In giving a summary of what constitutes the true knowledge of God, we showed that we cannot form any just conception of the character of God, without feeling overawed by His majesty, and bound to do Him service. —John Calvin

Yesterday, a man I met for the first time asked me, “And what is the Lord doing in your life?” (Something about how he asked the question, the tone of his voice, and his manner in it disturbed me.) The manner of asking was a bit too casual, as if the utterance was mechanical. I suppressed my annoyance and answered as if the question were sincere. I said, “He is impressing upon me the beauty and sweetness of His law.” The man obviously was not prepared for my answer. He looked at me as though I was from another planet. He visibly recoiled from my words as if I was weird for uttering them.

We are living in an era in which the law of God is not given much attention either by secularists or by Christians. The law, we assume, is a relic of the past, part of the history of Judaeo-Christianity to be sure, but of no abiding relevance to the Christian life. We are living out, in practice, the antinomian heresy.

A recent survey by George Gallup Jr. revealed a startling trend in our culture. According to Gallup the evidence seems to indicate that there are not clear behavioral patterns that distinguish Christians from non- Christians in our society. We all seem to be marching to the same drummer, looking to the shifting standards of contemporary culture for the basis of what is acceptable conduct. What everybody else is doing seems to be our only ethical norm.

This pattern can only emerge in a society or a church wherein the law of God is eclipsed. The very word law seems to have an unpleasant ring to it in our evangelical circles.

Let’s try an experiment. I’m going to cite a few passages from Psalm 119 for our reflection. I’m asking that you read them existentially in the sense that you try to crawl into the skin of the writer and experience empathy. Try to feel what he felt when he wrote these lines thousands of years ago: • Oh, how I love Your law! It is my meditation all the day (Ps. 119:97). • Your testimonies I have taken as a heritage forever, for they are the rejoicing of my heart. I have inclined my heart to perform Your statutes forever, to the very end (Ps. 119:111–112). • I opened my mouth and panted, for I longed for Your commandments (Ps. 119:131). • Trouble and anguish have overtaken me. Yet Your commandments are my delights (Ps. 119:143).

Does this sound like a modern Christian? Do we hear people talk about longing passionately for the law of God? Do we hear our friends expressing joy and delight in God’s commandments?

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These sentiments are foreign to our culture. Some will surely say, “But that is

Has anyone ever said something unkind to you or about you? I think we all have had that experience. Becoming victims of slander or malicious gossip can be difficult to bear. However, God calls us to exhibit a very specific kind of response in such circumstances.

Years ago, I received a letter from a friend who is a pastor at a church in California. In it, the pastor included a copy of an article that had appeared in the Los Angeles Times. Although the article included a photo of him standing in his church and holding his Bible, it was basically a vicious personal attack against him.

When I saw that picture and read that article, I felt a great deal of empathy for my friend because I had recently had a similar experience. A person I believed was my friend made some very unkind statements about me publicly, and word had gotten back to me. My feelings basically vacillated between despondency and anger, even though I knew I needed to respond with joy (Matt. 5:11–12).

I believe the greatest book ever written about the virtue of love in the Christian life is Jonathan Edwards’ classic Charity and Its Fruits. In this book, Edwards included a chapter on how we are to respond to false charges. There, he makes the biblical point that such attacks should not surprise us; rather, we should expect them: Men that have their spirits heated and enraged and rising in bitter resentment when they are injured act as if they thought some strange thing had happened to them. Whereas they are very foolish in so thinking for it is no strange thing at all but only what was to be expected in a world like this. They therefore do not act wisely that allow their spirits to be ruffled by the injuries they suffer.

Edwards’ point is that if the Christian expects to be slandered and keeps his eyes focused on God when it happens, he will not be depressed over it.

Edwards reinforces the concept that other human beings can harm only my worldly pleasure. A person can injure my body, steal my money, or even destroy my reputation. However, all of these things have to do only with the cares and pleasures of this world. But we have an inheritance that is laid up in heaven, a treasure no one can steal or defile (1 Peter 1:4). It is protected by the Lord Himself.

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We might be tempted to think that Edwards was a spiritual giant who could handle personal attacks with ease, while we are “ordinary” believers. How, then, can we not be distressed when we are hurt by people we thought were our friends? Yet while it is true that it is part of our human nature to respond to personal attacks with sadness, anger, or bitterness, these feelings are part of our fallen humanity. They are not fruits of the Holy Spirit. This means that Edwards, as great a saint as he was, was not calling

Has anyone ever said something unkind to you or about you? I think we all have had that experience. Becoming victims of slander or malicious gossip can be difficult to bear. However, God calls us to exhibit a very specific kind of response in such circumstances.

Years ago, I received a letter from a friend who is a pastor at a church in California. In it, the pastor included a copy of an article that had appeared in the Los Angeles Times. Although the article included a photo of him standing in his church and holding his Bible, it was basically a vicious personal attack against him.

When I saw that picture and read that article, I felt a great deal of empathy for my friend because I had recently had a similar experience. A person I believed was my friend made some very unkind statements about me publicly, and word had gotten back to me. My feelings basically vacillated between despondency and anger, even though I knew I needed to respond with joy (Matt. 5:11–12).

I believe the greatest book ever written about the virtue of love in the Christian life is Jonathan Edwards’ classic Charity and Its Fruits. In this book, Edwards included a chapter on how we are to respond to false charges. There, he makes the biblical point that such attacks should not surprise us; rather, we should expect them: Men that have their spirits heated and enraged and rising in bitter resentment when they are injured act as if they thought some strange thing had happened to them. Whereas they are very foolish in so thinking for it is no strange thing at all but only what was to be expected in a world like this. They therefore do not act wisely that allow their spirits to be ruffled by the injuries they suffer.

Edwards’ point is that if the Christian expects to be slandered and keeps his eyes focused on God when it happens, he will not be depressed over it.

Edwards reinforces the concept that other human beings can harm only my worldly pleasure. A person can injure my body, steal my money, or even destroy my reputation. However, all of these things have to do only with the cares and pleasures of this world. But we have an inheritance that is laid up in heaven, a treasure no one can steal or defile (1 Peter 1:4). It is protected by the Lord Himself.

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We might be tempted to think that Edwards was a spiritual giant who could handle personal attacks with ease, while we are “ordinary” believers. How, then, can we not be distressed when we are hurt by people we thought were our friends? Yet while it is true that it is part of our human nature to respond to personal attacks with sadness, anger, or bitterness, these feelings are part of our fallen humanity. They are not fruits of the Holy Spirit. This means that Edwards, as great a saint as he was, was not calling

“Why do we need to talk about sin? We ought to just talk about the love of God.” This comment was not made by a dedicated liberal. Rather, it was made by a woman who is a member of an evangelical church and has enrolled her children in a Reformed Christian School. She does not seem to have grasped much of the character of Calvinism.

Regrettably this comment is not just a strange aberration. In a recently published book, sociologist Alan Wolfe argues that this attitude is wide-spread throughout American religious groups and denominations, including evangelicals. In The Transformation of American Religion Wolfe states, “Talk of hell, damnation and even sin has been replaced by a nonjudgmental language of understanding and empathy.” Most American churches and synagogues today are characterized by attitudes and practices which are “joyful, emotional, personal and empathetic on the one hand, impatient with liturgy and theologically broad to the point of theological incoherence” on the other.

Wolfe is fundamentally sympathetic to this new development. He believes that this common attitude serves the interests of a diverse society that values toleration, cooperation and civility. Religions that are too exclusive in their claims undermine social unity and must be seen as somewhat dangerous and bigoted. For Wolfe, true Calvinism must be a problem for a tolerant society because of its stress on the seriousness of sin and on Christ as the only way to God.

The concern of Wolfe and many others is not new. Such criticism has been directed against Christianity since its beginning. In the Roman empire, Christians were called traitors and atheists because they would not worship the Roman gods. Christians were bigots and dangerous to the unity of the empire because of the exclusive claims they made for their faith.

We Must Talk about Sin Faithful Christians have always rejected the call to conform their faith to the desires of those who want to say that all religions are equally true and useful. As Christians we insist that we must talk about sin if we are to be truthful about the human condition. If we do not understand our sin, we will not understand the kind of savior we need. Our sin creates two problems for us as we stand before God. First, we need to have the guilt of our sin taken away. Adam’s original sin and our actual sin have made us guilty before God and worthy only of condemnation. We need to be forgiven and so we need a savior who can ensure our forgiveness. Second, as sinners we need to have a positive righteousness with which we can stand before God. Adam was not created as a morally neutral being, but was created righteous and holy. So as sinners who want to become new creatures, we need righteousness and a savior who can make us righteous.

The Reformation was a recovery of the biblical doctrine of sin and salvation. Sin was again seen as a problem that could not be solved by human action. Salvation

and a pleasant appearance can often conceal a significant amount of theological and ethical deficit for the less-than-faithful ones. Given the prominence of Paul’s letters in the New Testament, we might assume that this greatness corresponded with Paul’s persona and raw abilities. Yet, we find evidence in Scripture that Paul often wasn’t very impressive, appealing, or polished in person (e.g., 2 Cor. 10:10). This should remind us that Christ is magnified in our weakness, and that the advancement of the gospel is not dependent on earthly wisdom or natural ability.

Although extremely active and productive as a missionary, Paul likely suffered from chronic illness and pain throughout his ministry. His first visit to Galatia was occasioned by a physical ailment (Gal. 4:13–14). We also know from his letter to the Galatians that Paul likely suffered from an eye condition that drew great empathy from the believers there (Gal. 4:15) and caused him to write in large print when certifying his letter to them (Gal. 6:11). This condition may have been what was behind Paul’s famous “thorn in the flesh” (2 Cor. 12:7–9). Aside from this, it’s not hard to imagine that the severe trauma Paul recounts in 2 Cor. 11:23–28 likely left permanent marks upon his physical health as well. For Christians today who experience chronic pain and trauma, Paul’s legacy can be a welcome encouragement.

The Apostle Paul has much to tell us about God and the salvation He accomplishes for us in Jesus Christ. God used the Apostle Paul to disciple His people both in his time and in ours. It’s well worth knowing more about him as you study the Bible, because knowing more about the Apostle Paul helps us understand Scripture better, and understanding Scripture better helps us grow in our faith.

This article is part of the 5 Things You Should Know collection.

Jesus wept at the death of Lazarus because He was moved with compassion. He was, basically, in all points tempted like as we are. He feels what we feel. We have not a High Priest who cannot be touched with our infirmities (Heb. 4:15).

He was weeping with those who weep. He wasn’t weeping because of the end of Lazarus, because the end of Lazarus was going to be resurrection. He was weeping because of the sorrow of Mary and Martha. This is the empathy, the sympathy, the tenderness, the kindness of Christ manifesting itself in that setting.

God’s fullest self-revelation as Savior came in the person of Jesus Christ—God in human flesh. The incarnation itself was an expression of sympathy and identification with our weakness (Heb. 4:15). In Christ, we can see countless expressions of divine compassion translated into human idioms that we easily understand and identify with—including sadness, sympathy, and tears of sorrow. Though sinless Himself, Jesus suffered all the consequences of sin in infinite measure—and in so suffering, He identifies with the misery of all who feel the pains of human anguish. This was the whole reason God the Son became a man: “He had to be made like His brethren in all things, so that He might become a merciful and faithful high priest in things pertaining to God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For since He Himself was tempted in that which He has suffered, He is able to come to the aid of those who are tempted” (Heb. 2:17–18). “For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin” (4:15).

Those statements show that divine mercy extends far beyond empathy merely for our physical sufferings. Of course, the lovingkindness of God includes a heartfelt concern for our temporal, earthly, physical welfare—but it is infinitely more than that. Both the compassion of God and the earthly work of Christ must be seen ultimately as redemptive. In other words, our Lord’s tenderest mercies are concerned primarily with the salvation of our souls, not merely the suffering of our bodies. Nevertheless, because illness, disability, pain, and all other forms of physical suffering are effects of the fall and fruits of the curse of sin, God’s sympathy for the human plight includes a special grace toward those who suffer physically. We see vivid evidence of that in the healing ministry of Jesus. Physical healing was not the central point of His earthly mission. He came, of course, “to seek and to save that which was lost” (Luke 19:10)—to provide redemption and eternal life for sinners. His one message was the gospel, beginning with a call to repentance (Matt. 4:17) and culminating in the promise of eternal rest for weary souls (11:29). But along the way, He encountered multitudes of sick, lame, blind, and other physically suffering people. He healed “every kind of disease and every kind of sickness among the people” (Matt. 4:23; cf. 15:30–31), including congenital disabilities (John 9; Mark 7:32–35); chronic, medically hopeless cases (Luke 8:43–47); and cases of severe demon possession (Mark 5:1–16).

Those physical healings were vivid displays of both Jesus’ power and His compassion. They were proof of His deity and living demonstrations of His divine authority. They established His unlimited ability to liberate anyone and everyone from the bondage, the penalty, and the consequences of sin. As such, the healing ministry of Jesus was illustrative of the gospel message, a true expression of divine compassion, and a definitive verification

Do you remember graduating from high school? For many of you, the video cameras were rolling, family was in attendance, and friends were there to congratulate you. With the level of pomp and circumstance that you enjoyed, the uninitiated might have thought you had found a cure for a disease. Instead, you had merely completed the basic academic expectations of all twelfth-graders across the United States. And yet, there was a rmation, encouragement, and celebration. This was likely not the first time you experienced such joy, and, it is hoped, it was not the last.

Imagine how such major life events (graduations, weddings, birth announcements, and so on) would be different without anyone to share them with you. They would still occur but would ring hollow and feel incomplete. Yet this is what it is like for many Christians as they navigate the Christian life with very few meaningful relationships. This does not necessarily mean they don't attend a local church, read Christian books, or even have a commendable discipline of time in God's Word and prayer. However, they largely do so without the ongoing relationships that God has for them in their local church.

From the beginning of time, God has created man to live in community with others. From Adam's being provided a helper suitable for him, to Moses' being given the partnership of Aaron, to Jesus' choosing twelve disciples to live with and learn from Him during His earthly ministry, the movement has always been from the one to the many.

Unfortunately, today's Western mind prizes autonomy and values privacy, and this has greatly affected how many Christians think about their relationship with other Christians. They tragically misunderstand that the Christian life is personal but not private. Instead, Christians are drawn out of themselves and into a family of new siblings, all of whom have the same Father. They learn each other's names, take on each other's burdens, learn from each other's lives, and encourage each other to excel still more for "the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus" (Phil. 3:14).

But don't misunderstand. This sharing in community is not simply the path to obedience. This is the route to joy. Paul says to rejoice in Christ—the object of our joy. However, that fount supplies a river of joy that runs through the New Testament community. There is the joy of having others to imitate and emulate in the Christian life (Phil. 3:17). There is joy because of others' expressing concern for you (4:10). There is joy in knowing that God has given others to console us in our affliction, not in sympathy but in empathy (2 Cor. 1:4). There is joy in knowing how your love for the Lord and obedience to His Word encourage others to do the same (1 Thess. 1:8–9). There is joy in knowing that you are a part of "a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession" (1 Peter 2:9).

Let me be clear. This

Self-righteousness cannot exist without producing an attitude of moral superiority, a lack of mercy, and a joyless servitude. The elder brother of the prodigal in Jesus' parable is a living picture of these characteristics that always suckle at the breast of self-righteousness.

Every sermon on the "prodigal son" that I heard as a youth ended with the party the gracious father threw in celebration of the return of his repentant son. As a covenant child, I was led by such sermons to wonder at the inexplicable grace to this debauched wastrel.

However, Jesus continued the story past the party. Enter the older brother. He had been working on a distant part of the farm. He returned home in the midst of the revelry. In their culture, such a festivity lasted for days. He wondered what event had caused this spontaneous outburst. The servants told him his younger brother had returned home. The older brother did not share his father's enthusiasm for the return of his wayward sibling. Essentially he said: "This party is for my selfish, arrogant, and ungrateful brother? My father has become a doting old fool." He went to his quarters and would not go to the party.

The father came out and begged him to join the festivities. Then the son erupted: "Let me get this straight. That son of yours in there—that selfish, arrogant, and ungrateful profligate— came to you and told you he wished you were dead. He took what would still be earning you and our family interest and went to an ungodly metropolis. He threw away all that money for which you had labored in providing for the future of your family. He ran with prostitutes. He brought shame to you and our family name. The last I heard, he had sunk so low he was living with unclean animals. He comes traipsing back here and you fall all over him like a silly grandparent. I have stayed with you through thick and thin. I have worked hard for you. I have been a dutiful son. You never gave me a party like this. You didn't make a fuss over me like this."

Maybe the older brother was right. I think I also would have been upset. Disobedience seemed to be rewarded and obedience seemed to go unrewarded. Listening to Jesus tell the story were many people who thought like the elder brother. Read the opening verses of the chapter. To whom was Jesus speaking? "Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, 'This man receives sinners and eats with them'" (Luke 15:1–2). He aimed the parable at the Pharisees. They were the opposite of the prodigal. They were the prototype of the older brother in the parable.

In his self-righteousness, the older brother thought he was morally superior to his debased sibling. His attitude said, "I could never do anything like that." As he looked at his brother, he felt neither empathy nor sympathy.

warns about “the last days,” when this perverted love of self will become ever more manifest:

For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness but denying its power. Avoid such people. (2 Tim. 3: 2–5)

By turning this warning around, we can also see how Paul envisions Christians living for the good of others. Believers are called not to be “lovers of self” because they recognize that they belong to God and have been created for His good purposes. In our sinful world, this means we are called by Christ to give ourselves away for others so that they might know the power of His love through us. That is the radical freedom of the gospel.

We belong to God, and thus we are free to love the Creator and His creation fittingly. Again, think of the flip side of what Paul says above. Christians are free to give our money away to those in need. We are free to turn from arrogance to humility, recognizing both our finitude and confessing our sinful perversions of reality. We are free to be grateful, full of respect and honor for others, since we acknowledge all we have is a gift from God. We are free to have big hearts, cultivating a sense of empathy for others as we enter into their stories and pain, seeking their welfare and good. We are free to love God more than we love our own pleasure; therefore, we are enabled to pick up the cross of Christ, follow Him, lay down our own selfishness, and seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness. We are free from deadening religiosit y (the appearance of godliness), which speaks often of sin in such a way that we become the focus, instead of raising our gaze to Christ and His Spirit’s transforming power. Put simply, in Christ we are free to love rightly and joyfully the Creator and His creation.

Godliness does not call us to deny the reality of the egocentric predicament, but it does call us to put away selfishness. God opposes the proud. When we are arrogant, we forget that we are creatures and our sin makes us “scornful” toward others (Prov. 3:34). But God gives grace to the humble, for the humble recognize their dependence upon Him and others, and so they are mindful and merciful toward those around them (1 Peter 5:5; James 4:6). While we may not be able to escape the creaturely realities of the egocentric predicament, we can cultivate a Spirit-empowered mindfulness and love of others. Taking our place within God’s re-creation, let us be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to become angry, promoting the good of others before ourselves, and always aiming through our words and deeds to draw others back to the

simply do "what works," conceived of in material terms. This is an important strain of American philosophy, from the modernist John Dewey with his atheism and socialism to the postmodernist Richard Rorty with his relativism and leftist politics. Few Christians would agree with these philosophers if they listened to them, but simplified pragmatism can be heard constantly in church committee meetings, church-growth seminars, and books for pastors. "What works"—to increase church attendance, attract non-Christians, bring in more money, or achieve another goal—can trump all theological, historical, and biblical considerations.

Another reason to listen carefully to the world is given in Scripture: "If one gives an answer before he hears," says Solomon, "it is his folly and shame" (Prov. 18:13). In evangelizing nonbelievers, we need to "hear" them so that the answers we give as Christians will address their questions and respond to issues they are struggling with.

In many conversations, Christians and non-Christians talk past each other. The Christian may be running through an evangelism spiel from memory, while the person being witnessed to is trying to understand why God let his mom die of cancer. The non-Christian may start a political argument, while the Christian is raising spiritual issues. In apologetics, we often give a rational argument for Christianity to postmodernists who reject reason. Often the church addresses issues only after the culture has moved on. Churches trying to reach young people turn to folk songs and pop music when their young people scorn those styles in favor of rock and rap.

By first listening to those we are trying to reach, we can avoid giving pat, canned, impersonal answers. Instead, we can address them personally, authentically, and soul to soul. If they sense we are truly listening to them, they may grant us a hearing. They will feel that we have earned the right to be heard.

We can listen superficially—hearing their vile, violent music just to condemn it and them—or we can listen more deeply and notice why this music is so angry. As Mary Eberstadt has shown, most of it is about being abandoned, especially by a father. By the same token, the person struggling with his mother's death is not asking for just an abstract treatise in theodicy (a defense of God's goodness and power given the existence of evil); rather, this can become the occasion of acquainting him with Jesus who Himself died, taking on all death—including His mother's—and defeating it through His resurrection. Pragmatists who are impatient with abstraction can be pointed to the God who became flesh. We can agree with the relativist that the world alone gives no basis for universal truth but then introduce him to the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

If we listen carefully to the world and to those trapped in the world, with its futility and sin, we can hear the cry of the lost behind the cacophony of false ideas and twisted worldviews. That can awaken our empathy and compassion in such a way that we can effectively do

within their own history and daily experience, with tenderness, understanding, and empathy of experience they prayed for me, advised me, and gave me hope.

To be fair, sometimes their words were not easy for me to hear. Often the phone calls, text messages, or emails were positive and encouraging. But sometimes a wise friend saw that I needed a rebuke, a reminder to call sin “sin.” “Faithful are the wounds of a friend” (Prov. 27:6).

I was sixty years old when this story began — when I was forced to have friends. I am ashamed that, until then, I could have remained so ignorant of what God intended friendship to be. At the same time, I am filled with gratitude that God didn’t leave me alone.

Good things can happen in solitude. Quietness can be a sweet place to meet God. But there’s a dark side to solitude when I crave it above all. The I comes to mean not “introvert” but literally only “I”: I don’t want you around, because I am the one who makes me happy. I can solve my own problems. I am all I need.

Right now as I lay those thoughts out so bluntly, I recoil from my arrogance. Do we really think, “I am all I need?,” as if we were God?

O Lord, protect me from myself. Please help me to be still and know that you are God.

I am still an introvert. My dream day still is a day by myself, but only once in a while. I thank God for the women he gave me when I needed to receive friendship. I pray that God will shape my heart to give friendship like they do — like Jesus told us to: “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35).

Jesus said, “I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you” (John 15:15). He is the one I most want as a friend. I don’t want ever to be totally alone, without Jesus. I thank God for friends who have shown me Jesus’ kind of love. They have been an appetizer for the feast of Jesus’ friendship.

Many years ago, someone pointed out that the book of Proverbs has 31 chapters, making it ideal for a month-long Bible reading project. So I read one chapter a day for a month, and the experience was so rewarding I kept doing it, month after month for about a year, repeating the same verses as I was going through different issues in my life, to the point that at least some of them started to sink in.

Though some of the Proverbs went over my head, others were startlingly illuminating. “The mercy of the wicked is cruel” (Prov. 12:10). Exactly! As we see in the whole continuing history of godless ideologies that win traction by promising compassion, empathy, and niceness, but end with varying combinations of gulags, tyranny, terrorism, and AIDS.

“He who is estranged seeks pretexts to break out against all sound judgment” (Prov. 18:1, RSV). Exactly! That is why the most persuasive arguing-including Christian apologetics-often fails to change people’s minds. And why sin is the beginning of unbelief, as the sinner, wanting to justify himself, then comes up with all kinds of reasons why Christianity must not be true. (Other translations render the verse along the lines of the esv: “Whoever isolates himself seeks his own desire; he breaks out against all sound judgment.” The same notion is there, that a prior alienation gives rise to “breaking out” against truth, and that unbelief has its roots in the will.)

I kept finding a wealth of advice both practical and profound, telling me how to resolve conflicts and get along with people. I learned that I am to plan, make decisions, and take action, but that God, nevertheless, is the one who leads, determines, and establishes the outcome. “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps” (Prov. 16:9). “Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand” (Prov. 19:21). I learned that my own mind, apart from God’s Word, will lead me astray. Even if my idea seems to make so much sense. “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death” (Prov. 14:12). And even if I am convinced that I am really a good person, that I am virtuous, that I reside on the moral high ground, “All the ways of a man are pure in his own eyes, but the Lord weighs the spirit” (Prov. 16:2).

Not only the individual verses but the structure of the book of Proverbs conveys wisdom. Its purpose, according to the first chapter, among other things, is to give “knowledge and discretion to the youth” (v. 4). Though the wise too will “hear and increase in learning,” many of the proverbs take the form and context of the teaching that goes on within a family.

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“Hear, my son, your father’s instruction, and forsake not your mother’s teaching” (Prov. 1:8). And, indeed, it is all here, showing that not much has

selfless service crafted in tenderness, empathy, excellence, intelligence, and glory.

According to Acts 6, the deacons were charged with the responsibility of coordinating, administering, and conducting the charitable generosity and stewardship of the church. It seems that because of the spectacular growth of the Jerusalem congregation, the distribution of food to the needy had gradually become uneven and inefficient. A number of the Grecian widows had been overlooked. The Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, “It is not right that we should give up preaching the word of God to serve tables. Therefore, brothers, pick out from among you seven men of good repute, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we will appoint to this duty. But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word” (vv. 2–4). Thus, these seven men, or deacons as they would later be called, were to practically translate Word into deed. They had as their primary duty the oversight of the mercy ministry of the church. This was the essence of the diaconal function.

Throughout church history, this sort of practical-deeds ministry has been more or less faithfully carried out by men of passion, conviction, and concern — men like William Olney and Joseph Passmore. Olney and Passmore were deacons for many years at London’s Metropolitan Tabernacle during the pastorate of Charles Haddon Spurgeon. Their busy stewardship of service involved the administration of almshouses, orphanages, relief missions, training schools, retirement homes, tract societies, and colportages.

Sadly, in our congregations today this balanced Word and deed vision is, at best, a secondary notion in the functioning of the church offices. Indeed, instead of meting out the succor of compassion in ministries of service, our deacons are often called upon to spend most of their time sitting on committees and launching building drives. Instead of spending and being spent on behalf of the needy, instead of modeling Word and deed, our deacons are waxing the floors of the fellowship hall or dusting the dampers, pew by pew, “and goodness knows what other trifles,” as Olney put it. Consequently, we leave our churches and our communities with the impression that the Gospel really is little more than “Words, words, words.”

methodology of prayer, which helps to eliminate certain roadblocks to improving the life of prayer. Reflecting on the nature and working of prayer should help you become a better pray-er.

The fourth part of Jesus’ lesson moves us beyond human activity to divine empowerment. Jesus said that the Father gives “the Holy Spirit to those who ask him” (Luke 11:13). The Holy Spirit is the “Spirit of grace and pleas for mercy” (Zech. 12:10). He is the enabler of prayer (Rom. 8:26–27). The Holy Spirit dwells in all believers. He knows all things; therefore, He understands both the real needs and the felt needs of those who mourn. When we ask for His help, He provides what is needed. Without the Spirit’s ministry, all prayer will be impotent.

Let me conclude by suggesting five practical steps for those who desire to pray with empathy for those who mourn.

1. Ask God to show you the mourners for whom He wants you to pray. Don’t assume you are responsible to minister to every person who mourns.

2. Read: Every Christian should devote time daily to reading through the Bible. As you do this, ask the Spirit to give you insights to pray for those He has put on your heart. Outside of the Bible one of the most helpful books is C. S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed.

3. Meditate: Ponder carefully the insights God gives you through the recommended reading.

4. Write: Write your insights in a journal. As you write out your thoughts and feelings, be honest.

5. Pray for those who mourn. Turn your journal notes into earnest prayer. Let them hear your voice lifting them into the presence of the Lord. Usually it will be helpful for you to enlist other Christians to pray with you in this ministry.

Mourning and empathetic kingdom-focused prayer were made for each other. Because of mourning’s link with irreversible loss, it usually forces serious thought on what comes after the grave. The kingdom on which we focus moves beyond the grave and culminates in the new heaven and new earth. When Christians meaningfully connect with one who mourns by praying for and with that person with kingdom focus, God Himself will give “the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified” (Isa. 61:3).

justified by grace through faith in the work of Christ.

Since even our good works are tainted by sin, if we are honest, we must admit that when problems arise with another person, our own sin probably had something to do with it. We may be in the right, overall, and some people are certainly persecuted for righteousness’ sake, but there are few situations in our fallen condition in which we are completely guiltless.

When we are conscious of our sinfulness and mortified by that realization — and when we are overwhelmed that nevertheless we are reconciled to God through the gift of Jesus — we cannot help but treat even our enemies differently. We do see their sin, but because of our own we can respond with kinship and empathy. Since we have been forgiven so much for our offenses against God, how can we not forgive others whose offenses are against us? (Matt.18:21–35).

The spirit of self-righteousness not only breeds conflict, it also, ironically, can breed further sin. We feel so good about ourselves that we start to assume that whatever we do, by definition, must be good. So we “justify” our sins. We are self-righteous without being righteous.

The spirit of self-righteousness also breeds hypocrisy. We put on a front of goodness in a generally unsuccessful attempt to hide our true sinfulness. And this can overthrow our Christian witness. How much more believable our message would be if we could project a spirit of humility, honesty, repentance, forgiveness, and joy in the Gospel.

We sometimes speak of witnessing to the world by showing people how good we are. There is truth in that, and if we were more forgiving to our enemies and more loving to our neighbors, that would make us far more credible than we are. But so would honesty about our sin and our constant need of Christ’s forgiveness.

At a Bible study I attended, a young woman thanked another member of the circle for her role in bringing her to Christ. “I always thought Christians were so perfect,” she said, “so I didn’t want to have anything to do with them. But when I got to know a Christian, I saw that she was no better than I am!” That testimony was a little deflating to the person who helped bring her to faith, but it is a reminder that our witness must be to the Gospel, which has to do not with our goodness but with the forgiveness of our sins.

be more than vain to try to paint my sorrows.” This is what makes Christ’s empathy so valuable to us. If He had not suffered precisely every pain or loss that we have, He has suffered similarly and far more heavily than we have.

As Christians, it is our calling, as we are often told, to “bear one another’s burdens” (Gal. 6:2). When we do so we are imitating the Lord Jesus (Phil. 2:1–9). In fact, we are never more like the Lord Jesus than when our sorrows and our disappointments are turned to the advantage of others. And as with the Lord Himself, nothing equips us more effectively for this sacred work than our own suffering, sorrow, and trial, at least, if we bear our trials as Christians should in faith and hope.

The old writers used to speak of the importance “improving our afflictions,” that is, turning them to the best and holiest use. Well, the best use we can make of any of our suffering is to turn it into empathy and wisdom with which to love and help others. Patrick of Ireland provides a splendid example of this. Reflecting on the terrible ordeal through which he passed when, as a teenager, he was kidnapped from his home and sold into slavery in Ireland, he said, “God used the time [of my slavery] to shape and mold me into something better. He made me into what I am now — someone very different from what I once was, someone who can care about others and work to help them. Before I was a slave, I didn’t even care about myself.” We all have too hard, too selfish hearts. Trials are necessary to soften them so that we can be of real use to others in this benighted world. To be of such use, to love others when they need love the most, is our special calling as the followers and imitators of Jesus Christ.

As such, much of the Lord’s own care for His people is to come through His people. He appoints our afflictions in part to teach us what pain feels like, what happens in the confused and broken heart, and how the Lord can lift us up and will in His own time. But this is empathy and knowledge to be shared! Christ suffered nothing for Himself! Every Christian should judge himself strictly by this rule: in imitating Christ and following Christ I should regularly bring comfort and consolation to others as He did. Do others look to me to find hope and encouragement? Do folk grow calmly restful and quietly smiling because they have been with me and talked with me?

which we cling, it simultaneously offers even now the future resurrection life to each person found in Christ. The uncertainties and chaos of this world, while at times oppressive, must not give us constant despair. There is no room for that in the life of the one who believes in God’s victory through the exalted Christ Jesus. As hard as it is, amid the mourning and empathy of tragedy, we are to thank God in light of the promise: the new creation, heaven on earth. Thus we routinely proclaim the faith each Lord’s Day: “Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again.” There will come a day when the weeds will be choked-out by the sweet grape vine, true justice will reign, and once-wretched sinners will do naught but live resurrected, perfectly and humbly in the presence of the Almighty.

A survey by George Gallup Jr. revealed a startling trend in our culture. According to Gallup, the evidence seems to indicate that there are no clear behavioral patterns that distinguish Christians from non-Christians in our society. We all seem to be marching to the same drummer, looking to the shifting standards of contemporary culture for the basis of what is acceptable conduct. What everybody else is doing seems to be our only ethical norm.

This pattern can emerge only in a society or a church wherein the law of God is eclipsed. The very word law seems to have an unpleasant ring to it in our evangelical circles.

Let’s try an experiment. Read the passages from Psalm 119 that accompany this devotion. Try to crawl into the skin of the writer and experience empathy. Try to feel what he felt when he wrote these lines thousands of years ago.

Does this sound like a modern Christian? Do we hear people talk about longing passionately for the law of God? Do we hear our friends expressing joy and delight in God’s commandments?

Few people would likely disagree with the notion that marriage has fallen on hard times. Although exact figures are hard to come by, an article in Time magazine in 2018 reports that first marriages have about a 40 percent chance of ending in divorce. The odds are even greater for subsequent marriages. Moreover, almost all of us know of at least one marriage that has ended in divorce. No-fault divorce laws and a decline in social institutions that support married life contribute to the epidemic of divorce in our day.

Seeing the phenomenon of divorce, many couples are reluctant to get married. They fear that they will come to a point where they will not be able to settle conflicts or communicate well, and that they will then end their marriage. Such fears, of course, are not entirely invalid. Because a husband and a wife are both sinners, conflict inevitably arises in every marriage. Much of this conflict occurs because of the differences between the two in how th

ey subjectively value things. What we are talking about here are differences of opinions over things that in themselves are indifferent. A wife may highly value a new car and think they should spend their extra money on it. Her husband might value a vacation more and believe that their extra funds should pay for it. An argument may then ensue. Neither the car nor the vacation is inherently good or bad, and neither is inherently more valuable than the other. But the argument arises because the spouses cannot agree on how the car or vacation should be valued. The problem is not so much the money but the lack of empathy. The husband cannot put himself in his wife’s shoes and see why she wants the car and the wife cannot put herself in her husband’s shoes and see why he values the vacation.

Solving such conflicts requires good communication so that we can start to understand the perspective of the other. Moreover, good communication cannot take place without careful listening. To really understand other people in any setting, we have to listen to what they say and try not to ascribe things to them that they did not say. But this is particularly important in marriage because of the intimacy of the relationship. Scripture, therefore, contains multiple admonitions to listen and to be slow to speak, including Proverbs 19:20. Careful listening is the only way to good communication and the wisdom needed to navigate conflicts in marriage.

Trials are a regular part of the Christian’s experience. Our Christian lives will be marked by physical decline and spiritual opposition. We won’t get a new body until our Lord returns (Phil. 3:21), nor will we be loved by this world as long as we are His (1 John 3:13). But God grants us joy in trials. Our Lord’s brother James gives us guidance on how to seek it.

Remember that your Lord is returning. Just as a farmer waits for fruit in season (James 5:7), you can be sure that the Lord is preparing for you a harvest from your godly suffering. When He returns, you will reap the fruits of your endurance. The reward will be greater than the pain. Regardless of the source or the form of your suffering, your godly endurance will result in an eternal blessing.

Nurture your faith. James says, “Establish your hearts” (5:8). Don’t give in to doubts. Faith is meant to be filled by the Word of God, fed by the Lord’s Supper, buoyed up in corporate worship, and exercised in prayer. Suffering brings the temptation to turn inward and ponder why God has not put you on another path. Resist that temptation; embrace Christ right in the path of suffering. Think less about how long you have been or will be suffering, and more upon Christ who dwells with you in the midst of it.

Don’t grumble against others. Certain trials can bring the temptation to grumble about our circumstances and about the body of Christ (others’ failure to serve us, their better lot, the lack of empathy, etc.). James insightfully warns against this. If we devour the very ones God has given us to shore up our faith, we will struggle. Also, in an age of entitlement, we need to remember that suffering is never an excuse to sin with our mouths. Our Judge is standing at the door (5:9).

Remember the patience of Job. He suffered long and hard. He lost everything, including his health. If you have read the book of Job, you know he wasn’t patient as many conceive of patience. He defended his character against his judgmental friends: “I am innocent!” He pleaded his case before God: “What have I done to deserve this?” But he didn’t lose faith: “For I know that my redeemer lives and at last he will stand upon the earth” (Job 19:25). Patience is not indolence. Job shows that God welcomes earnest pleas and prayers offered in faith. In the end, we see “how the Lord is compassionate and merciful” (James 5:11). The Lord restored Job with family and fortune. God even rebuked his friends; Job didn’t have to correct the record.

We too shall be restored, either in this life (partially) or in final glory. Nothing happening in your life can “separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus” (Rom. 8:39). Christ died and rose so that this trial will become for you a means of present and future blessing. That doesn’t take

Compassion for the sick, the oppressed, and those otherwise in need is a defining feature of our Lord's character. We see this in texts such as Exodus 2:23–25, wherein God hears the cries of the Israelites and remembers His covenant with them, purposing to save them from bondage. Another example is Deuteronomy 15, which warns us not to harden our hearts against the poor.

But the compassion of our Creator is not impotent empathy or something that addresses only the surface-level problems of illness, oppression, and poverty. Instead, God has acted to address the root cause of all ills, namely, our sin. These ills are not in every case tied directly to specific transgressions—people are not necessarily sick, poor, or enslaved to others because of their personal sin. However, all of these problems exist ultimately because our world is fallen, because our sin has brought forth God's curse and the attendant suffering (Gen. 3:16–19). Unless this root cause is addressed, any solution to illness, oppression, and other problems is temporary at best.

Forgiveness is our most critical need. We must be reconciled to our Creator (Rom. 1:18–5:1). So, before He does anything else, Jesus forgives the sins of the paralyzed man who is lowered through the roof (Mark 2:1–5). As with the man born blind (John 9:1–3), the man's paralysis may not be a direct result of his own sin. Still, restoring his mobility is ultimately useless if he remains estranged from his Creator. In Mark 2:1–12, the greatest evidence of Christ's compassion is in His gracious pardoning of the paralyzed man. Without such mercy, the man will suffer the eternal death of hell.

Jesus' proclamation of forgiveness prompts the scribes to believe He is blaspheming by putting Himself in God's place. If our Lord were a mere man, they would of course be correct. Only God can forgive the sins committed against Him, so to pronounce forgiveness is to make an implicit claim to be equal to God (vv. 6–7). But the scribes' charge of blasphemy was false because Christ, though fully human, is not merely human. He is God incarnate (John 1:1–18), so He possesses the divine authority to pardon transgression. He verifies this authority by healing the man (Mark 2:8–12). His declaration of forgiveness is not mere wishful thinking but is as effectual to pardon the paralyzed man as His healing word is effectual to restore the man's ability to walk.

Quarrels between family members certainly rank among the most divisive and intense of arguments. When passions go unchecked, even minor issues can become reasons for brothers and sisters, parents and children, and other family members never to speak to one another again. An ancient family quarrel forms the background for the next prophet in our year-long study of the Old Testament prophetic literature—Obadiah.

Obadiah's prophecy against Edom for its treatment of Judah must be seen in the context of the traditional rivalry between the two nations. This rivalry goes all the way back to the patriarchal period and the Lord's word that Rebekah's two sons would be at odds with one another (Gen. 25:19–28). Indeed, Jacob and Esau routinely battled: the younger, scheming brother regularly took advantage of the older brother, whose passions were controlled by his appetite and not the fear of the Lord (vv. 29–34; 27:1–45). Although Jacob and Esau eventually reached a reconciliation of sorts (chap. 33), their descendants never fully got along. Edom, made up of Esau's offspring, was particularly embittered toward Israel and Judah, the people descended from Jacob. The Edomites even refused the wandering Israelites the right to pass through their country after the exodus (Num. 20:14–21). Sadly, two nations that were supposed to be brothers hated one another.

God's judgment on Edom's maltreatment of Judah is the theme of the book of Obadiah. In a culture that prized hospitality, Edom's refusal to show empathy or to assist its brother Judah during an invasion of Jerusalem was particularly heinous (Obad. 10–11). The precise invasion that prompted Obadiah to write is hard to identify. A variety of different dates have been suggested, but it is impossible to be certain regarding when Obadiah ministered. All we know about the prophet is that his name means "the Lord's servant," and the book itself does not identify its historical circumstances precisely. Since Obadiah describes the calamity of Jerusalem (v. 13), we are dating the book at the time of the exile of Judah into Babylon, which would have provided Judah's hateful older brother a good opportunity to rejoice in his misfortune (2 Kings 25:1–21).

Although Obadiah is the shortest book in the Old Testament, its prophecy of Edom's fall is a great comfort. It reminds God's people that the Lord will not long tolerate their enemies. All who stand against the saints impenitently will be "utterly despised" (Obad. 2).

We return to Ephesians today to finish our study of this important letter. Paul has just concluded his exposition of the armor of God, and, as was customary for letter writers in that day, he sends some closing greetings and information about his companions.

Today’s passage informs us that Paul sent his epistle to the Ephesians with the assistance of Tychicus as his courier (Eph. 6:21–22). In the first-century Roman Empire, personal friends and co-workers of the letter writer would deliver mail from one person to another. This custom was introduced by Caesar Augustus, and it was designed in part so that the courier could answer any questions the recipients might have about the sender. Tychicus, as we saw in our study of Colossians, was one of Paul’s fellow ministers, a believer who was originally from the province of Asia (Acts 20:1–5). Although we do not know a lot about him, it is clear that he was important to the apostle’s ministry, for Paul mentions his activities in 2 Timothy 4:12 and Titus 3:12 as well as in Colossians 4:7–8. Incidentally, the text of Colossians 4:7–8 and the text for Ephesians 6:21–22 are nearly identical in the original Greek. It is almost as if Paul’s secretary, or even Paul himself, wrote the greeting in the letter to the Colossians and then copied it to the epistle to the Ephesians, or vice versa. This corroborates the theory that Ephesians and Colossians were written at the same time, and it may even provide some strong evidence that Ephesians is equivalent to the letter from Laodicea mentioned in Colossians 4:16.

Tychicus was sent not only to bring the letter but also that the Ephesians might have more information about Paul’s condition in prison. In Paul’s mind, this would greatly encourage his readers (Eph. 6:21–22). Thus, even as he suffered for the gospel, the apostle was working hard to set a good example of all the things he spoke about. One of Paul’s concerns in Ephesians was to promote the unity of the body of Christ and to pray that his audience would develop a deep love for Jesus (Eph. 2:11–22; 3:14–21; 4:1–16). In sending word about his condition, the apostle would help his readers to develop empathy and solidarity with him, and the Ephesians would learn how the great love of Jesus was operating as Paul was in prison.