Why Loving Your Enemy And Loving Your Spouse Are More Similar Than You May Think

Posted on June 25, 2015 by Pastor Foley

At first blush marriage hardly seems like preparation for Christian persecution except as a matter of jest. The disciplines required to kneel in holy witness before an ISIS executioner on a sandy beach hardly seem related to the disciplines required to kneel at a church altar and enter into the kind of matrimony that yields only to death.

But this may be because we do not fully understand either Christian martyrdom or Christian marriage, and thus we may not ultimately know how to be successful in God’s terms at either.

In the case of Christian marriage, it is given to us by God not for our satisfaction but for our sanctification. Marriage that satisfies but does not sanctify is not of the Lord; marriage that insists on the former in order to make the latter bearable isn’t either.

If this thought disappoints, it may be because we don’t fully understand sanctification either. Or, more accurately, we simply don’t enjoy it. Satisfaction is much more, well, natively satisfying to us, whereas we anticipate sanctification tasting like water being poured into the wine at a wedding feast.

That anticipation is not without grounds, since sanctification is a kind of divine drilling operation. It is at times profoundly unsatisfying because by definition it digs intentionally and unceremoniously beneath the only form of love that comes naturally to us, namely that rooted in our personal satisfaction.

But there is a reason for this digging beneath. Ultimately, sanctification in marriage allows us to tap into a source of love for spouse previously unknown and inaccessible to us, one much more abundant and far less seasonal than the superficial and easily depleted springs that bog about our psyches. The result of marriage-fostered sanctification is that love is enabled to flow out of us like living water, surprisingly independent of how much flows into us as a product of surface conditions. This is in contrast to our pre-sanctification state in which love must continually be pumped into us before some tithe of it can be siphoned back out.

Marriage sanctification, in other words, frees us from our spouse having to be the source of the love upon which we draw to love them in return. More and better love becomes resident in our marriages than either we or our spouse is capable of generating on our own. We are set free to vulnerably yet without reserve pass on the love for spouse that God gives–love that is patient, kind, not self-seeking, always protecting, always trusting, always hoping, always persevering.

Most interestingly, in giving it, we receive it as well: Divine love flows outward, yet it refreshes and renews the lover who loves in this way. This is the characteristic of divine love that differentiates it so fundamentally from its human counterpart. Human love is exhausted when it is poured out and not replenished by an equivalent pouring in. But divine love is fundamentally different. Contrary to popular understanding, it is not simply another exhaustible source of love that must be constantly replenished by us through, for example, Bible reading and prayer. These disciplines heighten our awareness of it, but they do not generate it. Divine love is its own replenishment–a river that refreshes the banks through which it flows, as it flows. Divine love begets love. It exhausts hatred, but not itself nor the one through whom it flows.

In marriage, divine love is sometimes though not always conveyed to us from or through our spouse. Sometimes it comes to us through the very act of our loving our spouse. In this way no Christian marriage is a loveless one for the Christian who loves, even if the spouse offers little or nothing in return. But, cautions the Apostle Paul, do not have low expectations for the one who is loved divinely. Just as receiving divine love sanctifies us (it is the only thing that can), it can likewise have a sanctifying effect on the one we love. Perfect love, even imperfectly received, can cast out a surprising amount of fear.

And so begins to appear the bridge between loving our spouse and loving our enemy. If in loving our spouse we become attuned to a source of love that begets itself anew in the act of loving, then gradually we come to recognize that the love we offer to any other need no longer be conditioned upon–and no longer sullied by–whatever they do or don’t do in response. In fact, we begin to recognize that it is in the act of loving that we are refreshed by divine love.

Far from the (peculiar and distorted) picture of martyrdom as Christian-against-the-world-standing-strong-for-his-beliefs, the centrality of enemy love in the Christian faith reminds us that if the martyr has not love for the persecutor, then even should he give his body to be burned, it profits him nothing. Paradoxically, we are renewed by loving our enemy, not destroyed. As with Jesus, the resurrection validates the cross; it does not reverse it. Moreover, it reveals the cross as the glory and the wisdom of God.

We do not prepare for martyrdom by protecting our theological convictions from those who would seek to compromise them. We prepare for martyrdom by loving our spouse and our friends differently–with a love rooted in sanctifying, not just satisfying, lover and beloved.

Posted in persecution | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

The Persecuted Church Teaches Us The Apostle’s Creed Is Not Dry and Outdated

Posted on June 22, 2015 by tdillmuth

Logo 071414Post by Pastor Tim – While talking to one of our discipleship partners recently, he was surprised to find that we regularly use the Apostle’s Creed and/or the Nicene Creed when we disciple new Christians.  He was more familiar with the Western style of more informal prayers, contemporary songs and faith-filled expressions of Jesus living in our hearts.

None of these are particularly bad, but these prayers, songs and expressions must be rooted in something more solid.

Those who don’t particularly like the creeds often say something like, “No creed, but Christ.”  While this sounds like a strong affirmation of the sufficiency of the Biblical witness, it’s hard to know what “Jesus” one is referring to.  For example, Jesus is recognized by people of many faiths including Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus and even Atheists.  Dr. David Steele of the Bald Reformer blog said,

One wonders which “Christ” the slogan appeals to.  Is this “creedless Christ” the figure portrayed in Islam, who is regarded as a mere prophet but stripped of his deity and majesty?  Or is he the Christ of Arianism, a mere created being whose blood is unable to forgive sinners?  Is he the Jesus of modern-day liberalism; you know the “cool Jesus” who tolerates sin and changes his mind about hell and eternal punishment?

Over sixty years ago, when NK church leaders saw persecution increasing under Kim Il Sung, they realized that they needed something more substantial than trendy sayings and shallow expressions.  They needed something which taught the essentials of the faith.  They needed something which guarded against cult activity.  They needed something to help them understand who God was in the event they had no Bibles.  They needed something that they could memorize and pass on to their children and grandchildren.  They needed something that could be used in evangelism to help bring someone to Christ.  They needed something which would connect them with Christians across the globe, even if they were physically cut-off from other believers.

What did they use?  They used the Apostle’s Creed.

That’s right . . . the same creed that many Western churches reject as outdated, moldy, and formal, the North Korean underground church considered essential for evangelism, important for discipleship, and a way to remain connected with other Christians.

J. Wesley Johnston in The Creed and the Prayer said,

Christ spreads His table with nutriment, not husks or syllabub.  Dry disquisitions and sentimental drivel cannot satisfy acute and intense spiritual needs.  Doctrines, creeds, and catechetical instruction are indispensable for making intelligent and biblically educated Christians (pg. 10).

Anyone who knows this creed thoroughly, who really understands it, who comprehends its full meaning, is a Christian in the largest application of that term (pg. 15).

What’s the secret to the Apostle’s Creed that the NK underground church understood that we don’t?  Why is it so meaningful to them, but so dry and lifeless to us?

During the kick-off to our 100 Days of Worship with the NK Underground Church, Pastor Foley said,

Sometimes, it’s often our own lack of experience in knowing how to use the tools that consigns them to mis-(and dis-)use. We need to translate the creed for ourselves–not into some kind of slang vernacular, but into the life and flow of our household worship and discipleship training where they can be used by the Holy Spirit to root us deeply in faith, too.

In other words, the NK church uses the creed in their daily life.  It’s not something they repeat once a week from their church pews.  They use it for evangelism, discipleship, household worship, cult awareness, and to connect with other Christians.  They use it in a variety of ways in their everyday lives.

Posted in Korean Christianity, Making Disciples, Muslim, North Korea, persecution | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

The “V” Word That Was Once Central To The Christian Life But Which Has Been Expunged (Hint: It’s Not “Victory”)

Posted on June 18, 2015 by Pastor Foley

Logo 071414

What distinguishes persecuted Christians from Christians in the rest of the world?

Why do reports of persecution of Christians in so-called “free” countries feel so much less compelling than reports emanating from countries like North Korea and Iraq?

Why do Christians in so-called “free” countries respond to reports of North Korean and Iraqi Christians with awe, respect, and pity but rarely emulation?

The answer begins with the letter “V”.

The Bible never uses the word “vulnerable,” but the word fairly well exudes from every page.

  • The Israelites march out of Egyptian slavery…and into desert-driven thirst and hunger.
  • David stands before the towering, menacing Goliath…with no armor and a few stones.
  • Jesus stands before Pilate as he asks, “Don’t you realize I have power either to free you or to crucify you?”

Because we have the benefit of reading these stories from outside the book, it is often our reflexive belief that of course the Israelites were safe in God’s provision (we can hardly believe they grumbled amidst God’s mighty miracles!), and of course Goliath was the vulnerable one, not David (we marvel that Saul and the Israelite army were such cowards!), and of course Jesus, not Pilate, had all the power (we chuckle at Pilate’s hubris!).

All of these reactions are correct, of course. And yet they overlook one very central truth:

God’s perfect provision is only discernible to us in these cases because the aforementioned figures entered into absolute vulnerability. 

And vulnerability is something that those of us in “free” nations–unbelievers as well as believers–are resolutely committed to avoiding. In Following Jesus in a Culture of Fear, Scott Bader-Saye suggests that safety–defined as the absence of vulnerability–is implicitly accepted as life’s great good, goal, and inalienable right.

So completely do we embrace safety as life’s great good and goal, in fact, that our orientation toward persecuted Christians is to believe that their sacrifices are not the normal Christian life in action but are in fact either supererogatory (i.e., truly above and beyond the norm) or tragic (i.e., calling forth our deepest concern that these things are a violation of the norm). We embrace instinctively the idea that all Christians deserve a safe place to practice their faith in peace, and that political and even military power should of course be used to enforce this great good and goal.

But we would do well to stop and think deeply about whether the God who told the Apostle Paul “My power is made perfect in weakness” esteems safety and the absence of vulnerability in the same way and to the same degree as we do.

The story of the rich young ruler, for example, may be a story about something deeper than money. Christians often debate just how generalizable is Jesus’ command to “sell all you have, give it to the poor, and come and follow me.” We often comfort ourselves with the reality that Jesus did not repeat this call in this same way to anyone else. The moral of the story, we like to say, is not that money is bad but that we should not put our faith in it.

But what if the issue is not money but vulnerability? What if what Jesus is after is us moving from “safety”–which we define as freedom from vulnerability–to vulnerability itself, on the knowledge that Christian growth requires it? What if the reason why illness, poverty, job loss, and brokenness are such effective precursors to Christian growth is because as long as there is something or someone else for us to rely on, that is precisely what we’ll do?

To go a little further down the rabbit hole, what if Jesus’ calls for the rich to share with the poor aren’t designed to equitably redistribute wealth (toward a world from which vulnerability has been expunged) but rather to consign all of us to a life that eschews worldly standards of safety in favor of divine ones?

Jeffrey Tranzillo suggests that the opposite of voluntary vulnerability is moral vulnerability. In other words, the inevitable consequence of a life rooted in safety is a life that regularly sways into sin–whether fear, covetousness, lust, or any of the other concupiscent indiscretions in which we engage to comfort ourselves. Tranzillo goes on to make an equally remarkable insight, namely, that among those who have no choice whether to be vulnerable or not in a given situation, the ones who accept and embrace their vulnerability experience no diminishing of their personhood, in contrast to those who resent their vulnerability and would wish it away if given the slightest opportunity.

All of this leads us rather quickly back to the questions about persecuted Christians that rattle us so much. How are persecuted Christians different than the rest of us? They are different because not only are they vulnerable, but they accept and embrace their vulnerability rather than shedding it or seeking to shed it; i.e., they act with the conviction that God’s strength really is made perfect in weakness (even weakness unto death). Why do stories of persecution of “free” Christians not move us nearly so much? Because so little vulnerability is evident in their lives (despite their often insistent protestations of the magnitude of their victimhood). Why do we respond to persecuted believers in awe and pity but not emulation?

Because, just like the rich young ruler, the thought of voluntary movement from safety to profound comprehensive life vulnerability as a precursor to meaningful discipleship leaves us walking away, grieving.

Posted in persecution | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments