The Gospel Coalition

I wrote the book Unfashionable to make the point that Christians make a difference in this world by being different from this world; they don’t make a difference by being the same.

My deep concern (which prompted me to write the book) is that many Christians, specifically in America, seem just as fascinated with success, popularity, power, and prestige as the world around them. Materialism, consumerism, individualism, and narcissism—cultural ideals that are antithetical to the self-sacrificial nature of the gospel—are just as prevalent inside the church as they are outside. The sad fact is that we in the American church are better known for producing self-exalting superstars than we are self-sacrificial servants.

If professing Christians took an honest inventory of our own pursuits and the desires that motivate them, we would discover that we’re really no different from the world around us. Therefore, we have no right to point the finger at those outside the church for the way things are in this world. Many studies show that Christians are almost indistinguishable from non-Christians in their pursuit of fame and fortune, clout and cachet. Christians want to “fit in” just like everyone else. So we, just like everyone else, spend our time, our money, and our intellectual energy chasing after what everyone else is chasing after, whatever that might be.

Here’s the bottom line: I want to be a big Christian, and I want you to be a big Christian. I want the church to be filled with people like Polycarp. Polycarp was a God-drenched man; I want to be a God-drenched man. Every part of Polycarp’s being was devoted to God and his unfashionable ways. Nothing else could explain his God-centered perspective during the most trying time of his life. He refused to give in and go along. To him, following God was no joke and no popularity contest. He was a God-intoxicated man who lived his life coram Deo (before the face of God) and who was therefore unafraid of anything this world could do to him.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to play around with my life. I want to “leave it all out on the field” for Christ’s sake. I don’t want to be a mile wide and an inch deep, spiritually. I want to possess the backbone to dig in and be unfashionable. I’m ashamed of those moments when I’m afraid to be a fool for Christ because the world might think I’m strange. I want to have a God-given, uncommon valor to follow God’s lead and do God’s will, regardless of how I might be perceived. I want to live my life, as the Puritans used to say, before “an audience of One.”

Christians who try to convince the world around them that they’re really no different at all, hoping they’ll be accepted on the world’s terms and on the world’s turf, should be embarrassed. It’s time for Christians to embrace the fact that we’re peculiar people. Because true followers of Jesus have been given a new heart and mind, we’re to operate according to a different standard, with different goals and motivations. Everything about us—our perspective on possessions, lifestyle, and relationships—will be foundationally different from the world around us: “We worship what we cannot see, love what we cannot hold, and live for what we cannot own.” To the world around us, this will seem out of place, uncool, and odd; it’s high time followers of Jesus learn to embrace that fact.

“Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

For various reasons, this past year has been the most painful year of my life by far. As of late, God has graciously given me a mild reprieve, but I still spend a lot of time thinking about all that happened this year and the way God used trials and tribulations to remold and reshape me.

As crazy as this might sound, I have finally come to the place where I am genuinely thankful for all of the pain and difficulty and loss I experienced this year. As much as my family and I suffered, I look back on the way God used our desperation to make us more dependent on him and I am deeply grateful. In fact, I told a friend the other day that I wouldn’t trade one desperate, difficult day for all the dollars in the world. Seriously!

I’ve discovered that being thankful for pain is such a hard concept to grasp because many of us live in a country which has convinced us that the pursuit of happiness and comfort is our “inalienable right.” Therefore, when our comforts, conveniences, and cushions are threatened, we cry “foul.” This has deeply affected our understanding of what it means to give thanks and the types of things we are to be thankful for.

I love reading biographies. And one of the things I’ve discovered in reading them is that the greatest people in history have been just as thankful for their pains as they have been for their pleasures. They’ve given gratitude for their desperations as much as their deliverances; their grief as much as their glory.

Charles Spurgeon once said, “Health is a gift from God, but sickness is a gift greater still.” Throughout his time in this world, Spurgeon suffered with various physical ailments that eventually took his life prematurely. He longed to be well but he recognized the supreme value of being sick and he thanked God for it because it was his pain that caused him to desperately draw near to God.

Similarly, David Brainerd was a young missionary to American Indians who died in 1747 at 29 years old from tuberculosis. Toward the end of his struggle, he was on his deathbed coughing up blood and coming in and out of consciousness saying out loud, “Oh for Holiness! Oh, for more of God in my soul! Oh, this pleasing pain! It makes my soul press after God.”

The Puritans used to say that this life was the gymnasium, the dressing room, for the life to come and if suffering here and now better prepared them for the next world then it was welcomed.

To be thankful for our comforts only is to make an idol of this life. “God-sent afflictions”, says Maurice Roberts, “have a health-giving effect upon the soul” because they are the medicine used to purge the soul of self-centeredness and this world’s vanities. Pain, in other words, sharpens us, matures us, and gives us clear “eye-sight.” Pain transforms us like nothing else can. It turns us into “solid” people. Roberts continues, “Those who have been in the crucible have lost more of their scum.” All of this should cause us to be deeply thankful.    

It’s been said that pain is the second best thing because it leads us to the Best Thing (God). For, it is only when we come to the end of ourselves that we come to the beginning of God. And it is only when we come to the beginning of God that we come to the beginning of life.

The paradox of Christianity is that if you want to find your life, you must lose it (Matthew 10:39). In the world’s economy, life precedes death. In God’s economy, death precedes life–the cross always precedes the crown. The good news, however–the thing that should cause us to be supremely thankful–is that when we lose our worldly comforts, we gain heavenly ones. 

Thank God! 

As many of you know, my family and I were recently faced with the painful challenge of how to handle public criticism. It forced me to carefully think through how the gospel should inform and shape our response to public, personal attack.

Well, the other day I found great help (and healing) from Carl Trueman’s thoughts on how Christian’s should respond if they are criticized or defamed (specifically on the web). His gospel-drenched insights are right on the money:

The answer is simple: for myself, I do not believe that it is appropriate that I spend my time defending my name. My name is nothing—who really cares about it? And I am not called to waste precious hours and energy in fighting off every person with a laptop who wants to have a pop at me. As a Christian, I am not meant to engage in self-justification any more than self-promotion; I am called rather to defend the name of Christ; and, to be honest, I have yet to see a criticism of me, true or untrue, to which I could justifiably respond on the grounds that it was Christ’s honour, and not simply my ego, which was being damaged. I am called to spend my time in being a husband, a father, a minister in my denomination, a member of my church, a good friend to those around me, and a conscientious employee. These things, these people, these locations and contexts, are to shape my priorities and my allocation of time. Hitting back in anger at those who, justly or unjustly, do not like me and for some reason think the world needs to know what they think of me is no part of my God-given vocation. God will look after my reputation if needs be; He has given me other work to do.

(Hat Tip: Justin Taylor)

In my book Unfashionable I have a chapter on the need for the church to exhibit more anger. Of course, the anger I describe is not self-centered anger, but God-centered anger.

God-centered anger is when you get angry because God has been dishonored and his ways have been maligned. Self-centered anger is when you’re angry because you have been dishonored or your ways have been maligned.

In my book I highlight Mark 3:1-5 which provides us with a memorable example of God-centered anger.

One day Jesus “entered the synagogue, and a man was there with a withered hand.” Meanwhile the Pharisees in the crowd “watched Jesus, to see whether he would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse him.” Jesus didn’t hold back: “He said to the man with the withered hand, ‘Come here.’ And he said to them, ‘Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill?’ But they were silent.”

Notice carefully what comes next: “And he looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart, and said to the man, ‘Stretch out your hand.’ He stretched it out, and his hand was restored.”

Jesus, the God-man, was angry. And then we read immediately that he was also grieved, seeing the hardness of the Pharisees’ hearts.

Here is a super-important characteristic of God’s anger that we need to understand: God’s anger is a grieving anger. It grieves because it sees the devastation that sin has on human life.

Jesus was angry because God’s ways were being maligned and God was being dishonored by these legalistic Pharisees. But his anger was fueled by grief—he saw sin’s deadening effects in the lives of these hardened Pharisees. It was as if he asked them, “Why do you continue like this? Don’t you see that you were created and designed for so much more than this?” It grieved him to see that these Pharisees, because of their sin, were only shadows of what God originally intended for them to be. They had been made to live for so much more.

God is grievingly angry when our sin causes us to become less and less of what he created us to be, because we were fearfully and wonderfully made to live for so much more.

Our anger should be a grieving anger as well. When we see immorality and injustice, our anger should be stoked because of the devastating effects these things have on human life and community.

Grieving anger is far different from the kind of anger commonly associated with Christians. Lots of people think of Christians as embittered, angry people. They view Christians as being frustrated by our culture because things just aren’t going our way—our conservative political agenda is being thwarted.

Years ago I was one of five thousand people listening to a panel discussion at a Christian conference. An editor of a conservative political-theological magazine was expressing his frustration with many of the political left-wingers, and doing so in an unnecessarily sarcastic and condescending way. When he finished, John Piper (another speaker on the panel) turned to him, and with utmost seriousness and precision, he said, “For a long time I have appreciated your ministry. You are an astute observer of our culture. I read your magazine every month. It’s always insightful. But there’s one thing missing from your ministry.”

The editor looked at Dr. Piper and asked what it was.

“Tears,” Piper replied.

The world so often senses our anger—but do they ever sense our grief? They think we’re angry simply because we’re not getting our way, but I’m afraid they don’t feel our sorrow over sin’s negative, dehumanizing effects. We fail to communicate our anger in a way that says, “You were made for so much more than this.” They assume our anger is only because we’re not getting what we want. No wonder they tune us out.

When we see the restlessness and wreckage in people’s lives because they’re not in relationship with God and they’re living sin-filled lives, it should stoke our anger—an anger that arises because we love them and we grieve to see them living for something so destructive when God created them to live for something beautiful and satisfying.

Self-centered anger is not a grieving, love-fueled anger; that’s what God-centered anger is. So does your anger rage because your love for God and your love for others is radical? When people see us hating what God hates because our love for God and people is real and deep, they may be more open to hear what we have to say. 

In Bob Kauflin’s book Worship Matters, he has a section on how to handle criticism. He’s writing specifically with church leaders in mind (pastors, preachers, music directors, etc.) but his insight proves to be super beneficial for all Christians.

He shows that criticism provides Christians with an opportunity to glory in the cross of Christ. He makes the point that the main reason Christians resent criticism is because we fail to believe what God has said about us at the cross.

He explains what he means by quoting Alfred Poirier: “In light of God’s judgment and justification of the sinner in the cross of Christ, we can begin to discover how to deal with any and all criticism. I can face any criticism man may lay against me.  In other words, no one can criticize me more than the cross already has.”

Reflecting on these words, Bob writes:

What a thought. The cross is a loud statement of our sin, unworthiness, and need. And in light of the cross, we can receive criticism graciously because God, who knows our wickedness better than anyone else, has fully forgiven and justified us.  We will never be brought into condemnation (Romans 8:1)!  So we can confidently pray with David, “Let a righteous man strike me – it is a kindness; let him rebuke me – it is oil for me head; let my head not refuse it” (Psalm 141:5).

Once again I was reminded that because I am in Christ, all that I need I already have–even the capacity to endure criticism with great gospel joy and thanksgiving.

My forthcoming book, Surprised by Grace: God’s Relentless Pursuit of Rebels, is finished–at least my work is done. It comes out in May but I should have my first copies by April (oh the painful wait!). And while I’m excited about the fact that it’s done, there’s always a sense of angst knowing that I cannot add to, or subtract anything from, the book. I’ll read something and think to myself, “I wish I could add that quote” or “I wish I would have said it more like this.”

This happened to me last night.

As a writer, reading Paul Tripp is always frustrating because he always says what I want to say but he says it so much better! Essentially, Surprised by Grace is a book on the gospel (taken from the book of Jonah) and few people understand the gospel better than Paul Tripp (if you’re not familiar with Paul, click here). He is a bona fide Christian realist. He refuses to underestimate either the seriousness of our remaining sin or the sweetness of God’s restoring salvation.

These breathtaking lines from his recent book, A Shelter in the Time of Storm: Meditations on God and Trouble, were used by God to re-orient me in a profound way.  

Based on Psalm 27:5–”He will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock”–he writes:

We all look for it. We all refuse to live without it. We all think we’ve found it, but it can only really be found in one place. What is it that I’m talking about? Well, here it is: all human beings are on a search somehow someway to find that solid rock on which to stand. That one thing that they can bank on. That one thing that will keep them upright when the storms of life are raging. That one thing that will remain firm for the duration. That one thing that will give them security when nothing else does.

No human being enjoys feeling that he is living in the sinking sand of unpredictability, disappointment, and danger with no rock to reach for and stand on…We long for our lives to make sense. We long to have meaning and purpose, and we long to have lasting stability.

The problem is that the longer we live, the more we know that there is little around us in this fallen world that’s truly stable. I have a wonderful marriage to a lady who in many ways is my hero, but our marriage is still marred by our sin, and this reality still introduces pain and unpredictability into a relationship we have been working on for thirty-seven years! You may think your job is a source of stability, but a bit of a turn in the global economy could have you out on the street in a relatively short period of time. It may seem that your material possessions are permanent, but every physical thing that exists is in a state of decay, and even in its greatest longevity it doesn’t have the ability to quiet your heart.

So here is the dilemma of your humanity: you are clearly not in control of the details or destiny of your life, yet as a rational, purposeful, emotional being, you cry for a deep and abiding sense of well-being. In your quest, what you are actually discovering is that you were hardwired to be connected to Another. You weren’t hardwired to walk the pathway of life all by yourself. You weren’t hardwired to be independently okay. You weren’t hardwired to produce in yourself a system of experiences, relationships, and conclusions that would give you rest. You were designed to find your “solid rock” only in a dependent, loving, worshipful relationship with Another. In this way, every human being is on a quest for God; the problem is we don’t know that, and in our quest for stability, we attempt to stand on an endless catalog of God-replacements that end up sinking with us.

In fact, our inability to find security for ourselves is so profound that we’d never find on our own the One who is to be our rock; no, he must find us. The language of Psalm 27 is quite precise here: “He will lift me high upon a rock.” It doesn’t say, “I will find the rock and I will climb up on it.”

Here is the hope for every weary traveler whose feet are tired of the slippery instability of mud of a fallen world. Your weariness is a signpost. It’s meant to cause you to cry out for help. It’s meant to cause you to quit looking for your stability horizontally and begin to cry out for it vertically. It’s meant to put an end to your belief that situations, people, locations, possessions, positions, or answers will satisfy the longing of your heart. Your weariness is meant to drive you to God. He is the Rock for which you are longing. He is the one who alone is able to give to you the sense that all is well. And as you abandon your hope in the mirage rocks of this fallen world and begin to hunger for the true Rock, he will reach out and place you on solid ground.

There is a Rock to be found. There is an inner rest to be experienced that’s deeper than conceptual understanding, human love, personal success, and the accumulation of possessions. There is a rock that will give you rest even when all of those things have been taken away. That rock is Christ, and you were hardwired to find what you are seeking in him. In his grace, he won’t play hide-and-seek with you. In your weakness and weariness, cry out to him. He will find you, and he will be your Rock.

On Christ the solid rock I stand,
all other ground is sinking sand.

The Bible makes clear that Christians must be people of double listening—listening both to the questions of the world and to the answers of the Word. We’re to be good interpreters not only of Scripture but also of culture. God wants us to be like the men of Issachar, “who had understanding of the times, to know what Israel ought to do” (1 Chronicles 12:32). Faithfulness to Christ means we can’t afford to leave our culture unexamined. We’re to think long and hard, deep and wide about our times and all the issues surrounding the church’s mission—its proper relationship to this world and its proper place in it.

I don’t claim to understand all of the complexities involved and the challenges that face Christians in different parts of the world, but I would like to offer some direction regarding what I consider must-read books that can help us think through these issues biblically. No one will agree with all of the content in these books. In fact, some of these books represent opposing perspectives on how Christians should relate to the culture around them. But all of these books will help you develop your own conclusions.

As I once heard Tim Keller say, “Read one thinker and you become a clone. Read two and you become confused. Read a hundred and you start to become wise.” While I don’t list a hundred books here, these are my Top 40, and I’m convinced they’ll help you on that road to wisdom. All these books are well written but none of them is easy reading. They all require an engaged mind. I know this sounds crazy, but I suggest that over time you try to read them all.

I also urge you to be a diligent and intentional reader. Highlight and underline key phrases and sentences, and make notes in the margins. As C. S. Lewis said, “The best way to read is with book in lap, pen in hand, and pipe in teeth.” So enjoy these books—but easy on the tobacco.

Here are my top fifteen recommendations (in alphabetical order):

American Evangelicalism by James Davison Hunter
Chameleon Christianity by Dick Keyes
Christ and Culture Revisited by D. A. Carson
Christian Mission in the Modern World by John Stott
Culture Making by Andy Crouch
Engaging God’s World by Cornelius Plantinga
God in the Wasteland by David Wells
The Gospel in a Pluralist Society by Lesslie Newbigin
The Gravedigger File by Os Guinness
How Now Shall We Live? by Chuck Colson and Nancy Pearcey
Lectures on Calvinism by Abraham Kuyper
No Place for Truth by David Wells
Resident Aliens by Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon
The Way of the Modern World by Craig Gay
Where in the World Is the Church? by Michael Horton

And here are twenty-five more I highly recommend:

The Abolition of Man by C. S. Lewis
All God’s Children in Blue Suede Shoes by Ken Myers
Christ and Culture by H. Richard Niebuhr
The Church Before the Watching World by Francis Schaeffer
The Contemporary Christian by John Stott
Creation Regained by Albert Wolters
The Culturally Savvy Christian by Dick Staub
Culture Matters by T. M. Moore
He Shines in All That’s Fair by Richard Mouw
Heaven Is a Place on Earth by Michael Wittmer
Heaven Is Not My Home by Paul Marshall
Making the Best of It: Following Christ in the Real World by John G. Stackhouse Jr.
No God but God by John Seel and Os Guinness
The Noise of Solemn Assemblies by Peter Berger
Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be by Cornelius Plantinga
A Peculiar People by Rodney Clapp
Prophetic Untimeliness by Os Guinness
Redeeming Pop-Culture by T. M. Moore
Rumor of Angels by Peter Berger
Surprised by Hope by N. T. Wright
The Transforming Vision by Brian Walsh and Richard Middleton
Too Christian, Too Pagan by Dick Staub
Total Truth by Nancy Pearcey
When the Kings Come Marching In by Richard Mouw
Where Resident Aliens Live by Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon

David Garner is the Associate Professor of Systematic Theology at Westminster Theological Seminary. His blurb for Tim Keller’s newest book Counterfeit Gods helped me today: 

Combining biblical theology with experienced surgery on the soul over the years in modern Manhattan, Pastor Tim Keller performs an M.R.I. of our hearts and graphically exposes its results… Read this volume, but only if you dare submit your heart to the surgical probe of the Gospel… And like any good surgeon, Keller doesn’t leave us merely exposed, but compellingly points us to the cure: the One exposed, ravaged, ruined and resurrected for us.

To think of Jesus as “the One exposed, ravaged, ruined, and resurrected for us” is the great gospel-soaked reminder I needed this morning.

“In my place condemned He stood and sealed my pardon with His blood, hallelujah what a Savior!”