Stranger than Fiction

One of my previous posts on the analogy of writing and riding is a chip off the old block of ideas contained in this one. I say “old block” not just to use the figure of speech; I’ve been pondering these ideas for months, and I still don’t fully understand them. But I want to attempt to tie together some threads I left loose over the past few months: my continued sense of God's providence in the circumstances of my riding, and why I was reminded that Christ fulfilled Isaiah's vision of the rough places becoming a plain (Isaiah 40:4) by some road work where I crashed.  

I started this blog thinking I'd write about riding every road in the county, and titled it as I did because I figured it would also include some detached ivory tower-type thoughts about God and spirituality. But shortly after I started the blog, I realized in a fresh way that cycling, especially in its more competitive forms, is a striking metaphor of Christian spiritual pilgrimage: suffering that leads to glory lies at the heart of both. Then I thought to use this metaphor as a paradigm for reflection and writing, but now I find the metaphor coming to life, and myself as a character in the story.

When I set the goal to ride every road in the county, I had in the back of my mind several quasi-spiritual motivations. Among them were a desire to do something definitive as a means to consider Jesus in my 33^rd year (the 33 part will become significant below), and a desire to serve as a symbolic peacemaker between local cyclists and motorists. I figured that if God has given me special favor in cycling, so that I’m more comfortable than most riding in traffic, I'll put that to use and serve other cyclists by riding all the roads, both to show other riders that it can be done safely, and to show motorists that bicycles belong on the road. I wrote abstractly about this motivation in April: "Maybe the way we make peace between enemies is by 'killing the hostility' by absorbing it into ourselves, the way Jesus did when he lovingly absorbed the sin of the world and the wrath of God into himself." I didn’t intend to put myself in harm’s way, but to assume the same risk I have in my zany riding goals the past few years, only this time with a purpose bigger than my desire to triumph over my car’s odometer.

The spring went well; I made good progress at systematically working my way around the county, neighborhood by neighborhood. I enjoyed tracking my progress too, fascinated as I am by maps. I took a few weeks off in May and June to move into a new home, and when I returned to riding after the solstice, I started to feel doubtful about my goal. I loved the challenge, but it was eating into more important parts of my life. During a family vacation on 4^th of July weekend, I had time to reflect, and the prospect of abandoning the goal seemed more sensible.

But when I returned to Rock Hill, with one ride I was swept up in the pursuit once again. On the same ride, I also gained insight into myself that in hindsight highlights the sense I've had all year of being torn between competing callings. I even wrote about it, and was quite excited about it, but didn't think it called for any change of course necessarily. But then the hang-ups with the riding endeavor became more tangible, accompanied by odd numerical occurrences and conspicuous reminders of Scriptural themes. When I try to tell people these things in conversation, I find the thoughts too complex to express verbally. Perhaps it would help to list them by category. First the physical obstacles, then the numerical oddities, and last the reminders of Scripture.

"Don't play with cracked carbon" -R. Davis

One by one, all the elements involved in my endeavor gave out on me:

• Computer: My laptop is 2005-style obsolete, and Google Earth had been overloaded for a while, but soon after I returned from our mountain retreat, the computer grew extra sluggish. In my frustration I paid $250 for the services of mycleanpc.com, which was a total waste. 
• GPS: During a test run of the Garmin battery in July, I accumulated a week's worth of rides, many of them on new roads, only to find my computer wouldn’t recognize the device when I tried to upload them. That meant hours of manual mapping if I wanted to record the progress I made. I did it, but with great frustration and loss of riding time.
• Riding itself: On July 31, I rode in 24 hours of Booty, the 2nd big event I'd aimed at for the year. The lead-up to it was stressful as I struggled in vain to get in long training rides. The weather forecast for triple-digit heat during the event was foreboding, and my ride was disappointing; I didn’t come close to the 483 km I rode last year. My goal was 500 km and I ended with a meager 353. 
• Bike: Afterwards, I took another week off to recover from the depleting effort. My first ride back, the best bike-handler I know hit me from behind in a fluke accident while we rolled around an intersection re-grouping. 



8 days later my phone wasn't too bad off

• Phone: I got a new frame, and six days later took it on its first long ride. I was texting at a stoplight when the light turned green, had to roll with the phone still in my hand, hit a pothole, and dropped it. This was the intersection of Cherry and Celanese, the two busiest roads in Rock Hill; good luck retrieving that one. Dozens of pictures I'd taken on my rides were lost. 

When I returned from that ride, I learned that an earthquake had struck Virginia while I was out, which capped off a truly strange day. But upon further reflection, I realized something even more strange. The first of the numeric oddities occurred on March 11, which was also the date of the massive earthquake in Japan. The number 33 has shown up in my experiences almost as if on cue...

• The "pro contract": My good friend Paul Sutton presented the idea to "sponsor" me by buying me a bike. We joked after striking our deal that I was now a professional cyclist, something I dreamed of for most of my adolescence. Afterward, I realized that he proposed the idea on 3/11/11 at 11 PM, and that as we discussed it, I passed through the 3rd hour and 33rd minute of the 33rd day of the second half of my 33rd year of life. Upon re-calculation months later, I realized it was only the 32nd day, if February 8th is taken as the beginning of the second half of my birth year. But 182.5 days (exactly half a year) from August 8 at 8:46 pm is actually February 7 at 8:46 am, so it turns out I was 32.5 years, 32.5 days, and 3.25 hours old at 12:01 AM 3/12/11, when Paul and I were striking the deal over pancakes. 
• Lust for miles at the Booty ride: I passed through 333.3 km after 12 hours, 12 minutes of ride time, a very biblically complete number, and I thought to call it a day. When I pressed on to get maximum miles, I wound up with 13 hours, 37 seconds of riding, an average heart rate of 130, and 13th place in the hill climb portion of the ride. I'm not superstitious about the number 13, but that's almost enough to tempt me.
• The frame-cracker ride: the collision happened 60 hours to the minute before I turned 33 years old.  
• After the dropped phone ride and the earthquake, I toured Fort Mill on the way back from Charlotte, and unintentionally finished the ride after 3 hours, zero minutes, zero seconds of riding time. The elapsed time was 3:33:03. I'd taken 33 minutes and 3 seconds to get a drink and a new phone. 
• Tega Cay Day: I rode every road in Tega Cay Sunday, 9/4, the longest and most crooked ride I've done this year. A customer popped into the store as John and I prepared to go, and though we were closed, he purchased a bike, the price of which after tax was $333.83. I finished the day with 99.93 miles. 

It was on this ride that Scriptural texts corresponding to my riding experiences became most conspicuous, in part because circumstances had brought to my attention many texts with the theme of straight paths.

"Oh Boy! At last a bike that fits!"

• By the time of the accident that cracked the frame, I was thoroughly frustrated by all the setbacks. I got a replacement frame and was particularly excited after building it up because it was the first time in more than six years I was on a properly sized frame. This was August 16. On the 17th I took it for its first ride in a team time trial at Charlotte Motor Speedway, and the seatpost slipped. As I examined it afterwards I discovered a crack in the seatpost itself. "What next?" I thought. While working on it that night, I was listening to the Bible, as I sometimes do, and though much of it went in one ear and out the other, this cut to the heart: "When you discipline a man with rebukes for sin, you consume like a moth what is dear to him" (Psalm 39:11). Ouch. I wasn't sure what my sin was, but that rang true.  
• The more I thought about it, the more the idea of God's discipline seemed to fit my circumstances. I knew cycling had been occupying too much of my attention and time. I wasn't sleeping well, eating well, working well, the house was a mess, the yard even worse, my bank account yet worse; I was undisciplined and careless in every area of my life except riding all the roads and recording them. 
• With this in mind, I turned to what is probably the best known Bible passage related to the Lord's discipline, Hebrews 12. "Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us... It is for discipline that you have to endure... Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed" (Heb 12:1,7,12-13). I was gripped by v. 12: "make straight paths for your feet", and began to meditate on other texts with similar theme: "ponder (or "make level") the path of your feet; then all your ways will be sure" (Prov 4:26-27); "In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths" (Prov 3:6).
• Then came Tega Cay Day. I was stoked about the hilly course and to be knocking out so many roads in one day. As I considered the crooked and undulating course for the day, the sermon text for the morning service at church was strangely fitting: Mark 1:3: "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight." At first I was tempted by the superstitious thought that God was speaking to me about my ride plan for the day, but as I rode, more light was given on the words from Mark 1. Mark was quoting Isaiah, who follows the call to "prepare the way" with a promise: "Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain" (Isaiah 40:4). Forget my bike riding plans, how was this fulfilled? Didn't Jesus lift up our valleys and smooth our rough places by walking through them? Turn our suffering into the loving discipline of our Father to make us like our older brother (Rom 8:17; Heb 12:7; 5:8), and turn the ultimate enemy death into a friend by tasting death for all of us (Heb 2:9)? In that sense, was riding every road more deeply symbolic of Christ and what He accomplished in his incarnation and humiliation than I first intended or realized? The thought was so fleeting that I could hardly remember it after the ride, but other reminders seemed to present themselves...

Six days after riding every road in Tega Cay, I set out to finish off all the paved roads on the opposite end of the county. I was joined by three friends in what was to be a 78 mile venture. 68 miles in, I was taking a drink when I realized too late I was headed for a ridge in the pavement and a pothole. I had enough time to realize it would be sketchy, but not enough time to react and put my hand on the bars. Thankfully I landed on my back and my bike was unharmed. As I reflected on the accident afterwards, I realized the circumstances were stranger than fiction. I was 33 years and 33 days old, I wrecked on Strait Rd. wearing socks with "let us run with endurance the race set before us" (Heb 12) stitched into the sole. All three themes of broken bike parts, the number 3, and Scriptures related to discipline and straight paths converged in a most remarkable way. 

I may be nuts, but eleven threes kinda stood out

I've already written about this several times, but the more I ponder it, the more strange it gets. I mentioned above that I perceived in the repeated reminders of "straight paths" a call to be more disciplined and responsible in taking care of myself and my house. When I bought ingredients to cook a meal September 23, the first time in months I'd made something other than a sandwich or cereal for dinner, the grocery store receipt was $33.03 before tax, which means $.33 tax, for a total of $33.36.

Standing on a street called Strait

A week later I returned to the scene of the accident and found the whole that wrecked me filled in, which reminded me of the insight I had on Tega Cay day and seemed to be enough of a symbolic confirmation that I decided to write about it. I didn't mention this before, but the stats of that ride were peculiar too: Strava said I climbed 1033 feet and hit 32.9 mph, though Garmin said 555 feet and 33.3 mph max, but both gave avg heart rate of 144, max 177 (do the subtraction). I'm not a numerologist, I promise. I'm not predicting the future with any of this, just observing. I have some theories about the spiritual significance of these things in light of my unusual sensitivity to numbers, but that will have to wait for another post. For now, here's something to ponder: "even the hairs of your head are all numbered" (Matthew 10:30).

The latest thing to strike me is the significance of the first thing that struck me when I fell: my keys. They were in the back pocket that cushioned my landing. Actually they didn't cushion it; they made it much worse. I'm still healing up from that one. A bike accident is obviously significant for someone who makes his living from bicycles, but what is probably not as obvious is that my night job is locking doors. So I fell off my main source of income and landed on the other source of my income. Odd. Here are some texts I'll be chewing on for my next post in which I'll reflect more on this: Genesis 3:17; 17:5; 22:16-18; 32:22-32; maybe Colossians 1:24 and Romans 8:17-23 too.  

In light of these things, Bob Dylan's "Every Grain of Sand" has grown more meaningful to me. Emmylou Harris does it best, I think.

Trying to be Thankful

For the first time in my life, I spent Thanksgiving alone. I decided not to travel to Columbia to see my family. For reasons I can't explain here, it would've meant visiting them in a restaurant and a hotel, and selfish idealism got the better of me. It was so far from "home for the holidays" that I wanted no part of it. My family actually were more okay with it than I was; I felt miserable all day and they were the ones reassuring me. As is often the case in the months of long shadow and gloom, long anticipated gatherings of family or friends often suddenly and violently lose their appeal to me as I'm getting ready or on the way, and I recoil and stay home sulking. I know I'm wrong to do it, but it's better than sulking in a crowd, which I do quite well given half a chance. If you're thinking "this man needs professional help," you're right, and I have it. It helps; it doesn't fix.

I intentionally rode south of town to where a tornado struck last week, killing three people and destroying several homes. I stopped on the side of Williamson Rd., where I could see the site of the mobile home in which two people died, and a swath of downed trees and the charred ground where homes once stood. I considered how much the victims lost, and how much I have to be thankful for. I was rebuked, but not broken. My heart is as hard as the barren ground scoured by the storm. What an elusive thing gratitude seems to me right now; seeking it directly doesn't seem to be working, so I think I'll stop.

Thanksgiving with Nebuchadnezzar and friends

I passed by the Courtneys' house and said a prayer for them. There were a lot of lookers driving around the area. After crossing the cotton fields near Mobley Store and turning back toward town, I stopped when I saw some beautiful cows. They were close, and I scrambled to get a picture of them, but by the time I'd retrieved my camera, they'd bolted away, and I scared the piss out of one of them. I thought for a minute or two about that. "The fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth..." (Gen 9:2). Why is that? Beyond the fact that "every moving thing that lives shall be food for you..." (9:3), what does that signify? I'm channeling Edwards here, thinking typologically. I considered Psalm 8, "You have given him dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under his feet, all sheep and oxen, and also the beasts of the field" (Psalm 8:6-7). Nothing dawned on me, so I asked the question, threw a leg over the bike, and kept riding. Now that I'm home, though, I think there might be more to ponder in the phrase at the end of Gen 9:2 "Into your hand they are delivered" and the New Testament's application of "all things under his feet" to Christ's lordship over all things including death (1 Cor 15:25-28; Heb 2:5-9). Hands and feet and animals and death and Jesus. What's that all about? Not sure, but I'm pretty sure there's a goldmine just under the surface where those texts converge.

I wanted to ride back by the site of the worst damage and get a picture. I'd refrained on my first pass because I thought it would be insensitive, but I saw a section of forest away from the homes damaged that I thought I could capture, so I looped back around on S Rambo and 324, where I passed this:

What struck me was the thought being thankful, not just giving thanks. Like the NIV's mistranslation of James 1:22 "Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says." Just do it, huh? Trouble is that's not what it says. Γίνεσθε δὲ ποιηταὶ λόγου καὶ μὴ μόνον ἀκροαταὶ παραλογιζόμενοι ἑαυτούς. Wow, after looking up Γίνεσθε I feel even more strongly. "Become"; it signifies a change of condition, state, or place. Literally it reads "Become (but) doers of word and not only hearers deceiving yourselves." No lie I had an argument about this with an imagined opponent as I rode away from the sign. If you ever wonder why I'm so quiet on bike rides, it's not because I'm not talking, it's just I'm talking to people only I can hear. Okay, so what's the big deal? "Become a doer of the word" or "do the word" are saying the same thing. Isn't it just semantics? I've already written plenty here and here trying to prove the point that it's closer to life and death than it is to semantics. We don't change the fruit on a tree by stapling store-bought apples onto the tree, we give the tree good soil and water and light. I'm thankful for my friend Ellen's advice to cultivate thankfulness through mindfulness. I'm still struggling with my mind's tendency to see all glasses half-empty, but at least the demon is named and I can fight the battle where it rages. 

I rode back to the site of the worst damage. You can see the trees broken and stripped of leaves in the center. 

You can also see my shadow, which I didn't notice, the same way I didn't notice that I was being watched as I captured this. I turned around and saw a man and woman sitting in their carport with several cars, but nothing but a few bulldozers where their house once was, and a smoldering fire consuming the last of the rubble. I was embarrassed. I didn't want to treat their suffering as a spectacle for my curiosity, even if dozens of cars per minute were doing just that, but I'd been caught. I stood there for a minute feeling uncomfortable, and then waved. Actually I think they waved first. I rolled onto the pavement, and the woman said "You can hardly recognize it, huh?" 

"Yeah." 

"Glad y'all weren't riding out here that night; it came through about the time y'all normally do." 

I talked to them for a few minutes, trying to show some measure of appropriate sympathy, but it wasn't much use. How do you console someone you just met who's sitting in their metal carport next to a patch of dirt that used to be their house--on Thanksgiving? Rather, they were the ones showing kindness to me, in part because they'd received such grace in the midst of tragedy. Albert (I think that was his name), the 80-year old father, was home when the tornado struck; two family members hid under the couch, and the next thing he knew, the roof collapsed. He received a few scratches. His house had seven fireplaces, which are particularly dangerous in violent storms, but all of them exploded or crumbled. Their neighbors across the street lived in a mobile home and were both killed. Sue said, "I've never seen one before, but I can say now that I've seen a miracle." She also told me how amazed she's been at how many volunteers they had helping them clean up.   I asked them about their house, and they said they're planning to rebuild. "We're thankful. We can replace a house, but we can't replace each other." I thanked her for letting me stop by. "Sure, you're welcome to stop by any time." What beautiful people. 

I rode away struck with my own ingratitude and selfishness. In moments like those, I sometimes think I'd better be grateful for what I have; it might be taken away from me. Then by legalistic reflex, I "thank" God, fearing the possible consequences if I'm not thankful. I'm not sure what that is, but I don't think it's gratitude.    

Hebrews 12:28 says "Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe." Literally "therefore, a kingdom unshakable receiving, let us have grace." It's been said that thanksgiving isn't giving out of our abundance; it's receiving such abundance so deeply that it overflows back to its source. That's the secret, but it's so true that "there's nothing harder than learning how to receive":

The Grace of Sleep

I sometimes defend my habit of staying up too late with the thought that the early bird may get the worm, but the night owl eats the early bird for a midnight snack. I don't know if I'm the first to say that, but inasmuch as I stay up trying to get work done, I think I'm wrong. I keep beating my head against this wall:

Unless the LORD builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the LORD watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain.
It is in vain that you rise up early
and go late to rest,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives to his beloved sleep. (Psalm 127:1-2)

Here's an interesting application of that text

This psalm alludes to the possibility that work done in a certain manner is in harmony with the will of God to the extent that it amounts to God himself working (cf. Psalm 90:16-17; Isaiah 26:12; Ephesians 2:10). I'm open to correction on that interpretation of verse 1. But if I'm understanding correctly, how does vain labor differ from work that is the LORD's? It seems the only quality of vain work mentioned by the text is the habit of rising early and going late to rest. How does rest or the lack thereof determine whether our work is God's or in vain?

It dawned on me two weeks ago when I stayed up past 3 AM three times in one week in order to write this that there is a correspondence between the necessity of physical rest for effective physical work and spiritual rest for effective spiritual work. It was particularly striking to me because I was writing that the only way we can do good moral works is from a posture that rests in Christ's work for righteousness and acceptance with God, and I found myself sluggish and less than sharp in my routine work at the bike shop because of a lack of rest. Isn't it odd that past a certain point, the harder we work, the less we get done? So too in the spiritual and moral realm (not that physical work has no spiritual and moral value), when we don't rest in Christ as our righteousness, but seek to justify ourselves through our work/s, our works shrivel, regardless how hard we try.

This is an on-going struggle that's been particularly intense for me the past few weeks. I set a goal to finish three substantial pieces of writing by the end of October, and three weeks into November I'm not done with any of them. And it seems the more I redouble my efforts, the less progress I make. Since much of my writing is theological, I also find myself greatly hindered when my desire to produce turns into a desire to perform, and my heart craves the approval of people for what I speak in public more than the approval of God when I seek him in private. Then comes the subtle perversity of seeking God so that I can be productive and have something good to write rather than for His own sake. Scary. As Keller summarizes Edwards, the difference between a genuine and false believer is that a false believer finds God useful and the true believer finds God beautiful.

That leads quite naturally to this prayer:

Let your work be shown to your servants,
and your glorious power to their children.
Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,
and establish the work of our hands upon us;
yes, establish the work of our hands! (Psalm 90:16-17)

Our work "established" is dependent on a vision of God's work and power, and receiving his favor. The word translated "favor" is the Hebrew word noam, which may also be translated "beauty" or "pleasantness," and is the source of the name Naomi.

O LORD, you will ordain peace for us,
for you have indeed done for us all our works. (Isaiah 26:12)

I don't fully understand how those two things relate, but Paul alludes to similar ideas in Ephesians 2, perhaps by way of elaboration.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them. (Ephesians 2:8-10)

His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus, God prepared beforehand... we walk. How much more clear can Paul be that the key to our works is not our works? He continues...

Therefore remember that... you were at that time separated from Christ... But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility... that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility. And he came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father.
(Ephesians 2:11-18)

There's much more that could be said about these texts and others, but for now, I'm off to enjoy sleep, that constant reminder that neither my work nor my works can save me, and that God works and gives while I close my eyes and snore.

Throwing my Baggage Under the Bus

In my last post, I described my experience of spiritual and theological confusion regarding the issue of justification and how I may come to have righteousness and a clear conscience in the sight of God. What I wrote was essentially the form of the ideas when I was teaching on them five years ago. After I posted it, I realized it was incomplete in a few areas, and in a few others I misspoke, and I'd like to tie up the loose ends and correct myself.

Rescuing or taunting? I can't decide either

First, I realized that I threw a few parties under the bus when I said that they compounded my struggle. Lest I suggest that I have nothing good to say about my alma mater, Baptists, and Catholics, let me clarify. First, I admit that what tainted my interaction with these forms of the faith and their adherents was my own insecurity and guilty conscience. Many of my peers in Bible College had a very enriching spiritual experience. Though my experience was overshadowed by a sense of doubt and guilt, my education equipped me with a knowledge of Scripture that has benefited me immeasurably. I stumbled at the way that the "victorious life" and world evangelism were so emphasized that Christ himself seemed to be a means to those ends, but it was probably my guilty, prideful fear that caused me to perceive things that way. The same goes for my interactions with parents while I was teaching. I was at fault in some of my teaching, not sensitive enough to doctrinal differences, and overly sensitive when criticized. But I confess I really enjoyed rocking the Christian school boat by questioning the motive of "see you at the pole," quoting the apostles' creed, talking about predestination (it's kinda in the Bible, no?), acknowledging that some devout Christians believe in evolution, and giving attention to Mr. lightning rod himself, Martin Luther. But I have a hunch that if "God in the form of this angry young man" showed up showed up in an American Christian school environment, he'd cause more than a little controversy.

Soren Kierkegaard

Second, I got a little carried away with the exegesis of texts and failed to reason adequately from my insights to my main point that justifying faith and its immediate effect of a clean conscience is the only foundation for good works, holiness, and the justification of proven righteousness. I assumed this was clear by demonstrating that what Abraham believed to perform the radical act of obedience in sacrificing Isaac was the same thing he believed (and more importantly, we believe) in order to be justified, declared righteous and forgiven. That connection was a Copernican revolution in my understanding of sanctification. What I thought before seeing this was that sanctification (as Protestant theology calls the justification of practically proven righteousness) was the means to prove to myself that I was justified, based on a reading of 2 Peter 1:10 that ignored 2 Pet 1:9, a misunderstanding of certain parts of Hebrews, and a failure to read Jesus' demands for discipleship in the gospels in light of the cross. The result was that I sought assurance of salvation by sanctification, which inevitably degenerated into the pursuit of justification by means of sanctification, or justification by works. But Abraham obeyed by faith in the same promise by which he was declared righteous to begin with, not by self-conscious effort to prove to himself that God had made that promise and he had believed it. So the quintessential act of sacrificial obedience, an act so radical that Kierkegaard called it a leap of faith into the absurd, was not the scary arbitrary demand of a harsh God that I once thought, but rather accorded with justification by grace through faith. I thought sanctification was the path to justification, or at least to the assurance of justification; in fact the opposite is true. Unless I can rest in Christ and his righteousness, I will never progress in love.

Third, I failed to explain practically why good works must flow out of a clean conscience before God. The simplest answer to this question is that if we believe our works are saving us, we aren't doing them for others or for God, but for ourselves. I'm not the first one to say these things. Martin Luther writes in his Treatise on Good Works, section ix, "Now this is the work of the First Commandment, which commands: 'Thou shalt have no other gods,' which means: 'Since I alone am God, thou shalt place all thy confidence, trust and faith on Me alone, and on no one else.'" In essence, he says that justification by faith is implied in the first commandment. He continues:

And this faith, faithfulness, confidence deep in the heart, is the true fulfilling of the First Commandment; without this there is no other work that is able to satisfy this Commandment... Compared with this, other works are just as if the other Commandments were without the First, and there were no God...

As Paul says of his fellow Israelites who don't believe in Christ, "they did not submit to God's righteousness" (Romans 10:3), so Luther equates failure to believe in Christ for justification with idolatry and its fruits:

Section X: Now you see for yourself that all those who do not at all times trust God and not in all their works or sufferings, life and death, trust in His favor, grace and good-will, but seek His favor in other things or in themselves, do not keep this Commandment, and practise real idolatry, even if they were to do the works of all the other Commandments, and in addition had all the prayers, fasting, obedience, patience, chastity, and innocence of all the saints combined. For the chief work is not present, without which all the others are nothing but mere sham, show and pretence, with nothing back of them; against which Christ warns us, Matthew vii: "Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing." Such are all who wish with their many good works, as they say, to make God favorable to themselves, and to buy God's grace from Him, as if He were a huckster or a day-laborer, unwilling to give His grace and favor for nothing. These are the most perverse people on earth, who will hardly or never be converted to the right way. Such too are all who in adversity run hither and thither, and look for counsel and help everywhere except from God, from Whom they are most urgently commanded to seek it; whom the Prophet Isaiah reproves thus, Isaiah ix: "The mad people turneth not to Him that smiteth them"; that is, God smote them and sent them sufferings and all kinds of adversity, that they should run to Him and trust Him. But they run away from Him to men, now to Egypt, now to Assyria, perchance also to the devil; and of such idolatry much is written in the same Prophet and in the Books of the Kings. This is also the way of all holy hypocrites when they are in trouble: they do not run to God, but flee from Him, and only think of how they may get rid of their trouble through their own efforts or through human help, and yet they consider themselves and let others consider them pious people.

Wow. I didn't realize that Martin Luther was taking notes on me while I was in college. That fits my experience to a tee.

A generation later, the Belgic Confession stated the same truth in article 24:

Parlez-Vous Francais?

We believe that this true faith being wrought in man by the hearing of the Word of God, and the operation of the Holy Ghost, doth regenerate and make him a new man, causing him to live a new life, and freeing him from the bondage of sin. Therefore it is so far from being true, that this justifying faith makes men remiss in a pious and holy life, that on the contrary without it they would never do anything out of love to God, but only out of self-love or fear of damnation. Therefore it is impossible that this holy faith can be unfruitful in man: for we do not speak of a vain faith, but of such a faith, which is called in Scripture, a faith that worketh by love, which excites man to the practice of those works, which God has commanded in his Word.

That's strong. It strikes me that this theory of good works presupposes the Christian doctrines of the sinfulness of humanity, our need of salvation, and that God will judge the world. I suspect, however, that the principle applies no matter one's worldview, that without the security of grace, good deeds are acts of selfishness, but that calls for further thought. For now, fast forward three centuries to when Charles Spurgeon told the story of "The King and the Carrot:"

What a jolly looking fellow Charles was

Once upon a time there was a king who ruled over everything in a land. One day there was a gardener who grew an enormous carrot. He took it to his king and said, “My lord, this is the greatest carrot I’ve ever grown or ever will grow; therefore, I want to present it to you as a token of my love and respect for you.” The king was touched and discerned the man’s heart, so as he turned to go, the king said, “Wait! You are clearly a good steward of the earth. I want to give a plot of land to you freely as a gift, so you can garden it all.” The gardener was amazed and delighted and went home rejoicing. But there was a nobleman at the king’s court who overheard all this, and he said, “My! If that is what you get for a carrot, what if you gave the king something better?” The next day the nobleman came before the king, and he was leading a handsome black stallion. He bowed low and said, “My lord, I breed horses, and this is the greatest horse I’ve ever bred or ever will; therefore, I want to present it to you as a token of my love and respect for you.” But the king discerned his heart and said, “Thank you,” and took the horse and simply dismissed him. The nobleman was perplexed, so the king said, “Let me explain. That gardener was giving me the carrot, but you were giving yourself the horse.”

Greg Salazar summarizes well: "You cannot barter with grace. Grace says, 'you don’t deserve anything and yet I am giving you everything.' The one who understands this will be like this farmer graciously giving the King everything. This is the true fruit of a tree planted in God’s vineyard."

G. C. Berkouwer writes in Faith and Sanctification,

It is well to note that the Reformed Confessions never teach that believers, having gone through the gate of justification, now enter upon a new territory where they must, without outside help, take their sanctification in hand. It is not true that sanctification simply succeeds justification... Hence there is never a stretch along the way of salvation where justification drops out of sight. (77)

Berkouwer looking somewhat annoyed

Genuine sanctification--let it be repeated--stands or falls with this continued orientation toward justification and the remission of sins. (78)

The believer's constant "commerce" with the forgiveness of sins and his continued dependence on it must--both in pastoral counseling and in dogmatic analysis--be laid bare, emphasized, and kept in sight. Only thus can we keep at bay the spectre of haughtiness--"as if we had made ourselves to differ."
    The dangers that beset us in our reflection on the work of the Holy Spirit (here he refers to a view of the Holy Spirit's work that divorces it from justification by grace, so that the grace of the Spirit is "placed in physical, instead of ethical, antithesis to nature. The ethical contrast of sin and grace yields to that of nature and super-nature" [82]) cannot simply be evaded by means of a theological technique. It is very well possible to speak about the Spirit's operations and still think of man only in his sinful self-containment. There is no rational technique that affords a priori insurance against anthropocentrism, nomism, and pharisaism. The only insurance known is an exultant faith which thrives on God alone and "forgets not all his benefits." (84)

This reminds me how I once viewed the Pauline teaching to "walk in the Spirit." Pardon me while I engage in a little nostalgic introspection. "For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live" (Romans 8:13). In 1998 I read in John Piper's Future Grace that this refers to eternal death and eternal life (he probably said more than that, but in my fearful selfishness it's all I heard) and thought "I must lack assurance because I'm not walking by the Spirit; I'd better be more careful to do that. But what does that mean? Do I follow these impulses and "promptings" of conscience to do things I don't want to do? Is that obedience? I feel compelled to go and "witness" to people on the street, and I've done so, but still feel doubtful and guilty. Maybe it's because I've not shared the whole gospel. Maybe it's because I've only spoken to people I already know or only when I'm with other people in my church's visitation training, and that doesn't take a real leap of faith, and I need to just bust out a sermon in the middle of Wal-Mart like Peter in Acts. Yeah, that's what I need to do. If I pray enough beforehand, and just take the first step, the Spirit will come on me with power and maybe I'll even speak in tongues." It didn't happen. I felt condemned. It sounds so silly now, but it was no laughing matter. The devil had mixed my hyper-sensitivity, an educational environment charged with expectancy of transformation and spiritual power for ministry, a world-evangelization centered hermeneutic and spirituality, a decisionist understanding of faith in the gospel, thrown in a few twisted Bible verses for good measure, and served me up a lethal brew of law posing as gospel. And I drank it down to the dregs year after year.

I was at fault in many ways; though I sometimes spoke to mentors about this, I was never fully open with all my thoughts. I was too proud to admit how much I was struggling. But no one wanted to hear it, not even close friends, not to mention pastors or professors. I certainly wasn't confident enough to be persistent with them, and wasn't the picture of promise and potential that spiritual leaders usually choose for discipleship relationships. I wonder if this isn't an unavoidable symptom of contemporary evangelical activist fascination with success and numbers, so that most spiritual leaders are so determined to bring justice to the nations that they don't notice the bruised reeds and faintly burning wicks right in front of them (Isaiah 42:1-3). I also wonder if my alma mater, with its core values of the authority of Scripture, victorious Christian living, and world evangelization, doesn't make Christ himself subservient to these emphases. The people Jesus rebuked were all about the Bible (Jn 5:39), victorious living (Luke 18:11-12), and making converts (Matt 23:15), but they missed Jesus. I was known by some who knew me superficially in those days as a CIU poster child; indeed I was impressed with these three values, but in all honesty I was more impressed with them than I was with Jesus and his gospel. Why is this? I think part of the problem is that victorious life teaching does not view "constant commerce with the forgiveness of sins" as the foundation of holy living. In practice, if not in explicit doctrine, it communicates that we "move on" from that to greater things.

If my interpretation of the "victorious life" of Abraham in my last post was correct, this couldn't be further from the truth. I'm so grateful that about the same time I saw this in Scripture, I began to be exposed to the teaching of Tim Keller, from whom I learned of the sources I quoted above (no, I have not read those works of my own initiative). His teaching refreshed me, and continues to do so, because he preaches Christ from all of Scripture, so that what impresses me most from the word isn't the authority of the particular text, nor the moral demands it rightly places on me, nor the call and need to proclaim it to the world, but Jesus himself, whose face is the ultimate power of transformation (2 Cor 3:18). His sermon "Inside-Out Living" on Luke 18:9-14 has been particularly meaningful to me, and if you listen, I think you'll see why and appreciate it too.

The Impossibility of Doing Good with a Bad Conscience

The secret's out. I saw these signs on  a ride
the day after I stayed up all night writing most of this

It's no secret to anyone who reads my blog or has known me for longer than a few years that I am continually plagued by an uneasy conscience. As one who professes to believe in a Savior who has secured total pardon for all my faults and the never-ending favor of God, occasionally I am awakened to the inconsistency of my guilt and God's faithful grace in spite of my weakness. The past few weeks have been one of those times, as I've gradually perceived a lack of faith in Christ's sufficiency driving my recent reclusive reflection at the expense of more pressing practical priorities. The reason I keep coming back to Reformation theology and its emphasis on justification by faith is that I am by nature and functional conviction not Reformed Protestant, but rather very monkish and religious and worksish, trying to assuage my guilty conscience by things I do and prayers I pray and inward spiritual feelings I attain. Myers-Briggs says the second most common occupation for my personality is a brother in a Roman Catholic religious order. The number one occupation is a sister in such an order. I've been tempted on several occasions.

One of my religious habits is observing Reformation Day, the anniversary of Martin Luther's posting his 95 Theses on the door of the church in Wittenburg, October 31, 1517. For the past few years I've made a habit of pondering particularly Lutheran themes during the month of October, and of watching the movie Luther on or near Halloween, in memory of the two years I focused on such things while teaching Bible to 8th, 9th, and 10th graders. After watching the film again Monday night, and seeing Joseph Fiennes portray Luther's transformation from fear, trembling, and self-loathing introspection to bold, daring, self-sacrificing endeavors for others, I recalled with refreshing poignancy the insight I received while wrestling with the teachings of Jesus, Paul and James, and trying to teach what I saw.

November 1998. Midnight in my dark night of the soul.
Cochran, Ioiel, and beards helped keep me from total insanity. 

Until then, I saw Paul's teaching about justification by grace through faith in Christ and his finished work in confusing tension with Jesus' and James' teaching of justification by words and works, striving to enter by the narrow gate, and that only those who do the will of the Father will be saved, etc. "How can I have confidence that I'm justified now and will finally be declared righteous in the last judgment if that depends on what I do? I understand the idea that the works are the proof of the faith, but I don't see much proof, hard as I try to bear fruit and do good." Ironically enough, it was my evangelical Bible College that seemed to reinforce this absence of peace with all its emphasis on sharing the gospel and "victorious" living, with relatively little attention given to justification. And John Piper's book Future Grace. "The faith that justifies also sanctifies." I love John Piper and agree with this and most of what he says, but that statement killed me. All I could hear in it was "You're not very sanctified, so you're probably not very justified either." For most of the next decade, I sought to prove to myself that I was justified by being sanctified. It didn't work. Downward and inward I went, year after year, with little moments of relief that lasted about as long as my clean-shaven face in college.

Then one day in Autumn 2006, while teaching my fifth period ninth and tenth graders, I mentioned justification by faith as the fulfillment of the blessing promised to Abraham, as Galatians 3 teaches. Jesse Roberts stood up and said "Woohoo! Martin Luther! Justification by faith alone, baby!" To which Dusty Flowe replied "It can't be by faith alone, because then why would we need to be good?" (I might be misquoting Dusty, but it was something to that effect). When I realized there were several students who were troubled by this idea, and that I didn't understand or deeply believe what I claimed to believe, I naturally decided "Yeah! I don't get this at all, so I'll teach fourteen-year-olds about it!" Those two weeks of teaching were some of the hardest days not only of my stint as a teacher, but of my whole life. Parents pulling students out of my class, conferences with parents telling me I was upsetting their children's faith and my biblical exposition was garbage, even administrators telling me to stop teaching on the topic, all compounded by the fact that I lived alone at the time, and interacted with no one outside of teaching. I trembled at the thought they might be right, and that I was causing little ones to stumble. But I refused to leave off the topic; I felt my soul was at stake, and I was determined to resolve the tension I saw without regard for whether it left me Protestant, Catholic, or none of the above. I was also determined to push my students past a simplistic understanding of justification and of the divide between Catholic and Protestant. Through it, I gained the most precious insight into Scripture I've ever seen, and it marked the biggest turning point I've experienced in my ongoing battle with spiritual depression and doubt. Ever since, in the darkest moments of doubt, I find "the mercy seat is open still" and I take refuge in Christ, and not the works of my hands. I think one or two students might have actually picked up on my main points too.

So what's the insight? It's that justification by faith is not only congruent with the necessity of good works for the justification of proven faith (James 2) and a favorable verdict in the final judgment (Matthew 7, 12), it is the necessary foundation for them, the only way by which we may perform such acts of love, mercy, pure speech, and sacrificial obedience. For this reason, I prefer to state the biblical doctrine not as "justification by faith alone", which may be too easily misunderstood as faith that is alone, unaccompanied by other graces, but as "justification by faith only," because in Paul's sense of the word, pardon for sin and peace with God (Romans 3-5), justification is only by faith. There is no work we can do to attain it or secure it, only cast ourselves on the grace of God in Christ and rest in His promised righteousness.

In terms of Scripture, what I sought to understand and reconcile when I was teaching were the apparently contradictory teachings of Paul and James. Here are the key texts:

Paul: "Now to the one who works, his wages are not counted as a gift but as his due. And to the one who does not work but believes in him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is counted as righteousness" (Romans 4:4-5)

"yet we know that a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ, so we also have believed in Christ Jesus, in order to be justified by faith in Christ and not by works of the law, because by works of the law no one will be justified." (Galatians 2:16)

James: "You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone." (James 2:24)

Some read these and conclude that there were multiple, contradictory Christianities in the first century, and that the teaching of Paul cannot be reconciled with that of James. Without going into all the reasons why I disagree with that stance, let me offer a few thoughts on how James and Paul harmonize with each other beautifully.

A straightforward reading of James and Paul quickly reveals obvious differences in meaning in the three key terms of "faith" (compare Rom 4:18-21 and Gal 2:20 with Jas 2:14, 19), "justification" (Rom 4:6-8; 5:1; cf Jas 2:16, 20), and "works" (Rom 4:9-15; cf Jas 2:15-17). Paul affirms that acquittal and forgiveness before God are received as a gift by trusting in Christ instead of by law adherence, while James denies that we are shown righteous by believing (or saying we believe) in God, while neglecting to obey Him. Most interpreters harmonize the two in this manner, but the question still remains: how does James' teaching that Abraham was justified by works (2:21-24) relate to Paul's teaching that he was justified by faith (Rom 4:1-5)?

The first point to observe is that the two are looking at different events from Abraham's life: Paul speaks of his believing God's promise that he would have a son and his offspring would be as many as the stars (Genesis 15), and James of his offering that son as a sacrifice (Gen 22). Obviously, the event described by Paul happened first, but is there any other textual evidence to suggest that the faith in Paul's mind precedes Abraham's radical obedience expounded by James?

James connects the two episodes by calling the sacrifice of Isaac the fulfillment of Genesis 15:6: "You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was completed by his works; and the Scripture was fulfilled that says, 'Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness'—and he was called a friend of God." (Jas 2:22-23). Abraham's faith in the promise of God became "active" and was "completed" in the sacrifice of Isaac. Genesis describes it as God's "testing" of Abraham (Gen 22:1), an idea which is consistent with the broader teaching of James, who opens his epistle with the well known words "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). The Greek word translated "trials" (πειρασμοῖς, peirasmois) shares the same root as "tested" in the Greek translation of Genesis 22:1, and the idea of "perfection" is also repeated in James' exposition of the sacrifice (Jas 2:22). So James himself connects his teaching with the focus of Paul's exposition of Abraham's faith.

In what manner then did Abraham's works complete and make active his faith by which he was justified? Did he believe God's promise in order to be counted righteous (Paul's sense of "justified") and then grit his moral teeth to complete his faith with works in order to be proved righteous (James' sense of "justified")? That wouldn't be too unreasonable an assumption, and we might conclude such with only James' teaching to go on. But Scripture tells us "By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac" (Heb 11:17). We might even understand that statement, as I once did, as "Abraham believed he needed to add works to his faith to finally be saved, so he obeyed." Functionally, that's probably where many, if not most, Christians live their daily lives, seeking to add works and obedience to their faith like icing on a cake. But that's not how Abraham obeyed.

Then Abraham said to his young men, “Stay here with the donkey; I and the boy will go over there and worship and come again to you.” And Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on Isaac his son. And he took in his hand the fire and the knife. So they went both of them together. And Isaac said to his father Abraham, “My father!” And he said, “Here I am, my son.” He said, “Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” Abraham said, “God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” So they went both of them together. (Genesis 22:5-8)   

"Abraham and Isaac", Johann Heinrich Ferdinand Olivier

In one of the most agonizing narratives, Abraham expresses his faith explicitly when Isaac asks him where the lamb is for the burnt offering. He believes that "God will provide for himself the lamb for the burnt offering" (v. 8, emphasis mine). Abraham's confidence that Isaac would somehow be delivered is also reflected in verse 5, as he tells his servants that he and Isaac will go worship and return. The letter to the Hebrews reveals another facet of Abraham's confidence, that "God was able even to raise him from the dead, from which, figuratively speaking, he did receive him back" (Hebrews 11:19).

As Abraham performed this most radical, even scandalous, act of sacrificial obedience, he wasn't looking to what he would give God, but rather to what God would give him. He believed two things: God would provide a lamb for himself, and God was able to raise the son of promise from the dead. For those who are familiar with the Christian Scriptures, this foreshadowing of the gospel of Christ almost needs no comment. Belief in provision of a lamb for God anticipates how Christ's sacrifice first provides for God and the demonstration of his righteousness before it can benefit us.

for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith. This was to show God's righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins. It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus. (Romans 3:23-26, emphasis mine)

And he believed God would raise Isaac from the dead before he'd let his promise fail. So we are told:

if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved. (Romans 10:9-10) 

How was he so bold to believe these things? For one, he had learned through experience that he could have complete confidence in the promise of God. Again and again, God made promises, and Abraham acted in ways inconsistent with those promises, from lying twice about Sarah to protect himself (Genesis 12, 21) to taking her maid in an effort to help God keep his promise (Gen 16). But God kept giving more specific and more amazing promises, until at last He began to fulfill them with the birth of Isaac, when Abraham was 100 years old, and Sarah 90. Through all of it, Abraham had learned that God was on his side, continually pursuing him in grace. Had he been unsure of this, and responded to God's call to offer Isaac as a means to secure God's favor, he would have been paralyzed. But with the passive righteousness of faith, Abraham was able not only to obey, but to comfort both his servants and Isaac through the promised provision of God: "God will provide for himself the lamb for the burnt offering, my son." How gut-wrenching that question must have been to Abraham, and how faithful, truthful, and compassionate was Abraham's answer!

We live in the shade of trees planted by our grandfather in the faith

If Abraham believed in Christ as he was presented to him, in seed form, and had such confidence and willingness to obey, how much more confidence and obedience may we have! In comparison, we have a massive tree of fulfillment in Jesus' incarnation, death, and resurrection, all explained and applied to us with the power and authority of the Spirit. We live in the shade of His tree, where we can see the yes to all of God's promises in Christ (2 Cor 1:19-21; 3:18). It's reasonable then that our call to radical sacrifice is more thorough (Rom 12:1), and the works which we will do far greater (John 14:12).

What are we to do then if we don't perceive the fruit of obedience in our lives? The answer is not "try harder." Rather,

since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us... let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience... let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works (Hebrews 10:19-25, emphasis mine)

Trying to justify myself through preaching a promise
I felt I couldn't believe, July 1998

Drawing near to God through Jesus for the cleansing of our conscience must precede and produce any outward works. When we confuse or equate good works with faith, as I've done many times, we don't please God and we don't benefit those around us. Take for example the time I served as a leader on a youth mission trip while burdened with a sense that I would not be saved unless I submitted to God by following fearful compulsions to evangelize strangers. When the mission leaders asked for a volunteer to share a message at an outreach event, I offered, dogged by my evil conscience and the speaker's teaching on responding to the "voice" of God. I failed to realize that the offer was intended for the students, not the leaders, but I was too wrapped up in myself to think about the students. Ironically, the text I shared was one of the most brilliant promises of gospel grace in all of Scripture, but from which I felt completely shut out.

As Luther said, "It is the supreme art of the devil that he can make the law out of the gospel," turning the grace of Christ and the call to believe in him into a meritorious work. But thankfully, "Even the devil is God's devil," as he also said, and "I myself...owe my papists many thanks for so beating, pressing, and frightening me through the devil's raging that they have turned me into a fairly good theologian, driving me to a goal I should never have reached..." (Preface to Luther's Works in German, 1539, emphasis mine). Leave out the "good theologian" part and insert in place of "papists" Keswick theology, John Piper's distillation of Daniel Fuller's doctrinal novelty, Baptist and Catholic parents, Vineyard teaching about the voice of God, and my own conscience, and you've got my story. All of them taught in some form or other a theology of glory, and drove me to the theology of the cross, which is the gospel of Jesus.

So what was the promise I preached without believing? It's perhaps the clearest statement of our confidence as those justified by faith in Christ:

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare (ἐφείσατο) his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? (Romans 8:31-32)

But this is not just a statement of our confidence, but echoes God's word to Abraham as he raised his knife to kill Isaac:

“Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld (LXX ἐφείσω) your son, your only son, from me.” (Genesis 22:12)

When I preached the words of Romans, I believed I was offering something valuable to God and saving myself. Ironically, it was that belief which made my offering worthless, for it's only as we're more impressed with God's grace in Christ than we are with our sacrifice that our sacrifice becomes acceptable to God.  Abraham demonstrated this self-forgetful faith when he called the name of that place, 'The LORD will provide'", and so it was said, “On the mount of the LORD it shall be provided (or he shall be seen)” (Genesis 22:14). Whether or not this mount was the location of Jesus' crucifixion geographically, we see here God's provision through Jesus Christ in vivid color. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever, and so in Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac, in my spiritual and theological angst, and wherever God calls his children to be conformed to Christ's sufferings, we may think God is destroying us, but because of the cross, He is actually saving us.