Be Spirit Led

The Holy Spirit, dwelling in us, can kill the misdeeds of the flesh.  How I long for the Spirit to do so!  It is not done quickly, we know.  Not so easily.  The old Christian term for killing the sin in us is the mortification of the flesh, which doesn’t sound so pretty or pleasant.  In the early centuries of the church, it wasn’t long before monastic orders sprang up, often in remote, desolate locations.  We hear about a minimalist ethos for our homes; theirs was minimalist living.  The brothers attempted to live a rigorously faithful life by restricting themselves rigorously, disciplining themselves to holiness: a life of sacrifice in communal love.  Now, Jesus often spent time apart with his disciples, withdrawn from the clash and clamor.  And they were just as often, maybe even more often, amid the clash and clamor, calling people to salvation.

The monks believed that holiness of life could be attained by shutting themselves away from the world.  Holiness comes only from God, because only God is holy, and we are God’s holy people, by the Spirit.  It’s the Spirit, beloved, with us, in us, God’s love and life, which is purifying us.  We don’t remove the sin from ourselves; God overcomes it.  We have an old habit of getting in the way.  All that stands between us and holiness is us.

We know the ongoing conflict with temptation.  If you want to avoid sin, don’t toy with temptation; don’t call it by another, kinder, gentler name.  Don’t open the door.  An addict should know.  Don’t open it.  Oh, but I need to!  I can’t be happy, just can’t feel alive, if I don’t.  And who is telling you so?  I like to hope, I nearly convince myself, that there are dear sisters and brothers in the world today, maybe even among us here at Bethel, who are no longer struggling with sin.  I’m not one of them, and I do say Christ has won the victory in me, too.  Faith isn’t something that’s just nice to have, like a happy add-on to a happy life.  Faith is the one necessity in this life, our lifeline.

The struggle and conflict continue; this doesn’t end until the end of this life.  Well, that’s not so cheery, is it?  Is there, then, no victory?  Of course there is: victory in Jesus.  A long, wearying struggle . . . do I not have peace, then?  I have Christ’s peace, beloved, the peace of the Spirit.  That doesn’t mean I don’t wince at the misdeeds that still happen: mine and the misdeeds of those around me that I see and hear about.  God’s peace is not the promise that I will never sin again.  We are being sanctified; we are not perfectly sanctified in this life, as our daily experience reminds us.

God’s peace does not permit me to smile, shrug, and say oh well when I stumble.  God’s peace is the promise that, though I stumble and scrape, I am also forgiven.  God’s peace is the invitation continually renewed to walk with God in that forgiveness.  Morning by morning, new mercies I see.  Lord, give us hearts to see.  God’s peace is the continual reminder that, sin though we do, we are also empowered for righteousness: we are not left to fight on our own.  God is with us, speaking to us, calling to us: this way, not that way!  Remember all the false promises of sin, the repeated remorse, and remember My enduring, sacred promise.  There is one who stands with me, who causes me to stand for Jesus, stand with Jesus, to rise, again.

Not so far back in Romans, Paul had wondered just who he was, just what was happening in him: he loved God, he knew Jesus, the Spirit was with him . . . and he still had moments and seasons of dismal failure.  Victory in Jesus!  Praise God!  Where was that victory, though?  At the cross; at the tomb; victory awaits us in heaven; it is with us now: victory is the Spirit.  Jesus asks us not to grieve the Spirit; I take that as a strong invitation to work with the Spirit, under the direction of the Spirit.  To listen, and to do.  And we say, yes, of course, sure!  Then, temptation comes around again: our old . . . companion.  Our old dealer.  For some, it’s just dumb lust, drooling.  For others, it could be cold pride, burning hot.  For others, ambition untroubled by the thought of whatever cost to get to the peak.  For others, spreading stories about a fellow believer or a neighbor, just, you know, to have something to talk about, the zest of a little drama; the opportunity to firm up a friendship around tearing down someone else . . . a little complaining, a little sympathetic groaning.  For still others, it could be that ongoing struggle with contempt where compassion ought to be.

We have an obligation, as Paul reminds us (8:12).  He is asking us to remind ourselves, and one another too, yes—gently but clearly, even firmly, regularly and as needed—that every believer is under obligation to our Lord.  God does want something from us; He makes it possible for us to give it to Him.  An ongoing threat for every Christian is to allow ourselves to become reabsorbed into the culture around us, the ordinary, fallen ways of life.  There are those who walked with us who have been reabsorbed.  They liked another way better: the way their sin wanted.

Well, the objection comes, we are not violent people.  We are not liars.  We are not thieves.  It’s the small, mandatory renunciations: you can’t have that Bible calendar at your workstation—Okay.  You can’t wear that cross so that it’s visible while at work, or school—Okay.  You can’t listen to that Christian radio station at work; the Bible isn’t allowed as evidence for your school essay; yeah, they can sell their cookies, here, but you can’t hand out these pamphlets in front of our business—Okay.  Don’t invite him, he’s so Christian; don’t talk to her, she’s too Christian.  We all know someone whom we regard as too Christian, to our shame.  If only we were a little more!  The genius of mainline Christianity in America has long been finding a comfortable accommodation to the beliefs and values of contemporary society: blown along by the prevailing winds; shaped by, rather than a shaping, reshaping, reforming influence.

To live according to the flesh is a very biblical, Pauline way of describing living in line with the ways and values of contemporary society, including in one’s faith life.  Yes, America has benefitted, tremendously, from a strong dose of Christian faithfulness over the course of our history, yet I’m reluctant to call ours a Christian nation: traditional, historic, orthodox Christian values and teaching are not the guiding light in America today.  The Enlightenment of the 18^th century (it also gets called the Age of Reason) came along after more than one hundred years of bitter, bloody religious conflict.  The Age of Reason aimed to restrain religion: not faith in God but faith in Man.  We get the values of The Enlightenment all confused with Christianity because, during the Enlightenment, using language carried over from Christianity, we declared ourselves a nation.

The way forward, the way of life for you and me, now, is the way of the Spirit, by which the misdeeds of the body are put to death as God’s values take root in our hearts, that seat of desire.  We don’t mortify sin by making exonerating excuses, or by pointing to polling data.  God cultivates us in holiness and godliness.  Thereby we will live (8:13).  That’s why we’ve got to spend time, ideally daily time, with God’s Word.  The Spirit speaking to us through God’s Word teaches us how to become master gardeners of our souls, our mental life, our physical life.  Let’s pick up the tools God has given us and get our hands in the soil.  “A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest” (Prov 6:10), spiritually, doesn’t facilitate increase.  Weeds don’t weed themselves.  And around here, we know letting the garden go won’t do.  Mowing your yard once a week doesn’t quite get it here, this time of year.

Cultivating holiness requires the Spirit of Christ, by whom we are children of God’s Spirit, adopted into and welcome in the family of God.  We hear every so often that we—meaning all people everywhere—we are all God’s children.  The expected response is a smile and a nod.  All God’s children—nothing could be further from the truth.  But that hurts the sentimental part of us, a slap to the face of our sympathy and compassion—Jesus was compassionate: everybody welcome, just as they are.  And that’s true, but it isn’t all the truth, and we know it, or ought to know.  Rather, remembering that all people are not yet all God’s children provides the solid ground for Christian compassion and the potent impetus to sharing the Good News: those outside may yet be brought in!  If we’re all God’s children, beloved, then we’re all already safe, and if we’re all already safe, what is the need of the offer of salvation?  It’s superfluous!  But it is not the case that all are safe; people look to many things for security; the Christian looks to God, our Father in heaven.

Paul writes that “those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God” (8:14).  We hear as much as early as Deuteronomy, when Moses tells the covenant people: “You are the children of the Lord your God” (Dt 14:1).  Those to whom God has assured His salvation are “children of the living God” (Hos 1:10, qtd in Rom 9:26).  Jesus teaches that it is those who shall be raised to life who are “God’s children” (Lk 20:36).  John reminds us that it was to those “who did receive [Jesus], to those who believed in his name,” to whom God “gave the right to become children of God” (Jn 1:12).  In Galatians, Paul had written that “in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith” (Gal 3:26).  Children not by the mere fact of existence but through faith.  If all this is true, it means that anyone without faith, anyone not led by the Spirit of God is not a child of God.  But who isn’t led by the Spirit of God?  Do we even know; should we?  And all this feels hurtful, doesn’t it, and unfair, and mean, and we aren’t unfair, mean, or hurtful.  We’re Christians.  So, we’re all God’s children and that’s that.

Have you noticed recently at big events, like the ones that get televised, the rainbow banners hailing Satan?  The problem people who are not really into Christianity have with historic, orthodox Christianity is that it’s mean.  They think so, anyway, and those to whom they look to inform them and tell them what to think all tell them historic, orthodox Christianity is mean.  We need a nice faith, you know, where no one is ever upset, where no sinner ever feels unsafe.  Everyone in the Bible, they always seem upset.  People have long understood that what’s needed is a god that will let us indulge ourselves.  God’s children, however, learn what God desires.

This teaching about the identity of God’s children can be difficult to hear, let alone accept.  It isn’t necessarily so easy to get our hearts aligned with this teaching, especially when, all around us, values such as tolerance and inclusion are set so high and bright.  And we know intolerance and exclusion are not the Gospel call—but the Gospel calls people out of something, beloved; it calls them to come out from one place into another.  Look into God’s Word for yourself, prayerfully, awaiting the Spirit, listening to the Spirit speaking to you through the words of the book.  Not reading the Bible is not a good way to draw nearer to God.  This book has been given to us for guidance and for teaching us.  Why would the Bible, God’s Word of life and love, have such a teaching: only those in Christ are children of God?  It’s not as a basis for injustice or oppression.  Shall we ascribe either of those to God?  “God does not show favoritism” (Rom 2:11).  Scripture makes abundantly plain that God is no fan of oppression.  The teaching—we are not all God’s children—is the basis of true compassion, compassion for the lost, those still living in darkness.  Let us, then, offer to light their way into the family!

“[T]he Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship.  And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’  The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children” (8:15-16).  Those not yet God’s children may yet become children of God, through adoption.  Adoption comes through faith, and faith comes with the Spirit.  No Spirit, no faith; no faith, no adoption; no adoption, outside the family of God.  To be blunt—even to risk the cardinal sin of sounding mean—those outside the family of God are lost, and lost is not a good place to be.  But we don’t know any lost people.  Yes, we do.  We were adopted into the family of God through union with Christ.  Every human being, along with everything that exists, is God’s creation.  Union with Christ—faith—is the only way to become a child of God.

Love ought to have been the motivation for living the law, God’s standard for a God-glorifying, God-honoring life.  Fallen as we are, fear became the motivation for living the law.  Why do we obey the traffic laws—to the extent we do?  When the state trooper is parked off over there, under the shady trees, we know why.  We may resent paying our taxes.  Pay them we do.  What happens if we don’t?  We see servitude to fear so soon as we look for it: fear of rejection, of loss, fear of suffering, of death, fear of illness, fear of injury.  And what is the effect of fear?  It prevents us.  We contemplate doing something good, feel moved to do it: fear prevents us.  We contemplate doing something right, feel moved to do it: fear prevents us.  A sacrifice for Christ, a gift of the heart.  A committing decision must be made: fear prevents us; we let fear decide.

And Christ came, and the Spirit was given, so that we no longer need live in fear, hoarding, calculating, chanting our magic mantras to that great Ft. Knox in the sky.  We, now, in Christ, having Christ alive in us, we now live by faith in God, because by the Spirit we finally know what sort of God we have: a God who is love, who has compassion, patience, mercy, who calls us to a higher, better, brighter way.  Who fully understands how difficult it is for us, even wanting to, to keep on that way.  We have a God who truly has received us into His family, into the heart of His perfect, perfecting love.  “Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory” (8:17).  Do what, now?  More glory, less suffering!  Got enough suffering and sorrow as it is, thanks.

If we share in his sufferings.  Several times, especially in Acts, we read of the apostles feeling blessed when suffering came to them.  That always baffles me, which is telling.  The heirs will share in the sufferings.  Family sticks together.  Family isn’t just blood and genetics, beloved.  We know our family when we know who stands with us.  How do we share in Christ’s sufferings?  We share in the suffering Jesus experienced when we live our faith faithfully in a world of unbelief, a world that marks, ridicules, scorns those who live by faith.  Living faith in Christ drives the world batty.  Christ demonstrated, conclusively—for those who have faith—that the way to glory, in this world, must go through suffering—not for the sake of suffering, but for the sake of the love of God.

We are willing to suffer—to an extent—for the sake of one whom we love.  Sometimes, we are willing to endure some suffering, even physically!  More often, as we know, the suffering comes mentally, emotionally, even spiritually.  There is a strong reason why the apostles, following Jesus, so often call us to patience, perseverance, and prayer.  We see God’s love for us, in Christ.  In Christ, let us live love for God.  The world, ever seeking its intoxicating escapes from suffering, has its idols.  The Christian learns over a lifetime that glory is the end of suffering, with Christ.