Don’t Be a 97-Pound Weakling–1 John 3:3

Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself, just as he is pure. –1 John 3:3

Charles Atlas AdHey you! Are you tired of getting sand kicked in your face? Are you tired of being the laughing stock of all the cute girls on the beach? If so, then it’s time that you  took matters in your own hands. It’s time you talked to Charles Atlas. He’ll make a man out of you!

You’ve seen the ads in comic books and magazines. Maybe you’ve even been tempted to send off for the course materials so that you could stop people from kicking sand in your face. (Go ahead. Nod your head. Nobody’s watching.)

As a result of my lengthy research–three minutes with Google–I have discovered that Charles Atlas has been selling his “Dynamic-Tension” fitness course since 1929. Actually, Atlas himself died in 1972, but the company he founded loves on, almost eighty years later. That makes Charles Atlas, Ltd. a longer-lived company than KFC, McDonalds, K-Mart, or Microsoft. Apparently they must offer something of value or they wouldn’t have survived this long. While the Atlas course might not make you the “World’s most perfectly developed man,” as Charles Atlas was supposed to be, it’s just about got to do something positive. While it might have started off with a wish and a prayer of 97-pound weaklings, that wouldn’t keep it going for eighty years.

How much more, then does the promise of being transformed into the likeness of Christ give us hope. That’s the hope, mentioned in verse 2, that John refers back to in today’s verse. Everyone who has that hope works toward their own purification. Although John doesn’t say it, doesn’t it stand to reason that if we are not working to purify ourselves then we have lost sight of that hope, the hope of being a new creation.

Lately, I’ve lost sight of my physical self. After eating better and exercising regularly for nearly a year, I sort of forgot what I was doing it for. The same can happen for a believer. It’s important that we keep the blessing of our new creation in Christ and the hope of our utter transformation upon his return before us each day. Then we’ll live up to the promise. We won’t be 97-pound spiritual weaklings any longer.

Trust the Driver–1 John 3:2

Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. –1 John 3:2

As I write this, Emily and her kids have infested my house. Sidney is over on the couch with Olivia playing on the computer. Ira is ratting out our dog, calling her “really naughty” for swiping his brother’s graham cracker. Isa, with a cracker in only one hand, is plodding about the house spreading crumbs, while Isa, the youngest, is cooing to himself in a baby carrier across the room. Emily’s out on the deck swilling coffee with Penny, while that unreliable van of hers sits in front of the house.

At some point before they came over, Emily started the kids getting ready, putting on shoes, strapping them into car-seats, and so forth. For all the kids knew, they were going to Disney World or the grocery store or daddy’s job or California. They just know that despite outnumbering Mom, they have to go when she says go. They rarely know where they’re going, but they don’t seem to care. Mom tends to take them to good places and to attempt to make the dull places as good as they can be.

At what point in our lives do we have to have things all figured out? At what point, when we’re told that we need to drive to New York, do we have to have the route figured out, places to stay the night, places to buy gas, and so on all in our head before we take a step toward the car. Twenty-five years ago, Penny and I traveled across Europe not sure where we’d go next and completely clueless about where we’d stay when we got there. I can’t imagine traveling like that today. I like to have everything figured out when I leave home.

Don’t we do the same thing in thinking about our future in Christ? What will heaven be like? What will we be doing after Christ returns? Will we just be sitting around in heaven singing praises to God? Will it be just like Dante predicts in the Paradiso? I’m guessing that our answers to all of these will be absurdly off base.

But here’s the great thing. We don’t have to know how things will be any more than Emily’s kids have to know where they’re going today. When you trust the driver, you don’t have to know the destination or the route. Our insistence on knowing details God hasn’t revealed to us suggests a limit to our trust in him as the driver. Perhaps that’s the question we truly need to address.

Permanent Adoption–1 John 3:1

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. –1 John 3:1

Walt and Cheryl, a couple that Penny and I used to know, adopted a boy, a kid about eight years old. Let’s call him Tim. They brought Tim into their home with their son, a couple of years older, and teenaged son and daughter. We got to know Tim over the span of several months. We found that Walt and Cheryl had difficulties with the boy, but they seemed to us, a clueless engaged couple ourselves, like the typical sort of problems you would have with a child. They also seemed pretty similar to the severity of problems they had with their natural kids.

That’s why I found it shocking when I learned Walt and Cheryl had returned Tim to whatever agency brought him their way. To our eyes, it seemed they treated this little boy like a piece of furniture that you bring into your home and then realize you don’t like. In fact, it seems they had less trouble “returning” this kid than they would have had taking a couch back to Nebraska Furniture.

Let me say that I don’t necessarily know the entire story. There might have been compelling reasons why Walt and Cheryl “un-adopted” Tim. But on the surface it looked a bit tawdry to me.

The problem, of course, is that no matter how much you love an adopted child, somewhere in the back of your mind there lurks the knowledge that this is not really my flesh-and-blood, those aren’t my genes animating this person. For some parents, those thoughts never rise to the surface, but for others, I’m sure they do. It’s hard enough to love adolescents whom you can’t walk away from, but when you’ve taken them on by choice, the difficulty would seem to compound.

In the grand scheme of things, I am an adopted child of the perfect parent. But I’m not some cute potential adoptee. I don’t have dimples and a button nose. No, as potential adoption fodder goes, I was a two-headed fat kid with diarrhea and bad case of halitosis. I was tough to love, but God loved me. He didn’t love me enough to buy me dinner or to throw a blanket my way. He loved me enough to adopt me into his household, to paint me into the family portrait in indelible ink. I’m not a whole lot more attractive than I was before the adoption, but I am profoundly loved. Family, when it works, is a beautiful thing.

Dependable Transportation–1 John 2:28-29

And now, dear children, continue in him, so that when he appears we may be confident and unashamed before him at his coming. If you know that he is righteous, you know that everyone who does what is right has been born of him. –1 John 2:28-29

Emily has a love-hate relationship with her van. On the love side, it is remarkably better than the vehicle she drove previously, but then pretty much any vehicle not belching flames would be better than what Emily had before. On the hate side, however, the van is old enough to drive itself, a 1991 Chevy van. Yes, the mileage is low, but it has had a number of issues, not the least of which is that it fails to start at the most inconvenient of times. (The most inconvenient of times for a vehicle not to start, by the way, would be whenever you want to go somewhere.)

Last week, Emily found herself stranded at a pizza joint with nothing happening under the hood when the key turned. Seeing that we had just put a new battery into the beast about two weeks ago, this proved especially irritating. It seems that the alarm my parents installed on the van many years ago has some sort of mysterious elusive short that drains the battery in short order. Or perhaps the alternator is going out. Or perhaps there are car gremlins in the works. I don’t know. What I do know is that Emily has not grown more confident of that van starting when she piles the kids into it. That’s a terrific way to live life.

My Toyota Corolla, nearly four years old now, is a beautifully dependable car. Well maintained and parked in a garage every night, it ought to be a beautifully dependable car. The time will come, of course, when my little green Corolla becomes a maintenance headache with wheels falling off or the windshield imploding in my face. Until then, however, I’ll simply pretend that it will forever function as designed. That’s so much better than Emily’s experience, after all.

That sort of assurance and reliability is what John celebrates as this chapter ends. It’s the sort of confidence that he has been emphasizing upon his readers for the last several verses. I could put my faith in obedience but instead, John wants me to put my faith in God. I could trust in the requirements imposed upon me by false religious teachers, but instead I can continue trusting in God, a path that leads to confidence.

If only I could trust in God as well as I trust in my Corolla. In my heart of hearts I know that God is far more worthy of my faith than my car. I know that my car will one day fail, while God will not. Still, that sort of confidence does not come easily. I attempt to bolster it various insurances, which don’t bolster it at all. Instead they undermine it.

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

No Teachers Needed–1 John 2:27

As for you, the anointing you received from him remains in you, and you do not need anyone to teach you. But as his anointing teaches you about all things and as that anointing is real, not counterfeit—just as it has taught you, remain in him. –1 John 2:27

Some twelve years ago, a group of nice people at the University of Kansas voted to confer upon me the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in English. This moment brought my father-in-law’s confusion to a head. I can recall, as I began my doctoral program, him looking at me in genuine confusion and saying, “But how can you be a doctor in English?” As different as the various flavors of doctorates are, one thing they all have in common is the sense of completion, of turning student into teacher. On that day in 1996, I was acknowledged as somebody who could direct his own learning.

This summer, I’ll be traveling to Concord, Massachusetts for a week-long seminar on the Transcendentalist writers who flourished there in the early nineteenth century. For that week, I will be sitting under the leadership of a handful of scholars who have established themselves as experts on this important school of thinkers. This July, however, won’t be the first time I have taken the role of student since taking the stripes on my academic gown. Among other things, I’ve sat patiently in about fifteen credit hours worth of seminary classes.

Is there an inconsistency there? Was I somehow sullying my reputation as a “doctor” by sitting under the teaching of others? Certainly not. While I have demonstrated my ability to be the generator of new knowledge with a book and half a dozen journal articles under my belt, I would be the first to admit that I don’t know everything. Sometimes, the best thing I can do is sit under someone else’s tutelage.

When John suggests that his readers don’t need teachers any long, since God’s anointing remains in them, is he saying that nobody can ever teach them anything? I don’t think so. If that were the case, wouldn’t John be contradicting himself since he is clearly attempting to teach the people something. What John is attempting to warn his readers away from is those who would claim that they’re necessary intermediaries between the seeker and God. To gain access to God, we don’t need priests or intelligentsia, prophets or preachers. We have that access.

John doesn’t suggest that we can’t learn things from other people, but he does rightly warn us away from those who would, as we suggested yesterday, create a perceived deficit or need and then propose to fill it. Let us not be gulled into believing that some person holds the magical knowledge, access, or ritual to grant us access to God. That doesn’t mean we should be so full of pride as to think we know everything already, but the essential knowledge of the Gospel, we do know. No one can take that away or improve upon it.

…and my lungs and limbs and all the rest of me.