Sane Faith, Part 1

by David Powlison

We've invited Dr. David Powlison to begin a discussion on counseling from a biblical perspective by writing a series of articles for Boundless. This is a conversation starter: We believe that thoughtful discussion of significant issues is crucial to the flourishing of the body of Christ.

Focus on the Family does not promote one particular model of Christian counseling, but earnestly seeks that we all grow in wisdom together. As with any article on Boundless, publication is not meant to be taken as an endorsement of its content. It is our hope that you are challenged to consider the relevance of Scripture, the importance of balance in the counseling process, and to better understand the Lord's concern and power when it comes to understanding the real life problems that we all struggle with.

* * *

Garrett, 23, is a recent college grad. When some little thing frustrates him or he doesn't get his way, he explodes in anger. It goes way over the top. In college he was an episodic binge drinker, but he's started to drink regularly and heavily over the past year. The effects of alcohol in him are unpredictable. Sometimes booze mellows Garrett out, but most times it lowers his threshold for volatile hostility. In addition to his growing drinking problem, he routinely turns to online pornography for a "fix." His friends don't know about that, but they fear for his future, wondering if he will self-destruct with his drinking and violent temper.

Official diagnosis and current street wisdom? "Garrett suffers from intermittent explosive disorder (IED) and is an addictive personality — and Garrett is all about Garrett, and has control issues, big-time."

Sarah, a 29-year-old single woman, has become increasingly preoccupied with her looks, her calorie intake, and her exercise regime. She often "feels fat," at 5'9" tall and weighing only 103 pounds, She's relentless in her activities and self-care, competitive, always trying to prove herself. Her roommates and family have become more and more concerned. Sarah seems joyless, and has been detaching herself from normal social interactions. She seems nervously self-preoccupied most of the time, so she has little time, energy, or attention for anything or anyone besides herself.

Diagnosis and current wisdom? "Sarah has anorexia — and she's a perfectionist with low self-esteem."

Lise, 32 and married, with a toddler, has felt down ever since she had the baby. Lise has had a tendency to wallow in self-reproach ever since childhood, but lately it's gotten worse. She's mired in loops of self-condemning thoughts, endlessly rehearsing and bemoaning her faults, both real and imaginary. She has developed elaborate "quiet time" rituals that help her feel some sense that her life is OK. She never feels like God loves her. Her husband worries that Lise's ritualistic habits and "sticky thoughts" about personal failings interfere with her ability to raise their child. Her brooding casts a pall over their relationship, too. The simplest question — "How was your day?" — often turns into a dark spiral of complaint and despair. He walks on eggshells: "What can I do? What can I say?"

Diagnosis and current wisdom? "Lise has a case of clinical depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) — and she sets impossible standards for herself."

Chandra, 21, a senior in college, has battled intense anxiety feelings ever since adolescence. She gets tongue-tied if she's put on the spot in a social interaction. She increasingly avoids social situations, and only goes to gatherings or events if she has a friend with her to run interference and carry the ball conversationally. She hasn't been out on a date since a couple of ill-fated attempts in high school when she "almost had a panic attack" trying to figure out what to talk about. Chandra medicates her anxiety with daytime TV, Netflix and chocolate ice cream.

Diagnosis and current wisdom? "Chandra suffers from social anxiety disorder — and she's shy, gets glued to the tube, and needs her chocolate fix."

Do you recognize any of your friends in these people? I do. Do you recognize something of yourself in any of their problems? I do, too.

And do you also notice how each diagnostic label simply takes what we already know and then restates it in quasi-medical-sounding language? The actual experiences of life-lived get turned into a depersonalized "condition." Problems get viewed exclusively as something a person "has," rather than the array of things a person feels, thinks and does.

It's curious. The labels don't actually add any information to what we already know. Yet they somehow alter the entire way we perceive a person. They even alter how people perceive themselves. The story and the struggle get lost in translation.

Hold onto that thought, and we'll come back to it later. First we're going to climb into the story and the struggle.

We're all in these stories

Let's start with the common ground we feel with other people's stories. These problems are garden-variety human struggles ... amped up to very destructive levels. They beset each one of us to a greater or lesser degree. Of course, for the four people described, these tendencies have taken on life-dominating power.

Perhaps you can't identify with just how badly another person flounders. But can you identify with worry? Getting angry? Overindulging in food or drink? Immoral thoughts? Self-preoccupation? Feeling guilty and despondent? Breeding unrealistic hopes? Escape into TV or music or web surfing? Bickering and gossip? Feeling anxious around people? Blanking out on God? All the different ways of being loveless, and joyless, and restless? We can each identify with aspects of what these people do.

Each of these four stories describes a person who needs help in order to face up, to deal, to change. But these people aren't in a completely different category from the rest of us. They aren't weird, as if the rest of us were normal. Think about it this way. They dial up the volume, but we all play the same kinds of music. These are our friends ... and ourselves.

It's no surprise, then, that the Bible engages the varieties of chaos, confusion and trouble that mere humans experience. Our stories interweave with God's story at every point. God intends that we understand what exactly goes wrong — and how exactly he goes about making it right.

In his letter to people who know Jesus, James alerted us to something about personal and interpersonal chaos. Wherever you find "confusion and bad stuff"

(James 3:16 paraphrase), you'll find two underlying problems. First, "bad zeal" wants the wrong things too much. Second, "selfish ambition" organizes life around all-about-Me.

James is unblinking about what's wrong, but he never gives the mess last say: "God gives more grace" (4:6). More than what? His goodness is more than all that goes wrong inside us. Confusion and bad stuff is exactly what he goes to work on.

Of course, the particular details of our four friends' stories have a 21st century flavor. But once you scratch the surface, they simply give new spin to old problems. These struggles are variants on the typical confusion and bad stuff of people everywhere. Almost 2000 years ago, Paul said "the works of the flesh are obvious." He gave fifteen examples: "sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these" (Galatians 5:19-21). Anyone can see that this is not the way life is meant to be. All forms of self-preoccupation are the opposite of love, joy, and peace. Paul rounded off his list by pointing far beyond the examples he chose to mention. "Things like these" include the 21st century problems of our four friends and people like us.

So our friends' chaotic ways of living fit the category "works of the flesh." These lifestyles show up on the MRI of Scripture. God sees them for what they are, and he teaches us how to see through his eyes.

God also looks behind the externals into the inner reasons. Galatians 5:16-17 names the motor for a destructive lifestyle: the "desires of the flesh." That's Paul's phrase for bad zeal and selfish ambition. The things people want seem so instinctive and plausible. But our desires become monsters and dictators. We want the wrong things too much, and approach life as if it's all-about-Me.

Garrett's way of life is "my way or the highway." No wonder he gets so angry. Sarah worships an ideal of thinness that even supermodels can't attain. No wonder she's so unhappy. Lise lives by a principle of self-attained standards of performance, and goes snow-blind to the mercies of God towards her. No surprise, she has no sense of peace. Chandra craves approval (and panics about possible rejection). She's so worried about how other people treat her that she has no thoughtful kindness to give to them.

God sees what's operating on the inside, as well as what's oozing out for all to see. He sizes it up for what it is, and then helps us to understand life the same way he does.

These patterns of inner motivation are what the Bible calls your "heart." We generate substitutes for God. The false masters are "little gods" that become I GOTTA HAVE THAT! Our blind, misplaced devotion enslaves us. We express our submission to little gods by destructive lifestyles, by our emotions, thoughts, words, and choices that the Bible calls foolish. God wants us to see our hearts the way he sees us. Inside and out, this is exactly what Jesus came to forgive and aims to transform.

• Jesus died to overthrow the dictatorship of the flesh • Jesus died so that you won't die clinging tight to your idols • Jesus died so you won't waste your life massaging and refining self-

preoccupation • Jesus lives to become your true Master

Here's the whole message in a sound bite: "He died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for Him who for their sake died and was raised" (2 Corinthians 5:15). Jesus can liberate Garrett from the stranglehold of self-will, so he actually begins to care about other people. Jesus can bring Sarah to her senses, so that she comes to love the beauty of Jesus rather than obsessing over an impossible and empty ideal. Lise can rebuild her life on a new foundation. Chandra can find safe refuge and the courage to reach out.

Christ overthrows dictatorial desires. The fruit of His Holy Spirit — Galatians 5:22-23 — makes for a life worth living.

Of course, the freedom is never all-at-once, one-and-done. But Jesus creates new conditions for life. In our lives now, He begins to make right all that goes so wrong. He sets about the long, hard answering of the complex questions. He begins a lifelong freeing process.

Two ways of doing life

From Jesus' point of view, there are two fundamentally different ways of doing life. One way, you're connected to a God who's involved in your life. Psalm 23 is all about this: "The Lord is my shepherd ... and his goodness and mercy surely follow me all the days of my life." The other way, you're pretty much on your own and disconnected. Let's call this the antipsalm 23: "I'm on my own ... and disappointment follows me all the days of my life." We'll look first at the antipsalm way of doing life.

Antipsalm 23

I'm on my own. No one looks out for me or protects me. I experience a continual sense of need. Nothing's quite right. I'm always restless. I'm easily frustrated and often disappointed. It's a jungle — I feel overwhelmed. It's a desert — I'm thirsty. My soul feels broken, twisted, and stuck. I can't fix myself. I stumble down some dark paths. Still, I insist: I want to do what I want, when I want, how I want. But life's confusing. Why don't things ever really work out? I'm haunted by emptiness and futility — shadows of death. I fear the big hurt and final loss. Death is waiting for me at the end of every road, but I'd rather not think about that. I spend my life protecting myself. Bad things can happen. I find no lasting comfort. I'm alone ... facing everything that could hurt me. Are my friends really friends? Other people use me for their own ends. I can't really trust anyone. No one has my back. No one is really for me — except me. And I'm so much all about ME, sometimes it's sickening. I belong to no one except myself. My cup is never quite full enough. I'm left empty. Disappointment follows me all the days of my life. Will I just be obliterated into nothingness? Will I be alone forever, homeless, free-falling into void? Sartre said, "Hell is other people." I have to add, "Hell is also myself." It's a living death, and then I die.

The antipsalm tells what life feels like and looks like whenever God vanishes

from sight. As we hear about Garrett and the others, each story lives too much inside the antipsalm. The "I'm-all-alone-in-the-universe" experience maps onto each one of them. The antipsalm captures the driven-ness and pointlessness of life-purposes that are petty and self-defeating. It expresses the fears and silent despair that cannot find a voice because there's no one to really talk to.

Our four friends are spinning out of control. They might implode. Something bad gets last say when whatever you live for is not God.

And when you're caught up in the antipsalm, it doesn't help when you're labeled a "disorder," a "syndrome" or a "case." The problem is much more serious: The disorder is "my life." The syndrome is "I'm on my own." The case is "Who am I and what am I living for?" when too clearly I am the center of my story.

But the antipsalm doesn't need to tell the final story. It only becomes your reality when you construct your reality from a lie. In reality, someone else is the center of the story. Nobody can make Jesus go away. The I AM was, is and will be, whether or not people acknowledge that.

When you awaken, when you see who Jesus actually is, everything changes. You see the Person whose care and ability you can trust. You experience His care. You see the Person whose glory you are meant to worship. You love Him who loves you. The real Psalm 23 captures what life feels like and looks like when Jesus Christ puts his hand on your shoulder.

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Can you taste the difference?

You might want to read both antipsalm and psalm again, slowly. Maybe even read out loud. The psalm is sweet, not bitter. It's full, not empty. You aren't trying to grab the wind with your bare hands. Someone else takes you in His hands. You are not alone.

Jesus Christ actually plays two roles in this most tender psalm. First, He walked this Himself. He is a man who looked to the Lord. He said these very words, and means what He says. He entered our predicament. He walked the valley of the shadow of death. He faced every evil. He felt the threat of the antipsalm, of our soul's need to be restored. He looked to his Father's care when He was cast down — for us — into the darkest shadow of death. And God's goodness and mercy followed Him and carried Him. Life won.

Second, Jesus is also this Lord to whom we look. He is the living shepherd to whom we call. He restores your soul. He leads you in paths of righteousness.

Why? Because of who He is: "for His name's sake."

You, too, can walk Psalm 23. You can say these words and mean what you say. God's goodness and mercy is true, and all He promises will come true. The King is at home in his universe.

Jesus puts it this way, "It is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom" (Luke 12:32). He delights to walk with you. Sane Faith, Part 2

by David Powlison

We've invited Dr. David Powlison to begin a discussion on counseling from a biblical perspective by writing a series of articles for Boundless. This is a conversation starter: We believe that thoughtful discussion of significant issues is crucial to the flourishing of the body of Christ.

Focus on the Family does not promote one particular model of Christian counseling, but earnestly seeks that we all grow in wisdom together. As with any article on Boundless, publication is not meant to be taken as an endorsement of its content. It is our hope that you are challenged to consider the relevance of Scripture, the importance of balance in the counseling process, and to better understand the Lord's concern and power when it comes to understanding the real life problems that we all struggle with.

This is the second article in a 3-part series. We encourage you to read part 1 if you haven't done so already.

* * *

In the first article of this series, I introduced you to four people who struggle with typical "problems." If you haven't read that article, do go back and start there. This article builds on what was said earlier.

Each of the four lifestyles earned a label for a person: addictive personality, eating disorder, OCD, and so forth. But we saw how each one of us can identify with the things they do, think and feel. You and I might be different in degree from Garrett and Sarah, but we aren't different in kind. Lise and Chandra are fellow strugglers, not bizarre aliens. We noticed how the Bible "normalizes" the seemingly abnormal, reinforcing awareness of our common humanity.

And, finally, we took Psalm 23 and turned it upside down. The "antipsalm" mapped into the four lifestyles – and captured the madness in each of us. But the real Psalm takes us by the hand and walks with us into sanity.

The Awkward Problem of Evil

If you've followed me so far, you might feel a question nagging at the back of your mind. Why don't we hear more of this refreshing and realistic way to think about people? What's the purpose of tagging people with diagnostic labels, of piling on the heavy freight of "disease" and "syndrome"?

Why doesn't the therapeutic establishment use human and humane terms to describe Garrett and the rest of our friends? Their stories describe things we can all understand and identify with. Why does God explain behavior, emotion and the human heart in such a different way from the labels? And why do the therapeutic answers never offer anything remotely like the intimacy of Psalm 23?

The answer to these questions is complicated. But it boils down to two

things.

First, if you face our problems for what they actually are, then you have to acknowledge the problem of evil. What's wrong is much more serious than a sickness or syndrome. Evil operates on the inside – bad zeal and selfish ambition. And evils come at us from the outside: betrayal, false values, poor role models, shallow relationships, a body going out of sync, injury, aging, death. Both sin and suffering characterize the problem of evil.

But the diagnostic labels (and street wisdom, and even our four friends) never mention the E-word: evil. What distorts our lives? Evil. What breaks our lives. Evils, both inside and out. Something very dark and very complex is going on. Bad stuff comes at you, and bad stuff is an operating system inside you.

No one can fail to see evidence of evil. You feel it. You participate. But people don't want to name it for what it is. We might admit the evil of a Hitler or a suicide bomber killing innocent children. We fail to see the evils operating in normal problems.

Second, if you acknowledge the scope of the problem of evil, then you realize you need a Savior. If evil infects us all, then someone not under the power of evil must bring light and life from outside the system of darkness and death. That person is Jesus Christ.

Garrett's consuming "I insist on my way" is a sin of the heart against God, who alone is King, whose will is that we love Him utterly. Garrett needs what only Jesus can give, comprehensive forgiveness and a complete turnaround. Sarah's endless striving up the ladder of idolatrous slenderness is a sin of the heart against God, who calls her to love Him with all her heart. She needs powerful mercy. And so it is with Lise and Chandra, each putting their own spin on our need for God.

Like all human beings, they are by nature lost in the antipsalm. We need Him to save us from the inner logic of our hearts. We need Him to save us from suffering and death.

If Garrett manages his temper a little better, if Sarah eats a bit more healthily, they've barely dented the surface of their problems and their need. They need mercies. They need a change of heart, a different Savior, a different Lord. They need Psalm 23. We all do.

But if you don't want to need Jesus Christ, then you must deny the depth and scope of the problem of evil.

The Relevance of Christ

We sought to make sense of these four stories through God's eyes. We approached people with troubles in the light of God's mercies and power in Christ. His love is candid, patient, and effective. He intends that we each know our need, and find Him true. Then we, too, grow more candid, patient and effective in our love for other strugglers.

The persuasive voices in modern culture look through different eyes. The diagnostic system now in vogue makes problems seem smaller and solutions seem easier. It explains problems as genetics plus the social environment, with a nod in the direction of how you talk to yourself: "nature + nurture + self-talk." It sounds so appealing. With just the right medication, the right kind of friends and the right affirmations to boost your self-confidence, you can fix your kind of syndrome. The Savior of the world plays no part in the

solution, because alienation from God plays no part in the problem.

There's a wide gap between medical-sounding labels and the Bible's straightforward teaching. There's a wide gap between therapeutic solutions and self-sacrificing love. Why the gap?

It's hard to face reality.

In T.S. Eliot's words, "Human kind cannot bear very much reality." Here's a longer answer, again in T. S. Eliot's words. When the Church tells of Jesus, she tells people

... of Life and Death, and of all that they would forget. She is tender where they would be hard, and hard where they like to be soft. She tells them of Evil and Sin, and other unpleasant facts. They constantly try to escape From the darkness outside and within By dreaming of systems so perfect that no one will need to be good. But the man that is will shadow The man that pretends to be. – "Choruses from 'The Rock,'" part VI

The man that is shadows every pretense. Goodness is our greatest need. There is darkness both outside and within. There is tender mercy where we least expect it. And there is the hard reality that without such mercy, you die. Jesus calls for change of heart.

How much the perfect systems would like to forget all that. Sane Faith, Part 3

by David Powlison

We've invited Dr. David Powlison to begin a discussion on counseling from a biblical perspective by writing a series of articles for Boundless. This is a conversation starter: We believe that thoughtful discussion of significant issues is crucial to the flourishing of the body of Christ.

Focus on the Family does not promote one particular model of Christian counseling, but earnestly seeks that we all grow in wisdom together. As with any article on Boundless, publication is not meant to be taken as an endorsement of its content. It is our hope that you are challenged to consider the relevance of Scripture, the importance of balance in the counseling process, and to better understand the Lord's concern and power when it comes to understanding the real life problems that we all struggle with.

This is the final article in a 3-part series. We encourage you to read part 1 and part 2 if you haven't done so already.

* * *

We've seen how the therapeutic worldview disconnects from reality. People with problems are treated less seriously than they deserve. They are given Band-Aid therapies for questions that call for an organ transplant. Let's think carefully through a series of implications.

1. The facts are the facts — but what do they mean?

Notice that nobody disputes the facts. Mental health practitioners, friends and family, you, me, and the God of the Bible agree that Garrett (see part 1 of this series) is narcissistic, has a bad temper, drinks too much and uses porn. He tries to control his world because he thinks it's his world. All agree that

Sarah starves herself, works out relentlessly, and puts in a lot of mirror-time. She demands perfection on her own terms.

Nothing I'm saying questions any of these facts. These are facts that call for explanations and call out for help.

The question is how to interpret the facts. What do these problems mean? Why do our four friends live like this? Whyare they ruining their lives?

• Does each of them "suffer from" a quasi-medical-sounding disorder that actually explains his or her problems? Do they "have" diseases or conditions that the labels correctly name?

• Or are they "doing" extremely disorderly things for extremely confusing reasons? Are they living out lifestyles that God correctly names?

In other words, is the final explanation for our problems something bad happening to us? Or is it something bad about us? God's interpretation is the second one, and He gets last say. A true interpretation sees the problem of sin concretely, right in the details of people's lives and problems.

It's crucial, by the way, to understand sin accurately. Most people think that to identify something as "sin" means saying that the person consciously chose to do some bad action. The person also has the power to Just Say No.

But the Bible comes at sin from the opposite direction. We do many wrong, unloving things without even knowing what we're doing or why. Most sin is not a matter of conscious choice. The "high-handed" sins are conscious. But much of what we do, think and feel expresses that we are blind, self-deceived, metaphorically drunk or sleepwalking, calloused, acting like brute beasts, walking in the dark. So we do not have the power to Just Say No.

That's why we need a Savior from ourselves. Sin actually tends to make us more unconscious ("blind") and more compulsive ("enslaved"). I am what I am, and do what I do, even if it's self-destructive and destroys my relationships.

Furthermore, sin is an interpersonal offense and insult — to God first. He calls us to love him utterly ... but we are self-preoccupied in a thousand ways. Most people view "sin" as an item from a select list of heinous behaviors that hurt others. God sees much further. I can't accurately see myself until God makes me self-aware of what I look like to Him.

And, still further, grace targets sin. Jesus comes for sin. Mercy and compassion are given for sin. Forgiveness buries sin.

Most people think that the word "sin" only implies judgment, condemnation, self-righteousness and moral exhortations to try harder. That's the obvious thing to think. But God is not so obvious. He forgives people who are not righteous, and self-righteousness is a heinous sin. Christ does what none of us can do. Jesus' blood and righteousness and resurrection set us free from sin's guilt and punishment. Christ's Spirit progressively frees us from sin's power. The Lord's return will free us from sin's presence. God directly applies His mercy and power, changing us into the image of His glory.

We're objecting to the misinterpretations placed on troubled and troublesome lifestyles. We aren't denying the trouble. Jesus came for the trouble.

2. Quasi-medical labels are mislabels

Think a bit more about those verbs "suffers from," "has," "is" and "has a case of." We use these passive verbs to describe our experience of a true medical problem. You suffer from cancer or have a broken leg. You are a diabetic or have a case of hives. None of these true medical conditions describes your behavior, your motives, your lifestyle. They describe something bad that's happening to you.

Of course, your lifestyle and choices can affect whether or not you develop a medical problem. Smoking might cause lung cancer. Dirt-bike racing might cause a broken leg. But smoking cigarettes and riding dirt bikes are things you do — just like drinking too much, or worrying what people think, or obsessing in front of the mirror. I hope we'd never say, "He has a bad case of dirt-bike syndrome, and suffers from a smoking disorder"!

Notice that the descriptions of our four troubled friends consistently portray what they do, how they think, how they react emotionally, how they treat other people. Lise broods relentlessly on her failings, and is so preoccupied that she's inattentive to her daughter. Chandra worries that she'll be rejected, and hides from people. And each of them lives as if God were a non-factor.

The truth is that they do their lives; they don't suffer from their syndromes. By definition, a human being is an "active verb," not a passive verb. We want and fear, love and believe, do and say, act and react. You don't "have a case of" the way you do life.

3. What people do affects relationships.

Notice that in each of the four stories, what a person does affects other people. Our four friends do not have private pathologies. They are not the only ones suffering; their closest relationships suffer as well. Other people worry about them, or feel hurt by them, or get angry at them.

This is because outbursts of anger, drunkenness, extreme dieting, relentless self-recrimination, escapism, instability, and social anxiety intrinsically threaten relationships. By definition, doing such things isolates you from Godand people. You can't live this way and at the same time trust God and love people. These are four different ways of being devoutly self-absorbed. It's significant that friends and family sense this. They're troubled by the distance and relationship breakdown caused by self-preoccupation. They have good reasons for their concern.

Consider the contrast between this and a purely medical problem. Friends and family will be deeply concerned for you if you have a broken leg or suffer from cancer. But trauma or illness don't automatically separate people and jeopardize relationships. In fact, usually sickness provides a context in which people come together and feel closer. Friends and family rally to support you. You appreciate the love and concern they show. Medical problems often draw people together in love and appreciation.

Your kith and kin will be concerned for you when you're sick. They want your body to get well. But they'll be concerned about you when you're devoutly self-absorbed. They want you to become a different kind of person. That's one more evidence that the deepest problem for all four is some form of sin.

Again, remember some things we mentioned earlier. "Sin" doesn't always mean consciously chosen badness. Most sins express how what I love has become disordered and dictatorial. When my core love turns away from God, I blindly attach myself to something else — anything else. I then live out the implications by making selfish choices.

And to name your problem as "sin" does not mean that others should scold,

moralize or condemn you, or that you should beat yourself up with self-recrimination and trying harder. Jesus Christ comes "so that we may receive mercy and grace to help in time of need" (Hebrews 4:16). Mercy and helpfulness specifically target sin. So identifying how sin operates opens a wide door to God's mercy, patience and power. God's mercy restores all the relationships that sin threatens, reconciling us to God and equipping us to reconcile with people.

4. Quasi-medical labels artificially separate people

As we've seen, lifestyle problems harm relationships. But harm can come from the other direction, too. To put a diagnostic label on a person harms your relationship with that person. It creates artificial distance. We should be able to identify with each other, but if I think that you are sick and I am well, I artificially divide us.

A true medical problem creates an objective experiential distance between people. Let's say I get in a car accident and suffer a broken leg. My doctor and my friends do not have broken legs. I hurt a lot and need crutches. They feel perfectly fine and walk normally. Their experience and mine are fundamentally different. I am not well. They are well. I definitely need their help. They can help me precisely because they are not all laid up with broken legs!

But if you use quasi-medical labels for what I do, think and feel, it creates artificial distance between us. If I struggle with anxiety or irritation or escapism ... well, so do you. So does everybody. But if you label my struggle as a "disorder," then that means you are normal, but I am sick. That's an artificial distance, because none of us gets anger, fear and pleasure-seeking exactly right.

I might be having a much bigger problem than you. But our actual differences are matters of degree. I may be stuck and blind, while you've grown wise in an area of life. That matters for your ability to help me. But at the most basic level of human experience, you know that you and I have the same general tendencies and temptations. We come in very different flavors and intensities, but we are more alike than different. Our underlying commonality is fundamental. That's why you see so much of yourself in Garrett and Lise and the others.

You can help people precisely because you do have first-hand understanding of the basic human struggles: "There is no temptation that overtakes you that is not common to all" (1 Corinthians 10:13). You can help people precisely because you do know the grace of God at work in you, and that's exactly what others need: "God comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction" (2 Corinthians 1:4). Because we are in it together we can help each other.

Medical doctors don't ever need to have the same problems as their patients. But brothers and sisters always have the same kinds of problems as their fellow strugglers. Therefore we share the same essential cure, which always involves some form of faith working through love, by the grace of God in Christ. There's no artificial distance, because we have a real commonality.

5. How do we weigh the various contributory "factors"?

I've focused on the heart, the gospel and our identification with each other. But how should we weigh all the other variables that affect us? No one disagrees that genetics might contribute a "tendency," and that the social environment abounds with "triggers." Countless factors "influence" us.

But what is the final cause of how you live? Of course, you are your final cause. That said, let's look briefly at the many contributing factors.

What goes on in your body has an influence. When you experience allergies or sleepless nights, premenstrual hormones or chronic pain, Asperger's or Alzheimer's, your mood, thinking and actions are affected. You're tempted in different ways than when you feel fine.

Similarly, it's obvious that each of us comes wired from birth with a different temperament. Some people are more prone to anger, others to anxiety, others to getting discouraged, others to pleasure-addictions, and so forth. Our bodies affect us in many ways. It's likely that Lise's post-partum hormones color her moods.

But does the body give the decisive, underlying explanation for their personal problems? No; no more than it gives the decisive explanation for their good and loving choices. The body is a contributory factor, an influence. It's not the final cause of either your faith or your idolatry, your kindness or your selfishness.

What the people around you do also has an influence on you. Like "nature," "nurture" plays a role. Every one of us lives in a world filled with competing values, a variety of hardships and many enticements. You implicitly absorb the categories of thought provided by your native language, and the values of your native culture.

For example, Sarah lives in a society that glamorizes unreally thin women. Garrett's father was a poor role-model for how to handle frustration, and his bad example "discipled" his son into temper and drinking. We live in a world where betrayals of trust occur. Chandra lives among a group of peers who might (and have) hurt her.

But do those experiences provide the decisive explanation for their struggles? No. These are significant and impacting, but not determinative. Your surrounding environment influences you in countless ways, but it never determines whether your life orients in the direction of Christ or twists in on yourself.

In fact, countless factors "influence" you. Weather and seasons? You may feel gloomier during three cloudy weeks in January than you do during three bright weeks in July. The project due next week in school or on your job? The current state of your personal finances? World politics before and after 9/11? Immediate traffic conditions and whether you'll be late? What's on TV tonight? Whether your football team is winning or losing?

Any of these can affect you. But does any one decisively determine how you will react?

No. You are always in the mix.

In fact, the Bible teaches that God actually arranges the stage on which you live. He is the Lord of history, including your local time and place, and your personal history. Your particular matrix of influences provides the context in which your faith (or your self-will) plays out, in which He meets you (or you shirk Him).

This awareness frees you. You can seek to understand any contributory influence as just that, as a factor and not the cause. You won't grant them too much credit, morphing them into root causes and excuses for your sins. But you also won't dismiss them as irrelevant, ignoring the actual situations and

difficulties in which you need practical wisdom and practical mercies.

How you live comes out of your heart. "Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life" (Proverbs 4:23). The heart is you, not something that happens to you. Jesus says that when wrong actions appear, that wrong comes "from within, out of the heart of man" (Mark 7:21). Something about who you are and what you live for sets your trajectory in life and shapes every choice.

Deep down, everyone knows this is true.

That's why every sort of treatment or therapy involves taking some responsibility for your life. It's odd, when you think about it. According to the therapeutic outlook, you have no real responsibility for causing your problems. Your syndrome, disorder or disease was caused by genetics, hormones or how people treated you. But you are given final responsibility for solving what's wrong. You can get a grip; you can make better choices; you can choose to heal; you can change your self-talk.

Here's the logic: "You are definitely NOT a sinner. But you definitely ARE your savior."

God sees things the other way around. You definitely ARE a sinner, and you are definitely NOT your Savior.

When this merciful Father gets a grip on you, you take hold of Him. As the patient Spirit changes you, He enables you to make more loving choices. Because the good Shepherd restores your soul, you flourish. This most personal God teaches you how to talk with Him, so you stop talking to yourself so much.

We're tangled up, and we also live in tangled bodies amid a tangled world. C. S. Lewis vividly captured the profoundly humbling self-awareness this reality creates:

Man's love for God must always be very largely, and must often be entirely, a Need-love. This is obvious where we implore forgiveness for our sins or support in our tribulations. But in the long run it is perhaps even more apparent in our growing — for it ought to be growing — awareness that our whole being by its very nature is one vast need; incomplete, preparatory, empty yet cluttered, crying out for Him who can untie things that are now knotted together and tie up things that are still dangling loose. (The Four Loves, chapter 1)

Many things will influence you. The whole world is knotted up and dangling loose. But you are still your biggest problem. You need what God alone can give. It's no accident that Jesus begins here: "The poor in spirit are blessed" (Matt. 5:3). It's no accident that Paul heard God address his fundamental human weakness: "My grace is sufficient for you, because power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor. 12:9). It's no accident that most of the psalms cry for help. It's no accident that Jesus is who He is, and does what he does. It's no accident that God freely gives what you most need — the mercy to change your relationship with Him, and the power to change you.

Coming home to sanity

When we see how deeply the "madness in our hearts" (Ecclesiastes 9:3) infects us and our friends, then we see how deeply the love of God in Christ applies to our deepest problems. The real Psalm 23 and all the rest of God's wisdom lead us home.

Jesus Christ actually lived and died to rescue us. He now lives specifically to rewire our core insanity and to overcome our inevitable isolation. Best of all, His answer to self-absorption is not just a bunch of great ideas. The Lamb of God is a real person. The Shepherd calls you into a talking, listening, long-term, committed relationship. He's good, and good for you. The Therapeutic Gospel: Part 1

by David Powlison

We've invited Dr. David Powlison to begin a discussion on counseling from a biblical perspective by writing a series of articles for Boundless. This is a conversation starter: We believe that thoughtful discussion of significant issues is crucial to the flourishing of the body of Christ.

Focus on the Family does not promote one particular model of Christian counseling, but earnestly seeks that we all grow in wisdom together. As with any article on Boundless, publication is not meant to be taken as an endorsement of its content. It is our hope that you are challenged to consider the relevance of Scripture, the importance of balance in the counseling process, and to better understand the Lord's concern and power when it comes to understanding the real life problems that we all struggle with.

This article begins the second series on biblical counseling. You may want to read the first series of articles (part 1, part 2, part 3) and a clarification from Dr. Powlison before continuing.

* * *

In an earlier article we looked at how God interprets what goes wrong with human desires. Our desires run off into bad zeal and selfish ambition. What I want becomes a small god, becomes dictatorial and destructive. Among His many gifts, Jesus sets about to change what we want. The Holy Spirit rewrites the script of our hearts, so new desires begin to operate within us. He changes what we deep down want.

It's an amazing thing, inexplicable to those still captivated by the inherent plausibility of what they crave.

When Jesus takes us as His disciple, when our Father takes us as his children, we no longer need to be consumed by the craving to be loved, to make money, to be comfortable, to be beautiful, to find sexual ecstasy, to be successful, to control our world. We no longer need to prove that we are superior beings, righteous eagles who for too long have had to hang out with all the turkeys and other assorted idiots.

Of course, our renegade desires don't just give up on the spot and quit causing mischief. An inner battle ensues (Galatians 5:16-17). But by God's mercy, we deeply long for the kinds of things that wise men and women long for in the psalms and prayers of the Bible. The dictatorship of previous longings for love, achievement, self preoccupation and other garden-variety human wants is overthrown by grace.

God doesn't gratify our instinctive longings. He forgives them, and then changes what we most want. This is one facet of the gospel taught in the Bible.

But in our culture — even in the church — this isn't the usual way that problematic human desires are interpreted. It's common to interpret human desires automatically as givens. They're seen as unalterable and valid wants that must be fulfilled. The troubles that beset our desires arise because our desires are not fulfilled, our felt needs have not been met.

When this way of looking at things is ported into Christianity, then the gospel of Jesus becomes the better way to meet your needs. Perhaps your sin is that you look to your girlfriend/boyfriend or spouse to meet your need for love, when Jesus is the one who lives to meet that need. In this way of looking at things, God's chief purpose is often portrayed as merely giving us what we deeply desire, gratifying our deepest instinctive longings.

This way of describing how God interacts with our desires is a "therapeutic gospel." It offers to heal the woundedness we feel because our needs weren't met. It offers to fill those empty places inside with Jesus.

I think that the therapeutic gospel gets it wrong. It gets God wrong. It gets people wrong. It gets suffering wrong. It gets the gospel wrong.

But I'm not going to throw rocks. I want us to carefully understand what's at stake. I want us to truly see and feel the inner logic of both the therapeutic gospel and the ordinary gospel. We'll start in what might seem like an odd place: in Russia, almost 150 years ago, in the pages of Fyodor Dostoevsky's novel, The Brothers Karamazov.

The appeal of a "therapeutic gospel" drives the action in the most famous chapter in all of western literature. In the chapter "The Grand Inquisitor," Dostoevsky imagines Jesus returning to 16th century Spain. But Jesus is not welcomed by church authorities. The cardinal of Seville, head of the Inquisition, arrests and imprisons Jesus, condemning Him to die. Why? The church has shifted course. It has decided to meet instinctual human cravings, rather than call people to repentance. It has decided to bend its message to "felt needs," rather than call forth the high, holy and difficult freedom of faith working through love. Jesus' example and message are deemed too hard for weak souls. And so the church has decided to make it easier.

The Grand Inquisitor visits Jesus in His prison cell and interrogates Him. He asks again the three questions the devil put to Jesus in the wilderness centuries before. He argues with Jesus' answers. People are hungry, so the church will give earthly bread instead of the bread of heaven. People need a sense of mysterious powers, so the church will offer religious magic and miracles instead of faith in the Word of God. People need political stability, so the church will exert temporal power and authority instead of serving the call to freedom. "We have corrected Your work," the Inquisitor says to Jesus. In each of His answers to temptation, Jesus set the bar too high for normal people.

The Inquisitor's gospel is a therapeutic gospel. It's structured to give people what they want, not to change what they want. It merely makes people feel better. It centers exclusively around the immediate welfare of man and temporal happiness. It discards the glory of God in Christ. It forfeits the narrow, difficult road that brings deep human flourishing and eternal joy.

This therapeutic gospel accepts and covers for human weaknesses, seeking to ameliorate the most obvious symptoms of distress. It takes human nature as a given, because human nature is too hard to change. It does not want the King of heaven to come down. It does not attempt to change people into lovers of God who embrace the truth of who Jesus is, what He is like, what He does.

The Contemporary Therapeutic Gospel

The most obvious, instinctual felt needs of 21st century, middle-class Americans are different from the felt needs of the peasants that Dostoevsky tapped into. Most of us take food supply and political stability for granted. We find our miracle substitute in the wonders of technology and entertainment. Middle-class felt needs are less primal. They express a more luxurious, more

refined sense of self interest:

• I want to feel loved for who I am, to be pitied for what I've gone through, to feel intimately understood, to be accepted unconditionally no matter what I do.

• I want to experience a sense of personal significance and meaningfulness, to be successful in my career, to know my life matters, to have an impact.

• I want to affirm that I am OK, to feel good about myself, to have a sense of self-confidence, to assert my opinions and desires no matter how I may be living my life.

• I want to be entertained, to feel pleasure in the endless stream of performances that delight my eyes and tickle my ears and warm my belly.

• I want a sense of adventure, excitement, action, and passion so that I experience life as thrilling and moving.

The modern, middle-class version of therapeutic gospel takes its cues from this particular family of desires. It appeals to psychological felt needs, not the physical felt needs that typically arise in difficult social conditions. (The contemporary health-and wealth gospel and obsession with miracles express something more like the Grand Inquisitor's older version of therapeutic gospel.)

In this new gospel, the great evils to be redressed do not call for any fundamental change of direction in the human heart. Instead, my deepest problems are merely limited to what has happened to me. It's not something about me that has also gone woefully astray.

It's only about my sense of rejection because others have not loved me thoughtfully and well. It's my corrosive experience of life's vanity, because I haven't been able to have the impact I want, to be recognized as Somebody Who Matters. It's my nervous sense of self-condemnation and diffidence, because my self-esteem is wobbly. It's the imminent threat of boredom if my music is turned off. It's how so much of life is routine; I love the adrenaline rush, and I don't like it when a long, slow road lies ahead.

The gospel is enlisted to serve these particular cravings; Jesus and the church exist to make you feel loved, significant, validated, entertained and charged up. This gospel ameliorates distressing symptoms. It makes you feel better. The logic of this therapeutic gospel is a jesus-for-Me who meets individual desires and assuages psychic aches.

Medical or pseudo-medical?

The therapeutic outlook is a good thing in its proper place. By definition, a medical therapeutic gaze holds in view true problems of physical suffering and breakdown. In literal medical intervention, a therapy treats an illness, trauma or deficiency. You don't call someone to repentance for their colon cancer, broken leg or beriberi. You seek to heal — literally.

So far, so good.

But in today's therapeutic gospel the medical way of looking at the world is metaphorically extended to these psychological desires. If I experienced betrayal and rejection, my heart was broken and wounded. Like with a broken leg, I need healing. If my need for love was not met, then, as with a vitamin B1 deficiency, I become sick. I won't become better until the deficiency is made up for and the need is met.

These psychological experiences are defined exactly on the pattern of medical problems. You feel bad; the therapy makes you feel better. The definition of the disease bypasses or downplays the agency of the sinful human heart. You are not the agent of your deepest problems. You might have some outward sins, but you are a mostly a sufferer and victim of unmet needs.

The offer of a cure logically skips lightly over the sin-bearing Savior. It's more important that He meets your sense of need than that He was crucified in your place. Repentance from unbelief, willfulness and self-centeredness is not really the issue. Sinners are not called to a U-turn and to the new life that is life indeed.

Such a gospel massages self-love. There is nothing in its inner logic to make you love God and love any other person besides yourself. This therapeutic gospel may often mention the word "Jesus," but He has morphed into the meeter-of-your-needs, not the Savior from your sins. It corrects Jesus' work. The therapeutic gospel unhinges the gospel.

The Once-for-All Gospel

The real gospel is the good news of the Word made flesh, the sin-bearing Savior, the resurrected Lord: "I am the living One, and I was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore" (Rev. 1:18). This Christ turns the world upside down. One prime effect of the Holy Spirit's inworking presence and power is the rewiring of our sense of felt needs.

Because the fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, we keenly feel a different set of needs when God comes into view and when we understand that we stand or fall in His gaze. My instinctual cravings are replaced (sometimes quickly, always gradually) by the growing awareness of true, life-and-death needs:

• I need mercy above all else: "Lord, have mercy on me." "For Your name's sake, pardon my iniquity for it is very great."

• I want to learn wisdom, and unlearn willful self-preoccupation: "Nothing you desire compares with her."

• I need to learn to love both God and neighbor: "The goal of our instruction is love that comes from a pure heart, a good conscience, and a sincere faith."

• I long for God's name to be honored, for his kingdom to come, for his will to be done on earth, for his whole church to be glorified together.

• I want Christ's glory and lovingkindness and goodness to be seen on earth, to fill the earth as obviously as water fills the ocean.

• I need God to be my refuge and deliverer, setting me free from enemies, sufferings, sorrows, death, temptations.

• I long for the Lord to wipe away all tears. • I need God to change me from who I am by instinct, choice, and

practice. • I want him to deliver me from my obsessive self-righteousness, to

slay my lust for self-vindication, so that I feel my need for the mercies of Christ, so that I learn to treat others gently.

• I need God's mighty and intimate help in order to will and to do those things that last unto eternal life, rather than squandering my life on vanities.

• I want to learn how to endure hardship and suffering in hope, having my faith simplified, deepened, and purified.

• I need to learn, to listen, to worship, to delight, to trust, to give thanks, to cry out, to take refuge, to obey, to serve, to hope.

• I want to attain the resurrection to eternal life: "We groan within ourselves, waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our body."

• I need God himself: "Show me your glory." "Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus."

Make it so, Father of mercies. Make it so, Redeemer of all that is dark and broken.

Prayer expresses desire. Prayer expresses your felt sense of need. I've phrased these requests in the first person singular — I, me, my — to highlight the contrast with the list of psychological desires. The singular is not wrong as far as it goes. But each renewed desire functions on behalf of others also. (This stands in profound contrast with the psychological felt needs, which are always and only first person singular. Which of them ever becomes a felt longing for someone else to have gratified desires?!) What I want for me, I want for us, and we want for each other, all of us together. Lord, have mercy on us. Kind Savior, give her courage in her sufferings, and wipe away all her tears.

Just as prayer expresses what I need, so song expresses gladness and gratitude at desire fulfilled. Song expresses your felt sense of who God is and all that He gives. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.

There are no prayers or songs in the Bible that take their cues from the current therapeutic felt needs.

That mere fact should give serious pause to anyone drifting in the direction of a therapeutic understanding of how unexamined desires link up with Jesus' gospel. Imagine, "My Father in heaven, help me feel that I'm OK just the way I am. Fill me with self-confidence. Protect me this day from having to do anything I find boring. Hallelujah, I'm indispensable, and what I'm doing is really having an impact on others, so I can feel good about my life."

Have mercy upon us! Instead, in our Bible we hear a thousand cries of need and shouts of delight that orient us to our real needs and to our true Savior. The Therapeutic Gospel: Part 2

by David Powlison

We've invited Dr. David Powlison to begin a discussion on counseling from a biblical perspective by writing a series of articles for Boundless. This is a conversation starter: We believe that thoughtful discussion of significant issues is crucial to the flourishing of the body of Christ.

Focus on the Family does not promote one particular model of Christian counseling, but earnestly seeks that we all grow in wisdom together. As with any article on Boundless, publication is not meant to be taken as an endorsement of its content. It is our hope that you are challenged to consider the relevance of Scripture, the importance of balance in the counseling process, and to better understand the Lord's concern and power when it comes to understanding the real life problems that we all struggle with.

This article concludes his second series on biblical counseling; You may want to read part 1 before you continue. You may want to read the first series of articles (part 1, part 2, part 3) and a clarification from Dr. Powlison before continuing.

* * *

Is there nothing good about the things people crave? Of course, when they

are properly understood. Carefully interpreted, the felt needs make good gifts.

But they make bad gods.

The true God refuses to let your felt needs call the shots. Get first things first. Seek first the Father's kingdom and His righteousness, and every other good gift will be added to you. This is easy to see in the case of the three particular gifts offered by the Grand Inquisitor's therapeutic gospel.

It is a good thing to have a stable source of food, "bread for tomorrow" (Matt. 6:11, literally). All people everywhere seek food, water and clothing (Matt. 6:32). Our Father knows what we need. But we're called to seek His kingdom first. We do not live by bread alone, but by every word out of His mouth. If we worship our physical needs, we will only die. But if we worship God, the giver of every good gift, we will be thankful for what He gives, we will still have hope when we suffer lack, and we will surely feast at the endless banquet in eternity.

A sense of wonder and mystery is also a very good thing. But the same caveat, the same framework applies. God is no Wizard of Oz, creating experiences of wonder for the sake of the experience. Jesus said no to making a spectacle of Himself in the midst of temple crowds. His daily faithfulness to God is the unfathomable wonder. Get first things first. Then we'll appreciate glory in small ways and large.

In the end we will know all things as wonders, both what is (Rev. 4) and what has happened (Rev. 5). We will know the incomprehensible God, creator and redeemer, whose name is Wonderful.

Similarly, political order is a good gift. We are to pray for the authorities to rule well, so that we may live peacefully (1 Tim. 2:2). We are to pursue justice and mercy for all who are oppressed and helpless. But if we live for a just society, we will always be disappointed.

Again, seek first God's kingdom. Then we'll work patiently toward a just social order, enjoy it to the degree it's attainable, grieve what is not attainable, and have reason to endure through injustice. In the end, we will know unutterable joy on the day when all persons bow to the reign of the true King.

Of course, God gives good gifts. But he also gives the best gift, the inexpressible Gift of gifts. The Grand Inquisitor burned Jesus at the stake in order to erase the Gift and the Giver. He chose to give people good things, but discarded first things.

The things promised by the contemporary therapeutic gospel are a bit trickier to interpret. The odor of self-interest and self-obsession clings closely to that wish list of "I want _____." But even these, carefully reframed and reinterpreted, do gesture in the direction of good gifts.

The overall package of felt needs is systematically misaligned, but the pieces can be properly understood. Any "different gospel"(Gal. 1:6) makes itself plausible by offering Lego-pieces of reality assembled into a structure that contradicts revealed truth. Satan's temptation of Adam and Eve was plausible only because it incorporated many elements of reality, continually gesturing in the direction of truth, even while steadily guiding away from the truth:

"Look, a beautiful and desirable tree. And God has said that the test will reveal both good and evil, with the possibility of life — not death — rising from your choice. Just as God is wise, so you, the chooser, can become like

God in wisdom. Come now and eat."

So close, yet so far away. Almost so, but the exact opposite.

Five Symptoms of the Therapeutic Gospel

Consider the five elements we have identified with the therapeutic gospel.

Need for love

It is surely a good thing to know that you are both known and loved. God, who searches the thoughts and intentions of our hearts, also sets His steadfast love upon us.

However, all this is radically different from the instinctual craving to be accepted for who I am. Christ's love comes pointedly and personally despite who I am. I am accepted for who Christ is, because of what He did, does, and will do. God truly accepts me, and if God is for me, who can be against me?

But in doing this, He does not affirm and endorse any ungodly character in me. Rather, He sets about changing me into a fundamentally different kind of person. In the real gospel I feel deeply known and loved, but my relentless "need for love" has been overthrown.

Need for significance

It is surely a good thing for the works of your hands to be established forever: gold, silver, and precious stones; not wood, hay, and straw. It is good when what we do with our lives truly counts, and when our works follow us into eternity.

Vanity, futility and ultimate insignificance register the curse upon our work life — even midcourse, not just when we retire, or when we die, or on the Day of Judgment. But the real gospel inverts the order of things presupposed by the therapeutic gospel. The craving for impact and significance — one of the typical "youthful lusts" that boil up within us — is merely idolatrous when it acts as Director of Operations in the human heart.

God does not meet our need for significance; He meets our need for mercy and deliverance from our obsession with personal significance. When we turn from our enslavement and turn to God, then what we do does start to count for good.

The gospel of Jesus and the fruit of faith are not tailored ultimately to "meet our needs." He frees us from the tyranny of felt needs, remakes us to fear God and keep His commandments (Eccl. 12:13). In the divine irony of grace, that alone makes what we do with our lives of lasting value.

Need for self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-assertion apart from Christ

To gain a confident sense of our identity is a great good. Ephesians is strewn with several dozen "identity statements," because by this the Spirit motivates a life of courageous faith and love. We are God's — among the saints, chosen ones, adopted sons, beloved children, citizens, slaves, soldiers; part of the workmanship, wife, and dwelling place — every one of these in Christ.

No aspect of our identity is self-referential, feeding self aggrandizement. Our opinion of ourselves is far less important than God's opinion of us, and accurate self-assessment is derivative of God's assessment. True identity is

God-referential. True awareness of ourselves connects to high esteem for Christ.

Is it really self-confidence that we want? Or is it a deep confidence in Christ that correlates to a vote of fundamental no confidence in and about ourselves? Either way we might strike others as "a confident person," but those are two utterly different kinds of persons. God nowhere replaces diffidence and people-pleasing by self-assertiveness. In fact, to assert our opinions and desires, as is, marks us as a fool.

Only as we are freed from the tyranny of our opinions and desires apart from the Authority are we free to assess them accurately, and then to express them appropriately.

Need for pleasure

In fact, the true gospel promises endlessly joyous experience, drinking from the river of delights (Ps. 36). This describes God's presence. We are made for such joy.

But as we have seen in each case, this is keyed to the reversal of our instinctive cravings, not to their direct satisfaction. The way of joy is the way of suffering, endurance, small obediences, willingness to identify with human misery, willingness to overthrow your most persuasive desires and instincts. I don't need to be entertained. But I absolutely need to learn to worship with all my heart.

Need for excitement and adventure

To participate in Christ's kingdom is to play a part within the Greatest Action-Adventure Story Ever Told.

But the paradox of redemption again turns the whole world upside down. The real adventure takes the path of weakness, struggle, endurance, patience, small kindnesses done well. The road to excellence in wisdom is unglamorous.

Other people might take better vacations and have a more thrilling marriage than yours. The path of Jesus calls forth more grit than thrill. He needed endurance far more than He needed excitement. He needed the patience to love slow-movers more than He needed adventure. His kingdom might not cater to our cravings for derring-do and thrill-seeking, but "solid joys and lasting treasures none but Zion's children know."

Good Goods, Bad Gods

We say "yes" and "amen" to all good gifts.

But get first things first. The contemporary therapeutic gospel in its many forms takes our gimmes at face value. It grabs for the goodies. It erases worship of the Giver, whose greatest gift to us is mercy toward those whose desires are disordered by instinct, enculturation, choice and habit. He calls us to radical repentance.

Bob Dylan described the therapeutic's alternative in a remarkable phrase: "You think He's just an errand boy to satisfy your wandering desires" (from "When You Gonna Wake Up?"). Second things are exalted as masters of Number One.

Get first things first. Get the gospel of incarnation, crucifixion, resurrection

and glory. Live the gospel of repentance, faith and transformation into the image of the Son.

Proclaim the gospel of the coming day when eternal life and eternal death are revealed — the Day of Christ.

Which gospel?

Which gospel will we need? Which gospel will we live? Which gospel will we talk about, sing about, teach or preach? Which needs will we awaken, affirm and address in others? Which Christ will be our Christ, our churches' Christ, our friends' Christ? Will it be a made-up jesus who massages felt needs? Or the Jesus Christ who turns the world upside down and makes all things new?

The Grand Inquisitor was very tenderhearted towards human felt need — very sympathetic to the things that all people everywhere seek with all their heart, very sensitive to the difficulty of changing anyone. But he proved to be a monster in the end.

There's a saying in mercy ministries that runs like this, "If you don't seek to meet people's physical needs, it's heartless. But if you don't give people the crucified, risen and returning Christ, it's hopeless." Jesus fed hungry people bread, and Jesus offered His broken body as the bread of eternal life. It is ultimately cruel to leave people in their sins, captive to their instinctive desires, always self-preoccupied, under curse.

The current therapeutic gospel sounds tender-hearted at first. It is so sensitive to pressure points of ache and disappointment. But in the end it is cruel and Christ-less. It does not foster true self-knowledge. It does not rewrite the script of the world. It creates no prayers or songs.

We must be no less sensitive but far more discerning. Jesus Christ turns human need upside down, creating prayer. He is the inexpressible Gift of gifts, creating song. And He gives all good gifts, both now and forever. Let every knee bow, and let everything that has breath praise the LORD.