God is good all the time.

I love that saying, and it is true.  It’s easy to say he is good when things are going well, or when he answers a prayer, or when a medical test turns out the way we had hoped, or when life is chipper.  It’s not so easy to see his goodness during a tough, disappointing, lonely time, or in the midst of a war, or when our bank account is empty, or we have lost a loved one or a cherished dream.  But whether or not we see his goodness, whether or not we believe it, it is true, all the time.

The fruit of the Spirit is goodness.

There’s a psalm in the Message that says “You are good and the source of all goodness.  Train me in your goodness.”  (Fill me with your goodness.)

You know, I have an interesting relationship with “goodness.”  I grew up in a legalistic environment, an independent Baptist church, where the teaching was largely an emphasis on “being good and doing right.”  It was so much so, that I began to think I was better than others, that I was somehow on the fast road to pleasing God because I attended church, obeyed my parents (at least outwardly), and read my Bible.  I have a rather compliant personality, and I love to please, so I could perform well, or at least look like I was doing what was expected of me in this culture.  I was wrongly equating goodness with doing the right thing or a simplistic morality.

Later, I began to question this teaching, and I heard some new thoughts (to me) on total depravity.   As I began to realize the depths of my sin, I had  hard time believing I was good at all.  It was a scary place to be, for someone with an extra sensitive conscience.  Because I had not yet learned to rest in what God had already done for me in Christ, I struggled and strived to do more for him.  There was always a nagging sense of guilt and doubt that I had done enough.  There was often a fear that God was frowning on me when I was doing anything that wasn’t “spiritual.”

The problem with all this “doing good” was that it was not done from a deep sense of trust in God’s finished work for me.  Not out of gratitude and assurance of my own forgiveness.  It was often done from a sense of fear, not sure I was pleasing God enough. 

There came a turning point for me, a huge “Aha” moment, when I realized more fully what the gospel really means.  That God gave me the goodness of Christ when he took all of my imperfections, failures, outright rebellion and hatred on himself.  The truth finally began to grip me that God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness (goodness) of Christ.  2 Cor. 5:21

The fruit of the Holy Spirit in his redeemed ones is goodness.  The word in Greek is agathosune, which signifies goodness of heart, a desire after goodness, a kind activity on the part of others.  This throws a wrench in the self-righteous part of us that wants to be good so that we can boast we are better than others or so that we can feel happy with ourselves.  The goodness of God is for the benefit of others, and it is always kind.

Life is hard.  There are spots in all our lives where we will walk through struggles, questions, groanings, spells of lonliness.  God is good.  All the time.  And he has this way about him of using these dark times for our good and his lifting up.  Let us groan and yearn with the Spirit within us for the goodness of God, his kind intentions, to be grown in us and shown to the world around us.  What a need there is for this sweet aroma of Christ.

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness. . . so what exactly is kindness?  We hear a lot of talk about kindness these days.  I was watching American Idol last week, and one of the contestants and Paula Abdul were discussing how they believe there is a shift toward kindness going on in the universe.  (What?!)  For years now, it has been popular to think about “practicing random acts of kindness.”

And yet there is a kindness in the heart of God that goes beyond wishful thinking and simple efforts to do nice stuff, as great as these ideas might be.  There is a kindness in the heart of God that startles his long lost creation.  We expect him to be distant.  We expect him to be mad.  We expect a lecture of how much better we should be doing and all the vices we need to overcome.  And he comes in kindness.  After all, he is not interested primarily in our behavior.  No, he won’t settle for that surface stuff.  He wants our hearts.  And he wins them with kindness.

It is his kindness that leads us to repentance.

Think of the woman caught in the act of adultery.  The act.  Caught.  Makes your heart pound thinking about it.  (By the way, the religious leaders of Jesus’ day who wanted to stone her were beyond hypocritical - it takes two to tango, but apparently it was okay for the man to be participating in such an act of betrayal because they sure didn’t do anything to him.)  But as this woman was caught, shame pulsating through her body, her accusers dragging her into the public square, Jesus walked onto the scene.  They wanted to know what this “teacher” would say, what he would do.  “Doesn’t the law say the adultress is to be stoned, Jesus, huh?”

He bent and scribbled in the dirt.  Jesus doodled with a stick or his finger in the dirt.  A pause in the drama.   Now, picture this, the crowd was ready for a good show.  It could get boring in those small dusty towns.  No violent movies to entertain.  No internet pornography.  No fast-paced lives.  This was as good as it got.  They were primed and ready to watch, and engage in, a bloody, gory show.  The death of an adulteress.

Then, after the pause, when they were sufficiently filled with quietness, curiosity, and wonder, he stood and spoke.  And what he said surprised everyone.  “Sure, go ahead and stone her, but let the person who has never sinned throw the first stone.”

Kindness.  Stunning kindness.  Kindness to the accusers.  Kindness to the adulteress.

The word in the Greek, chrestotes, means goodness of heart.   It is God’s goodness of heart that leads us to repentance.  And repent they did.  They each slowly, one by one, dropped their stones and walked away.  His goodness of heart melted their angry, proud, self-righteous hearts.  It also saved the life of the woman.  And I bet she loved Jesus a lot after that brief encounter. 

What does it mean to repent anyway?  I’ve heard a plethora of sermons about how repentance means to stop certain behaviors and begin “doing right.”  But I don’t buy it, although that may sometimes be a fruit of repentance.  To repent simply means to come back to God.  Over and over and over.  And that is as simple as it gets.  His kindness, his goodness of heart, makes us want to come back to him.  Even as we are caught in the act of adultery.  Or anger.  Or pride.  Or with our hand in the cookie jar.  We do not have to get cleaned up first.  We can’t.  We just come as we are.  And his kindness, his goodness of heart, his wholesomeness, makes us want to come.  Yearn to come.  Need to come.

And I just bet it will make us want to be kind to others.  This is the fruit of His Spirit within us.

Well, so far we’ve looked at love, joy, peace, and now it’s time for patience.  That is one of those qualities people want everyone else to have but it is not so fun to try to grow some for yourself.  I hear myself say several times each day to my kids as they repeatedly call my name,  “Could you just be patient a second?!”  But it isn’t so simple to be the one practicing patience at a traffic jam, a long grocery store line, or when you’re in a heated “discussion” with a loved one.  Now is it?

The word for patience used in Galatians 5:22 can be translated forebearance or longsuffering.  And longsuffering is just that, suffering a long time.  The word comes from another root that means far or long.  The idea is to go a long time or long distance.  The other New Testament word for patience as found in Romans 5:3 means “an abiding under.”  It has the idea of cheerful or hopeful endurance or constancy, and it comes from a word which means to stay under, to remain.  Put the words together and you have the idea of remaining under for a long time.  Hmmm.

I’ve pretty much always thought about patience as simply waiting and doing so without getting too ruffled or whiney.  And while that is the way the word is often used in our English language, the meaning seems much richer in these Greek words.  The idea is that the Spirit of God produces within us as he dwells there, the ability to “stay” to remain under difficult circumstances and to keep a cheerful or hopeful countenance.  This is no mere outer conformance to difficult circumstances or the ability to put on a happy face or “suck it up” some more.  It is much deeper and more arduous than that.  It is impossible without the indwelling Spirit.

And it is not without groaning.  It is not a quick fix or a magic wand.  God isn’t into those things if you haven’t noticed, though we often demand just that.  No, it is learning to embrace this truth from Romans:  We ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. . .the Spirit Himself  intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.

It is worshipping the One who has been and continues to be patient and suffers long with his Creation and his redeemed ones.  He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. 

So often in Christian teaching, the emphasis becomes on what we need to do, rather than on God’s amazing work even when we can’t do anymore, or don’t want to, or are just plain weary.  A while back, I was deeply encouraged when thinking about Psalm 40.  It was a painful trial for our family, and when I thought of how I should handle it or what needed to be done next, I just couldn’t.  Have you been there?  Where you are just “done”?  Such a painful place to be, but really a good one.  Well, I found a curious encouragement from the words of the psalm.  I waited.  Then God inclined his ear and lifted me out of the slimy pit.  I could wait.  I could stay.  But I could do nothing more.  And God would do the rest.  Listen to U2’s famous rendition of this psalm.  It says it beautifully.

Okay, I admit that when I started thinking about this fruit of the Spirit, I expected to learn more about that “peaceful easy feeling” kind of peace.  As I studied, I was a bit surprised to find something remarkably different.  The kind of peace that the Spirit grows in our lives is a relational peace.  The Greek word is “eirene”, and it means to be or act peaceful.  Other ways of saying this is to be at peace, live in peace, or live peaceably.  The word comes from a root word “eiro”  which means to join.  So, the peace the Spirit brings is a peace of being joined together with God and others. 

Think about this with me.  Isn’t that the core of most of our problems?  That we are separated from God and others?  Isn’t that the horrific damage sin has caused every member of the human race?  That we no longer are joined together easily with God and those we love.  The fruit of the Spirit is peace.  What the Spirit likes to do is to join together that which sin has separated.  In our flesh we are at war with God and others.  We fight to stay alive and to take care of ourselves.  We look out for ourselves, even at dire cost to our relationships. 

Then throw in the mix that we are all looking for personal peace, that peaceful, easy feeling kind of peace I mentioned before.  But we want it without having to need God to provide it.  So, sin has destroyed our relationships by tearing us apart from those we want to love.  And on top of this, we are all seeking peace or rest in our lives, without having to trust God to bring it. 

Let me illustrate.  First of all, sin has separated what God wants to join.  Think about the divorce rate in our country.  And it isn’t any better within the church than it is outside.  Look at your kids, or your friends’ kids, or my kids.  No matter how much they love each other, there is always the lack of peace, eiro peace, in their relationships.  Just today, on the way home from grandmom’s house, my girls, who are the best of friends, began arguing about something unimportant.  The argument escalated into yelling and screaming and even throwing a boot at the other sister.  Sometimes it is hitting, pinching, pulling hair, or saying really mean words.  Then the peace is gone.  The smallest thing can cause separation.  Even in our best relationships.

Here’s a recent example from my life.  Last week I was supposed to join some friends for dinner, and at the very minute I was walking out the door, things fell apart at my house, with my tired kids.  And I mean really fell apart.  I was not able to go out with my girlfriends, and when I called to tell one of them about it, I accidentally took out my frustrations from my hard night on my friend.  Thankfully, she is a true friend, and we have made peace, but this just shows how easily separation happens.

Now, about that personal peace we are all fighting for.  What form does it take in your life?  “I don’t get a moment’s rest from all of this laundry and all of the demands.  Moma this.  Mama that.”   “I just staightened up the living room, and you kids come in with your jackets and shoes and snacks and destoy it in minutes.”  “I’m trying to catch the news.  Don’t bother me now.”  “What is for supper?”  “If only. . . . if only I had more money, more friends, more time, a bigger house, a different job, better friends.  If only. . .  if only he would change, if only she would do what I want her to.“  The list goes on and on, and it can be different for each of us.  But the core is the same.  We want peace, damnit.  We want peace, and we do not believe God is doing a very good job of providing it for us.

So, how does the Spirt of Christ step into the messy places of our lives, the real places where we really live, and bring peace?  The peace that joins us back to him and to others?  First of all, it is by believing that Jesus has made our peace with God.  It is finished.   We no longer have to strive. 

The corresponding word in Hebrew for peace is “shalom,”  which has the connotation of wholeness and fullness, or having been made perfect.  When we believe the gospel, we begin to grasp that Jesus has made us whole.  We no longer have to strive to make ourselves complete or worthy of love and acceptance.  This peace with God gives us peace with ourselves.  It also can grow into true peace with others.

The Bible says it like this:  Isaiah 32:17  The fruit of righteousness will be peace; the effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever.  This righteousness is God’s, not our own.  When we begin to believe that we have the righteousness of Christ imputed to us, that we have his goodness and he took our sin on himself (2 Cor. 5:21), this knowledge will bear the fruit of peace in our lives.  It will join us together with God and others and bring a quietness to our hearts that speaks rest to a restless world. 

And once again,  this does not always feel peaceful.  It can be a long, messy process.  Sometimes it requires real struggle to believe and real struggle in our relationships to come to peace.  But here is our hope:  The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet.  Romans 16:20

Peace to you this Christmas season.

When I think about the word “joy”, I find myself a bit ambivalent.  On the one hand, I love joy!  I love thinking about my experiences of deep, uncensored joy.  But on the other, there is a nagging sense in which I’m thinking,  “Do I really have much joy on a daily basis?”  And at darker moments, I’m even tempted to throw in the towel because I wonder what my problem is, because I struggle on the edge of a chasm of blue funk, and when one of life’s storms blows, there is the threat of being swept over the edge.  At these moments, I feel like the promise of joy mocks me.

Last summer, when we redid our home, I was in one of those latter places.  As I shopped Hobby Lobby for accent pieces, a wooden cut-out sign with the word “joy” caught my eye.  I stubbornly refused to buy it, because inside I was thinking, “Ya gotta be kidding.  Joy?!  I need a sign that says “Survival.”  As the days and weeks passed, the thought of that little black sign continued to nag me.  I finally gave in and bought the pestering thing, realizing that it would be a sign of simple faith, a sort of reminder to myself of the gospel, that God gives joy to the undeserving, like me.

A few weeks ago, my friends and I were talking about joy as one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit.  As I pondered and studied the word, I found an interesting verse:  1 Chronicles 16:27-27 says, “For all the gods of the nations are idols, but the Lord made the heavens.  Splendor and majesty are before him; strength and joy in his dwelling place.”  At first nothing struck me as all that profound about the verse, but as I continued to think about it, the image that strength and joy are in God’s dwelling place began to chip away at my hard reserves.  The place where God resides is inhabited by joy and strength.  Then as I continued to ponder. . wait a minute. . . where does God reside these days?  Thanks to the finished work of Christ and thanks to the incomparible gift of his Spirit, he lives in those of us who place our trust in him.  So, that makes me his dwelling place.  So, strength and joy are in me, whether I feel like it at any given moment or not.  

This reminds me of Nehemiah 8:10 , in which Nehemiah declared, “Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”  Until I looked back at that familiar verse, I did not realize the story in which it is spoken.  After the rebuilding of the wall of Jerusalem was completed following the exile of many of its citizens, Ezra opened the book of the Law and began to read.  As he read, the people began to weep.  I imagine the sorrow they felt, after their long exile and suffering the loss of family and friends and the destruction of their beloved city and homes.  I also imagine the sorrow they felt as they heard the words of the Lord and realized how far they had strayed from his commands.  But instead of telling them that they should weep, because after all, they deserved it, Nehemiah rather told them that it was not a time for mourning but a time for celebration.  He told them to go get choice food and sweet drinks, enough to share with everyone, and come have a PARTY.    You are forgiven.  The joy of the Lord is your strength.

And after all, this makes perfect sense.  When I look up the word “Joy” in my Greek dictionary, I find that it shares a common root word with the word “Grace.”  The Greek word for joy is “chara”, meaning joy or delight.  The Greek word for grace is “charis”, meaning bestows delight.  Joy is a grace.  It is one of those gifts that only the Supernatural can give.  It is the fruit of being delighted in.  I am an object of God’s grace, therefore I am an object of his delight.  Therefore, I can delight.  In life.  In Him.  In others.

The joy of the Lord is your strength.  Maybe this isn’t always a bubbly, overpowering sensation of happiness, though sometimes it is.  Maybe this doesn’t mean I have to always feel  joyful, though thankfully sometimes I do.  Maybe it means I don’t have to muster the strength to pretend I’m thankful or happy when I’m not, that I don’t have to  practice the “try harder gospel” to find joy.  Maybe, just maybe, this is a stronger undercurrent of God’s grace toward me, that sustains and upholds me through all that life brings.  Psalm 84:5-7 says it this way, “Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.  As they pass through the Valley of Baca (bitterness), they make it a place of springs;  the autumn rains also cover it with pools.  They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.”

Hallelujah!  The joy of the Lord is my strength.  How about you?

Okay, I’ve been a really lame blogger here lately, with no promise of reform to come.  Our family has been spending time at a quiet beach for a couple of weeks, and while I had visions of more time studying and writing, the opposite has been true.  I’ve become extremely relaxed while realizing how completely depleted I had become.  So anyway, on with the post I began writing weeks ago.

The fruit of the Spirit is love. . . .  the greatest commandment is this. . . love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your soul, with all your strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.  The entire law is summed up in love.

But.  Who can fulfill this law?  Who can love God with all his heart and mind and soul and strength, all the time?  Who can even come close to loving others as much as they love themselves?

Check out 1 Cor. 13 a different way:

God is patient, God is kind.  God does not envy, God does not boast, God is not proud.  God is not rude, God is not self-seeking, God is not easily angered, God keeps no record of wrongs.  God does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.  God always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  God never fails.

On the other hand, I am not patient,  I am not kind.  I envy, I boast.  I am proud.  I am rude.  I am self-seeking and easily-angered.  I keep a record of wrongs.  etc.

And yet, I am loved.  By this wild and wonderful God who is full of mercy and love.  Who gives freely of his fruit to me.  The least of these.  His fruit is love.  For me and for others through me.  

Who can fulfill the law of love?  Not one of us!  But God already has.  I am so glad.

Some friends of mine and I have been looking at the fruit of the Spirit and how God works this fruit in us through the process of struggle and need and learning to depend on God and his love toward and in us.  I’ve somehow had this a bit mixed up most of my life, thinking of the fruit of the Spirit as a list of things I need to strive toward and do and become, rather than a way God displays himself in my weakness.

It has been refreshing to think through each of these characteristics as an aspect of God and how he displays these truths about himself in my life, to me.  In my need.

Listen to what Brennan Manning says in The Ragamuffin Gospel:

Every Christian generation tries to dim the blinding brightness of its meaning because the gospel seems too good to be true.  Jesus says the kingdom of His Father is not a subdivision for the self-righteous nor for those who feel they possess the state secret of salvation.  The kingdom is not an exclusive, well-trimmed suburb with snobbish rules about who can live there.  No, it is for a larger, homelier, less self-conscious caste of people who understand they are sinners because they have experienced the yaw and pitch of moral struggle.   These are the sinner-guests invited by Jesus to closeness with Him around the banquet table.  It remains a startling story to those who never understand that the men and women, who are truly filled with light are those who have gazed deeply into the darkness of their imperfect existence.  Perhaps it was after meditating on this passage that Morton Kelsey wrote,  “The church is not a museum for saints but a hospital for sinners.”

Interestingly, this past Sunday as our family was getting into the car from being at the worship service at our church, my son had a pretty major meltdown.  As he was struggling, crying, and exploding, my middle daughter said under her breath, “And we were just in church.”  Since I had overheard her, I couldn’t resist telling her that church was for people who really needed Jesus, people like me.  She proceeded to tell me that she doesn’t need Jesus all that much.  Then my younger daughter joined the conversation,  “I don’t need Jesus all the time.”  Boy, how revealing.   And what an honest expression of where we live most of the time.  Like we can make it on our own.  Like we aren’t quite as needy as we truly are.

Join me as I take a rambling look at the way God shows his love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, meekness, and self control through sinners like me, who need, desperately, a real Doctor.