Category Archives: Devotional/Practical

[Y’all] Be Filled with the Spirit

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Probably a dozen times a year I’m asked, “How can I be filled with the Spirit”? The motivations behind this question, I think, are two: First, many traditions of sanctification have emphasized the filling of the Spirit as the key that unlocks the spiritual life. Being filled with (or by) the Spirit has been set forth as the one thing a believer must do to experience the fullness of the spiritual life. Second, believers struggling against temptation and sin are looking for an antidote. Like an immunization against a nagging illness, the experience of being filled with the Spirit sounds a lot like a spiritual booster shot against chronic temptation and sin.

But have we misunderstood the filling of the Spirit? Does that classic text have something more to say to the way we live together as a church rather than how we behave as individuals?

Certainly, we have clear examples of the Spirit filling individuals for service (Exod 31:3; Acts 4:8; 13:9). The filling of the Holy Spirit is always manifested through observable effects. These include wisdom, understanding, knowledge, skill, power, prophecy, healing, boldness, faith, joy, hope, and peace, among others (Exod 31:3; 35:31; Micah 3:8; Luke 1:67; Acts 2:4; 4:31; 6:5; 9:17; 13:52; Rom 15:13). So, one knows that an individual is filled with the Spirit based on the effects of the Spirit, which often correspond to the “fruit of the Spirit” (Gal 5:22–23). If you see the fruit, you know the root. But this individual indwelling and enabling is only one aspect of the filling of the Spirit (1 Cor 6:19). Paul also refers to a community aspect of the Spirit’s filling. He describes the church in Corinth as a temple of God, indwelled corporately by the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 3:16). So, the filling of the Spirit occurs in individuals, but it also occurs in the Church community (Acts 2:4; Eph 2:22).

Almost everything I read about Ephesians 5:18 relates it to the Christian’s individual surrender, yielding, decision, or action that fulfills the command to “be filled with the Spirit.” But could Paul’s primary intention in that passage be the community’s experience of the Spirit rather than the individual’s empowering? When he uses the second person plural, is Paul saying, “Each and every one of you must be filled individually” or is he saying, “Let you all as a community be filled”? The negative command, “Do not be drunk with wine” is also plural, but its possible that Paul was contrasting an inherently selfish, individualistic pleasure (drunkenness) with a selfless, corporate participation (spiritual life). Possible . . . but we need to let the context of Ephesians 5:18 guide our interpretation.

Many point out that Ephesians 5:18 is a passive command. How do we obey a passive command—regardless of whether it’s addressing an individual or a community? Well, we may have to stop doing something that obstructs the Spirit, or otherwise allow the Spirit to do what the Spirit wants. If we emphasize the individual aspect of this command, the problem is a bit more difficult—I must personally must stop or start something to allow the Spirit to fill me. But if Paul intended to emphasize the corporate aspect of the Spirit’s filling, this opens up the fulfillment of the command to reflect mutuality—“one another” living in community, among which the Spirit is producing corporate effects.

In any case, the Spirit’s filling must involve both individual and community elements, though I believe the broader context of Ephesians 5 points us toward a corporate filling of the Spirit. In Ephesians 2, Paul compared the Church as a corporate body to a holy temple, “in whom you [all] also are being built together into a dwelling of God in the Spirit” (2:22). The rest of the epistle emphasizes togetherness, unity of the one body, corporate giftedness, and spiritual growth together (see especially Eph 4). Thus, the letter as a whole focuses on the corporate spiritual life. In fact, the immediate context of Ephesians 5:18 emphasizes this same corporate mutuality. Following the passive plural command to be filled with the Spirit, Paul attaches a series of participles indicating what being filled with the Spirit looks like. Note the corporate effects of this Spirit filling: speaking to one another with melodious thankfulness (5:19–20) and being subject to one another after the example of Christ (5:21–6:9).

Thus, it appears that the command to “be filled with the Holy Spirit” refers primarily to allowing the Spirit to work in and through our relationships with each other in the Church community. Of course, this requires individual responses and responsibilities as we submit to each other, look out for each other’s interests, meet each other’s needs, and allow others to reciprocate their love and concern for us. But Ephesians 5:18 has little to do with being filled by the Spirit in order to resist temptation, conquer sin, or lick a bad habit. That worn-out application of the passage doesn’t quite fit Paul’s point.

Read in this light, Ephesians 5:18 is extremely convicting to us as we consider our own local churches. It demands that we answer several probing questions. Is our church community filled with the Spirit? Do we exude the attractive aroma of unity, care, support, encouragement, subjection to one another, and uplifting, joyful attitudes? Or do we exude an odor of disunity, selfishness, criticism, discouragement, rebellion, and destructive, pessimistic cynicism? Ask yourself, as you wander the halls of your church, overhear conversations, or whiff the “whine” from the grapevine—do you sense the warm breeze of the Spirit? Or, instead of being continually filled with the Spirit, does your community seem to have outposts of the Spirit battling against a lingering insurgency of the flesh? Or is it even worse than that? Is our church building just a whitewashed tomb, impressive on the outside but lacking Spirit-enabled community life within? Think about your church—and about your participation in its spiritual health. Then answer this important question for yourself: Are we filled with the Spirit?

Working Out the Inner Work (or, "Sancti-fried… Revisited")

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If you’ve ever had your vehicle stuck in the mud, you’ll remember trying anything to get out: shifting into low gear, jerking the steering wheel to the right or left, spinning the wheels in reverse, pushing the gas pedal to the floor, even emptying extra weight to lighten your load. Finally, with mud covering every square inch of your vehicle, you admit defeat. You accept the fact that the only solution to your inextricable dilemma is to call for help.

Whether we like it or not, that’s life. Each of us, left to ourselves, is hopelessly stuck in the mire of our own depravity. Apart from God’s sovereign acts of grace, we’re helpless. Without God pulling us free from the muck and washing us clean, we would continue to wallow in the slime of our own filth.

But thankfully, God didn’t leave us to ourselves. He provided the death and resurrection of Christ to pay the penalty for our sins and to grant us new life. He sent His Spirit to regenerate us—not merely on our spiritual birthday, but continually. We have an eternal relationship with the Spirit of Life, who continues His regenerating work in us. Yes, God has declared us righteous once and for all in Christ (“justification”). But we too often forget that God is also making us righteous by His Spirit (“sanctification”).

But if God does the work, what part to we play in sanctification? Is there nothing we can do to affect our spiritual growth?

More than Methods

Methods of nullifying the old nature and nurturing the new are almost as plentiful as the people who peddle them. Whole systems of sanctification have grown up over the centuries, each promising the most effective way. The victorious Christian life, exchanged life, Methodism, holiness, second blessing, sacramentalism, personal disciplines, corporate disciplines, mysticism, asceticism, monasticism, asceticism, contemplation . . . the list goes on.

My complaint about these various approaches is not that they are wrong, but that they often claim to be too right. Most of them have something true to contribute to a diverse tradition of Christian spirituality, but none of them can claim to be the sole biblical path to spiritual maturity. Some of the models of sanctification came on the scene when individual Christians (or small communities) experienced remarkable spiritual blessing while engaged in a particular approach to the Christian life. However, instead of viewing their method as a neutral means through which God chose to work His sanctifying grace, their gaze became fixated on the method itself.

Yet if the means of sanctification does not include some method, what should we do? Is the solution to be passive, to “wait on the Lord” for an instant change of heart?

This idea of passive sanctification reminds me of one of my Bible College roommates who would return to the dorm after a weekend of shameless fornication. When I confronted him about it, he responded, “God’s in control. When He wants me to stop living this way, He’ll take those desires away.” Yes, God is in control. And in His sovereignty He cast my roommate out of Bible College.

The answer is obviously not to passively wait for God to suddenly, instantly, and miraculously change us. Though that kind of deliverance may happen to some, it probably won’t happen to you and me. Instead, my own answer to the question of what we should do in response to God’s sovereignty over our sanctification is quite simple.

Do whatever it takes and do it now!

God’s Inner Work

In Philippians 2:12, Paul wrote, “Just as you have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” I can’t think of a clearer text regarding our responsibility to obey. The verb “work out” in Greek is a simple command. This passage emphasizes working, not waiting; being productive, not passive. According to Paul, our responsibility for sanctification is to simply obey.

Paul could have stopped at verse 12 and his practical intentions would have been perfectly clear. But instead, he removed the service panel from the Christian life and revealed the inner workings of sanctification. In just a few powerful words we see that our work of willing, active obedience in salvation is not the cause of sanctification, but the effect. Paul said, “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Philippians 3:12–13).

All too often I meet Christians who want to somehow soften this language, to read into it some foreign concept of cooperation, of God’s response to our willing hearts, of the Spirit’s work of lending a helping hand to our honest efforts. Too many believers want to live the Christian life as if God were holding back His provision of power until we take the first step. This idea is completely contrary to what Paul says in Philippians 2 about our obedience in salvation. It is God who is at work in us, not only to work, but also to will. At the same time, God works all things in this world together for our good (Romans 8:28). So, by both inward and outward means, God affects our sanctification.

However, rather than instantly zapping us into mature saints, God gradually affects our spiritual growth through several means of sanctification that stir faith in us. That faith, itself granted by God, then manifests itself through the fruit of the Spirit.

What are these means of sanctification?

Means of Sanctification

One crucial means is God’s church. Yes, that place, or, more accurately, those people. Whether you’re ready to accept it or not, the gathering of a local church community is the primary means God uses to sanctify you. Hebrews 10:24–25 says, “Let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds, not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another.” Within the community believers exercise their spiritual gifts for the common good (1 Corinthians 12:7). Within the community gifted teachers grow believers into the image of Christ (Ephesians 4:11–16). And within the church community, God’s Spirit works through our observance of the Lord’s Supper, confirming our covenant relationship with God and others (1 Corinthians 11:20–32).

Another means of sanctification is personal discipline. Paul told Timothy, “Discipline yourself for the purpose of godliness; for bodily discipline is only of little profit, but godliness is profitable for all things” (1 Timothy 4:7–8). Spiritual discipline includes positive things like reading Scripture, prayer, fasting, and the like. But it also includes things you might do to protect yourself from temptation or break a pattern of sin. In my experience sin is like a fire—the more you feed it by, the stronger it gets. But if, by whatever means, you can keep from obsessively engaging in a particular sin, its controling power will wane. Spiritual disciplines are perhaps the most personal aspect of sanctification, for no believer’s struggles are the same, and not all individuals respond the same way to the same means. The key is to keep hard at it, engaging in spiritual disciplines that move you closer to God and to His people. Any of the numerous methods of spiritual growth may work well for many people. But it’s not ultimately the method itself that does the work. Through these means God works in you and for you. Instead of fixing your gaze on the method that seems to work for you, fix your gaze on “the author and finisher of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2, KJV), for it is God at work in us to conform us to the image of Christ by the power of His Spirit.

To Him, not us, be the glory forever.

i’m Distracted by me

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It has somehow become trendy to do away with the capital “I” for the first person pronoun in praise and worship songs, especially if the lyrics are projected on a screen. The goal, I suppose, is to reflect (or promote) personal humility. Apparently if we use a lowercase “i” we will be (or appear to be) more humble. But for me this practice produces the opposite effect. When projected song lyrics use a lowercase “i” my attention is actually drawn to the pronoun rather than turned away from it. It distracts me, and the thing that attracts my thoughts is the very thing the lowercase “i” is supposed to be deflecting!

ironic.

Look, nobody sees a capital “I” and thinks, “How self-centered! That person sure must think highly about himself to be capitalizing the first person singular pronoun!” No, the capitalization of “I” is simply a convention of the English language. To put things in perspective, the German language actually capitalizes all nouns in a sentence, but Germans aren’t thereby saying every person, place, thing, or idea deserves to be worshipped or honored.

I struggle to understand the motive behind using a lowercase “i,” wondering if it may, in fact, actually promote a prideful humility—“Look at how humble i am!” or “You people who use a capital ‘I’ sure are egocentric (unlike us, who use a lowercase ‘i’)!” On the other hand, a desire to be less self-absorbed and me-focused is a noble and needed corrective in contemporary worship. But songwriters and worship leaders who want to pursue this goal can do so in far more effective ways. Let me suggest two.

First, we could use less I and me and more Him and He. How about more song lyrics that just don’t mention “I” or “me” all that often? Instead, let’s tell the story about the Triune God, singing praises to the Father, confessing faith in Jesus Christ, and proclaiming the work of the Spirit. Keeping the focus on Him in our lyrics will remove the necessity to constantly sing about how I feel about God, what I gain from salvation, how I can personally benefit from my relationship with God. Songs that obsess with a lowercase “i” could avoid the problem by ejecting the pronoun entirely.

Second, we could use less I and Me and more us and we. Far too many of our contemporary worship songs are individualistic, emphasizing personal faith, personal problems, personal salvation, personal growth, personal eschatology. How difficult would it be to change some of the lyrics of these songs to a plural pronoun? Often the lyrics of worship songs communicate to the worshippers that they are simply a large mob of individuals engaged in private, personal communion with God. Let’s leave individual worship at home in our prayer closets and come to church to worship in community.

I must clarify, though, that nothing in the Bible suggests that using “I” and “we” in corporate worship is wrong. Many psalms are written in the first person singular. Many of our great hymns and worship choruses have endured as individual poems of devotion. The Christian faith clearly involves both individual and corporate aspects of prayer, study, and worship. To emphasize one over the other would create an unbiblical and unhealthy imbalance. But in a culture like ours, driven by thoroughgoing metheism, it might not hurt to rethink how and what we sing.

The Problem with Prayer

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For many, there appears to be a problem with prayer. How many times have you heard (or thought) some of these responses to prayer?

· “It’s a one-way conversation.”

· “It doesn’t seem to work.”

· “God takes too long to answer.”

· “God does what He wants anyway.”

Crushed between the mortar and pestle of life, it’s easy to think there’s a serious problem with prayer: God. When God doesn’t answer according to our will, we can get frustrated. We can feel like our prayers are just floating around the universe like a comet adrift, too insignificant to catch the Creator’s attention. In the midst of this disappointment, we’re often too slow to accept that the problem with prayer is not God, but us.

I used to think that life would be a lot easier if God answered a few more strategic prayers—just a couple key petitions to remind us that He’s listening. I was convinced that a profound healing here and there would add spice to the life of the church.

Then God healed Karen.

Our Sunday school class gathered for desperate prayer the night before the surgery scheduled to remove a tumor from Karen’s brain. The surgery would probably render her unable to speak for a long time. Leading the prayer, I asked God to comfort her husband, daughter, and family at this time of crisis, to help the surgeons, to speed her recovery, and—if He willed—to miraculously heal her.

Of course, that last part was just to satisfy the expectations of the group. Although I believed God could instantly heal Karen, I was certain He would use less glorious means. As we drove home, I even told my wife, “Karen will probably never be the same again.”

The next morning the tumor had disappeared.

I assumed Karen’s response would be just as profound as God’s answer to prayer. After all, when a person experiences the awesome intervention of the Almighty God, we should expect an explosive revival, right?

Less than a year later, Karen left the church and divorced her husband.

I had always thought answers to prayer would strengthen faith and ignite thanksgiving. Disappointed in Karen’s life choices in light of her healing, I was reminded that even the Israelites grumbled and rebelled in the midst of powerful answers to their requests (Numbers 11:1-4).

You see, the problem with prayer is not God, but us.

There’s also a problem of abusing prayer. When I was a new Christian, I mistakenly followed the “prosperity gospel,” the “name it-claim it” theology that overwhelms Christian television and bookstores. “Don’t make negative confessions,” I was told. “If you’re sick, confess that you’re healed!”

On one occasion I mentioned to a self-proclaimed “prophetess” that I was going bald. Instantly, she placed her hand on my head and shouted, “No you’re not—in the name of Jesus!” That “prophetess” treated prayer like a gift card she could whip out at any time to make major purchases.

We may not be as extreme as that woman, but we can all fall into the trap of abusing prayer. While we may tack on a halfhearted “Thy will be done,” deep down we think, “No! My will be done!” Yes, Christ said, “Ask, and it will be given to you” (Matthew 7:7), but his brother James reminds us, “You ask and do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives” (James 4:3).

Once again, the problem with prayer is not God, but us.

How do we correct the problem with prayer? After a dozen years in Bible college, seminary, and Ph.D. studies, I’d hoped to finally have a handle on prayer. I don’t. In fact, the more I pray, the less I understand its profound mysteries. However, I’ve come to several conclusions that might help correct our perceived problems with prayer.

First, we need to understand that the purpose of prayer is not for God to please us, but for God to change us. If a father constantly gives in to a little child’s whiny demands, we’d take him for a lousy parent. Why, then, do some think God’s a stubborn God when He doesn’t give us everything we want? We need to trust that God is wise and powerful enough to answer rightly—and right on time. First John 5:14 says, “This is the confidence which we have before Him, that, if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us.” That is, God won’t jump at every loose-lipped confession. Prayer offered up in true faith submits to His will—our sanctification (1 Thessalonians 4:3). God’s will is to change us, not please us.

Second, we need to accept that the power of prayer is perceived in even the smallest response. I’m convinced that humans don’t fully comprehend how little we deserve God’s love and grace. Consider that what we regard as “crumbs” of answered prayer may really be bountiful feasts once we realize that God owes us nothing (Genesis 32:9-10; Luke 7:6-9). When we adjust our attitude about our own unworthiness to receive God’s favor, we’ll never regard “small” answers to prayer as insignificant.

Finally, we need to acknowledge that the process of prayer is not as important as the attitude of prayer. When God chose in His sovereignty to heal Karen, He did so even though none of us expected it. Our feeble prayer was a simple act of faith—turning our worries over to God’s care (Philippians 4:6; 1 Peter 5:6-7). Christians can get hung up on method, worried that they haven’t said the right words, haven’t prayed hard or often enough, or haven’t believed deeply enough. That’s hocus-pocus, not prayer (Matthew 6:5-8). If you’re concerned about not praying with the right words or for the right things, memorize Romans 8:26—God’s Spirit even helped Paul pray!

Of course these reminders are easy to read, but they’re not easy to live. To our finite human minds, we’ll always perceive “problems” with prayer. Are you struggling with your prayer life, not seeing results, wondering if God is listening? It might be time for an attitude change. It might be time to finally accept that the problem with prayer is not God, but us.

[This essay is adapted from my article, “The Problem with Prayer,” Insights (October 2005): 1–2, (c) 2005, Insight for Living, and used with permission.]

Whatchama-Called

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“I feel called to serve in the youth ministry” . . . “My wife and I feel called to a different church” . . . “I felt called into ministry at an early age” . . . “I feel called to talk to you about this.”

This kind of language about feeling called, feeling led, feeling drawn by God to a particular ministry, task, or direction is quite common among Christians. You probably hear it often. You probably say it yourself from time to time. But have you ever stopped to ask yourself whether such an idea of an internal subjective feeling of being called to some place, thing, or task is biblical? Have you ever wondered whether your feelings about God calling you may, in fact, be your own personal desires, wishes, longings, ambitions, or pursuits?

It may startle you to learn that nowhere in the Bible do we find an example of a person “feeling called” by God without an external, verifiable call. Most often when the Bible talks about God’s calling, it refers to the call to repentance, salvation, or covenant faithfulness—a general call to all, though it is often coupled with God’s sovereign call of election, or choosing (Isaiah 48:12; Jer 7:13; Matt 22:14; Rom 8:28–30; 9:24; and many more). Thus, Paul wrote in 2 Thessalonians 2:14, “It was for this He called you through our gospel, that you may gain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Another kind of calling in the Bible came in the form of an audible (and sometimes even visible) calling from God to a particular task or ministry. Abraham’s calling to the land of Canaan was audible, visible, and repeated (Heb 11:8). Moses’s call came audibly from a burning bush (Exod 3:4). The calling of Bezalel to the task of crafting the tabernacle in the wilderness came by an audible call from God through Moses (Exod 31:1–6). And who could forget Samuel’s repeated call by God in 1 Samuel 3:2–11, where the voice was so clear that he thought it was that of his master, Eli, nearby. Similarly, Paul’s call to be an apostle (Rom 1:1) was no inner conviction or nagging desire to serve, but a brilliant encounter with the resurrected Lord Jesus Christ Himself on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:1–18).

Another type of call—a bit more subtle, but genuine—came from the Holy Spirit through the official leaders of the Christian community. This official call by the Church was accompanied by an official appointment, usually marked by the laying on of hands. Acts 13:2–4 gives a good example of this kind of authentic call to ministry. As the official leaders of the church were gathered together, praying and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, “Set apart for Me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them” (Acts 13:2). In response to this word from the Lord, the leaders of the church appointed Barnabas and Saul to their ministries, laying hands on them and praying for them, which was a common means of ordination to ministry in the ancient world.

Whether or not Saul and Barnabas “felt” called to this ministry was irrelevant. Certainly, Paul had earlier experienced a dramatic conversion and received a general call directly from the mouth of Christ, but the specific “where” and “when” of the call were still being discovered. Perhaps Paul and Barnabas had inner yearnings to pursue that particular ministry from Antioch; or maybe they had been resisting the idea. But their personal feelings really weren’t decisive. Instead, the Holy Spirit called these men and revealed His will through the patient, prayerful, and wise discernment of the leadership and community in which they were ministering day to day. Whether the Holy Spirit spoke audibly, we can not know for sure. But we do know that the Holy Spirit spoke through the leadership and the community, that is, through the Church.

So, how does a person discern a calling into ministry, a call by God to a particular task? This is not an easy question to answer, but I can trace the contours of what this should look like. First and foremost, a Christian should be aware of his or her general call to holy living and Christian testimony, the call all believers have by virtue of being called to salvation through Jesus Christ (1 Cor 7:15; Gal 5:13; 2 Thess 2:14). This includes a call to walk in newness of life, to love the brethren, and to proclaim Christ near and far. It implies a committed relationship to the Church universal and local, to build up the body of Christ through humble service, to give and live sacrificially. These things constitute the clear calling to which all Christians are to respond daily. They require no special recommendation or invitation, but they do, of course, require constant reminders and repeated exhortations. We too quickly forget the calling to which we are all called!

Second, the biblical pattern of calling to specific ministries or tasks involved either an audible (and often repeated) call from God, or an official invitation by legitimate spiritual leadership confirmed by the Church community. In the Old Testament this kind of call came through the God-appointed prophets, priests, and kings. In the New Testament it came through the pastors, elders, teachers, and leadership within the worshiping and praying community of the Church or even through the counsel of wise, mature, and trusted brothers and sisters in Christ.

For the last decade or so I have generally lived by a maxim that was advocated by an old professor of mine, who is now, remarkably, a colleague. He probably doesn’t even remember saying it, but it made a great impression on me. In the context of questions about God’s leading and calling, he said, “I don’t do anything I’m not asked to do.” At that moment I believed those words. I ran through the instances of callings and commands in the Bible and realized it fit quite nicely. So I abandoned the typical approach of “I feel called” and decided that my personal feelings on the matter would be the last and least of my criteria for determining God’s will for me. If God wants me to do something, He will call me as He called those in the Bible—through the wise, prayerful guidance and shepherding of His ordained leaders and through the Spirit-filled community. When I finally accepted this biblical approach to calling, I felt liberated. No longer would I have to worry about missing God’s call, misunderstanding His call, aggressively pursuing opportunities, sending out resumes, competing for positions. God would call in His timing and by His own means. This doesn’t mean we remain passive. The general calling of the Christian to loving, serving, and living the Christian life will keep us all busy as we await His various specific calls to particular tasks. But this perspective does mean we aren’t constantly on the hunt for bigger and better opportunities, as if ministry were a competitive career field in which our primary goal is to get ahead. Nor does this mean that we say “yes” to every leader’s whim or friend’s request. Nobody can do everything, but all of us are called to do something.

The idea of “feeling called” to the ministry, “feeling called” to a task, “feeling called” to a particular place—this idea of feeling called to anything has become far too common in Christian parlance. It must stop. It is not biblical. And it can be absolutely disastrous. How many people have gone into ministry or into the mission field because they felt called. How many leaders and church communities have accepted such people because they felt they could not counter a personal calling from God? Don’t misunderstand me. A person may feel compelled, gifted, even “called” to ministry, but unless that urge and desire is confirmed by God’s chosen means of calling and sending from His community through the Holy Spirit, the feelings should never be the sole—nor even the primary—basis for action. In many cases (perhaps in most), our personal feelings on the matter are completely irrelevant.