Because of the Tender Mercy of Our God

It’s Christmas eve. I am home. I am glad.

As is obvious, despite all my good intentions to the contrary, I’ve done a poor job keeping the blog updated. However, the types of meditations that normally take place surrounding Christmas are really quite appropriate for trying to briefly capture the essence of these past five months.

Before starting seminary, looking forward to the studies that are to come, one tends to wonder what it will be like after those studies are completed, what will have been learned, what sort of deep, profound, earth-shattering truths will now be understood and assimilated into the framework of thought that makes up one’s “worldview” or comprehensive theological understanding. Five months ago, I probably wondered how different my outlook would be even after the first full semester when I went home for Christmas. Well, now I know.

Since late July I have indeed had the privilege to learn things that might be considered deep and profound; I now know more about gnosticism, Platonism, the early church Fathers, Greek grammar, historiographical methodologies, speech-act theory, the Regulative Principle of Worship, covenantal-redemptive-historical-epistemology, and much, much more than I suppose I knew was possible. But amidst the finer points of the Greek subjunctive, Athanasius’s involvement with the recognition of the canon, and Augustine’s views on preaching, one picture or theme emerged over and over again and has, I hope, seared itself upon my understanding: the Gospel of the person and work of Jesus Christ is more central, more cohesive, and more beautiful than I have ever known before, and it is enough.

The message of the Scriptures is the message of Christ. From God’s promise in Genesis three to the resurrection of Christ, we can see all of God’s dealings with His covenant people as steadily, progressively, and faithfully fulfilling His gracious promise of salvation, all by His doing, all by His merciful love.

However, by the time Caesar Augustus gave the decree that brought a poor carpenter and his pregnant-virgin-betrothed to Bethlehem, God’s visible people were looking back over a relatively extensive history of being enslaved by other nations, probably wondering why God had forgotten them. What most of them didn’t understand, though, was that their bondage and trouble went far beyond the Roman legions marching up and down their country.

But then, the Word became flesh; the light came into the darkness. John the Baptist’s father, Zechariah, was one of the first to realize what was happening. His words, and the truths behind those words, are glorious beyond words:

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has visited and redeemed his people
and has raised up a horn of salvation for us
in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke by the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
that we should be saved from our enemies
and from the hand of all who hate us;
to show the mercy promised to our fathers
and to remember his holy covenant,
the oath that he swore to our father Abraham, to grant us
that we, being delivered from the hand of our enemies,
might serve him without fear,
in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.
And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to his people
in the forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God,
whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.
~Luke 1:68-79

Perhaps it seems maudlin or cliche to write such a thing on Christmas eve, but may I remind us, my brothers and sisters, that what we are celebrating goes far beyond the sentimentality of swaddling cloths and bright stars two-thousand years ago. What we celebrate is the “tender mercy of our God,” realized in the most amazing Drama ever told, culminating and fulfilled in the person and work of the One Who was born to die, Who gave Himself to be ripped to pieces and beaten beyond recognition so that we, His rebellious and stubborn people, might have light in our darkness and have our feet led in the way of peace. Thus, when we remember the manger, may we also remember the cross, and may we be glad in what our God has done despite us.

So this message of Christmas, the centrality, sufficiency, and beauty of God’s tender mercy, as realized in Jesus, is that which has most clearly been impressed upon my mind these past five months. God’s love in Christ is our life, our joy, and our hope, and we neither have nor need any other.

Once again, to all of you who have made these realizations possible through your prayers and financial support, I offer you my deep and sincere thanks. The tender mercy of our God is being displayed through your graciousness to me. Thank you.

An Update, an Interview, and a Museum

One of the things I mentally committed to before coming to Seminary was staying current with blog and email updates. I knew that a WSC seminary education was rigorous and demanding, but I also knew it was possible to put in a day’s work (even if that day should be a 12 or 14 hour stretch) and then say “enough,” regardless of whether or not it felt like it was enough.  I knew that I would have to say “enough” at certain times in order to spend time doing those “trivial” little things like washing cloths, buying groceries, and cleaning the bathroom, as well as those joyous activities such as keeping up with family, friends, and loved ones through calls, emails, and yes, blog updates. Before starting classes, I was determined to be good at saying “enough” and staying current with you all. Well, the fact that my last blog entry was over a month ago is a pretty good commentary on how good a job I’ve done of saying “enough.”

Much has happened in the past month. Summer, “Boot-Camp,” Greek ended, and all of us are, thanks to the grace of our God, better for it. I was pleasantly surprised to realize how much one can actually learn in such a class. I suppose I assumed that we would learn something, but I suppose I was skeptical about how well we would learn it or how well it would “stick” under such “extreme” circumstances. (In case I haven’t explained before, “Boot-Camp Greek” is an intensive introduction to Greek in which students have five weeks to learn an entire semester’s worth of material. A large part of the difficulty is in the sheer volume of what must be learned every day and every week). But I was very pleasantly surprised to find out that we actually did learn – we are far from having mastered the language, but we have entered Greek II, and we have all the tools we need to continue learning how to read and exegete God’s Word in its original language. That is a beautiful thing.

Another happening that was a blessing for me was being able to participate in a pod-cast interview through Westminster’s Office Hours program. Office Hours is a new podcast WSC is doing in order to let the public hear about the seminary in its own words. I was graciously invited to participate in an interview with two other current students so that prospective students could hear a bit about our experiences, how the Lord has brought us here, and how He is providing for us. If you would like to hear the interview, please click here and select “listen now” for the September 8th program. I also encourage you to listen to the other programs found on that page, and to sign up for the podcast.

Because time is limited, I will wrap up now, but for those of you who have been asking “How has your overall experience been so far?” let me offer you this analogy. Imagine that for as long as you can remember, you’ve lived in the shadow of the largest, most magnificent, and greatest museum ever known to man – a museum full of the world’s greatest treasures of art, history, scientific discovery, and knowledge. Now imagine that you’ve walked past this museum all these years, and oftentimes you’ve stopped outside its windows to gaze and marvel and contemplate the treasures you could see on the inside – but you’ve always been engaged in other activities, so you’ve never had the opportunity to actually go in and look around. Well, thanks to the grace of God, working through the generosity of His people, I’ve entered that museum through my studies here, and I find that even my first few steps through the doors have left me stunned and overwhelmed with the magnificence and beauty and wealth of treasure herein contained — and I have yet to walk any hallway or see any room or explore any exhibition.

Suffice to say, I am profoundly grateful to  be here, and I am profoundly grateful to have four years to spend here. To all of you who are making this possible through prayer and encouragement and financial support, I thank you as one who has been given the opportunity to discover and study and marvel at the greatest Treasure known to man.

A beginning

In his letters to young Timothy, the Apostle Paul gives much divinely inspired counsel, advice, and exhortation. One thing that strikes me about several of these exhortations is the Apostle’s metaphorical language of military service and warfare. Though these verses should be studied in context, I give them here to simply illustrate the metaphor:

“This charge I entrust to you, Timothy, my child, in accordance with the prophecies previously made about you, that by them you may wage the good warfare, holding faith and a good conscience.” (1 Timothy 1:18-19a)

“Fight the good fight of faith.” (1 Timothy 6:12)

“Share in suffering as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him.” (2 Timothy 2:3-4)

As one who has just started seminary, I am very thankful for this inspired metaphor. Thinking of a call to the ministry as a solider’s calling is a good reminder of the seriousness of what the Lord has created me to do. A call to the ministry is not something which should be taken lightly or flippantly – there is a war being waged, and though we know that our King is sovereignly in control of every aspect of that war, including its ultimate outcome, we must be “sober minded” in the tasks of each day, each battle, and each campaign.

All of us as Christians are blessed subjects of the King of Kings, and each of us have a certain aspect of the “war effort” to which we’ve been called. Some are soldiers in the front line trenches, some are support staff in back of the lines, and some are back on the home front, far removed from the actual fighting, but indispensable in support and production.  Whatever calling the Lord has given us is worthwhile, good, and valuable, regardless of what it looks like, because God is the One Who has called us to that position, and all of it is ultimately part of the campaign.

There are certainly no value differences in any calling, but there are practical differences. One practical difference is the particular, day-to-day tasks of any particular calling, and the training needed for those tasks. This, beloved friends, is why I am at seminary. Paul tells young Timothy, “Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly handling the word of truth.” (2 Timothy 2:15) The phrase “…rightly handling the word of truth” is one which should be taken with the utmost seriousness. The explicit assumption here is that it is indeed possible to wrongly handle the Word of truth — and that is a fearful thing.

Thankfully, God has graciously given us faithful institutions where those called to preach and teach His Word may go and learn skills necessary to fulfill their calling, walk the path set before them, and fight whatever battles they are ordained to fight. And so, with all that in mind, I and my fellow soldiers-in-training are currently in the middle of an intensive, summer Greek class (which is humorously called “Boot Camp Greek”) learning the very beginning stages of how to “rightly handle” God’s Word of truth.

Westminster Seminary California takes the study of Greek and Hebrew very seriously. There are many upper division classes where students are not allowed to use an English Bible, and the overall curriculum is designed to give students the skills necessary to do exegesis from the original texts for the rest of their lives.

So, we are plugging away at first semester Greek (the first of four parts) and learning about such things as second aorist verbs, substantive adjectives, predications, contract verbs, and third declension noun variations. Being an intensive class, it takes hours and hours of study each day (I think I’m averaging around 50-60 hours a week, including class time) but it is absolutely worth every second, and our professor continues to remind us, through daily examples, of how valuable and necessary it is for pastors to be able to do exegesis from the original languages.

Thank you all for your faithful support and prayers – both are very much needed, and both are very much appreciated. Please do continue to pray for all of us here as we seek to become faithful soldiers of our King by participating in rigorous, intensive academic training. We need much grace and strength.

I shall end my comments now, but below you will find a very well articulated explanation, (written by Dr. J. G. Machen regarding the first Westminster) of how the faculty and staff here view the purpose of the seminary.*

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Let it never be forgotten that a theological seminary is a school for specialists. We are living in an age of specialization. There are specialists on eyes and specialists on noses, and throats, and stomachs, and feet, and skin; there are specialists on teeth—one set of specialists on putting teeth in, and another set of specialists on pulling teeth out—there are specialists on Shakespeare and specialists on electric wires; there are specialists on Plato and specialists on pipes. Amid all these specialties, we at Westminster Seminary have a specialty which we think, in comparison with these others, is not so very small. Our specialty is found in the Word of God. Specialists in the Bible—that is what Westminster Seminary will endeavor to produce. Please do not forget it; please do not call on us for a product that we are not endeavoring to provide. If you want specialists in social science or in hygiene or even in ‘religion’ (in the vague modern sense), then you must go elsewhere for what you want. But if you want men who know the Bible and know it in something more than a layman’s sort of way, then call on us.” J. Gresham Machen, “Westminster Theological Seminary: Its Purpose and Plan,” in Selected Shorter Writings (D. G. Hart, ed.; Phillipsburg: P&R, 2004), 193 (an address given on September 25, 1929).

*Electronically copied from: http://www.wscal.edu/baugh/index.php

The Adventure Begins

Well, the seminary adventure has begun…sort of. I arrived in California three days ago after almost a week on the road. As it turns out, just getting here was an adventure in itself.

Less than twenty-four hours before I was planning on leaving, my car (the one I was planning to drive across the country) was sovereignly struck dead by our good God. That led to a quick series of decisions and some research which, twelve hours later, resulted in my driving home in a new car. The Lord provided a brand new Hyundai Accent for a great price, and He did it in the space of twelve hours. That car, named “Eliot” after the great Mr. T.S., has since brought me nearly three thousand miles, literally over mountains and through deserts. After coming through those mountains and those deserts, I realized that my previous car probably would not have made it. Though I didn’t originally desire to have a car payment, the Lord was very gracious to let my car die at home and not in the middle of the Rockies or the Mojave, and He was very gracious to provide a very reliable, economical, “long-warrantied,” mode of transportation. I am grateful.

My journey, which began a week ago this past Wednesday, took me first to Mississippi to spend a couple days with some wonderful friends there. I left Mississippi and arrived a day and a half later in Colorado Springs to spend two nights with some dear friends there as well, and then I finished out the trip by traveling Monday and Tuesday through Colorado, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, and finally, into California. In total, Eliot and I traversed ten states and almost three thousand miles. Much of the drive was jaw-droppingly beautiful, and I often felt like I was driving through a post card. Two thoughts occurred to me several times: 1) this is a really big country, and 2) our God’s handiwork is literally stunning in it’s grandeur and beauty. If the creation is so grand, what does that say about the Creator?…

So, I am in Escondido now, getting ready to start “Boot Camp Greek” on Tuesday. I’m living about ten minutes from the seminary in a five-bedroom house with five other guys, three of whom are also incoming seminary students. It’s a great setup, and the Lord has been very, very gracious to provide all this.

To all of you who have prayed and who have given financially to help make this possible, thank you, thank you, thank you! I appreciate all of it, and I dearly covet your prayers. Please pray that I, and the other men here, would be faithful soldiers of our King, learning what He would have us learn so that we might more effectively give our lives in service to His Kingdom and His people through the teaching and preaching of the Word.

Again, thank you all for your love and generosity to support the work of the Gospel, the truly Good News, of Christ Jesus.

I hope you enjoy the pictures. They certainly don’t take the place of seeing God’s creation with your own two eyes, but I hope they will be enjoyable anyway. You should be able to click on any picture to see an enlarged version.

I find the writing of Willa Cather to be remarkable. It is not so much the content of what she communicates, though sometimes that also is quite remarkable, but rather how she communicates that content. Cather did with words what Michelangelo did with a paint brush or Isaac Stern did with a violin — she communicated life, in its hardness and softness and mystery and beauty. The passage below is not necessarily any more powerful than many other Cather passages, but I read it this evening, and so it is the one I chose to place here as an example.

When the first movement ended, Thea’s hands and feet were cold as ice. She was too much excited to know anything except that she wanted something desperately, and when the English horns gave out the theme of the Largo, she knew that what she wanted was exactly that. Here were the sand hills, the grasshoppers and locusts, all the things that wakened and chirped in the early morning; the reaching and reaching of high plains, the immeasurable yearning of all flat lands. There was home in it, too; first memories, first mornings long ago; the amazement of a new soul in a new world; a soul new and yet old, that had dreamed something despairing, something glorious, in the dark before it was born; a soul obsessed by what it did not know, under the cloud of a past it could not recall.

~ Willa Cather, The Song of the Lark

Sharon

Her name was Sharon. I was driving home last night after being out of town, and I met her when I stopped for gas. I saw her coming out of the corner of my eye, and I knew she was going to ask me for money — I’ve heard the same lines, the same story,  so many times that I could say it myself:

“Hey man – my car’s broke and I’m stuck here waitin’ for a ride. Could you spare a dollar so I could get something to eat? I’m starvin’!”

Every time it’s a little different — but it’s always the same.

Well, I talk a great game of compassion on my blog, but when I saw Sharon coming, my first thoughts were not compassionate. I suppose I was probably annoyed, because I figured she was probably a drug-addicted prostitute, and she was probably going to ask me for money. Then, she was probably going to get mad when I told her that I would give her food, but no money, and she could probably cause a scene if she wanted to, which would probably make me look bad. Yeah…good job Mr. Compassionate.

“No” I told her, “I can’t give you any money, but I’ve got some food in my car you can have if you want.” I figured this was the part where she was supposed to get mad, ask me again, and then cause a scene…I was wrong.

“Really? Yeah..that would be great! Thanks!” Sharon’s worn, abused face lit-up and she showed her broken teeth. I rummaged in my trunk for granola bars and bottled orange juice; she asked me my name and told me hers, and she gratefully accepted the food. She thanked me again, patted my arm, and walked back to a dirty, dark corner of the parking lot with her limp and her big bag full of miscellaneous items and cheap alcohol.

I felt many emotions over the next several miles, but one of them, and rightly so, was a type of shame for my attitude towards people like Sharon. How can I be annoyed with the broken, hurting people in this world when they represent what I would be without grace? Yes, they destroy their lives with their choices — but so would I without the radical intervention of my Savior. And how can I disdain addicts and prostitutes — am I better than my King Who ate with them and fellowshipped with them? Can I forget that my own heart has often been a harlot, and that if it were not for grace, I would be Gomer, and I would be a slave, and I would live and die in the squalor of my own choices?

Even knowing all this, though, I have failed to love the souls around me as I ought. And I have failed to love their Creator, who is also my Creator, as I ought. And I will continue to fail. But, Jesus did not fail, and He is not failing, and He will never fail. And that is Good News for Sharon, and for me, and for you.

You shall crush his head…

As a kid who grew up in the country, I was forced to do a lot of work-type things that I didn’t particularly want to do. I have vivid memories of cutting and hauling wood in the winter, feeding and caring for chickens, goats, and pigs, fighting the onslaught of the seemingly immortal nut-grass in the garden, and, of course, in the spring and  summer, cutting and weed-eating grass that grew faster than we could cut it. I particularly loathed being forced to get out in the garden at 6:00 AM and work an hour before breakfast, and I doubt that I ever had a particularly godly attitude about it. Similarly, I got annoyed at the huge amounts of grass that had to be cut on a regular basis – the heat was oppressive, the dust clouds were so thick that you needed a mask, and the bugs could be relentless. I think that most of the time my attitude was pretty rotten. Sorry, Dad and Mom.

It’s amazing how time changes one’s perspective, however. After spending the last several years of life with my nose in a book, and after having academic-esque type activities as my source of income, I have found that those forms of work I hated as a kid are now luxuries. Today, I was able to spend part of my afternoon on a tractor in a field, bush-hogging (a.k.a. “mowing” for you non-southerners who might be reading this) a couple acres of untamed weeds, briers, anthills, and grass. It was hot and dusty, and I was assaulted with a constant barrage of various insects that seemed to be playing kamikaze with my face…and I loved.

I wonder how my perspective will be changed in another fifteen years. What things does my Heavenly Father have me doing now that I do only grudgingly, but one day will see as a luxury? Very thankfully, we have a patient and long suffering God.

So, I suppose that today was an attempt at some good ‘ol Genesis “subduing” of the earth. However, it also involved other Genesis themes, namely the striking of a serpent on the head. Before I started on the tractor, my dad called me over to where he had been mowing in another part of the field and showed me the largest rattlesnake I had ever seen up close. Thankfully, it was dead. Apparently it had been coiled, with its head up, ready to strike, when my dad ran over it with the mower. (I suppose in this case it was “one strike and you’re out.”) Thankfully, though my dad did “crush its head,” it did not bruise his heel.

I don’t know if the pictures below do justice to the snake’s size, but it  measured five feet, and, we guessed, weighed about ten pounds (though that is only a guess).

Our Only Comfort

“I will send my terror before you and will throw into confusion all the people against whom you shall come, and I will make all your enemies turn their backs to you. And I will send hornets before you, which shall drive out the Hivites, the Canaanites, and the Hittites from before you. I will not drive them out from before you in one year, lest the land become desolate and the wild beasts multiply against you. Little by little I will drive them out from before you, until you have increased and possess the land.” ~ Exodus 23:27-30

I didn’t plan to do this, but I suppose this post continues the theme of the last post. Regardless, I was very encouraged to read these words a little while ago. We are indeed Canaan bound, and it is our Father, our King, Who is bringing and will bring us into that blessed Promised Land, that “beautiful inheritance.” We do not depend upon ourselves or our own supposed abilities — we rely on Him. It is He, our Lord, who will send the hornets, and drive out the enemy, and guide us unto green pastures, and provide us with milk and honey.

But He doesn’t do it all at once…and that’s for our good. “Little by little I will drive them out…until you have increased and possess the land.”

Instead, in His own, perfect timing, our King accomplishes what He has promised He will accomplish. Sometimes that’s hard to believe – when the Canaanites are still across the valley and we’ve not been able to plant our fields and vineyards yet, we can become discouraged and doubtful. But we forget that the Lord has already driven out the Hivites from the ground upon which we’re currently standing, and He’s been feeding us with manna all our lives, and He’s given us water from the rock, and He’s led us with pillars of fire and cloud, and He led us through the Red Sea. We forget, we doubt, we complain, we fret – and He remains faithful.

It’s comforting to know that our Lord does what He does in His own timing. And that timing is perfect. It is comforting to know that when the Lord has not fully driven out the Canaanites yet, it doesn’t mean He’s not going to – it just means the timing isn’t right.

Along with that, it’s also supremely comforting, and liberating, to know that Canaan, and the trek towards those green pastures, isn’t actually about me. I may be a part of the drama which is unfolding, and I may be a farmer who plants a vineyard or a soldier in the King’s army, but the focus is on the King and His glory, and how He, by His own power and love, has conquered His enemies, redeemed His people, and brought them to their Promised Land.

When I lose that perspective and life centers around me and my activity, the journey towards Canaan becomes discouraging, confusing, and overwhelming. However, when I will “be still,” as a friend recently said, and be content to gaze upon my King’s glory, all else falls into place.

This point is well made in what is probably my favorite catechism question in all of history – Heidelberg #1.

Q: What is your only comfort in life and death?

A: That I, with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Savior Jesus Christ;…

Take comfort Christian – we are not our own. We belong to the Lord and King of all eternity, and He is better, more loving, and more tender than we are able to comprehend.

So bid your troubled heart be still…

As we were finishing up in the kitchen tonight, for whatever reason, one of Andrew Peterson’s songs popped into my head, and I began to sing. The melody carried me through the last few tasks in the kitchen and then up the stairs as I headed for post-dinner activities.

I had forgotten how much I liked the song – how moving and beautiful the lyrics are – until I began to sing it again, and until my mom popped her head in.”That’s a pretty one” she commented, “what is it?” This being one of my all-time favorite AP songs, I was upset at myself for not having shared it with her previously. “You mean I haven’t let you hear this one before?! Oh goodness! It’s amazing!”  I made my way over to the music library and speakers. “This is one of those that has brought tears to my eyes… Alison Krauss sings harmony, and there’s an amazing cello in the background.” I cranked the volume up, and we both listened, and we both drank deeply.

If you ever get an opportunity to hear this song, please do. However, even without the music, the lyrics are wonderful. Our God will accomplish what He has promised He will accomplish. We also are “Canaan bound,” so, by grace, may we not let any present barrenness afflict us with despair.

I hope these lyrics encourage you.

Sarah, take me by my arm
Tomorrow we are Canaan bound
Where westward sails the golden sun
And Hebron’s hills are amber crowned

So bid your troubled heart be still
The grass, they say, is soft and green
The trees are tall and honey-filled
So, Sarah, come and walk with me

Like the stars across the heavens flung
Like water in the desert sprung
Like the grains of sand, our many sons
Oh, Sarah, fair and barren one
Come to Canaan, come

I trembled at the voice of God
A voice of love and thunder deep
With love He means to save us all
And Love has chosen you and me

Long after we are dead and gone
A thousand years our tale be sung
How faith compelled and bore us on
How barren Sarah bore a son
So come to Canaan, come

Where westward sails the golden sun
And Hebron’s hills are amber crowned
Oh, Sarah, take me by my arm
Tomorrow we are Canaan bound

“Canaan Bound”
Andrew Peterson and Ben Shive
From the Album Love and Thunder

He had compassion for them

As a disclaimer, let me admit that the following thoughts are not fully formulated or complete…instead, they are in a certain stage of development. I write these thoughts here because the process of writing often helps me identify and clarify ideas that are rolling around somewhere in my brain, but are not, as yet, particularly well connected or shaped. If my thinking or theology is off, please feel at liberty to correct me — I would gladly welcome it.

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“And Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” ~ Matthew 9:35-36

When I read this a little while ago, it struck me that Jesus had compassion for the crowds. This doesn’t say that Jesus had compassion for the believers in the crowds, or for the elect in the crowds, or for His disciples in the crowds, but for the crowds — that great mass of unnamed people, many of whom, I think it is safe to assume, never turned to Him in true faith and repentance. For those who were not and would not become believers, Jesus, being fully God and fully man, knew that they would never turn…and yet He had compassion on them.

I did a little bit of page flipping and came across other verses that intimate something similar:

“When he went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick.” ~Matthew 14:14

“Then Jesus called his disciples to him and said, ‘I have compassion on the crowd because they have been with me now three days and have nothing to eat. And I am unwilling to send them away hungry, lest they faint on the way.’” ~ Matthew 15:32

Here, again, Jesus had great compassion and concern for a large crowd, a large mass of people, many of whom were following Him, not because they had bowed their hearts to Him in humble repentance and faith, but because they wanted something physical and temporal — and He knew that full well (see John 6:25-41ff; v. 66f). In fact, these people later  grumbled against Him (John 6:41), stopped following Him (John 6:66) and eventually participated in His bloody murder. Yet, our Lord had compassion for them, and He fed them, and He taught them…fully knowing what they would do in the future.

Similarly, our Christ healed hundreds – thousands – of people throughout His few years of ministry. How many of those ever even thanked Him, not to mention turned to Him in repentance and faith? Remember the ten lepers? Only one out of ten even returned to thank their Healer — and that one wasn’t even a Jew! And yet, knowing full well their hard hearts, our Lord had compassion on the crowds, the masses, and He healed them — He stopped their flows of blood, cast out their demons, opened their eyes, loosed their tongues, cleansed their skin, straightened their hands, raised their dead, restored their legs, removed their suffering.

My point is this: Jesus, God incarnate, demonstrated love and compassion for the world around Him, even the ones who were destined for an eternity of punishment and separation from Him, those He knew would never bow their knee to Him. He did not feed them and heal them — love them — with an agenda of getting something out of it…not even a good agenda of “saving” them. He showed true compassion as an end unto itself — not as a means to an end.

For a little while now, ever since hearing a Tim Keller sermon/lecture (see blog entry for May 9th “Evangelism and taking out the trash: what they should not have in common”) I’ve been convicted that my foundational view of loving the world was skewed. I’ve been taught that compassion and love for the lost are good and natural outworkings of the Spirit’s transformation in our lives — but somehow in my thinking, I’ve always equated that compassion and “love” with a nifty way to do evangelism — my assumptions have been something like “Just show genuine love to people and that will open great doors for Gospel conversations.”

While this may be true, I don’t think it’s the proper motivation, or at least not the only proper motivation, for truly loving others. Jesus loved the lost — showed physical, tangible compassion to them — knowing that many of them would remain “the lost.” He loved them because love, and grace, and mercy, are attributes of God, and loving people — any people, all people — glorifies God. Loving people is simply the way things should be. And though this does not negate all the other things we were also created for, we were indeed created to love. As images of God and followers of Christ, our love should not be discriminatory in any sense of the word, and neither should it have an agenda. We should love the lost not only to try and get them to repent and believe — although that would be wonderful — but simply because they should be loved.

As a clarification, what I mean by “love,” this intangible term I’ve been throwing around, is not — absolutely not — the weak, sentimental, emotional goo that Hollywood and Books-A-Million throw at us. Instead, it is the idea of self-sacrifice and service, living for something outside of “me.” This love should be both a lion and a lamb: fierce and tender, strong and gentle, valiant and compassionate — washing the feet of the dirty, bloodying self in defense of the defenseless, fighting for truth, showing long-suffering patience, standing in the gap for widows and orphans, binding the wounds of the broken, feeding the hungry.

Our Lord demonstrated this kind of love, and we should gladly strive to follow His example, not as an attempt to merit His favor, but as redeemed slaves, joyful to serve a loving, good, and compassionate Master.