The Pursuit of Gentleness, Part 1: Life of Christ

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     I’m writing to you today on a topic I have no business writing about. In fact, I’m so bad at it that I’ll be writing on the same topic for two more letters after this one. There is no natural tendency of my own that would make me good at the subject at hand. Therefore, I write.

     Good sense is urging you to bail on this letter before it gets any further out of hand. I would appeal to your love and our common bond in the body of Christ to stick with it. At best, we’ll be cooperating with the Holy Spirit. At worst, you will have wasted an 8-minute read.

     To get us started, here is the Scripture to be dealt with:

    Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near (Philippians 4:5 NIV).

     And my soul says, “Good luck with that.” The world is a prickly place. Eight billion people, eight billion agendas. Agendas collide at an un-trackable pace. And collisions rarely – oh, so rarely – produce gentleness. Unless the Creator’s grand plan is to provide each of his kids with his or her own planet (like Beta fish, each with its own bowl), the collisions could extend into eternity. Not a happy prospect. Or perhaps there’s a better way.

     If you know me at all, you know I’m a dedicated fan of scientific method. Be methodical with the evidence, rather than haphazard. The evidence won’t lie. Or, as the Bible commentator Matthew Henry once wrote: “The practical love of truth is the most powerful preservative from error and delusion.” For the love of truth, let’s start with a hypothesis:

     “Every relational boo-boo in human history can be traced to a deficiency of gentleness.”

     Scientific method dictates that we gather evidence now. The evidence may support the hypothesis; the evidence may work to dismantle the hypothesis. The love of truth will push us on, regardless. Where shall we start? Well, gee, I would rather write about your lack of gentleness than mine.  (Hmm, this could be a collision in the making.) Tell ya what: let’s rewind to the beginning of human history and see what evidence is to be found there.

     (The Lord God) said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man said, “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate” (Genesis 3:11-12 ESV).

     Instead of reflexively blaming his wife, Adam might have realized they were both in a heap of trouble, and since the Lord God was addressing him (“you” is singular here in the Hebrew), he might have asked the Lord God for help, which would have benefitted his bride as well. But there was something in him, something pervasive and self-serving, that made him go with harshness, blaming not only his helpmate but also the God who gave her to him. On that first nugget of evidence, lets see if we can identify what was in Adam (and might be at work in us).

     The long ago Bible teacher Oswald Chambers described two competing paradigms within each living Christian. One he called “the essential sweetness of the Son of God”; the other is designated “the essential irritation of myself apart from Him.” (If you care to see the terms in context, they’re in his devotional classic My Utmost for His Highest at the May 14 installment.) If we trust in God’s work of redemption and sanctification in us, we will also trust that the essential sweetness of Jesus is the stronger of the two, by far. But if we’re honest with ourselves, we have to admit that the essential irritation lives closer to the surface.

     The question is: Which one will prevail? The answer is: Both, at separate times. The goal – well, I sure hope it’s our goal – is to have the essential sweetness of Jesus prevail more often. By way of introducing this series of letters, I would have us consider one key thought: The very life of Christ is in every Christian. Not just a knowledge of Christ or a resemblance to him, but his very life. It would take a much longer series of letters than this one to call up every biblical reinforcement on the life of the begotten Son in every adopted son and daughter of God. So let’s go with some of the low-hanging fruit:

    I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me (Galatians 2:20).

    For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears… (Colossians 3:3-4a, emphasis added).

    …the riches of the glory of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory (Colossians 1:27).

     Apart from embracing the very life of Christ in us, I have no sweet clue as to how to keep the “essential irritation” from being the defining characteristic of our lives. Suppression only works until the lid blows off – meaning that it doesn’t work at all.

     Next time, we’ll gather more evidence to test our hypothesis. Meanwhile, each of us can gather evidence from our daily interactions. All the while, let’s remember: Let your gentleness be evident to all, the Scripture says. And it goes on to say, The Lord is near.

     How much nearer could the Lord be than in?

  Grace and Peace (inward and outward),

 John    

Knothole

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     Good ol’ Jeremiah Burroughs – remember him? Of course not. He lived some 400 years ago. Didn’t leave any universities bearing his name. Just a circuit preacher who wrote a few books, got himself in trouble with the establishment once in a while. Fell off his horse one day. Died of complications from his injuries, forty-some years old.

     It’s not exactly the story you would write for yourself, is it? And yet, among the books he left behind is one titled The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment. Pretty ambitious, huh? Wishful thinking? Having read the book, I don’t think so. Contentment is a jewel, and rare indeed, but Burroughs makes a compelling case for pursuing it. The standout line: “A heavenly conversation is the way to contentment.”

     Burroughs was convinced that Christians don’t talk about/think about heaven enough. Little brothers and sisters of Jesus could encourage one another to a much greater degree if we would remind each other of where we’re headed.

    Long after Burroughs, in the Nineteenth Century, the game of baseball was invented. Long before the Nineteenth Century had passed into the history books, the game of baseball had been monetized, beginning with our hometown team, the Cincinnati Red Stockings. Fences went up. No good selling tickets if there are no fences. But not all could afford tickets, so some, mostly kids, would find knotholes in the fence and watch the game, one eye at a time. Not content to simply watch, the kids would find an empty sandlot and imitate what they had seen. Knothole League Baseball was born.

     At the moment, there’s a fence between mortal Christians and heaven, a shabby construct of sin and separation. On the other side, we hear of the cheering and glory, of saints and elders and angels caught up in praise. On the other side, nothing subtracts from perfect contentment. From the other side – we take it on faith – our King will come in power, and it’ll be Game Over for any who oppose him. The other side. Then. Not now.

     But when the Father and Son collaborated to give the Holy Spirit in mass quantity, the knots fell out. From Pentecost onward there have been innumerable knotholes, through which heaven has been… if not visible, at the very least perceivable. Not a front row seat by any means, but the best view available in this age. This side. Now. Not then.

     Step up to the knothole, will ya? You gotta see this! And then, how ‘bout a pickup game?

 …when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit (2Corinthians 3:16-18).

     When Burroughs wrote “a heavenly conversation is the way to contentment,” maybe he could just as well have said “toward” contentment. I don’t think he meant to put forth the notion that perfect contentment is attainable on this side of the fence. But I do think he would agree that the fence wasn’t meant to stand forever. The first of its failings, the portent of its falling, is already plainly visible.

 Grace and Peace (sufficient for where we are),

 John