I would like to write a novel. This is not something new. It has been in the back of my mind since I graduated from college. Really, the desire was present even before that. In third grade I wrote my first (and only) book to date: an illustrated exposé on my archenemy David P., who sat behind me in class, poked and pestered me, and occasionally got me in trouble with the teacher.
Though I have never written a novel, I have read books on the craft. To write a compelling story, an author needs a protagonist and a problem, or rather, problems. One protagonist will do, if his character is adequately developed, but more than one problem is needed. For the reader to be captivated, the problems cannot be trivial. Something crucial must be at stake. The ante must be upped in each succeeding part of the book.
In Robert Louis Stevenson’s novel Kidnapped, young Davy Balfour has a problem: his parents have died, and he is poor. When he goes looking for an uncle he has never met, his problems increase: his uncle has him abducted, and sent to America as an indentured servant aboard the brig Covenant. The ante is upped again: Covenant is shipwrecked. The story continues with Davy encountering and surviving one problem after another.
Think of any movie, and you’ll recognize the same outline. Luke Skywalker is orphaned. His problem is compounded when he comes into possession of a message intended for Obi-Wan-Kenobi and finds himself embroiled in a plot against the Empire. Throughout the story, Luke’s problems multiply and intensify until at last the Death Star is poised to wipe out the rebel alliance.
Sometimes the problem in a story is not outside the protagonist but within. Unless their fatal flaw is overcome, their lives will be “bound in shallows and in miseries.” In all the stories we love, whether in Stevenson or George Lucas, our heroes encounter problems and overcome them or, in the case of Shakespeare’s tragedies, fall before them.
The stories we learned as children followed the same pattern. Red Riding Hood meets a big, hairy problem at her grandmother’s house. Hansel and Gretel’s problems escalate from poverty to parental rejection, to a ravenous witch. Cinderella has a wicked stepmother and stepsisters who treat her like a slave. As midnight approaches, her situation grows more dire: the magic will fail, and she, a mere peasant girl, will be humiliated.
All our favorite stories feature protagonists who move from one problem to another. We resonate with these stories because they ring true to our experience. Opportunities are almost always entangled with problems and successes are offset by losses.
Someone told me years ago that history is God’s story. If that is the case, one would expect God to have a problem—and not some piddling, low-stakes glitch that is easily put right but a deadly dilemma that can only be resolved at great cost. This is precisely what we find in the Bible.
God has a big problem. Rebellion has marred the beautiful world he made, and the beautiful people he made to rule it. The blessing he gave has been replaced by a curse. This is the gist of the first three chapters of the Bible. The next eight chapters up the ante: we see how awful things have become. Then, in the following chapter, God’s rescue plan begins to unfold.
Those familiar with an effective plotline might expect the protagonist – God – to embrace great risk to overcome his problem. This is what we see in the Bible’s best-known line: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son…” That Son’s death, which exemplifies and encompasses every evil ever committed, is gloriously surmounted by the resurrection.
This story, unlike the stories produced by even our best authors, is still being told. It is an interactive story. When we submit our stories to the Author, he writes them into his story, masterfully develops – in patient cooperation with us – our character and gives our lives transcendent meaning.
Many of us (I suspect this is especially true of men) have trouble connecting with the image of the church as a bride. But this is, perhaps, the richest of all biblical metaphors of the church. It is full of hope and pulsing with joy.
Viewing Time: Approximately 27 minutes
I did not grow up dreaming about my wedding day; most boys don’t. I, and I suspect many Christian men, have trouble connecting with the biblical image of the church as the Bride of Christ. We might resonate with the image of the church as an army, but we don’t know what to do with the church as a bride.
Yet that is an important and glorious biblical image of the church. God willing (and he is willing), even the macho men in our church family will be longing for the marriage of the Lamb by the time we leave here today. It epitomizes our Christian hope.
If the number of times an image is used is a gauge of its importance, then the images of wedding and wedding feast are exceptionally important. They are used repeatedly in the Old Testament. Ezekiel 16, which we heard read for us earlier, is one example. Nearly the entire book of Hosea is an example. There are many other passages as well: Isaiah 54:5; Joel 1:8; Jeremiah 3; Isaiah 62:4-5; Jeremiah 31:31-33, and many more.
In the New Testament, we find the same image only now the church is the Bride and the bridegroom is the Messiah. There is 2 Corinthians 11:2, where Paul represents himself as the Father of the Bride who has betrothed his daughter (the Church of Corinth) to Christ: “I am jealous for you with a godly jealousy. I promised you to one husband, to Christ, so that I might present you as a pure virgin to him.”
Jesus used the image of marriage numerous times. In Mark 2, he pictures himself as the bridegroom. In Matthew 22, he pictures God as the Father of the groom on the day of the wedding feast. The scene is again a wedding day in Matthew 25, when the friends of the bride all fall asleep while waiting for the arrival of the groom.
At the very end of the Bible, “the Spirit and the Bride” (the Bride!) “say, “Come!” To whom are they speaking? The Bridegroom. That will make more sense when we understand ancient Jewish marriage rituals. They were different in many respects from our contemporary American rituals.
A marriage in ancient Israel began with a betrothal. Often, the fathers of the couple would arrange the wedding, sometimes years before the bride was of marriageable age. The father of the groom would pay a bride price (called a mohar) to the father of the bride. A ketubah, a marriage contract or covenant, would be signed by both parties and by witnesses. After that, if one of the parties changed their mind about getting married, they would need to get a divorce.
(This, by the way, is why in Matthew 2 Mary is called Joseph’s wife even before their wedding, and why he thought about divorcing her before they had lived together.)
At the signing of the marriage contract, a ceremonial glass of wine was shared. Then the groom would go back to his father’s house. The time period between the signing of the ketubah and the wedding day celebrations, when a second glass of wine was shared to seal the marriage covenant, was usually about a year. Couples did not send out a “save-the-date” card because not even the bride-to-be knew the date. Of course, as the time drew near, anticipation rose. The groom’s return for the bride was eagerly awaited.
What was the groom doing during that year when he returned to his father’s house? He was preparing a place for his bride and himself to live. This might be inside his father’s large house, or he might add on to the house, or build an adjacent house on the property. He was doing his best to make a beautiful place for his bride.
The day would come when the new dwelling place was finished, and the groom would return for his bride. On the day of his wedding, a trumpet would announce his coming. As the groom and his attendants passed through the village on the way to the bride’s home, they would shout.
While all this was going on, the bride would take a ritual bath – it was called a mikvah – and then be dressed in white linen. The groom would take the bride, followed by her attendants, back to his father’s house. That is where the ceremony was held, and the marriage consummated. Then the feast would begin, and it would sometimes continue for a week. It was at this kind of feast that Jesus turned water into wine.
Now overlay what I just shared about ancient Jewish weddings with what the Bible says about Christ and his church. Think of the bride price. In a passage where Paul urges the Corinthians to remain faithful to Christ, he reminds them: “You were bought with a price” (1 Cor. 6:20). Peter says, “For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed … but with the precious blood of Christ…” (1 Peter 1:18).
In light of the wedding tradition of the groom coming to get his bride at a time neither she nor others knew, think of Jesus’s words: “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Mark 13:32) And what about the trumpet blast and the shouts: “For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God” (1 Thess. 4:16). The pieces are falling together, aren’t they?
Remember that a glass of wine had been shared at the signing of the ketubah, and that a second glass of wine would be shared on the day of the wedding itself. Now recall Jesus’s words at the Lord’s Supper: “I tell you the truth, I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it anew in the kingdom of God” (Mark 14:25).
After the ketubah, when the bride was promised to the groom and the covenant with was signed, the groom would return to his father’s house and begin preparing a place for his bride and him to live. Do you remember Jesus’s words to his disciples on the night of his betrayal? “In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” (John 14:2-3).
Think of all the preparations that have gone on. Jesus spoke of “The kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.” “God,” said the author of Hebrews, “is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” It is “The new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.” “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor mind conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him.”
Who are all these preparations for? They are for the Bride of Christ, the church. For you and me, and all those to whom we are joined, if we belong to the church. Psalm 45 gives us the sense of what Christ feels for his church: “The king is enthralled by your beauty.”
Beauty? The Church? We who make up the church? We are all too aware of our blemishes and flaws. How can the King of kings find “the church of the dropouts, the losers, the sinners, the failures, and the fools,” as someone called it, beautiful?
On her wedding day, Joni Eareckson, who is a quadriplegic, felt terribly awkward. Her girlfriends struggled to get her paralyzed body into her wedding gown. This is how she described it: “No amount of corseting and binding my body gave me a perfect shape. The dress just didn’t fit well. Then, as I was wheeling into the church, I glanced down and noticed that I’d accidentally run over the hem of my dress, leaving a greasy tire mark. My paralyzed hands couldn’t hold the bouquet of daisies that lay off-center on my lap. And my chair, though decorated for the wedding, was still a big, clunky gray machine with belts, gears, and ball bearings. I certainly didn’t feel like the picture-perfect bride in a bridal magazine.
“I inched my chair closer to the last pew to catch a glimpse of Ken in front. There he was, standing tall and stately in his formal attire. I saw him looking for me, craning his neck to look up the aisle. My face flushed, and I suddenly couldn’t wait to be with him. I had seen my beloved. The love in Ken’s face had washed away all my feelings of unworthiness. I was his pure and perfect bride.”
What changed? One look of transforming love from the bright eyes of the groom. That is what will change us too from losers, failures, and fools into the radiant bride of Christ, without wrinkle, stain, or any other blemish. Theologians call it the beatific vision. To lock eyes with the One whose briefest glance sets all heaven rejoicing will transform us forever.[1]
Ephesians 5:21-6:9 lets Jesus’s people see what a Christian’s relationships should look like. Verses 25-31 looks especially at a husband’s relationship to his wife. I have shared what that passage says many times over the years and drawn out truths for us husbands to apply, which is what Paul intended. But today I want to focus on what he says about Christ and the church in verses 25-27. Paul is using Christ to illustrate a point, but the illustration itself is rich and full of truth.
“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for herto make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.”
This passage tells us what Christ did and what his purpose was in doing it. What did he do? He gave himself up for the church he loved. How did he do that? He humbled himself, took the form of a servant, suffered, and died a sacrificial death on the cross.
But this passage also tells us why he did that. It tells us his purpose. That is easy to spot in Greek because Paul uses the conjunction ἵνα, which means “so that” and denotes purpose, in verses 26 and 27. Christ endured humiliating and painful suffering – now, a literal translation of verse 26 – “so that she [the church] might be sanctified, being cleansed in a bath of water in the word.”
Remember that a first century Jewish bride had a ritual bath just prior to her wedding.
The NIV goes on, “to present her to himself,” but a literal translation runs, “so that” – another purpose statement – “he might present her to himself.” Why did Christ humble himself, take the form of a servant, become obedient unto death, even death on a cross? So that he could save the girl and make her – the church – his bride.
What is it all about – this story of an exalted king who leaves his throne, exchanges his royal robes for a work uniform, endures opposition from sinners, the shame of crucifixion, and an unjust and painful death? It is about that moment – a moment that begins but never ends – when the Lord Christ takes his glorious bride to himself. All history, including our stories with their joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies, is headed for this moment.
We, and all who have been on earth since the death and resurrection of Jesus, have lived our lives in that period between the betrothal and the wedding. When this age finally ends (and may it end soon!) the betrothal will also end—not because the groom and bride have gone their separate ways but because they have at last been joined. “Here,” as Dante put it, “begins the new life.” We’ll find, as C. S. Lewis so memorably put it, that “All [our] life in this world and all [our] adventures [have] only been the cover and the title page: now at last [we are] beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”[2]
Scripture addresses these things in various ways but reminds us that for now they are beyond our comprehension. Jesus said to Nicodemus, “If I have spoken to you about earthly things and you have not understood, how would you understand if I spoke to you about heavenly things?” The implication is that even the Teacher of Israel could not understand what awaits us. We need to be changed even to conceive so exceeding and eternal a weight of glory.
Paul says that he was caught up into the third heaven where he “saw inexpressible things – things that no one is permitted to tell” (2 Cor. 12:4). The reason for this prohibition is, I suspect, that even the most eloquent and powerful words are bound to mislead. I suppose that someone who had seen what Paul saw and tried to describe it would start and stop a hundred times – “It was like this … Well, no, it wasn’t like that at all” – and then finally give up.
Jesus speaks of what awaits as “the renewal of all things.” The word he used, palingenesia, means literally, “genesis again.” We were not there to witness the first creation. We will be there for the second. But the second genesis will not only happen around us but in us. We will be part of it. “We will be changed, said St. Paul, “in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye” (1 Cor. 15:52). In that instant, we will be transformed: from mortal to immortal, corruptible to incorruptible, weakness to power, dishonor to glory. Anyone who could experience even a moment of that glory would trade his or her entire life for it.
St. Paul, thinking of what awaits us, writes, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” Imagine that for a moment. Our presents sufferings. The old man aches and pains I am beginning to feel. The grief I have known as a brother, a son, a friend. I think of all those times I have sat with people who breathed their last breath. Those times when a life support device was breathing it for them until the medical staff unhooked it. The babies, children, and aged parents whose hands I’ve held as they passed out of this life. The impotence I have felt in the face of wrong. The frustration at my own failure. The disappointment I’ve known at the failures of people I trusted.
Our present sorrows weigh heavily upon us. Our own failures and foolishness are a burden we have had to bear. (Thank God, the weightier burden of our sins was born by another!) We have known sorrow and suffering. Yet, look at what Paul says and dare to believe it: “Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”
In another place (2 Corinthains 4:17) he writes, “Our light affliction …” Pardon me? Light affliction? I would scoff if this wasn’t coming from a man who spent years unjustly imprisoned, was beaten, berated, hated, and mocked.Yet he calls it “our light affliction, which is but for a moment,” and says it “is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” We are destined for glory because we are betrothed to the glorious Christ.
Andrew Peterson was right: “We’ll look back at these tears as old tales.” “And in the end – the end! – is oceans and oceans of love and love again. We’ll see how the tears that have fallen were caught in the hands of the Giver of love and Lover of all, and we’ll look back at these tears as old tales.”
But when will the Bridegroom come and wipe away our tears? When will he fulfill our dreams? After Pearl Harbor, many young couples hurried up and got engaged before the man went off to the other side of the world to fight. The wedding wouldn’t take place until the war ended or he had acquired enough leave to come home. Young women and their mothers would plan the wedding, even print the invitations, but leave the date off. They didn’t know when the bridegroom would return, so they kept abreast of the news and stayed ready. Then one day, the bride-to-be would receive a telegram: “Get your dress ready. I’m on my way.”[3]
There is a war going on and the church’s bridegroom is away. We don’t know when he will appear. But you can be sure there is nothing in heaven or on earth or under the earth that will stop him from coming back for us, his church. If you are not part of the church, join us by putting your faith in Jesus Christ. Lend you voice with ours and with the Spirit’s and say, “Even so, come Lord Jesus.”
[1]Will Willimon, This We Believe: The Good News of Jesus Christ for the World, (Zondervan) p. 222
Thirty years ago, a teacher in a small town near us was scrutinized and nearly fired when it was discovered that he was living with a partner to whom he was not married. The school board considered their living arrangement to be sufficient cause to question the teacher’s character.
Cohabitation without marriage, which was a mark against someone’s character in 1990, is now broadly accepted. An unwillingness to commit to marriage no longer raises eyebrows. Commitment resistance has gone even further today: many people in long-term intimate relationships now see moving in together as too great a sacrifice to make.
This lifestyle choice is popular enough that it has earned a label, “Living Apart Together,” and an acronym, LAT. Recent surveys show that couples are increasingly drawn to LAT. Nearly 10 percent of adults in Western Europe, Canada, and the U.S. say they have intimate partners but live apart. In Britain, the number is closer to 25 percent.
Paula Cocozza, writing in The Guardian, cites the psychotherapist and broadcaster Lucy Beresford’s opinion that “successful LAT relationships achieve a balance between independence and emotional commitment.”
I am struck by the use of the adjective “successful” in that sentence. What, I wonder, constitutes a successful LAT relationship? Should it be gauged by independence or sexual satisfaction or financial health? How long might a “successful” LAT relationship last? Is it expected to last? If not, is it a source of emotional strength or emotional stress?
Beresford, who is an advocate of LAT, believes that longer lifespans virtually necessitate some such relationship scenario. “If we are going to live to 110,” she writes, “some of our relationships might have a life expectancy of more than 80 years.” The thought of spending 80 years in a committed married relationship appears to her to be unrealistic. Relationships that require less commitment seem to offer greater sustainability.
But is this true? Does less commitment equal longer relationships? The LAT movement has not been around long enough to test that thesis, but I find it highly suspect. Less commitment is usually a predictor of a short life for relationships of all kinds: in romance, friendship, and business.
Leah Rockwell, who is a professional counselor, has written about her own LAT relationship in Good Housekeeping. She explains that she chose to live apart from her romantic partner because: “I’ve come to prefer joy with only a small side dish of turmoil.” I wonder why Rockwell equates living together with turmoil and living alone with joy.
An interviewee in a study published by The Sociological Review agrees with Rockwell. She said, “I have the best of both worlds, I do have a relationship but … I can do my own thing.” Indeed, one of the reasons women frequently give for preferring LAT relationships is that the separation frees them from the traditional feminine roles of homemaker, cook, and cleaning person.
This is, however, not how LAT tends to function in real life. The woman still has her own house to clean and according to research by Simon Duncan, Emeritus Professor in Social Policy at Bradford University, often continues to perform traditional roles within LAT relationships.
Duncan’s research also suggests that many couples consider their LAT relationship to be “a less than optimal choice.” He writes that “research shows a darker motivation – people can end up living apart because they feel anxious, vulnerable, even fearful about living with a partner.
In Jonathon Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, Gulliver visits an academy of higher learning on the flying island of Laputa, where research professors explore novel ways to better the world. He meets an architectural professor who, after watching spiders and bees, has come up with a revolutionary approach to construction. His idea is to build houses from the roof down.
LAT, I suggest, takes a similar approach to building relationships. People try to build a relationship from its roof – companionship and sexual satisfaction – rather than from a foundation of wholehearted commitment. There is an order in which relationships, just like houses, must be built. Violate that order, and things go very wrong.
Viewing Time: Approximately 26 minutes (Text below.)
Melissa Highsmith was kidnapped by a babysitter when she was just 22 months old. Her kidnapper changed her name and raised her as her own in the city where she was born, but Melissa never had an inkling about her true identity. For 51 years, she thought her name was Melanie and that her kidnapper was her m other.
Late last year, her biological parents, who had never given up searching for her, located her and then proved to her through DNA testing that she was their daughter. For fifty-one years, Melissa lived a lie and didn’t know it. If you had asked her who she was, she would have answered with confidence, but she would have been wrong.
Melissa was part of a family she knew nothing about. She had younger siblings, a mother, and a dad. She shared their DNA, their blood ran in her veins, she belonged to and with them. But because of the abduction, she was not able to share their lives.
Like Melissa, we might be confused about our true identity. We might not realize who we are and to whom we belong. The human race has been abducted and raised to believe that we are someone we are not. We have missed out on our family heritage, family gatherings, and our place in the family business.
When Melissa Highsmith found her parents, or rather, was found by them, she began to live out of her true identity. There is something like this in our text. We who belong to Jesus have a defined identity and a family business, and yet we may not know it. Peter uses the Old Testament like a DNA test to prove our identity and establish our role.
Let’s read our text, 1 Peter 2:4-10. As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him—you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says: “See, I lay a stone in Zion, a chosen and precious Cornerstone, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame.”
Now to you who believe, this stone is precious. But to those who do not believe, “The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone,” and, “A stone that causes people to stumble and a rock that makes them fall.” They stumble because they disobey the message—which is also what they were destined for.
But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
It is almost impossible to get across how dependent this passage is on the Old Testament. In the seven verses I just read, I counted 15 Old Testament citations and allusions That first phrase in verse 4 probably comes from Psalm 34, where the word we have translated “As you come” is used for coming to God in worship. As we come to the Living Stone – the resurrected Jesus, in whom the eternal life of God is bursting forth – we become living stones in God’s final temple building project.
In our Western, individualist way of thinking, we might read over that and yet miss its significance: you cannot come to Christ without coming to his church. There is no “just Jesus and me” mindset in Scripture. If you are united to him, you are united to us. “The Bible knows nothing of solitary religion.”
Peter makes ample use of singular corporate nouns throughout this passage: priesthood (not priest), people (not person), nation (not individual) to bring out the truth that our identity is wrapped up in the family we belong to, the group of which we are members. We are what we are not because we are outstanding individuals, or even lucky ones, but because we are connected to Christ and his church.
And it is in that connection that we discover our identity and our role. We will look first at our identity and then we will come back to the special role that God has assigned to us in the world.
It is important that we understand our identity, and that for two reasons: First, so that we don’t end up like Melissa Highsmith, living a life that is not our own, missing out on our family, and failing to fulfill the role God has given us in the world; and second, so that we don’t mistreat others by failing to recognize their place in God’s people.
In the middle of the last century, a man was traveling overnight by train to Baltimore for an important business meeting. He told the porter that he was a heavy sleeper and would need to be awakened before they reached Baltimore at 4:00 AM. He said, “I’ll be completely out of it. I may even argue with you. But, whatever it takes, make sure I get off at my station. I can’t afford to miss this meeting.”
When he awoke the next morning, the sun was already up, and he knew at once he had missed his stop. He found the porter, yelled at him for three minutes, then got off at the next stop. A bystander said to the porter, “That was the most shameful display I’ve ever witnessed. I’ve never seen anyone so angry.”
The porter replied, “You should have seen the guy I forced off the train in Baltimore at four o’clock this morning!”
It is not just our identity that is at stake. We mustn’t misidentify others who are members of Christ. They belong to God’s family too and have a role in the family business.
Melissa Highsmith discovered her true identity through a DNA match. The genetic markers that showed up confirmed that she was part of the family. In the church, our spiritual DNA has markers too. Look at verse 9, where we see that those who belong to Jesus are a chosen people. That is an identity marker: we are chosen.
We need to remember to whom Peter is writing: Christians living as aliens and exiles. They don’t fit in the communities where they find themselves. Worse than that, they are persecuted. They are going through what Peter calls a “fiery trial” (4:12) They are distressed by various trials (1:6). Ongoing pain isolates people and can make them feel worthless. No wonder Peter reminds them at the very beginning of the letter, then here again in the middle section, and then once more at the end of the letter that they are chosen.
This is part of our DNA. We are chosen. We are wanted. But there is more to it than that. We are chosen like Christ and in Christ. Peter reminds these struggling believers that Christ is the chosen of God, yet he (like them) was discriminated against. He was (verse 7) “the stone the builders rejected.”
The background is this. When major building projects were undertaken – like a palace or temple – the stones used were inspected by the builders before being placed. Peter pictures the builders (Israel’s leaders) inspecting Jesus and rejecting him as inadequate. But it is not the builders’ opinion that matters; it is the architect’s. He overrules them and makes the stone they rejected the keystone of the whole building. Likewise, it is not the opinion of the Christian’s persecutors that matters. It is God’s, and he has chosen them in Christ.
Not only are they a chosen people, but they are also a royal priesthood. That is an identity marker. In Israel, only people who were from the tribe of Levi could be priests. That eliminated about 90 percent of the nation. But eligibility was narrowed down again. Only Levites descended from Aaron himself could be priests. And then it was narrowed down ever further. Only people from the tribe of Levi and the family of Aaron, who were men could be priests.
But every man, woman, and child who belongs to Christ, whatever their race or sex or ancestry, belongs to Christ’s royal priesthood. The distinguishing mark of a priest is that he or she has access to God. Christians have unique access to God through their relationship with Christ. We belong to the priesthood. It is part of our spiritual DNA.
The next identifier is holiness; we are a holy nation. This holiness is not first of all about how we act: what we do and what we do not do. That is secondary. It is first about who we belong to. If we get that out of order, we will try to conform our behavior to a set of rules (at least when people are watching) rather than live out of our sense of identity. That way leads to legalism and joylessness and failure.
God has set us apart for himself and for his purposes, just as he did ancient Israel. When we understand this holiness to be a part of our identity, we can start using the “rules” as helpful guides rather than depending on them for motive power.
Think of rules as the bumper rails bowling alleys offer for the inexperienced. The rails don’t make the ball go; they just keep it in the lane. And no one wants to use the rails if they can help it. The better you get at bowling, the less often you need them.
People whose identity is in their connection to Jesus and whose motive power is God’s Spirit will gradually have less need of the rails (the rules) as they grow in Christ. It’s not that they resent the rules. They love them and are grateful for them. They come to realize how wonderful they are. But they don’t rely on them – they’d never mature that way. They rely on Christ.
A fourth important identity marker (still verse 9) is that we are God’s special possession. Peter borrowed the term from Exodus 19:6 and Isaiah 43:20-21. The word translated as “special possession” in the NIV 2011 indicates something a person protects and treasures.
In the summer of 2021, we held a classic car show on the grounds here at Lockwood. The car that took high honors was a 1966 International Scout. When the show was over, I closed the hood of that scout, lowered it to within three or four inches of the latch, and let it go, and it slammed shut.
You would have thought I had mugged an old woman or spanked someone else’s two-year-old. A classic car owner – not even the owner of the Scout – looked at me like I was a two-headed monster. This was someone’s “special possession.” It needed to be treated that way.
That, Peter says, is how God feels about us. We are his special possession, and he takes care of us. You may not feel like God has taken care of you: maybe you lost your retirement savings in the stock market, or have contracted a serious illness, or got hurt in a bad relationship. But God is preserving you for something bigger than comfort or ease. He is preserving you for glory and inexpressible joy (to borrow Peter’s words). Even when you suffer, even when you die, he will keep you for himself.
Once we know who we are, we can understand what we are to do. Our responsibility comes out of our identity. Peter looks at our role from various angles. So, in verse 5, he says that we are being built into a spiritual house – a temple. We, not as individuals but together as the people of Christ, are being built into a temple.
What does that mean? To answer that question, we need to understand what a temple is. A temple is a place where a god manifests himself, a place where people come to meet a god and connect to him. In the Old Testament, people came there from all over the world to Solomon’s temple to worship God, inquire of him, and seek his blessing.
But in 586 BC, Babylonian troops breached the walls of Jerusalem, killed untold numbers of people, and razed the temple to the ground. The Jews rebuilt it (the final phase alone took 46 years to complete), and then the same thing happened in 70 AD. A physical temple has limitations. It is localized; people must come to it; it cannot come to them. A physical temple can be destroyed, can cease to exist.
So, God had a radically different plan in mind. The first two temples were built with dead stones. God intended to build the new temple out of living people. In this way, the temple could go to people rather than waiting for people to come to it. Instead of being local, it would be universal. And since it was not localized, it could not be destroyed.
As God’s temple, our role is to be the meeting place between God and people. We become – not primarily as individuals but together as a group – the place where God manifests himself. When we gather in Jesus’s name, God is among us and people can encounter him. (Perhaps you have encountered him today.)
But our role (still v. 5) is not only to be God’s new, moveable, indestructible temple but to be King Jesus’s priesthood. Priests have a two-part role: they represent God to humans and humans to God. Christopher Wright summed it up this way: “We are called to be the living proof of the living God, to bring God to people and to bring people to God.”[1]
Because a priest has access to God, he or she can offer sacrifices. You may object: “But Christ ‘offered one sacrifice for sins for all time’ (Hebrews 10:12), ending the sacrificial system.” But you are mistaken. It’s true that there need be no further sacrifice for sin: Christ’s sacrifice is eternally sufficient. But God’s people have always offered other sacrifices besides sin offerings. There were fellowship offerings and thank offerings.
Peter describes the offerings we make as spiritual sacrifices. We may offer a sacrifice of praise, as the author of Hebrews describes it (Hebrews 13:15). When I am discouraged, or hurt, and everything is wrong, but I nevertheless praise God as the One who is right – that is a costly sacrifice that is pleasing to God. Some of you offered that very sacrifice this morning during our time of praise and worship.
Doing good to others is another type of spiritual sacrifice (Hebrews 13:16). When I see the opportunity to help someone and do so, that is a sacrifice, and it pleases God. And when I share what I have with them – my time, my money, my car (by driving them to a doctor’s appointment) or a meal, or even a listening ear, God receives that as a sacrifice to himself and our fellowship with him is real.
As priests, we also have the duty of blessing people in the name of the Lord. I have met Christians who seem to think it is their duty to criticize people in the name of the Lord. But criticizing is satan’s role, not ours. We better leave that to his priesthood. We bless people.
Criticizing can be easier than blessing. Yet blessing people is central to who we are, and it is right at the heart of God’s plan for the world. We must not forget that we, by the grace of Christ, are the children of Abraham, and it is through Abaham and his seed that God still intends to bless all peoples on earth.
As the chosen people, royal priesthood, holy nation that is God’s special possession, we have yet another role (this is verse 9): to “declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” We are in advertising. Our role is to announce to everyone the great things about God. We tell people who’ve never heard, and we tell people who’ve stopped listening. We tell people who don’t believe a word of it, and we tell them in a way that evokes interest.
But we don’t just tell them. We tell them against the background music of a beautiful life of good deeds (verse 12). Everyone in advertising knows a good musical score can capture people’s attention and open their hearts. When persuasive words and beautiful music combine, the effect is powerful. God has already written the musical score for your life – the good deeds he has prepared beforehand for you to walk in (Ephesians 2:10). When that beautiful life provides the musical backdrop for your words about God, your advertising hits home.
But remember that this is not all about you as an individual, but rather about us as a group – God’s group, his family, his temple, his priesthood. The beautiful music is not a sonata for solo instrument, but a symphony for a large orchestra. In this way, the church itself becomes part of the advertising. Our relationships with each other and our good deeds toward each other add to the beauty and give our words credibility. If the soundtrack of loving deeds plays between us while we declare the praises of the One who called us out of darkness, people will glorify God on the day he visits us.
The application is simple: Love the church of Jesus Christ and take your rightful place in it.
In 1976, Tom Wolfe published, “The Me Decade and the Third Great Awakening,” in New York Magazine. I find Wolfe’s style painful to read (there are 103 exclamation points in this article) but his cultural analysis was impressive. He detected a religious impulse behind many of the cultural movements of the sixties and seventies.
He labeled the seventies “the Me Decade” because he saw “considerable narcissism” as the cultural constant behind a variety of emerging movements: sexual liberation, church renewal programs, Scientology, and various psychological therapies. A newly divinized deity had arrived in the pantheon of gods: “Me.”
Wolfe ends the article by noting that common people were now doing “something that only aristocrats (and intellectuals and artists) were supposed to do—they discovered and started doting on Me!” Of all America’s religious awakenings, Wolfe says, this one “has the mightiest holiest roll of all, the beat that goes … Me … Me … Me … Me …”
Wolfe’s phrase, “the Me Decade” was quickly taken up by journalists and intellectuals and soon broadened into the “the Me Generation.” In 2013, Time Magazine labeled millennials as “the Me Me Generation.” But narcissism cannot be limited to a decade or a generation. A recent poll found that 84 percent of Americans said that “enjoying yourself is the highest goal of life.” If those findings are accurate, we are a “Me Society.”
Jean Twenge, of San Diego State, teamed up with Keith Campbell of the University of Georgia to write, “The Narcissism Epidemic” in 2010. At the time, they found that narcissistic personality traits have, since the 1980s, been rising as quickly as obesity and that the rate of increase was accelerating.
The CDC regards obesity, which is ranked as the top threat to personal wellbeing in the United States, as a risk factor for hypertension, type 2 diabetes, coronary heart disease, stroke, osteoarthritis, and sleep apnea. Twenge and Campbell believe that the dramatic rise in narcissistic traits also pose a threat to American’s wellbeing.
America’s focus on self-admiration, they claim, has set off a cultural flight from reality. “We have phony rich people (with interest-only mortgages and piles of debt), phony beauty (with plastic surgery and cosmetic procedures), phony athletes (with performance-enhancing drugs), phony celebrities (via reality TV and YouTube), phony genius students (with grade inflation), a phony national economy,” which is now approaching 32 trillion dollars in debt.
When reality reasserts itself, as it is bound to do, and phoniness is revealed for what it is, what happens then? But perhaps that is already occurring. Suicide rates have increased each decade since the 1950s. Between 1950 and 2018, the suicide rate for older teens has increased just under 400 percent. Almost 5 percent of the adult population experiences depressive episodes and 11 percent of physician office visits deal with depression.
Relationships are also challenging in a Me Society. From the time I was born until the time I went to college, divorce rates more than doubled. The number of Americans who never marry has risen by 14 percent in less than twenty years. The Survey Center on American Life reports that since 1990, the number of men with at least six close friends has decreased by half. The number of men who say they have no friends has risen by a factor of five.
A couple of things must happen if we are to move from a “Me Society” to an “Us Community.” We must stop allowing the broader culture to define success for us. More does not equal success, as Jesus plainly taught. The 85-year-long Harvard Study of Adult Development has come to the same conclusion: Happiness is found in healthy, intimate relationships.
Because the “me first” mindset is rooted in insecurity, we will only be able to move out of it if we feel secure. A vibrant and assured faith is critical at this point. If we know, in St. Paul’s words, that “God is for us” and “will graciously give us” everything we need, we can entrust ourselves to his care and cultivate those healthy, intimate relationships.
But it is impossible to live this life alone. We need others who will join us. We need community.
Tom Wolfe coined the phrase “The Me Decade.” That quickly evolved into “the Me Generation.” Time Magazine referred to millennials as “The Me, Me Generation.” Let’s face it: we are now a “Me Society.” In this class, we think about what the Bible, and especially Jesus, have to say to the Me Society.
In 1 Peter 2:11, Peter calls the people of Jesus “foreigners and exiles.” They have green cards. They’re here on work and student visas. It is not their ambition to settle down, though if they can make this a better place, they should. Like the exiles in Babylon, God wants them to earnestly seek the welfare of the city and country where he has placed them (Jer. 29:7).
If we are Christians, we are alien residents. We probably don’t quite fit in. We talk the way other people do; we sound different. Some of the things the people around us value most, we don’t care about at all. The things that fascinate them – the hobbies they love, the things they expend time and money on – are things we don’t get into and can’t understand.
As alien residents and exiles, we have a longing for a better country (Hebrews 11:16). We are wired for it – or, I should say, are being rewired for it. Before God transferred us into his kingdom and issued us citizenship, we stayed current on the latest fads and styles. When our only citizenship was here, we spoke the same language – used all the popular buzzwords, epithets, and insults. We shared the same hope as everyone else: to live hassle-free, build financial security, and enjoy the things that money can buy. What else is there?
But then something happened to us. The Bible describes it in various ways: God called us. We were converted – or better, we entered the conversion process. We received God’s Spirit, were made alive, rescued out of darkness, and transferred into the kingdom His beloved Son (Col. 1:13 NASB).
Now, we are in the process of being rewired. The Bible also describes that in various ways. We are being sanctified. We are being conformed to the likeness of God’s Son. We are being renovated in the image of our creator (Colossians 3:10 NASB). We are being metamorphosed – turned into a new kind of being – through the renewal of our minds (Romans 12:2).
As I just said, we are in process, which means we are unfinished. We are somewhere between fleshly and spiritual, between Christlikeness and Adam-likeness. We are in between, which is an uncomfortable place to be. Our desires are changing, but the old desires still have influence—sometimes too much influence. It is still too easy to go back, settle in, and be like everyone else.
Unless we nurture these new desires, we will not grow up in our salvation (1 Peter 2: 2), and if we regularly gratify the old desires, they will hang around. Karen and I feed birds, and they hang around as long as they have any hope of being fed. Desires, like those birds, only go away when we stop feeding them. They only stay away when new desires take their place.
This is why St. Peter urges these alien residents to “abstain,” that is, keep away from “sinful desires” (or “fleshly lusts” as the NASB more literally translates), “that wage war against” our souls. I suspect the NIV opted for “sinful desires” rather than “fleshly lusts” because they feared readers would think only of sexual desire, and Peter has more in mind than that. Any desire is sinful that can only be fulfilled outside of God’s ways and apart from love.
Peter’s wants us to keep such things at a distance. Don’t get too close to them; they wage war against your soul. “Wage war” translates a verb that gives us the word “strategize.” These desires strategize their fulfillment. That explains how we can end up doing something we didn’t intend to do. There was a behind-the-scenes, covert strategy– a strategy whose presence we were almost, but not quite, unaware of – at work inside us.
Now, let’s recap. We have seen saw that our resident status changed when we trusted Christ and were granted citizenship in God’s kingdom. Even though we were born and raised here, we became alien residents – and we are becoming more alien by the day. We also saw that if we continue to feed our pre-conversion desires, they will continue seeking satisfaction. Unless those desires are being replaced and rewired, we will get stuck in the uncomfortable in-between place.
The thing for the follower of Jesus is not to get stuck but to keep moving into God’s kingdom. We must increasingly identify with the people of that country, especially its king, Jesus.
The second keyword in this verse, “exiles,” addresses that. If there is a difference between the two words (and there must be—why else would Peter use both?), it is that this word stresses the transitoriness of our stay here. We are living here, but we’ve not settled here. We are planning a move. In fact, we are moving further up and further into the kingdom of God.
This is a hopeful word. But our hope is not to escape hassles but to become like Christ and live under his rule in a new heaven and earth. We mustn’t let our present circumstances rob us of that hope. We are, in the words of the author of Hebrews, “aliens and strangers” (Hebrews 11:13) here – we don’t deny it – but we “are longing for a better country,” a “country of our own.”
Resident aliens – wherever you find them – tend to stick together. They understand each other, but other people don’t understand them. They feel most at home when they are with each other. They appreciate the people who share their story, customs, and values. Some people treat them as unwanted intruders, but there is a place where they know they’ll be accepted. It’s not that they don’t enjoy other people – they do. But they are most comfortable with other resident aliens.
Now, look at verse 12. “Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.”
Peter was not the only person to warn against sinful desires in the first century. Many contemporary philosophers did too. Their reason for avoiding such desires was to free the soul from earthly distractions.[1] That was not what Peter had in mind. He wanted Jesus’s people to avoid sinful desires so that could live good lives among the pagans, or as the New American Standard Bible put it, so they could “keep their behavior excellent among the Gentiles.”
The word the NASB rendered “behavior” is most often translated as “way of life” in the NIV. Peter wants Christians to have a distinctive way of life that is distinguishable from their neighbors. There really is a Christian way to live.
Our former elder Dave Knapp and I once met with two young Muslim men who had come to a worship service at Lockwood and then stomped out in protest. We got in touch with them afterward and set up a meeting at a local restaurant. As we talked, it became clear that they held numerous misconceptions about Christians and the Christian faith.
At one point, the more outspoken of the two said to us: “There is a Muslim way to do everything.” He gave several examples, ending with, “There is a Muslim way to tie your shoes.” I took advantage of that comment to say, “There is a Christian way to do everything too.” He looked at me inquiringly. Then I added, “The Christian way is to do everything in love.” (That, by the way, is 1 Corinthians 16:14).
Peter would have agreed, but here he states it differently. He says, “Live such good lives among the pagans…” “Good” is how the NIV translates the Greek word καλός, which is one of two New Testament words routinely translated that way. This one carries the connotation of a good that is attractive.
Peter wants his Christian friends to lead lives that are attractive to outsiders. Let’s pause right there to ask if our way of life is attractive to family members, friends, and co-workers who are not Christians. If our way of life is just like theirs, they will not find it attractive, for most people are discontented with their lives. Peter assumes, as does every biblical author, that a Christian’s life will differ from a non-Christian’s.
What kinds of differences might prove attractive? Hope, for one. Our society is increasingly hopeless. When people encounter genuine hope, it piques their interest. That is why Peter will, in the next part of this letter, counsel Christians: “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” Does hope characterize your life? Are you increasingly hopeful?
Contentment is another. People who are richly contented and vocally grateful are attractive. People who complain constantly are not. In St. Paul’s words, we must learn the secret of contentment. We owe it to ourselves, our non-Christian friends, but, most of all, our Redeemer to find contentment in our lives.
Our relationships in the church should also be attractive to others. That will only be true if we give them priority. Our relationships need to be genuine, honest, and richly rewarding. A natural give-and-take and an atmosphere of family-like love should characterize them. For that to happen, we must give more time to our church family relationships than just the hour or two we spend here on Sunday mornings.
But even if our way of life is attractive and good, Peter sees trouble coming. This is verse 12: “Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong ….” Let’s pause there for a moment. Peter expects people to say negative things about Christians even though they live good lives.
The NIV’s “accuse” translates a Greek compound word comprised of the prefix “against” and the root “to speak.” They speak against you, Peter says, as evildoers. Does that sound at all familiar? Christians are routinely being accused of evildoing these days. NBC reported that racism is higher among white Christians than among the general public. Blaming Christians for the suicides of gay and transgender students is almost a reflex action on the part of some. Politico recently ran an article titled “It’s Time to Talk About Violent Christian Extremism.”
The same kind of thing was going on in Peter’s day. Christians were accused of causing political turmoil (see Acts 17:6 for one example.) People said that Christians were sexually perverted, accused them of cannibalism, and blamed natural disasters (like the famine of the late 40s) on their atheism. (Christians were called atheists because they did not acknowledge the gods of the Greek and Roman pantheon.) Even the reputable historian Tacitus reported that Christians were “hated because of their vices.” Because of these wild accusations, more and more Christians were finding themselves in the court system.
We should not be surprised when people call us the bad guys. Jesus told us it was coming. “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.” Let’s just make sure that when they accuse us of evil, their accusations are false. Let’s ensure that no gay or trans student ever despairs because of some flippant or caustic remark we made on social media. Let’s never say anything that might inspire hatred or violence. We can speak confidently about what the Bible affirms without speaking negatively about the people who disagree. If we can’t, we’d do well to keep our mouths shut.
And let’s not whine. People will (sometimes willfully) misunderstand us, impugn our character, question our motives, and falsely accuse us. If that happens, let’s not follow social media norms by attacking them on Twitter or throwing tantrums on Facebook. The good and beautiful life that Peter describes is not a whiner’s life. No one is attracted to that.
But it is a life of good deeds. Let’s pick back up with verse 12: “Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.” Peter knows that the negative reviews that were bandied about the social media of his day would not be stopped by whining or verbal counterattacks.
So, he takes the long view. Nothing short of a good life will change people’s minds, and some people will not be convinced even by that. Good lives are comprised of many good deeds, not just one or two, so this project will take time. Peter uses an unusual word here (it only appears twice in the New Testament, and both are in this letter). The NIV translates it as “see your good deeds,” but it might better be translated as “oversee” (in a sense similar to “overhear”). People can’t help but notice “your good deeds.”
In the other place this word is used, a non-Christian husband can’t help but notice the difference that faith in Christ makes in his wife’s life. Something like that doesn’t happen overnight. It can take years. In the same way, we need to know that the good life/good deeds project Peter advocates will take time.
The hope is that they – non-Christian neighbors, friends, and even enemies – may glorify God on the day he visits us. A literal translation runs: “…may glorify God on the day of visitation.” That phrase is used one other time in the New Testament and four times in the Old. It can refer to the day God visits with salvation or, as in Isaiah 10:3, when he comes to judge. Either way, people will glorify God and admit he is right, but what if we could help neighbors, friends, and even enemies experience his coming as the day of their salvation?
We need to take the long view. We must not get impatient, lash out, or whine. Jesus told us this would happen, and Peter gave us a plan for dealing with it. But we will need each other – it is hard to be criticized – so we’d better have some encouraging friends helping us stick to the plan. We need to be the family we discussed two weeks ago.
How can we apply what we’ve seen in the ancient past to our contemporary situation? The place to begin is with an honest look – we’ll need God’s help with that – at ourselves. Is there anything in our lives that would attract an unbeliever to Christ? Are there things in our lives that might keep them from faith: a judgmental spirit, anger, pride, or hypocrisy? If there are, we need to admit that to God, and we may need to ask for forgiveness from people.
If we have been accused of wrongdoing, the first thing to do is make sure that the accusation is false. We should confide in a friend or pastor and pray together about the accusation. We must be careful (these are St. Paul’s words) that “nobody pays back wrong for wrong” (1 Thessalonians 5:15). This is so easy to do, especially in our day when even our highest officials publicly engage in verbal attacks and counterattacks. They may do so; we may not. Whether we are on Twitter or not, we are in Christ; let’s act like it.
Peter’s plan involves doing good deeds that non-Christians can observe. The implication is that we are out where people can see us. That may be as simple as praying before a meal at a restaurant. Or it may mean volunteering at the free health clinic, the food pantry, or Beginnings Care for Life. It may mean sticking up for the teenage cashier when someone insults her for taking too long. We don’t do these things to be seen but to love, to “live a life of love,” as the Apostle puts it.
Nevertheless, we know that we are being observed. That is true whether people notice our good deeds or not. Our Father is watching, and he will be pleased.
Jesus’s word in John 15 struck me this week. In verses 12 and 17, he restates his central command to his followers: Love each other. What I noticed this week is the context in which he gave that command. In verses 12 and 17, he tells his disciples to love each other. Then in verse 18, he warns them that the world may hate them.
Do you see the connection? When the world hates us, we love each other. We don’t go into hiding, and we don’t throw tantrums. We love. We love the people that hate us, as Jesus taught us to do, and we love each other. Jesus knew that our love and support for each other would be vital. When society speaks against us, we speak for each other. When society condemns us, we accept each other. When people we know walk away from us, our brothers and sisters walk beside us.
If you don’t have that kind of relationship with people at church, I encourage you to begin to develop it. It is not too late. It is right on time.
In 2023, I will finish my work at the church I have served for decades. My wife and I love our church and want it to flourish after we move on. So, of course, we want the next pastor to be someone God has approved for this role. But how will the church recognize that person?
The Bible’s so-called “pastoral epistles” offer helpful guidance. The third chapter of Paul’s first letter to Timothy highlights fifteen qualities of a church “overseer.” These include both character and behavioral traits, which can be seen in the overseer’s relationships.
For example, the overseer is to be a “one woman man.” This verse might lead to an argument for or against women clergy, but it is important to remember that was not in question in the first century. What was in question was the character of the pastor. Was he a “one woman man” or was he a flirt? Did he have roving eyes? Did he objectify women? If so, he was not the man for the job, whatever talents he might possess.
Another desired trait is gentleness. The pastor must not be a “my way or the highway” kind of guy. He can yield in matters of preference and opinion. He is not a bully. He does not strike out at people who disagree with him. He does not have to win every argument.
The overseer/pastor is “able to teach.” This means more than he is able to speak well or even eloquently. He is able to teach because he is always learning. He not only takes in information, but he also uses it in his own life and is able to help others do the same.
Our church, and any church, will do well to form interview questions for the prospective pastor and his references to determine whether or not the fifteen character and behavioral traits are in place. This will require careful thinking and prayerful conversations.
Many churches are aware of the leadership requirements listed in 1 Timothy 3, but the next chapter also offers valuable insights into what makes a good pastor. There the Apostle Paul offers personal guidance to his protégé Timothy on how to be “a good minister of Christ Jesus.”
The pastor’s speech should be exemplary. Preaching is critical, but how he speaks when he is not behind the pulpit is even more important. Does his speech align with biblical standards? Are his conversations true, loving, gentle, worthwhile, free of gossip, manipulation, and deceit?
A pastor’s speech is important, but he mustn’t be all talk. His “life and doctrine” must match. He should never resort to telling his family or his congregation to “Do as I say, not as I do.”
What does the pastor consider important? How does he spend his time? Does he value people more than money, character more than fashion? Is he willing to do menial labor? If church members all patterned their lifestyle after their pastor, would the church be a better or worse place?
The old apostle specifically instructs the young pastor to model a life of love. Love may be taught from the pulpit, but it is caught through personal interactions. In a world that is often loveless, the church offers a place where people know they are loved. The pastor should take the lead in demonstrating that love.
A pastor ought to be devoted to Scripture. When my youngest son was in graduate school, he told me that he had been to many churches but had not yet found a pastor who really knew the Bible. That should not be. The pastor must know the Bible, love the Bible, and read it privately as well as publicly. He should have a devotional life outside his Sunday preparations, otherwise he will teach his opinions, not the Scriptures.
It is essential that the pastor is growing as a person and as a disciple of Jesus. Paul wants Timothy’s growth to be so evident “that everyone may see your progress.” People will not follow a pastor who has already arrived because he is not going anywhere. They will follow a pastor who can say, “Follow me as I follow Christ.”
The Way Home 