Volunteered

In my life, I’ve had the opportunity to work with a lot of volunteers. What repeatedly strikes me as odd, is how unhappy many volunteers seem. After all, presumably they are choosing to do whatever work in which they are engaged; what’s the purpose in complaining, when they simply can choose not to do it anymore?

Of course, on a grander scale complaints are not limited to volunteer work. They are many who refuse to follow God simply because of the list of complaints they have against Him. Chief on that list is usually that bad things happen to “good” people. “Why,” the argument goes, “should I follow a God who lets evil rain on the good?”

However, as R.C. Sproul, Jr. reminds us, “that only happened once, and He volunteered.” In other words, the only time that a truly good Person experienced evil was when His Son voluntarily went to the cross to die for our sins and rise again in order to conquer death (I. Cor. 15:3). There is no reason that God the Son “had to” provide this path of redemption, but He choose to because of “His great love for us.” He did it without complaining and without regard for His own personal comfort. He did it voluntarily – because of us.

This should cause us to realize that the question isn’t “why does God let bad things happen to evil people?” but “why does God let any good happen to evil people?” Until we are His children, we are in complete rebellion against Him. Yet God, in His mercy, “send[s] the rain on the just and the unjust” (Mt. 5:45). We experience what philosophers call His “common grace,” even though what we deserve is His abject wrath.

So when we do experience evil as a result of this sinful world in which we live, may we be mindful of the great sacrifice that our Lord willingly made for us. May this cause us to thank God for all the good that we are experiencing and to be content in Him even when we might think we have “reason” to complain.

 

How does the fact that Christ voluntarily went to the cross for us change our perspective when we experience bad things?

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Killing “Me”

“You’re killing me, man.”

I’m not sure where this phrase originated, but it has long been used as an exclamation of frustration. When things aren’t going the way that is anticipated, this phrase is used to demonstrate that the other person is responsible for making the situation difficult for me. When someone doesn’t return our affections (or doesn’t return them to the same degree), we use this phrase as a pronouncement of the destruction that they are causing to our heart. Perhaps made most popular by the movie, The Sandlot, it is used in a variety of context to demonstrate our vexation at someone else’s actions, lack of knowledge, or response.

Although we use this phrase to lay blame on someone else, it’s what Christians should be doing everyday to themselves. We should be “killing” the “me” that resides within us – putting to death our selfish and sinful desires in order to live for Christ. When the Scripture talks about this, we tend to focus on the parts where it discusses living for Christ. Matthew 16:24 is the famous passage where Jesus commands His followers to take up His cross and follow Him. However, the very next verse tells us that we should be “losing” our lives. Not passively, but purposefully seeking to lose the “us” as we live for Jesus. Similarly, in Galatians, we talk a lot about how Christ now lives in us, but we forget that the first part of that verse states that “we” have been killed; that because Christ lives in us, we are putting to death “us.”

This may sound great theoretically (although it may also sound difficult and confusing), but what does it mean? It means that dying to self isn’t just saying “yes” to Jesus, but killing the desire to do things for me. “My” time, “my” desires, “my” needs don’t exist – except as they are found in Christ Jesus. How He wants time spent, is how we should be spending our time. What He desires, should be our desire. “Our” needs are being cared for by Him. We are putting to death the “me” and the “my” so that we may be more like Christ; we are actively sacrificing “mine” on the altar of “His.”

This isn’t an easy thing. Nor will we be perfect at killing “me” and “mine” this side of glory. But may we, like Paul, work towards being able to say, “Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Jesus Christ my Lord” (Phil. 3:8a).

 

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