And then I thought of all that was brave and proud and pathetic in poor Nietzsche, and his mutiny against the emptiness and timidity of our time. I thought of his cry for the ecstatic equilibrium of danger, his hunger for the rush of great horses, his cry to arms. Well, Joan of Arc had all that, and again with this difference, that she did not praise fighting, but fought. We know that she was not afraid of an army, while Nietzsche, for all we know, was afraid of a cow.

Tolstoy only praised the peasant; she was the peasant. Nietzsche only praised the warrior; she was the warrior. She beat them both at their own antagonistic ideals; she was more gentle than the one, more violent than the other. Yet she was a perfectly practical person who did something, while they are wild speculators who do nothing.

It was impossible that the thought should not cross my mind that she and her faith had perhaps some secret of moral unity and utility that has been lost. And with that thought came a larger one, and the colossal figure of her Master had also crossed the theatre of my thoughts.

There is a huge and heroic sanity of which moderns can only collect fragments. There is a giant of whom we see only the lopped arms and legs walking about. They have torn the soul of Christ into silly strips, labeled egoism and altruism, and they are equally puzzled by His insane magnificence and His insane meekness. They have parted His garments among them, for His vesture they have cast lots; though the coat was without seam woven from the top throughout.

guess who's coming to dinner

Another writing prompt from my friend Meredith.

I read it, and think - a process that always takes a few weeks with me - "Hmmm... CS Lewis? JRR Tolkien? Marilynne Robinson? ..."

At this point my brain freezes over, and I realise, "Oh my goodness! I'm sitting at a table with a bunch of Intelligent, Knowledgable, Articulate people, of whom I am Completely And Utterly In Awe, and I have Absolutely Nothing To Say!"

And what on earth would I cook? And where's the beautifully set table? And the open fireplace? And the muted lighting?

And is that my kids arguing over a video game - oh, please children, couldn't it at least be a book? - over in the corner?

Performance anxiety about a purely hypothetical situation: a seven-word summary of me.

My mind shies away from this scenario and turns to a plaque that hung on the wall near the dining table when I was a child. A cut-glass rectangle with gothic lettering, it proclaimed:

Christ is the Head of this house,
the Unseen Guest at every meal,
the Silent Listener to every conversation.

Even that gave me some performance anxiety growing up.

But at least Jesus is used to our plain table with its simple food and ordinary conversation. And he's not talking over my head. He's talking to me.


And yes, I know I'm being very unfair to CS Lewis and JRR Tolkien and Marilynne Robinson. To whom I say, "It's not you. It's me."


This was written in response to Meredith's writing prompt.

the sea of this world

The sea of this world interrupts our course, even although we already see where we are headed … Therefore, cling to Christ … He became the one, on which the weak may be borne, and cross the sea of this world and reach their native country; where there will be no need of a ship, for no sea is crossed.

Augustine of Hippo (Tractate 2 on John 6)

(With thanks to my friend Andrew.)

keeping the gospel in your sights in pastoral ministry (or just in life, really)

flickr: Prayer by Chris Yarzab

Late last year, our ministry team looked at 1 Timothy 3 and 4.  We noticed how, smack bang in the middle of these chapters on Christian leadership, is “the mystery of godliness”: that is, Christ our Saviour (1 Tim 3:16 cf. 4:10). In other words, to be faithful in pastoral ministry, you have to keep your eyes on Jesus. You have to fight to keep your eyes on Jesus.

And what a fight you will have on your hands.

I start the year with good intentions. This year I won’t get so swallowed up by everything that needs to be done that I’ll forget the gospel. But by the end of the year I’m in coping mode, and when I’m in coping mode, the gospel is that last thing to come to mind. In this desperate race to the finish line, surely it’s my own efforts that will get me there. If I just knuckle down and get these Bible studies written. If I stay in control. If I keep on top of things. If I wake up earlier, go to bed later. If I…

And in all that busyness, the gospel slips from view, and I’m on a treadmill, endlessly running to keep up.

So how do you keep your eyes on the gospel? Our leadership group brainstormed and came up with some ideas. Here are eleven of them (I've included a few of my own).

• Read the Bible for the sake of your own soul. I try to read something every day that has nothing to do with preparing anything. Or when I must read to prepare – and let’s face it, there are times like this – then I try to turn what I read into reflection, repentance, praise and prayer. At the moment I’m preparing Colossians, and I’ve found it helpful to add a psalm to my Bible reading each morning. 
• Do evangelism. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that reminds me of the wonder of the gospel like seeing it light up someone else’s eyes for the first time. As I read a gospel with a friend, the very passages that seem odd or embarrassing to me are the ones that impact her most deeply, and I’m convicted afresh of the beauty and power of the gospel. 
• Pray. Prayerlessness is a vicious cycle: I don’t pray because I’m trying to do things in my own strength; then I have to do things in my own strength because I’m not praying; and, before long, I’m running to keep up, God is out of the picture, and it’s all about my own efforts to stay in control. Prayer reminds me that it’s God’s grace that changes people, not me. 
• Invite others to teach and admonish you (Col 3:16; Heb 10:24-25; James 5:16). It’s good to confess our struggles to wise, mature believers who hold us to account. Over the years, I’ve prayed with a couple of friends who know me well, comfort and challenge me, and keep my eyes on the goal. I meet with another group of women to pray for our non-Christian friends; this keeps us sharp and gospel-focussed. 
• Meditate on the gospel. Some ways to bring the gospel to mind include reading, memorizing, meditating on and praying through Bible passages about Jesus;1 listening to gospel-centred music;2 and deliberately making the cross and resurrection part of our daily thanksgiving and prayer. 
• Let life and leadership be cross-shaped. Like our Lord, instead of lording it over others, we serve (Mk 10:42-45). We choose humility over pride and ambition (Phil 2:3-11). We work hard and endure patiently (2 Tim 2:1-6; 1 Pet 2:20-25). We lay down our lives in love (1 Jn 3:16; 4:7-12). Our leadership becomes a living mnemonic, a reminder to us and others of the cross. And it’s a wonderful, non-vicious spiral: we live this way because of the cross, and living this way, are driven back to the cross; for who can live like this apart from the strengthening grace of God? (2 Cor 4:7-12; Phil 4:11-13; 2 Tim 2:1-6) 
• Rest. Every night my head hits the pillow, I’m reminded that I am not God, who alone ‘neither slumbers nor sleeps’ (Ps 121:3-4). A regular day’s rest, enjoying God’s good world and his gift of family and friends, reminds us that God sustains our life and provides all good things. Over-busyness, of course, has the opposite affect: it’s a symptom of I’m-running-the-universe disease, and leads to burn-out and loss of energy and purpose. 
• Read books about the gospel. I aim to read about one a year. At the moment, I’m slowly working my way through Tim Keller's King’s Cross. Others that have helped me are John Stott’s The Cross of Christ, CJ Mahney's The Cross-Centred Life, and Nancy Guthrie's Jesus Keep Me Near the Cross.3 
• Set aside a few regular hours for deeper reflection and prayer. Once a week or once a month, I sit in a cafe with an open Bible, a Christian book that I reserve just for this time, and a journal to write down thoughts and prayers; then I go for a long walk and pray. It keeps me refreshed and ready to serve, and the act of writing orders my thoughts and re-orients them to the gospel. 
• Make teaching gospel-centred. Not in a forced “every Bible study has to end with Jesus” kind of way. But the gospel should be where God’s word drives us. I don’t think I’ve really understood a Bible passage until it brings me back to the gospel naturally, of its own accord, by its own route. 
• Keep training and leadership gospel-centred. My husband, who heads a ministry team, makes sure that every staff meeting includes time, not just for administration, but also for encouraging each other from the Bible, praying, and discussing big issues from God’s word. It’s a great model for keeping the gospel on the agenda.

Christian ministry is hard, hard labour. It’s a marathon, not a sprint; but sometimes we can feel like we are sprinting! In the constant busyness and exhaustion, it’s tempting to turn to other things besides the gospel for comfort, like alcohol or inappropriate intimacy. It’s tempting to think we can do it all ourselves, until we crash and join the long list of those who’ve left pastoral ministry. I pray that we can remember God’s words to us:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. (Heb 12:1-3)

How do you keep your eyes on the gospel?


1. You’ll find some suggested passages and methods for memorization in my posts a three-course banquet of Bible memorization and A smorgasbord of Bible memorization methods.
2. For example, Sovereign Grace’s Songs for the Cross Centred Life.
3. Others I’d like to read include Don Carson’s The Cross and Christian Ministry; Steve Jeffery, Michael Ovey and Andrew Sach’s Pierced for our Transgressions; and JI Packer and Mark Dever’s In My Place Condemned He Stood. ↩

the tender King of Kings

Elisha Galotti speaks to her son:

"Jacob, of all the kids in your school, it’s those people, the ones who other people sometimes make fun of, who you must love and be kind to most of all. Did you know that when Jesus lived on this earth, that was the kind of man that he was?...

"There was this woman who had been sick for a really, really long time. For years and years she had been bleeding. There probably were a lot of people who were unkind to her, and said mean stuff to her. Or maybe they ignored her and didn’t bother saying anything to her at all. A lot of people probably thought this woman was strange and that she didn’t need their love or kindness.

"And then one day, Jake, this woman meets Jesus. She is in the crowd, and she sees Him: Jesus, God Himself, the King of all the kings of the world, full of power and strength. She reached to Him, stretching her fingers toward Him, and she touched the bottom of His robe. And Jake, when Jesus felt this sick woman touch his clothes, He turned and looked for her. He found her. He saw her. He saw a woman who needed kindness, and love. He spoke words to encourage her and He healed her."

We tell stories to our children to help them understand and believe. But sometimes He takes our own words, intended for them, and circles them inward to pierce our own heart. Sometimes as the story unfolds, the reminder is actually for us.

When the battle with sin is ugly or when my heart grows cold or when wounds are deep and healing seems impossible, I look to a Saviour who has let Himself be known to me in intricate, recorded detail: He was gentle; He was kind; He looked into the eyes of that woman and spoke to her with compassion and grace.

You can read the rest here.

why women should read more theology (what I'm reading: Tony Reinke's Lit!)

Do you find it easy, or hard, to read books? Either way, this one's for you.

Top of the list of books I've read recently is Tony Reinke's Lit! A Christian Guide to Reading Books. I'm an avid reader, and I learned heaps about what and how to read. If you struggle to read, I suspect you'll find this book even more helpful.

Maybe you want to read more, but don't know where to start. Maybe you love books, but your reading feels a little aimless. Reinke covers it all, first with a great theology of books, then with a whole heap of practical tips about how to choose and read books.

This week I've chosen a quote that encourages women to read theological books about Jesus. Next week, I'll go for the other end of the scale, and share something about why we should read novels. Just so you can't say I've left anything - or anyone - out!

Theologically weighty books about Christ are essential for the soul—for men and women. And although women purchase the majority of books released by Christian publishers, women are far less likely to read theological books, writes counselor and author Elyse Fitzpatrick. In her 2003 evaluation of the Christian publishing industry, she writes, “Many women are intimidated by the thought of studying something that is ‘theological’ in nature. They are afraid of being bored, looking foolish, becoming unattractive to men, or becoming divisive.”...

She confronts women who would rather read only novels as a way to escape personal disappointments, and who read these books to “build fantasy castles filled with knights on white steeds who will come to rescue her from her mundane, stressful, empty, or disappointing life.” Rather, she offers this challenge: “Let’s become known as a generation of women who delight in, tremble before, receive counsel from, drink, devour, digest, muse upon, and absolutely cherish God and the truth that He’s revealed about Himself and about ourselves. Let’s not worry about whether we look dumb or too smart.”...

If women commit to reading books of solid theology, their knowledge of Christ will grow..."This is the most delightful pursuit any woman could ever know."

(And who should you read? Reinke suggests, among others, John Calvin, Martin Luther, Jonathon Edwards, John Owen, JI Packer, Don Carson, John Stott, John Piper and CH Mahaney. On the topic of Christ, I'd add Tim Chester and Tim Keller. A good place to start is John Stott's The Cross of Christ and Tim Keller's King's Cross - or how about this one, which I haven't read, but it's by The Don, and that's all the recommendation I need: Don Carson's Scandalous: The cross and resurrection of Jesus.)

Quote is from Tony Reinke Lit! A Christian Guide to Reading Books pages 96-97.

have you room for Christ? - Charles Spurgeon

When all persons of the house of David were driven to Bethlehem, the scanty accommodation of the little town would soon be exhausted. The stall of the ass was the only place where the child could be born. Here, in the stable, was the King of Glory born and in the manner was he laid.

Have you room for Christ?

"Well," says one, "I have room for him, but I am not worthy that he should come to me." Ah! I did not ask about worthiness; have you room for him? "Oh! but I feel it is a place not at all fit for Christ!" Nor was the manger a place fit for him, and yet there was he laid. "Oh! but I have been such a sinner; I feel as if my heart had been a den of beasts and devils!" Well, the manger had been a place where beasts had fed. Have you room for him? Never mind what the past has been; he can forget and forgive. It matters not what even the present state may be if you mourn it. If you have but room for Christ he will come and be thy guest.

'Tis all I ask. Your emptiness, your nothingness, your want of feeling, your want of goodness, your want of grace — all these will be but room for him. Have you room for him? Oh! Spirit of God, lead many to say, "Yes, my heart is ready." Ah! then he will come and dwell with you.

From Charles Spurgeon's No room for Christ in the inn (some language modernised) HT Nancie Guthrie Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus.

image is by at flickr

what I'm listening to: last night's sermon

Last night our pastor John spoke on Exodus 12. I was so struck by something he said that I opened my journal and wrote it down:

To be free from Jesus' rule is to be a slave to sin.
To be a slave to Jesus is to be free.

If you want the longer version - it's beautiful! - here it is (from John's notes):

We who follow Jesus owe him our very lives
he bought us out of the death we deserved at the cost of his life
so that we are owned by him, body and soul.

Freedom is being your own boss, we want to think,
running life your own way -
but wait a minute, that's what sin is -
and when we seek to be independent from God, we become a slave to sin.

True freedom only comes in Christ
by being a slave to him
by being owned by him
because that's what we were made for,
and living the life you were designed and made for is what freedom is -
just as the fish only has freedom in the water,
the tram only has freedom on the tracks,
so we are only truly free being owned by Jesus -

and being owned by Jesus means we no longer have the right to live as we please
but rather we live to please our owner and master.

Amen.

brought low and raised high at the Belgrave Heights Women's Convention

I didn't expect much from the Belgrave Heights Women's Convention. This, by the way, is a confession. It's good to be discerning, but arrogant to think I have nothing to learn from Christians who may be from a different background to me. Not having heard of Jenny Salt or Lisa Watson, I wasn't sure what to expect.

I spent the first song repenting. Singing of God's greatness, and repenting of my pride. For God is so much bigger than me and my small patch of the world. Creator, Ruler, Saviour, he works in places I've never heard of, through people I don't know, in ways unfamiliar to me. Pride, of all sins, is the most abhorrent to him, and I felt dirty, ugly and ashamed.

The rest of the day I sat at Jesus' feet. Jenny and Lisa spoke on the gospels of Matthew and John, inviting us to join the crowds around Jesus as he touched and healed a leper, forgave a paraplegic, cast out demons, raised the dead, and preached the good news of the kingdom, as the blessings of the cross worked backwards and forwards to a day when there will be no more mourning, sickness or death.

Reading the gospels is a perilous undertaking. Jesus doesn't fit into our comfortable categories. He offers forgiveness when we want healing; he welcomes cheats and confidence tricksters; he demands that we give up even our families to follow him. To spend a day with Jesus is terrifying and wonderful, overwhelming and captivating, confronting and comforting.

By the end of the day Jesus had taken me apart and put me back together again. A little less sure of myself, a little more sure of him. A little less overwhelmed by my sin, a little more overcome by his grace. A little less secure in myself, a little more secure in him. A little less fearful of losing myself, a little more willing to pay any cost as long as he is glorified.

It was great spending a day getting to know new friends and catching up with old friends. It was good, as always, to hear from some of you how my writing encourages you. But it was best to hear God's word taught by women who humbled me with their wisdom, faithfulness and love for their Saviour. At the end of the day, I found myself lining up to buy their talks so I could listen to them again.

I have - oh! - so very, very much to learn.

You can get hold of Jenny and Lisa's talks here.

of trees, trains and Christian growth

There's a stand of huge old oak trees in the park where I walk. They have a slightly surprised air, as if they've been transplanted from a genteel English landscape and are wondering how they ended up here, surrounded by scruffy wattle trees under a burning Australian sun, with graffiti tags on their trunks and white cockatoos squawking from their branches like rowdy antipodean visitors.

Like all oaks, they are firmly rooted, growing down and out as much as up, offering a dense, dark shade. Every year of their long lives, they have put out new growth in spring, watched it harden into summer's dusty green, lost dry brown leaves in autumn, and bared their twisted black limbs in winter.

There's a railway track running through the park. I watch the trains gleam and flash through the trees, humming and creaking over the heritage-listed timber bridge on its sturdy, numbered trestles. The trains are always in a hurry, tooting their horns, bustling self-importantly to the next station.

For over a century, the oaks have grown steadily as the trains have shed old fashions and adopted new ones—steam trains, red rattlers, blue trains, sleek silver trains, silver trains with green and gold, silver trains with blue and yellow stripes. (This is a Melbourne story; no doubt in your part of the world, the trains have different fashions.)

The trees and the trains bring to mind a Bible verse I read recently:

Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving. (Col 2:6-7)

We don't grow as Christians by hurrying from place to place, taking on the colour of each year's new spiritual fad—second blessings, signs and wonders, slayings in the Spirit, guiding visions. We grow in the same way God's people have always grown: by sinking our roots deeper into Christ. Here, fed and nourished by the gospel, we gain an enduring wisdom. We give shelter. We stand firm through all the seasons and storms of life.

May God help us to be more like trees than trains.

This is reprinted from last Friday's post in The Sola Panel.

images are from formalfallacy and Mugofevil at flickr

John Piper on Jesus

Jesus Christ is not merely the means of our rescue from damnation; he is the goal of our salvation. If he is not satisfying to be with, there is no salvation.

He is not merely the rope that pulls us from the threatening waves; he is the solid beach under our feet, the air in our lungs, and the beat of our heart, and the warm sun on our skin, and the song in our ears, and the arms of our beloved.

John Piper Taste and See 406 HT Of First Importance 24 Sep 2009

image is from mikebaird at flickr

Tim Chester on hope

There is hope for change. That hope is not in counsellors or methods or rules. That hope is in a great and gracious Saviour who has broken the power of sin and placed his life-giving Spirit in our hearts. … Our gracious Saviour, who died for us ‘when we were God’s enemies’, invites us to ‘approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need’ (Romans 5:10; Hebrews 4:16).

Tim Chester You Can Change 191

JI Packer on holiness

The holiest Christians are not those most concerned about holiness as such, but whose minds and hearts and goals and purposes and love and hope are most fully focused on our Lord Jesus Christ.

JI Packer Keep in Step with the Spirit 134

HT Of First Importance

image is from { Karen } at flickr