Happiness

What if you could actually do whatever it was that made you happy?

I don't mean the freedom to go out to dinner whenever you wanted, purchase whatever your heart wanted to purchase, or snub a person just because you don't feel like talking. I'm talking bigger, purpose level stuff. What if you could actually enjoy life, day in and day out, doing exactly what you always wanted to do, feeling fulfilled in your work or daily life, finding that your joy was overflowing with each passing moment?

That sounds like a fairytale, and in some ways, it is. The fact is that even if you actually got what you wanted, and you could do, day in and day out, whatever it was that you most loved to do, hard moments were going to come and there would be seasons of sorrow. I was reminded this past week that Solomon himself said this in his letter of Ecclesiastes, after having lived a storied and privileged life if there ever was one, that in spite of having the ability to do and attain whatever he desired, he found that at the end of the day it was all meaningless.

There is a Christian thought that says that the chief end of man is the enjoyment of God; that is, once we have come to taste the pleasure of our salvation that is found in Jesus, we will increasingly grow in our delight of him so that, in the end, our greatest pleasure is giving honor and praise and glory to God, through whom we have received this great joy. I would never argue this theologically; in fact, quite the contrary. It is one of the principled themes that guides my life. We must find great joy in God himself, through Jesus Christ, or our faith is worthless. Why would I want to put my confidence in something that robbed me of pleasure? This is contrary to my entire being; I know, without having to learn it, without having to be taught it, without anyone having to tell me, that in my innermost being I will pursue whatever is most pleasurable to me. When I choose to pursue something otherwise, it feels profoundly off, like choosing the wrong path at a fork in the woods.

We are so guided by pleasure, in fact, that there are times when we are not even aware that we are doing it. There are times where the initial decision doesn't appear to be for our own pleasure at all, but the outcome is far more desirable. In other words, we choose the difficult path now because the long term reward is far better. There is something about us that knows the decision will end in pleasure even if, in the moment, our senses tell us otherwise.

I have sat on the exit row on an airplane on more than one occasion and every time I have listened to the flight attendant tell me that, should I choose to sit there, I would be responsible for ensuring that the other passengers made it safely out the door and down the slide, in the event that an evacuation was even possible (something I always assume will probably not be the case). I believed that the appeal the attendant was making was to my reason, and indeed, that is true to a certain degree. We human beings have the ability to choose against our natural instinct to save ourselves, and instead hang back in a dangerous position in order to let other people go on ahead to safety. That is a uniquely human characteristic, that we can choose reason over instinct. Yet, there is another factor at play as well, and this is the appeal to our pleasure.

It is our natural instinct towards pleasure that I may say unites us with the creation itself. My dog might choose the safety of my own family over his own family, much the same as I might choose the safety of the other passengers over my own, but this has nothing to do with reason. My dog puts my family first because his instinct is to serve; to say it another way, it is his pleasure to do it.

You might wonder how it is possible that there is any pleasure at all from putting ourselves in danger, or how remaining in danger is more pleasurable than running on to safety, but consider the outcome in either case. If we decided to disregard our responsibility and jump out of the exit door before anyone else had a chance, we would probably survive, along with at least a few others. Indeed, it is entirely possible that everyone would survive, and our act of cowardice would be inconsequential to the outcome. But we would have to live with it; we would have to live with the knowledge that we bailed out in what may have been the greatest moment of responsibility to others we have ever faced. It would have been a great displeasure to us to have to live under that shadow; we would be safe, but we would also be ashamed.

On the other hand, had we taken our responsibility seriously we may end up dead. Perhaps we would survive, in which case we would be lauded a hero. But if we did die, at least we would have had the pleasure of knowing that we went out helping others; we would still be lauded a hero, we would just not have the knowledge of it. Nevertheless, most would say, better to die as a noble person than to live as a coward.

The point of the story is simply that, even if we didn't immediately recognize it at the moment of decision, the end result was that our pleasure would be increased. It brought us more pleasure to set aside our inherent self-interest in order that others would be led to safety. We may not have known it when we sat in the exit row (a decision largely made for our own pleasure and increased leg room) and we may not have immediately known it when our exit services were actually required, but when it was all over and as many as could be saved were off the plane, we would have remarked that it was "our pleasure" to assist however we could.

So our pleasure is our chief motivation; God is our chief end. This truth has led many people to learn contentment and joy despite their circumstances. Many Christians, despite tremendous difficulty and suffering, can nevertheless say that they have joy because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ. It was worth whatever they had lost! It was like a treasure in a field that they sold everything to get. Yet I would argue that despite the theological truth, and the experiential reality of having enjoyed Christ in spite of suffering (and having seen Him enjoyed by others), the dimension of our pleasure that we have too quickly set asunder in our modern era is the reality of our humanity.

I have come across many people, and I may include myself in this, who have found themselves in unpleasant circumstances, but rather than change the circumstances for their pleasure have instead attempted to will themselves towards joy in Christ. I wonder how often Jesus might have curiously suggested that they simply change whatever it was that they did not like.

Indeed, there are moments where we cannot change what brings us displeasure, humanly speaking. We cannot simply will away cancer or decide not to have it. In those moments, we will be glad to know that we find our great joy in Christ. But what of the person who is miserable because they do not live near their family, or the person who is miserable in their job, or the person who lives in a place where they have no friends, or attends the church that they do not enjoy? To what degree are we expected to find joy in Christ in circumstances where our joy might be renewed simply by changing something?

Perhaps we assume that making a decision based purely on whatever will make us happy is unspiritual. I would argue that this is precisely the case, and precisely the reason we should do it. In one sense, we know that all of life is spiritual; that is, there is nothing that is not in some way affected by our relational status with God the creator of the universe. But in another sense, we are flesh and blood; we are irrevocably "earthy" in our existence and unmistakably unspiritual, which is exactly how God intended it to be. If it is impossible for us to separate the spiritual from our decision making process, it is equally as impossible–and equally unwise–for us to separate our humanity from the decision making process. We may even find that it is our earthly situation that is robbing us of our spiritual joy in Christ!

I was asked the question once whether I felt like I would be disobeying Jesus if I did not plant a church. "What a spiritual question!", I thought. Of course, I had no answer to it, as I hadn't really considered whether or not Jesus' call to me was one that I could obey or disobey, or whether he would be pleased or displeased with my decision. To that point, I had simply considered that this is what I should do. I had weighed the alternatives. This seemed right. It seemed like something worth exploring. By the time this person had asked me whether or not I would be disobeying Jesus, I really didn't know. I supposed that I could be perfectly obedient to Jesus doing any number of things, but this was the one that, for now, seemed to be the right one. I don't even know what I answered when the person asked.

Standing where I am now and considering the question through the lens of hindsight I see the deep flaw in it. To me, it spiritualizes what is in many ways a very human question: what do you want to do, and why are you doing it? For as much as Jesus calls us to come and die to ourselves so that we can live for him, it is also a deep truth of the good news that Jesus meets us precisely where we are. I would suggest that the way we can know a call is from Jesus is if the outcome fills us with great pleasure.

In fact, I may go so far as to say that I am convinced that Jesus greatest call on us is to whatever it is that will bring us the most pleasure.

It is important to understand that that Jesus knows better than we do what will bring us pleasure. There are dark desires of my heart that may fool me into believing that they will bring me pleasure, and in the moment, they might, but in the long run, will lead to my destruction and actually rob me of joy. Whereas, a temporary denial of that quick pleasure will lead to lasting joy. Jesus desires my greater pleasure, the one that fills me with lasting joy, and not a temporary high.

Yet there are many things in life that bring great joy and are not sinful, or guilty pleasure, or pleasures that are fleeting, but are good, God-given pleasures that are flawed because we are flawed but are good because God in his mercy has made sure they remained good. If your family is anything like mine is is deeply flawed and yet it is good. I live in and with a community of people who are deeply flawed and yet profoundly good. I live in a town with deeply flawed leadership and yet, somehow, by God's grace, is still good. There are good things that abound around us and that bring me great happiness.

There was a moment in my life when I would have moved anywhere for God, and many times did. (I am thankful that God has not called me to international missions, and I am not sure how I would have responded if he had.) We moved to many different states and cities, and would have moved to many more, in order to pursue the calling that we felt he had placed on our lives. Why did we do that? It was our great pleasure! There was something about the continual call, the next step, the bigger ministry. We weren't bound by time, place, or relationships. We would go wherever God called!

But was that more or less spiritual than our current desire not to ever move again, desiring that we stay here for a very long time, even if it means ministering in relative obscurity for the rest of our lives? This, too, is our great pleasure. To remain in a place where our children are loved, where we are cared for, with people that we love, with people that we care for. You might ask, what if Jesus has called us to great influence? I would suggest that Jesus has not called us to influence; he has called us to joy.

And so I return to my humanity and my joy and pleasure and family and all the things that make me me and you you. What are we doing or not doing under the misguided belief that Jesus has called us to contentment despite our displeasure? Perhaps Jesus has called us away from our displeasure so that we will find our contentment. I have run into those who lived in displeasure because they felt they were called by God to do so; I can't help but wonder if they are missing his purest call. Maybe contentment means deciding to take a lower paying, less influential job simply because it is near family, and family makes us happy. Maybe it is to not take the next promotion because it would mean more time away from home, and home makes us happy. Maybe it would be to move to the shore, because the shore makes us happy. Maybe it would be to move to a small town by a lake in the woods, because nature makes us happy.

Jesus has called us to pleasure in Him. What I am suggesting here, for myself and for you, is that if we really found our deepest satisfaction in Jesus, we would find ourselves far more free to choose whatever makes us happy in this life. Do you want to find another job? Find another job. Jesus is okay with it. Do you want to move closer to family? Then move. Jesus is just as much there as he his here; you may find him to be more pleasurable when you are near those you love. Actually leaving behind all those things that Jesus calls us to leave behind so that we can pursue him means that we don't have to feel like we are bound by those things anymore; instead of feeling enslaved to a job or to a location or a place or whatever, we are actually freed from the bondage so that we can enjoy them. Jesus doesn't just bring us spiritual joy; he frees us to experience human joy as well; the type of joy that comes from sitting next to a brook or fishing on a quiet pond or hiking a mountain or turning off our cell phone and just sitting there, unreachable for the rest of the world, playing a game with our kids, reading a book, doing a puzzle.

Finding our joy in Jesus reveals a freeing truth: Jesus doesn't need us to save the world. He's already done it. Which means that you can go and enjoy Him, forever.

A Special Place in Hell

Every time I hear someone use the expression, "a special place in hell", I cringe a little inside.

We use it in reference to someone who we believe is particularly deplorable; someone who has done something that we can't possible imagine. Surely, this person is worse than we are. Surely, out of all the bad people, this one deserves more punishment than the rest. Surely, if God is going to subject anyone to an eternity of torture, this one here deserves it more than the rest. So much, in fact, that they must be given a special place. Like a back room. Where extra torture happens.

Unfortunately, I think the statement says more about us than it does about the person that we're referencing. At very least, it reveals a lot about what we believe. For one, it reveals that we believe, in some sense, that there are universal standards of right and wrong. We don't exact this type of judgment on just anyone; we reserve it for those people who have done something that we fairly assume will universally be condemned. Of course, there is also the self-righteousness of the whole thing. Clearly we believe that we have a higher moral or ethical standing than the person we have condemned to the back room. Finally, it reveals our complete misunderstanding of who God is, what he's up to these days, and what hell actually is.

Out of the three, it is only the first one that is at least mildly constructive. We live in a day and age when we are increasingly embracing the idea that there are no universal absolutes; indeed, all morality or ethics are relative to the culture that we live in. In other words, something we consider deplorable might be perfectly acceptable in another culture; and thus, a person practicing those acts cannot be considered "evil" or "wrong" so long as they are operating according to the morality or ethics subscribed to by their culture. Most people don't live with this philosophy for very long before they realize the major pitfalls and ethical dilemmas that it raises. (For example: bombing innocent people. Maybe we are the only ones who think they are innocent. Maybe someone else thinks they are guilty. It's all relative, isn't it?) The failures of cultural relativism become clear in light of particularly deplorable acts, and we acknowledge it with statements like "a special place in hell". To that end, it is constructive. But it is only the beginning of the unraveling.

The second problem immediately arises when we consider that somehow we are morally or ethically superior to someone else. By what standard? If it cannot be a cultural standard, and there are absolutes that we inherently acknowledge, then what is the basis for those absolutes? Who gets to create those absolutes? Who enforces the absolutes? And how do we know what they are?

This is the great question that will come home to bear on our culture. As Christians, I believe we must be prepared with an answer. So often we have resorted to simplistic responses–"just believe in Jesus", "Just invite Jesus into your heart"–and have failed to address the very real and deep questions faced by humanity. But Christianity is nothing if it cannot address the deep, spiritual questions that each of us, as spiritual creatures, carry within us like a constant reminder of a life once lived.

When my philosophies have proved to be a failure; when my resources have not provided me what I am looking for; when my success has not made me feel any more important; when my pursuits have not provided me love; when, in the end, I am still unhappy, where do I turn? We can mute the questions for a time, but we cannot ultimately ignore them. At some point, even if for a moment, they return to the surface and beg to be answered.

Christianity provides an answer. There is an absolute, and it was created and established by the God of the Universe. But this God is not a dictator who creates the absolute for his own enjoyment; he is a Father who creates the world a certain way for his children's enjoyment. And the absolute are not rules, per se. Not as we think about rules. They are simply the way things are. God is perfect and good and holy and beautiful, and anything that is not perfectly in harmony with goodness or holiness or beauty simply cannot exist. It cannot be one with the Father. So long as we are in perfect harmony with all that God is by his very nature, we exist in perfect joy. This is the description of how things were upposed to be.

It is that very union that was broken. Broken, as the Bible says, by representatives of the human race. Instead of living in the perfect unity that we had with the Father, we instead opted out; we chose our own way. Something else looked to be more beautiful and more good; but when we experienced it, we realized that we had been deceived. The promise of a greater beauty or a greater good was a lie; it could never exist; it could never deliver what it promised.

The result of this broken unity is disunity. It's disordered living. It's a disruption in the way that things were intended to be. Rather than harmony, we have chaos. Rather than goodness and beauty, we see evil and ugliness. Everything that was, the way things were really intended to be, was broken. And worse, imperfection can never achieve perfection again. Even if it could to some extent, it would carry around the memory of it's brokenness. Perfection will require outside intervention.

All of this explains how things are. Yes, there is disruption in the universe. Yes, there are absolutes. Yes, there is evil. Yes, there is brokenness. We see it, experience it, and all to often, know it in an intimate way either as the perpetrator or the victim. Most of the time, we are a combination of both. Our feet are firmly planted in how things are; firmly rooted in rebellion against how things were supposed to be.

So there is no morally superior ground. Imperfect is imperfect. One flaw or many. In broad categories, the label reads the same: damaged goods. And we have been experiencing the penalty ever since: separation from our Father. In short, we have been experiencing the precursor to hell.

Whatever else Hell is, it begins with this: complete and utter separation from God. The natural outcome of the divorce from his perfection, goodness, and holiness. Complete brokenness. There are no "special places" in hell. Everyone suffers the same fate. There is no worse thing imaginable than complete separation from our source of life. It couldn't get worse even if we wanted it to.

But the good news is that there is a way home; there is another representative who did for us what we were always supposed to do, but couldn't. Another representative who bore the penalty of our rebellion, and suffered Hell on our behalf. Another representative who chose not to opt-out of God's goodness, but rather, chose to endure extreme pain and ultimately separation so that you and I could opt back in. That representative, of course, is Jesus. And because of his sacrifice, as your representative, God judges you based on him. So when God sees you, he sees perfection. You are united with him again. The way things were supposed to be has come again, and you can have it.

Imagine that the memory of the life once lived was a memory of pure joy; you know you had it once, and you have been struggling to find it again ever since. Jesus is the pathway home.

So back to the original impetus for this thought: a special place in hell. 

There is no special place in hell. None of us are superior to anyone else and in fact, what we deserve is, across the board, exactly the same: we deserve total and complete separation from God because this is what we chose, it's what we choose, and it's what we will continue to choose for as long as we have breath. We will choose our own way. The path where we get to decide what's best. There's only a back room in hell reserved for the worst of us if it's big enough to hold all of us.

But there is a special place in heaven reserved for Jesus. And the good news is that it actually is big enough to hold all of us. But we only get in with Him. When we go to Jesus house with him, his Father adopts us as his kids and gives us a room.

Jesus is not interested in condemning people to hell; he is supremely interested in inviting them to heaven. The great and beautiful message of the Gospel is that he has already secured the pathway and ensured a safe passage for all who put their confidence in Him.

On Baptism - Does God have Grandchildren?

Here's a slippery wicket: does God have grandchildren?

Most orthodox Christians believe that there must be a regenerative work of the Holy Spirit in the life of a person before they are finally admitted into the family of God. This work is described in various ways all throughout the New Testament but refers to that moment of moving from unbelief to belief. This work is compelled by, and accomplished by, the Holy Spirit working in our hearts. When that regenerative work occurs, we move from being an old creation to a new creation, or from death to life, or from darkness to light, or any number of other metaphors that are used in the Bible to describe the difference between our former state and our new state. Again, the regeneration is necessary, and it is a work of the Holy Spirit.

This is important: you don't get into the kingdom or family of God just because you are born into a Christian family with Christian parents. There must be a personal belief–putting ones confidence in the work of Jesus Christ for their own salvation–likely followed by some form of profession.

If memory serves me correctly, it was Billy Graham who either coined or popularized the phrase that "God does not have grandchildren." His point was to emphasize the importance of making a personal profession of faith in Jesus Christ; it was this "personal profession" that would indicate that a person possessed saving faith. In that sense, he is correct: God does not have grandchildren. He simply has children, all of whom have professed faith in Jesus Christ.

But what about the children of believing parents? Here we are left with three options.

The first option is that they, too, are Christians, or children of God. There are a multitude of problems with this, beginning with the aforementioned need for regeneration, and ending with the plethora of kids who have unfortunately been born to Christian parents who have then lived a life that ultimately professed a radically different belief. It is clear that simply being born into a Christian family is not enough to save; we must still admit our need for a savior and put our own confidence in Jesus Christ.

The second option is that these children are not Christians at all, but totally pagan, unregenerate, unbelievers, and far from God. We'll deal with this in a moment.

The third option is that these children are in some sort of a different category altogether. Perhaps not "regenerated" and thus fully saved, but not quite pagan, either.

Most Christians fall into the third category, at least in practice. Our children are raised to call Jesus, "Lord". They are raised to call God, "Father". They are taught to follow Jesus, to share Jesus with their friends, to live for Jesus, to pray to Jesus, and to abide by God's word. Of course, we wouldn't require (or should not require) any of these things for a person who was legitimately an unbelieving person. We may want them to live according to God's ideals, we may appeal to them on behalf of Christ, but we will only expect them to actually live that way once they have put their faith in Christ, have been transformed by the Holy Spirit, and genuine love for God and love for their neighbor is actually possible. To force a non-believing person to "act like a Christian" would be to create some sort of moralist, ethical behavior, that is not in any way based on the Gospel. We might create nice people, but not Christians.

But, of course, most of us don't view our children as being exactly the same as unbelievers. We recognize that by virtue of being raised to Christian parents who love Jesus, and teach Jesus in their homes, and call God "Father" themselves, our children receive some sort of benefit of being amongst the people of God. They are treated like they are a "part of the family", even if they haven't been able to profess Jesus Christ on their own. We look forward to the day when they will make that profession, but until then, our confidence is placed fully in Jesus that he will save our children, so we teach them to love Jesus as their savior so that they are prepared to hear his voice when he calls.

So what does that have to do with baptism?

We believe that baptism is a sign of the new covenant. This New Covenant is instituted through Christ's shed blood on the cross, thus making a way for all people to access the family of God through faith in Jesus Christ and confidence in his work on their behalf. Thus, baptism is ultimately a symbol of association with Jesus Christ in his life, death, and resurrection; this is the association that makes the covenant community the covenant community. It is the reason that when we practice adult baptisms, and an adult "receives the sign of the covenant", that we practice baptism by immersion into water. The imagery of the descent into the water and the reemergence from it reminds us that we have been buried with Christ and will rise with Christ–again, through association with his life, death, and resurrection, in faith.

The promises don't stop there, however. We also believe that when Peter told the Jewish people (and visiting foreigners in Jerusalem) that the promises of the Gospel were for them and their children, that he meant it exactly the way they would have taken it. If they, in faith, believed in the promises of God, then their children would receive the benefit of being raised in that covenant family as well. And, additionally, that if their children believed, then they, too, would ultimately receive salvation. In the meantime, the children would be raised to be "part of the family".

It is precisely because these children are considered to be "part of the family" that we baptize our infants, pointing towards Christ as the ultimate means of salvation, yet fully living in the grace of God that our children will be raised as a part of his covenant family. Our children, too, can call God, "Father". They will be taught to abide by His word and to love Jesus as their savior. In the meantime, we continually pray that Jesus would do the difficult work of transforming their hearts by sending the Holy Spirit so that they become a "new creation", through faith in Jesus Christ. When that happens, then we celebrate with them at their profession; what we are celebrating is not something that they have done, but something that God has done, and something we always believed he would.

Furthermore, we see these great promises of God towards his people all throughout Scripture. As we baptize our children because they will be raised as "part of the family", so Abraham circumcised his infants, and even the other adult males living in his house. Abraham's faith in the promises of God, and his dedication to the commands of God, would extend, in some way, to the people who lived under his roof. It wasn't a guarantee of salvation, (Remember Esau?) but it wasn't exactly the same as being outside the family either. Instead, Isaac, and all of his children, and their children, were considered to be part of the "covenant family". Eventually, the confirming mark that they had personally understood this would be a continued reliance on God and his promises (faith). But until then, they received the sign–circumcision–that indicated that they were included in God's covenant promises.

If baptism is really a sign of the new covenant (I cannot see how it isn't), then by restricting it to adults only we are making the case that children of believing parents are not part of the covenant. To be outside the covenant is to be pagan. This is at least in part why many baptist churches practice infant dedication. We almost instinctively realize that to be the child of a person who believes in Christ is a special blessing; certainly God's promises extend to our children in some way.

But dedication doesn't go far enough, because ultimately baptism isn't about us. It's about God. The God who saves his people by sending his Son Jesus to the cross to die for our sins. The God who establishes covenants with his people and then, through his faithfulness to his own covenants, ensures their fulfillment. The God who invites us to follow him in his Grace, who saves us by his Grace, and calls us to believe. We baptize our infants because it reminds us that even when we could not respond to God, he would faithfully pursue us anyway. God's love is poured out on our children through his church, as part of the family, until they can profess with their mouth, "Jesus is mine, and I am his."

That's a blessing worth celebrating. It's grace worth signifying. That's what baptism is about. And it's why our infants receive the sign.

On Baptism

I'm starting this post with the very real knowledge that there is so much more to say than one post will allow as it relates to my what I think about baptism. I've had multiple conversations in the last week that have prompted me to think about, refine, and clarify what it is that I (and our church) believes and practices. I'm not even sure I'll get into that in this post.

In fact, one of the troubles with baptism generally is that your average Christian really is under-informed regarding what it actually means and the significance involved. I'd like to say that it's just people in my own tradition, but I think the problem is more widespread. People from the  reformed background tend to adopt the "we've always done it this way" mentality, baptizing their kids when they're born, giving it little more thought than the nominal catholic who wants to have a christening. They have no knowledge of what they actually believe about the sacrament, what it signifies, what it represents, the promises of baptism, etc. Thus, they have no defense when a well-meaning (but also under-informed) brother or sister tells them that real baptism consists only of immersion of a professing believer. After all, "it's obvious".

Except it's not obvious, as any honest pastor/theologian will confirm. It requires at least as much, if not more, explanation and understanding than our other sacrament, Communion or The Lord's Supper. Most churches take the sacrament of communion seriously enough to "fence the table" every time that the church celebrates it. This means that we explain exactly what it means, what we're doing when we take it, and how to take it incorrectly, so that we don't "heap judgment on ourselves". We take the meaning of communion seriously enough that we don't claim that "it's obvious".

So, we must know what we believe. There are reasons that some churches believe that the sign of the new covenant can and should be freely given to children of believing/professing parents (maybe my next post). There are reasons that other churches believe that the sign of the new covenant should NOT be given to those children, until they can profess for themselves faith in Christ. But in either case, let's understand what we're doing when we're celebrating the sacrament.

Conviction on an issue is not the same as biblical clarity on an issue. All pastors/believers should be convicted about what they believe the Bible says. Honest ones will be able to admit when it's possible to disagree and still be a Christian. We don't all have to practice the same thing, but we should be willing to admit that the "other side" is at least plausible.

(The issue with not knowing or understanding, incidentally, is that there are a lot of people who aren't living in the promises of their baptism because they think that their baptism was about something that they did. But one thing we should all agree on, whether we were baptized as a child or as an adult, is that the action is never in our corner–it's always in Christ's...)