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This post is, oh, only about 3 months out of date.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 does he do all day?" "Do you work?"

When your husband or you are in vocational ministry, it's hard for the rest of the world to know what's really going on.

Often, I get the sense that people in "real" jobs are wondering, "What exactly does he do all day?". I feel like saying (truthfully), "He works really hard!". And I'm not alone. (Now I think about it, it's a lot like people asking me, a stay-at-home-mum, "Do you work?".)

This quote reminded me that it doesn't really matter whether people know exactly what my husband or I do all day (although I agree with Jenny that it can be helpful to let them know). What matters is Jesus' approval. From him alone comes our contentment and joy.

The only thing, in the end, that can truly satisfy the pastor’s heart is Christ’s, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” In other words, pastors, indeed all Christians, must seek contentment in Christ and not the approval of man. If pastors thrive off of the recognition of their congregation, they will quickly run out of spiritual energy and motivation. But if his sole source of contentment comes from Christ, then when recognition and gifts come, he will give thanks, and when no one but Christ recognizes his sacrifice and service, he will give thanks. Therein lies the contented heart, and therein lies the heart of a pastor.

You can read the rest here.

what I'm reading: dependence and sufficiency from The Briefing

Today's quote is a little gem from missionary Terry Blowes, quoted by Guan Un in his Diary of a ministry apprentice in this month's Briefing.

Twenty years of missionary service has taught me that I have a very big God, and a very small me. I went away as a very self-sufficient, self-dependent person. I came back as a very insufficient, God-dependent person.

Take out the "Twenty years of missionary service" and put in "Three years of blogging", and you have me! It's a great summary of what God has taught me during the last 3 years, as you've travelled this journey with me.

image is from stock.xchng

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.

women of the Bible (5) Hannah and the God of the nobody

Hannah is a nobody, the insignificant wife of an insignificant member of an insignificant tribe. Compared to Eve, mother of all living; Sarah, mother of God's people; or Deborah, judge of Israel—who is she? Just a barren women loved by her husband but jeered at by a younger, fruitful wife (1 Sam 1:1-8).

Hannah is a nobody, a humble woman who pours out her private grief to God so fervently that high priest Eli thinks she's drunk. She prays not for show, but silently, out of her anguish and bitterness of soul (1 Sam 1:10-16). She begs God to ‘look’ and ‘remember’ her sorrow using words that are much too big for her, words that recall what he's done for the nation Israel (1 Sam 1:11 cf. Exod 2:24-25, 3:7-8; Deut 26:7-8).

Hannah is a nobody, but she's faithful in a time when even the high priest's family has fallen into wickedness (1 Sam 2:12-17). She keeps her promise—if God will only ‘give’ her a son, she will ‘give’ him back to God (1 Sam 1:11)—when she hands Samuel over to live and serve in the temple although he's only a toddler. Every year she's reminded of her sacrifice as she sews a robe, a little bigger than the last, and takes it to her son (1 Sam 1:21-28, 2:18-20).

Hannah is a nobody, but her small story is caught up in a bigger story. At the end of the book of Judges, all is chaos and disorder, for “there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Jud 21:25). The birth of Samuel changes all that. The last and greatest judge, Samuel calls Israel to turn from idols back to God, and oversees the anointing of Saul, the first king of Israel, and of David, Israel's greatest king.

Hannah is a nobody, and that's the point. At first reading, her song of thanksgiving for God's gift of a son seems a little over-the-top:

My heart exults in the LORD … My mouth derides my enemies … The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength … The LORD … brings low and he exalts … he will give strength to his king and exalt the power of his anointed. (1 Sam 2:1-10)

Look closer, and it's clear that this is not just Hannah's song. It's the song of a God who rescues his people, who humbles the proud and exalts the humble, men and women like Hannah. It's a song for a son who will be used by God to help bring about his saving plan. Most remarkably, in a time when Israel has no king, it's a song which prophesies the coming of God's ‘anointed’, his ‘messiah’, his king.

Hannah is a nobody, like another nobody who echoes Hannah's song of thanksgiving for the gift of a son:

My soul magnifies the Lord … for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant … He has scattered the proud … and exalted those of humble estate … He has helped his servant Israel. (Luke 1:46-55)

Mary, mother of Jesus, is also the insignificant wife of an insignificant member of an insignificant tribe. Like Hannah, she sings of the God who humbles the proud and exalts the humble. She too is given a son she will give back to God at great personal sacrifice (Luke 2:35), a son who will grow up to fulfil God's saving plan and rescue God's people. Indeed, the story has come full circle, for Mary's son is the very one promised in Hannah's song: Jesus, great David's greater son, God's anointed, his messiah-king.

Hannah is a nobody, and so are we. Like Hannah, we have nothing to bring to God but our need. It's not the proudly self-sufficient but the broken and contrite in heart, those who realize they are nobody, who receive God's gift of salvation won through the death and resurrection of Jesus (Ps 51:17; Matt 5:1-12; Luke 18:9-14; 1 Cor 1:18-31). The gospel shows that God's character hasn't changed: he is still the one who humbles the proud and exalts the humble, the God of the nobody.

This post first appeared on Sola Panel yesterday.

pride, humility and the non-Christian world

I was reading Titus 3 the other day. It was one of those mornings when you don't expect much from your Bible reading and you think, “Oh, yes, one of those concluding chapters in Paul's letters where he rambles on about a message for such-and-such and a gift for so-and-so”.

I dutifully prayed for God to open my eyes to see wonderful things in his word (Ps 119:18), and despite my sinfully low expectations, he did! It's astonishing, always, although it shouldn't be by now.

I've been growing increasingly bitter about my kids' primary school. I've always loved this school—it's warm, welcoming and community-focussed, and the teachers are enthusiastic and energetic—but I'm starting to see the cracks in the veneer.

But as I read the Bible, my attitude shifted—it turned right side up—and I saw things from God's perspective:

Remind the people to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready to do whatever is good, to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and to show true humility toward all men.

At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, (Titus 3:1-5, NIV)

Trace my unforgiving bitterness back to its root and you get pride—pride for being different and pride for not behaving like those mums over there. It's never struck me before, but what God wants from me is “true humility toward all men”—including non-Christians—for my salvation and character are not of my making. “For we ourselves were once” just like this. We are saved and changed only through God's “kindness” and “mercy”.

As I read God's words, my bitterness dropped away and was replaced with gratitude and awe. My pride shifted sideways and was replaced with humility. Judgementalism gave way to love, withdrawal gave way to involvement, and resentment gave way to prayer.

True humility toward all: now there's something to aim for.

images are by Francis Barton and Carlo Nicora at flickr

pride - a personal reflection

There's been great fuel for pride in my life recently. I led a couple of seminars during the last month, and they were received beyond my hopes and expectations. You know the kind of thing: glowing recommendations, people telling me how I'd affected them (or, hopefully, how God's word affected them!), and invitations to more teaching opportunities. Humanly speaking, it was a dream come true.

I went for a walk and prayed the other morning. I wept. I sat on my rock (actually, it was a neighbouring rock!) and poured out my heart to God. I could feel pride and selfish ambition creeping up on me, and I was determined to stand against them.

I sat and reflected on my insignificance. God doesn't need me. He can further his kingdom without my help. He can raise up the people he wants, when and where he wants. When I've gone to be with my Lord, others will take my place. How gloriously superfluous I am!

We are none of us necessary. Or look at it another way: we are all equally necessary to one another. No fingers boasting over toes in this body!

The eye cannot say to the hand, "I don't need you!" And the head cannot say to the feet, "I don't need you!" On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honourable we treat with special honour. ... Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. 1 Cor 12:12-27

My tears of repentance were replaced with tears of wonder and joy, as I thought about God's unshakeable plan to glorify his Son (Eph 1:3-14): a plan that he graciously involves me in, but which doesn't need me in it.

I said to God, "I am yours. You may take it all away tomorrow, and that is okay, your kingdom will go forward. You may choose for me an obscure life serving a sick husband or a disabled child, and that is okay, your kingdom will go forward. I may die tomorrow, and that is okay (no, that is best!) and your kingdom will go forward."

You'll sometimes hear people say, "It's not about you". They're right. It's not about me. It's about God and his glory.

If God chooses to use me to further his kingdom, I will praise him. If he chooses to use someone else to further his kingdom, I will praise him. For "neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow" (1 Cor 3:7).

John Milton on Satan's pride and fall

These are the words of Satan to his lieutenant Beelzebub after being cast out of heaven, as imagined by John Milton in Paradise Lost. They describe the essence of pride at its first beginning, handed down to all of us who know what it is to be proud.

What though the field be lost?
All is not lost—the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deify his power
Who, from the terror of this arm, so late
Doubted his empire—that were low indeed;
That were an ignominy and shame beneath
This downfall ...

Farewell happy Fields
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrors, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.
The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less then he
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.

pride (4) a short history of pride

Pride: to seek for yourself the glory and authority that belong to God, forgetting your dependence on him.*

If this is pride, then before humans were made, there was pride. Satan and his cohorts, bright and glorious angels, raised themselves against God, seeking his glory and power for themselves. They were cast out of heaven into the depths of hell (2 Pet 2:4, Jude 6 cf Isa 14:3-23, Ezek 28:1-19). But the fruit of devilish wisdom is still pride.

If this is pride, then the first sin on earth involved pride. Why did Adam and Eve rebel against God? Because the serpent promised they would become "like God" (Gen 3:4). They doubted God's true word, threw off his rightful authority, and set themselves up as mini-gods, masters of their own destiny. God ripped away their immortality by throwing them from the garden (Gen 3). But we still bear the proud likeness of our father Adam (Rom 5:12-21).

If this is pride, then it’s the main characteristic of humans when they get together. The Tower of Babel was supposed to be a grand monument to human achievement, built "so that we may make a name for ourselves" (Gen 11:4). God, of course, stepped in and showed just how much bigger he is than puny humanity: he scattered humans to the four corners of the earth, separated by different languages and cultures (Gen 11:1-9).

If this is pride, then it fuels all opposition to God and his people. Through the Bible there's a line of kings, obsessed by power and wealth, who want to throw off God’s rule and turn themselves into gods, to be worshipped and obeyed (Isa 14:3-23, Ezek 28:1-19): Pharaoh (Exod 5-15, 9:29-30), Nebuchadnezzar (Dan 3-4), Sennacherib (Isa 36-37), Herod (Ac 12:19b-25). God laughs and scoffs at them, for they are puppets in his hands, to be raised up or cast down as he sees fit (Ps 2, 37, 73).

If this is pride, then it lies behind all the long history of God's people. Raised up from a single wandering herdsman (Gen 17), the smallest and most insignificant of nations (Deut 7:7-8), like a woman lying in her filth and chosen to be God’s bride (Ezek 16): there’s no reason for pride here. But God’s people continually become puffed up by their God-given blessings: they forget what God has done for them, turn to more easily manipulated gods, and refuse to submit to God’s word. He brings them low, they repent, he raises them up, and the cycle starts again (Neh 9).

If this is pride, then we are still guilty of it. Every time we try to earn God's grace, or doubt his love because we haven't lived up to it (Rom 4:2, 10:1-4, Eph 4:9). Every time we're motivated by envy and selfish ambition (Phil 2:3, Jam 3:14-16). Every time we quarrel (Prov 13:10, 1 Tim 6:3-5), show favouritism (Jam 2:1-12), oppress the weak (Isa 13:11, Ps 10:2, Ezek 16:49), or boast (1 Jn 2:16, Jude 16). Every time we become secure in our wisdom, beauty, wealth, or strength, and forget we are like wild flowers, here today and gone tomorrow (Jer 9:23-24, 1 Tim 6:17, Jam 1:9-11).

If this is pride, then it is time to humble ourselves before the Lord, for we are all guilty of pride. It is time to grieve, mourn and wail, to acknowledge our need for God's grace, and to seek his forgiveness, knowing that he is the one who opposes the proud and gives grace to the humble (Jam 4:1-10).

If this is pride.

* I took this definition from verses like Deut 8:14, 2 Chron 25:19, 32:25, 2 Kgs 19:22, Ps 10:4, Isa 37:23, Jer 9:23-24, 13:15, 17, Hos 13:6, and Neh 9:16, 29.

If you want to read more about the history of pride, you can view John Stott's excellent article "Pride, Humility and God" from Alive to God: Studies in Spirituality online at Google Books.

Images of statues are from stock.xchng; fresco of Adam and Eve is by Masaccio's fresco in the Santa Maria del Carmini church in Florence, Italy; "Tower of Babel" woodcut is by MC Escher; Israel poster is available from All Posters.

CJ Mahaney on pride

Why does God hate pride so passionately?

Here's why: Pride is when sinful human beings aspire to the status and position of God and refuse to acknowledge their dependence upon Him.

Charles Bridges once noted how pride lifts up one's heart against God and "contends for supremacy" with Him. ...

For purposes of personal confession, I began adopting this definition of pride a few years ago after I came to realize that, to some degree, I'd grown unaffected by pride in my life. Though I was still confessing pride, I knew I wasn't sufficiently convicted of it. So rather than just confessing to God that "I was proud in that situation" ... I learned to say instead, "Lord, in that moment, with that attitude and that action, I was contending for supremacy with You. That's what it was all about. Forgive me." ... This practice increased a weight of conviction in my heart about the seriousness of this sin.

Pride takes innumerable forms but has only one end: self-glorification. That's the motive and ultimate purpose of pride - to rob God of legitimate glory and to pursue self-glorification, contending for supremacy with Him. The proud person seeks to glorify himself and not God, thereby attempting in effect to deprive God of something only He is worthy to receive.

No wonder God opposes pride. No wonder he hates pride. Let that truth sink into your thinking.

From CJ Mahaney Humility: True Greatness 30-31, emphasis in original.

image is from stock.xchng

pride (3) this welcome pain

Long ago, in the distant days when I had no children, I burnt my hand quite badly. I was at a campsite with one of those iron wood-burning heaters that stands away from the wall, and in a moment of absent-mindedness, I rested my hand on top of it. I grabbed a jug of cold water and plunged my hand into it, holding it there for half an hour or more. It didn’t do much to ease the pain.

When I went to bed that night, my hand was still throbbing. I lay there and tried to ignore the pain, coming and going, coming and going, but it was impossible. Until I decided that instead of resisting the pain, I was going to accept it. Oddly enough, this made it easier to bear. As each wave of pain came, instead of gritting my teeth, I let it flow through me. I fell asleep.

Growing more like Jesus hurts. God’s fatherly discipline is not pleasant, but painful (Heb 12:7-10). Perseverance, character and hope come only through suffering (Romans 5:3-4). The trials which refine our faith bring grief (1 Pet 1:3-9). The suffering which makes us more like Christ is real.

I’m learning that there are two ways to react to the pain of growing in Christ. You can thrust the pain away quickly, like an over-hot saucepan, or you can hold it firmly to yourself, like a sword spitting sparks on a grindstone. If you do the first, you’ll escape with minor burns, but they’ll persist for days, throbbing and ugly. If you do the second, you’ll be sharpened like a sword, made fit and useful for the service of the King.

So it is with the pain which God uses to help us grow: you can push it away, or endure it patiently and even with joy, knowing that suffering makes you more like Christ.

Here’s what I wrote to a friend in the first weeks after God showed me the ugliness of my pride:

God opening this area of sin to me was a thoroughly unpleasant shock at first, and my first instinct was to run and hide! But I want to welcome rather than to run from this struggle and pain, … for it’s how God is growing me in unexpected ways - opening up areas of sin I was completely oblivious too, humbling me, helping me to accept and even welcome criticism, helping me to serve others more self-forgetfully. A slow battle and a long one, but worth it, because it’s God who works in me! And so wisely and gently (although it feels like the surgeon’s knife) for he knows exactly how much and what kind of fatherly discipline I need, and leavens it with encouragement.

You won’t accept the pain of Christian growth unless you truly hate the sin. Why would someone who doesn’t see the full danger of a cancer submit themselves to the surgeon’s knife? But if God shows you the ugliness of your sin - whether it's pride, bitterness, self-pity, or greed - you’ll be only too glad to submit yourself to his painful discipline.

I have looked my pride full in the face, and seen its ugliness. CJ Mahaney calls it "cosmic plagiarism", stealing God's glory for myself. I hate it. I'm disgusted by it. I'd do just about anything to get rid of it. And so, instead of running from the painful failures which strip away my pride, I find myself welcoming them.

If someone touches your arm with something which burns you, the natural reaction is to pull away. But if they're a doctor, and they are cauterising a wound or burning away a growth, you'll hold your arm still. It won't hurt any less, but you'll gladly endure the pain, because it brings healing.

Oddly enough, as I view the pain differently, I feel it differently. Instead of something repellent, festering, unpleasant, it becomes clean, sharp, wholesome. It still hurts. But I welcome each wave of pain, knowing the humility it's producing in me.

Like gold purified in a crucible - like a tree pruned to make it more fruitful – like a lance to a boil - like a sword sharpened against a stone - like the pain of childbirth - like sand at the heart of a pearl - I hold this pain close. This is a pain I want. This is a pain I need.

It’s there to teach me something: about my sin, about my unbelief, about my heart. About God’s truth, which is so much bigger than my wrong beliefs. About how small I am, how insignificant peoples’ treatment of me. About how much I still need God's grace. It's there to grow Christ in me.

I'm starting to understand why Paul rejoiced in his suffering, which protected him from pride, and magnified God's power and grace:

To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Cor 12:7-10)

images are from stock.xchng

The Shepherd Song

The Valley of Humiliation (humility) is a place of terror for those who are proud. But the Valley bears another, smiling face for the humble in heart. In this green vale Jesus spent his days, the gentle pilgrim Mercy rejoices to tread, and the poor and lowly gladly dwell. Here the shepherd boy sings his famous words:

He that is down needs fear no fall;
He that is low, no pride:
He that is humble, ever shall
Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,
Little be it or much:
And, Lord, contentment still I crave,
Because thou savest such.

Fullness to such a burden is
That go on pilgrimage:
Here little, and hereafter bliss,
Is best from age to age.

from John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress Part II

image is from Flickr

pride (2) the Valley of Humiliation

In my first post on pride, I told you how God used a series of reminders about pride to get my attention, and then a series of ministry failures to confront me with my pride. In today's post I'd like to talk about the link between suffering and humility.

Until late last year, I couldn’t understood what valleys have to do with pride.

I sang these words with no awareness of how deeply I needed a valley:

When You lead me to the Valley of Vision
I can see You in the heights
And though my humbling wouldn’t be my decision
It’s here Your glory shines so bright
So let me learn that the cross precedes the crown
To be low is to be high
That the Valley’s where You make me more like Christ.
In the Valley

I looked at Cathy’s blog: "It is never comfortable circumstances that teach us humility. It is the painful and disappointing things." Huh? I still wasn't getting it.

I read Pilgrim's Progress and watched Christian, so eager to prove himself better than his fellow pilgrims, stumble down into the Valley of Humiliation (Humility). But it was only on my second or third reading that I noticed it was pride which made the Valley such a dreadful place for him. In the Valley he comes to Forgetful Green, forgets where his gifts and graces come from, and is forced to fight demonic Apollyon. The Valley brings him face to face with his pride.

The Valley of Humiliation is a picture of those times in our lives when circumstances like illness, poverty, or failure bring us low. There are two ways to react to the Valley: the meek enjoy sweet communion with God here, but the proud find it to be a place of terror. The Valley divides people. It shows us who we are. It brings joy to the humble, and humbles the proud.

What's the connection between suffering and humility? As long as things are going well for me - as long as I am wealthy, powerful, intelligent, beautiful, respected, healthy, outwardly godly, or successful - it becomes terrifyingly easy for me to forget God and his grace, and to become smug and self-confident.

We don't even realise we're doing it. But gradually, we stop depending on God in prayer, we become subtly critical of others, and we take our privileges for granted. We accept praise for our achievements with an assumed humility so carefully judged that we fool even ourselves.

It takes suffering to tear the mask away. Failure reveals our dependence on success and praise. Depression shows we're not quite as well-adjusted as we've always assumed. Sorrow shatters our smug self-reliance. Poverty exposes our helplessness. A long struggle with a besetting sin teaches us our need for grace. Such experiences drive home the lesson that I can't make it on my own, that I'm not strong enough, that I'm dependent on Another.

Only those who are proud need fear a fall. For God "opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble" (Jam 4:6).

images are from stock.xchng

pride (1) God gets my attention

When God can't get your attention through quiet whispers, sometimes he takes up a hammer. With precisely placed blows - a Bible passage, a friend's words, a magazine picked up and glanced at - he drives the point home. And when that’s not enough, he wields the sledge hammer of painful experience.

It gradually dawned on me late last year that the same word was popping up everywhere, as unmissable as those huge red-on-yellow billboards shouting “SEX!” beside the freeway. Except all my signposts were reading “pride”.

I read Pilgrim's Progress and watched Christian stumble because of his pride. I flicked through The Briefing and discovered a review of CJ Mahaney's Humility: True Greatness. I clicked on Cathy's blog and read words which laid my heart bare: "My bitter jealousy and selfish ambition are shown when other Christian women get a 'ministry opportunity' that I don't."

As if God knew this relentless repetition wouldn't be enough, a series of painful failures showed me the full ugliness of my pride. Like a surgeon who knows exactly where to cut, God relentlessly plunged his scalpel in just as far as it needed to go.

I’ve struggled with pride before. When I was young and confident of my godliness, I prayed a dangerous prayer: “Lord, teach me humility”. What followed was a drawn-out battle with sin which undermined my self-satisfaction. I vowed never to pray for humility again.

But God still hadn’t dealt with my pride in achievement.

It's not surprising that success matters to me. I lapped up the praise of loving parents, I went to a high-achieving private school, and I chose a prestigious uni course. On the first day, our lecturer called us “the cream of society”. (I transferred to Arts soon afterwards, but that’s another story!) No wonder that I expect to succeed. It's pretty ugly when you write it down, isn't it?

The ugliness wasn't apparent to me. When you’re succeeding you can fool even yourself with your assumed humility. You accept praise with just the right measure of self-deprecating gratitude. You feel oh, so humbly grateful for the gifts God has given you.

It took a series of failures, in a ministry I expected to succeed in, to reveal myself to me. Each one felt like a kick in the stomach. Horrified at the strength of my emotions, I prayed the prayer I vowed never to pray again: “Lord, teach me humility”.

One final painful and petty experience of failure, coming just in time for Christmas, and it was as if God prised opened a manhole into my heart, and I could see the pride within, like a festering black pit seething with worms.

God spares us this view of our sin most of the time. But occasionally he shows us the way he sees our hearts. God has made his views on pride very clear: "The LORD detests all the proud at heart" (Prov 16:5).

Thank God that, although my sin is greater than I will ever know, his grace is greater still.

This is the first in a series on what God has been teaching me about pride. Next time, I'd like to talk about the connection between humility and suffering.

images are from stock.xchng

a cure for self-absorption

How wonderful to go to Equip on Saturday, look around and see over 3,000 women, and be reminded that yes, I am a tiddler in a vast ocean after all!

Blogging feeds self-absorption. I often agonise over my posts (what will people think of me? what if they disagree?), worry about the number of comments or readers (is anyone interested? were people affected by what I wrote?), and try to live up to expectations (am I posting often enough? am I posting too often?).

Nicole was having similar thoughts last week (nice to know I'm not alone): her quote from G.K. Chesterton is a refreshing reminder of the reassuring reality of our smallness.

How gracious of God to use you and me to touch the lives of the eternal creatures who surround us every day.

the problem with blogging

So what did I discover yesterday during my time reading the Bible, praying and reflecting about blogging?

I read 1 Corinthians 1-3 and was reminded:
- that God works through the foolish and weak, not the respected and wise;
- that I should discard "eloquence" and "human wisdom" in order to speak of Christ crucified;
- that those who "boast" should "boast in the Lord";
- that I am nothing - only God can make people grow;
- that the ministry I do will be tested on the last day. If it's worth doing, I will see the good results in heaven; if it's worthless, e.g. aimed only at my pride, it will be lost.

A blog is perhaps the ultimate exercise in egotism: me presenting my life & thoughts uninterrupted, daily (as if it were worth that much attention!), partly (let's be honest) in the hope that others may read it and be affected by what I write, and perhaps even (now I'm being really honest) bolster my ego through their admiration and respect.

I started this blog to get my thoughts on "paper", to reflect on things, to practise writing, to plant the seeds for future seminars and articles, to receive feedback about my ideas, to keep my brain fresh after a day with kids, to find a ministry which suits my family life and energy levels, to fill my over-active mind with helpful thoughts, and to encourage anyone who got around to reading it. Noble goals? Perhaps.

Oh, and to have fun too - and it has been a lot of fun!

But I've realised that, unlike when I lead a Bible study or seminar, I've barely prayed about what I write, or for those who read it. I've been neglecting reading the Bible, thus ensuring that most of what I write comes from my own head rather than from God (not that the blog has made me neglect the Bible, I'm pretty good at doing this on my own!)

It's easy to focus on trivialities - is my blog entertaining? is it clever? is it well-written? how many people are reading it? do they like it? - rather than on important issues - is it Biblical? is it Christ-centred? does it glorify God? is it helpful for me and my family? is it encouraging to others? The same temptations which face every Bible study leader, teacher, writer, and mentor.
So I've made a pact with myself: to read the Bible and pray for myself and you before I blog.

I've also decided to put sensible limits on my blogging: after all, my family and relationships come first. So if you notice a sudden drop in the quality of my blog, perhaps you should praise God that I'm giving more time to my family!

Blogging is no different to anything else. Whenever we minister to others - whether by leading a Bible study, mentoring someone, or speaking to someone after church - it is God's word and his gospel, not our wisdom and eloquence, that helps people to grow.

If I am proud, how it humbles me to know I am nothing, and God's power is everything. If I am discouraged, how it encourages me to know that God works through the weak. As long as I speak of his word and gospel, even in "weakness and fear, and with much trembling", he will powerfully change lives: of that I can be sure.