This sixth of seven issues inhabiting the otherwise Biblical “young restless Reformed” movement is more vague than the others. I don’t know what to call it besides a Persecution Complex.

And I don’t mean feeling you are persecuted when you are not — for example, saying a non-Christian is rejecting you because of your faith, when really he only thinks you’re a jerk. Instead I mean feeling you should be persecuted or have a harder time as a Christian, when you aren’t.

6. Desiring persecution on purpose (or feeling guilty for not having it).

Last time I had specific examples to illustrate this notion; this time I only have fragments of quotes in my head. So let me just smash them together into a single synthetic paragraph:

The American church is in trouble. We’ve been all about entertaining ourselves, and coming up with programs that cater to our felt-needs, that we’ve missed out on the Gospel. But I want to challenge you that it’s time to step out of your comfort zone. While we’re sitting inside our air-conditioned buildings, eating three meals every day, people in other nations are dying from lack of basic necessities. And while our brothers and sisters in other countries are suffering for their faith, even tortured, the worst thing that could happen to Christians in America is having someone laugh at us for wearing a WWJD bracelet! Now, are you really sold out for Jesus? Are you so devoted to Him and to your faith that you’d stand in the street, or go to a foreign land, and die for your Savior?

Do elements of that sound familiar? I know I’ve heard them, either echoing in my own mind or from pieces of rhetoric found throughout the YRR blogs-and-books world. And there’s so much there to agree with. The American church is in trouble (when has it not been?). Evangelicalism does suffer from too much amusing-ourselves-to-death. And many Christians are too relaxed with their own Americanized Christianity, and persecution, if it did come here, would weed out many from professing faith who, it would turn out, were never truly among us anyway.

Yet can we prove those points, and enhance the Gospel message, without also connoting guilt?

Here’s what notions Christians may logically, but not Biblically, deduce from the above material:

1. Christians should always or often expect persecution.
2. Some more-zealous types, again with much Biblical basis and right motives, may even imply or say: If you’re not being persecuted, you must not be doing it right.
3. And by implication, a third notion accompanies those two: If you’re being persecuted, the Bible shows only one right response: face it directly and suffer.

But Christ does not call all Christians, at all times, to suffer in only one way for the sake of His Name. All the cautions in Scripture about persecution never imply the same kinds of suffering happen to every believer, 24/7. If that were true, Paul would not need to remind some believers to “aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we instructed you” (1 Thessalonians 4:11). Others wouldn’t need the reminders to respect their employers or love their families (Colossians 3, Ephesians 5). And we wouldn’t expect at least some downtime from persecution to set up church policy (1 Timothy 3) or work out Godly church discipline for those who aren’t behaving as believers should (1 Corinthians 5).

Furthermore, Scripture contains not only one, but at least three different reactions Christians have in response to even overt religious persecution. They’re best shown in the book of Acts. When Christians came under persecution, did they only ever face it head-on? Not at all.

1. Christians can flee persecution and minister elsewhere.

And Saul approved of [Stephen’s] execution.

And there arose on that day a great persecution against the church in Jerusalem, and they were all scattered throughout the regions of Judea and Samaria, except the apostles. Devout men buried Stephen and made great lamentation over him. But Saul was ravaging the church, and entering house after house, he dragged off men and women and committed them to prison.

Now those who were scattered went about preaching the word.

Acts 8: 1-4

Different believers, through circumstances not mentioned here, had different fates thanks to the persecution wrought by Saul and others. Some may have been unwilling or unable to leave Jerusalem, because of family or job restraints. The text singles out the apostles, for example, but doesn’t say why they stayed. Others were “scattered” all over the place, for reasons the text doesn’t give — but it certainly sounds like they were hoping to avoid being captured. And neither the author nor his inspiring Spirit condemns them for this. Instead, God used them.

Ever heard a line like this? The early Church had gotten too lazy by then. That’s why God sent the persecution, to drive them out of their comfort zone in Jerusalem and make them take the Gospel to the nations like He’d commanded them to do.

But the author of Acts never draws this conclusion. Also, at least twice the apostles had already been arrested for preaching, and been warned not to continue (Acts 3 – 5). So Jerusalem was hardly a spiritual comfort zone for believers. Regardless, though, we’re faced with the truth that at least in this case, God used these Christians’ attempts to evade persecution to spread the Gospel to the nations. This gives the lie to implications that you should always face persecution.

2. Christians can complain to the governing authorities.

But when it was day, the magistrates sent the police, saying, “Let those men go.” And the jailer reported these words to Paul, saying, “The magistrates have sent to let you go. Therefore come out now and go in peace.” But Paul said to them, “They have beaten us publicly, uncondemned, men who are Roman citizens, and have thrown us into prison; and do they now throw us out secretly? No! Let them come themselves and take us out.” The police reported these words to the magistrates, and they were afraid when they heard that they were Roman citizens. So they came and apologized to them. And they took them out and asked them to leave the city.

Acts 16: 35-39

But when they had stretched him out for the whips, Paul said to the centurion who was standing by, “Is it lawful for you to flog a man who is a Roman citizen and uncondemned?” When the centurion heard this, he went to the tribune and said to him, “What are you about to do? For this man is a Roman citizen.” […] So those who were about to examine him withdrew from him immediately, and the tribune also was afraid, for he realized that Paul was a Roman citizen and that he had bound him.

Acts 22: 25-26, 29

Paul used his Roman-citizenship card, at least twice. The first time he was very snarky about this — almost like an American Christian who could get a bit too gleeful slamming the ACLU. The second time you can almost imagine him thinking, I’ve already been beaten enough and illegally so, and I’m sick of it, and it’s time for it to stop. Scripture doesn’t draw any conclusions one way or the other about his motives. Yet Acts’ author does not condemn Paul’s choice, or any other believer’s choice to attempt halting persecution by claiming legitimate rights.

One might also point out that in the latter case, the soldiers still didn’t set Paul free. But they did stop beating him, and were thus obeying the civil authority as Scripture teaches (Romans 13). That same standard applies to Christians today, to support the civil government that God has set up, encouraging it to be “not a terror to good conduct, but to bad” (Romans 13:3).

This could entail being persecuted under a bad government. But it could also entail supporting good government by speaking up when someone violates the law — as the U.S. government or any court or person does when it acts contrary to its founding document, the Constitution.

Paul also had a higher purpose to being captured: he wanted to take the Gospel to Rome. Even then, other believers tried to dissuade him from going, and aren’t condemned (Acts 21: 1-16).

Someone I know recently said about suffering victims that they must always “suffer in silence,” because of Jesus’ actions before governing authorities and the “turn the other cheek” principle. Yet the same Bible that outlines this truth shows us that a) Jesus also had a higher purpose, to die for the sins of His people, and at many other times opposed sinful authorities; b) the “turn the other cheek” reaction does not apply to illegal persecutions, but to personal blows to pride.

3. Christians can suffer under persecution, rejoicing that they’re ‘counted worthy.’

[… W]hen [the Jerusalem religious leaders] had called in the apostles, they beat them and charged them not to speak in the name of Jesus, and let them go. Then they left the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer dishonor for the name [of Jesus].

Acts 5: 40-41

Here’s the part we all must face: despite options to evade persecution, or stand up for our God-given rights both as humans and as beneficiaries of our nation’s good laws, God may have “counted [us] worthy to suffer dishonor” for His Name. All Christians should pray that if that time comes, they will indeed pass through the test and glorify God with their testimony.

But that’s a far cry from what may be a logical deduction that’s internally self-consistent, but not consistent with all of Scripture, that if persecution is good, let’s go find it, or, if you’re not being persecuted, you must be one of those comfort-zone Christians.

That conclusion just doesn’t follow from Scripture. It relies on selective reading of believers’ actions described in narratives, and isn’t based on any direct prescription in the epistles.

Why do some Christians, Reformed and otherwise, have this belief? Maybe it’s because selective reading of Scripture affects us all, coupled with Ministry Myopia that says my ministry Thing must be your ministry Thing just as much. Yet such Christians may need to consider that:

1. God may test His people with prosperity, not persecution.
2. We shouldn’t overcorrect for the “prosperity gospel” nonsense with the exact opposite, as if we feel we must teach people to fear God’s blessing of possessions or just-plain rest from active service that results in persecution or not.
3. Believers suffering persecution in China may be growing in many ways, but have many drawbacks as well. Some bad theology gets around a lot over there, I’ve heard! Yet believers in countries such as the U.S., which is relatively free of religious persecution, have the advantage of growing in other ways — and helping their brothers and sisters in China or elsewhere from the blessing of a safer position.
4. If we have in the backs of our minds the notion that my real ministry will begin when God brings persecution, we may wait for that far-in-the-future imaginary moment to get moving instead of working with what we have, even in our “comfort zone” lifestyles.
5. Christians should not be afraid of persecution or pleasure God sends our way — which is according to His timing, and not ours.

That last is one of the best reasons, and I can’t cite it here without presenting the quote and source from one of the better blogs around the YRR online universe. (And my YRR friends, you know this: if it’s on the Gospel Coalition, you know it’s Gospel truth!)

Lord, save us from making locale the measure of Christian commitment. God gifts us, nurtures us, and calls us to different places and different kinds of ministry. All matter to God because all people matter to God.

Be willing to suffer, but don’t feel guilty for pleasure. Be strategic, but don’t think our strategies are always God’s strategies. Be willing to do anything, go anywhere, and minister to anyone. It matters more who you are than where you are. City, suburb, or country, if we are growing in godliness we will not be unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ (2 Peter 1:8).

“They Need Good Pastors and Good Churches Everywhere,” Kevin DeYoung, March 9, 2010, on GospelCoalition.org

Over several weeks one could say I’ve been neglecting my “job,” or part of it anyway. But why? No one, to my face anyway, has been chiding me for not writing weekly blogs over the holidays (and longer). I’m not beholden to write YeHaveHeard columns for an outside employer. And I haven’t Gone to Seminary to do this as an official Ministry.

These are all pathetic excuses. And they show how even the man who’s writing a series on Top seven risks for young restless Reformeds can fall into risk no. 5.

5. Neglecting the doctrine of Christian vocation.

Several times this subject has arisen on YeHaveHeard, mostly because I’ve been looking into it myself. Such thoughts do not come naturally, that God is just as glorified by “menial” and even “secular” jobs as He is when we do overt ministries.

But does all — yes, I do believe that should be our standard — young-restless-and-Reformed rhetoric reflect this truth? Are more Gospel-driven folks believing and speaking against the opposite view? I hope that’s not itself just a calling for some Christians, for we’re all meant to preach all of what Christ has commanded (Matt. 28: 18-20). That includes the full counsel of God in the Word. Yet I keep seeing examples of books, sermons, etc., that either assume people already get this, or else say or imply (our of ignorance, I hope?) the exact opposite:

• A Christian pastor and radio program host, in the name of preventing compromise with the truth that Scripture is sufficient, spends half an hour disparaging anyone who would want to allow liturgical dance or other creative expressions of worship in a church service. “If the Bible’s not enough, nothing is enough,” he says, and speaks not all wrongly against those who want to add special effects and other stunts to worship services. (But then, after a comical slip of the tongue, he laughs and says he didn’t mean to say we don’t need Christian radio programs like his. Why the double standard?)
• Radical, a popular book released last year by David Platt, a pastor, rightly challenges many American Christians’ blending of some favorite Christian ideas with “American dream” prosperity-style beliefs. But in proclaiming the Gospel and asking readers to apply it to their lives, Platt was quite selective in his examples: all of them related to Professional Ministry, overt church work. For examples about Christians who stay in their “secular” jobs, he only mentioned the time they might take for mission trips.
• Two Christian parents are adamant that their children must go to Bible college and learn courses specific to some kind of overt Ministry. This is the family’s default direction, it seems, without recognition for the fact that God may have gifted the children as they grow with other ways to serve in His Kingdom: engineering? artistry? full-time stay-at-home-motherhood? political activism? education? music? movie-making?

For myself, I didn’t inherit the impression that some jobs are more spiritual from any Christian teacher. Instead the “meme” is implicit, and left unopposed, in too many Christian books and slogans: If you’re doing any work besides overt Ministry, you may not be in the right place.

Or the quiet thought which surely many of us sometimes have (I’m sure it’s not just me) that says, Someday I want to quit this job and Go Into the Ministry.

Implicit in both of these suspicions: Your job is not as important as the professional Minister’s.

For Christmas my wife bought me Job-Shadowing Daniel, and when I am finished I hope to review this book by former “bi-vocational” minister Larry Peabody. His Biblical basis and experience with both “secular” and church work lends to his excellent overview of vocation truths and the life of Daniel. (See, appropriate “advertising” on this site has advantages!).

Throughout the book Peabody focuses on Daniel’s ascent in King Nebuchadnezzar’s court, every bit a bureaucrat as any legal office intern who outshines his peers — and gives Godward advice and witness at the same time. Peabody shows how Daniel was just as much a minister of God in his calling as any of the more-overtly-spiritual prophets were in theirs. Though others may have had more amazing methods of being called — such as Isaiah and Ezekiel with their visions — Daniel’s call was just as important and the plan of the sovereign God just as active in his life.

At first for me this meant purging the mental shrapnel of this-is-work-and-that-is-Ministry — sorting through and rejecting the wrong beliefs I’d picked up intellectually. Pieces of that false dichotomy are still there, but reading this book has really helped, after I’d listened to a Discover the Word radio series, read God at Work by Gene Veith and even analyzing Radical by David Platt (who gives an I’m-sure-unintentional negative example).

But more recently I believe these truths have begun sinking deeper. For me it’s begun going beyond the more-overt Ministry of showing how regular, even drudging work is part of God’s plan for His people — even in “secular” jobs, even when one isn’t actively sharing the Gospel. Instead I must apply this even more personally. Doing these dishes is glorifying God through work. Trying to get along with your family of origin: also glorifying God through work. Going to this city council meeting, interviewing this person, even covering anti-Gospel rhetoric honestly and with as much objectivity as I can muster — this glorifies God, even apart from witnessing.

One can overdo corrections for this, for sure. Already I’ve seen a few of those examples, such as in another book I’m reading. It overemphasizes “the priesthood of believers” truth almost to the point of disparaging those who are called to be an overseer or a teacher, which is certainly a legitimate and honorable calling for some Christians (example: 1 Timothy 3).

But Reformed folks could stand to start swinging back the other direction on the truth of varying vocations apart from what is popularly construed “full-time ministry.” We’re all part of “a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Peter 2:9). Thus I hope more Gospel-driven types will ensure they’re recognizing the special role of more-overt Biblical ministers of the Gospel, such as pastors and missionaries, but also challenging “lay” ministers to fulfill their unique callings. Yes, all of us are “ministers,” as Peabody points out, and we should even stop using the term as if it denotes our ranking among a lower Christian caste!

• The Christian pastor and radio program host might recognize that his calling is to preach the Gospel directly to his congregation, and combat “compromise” with those truths on his radio program. However, he ought to be more careful about slamming any other methods of ministry as if they’re automatically equivalent with attacks on the Sufficiency of Scripture. If one of his callings is radio, why should another Christian not also worship and share the Gospel through dance or even a “program”? We should have serious conversations about whether these things can glorify God during church services, but let us not assume anything not worthy of overt-ministry service isn’t worthy at all.
• As I’ve said before, I’d love to see extended thoughts to Radical and other books, which champion proving in our lives that we’re really sold out for the Biblical Jesus out of gratitude for His lordship and salvation. My guess is that Platt, quite naturally, could only think of his particular calling while typing anecdotes for his chapters. He and other leaders might not even think of the connotations, or the fact that these reinforce the subtle idea that God is given the most glory through overt missions. Shall we share this with Platt and others, honestly, and even hope for Radical at Work, Radical at Home?
• And for Christian parents: sharing with them books such as Job-Shadowing Daniel, or perhaps a similar work about high-school age Christians trying to find their careers in Christ, may help. Gnostic ideas affect us all. All redeemed parents want to see their children succeed and be kept safe; but they simply may not have considered that the way God kept Daniel in His will was to send him into exile and assign him “pagan” jobs such as learning Babylonian mythology and “magic” (Daniel 1) and carry out often-seemingly useless bureaucratic tasks (Daniel 2, 4-6). Broader beliefs about “separation” from the world come into play here, and some Christians need to have those challenged as well. But all of this, I’m sure, must be done in the contexts of loving relationship.

Next: do YRRs feel guilty if they’re not being persecuted?

Apparently another risk for young restless Reformeds: highly inconsistent blogging. (Yes, I’m addressing that. With all of these real-life relationships and community, with family and friends to consider, I just don’t have the zone-out-on-internet time that’s so much more important.)

A recap: I’m Reformed myself, and by that I mean not just books, dry theology and asking John Calvin into my heart¹ but a perspective of trying to see everything in a God-centered way. God is large and in charge, perfectly holy, true and loving (and He defines holiness, truth and love) and His sovereignty is not only over salvation. It’s over everything: heaven, Earth, spiritual things, material things, all “menial” things.

So how come more Reformed folks aren’t thinking this way about our physical eternal destiny?

4. Missing the New Earth and its implications.

Perhaps it’s because we’re all still Reforming. None of us is Reformed, past tense, as if we already came to some zenith of knowledge and applying God’s truth and love. That won’t come until the Resurrection. But even now we do know enough about the coming Resurrection to apply its truths better in our lives — and I see some Reformed folks quite stunted in this area.

Am I all “there” yet myself? Not at all. But perhaps it helped that I didn’t just read Desiring God by John Piper and then immediately go read Jonathan Edwards and R.C. Sproul; my Desiring God reading was alongside my reading of Randy Alcorn’s fantastic book Heaven.

Piper’s book stressed that God exists primarily to exalt Himself, and thus the highest good He can give His people is not faith, not gifts, not even salvation, but all of those things for a greater goal: giving people Himself. Otherwise He would be both mean and an idolater. And Alcorn’s book stressed some very similar themes: for those who love God and are redeemed, their ultimate purpose is not some unearthly spiritoid existence in a “heaven” unlike Earth, but in a revamped and physical New Heavens and New Earth, with Christ reigning personally.

Many YRRs are indeed talking about that. For example, just today Collin Hansen, the very guy who coined the “young restless Reformed” phrase, Tweeted: “There will be no car repair in the new heavens and the new earth.” I think he must be having vehicle trouble.

But in response I asked: “How do you know? Car mechanics could glorify God!” And that is likely unnecessary to nitpick. Other issues, though, seem to be causing Reformed Christians more difficulty, and perhaps it would help if we not only acknowledged the physical nature of the coming New Earth, but considered more actively how that truth affects us now. Examples:

Do we act or speak as if God gives no blessings at all, even before the New Earth, such as rest, fellowship and even Stuff? After Francis Chan quit his California church, sure he was meant to do something even more “radical” than that, YRR-dom has been abuzz. That’s a debate we need to have, and optimally centered on questions like these: does the Bible really call all Christians to be ascetics like Chan implies? Is that kind of lifestyle really more “spiritual”?

Are we sure that in all our “Gospel-centered” emphases that we aren’t defining the Gospel’s effects too narrowly? Some, for example, imply that Christians just need to preach the Gospel, and minimize fields such as politics. Yet the Gospel also includes Scripture passages such as Romans 13, and examples of good and bad rulers in the Old Testament, and other passages that apply to human governments — and rulers will certainly be present in the New Earth. So how should Christians rightfully, honoring Christ, engage in civil government?

Might Christians accidentally get into such a “wartime mindset” (borrowing Piper’s phrase) that we forget God’s peace? Last night I was talking with a friend about this, and I had to high-five him after he said that some YRRs are too enamored with the ideas of suffering and persecution. That’s partly because previous Christians have minimized the fact that God may want us to suffer. But He might also not want that. We’re to have God’s peace either way, my friend said. And that rest that we’ll have is not only in the afterlife — the New Earth — but seeps in advance into this life as well. Let’s make sure we’re not treating the battle as more important than the victory. After all, in New Earth there won’t be any more villains to fight!

Christians who emphasize ministry as teaching, evangelism, church work — are we forgetting how God works in different vocations? More on this in my next column, but in summary, this oversight comes through not as much from pastors or authors saying, “Church work is more spiritual than your work,” but not saying all God-honoring callings are important.

For example, David Platt’s book Radical was all about asking yourself how much Jesus really means to you, and if He means everything, you will want to give everything. Platt, however — likely just because of incidental myopia — only cited examples of how Christians give up their Stuff or secular jobs in order to do more specifically Church-related work. Yet if the New Earth is our future, then we know that Christians there will be doing more than just teaching and discipleship (oh, but imagine how great that will be). And even now, I seem to recall Paul encouraging people to be “radical” in even the not-very-spiritual-sounding ways, such as being a good employee at work (Colossians 3) or loving your wife and family (Ephesians 5).

How we see our lifestyles, our worldview, our battle plans and vocations ought to be more clear when we consider our future physical existence in a physical world. There we’ll have no issues with thinking of spiritual things versus “earthly” things because “now the dwelling of God is with man” (Rev. 21:3). There we’ll not just have bad guys to fight, but God’s perfect peace, at rest and at Home forever. Implications from that truth, not just the truth itself, are things that “young restless Reformeds” ought to consider — and even daydream about! — more often.

Next: Among young-restless-Reformed types, radical church work is in, glorifying-God-just-as-much- in-work-and-motherhood-and-business not so much. Why?

On Wednesday I couldn’t figure out, at first, whether to list six or seven risks for “young restless Reformeds.” By that I mean Christians, mostly “young” — below middle age — who have gotten ahold of the teaching that Christ is sovereign in salvation and everything else. Closely connected with this truth¹ is that God uses everything, including sin and our own meaningful choices, as part of His plan, and always to bring Himself glory.

Six risks or seven risks? I had an outline, but I know it doesn’t include all of them. (Some of course will say that Reformed theology is itself the greatest risk — but that’s another column or series.) The reason why I couldn’t decide the number is that there’s so much overlap between several of my suggestions. And number 2, basing most beliefs upon reactions, affects them all.

Regardless, I view the Reformed and Gospel-centered “resurgence” as mostly a good thing, to the extent that Christians who adhere to it are reading Scripture, not just reacting to those who misread Scripture, and trying to apply their higher views of God to their daily decisions.

Yet what other risks might there be to YRRs, or other Christians? Here’s another to consider:

3. Forgetting that in Christ, we’re no longer totally depraved.

I began wondering about this when I saw that it was difficult to compliment some Reformeds.

Maybe it’s me? I don’t know — all I know is, to some who love the doctrines and applications of God’s absolute sovereignty, and their own sinful instincts, it’s very difficult to tell them:

Hey, thanks for your sermon this morning; it really encouraged me.

One person I know would often shuffle awkwardly. He might grin and say, “Well, praise the Lord.” Perhaps I read him wrong, but at that point what I really wanted to do was add, “Yes, thank God that He’s gifted you to glorify Himself through your talents and labors in the Word!” But that might not work and could make someone feel even more awkward.

Might some of this actually be due to “overdosing” on a teaching of total depravity?

Because even C.S. Lewis misunderstood this: “total depravity” does not teach that humans act wicked, all the time, with no inclination toward good or ability to do any good thing. It merely reflects what Scripture teaches: that by nature, no one seeks after God (Romans 3: 9-20), and that Christians “were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked” (Ephesians 2: 1-2). Even the good things we do are from bad motivations — without Christ, that is.²

That’s my whole point: Christians are no longer totally depraved. I love Ephesians 2’s past tense! Christians were dead in their sins, in which we once walked. But we no longer do that!

Now, does that mean we can sit around and be passive? I don’t think that will happen to a true Christian. He will want to war against the pieces of sin left in his body, in the manner Paul describes in Romans 7. He will know that growing in holiness has two sides, perhaps best expressed in Philippians 2: 12-13: “[W]ork out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” And he may even know that this struggle gets just a little easier when he’s not remembering who I am in Christ, as some devotionals and spiritual-warfare manuals encourage, but rather who Christ is in me.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 5: 16-17: “Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.”

With these glorious truths in mind, might it make sense, in one sense, not to focus so much on fearing our own pride? This may be my own experience, but I find that it’s easier to forget self-focus, not when I’m giving into it or trying to fight hard against it, but when I’m forgetting myself altogether and focusing on Christ. The New Testament would seem to back this up: so much of the Gospels are about what Christ has done, followed by vital afterthoughts starting with “therefore”s: therefore, knowing this Gospel, here’s how you behave in everyday life.

Humility is like breathing: it’s vital to life, yet strangely much easier to do when you’re focused on greater things. But just try to think, Breathe in! Breathe out!, and you’ll get exhausted.

With that in mind, I think Reformed Christians could stand to learn how to accept a compliment. “Praise the Lord” seems wholly appropriate, for sure, but why cringe, as if you really don’t want the praise? Of course you do; most people do, and it would be more humble to admit that you need other people’s affirmations. A worse pride, as Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity, would be to pretend you’re above needing affirmation. It’s also far too easy to grow proud of “humility.”

So how about this: I say, Thanks for what you did; it really encouraged me today.

And you say, That’s great to hear. I love knowing God is using His gifts to me to bless you.

I want to encourage my Reformed friends! God has used so many of your talents and spiritual gifts to glorify Himself to me. But using too much “total depravity,” just because some people don’t know it enough (see risk no. 2!), doesn’t help, and could even denigrate Christ’s grace.

Next week: Reformed Christians, trying to regain “the Gospel,” may overcorrect for past wrongs (again, see risk number 1) and define it too narrowly. Thus they may miss how the Gospel affects our views of the afterlife, and our callings today.

First, an admission: I probably qualify as a young Reformed, or as author Collin Hansen puts it, “young, restless and reformed.” And yet I’m slowly also becoming one of those pundits who wonder what, in all this wondrous excitement over God’s sovereignty, YRRers might be missing.

For weeks I’ve considered assembling a quick-hits, basic list of suggested problem areas. Now, just today, Justin Taylor linking to a 2008 John Piper video brought this to mind.

Piper’s emphasis: what could cause the young-adult Christian resurgence to break open and “dribble away into nothingness” is a failure to connect God’s majesty to everyday choices. “The disconnect between the majesty of God and the movies you watch, just to choose an example. … Between the majesty of Christ and the carelessly attended, default weekend movie — no questions asked, it’s just the thing to do.” ¹

Taylor prefaces the video:

As you watch it, I’d encourage you to avoid judgmentalism (if the things he mentions don’t apply to you) or defensiveness (if the particular examples are something you seek to do in moderation and any critique feels like fundamentalism). Rather, I’d encourage humble self-examination, and to see if the Lord might be using this older, wise, father-brother in the faith to exhort us and encourage us in a new direction.

Separated from the context of Piper’s ministry, and moreover Scripture itself, any critique of immodest dress, going to bad movies or drinking too much beer will sound “fundamentalist.” And indeed, I think that is included in one of the top risks to “young, restless and Reformed”: basing what we believe on being anti-this or that, rather than being pro-God and His truth.

But Piper hits on a specific risk I hadn’t thought of — though it’s not the worst I worry about:

1. Not connecting God’s sovereignty to everyday discernment.

Another admission: it’s easy for me to feel self-righteous when Piper references “the carelessly attended, default weekend movie.” So far, no movie I’ve attended is from carelessness. But I have a reason: I’m a story nerd. Almost any film I have seen (and now, my wife and I have seen) in theaters has been after anything but careless planning. Inception: anticipated for weeks in advance. Toy Story 3: anticipated for months. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1: anticipated for years. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader: anticipated for decades.

It’s rare that we just show up at a theater, pick a movie from the marquee, and go inside and get surprised. To this day people who say “we went to the movies” cause me no little amount of irritation. That’s like saying “we went to the foods”! Why would you do that? No, you choose your foods, taking care not to eat junk that could be poison or that at least you don’t even like!

We went to The Movie — that is, the anticipated-in-advance blockbuster can’t-miss-it incredible story spectacle of the year, that we have researched to make sure there’s no crap, or at least to know which parts to avoid — now that is much better to say. And that’s what I do. Ha, safe!

Or not. Because, you see, my home-viewing preferences just rose up and called me a hypocrite.

Did I really need to see Prince of Persia while eating lunch from McDonald’s that Wednesday afternoon? Not really. It may not be a sin, but did that waste of time honor God in my life?

What about my viewing the entire Avatar: The Last Airbender series over the past few months? Oddly enough, that’s a little different. While the cartoons’ mystical elements don’t mesh with Biblical truth, a surprisingly powerful and emotional theme of sin, repentance and forgiveness quickly emerged and, to me, not only honored God the ultimate Reconciler, but makes me tear up even now to imagine the depth of sin for which He forgave me — and similar forgiveness I should give others. Also the writers’ storytelling genius has helped in my own writing.²

One can’t connect God’s sovereignty to everyday discernment by simply trying to avoid the Bad Stuff. Instead a Christian’s basis is mostly proactive. Yes, it’s good to ask whether God would be displeased by a particular movie, TV show, story or song. But isn’t it better to ask whether God would be pleased? Paul didn’t encourage us to avoid the bad stuff nearly as much as he said Christians should focus on the Gospel, and with that in mind, focus on truth and beauty.

Yet frequent opposing notions of discernment, in theology or anything else, lead to risk no. 2:

2. Basing most beliefs upon reactions.

A common theme at YeHaveHeard and my personal rhetoric has been this: Christians should not base what they believe about God on what the Bad Guys have done. That could devalue God into merely the positive alternative to Bad Stuff, or just as a means to beat the Bad Stuff.

Rather, our emphasis should be on loving and seeking God for His own sake. Getting rid of the bad stuff — our own evil hearts before we’re saved, and our sin-shrapnel after — is vital, but ultimately tangential. After all, we’ll spend less than 120 years doing that. For eternity we’ll only have God Himself and His new created-world. No sin to fight. No Bad Guys to debate against.

No matter what one’s theological persuasion, “Calvinist,” “Arminian,” or whatever, the constant temptation is there to reduce truths about God, or even zeal and love for Him, into a means for other ends: beating the bad guys.

I see this a lot among theological liberals, or “emergents.” Many of them seem to have gone back over their more-orthodox Christian backgrounds, found the legalism (real or perceived) and then based what they believe now on a reaction against that. Now their mode of existence is fighting against Injustice (again, real or perceived) and telling other Christians how they’ve got it wrong in the past. I want to ask them: what would you do if Christ returned tomorrow, eliminated all injustice, and ushered in the New Earth? Are you sure you wouldn’t be bored?

But many “new Calvinists” share similar attitudes. Struck anew with Biblical evidence for God’s sovereignty in salvation, they see the difference between this and others’ previous failures. Some obviously overshoot, calling for the abolishment of altar calls, Billy Graham movies and the Left Behind series. Others are more subtle and don’t realize it. They might be angry against the Church for its (real or perceived) failures, and miss what previous Christians did get right.

That same question applies to us all, especially those who — like myself, I hope! — love deep doctrines, correcting errors and helping others: What would I do if Christ returned tomorrow, eliminated all wrong beliefs, and ushered in the New Earth? Am I sure I wouldn’t be bored?

If my answer is that such an existence sounds boring — “Ugh, no one to fight” — then my priorities are definitely out of order. I’ve confused the means for the end, and it’s time to realign. Yes, we destroy arguments that raise themselves up against God’s truth (2 Cor. 10:5), and preach the Gospel despite false beliefs (2 Tim. 4: 1-5), whether from secularists or wishy-washy Christians. But the conflict isn’t the end of the story. Christ Himself is that end.

Friday: Young-restless-Reformeds may forget that in Christ they are no longer totally depraved — thus guilt should lead first to gratitude in Christ, not just desires to do better. Also, might some young Reformed Christians forget the coming New Earth, which will transform more than just human souls?