Social media is such a dreadful place. We’re only a few days into the New Year, and the resolution-makers are already being shamed by countless memes. Even by fellow Christians, their attempts at habit alteration are very nearly mocked as foolishness.
I have some thoughts about this.
The writer to the Hebrews encouraged, “Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some…” (Hebrews 10:24). Two things stand out in this short sentence. Its simplest motion is that we’d be one another’s cheerleaders. Quite literally, it calls for us to παροξυσμὸν (intensely encourage) each other toward the victory of Christian goodness. This means that, rather than pot-shotting another person’s efforts toward Christian betterment aimed at Godly living, we should build up and root for each other.
But why do this at all? To steer clear of bad habits that lead away from victory.
Certain habits are called “bad” for a reason. They hurt us in more ways than one. If you are not waging war against these habits, then perhaps you do not fully understand the sin nature. The above text’s immediate aim is precisely, and particularly, a bad habit, namely, falling into the practice of absence from holy worship. If someone’s New Year’s resolution is to reform this bad habit, why would we whip him with discouragement rather than cheer him on?
My advice to the ones who, like me, want to change and do better…
Ignore those who appear to believe their “old self” needs no improvement or that your efforts to change are futile. Those people are shadows. Turn your face to the shadowless sunbeams of God’s grace (James 1:17). By the power of the Holy Spirit at work in the Gospel, be strengthened to examine your life. And then, feel free to make your New Year’s resolutions. Continue making the conscious effort to “put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ephesians 4:22-24). This “new self” is the self of faith. Even as it knows it can do nothing to add to salvation, it loves the One who saved it and wants to fight the flesh, seeking faithfulness to Him (Galatians 5:19-26).
One would think I should’ve been a weatherman because I’m so obsessed with the seasons. Although, it isn’t an obsession. It’s frustration. I live here, but I’m not meant for this climate, especially not the back-and-forth Michigan is currently enduring.
I dare say even the ones who adore autumn in this state will know what I’m talking about. The days are becoming wildly different.
I suppose one way to describe this is to say that, indeed, summer is over, and as a faithful doorman, autumn is watching for winter, preparing to hold open the gates when it arrives. Until then, autumn fidgets. It keeps opening and closing the door, stepping out to scan the horizon for winter’s caravan, and then stepping back inside again to watch and wait. By this, autumn stirs wildly different weather, sometimes all in one day.
Again, Michiganders will know what I mean. One moment, the sky is clear, and the sun is shining, warming all within reach of its bright array. It’s as if August locked the door, barring September and its followers from entering. But with little more than a glance to the horizon, thick clouds are invited over and into view. The door is thrown open. The sun is nudged away, its beaming warmth exchanged with chilly darkness and drizzling rain. In other words, to endure Michigan’s autumn means to be in August one minute and then October the next. One moment, the sky’s sapphire happiness is vast and cheerful. The next, you’re in deep space, a hundred million miles from our solar system’s star.
But then winter finally arrives, and that’s that—no more confusion.
I began by saying I’m not meant for this climate. I mean that in more ways than one. Interestingly, one of those ways, in part, explains why I’d never willingly leave Michigan. In truth, physically, I’m suited for Florida. My body feels better when I’m there. My back feels better. I have fewer migraines. However, God put me in Michigan. This is where my vocation’s muscle is flexed. I’ve come to realize my vocation—my combined roles as a husband, father, pastor, and the like—are less about location and more about devotion. I really can live just about anywhere when I’m confident that God has me right where He wants me. Where He puts me is a part of what He wants for me. What He wants leads to eternal life (John 6:40), which is eternity’s joyful location—an inheritance far beyond this life’s comforts.
When a Christian trades interest in this life’s comforts for the joy of the life to come, it’s incredible what can be endured. This world, steeped in its undoneness, is seen for what it is. Still, even as we endure, it’s amazing how the sun perpetually shines when, by faith, you know you’re not an inheritor of this world but of an altogether different sphere.
Saint Peter referred to this inheritance as “imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you” (1 Peter 1:4). He went on to say that this remains true, even as we are “grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (vv. 6-7). Luther explained:
“This means that our hope is not set on possessions or an inheritance present here on earth, but we live in the hope of an inheritance which is at hand and which is incorruptible, and which is undefiled, and that does not fade away. We possess this good eternally, only we cannot see it yet. … All things that are on earth, even though they may be as hard as iron and stone, are perishable and cannot last. Man, as he grows old, grows ugly; but the eternal good does not change, but remains fresh and green forever. On earth, there is no pleasure so great that it does not pall in time. We see that men grow tired of everything, but this good is of a different nature.” (Luther’s Works, Weimar Edition, 12:269.)
“…there is no pleasure so great that it does not pall in time.”
In this life, the seasons change. The cold moves in. The clouds pall the landscape. The light dims. And yet, eternal life’s season—our inheritance—remains unphased. It’s ready and waiting (John 14:2-6). It stands sturdy and cheerful and sure, beaming brightly beyond this world’s veil of tears (James 1:17). What’s more, as Luther remarked, not only do we know this, but we own its resplendence right now. “We possess this good eternally,” he wrote, “only we cannot see it yet.” It’s true. Our mortal eyes cannot see heaven’s glory. But faith sees it. And it’s aware that the light feeding heaven’s extraordinary brilliance—Jesus Christ—is alive with us right now, and He’s radiating luminously through us to a darkened world in dreadful need of rescue (John 8:12; Matthew 5:14-16).
For Christians, when life in this world becomes attuned to this hope-filled future, there’s little that the temporal darkness can disrupt. Knowing I’m not an inheritor of this world—that my time here is quite temporary—I see everything this life throws at me differently. More importantly, courage for faithfulness to Christ, my Savior, is within reach every moment of every day (Ephesians 6:10).
Having said all this, I need to be clear. I still intend to live in Florida one day. If God intends it, it’ll happen. Until then, I’m where I need to be.
Cruciform Stuff 