Galatians 5:22-23

Oh, the fruit of the Spirit's not an apple. The fruit of the Spirit's not an apple. If you want to be an apple, you might as well hear it - you can't be the fruit of the Spirit.

Indeed, this is the passage that tells us that the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. But what about when you find yourself in need of just a little bite of this fruit, but the Spirit's orchard seems to be woefully empty?

Then, we should say, you are browsing in the wrong orchard.

The Spirit is an interesting character because He never does anything on His own turf; throughout the history of God's people, the Spirit always does things on our turf. That means that when we go browsing in the Spirit's orchard, we're simply fooling ourselves. He grows His fruit in our orchard. 

And that means that if there's no fruit to be found, then we are the ones who have failed to sufficiently cultivate it. 

Look at some of the things that the Spirit has done in the Scriptures. In Acts, the Spirit enables the apostles to speak in new tongues. In the Old Testament, the Spirit enables David to slay the giant, Goliath. In Judges, the Spirit strengthens Samson one more time to bring down the pillars and crush the Philistines. But the apostles still had to speak. David had to take one faithful step into the valley. Samson had to put his hands on the pillars. 

The Spirit didn't just do the work; He enabled God's persons to do it through power and faith.

It's the same for us. The Spirit isn't just growing fruit in random places; He's enabling us to cultivate it in our own lives. And that means that we have to take responsibility for our own orchards. 

It means that we have to make sure that we're providing enough water, living water - that we're living in Christ's love in such a way that it nourishes our soul and what we're trying to grow here. It means that we have to take the pruning shears in our hands and be willing to cut off anything that isn't producing good fruit. We have to cut off impatience, misery, defeatedness, harshness, impulsiveness - anything that isn't the fruit of the Spirit has got to go, in order to make room for what we're growing. It means that every now and then, we need to walk through and sample our own garden, get used to the taste of the things that we're growing. That way, we don't only know what joy looks like; we know what it tastes like. It becomes a real and vibrant experience for us. 

And then when we need it, we know that it's there - plump, full, tender, and ripe. Ready for picking. 

And you know what else? If one day, we have a fruit that doesn't seem so ripe, we can trust in the wisdom of God's incredible creation and leave our orchard to the mysteries of cross-pollination, which spreads across crops and helps them all to grow. 

So if our patience runs a little raw sometimes, that's okay - our goodness may be able to help encourage it. If our gentleness is just a little harsh, that's okay - our peace may offer it what it needs. If we have even one crop that is nourished and well, then our orchard is sound because one thing feeds off another, and this is even more true when the winds blow hard and the bees sting - because these are the very things that move pollen from one place to another.

The fruit of the Spirit's not an apple. But it's just as sweet. We must only be willing to cultivate it in our own orchards, for that is where the Spirit has always done His work. 

Isaiah 40:31

Don't you know? Haven't you heard? The eternal God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, doesn't grow tired or become weary. His understanding is beyond reach. He gives strength to those who grow tired and increases the strength of those who are weak. Even young people grow tired and become weary, and young men will stumble and fall. Yet, the strength of those who wait with hope in the Lord will be renewed. They will soar on wings like eagles. They will run and won't become weary. They will walk and won't grow tired.

What does it even mean to "wait with hope"? For most of us, I think this means something like that we wait with crossed fingers and bated breath, that we hold our hearts in tender limbo, expecting, wanting, but not yet exactly counting our chickens. For most of us, I think that this means that we stand as still as we can, trying not to upset the balance of anything because we're not sure which way the universe (a.k.a. God) is leaning, and we don't want to accidentally tip things in the wrong direction. 

But this verse in Isaiah tells us what it actually means to "wait with hope" - it means to keep moving in a God-ward direction with whatever strength you have.

This means that sometimes, you soar. And soaring is a bit of a different thing than so often easily comes to mind. You see, the magic of soaring for the eagle (or for any bird) is in the hollowness of his wings. It's his emptiness that enables the wind to carry him. So let me ask you this: have you ever felt empty? Are you feeling empty right now? Then, this is the time for you to soar. 

When you soar, all you have to do is open your wings and let the holy wind of God do the rest. Let His breath carry you. Let it take you where He needs you to go. There are several characters in the Bible who soared - Elijah soared when he was too worn out even to feed himself; God sent ravens to feed him. Jonah soared when he was weary and miserable from his journey away from, then toward, Nineveh; God sprung up a plant to shade him from the hot sun. David soared when he was running from his enemies and exhausted; God sheltered him in caves and protected him from his enemies. These men were totally drained, but they never stopped moving in a God-ward direction. And it was God who brought them there.

Waiting with hope means sometimes, you run. Running is what happens when you've got all the fire and fervor in the world, when whatever God's got for you takes such firm hold of you that you can't help but go all-out in pursuit of it. But running, though it's authentically passionate, is not necessarily easy. It tends to make you weary. It makes you weary because not everyone can keep up with your pace. Your energy leads you faster and further than your world is often willing to go with you, and weary doesn't just mean tired or worn out; it means discouraged. Fed up. Disappointed. 

That's what I love about this promise in this verse - if you've got all the fire, God says run with it; He will not let you be discouraged. This is Ezra/Nehemiah, as they sought to rebuild the Temple and the holy city of Jerusalem. This is Daniel, as he pressed for special treatment in Babylon according to his God's wisdom. This is Paul and Peter, who repeatedly found themselves in prison for preaching the word, only to step out of the jail and right back into the public square. They ran with all their fire, and they refused to grow weary.

So when you are empty, you soar, and when you are full, you run. But sometimes, you're neither empty nor full - you just are. And so here, you wait with hope by simply walking...walking in a God-ward direction. Walking is tough because for most of us, it feels like wandering. We don't really know what we're doing. We don't really know where we're going. We're just trying to faithfully put one foot in front of the other and do something, go somewhere. It's prone to make us tired, but we're not talking here about just a physical tiredness; we're talking about an existential tiredness - a.k.a. boredom.

But God says you won't get bored when you're walking Godward. (And honestly, how could you?) He is making sure that our energies stay up, that we don't become either drained or distracted. This is the story of steadfastness, and we could look at nearly any of the prophets as an example. We could look at Israel on her journey through the wilderness. We could look at Jesus on the shores of Galilee. Just faithful walking. 

It's so tempting to think that our faith fails us when we feel like we're in a holding pattern, when we're sure we're just waiting on God to do something and then, it doesn't seem that He does. But this verse reminds us that waiting is not just standing there. It's not just sitting on our duffs, holding out hope. It's taking our hope in our hands and moving, however it is that we are able to move - either soaring on the wind of God in our emptiness, running with the fire and fervor of holy passion, or faithfully putting one foot in front of the other. This is what it means to wait with hope. 

Jeremiah 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord - plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 

Oh, how we love the assurances that this verse seems to give us. But if you're anything like me, you spend a fairly good amount of time looking at where your life is and thinking, "This...does not seem planned." It doesn't seem like the way things ought to be. This doesn't look like a life that God put in this particular order, and if He did, then He must be some kind of sadistic God or I must have done something completely horrible to deserve...this. 

Right? Let's just be honest about it. Because we've all been there.

But this verse isn't really about you. It's not about me. It's not about our individual lives or the way that our day today looks. This verse is about us. It's about God's people as a whole, not necessarily God's persons. 

Because the original Hebrew word here for "you" is plural. For I know the plans I have for ya'll....

And that's actually pretty consistent, since God has always been a God of His people. Essentially everything that we see in Scriptures has a communal thread running through it, even though our modern Christianity has made it the religion of the individual. The story of God makes so little room for such a reading; it's about God's people, God's community. 

God saves Joseph from a well, but it's not about Joseph at all - it's about Israel. Just chapters later, we see the nation of Israel come to Egypt. Joseph's brothers come to him. He saves them all - the people rescued because of what seemed to be God's saving of one man. Moses used to pitch a tent just outside the camp, where God would come to meet with him. God says this is no good and commissions a bigger tent so that He can come and live among all of His people. Paul addresses his letters to churches, even when he greets individuals occasionally by name. The heart of the letters is for the people of God, with side notes for the persons.

See, you're not just trapped in your own life, stuck trying to make sense of things, stuck trying to figure out how all of this could possibly be planned. You're part of a bigger plan. You're part of God's plan for His people, and that's amazing. Because as cool as it would be to have a God who has our lives all planned out, it's far cooler still to have a God who has our lives in His plan.

And you know? Broadening out our vision to see this bigger plan actually reveals to us that it's only in the plan for God's people that God's persons can have what this verse (and the next one) promise anyway. 

This passage promises peace. But how can you have peace in your life if those around you are still living in strife? Their struggle will flow over into your life, and a world without peace can infringe upon yours and rob you of it. But if all God's people have peace, no one has any need to shake yours.

This passage promises hope. But how you can you have hope if the world around you is full of despair? Their darkness will creep into your light. But if all of God's people have hope, no one has any need to dampen yours.

This passage promises home. But how can it be home if you're there all alone? You will have a place, but it won't feel like anything because there's no one there to hold or to hold you. We need each other. But if all God's people are there together, if home is God's plan for all of us, then all of a sudden, it feels like a real place. Like a real belonging. Like, well...like home.

It's hard for us to wrap our minds around the idea that God's plan might not be individually ours, at least not in this promise, but it's so much better if it's not. It's so much better if we're part of the bigger plan, for only when God's people have the promise do God's persons get to live it. 

John 3:16

Any honest look at the hallmark verses of Christian faith has to start with John 3:16, "For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life." We think that this verse hinges on "so loved" or on "only Son" or perhaps on "shall not perish," maybe even "eternal life." But the power and the truth of this verse hinges on this one little word:

"Believes." 

Belief, particularly as it pertains to Christian belief, is something we don't understand very well. It's because we're living in a world that has diminished belief to a simple, one-time profession of faith. "Oh yes, I believe...just in case this whole thing goes south and I need a way out of Hell." We pray the prayer, but we go on sinning, just as Paul told us not to do. 

See, the problem is that belief is not an intellectual practice. It's not just agreeing in our minds that something is, or may be, true. It's not being willing to say, "Yes, I can buy into that" or "That seems plausible." Belief is an experience, and it is necessarily transformative. It engages us, and then it changes us. 

Think about the evidences of belief in the Gospels. The people were constantly hounding Jesus to show them another sign. Perform another miracle. Do something else for them. They needed to experience first-hand His power. They needed to be witnesses before they could ever be believers. Even at the Cross, the Roman soldiers were not convinced there was anything special about this Jesus. Until, that is, they saw how He died. Then, all of a sudden, they're sure He is the Son of God. You have to experience Jesus before you can believe in Him. You can't just think He kind of, sort of, or even really sounds good. That's never been enough. 

And then, you have to be changed by Him. James says plainly that faith without works is dead. Paul says that we have not been saved (believed in Him) just so that we can go on sinning. That's not how any of this works. 

But what if you can't believe? What if you just can't believe? There is a story in the Gospels of this happening - a man comes to Jesus. He experiences Jesus. He wants to be changed, wants to believe all of this, but he cries out - I believe, help my unbelief! Who among us doesn't have these moments?

This is the haunting of John 3:17, the verse that puts 3:16 in context. Verse 17 condemns the man who does not believe, who does not truly believe - that is, who is not changed by his experience of Jesus. 

The kind of unbelief that we see in the Gospel story just cited - that's not what verse 17 is talking about. It's not talking about those of us who are earnestly trying to believe, who are engaged with the Gospel, who are open to being changed. It's talking more about the thief on the cross, the one who refuses to believe. 

There are two thieves with Jesus when He is crucified - one on His left, one on His right. And one cries out about Him being the Son of God and begs for mercy. He is changed by his experience of Jesus. The other thief tells him to shut up and stop bothering the guy. He is not changed by his experience of Jesus. It is this kind of unbelief that is condemned, the kind that can look Jesus right in the eye and decide He's not worth changing for. It's the idea that not all who cry, "Lord, Lord" will be received in Heaven - not all who know what His name is know what His name means. They have not been changed by Him.

Which brings us back to belief - not some intellectual exercise, not some measly, simple, just-in-case prayer, but a life-changing experience of Jesus. The question of John 3:16 is not whether God so loves His world; we know that He does. It's not whether there is eternal life; we know that there is. It's not whether there is a Son, sent to save; we know this is true. 

The question of John 3:16 hinges on this one little word. The question is: do you believe? Truly believe? 

Empty Faith

Last week, we looked at a more faithful reading of the Scriptures as relates to the position of Christ within the Godhead (Trinity). This week, let's roll that into a more faithful reading of the Scriptures in general, since what we're doing right now is not quite working for a lot of Christians (or for the world at large).

There are a lot of Scriptures that we turn to in almost immediately in times of trouble. These are the Scriptures we're most likely to know by heart. They are the ones we're ready to offer our friends at a moment's notice. They are the ones that are emblazened on all of the things we wish to use as public declarations of faith - bumper stickers, T-shirts, coffee mugs. Football players have them on their eye masks; baseball players on their cleats. They are the fodder for many a tattoo.

They are the signs of our faith, and all we have to do is say the book, chapter, and verse, and these words of comfort and confidence are right there. John 3:16. Jeremiah 29:11. Psalm 23. Romans 8:28. And the list goes on and on.

We know the words, but do we know any more what these words mean? Do we really? 

We really don't.

We know what these words mean to us. What we hope they mean. What we've taken them to mean in our darkest times of trouble when we needed them to mean a certain something. But we don't know what most of these verse really mean because if we did, we would know that these are not words of comfort, but words of calling - they are a call to live a deeper life of faith.

Yet, we have made them such shallow words. 

You know what I'm talking about. You know how easy it is to roll your eyes when some of these verses are brought up. They are so overused, we think. So commonly quoted as to have become trite. We're really sick and tired of Christians using these verses as the answer to everything, particularly when we, as Christians, so easily find them the answer to nothing at all any more. They're just...empty. 

The reason these verses are empty for us is not because they are overused, but because they have been completely removed from their context in order to comfort us. They're not trite; they're troubled. And that makes them troublesome. The way that we've come to use these verses in our modern culture, in both our secular and in our Christian worlds, has done something powerfully perverse to these Scriptures - it has set them up in such a way that, taking them tritely, our faith cannot help but fail us.

Yes, you read that right - our use of these Scriptures out of context almost demands that this faith, on which we rely for comfort, will fail us. How could it not? 

So this week (and a bit into next, perhaps), we'll look at some of these verses and how they set our faith up for failure. We'll put them back into their proper context and reclaim their calling for a life of true faith, a faith that doesn't fail.