Tag Archives: Sanctification

Scripture on Sunday – 1 Samuel 10:1-10

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It is clear, from chapter nine, that God has chosen Saul to be king, in response to the people’s request or demand in chapter eight. He has identified Saul to Samuel, saying, “You shall anoint him to be prince over my people Israel. He shall save my people from the hand of the Philistines. For I have seen my people, because their cry has come to me” (9:16). The biblical text uses the word nāgîd (“leader”) rather than melek which is the usual word for “king.” Nāgîd has military connotations and could have been applied to any of the earlier judges (see Evans, 66), although Murphy suggests that the distinction between the two terms conveys the difference between one who has been appointed to a role but who has not yet entered into active service in that role; she likens nāgîd to the contemporary idea of “president-elect” (Murphy, 80). It is evident, however, that the military leadership noted by Evans is intended: Saul will bring Israel deliverance from the Philistines.

At the end of the chapter Samuel takes Saul aside in private in order to tell him what God has said, and it is with this that the tenth chapter begins. A question regarding the text itself arises in verse one. The NRSV translates the verse,

Samuel took a phial of oil and poured it on his head, and kissed him; he said, ‘The Lord has anointed you ruler over his people Israel. You shall reign over the people of the Lord and you will save them from the hand of their enemies all around. Now this shall be the sign to you that the Lord has anointed you ruler over his heritage (cf. also ESV; CEB; GNT)

while the NASB has more simply,

Then Samuel took the flask of oil, poured it on his head, kissed him and said, “Has not the Lord anointed you a ruler over His inheritance? (Cf. NIV; HCSB)

The difference is easily explained: the longer version reflects the reading in the Septuagint while the shorter reading derives from the Hebrew text. The Septuagint appears to reiterate 9:16. In both cases the word for ruler is, once more, nāgîd which fits the private nature of Samuel’s anointing; Saul’s public investiture will come later.

Samuel’s anointing has a sacramental character. He anoints Saul with oil, pouring it over his head—similar to the practice of anointing the high priest (see Exodus 29:7; cf. Psalm 133:1)—before advising Saul of several signs which will immediately follow. The oil itself has no spiritual or supernatural powers but is symbolic of the Spirit’s coming upon Saul which Samuel announces in verse six and which occurs in accordance with Samuel’s prophecy, in verse ten. Samuel anointed with oil but it is the Spirit’s presence and empowering which is crucial.

The coming of the Spirit is accompanied by a manifestation of prophecy—inspired speech, something not uncommon in the Old Testament (cf. Numbers 11:24-26; 24:2-3; 2 Chronicles 20:14-17). The analogy with the passage in Numbers 11 is particularly instructive: the coming of the Spirit is accompanied with prophecy but the Spirit’s coming is not, as it were, to make the recipients of his presence prophets; rather, the gift of the Spirit is given to equip the recipients for their administrative and leadership responsibilities, as is the case here. Nevertheless the prophesying does serve the purpose of identifying and encouraging those who have received the gift of the Spirit. Their experience confirms the divine call: Saul has been brought within the sphere of the divine call, assignment and work. His life has been incorporated into the divine activity and purposes.

The Spirit of the Lord will “rush upon” Saul (ESV) and so “possess” him (NRSV), with the result of the Spirit’s coming being that Saul will not only prophesy, but more importantly, “will be turned into another man” (v. 6). Later, in verse nine, it is said that God gave Saul “another heart.” These phrases indicate the transformational intent of the Spirit’s coming and presence. The Spirit comes to us as we are but intends change and transformation.

It is note-worthy that this is God’s work: God gave Saul another heart; Saul will be turned into another man. Nevertheless God’s initiative calls for human responsiveness and obedience—something we will learn later that Saul lacks, and with tragic consequences. Evans’ pastoral insight is, therefore, worth repeating:

Profound spiritual experiences can have profound effects on our lives, but do not change everything about us. We may be transformed, but we remain ourselves; conversion does not normally result in a changed body or temperament. … Sometimes we put heavy burdens on ourselves or on others by expecting the effects of spiritual transformation to be greater than they are (Evans, 71).

We are reminded here of Paul’s exhortation in Philippians 2:12-13 where he encourages the congregation to “work out their salvation with fear and trembling…for God is at work within [them].” Spiritual experience is not an end in itself, nor a goal to be pursued as the aim of life with God. Spiritual experiences cannot be scheduled or demanded, but if they occur, may be received with awe and gratitude. However, they are meant as catalysts of a deeper obedience, and as doorways to new possibilities of service. Again, they intend to bring us into the sphere of the God’s activity. Rather than cul-de-sacs, they are the entry ramps to the highway of holiness and the service of God and his purposes. A whole life of salvation and service beckons and we dare not camp at the point of encounter. After the transfiguration Peter wanted to set up booths and remain at the point of revelation, but Jesus refused, and led him back down the mountain into the sea of human suffering and need (see Mark 9:2-29).

And so, too, with Saul. The Holy Spirit will “rush” upon him and he will be caught up in an ecstatic communal experience of the Spirit’s presence, his heart will be changed and he will be turned into another man. Nevertheless the end toward which all this leads is action: “Now when these signs meet you, do what your hand finds to do, for God is with you” (v. 7). Mystic experiences draw us into the divine presence that we might be sent forth to participate in the divine work.

Baptized in the Spirit 4 (Frank Macchia)

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Baptized in the SpiritChapter Four: Spirit Baptism in Trinitarian Perspective (Cont’d)

Macchia considers the Baptism with the Holy Spirit in its trinitarian dimensions, first by reflecting on the significance of Jesus as Spirit-baptiser for an understanding of his divinity. Macchia suggests that Jesus’ resurrection alone is not sufficient to assert his divinity, but that his role as Spirit-baptiser also supports this claim, for only God can give God (110-111). If the risen Jesus gives the Spirit who is also God, then Jesus, too, must be divine. He was raised to be the Spirit-baptiser, the one who give the life-giving, life-transforming eschatological Spirit.

Without the role of Jesus as the one who bestows the Spirit, his resurrection would have lost its eschatological goal and the relationship of Jesus to his heavenly Father would have lost its strongest clue (111).

Second, BHS is itself a trinitarian act, being the inauguration and advancement of the cosmic and eschatological reign of the Father by the Son and in the Spirit. Through Jesus Christ, the breath of the Father is proceeding to all creation animating and renewing it that it may return to the Father in the Spirit and through Christ. In Spirit-baptism the triune God opens his life to embrace, gather and indwell the creation. Macchia is clearly influenced by Moltmann in this discussion as he grounds his discussion of the triune life in the biblical narrative of Jesus’ life, and adopts a relational view of the trinity.

Spirit baptism accents the idea that the triune life of God is not closed but involved in the openness of self-giving love. … The reign of God comes on us through an abundant outpouring of God’s very Spirit on us to transform us and to direct our lives toward Christlike loyalties. From the trinitarian fellowship of the Father and the Son, the Spirit is poured out to expand God’s love and communion to creation (116).  

Macchia attempts to side-step the question of the inner life of the triune God (125), but still favours a social trinitarianism that yet maintains an economic monarchy of the Father in which the “Son and the Spirit share the monarchy of the Father in mutual dependence and working in a way that implies the Father’s dependence on them as well. … Spirit baptism in the context of the inauguration of the kingdom of God means that the Father’s divine monarchy is not abstract but mediated by the Son and the Spirit in the redemption of the world” (124). God the Trinity is open to the world including human suffering:

In Spirit baptism, God seeks to tabernacle with creation in empathy with the suffering creation and toward its final liberation. After all, the Spirit of Spirit baptism is the one who groans with the suffering creation for its eventual liberation through Christ. Spirit baptism reveals profoundly what is implied in the incarnation and the cross (126).

Macchia brings this long chapter to a conclusion by considering Spirit-baptism in relation to the primary elements of Christian life which he identifies as justification, sanctification and empowerment. Although “Spirit-baptized justification” includes an alien element—that is, the gift of righteousness given to the believer by God ever remains grounded externally in Christ as his righteousness rather than our own—Macchia’s emphasis falls on justification’s transformative elements: through faith in Jesus the believer receives the Holy Spirit and so is united with Christ, is granted the imputation of his victory over sin and death, and thus participates in the new creation. Justification, in Macchia’s vision of the Spirit, is not simply a legal or forensic act which leaves believer unchanged, but includes the regenerating and sanctifying work of the Spirit. To be justified is to be “righteoused” by God (130). The “righteousness” involved in justification is a liberating and redemptive concept that reorders life toward justice and mercy (132).

Justification loses connection with the full breadth of its concrete substance in the life of Jesus as the Spirit-anointed Inaugurator of the kingdom of God if it is defined essentially as an abstract declaration realized in a juridical transference of merits (138).

Justified existence is thus pneumatic existence, Spirit-baptized existence. … In the here and now, the righteousness of justification produces a life dedicated to the reign of God on earth, to the weighty matters of the law, to reconciled and reconciling communities of faith, and to the justice and mercy of God in the world (139).

Turning his attention to “Spirit-baptized sanctification” Macchia insists that justification and sanctification are not two sequential aspects of Christian life, but the entirety of Christian life portrayed by one or the other of these two overlapping metaphors (140). Spirit-baptized sanctification concerns participation by the Spirit in the consecration of Jesus to the Father for the world, in solidarity with their misery. Sanctification refers primarily to an objective accomplishment through the Spirit as a sanctifying presence.

Like Jesus, the disciples were sanctified for faithfulness in the world and not for escape from the world (Jn. 17:15-16). Their sanctification and consecration was unto a holy purpose that required their engagement with the world, not their avoidance of it. If Jesus fulfilled all righteousness by bearing the burdens of the sinners, how can we interpret kingdom sanctification as an avoidance of the sinners? (143-144)

Finally, “Spirit-baptized witness” concerns charismatic or vocational empowerment for the service and witness of the kingdom. If sanctification implies being set apart for a holy task, empowerment is being granted the capacity for the fulfilment of it.

The sanctifying work of the Spirit needs to be released in life through powerful experiences of renewal and charismatic enrichment that propel us toward vibrant praise, healing reconciliations, enriched koinonia, and enhanced gifting for empowered service (145).

Macchia rightly identifies this idea as an essential aspect of the Spirit’s work in Christian life, and a particular contribution Pentecostalism can make to the wider Christian family. Christian initiation must include, says Macchia, a sense that the grace of God gifts Christians for ministry and mission (151). “There is no Christian initiation by faith and baptism in the full sense of the word without some sense of commissioning to service” (156). In this respect, Spirit-baptism as the initiation of Christian life indicates the inherently missional character of Christian identity. Nevertheless, the work of the Spirit is not simply initiatory but progressive and eschatological. Therefore, Christians may and indeed must, continually seek for a greater fullness of the life of the Spirit, anticipating fresh experiences of the Spirit’s sanctifying and empowering presence, so that they might truly participate in the life of God’s kingdom.

Luther’s Pastoral Theology (Part 2)

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luther-statueOnce more I find remarkable, the depth of theological reflection and pastoral wisdom Luther can pack into a short sermon. Multiple themes bristle in this short piece. Luther appeals seamlessly to penal and Christus Victor metaphors of the atonement. We see the very prominent focus on the conscience and so also on the individual before God. Of course, justification and faith are present in his discussion, as is his prominent focus on the pro me, pro nobis—for me, for us: “Of what help is it to you that God is God, if he is not God to you?” (166).

This is obviously a message for Christians rather than non-believers, though non-believers also might benefit from it. We learn that we are sinners having come to Christ. It is from the cross that we learn that we are sinners, and from the cross and resurrection that we learn we are forgiven and loved. And learning that we are thus loved and forgiven is the basis—the only basis—for Christian life and sanctification.

I find of particular interest and comfort, Luther’s insistence that the first movement of this ‘correct’ meditation on the passion is not a religious work or something accomplished through our own (somewhat morbid) self-effort. There is no moral self-flagellation here:

Unless God inspires our heart, it is impossible for us of ourselves to meditate thoroughly on Christ’s passion. … You must first seek God’s grace and ask that it be accomplished by his grace and not by your own power. That is why the people we referred to above fail to view Christ’s passion aright. They do not seek God’s help for this, but look to their own ability to devise their own means of accomplishing this. They deal with the matter in a completely human but also unfruitful way (169).

This is good and necessary pastoral wisdom from Luther, which also went unheeded by some in the Puritan and Pietist traditions—and still today. Those who seek to uncover their own sinfulness, to convince themselves of their own moral filthiness, and dredge over sins and errors time and again, have “to be sure, the appearance of wisdom in self-made religion and self-abasement and severe treatment of the body, but [such activities] are of no value against fleshly self-indulgence” (Colossians 2:23—my comment, not Luther’s). Luther obviously understands true meditation on Christ’s passion to be a theological activity, interpreting his sufferings through the lenses of such Scripture passages as “Christ died for our sins” (1 Corinthians 15:3). We look only to Christ and not to ourselves. In him we see both our sin and its remedy, and in him the pattern and the source of strength for truly Christian life.

Although today we might shift some of the language and imagery, this is a fine example of preaching that is at once deeply theological and pastorally wise.

Luther’s Pastoral Theology (Part 1)

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luther-statueIn 1519 Martin Luther wrote a short “Meditation on the Passion of Christ” for Holy Week. His Good Friday sermon begins with three wrong ways by which to meditate on Christ’s passion. Some do it to vent their anger at the Jews or at Judas. Others do it superstitiously or blindly, carrying pictures, booklets, letters or even crosses on their person as a kind of talisman to ward off evil and misfortune. “Christ’s suffering is thus used to effect in them a lack of suffering contrary to his being and nature” (Luther, “A Meditation on Christ’s Passion” in Lull (ed.), Martin Luther’s Basic Theological Writings, 165). Others feel pity for Christ, lamenting and bewailing his innocence.

The correct way to meditate on the passion is to see his wounds as our sins, and so let our conscience be terrified and weighed down by the reality of human sin and divine wrath.

They contemplate Christ’s passion aright who view it with a terror-stricken heart and a despairing conscience. This terror must be felt as you witness the stern wrath and the unchanging earnestness with which God looks upon sin and sinners, so much so that he was unwilling to release sinners even for his only and dearest Son without his payment of the severest penalty for them. … You must get this thought through your head and not doubt that you are the one who is torturing Christ thus, for your sins have surely wrought this (166-167).

We must give ourselves wholly to this matter, for the main benefit of Christ’s passion is that man sees into his own true self and that he be terrified and crushed by this. Unless we seek that knowledge, we do not derive much benefit from Christ’s passion. The real and true work of Christ’s passion is to make man conformable to Christ, so that man’s conscience is tormented by his sins in like measure as Christ was pitiably tormented in body and soul by our sins. This does not call for many words but for profound reflection and a great awe of sins (108).

But there is more. Having been fully awakened to our own sin, we must now also turn fully to Christ:

After man has thus become aware of his sin and is terrified in his heart, he must watch that sin does not remain in his conscience, for this would lead to sheer despair. Just as [our knowledge of] sin flowed from Christ and was acknowledged by us, so we must pour this sin back on him and free our conscience of it. … You cast your sins from yourself and onto Christ when you firmly believe that his wounds and suffering are your sins, to be borne and paid for by him. [Luther cites Isaiah 53:6, 1 Peter 2:24, and 2 Corinthians 5:21] … You must stake everything on these and similar verses. The more your conscience torments you, the more tenaciously must you cling to them. If you do not do that, but presume to still your conscience with your contrition and penance, you will never obtain peace of mind, but will have to despair in the end (170).

We see in the resurrection of Christ his triumph over the wounds and sins by which he suffered. We see also his love, and that of the Father, in his bearing of sins on our behalf. True meditation on the passion of Christ must progress from Good Friday to Easter Sunday.

If we allow sin to remain in our conscience and try to deal with it there, or if we look at sin in our heart, it will be much too strong for us and will live on forever. But if we behold it resting on Christ and [see it] overcome by his resurrection, then boldly believe this, even it is dead and nullified. Sin cannot remain on Christ, since it is swallowed up by his resurrection. Now you see no wounds, no pain in him, and no sign of sin. Thus Paul declares that “Christ died for our sin and rose for our justification” (Romans 4:25). That is to say, in his suffering Christ makes our sin known and thus destroys it, but through his resurrection he justifies us and delivers us from all sin, if we believe this (170-171).

The third and final movement in fruitful meditation on Christ’s passion then follows:

After your heart has thus become firm in Christ, and love, not fear of pain, has made you a foe of sin, then Christ’s passion must from that day on become a pattern for your entire life. Henceforth you will have to see his passion differently. Until now we regarded it as a sacrament which is active in us while we are passive, but now we find that we too must be active, namely, in the following… (171)

Luther goes on to discuss the nature of a cruciform life, using the image of Christ’s suffering to resist temptation and the despair or sloth that may issue from adversity.

*****

Follow this link for a copy of the sermon and a historical introduction.
(Continued tomorrow)

Does Grace Transform Us?

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graceThe third question my friend asked was:

Does grace transform us, or is that wishful thinking?

The apostle Peter refers to the manifold or ‘many-coloured’ grace of God (1 Peter 4:10). The New Testament speaks of grace in many different ways. In this interview we have been mainly concerned about grace in terms of God’s favour, forgiveness and acceptance. But grace speaks of God’s empowerment as well as God’s pardon. The apostle Paul is an outstanding example of the transformative power of grace:

 For I am the least of the apostles, who am not worthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace toward me was not in vain; but I laboured more abundantly than they all, yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me (1 Corinthians 15:9-10).

By his own account Paul had been a blasphemous, violent and insolent man but having received God’s mercy and grace, was to be a pattern for all believers (1 Timothy 1:12-16).

The gracious activity of God toward us does not cease with his pardon, but the Holy Spirit is ‘God’s empowering presence’ (Gordon Fee’s name for the Holy Spirit) given to us to sanctify and transform our lives into the image of Jesus (2 Corinthians 3:17-18). This, too, is grace, God accomplishing for us and in us what we cannot accomplish for ourselves and in our own strength.

Truly receiving the grace of God opens our eyes to God’s amazing acceptance of us in spite of our own failures and sin. Grace humbles us in the presence of God, and results in an overwhelming gratitude toward God which then begins to overflow toward others. If our own wrong does not disqualify us, surely the wrongs of others should not disqualify them. The Holy Spirit gently leads us to respond to God’s grace by showing grace and living graciously towards others. He prompts us to forgive, even those who have most hurt us. He opens our heart to welcome others. He reminds us that ‘there, but for the grace of God, go I.’ He reminds us that grace has interrupted our path and changed our course; grace can interrupt and change the course of others. God may even us as a vessel and channel of his grace. Thus grace is not only a gift but a calling and a responsibility.

Notice that Paul, in his statement about grace, also says that he laboured, so that God’s grace would not be given in vain. This is the crucial key about the transformative power of grace: grace calls for human response. God works within us to both to will and to do his good pleasure, and so by his grace we are empowered to work out our salvation (Philippians 2:12-13). Grace always comes first, but God does not work without us. His work elicits and empowers our responsive and cooperative work. Grace makes us co-labourers with God, and so Paul says, ‘We then, as workers together with Him, also plead with you not to receive the grace of God in vain’ (2 Corinthians 6:1).

The promise of transformation is not wishful thinking but neither does grace function like Tinkerbell’s fairy dust. Eugene Peterson has given us a most useful metaphor for understanding the work of grace: water. Water is essential for life, a life-giving and transformative substance. Yet if we were to pass our hands through water it would run through our fingers and escape. We cannot hold or contain it. We know it is too weak to hold us, and we cannot hold it. Nevertheless, if we can learn to relax in it, and like a swimmer to begin to make a series of strokes—simple repetitive actions—we will find that the water miraculously holds us and we begin to make progress. We are not holding the water; it is holding us.[1]

Peterson’s analogy helps us understand the mysterious interplay between grace and works, between God’s will and our will. Transformation is not our work but God’s work in us. Yet it does not occur without our participation. Our simple repetitive actions—spiritual practices and habits such as participating in congregational life and worship, reading Scripture and learning to pray, humble service and generous kindness—become a means of grace by which the Holy Spirit works transformation more deeply into our being. This is how we ‘grow in grace’ (2 Peter 3:18) and become ‘strong in grace’ (2 Timothy 2:1). This is how grace becomes a fruitful and transformative power in our lives. This is the kind of response that does not ‘receive the grace of God in vain.’

Ultimately transformation is about becoming more genuinely and authentically human; that is, becoming more Christlike, for Jesus Christ is both the image of God and the truly human person. This is grace reaching its goal. We begin by grace, continue by grace, and reach the goal by grace. ‘Grace has brought us safe this far, grace will lead us home.’


[1] See Peterson, Eugene H., Practice Resurrection: A Conversation on Growing Up in Christ (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 94-95.