Victory In Clay Jars

Considering Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 4 this morning:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 

Paul isn't foretelling a glorious victory here for the Christian. He doesn't foresee a triumphant parade for the believer overcoming the spiritual attacks and physical hardships of life. This would not pass muster with the modern American prophets of profit and progress. If you were to tease out a definition of Christian victory from Paul's words here it would be something like "survival". We are perplexed, persecuted and struck down, but not completely destroyed. So at least there's that. Paul is playing not to lose. He seems happy with the moral victory; at least it's not utter defeat. His message might be rendered thus:

"Life is hard for a Christian in the world. After all, it was hard for our leader so we shouldn't expect any different. But hunker down and stay alive. Bend but don't break. We can get through this thing."

Not exactly uplifting.

Of course, the circumstances surrounding Paul's writing are all temporary. A great victory does await when Jesus comes to make all things new. But I think there's some realism in Paul's words that make them appealing, if not inspiring; appealing, at least, to those among us whom life has beaten up.

Jesus said our enemy wants to steal, kill and destroy. Sometimes his destruction comes calamitously — as quick as a gunshot. But just as often he prefers to grind rather than explode. He lays siege to our souls, one disappointment, one failed relationship, one blunted hope, one tiny betrayal at a time. He means to starve us out — to weaken our constitution by degrees until surrender seems advisable, hope pitiable, destruction preferable.

I'm intrigued by the ways scripture instructs to resist evil. Sometimes, we are meant to confront it or expel it (1 Cor. 5:13). Other times, we are told to flee from it (1 Cor. 6:18). Sometimes, though, we are meant to bear it, to "stand up under it" (1 Cor. 10:13). It may be that the best way to combat the attack of a thousand tiny offenses is with a thousand tiny redemptions. So we kiss and make up again, we tuck our kids again, we show up to teach that Sunday school class again, we forgive again, choose love over selfishness again, we ignore the temptation again.

Paul knew what it was to suffer dramatically for the gospel, in shipwrecks and floggings and imprisonment. But he also knew what it's like to feel the siege works pressing in, to endure the daily drumming doldrums that drift us toward despair. And to both circumstances, his message was the same: this life is going to beat you up, especially if you stand for the gospel. Endure it with dignity. Your hope is its own victory.

And your victory will be sweet.

Our Father In Heaven

My friend Nat has three boys in their 20s. It scares me to death to talk to him. His sons are making decisions now that will affect the rest of their lives. They are facing situations that require wisdom and virtue and nuanced thought.

My kids can't decide which pants to wear.

As a parent, I feel responsible to help my kids mature, to grow in character and in capacity to face life's challenges. It occurs to me that God has faced the same challenges with his children.

Last week at church, my pastor explained some of the theological implications of the Last Supper. Jesus was replacing old ways with new. He put himself in the place of the paschal lamb; he is the final sacrifice. He put himself in place of Moses; he is leading the new exodus. He put himself in place of the passover feast; his body and blood sustain us. And he put himself in place of God's first position as our heavenly father — the lawgiver.

God's first interaction with humans (after he made them from dust and whatnot) was to give them a command: don't eat this fruit. In the years between Adam and Jesus, those heavenly laws had expanded to more than 600. The law was a big deal to the culture where Jesus ministered. And Jesus put himself in its place. He said, "A new law I give you: love one another."

What does this have to do with parenting? I think our experience of parenting reflects God's experience with the human race. We parents have to start our relationships with our children with rules focused on behavior: Don't touch that. Don't eat that. Don't hit your sister with that. Our kids don't always understand our rules, and sometimes they rebel against them. They have to learn to trust their parents to know more than they do, and to have their best interests at heart. But we don't want them to stay there. A child must grow not only to trust her parents, but to learn the reasons behind her parents' rules. The goal of parenting isn't just to breed obedient children, but to train up children beyond childish lessons — to become co-adults.

God has done the same thing. The entire sweep of the Bible is from law to grace, from a focus on behavior to a focus on our hearts, from adolescence to maturity, from the concrete to the abstract, from certainty to mystery. We, as a species, have been parented. We have been discipled into deeper understanding of God and his purposes in the world. We are called to higher, nobler, wiser responses to our Father than dumb obedience out of fear.

Of course there is one critical difference between us and God: we will never replace him. We will never put God in a celestial assisted living home and become our own gods to our own little creatures. We will forever be his children. He will always be wiser, higher, and better than us. And that's a good thing because sometimes we face decisions and situations that are, frankly, much too big for us — decisions that affect lives and fortunes and futures and kingdoms. And, if we're honest, some days we can't even decide which pants to wear.