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Godly Grief

Sometimes a phrase will pop up in the Bible that takes me by surprise. Though I’ve read it several times through, still I find new things as if I’d never seen them before! This is the beauty of God’s Word, this living text, that inspires and convicts and breathes life into the believer.

Recently I came across the phrase “godly grief,” found in 2 Corinthians chapter 7, also called “godly sorrow” in another version.

We are familiar with grief and sorrow, and those terms are found in scripture. But what is different about godly sorrow, as it is used in the Bible?

First real grief (or sorrow). There is a deep feeling of loss in the death of a loved one, or the loss of one’s health or material goods such as income or property. This is the ache, the emptiness, the yearning, mourning, for what you’ve had.

Job, in the Bible, lost everything: his family, wealth, and health. All he had left was his life, such as it was, and his integrity. We know that he never cursed God for his losses. His quote is familiar to us: when his wife advised him to “curse God and die,” he replied, “Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?” (NASB, Job 2:9-10).

And then there is godly sorrow—something I believe is more heart-wrenching, but it is God’s tool which produces great joy in the end.

Paul mentions godly sorrow in 2 Corinthians. In his first letter, he had chastised the church in Corinth for the way they had returned to their previous lifestyles, not displaying their new faith. He set them straight in several areas, sternly and lovingly, as a parent would a wayward teen.

In his next letter, he says that though he regrets causing them sorrow, he does not regret the “godly sorrow” that his letter produced in them. What kind of paradox is this?

Just like a parent who says, “Believe me, you’ll thank me later,” Paul knew that he needed to reprimand them so that they could make changes and become more mature in their faith. This was Paul’s method to bring them to repentance.

“As it is, I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting. For you felt a godly grief, so that you suffered no loss through us. For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death” (ESV, 2 Corinthians 7:9-10).

Repentance is God’s gift, one step along His way of saving us. We cannot be saved until we know we need saving. And how do we come to that knowledge? We face our sins, those myriad ways we have fallen short of God’s perfection. Suddenly we see them; the Holy Spirit has laid them all bare to us, in all their ugliness. We realize there is nothing we can do to save ourselves, to make ourselves clean from the sins we have committed.

This is not a “Gee, I’m sorry I got caught” kind of grief. That’s easy to manufacture, and it doesn’t produce true repentance leading to salvation. No, God is gracious to show us how guilty we are, and He mercifully teaches us that there’s no way we can make it better on our own.

My desire for cleanliness, for mercy when I should be declared guilty, comes about because God has granted me the godly sorrow that leads to repentance.

Peter denied Christ three times on the night of His arrest. He had no self-awareness of the fact that he had sinned so blatantly—until a rooster crowed, something Jesus had told him ahead of time: “Truly I say to you that this very night, before a rooster crows, you will deny Me three times.” In self-protection mode, Peter denied Him to anyone who thought they’d seen him with Jesus, and when the rooster crowed, “…he went out and wept bitterly.” It was the remembrance of his vow never to deny Jesus, and Jesus’ prophecy that indeed he would (NASB, Matthew 26:34, 75). Peter was heartbroken that he had sinned by denying Jesus in an attempt to protect his own skin. Imagine how deeply Peter grieved.

Mercifully, upon Jesus’ resurrection, He asked Peter three times, “Do you love me?”  Three times Peter answered that yes, he did. Peter was distressed that Jesus would ask three times, but here Christ showed Peter the sweet grace of forgiveness after his deep, godly sorrow. One declaration of love for each denial Peter had made.

King David took another man’s wife and then arranged to have that man killed in battle. When the prophet Nathan pointed out David’s sin (we refuse to “see” our own sin until God reveals it to us!), David repented: “I have sinned against the Lord” (2 Samuel 12:13). For seven days he fasted, on the ground, in great grief. He penned two Psalms, Chapters 32 and 51, recounting his godly grief, repentance, and forgiveness.

“How blessed,” writes David, “is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered! How blessed is the man to whom the Lord does not impute iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit! When I kept silent about my sin, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night Your hand was heavy upon me; my vitality was drained away as with the fever heat of summer. I acknowledged my sin to You, and my iniquity I did not hide; I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord;’ and You forgave the guilt of my sin” (Psalm 32:1-5).

How beautiful to see one’s own sin for what it is—a crime against God—and recognize it, and experience first great grief—godly grief—and then the sweet relief of forgiveness when we have repented!

Godly grief, then, is a gift from God, the means He uses to bring us to repentance that leads to salvation.

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Strive With Me in Prayer

God’s presence in the midst of your prayers
Part 2, Striving with Me

When writing to the early Christian church in Rome, Paul the apostle has what seems to be a strange request. “Now I urge you, brethren, by our Lord Jesus Christ and by the love of the Spirit, to strive together with me in your prayers to God for me…” (Romans 15:30). Sometimes the Christian life is described as hard, and here it seems even praying is hard work (striving)! What does he mean?

Paul was one of the early missionaries, having traveled throughout much of the Mediterranean region to spread the Gospel. Writing his letter to the Romans while he was in Corinth, he laid out some of his plans. Although he wanted to come to Rome to speak with Christians there, he knew he needed to bring some financial aid to Jerusalem first. Then, he told the Romans, he planned to head to Rome on his way to Spain. However, as we Christians could understand, he knew his plans might not exactly have been God’s plans! And it turns out that though he did make it to Rome, it came about through completely different circumstances.

As the book of Acts describes, when Paul got to Jerusalem, a mob attempted to kill him. The Roman soldiers in Jerusalem, seeing a riot ready to break out, took Paul, bound him in chains, and dragged him away.

Arguing that he was a Roman citizen with rights, Paul was eventually brought to Rome (with many adventures and trials along the way). He didn’t go as a free citizen, but as a prisoner. But Paul was able to preach the Gospel along the way to anyone who would listen—including the soldiers who held him. How many people heard the Gospel who might not have otherwise? How many more directions did the Gospel travel in, as a result of his detours? We will never know, but we do know that Paul didn’t resist; he used his circumstances to preach the Gospel and bring God glory.

Given the dangers he went through after he wrote that letter to the Romans, his small reference to striving in prayer has more significance. Paul knew that though he had plans, God is ultimately in control of all the details, and so he submitted himself to God’s will before all things.

Why did he ask his readers to strive with him in prayer?

Prayer is, above all things, submission to God’s will. Prayer acknowledges God’s sovereignty. Paul submitted his plans and desires to his Lord, and let his Lord take care of the details.  Essentially Paul was saying, “I’m turning my feet in this direction, but I will let You turn them aside however and whenever You want.” Ultimately, Paul says, God’s plans are more important than his own.

Imagine Paul praying. He lays out to God what he wants to do to spread the Gospel. But he knows this is not about Paul; it’s about God. So if God has detours along the way, Paul trusts that God will care for him.

Now imagine how he asked the Romans to pray: strive with me. Do the hard work of praying that nothing gets in the way of God’s plan. Pray that whatever happens, God will accomplish His will. Pray that I can come to you safely, he says, but if not, God will get the glory anyway.

Someone else prayed similarly, back in the Old Testament. In the book of Daniel, when Daniel’s three friends Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused to worship another god, their punishment was to be thrown into a fiery furnace. They said to the king, “Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire; and He will deliver us from out of your hand, O king. But even if He does not, let it be known to you, O king, that we are not going to serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up” (Daniel 3:17-18). The three friends trusted God more than some handmade gods, and they were absolutely certain in their trust of Him. They didn’t back down. When they were tossed into the furnace, not only did God spare them, He allowed the onlookers to see the visible presence of another person, perhaps an angel or the pre-incarnate Christ, walking with them in the fire. Walking with them in the fire!

So strive in your prayers to God. Do the hard work of submitting your requests to Him. Be assured that He will answer your prayers, not always in the way you picture it, but His presence will be with you regardless of the outcome. And He will walk with you in the fire.

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But what about my doubts?

Faith in a world full of questions

It’s easy to know what you believe when everything is going well. When the sky is blue, and your pantry is full, and you have a job to go to tomorrow.

But then there are the dark days of doubt. When what you believed you understood last week, you’re not sure about this week. When one thing after another goes wrong. When it’s hard just to get up every morning. What about then?

The answers don’t always come easily, and they aren’t always easy to accept. But if you are a Christian, if you believe that there is a God whose truth is universal and unequivocal, then the answers are there, within your grasp.

And if you’re wondering if there is truth you can always rely on; if you’re wondering if there’s something better, something bigger than yourself, you need to ask yourself one thing: What do I know to be true?

Truth is, there is a God. He is the one true God, the all-powerful Creator of heaven and earth. Truth is, He holds the answers to every deep, philosophical, existential question ever pondered. Whether you believe Him or not, this is the truth.

Now, for those dark days. Because He is the author of life, nothing in this world surprises Him.

God knows your doubts, and where they come from. And He wants you to rehearse to yourself those truths that comprise the Gospel. (If you’re not a Christian, hang on–you might just find what you’ve been missing!)

Here they are: Sin exists. It’s real. And each of us struggles with sin every day. Sin misses the mark of what God requires. And there is a consequence of sin: eternal death, for which there is no release, no hope of a do-over.

BUT.

But there is one person who never sinned, who walked this earth, and who defeated the evil in this world. And because He never sinned, because He preached good news that had been promised from the beginning of time, his enemies put Him to death. That man is Jesus.

And that man who died, who was buried, He rose to life again, conquering death. He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God the Father.

What does that have to do with you? That essential truth is everything. Hang on to that truth, because it means eternal life to you. It means that though you die, you will be raised again to live eternally with Jesus in heaven.

And here’s that BUT: But what if I don’t feel it? What about the terrible things that are going on in my life? What about the worries I have, that are very real, that don’t seem to go away? What about that deep hole I dug for myself, that I just can’t seem to climb out of?

God has the answer:

BUT GOD.

Here’s what He says in His Word, the Bible, in the book of Ephesians, chapter 2: “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ–by grace you have been saved–and raised us up with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. 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.”

If you’ve already believed that, hang on to it. It’s the one truth that never dies. Believe that God sees what you’re going through, sees the doubts that you have, sees the darkness threatening to overtake you. What’s more, He doesn’t tell you to hang on for dear life because you might slip and fall.

Instead, He tells you this: “I give them [my own–my sheep, He calls us] eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand” (John 10:28). His sheep are precious to Him, and He guarantees that once they believe, they will never get left behind.

But what if I don’t feel it? But what if I have too many terrible things in my past? But…?

But God.

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Pursue Peace

In 1776 the British pastor Augustus Toplady penned a familiar hymn called “Rock of Ages,” a beautiful statement of his assurance of faith.

This assurance, this confidence gives him a sense of peace, a sense of rest.

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Save from wrath and make me pure.

The world is full of trouble. Dangers lurk everywhere, as we saw especially in the year 2020. We didn’t know how bad the pandemic would become; we couldn’t believe the destruction we saw in the streets of many cities. We wondered whose business would fail next, who would lose their jobs.

We worried, we fretted. We lived day to day, week to week, in a sort of daze. What could possibly happen next? Can it get much worse? Is this the new normal?

As much as we’d like, we can’t see the answers to such questions. But there is a comfort in the midst of the heavy, haunting weight of anxiety and unrest.

Think of worries as twofold: the temporal—what is happening in the present time or the immediate future, and eternal—where this is all heading at the end of days.

To some measure, we are able to affect our temporal worries, soothe them, perhaps change them, or try to manage them. But those eternal worries—who can know? This is the question that every generation has tried to answer. Whole religions have been invented trying to answer them. How can we know for sure?

History from all over the world tells of people who claimed to have the answers to all that troubles us. They begged wise men to impart some truth, something they could hang onto. Imposters every day invent new schemes to gain followers, enriching themselves and plunging poor souls into debt and depths of despair.

The prosperity gospel, for example, promises your best life now, but it ignores the truth that regardless of how much we pray against it, hard times do come. It ignores the truth that Jesus promised: “In this life you will have tribulation, but take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

The promises from man-made religions might make you feel okay for awhile, but eventually the nagging worry creeps back in.

That’s because the answers are only skin-deep, and they leave you feeling dissatisfied. Ultimately all the pretense cannot bear up under the weight of uncertainty, and you are back where you started.

But one God, the true God of Heaven, Creator of the universe, offers the only answers that hold up under scrutiny, answers that soothe the soul and offer a deep sense of peace and rest. Promises that are not empty, because Jesus has guaranteed them with His own life, which He laid down. And then, to seal the promise, He came back from the dead.

Not the labor of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Peace, comfort, and rest come from this assurance: the God of the universe is my shelter. Knowing that the almighty, all-powerful God cares for individual souls like mine. Knowing that there’s nothing I can do—not the labor of my hands, but simply trust.

Trust in God’s grace, given to those of us who recognize how sinful we are. Realize there is nothing we can do to save ourselves from the deadly consequences of those sins, and repent: ask for and receive the cleansing power poured out for us at the cross by Jesus Christ.

In this I have confidence, comfort, and contentment, and I know God will never leave me nor forsake me.

My worries, my doubts, my fears can plunge me into despair if I don’t stop and remind myself: What do I know to be true?

Emotions can cause me to doubt, cause me to run, and when they try to take over, I have learned to ask myself that question.

What do I know to be true?

The answer is the Rock I cling to, the Rock in whose cleft I can hide my face, my shelter in the storm. The answer is that God is the one true source of peace and rest, even when the heaviest burdens weigh me down.

What do I know to be true? What about when things are at their worse and I can’t stand on my own? I must remember—and Christian, you must also remember—that you have been saved by the grace of God, and not the work of your hands. This is what you retell yourself when everything around you seems to be crumbling.

Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the fountain fly;
Wash me, Savior, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyes shall close in death,
When I rise to worlds unknown,
And behold Thee on Thy throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.

Let me hide myself in Thee. I cannot save myself. Wash me, Savior, or I die.

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