Enjoying God Ministries

Enjoying God

The Eternal Danger of a Deleted "L"

Yesterday I experienced one of those "Aha!" moments that some in the secular realm might call a Freudian slip. I was filling out the author questionnaire for my book on the Psalms that Crossway will publish sometime next fall. The proposed title to the book is More Precious than Gold, but I accidentally typed, More Precious than God. Oops! It's amazing how important the letter ‘l' can be. It's the difference between heaven and hell. After correcting the mistake, I began thinking about what I'd written.

Of course, the word of God is indeed more precious than gold precisely because it brings me to God and God to me. The word is indescribably precious because it tells me in countless ways why God is more precious still and to be prized above all.

In my book, Pleasures Evermore (chapter nine), I wrote this (drawing on the wording of John Piper):

"Scripture has many functions but none more vital than fueling and feeding our appetite for God. Sin tells me that pursuing purity will preclude experiencing life's greatest adventures and most satisfying pleasures. But the Word of God reinforces my decision to obey by reminding me that in obedience is the fullness of joy and in honor there is the blessing of God and in righteousness there is a thrill that not even on its best day could the sweetest of sins begin to touch."

I'm sure all Christians would gag at the suggestion that something is more precious to them than God. It's easy to get mad at a "suggestion" and in doing so to appear holy. But the problem is that it often remains only a "suggestion" that fails to translate into life. In other words, we say that God is more precious to us than anything else and that he is the treasure of greatest value and we react angrily to anyone who would argue otherwise. But do I actually live in such a way that God is seen in that light?

Do my choices reflect that God is more precious than gold or gain or whatever other goodies I might covet? Do my words draw attention to his majesty in such a way that people are drawn to him? Does my use of time indicate that I, like the apostle Paul, make it "my aim" or ambition "to please him" (2 Cor. 5:9)? Do the television programs I watch bear witness to the preeminence of God in my life? Does my stewardship of the money and other material resources God has given me declare aloud that I prize him above what I'm able to purchase?

I thank God for my inadvertently omitting an ‘l'. It forced me to think once again of what I cherish most, and to repent for having subordinated God to the many tawdry and temporal pleasures of life. My prayer is that as I continue to study his word (how precious, indeed, it is) I will be led by it to the "river of God's delights" (Ps. 37:8) and there discover, yet again, that not even gold (notwithstanding current, record breaking prices) is as precious as God!

Sam

A Brief Response to Ben Witherington

As most of you know by now, Ben Witherington has written critically of the notion that God's loves himself. In responding to a forthcoming book by Tom Schreiner, Witherington wrote that "God was being presented as a self-centered, self-referential being, whose basic motivation for what he does, including his motivation for saving people, is so that he might receive more glory. Even the sending of the Son and the work of the Spirit is said to be but a means to an end of God's self-adulation and praise."

Witherington takes great exception to this notion. I have already written extensively in defense of what Witherington finds offensive (see my book, Pleasures Evermore, especially chapter four, entitled God's Passion for God), and I see no need to repeat myself here. But here are a few thoughts on the subject that I hope might bring some light to bear on the debate.

What is the pre-eminent passion in God's heart? What is God's greatest pleasure? In what does God take supreme delight? I suggest that the pre-eminent passion in God's heart is his own glory. God is at the center of his own affections. The supreme love of God's life is God. God is pre-eminently committed to the fame of his name. God is himself the end for which God created the world.

Better, still, God's immediate goal in all he does is his own glory. God relentlessly and unceasingly creates, rules, orders, directs, speaks, judges, saves, destroys and delivers in order to make known who he is and to secure from the whole of the universe the praise, honor and glory of which he and he alone is ultimately and infinitely worthy.

The question I most often hear in response to this is that if God loves himself pre-eminently, how can he love me at all? How can we say that God is for us and that he desires our happiness if he is primarily for himself and his own glory? I want to argue that it is precisely because God loves himself that he loves you. Here's how.

I assume you will agree that your greatest good consists of enjoying the most excellent Being in the universe. That Being, of course, is God. Therefore, the most loving and kind thing that God can do for you is to devote all his energy and effort to elicit from your heart praise of himself. Why? Because praise is the consummation of enjoyment. All enjoyment tends towards praise and adoration as its appointed end. In this way, God's seeking his own glory and God's seeking your good converge.

Listen again. Your greatest good is in the enjoyment of God. God's greatest glory is in being enjoyed. So, for God to seek his glory in your worship of him is the most loving thing he can do for you. Only by seeking his glory pre-eminently can God seek your good passionately.

For God to work for your enjoyment of him (that's his love for you) and for his glory in being enjoyed (that's his love for himself) are not properly distinct.

So, God comes to you in his Word and says: "Here I am in all my glory: incomparable, infinite, immeasurable, unsurpassed. See me! Be satisfied with me! Enjoy me! Celebrate who I am! Experience the height and depth and width and breadth of savoring and relishing me!"

Does that sound like God pursuing his own glory? Yes.

But it also sounds like God loving you and me perfectly and passionately. The only way it is not real love is if there is something for us better than God: something more beautiful than God that he can show us, something more pleasing and satisfying than God with which he can fill our hearts, something more glorious and majestic than God with which we can occupy ourselves for eternity. But there is no such thing! Anywhere! Ever!

Sam

"Doin' the Stuff" (Remembering John Wimber)

John Wimber, born on February 25, 1934, in Kirksville, Missouri, died ten years ago today (November 17, 1997). Some of you may never have heard of him, but I doubt that you have attended a corporate worship service in the past twenty years that doesn't reflect his influence.

Wimber led a colorful life, to say the least, although it isn't my purpose here to write a biographical history. Rather, I want to comment briefly, yet very personally, on the great impact he had on my life and a bit on his influence within the broader body of Christ. If you are interested in the details of his life, I recommend three books: John Wimber: The Way it Was (by his wife, Carol Wimber); John Wimber: A Tribute (edited by David Pytches); and The Quest for the Radical Middle (by Bill Jackson; this latter volume is a history of the Vineyard movement, but contains considerable information on John personally).

John came to be known for many things, having been, before his conversion, an early member of the group known as the Righteous Brothers (I think John played both sax and keyboard and did a bit of drumming); as well as briefly serving on the faculty at Fuller Theological Seminary where he taught a famous course on signs, wonders, and church growth. But his fame (or infamy, as some would have it) is from his long tenure as leader of the Association of Vineyard Churches and his role as senior pastor of the Anaheim Vineyard in California.

Most, if not all, of John's books are still in print, including Power Healing and Power Evangelism, in both of which he argues for the importance of signs and wonders and the operation of miraculous gifts in the life of the church today.

I first met John in 1993 when he visited Metro Vineyard Fellowship in Kansas City where I was serving on pastoral staff. Needless to say, I will never forget it. We were having dinner at a local restaurant when someone mentioned that I was an author. "Yes, I know," said John, looking at me with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "I read his book."

About ten minutes of eating and random conversation passed, during which John, I suspect, was on the verge of bursting out in laughter. Suddenly something triggered the light switch in my mind, "Which book?" I asked. He leaned back in his chair and howled: "You know which one!" Indeed I did. It was my book on healing in which I had criticized some of John's comments on the subject. He would often remind me of it (always with laughter) in the days that followed.

In August of 1994, I was in Anaheim and spent several hours in his office. As we left, my eye noticed the infamous book on one of his shelves. I arranged it so that I was the last to leave, at which time I carefully pulled the volume from the shelf and quietly (or so I thought) tossed it in the nearest trash can. John wasn't fooled, as he turned and said: "Nice try, Sam, but I've already read it!"

I didn't agree with John on all points of theology, and he wasn't in the least hesitant to challenge me on a few issues where he thought I had gone astray. We also had some difference of opinion on certain decisions regarding the direction of the Vineyard as a whole. But that's not what I remember most about him. What stands out in my mind is that, regardless of our disagreements, he always welcomed and affirmed me and, I trust, prayed for me as he promised. His support and encouragement and our friendship were not suspended on whether or not we agreed on what ultimately turn out to be secondary issues in the body of Christ.

To this day I have nothing but the highest regard and deepest affection for John. I am also profoundly grateful for what I learned from him concerning the kingdom of God (John was highly influenced by George Ladd), worship (his role in the global influence of Vineyard music is incalculable), the importance of spiritual gifts in the church today, and especially his insights on the nature of divine healing.

I don't know if I read it in one of his books or heard him say it in a sermon (probably both), but one of the things that has stuck with me these many years was this comment: "I would rather pray for 1,000 people, even if only one gets healed, than not to pray for any and none gets healed." In fact, even if not even one gets healed, John would faithfully pray for everyone. His life and ministry were not governed by results but by what he believed he was commanded to do in the Bible.

John may well have been the most overly analyzed and criticized man in America during the 80's and early 90's. But he refused to retaliate in kind. He was gentle, but strong, kind, yet forceful when needed, always humble and self-effacing but not afraid to express his opinions or wield his authority when he believed it important to do so.

When John would come to Kansas City to speak at one of our conferences, the highlight for me was after the sessions were over. John would sit down in our hospitality room as we gathered around to ask questions and glean from his wisdom. He was always available and never regarded himself as above other Christians. He was there to serve, and we are the richer for it.

John will be remembered for many things, one of which was his unrelenting commitment to "doin' the stuff," as he often put it. As John told the story, he and Carol visited a church early in his spiritual journey, immediately after he had spent considerable time reading the gospel accounts of the life and ministry of Jesus. Following the service, John approached the pastor and asked him:

"So, when do we do the stuff?"

"The ‘stuff'," said the pastor. "What's the ‘stuff'?"

"You know," John replied, "the stuff in the Bible, like healing the sick and casting out demons. The stuff!"

"Oh," replied the pastor. "We don't do the stuff. We believe they did it back in biblical days, but we don't do it today."

With a rather confused look on his face, John could only say: "And I gave up drugs for this?"

But don't be misled by John's humor. One should never mistake his simplicity for simple-mindedness. He often referred to himself as "just a fat man trying to get to heaven," but he was extremely well-read and theologically discerning. I don't know if I've ever met anyone as street wise as John or as perceptive of the dynamics of human nature. He was a remarkably gifted leader and tens of thousands (if not considerably more) will credit him with their awakening to a more robust view of the ministry of the Spirit in today's church.

I was attending the annual meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society at the time when John's funeral was scheduled. Fortunately, ETS was being held in California that year so I jumped on a plane and flew to Anaheim on November 21, 1997, to join with several thousand others in the auditorium of the Anaheim Vineyard. I was stunned yet again by the extent of his influence and moved deeply by the impact of his life and leadership on people of all denominations.

John's theology will continue to be analyzed and criticized, and depending on one's perspective, either adored or deplored (or perhaps a little of both). But I thank God for him, for his reassuring smile, his encouraging words, his huge heart for the kingdom of God, and his global impact on the body of Christ.

Thanks John, for "doin' the stuff."

Sam