I'd like to begin today with an extremely random quote: "Do or do not; there is no try" --Yoda. Our favorite green jedi munchkin utters this line while trying to get Luke Skywalker to use the force strongly enough to lift his X-wing out of the swamp that inexplicably exists on (in?) the asteroid where Yoda lives. At least I think that's how it goes; I haven't seen the old Star Wars movies in quite a while.
Anyway, that particular line has always been one I've loved to quote, partially because Yoda is one of the only voice impressions I can do with any level of proficiency whatsoever and partly because it just seems applicable in many situations. You have to watch out for Yoda, though. As the main philosopher of the Star Wars series (along with Obi-wan, I guess), he's always saying things that are obviously meant to be profound costumed in a mystifying array of vague spirituality, ambiguity, and reversed syntax. When you look closer, though, his statements usually fall somewhere on the spectrum between pure nonsense and outright falsehood.
This one is a prime example. Now, I think it's true that people tend to use the phrase, "I'll try" to indicate that no one should expect them to succeed, either because they aren't up to the task or because they don't actually plan to expend that much effort on it. So in that sense, Yoda's instruction could be legitimate. A jedi saying they'd try would be a cop-out of that order, since the force should enable them to do basically whatever they want (an interesting issue never really addressed in the films, by the way-- why can't they fly? why can't they all shoot lightning out of their hands? If Vader can choke people with his mind, why does he even bother with a lightsaber? But I digress.) Here in the real world, though, there is no force. Here, we have God.
The most powerful force in the universe is not a formless power that can be used to good or evil ends. Far from it, He's a person (three of them, actually) with a very specific will for how things are going to go in his world. His sovereign will puts us in the position where we clearly do not have control over our own success or failure.
I'm not trying to get into the whole free will vs. sovereignty argument here. I think it's self evident, though, that our best-laid plans tend to "gang aft a-gley" as Robert Burns said (rough translation: they go straight to crap a lot of the time). A much more intelligible quote from another poet sums it up quite nicely, I think: "For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business." --T.S. Eliot. Now, Mr. Eliot wrote some really depressing poetry (and some very snobbish literary criticism) early in his career, but then an amazing thing happened: he met Jesus. The quote above is from after that happened, in the midst of his crowning accomplishment, a very long poetic meditation on the value of life (and other things) called The Four Quartets, which I highly recommend.
I think T.S. Eliot was wiser than Yoda. I also think that the preceding is a sentence that has never before been written in the history of literature. I'm ok with that. All I know is that the Bible is filled with verses backing up the idea that we have very little control of the "do or do not" part of life. For us, there is only try!
"Who can speak and have it happen if the Lord has not decreed it? Is it not from the mouth of the Most High that both calamities and good things come?" Lamentations 3:37-38
"Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain." Psalm 127:1
"Lord, you establish peace for us; all that we have accomplished, you have done for us" Isaiah 26:12
Far from being depressing, this is freedom. If our success or failure as men or women-- as Christians, as people-- depends on our own efforts, we are screwed. But God takes the pressure off! He is already doing things; the things that we have accomplished are all things that he did. Instead of worrying about whether we succeed or fail, we get the privilege of discovering and participating in the plans of God.
"For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them" Ephesians 2:10 (ESV).
I quoted from the ESV here because the NIV makes the verse sound unnecessarily Yoda-ish by inexplicably translating the Greek word for walk as "do" in this verse (and in no other place for whatever reason) and adding another "do" before good works, where there isn't even a verb in the original! Their carelessness caused me to misunderstand this verse for years, thinking that I had to somehow make God's plans happen.
What if instead, God is already at work in His world? What if his plans are already in motion, and we can just walk right into them as we pursue relationship with Him? What if all we have to do is try, and He handles the success and gives us failure when we need it? What if we can trust that He is strong and He loves us, and the rest is not our business?
Can we really be led by the hand of God, hear his voice, and work alongside Him in his perfect plan?
It's something I'd like to try.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Integrity in Community
I've had a couple conversations recently that really got me thinking again about the issue of how we relate to each other within the body of Christ (i.e. the church). Long story short, I ended up expressing a lot of my thoughts about it in a poem, so I'll start with that:
Euphemistic Eucharist
Howya doin’? What’s up?
Pretty good, not too much,
life goes on, praise the Lord,
the usual and such--
By pretty good I mean
my family’s a mess--
we fight, except not here:
in this house we just bless.
I’m saying in not much
my schedule is insane:
it’s filled with noise and stress
it hardly can contain--
Life just keeps on going,
and so I don’t have time
to let you see beneath
charade and pantomime.
To praise the Lord I smile
and just sing happy songs;
pain stays behind the mask
where it, of course, belongs--
The usual just means
I’d tell you I’m depressed
were I allowed to break
facades so nicely dressed
And such and such and on--
a thousand pointless things
I’d rather say than tell
you anything that stings.
Safe. But are we happy?
We smile; are we alive?
The one place where it seems
reality should thrive,
instead we hide away;
we put our pride above
our pain--how can we throw
our masks aside and love?
Because we need help and we need
to be saved and all of us are
pretty much the same kinds
of messed up so why not just be real?
Can you see here what I’m driving toward?
Maybe then we could really praise the Lord.
So, I realize that my poem is a bit caustic. I'm just trying to honestly address a real issue, though, and the fact that it keeps on coming up among people I talk to lets me know I'm not the only one who feels it. The issue, as you can probably guess from the poem, is that church (not just mine, or anyone else's specifically, but church in general-- the conversations I mentioned at the beginning were with people from three different ones) has a tendency to become a place of fakeness where people don't feel like they can come with their real problems, instead of what it should be: the place where they could safely be honest and receive healing.
3 questions come to my mind: why does this happen, why is it so bad, and what can we do about it?
Let's break my OCD tendencies toward order and symmetry and start right in the middle with the second question. I don't want to belabor the point that the phenomenon I'm talking about is bad news, but I want to start with what I see as the basic reasons why it is so harmful.
The first is that everyone has problems, and problems don't just go away. Of course, drawing near to God is helpful in dealing with them. God can supernaturally solve them whenever he wants to. The problem comes when churches start teaching (or just believing, consciously or subconsciously), that this supernatural encounter with the healing Lord is only a one-on-one deal. Now, I know that God has healed me at times without any help from anyone else--he's just that good. However, the general model that he has laid out for us is something totally different.
"And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." (James 5:15-16). This is God's model for healing. We get other believers involved, and they pray for us so that we will be healed. Catch that? James is letting us know that if we won't share our brokenness, both spiritual and physical, we won't access all the healing that we could because it comes through receiving prayer from each other! So that's one reason why it's a crisis that we don't feel like we can be real in church-- where else will we find the righteous men who can pray powerful and effective prayers for our healing?
Another reason is that everyone has problems, and everyone knows this is true. Even (or especially?) people who aren't Christians yet. We might feel like being real with the stuff of our lives will scare unbelievers away, but I propose that the fakeness we choose instead is infinitely more frightening. Everyone knows that people have problems. Everyone knows that they themselves have problems! So if you walk into a group of people where no one seems to have any, what do you think? You think, I'll never fit in with these people. So another reason this fear of dealing with real issues in church is a problem is because it is actually driving away the broken people who desperately need to receive healing by being prayed for (and who God wants to make into the powerful and effective prayers who will then help restore others!).
Finally, and potentially most seriously, being fake in church will hinder our worship. We might think we can sneak in and deal with our problems alone with God and have ourselves fixed by the time we have to talk to anyone. The problem there is that God is looking for worshipers who worship him in spirit and in truth (John 4:23). If we won't be real with God and with our family, we can't worship him in the way he desires. This is serious stuff, and if you don't think so just read in Exodus and Leviticus about people who tried to worship God in unauthorized ways. If we want his healing presence to be with us, we have to be willing to worship in the spiritual integrity God is seeking. Otherwise, our thanksgiving (Greek: Eucharist) will amount to little more than empty words we use to avoid saying what we really mean.
So, why does it happen that we feel like all we can be at church is just fine and peachy-keen, etc.?
I think it probably comes down to fear, mostly. Just because we all have problems and we know it doesn't mean we necessarily feel comfortable sharing them with people! If our fear of being judged for the things that are still messed up about us trumps our desire to be healed from those things, we won't share, plain and simple. If we have a history of being judged, that makes things worse of course, as does seeing other people be judged in places (like church) where they should be welcomed instead. Put all those things together, and fear wins out a lot of times.
Also, I think there's a misunderstanding in the church of what the Bible really teaches about joy. When it says to be joyful in all circumstances (1 Thessalonians 5:16), is that the same as being happy all the time? If the joy of the Lord is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10), and a fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), are we weak Christians who don't have the Holy Spirit if we go through struggles and trials?
All of the answers are no, in case you're wondering. No one is "too blessed to be stressed" either (although some might be in too much denial not to smile). Joy is not the same thing as happiness, and godly joy is just as compatible with sorrow as with happiness. Jesus himself wept (John 11:35), but he was given the oil of joy more than all his companions (Psalm 45:7). He also got so stressed that he sweated blood (Luke 22:44). So godly joy must be something different than unceasing happiness. What if, instead, it's the ongoing security of knowing that eventually everything will work out for your good because it's all in the control of the all-powerful God who loves you? Then you can feel the pain of loss and brokenness without losing hope, and when you are happy you can be happy for the right reasons. That's the joy that will bring you strength.
One further note on why the problem of disingenuousness happens at church: it kind of gets to be a vicious cycle. No one wants to be the first person to do anything, so if no one is talking about any real stuff, it's that much harder for anyone to break the trend.
Which segues nicely into the last question: what can we do about this thing?
First, let me say that I'm no expert on this. I'm actually more of an expert on being fake, to be quite honest. All I know is that I deeply desire to be real, and I'm starting to learn what that means. So how can we be the ones to step out and start being real in the one place in all the world where the truth should win out? How can streetlights shine into darkness that has clouded the home of light?
The main thing I can see is that we have to start wanting more of God so desperately that we don't care about our own images. We have to care more about what he thinks of us than what anyone else does. This is what it means for him to be our Lord. His opinion is the final word, and what he says goes, no matter what it makes us look like. If we start believing that, maybe we can be the ones to step out and take the first risk. We can't make anyone else be real, but we can show them they won't die if they try it!
Also, we have to confess and repent of our judgmental spirits. This will allow us to bless other people who are real enough to be honest about their problems instead of comparing our own struggles to theirs to see how we stack up. All judgment is comparison, and all comparison is irrelevant because God's love is infinite. What if ours started looking more like his?
We also have to stop getting the truth backwards. It's not that God is so good that his followers shouldn't have any problems; He's so good because welcomes us in spite of them! He fixes them too, but for whatever reason he hasn't chosen to do it instantaneously in most cases. We have to let him be who he is in this instead of making him into a false image of what we want him to be.
I'm sure there is much more to be said on this topic-- does anyone else have any ideas to share on how we can help? I'll end with one I just thought of, which is actually the most important one: prayer. I want to start asking God to change the problems I see instead of just worrying about them. I want to talk less and pray more.
So-- God, change what you want to change. Make us more like you. Make your body whole. Let us walk in integrity, bravery, and community. Give us real relationships with real people, and let us worship you in Spirit and in truth. Amen.
Euphemistic Eucharist
Howya doin’? What’s up?
Pretty good, not too much,
life goes on, praise the Lord,
the usual and such--
By pretty good I mean
my family’s a mess--
we fight, except not here:
in this house we just bless.
I’m saying in not much
my schedule is insane:
it’s filled with noise and stress
it hardly can contain--
Life just keeps on going,
and so I don’t have time
to let you see beneath
charade and pantomime.
To praise the Lord I smile
and just sing happy songs;
pain stays behind the mask
where it, of course, belongs--
The usual just means
I’d tell you I’m depressed
were I allowed to break
facades so nicely dressed
And such and such and on--
a thousand pointless things
I’d rather say than tell
you anything that stings.
Safe. But are we happy?
We smile; are we alive?
The one place where it seems
reality should thrive,
instead we hide away;
we put our pride above
our pain--how can we throw
our masks aside and love?
Because we need help and we need
to be saved and all of us are
pretty much the same kinds
of messed up so why not just be real?
Can you see here what I’m driving toward?
Maybe then we could really praise the Lord.
So, I realize that my poem is a bit caustic. I'm just trying to honestly address a real issue, though, and the fact that it keeps on coming up among people I talk to lets me know I'm not the only one who feels it. The issue, as you can probably guess from the poem, is that church (not just mine, or anyone else's specifically, but church in general-- the conversations I mentioned at the beginning were with people from three different ones) has a tendency to become a place of fakeness where people don't feel like they can come with their real problems, instead of what it should be: the place where they could safely be honest and receive healing.
3 questions come to my mind: why does this happen, why is it so bad, and what can we do about it?
Let's break my OCD tendencies toward order and symmetry and start right in the middle with the second question. I don't want to belabor the point that the phenomenon I'm talking about is bad news, but I want to start with what I see as the basic reasons why it is so harmful.
The first is that everyone has problems, and problems don't just go away. Of course, drawing near to God is helpful in dealing with them. God can supernaturally solve them whenever he wants to. The problem comes when churches start teaching (or just believing, consciously or subconsciously), that this supernatural encounter with the healing Lord is only a one-on-one deal. Now, I know that God has healed me at times without any help from anyone else--he's just that good. However, the general model that he has laid out for us is something totally different.
"And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." (James 5:15-16). This is God's model for healing. We get other believers involved, and they pray for us so that we will be healed. Catch that? James is letting us know that if we won't share our brokenness, both spiritual and physical, we won't access all the healing that we could because it comes through receiving prayer from each other! So that's one reason why it's a crisis that we don't feel like we can be real in church-- where else will we find the righteous men who can pray powerful and effective prayers for our healing?
Another reason is that everyone has problems, and everyone knows this is true. Even (or especially?) people who aren't Christians yet. We might feel like being real with the stuff of our lives will scare unbelievers away, but I propose that the fakeness we choose instead is infinitely more frightening. Everyone knows that people have problems. Everyone knows that they themselves have problems! So if you walk into a group of people where no one seems to have any, what do you think? You think, I'll never fit in with these people. So another reason this fear of dealing with real issues in church is a problem is because it is actually driving away the broken people who desperately need to receive healing by being prayed for (and who God wants to make into the powerful and effective prayers who will then help restore others!).
Finally, and potentially most seriously, being fake in church will hinder our worship. We might think we can sneak in and deal with our problems alone with God and have ourselves fixed by the time we have to talk to anyone. The problem there is that God is looking for worshipers who worship him in spirit and in truth (John 4:23). If we won't be real with God and with our family, we can't worship him in the way he desires. This is serious stuff, and if you don't think so just read in Exodus and Leviticus about people who tried to worship God in unauthorized ways. If we want his healing presence to be with us, we have to be willing to worship in the spiritual integrity God is seeking. Otherwise, our thanksgiving (Greek: Eucharist) will amount to little more than empty words we use to avoid saying what we really mean.
So, why does it happen that we feel like all we can be at church is just fine and peachy-keen, etc.?
I think it probably comes down to fear, mostly. Just because we all have problems and we know it doesn't mean we necessarily feel comfortable sharing them with people! If our fear of being judged for the things that are still messed up about us trumps our desire to be healed from those things, we won't share, plain and simple. If we have a history of being judged, that makes things worse of course, as does seeing other people be judged in places (like church) where they should be welcomed instead. Put all those things together, and fear wins out a lot of times.
Also, I think there's a misunderstanding in the church of what the Bible really teaches about joy. When it says to be joyful in all circumstances (1 Thessalonians 5:16), is that the same as being happy all the time? If the joy of the Lord is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10), and a fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), are we weak Christians who don't have the Holy Spirit if we go through struggles and trials?
All of the answers are no, in case you're wondering. No one is "too blessed to be stressed" either (although some might be in too much denial not to smile). Joy is not the same thing as happiness, and godly joy is just as compatible with sorrow as with happiness. Jesus himself wept (John 11:35), but he was given the oil of joy more than all his companions (Psalm 45:7). He also got so stressed that he sweated blood (Luke 22:44). So godly joy must be something different than unceasing happiness. What if, instead, it's the ongoing security of knowing that eventually everything will work out for your good because it's all in the control of the all-powerful God who loves you? Then you can feel the pain of loss and brokenness without losing hope, and when you are happy you can be happy for the right reasons. That's the joy that will bring you strength.
One further note on why the problem of disingenuousness happens at church: it kind of gets to be a vicious cycle. No one wants to be the first person to do anything, so if no one is talking about any real stuff, it's that much harder for anyone to break the trend.
Which segues nicely into the last question: what can we do about this thing?
First, let me say that I'm no expert on this. I'm actually more of an expert on being fake, to be quite honest. All I know is that I deeply desire to be real, and I'm starting to learn what that means. So how can we be the ones to step out and start being real in the one place in all the world where the truth should win out? How can streetlights shine into darkness that has clouded the home of light?
The main thing I can see is that we have to start wanting more of God so desperately that we don't care about our own images. We have to care more about what he thinks of us than what anyone else does. This is what it means for him to be our Lord. His opinion is the final word, and what he says goes, no matter what it makes us look like. If we start believing that, maybe we can be the ones to step out and take the first risk. We can't make anyone else be real, but we can show them they won't die if they try it!
Also, we have to confess and repent of our judgmental spirits. This will allow us to bless other people who are real enough to be honest about their problems instead of comparing our own struggles to theirs to see how we stack up. All judgment is comparison, and all comparison is irrelevant because God's love is infinite. What if ours started looking more like his?
We also have to stop getting the truth backwards. It's not that God is so good that his followers shouldn't have any problems; He's so good because welcomes us in spite of them! He fixes them too, but for whatever reason he hasn't chosen to do it instantaneously in most cases. We have to let him be who he is in this instead of making him into a false image of what we want him to be.
I'm sure there is much more to be said on this topic-- does anyone else have any ideas to share on how we can help? I'll end with one I just thought of, which is actually the most important one: prayer. I want to start asking God to change the problems I see instead of just worrying about them. I want to talk less and pray more.
So-- God, change what you want to change. Make us more like you. Make your body whole. Let us walk in integrity, bravery, and community. Give us real relationships with real people, and let us worship you in Spirit and in truth. Amen.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Confession and Repentance
So, I know in the past I've said in my introductory paragraph that a blog entry would be short... and it's turned into a total lie. However, this one really is a quick one (by my standards at least). I think its importance actually comes in part from the fact that it's so simple.
Basically, God showed me this past week that I haven't really been understanding the process of confession and repentance.
I tend to fall into what Timothy Keller (in his book The Prodigal God, which is an excellent book that also derives some of its effectiveness from being short) would call the "elder brother" category. Now, I'm an only child, but this refers to the story (Luke 15:11-32) of the lost son(s), in which the older brother is angry when the "prodigal" son is allowed to return. He had been slaving away sedulously (vocab word for the week) all those years, and the rebellious younger son was welcomed back despite being profligate and wicked.
I don't think I begrudge people their welcome back to God, but the point of the "elder brother" idea is that dedicated people often use (or attempt to use) their morality as leverage on God. I've been slaving away, so you have to do ____ for me, etc. Now, when these slavers (like me) actually do mess up, they try to earn their forgiveness the same way.
Ever spend a lot of time beating yourself up for your failures? I know I have. I thought that was just part of the deal, like a specific amount of self-flagellation would be necessary as proof of being properly sorry so God could forgive you. The "bigger" the sin, the more beating up of self needed, right? Interestingly, this is also the younger son in the story's plan, but the father cuts him off in midstream when he tries to execute it.
That's what happened to me too. I (gasp!) sinned this month, and I was starting to grovel about it when God challenged me to put my silly English major brain to work and remember what some words actually mean: confession, and repentance.
Confession essentially just means stating what you believe to be true. We confess Christ, for example, when we say we believe he is the Savior. It's just telling it like it is.
Repentance, in the literal sense, means turning away from something. It's not the same thing as being sorry at all... it's more like facing in a different direction.
Confessing sin, then, is just telling God what happened.
Repenting of sin is the part where you stop thinking about it.
Is that shocking? It is to me! Something in me doesn't even want to accept that it could be that easy, but the fact remains that Jesus already dealt with our sin on the cross, and God continues to be the good father who cuts us off in the middle of our beating ourselves up.
It's so practical and efficient that it has to be God's design. We get to just tell God, "I sinned, and this is how." He is already fully aware of how bad it was, so no editorializing or grovelling on our part is necessary. Then we're allowed to just leave it behind, trusting that confessing is all we need to do to be forgiven (1 John 1:9).
By the way, not thinking about sin is just like not thinking about a pink elephant (which you just did, of course). In order to do it, you have to think about something else, not focus on what you're trying not to think of. If we try merely to turn away from sin, we have to keep checking to make sure it's still behind us. If you just try not to think about sin, not only are you still thinking about it but you also are much more likely to do it again! We become what we look at, I think. That's why I recommend instead thinking about Jesus dying on the cross, or the fact that no matter what happens, I'm God's son. Don't turn away from sin, turn toward Him. Looking that way moves me to awe and worship instead of gloom and self-focus. I think that's the only way to do it.
"One thing I do: forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:13-14).
What a privilege!
Basically, God showed me this past week that I haven't really been understanding the process of confession and repentance.
I tend to fall into what Timothy Keller (in his book The Prodigal God, which is an excellent book that also derives some of its effectiveness from being short) would call the "elder brother" category. Now, I'm an only child, but this refers to the story (Luke 15:11-32) of the lost son(s), in which the older brother is angry when the "prodigal" son is allowed to return. He had been slaving away sedulously (vocab word for the week) all those years, and the rebellious younger son was welcomed back despite being profligate and wicked.
I don't think I begrudge people their welcome back to God, but the point of the "elder brother" idea is that dedicated people often use (or attempt to use) their morality as leverage on God. I've been slaving away, so you have to do ____ for me, etc. Now, when these slavers (like me) actually do mess up, they try to earn their forgiveness the same way.
Ever spend a lot of time beating yourself up for your failures? I know I have. I thought that was just part of the deal, like a specific amount of self-flagellation would be necessary as proof of being properly sorry so God could forgive you. The "bigger" the sin, the more beating up of self needed, right? Interestingly, this is also the younger son in the story's plan, but the father cuts him off in midstream when he tries to execute it.
That's what happened to me too. I (gasp!) sinned this month, and I was starting to grovel about it when God challenged me to put my silly English major brain to work and remember what some words actually mean: confession, and repentance.
Confession essentially just means stating what you believe to be true. We confess Christ, for example, when we say we believe he is the Savior. It's just telling it like it is.
Repentance, in the literal sense, means turning away from something. It's not the same thing as being sorry at all... it's more like facing in a different direction.
Confessing sin, then, is just telling God what happened.
Repenting of sin is the part where you stop thinking about it.
Is that shocking? It is to me! Something in me doesn't even want to accept that it could be that easy, but the fact remains that Jesus already dealt with our sin on the cross, and God continues to be the good father who cuts us off in the middle of our beating ourselves up.
It's so practical and efficient that it has to be God's design. We get to just tell God, "I sinned, and this is how." He is already fully aware of how bad it was, so no editorializing or grovelling on our part is necessary. Then we're allowed to just leave it behind, trusting that confessing is all we need to do to be forgiven (1 John 1:9).
By the way, not thinking about sin is just like not thinking about a pink elephant (which you just did, of course). In order to do it, you have to think about something else, not focus on what you're trying not to think of. If we try merely to turn away from sin, we have to keep checking to make sure it's still behind us. If you just try not to think about sin, not only are you still thinking about it but you also are much more likely to do it again! We become what we look at, I think. That's why I recommend instead thinking about Jesus dying on the cross, or the fact that no matter what happens, I'm God's son. Don't turn away from sin, turn toward Him. Looking that way moves me to awe and worship instead of gloom and self-focus. I think that's the only way to do it.
"One thing I do: forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:13-14).
What a privilege!
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