Blessed are the Peacemakers—From Blue Helmets to Family

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God." (Matthew 5:9)

As pastors, chaplains, and all types of Christian leaders we often find ourselves called to mediate conflict between individuals, communities, and systems. While we know the importance that Jesus places upon peacemaking, we too often are either combative or compromising in our approach to unity. 

Pastor-on-pastor verbal/social media violence is rampant. Sometimes it seems that we read our Bibles only for ammunition to shoot at opposing positions with no regard for the collateral damage. What if we started reading our Bible more to experience, and be transformed by, the Christ it reveals and then allowed the resulting inner peace to slosh over into our ministry contexts? I hope that this post is a helpful reminder to us regarding the kingdom value of being a peacemaker, even in the midst of a contentious culture. 

The following material was originally posted on my cultural engagement blog, Compelled2  as part of my doctoral studies in Cross-cultural Engagement.

Perhaps Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers” because no one else would affirm them. Peacemaking (Greek, eirēnopoios) is never popular because to do so means that one is not owned by either side in a conflict. I call it “wearing a blue helmet”. This is a reference to the distinctive blue helmets worn by U.N. Peacekeepers deployed as a buffer in regions of conflict. They are usually outnumbered and outgunned, which sometimes results in their being pushed around by both sides. Dallas Willard captured this sentiment,

The peacemakers… make the list because outside the kingdom they are, as is often said, “called everything but a child of God.” That is because they are always in the middle. Ask the policeman called in to smooth out a domestic dispute. There is no situation more dangerous. Neither side trusts you. Because they know that you are looking at both sides, you can’t possibly be on their side.[1]

Being a peacemaker requires us to see both sides and chart a just course. That is counter-cultural. “Every Christian is to be a peacemaker, and every Christian is to expect opposition.”[2]

Being Peacemakers is to participate in the missio Dei, for God himself chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world[3], and Christ himself is our peace.[4] We show a family resemblance to our Heavenly Father, revealing his character when we work for peace in the world. This doesn’t happen through appeasement and compromise, but by engaging lovingly through our kingdom convictions over the long term.

“Peace consists not of exploitation but of all things in right relation to God. Peacemakers enact not the empire's will but God's merciful reign, living toward this wholeness and well-being and against any power that hinders or resists it.”[5]

As we examine this seventh macarism, “peacemaking”, perhaps it will help us to better understand what it is, by first considering what it is not.

Peacemaking is not…

• Isolationism, where we refuse to get involved.
• Apathy, where we are numbed past caring what happens to others, if we ever did.
• Appeasement, where we give whatever the aggressor wants to keep hostility from breaking out. History reveals the futility of appeasement (e.g., Chamberlain’s negotiations with Hitler) and should inform the present situations with Iran and North Korea, for “It just puts off the conflict”[6]
• Compromise, where we go around our convictions for the sake of reduced hostilities and a watered-down so-called unity.

Instead of these worldly methods of faux-peace production, the follower of Jesus should take a higher road to peacemaking. In doing so, we reveal the character of God.

Instead of delighting in division, bitterness, strife, or some petty “divide-and-conquer” mentality, disciples of Jesus delight to make peace whenever possible. Making peace is not appeasement: the true model is God’s costly peacemaking (Eph. 2:1-17; Col 1:20)… Now it belongs to the heirs of the kingdom who, meek and poor in spirit, loving righteousness yet merciful, are especially equipped for peacemaking and so reflect something of the Father’s character.[7]

So, what is Peacemaking?

Paul writes to the Corinthians about our calling to be “ministers of reconciliation” as “ambassadors for Christ” (2 Cor. 5:18-20). We should note that there is truth in the old saying, “Peace is not merely the absence of fighting but rather the presence of God”, and thus the presence of righteousness. So the task of the peacemaker is to bring people into the presence of God through the Gospel of Christ.  The peacemaker is committed to promoting peace with:

• God—through personal forgiveness and the preaching of the Gospel.
• Self—through accepting God's forgiveness and cleansing by faith as efficacious for even such notorious sinners as we know ourselves to be.
• Their Family and friends—by extending the mercy that we have received to others.
• The World and enemies—by being salt and light, living righteously, working for the common good, and taking a stand for those who cannot defend themselves.   

Those who are peacemakers are blessed to be “called sons of God.” Why? Because they accurately reflect the character and mission of God to those who observe their lives. 

There is a distinction between the generic term “children of God” and “sons of God.” The difference is slight but significant. In Jewish thought, “son” often bears the meaning “partaker of the character of,” or the like. If someone calls you the “son of a dog,” this is not an aspersion on your parents, but on you: you partake of the character of a dog.[8]

They "look" like their heavenly Father because they live in cooperative obedience to his mission. They are doing just what he does. We need to remember that God is not primarily looking to judge/exclude/destroy the world but to save it, heal it, and invite it into a relationship. God wants to “re-bind the broken cosmos.”

"When this reconciliation actually takes place, and one has 'peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ' —even 'the peace of God which passeth all understanding'—the peace-receivers become peace-diffusers.  God is thus seen as reflected in them, and by the family likeness these peacemakers are now recognized as the children of God."^[9]

If we are committed to peacemaking, we will face opposition. The world says this (peacemaking) is not a step, it is not safe. They are partially right. It isn’t safe. It messes with us…for we all have our own semi-sacred hatreds. We have that list of those who are "other than" us. Could God want us to work as peacemakers with them? [Spoiler Alert: Yes, he does!] 

What are some ways that we can apply this concept in our community besides continuing to preach the gospel? Some ideas that have been suggested are:

•  Mentoring neighborhood kids in an after-school program, since many are unsupervised and at risk until their parent(s) get home from work.
•  Working with our neighbors for better environmental standards and practices in the city (e.g., water and air quality are poor). For example, in Longview, WA, water was switched from the Cowlitz River due to a high amount of untreatable pharmaceuticals from towns upriver to wells out by the old aluminum plant which brought a whole new set of problems. 
•  Advocate for better labor-management relations in the city. Longview has a history of labor unrest going back to the 1930s. Currently, one paper mill in Longview and the teachers’ union in neighboring Kelso are on strike. If only there were management and labor parties committed to the “principled negotiation” of seeking the win-win solution of understanding instead of insisting on mutually exclusive win-lose scenarios.

The list above is just scratching the surface of what one little church in Longview should be praying over, brainstorming, wrestling with, and doing what the Lord tells us to do as peacemakers. Yet the needs are so large and the church is small. In the face of powerful systemic evils that work to objectify and marginalize certain segments of the population, I am strengthened by Paul’s admonition to the Church at Rome, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21).

One well-known example of someone who refused to be overcome by evil is Martin Luther King Jr., who said, “There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right.” [10] 
When we take such a position, we will be persecuted for that is the natural reaction of the world to the light of God.

And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed. But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God.” (John 3:19-21)

Followers of Christ can, and should, be peacekeepers in cooperation with the Holy Spirit, who is the one who restrains the “man of lawlessness” (2 Thessalonians 2:6-8). Any effort we make will fall short without the involvement of the Spirit. But is it possible that we might not only be peacekeepers in the sense of limiting hostility (negative peace), or protecting the weak from the violence of the strong, but peacemakers who work towards all parties being in right relationship with the Prince of Peace and each other (positive peace)? The family of God.

Where does it start? As a clip from McFarland USA states, “How you going to be family if you not eating together?” It might be hard, but sit down, share a meal, and learn how to be family…it’s worth it.

As we work for peace and true reconciliation, we reveal the heart of our Heavenly Father.

---

[1] Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy: Rediscovering Our Hidden Life In God. (New York: HarperCollins, 1998), 118.

[2] John Stott, The Message of the Sermon on the Mount, The Bible Speaks Today Series, (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 1985),(Kindle Locations 771-772), Kindle Edition.

[3] Ephesians 1:3-4

[4] Ephesians 2:13-17

[5] Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading. Bible & Liberation. (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 2000), 136.

[6] R. Kent Hughes, The Sermon on the Mount: The Message of the Kingdom (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books, 2001), 62.

[7] D.A. Carson, The Expositor's Bible Commentary (Matthew--Luke). edited by Frank E. Gaebelein, Vol. 8. (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1984),135.

[8] D. A. Carson, Jesus' Sermon on the Mount and His Confrontation with the World: An Exposition of Matthew 5-10. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1999), 28.

[9] Robert Jamieson, Robert, A. R. Fausset, and David Brown. A Commentary, Critical and Explanatory, on the Whole Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1989), 28.

[10] Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

What is "Affective Spirituality" anyway?

Photo by Emmanuel Phaeton on Unsplash

In the DMIN program that I previously directed, our various cohorts generally present an affective or heart-based approach to Christian Formation and Discipleship. Many people have had questions about this thing called "affective spirituality." 

No, we didn't spell it wrong. And despite Grammarly constantly flagging the word and suggesting "effective," we use this word intentionally. Let me explain why this is.

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Western Christianity, taking seriously the mission of God, often focuses on effectiveness, measuring what we have accomplished quantitatively, asking questions such as — How many? How much? How long? Who best?

Yet the heart of God (manifested in Christ, revealed through the Word by the Spirit), from which his mission flows outward, is not centered on mere outward effectiveness or numerical expediency. Quite often, his plan is advanced counterintuitively. And refreshingly, in the Kingdom of Heaven, the end doesn’t justify the means.

Photo by Warren Wong
 on Unsplash

Contrary to conventional wisdom, God extends his redemptive mission using the most unlikely methods and unworthy messengers. He consistently chooses the youngest, the poorest, the exiled, and the culturally powerless. God delights to make his case through the humbled and transformed hearts of those whom the world might have labeled, marginalized, and dismissed as adulteresses (Tamar, Rahab, the Samaritan woman at the well), scandalized (Ruth, David, Mary Magdalene), "just women" (the first witnesses of Jesus' resurrection), as ignorant fishermen (several disciples), scoundrels (Jacob), even cheats and economic oppressors (Matthew/Levi). The Lord also transformed some of his most hostile enemies into great defenders of the faith (Naaman the Syrian, Nebuchadnezzar, and Saul of Tarsus), and he still does the same thing today. 

Our Triune God is more concerned about transforming our hearts by pouring his love into us by the Spirit (Rom. 5:5) than about how eloquent our sermon is, how much money we raise, or how many friends and followers we might have. Without what are our efforts ultimately judged to be ineffective, and our very person found to be empty?

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. (1 Cor. 13:1-3)

The critique of our form of Christianity is not that we should do less, but that we should respond to his love more relationally than ever before. This critique is also found in the Book of Revelation, as Jesus wrote (via John) to the Ephesian church — a church committed to missional effectiveness and Stoic endurance in the face of opposition. Yet they failed to notice that they had missed something along the way.

“‘I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance, and how you cannot bear with those who are evil, but have tested those who call themselves apostles and are not, and found them to be false. I know you are enduring patiently and bearing up for my name's sake, and you have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first. If not, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place, unless you repent. Yet this you have: you hate the works of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. (Rev. 2:2-7 ESV, emphasis mine)

In the process of attempting to fulfill the Great Commission (Matt. 28:19-20), we can put it before the Great Commandment (Matt. 22:36-40). Our efforts at discipleship can become externally focused through sin-management initiatives in hopes that it will eventually be smuggled inside our hearts, instead of internal transformation in response to God's love that naturally works its way outward in our lives, changing everything in its path. For Jesus said, 
     “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: 
             just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. 
  By this all people will know that you are my disciples, 
                                                  if you have        love for one another.” (John 13:34-35) 

Our love testifies clearly to whom or what we serve.

What do you mean by Affective Theology?

In the remainder of this article, Dr. Ron Frost offers an answer to the questions about affective theology, or as he prefers to call it, “affective spirituality,” which was originally posted on Dr. Frost's Spreading Goodness blog.

He writes…

“What do you mean by ‘affective theology?’ I’d never heard of it before I met you.”

It’s a fair question. I first found the label in Heiko Oberman’s The Dawn of the Reformation, where he wrote of fourteenth-century Christians whose “suspicion of speculation” led them away from prior theological streams. They preferred “an affective theology in its place’’ that, while not being anti-intellectual, was more heart-based. It reflected Franciscan reforms and “a new longing for a comprehensive system of thought” (pp. 7-8). Older traditions were broken: reform was needed. Oberman viewed this impulse as a continuing element in later reforms.

In taking up this reform, I also prefer the term “spirituality” rather than the more generic “theology” because the former underscores the Spirit’s role in the Spirit-to-spirit bond of regeneration. And the church today still needs a more comprehensive system of thought that receives the Bible as the guiding Christian resource for sound faith and practice.

Affective Spirituality has three prominent features. A simple Biblicism for one. In John chapter eight, Jesus called on those who are “truly my disciples” to “abide in my word” by embracing the truth he offers to a capsized world. Second is the recognition that hearts, rather than the human will or volition, explain every action. This dismisses the Greek-Stoic anthropology that makes autonomous choice—the “free will”—a basis for human identity. Third, the reality of God’s Triune relational existence is central: we have been born of the Father, Son, and Spirit, who pours out his inherent love “in our hearts” by the Spirit. So that a transforming love for God and neighbor is active in all who know him.

Let me touch on each of these very briefly.

Photo by Allen Taylor on Unsplash

First, the Bible comes to us as God’s gift of self-disclosure. And our hearts must respond to him for faith to exist. I’ll offer my own story to illustrate this. I grew up in a Christian home with sound church training. But it was simply moral and creedal content, and that didn’t move me. By the time I reached my middle teen years, I was ready to leave it all behind. Yet at the same time, I wanted to hear from God! So I finally tried reading the Bible despite my skepticism. Then, in reading the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7), the text came alive! I met Jesus there as a living voice speaking through the written words.

While conversion through immediate Bible reading isn’t normative, it is suggestive. Faith comes by hearing words about Christ, yet the same words can be barren for one reader and lively for another. And if we presume God—whose Spirit awakens the soul to “hear” the Scriptures in a life-giving way—isn’t being arbitrary, we’re left to locate the problem in “hard” and skeptical human hearts. And addressing that is another conversation!

Photo by Renee Fisher on Unsplash

Second, we need to recognize the heart as God’s locale for communing with us, where His Spirit lives after our conversion. But despite the huge weight of heart-focused references in the Bible, the default view of the soul in most churches is that love is an act of our will rather than a response of the heart.

Listen, for instance, to the unknown author of The Cloud of Unknowing—an influential fourteenth-century guide to spirituality: “Will is the faculty by which we choose good after it has been approved by reason, and by which we love God … and ultimately dwell in God” (Penguin, 138). It sounds lovely, but it’s not what the Bible actually teaches. The truth is that none of us seeks after God like that.

The Bible says the opposite: we only love God because he first loved us. So here’s a bold challenge: read the entire Bible through in just a few weeks and mark each reference to the heart and to the will. See where the real weight lands.

Third, we have the Trinity: God’s singular being with his three eternal distinctions. And his eternal loving communion is the basis for both creation and redemption. Yet we won’t have a sound grasp of these two actions if we haven’t explored the Bible’s Trinitarian roots.

In my own experience, it was the seventeenth-century Puritan Richard Sibbes who turned on the lights for me—his fascination with the Trinity as explained by the early Church Fathers and as applied in the relational insights of Reformers like Martin Luther and John Calvin was invaluable. Michael Reeve’s lively summary, Delighting in the Trinity—or, in the UK, The Good God—is a good starter for filling in this blind spot.

If we summarize the whole we have this: affective spirituality is a faith that arises in those who are assured by the Spirit’s personal witness to our hearts of God’s Scriptural promises: he loves us personally and he’s invested in transforming us into the likeness of the Son in order to share God’s love with us through all the ages to come. And as Jesus prayed in John 17, love among believers will show a skeptical world that God is alive and well.

Finally, if you aren’t there already, I encourage you to open your heart to Christ’s affective ambitions. He looks for those who have a heart like his own.

"Mourning Has Broken": Living in the Blessed Sorrow and Joy of Jesus

As pastors and Christian workers, have we given the kingdom values of Jesus (as expressed in Matt. 5) that are often quite counter-cultural to both our communities and congregations? 

My doctoral cohort in cross-cultural engagement intentionally took an entire course to consider how to apply Jesus' beatitudes to our lives and larger ministry contexts. Here is a brief consideration of just one such kingdom value— mourning.

This post was originally an assigned response to “Blessed are those who mourn”—not those who are spiritually comfortable by Paul Louis Metzger.

Are you comfy?

The second beatitude, “Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted” continues Jesus’ highly counter-cultural teaching about the values of the kingdom of heaven. Unfortunately, this beatitude, according to Dr. Metzger, “often devolves in our present context to read, ‘Blessed are the comfortable, for they will never mourn.’ If we are honest, many of us—including me—are tempted to prize consumer comfort in the religious and secular domain over most anything.”

Cemetery on Mount of Olives
(Photo: Vikki Dueker)

So, what do we mourn as we follow Christ? Let me suggest at least four areas of mourning that might apply. We mourn...

• Human suffering and loss are being experienced personally and within our community.
• Sin—both our own sin and the sins of others. We are sorry to have been faithless in our relationship with God.
• How our own sin has impacted the lives of others at every level.
• Societal and systemic injustices in the world will grieve us deeply as we enter into the suffering of others.

These kinds of mourning are woven into the life of a disciple of Jesus. In fact, we are used to going to our own funerals. It is not like we are trying to be Tom Sawyer and attend our own funeral in order to hear what people say about us, but rather in order to say something about our Savior. Let me explain…

We die once in baptism. Baptism is like a funeral service for our "old nature," which died with Christ on the cross, and now in the sacrament of baptism, we are holding the funeral service as the "old nature" goes down into the water, symbolizing our burial with Christ (Romans 6:3-4; Colossians 2:11-15). In baptism, we are declaring that we are dead to sin and alive to Christ.  We are making public our decision to submit to Christ and to leave behind the sinful things of the past.  We are saying that we have determined that, because of Christ's work on the cross, we will no longer allow sin to reign over us but instead will submit our lives to Christ, actively living for him.

We die daily…as Jesus' followers in many different ways as we consider ourselves dead to sin and alive to God (Romans 6:11; 1 Cor 15:31). We "overcome" by living a crucified life, not by living a comfortable and self-confident life.

We enter into the heart of mourning, the emotional suffering of Christ, for lost and hurting people. Each time the world rejects the love of Christ offered through us, we mourn for their sake, for their loss. They may even celebrate when our lives and ministries are ended [I am reminded of the passage in Revelation 11 where the world celebrates the death of the two witnesses], but even as we mourn their missed opportunities we trust the loving plan of God, and it is there that we find lasting comfort (2 Cor. 1:5).

Jesus the Messiah was "a man of sorrows" (Isaiah 53:3), for he saw the human condition more completely than anyone else ever has. Yet, he is also described as one anointed with "the oil of gladness" more than all his brothers (Psalm 45:7; Hebrews 1:9). How can this be? It is possible because he was in perfect union with his Heavenly Father. Those early morning conversations he had alone with the Father, and filled with the Holy Spirit, charged him with joy unspeakable which spilled over into unmatched gladness.

Just as Jesus could reverse the normal flow of uncleanness, touching even the lepers and healing them, so too he could touch the world, dwelling in our midst, and mourn over our stubborn blindness, our pain, and even death itself, without becoming morose. His pervasive good humor and full humanity reverse the flow and bring healing and comfort to those who mourn—even today. His very message is one of gladness (Isaiah 61:3) to those who mourn. 

Our own comfort, true comfort, is not found in avoiding the suffering and grief-filled world, but in joining Jesus as he engages with it. As Dr. Metzger noted in his original post, “The rest Jesus promises is the rest of sharing in his burden, carrying his yoke. It is indeed rest, for when Christ is Lord in their place, he bears the brunt of the burden (See Matthew 11:28-30).”

Photo: Greg Dueker

If I may finish by borrowing a metaphor or two, there are times when mourning seems to break forth in overwhelming waves—a tsunami of sorrow—that seem to turn our respective worlds upside-down. Yet, in the very midst of grief, when we come to the end of our own resources, we get a glimpse of eternity and see that in the suffering of Christ, mourning has broken. 

There is a morning after our mourning.

Hope for Tomorrow

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:3-4)

Spirituality in the Word

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The following post was originally published by Dr. Ron Frost on his A Spreading Goodness blog. It is reprinted here with his permission...

I’m reading and rereading books on Christian spirituality these days. It comes with my prepping to teach on the subject. With that as context, I’ll offer a brief reflection on two widely appreciated works that promote spiritual transformation.

One, Richard Foster’s Celebration of Discipline, lists disciplines under the headings of Inward, Outward, and Corporate. The second, the late Dallas Willard’s Spirit of the Disciplines, endorsed Foster but added his own emphasis on the human body as the proper focus of change. Willard saw the actions of Jesus—his nights of prayer and his long fast in the wilderness—as models for we should follow in bringing about life change.

The strength of both works is their shared call for real change: both insist that change starts with reformed behaviors. In their critique and invitation, they challenge habits of offering glittering doctrines and Christian principles that don’t really make a difference. Ideas that tickle ears and stir minds on a Sunday … but that don’t make a difference on Mondays … need to be replaced. Amen and amen!

Yet as much we can say a hearty amen to the goal of life-change, the means for getting there—human initiative—is more than suspect. We may cheer the old Nike slogan “Just do it” or the cute sketch by Bob Newhart, “Stop it!” But the reality of life is that pulling our bootstraps for all we’re worth will never get us airborne. And building a “discipline” to reshape our spiritual profile is always an effort in bootstrap pulling. It just doesn’t work. Not, at least, if the Bible is any measure.

The true key to spiritual transformation is the Spirit. He does any and all changing—both in the Old Testament and the New. And we change as we respond to his work in us.

This was a lesson lost on Nicodemus when he met with Jesus in John chapter three. The Pharisee leader was already “the teacher of Israel”—as Jesus labeled him—and would have been rich with the disciplines of the Pharisaical lifestyle, but he was still as dead spiritually as a forest is still when there isn’t a breeze to stir it. He needed a work “from above” and not more effort from below. Faith is always a response and not a responsibility: with Christ’s words and works in focus rather than our duties and efforts.

Photo by Mark Eder 
on Unsplash

Here’s why I grieve in reading the overlapped discipline lists in the books I mentioned. They promise ladders that lead to heaven—with the disciplines of abstinence and engagement as rungs along the way. So that solitude, fasting, frugality, study, service, confession, prayer—and more—promise to bring us ever closer to union with God. But the ladders never reach heaven.

The approach, in other words, ignores the guidance Jesus and his Apostles offer in the Bible. And it misses the true transforming power: “God’s love has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Ro. 5:5). Paul, for one, spoke of this love as the one effective motivation in ministry in 2 Corinthians 5:14— “For the love of Christ controls us.…”

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The starting point for true spirituality is always from above, birthed in God’s paternity. Jesus made this clear to some erstwhile believers who in the end tried to kill him (in John 8:30-59): “If God were your Father, you would love me, for I came from God and I am here.” And the first indicator of life-change is a bold appetite for Jesus and his words. Self-driven faith, on the other hand, reduces him to a sidebar. Why? “It is because you cannot bear to hear my word” (8:43).

Jesus was all about spiritual transformation but he had his own way of doing it: always from the inside out. He starts with hearts. The so-called Rich Young Man in Mark 10:17-22 was a ladder-climbing genius but when Jesus asked him to come and be with him the man balked. The real pathos in the text is in verse 21: “And Jesus, looking at him, loved him…”

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The Bible is a love story. Jesus uses the metaphor of a branch-and-vine bond (John 15) to describe the basis for true spiritual formation—Jesus calls it “fruit”—by calling for us to share his life: “Abide in me and I in you.” And with this, we are to let “my words abide in you” and, collectively: “Abide in my love.”

So, if we need a counter analogy to this love story, consider a loveless marriage. Where the partners have lost their first love and are now driven by duties—by the “disciplines of marriage.” I’m a lifelong bachelor and even I know the answer to this notion: “Go find a marriage counselor, quick!”

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Let’s take up, instead, the pursuit of Jesus, who loves us and gave up his life for us. His heart is a transforming center that brings the sort of joy and peace only a living relationship offers.