The Civil War of the Soul

 

The Civil War of the Soul

Civil War of the Soul - Audio/Visual 

I was alive before I knew the law. But when the law's command came to me, then sin began to live, and I died. The command was meant to bring life, but for me it brought death. . . . When I want to do good, evil is there with me. In my mind, I am happy with God's law. But I see another law working in my body, which makes war against the law that my mind accepts. That other law working in my body is the law of sin, and it makes me its prisoner. What a miserable man I am! Who will save me from this body that brings me death? (Romans 7:9-10, 21-24)

The following is a true story; names have not been changed to protect the innocent. I confess – I’ve violated the law. What's worse, I don't want to stop. My misdemeanor actions began innocently enough. My route to the office takes me to an intersection where every person in California is turning west. I, on the other hand, want to head north. Each morning, I wait long minutes in a long line at a long light, mumbling, "There’s got to be a better way." And then I found it. While still a quarter mile from the light, I spotted a shortcut – the dirt shoulder. It was worth a try, I thought, and I drive a truck; what’s a little dirt? So, I swerved right, bid farewell to the crawling commuters and took my chances. It led me straight to the head of the line were few others were waiting. Lewis and Clark would have been proud.

From then on, I was ahead of the pack. Every morning while the rest of the cars waited in line, I veered onto my private autobahn and smugly applauded myself for seeing what others had apparently missed. I was surprised that no one had discovered it earlier, but then again, few have my innate navigational skills … well, with the exception of a clever CHP officer who was in hiding just off of that same shoulder one morning. And if it weren’t for some unfortunate driver who’d discovered my express lane and arrived just moments before I did, I probably would have been the recipient of a special “Greetings!” from the State of California. And it was then that I noticed the sign: “Shoulder Closed.” In other words, the shoulder was not meant for travel, but something to cry on if you got caught.

But my problem is not what I did before I knew the law. My problem is what I want to do now, after I know the law. You'd think that I would have no desire to use the shoulder again, but I do. Part of me still wants to use the shortcut. Part of me wants to break the law. Each morning the voices within me have an argument. My "ought to" says, "It's illegal;" my "want to" answers, "But I've never been caught." My "ought to" reminds me, "The law is the law;" my "want to" counters with, "But the law isn't for careful drivers, like me. Besides, the five minutes I save I'll dedicate to prayer." My "ought to" doesn't buy it – “Pray in the car while you wait in line with the rest of California," it says.

Before I knew the law, I was at peace. Now that I know the law, an insurrection has occurred. I'm torn. On one hand I know what to do, but I don't want to do it. My eyes read the sign, but my body doesn't want to obey. What I should do and end up doing are two different matters. I was better off not ever knowing the law. Sound familiar? For many of us, it’s the itinerary of the soul. Before coming to Christ, we all had our share of shortcuts. Cheating was a shortcut to success. Boasting was a shortcut to popularity. Lying was a shortcut to power. Then we found Christ, we found grace, and we saw the sign. Has this ever happened to you?

You've got a hot temper and then read, "If you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be judged." (Matt. 5:22) Wow, I never knew that you say. You tend to exaggerate to make your point and then discover, "Say only yes if you mean yes, and no if you mean no. If you say more than yes or no, it is from the Evil One." (Matt. 5:37) But I've been talking like that for years, you mutter. You enjoy letting people see your generosity and then read, "So when you give to the poor, don't let anyone know what you are doing." (Matt. 6:3) Oh boy, I didn't know that was wrong, you think. You have a habit of categorizing people into convenient little boxes and then hear Jesus say, "Don't judge other people, or you will be judged." (Matt. 7:1) Son of a gun, no one ever told me that judging was a sin, you whisper.

All these years you've been taking shortcuts, never seeing the sign. But now you see it. Now you know it. It would have been so much easier had you never seen the sign, but now the law has been revealed. So, what do you do? Your battle is identical to the one within the heart of Paul. The civil war of the soul. And how welcome is Paul's confession? How good it is to know that he struggled like the rest of us. Those who have been amazed by grace have been equally amazed by their sin. Why do I say yes to God one day and yes to Satan the next? Once I know God's commands, why am I not eager to obey them? Shouldn't these conflicts cease now that I see the sign? Does my struggle mean I'm not saved? These are the questions of Romans 7. And these are the questions of many Christians.

Maybe you've hit your head against a wall, like a bird flying into a pane of glass when it sees its reflection and then falls to the ground, momentarily stunned. Are there weaknesses within you that stun you? Your words? Your thoughts? Your temper? Your greed? Your grudge? Your gossip? Things were better before you knew the law existed. But now you know. And now you have an internal civil war to wage. But there are a couple of truths to take into that battle.

First, remember your position – you’re a child of God. Some interpret the presence of this battle as the abandonment of God. Their logic goes something like this: "I’m a Christian. My desires, however, are anything but Christian. No child of God would have these battles. Therefore, I must be an orphan. God may have given me a place back then, but he has no place for me now." But that's Satan sowing those seeds of shame. If he can't seduce you with your sin, he'll let you sink in your guilt. Nothing pleases him more than for you to cower in the corner, embarrassed that you're still dealing with some old habit. "God's tired of your struggles," he whispers. "Your Father is weary of your prayers for forgiveness," he lies. And many believe him, spending years convinced that they are disqualified from the kingdom. But honestly, who told you that you deserved forgiveness in the first place?

When you came to Christ, did he know every sin you'd committed up to that point? Yes. Did Christ know every sin you would commit in the future? Yes, he knew that too. So, Jesus saved you, knowing all the sins you would ever commit until the end of your life, right? Right. You mean he’s willing to call you his child even though he knows each and every mistake of your past and future? Yes. Sounds to me like God has already proven his point. If your sins were too great for his grace, he never would have saved you in the first place. It isn’t like your temptation is late-breaking news in heaven. Your sin doesn't surprise God. He saw it coming. So, is there any reason to think that the One who received you the first time won't receive you every time? Besides, the very fact that you are under attack must mean that you're on the right side, don’t you think? Did you notice who else had times of struggle? Paul did.

Note the tense in which Paul is writing: "I do not understand . . ." ". . . it is sin living in me . . ." "I do not do the good things I want . . ." "I see another law working in my body . . ." "What a miserable man I am." (Rom. 7:14-25) Paul is writing in the present tense. He’s not describing a struggle of the past, but a struggle in the present. For all we know, Paul was engaged in spiritual combat when he wrote his letter to the Romans. Do you mean the apostle Paul battled sin while he was writing a book in the Bible? Well, can you think of a more strategic time for Satan to attack? Isn’t it possible that Satan feared the fruit of this epistle? Could it be that he fears the fruits of your life, too? Could it be that you’re under attack – not because you’re weak, but because you might become strong? Perhaps he hopes that in defeating you today he will have one less missionary, or writer, or giver, or singer to fight with tomorrow.

But not only are you positioned as a child of God, but your principle is the Word of God. When under attack, our tendency is to question the validity of God's commands; we rationalize like I do with driving on the shoulder. The law is for others, not for me. I'm a good driver. But by questioning the validity of the law, I minimize, at least in my mind, the authority of the law. For that reason, Paul’s quick to remind us that "the law is holy, and the command is holy and right and good." (Rom. 7:12) The root word for holy here is hagios, which means "different." God's commands are holy because they come from a different world, a different sphere, a different perspective. In a sense, the "Shoulder Closed" sign on my forbidden shortcut was from a different sphere, too. The lawmakers' thoughts are not like my thoughts. They are concerned with the public good, at least in principle. I am concerned with personal convenience. They want what is best for the county, supposedly. I want what’s best for me. They know what’s safe. I know what’s quick. They don't create laws for my pleasure; they make laws for my safety.

The same is true with God. What we consider shortcuts God sees as disasters. He doesn't give laws for our pleasure. He gives them for our protection. In seasons of struggle we must trust his wisdom, not ours. He designed the system; he knows what we need. But since I’m stubborn, I think I do. My disrespect for the "Shoulder Closed" sign reveals an ugly, selfish side of me. Had I never seen the law, I would have never seen how selfish I am. We’re not lured by the shorter commute as much as we’re lured by the sign. Isn't there within each of us a voice that says, “I wonder how many times I can drive down that shoulder without getting caught"? But the moment we begin asking those questions, we’ve crossed an invisible line into the arena of fear. Grace delivered us from fear, but how quickly we return.

Grace told us we didn't have to spend our lives looking over our shoulders but look at us glancing in the rearview mirror. Grace told us that we’re free from guilt but look at us with guilt on our consciences. Don't we know better? What’s happened to us? Why are we so quick to revert back to our old ways? Or as Paul so candidly writes, "What a miserable man I am! Who will save me from this body that brings me death?" (Rom. 7:24) Simply stated: we are helpless to battle sin alone. And aren't we glad Paul answered his own question? "I thank God for saving me through Jesus Christ our Lord!" (v. 25)

The same One who saved us first is there to save us still. There is never a point at which you are any less saved than you were the first moment he saved you. Just because you were grumpy at breakfast this morning doesn't mean you were condemned at breakfast. When you lost your temper yesterday, you didn't lose your salvation. Your name doesn't disappear and reappear in the Book of Life according to your moods and actions. Such is the message of grace.

"There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." (Rom. 8:1) Of course, there’s a difference between stumbling in your walk, and abandoning the faith altogether. You can choose to walk away from your faith at your peril, but no power in existence can take your faith without your consent. (Rom. 8:35-37) You are saved, not because of what you do, but because of what Christ did. And you are special, not because of what you do, but because of whose you are. And you are his. And because we are his, let's forget the shortcuts and stay on the main road. God knows the way. He drew the map for crying out loud. Now that’s a shoulder you can use.

Grace,

Randy

Is God Still Good When He Says "No"?

 

Is God Still Good When He Says “No”?

Is God Still Good When He Says "No"? - Audio/Visual 

To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Corinthians 12:7-9)

Picture you and me and a few others flying across the country in a chartered airplane not named Boeing. All of a sudden, the engine bursts into flames and the pilot rushes out of the cockpit. "We're going to crash!" "We've got to bail out!" Good thing he knows where the parachutes are because we don't. He passes them out, gives us a few pointers and we stand in line as he throws the door open.

The first passenger steps up to the door and shouts over the wind, "Could I make a request?" "Sure, what is it?" "Any way I could get a pink parachute?" The pilot shakes his head in disbelief. "Isn't it enough that I gave you a parachute at all?" And so, the first passenger jumps. The second steps to the door. "I'm wondering if there’s any way you could ensure that I won't get nauseated during the fall?" "No, but I can ensure that you will have a parachute for the fall." And out goes the next. "Please, Captain," says another, "I’m afraid of heights. Would you remove my fear?" "No," he replies, "but I'll give you a parachute." Yet another pleads for a different strategy, "Couldn't you change your plans? Let's crash with the plane. We might survive." The pilot smiles and says, "You don't know what you’re asking," and gently shoves the guy out the door with his parachute securely strapped to his back.

One passenger wants Rodeo Drive, another wants Xanax, and another wants to wait until the plane is closer to the ground. "You people don't understand," the pilot shouts as he saves us, one by one. "I've given you a parachute; that’s enough." Only one item is necessary for the jump, and he provides it. He gives us the strategic tool that we need. The gift is adequate. But are we content? No. We’re restless, anxious, even demanding. Too crazy to be possible? Maybe in a plane with a pilot and parachutes, but on earth with people and grace? God hears thousands of appeals per millisecond.

Some are legitimate. We, too, ask God to remove the fear, or change the plans. He usually answers with a gentle shove that leaves us airborne and suspended by his grace. There are times, however, when the one thing you want is the one thing you never get. You're not being picky or demanding; you're only obeying his command to "ask God for everything you need." (Phil. 4:6) All you want is an open door, or an extra day, or an answered prayer. And so, you pray and wait. No answer. You pray and wait some more. No answer. You pray and wait again. But what if God says no? What if the request is delayed, or even denied? When God says no to you, how will you respond? If God says, "I've given you my grace, and that’s enough," will you be content?

Content. A state of heart in which you would be at peace if God gave you nothing more than he has already. What if God's only gift to us was his grace to save us? Would we be content? But she begs him to save the life of her child. He pleads with him to keep his business afloat. You implore him to remove the cancer from your body. What if his answer is, "My grace is enough?" Would you be content?

From heaven's perspective, grace is enough. If God did nothing more than save us from hell, could anyone complain? Given eternal life, can we really grumble at an aching body? Having been given heavenly riches, can we complain about earthly poverty? But God hasn’t left us with "just salvation." If you have eyes to read the paper, or hands to hold a Starbucks, he’s already given you grace upon grace.

The vast majority of us have been saved, and then blessed even more. But there are times when God, having given us his grace, hears our appeals anyway and says, "My grace is sufficient for you." Is he being unfair? Is God still a good God when he says no? Is God good all the time, and all the time God good? Paul wrestled with that question. He knew the angst of unanswered prayer. At the top of his prayer list was an unidentified request that dominated his thoughts. He even gave the appeal a code name: "a thorn in my flesh." (2 Cor. 12:7) Perhaps the pain was too intimate to put on paper. Maybe the request was made so often he reverted to shorthand. "I'm here to talk about that thorn-thing again, God." Or could it be that by leaving the appeal generic, Paul's prayer could be our own? Don't we all have a thorn in the flesh?

Somewhere on life's path our flesh is pierced by a person or a problem. Our stride becomes a limp, our pace is slowed to a halt, and we try to walk again only to wince at each effort. Finally, we plead with God for help. And such was the case with Paul. His was a “thorn.” You don't get thorns unless you're on the move, and Paul never stopped. Thessalonica, Jerusalem, Athens and Corinth – if he wasn't preaching, he was in prison because of his preaching. But his walk was hampered by this “thorn.” The barb pierced through the sole of his sandal and into the soul of his heart and soon became a matter of intense prayer. "I begged the Lord three times to take this problem away from me." (2 Cor. 12:8)

This was no casual request, either; no P.S. at the end of a letter. It was the first plea of the first sentence. "Dear God, I need some help!" Nor was this some superficial prickle. It was a "stabbing pain," at least as rendered in the Phillips translation of this same verse. Every step he took sent a shudder up his leg. Three different times he limped over to the side of the road and prayed. His request was clear, and so was God's response. "My grace is sufficient." (2 Cor. 12:9) So what “thorn” is he talking about? No one knows for sure, but here’s some possibilities. The first could have been sexual temptation.

Paul battling the flesh? Maybe. After all, Paul was a single man, probably the result of a divorce after he met Jesus on the road to Damascus. As a former member of the Sanhedrin, he was likely married before, and probably to one of the pretty people. He describes the temptress like a guy who knew her firsthand. "I want to do the things that are good, but I do not do them. I do not do the good things I want to do, but I do the bad things I do not want to do." (Rom. 7:18-19) Is Paul asking God to finally deliver him from the hunger of an appetite he’d sated before he came to Christ? Perhaps.

But maybe the problem was not his flesh but foes, not temptation but opposition. The passage hints at it. "This problem was a messenger from Satan." (2 Cor. 12:7) Paul had his share of opponents. There were those who questioned his apostleship (2 Cor. 12:12), and there were some who undermined his message of grace. (Gal. 1:7) By the way, when Paul wrote that this "messenger of Satan" was sent "to beat me," he wasn't exaggerating. Look at Paul’s scars. He received 39 lashes five times; was beaten with rods on three others; nearly stoned to death; and shipwrecked more than once. (2 Cor. 11:21-28)

Some, on the other hand, think the thorn was his abrasive nature. Whatever he learned at the feet of Gamaliel, he must have been dozing off the day they discussed the topic of tact. Because before he knew grace, Saul killed Christians. And after he knew grace, he grilled Christians. Example? "When Peter came to Antioch, I challenged him to his face, because he was wrong." (Gal. 2:11) Written like a true diplomat. In Paul's view, you were either on God's side or Satan's side, and should you slide from the first to the second, he didn't keep it a secret. "Hymenaeus and Alexander have done that, and I have given them to Satan so they will learn not to speak against God." (1 Tim. 1:20) Everyone within range of his tongue and pen knew how he felt, and maybe knew when to duck.

However, a case can be made that the thorn was not temptation, opposition or public relation skills. It could have been related to his body, instead. Remember his words at the end of one of his letters? "See what large letters I use to write this myself." (Gal. 6:11) Maybe his eyes were bad. Could be he never got over that trip to Damascus. God got his attention with a light so bright that Paul was left blind for three days. Maybe he never fully recovered. His clear vision of the cross may have come at the cost of a clear vision of anything else. He wrote of the Galatians that "you would have taken out your eyes and given them to me if that were possible." (Gal. 4:15) In Paul's profession, poor eyesight could be an occupational hazard. It's hard to travel if you can't see the trail, and it’s hard to stitch a tent if you can’t see the needle. It’s not any easier to write epistles if you can't see the page. Poor vision leads to strained eyes, which leads to headaches, which leads to late nights and long prayers for relief. It's hard to impress the crowd if you're making eye contact with a tree, instead. Which leads to a final possibility.

We assume that Paul was a dynamic speaker, but those who heard him apparently disagreed. "His speaking is nothing," he overheard them say in Corinth (2 Cor. 10:10), and Paul didn't seem to argue with them. In fact, earlier he’d said, "When I came to you, I was weak and fearful and trembling. My teaching and preaching were not with words of human wisdom that persuade people but with proof of the power that the Spirit gives." (1 Cor. 2:3-4) Translation? I was so scared that I stuttered, so nervous that I forgot my point, and the fact that you heard anything at all is testimony to God. So, let's tally this up. Tempted often. Beaten regularly. Opinionated. Dim-sighted. Thick-tongued. Is this really the apostle Paul? No wonder some questioned if he were actually an apostle. And it’s no wonder why he prayed.

Are any of these requests inappropriate? Would he have been a better apostle with no temptation, no enemies, a calm demeanor, good eyes and a glib tongue? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. Had God removed temptation, Paul may have never embraced God's grace. Only the hungry value a meal, and Paul was starving. The self-given title on his door read, "Paul, Chief of Sinners." No pen ever articulated grace like Paul's. That may be because no person ever appreciated grace like Paul. And had God stilled the whips, Paul may have never known love. "If I were burned alive for preaching the Gospel but didn't love others, it would be of no value whatsoever." (1 Cor. 13:3) Persecution distills motives. In the end, Paul's motives were distilled into one force, "the love of Christ controls us." (2 Cor. 5:14)

Had God made him meek and mild, who would have faced the legalists, confronted the hedonists and challenged the judgmentalists? Maybe the reason the letter of Galatians is in your Bible is because Paul couldn't stomach a diluted grace. Attribute the letters to Corinth to Paul's intolerance of a sloppy faith. Paul's honesty may not have made him friends, but it made a lot of disciples.

And Paul's eyes. If God had healed his eyesight, would Paul have had such insights? While everyone else was watching the world, Paul was seeing visions too great for words. (2 Cor. 12:3-4) And public speaking? Nothing intoxicates like the approval of the crowd. God may have just been keeping his apostle sober and humble. Whatever the affliction, it was there for a purpose. And Paul knew it. It was “to keep me from becoming conceited.” The God who despises pride did whatever was necessary to keep Paul from becoming proud. In this case, he simply told him, "My grace is sufficient." (See, 2 Cor. 12)

Maybe he’s saying the same thing to you. Have you ever wondered why God doesn't remove temptation from your life? If he did, you might lean on your own strength instead of his grace. A few stumbles might be what you need to convince you that his grace is sufficient for your sin. Ever wonder why God doesn't remove the enemies in your life? Perhaps it’s because he wants you to love like he loves. Anyone can love a friend, but only a few can love an enemy. So what if you aren't everyone's hero? His grace is sufficient for your self-image. Wonder why God doesn't alter your personality? Maybe you, like Paul, are a little rough around the edges and say things you later regret or do things you later question. Why doesn't God make you more like him? He is. He's just not finished with you yet. And until he is, his grace is sufficient to overcome your flaws.

Wonder why God doesn't heal you? He has. If you’re in Christ, you have a perfected soul and a perfected body. His plan is to give you the soul now and the body when you get home. He may choose to heal parts of your body before heaven. But if he doesn't, don't you still have reason to be grateful? If he never gave you more than eternal life, could you ask for anything more than that? His grace is sufficient for gratitude. Ever wonder why God won't give you a skill? If only God had made you a singer, or a runner, or a missionary. But there you are, tone-deaf and slow of foot and mind. Don't despair. God's grace is still sufficient to finish what he began.

And until he's finished, let Paul remind you that the power is in the message, not the messenger. His grace is sufficient to speak clearly, even when you don't. For all we don't know about thorns, we can be sure of this: God would prefer we have an occasional limp than a perpetual strut. And if it takes a thorn for him to make his point, he loves us enough to refrain from grabbing the tweezers and plucking it out. God has every right to say “No” to us. And we have every reason to say “Thank you” to him.

Grace,

Randy