Listen.

Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak.
– James 1:19

This is a blog full of contradictions. It’s about following Jesus to the lowest place. And yet the state of writing, of declaring an opinion, of making an interpretation, is inherently claiming a place “higher” than that of the reader, the listener. I expound, you receive. I teach, you learn. So, in case you hadn’t already deduced this, I do not always follow my own advice. It is not easy for me to give up dreams of fame and fortune as a religious blogger. I am not submitting myself fully.

In writing this particular post, I feel like I have to address this, otherwise the irony would be too overwhelming. Because now I’m going to write about listening. Notice, I am not doing the listening right now. I’m expecting you to listen to me teach you how to listen. Sorry.

But learning to listen has been an essential part of my journey discovering the lowest place.

Dr. Glenn Gentry, Philosophy professor, Columbia International University:

“When you write your papers on Plato, I don’t want to hear any critique of his philosophy. You are not allowed to disagree with a single thing he says. Your job is to understand his argument. Critiquing is easy. Understanding is hard.”

Dr. Alan Jacobs, English Professor, Wheaton College:

“The exciting part about literature is learning to let go of our modern assumptions so that we can submerge ourselves in the world of an ancient culture. We can learn to understand someone who lived thousands of years before we were born.”

I truly believe that my somewhat unconventional college career was orchestrated by God to follow a unique curriculum he had personally planned out for me: he wanted to teach me how to listen. Both these professors, who lived in completely different parts of the country, directed me towards the same goal: Your job as a student of literature is not to have your own opinions. Your job is to understand the opinions of others who came before you.

And Dr. Gentry was right: understanding is hard. It involves taking nothing for granted. It involves coming to a phrase, or sentence, or paragraph, not with the attitude of, “I’ve heard this before,” but with the heart that says, “You are saying this. You must think it is important. I would ordinarily think this is obvious or irrelevant. But here, let me try to understand why this is such a crucial issue for you.”

I learned a lot about my heart through this process. I learned that my heart was constantly looking for an opportunity to prove someone wrong. Whenever I ran into a phrase or sentence that seemed contradictory or incorrect for some reason, I instinctively pointed at it, saying, “See? Augustine doesn’t know what he’s talking about!”

It’s easy to tear an argument apart: just misunderstand it. If I misunderstand someone’s argument, I can make them seem wrong every time. And I can feel really good about myself, because they were wrong and I proved it.

But that is a sad little project. The great work to be done is to take a (seemingly) flawed argument, one that has potential contradictions, and show how it can be right. To explain the thought process, to work through the tensions, to show how, in this author’s mind, it was whole, complete, true.

It involves seeing the bigger picture. It involves reading a book instead of a paragraph. It involves labor, dedication, resolve.

So for two years I was taught the discipline, not to make an argument myself, but to understand the argument of another person. And as I went through this training on the academic level, I started to realize how deeply it applies on the personal, relational level.

“Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak.”

Before Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Gentry, my first teacher was not a professor. Her name was Jessie, and she was a friend who went to Bible school with me. Jessie was the first person I had ever met who was genuinely interested in what other people had to say. She had an attentiveness when she talked to me that I’d just never encountered before, at least not in anyone close to my age. She made me feel safe. She made me feel important. I thought: This is a person who knows how to love like Jesus loved. She did all this simply by doing one thing well: she knew how to listen.

I’ve had teachers in the negative as well. There was a group of friends at one school who were constantly being funny. They would take a joke and riff on it, each one outdoing the other in cleverness. They were hilarious and fun. They also made me feel like I never had anything good enough to say. Or even if I thought of something clever, I was too slow. I couldn’t force my way into the conversation because someone else was always there first.

What does listening do? Listening–intentional, active listening, that questions, probes, affirms, clarifies–gives a person the space to be. It makes room for them, invites them to blossom. Listening allows for mistakes, because if you say something you didn’t mean, intentional listening always gives you the chance to say it again, more accurately, more true to what you really mean.

Some theologians believe that God made himself less by creating the world. He had to: before creation, God was everything. There was no room for anything except for him. But then, there was something else. Light. Land. Trees. Creatures. Humans. He stepped aside, made room, opened up space, so that each thing, each creature, each person could have a voice.

You could say that a listening heart taps into the very creative nature of God.

Every time I encounter a person, whether it’s having small talk after church or listening to a deep struggle or in the middle of an argument–I am constantly offered the choice: up or down? Tell about my day, or ask about yours? Put forth my own opinion, or ask you to clarify something you just said? Offer advice to fix your problem, or make space for you to breathe?

It takes sacrifice to listen. It involves putting my opinion on hold. I have to take my attention off of myself and put it onto you. It is saying, “In this moment, your thoughts are more important than mine.”

If you’re looking for a way to the lowest place, here’s one you can practice every day: listen.

Remain

Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him.
– 1 Corinthians 7:17

Don’t be angry with me, dear reader. I know this one especially goes against the grain. Everything in our culture is about bettering. We’re all looking for something better: a better way to brew coffee, a better preschool for your young child, a better internet service provider, a better job, a better pair of shoes, a better relationship.

The journey to the lowest place turns us in the opposite direction. We’re not going all the way–we’re not talking about downward mobility (yet). Baby steps: instead of bettering, what about staying where we are?

1 Corinthians 7:20-24
Each one should remain in the condition in which he was called.

Each one should remain. When’s the last time you remained anywhere? I think of the good old days in college, when a group of friends would go to a dorm and hang out. No one wanted to study, and none of us had money to go out and do things, so there was nothing to do but remain. There was no agenda and no endpoint. Those magical days when you talk so long that you run out of things to talk about, and no one has to run off to a meeting, and everyone just stays. That’s what I think of when I think of remain: there’s no need to be here anymore, but we’re still here.

It was easy to remain in those days, because it was a nice place to be: three meals a day served in the cafeteria, friends, a comfortable room, enough work to keep you procrastinating, but not so much that you felt swamped. It was nice.

It’s much harder to remain when your condition isn’t so comfortable. Ever since having kids, it’s become exponentially harder for me to remain, because I’m in a grueling and sometimes painful condition! Hard work, not enough sleep, temper tantrums, neediness, not enough time to myself, constantly being asked to play all the time, constantly fighting the battle of brushing teeth or changing for bed or getting out the door. How can I not want to make things better?

But Paul calls me to remain. This can be as large-scale as: Elanor, stop counting down the years before they start college and you’ll have the house to yourself again. Embrace the state of being a mom. Or it can be as small-scale as: Elanor, don’t walk away from AKL while he’s throwing a temper tantrum. Yes, there are still 10 things to do before we’re ready to leave. Who cares? Just stay.

Why does Paul tell me to remain? What’s wrong with trying to make my life a little bit easier? We find some clues in the next verses:

Were you a bondservant when called? Do not be concerned about it.

Do not be concerned. The thing about bettering my life, or escaping my current condition, is that: it brings up a lot of discontent and anxiety. And that’s really what Paul is advising against. It’s not that he’s dead-set against all change:

(But if you can gain your freedom, avail yourself of the opportunity.)

So, no, you don’t have to stay in a horrible job for the rest of your life. That’s not the point. The point is: while you’re in the horrible job, remain there. Remain there, all the way up until the very moment when it’s time to leave.

There’s a special kind of trick to remaining in a painful situation. It happens to me sometimes during the temper tantrums. Usually the kids’ anger makes me angry too. Why do I get angry? Because I want them to stop being angry. But sometimes there’s a switch, where all of a sudden I am not trying to escape the temper tantrum, I’m present in it. Not that I’m enjoying the kids’ pain, I’m suffering because they’re in pain. But I can relish the moment of my suffering. I can put away all thought of being anywhere else, and allow myself to be fully present, here, now, during this crying. During these screams. Let’s be here. Yes, it sucks. Let’s stay for a while.

I can tell you that when I let myself make that switch, I get less frustrated, less angry. I’m able to have more compassion, and most importantly: I am with God.

Paul ends the passage:
So, brothers, in whatever condition each was called, let him remain there with God.

C. S. Lewis said something to the effect of: the present moment is the only real moment there is. The past is in our memories. The future doesn’t exist yet. The present is where we connect with God, because the present is what is real. I think this is why Paul asks us to remain. Because in all the future planning, in all the research trying to find the exact right thing that will make my life better–I’m living in the hypothetical future. My mind is taken out of the real moment now, and shifted over into the fake rose-colored better.

I don’t meet God in the bettering. When do I meet God? When I remain where I am.

Become a Fool

Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise. (1 Corinthians 3:18)

For those of us who are involved in church, our experience with sermons, with Bible studies, with conferences and teaching–all of it tends towards knowing more. Learning more. Understanding better. We take notes and draw diagrams and ask questions. The super intense go and read commentaries, do word studies, look up Greek and Hebrew lexicons.

There is a place for knowing. I went to Bible school. I love a good Hebrew lexicon.

But there is also a place for un-knowing. For un-learning. For leaving behind all your answers (and all your questions), all your diagrams and all your theologies, to come down to the foundation of it all. Paul knew that place:

1 Corinthians 2:1-5
I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom.

(This is the tension that I feel as a writer all the time: how much am I relying on clever words or a well-phrased thought?)

For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.

Paul decided to know nothing. It’s not that he actually knew nothing. Paul was a brimming well of knowledge, both of the Old Testament, and contemporary philosophy, and the personal knowledge he had received from God that he put into his letters. He decided. He resolved. He put all of his knowledge aside, which left him with only one thing: Jesus Christ crucified.

The foundation. The one piece of knowledge that stood underneath it all. The cornerstone.

How often, when we hear a sermon on a familiar topic, do we think, “I know this already” and check out? How often do we long for new nuggets of information? We especially relish a new twist on an old story, where we get to feel the satisfaction of agreeing with the speaker as they say, “Most people think of this passage in this way…but the REAL interpretation is…”

Again, I’m all for increasingly accurate interpretations of Scripture. But do we also know how to do what Paul did? Are we able to put aside all our knowledge (and our thirst for more of it), to leave our intelligence at the door, and come down in simplicity to the bottom of the truth:

Jesus Christ crucified.

And I was with you in weakness and fear and much trembling…

This next phrase shows us that: we probably don’t know how. That is, it’s not something we can necessarily do at will. Yes, Paul decided to know nothing, but how did he come to that decision? Not because he thought it through carefully and decided it was the best thing to do. Not because he had a well-thought-out strategy for how to best reach the Gentiles in Corinth. It was because he was on the run, full of fear, weak, unsure of himself, reliant on the compassion of other people.

and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom…

I love the word “plausible” here. Not “true” but “plausible.” Just because a diagram or a concept or a logical argument is plausible–just because it makes sense–doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.

but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of man but in the power of God.

Why does Paul’s message come not in “plausible words of wisdom”? Because it’s not a message for the part of our minds that finds things plausible or implausible. It’s not for our rationality. It’s for our faith. The heart pumps blood, the lungs breath oxygen, there’s also an invisible organ somewhere in our souls that produces faith. And where does Paul want that faith to come from?

He doesn’t want it to rest in the wisdom of man. Because what an unsteady resting place that is! You learn a new interpretation of a passage one week, and then three weeks later you hear an even newer one! The deeper you dig into commentaries and Greek lexicons, the more you see how deeply these very smart people all disagree with one another about the real meaning of the Bible!

I’ll say it again: I don’t want to throw all learning out the window. If I did, I wouldn’t be writing a blog at all. And I’m certainly doing plenty of theologizing and interpreting scripture. I hope some of it is helpful to some people. But it’s not what our faith rests in.

We build our castles of theology, and we live in them as best as we can, but when they come crashing down around our ears, we still have a rock to stand our faith on:

Jesus Christ crucified.

The lowest place is the most solid place. It will not fall out from beneath us. It will hold us firm.

Hagar

God has a special place in his heart for the forgotten, the oppressed, the abused, the unloved. Like Hagar.

Genesis 16:1-16

Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had borne him no children. She had a female Egyptian servant named Hagar. And Sarai said to Abram, “Behold now, the Lord has prevented me from bearing children. Go in to my servant; it may be that I shall obtain children by her.” And Abram listened to the voice of Sarai. So, after Abram had lived ten years in the land of Canaan, Sarai, Abram’s wife, took Hagar the Eyptian, her servant, and gave her to Abram her husband as a wife. And he went in to Hagar, and she conceived. And when she saw that she had conceived, she looked with contempt on her mistress.

It’s incredible to me how real the story is. Sarai’s longing for a child. How she turns to the technology of the time–no IVF back then, only handmaidens. She gets her wish, and a child is conceived. But then Hagar’s contempt and Sarai’s jealousy: it’s all so human.

What does any good wife do when her plans go wrong? She blames her husband.

And Sarai said to Abram, “May the wrong done to me be on you! I gave my servant to your embrace, and when she saw that she had conceived, she looked on me with contempt. May the Lord judge between you and me!”

And Abram, the typical guy, wants nothing to do with female drama. He knows that whatever he does, it’s just going to get him in more trouble. Let the circumstances sort themselves out.

Abram said to Sarai, “Behold, your servant is in your power; do to her as you please.”

“Your servant is in your power.” Sarai has all the power. Hagar has none.

Then Sarai dealt harshly with her, and she fled from her.

Except the power to run away. That’s the only thing people in the lowest place can do: they can run away.

Maybe you’ve felt this way before. You have a disagreement with someone, and you are certain that no matter what you do to try to stand up for yourself, they’re not going to listen. They’re already treating you in a way you don’t like, and if you try to change your situation, you’re only going to make things worse for yourself. So you bear it as long as you can, and then when you can’t take it anymore, there’s only one thing left to do: run away. Escape.

We have lots of escapes–games, books, TV, facebook. The desire to escape is one of the fundamental human drives that fuels the capitalist economy. That’s why it takes us longer than it took Hager. Longer for us to enter the wilderness. Longer for us to meet God there. But eventually–it might take a lifetime, but eventually–all our escapes will run out, and we’ll be left in the place where Hagar was: the lowest place, nothing but her and the angel of the Lord.

The angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness, the spring on the way to Shur.

This is why we go to the lowest place. Because there, we meet God.

And he said, “Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?”

That is the question, isn’t it? Where have we come from? Where are we going? What are you running away from? What are you running to?

Hagar answers for all of us: “I am fleeing from my mistress Sarai.”

We run away from our helplessness. We run away from those who have power over us, power to do things to us that we don’t like. We run away from being lower than someone else–we run away from being slaves.

That is the great fear of our hearts: to be mistreated and unable to do anything about it.

And what does the angel say? What does God say to our fear? Does he rise up as the voice of the oppressed? Does he strike Sarai down so that she’ll learn her lesson and treat Hagar more fairly? That is human nature, to want to rebel against tyranny, to stand our ground and fight for what we deserve. What does the angel say?

The angel of the Lord said to her, “Return to your mistress and submit to her.”

Nowadays, submission is a bad word. Submit to your husband. Submit to authority. Submit to your parents. Submit to your government. Submit to your elders. Are you cringing? Are you furious?

Submission is a bad word today because we have lost the understanding of what it means. We have only heard it in the context of: “Submit to your parents because they know what’s best for you.” “Submit to the church, because they are right and you are wrong.”

Is that what God is telling Hagar? Sarai was right for beating you. You sinned by showing contempt to your mistress. You sinned by running away. So go back and face the consequences. Is that it? Not at all.

The angel of the Lord also said to her,

(Do you catch that “also”? Return to your mistress and submit to her. But that’s not the end of the story. I also have this to say:)

“I will surely multiply your offspring so that they cannot be numbered for multitude.” And the angel of the Lord said to her,
“Behold you are pregnant
And shall bear a son.
You shall call his name, ‘Ishmael,’
Because the Lord has listened to your affliction.”

The Lord has listened to your affliction. God is affirming Hagar in her pain and suffering. Yes, it is wrong for you to be a slave. Yes, it is wrong for you to be forced to sleep with your master. Yes, it is wrong for your mistress to beat you and hate you. I hear your pain.

“He shall be a wild donkey of a man,
his hand against everyone,
and everyone’s hand against him,
and he shall dwell over against all his kinsmen.”

I always wondered why the angel says this about Ishmael. It doesn’t seem like a blessing on the child. It doesn’t sound like a great life, to be a wild donkey, always kicking, always fighting against everyone. But when I think about Hagar, and how God called her to submit, I think, maybe he’s telling her: because of your submission, your son will not have to submit. He will fight. He will stand up for himself. He will never be a slave like you, powerless and mistreated.

Maybe that’s what Hagar heard from the angel: You go submit to your mistress, even though she is wrong and you will suffer. You submit, and I will continue to hear your affliction. You submit, but your son will be free.

And this is what Hagar says in response:

So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.”

Who did God speak to? Hagar. Who did God bless? Hagar. Who did God care for? Hagar. He has a special love for the people in the lowest place. And I can’t help but think about these two women, Sarai and Hagar. Which one would I rather be? Would I rather be the matriarch who has flocks and herds and servants, a husband in her thrall? And yet the story leaves her in jealous anger, still without the child she longs for. Or would I rather be the slave, abused, mistreated, not a single cent to her name, who is so desperate she runs into the wilderness even while she is pregnant? And yet God sees her, God speaks to her.

We who are rich, who are talented, who have many possessions in the world–we think everyone should be able to be like us. So we take the Hagars, the lowly, the poor, the oppressed, and we try to raise them up to our position, give them more opportunities, give them more equality. But what if that’s all backwards? What if we are the ones who should be going down?

A Conversation

James 4:6b “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.”

____

[Youth retreat. Summer after junior year of high school. Inspiring message, moving worship. The speaker says, “Give your whole life to God.”]

Elanor: “Yes, God, I give my whole life to you. I feel really good about this, because I’ve already given my whole life to you last year at YWAM. In fact, I kind of can’t believe other people wouldn’t want to give their lives to you. It’s the only reasonable decision.”

God: “You give your whole life to me?”

Elanor: “Yes, everything!”

God: “Ok, then what if I call you to do this:

Dim room, green walls (a sickly, puke green). Beds lining each wall, coma patients lying there with monitors beeping. Your job will be to care for these coma patients. Change their IVs and their bedpans. Bathe them. Read to them. Share the Gospel with them–because they might be able to hear you. Keep sharing, year after year, even with no sign that they will ever respond. This is my calling for your life. What do you say?”

Elanor: “…That sounds so lonely. And futile…” [Wrestles for a little while. Previous self-image of the whole-hearted Jesus follower shatters into a million pieces.] “No! I can’t do it! I’m sorry, if that’s your calling for me, I say no.” [Cringes. Waits for the inevitable punishment or abandonment or disapproval that must come after saying no to God.]

God: [Totally unfazed.] “Not as easy as you thought, huh? Funny how that works: You want to give up your life for me, but you are not your own to give. You can’t even say yes without my help. Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

____

The above conversation with God was one of the first steps on my journey toward the lowest place. I’m a very prideful person. I think very well of myself. I’m constantly trying to be better, more holy, more like God. I think it was C. S. Lewis who said that spiritual pride is the most dangerous of all.

Why does God oppose the proud? It seems strange to say that God opposes anyone. If he’s loving and completely for me, then why is he opposing me, setting himself against my purposes?

I have become convinced that tearing down my pride is my salvation. Did you know: the lowest place in the world is also the safest? I thought it was so important for me to be strong enough and spiritual enough to give up my whole life for God. But being strong and spiritual–that’s hard to maintain. And I might be prideful, but I’m also lazy. So it was such a relief to say, “No, God. I can’t do it. I’m not the strong, spiritual person that I’m supposed to be.” No pretenses. No image to maintain. No expectations to fulfill. Just the freedom to be me.

God opposes the proud to protect them from themselves. And when he tears down the false image that they had been treasuring, he meets them in the lowest place with love and gentleness.

Desire, Part 5: What is Sin, Really?

“Desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when fully grown brings forth death.”
– James 1:15

This last part of the Desire series is kind of a side note. Or you could say it’s taking another angle on the same issue. I want to go deeper into something I said in Part 1: That, when it comes to desire, two rights can make a wrong. My good desire for good things lures and entices me, and gives birth to sin.

What does that mean? In my purse example, what is really so bad about buying the purse for myself? As a matter of fact, what was so bad about Eve eating the apple in the first place?

To understand this, we need a redefinition of sin. We’re used to thinking of sin in terms of right and wrong. It’s the old AWANA definition: Sin is anything we think, say, or do that disobeys God.

We’re a long way past AWANA these days. But even now, it’s really hard for us to conceive of sin as something other than actions. I might know the right answer, that sin is an attitude of the heart, that to look on a woman with lust is to commit adultery, sin goes deeper. But as soon as I face a decision in front of me, whether it’s buying a purse or rescuing my daughter from school, my mind snaps back into its old framework: What’s the right thing to do? Do I buy the purse or look away? Do I withdraw the girl from school or force her to tough it out? It’s so hard to switch paradigms.

What does the Bible say? In the Bible sin definitely can be something we think, say, or do. Those are included within the definition. But notice the language of James: “Desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when fully grown brings forth death.” James is referring to sin as a creature that is born, that grows. We’re not talking just about an isolated action, like, “I hit my brother” (typical AWANA example). We’re talking about a whole web, a network of actions, thoughts, words regarding my brother. So what is this network? What is the essence of sin? Let’s study a passage to find out.

Romans 1:18-21

“For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth.”

This passage uses the word “unrighteousness,” and that word again conveys something wider than just a single action. Unrighteousness is a quality that you possess. What does unrighteousness entail? It involves suppressing the truth. The truth of what? The next verse explains:

“For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them.”

Unrighteousness entails suppressing the truth about God. And Paul is saying: God has made his identity clear. He’s shown them. How has he shown them?

“For his invisible attributes, namely his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made.”

“In the things that have been made:” God’s creation shows his handiwork. It’s around us, every day, evidence before our eyes that he exists, that he is powerful, that he is God.

Let’s step back for a minute. Paul is saying here: unrighteousness involves suppressing the truth that God exists, that He made the world, that He is powerful. Most of the time we think of this verse on a macro level. An atheist is unrighteous by this definition, because she spends her whole life denying the existence of God. Paul would definitely agree with that. But what if this kind of unrighteousness also exists on a micro level? What if, in the moment of making a decision, I can also live in this unrighteous state, where I deny God’s existence?

This is the tie-in to desire. I’m standing there in the airport looking at the pretty purses. My heart is pulled between wanting to buy the purse and wanting to be a certain kind of person (one who doesn’t care about pretty purses). And in that moment, as my mind is warring between “It’s too expensive,” and “Well, will you regret it if you don’t buy it?” and “How can I justify spending that much money on this?”–in that moment, I’m factoring God out of the equation.

Let’s do the math:

If God exists as my heavenly father, then the purse isn’t too expensive. God could send me a check for a million dollars in the mail tomorrow.

If God exists as my heavenly father, then why on earth would I regret not buying a purse? I’m the heiress to a universe full of purses!

If God exists as my heavenly father, then I am holy and righteous, and I don’t need to constantly justify my actions, even the action of spending an exorbitant amount of money on a purse.

But I don’t factor God in. I swing back and forth in my mind, pushed here and pulled there, as if he does not exist. I am unrighteous. I suppress the truth.

I’m not doing it on purpose! That of course is my excuse. I’m not trying to deny God’s existence, I’m not even conscious of it!

But, verse 20: “they are without excuse.”

Paul says that even people who have never heard of God are without excuse–they should know that he exists because the world around us is crying forth his praise. How much more am I without excuse, me, who has grown up hearing God’s word, who has a personal relationship with him, who has his Spirit living inside of me?

“For although [Elanor] knew God, [she] did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but [she] became futile in [her] thinking, and [her] foolish heart was darkened.”

This is how desire conceives and gives birth to sin. Wanting something (anything, people, literally anything!) so easily deceives us, causes us to slip into a mindset where God doesn’t exist, and it’s all on us to reach out and take what we want, whether it’s the purse or the self-justification. The desire isn’t sin (wanting to be a good person). The worry and anxiety isn’t sin (If I buy the purse, does that make me a shallow person?). Sin is the reaching out and the taking (I refuse to buy the purse! Look, I’m not shallow! I did it, I proved it). Because that’s the moment when I act on my unbelief. Where I grant Satan’s assumptions and, not only think as if God doesn’t exist, but act upon it, as if it is true.

Why does sin separate us from God? Because the essence of sin is the active denial of God. I separate myself from him. I write him out of the equation. That’s what sin really is.

Desire, Part 4: The Gifts

“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.”
– Matthew 26:39

“You can’t always get what you want. But if you [ask] sometimes, you just might find you get what you need.”
– The Rolling Stones (modified from the original)

We said that every good and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights. But the problem with these gifts is: they are usually not the ones we’re looking for. How do we escape the trap of our desires? We ask God for what we want. And then we receive the gifts He gives us. But it’s so hard to do it, the serpent’s voice is so tempting, because God’s gifts come in strange packages.

What did I want yesterday? I wanted my daughter to be happy at school. I wanted justification for making her suffer. I wanted my 2 days a week. I decided not to reach out and try to take those things for myself but to ask God for them. Let’s see what He gave me.

When we picked up JKL from school at 2:15, we heard from the teacher: that she stopped crying around 12 to eat lunch. She played happily with the other kids for a little while. And then she resumed her screaming routine for the next hour and a half until we got there. So I didn’t get the first thing I wanted.

But what did God give me? After I brought the kids home, my friend played with AKL (my son) downstairs, and I brought the baby upstairs for a nap. She didn’t fall asleep, but she did snuggle happily in bed with me for half an hour, babbling and playing, letting me hug her. No sign of trauma (but ask me again on Thursday when I drop her off next), no sign that she’s been permanently damaged (cause that’s always the fear). Just a happy, affectionate girl.

The second thing I wanted: I am not justified for putting my daughter through this pain. I’m sorry, parents, I just can’t buy into that. I really believe that I could be making other choices that would make her life better, and I am choosing not to make them. And I don’t think my excuses are good enough. I don’t have justification.

But what did God give me? He gives me forgiveness. He forgives me for wanting my 2 days a week. He forgives me for taking them (I went and reached for the fruit and took it. But it’s still ok.) And He’s showing me that JKL forgives me too.

And will I actually get my 2 days a week? I got one yesterday, and it was glorious. In the future, who knows? Lots of things could change. But what will God give me? He will give me a good gift.

Jesus shows us how to go to the lowest place. How to offer our desires to God and receive His gifts.

When Jesus is in the wilderness, his 3 temptations correspond to Eve’s 3 attractions.

1. Turn stones into bread: Desire of the flesh.

2. All the kingdoms of the world spread before him: Desire of the eyes.

3. Jump from the temple: Pride of life.

Satan plays the same role he played with Eve, the only role he knows how to play. (This is the plus side of temptation: it gets really predictable once you catch onto his game.) He was luring and enticing Jesus with his own desires.

You’re hungry? You can turn stones into bread! What’s the harm? Just do it! Reach out and make your life a little bit better.

Or look, see the kingdoms of the world, spread out all through time. See how shiny they are? They could all be yours.

And you’re the son of God, but people don’t believe you! Prove it to them! Jump off the temple. Get the recognition you deserve.

Finally, the biggest temptation of all. Gethsemane, when Jesus cried tears and sweated blood because he knew what was going to happen to him. He had his desire: Let this cup pass from me. But he was willing to take the gift that God had for him.

This is life on the road to the lowest place. I don’t always get what I want, but I get what I need. I might ask God to end my suffering. He gives me strength to endure it. I ask God to stop me from sinning. He forgives me before and after. I ask God for a pretty purse. He gives me the feeling of royalty.

Jesus wanted to avoid dying on the cross. God gave him resurrection on the other side.

If we follow Jesus, this is the life we’re signing up for. This is the narrow gate. The house built on the rock. “If anyone would save his life, he will lose it. If anyone loses his life for my sake, he will save it.” “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”

So let’s do it! Let’s follow Jesus to the lowest place! Through death and out the other side! Let’s die in the little things and die in the big things. Let’s die by suffering in small, everyday ways. Let’s die by failing to meet our own and other people’s expectations. Let’s die by serving other people and receiving no credit. Let’s die by asking for forgiveness instead of making excuses.

What are the gifts He has in store for us on the other side?

Desire, Part 3: Escape

Every good and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.
– James 1:17

Today is my little baby’s first day of preschool. She’s almost 2, and she’s starting at the same school as her brother, 2 days a week. She cried when I dropped her off–she’s never been to daycare before. She’s old enough to know when I’m leaving, and not old enough to understand when I’m coming back. The hope was, she would cry for a few minutes, maybe half an hour, and then accept her situation and start playing with the other kids.

2 hours in, I called the school to see how she was doing. I could hear her screaming in the background, even while the teacher assured me that she was doing fine, that this is normal, that she is a bit stubborn, but they have an adult with her all the time, and she’s going to be ok.

I feel horrible.

The worst part is–I’m doing this to her for my own sake. There’s no reason why she has to start school now. I’ve been staying home with her so far, and that’s been fine. I’m not getting a new job. Not going back to school. No hard commitments that force me to put her through all this pain and misery. It’s just me–I was looking forward to 2 days a week when both kids are in school, and I could have time to run errands, to clean the house, to plan Bible studies, to write blog posts. Whatever the next few weeks have in store for her, she’s going to go through it because of me, to make my life better.

What are my desires in this moment?

I want to stop my daughter’s pain. I want to pull her out of school immediately, say that this was all a mistake, we’ll wait another year. Because I feel bad for her, yes, and also because what kind of a mom makes her little girl suffer for such selfish reasons?

I also don’t want to stop my daughter’s pain. I want the 2 days a week. I do want the space it will give me, mental space, physical space. I can get SO MUCH DONE in a whole morning with no kids around. And so I want to keep going, to let her cry.

Most of all, I want to justify myself. I feel culpable. This is my fault, and I have no good reason for doing it, and I want to say something like, “I’ve been a mom for 4 years, and that’s hard work, and so I deserve this.” I want to say, “It’s something she just has to go through, that’s part of growing up.” I want to say, “In a month or two she’s going to forget this ever happened.”

Do you see the forces acting on my heart, pulling me one way, pushing me back another?

If I pull her out of school, I don’t get my 2 days a week. If I take my 2 days a week, then I force her to suffer. I have voices telling me, “How can you let her feel so much pain?” And I have voices telling me, “If you pull her out without even trying, that’s just coddling her. Don’t let your kid dictate your schedule.”

Anything I do, I’m wrong. Anything I do, I lose. How on earth do I escape?

Each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death. Do not be deceived my brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
– James 1:14-17

Do you see what James says? “Do not be deceived my brothers.” How am I being deceived? There is a fundamental way in which I’m being deceived right now, in this moment: I feel alone.

The moment when I made the call and talked to the teacher at the school, my immediate instinct and response was: what am I going to do about this? What am I going to do? If I don’t do something, then my baby will keep suffering. If I don’t do something, then I will be a bad mom. Because there’s no one else out there to do anything. It’s all on me.

That’s the lie. That’s the ultimate deception. When we’re caught between the opposing forces of our desires, our minds are trapped in a world where WE are the sole agent. And it’s not true. That’s not the world we live in.

“Do not be deceived my brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.”

We don’t live in the dark and lonely world where it’s only one desire pitted against another. We live in the world of the Father of lights. I have a heavenly Father who fills the air around me and the heart inside me. He rains down gifts from above, every good gift and every perfect gift.

Seeing the Father is my way of escape.

Eve saw the fruit above her, and she reached out to take it, grasping the next rung of the ladder, trying to bring herself a bit higher, a bit closer to God.

James tells us: don’t climb higher. Stay right where you are. And your heavenly Father will rain the gifts down.

Back in the airport, where I saw the purses, the real ending of that story was: I asked God, “What do I do? Do I buy the purse? Do I look away? How do I think about this situation?” And His answer to me was: “Elanor, do you know who your Father is? Do you know that I own the whole universe? Should a daughter of mine be worried about not having enough money to buy a purse? A daughter of mine would walk in there as if the whole store belonged to her.”

That’s what he said to me at the time. And so I walked past the store at the airport–but I didn’t look away from the purses. I looked straight at them, not coveting them, not wishing for them anymore, but thinking, “Those are mine already. God is my father. I own the whole store! What else does this mean? Who am I really? Do I have any idea?”

You see, the lowest place is really a disguise. When Jesus tells us “Go sit in the lowest place,” he also continues, “so that when your host comes he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at table with you. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.” (Luke 14:10-11)

Do not be deceived. In the moment of my desire, the serpent is right there, whispering in my ear. “Take it, take it. If you just do this, everything will be all right. You can get what you need.” And the lie is: “You’re alone. You have no father to take care of you. You have to look out for yourself. You have no choice.”

Right now, my baby is crying at school. But my heavenly Father is there with her, all around her, holding her. I want to stop her pain. I want my 2 days a week. Here is how to go to the lowest place: I ask my Father for what I want. I bring my requests before him. I don’t let my desires lure and entice me into grasping anything or rejecting anything. I ask for what I want. And then I receive the gifts that God gives to me.

Every good and every perfect gift comes down from the Father of lights.

Desire, Part 2: Physics of the Heart

When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate.
– Genesis 3:6

True story: I’m walking through the airport and happen to pass by a boutique with fancy handbags. My eyes get drawn to them, because they’re sleek and pretty. The thought crosses my mind, “My bag’s so old. It’s about time for a new one, right?”

Then, in rapid succession, various feelings pass through me, almost too fast to notice:

“Those bags are way too expensive.”
“I know, but they’re so nice.”
“Really? Are you that shallow that you would pay so much for a bag? It would be so much more meaningful to spend the money on something better [insert vague impressions here of orphans starving in the streets]. Anyway, doesn’t the Bible say not to covet? Look, you’re coveting those bags right now. Turn your eyes away.”

All of this went through my mind in the space of time it took to walk the 10 or 15 steps past the store. Struggles like these happen inside of me, and in all of us, many times a day. Dozens, probably. What’s going on?

There are physical forces in the world that push and pull matter in one way or the other. Gravity. Friction. Inertia. Roll a ball down a slope, and you’ve got all three forces acting on the object to determine how it will act.

In the airport, I was under the power, not of physical forces, but metaphysical forces: forces that act on the heart, rather than on the body. Metaphysical forces work in a very similar way to physical forces. When you understand them, you can explain what’s happening to a person’s heart in a given situation.

The Bible is a comprehensive textbook on the physics of the heart.

When Eve was standing there in front of the tree, the serpent whispering in her ear, there were three basic attractions that pulled her in the direction of the fruit. The apostle John calls them the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eyes, and the pride of life (1 John 1:16). These are the same attractions that have their hold on us, day in and day out. Remember James? These are the desires that lure and entice us. They are the ones that tempt us to sin.

1. The tree was good for food. (Desire of the flesh)

The first pull is the basic desire to have my needs met. To be comfortable. My stomach rumbles, and that creates in me this impulse to feed it until it’s satisfied. It’s the desire to alleviate pain, to put on a jacket when I’m cold, to find something fun to do when I’m bored. It’s so natural and ubiquitous we do it without even thinking about it most of the time. We feel it, we pursue it, we do it.

2. The tree was a delight to the eyes. (Desire of the eyes)

This is the “Ooh, pretty!” factor. The pull of shiny things. Of the sleek and the stylish. The beautiful. Or just the impulse that sucks me into the TV every time a show is on, even if it’s something I have no interest in watching. The first desire comes from the inside, so you feel it no matter where you are, no matter what’s around you. This second desire is sparked by things on the outside. You see it, you want it. You might be totally happy with the phone you have–until you see the ad for the new one that just came out. Then all of a sudden, you need the new one. That’s delight to the eyes.

3. The tree was to be desired to make one wise. (Pride of life)

This is the big one. This is the desire to be better. I wish I had a better singing voice. I wish I were a better mom. I wish I had something to show for the work that I’ve done with my life. Those kind of desires. These are often the ones that seep into every situation and decision, but they’re also the ones that tend to be buried deeper in our subconscious. They hide and disguise themselves and pull our puppet strings often without us even noticing.

Of course, it’s really the Deceiver who’s pulling the strings. He loves to play our desires against each other. For example, #2 vs. #3: I want the pretty purse I see at the mall. But a little voice whispers in my ear: “Don’t be so shallow. Couldn’t that money be used for something better?” You see the lie: When I use the money for something better, then I will not be shallow.

Or #1 vs. #3: I feel the need for more time to myself after running around after two kids. But as soon as the thought comes into my head, that voice whispers, “Really? You want to get away from your kids that badly? What does that say about you?” The lie is: When I want to play with my kids, then I will be a good person.

Do you see what Satan is doing? He’s using the physics of the heart to pull me in two different directions at once. Either way, I lose. If I get the purse, then I’m a shallow person (not really, ladies. Just according to the lies that Satan tells!). If I decide not to be a shallow person, then I don’t get to have the purse. And then Satan has this negative feeling that he can use to create new desire in me: I’m such a shallow person, I feel bad, so I go stress eat a cupcake to feel better. Or, I didn’t get the purse for myself, I’m so righteous, so I really deserve this cupcake right now. And then I feel bad for eating too much junk food! The cycle goes on.

Satan’s got this perfect system worked out. Every time I reach up, like Eve, to take the fruit, to make my life better in one way, then that very taking kicks out the stool I’m standing on, and I end up lower than I began. And then he dangles a new fruit in front of me, so I’ll reach up and take that one.

Let’s beat the system! No more playing Satan’s games! Forget the fruit. Forget trying to make our lives better. Let’s turn our eyes toward the lowest place.

But that’s the next question–how? I thought Satan had all the options covered: buying the purse, and not buying the purse. Either decision plays into his hands. I feel trapped. What other option could there be? How do I get out? The Bible has the answer for that too. We’ll talk about it in Part 3.

Desire, Part 1: The Source of Our Troubles

Each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. (James 1:14)

I like going straight to the source. And the source of all our troubles is so simple. But it’s one thing to be able to name it, and another thing to be able to dig it out of our hearts.

It’s been the same problem since the very beginning: we have a desire for good things. The things aren’t bad. The desire isn’t bad. But that (good) desire (for good things) lures and entices us into sin. Why? How so? We know that two wrongs don’t make a right. But how on earth is it possible that two rights end up wrong?

It starts with deception.

Genesis 3:4-5 “The serpent said to the woman, ‘You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.'”

The serpent is so cunning, mixing truth with lies. Eve didn’t technically die when she ate the fruit. Her eyes were opened. She did know good and evil. What was the lie? There were two. And those two were devastating.

1. “You will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

The first lie was to misrepresent who God is. The serpent insinuated, assumed, “incepted” this idea that being like God means to know good and evil. It sounds right! Because of course God does know good and evil! God knows everything! And so wouldn’t it be true that if Eve knew good and evil too she would be more like God? What a good thing!

But it is not God’s knowledge that defines his character. His knowledge isn’t the very essence of his being. God can still be God (isn’t it strange to say?) even if he doesn’t know everything. Jesus was fully God, even though he submitted to the limitations of a human brain. So what does it mean to be like God? That brings us to lie #2.

2. “When you eat of it, you will be like God.”

The second lie was to misrepresent who Eve was. Let’s unpack the lie: “When you eat of it, you will be like God.” Right now, you are not like God. But if you do this one simple thing, you will be like God. That is what the serpent told Eve. But it was a lie. Because “God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.”

What does it mean to be like God? Eve WAS like God. She was created to be like God, and that was the very essence of HER character.

Do you see the cleverness of the serpent? Mis-identify God’s nature as something that Eve doesn’t have. Then use that as evidence to trick her into thinking she isn’t like God. So she ends up wanting something that she already has!

How many times a day do we experience this kind of deception? “When you do __________, then you will be __________.” When you feed your kid vegetables, then you will be a good mom. When you come home in time for dinner, then you will be a loving husband. When you find a job you’re passionate about, then you will be happy.

Eve’s desire to be like God was the thing that caused her to reach out, take the fruit from the tree, and eat it. That was the moment of her disobedience. The sin was the eating. But it was the desire that lured and enticed her to get there: she wanted to be better.

She chose an upward trajectory, to become more than what she was, to rise higher. And that’s the direction we’ve all been trying to go ever since.

But Jesus:

“Though he was in the form of God, [he] did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself.” (Philippians 2:6)

It’s a totally different part of the Bible. But I can’t help but think that Paul is referring back to the Genesis story. Eve counted equality with God a thing to be grasped; Jesus did not. Eve reached out to take it; Jesus emptied himself. Eve tried to go up; Jesus went to the lowest place.

And this is the power of the lowest place: It would have been so different if, at the very beginning, Eve said to the serpent, “I might not know good and evil, and the fruit does look delicious. But I’m happy just the way God made me.”