What Does It Mean to Change?

A good friend of mine recently sat in my office thinking out loud about whatever came to mind. The topics ranged from his marriage (which had its share of disappointments), to his future plans for ministry, to the quality of his walk with the Lord. As the conversation continued his mood became increasingly thoughtful—not gloomy, but quietly and deeply reflective, the kind of mood no one ever feels in a fast-food restaurant.

My friend, I should point out, is a committed Christian, a gifted counselor, and an unusually clear thinker. His life has known a few trials, but nothing remarkably different from what most middle-aged men have experienced. His friends describe him as friendly, hardworking, loyal, and sincere. A few see his spontaneous fun-loving side. Everyone agrees he’s a solid, well-adjusted Christian.

After nearly an hour of reflective rambling, his thoughtful mood shifted into a profoundly sad, almost desperate, loneliness. As though talking to no one in particular, he quietly said, “I wonder what it would be like to feel really good for just ten minutes.”

His sentence struck me. Did I know what it was like to feel really good for ten minutes? A fair number of people look reasonably happy. Do they feel really good? Utterly happy with no hint of emptiness or sorrow?

Maybe the question is wrong. Perhaps Christians are supposed to ask, “Do I know what it means to be consistently obedient?” and not worry about their feelings. But then, what is Peter referring to when he speaks of inexpressible joy (1 Peter 1:8)?

What is a maturing Christian like on the inside? What will he feel? Will he have a consistent desire to do what’s right? Or will he fight a raging battle within between urges to do wrong and commitments to do right?

Does maturity feel good? Or is there a deepened sense of loneliness and struggle? Will there be the awareness of a thoroughly changed set of motives that delights to do God’s will? Or will there continue to be evidence of corruption within? Will the pursuit of holiness lead to an increase in happiness? As we grow stronger, do we feel stronger—or weaker?

Some people honestly feel quite happy. Are they pretending? Should they be struggling more? When others show deep pain and overwhelming frustration, these folks can’t relate to them any more than someone well fed can feel the horror of starvation. Perhaps these “happy” people’s lives reflect a healthy stability and contentment that we could wish for everyone. What does it mean for these folks to press on toward higher levels of maturity?

What does it mean to change, to grow, to conform more and more to the image of Christ? What kind of change is possible, and how does it come about?

While in England in February 2007, I had the privilege of speaking yet again at the Life in the Spirit conference. During one of the messages given by fellow speaker Dave Smith, he made passing reference to my book Pleasures Evermore, and articulated in a most refreshing and poignant way its principal theme. “When it comes to living a successful Christian life,” said Dave, “and resisting the power of temptation, simply saying ‘No! No! No!’ won’t suffice. We must learn to say ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ ”

I like that. His point was that, by itself, fear has limited capacity to deter our hearts from sin. To it must be added fascination. Resisting is empowered by rejoicing. By all means detest the ugly and revolting and destructive elements in life. But by what means? Delight!

Make no mistake: we need to be warned. But we must first be wooed. Fear drives us, but fascination draws us. The psalmist’s strategy for blessedness is not mere avoidance but allurement.

I don’t want you to miss this, so look again at Psalm 1:1–3. Delight, not mere duty, should characterize our study of God’s Word. Reading the law of God is for the purpose of rejoicing in what is read.

This is a stretch for many Christians. They’ve grown up thinking and being taught that there is an inescapable tension, if not contradiction, between pleasure and principles, between rejoicing and rules. It comes as nothing short of a jolt to read of delighting in the law of God. God’s law, or revealed instruction, has often been viewed as oppressive, restrictive, and burdensome, hardly the sort of thing to evoke joy or excitement.

This will always be the case until we understand the motive of the Lawgiver. What did God have in mind when he put his Word in the mouth of his prophets? To what did God aspire when he moved to inspire the biblical authors? Did he take note of what brings greatest joy to the human heart and then stir Moses, for example, to say no? Off limits! Out of bounds!

Would it surprise you to discover that God’s primary agenda in the giving of his law is your optimal and most durable delight? God’s strategy in disclosing his will and ways, whether in the form of rules, prohibitions, commandments, or exhortations isn’t to muzzle human joy but to maximize it.

The precepts and principles of his Word, even those in the Pentateuch, which is probably what the psalmist had in mind with his use of the word “law,” are designed to guard us from anything that might dull our spiritual senses and thus inhibit us from seeing and savoring the sweetness of God’s glory. In other words, when God prohibits or prescribes, dictates or directs, it is always with a view to enhancing our highest and most satisfying enjoyment of him.

God wants nothing more than to heighten and sharpen our sensible awareness of his revelation of himself. And he knows what we don’t, namely, that sin anesthetizes our souls and renders us dull and numb to his presence. Every commandment in Scripture, every precept, every prohibition or principle is lovingly designed to lead us away from what otherwise might spoil our appetite for God.

Is it unsettling for you to hear the words of the psalmist: “How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth” (Ps. 119:103)? Sweet, not sour. God’s words taste good! If there is any initial pain in embracing the dictates of God’s law, do so with a view to interminable pleasure. Whatever short-term sacrifice one makes must always be with a view to the increase and intensification of long-term, indeed eternal and heavenly, reward.

Be it noted that the psalmist is far from advocating a study of the biblical text as an end in itself. We delight in the law of the Lord because that is how we get God. We do not worship pen or parchment. Ink on a page is not our aim but the God who inspired it. We read it because it tells us of him. We study words because they show us the Word. When we read the stories and hear the poetry and tremble at his truth, the Spirit awakens us to the beauty of their author and deepens our experience of his love and kindness and power and goodness.

But merely possessing the Word of God accomplishes nothing. We must meditate upon it, not momentarily or fitfully, but day and night. The point is, according to Jonathan Edwards, that we must “endeavor to increase spiritual appetites by meditating on spiritual objects.” When we surrender our minds to base and sordid things their grip on our lives is intensified. There’s no way to decrease our affinity for sinful pleasure apart from a concentrated fixation on the spiritually sublime.

God’s Word is a powerful and life-giving antidote to the spiritual infection caused by sin. But merely affirming that to be true heals no one. More is needed than merely defending God’s Word as worthy of our affection. We must actually “think” (Phil. 4:8) about it, ponder it, pore over it, and become vulnerable to the power God has invested in his revelation to transform our values and feelings and to energize our wills.

We must “store up” or “treasure” God’s Word in our hearts if it is to exert its power in keeping us from sin (Ps. 119:11). When this happens the Holy Spirit enables our souls to believe and behave in conformity with its dictates.

A passing glance at God’s Word will hardly suffice. Day-and-night meditation is called for. We meditate when we slowly read, prayerfully imbibe, and humbly rely upon what God has revealed to us in the Scriptures. Meditation, then, is being attentive to God through conscious, continuous engagement of the mind with his revealed Word.

The psalmist has narrowed our options to two. Either we find satisfaction in the truth of God’s law, trusting the power of his Word to make known his person, or we heed the counsel of the wicked and walk in their ways. The former yields a fruitful, enduring, and prosperous life (vv. 2–3). The latter suffers the fate of chaff that is blown in the wind (vv. 4–6).