Tag Archives: sin

On Being Dead (Part 3)

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I remember a moment when I strongly identified with the phrase, “sinner saved by grace.” Yes, I thought, this is the most accurate description of me. I am a sinner. I am also saved by grace. Simultaneously.

Now I’m not so sure.

In the post-gospel New Testament (Acts-Revelation), the words “sinner” or “sinners” are found 13 times. The word “sin” appears 90 times. Perhaps sin is more of a condition than an identity. More of an act than an actuality.

Nearly half (43) of those 90 occurrences of the word “sin” are in Romans, and 39 are in chapters five through eight. The words “dead” or “death” occur 37 times in those same four chapters. Is there a correlation between sin and death? As I read and re-read, highlight, and scratch my head, I notice two distinct connections, one with which I am very familiar, and the other which I have noticed only recently.

The first connection I see between sin and death is that sin leads to, or results in, death. All four chapters (Romans 5-8) speak to this dynamic, including the well-known verse, “For the wages of sin is death …” (Romans 6:23a).

The second connection I notice between sin and death is that death disconnects a person from sin. Dying quite literally makes it impossible to sin. Chapter 6 most fully addresses this:

“How shall we who died to sin live any longer in it?” (v. 2)
“… our old man was crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be done away with …” (v. 6)
“For he who has died has been freed from sin.” (v. 7)
“For the death that He died, He died to sin once for all … Likewise you also, consider yourselves to be dead indeed to sin …” (v. 10, 11)
“For sin shall not have dominion over you …” (v. 14)
“And having been set free from sin, you became slaves of righteousness.” (v. 18)
“But now having been set free from sin …” (v. 22)

What I’m hearing is that Jesus died for me, but not in the traditional sense that he had to “pay.” Rather, death is the only way to conclude sin, and Jesus died to gift me that decisive, deadly conclusion.

I died. I can no longer sin. Therefore my identity is not “sinner.” I am not a sinner. I am dead to sin and free from sin. The only purpose of having an awareness of sin was that it showed me I was turning gray, showed me the morbid path I travelled. Jesus stepped in to my lifeless pallor and saw it through to its end, death. In receiving His death as a gift, I claim my identity of righteous daughter.

Paul suggests I am now a slave of righteousness. I’m not entirely comfortable with such strong language. But I am intrigued by the possibility that the power that sinful behavior previously had in my life has been replaced by the power righteousness now has in my life. I am free—to do what is loving and holy and true. I am free—to not do what is selfish and common, empty and false. I am empowered by the mind and spirit of Christ in me. Righteousness is my impulse, my instinct, the way I am compelled to act.

Christians have a great following with the “you are a sinner” gospel because it is true to human experience, to our flesh. But flesh is really just all the lies we have believed about who we are. Rather than giving life, this gospel affirms that I am what I feared—a broken person who can’t stop behaving hurtfully.

I never once wondered if I was going to heaven when I died, but I wondered every day what the hell was wrong with me. As a “sinner saved by grace,” heaven was the only good I could see coming out of the gospel. Not very many people—and especially not me—seemed truly alive.

Death was my promised certificate of achievement, the consummation of my life lived in lies. But God took my death certificate and tore it up. “Forget that,” He said, “in my house we deal in life. Here is your life certificate.” Beneath “Life Certificate,” written in a glowing script, the paper reads, This is to certify that Tobi Danielle Goff is 100% alive, and her state of being is characterized by abundance, growth, righteousness, and luminescence.

Paul says my lied-to mind was “enmity against God; for it [was] not subject to the law of God, nor indeed [could] be.” (Romans 8:7, emphasis added) I could not remain as I was and be fully alive. I was stuck, wondering how to die to self, not realizing it was already done. As Dan Mohler observed, “Preacher’ll say, ‘This’ll cost you everything.’ Everything you were never created to be! … Why not activate faith and let go of the lie and test out truth? You’ll be wondering why you didn’t die a long time ago, ‘cause living without that is like being dead already.”1

Paul wrote, “… if Christ is in you, the body is dead because of sin, but the Spirit is life because of righteousness.” (Romans 8:10) At this point I get a little confused. Am I dead or alive? Did I need to die, or was I already dead? Or was I already alive and I just didn’t know it? Take your pick. My process seems to have roughly happened this way: 1) I noticed my spirit and life were dead-ish, 2) I realized I was thinking and acting in ways that produce death, 3) I wanted to die but I didn’t know how, 4) God invited me into death and the quietness of the tomb with Him, 5) I realized I didn’t need to do or not do anything—life, death, and resurrection were already accomplished for me, 6) I agreed with God—and continue to agree, over and over— that I am His righteous daughter.

I’ve heard “dying to self” described as a continual, painful process. Maybe it is, but I find that wildly intimidating. Especially if I’m supposed to come up with the courage to die every day. But if, in Jesus, my death was already accomplished, then “dying daily” is simply agreeing with what is already done. It is acknowledgement of a new state of affairs. It is acceptance of a gift.

I often say, “God does the heavy lifting.” If I’m carrying a heavy load, chances are I misunderstand. If the burden isn’t light, chances are I’ve put on my work jeans and pulled the wheelbarrow out for some unnecessary hauling. As Matthew Pierce aptly noted, “Jesus and I can’t both pay the price for my mistakes.”2

“Living in the Spirit” is another way of saying I agree with God. When I agree with God my old view of me (broken, sinner) dies, and I get a new view: righteous daughter. I am meant to be alive in a greater sense than my physical aliveness, and there’s something about wholeness that’s invigorating. Something about finding my God-created spirit buried under lies, dusting it off, and rejoicing because I have found treasure. This treasure doesn’t sustain me from the outside, like money or sunshine or my favorite sweater; it sustains me from the inside, like being chosen first when I’m not the best, like holding hands, like finding out I belong.

Endnotes:
1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngfEH7_8FGY&ab_channel=CityCenterChurch
2 https://mpierce.substack.com/p/all-of-my-sins-are-because-of-elon

Obedience, Part 2 – Agreeing or Trusting?

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If obedience is a turning toward God (I explored this idea in Obedience, Part 1), then how do I decide when to turn toward Him? Do I need to understand and agree in order to obey? I will be arguing in this post that agreement and understanding do not precede obedience. But before exploring that further, let’s agree that it is important to understand who God is, and agree with His kingdom principles before we trust and follow Him. He is not asking us to choose Him blindly. But once we do choose Him, and we learn to trust Him (which, by the way, happens over time, not magically all at once), we will miss the glory of being His if we obey only when we agree and understand. I also want to note before I begin that the ideas presented under “Why Obedience” come primarily from a presentation by Bob Folkenberg, which may be viewed in full here: https://vimeo.com/32471840

Why Obedience?

Think about what happens in a parent-child relationship when a child wants to know “why?” Suppose I ask my daughter Kayt to wash the dinner table. At this point she can obey or disobey, based only on the fact that I am her mother and I have asked her to do something. But suppose she asks why, and I explain, “we’re going to do a craft and I don’t want crumbs and sticky food to get on our craft.” Now she can think about that and decide whether she also doesn’t want crumbs and sticky stuff on her craft. Or whether she will do it because she wants to keep me happy by doing what’s important to me. Or perhaps she’ll decide not to do it, because she doesn’t think what I said makes any sense. The point is, now that I have given her my reason, she will use her own judgement to decide whether to obey me. Folkenberg says, “Therefore they are not doing what you asked them to do. They are doing what they have decided is appropriate to do. They are worshipping their own opinions, which are higher than yours.” Since I have given my reason, my daughter is now making a decision based on her own authority and judgement, not mine.

Understanding is a good prerequisite for decision making, but not for obedience. In most of our relationships obedience makes no sense. Ought we to do whatever our boss says without thinking about it? I should think not. What about our friends, coworkers, small group leaders, pastors? Certainly not. But in our relationship with God, as well as in the parent-child relationship, it does make sense to obey without understanding, without making our own judgement about the situation. What child would cheerfully put herself to bed at 8pm every night because you explained the importance of sleep? What child would eagerly hand over his toys whenever friends came to play because you explained the importance of caring about others? Children must obey their parents without understanding or agreeing, because their life and wellbeing depends on it. They would die if left to their own understanding. And so will we.

Consider Lucifer’s sin. “For you have said in your heart: ‘I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God…’” (Isaiah 14:13a NKJV). His sin was in his thoughts, his heart, and it was a conflict of authority. Folkenberg puts it this way: Lucifer says “You have the authority to make all the rules you want to, but I get to decide which ones I’m going to follow…. And that means I’m a god like You’re a God. I’ve got the same authority ‘cause I crowned myself an alternate God.”

Consider Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Lucifer shows up and crowns himself as another god – able to make judgements about God – in the sight of Adam and Eve by contradicting God: “you won’t die.” Then he offers Eve the opportunity to become a god too: “your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Genesis 3:4b NKJV). She accepted his invitation and used her own reasoning to consider what God had said about the tree, consider what she herself could see and understand about the tree, and make a decision. “So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree desirable to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate” (Genesis 3:6a NKJV). She placed her own judgement above God’s judgement. She crowned herself another god. Folkenberg says there is only one sin: “Yes God, I know what you said, but it seems to me…”

Both Lucifer and Eve rejected God’s sovereignty and His love. Folkenberg argues that God’s love/acceptance and His sovereignty/authority are two sides of the same coin, and that you cannot have one without the other. “Sin [as defined above] is the rebellion that is made evident in the deed that rejects God’s sovereign authority and love beyond description. You cannot reject His authority without rejecting His love. You cannot separate His sovereign love that is the basis for His means of salvation without also rejecting His authority. And we most commonly reject His sovereignty, His lordship. But we can’t have one without the other… The Lord says, ‘You cannot be anything like me unless you let me change your likes and dislikes and your wants and your desires. I’m the one. Let me in; I’ll help you.'” This is Lordship in a nutshell:
Me: I’m trying so hard.
God: Stop trying, I’ve got it covered.

If you’re agreeing with God, the weight is on you. You have to make the right decision. If you’re trusting God, the weight is on Him. As my friend Nic always says, “Are you trusting God, or trusting yourself?”

Let’s be clear that prioritizing obedience does not somehow place salvation in our hands. We are not saved by obedience. We’re saved by grace, and by the process of responding to that grace in the only way that we can – falling in love with Jesus. In fact, Folkenberg goes on to say that if we obey God because we agree with Him, we’re not actually obeying Him, we’re obeying ourselves. Our actions that appear to be obedience may actually be sin if they are done out of agreement (we have now placed ourselves in judgement over God) and not trust.

So if we’re not saved by obedience, but by grace, why does God ask us to obey Him? 1 John 2:3 says, “Now by this we know that we know Him, if we keep His commandments.” By this WE know. Folkenberg says, “my obedience is not designed to impress God… or to impress somebody else (it’s none of their business)… it is there for me, as an honesty check on who I am. [When we put on a good act] we deceive everybody else and deceive ourselves. Folks, we’re not as good as we think we are and we’re certainly not as good as anybody else thinks we are. The Lord says… ‘I’ve designed the plan of salvation so that you have to confront who you are. You’re saved by grace… but I’m helping you realize that you’ve got a struggle, and your struggle is to set your opinions aside and simply say, “Lord make me what you want [me] to be.”‘ Don’t be impressed by yourself. Face the reality of yourself.”

My Experience

Obedience is like a trust thermometer. Nearly four years ago I realized I didn’t trust God one bit. The idea of waking up in the morning and saying, “Lord, you are God, do as you see fit today,” was absolutely terrifying and practically revolting to me. I didn’t want what God wanted. I wanted what I wanted, and if He wanted to help with it, that would be lovely. Of course He didn’t, so things got a little awkward there for a while. After years of honest conversation, humbly seeking to fall in love with Jesus, and facing the reality of my deep brokenness, most mornings I am now relieved to leave everything in God’s hands. Have I mastered trust? Heavens, no! By God’s grace I have taken one tiny step toward fully trusting Him. There is always another layer, a deeper experience. God is never done. As I learn to trust Him in one place, He stretches me in another. 

Walking with God is comforting, but right on the edge of unnerving. It’s not a gradient where I move from unnerved to comforted. Rather, they are stacked right against each other. The second I forget how much God loves me, I move from peace to stress. Which of course makes sense, because God’s kingdom is ridiculous and impossible for me, and thinking about it causes fear and anxiety when I am trying to follow Him by making the right decisions myself. But knowing and trusting God – and letting Him make the decisions – changes everything. There is great peace and comfort in His presence.

It’s kind of like being naked or being clothed. Imagine trying to go through a typical day naked. When I’m naked I can’t take on anything because all I can think about is needing to be dressed. But when I am clothed, those thoughts disappear completely and I am ready to tackle the day. Walking with God, rooted in His love, is like being dressed. When I start to wonder if He’s really got it covered, it’s like my underwear are showing. If I keep going that way, pretty soon my buttons fall off and I might as well be naked because it’s all I can think about. But if I pull my clothes back into place – if I remember God’s love for me – I return to the safety of being covered. Am I always naked underneath the clothes? Yes. Will I always be naked underneath God’s love and provision? Yes. But will the knowledge of that nakedness be practically nonexistent in my mind as I enjoy His clothing? I believe yes.

If we only obey God when we agree with Him, we will be forever running around naked. When we trust Him, and our obedience comes from a place of love and safety, we will always be clothed. We can honestly bring our deepest hurts and our greatest confusions to Him and know that there is comfort in His saving grace and His powerful lordship.

If you don’t feel peace and comfort in God’s presence, and you don’t want to trust Him, don’t despair. Your shortcoming are never ever so great that He can’t reach right through them and save you. Get really honest. Tell Him how you really feel. Put forth the tiny seed of faith you have, even if you’re embarrassed how small it is. For me, I couldn’t say I trusted Him, or even that I wanted to trust Him, but I could say that I wanted to want to trust Him. And that’s where I started.