This past weekend, we held a small group training at my church, Foothills Church, for up-and-coming potential small group leaders.  This training is not a normal training though, in my experience, at least.  We spent two days being intentional about training our soon-t0-be small group leaders on our discipleship strategy, the art of being a good facilitator, while also pushing them to see some of their blind spots.  This last thing often makes people feel a little uncomfortable, as we breakdown personality traits, leadership ability, and spiritual gifts, pushing them to think through hard things.  The ultimate goal of the training, however, is not to become a good small group leader.  It is, ultimately, to become more like Jesus.  During the first night of training, we take all of the potential leaders through how a regular small group would run.  From the beginning to the end, we have a small group, as if we would one in someone’s living room.  During this particular small group training, I began by telling the story of the Prodigal Son.  And what happened blew me away.

Over the past year, the story of the Prodigal Son has been a thorn in my side, of sorts.  I have told the story to small groups, to potential leaders, etc., almost 10 times over the past year.  After the story is told, the facilitator poses this question to the group:  ”What character do you find yourself relating to the most?”

I guess this question has been more of a thorn than the actual story itself though.  I go around the room and listen to everybody tell which character their life or past life most resembles.  Maybe it’s the older brother who finds himself in jealousy because of his faithfulness to his family, though his family seems to uphold and champion the immorality of the younger.  Or, maybe it’s the younger brother who goes through a time of rebellion, reflecting the Christian who back-slides, or the teenager who raises hell, instead of hearts.  Or even more, maybe it’s the father who is praying for the younger son to return home, or the heart of stone of the older child to turn to a heart redeemed by the gospel.  Either way, everybody seems to relate to one or the other.  Obviously, we all relate to the younger son, as believers, in the way the Father saves us through the blood of Jesus, restoring our relationship with him.

However, over the last year, I have racked my brain on which character I, myself, actually relate to in this story.  I don’t relate to the rebel brother, or the jealous brother, or the father.  Am I the servant?  Or the fattened calf?  It can’t be!

As I was listening to the stories of those at our training this weekend, it clicked.

I am the young son before he rebels, I thought.

I went home and thought more about it.  I am the younger son who has been given many blessings, and by the grace of God, I have not yet squandered it.  I have, however, committed my roll-a-dex of sins.  I have had my struggles throughout the years.  But it seems that my life is reflective more of the younger son that has yet to live with the swines.  As I look over my life, I see the blessings the Father has shared with me.  I have one gorgeous and faithful wife.  I have one unbelievably beautiful daughter.  I have a growing student ministry in a growing church under the title of student pastor.  I have the opportunity to take missions teams all over the world under the title of missions pastor.  I have the opportunity to write and speak and preach and make disciples.  I have an amazing immediate family and extended family, on both sides.  I have great friends who encourage, inspire, and rebuke when needed.  I have much.  I have too much.  All of which has been given to me by the grace of God, the Father, alone.  Nothing deserved.  Though never rebelled, either.

And what scares me…

All of this could be taken away at the snap of a finger, leaving me as the younger brother who lives with the swine.

I pray, on my knees, and with extended hands, that criticism would not break me, as I have seen it break so many other younger pastors — and sent them away from ministry for the pursuit of something “easier.”  I pray for a strong back-bone and tough skin.  And I pray, with a heavy and careful heart, that I would be a Godly man and pastor who would live his life above reproach… for the rest of his life.  I want accountability.  I want my wife to know all of my passwords.  I want older men and brothers in Christ always asking me the hard questions.  I want, as Billy Graham has stated, “to always have safeguards in my life against the Serpent.”

I want to look back on 50+ years of ministry and always be the younger son who never squandered his inheritance, who never left his Father’s house, and who never lived with the pigs.  And by the grace and favor of God, I pray that for you as well.

This week, the opportunity to write an article for the local newspaper about Hanukkah came up. I looked forward to going to the local Jewish congregation (which I had no idea existed prior) to interview a retired teacher and Hebrew instructor. In addition to what I learned of Hanukkah (which Jesus himself celebrated in John 10:22-23) and its importance to Jews worldwide, I got some firsthand insight into Reformed Judaism.

Reformed Judaism is a liberal sect of modern Judaism prevalent in North America and Europe. While we didn’t have time to delve into the historical roots of this tradition, the little she did tell me was intriguing enough for a Christian.

“The thing about Reformed Judaism that people don’t understand is you don’t necessarily need faith,” she said.

I was aware of this position and she aware of mine as a Christian. I told her how most Christians, including myself, typically perceived Jews as adherents to the Old Testament; just without belief in Jesus as the Messiah. They’re puzzled that so many Jews are agnostics and even atheists.

Her reply was, “Jews are equally baffled that Christians feel obligated to adhere to scripture and doctrine which is more than likely mythological.”

“Why would anyone believe things that haven’t been proven true? I would like to believe in heaven or eternal life but I simply don’t know…..and the Old Testament isn’t very clear on the issue.” she said.

“The whole point of Reformed Judaism is simply to be good; nothing more.”

“We don’t have fear because there is no such thing as hell –we just try to do good. Just like you.”

I had only a limited amount of time with my interviewee and playing the apologist was practically and professionally out of the question. An hours-long discussion could have ensued; addressing all the issues but she had an appointment so we wrapped up the conversation and I left.

Here was a physical descendant of Abraham –as far from the Biblical patriarch as possible.

“For what does scripture say? Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness.” –Romans 4:3

“For the promise of Abraham to his descendants that he would be heir of the world was not through the Law, but through the righteousness of faith.” –Romans 4:13

Simply “be good”? For what? For whom?

If the Biblical accounts are mythological, if God may or may not exist, if heaven or hell is a false notion, then there’s little reason for any hope.

But then there’s Jesus.

He affirms the truth of the Old Testament, he clarifies the mystery of the afterlife saying, “…..Whoever believes in me will live even though he dies and whoever lives and believes in me will never die” –John 11:25-26.

He is the fulfillment of the promises and in him the fullness of deity dwells. He adopts us as children by faith.

“Or is God the God of Jews only? Is he not the God of Gentiles also? Yes, of Gentiles also..” –Romans 4:30

He doesn’t call  men to be good, but to believe.

How often do you hear of Christians wrestling with doubts concerning their spiritual lives? Am I really saved? Did I understand the depth of sin or faith when professing Christ as Savior as a child? Is God real in my life…..what about everything I’m hearing from professors at school?

These questions and countless ones like them will most certainly occur in every Christian’s life. Doubt is an inevitable human reaction. Unbelief is a struggle in fallen man. Faith necessarily means not having all the answers. Sixteenth Century Theologian John Calvin in his Institutes of the Christian Religion gives a clear and comforting analysis of the faith we hold to and the doubt present alongside it.

Now we shall have a right definition of faith if we say that is a steady and certain knowledge of the divine benevolence towards us, which is founded upon the truth of the gracious promise of God in Christ, and is both revealed to our minds and sealed in our hearts by the Holy Spirit. When we stress that faith ought to be certain and secure, we do not have in mind a certainty without doubt, or a security without any anxiety. Rather, we affirm that believers have a perpetual struggle with their own lack of faith, and are farm from possessing a peaceful conscience, never interrupted by any disturbance. On the other hand, we want to deny that they may fall out of, or depart from, their confidence in the divine mercy, no matter how much they may be troubled.

Calvin does not vilify doubt or anxiety like many Christians do. These feelings are normal  –evidence of our imperfect nature. We cannot expect to always be certain –but this does not mean that our uncertainty is true, but simply that our own faculties are unreliable. Faith in the promises of Christ is greater than the fleeting sentiments of our hearts. They are more sound than reasoned intellectual answers. They transcend emotional highs and lows.

We can have confidence in God’s divine mercy. In Jesus Christ we place our hope and trust and hold fast through calm and through the storm.

Sometimes — and usually when someone is trying to skirt a direct question about their spiritual life — a person will say their faith is “just between me and God.” It implies that everything about being a Christian is internal and personal.

But check out these verses:

“If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.” Romans 10:9-10

Believing in God internally is essential to being a Christian. Equally essential is how that faith is expressed externally and how it interacts with the rest of the world — almost always through your words and actions.

Keeping your faith to yourself is unnatural. Christianity is as fundamentally external as it is internal.

Why do we celebrate Easter? Why did Jesus have to die? What was accomplished on the cross? What is important about Christ’s resurrection? Thabiti Anyabwile and Erwin Lutzer help us to think through these important matters.

You are on the verge of wrecking your life.  I know that with certainty.  I’m not psychic, and I’m not reading your mind as you read this chapter.  I doubt this book will be in print long enough to be read by artificially intelligent androids; so for now, I’m assuming if you can read, I know you’re human.  And if you’re human you’ve been designed to picture God – more specifically to picture the union of God and humanity in the man named Jesus.

This means, if the ancient Scriptures are right (and I’m wagering my life, and the next one, that they are), unseen spiritual beings out there are disturbed by what you are reminding them of.  By the “you” in the last sentence, I don’t mean a generic colloquial use of “one” or “humanity” in general.  I mean you personally.

As a political reporter, I found myself a few days ago in one of those smoky situations straight from a movie scene. To my left, an elected official danced close with a girl half his age, a girl not his wife. To my right, a lobbyist for a huge company stared drunkenly into the eyes of a female member of the press corps. She peeled his hand from her arm, which he was caressing; he put it right back.

Another highly paid lobbyist in an expensive, gray suit pulled the thick cigar from his lips, exhaled a ring of blue smoke, and turned to me.

“So now you see how a bill becomes a law?” he asked wryly. [...]

Why? Why did this happen? More than ten thousand people are confirmed dead, several nuclear reactors are spewing toxic radiation, and millions of homes and livelihoods destroyed. Amidst the massive destruction wrought by the recent earthquake in Japan, the troubling question arises. [...]

“It is not faith that saves, but faith in Jesus Christ… It is not, strictly speaking, even faith in Christ that saves, but Christ that saves through faith. The saving power resides exclusively, not in the act of faith or the attitude of faith or in the nature of faith, but in the object of faith.”[1]

John Murray defines faith as “knowledge, conviction, and trust.”  Does it matter what we believe, so long as we have “faith”? Murray points out that we must believe the right things in order to have saving faith:

“It might seem very confusing to say that faith is knowledge. For is it not one thing to know, another to believe? This is partly true. Sometimes we must distinguish between faith and knowledge and place them in contrast to each other. In our ordinary human relations do we trust a person of whom we know nothing? Especially when that for which we trust him is of grave importance for us we must know a good deal regarding his identity and his character. How much more must this be the case with that faith which is directed to Christ; for it is faith against all the issues of life and death, of life and eternity? We must know who Christ is, what He has done, and what He is able to do. Otherwise faith would be blind conjecture at the best and foolish mockery at the worst. There must be apprehension of the truth respecting Christ. Sometimes, indeed, the measure of truth apprehended by the believing person is very small, and we have to appreciate the fact that the faith of some in its initial stages is very elementary. But faith cannot begin in a vacuum of knowledge. Paul reminds us of this very simply when he says, ‘Faith is of hearing, and hearing of the word of Christ’ (Rom 10:17).” [1]

Murray goes on to point out that saving faith does not stop with knowledge, but this knowledge must progress into conviction and assent to truth and then to trusting in the Person of Christ. He says, “Faith is knowledge passing into conviction, and it is conviction passing into confidence.” [2]