Category Archives: 7. Sanctification: Spiritual Growth

Ahhhh . . . the Good Life of Faith!

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For time will fail me if I tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets, who by faith conquered kingdoms, performed acts of righteousness, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, from weakness were made strong, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women received back their dead by resurrection. (Hebrews 11:32–35)

Ahhhh . . . the good life of faith! That’s the kind of good news we like to hear, isn’t it? That’s the good life promised by the televangelist, the fruits of righteousness fertilized by the prosperity preacher. That’s our “best life now,” obtainable, we are told, by three simple steps to success . . . seven principles for happiness and joy . . . ten laws of abundant living. Filter the Bible’s story through the sieve of the American dream and that’s what you get: obtain promises, conquer kingdoms, escape the sword, be strong, successful, and victorious. Who wouldn’t want to live the good life of faith?

Years ago, at the beginning of my Christian life, I hung out with the Copeland-Hagin crowd, the famous “Word of Faith” peddlers of the prosperity gospel. I’ll be honest . . . there was something exciting about laying hands on anybody with a sniffle, interpreting every stray thought as a Word from the Lord, or warning Lucifer that we’d take him out to the woodshed and give him a holy whupping. Most of the time we treated Jesus like our own personal vending machine of blessing. If we said the right words, inserted the right amount of faith, pushed the right buttons, then we’d get what we wanted. Want a Cadillac? Name it and claim it. Want a bigger home? Gab it and grab it. Want to live in the lap of luxury? Confess it and possess it.

I recall one instance when I commented in passing to a particularly odd “prophetess” that I was starting to go bald. She instantly intervened, placing her hand on my head and shouting, “No you’re not in the name of Jesus!” Until that point I had no idea that balding was such a sickness, or that admitting it was such a sin. But in our “look good, feel good” culture, going bald was an unacceptable effect of the fall that Jesus died on the cross to reverse. (Incidentally, her magic spell obviously didn’t work on me and I suppose she would say it’s either Satan’s fault or mine.)

It was shortly after this incident that I escaped from that purgatory of Christian greed and its damnable prosperity “gospel.” It was out from under its spell that I saw the other side of the biblical witness, the life of faith those gurus and their goons had hidden from my eyes—the biblical and historical epics of those who, “having gained approval through their faith, did not receive what was promised.”

…and others were tortured, not accepting their release, in order that they might obtain a better resurrection; and others experienced mockings and scourgings, yes, also chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were tempted, they were put to death with the sword; they went about in sheepskins, in goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, ill-treated (men of whom the world was not worthy), wandering in deserts and mountains and caves and holes in the ground. And all these, having gained approval through their faith, did not receive what was promised. (Hebrews 11:35–39)

Note those last words well: they gained approval through their faith, but did not receive what was promised.

Now, we may think that as a non-charismatic, non-prosperity evangelicals, we’re off the hook. But think again. Though the means and method may be different, often our priorities and pursuits in the American evangelical subculture are exactly the same.

Take some time to scan the shelves of a Christian bookstore. Once you’ve gotten past the spiritual coffee mugs and inspirational key chains, you’ll soon be surrounded by positive-thinking, self-help, and moral development. Authors present the Christian life as an ascending ladder—seven steps to this, three keys to that, the one prayer that will revolutionize your world, expand your influence, fulfill your desire for happiness! The kind of dung stinking up the shelves of Christian bookstores is passed off as “Christian Living,” but it’s mostly useless psycho-babble or shallow pragmatism that assumes a few simple pointers and a couple encouraging words will solve fallen humanity’s most desperate problem: fallen humanity.

The real problem with many of us Christians today is that we think too highly of ourselves, that we are actually entitled to the “good life of faith.” We think our prayers will stop God in His tracks. We think God applauds us for accomplishing our personal goals. We think we were saved from sin to enjoy a big house, fancy car, and a great retirement (or at least that these things are neutral benefits that have no relevance to our spiritual life). In short, we think it’s all about us. But we’re wrong. It’s not all about us; it’s all about God. I’m convinced that many in the American evangelical church are in need of a change of heart and mind. We need to repent, not necessarily for what we have done, but for what we have become—a country club of soothsayers that have sold out to the American dream. We have gathered around us teachers to tickle our ears . . . and it feels too good to stop (see 2 Timothy 4:3–4).

We’ve exchanged the true life of faith with a false “good life” of faith. Yes, God prospers . . . but He also takes away. God heals . . . but He also afflicts. God delivers from adversity . . . but He also brings us through the crucible of suffering.

Trusting God doesn’t mean believing that He will bless, fix, or rescue us. Trusting God means accepting whatever His hand brings, knowing that all things are ultimately for our good and His glory.

That’s the good life of faith.

The Disease of Success

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For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh
Romans 7:18

There are no guarantees of success in life and ministry. In fact, I’m not exactly sure what “success” actually means. In a recent novel I just read by Graham Greene, A Burnt-Out Case, one of the main characters likened success—along with fame and fortune—to leprosy. Once you have it, you can’t be cured. Even if the disease itself is healed, the effects are permanent and you will—forever and always—be marked as a leper. But unlike leprosy, success seems to be a disease everybody wants. Instead of avoiding those infected and marred by it, we rush to them, assault them with flattery, linger in their aura . . . hoping some of it will infect us as well.

But with success comes the real possibility of failure.

This brings me to the troubling realization that I may someday fail in a successful and fruitful ministry. I have no confidence in my own strength to guarantee that the disease of success will not mar me. The potential mutilations are manifold. I could collapse under stress, sickness, or exhaustion. I could even have a moral fall. Pride and arrogance could consume me and turn me into the monster I’d never want to be.
I pray that day never comes, but if it does, I’ll be in good company. Like the mutilated victims in a leper colony, I would sit down beside the rest of those failed ministers of something that’s not quite like the gospel, but passes for it anyway. I’ll sit in the dust with the Christian authors who betrayed the Lord for a bigger advance. I’ll be with all those preachers and teachers who thought they were good enough for television and for that very reason, weren’t.

In the mournful silence, I’ll ask them: “How did it come to this?”

Then, one by one, they’ll answer:

“I lost sight of that vision God gave me.”

“I lost that inner focus.”

“The Enemy threw too many temptations in my path.”

“My opponents at NBC took me down because they hate it when God blesses His people.”

“I just devoted too much time and energy to ministry and neglected my family.”
“I got caught up in the glitz and glory.”

“I started believing my own press releases.”

When their excuses for failing have run their course, it’ll be my turn.

With all their gazes fixed on me, I’ll answer: “I fell because I’m a dirty, rotten, sinner—a white-washed tomb—full of lies, deceit, hypocrisy, envy, pride, and hate. I fell because of what I am, not because of what I’ve done. And if not for the incomprehensible grace of God, I would be burning in Hell this very moment.”

Each of them will turn their gazes away, not because my words will shame them, but because they simply won’t believe me.

That’s because Christians naively think their love of sin vanished when salvation came. No. We are, as Luther said, simultaneously sinners and saints. We struggle with the desires of the flesh and war against the Spirit. Yet God will be glorified even by our failures. He will be glorified even if He has to discipline us because our ministry in the name of Christ has been built on lies, deception, hypocrisy, and pride . . . all in the name of success. And in the end all heaven and earth will glorify God for finally letting us have it.
Face it: you and I are never as great as we make ourselves out to be, never as valuable to the kingdom as others think we are. We’re all just clay in the hands of the Potter and the sooner we accept that, the better off we’ll be—regardless of how bad off we are.