refusing to take the world by storm
The call of the gospel is for the church to implement the victory of God in the world through suffering love.
N.T. Wright.
Death has a way of clarifying what really matters. So much of what we are supposed to value is simply discarded on the journey into the long night.
I have been thinking about this in recent days due to the deaths of several people whose lives have touched me deeply, none more than Tim Keller. The first conversation I ever had with Tim was on the phone when he was in a taxi between services going from one Redeemer location to another to preach.
His words have resonated in my ears hundreds of times over the years. He said in his kind but direct way,
“If you are coming to New York, you have to know two things.
One, you will never be bigger than New York. You are not going to be able to come and build some great thing that is bigger than this city. This city will always be bigger than you. You will need gospel humility.
Two, you have to have a sense that you are bringing something unique to the kingdom ecosystem of New York. You have to feel that you have something to offer that doesn’t exist and is needed, otherwise join something already doing well or don’t come. It will be too hard without a clear sense of this. You will need gospel confidence.”
What profound advice. Humility and confidence, redeemed ambition. In some ways, our church has thrived in New York because these two things have been fixed in my mind.
And I needed to hear this. To be honest, like most young men, I thought we were going to take the city by storm. I thought we were going to move in, plant a church, shake the city, and build a movement. We were going to make a dent, make a splash, we were going to take the city by storm.
I think he was trying to redirect these visions of grandeur into something better, a vision of service and love.
The truth is the early church didn’t take the world by storm. The early church took the world through suffering love. In all our lifting of cherished passages from the book of Acts and quotes from responses to plagues in the early centuries, there were a lot of ordinary days between the heroic ones. There were humble choices by ordinary people to love, weep, include, welcome, and worship in the dark. Between the big and the dramatic, there was the secret and the deep.
I think it is so in the modern world too, and I have learned these lessons pastoring these 18 years in the middle of New York. You won’t ever take New York by storm. But you will take it through loving neighbors, secret prayer, concern for the poor, humble proclamation of the gospel, and vocational excellence with an eye on Christ.
In light of death, eternity, and the call to conformity to the life of Jesus Christ, we must abandon our attempts to take the world by storm. The truth is, most of the time Christians seek to do so, they damage those they seek to serve. We don’t want to abandon the world that God loves, but we don’t want to seize power by human means. You may gain control by force, but you can only win a heart through love.
Following this idea, I recently came across this profound poem by Andrea Gibson entitled: In the chemo room, I wear mittens made of ice so I don’t lose my fingernails. But I took a risk today to write this down.
It’s a brutal but beautiful poem of defiant joy and a woman seeing with clarity in the face of her death. (You can read it here.)
These lines struck me deeply:
Why did I want to take the world by storm when I could have taken it by sunshine, by rosewater, by the cactus flowers on the side of the road when I broke down?
In light of the wisdom of those who have looked death in the eye and saw what matters through an eternal frame, let's abandon trying to take the world by storm.
Let’s take it with faith.
Let’s take it with hope.
Let’s take it with love.
Let’s take it with humble service so that when it’s time for our long journey into the night, the road will be paved with gratitude and kindness for those we leave behind.
Thanks for reading.
Cheers.
Jon.
