Lessons From Topsail

My wife and I celebrated our 10th anniversary this past week by taking a trip alone to Topsail Island, NC. We rented a condo built right on the beach and overlooked the ocean. Though I took a week sabbatical from all serious study, I learned quite a bit a bit on this trip. Here is just one reflection.

A Great Day. I’ll never forget last Thursday. The day began with me taking pictures of the sunrise over the ocean at 7am. As it turned out, I was far too sleepy for the task and all the horizons were slanting up. Then I had breakfast on our deck overlooking the ocean, took some more pictures of a shrimping boat I thought our kids would enjoy, and read a bit. Shortly after Jen and I were on the beach. We played like children in the waves. Jumping over them, into them, getting pummeled by a good many of them. We reclined in our beach chairs with a good book in hand as the rising tide licked at our feet. We took small walks through the cool water and sand collecting shells and shooting pictures of crabs. For dinner we drove to a local seafood market, bought some shrimp caught that morning, took it back to our room and grilled some shrimp kabobs.

Not Enough. It was a great day. One of the funnest days I’ve had in a long time. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. Not that I’m complaining. I was flooded with perpetual gratitude that day that God would blend wind and water, sun and sky into such a glorious experience, that I have a wife who didn’t feel too adult to splash like a child in the foaming waves. And as I read in the midst of the ocean tide, sipping Sobe, and stealing glances at my beautiful wife, I constantly thought, “Can it get much better than this?” But at the same time, there was something sad about the experience. Sad because it had to stop. As it turns out, sun, wind, sand, waves, shells, and even my wife, though rapturously delightful, are also thoroughly exhausting. My frame came to the end of itself and could take no more.

“We shall be like him, because we shall see him as He is.” I gained a greater insight into this statement this past week. If the power and splendor of the ocean is too much for my frame to contain, then how much more its Creator. The tricky thing about joy is not that there is so little to be had. Even in this fallen world, wonders of delight abound all around us. The problem is that we cannot endure. They are too much for us. We think we grow bored, but in reality we are often just weary and spent. And if we were placed in the arena of unceasing pleasure, we would not be pleasured unceasingly. If there was no escape, pleasure would turn to torture. As the waves and wind break the rocks into specks of sand, so they would break us, pulverize us. What then would the infinite splendor of God do were we admitted into his presence?

“We shall be like him, because we shall see him as He is.” There are several layers to this statement, but one layer is certainly this. Only as we are transformed spiritually, morally, physically into a splendor ourselves could we enter into his splendor and find life rather than death. So I long for the day, when I stand in the seas and not grow weary, and when I can stand in the gaze of its Maker and pulsate with his unremitting pleasure.

Romans 7:1-6: Part 2

Or do you not know, brothers—for I am speaking to those who know the law—that the law is binding on a person only as long as he lives? 2 For a married woman is bound by law to her husband while he lives, but if her husband dies she is released from the law of marriage. 3 Accordingly, she will be called an adulteress if she lives with another man while her husband is alive. But if her husband dies, she is free from that law, and if she marries another man she is not an adulteress. 4 Likewise, my brothers, you also have died to the law through the body of Christ, so that you may belong to another, to him who has been raised from the dead, in order that we may bear fruit for God. 5 For while we were living in the flesh, our sinful passions, aroused by the law, were at work in our members to bear fruit for death. 6 But now we are released from the law, having died to that which held us captive, so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit and not in the old way of the written code. (Romans 7:1-6)

A Bad Marriage. So what is the deal with Paul’s opening example of marriage? My guess is that this marriage is a bad one. That was not exactly an uncommon occurrence, and still isn’t. But in a culture where parents chose the spouse of their children, there were certainly plenty of Abigails legally bound to Nabals (see 1 Samuel 25). And here Paul points out that so long as the dud husband is alive, the wife has no choice but to be his wife. Prenups, no fault divorce, even divorce for that matter were virtually none existent for women.

Til Death Do Us Part. Sinners and the law make a bad marriage. They would completely bomb on the Newlywed Game. They are tragically incompatible. The law isn’t sleeping around on us; it just makes a really bad spouse. We may or may not be sleeping around on the law, but regardless we need a better marriage. However, apart from death we are legally bound to the law. We are faced with only two choices. One we try our best to stay faithful to the law, or two we run off with someone else.

A Bad Spouse. So why does the law make such a bad spouse? Living with the law is like living with a husband who perpetually points out your mistakes, uncovers your shame, and exposes your deepest flaws. And it does all that without a shred of mercy. So the law undresses our faults, and when we reply, “Okay, so I’m screwed up. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me” the law doesn’t just shrug and walk away. No, the law looks directly into our eyes and says, “I can’t do that . . . (long awkward pause). I can only give you what you deserve. I can only damn you.” Mercy simply isn’t part its repertoire.

Bad Fruit. So when messed up people are bound to the law, they end up conceiving some bad offspring. Demands without grace produces guilt and shame, which in turn produces isolation, anger, bitterness, hopelessness, fear, and pride. But again there is nothing wrong with the law itself. In reality, the law is nothing more than wedding vows. Wedding vows are great at forming the proper context of a lifelong relationship, but it is impossible to have a relationship with vows. Our main problem is that we are separated from the true spouse. We are simply left with vows. The damning, condemning vows that speak nothing but obligation, that give us no hope for redemption, that never speak a word of forgiveness.

The True Husband. Our hope is not in keeping the vows. Even if we do really good at adhering to them, we still don’t have the husband. Yet unless the vows are kept there can be no marriage. So Paul says that the answer to this dilemma is that in Christ we can die to the law. We can be set free from its legal obligation. Not that the obligation has vanished. Far from it. But the true husband has come. He has kept the vows on our behalf. He has died under the law’s cursed damnation. And only in our new relationship with him can we hear the most blessed words ever spoken to the guilt-ridden, “I forgive you.”

The Pharisee and Me

Great short post from Ray Orlund

The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: “God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.” (Luke 18:11-12)

What was wrong with the Pharisee?

There was a lot right with him. He really didn’t do those bad things. He really did those good things. And he gave glory to God for it all: "God, I thank you . . . ."

So, what was wrong with him?

Just this. He sincerely believed he was “not like other men.”

Thank God I’m not like that Pharisee!

Romans 7:1-6: Part 1

Or do you not know, brothers—for I am speaking to those who know the law—that the law is binding on a person only as long as he lives? 2 For a married woman is bound by law to her husband while he lives, but if her husband dies she is released from the law of marriage. 3 Accordingly, she will be called an adulteress if she lives with another man while her husband is alive. But if her husband dies, she is free from that law, and if she marries another man she is not an adulteress. 4 Likewise, my brothers, you also have died to the law through the body of Christ, so that you may belong to another, to him who has been raised from the dead, in order that we may bear fruit for God. 5 For while we were living in the flesh, our sinful passions, aroused by the law, were at work in our members to bear fruit for death. 6 But now we are released from the law, having died to that which held us captive, so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit and not in the old way of the written code. (Romans 7:1-6)

Yesterday was Labor Day, which means that along with a little barbecuing, some family time, and (at least in my home) the US Open, there was the annual Jerry Lewis telethon. Its not that I don’t have any heart for “Jerry’s kids,” but I have an almost impulsive repugnance for telethons. And I don’t just mean Jerry’s telethon. I pretty much despise all telethons in every form they come in. They generally provoke from me audible groans and sighs. Until recently I hadn’t given a lot of thought why this is, but then I realized the issue. Telethons are about the law.

Telethons and the Law. The universal strategy of telethons are as follows. First, explain to people what they should do (i.e. give their money to this obviously worthy cause). Second, keep them off balance by reminding them of their moral superiority one instant and then piling up layers of guilt in the next. “Americans are the most giving people in the world,” we’re told. Then we’re shown some tear jerker of a story and asked, “How can you not give to help X?” Subtext: “You are good enough to give what is necessary, and you’re an incredible jerk if you don’t do it.”

Universal Strategy of Law Alone. Such methodology should not surprise us. It’s what every charity, parent, teacher, etc. uses to push those in their sphere of influence to do the right thing. But this message is the message of the law. Here’s what I mean. God’s law by itself simply provides us with commands, rules, and instructions. The law is not bad in and of itself, as Paul makes clear later in Romans 7. But ripped from the story of God’s saving work, the law merely leaves us with a command and the implicit expectation that we can and should keep it. Does such a strategy work? Paul’s answer, and I think any deep thinking persons answer, is a resounding “no.” Living under the law produces the fruit of death (7:5).

The Delusion of Obedience. That seems a little bit extreme especially considering the fact that telethons raise millions of dollars every year. But they do so because salving our conscience with a small monetary gift is relatively easy. We can walk away assured that we are better people. But are we better? Or has our gift simply created a delusion of goodness that blinds us from our real problems. My marriage may be wreck. I may say spiteful things every day to my spouse. But obviously I’m not the problem. I give to Jerry’s kids. That takes some heart and real love. My wife just doesn’t see the good in me. How can I not get frustrated with her. So does the contribution reveal my goodness, or does it simply provide a rationale for my own anger and bitterness? Thinking these thoughts may be a little disturbing, but once we start down this path we are heading in the right direction.

Real Joy

Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have broken rejoice. (Psalm 51:8 )

“Joy” and “Gladness” refer to more than just a delighted spirit or an internal yet calm satisfaction. These Hebrew terms are used in connection with singing, festive eating and drinking, playing instruments, dancing, frolicking, stamping the feet, clapping hands, etc. It is quite a raucous kind of joy. The kind that bubbles up and overflows into jubilant outward expressions. It’s the kind of joy at a wedding reception, or when you see your son hit his first home run. The psalmist wants more than just a warm feeling, or a sense of calm content. He wants a party. He wants singing, dancing, shouting, clapping. He is now morose and melancholy. Perhaps, even desperate and despairing. But he calls for foot-stomping joy.

Why are we so reserved in our joy? Why do we not seek to make our hearts, minds, bodies overflow in boundless enthusiasm and jubilance? Why do we not have a raucous, hooting, and hollering joy flooding our souls and spreading to our mouths, and feet, and hands? I think we feel it irreverent and ridiculous. But what is more irreverent or more ridiculous than knowing the God of the universe, feeling the power of his salvation, knowing the freedom of his cleansing from the bondage of sin, and not hoot and dance? Irreverent is the polite, shallow smiles of our Sunday mourning services. Ridiculous is hollow slap-stick remarks so characteristic of Christian entertainment. Fake joy or shallow goof-offs are the respectable forms of raucous joy. But this is not that kind of joy, because it’s based on something real. Joy for joy’s sake is no joy at all. Joy that arises in order to have joy in and of itself is empty. That’s why modern Christian joy is so emaciated. We want to be happy, and so we are happy, or at least we try to make ourselves such, just to say that we are happy. But real joy has a real object. It rejoices in a thing. Like a man rejoices in his lover, or a boy over his ice cream cone. We have the grandest of all objects, God. No amount of physical display is too much. You just can’t make too much of God. But you can make far too little.