Galatians 5: Weeds and the Tale of Two Gardens

My wife tells me that our life is the tale of two gardens. In each situation and with every choice, the question is which garden will respond most vigorously. One of these is full of desires out of control. The other is full of the desires under the Spirit of God's control. Or as Paul puts it, one shows itself through "sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like." (Gal. 5:19b-21a) In the other garden, we have "love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control" (Gal. 5:22b-23a) Each is the natural product of one part of our nature when restraints are removed: our original life without God and our revitalized life with God.

So what is the difference? Jesus taught that there are things that choke out the healthy garden: thorns (or weeds), which are "...the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful." (Mark 4:19) So, what can we learn from weeds:

1. Weeds are a plant out of place. My wife says this often. Many weeds are actually desirable plants: quick growing, easy to maintain and beautiful foliage and flowers. But put that plant in the wrong place, it can be invasive, pervasive and destructive. That is true with our desires: many are the good gifts from God's promoted to an unhealthy position of prominence in our lives. When they are over-important, they are toxic, causing us to use or abuse others. 
2. Weeds are best controlled by encouraging healthy plants. In the area around my home, star thistle is an annoying, prickly, spindly plant that penetrates gloves, grows easily and is resistant to most types of typical herbicides. According to the pamphlet produced by the local horticulture experts, the best way to control star thistle is to replace it with desirable plants. We cannot just kill a bad habit--we must replace it with a good habit. I find that my toxic thoughts are tenacious. It is remarkable how long I want to hold on to them. That is why Paul encouraged "whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Not just accidentally drift over to these things, but intentionally think about them-planting the furrows of your mind with the healthy, beneficial thoughts.
3. Weeds sprout more quickly than healthy plants. That's one of the reasons they are weeds. Tear out your garden down to bare dirt and don't water, prepare the soil or fertilize. Which plants show up first? Nice, healthy fruits, flowers and vegetables? No! Weeds do. Our self-desires is often the first to respond, while the Spirit-nurtured desires sprouts more gradually. Like in any garden, we must watch out so that they are not the "first responders" That's why John had to remind his friends, "Watch out that you do not lose what we have worked so hard to achieve. Be diligent so that you receive your full reward." (2 John 1:8)

The good news for Jesus' followers is the promise of the life-giving presence of the Spirit. The natural, expected result of the Spirit's renewed life in us is the good fruit. Many of my prayers ask for just that. Jesus said, "A good tree produces good fruit, and a bad tree produces bad fruit." (Matt. 7:17) Spirit, let your flourishing produce it's good fruit in me and reduce the weeds to ash.

Titus 2:10: Serving the Next

My job provides an environment that helps others thrive. We make software-software that other engineers customize to make their computer motherboards work. People use those computers to a million different things. It isn't fancy--if we're successful, you don't even know that our software exists. It just works. Software is like this--it isn't a glory job. I've often compared it to solving crossword puzzles--mentally stimulating but not terribly important in the grand scheme of things (see here).

I like to think that I write beautiful code. Elegant, even. Not just me: there is a book called Beautiful Code, but the audience for that beauty is limited. Much like one painter admiring the technique of another--brush strokes, color palette, use of materials. Or one pianist marveling at the fingering of a difficult passage of Chopin. Or a craftsman appreciating the joins on a piece of fine furniture. God is genius. There is nothing I invent or discover in software that will surprise him. Instead, he delights in my seeking out of the beauty he placed in creation--even in software--before the foundations of the world.

The best art highlights truth and multiplies impact. The art is not the truth itself. Rather it is a sort of truth wrapper, by which truth is emphasized and delivered. Church architecture can lift the gaze heavenward, teach the core stories of the faith, carry the voice of the teacher and singer and encourage community. Well-designed cars convey speed or stability or prestige while enabling speedy or comfortable travel.

Likewise, the best software highlights truth and multiplies impact. Consider the average auditorium: the air is processed by software, the sound is processed by software, the visuals are provided by software. You don't (and should not) marvel at the quality of the picture reproduction, the comfort level of the room's temperature and humidity or the fidelity of the audio (unless you are the production engineer). Rather, these are environmental wrappers for the message being delivered by the speaker giving the speech.

Sometimes it is hard to see the beauty because there is no direct line of sight between what you create and what is eventually created by someone else. It's hard to see the Ferrari when you build the fuel filter. It's hard to see the supercomputer when all you write (as I do) code on a chip that takes less than a square centimeter, holds less than 1 megabyte (1000th of a gigabyte) and costs less than 25 cents. But there is a different type of beauty that God has shown me: not just the beauty of the finished product, but the beauty of serving the next.

Serving the next is saying: "How can what I make better serve the next person who uses it?" and "How can what I do better serve the next person who experiences it?" I don't know many of the engineers who use my code. But I do know that I can serve them by making my code easier to use, more robust and simpler to use. They may never notice what I did any more than you noticed how clean the bathroom was in the last hotel room you stayed in. But it is still beautiful. It is still praising God. I am creating an environment where in some little way, another person can thrive.

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving. - Colossians 3:23-24

We must be careful because we can twist this out of mixed motives. One way this gets distorted is watching outcomes or calculating return on investment. That is, we often improve what we do so that people will pay us more money or look on us more favorably or judge whether the effort is worth it. As Jesus said, "And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that." (Luke 6:33)

In creating beauty through serving we are reaping the real benefit and creating the real beauty: the inner life transformed by God "just as the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and give his life as a ransom for many." (Matthew 20:28)

"But...I need that outcome." Like a salary. Or sleep. Sure. We depend on others who, in turn, serve us--whether it is our company, our customers, our families or our friends. But our paychecks come from God and he has called for lives "so that in every way they will make the teaching about God our Savior attractive" (Titus 2:10b)

Galatians 4:19: The Weight of Spiritual Formation

"Spiritual formation is, in practice, the way of rest for the weary and overloaded, of the easy yoke and light burden, of cleaning the inside of the cup and the dish, of the good tree that cannot bear bad fruit. And it is the path along which God's commandments are found to be not 'heavy,' not 'burdensome'" - Dallas Willard[1]

What does it look like to be transformed? Not merely changed, but improved. We are all in the process of being formed spiritually, but what shape are we taking? This process happens internally and, to my eye, it is not linear-no straight line from spiritual point A to spiritual point B. It feels erratic. I suppose it should feel that way: the result of the divine interaction between our cantankerous spirit and the spirit of God.

The pace is slow, but it is inexorable. I often wonder if God himself would echo the words of Paul, when he wrote: "My dear children, for whom I am again in the pains of childbirth until Christ is formed in you." (Gal. 4:19)

But I would not trade it for anything. Why? Because the type of person I long to be--indeed, the type of person I am becoming--lies along this path. Where I do good because I am good. Where my "want-to" wants the right things. Where what God wants is the natural overflow of who He has made me.

I have tried the alternative and I am sick of myself trying it. I long for health. "External manifestation of 'Christlikeness' is not, however, the focus of the process; and when it is made the main emphasis, the process will certainly be defeated..."[2]

Today, I am asking what I have asked for many times before: for the spirit of God to have his natural and normal result in me, calling on the promise of Jesus: "the water I will give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life." (John 4:14b)

[1] Dallas Willard, Renovation of the Heart, p. 24
[2] Ibid, p. 23

James 2:18: Being and Doing

Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds. - James 2:18b

What is the role of mysticism--the direct experience of God--in the Christian faith? Through the centuries there have been writers and saints who have emphasized this, but not often within the evangelical or Reformed tradition. Even titles such as Henry Blackaby's Experiencing God or J.I. Packer's Knowing God seem to hold God at the distance of a dear friend-someone to be watched and emulated but not really experienced. The closest we've (Helen and I) found in our (admittedly scattered) readings comes from Tozer or Chambers, or further back from the Puritans John Owens and Jonathan Edwards.

Our tradition is skeptical of anything related to encountering God directly in any meaningful way because it is inherently subjective. Rather than relying on or seeking after the subjective, Reformed writers have preferred to stand firmly on revealed, propositional truth and suggest that the "experience" or "encounter" with God is as He is found in that truth. This skepticism can likewise be seen in the how the Spirit's role in the Christian life is treated. Scared by the potential anarchy of "new revelation" they confine the Christian experience of the Spirit to whispers in a small quasi-Scriptural box.

There are two things that came to mind as Helen and I discussed this the other day:

• Being/Doing. This is the being/doing, are/appear-to-be, faith/works tension that we all wrestle with. Some faith traditions may focus on who we are in Christ, the transformation happening internally and the trust relationship with God. Other faith traditions may focus on our changed lives, how we shine out our renewed life in Christ, and how God uses our lives to change the world. Bit, this is not a either/or, it is a both/and. But to what degree?
• Integrity. Integrity is the unity between who we are on the inside and who we appear to be on the outside; the faith that is on the inside and the matching works on the outside; the life-giving transformation by the Spirit and the fruit of the Spirit. James calls those who lack this integrity double-minded (James 1:8). Jesus termed it hypocrisy (cf. Matthew 6:5).

Does truth lead to closeness with God (the route familiar to me in my upbringing)? Or is it a closeness with God that brings us to the truth?

God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. - 1 John 4:16b

Fundamentally, the Christian life is a trust relationship, not in a proposition ('Gravity won't let me down'), but in a person ('God will neither abandon nor forsake me.'). However, the moment we describe a person, propositions are attached. "God is love" is a good example. There is a person behind the proposition.

...that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. - John 17:21

The Bible says there is potential for an incredibly close relationship between us and God. Mysticism seeks to describe what that connection looks like; what resonating with the heartbeat of God teaches us; what it feels like; where takes us. Some Christian mystics assert more: a connection with God separate from the thoughts and emotions. Seems tenuous to me.

Matthew 18:22: Apologize Often, Forgive Freely

Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity - Hanlon's Razor

There is malice. There is stupidity. Don't mix them up.

When David writes, "They repay me evil for good, and hatred for my friendship." (Ps. 109:5), it sounds familiar.  Stories told and words misquoted. Merit ignored or squashed. Helpfulness spat upon. Plans ridiculed. We all maintain a catalog of offenses against us, indexed by time, person and subject matter. The worst ones are those calculated deliberately to hurt.

Once a restaurant featured their special of the day on a large sign outside-a mouthwatering entree at an attractive price. How sad was the face of the waiter who came to tell me that there was a mistake and the special was not available

Likewise, how humbling to find that among my cataloged entries of offenses, there was no malice at all, merely ignorance? I had been holding on to my anger, nursing it along, the pages of that catalog entry dog-eared from my repeated recollections. Only to find that there was no ill-will, just ill-conceived, or ignorant or, at worst, thoughtless. How much time and energy was wasted.

Worse, I know that I have often been misunderstood because I am dumb or tactless or blind. I also know how difficult it has been to convince the other person (or people) of my sheer stupidity. I get it. It is energizing about holding on to that anger and that sense that they were wrong and I was right. Giving that up leaves my pain, in some sense, unaccounted for.

But because I am so prone to it myself, I came up with this phrase to reinforce a best practice in my life: Apologize often; forgive freely. 

I recognize that I make mistakes--foolish, unintentional, hurtful mistakes-all the time. Or I suspect that I do, but am not sure. So I'd better just apologize often and up front to defuse hurt feelings. Preemptive apologizing.

I also realize that others do the same to me. Rather than speculate on their motives. Rather than presume malice. So I will forgive freely. In Jesus' bookkeeping terms:

I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times. - Matthew 18:22

However, this week, I realized that my habit was fraying. Situations were left with forgiveness unspoken and apologies unoffered. I didn't realize it until I was reading a bishop's sermon in the detective novel, Precious and Grace, where he says: "My brothers and sisters: do not be afraid to profess forgiveness."[1]

The word "afraid" struck me. Yes, I had become afraid. Unwilling. Stubborn. Needing to go back to Jesus and tell him I'd been hoarding his forgiveness and not extending it to others. Afraid to give up feeling wronged, so that I could feel I was right.

The word "profess" challenged me to say the words. "It is forgiven." Not just rid from my heart, but making it all the way to my lips. "It is finished."

How about you? Are you tightfisted with your apologies or your forgiveness? Me, too. But let us apologize often today, and forgive freely today. As Jesus prayed:

Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. - Luke 11:4

[1] Alexander McCall Smith, Precious and Grace

Luke 22:21-24: The Traitor at the Table

The grace and hospitality we receive from God at His table compels us to offer grace and hospitality to the hurting and broken in our world - Pastor Mike Lueken

Jesus pictured his kingdom as a banquet. The surprising aspect of his meals was who was invited and who accepted. In the parable of the prodigal son, the younger son accepts the Father's invitation while the older son stays outside in anger (Luke 15). The invited wedding banquet guests decline, but the willing bystander enjoys the festivities (Matthew 22). In the last supper, Jesus says "I have been very eager to eat this Passover meal with you..." (Luke 22:15) N.T. Wright adds, "Jesus' kingdom-stories made it clear that all and sundry were potential beneficiaries, with the most striking examples being the poor and sinners."[1]

• Jesus extends an open invitation to join him at the table. 
• He welcomes those who come. 
• He challenges those to live as his renewed community. 
• He summons those to join him on his mission.

Jesus lived out his own parables when he invited his disciples to celebrate a Passover meal with him. Strangely--at least to me--each time this last supper is described, he describes the presence of traitors at the table. Apparently, it wasn't clear who it would be:

But here at this table, sitting among us as a friend, is the man who will betray me.... The disciples began to ask each other which of them would ever do such a thing. - Luke 22:21, 23

While Judas was the focus of Jesus' attention at the meal in this regard, Jesus was aware how fragile the loyalty of all of the followers at the table. Watch their reactions to Jesus:

And while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” They were very sad and began to say to him one after the other, “Surely you don’t mean me, Lord?” ... Then Judas, the one who would betray him, said, “Surely you don’t mean me, Rabbi?” - Matthew 26:21-22, 25

They weren't sure it wasn't them. They weren't sure it wasn't someone else with them. Jesus had already called out their faith as fragile (Matt. 26:34-35) In fact, "Judas's act of betrayal differed in degree, but not in kind from many other disloyalties...the most powerful message of Jesus was his unquenchable love even for-especially for--people who betrayed him."[2]

The difference was not in the degree of treachery, but in the trust in God's mercy.

The seat at the table is just as level-setting as the foot of the cross. We are all equal. We all come to the table not just as failures, but as traitors. We all come to the table in need of grace and Jesus' welcome. We all can help others come to Jesus' table by offering them the same grace and welcome that Jesus offers us.


[1]N.T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, p. 245
[2]Philip Yancey, Grace Notes, March 15

Luke 12:34: Such Is Each One As Is His Love

Such is each one as is his love.- Augustine[1]

What we love determines the trajectory of our lives. Even when disoriented, confused or derailed, our natural tendency is to re-orient ourselves toward that which we love. As Jesus said, For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Luke 12:34)

Sometimes we are not aware of the love which has primacy in our hearts. Or we are not willing to admit it, even to ourselves. Maybe it is acceptance, acclaim, influence, security, comfort, or control. What we love shows in what irritates us, and what we are willing to fight for, what calls forth our utmost exertion and what can cast us into despair. God uses these as tests, to draw our loves out into the open, not so that he would know our deep longings, but so that they would be revealed to us.

What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don’t they come from your desires that battle within you? - James 4:1

We find out what kind of person we really are--and what we really love. Then we can (1) run from that, (2) shove that realization to the side, (3) embrace that or (4) reject that as disappointing and ultimately, damaging. It may be a good thing--an excellent thing--but it is unable to bear the weight of our soul. Augustine says:

Wherever the soul of man turns, unless towards God, it cleaves to sorry, even though the things outside God and outside itself to which it cleaves may be things of beauty. - Augustine[2]

So today, I will begin with this determination: to love the Lord my God with all of my heart, mind, soul and strength.

[1] Quoted in David K. Naugle, Reordered Love, Reordered Lives: Learning the Deep Meaning of Happiness (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2008), xi., cited in Tim Keller, Prayer, p. 193
[2] Augustine, Confessions 4.10.15, cited in Tim Keller, Prayer, p. 194