Advent Shows Us How to Wait with Expectancy

Sunday, December 3rd, marks week one of Advent, which is all about hope. Hope often looks like expectation, anticipation—while waiting. Waiting is central to hope. It’s easy to see this theme around Christmas time. Children everywhere wait with expectant anticipation for December 25th, for Santa, for presents. Every year, I recall a fond memory of my four-year-old daughter Scout yelling, “Christmas is my favorite Halloween!” Kids love (and hate) waiting, but they do so because they have hope.

Advent’s hope is woven throughout our Christmas hymns. In “O Come O Come Emmanuel,” we sing from the perspective of the Old Covenant Israelites, impersonating their hope for the long-expected king who the prophets said would come—soon. This theme is in the Scriptures’ telling of Jesus’ coming. When the Messiah finally came, Philip went to Nathanael and exclaimed, “We have found him of whom Moses in the Law and also the prophets wrote!” (John 1:45).

Perhaps the best example is Symeon, who lived his entire life with the hope that he would see the Messiah. We’re told that he was “waiting for the consolation of Israel,” having been told by the Holy Spirit that he wouldn’t die until the Messiah came. Holding the infant Jesus in his arms, Symeon declared his willingness to die, for finally, “my eyes have seen your salvation” (Luke 2:25-32). Symeon had waited for this moment his entire life, able to endure the “in-between” because he had hope.

Advent is a season where we learn to wait. Perhaps you’re waiting for something today. You’re between jobs, between decisions, between seasons of growth, between relationships—waiting for joy, waiting for success, waiting for salvation. How can we hold on to hope in the in-between?

A Little While

Jesus’ language for that in-between is the phrase “a little while.” In John 16, he tells his disciples that for “a little while, you will see me no longer; and again a little while, and you will see me” (John 16:16). He’s perhaps referring to the few days when he goes to the cross, dies, and is buried (scholars disagree on what “little while” Jesus is talking about). In any case, it’ll be a time of grief, sorrow, and painful waiting. That’s the in-between: the difficult, perilous, frustrating seasons of waiting. But afterward, they will see him again. The dead will rise. Hope will be fulfilled as “your sorrow will turn into joy” (v20). Here, Jesus offers hope to his disciples at their darkest hour. How will they get through the trauma of the next few days? Only by holding on to hope.

Fleming Rutledge explains that this pattern of hope in the in-between is what Advent is all about:

“Advent contains within itself the crucial balance of the now and the not-yet that our faith requires… [Between] the yearly frenzy of “holiday” time in which the commercial Christmas music insists that “it’s the most wonderful time of the year” and Starbucks invites everyone to “feel the merry.” The disappointment, brokenness, suffering, and pain that characterize life in this present world is held in dynamic tension with the promise of future glory that is yet to come. In that Advent tension, the church lives its life.“ (Fleming Rutledge, Advent: The Once and Future Coming of Jesus Christ).

The “Advent tension” that Rutledge mentions is what so many of us experience on a daily basis. It’s what our songs are about and the air Israel breathed for centuries. Waiting is an everyday reality on this side of resurrection. In order to hold on to hope, we must remember three things.

The In-Between is Necessary

The “little while” was necessary if Jesus was going to make a way to God. “Until now you have asked nothing in my name,” he explains. “Ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full” (v. 24). Before the cross, “until now,” our relationship with God was based on nothing but promises and hope. By going to the cross, Jesus changed the relationship. Now, we approach God “in his name.” Jesus is helping his disciples understand that he had to leave them for a little while because by doing so, he secured our relationship with God.

Sometimes we don’t understand why God tarries or why promises take a long time to fulfill. We ask, “Why?” and wonder if we’re not wasting our time. But we can hold on to hope if we remember that these seasons of waiting are necessary. God is using them for our good. Peter relayed this lesson later in his letter:

“In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:6-7).

Frodo Baggins didn’t understand why he was tasked with the season of life he found himself in. “I wish it need not have happened in my time,” he tells Gandalf. Gandalf explains to Frodo that none of us understands the times we’ve been given, nor can we control the seasons we’re in. But, knowing these seasons are necessary, one thing we can do: “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” The in-between seasons of life are something God is using. But what is he using it for?

The In-Between is Formative

God uses the in-between seasons to form something beautiful in us. Notice the verb in Jesus’ promise: “You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy” (John 16:20). That turning is the process of spiritual formation. It’s the process of becoming like Christ as we learn to trust in him, believe his promises, and hold on to hope.

Admittedly, this process is a difficult one. Pain seems bad. We might try to ease the pain of migraine with Ibuprofen or endure the heartache of a breakup with a tub of ice cream and a night of Netflix. But have you noticed that not all pain is bad? The pain of grad school—that’s a good kind of pain, the kind that promises a career at the end of it. There’s the pain of practice that promises proficiency. The pain of physical labor brings with it the promise of a remodeled bathroom. Growing pains bring growth. Exercise brings health. Labor brings a child. As we sometimes say, “No pain, no gain.” The Gospel of Jesus extends that promise to the pain of suffering:

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” (James 1:2-4).

God uses painful trials, James says, to form something in us. This answers the common question, “What purpose could ever come from my sorrow? What blessing could ever come from my pain?” The answer is that God is forming you into someone who is patient, joyful, and full of hope. To be sure, this is a difficult process, one filled with mystery and unanswered questions. But equally sure is this: one day, “your sorrow will turn into joy.”

The In-Between is Worth It

The beautiful promise of the Gospel is that, soon and very soon, he will bring the in-between time to a swift end. We won’t even remember the pain. We will only see what God has done and rejoice. As Jesus explains, “So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you” (John 16:22). One day, the sorrow of the in-between will give way to the permanent joy of eternal life in the kingdom of God.

I remember going on vacation with our family to my father-in-law’s timeshare in Mexico. The kids were so excited. “We’re going to Mexico!” they screamed as we piled in the car, drove down I-5, and eventually arrived … at the airport. My kids were incensed. “Dad this is the airport, not Mexico! You lied to us!” I tried to explain that sometimes, getting to your destination includes a bunch of stops along the way. In order to get to Mexico, we had first to board a plane at the airport. Getting to where you’re going involves some amount of waiting in the in-between.

It’s those little stops, fits, and starts that make a trip feel like it’s taking forever. That’s the “in-between.” God promises to deliver on his promises to us, but sometimes, we have to stop at the airport first. In those times, we’re tempted to say, “God, you lied to us! This is the airport; I want to go to Mexico!” Instead, we need to remember that it’s just a little while.

Sit tight. Hold on.

Listen to God’s voice. Trust him.

We’ll be there soon.

In this new covenant, make sure to read the fine print.

Sometimes, cars explode.

That’s what a fireman told me after putting out the conflagration that used to be my 1998 Geo Prism. Driving down 85th Street in Seattle, my engine just—exploded. I’m serious: it erupted in flames. Terrified, I pulled the car over and from the window of a nearby Jack in the Box, watched my car burn to a crisp in the middle of traffic while eating a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger. When the fireman finally came, I asked him why this happened. He told me, “Yup, one thing they don’t tell you when you buy a new battery is that they can spontaneously combust. Sometimes, cars explode.”

When you buy something, it usually comes with a contract, an implicit agreement stating that you, the buyer, know what you’re getting into. And at the bottom of the contract is the fine print: the details about the dangers and inherent risks of this product. “Warning: May spontaneously combust.” Fine print is everywhere.

Leaving Behind Who You Used To Be

Even living in the Way of Jesus comes with fine print. And his terms and conditions are no less unsettling. This contract states that to follow him is to follow him to the cross.

Of course, the cross is the locus of God’s mercy, redemption, and love. Jesus spent three years recruiting and training students to learn his way. He cast a vision of life “that is truly life” in the kingdom of God; allegiance to the world’s true king; certain belief and sure faith; a vision of future hope; ethics of service, care, and justice. Following Jesus is, at times, brilliantly exciting.

At other times, it’s unimaginably difficult. The cross is also the locus of pain, betrayal, and sacrifice. At the end of his earthly ministry, the man who is God ended up on a Roman cross, falsely accused, brutally tortured, and publicly executed in the most shameful way imaginable. When that road leads to suffering, we might wonder whether we want to live in the Way of Jesus anymore.

We should have read the fine print.

Three times, Jesus tried to teach his followers that his road led to the cross. But they couldn’t fathom such a fate. They couldn’t imagine that Jesus’ promise of eternal life might include death, or that the coming of the king would include condemnation as a criminal. But Jesus made it crystal clear that this was his road—and that the same road applies to us as well.

Becoming A New Person

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it” (Luke 9:23-24 ESV).

If you want this vision of life in the kingdom of God, Jesus says, then just know … it’s gonna cost you. This is the fine print: “Warning: May die on a cross.”

The Apostle Paul read Jesus’ terms and conditions carefully. In his letter to the Colossians, he states, “I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake” (Col. 1:24). Under no illusions, Paul understands what’s been asked of him. Further, he writes this letter from prison, a victim of state oppression. Yet note his attitude: “I rejoice.”

Of course, not everyone who follows Jesus comes to the same fate. The Rich Young Ruler, for example, isn’t asked to suffer—only to give up his possessions. The Pharisees are asked to swallow their pride and care about mercy and justice. Zaccheus has to repay the money that he stole. Some give up their homes. Others, such as the prostitutes, give up their occupations. Some give up old habits. Some have to trust Jesus with yet another miscarriage. Some have to process old, traumatic concepts of family. And one day, all of us will have to face our own mortality with bravery and lasting faith.

In the Scripture, it’s all the same idea. Following Jesus comes with suffering. To suffer with Christ means to leave behind who you used to be. The process of becoming new in Christ is a painful and sometimes violent process. It’s costly.

We live in a culture that believes suffering is meaningless. We view it as an interruption to our scheduled programming. It’s an inconvenience that doesn’t fit in a world of Amazon Prime and Uber Eats. Suffering is far from something we embrace, much less “rejoice in.” Our culture views suffering similar to how Peter described it, “as if something strange were happening” (1 Pet. 4:12). The doctor Paul Brand, who served all over the world before coming back to serve in America, famously observed that American culture is “a society that seeks to avoid pain at all costs” (Paul Brand, The Gift of Pain).

The problem with this view is that suffering is unavoidable. It’s characteristic of a world broken by sin. It’s part of everyday life. Whether you are righteous or evil, rich or poor, suffering is inevitable. Just look at Jesus’ example. He’s perfect, sinless, and yet all throughout the Gospels, we see him weeping. Jesus cries over the loss of friends and the injustice of his nation. Isaiah named him a “man of sorrows,” a “suffering servant.”

Rejoicing In The Process

That describes the Apostle Paul as well. After stating that he “rejoices in” his sufferings, Paul goes on to say that he embraces it “for the sake of his body, that is, the church” (Col. 1:24). He embraced the fine print because he was a servant of others. For Paul, suffering was meaningful, purposeful, even helpful. Though it is at times difficult, long, and painful, Paul knew that suffering creates something beautiful for him and others. In his letter to the Romans, Paul describes how this process works:

“We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Rom. 5:3-5 ESV).

This is the fine print. God will call each of us, in different but significant ways, to suffer for him. It might not be the same experience as someone else—and 1 Peter 4:15 makes clear that some suffering can be caused by our own sin. Nevertheless, in each of our lives, there will come a time when the Lord calls us to sacrifice, loss, betrayal, even death. It’s inevitable. It may be difficult, long, and painful. It might seem mysterious for a time as we wonder “Why have you forsaken me?” But God promises that the fine print is meaningful. The first step to embracing and rejoicing in it, is reading it.

Introduction

When I was in Bible College, it was a common occurrence to engage in all-night debates about the sovereignty of God versus the free will of man. Indeed, theologians have wrestled with the Bible’s balance of man’s responsibility and God’s sovereignty for millennia, especially in the West. This one issue divides Calvinist from Arminian, Catholic from Protestant, and Reformed from Pentecostal. Debates about sovereignty can split churches.

Sovereignty: Definitions and Debates

In these debates, sovereignty typically denotes God’s control of historical outcomes. As the Westminster Catechism states, God “hath foreordained whatsoever comes to pass.” The extremely popular and reformed-leaning website GotQuestions states, “Scripture is clear that God knows the future and has total sovereign control over all things.” Sovereignty, in this view, has to do with God’s knowledge and predestined will coming to pass through his active work within it. There is scriptural basis for this. Countless times the biblical writers detail how God will work things together, even the bad things, for his good purpose.^[1] He has written the end of the story.^[2] He will orchestrate the closing of history and reign supreme.^[3] We can’t fully know how this is possible (it remains a mystery) but we can be certain of this: God is sovereign.

Allow me to throw a wrench in the debate.

The Bible describes another being who also is sovereign: Satan.

A Deep Dive into the Term “Sovereign”

Before you cast me as a heretic, hear me out. The word sovereign comes from the Middle English word soverain, and is derived from the Latin superanus—the prefix super meaning “over, above.” That Latin word simply means one who is in authority such as a ruler, monarch, master, or lord.^[4] In our English Bibles, the word sovereign is rarely used and translates Greek words such as despotés (“lord, master”) and dynastés (“ruler”). Most instances of despotés refer to ordinary masters of trades or households. For example, Peter tells servants to “be subject to your masters [despotés] with all respect.”^[5] In only one place is despotés translated “Sovereign” to indicate God (Rev. 6:10). In every other instance, the word refers to someone in charge, whether it be Jesus or a household master.

Acts 8 describes the Ethiopian eunuch as a court “official” (dynastés) in charge of queen Candace’s treasury.^[6] In the Magnificat, Mary sings of the Lord bringing down the “mighty” (dynastés) from their places of power.^[7] Both these occurrences of dynastés refer to people with a certain amount of authority in their respective governments. It could be someone in absolute power such as a king, or someone “in a relatively minor position.”^[8]

My point is that in our English Bibles, these terms signify someone who has a certain amount of authority over a certain kingdom.

Sovereignty, and What It Means for Satan

To be sovereign, then, does not mean to be in charge of all the details of a person’s life, as if God has his hands on the invisible dials of your personality. To be sovereign means to have direct authority over members of that sovereign’s domain—to have the position to tell them what to do.

Let me explain by way of analogy. Many reformed churches practice Sphere Sovereignty. This belief states that within human cultures, there are different domains, or “spheres,” over which different “heads” exercise authority. Over the sphere of a nation, the government is head. Over the church sphere, the local elders, under Christ, are head. Over the family sphere, the parents are head.^[9]

None of these heads are to be confused with one another. While there is some overlap, none of these heads is to be confused with one another. That is, the government is not the head of the family, nor are elders head of a nation. Other than in extreme cases such as fraud and abuse, each head is sovereign over its own domain.

In the same way, Satan too is sovereign—over his domain. What is Satan’s domain? The world.

Jesus calls him “ruler of this world.”^[10] The Bible teaches that this world lies in the grip of Satan. Everywhere people follow “the prince of the power of the air” in the “course of this world.”^[11] As John later says, “the whole world lies in the power of the evil one.”^[12]

Satan is not unlimited in his authority over this domain. One day the devil will have to give an account to YHWH for how he brought God’s good world under his “domain of darkness.”^[13] And the prologue of Job makes clear that God limits and thwarts Satan’s actions when he wishes to do so. Satan is accountable to YHWH and ultimately serves God’s purpose, but out of rebellion he has made wreckage of his domain. From before creation Satan has been lying^[14] and until their judgment or when they come to faith in Christ, all residents of this world remain in the clutches of Satan.

Ultimately, in the final day, Satan will be judged for what he has done.

An illustration to drive this home: after the recent school shooting in Uvalde, Texas, a teacher in my kids’ Christian school told her class, “God ordained for those children to die today. He is sovereign after all.” I was dumbfounded and outraged. I took time to explain to my kids that what happens in the world is not always the will of God, and much of the evil in the world is as a direct result of our cosmic enemy.

Look, I don’t claim to know the mysteries of how exactly God uses each tragedy for his ends, nor am I trying to disparage those who hold to a Meticulous Providence view of God’s sovereignty.

But I do know that evil exists—and it’s not from God.

Let me point out two significant points here.

YHWH as the True and Rightful Sovereign

First, YHWH is the rightful sovereign who created humanity for his own glory, and to whom the whole world belongs. But in Genesis 3, humanity listened to a different voice, and unknowingly bowed the knee to the devil. Nevertheless, God remains above him and the rest of the divine beings. That’s why the Old Testament constantly refers to YHWH as the “Most High God”—literally in Hebrew “God the Most God.”^[15] This means that, among all the deities of the ancient world, he is the only one truly worthy of worship. The rest are imposters who have stolen what doesn’t rightfully belong to them. Indeed, he intervenes in much of the devil’s dealings, limiting and thwarting his actions, so that it ultimately serves God’s purpose.

So God sent his Son to take his world back. It’s significant to note that Jesus’ message of the “kingdom of God” is simultaneous with victory over demonic oppression (see especially Jn. 12:28). When Jesus shows up on the scene, part of his mission is to show himself above, more powerful than and victorious over, this evil power in all its manifestations. The story of the demoniac illustrates Jesus’ authority over all spirits. “What do you have to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?” (Mk. 5:7).

Answer: Jesus has everything to do with him. He is the rightful ruler of this world, the king of kings, here to take back God’s world, plunder the strong man’s house,^[16] and set the captives free. This is the gospel: the kingdom of God has come, not as a tourist sailing to a sunny beach, but as a navy fleet invading on D-Day. God’s king has come at last.^[17]Like Aslan taking Narnia back from the White Witch, in the end, Christ will defeat all other kingdoms and set the world to rights.

The Gospel is War against Satan’s Rule

Secondly, the idea that Satan is sovereign over this world is precisely why we preach the gospel of Jesus’ kingdom-invasion. Otherwise, what is our mission? Jesus prayed “thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven”^[18] because much of the world is not under willing submission to YHWH as king. It remains in the grip of Satan and his co-workers Sin and Death. That’s why the night before he goes to the cross, Jesus frames his death as a mission of rescue from the ruler of this world:

“Now is the judgment of this world; now will the ruler of this world be cast out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself” (Jn. 12:31-32).

The crucifixion was a moment of decisive judgment for the devil and the spiritual powers. His future demise will be secured, his current grip on humanity will be loosened. At the cross, Jesus was enthroned as king, crowned not with gold but with thorns. The seeming defeat of Jesus in death suddenly and surprisingly turned to decisive victory in resurrection.

Jesus ascended in a coronation of his new regime, a righteous revolt against the devil’s long-held power over this world. Woe to the devil’s allies! Paul later writes that none of the other rulers understood this, “for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory” (1 Cor. 2:8).

At the cross, evil’s defeat was assured, Sin’s condemnation wiped clean, and Death’s sting removed—as Jesus was enthroned as king. The epic, sweeping, cosmic story of salvation is a dramatic rescue, a deliverance-and-transfer from one domain to another.

From one sovereign to Another.

Now, you might ask, “Doesn’t this view of sovereignty diminish our view of Jesus?” On the contrary, it heightens it. It means that God has rightful authority over my life, while also entrusting me to obey him through my own agency and choice.

It also allows us to look at the tragedies of this world—school shootings, racism, exploitation, injustice—and know that’s not God’s sovereign will. Death and destruction grieve his heart as does all effects of sin. God is not the destroyer of life, but the giver. Those heinous acts were committed by people who remain unwittingly under the influence of the devil. They are not our enemy; he is. They need to be set free by the glorious gospel—like I was, and like I still need to be.

Slowly but surely, the sovereign domain of the devil cedes territory to the invading kingdom of Jesus.

Revelation paints a vivid picture of a world once in the grip of the dragon, that is now coming under the sovereign rule of Jesus Christ:

Then the seventh angel blew his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, saying, “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever.”

That’s where our story is headed.

Yes, Satan is “sovereign,” for a time, and with limitations.

But Jesus is Sovereign, unlimited, and forever.

References

^[1] Rom. 8:28-29
^[2] Isa. 46:10
^[3] 1 Cor. 15:24-25
^[4] https://web.archive.org/web/20200123051425/https://www.lexico.com/definition/sovereign
^[5] 1 Pet. 2:18
^[6] Acts 8:27
^[7] Lk. 1:52
^[8] Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament
^[9] See Eph. 5:23
^[10] Jn. 12:31; 14:30
^[11] Eph. 2:2
^[12] 1 Jn. 5:19
^[13] Col. 1:13
^[14] Gen. 3:1; Jn. 8:44; See also Zech. 3:1-5
^[15] See Psa. 78:35
^[16] Mt. 12:29
^[17] Mt. 4:17
^[18] Mt. 6:10 KJV

It’s a me, Mario!

The Mario movie is here after much anticipation and controversy about Chris Pratt’s voice. How was it? We review the film and more on this episode, featuring our friend Javan Wallace.

On this episode, we talk about archetypes, whether saving princesses is outdated, and the Bible’s love of symbolism.

#mariobrosmovie #thesupermariobrosmovie #mario

In C. S. Lewis’s Space Trilogy, there is a section where Ransom fights the Devil himself. There, in what is almost a throwaway line, we find one of Lewis’s greatest insights.

“It is perhaps difficult to understand why this filled Ransom not with horror but with a kind of joy. The joy came from finding at last what hatred was made for.” (C. S. Lewis, Perelandra)¹

What is hatred made for? If God has given us every emotion for his purposes, why hatred? Why anger? How can we process these volatile emotions properly in his presence, rather than be mastered by them, ruined by them? How can we “be angry and do not sin” (Ephesians 4:26)? Or, better put, how can we practice righteous anger?

Avoiding Two Main Errors

As we get to know the Bible’s teaching on the matter, it will help us avoid two errors. First is the error of avoiding anger. This is foolhardy and impossible; it will come out eventually. Second is the error of acquiescing to anger. That is, allowing anger to master or dominate your life. It will gladly do that and destroy you in the process. Our goal is appropriate anger that has been processed in the presence of God.

In Scripture, there are many considerations about anger that we must take into account.

1. Recognize that anger is a byproduct of love.

The Bible says, “God is love” (1 John 4:8). It also says he is often “angry” (Psalm 7:11). It never once says that God is anger itself. We can conclude from this that anger is a byproduct of love. When you are a loving person, sometimes you will get angry. Think about it like this. A wife cheats on her husband. How does he feel? Angry—and righteously so. Thus, the God of Israel is a “jealous” and “angry” God, upset that his people have cheated on him with other gods (Deuteronomy 3:21-22). His anger is a result of his love.

2. Therefore, recognize that anger is not God’s primary emotion.

Anger is a “flash,” or a “circumstantial flare-up,” caused by outside circumstances. It is not God’s primary disposition toward sinners. In Exodus 34:6, he introduces himself as “merciful and gracious, slow to anger…” God forgives and keeps covenant love. However, he will “by no means clear the guilty” (v. 7). His anger will flare up in time. Through correction, discipline, and judgment, his anger will be poured out when it needs to be.

3. Recognize that anger is meant to accomplish something.

Since it flares up based on circumstances, we might ask, “What circumstances? And why?” God’s anger flares up at injustice and idolatry. Injustice is when something is happening that is decidedly not right according to God’s ways. So, when Jesus goes off at the temple (John 2:13-16), it is because the poor are being mistreated—in God’s own house! And when he burns with anger at the leaders (Mark 3:1-6), it is because a sick man is being denied healing and prayer because of religious excuses. He is sick and tired of it; it is unjust. God’s anger accomplishes God’s justice.

God’s anger burns against idolatry as well. This is because God is fiercely loyal and therefore “jealous.” But it is not an ego trip. God knows that idolatry is what leads to injustice! So, in Deuteronomy 7, when he commands Israel to wipe out the Canaanite nations, it is because of their unjust practices. For hundreds of years, that region has been the center of child slaughter, economic unfairness, and backward theology. And the people who lose are women, children, the poor, and the immigrant. That is why in the worship of YHWH, the people who benefit most are among those four groups (Malachi 3:5).

4. Come to see that man’s anger will not accomplish God’s justice.

This does not mean that we should never be angry. (More on that in a minute.) It simply means that “man-centered” anger will not do what anger is supposed to do. James says, “Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God” (James 1:19-20). Notice that the goal is “slowness to anger”—not none at all. We do not avoid anger.

But we must be honest with ourselves. If we are quick to anger, easily frustrated, always on edge, primarily bitter and resentful toward someone, waking up angry in the mornings, ruminating on past hurts, or fuming in silent brooding aggression—then we are definitely not practicing God’s anger. We are acquiescing to it. Anger has become our master. Paul says, “do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil” (Ephesians 4:26-27). We need to recognize this and process our emotions differently.

5. Believe that you can process your anger in the presence of God.

The primary way we do this is through prayer and soon, forgiveness. Processing our hate-filled emotions in prayer looks like Psalm 109. There, David explodes in guttural cries of grief, erupts in sorrowful anguish, and desperately asks God to do the unthinkable: “May his days be few!” That is, “Kill him, God. Please.” While this might seem unchristian to us, we need to see the utility—the necessity!—of it. If we do not express our emotions in prayer, they will come out in other, more destructive ways. This is a repeat process, daily if necessary.

Forgiveness is the result of processing our emotions in the presence of God. Remember that forgiveness does not give up hope for justice. By forgiving someone, you are not “excusing” them or “letting them off the hook.” Instead, you are freeing them of the debt they owe you so that they can be dealt with by God. Everett L. Worthington, Jr. says, “Justice and forgiveness are the twin edges of the sword of love.”² This might take months or years. But it is possible on the basis of Christ’s forgiveness. “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you” (Ephesians 4:31-32). Paul is not saying to avoid anger; he’s saying to pursue justice through forgiveness.

Tim Keller has written, “Forgiveness is not the opposite of seeking true justice. It is, among many other things, its precondition.”³ Armed with forgiveness, we are ready to wield anger to accomplish the justice of God. That could look like action, defending the defenseless, legislation, tough conversations, or even godly rage. Some wrongs need to be screamed at.

Applying This Every Day

The best verse on this topic, in my opinion, is Romans 12:19: “Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’” Here Paul covers all the bases.

1. Do not retaliate.

“Never avenge yourselves.” Be skeptical of how anger makes you think “I am right” and motivates you to hit back. That might do something quickly, but will it make things better for me in the long run? Before we take action, we must “leave it to the wrath of God.”

2. Give anger away.

Knowing God gets angry is not bad news; it is good news for angry people. It means that I can let it go and “leave it” to him. His wrath will take something from me that was too heavy for me to carry. What a load off.

3. Know God’s heart.

“Vengeance is mine” (a quote from Deuteronomy 32:35) means that God’s heart is to put things right. Sometimes we call this “justification”—God putting things right again (see Romans 5:19). Remember that he is not only putting other people right, he is also putting you right! Thank God for his gracious gift!

4. Look forward to the end of the story.

“I will repay” is a short-form way of giving away the ending of history. When Jesus comes again, he will put everything right. In judgment, he will angrily wipe away wickedness and restore everything that was broken as the world’s true King (see Revelation 19:11-16). Like Ransom in Lewis’s Space Trilogy, Jesus will once-and-for-all defeat the Devil. That is what hatred is for.

References

¹ C. S. Lewis, Perelandra, Reprint Edition (New York: Scribner, 2003), 132.

² Everett L. Worthington, Jr., Forgiving and Reconciling: Bridges to Wholeness and Hope (Westmont, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2003), 48.

³ Timothy Keller, Forgive: Why Should I and How Can I? (New York: Viking Press, 2022), 167.

Throughout John’s biography of Jesus, a clear theme emerges: “Who is this guy?”

The answer comes in the form of the famous “I Am” statements. Jesus describes himself in imagistic terms to be “the bread of life … the resurrection and the life … the light.” In each of these ontological statements, Jesus employs the important Greek phrase ego eimi, “I am,” which hearkens back to the story of Moses and his interaction with YHWH, the I am (Exod. 3). And in case anyone is confused as to whether Jesus means to make such a blasphemous claim, he later boldly declares that “before Abraham was, I Am.” These statements of identity clue us in to who Jesus is—he is life. He is nourishment. He is God.

Skilled scholars have numbered the “I Am” statements to seven. But careful readers will notice that there are more than seven, far more. And one of them has lacked the attention that it deserves.

In John 13, after having washed his disciples’ feet, Jesus says, “You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am” (v. 13).

This 8th (12th?) I Am statement—again employing ego eimi—misses our count because, for one, it’s not imagistic like “bread” or “light.” Secondly, it’s not a unique claim. Of course Jesus is a teacher; everyone called him “Teacher.” Unlike the other statements, saying he’s a “teacher” doesn’t highlight Jesus’ deity.

Or does it? After all, Israel has many teachers, but the main one, the teacher, is YHWH himself. As the Psalmist says, “Make me to know your ways, O YHWH; teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long” (Ps. 25:4-5). By claiming the moniker of “teacher,” Jesus is certainly aligning himself with God, the great instructor of sinners (Ps. 25:8).

Consider Jesus’ appearance to Mary after the resurrection. At first, she doesn’t recognize him, thinking him to be one of the gardeners. But after he says her name, she realizes who he is: “Rabboni, which in Aramaic means teacher” (John 20:16). Central to Jesus’ identity, just as important as his being the resurrection or the good shepherd or the vine, is his being our teacher.

Learning What To Do Next

Today, many Christians have a form of Christianity in which Jesus is their savior, perhaps even their “lord.” But he is not their teacher—that is, he doesn’t tell them what to do, guide them through life, or correct them when wrong. The commands of Jesus are not taken seriously, nor are they required for belief. No, that would be “works,” or worse, “legalism.”

There’s a history to this. The Protestant Reformation rightly placed the locus of salvation with God himself. Man cannot save; only God can. But one of the caricatures of Protestant preaching today is that “you don’t need to do anything to be saved … Jesus has done it all.” The result is an entire generation of Christians who prayed a prayer of faith alone but who didn’t learn what to do next.

The Bible doesn’t commend this approach. When the listeners asked Peter, “What must we do to be saved?” he didn’t say, “Nothing! Jesus did it all! Isn’t that great news?” No, he said, “Repent and be baptized …” and then they “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching” (Acts 2:38-42). In other words, change your beliefs and allegiances, give up living for yourself, join God’s family, receive his forgiveness, and start following the commands of Jesus.

Doing What We Have Learned

This is why the apostles can so easily move between talking about God’s grace and mercy and forgiveness to talking about our obedience and response, and obedience and works. To the apostles, these things were not separable into tidy categories like “justification” and “sanctification.” No, it is all the work of God. Even me learning to obey his teachings is his work, because after all, he’s the teacher!

In the passage from John 13 cited above, Jesus goes on to say, “If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). His point is that real “faith” looks like obedience to his teachings. If Jesus is not our teacher, then he’s not really our lord at all; and he’s likely not our savior. Or as Dietrich Bonhoeffer says, “Only the obedient truly believe … and only the believing truly obey.”

The Blessing Inherent in Both

If we don’t regard Jesus’ primary identity as our teacher, we will miss out on perhaps the most significant part of his relationship to us. Jesus came to seek and save, to die on the cross for sins, to grant forgiveness, and to give eternal life.

He also came to instruct us in how we should live. That’s what a teacher—or in the Jewish context, a Rabbi—does. He forms a community of followers who learn how God designed them to live.

Living in the Way of Jesus is right, deeply satisfying, and so natural. More than ever before, in a world as confusing and constantly changing as ours, with so many voices to listen to—we need to recover a vision of Jesus as our teacher. Because, like the vine, the bread, and the life, that’s who he is.

Like most pastors, I’ve read a fair share of leadership books. From Jim Collins to Patrick Lencioni to Ben Horowitz, along with their Christian counterparts Andy Stanley, John C. Maxwell, and Craig Groeschel—these authors do a fantastic job of passing on important management principles to church leaders.

But for all their virtues, most of these books fail to paint the whole picture of church leadership. I think I know why.

Most of the time, leadership discussions center around mission. How do we accomplish the mission? Become missional? Embrace the mission? Empower the people to “live on mission”? Over the past twenty years, we’ve heard this language over and over. What’s commendable here is the emphasis on doing something in the name of Christ for the glory of God. But what’s missing from this talk about “mission” is what the mission even is.

Of course, there’s a strong biblical basis for this emphasis. The word “mission” comes from the Latin missio, which is a translation of the Greek apostello, “to send.” From that Greek word, we get our transliteration “apostle.” In a very real way, our idea of “missionaries” is conceptually—and etymologically—linked to apostleship. To be an apostle is to be a missionary—on a mission. “As the Father has sent [apostello] me, even so I am sending you” (Jn. 20:21). Clearly, the Bible states that we’re on a mission.

But again, what mission are we on?

I’m afraid we may have overused the word to the point of meaninglessness. If we don’t qualify what we say, we inadvertently fill our words with unintentional meaning, to detrimental effect. “Mission,” to most of us, sounds like a corporate campaign or a military operation. (“Mission accomplished!”) It sounds like results to pursue, targets to aim for, and metrics to hit. In this understanding, the mission is to grow the ministry, grow the church, see more people attend—more dollars, more initiatives, and more churches. While these are good goals (don’t get me wrong; I want them too), they don’t capture the point of it all. If this is our definition of “mission,” then at best, we’re merely scaling up our own program without seeking the kingdom of God; at worst, we’re opening ourselves up to power plays and corruption.

Take the most recent controversy at the Southern Baptist Convention. Hundreds of cases of sexual abuse were systematically catalogued and then swept under the rug by powerful SBC leaders. How could this have happened? According to Russel Moore, the reason was “the mission.” According to these church leaders, investigating abuse in their congregations would have been “a tool of the Devil to ‘distract’ from mission.” Thus those cases were dismissed as not being worth the time. Hundreds of families were systematically destroyed because of an over-emphasis on the mission of God.

This story has played out over and over, including within Calvary Chapel. How many times have you heard of a leader who committed adultery or domineered over their staff while people excused it—because, “Well, he’s effective at accomplishing the mission.”

I believe we need a better word than “mission.”

I want to propose the word intercession.

When you think of intercession, don’t just think of prayer meetings. Indeed, the concept in Hebrew and Greek is much more broad. The word pagha means acting on behalf of someone else’s good—intervention. Or palal, which is often translated “mediate,” conveys appealing to a higher power—a judge, king, or God—to appeal for another person’s good. The Greek entychano means to petition someone in authority on behalf of someone who can’t do it themselves. This is the word that Paul uses in describing the work of the Son and Spirit today: “the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God…” and “[Christ Jesus] is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us” (Rom. 8:27, 34).

Intercession is a relational term. Embedded is the idea that you’re accomplishing a task on behalf of someone who cannot accomplish it themselves. It signifies mercy, grace, and love. It’s more than a type of prayer; it’s a type of action. Perhaps that’s why the New Testament emphasizes Christ’s own intercession. Jesus, reigning in the heavens, is still on a prayer-filled mission of love on behalf of others.

Intercession is also the shape of the gospel. Isaiah proclaims that Jesus “bore the sin of many, and makes intercessionfor the transgressors” (Isa. 53:12). Hebrews depicts Christ as the eternal intercessor (Heb. 7:24-25). Unlike former priests who made repeated sacrifices, Christ made one final sacrifice in order to perfectly atone for sin. On the basis of his own atonement, he intervened and accomplished salvation for us. Now we can access God’s presence in Jesus’ name (Jn. 16:24). Intercession is the pattern of grace.

Intercession is the heart of God. He acts on behalf of others to deliver Israel from slavery, the remnant from exile, and us from Sin. God is not only our “higher power” to whom intercessors appeal; God himself is the intercessor, intervening for us each day. This is why the Bible continually tells us to intercede—pray for—others.

All this points to a simple yet profound pattern for mission. Mission is not just about accomplishing a goal, or hitting a target, or measuring a result. It’s definitely not just about growing our churches. It’s about intercession. It would have been harder for the SBC to ignore their systemic sins if their question was, “Will this distract us from interceding for our people?” Intercession is scaffolding for a stronger missional structure, rebar for a more solid missional foundation. The pattern of appealing to a higher power on behalf of someone who cannot do it themselves—that’s the shape of biblical mission. It’s the shape of Christ’s work on the cross and the shape of the Spirit’s work today. It’s the shape of the Gospel and the shape of God’s heart.

Obviously, I’m not going to convince everyone to use the term intercession instead of mission. Because of its biblical basis, “mission” will continue to be the word of choice. But my point is that we should not merely say, “We’re on a mission!” and “Let’s accomplish the mission!” We should be diligent to define the mission we’re on, and to anchor it in the shape of God’s own mission. I believe the word intercession can help us frame what that mission looks like.

Let me conclude with three simple takeaways for church leaders.

First, teach on intercession. Instead of framing mission as “Let’s go do this thing!” without first understanding why, we must explain the heart behind the task. God is acting on behalf of broken people to bring salvation, victory, renewal. He wants us to participate in that mission of interceding on behalf of the world.

Second, make prayer central. I don’t want to give the idea that intercession is a pattern only; it is also a power. Clearly, Jesus wanted to inspire intercessory prayer among his followers. Any effective mission must be fueled by prayer—which spills out into our own care and action, and God’s own power and presence. At Calvary Fellowship, we are already doing this in our Communities (small groups), and trying to exemplify it as Elders and Deacons.

Lastly, do mission that looks like intercession. Examples would be mediating between warring parties—reconciliation (see 2 Cor. 5); advocating for the needy; expanding your Care Ministry; participating in shalom-bringing initiatives in the city; serving neighbors; inviting the lonely into community; and proclaiming the gospel—which is the announcement of an interceding King who lives eternally to make intercession for us.

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References:

1. https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2022/may-web-only/southern-baptist-abuse-apocalypse-russell-moore.html