Lent 24 post 12

 Isaiah 25.1-9

Isn’t it a relief, after the gloomy readings of the last two days, to come to Isaiah 25.8 and join in the praise of verses 1 and 9? And it would be even more of a relief if you had just read Isaiah 24 (have a glance). For there, the prophet portrays God’s future judgment on the whole earth as like a single city suffering total destruction. But in the midst of God’s shattering cosmic judgment, he will protect and save his own people and his own city, symbolised as Mount Zion (24.23). That is what today’s reading celebrates in advance.

Salvation in the midst of judgment

There are two reasons for celebration, that God has defeated and destroyed his enemies (.2-3), and that God has been a refuge for the poor and needy among his own people (.4-5). Isaiah uses two vivid images of urgent danger drawn from his own world. A torrential thunderstorm and flash flood could sweep you and your house away (remember Jesus' story, Matthew 7.26-27?), and relentless desert sun could desiccate you to death. You need protection from both, and God provides it. The world will be judged, the Lord’s own people will be safe.

In Israel’s world, when a new king was crowned, or had won some notable victory, he would throw a great party for his people. He would provide food and drink in abundance, and the festivities would last a long time. Put yourself among Isaiah’s listeners, who could well remember such a royal party. And the food! A king could be generous. The Lord God will be no less so. Imagine the best feast of richest food and finest wine you could ever enjoy. What God has in store will go way beyond your imagination (.6).

A feast for all

But this divine banquet stretches our imagination even further. Can you see the paradox between it’s very particular location (‘on this mountain’), and the universal size of the invitation list (‘for all peoples')? Mount Zion was the heartbeat of Old Testament Israel. But the feast God would provide would be not for Israel alone, but for all peoples and all nations. Isn’t that what God promised Abraham (Genesis 12.3)? God’s blessing through Israel will extend to the ends of the earth. That is God’s mission, and God invites all nations to the party.

But, in another sense, it would be literally at Mount Zion, in Jerusalem (or rather just outside its walls), that God would accomplish the ultimate victory on the cross of Christ. For, as Paul famously said, ‘the last enemy to be destroyed is death' (q Corinthians 15.26). And that is the most wonderful of all the ‘wonderful things' that God ‘planned long ago' (.1). For, after all, what would be the point of enjoying a banquet even with God as chef and host if, as Ecclesiastes won’t let us forget, death will be the final course? The whole human race can swallow all the food and drink God provides, but in the end death swallows us, doesn’t it? That’s our universal destiny. But not for ever! says God.

The swallower swallowed 

In the world around Israel, some cultures were obsessed with death and what lay beyond it. In Egypt, pharaohs would spend their lives and treasure preparing for their afterlife in the world of the dead, an obsession that gave us the pyramids to wonder at. God gave Israel a far, far better revelation to wonder at. Israelites believed from an early stage that their God Yahweh had power over both life and death. Ask Hannah (1 Samuel 2.6). But they could not avoid Ecclesiastes dark realism that death eventually swallows everybody and everything. And they knew why, God’s universal curse and verdict since Genesis 3. Only occasionally did they catch a glimpse of a resurrection hope that lay ahead. (Isaiah 26.19, Daniel 12.2-3, 13.)

So Isaiah 25.8 is an astonishing outburst of assurance. It’s not just that God can deliver us from death. It’s not just that God can give us a future beyond death (not that Israel speculated much about that). No, God is going to destroy death itself. That monster that swallows everything? God himself will swallow it up for ever! And when death is no more, then God will set about wiping away all the sorrow it has ever caused. The cosmic Lord of heaven, the Judge of all the earth, stooping to dry the tears on all the cheeks of all the faces. What greatness!

Lent 24 post 11

 Psalm 88

As if the Teacher wasn’t depressing enough yesterday, here I go again, dampening the blog with possibly the most dark and dreary chapter in the Bible. Why? Because we need to grapple with realities. Lent is the time for preparing for Easter, the greatest reality in history, in which God defeated what we might call the greatest ‘anti-reality' in history, death.

Living death?

Like Ecclesiastes, Heman the Ezrahite who wrote this song (if it can be called that) is brutally honest about the reality of what he’s going through. It feels to him like a living death. For death is not just something that happens when you die, is it? There are experiences in life that are deathly in a wider sense. Things that suck the life out of you. Things that crush all the joy of living. Things that make you feel you might as well be dead.

Like depression, for instance. I mean the clinical illness of depression (not just occasionally feeling a bit down in the dumps). And that might be the case for you. I don’t know,  of course, but many of us have a friend or a family member suffering from depression. They tell me that, in its worst depths, depression turns life itself to dust. They say that the lowest pit and the lonely darkness of Psalm 88.6 & 18 tell it like it is for them. This psalm speaks to them and for them. 

‘Darkness is my closest friend’

Psalm 88’s closing words blew me away. Here is no hope,  there seems no faith. It is almost blasphemous, God is meant to be so good that he is our utterly dependable friend. But to claim that ‘darkness is my closest friend’ is to appear to reject God. At the very least, it illustrates a lost confidence in him.

So here is the final paradox. Heman the Ezrahite expresses in prayer to God what it feels like to have no God at all. He prays in despair and because of his despair. Even though that seems like the last thing one should do if there is no God at work. So, to my mind, Psalm 88 is unexpectedly one of the Bible’s most liberating chapters. 

(Mark Meynell, When Darkness Seems My Closest Friend,  p37)

Liberating?

Really? Yes, because of the sheer amazement that such a psalm should be in our Bible at all, that God would allow it to be there. The psalmist knows that God does hear his cry from the depths, even if a big part of his pain is that it feels as if God isn’t listening. And in his opening line, the psalmist still trusts in God’s salvation, even in his desperation and longing and waiting. The emotions are raw and real, he feels close to the pit of death (.1-6), he feels guilty and under God’s wrath (.7, 16), he wants to praise God for his wonders, love, faithfulness and righteous acts, but there’ll not be much chance of doing that in the grave (.10-12), he feels utterly rejected in spite of daily prayer (.13-14), and this seems the story of his whole life (.15-18). Is it not liberating to know that the Bible itself gives you freedom to talk that way, to give voice to such terrible words, if it’s the honest truth about how you feel?

On the lips of Jesus?

I wonder if it’s liberating in another way also. Can we imagine a psalm like this giving expression to the depth of suffering that Jesus endured for us, as he went through the agony of facing death and separation from his Father? We know for certain that Psalm 22 expressed his suffering, since he quoted it. And probably Psalm 69 would have had deep meaning for him too. Try reading Psalm 88 again through the mind and lips of Jesus, and thank God that, if the psalm now or ever expresses your own experience, Jesus has been there too, and has won the victory over such life-invading deathliness.

Lent 24 post 10

 Aren’t you glad, after today’s depressing reading, that Lent will end in the glory of Easter Day? Don’t you wish that you could share yesterday’s reading, and John Stott's reflections, with the writer of Ecclesiastes, just to cheer him up? Nevertheless, even if the resurrection is the ultimate answer (which he could not yet know), we must still let him challenge us with the ruthless honesty of his questions. Our culture tends to avoid thinking or talking about death. Ecclesiastes won’t let us get away with that, so neither will I!

The big question 

The whole book of Ecclesiastes is a journey, a quest, by someone called Qoheleth (‘the Teacher’, NIV), to see if he can find an answer to ‘the meaning of life, the universe and everything’. Basically, here is the controlling question he asks, ‘What do we gain from all the work we have to do in life?’ (1.3 & 3.9). And, since work is an essential part of the way God created us to live, his question boils down to, ‘What’s the point of life itself?’ Does it have any ultimate meaning? Well, how would you answer him?

The big gift

Now the Teacher knows that life itself is good. In fact, he says so empathetically no fewer than seven times in this book.  (2.24-25, 3.12-13, 3.22, 5.18-20, 8.15, 9.7-10, 11.7-9) When he says ‘there is nothing better’ for people than to enjoy the blessings of everyday life (work, sex, marriage, food and drink), he is not being cynical or hedonistic. He means it. These are good gifts from the God of Genesis 1-2, who declared his whole creation good, very good indeed. (3.12-13) And the Teacher has himself explored all of those good things of life, in abundance. But even when you add all these things together, do such things, good as they are, hold the key to the meaning of life itself? No. An awful lot of life and work seems futile, fickle and transient, actually pretty meaningless (his favourite word) when you stop to think about it (and he has done, very hard, just skim through 2.12-23).

The big joke?

And the most meaningless thing about life is, death. Maybe you’ve heard the grim saying, or seen the graffiti, ‘Life sucks. Then you die.’ That gets (most of) Ecclesiastes down to five words. I can see the Teacher sadly nodding his head. Or, as Marilyn Duckworth put it (beloved, I've read, of medical professionals), ‘Life is a sexually transmitted terminal disease’ (Disorderly Conduct, p160).

The Teacher keeps coming back to the baffling, inexplicable mockery that death seems to make of life. Of course, it’s better to be wise than foolish. But when you’re dead, will it matter (2.13-14)? Of course, it’s better to be a human than an animal, but we’ll all end up just as dead (3.19-20). Of course, we ought to be good and religious, but can we be sure our destiny will be any different from those who aren’t (9.1-3)? Of course, you may protest, it is better at least to be alive than dead. Sure, but only because while you’re alive you know you’re going to die, whereas the dead know nothing at all (9.4-5). Death makes a macabre joke out of everything we have lived for. We’re leaving the table. We’re out of the game (9.6).

The big tension 

It’s relentless. It’s poignant. It’s disturbing. But above all, it’s honest. Honest, that is as far as the Teacher could see. For what he is describing is the reality of our Genesis 3 world, the world where God told us that death would be the effect of our sin, life would become toil and sweat, and dust would be our destiny. The Teacher forces us to look that world full in the face, even while he holds on, with great effort, to the truth he knows from Genesis 1-2. That is the unresolved tension of the whole book. Life is good. Death is ghastly.

But it is this very tension that drives us to the cross and resurrection of Christ. If only the Teacher could have known what we know! It would not change the miserable facts about death itself. But it assures us that death is not the end. Death is no joke. But death will not have the last laugh.

Lent 24 John Stott quote 3

 But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith. More than that, we are then found to be false witnesses about God, for we have testified about God that he raised Christ from the dead. But he did not raise him if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile, you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost. If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are of all people most to the pitied.

But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the renewal dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. But each in turn, Christ, the firstfruits, then, when he comes, those who belong to him. Then the end will come, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.

‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’

‘Where, O death, is your victory?

Where, O death, is your sting?’

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labour in the Lord is not in vain.

(1 Cor. 15.12-26, 54-58)

Through Christ we are no longer under the tyranny of death. . . Jesus Christ is able to set free even those who all their lives have been ‘held in slavery by their fear of death'.

This because by his own death he has ‘destroyed' (deprived of power) ‘him who holds the power of death, that is, the devil'

(Heb. 2.14)

Jesus Christ has not only dethroned the devil, but dealt with sin. In fact, it is by dealing with sin that he has dealt with death. For sin is the ‘sting' of death, the main reason why death is painful and poisonous. It is sin which causes death, and which after death will bring the judgment. Hence our fear of it. But Christ has died for our sins and taken them away. With great disdain, therefore, Paul likens death to a scorpion who’s sting has been drawn, and to a military conqueror whose power has been broken. Now that we are forgiven, death can harm us no longer. So the apostle shouts defiantly, ‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’ There is of course no reply. So, he shouts again, this time in triumph, not disdain, ‘Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ' (1Cor. 15.55-57). 

What, then, should be the Christian's attitude to death? It is still an enemy, unnatural, unpleasant, undignified, in fact ‘the last enemy to be destroyed'. Yet, it is a defeated enemy. Because Christ has taken away our sins, death has lost its power to harm and therefore to terrify. Jesus summed it up in one of his greatest affirmations, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies, and whoever lives and believe in me will never die' (1Cor. 15.26, Jn 11.25-26). That is, Jesus is the resurrection of believers who die, and the life of believers who live. His promise to the former is ‘you will live', meaning not just that you will survive, but that you will be resurrected. His promise to the latter is ‘you will never die', meaning not that you will escape death, but that death will prove to be a trivial episode, a transition to fullness of life.

This is the victory of Christ into which he allows us to enter.

John Stott, The Cross of Christ, p283-286

Lent 24 post 9

 Revelation 18.1-3, 18.20-19.9

The war drags on

On D-Day, 6 June 1944, with the Allied invasion of Normandy, the decisive victory of the Second World War began. And by September that year, they had coined the term ‘VE Day', ‘Victory in Europe’ was assured and eagerly anticipated. But the war went on for eleven more months of bloody fighting, and VE Day did not actually arrive until 8 May 1945.

In the three years of Jesus’ earthly ministry, and supremely at the cross, God in Christ won the decisive victory over all the forces of evil. But the end of the cosmic war lies ahead of us still assured and eagerly anticipated, even in the midst of the suffering and persecution and battles that God’s people endure in this interim period between the first Easter and the Lord’s return. 

Throughout this week, I hope you have spotted that we traced the story of God’s defeat of evil from Genesis to Revelation, from the serpent’s injection of evil into human life and history and God’s promise that the serpent itself would be crushed (Genesis 3), right through to the rejoicing of all creation in God’s victory (Revelation 19). What a story! What a plot! What a climactic ending (and new beginning too)!

‘Rejoice, you people of God!’ (Revelation 18.20)

Just as the Song of Moses and Miriam celebrated the downfall of the Pharaoh, so Revelation 19 answers the threefold call of 18.20 to rejoice over the downfall of Babylon. Now you’ll be aware, I’m sure, that in the Old Testament Babylon was an actual city, the centre of an empire that rose to power under Nebuchadnazzer and ruled the Middle East for about seventy years, in the days of Jeremiah and Ezekiel, roughly from 605 to 538 BC. But ‘Babylon’ then became a symbolic word, a code name for all the evil and tyrannical regimes, ancient and modern, that have blighted, exploited and destroyed countless human lives throughout history. And it is in that sense that Revelation condemns ‘Babylon’. Of course, John’s readers in his day would have had no difficulty recognising the Roman Empire in his portrayal. But the evils he describes in chapter 18 (read the whole chapter) could apply to many a regime that has perpetrated social, political and economic injustice and oppression, along with the vicious persecution of God’s people. 

‘Fallen is Babylon the Great!’

Indeed, Babylon by this stage of the book of Revelation has come to stand for the whole world of human and satanic rebellion ranged against God and God’s people, arrogant, boastful, voraciously greedy, devouring and destructive of human life and created resources. 

But not for ever! God will bring her down, and her destruction will be decisive, permanent, eternal (did you spot the repeated ‘never again’ of 18.21-24?). Maybe you find the language of these chapters too graphic and brutal. But remember that God’s final judgment is part of the biblical gospel. It is good news that God will not let evil have the last word. He promised to crush the serpent’s head. He triumphed over evil powers at the cross. And he will ultimately defeat and destroy Satan’s whole regime and all that goes with it. God is the Judge of all the earth who will do what is right (Genesis 18.25, Revelation 18.8, 20, 19.1). God will put all things right before he makes all things new (21.5).

Let the party begin!

And so the hallelujahs ring out in chapter 19, to usher in the greatest party of all time, the wedding feast of the Lamb (19.7-8). Christ will be united with his bride, and she herself will be utterly cleansed, pure and holy, gorgeously beautiful (21.2) and eternally safe.

That’s us, by the way. We’re all invited (19.9). Don’t you just love how God ends this vast epic narrative that we call our Bible in this way? The lover gets his girl. The bridegroom embraces his bride. All the rivals and villains are ousted. God makes his new home with his people (21.3). And (in a way that will be no fairy tale but gloriously true) ‘they all lived happily ever after’.

Lent 24 post 8

 Ephesians 6.10-17

‘The Lord is a warrior'

Do you remember that line from Tuesday’s blog on the Song of Moses and Miriam (Exodus 15.3)? We may not relish the military imagery, but it’s the spiritual truth that counts. Through the whole Bible, God is engaged in a mighty cosmic battle against the powers of evil, spiritual and human. So the metaphor of God himself as a warrior comes naturally, a warrior fighting to overcome evil and defeat all that opposes his good and loving purposes for creation and human life.

And, like a human soldier, God clothes himself with the right equipment. You’ve probably heard preachers say that Paul draws his picture of the armour of God from the Roman soldier he might have been chained to in prison. Very possibly. But, actually, most of the meanings Paul gives to each piece come from the Old Testament, his Scriptures. And they describe either God himself or the coming Messiah.

So, you see, when Paul says ‘the full armour of God', he doesn’t just mean bits of equipment that God hands out like army kit. No, this is what God himself wears! We fight under the protection of the character and attributes of God himself, for he is the God of truth, righteousness, peace, faithfulness, salvation and Spirit-inspired word. And that’s what we need (or rather, who we need), to stand firm in the battle.

‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’

That’s what people used to say to one another in Britain during the Second World War, apparently, if somebody was complaining or shirking their duties or just talking too loosely. When there’s a war on, everybody needs to be watchful and prepared to put up with hardships and suffering.

Maybe Paul is saying that to the Ephesians, ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ Except that in this war, none of us is a civilian. We are all soldiers on active duty because the whole church is on the front line of God’s cosmic battle. And the enemies of God and the church are legion. Now, of course, Paul suffered at the hands of ‘flesh-and-blood’ human opponents, as the church still does today. But Paul knew that the struggle goes on at a higher level altogether, with his comprehensive list of ‘the spiritual forces of evil'. They are a defeated enemy (as we saw yesterday), but they still fight venomously with ‘flaming arrows' against God and his people.

The full armour of God 

The complete picture portrays aspects of God himself, of God’s Messiah and of the gospel. What greater protection do you need? There isn’t any! The references show what scriptures Paul may have got his ideas from. (They’re worth a quick look.)

The belt of truth. (Isaiah 11.5, the Messiah wears a belt of righteousness, but the whole context speaks of his mission of true judgment and governance) The truth of the gospel holds everything together in Christian life and warfare.

The breastplate of righteousness. (Isaiah 59.17) Paul may be thinking of the saving righteous acts of God (its frequent meaning in the Old Testament), or the righteousness in which we stand through faith in Christ. But there is spiritual protection also in the righteous integrity of life that Paul calls for (4.24, 5.8-9). Living right makes the devil’s work harder.

The shoes of the gospel of peace. (Isaiah 52.7) There’s nothing ‘beautiful' about feet, until they are wearing the running shoes of the messengers of the good news of God’s peace for those who need to hear it (as Paul quotes in Romans 10.14-15).

The shield of faith. (Psalm 18.35, 28.7 etc) The psalmists put their faith in God, to be their shield against all kinds of nasty attacks. So too can we.

The helmet of salvation. (Isaiah 59.17) ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?’ (Psalm 27.1). Enough said.

The sword of the Spirit, the word of God. (Isaiah 11.4b, 49.2) Jesus used the Scriptures to resist the temptations of the devil. And so can we. Fight back!

Lent 24 post 7

 Colossians 2.6-15

Were you,  with the crowd,  amazed yesterday, as Jesus, by the finger of God, liberated one tongue and one pair of eyes belonging to one man afflicted by one evil spirit? (I hope we never lose our sense of astonishment at familiar Gospel stories.) But there are much larger communities of people afflicted by much wider forces of evil.

Captivity of the mind

Whole cultures can be victims of a captivity of the mind and imagination. Hostile spiritual powers corrupt and infiltrated the social fabric of human life, including political structures and authorities, ideologies, world views, even the way people habitually think and act as ‘normal’. 

Things that are in themselves part of God’s good creation, such as our diverse ethnicities and cultures, our sexuality, food and drink, economic activity in the workplace, all of these can be corrupted into idolatries, pervaded by subtle powers of evil. 

You’d think, wouldn’t you, that Christians should be immune to all that. Haven’t we turned from idols to the living God? Haven’t we renounced the evil one and all his ways? Well, yes. But we can so easily be sucked back into the world’s mindset by the sheer pressure of the culture around us (remember Romans 12.1–2). Or even by religious rules that sound so spiritual, but end up suffocating the life out of us. We don’t exhibit any of the Hollywood movie caricatures of ‘demon possession’. But powers of evil that have colonized the world around us shape the way we think. 

Stay free! 

Paul wants the believers in Colossae to be free from all such bondage. He warns them not to get ‘taken captive’ by deceptively plausible ideas that are merely human, worldly and idolatrous (.8). In Paul’s world, that would have included the cultural seduction of Roman power and civilization, and the religious attraction of forms of Judaism that had not accepted Jesus as Messiah. What do you think might fit that description in the world around us these days? 

So how does Paul fight back against such powerful forces? He confronts them with the cross! And he reminds the Colossians of the victory God accomplished there. 

From death to life (.12–13a) 

Paul sees baptism as a symbol of how we share Christ’s death and resurrection. His story is our story. The first half of verse 13 describes the Gentile Colossians (‘you’) from a Jewish point of view, ‘dead in sins . . . and uncircumcision’. Paul expands that vividly in Ephesians 2.11–12. But, like the Prodigal Son, God has brought the dead to life, as alive as Christ himself is. 

From sin to forgiveness (.13b–14) 

But death is the penalty for sin (as we have known since the Garden of Eden). So, to give us life out of death, God must deal with sin. And he has, says Paul triumphantly! He has forgiven us (Paul knows that he and his fellow Jews are as much sinners in need of forgiveness as the Gentiles) all our sins. How? In a vivid metaphor, Paul sees our sin as a massive debt. But God chooses to cancel this debt and nail the accusing document to the cross itself. Which means that God, in Christ, chose to pay the debt himself; the cross was the cost to God of our forgiveness. 

From captivity to freedom (.15) 

But sin and death were not the only powers that God dealt with at the cross. All ‘powers and authorities’ that deceive and enslave, whether working through political and economic structures, or religious systems, or spiritual idolatries, or human ideologies and rules (as in .8 and .16–23), have been exposed and disarmed at the cross. Christ’s apparent defeat was the place of his glorious triumph. And by his victory we are set free. 

Anyone looking at the cross of Jesus with a normal understanding of the first-century world would think: the rulers and authorities stripped him naked and celebrated a public triumph over him. That’s what they normally did to such people. 

Now blink, rub your eyes and read verse 15 again. On the cross, Paul declares, God was stripping the armour off the rulers and authorities! Yes: he was holding them up to public contempt! God was celebrating his triumph over the principalities and powers, the very powers that thought it was the other way round. Paul never gets tired of relishing the glorious paradox of the cross: God’s weakness overcoming human strength. (Tom Wright, Paul for Everyone: The Prison Letters, p. 170–171)

Lent 24 post 6

Luke 11.14-22

‘The Lord reigns!’

That was the closing message of yesterday’s reading, and it is the resounding message of today’s. Yesterday it was the climax of the power encounter between the living God and an arrogant despot. Today, it is an episode in the climax of the battle between the Son of God and Satan.

I wonder what comes to your mind when you hear the phrase ‘the kingdom of God’? Perhaps a mixture of the parables of Jesus? Or an impression of heaven? In the Gospels, however, a key element is spiritual conflict, a cosmic battle. When God comes to reign, evil powers fight back, but are decisively defeated. Jesus may well have had the exodus story in mind as the classic scriptural case of God’s victory over evil when he said, ‘If I drive out demons by the finger of God, then the kingdom of God has come upon you.’ For that is what even the Pharaoh’s magicians recognised, as the God of the Hebrews struck Egypt again and again. ‘This is the finger of God,’ they exclaimed (Exodus 8.19)!

Startling proof

And most of the crowd on this occasion thought the same thing. They were ‘amazed’ (.14). Well, there’s an understatement, don’t you think? Here is a man, afflicted by an evil spirit, who everybody knew could not speak, and Matthew tells us he was blind as well (Matthew 12.22). And Jesus drives out the spirit and liberates the man from his demonic prison of silence and darkness. ‘Jesus healed him, so that he could both talk and see,’ says Matthew. Astonished? Of course they were, the man’s unchained voice was audible proof of what Jesus had just done. He had overpowered and expelled the powers of evil. Who, then, could Jesus be? The promised Messiah, son of David? The one through whom God’s own reign would arrive?

Ridiculous resistance

But for some, that conclusion was threateningly unwelcome, so they came up with their own explanation. ‘You think he’s doing all this by the power of God? That’s fake news! Jesus is driving out demons by the power of the king of demons.’

Sorry, what?

Jesus brilliantly debunks the illogical stupidity of such ‘alternative facts’. And then he challenges the crowd with the only believable truth. If his power over evil spirits (which was undeniable, the healed man was jabbering away over there with all the excitement of his loosened tongue and shining eyes!) is clear evidence that God is at work (by his finger, Luke, or by his Spirit, Matthew), then there is only one conclusion. The kingdom of God has already come among and upon them. The battle is joined, and Jesus wins. ‘The reason the Son of God appeared,’ says John, ‘was to destroy the devil’s work’ (1 John 3.8).

‘Someone stronger’

And that is exactly what is going on here, and throughout Jesus’s earthly ministry. Jesus’s comparison is graphic and decisive. Verse 21 portrays Satan gloating over his prisoners. Verse 22 portrays Jesus in combat, attacking and overpowering, depriving Satan of both his power and his plunder.

Here is the ultimate cosmic war. Jesus and Satan stand toe to toe in battle. The miracles are an audiovisual that Satan’s cause is ultimately lost. He can do great damage, as any enemy can; but the die is cast. He will lose. The picture of the ‘stronger one’ alludes back to [what John the Baptist said in] 3.15–16. The stronger one is the promised Messiah who brings fire and the Spirit . . . Jesus’s work means that Satan is no longer in control of the palace.

(Darrell L. Bock, Luke, p. 211)

And on the cross, Jesus completed the victory that will ultimately expel Satan from God’s universe altogether.

Lent 24 post 5

 Exodus 15.1-18

Do you find it hard to read this Song of Moses and Miriam without a twinge of pity for the Egyptian charioteers? And what about those poor horses? Indeed, to get the sheer horror of it all, read 14.23-28.

So why am I inflicting this story, and this seemingly heartless triumphant song, on your blogpost today? Because the Bible will not allow us to underestimate the terrible weight of evil in the world, and its tragic consequences. For, let’s be clear, it was the defiant arrogance and incorrigible wickedness of their boss, the Pharaoh, that sent those elite troops and their horses to their watery destruction.

A classic case of evil

Before we stand in judgment on Exodus 15, we need to read Exodus 1 and 5, and see the reasons why the Pharaoh stood under God’s judgment. For a prolonged period, and with only a politically motivated and specious excuse, he had inflicted a reign of terror on an immigrant ethnic minority within his country. Doesn’t it all sound familiar and modern? The Hebrews were subjected to economic exploitation (slave labour), to social subversion and invasion of their family life, and eventually to state-sponsored genocide. And throughout the long chapters of the conflict between the Pharaoh and Israel’s God, he resists and rejects every effort and offer to change course, including from his own government advisors. He hardens his heart repeatedly, until God, as it were, accepts and accelerates his chosen path towards irreversible judgment. Feel sympathy if you like for doomed soldiers and horses, but the text shows none for the Pharaoh.

The Pharaoh is a kind of archetype of defiant human evil shaking its fist against God. And it is typical of such evil that, when God finally acts to defeat and destroy it, it drags down so much of human and creaturely life in its wake. The power and the cost of evil are frightening. So we can understand, then, why the defeat of murderous evil is such good news that it generates this exhilarating and grateful song? This is the relief and joy that evil has been defeated and those who were oppressed and threatened have been liberated. If you’d been an Israelite that morning after the terror and horror of the night before, would you have just quietly muttered, ‘Oh, that’s a bit of a relief'? (No, didn’t think so.)

Rejoicing but not gloating 

This song, then, is not gloating over the lives lost, but rejoicing in the lives saved. For as Ezekiel will later tell us, in the wake of God’s terrible judgment on his own people for their wickedness, ‘As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live. Turn! Turn from your evil ways! Why will you die, people of Israel?’ (Ezekiel 33.11). There is an ancient Jewish tradition that, as the sea returned and the Egyptian charioteers and horses drowned, the angels burst into song. But God rebuked them, saying, ‘The work of my hands is perishing, and do you sing?’ It was right for Moses and Miriam to celebrate deliverance, but God’s judgments bring tears, not joy, to God’s heart.

‘Deliver us from evil'

You could think of what happened in the sea in Exodus 14-15 as a ‘signal event', one of several actually in the Old Testament. That is, it is like a signpost pointing to something beyond and greater than itself, in which God acts both to defeat evil and to save people even in the midst of judgment What others could you put in that category? The flood (Noah's family), Sodom and Gomorrah (Lot’s family), the conquest of Canaan (Rahab's family), the destruction of Jerusalem and the exile (the remnant). All of these point forward, to show us that God will never allow evil to have the last word. He defeated it decisively at the cross, and will destroy it ultimately and totally from the new creation. The plotline of the whole Bible, really, is the defeat of evil by the living God, and the Pharaoh’s downfall is but one graphic episode in the story. 

‘For yours is the kingdom’

But the good news doesn’t stop with evil defeated. Moses and Miriam don’t only celebrate how wonderful it was to be liberated from past slavery. They look ahead to God’s future plans for his people (.13), and they recognise who really is king, and it isn’t the Pharaoh (.11, 18)! The mission of God and the reign of God. Those are the enduring messages of their song. And this is the first clear affirmation of the kingdom of God in the Bible. 

Lent 24 post 4

 Genesis 3.1-15

Last week, after Ash Wednesday, we focused each day on some aspect of the cross. But how and why did we ever reach that point? Where did it all start?

This week we go back to the very beginning of the story. Well, nearly the beginning, for, of course, the Bible story begins with God’s good creation and the part God intended for us to play within it. We were created to love God and one another and, as the the image of God, to steward and care for God’s creation. But instead, in the profound simplicity of today’s reading, we chose a different way, disastrously. We chose the path of evil and sin.

Did we fall or were we pushed?

Genesis 3 is usually called the story of ‘the fall'. But don’t you think that’s an inadequate word for what happened? I mean, we didn’t just accidentally slip and fall, did we? No, quite deliberately, we chose to distrust God’s goodness, we chose to disregard God’s warnings, we chose to disobey God’s instructions. ‘Rebellion’ would be a better word. Or, in the story’s own terms, we decided that we would choose for ourselves what constitutes ‘good and evil’, rather than trusting God to determine that for us. And what a mess we have made of the moral autonomy we grabbed. The first things it brought us were both fear in the presence of God and shame in the presence of one another. And a lot worse would follow in the coming chapters. 

But were we pushed? Well, the story shows we were tempted, but that’s not the same thing, is it? Eve’s conversation with the serpent shows her acquiescing to the serpent’s hints and suggestions, and not rebutting its straight denial of God’s warning. Neither she nor Adam was forced to disobey God. It was their freely chosen act.

The radical invasion of sin. 

In that one act, a mysterious force of evil found an entry point into human life and history. Sin invaded every dimension of the human person. Look how the simplicity of the story conceals great insights.

Spiritually, Eve trusting relationship with God is already fracturing. Mentally, she is using God-given powers (verse 6, rationality, aesthetic appreciation, desire for wisdom, all good things in themselves) in a direction that God had prohibited. Physically, she ‘took. . . and ate', actions within the created world. Relationally, she shared her sinful act with her husband (who was ‘with her', please note, gentlemen).

So sin totally infects the individual person. But when you read the next few chapters, it get much worse, doesn’t it? There are jealousy, anger and murder between brothers, boasting vengeance, corruption and violence throughout society, and the rampant arrogance of the human race. Evil and sin escalate, engulfing individuals, generations, nations creation itself. The Bible gives us a very radical diagnosis of human sin. Thankfully, God also gives us a Reconciler to deal with the scale of the problem. 

The mystery of evil

Genesis 3 does not, however, tell us ‘the origin of evil’ as such. In fact, I don’t think the Bible ever gives a straight answer to the question, ‘Where did evil come from?’ We are not told what the serpent was, why it was ‘more cunning’ or how it could talk. All we can say is that it just seems completely out of place, an intruder. Later, of course, the Bible does identify it with Satan. But in Genesis all we know is that the enticement of evil doesn’t come from God, or indeed from within humans themselves, originally. A mysterious evil presence and power is at work, lying, deceptive and clearly hostile to God. Where, what, why, how, all these are left unanswered. Presumably, God thinks, ‘That is something you don’t need to know.’

God’s plan is not to explain evil, but ultimately to overcome and destroy it. And that is why Genesis 3.15 is so important. God’s promise is that evil, embodied here in the serpent, will not have the last word, but will finally be crushed. That is such good news. A serpent-head-crusher will come! A human son of Eve. We rejoice to know that he has indeed come,  and won that victory for us. Truly, the gospel begins in Genesis. 

Lent 24 john stott quote 2

 The seventy-two returned with joy and said, ‘Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name.’ He replied, ‘I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. . . However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.’

Luke 10.17-20

The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil’s work.

1 John 3.8

How did God, through Christ, win the victory over (the devil)? The conquest is depicted in Scripture as unfolding in six stages, although the decisive defeat of Satan took place at the cross. 

Stage one is the conquest predicted. The first prediction was given by God himself in the Garden of Eden as part of his judgement on the serpent, ‘And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers, he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel ‘ (Gen. 3.15). We identify the woman’s seed as the Messiah, through whom God’s rule of righteousness will be established and the rule of evil eradicated. 

The second stage was the conquest begun in the ministry of Jesus. Recognising him as his future conqueror, Satan made many different attempts to get rid of him, for example,  through Herod’s murder of the Bethlehem children, through the wilderness temptations to avoid the way of the cross, (etc.) But Jesus was determined to fulfill what had been written of him. He announced that through him, God’s kingdom had come upon that very generation, and that his mighty works were visible evidence of it. We see his kingdom advancing and Satan’s retreating before it, as demons are dismissed, sicknesses are healed and disordered nature itself acknowledges its Lord.

The third and decisive stage (was) the conquest achieved,  at the cross. Three times, according to John, Jesus referred to, ‘the prince of this world’, adding that he was about to ‘come’ (i.e. to launch his last offensive), but would be ‘driven out’ and ‘condemned’ (Jn 12.31,14.30,16.11). He was evidently anticipating that at the time of his death the final contest would take place, in which the powers of darkness would be routed. It was by his death that he would ‘destroy him who holds the power of death, that is, the devil, ‘and so set his captives free' (Heb. 2.14-15). Perhaps the most important New Testament passage in which the victory of Christ is set forth is Colossians 2.13-15.

Fourthly, the resurrection was the conquest confirmed and announced. We are not to regard the cross as defeat and the resurrection as victory. Rather, the cross was the victory won, and the resurrection was victory endorsed, proclaimed and demonstrated. ‘It was impossible for death to keep its hold on him’, because death had already been defeated. The evil principalities and powers, which had been deprived of their weapons and their dignity at the cross, were in consequence put under his feet and made subject to him (Acts 2.24, Eph. 1.20-23, 1 Pet. 3.22).

Fifthly, the conquest is extended as the church goes out on its mission,  in the power of the Spirit, to preach Christ crucified as Lord, and to common people to repent and believe in him. In every true conversion there is a turning not only from sin to Christ, but ‘from darkness to light', ‘from the power of Satan to God’ and ‘from idols to serve the living and true God’, there is also a rescue ‘from the dominion of darkness.  . . into the kingdom of the Son God loves' (Acts 26.18, 1 Thess 1.9, Col. 1.13). So every Christian conversion involves a power encounter in which the devil is obliged to relax his hold on somebody’s life and the superior power of Christ is demonstrated. 

Sixthly, we are looking forward to the conquest consummated at the Parousia. The interim between the two advents is to be filled with the church’s mission. The Lord’s Anointed is already reigning, but he is also waiting until his enemies become his footstool for his feet. On that day every knee will bow to him and every tongue confess him Lord. The devil will be thrown into the lake of fire, where death and Hades will join him. For the last enemy to be destroyed is death. Then, when all evil dominion, authority and power have been destroyed, the Son will hand over the kingdom to the Father, and he will be all in all (Ps. 110.1, Phil  2.9-11, Rev. 20.10, 14, 1 Cor 15.24-28).

John Stott, The Cross of Christ, p269-275

Lent 24 post 3

 John 19.28-30

John records for us two of the best-known of the seven sayings of the cross, ‘I thirst' and ‘It is finished'. But the way he does so takes us right inside the mind of Jesus at that moment. How did John know what Jesus was thinking on the cross? I suppose it must have been from a conversation with Jesus after his resurrection.

Death as an achievement?

Shouldn’t we be surprised that John paints the whole scene at this moment as one of achievement? The clue lies in John's choice of three words, the first and last of which are identical in Greek and the middle one very similar,

Everything had now been finished.

So that Scripture would be fulfilled.

It is finished.

This can’t be accidental. John is making a point. And his point is that Jesus spoke these words (a) because of what he knew (that all things were completed) and (b) because of what he intended (to fulfil Scripture). Jesus was at the very point of death, and yet he was still utterly in control of his thoughts and his words.

Everything had now been finished 

Or, rather, completed. Jesus knew that nothing could now stand in the way of his death. Now you might think this is rather obvious for anybody nailed to a cross, ‘This is the end. I’m going to die.’ We’ll, yes. But, you see, it was only because Jesus had been utterly determined to die that he had reached this point of no return. So much had conspired to stop him getting to this moment of inevitable death. 

Think back over the story. Herod tried to kill him as an infant, which was not the atoning death God had planned. The devil tried to divert him in the wilderness. Peter tried to dissuade him at Caesarea Philippi. His own mother and family tried to get him to come home and be sensible. He himself struggled with the prospect in Gethsemane. Pilate wanted to release him. Everybody was taunting him, even on the cross, to save himself, as we saw yesterday. But Jesus won the final victory. He knew what he had come to do, to ‘give his life as a ransom for many’ (Mark 10.45). 

It was God’s purpose, and his own purpose, for him to reach this point. All is completed. Nothing can stop him any longer from giving his life for us. And, knowing that, Jesus returns again to the Scriptures that have guided his life and now fill his dying consciousness. 

So that Scripture would be fulfilled 

Jesus gasps, ‘I am thirsty.’ Well of course he was! Rapid dehydration was part of the torture of crucifixion. But Jesus wets his lips so that he can speak words to fulfil the Scriptures. But which piece of scripture? Possibly Psalm 69.19–21. But more likely, since he had already quoted the first verse of Psalm 22 (‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’), Jesus now remembers verse 15, ‘My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; you lay me in the dust of death.’ And John has already sensed an echo of that psalm in the soldiers’ gambling for Jesus’ clothing (John 19.24). 

But don’t imagine that this is merely another ‘prediction coming true’, that’s far too shallow. This is the deep resonance in the mind of Jesus with the Scriptures as a whole that had governed his every waking moment and now fill his dying breaths. 

Why do you think Psalm 22 is filling the consciousness of Jesus on the cross? Because he found in both halves of the psalm words that expressed on the one hand the depth of his suffering (verses 1–18), and, on the other hand, the breadth of his faith and hope in God (verses 19–31). Jesus died in agony, but he did not die in despair. Jesus suffered separation from his Father, but he knew that God would not ultimately abandon him. Jesus endured the mockery of evil men so that sinners in every nation would seek the Lord and praise him (verse 27). Jesus trusted in God, and God did deliver him, not from the cross, but through the cross in the glorious vindication of Easter Day. 

‘It is finished’ 

Some scholars suggest that Jesus’ final cry of triumph reflects the very last line of Psalm 22, ‘He has done it!’ God has done it! Through Jesus! Through his death on the cross! This was the third and ultimate completion that John heard from the mouth of Jesus.

Lent 24 post 2

 Luke 23.32-43

‘Save yourself!’

Three times, as he hung on the cross, Jesus heard those words shouted at him with jeering mockery. Three times those shouts must have tested his resolve, for he knew that he could have saved himself, with legions of angels at his command(Matthew 26.53). Yet three times he resisted, just as he had done in the wilderness at the very start of his earthly ministry. Luke probably means us to make that connection(Luke 4.1-13).

The tactics were the same, ‘If you are the Son of God. . .’ ‘If you are the Messiah. . .’ ‘If you are the king of the Jews.’ Back then, the devil had tried three times to tempt Jesus to avoid the path of suffering and death, and choose some alternative way to glory. And even now, at the cross itself, the devil makes three last desperate attempts. If only he could get Jesus to save himself, then Jesus’s whole mission to save the world would be lost. So he speaks through three different people, who all make the same taunt, but mean it in different ways.

But there is massive irony between what they think they are saying and the actual truth of the situation. Take a look at each of them in turn.

The religious rulers. (.35)

Their mockery was a rejection of the claim of Jesus to be God’s Messiah, God’s chosen One, the Saviour king. How could he save anybody else if he couldn’t save himself? Yet, of course, their words state exactly who Jesus was. So they both state the truth and reject the truth in the same breath.

The Roman soldiers (.36-38)

Their mockery was a rejection of the charge against Jesus, that he was supposed to be the ‘king of the Jews'. But that’s ridiculous! ‘What kind of king are you up there, with thorns for your crown and a cross for your throne?’ And yet those words above his head, the butt of their laughter, were a bald statement of the truth.

The resistance fighter (.39)

His mockery was a rejection of Jesus' failure to be the kind of messianic leader that he and his band of brigands wanted, to lead them in rebellion against Rome. ‘You should have joined us if you’d been a real messiah. Well, here’s your last chance. Save yourself and us and we’ll slaughter these Romans together! Ha, ha! As if. . .’

But Jesus refused to save himself. Not because he couldn’t (as all three voices seemingly thought), but because he chose not to. Jesus resisted these three last temptations, and, as he did so, we see two astonishing paradoxes.

The paradox of power 

Can you detect the different kinds of human power alluded to in those three voices? Look at the religious establishment in its crushing self-righteousness, imperial military force in its callous brutality and nationalistic fanaticism with it’s raw violence. Horrid human power in all its cruelty. But who was exercising real power at that very moment? The powerless one on the middle cross. The paradox is that, in choosing to surrender his life in utter powerlessness, Jesus was exercising the loving power of God through which, alone, all the powers of human and satanic evil would be defeated and ultimately destroyed.

Rejoice today that the ‘weakness’ of the cross was the power of God!

The paradox of salvation 

‘Save yourself and us' was the third mocking insult. But, of course, that was precisely what Jesus could not do. Can you see? He could not both save himself and save us.

Either he could save himself, and he knew it, with that army of angels at the ready. But, if he had saved himself, he could not have saved us through his atoning death for our sin.

Or he could choose to save us (which was the very purpose of his coming), but in that case he could not save himself. So Jesus chose to die, chose to stay on the cross and endure the agony, the shame and the outer darkness of separation between Father and Son, so that we might be saved.

Lent 24 post 1

Matthew 26.17-30

 

Matthew 26 just keeps getting darker, doesn’t it? We read of, an anointing for burial(.1-13), planning for a betrayal(.14-16), preparation for a memorial(the Passover .17-30), prediction of a denial(.31-35), overwhelming struggle(.36-46).

You will know those words that Jesus spoke at the Last Supper, but have you noticed how they are slung between betrayal and denial, between Judas’s deceit and Peter’s boasting? That is the dark backdrop to our precious sacrament of Holy Communion, when we remember the Lord’s death. Those are the sin-laden realities, in which we all share, that made it necessary.

It was a Passover meal, of course. And that’s when they would celebrate the exodus with a longing that God would come once more and deliver his people, as of old. There were set words for the host to say during the meal. But at two points, with the breaking of bread and the pouring out of one of the cups of wine, Jesus astonished his disciples with different words of his own.

There were four cups of wine at Passover (corresponding to the four promises of God in Exodus 6.6-7), and the third was called the cup of redemption or cup of blessing. It was probably while pouring out this cup that Jesus broke the traditional Passover liturgy with startling new words.

This is my blood of the covenant,

which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.

Matthew 26.28

How many times have you heard those familiar words? But try to hear them for the first time in that upper room, with the disciples who knew their Scriptures very well. Jesus is pulling together phrases from three different Old Testament scriptures to help his disciples (and us) grasp the meaning of his bloody death, now only hours away.

‘Blood of the covenant’

This comes from Exodus 24.8, when God made his covenant with Israel at Mount Sinai. There were sacrifices, the reading of God’s law, a covenant commitment, the sprinkling of blood and then a meal with God. This sealed the relationship between God and his people after the exodus. God had redeemed them, now they belonged to him. So what Jesus means is, ‘My blood, which will be poured out in sacrifice, seals the relationship between you and God. You and all my future disciples will be mine for ever in covenant love and commitment. I have redeemed you, you are mine.’

‘which is poured out for many’

These words from Isaiah 53.12 recall the Servant of the Lord portrayed in that chapter. The Servant will suffer and die, yet not for his own sins, but for ours.

He was pierced for our transgressions,

he was crushed for our iniquities,

the punishment that brought us peace was on him,

and by his wounds we are healed.

Isaiah 53.5

But after his unjust death, God will vindicate and exalt his Servant. Why? ‘Because he poured out his life unto death . . . for he bore the sin of many' (Isaiah 53.12). So Jesus identifies himself as the obedient Servant of the Lord. And today we can rejoice that his vicarious death has brought us resurrection life with him, for ever.

‘for the forgiveness of sins’

The other Gospels (and some manuscripts of Matthew) quote Jesus as saying ‘blood of the new covenant’. And that takes us to Jeremiah 31.33-34. God promised that there would be a permanently restored relationship with his people. And the bottom line of that promise was, ‘I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.’ So Jesus is saying, ‘That promise will be fulfilled and total forgiveness will be made possible through my atoning death.’

Lent 24 John Stott quote 1

Rend your heart and not your garments.

Return to the Lord your God,

For He is gracious and compassionate,

Slow to anger and abounding in love,

And He relents from sending calamity.

Joel 2.13

 

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.

Mark 8.34

 

To deny ourselves is to behave towards ourselves as Peter did towards Jesus when he denied him three times. The verb is the same (aparneomai). He disowned him, repudiated him, turned his back on him.

Self-denial is not denying to ourselves luxuries such as chocolates, cakes, cigarettes and cocktails (though it may include this), it is actually denying or disowning ourselves,  renouncing our supposed right to go our own way. To deny oneself is to turn away from the idolatry of self-centredness. Paul must have been referring to the same thing when he wrote that those who belong to Christ ‘have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires’ (Gal. 5.24). No picture can be more graphic than that, an actual taking of the hammer and nails to fasten our slippery fallen nature to the cross and thus do it to death. The traditional word for this is ‘mortification‘, it is the sustained determination by the power of the Holy Spirit to ‘put to death the misdeeds of the body’, so that through this death we may live in fellowship with God.

Our ‘self’ is a complex entity of good and evil, glory and shame, which on that account requires that we develop even more subtle attitudes to ourselves.

What we are (our self or personal identity) is partly the result of the creation (the image of God), and partly the result of the Fall (the image defaced). The self we are to deny, disown and crucify is our fallen self, everything with us that is incompatible with Jesus Christ (hence his commands ‘let him deny himself’ and then ‘let him follow me’). The self we are to affirm and value is our created self, everything within us that is compatible with Jesus Christ (hence his statement that if we lose ourselves by self-denial, we shall find ourselves). True self-denial (the denial of our false, fallen self) is not the road to self-destruction, but the road to self-discovery.

So then, whatever we are by creation we must affirm, our rationality, our sense of moral obligation, our sexuality (whether masculinity or femininity), our family life, our gifts of aesthetic appreciation and artistic creativity, our stewardship of the fruitful earth, our hunger for love and experience of community, our awareness of the transcendent majesty of God, and our inbuilt urge to fall down and worship him. All this (and more) is part of our created humanness. True, it has been tainted and twisted by sin. Yet Christ came to redeem it, not destroy it. So we must gratefully affirm it.

What we are by the Fall, however, we must deny or repudiate, our irrationality, our moral perversity, our blurring of sexual distinctives and lack of sexual self-control, the selfishness which spoils our family life, our fascination with the ugly, our lazy refusal to develop God’s gifts, our pollution and spoilation of the environment, the anti-social tendencies which inhibit true community, our proud autonomy, and our idolatrous refusal to worship the living and true God. All this (and more) is part of our fallen humanness. Christ came not to redeem this, but to destroy it. So we must strenuously deny or repudiate it.

We must be true to our true self and false to our false self. We must be fearless in affirming all that we are by creation, redemption and calling, and ruthless in disowning all that we are by the Fall.

Moreover, the cross of Christ teaches us both attitudes. On the one hand, the cross is the God-given measure of the value of our true self, since Christ loved us and died for us. On the other hand, it is the God-given model for the denial of our false self, since we are to nail it to the cross and so put it to death. Or, more simply, standing before the cross, we see simultaneously our worth and our unworthiness, since we perceive the greatness of his love in dying, and the greatness of our sin in causing him to die.

 

From The Cross of Christ, pages 323 -330.