I have been writing about the Holy Spirit, about the Spirit’s transformative power, so it would be fitting to describe how the Spirit has transformed me. I sought to do that—writing about the love I find, about the guidance I receive, about giving, about dying to self, about faith. But my draft of that essay rang false. It sketched a picture of a man grown stronger by God. I threw that draft away because I see that the truth is this: Rather than making me stronger, the Holy Spirit has made me weak. We are “strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man” (Ephesians 3:16), but that qualification—in the inner man—is stark. The outer man is where we usually seek our strength.
In the story of Moses, we see God actually hardening the heart of Moses’ oppressor, Pharaoh (Exodus 7:3). God himself increases the villain’s tolerance for villainy. That God would do this seems strange. Yet out of my own life, I can well understand the meaning of this. God allows each of us to choose, and God accepts the choice—loving us all the while. A man who chooses against God will need a hard heart and will need human strength. So God blesses the man with these paltry things, since the man won’t accept any better. I can understand, because I was a tiny pharaoh myself at one time, swaggering within a minuscule zone of comfort which I rarely left.
Now, my heart is more often fractured and more often soft. Paul said (in 1 Corinthians 9:16), “Woe to me if I don’t preach the gospel”—meaning he had to do the work God put in front of him to do. I can relate. The imperative to “seek first the kingdom of God” (Matthew 6:33) is no longer just good advice, but a requirement. The day is frazzled and the week descends into misery when I do not give time to this seeking. Yet when I do set my pride and worries aside, when I do lay my energies and attention before God, then joy, rest, and peace all ripen from within.
This personal imperative to submit marks the most apparent change I have seen in myself since turning toward God. Simply put, I have become more fully and obviously dependent upon him.
The world is bigger now. It is more rich with adventure, and with mysteries that lead to understanding. But I am small. More, I am incomplete. The heart I bring with me on the adventure is lacking—it is practically nothing, in fact—unless I allow it to be filled with him.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Sacred Privilege (Each of Us Is Significant to the Story)
....that if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised him from the dead, you will be saved.
—Romans 10:9
The eight-year-old in my life has been asking innocent questions about Jesus and his story, and I have been answering with the facts I believe—about Jesus’ life, his death for our sins, and his bodily rise from the tomb.
But something leaves me uncomfortable about what I am telling the child. Something is missing from what I am saying.
The discomfort is enough to lead me to re-examine my own faith. Do I really believe the gospel story?
I do.
However, I have always believed something. Whether I recognized it or not, some framework or another has always been the lens through which I saw the world.
Belief systems already compete for my child’s attention. I don’t necessarily object. We live in a world of ideas. One cause I do find for objection, though, is when conjecture is presented to a child as fact. To give a small example, I think I see a specific case of this in the modern idea that our earth or ecosystem is imperiled. Children hear exaggerated and speculative ideas of environmental calamity presented to them with the same weight as if they were known articles of geography or math. Yet this is a child—someone who trusts adults to provide reliable training about the world. If reasonable causes for doubt are not acknowledged as part of the teaching, then the message is incomplete.
The resurrection of Jesus Christ is not, technically, conjecture. It is rather an assertion. It is an assertion made by witnesses. I treat the event as fact. I see the supporting evidence for this fact in the imprint of history. Even so, this event is a different kind of fact.
The nature of the difference is made plain in scripture. The resurrection of Jesus cannot be conclusively and analytically “proven,” because God did not construct the event that way. Each of us is significant to the story. Each of us has a vital, personal role to play. We are to make the conscious election of choosing God—and choosing him in our hearts. That is, we are called to believe.
In the Bible, the first to report on the empty tomb were women. The detail is telling. If the story of the resurrection was fabricated, then the fabricator would not have told the story this way. Women, within that culture, would have been too easy to disregard. The gospel account itself makes this plain; the women’s story at first was not taken seriously (Luke 24:11). From the very beginning, in other words, belief required this willingness to accept—this courage to brave the fear of being seen as foolish. From the beginning, there was this need for an exercise of faith.
A young child who hears only the facts of these events from a grown-up is not likely to be building on faith, but instead building on his or her trust in the authority of the grown-up. By itself, that is not enough. The trust in grown-ups won’t always be there—nor should it be. Therefore, though I need to tell my own child the facts about Jesus, I think I also need to say more.
Specifically, I will add to the account that plenty of people reject this story. Plenty of others refuse to care.
I have done both.
The Bible says, “believe in your heart,” and I do. I have chosen this belief for my heart, and I can tell you all the reasons why.
You will get to make the same choice.
You will give your heart to something, because everyone gives their heart to something. Whether they know it or not.
This is a sacred privilege you will exercise—this privilege of making your heart’s choice.
You will get to decide what belief is rich enough to keep you. No one else can choose for you. You will get to go to the belief that is worthy of you. You will get to decide just what belief deserves to have your heart.
—Romans 10:9
The eight-year-old in my life has been asking innocent questions about Jesus and his story, and I have been answering with the facts I believe—about Jesus’ life, his death for our sins, and his bodily rise from the tomb.
But something leaves me uncomfortable about what I am telling the child. Something is missing from what I am saying.
The discomfort is enough to lead me to re-examine my own faith. Do I really believe the gospel story?
I do.
However, I have always believed something. Whether I recognized it or not, some framework or another has always been the lens through which I saw the world.
Belief systems already compete for my child’s attention. I don’t necessarily object. We live in a world of ideas. One cause I do find for objection, though, is when conjecture is presented to a child as fact. To give a small example, I think I see a specific case of this in the modern idea that our earth or ecosystem is imperiled. Children hear exaggerated and speculative ideas of environmental calamity presented to them with the same weight as if they were known articles of geography or math. Yet this is a child—someone who trusts adults to provide reliable training about the world. If reasonable causes for doubt are not acknowledged as part of the teaching, then the message is incomplete.
The resurrection of Jesus Christ is not, technically, conjecture. It is rather an assertion. It is an assertion made by witnesses. I treat the event as fact. I see the supporting evidence for this fact in the imprint of history. Even so, this event is a different kind of fact.
The nature of the difference is made plain in scripture. The resurrection of Jesus cannot be conclusively and analytically “proven,” because God did not construct the event that way. Each of us is significant to the story. Each of us has a vital, personal role to play. We are to make the conscious election of choosing God—and choosing him in our hearts. That is, we are called to believe.
In the Bible, the first to report on the empty tomb were women. The detail is telling. If the story of the resurrection was fabricated, then the fabricator would not have told the story this way. Women, within that culture, would have been too easy to disregard. The gospel account itself makes this plain; the women’s story at first was not taken seriously (Luke 24:11). From the very beginning, in other words, belief required this willingness to accept—this courage to brave the fear of being seen as foolish. From the beginning, there was this need for an exercise of faith.
A young child who hears only the facts of these events from a grown-up is not likely to be building on faith, but instead building on his or her trust in the authority of the grown-up. By itself, that is not enough. The trust in grown-ups won’t always be there—nor should it be. Therefore, though I need to tell my own child the facts about Jesus, I think I also need to say more.
Specifically, I will add to the account that plenty of people reject this story. Plenty of others refuse to care.
I have done both.
The Bible says, “believe in your heart,” and I do. I have chosen this belief for my heart, and I can tell you all the reasons why.
You will get to make the same choice.
You will give your heart to something, because everyone gives their heart to something. Whether they know it or not.
This is a sacred privilege you will exercise—this privilege of making your heart’s choice.
You will get to decide what belief is rich enough to keep you. No one else can choose for you. You will get to go to the belief that is worthy of you. You will get to decide just what belief deserves to have your heart.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Personal Pentecost (Did I Do My Baptism Wrong?)
When I write this way, like I am doing here on this blog, I feel like I am following the Holy Spirit. That is, when I do this work of trying to search out lessons from the walk of faith to see if they can be fit into useful paragraphs, I feel the Spirit bearing fruit. The fruits of the Spirit are named in Galatians 5:22-23—a list that includes love, joy, peace, and patience. When I seek God through this kind of composition, I experience all of these characteristics in greater measure. The people who have to deal with me are among the beneficiaries.
Yet the skeptic might argue that there’s nothing spiritual in this. The effect is purely material. The effect is endorphins. Writing just triggers the good chemicals in my brain.
Maybe. I’m not much moved by that argument. The fruits of the Spirit can have a physical component—God is more real than my body. The argument that “it’s all purely physical” still does nothing to explain how an election on my part—the choice of one pursuit out of many I might have chosen—could drive these material shifts in the physicality of my body.
However, there is another objection the skeptic might raise that does give me greater pause. Namely: Writing has always been with me. It was a part of my life before I believed in Christ. I have found something new to do with my writing, but I have always derived love, joy, peace, and patience from the attempt to try to capture ideas in paragraphs.
So if I have always had these fruits, where then is the Spirit?
The Line
The question is meaningful, because scripture suggests there ought to be a clear line of demarcation involving the Spirit’s relationship with us. Peter draws the line in his speech at the Pentecost in Acts 2. “Repent and be baptized,” he says, “and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:38).
I believe I have repented. I have also been baptized. However, there has been no personal Pentecost I could discern. At the time of my baptism or later on, there was no wind rushing in, and nothing like the flame or foreign language discernment that Acts 2 described.
Therefore: Did I do something wrong?
The clear line of division can be just as elusive if we ever try to distinguish which people have the Holy Spirit. Since love is first among the fruits of the Spirit, the believers in Christ ought to have more love than those who do not believe—correct?
I do see professing Christians who are profoundly loving. Their love is part of what persuaded me to join them. But not all are this way. Then, I take note of the wonderfully loving people who apparently have no interest in Jesus Christ. I know a person like this; I bet you do, too. What are we to make of the discrepancy?
Does the indwelling of the Holy Spirit have a meaningful impact or not?
All these questions feel a little like elephants in the church. We believe in the Holy Spirit, but we’re not necessarily sure what that belief means. Yet the questions are worth exploring for that very reason. One of the teachings of Jesus that remains the most startlingly profound is that there is this other facet of God—this God who comes to live with us. We are to seek God, and that includes seeking the God who is both mysterious and powerfully near.
He Reveals Himself
I think the beginning of an answer to these questions can be found in a distinction—a seemingly small difference that actually has profound importance. We tend to confuse the Holy Spirit with the manifestations of the Holy Spirit.
The Holy Spirit is everywhere. See Psalm 139:7-8. It is therefore meaningless to say that we could ever “sense” or “detect” his presence—that presence is ubiquitous. However, the Holy Spirit does sometimes assert himself in ways that we do sense, or can perceive. When he does this, he does it for one reason. He manifests his presence for the “common good” or the “benefit of all” (1 Corinthians 12:7).
The Pentecost of Acts 2 was for the benefit of all. Jesus had just left. He went to heaven. The church was left behind, and it is difficult to imagine what this loss must have felt like. A profound loneliness must have set in, the loneliness that God is gone. But then, as if on cue, the Holy Spirit showed up. He showed up vividly—uniting the body of believers through a common language, and spiritually igniting them with tongues of flame. This was the Pentecost, and it would be hard to argue that the event did not serve the common good.
The situation is different today. We have the scriptures. We have the testimonies of those who have come before us. If every one of us today obtained a clear and predictable sign at the moment we “joined,” then we would not be part of Christ’s body by faith, but by validation.
Imagine also what we might do with this information. If all believers had some mark of the Spirit in their lives that was both clear and predictable, then it would be easy (easier than it already is!) to pigeonhole people according to a view of who is “in” and who is not. Perhaps the common good is better served today by a situation in which Christians are sometimes challenged by the sight of non-Christians who seem to be bearing more of the Spirit’s fruit.
Back Then
As we have already seen from the reference to Psalm 139, the Spirit was apparent to people in the Old Testament. Indeed, Psalm 51:11 offers a plea: Do not take your Holy Spirit from me. The Holy Spirit was present back then—and I think something similar is true for the “back then” of my own life. The Holy Spirit was with me, even manifest, before I believed in Christ.
How could this not be the case?
Yes, I was rejecting God. But God kept calling.
Yes, I was rejecting the One whose love and authority should have been obvious—but this is the God who pursues his lost sheep (Luke 15:4). This is the God who showers blessings on believers and nonbelievers alike (Matthew 5:45).
Of course his Spirit touched me and of course his Spirit even came to my aid! His Spirit showed me what more I could have had, if only I had welcomed him. Instead, back then, I simply took the blessings and indulged in them before I turned back again to going my own way.
Do Not Take Your Spirit Away
Something decisive did happen at Pentecost. As discussed in a previous post, there is a statement from Jesus (Luke 11:13) that makes little sense unless the Holy Spirit is something of which it is possible for us to have “more.” That is, the Holy Spirit within us can increase. Consider this in light of what Peter said. He did not speak of the “arrival” of the Holy Spirit. He did not make an introduction. Rather, he spoke of a gift that had been given, a gift of the Holy Spirit, a gift that changed the nature of the Spirit’s relationship with us.
Something decisive happened at Pentecost, and something decisive happened with my own baptism and belief. I have been searching for manifestations of the Holy Spirit in my own life of faith—ways that the Spirit has reshaped my life and character. I think I have found them. However, I do not include these fruits I experience through writing as part of this list. I was fortunate enough to have those before I had faith.
Rather than the Spirit appearing for the first time at my baptism, I believe the decisive thing that happened is this: The plea of Psalm 51 was heard. God did not take his Holy Spirit away. He did not take the manifestations away.
In fact, God took away the very fear that the Holy Spirit would be taken. This is the fear that the nonbeliever lives with, without even knowing its name.
At Pentecost, the current and future believers in Christ got something that was genuinely new. They received a door in their hearts, a door at which they could always search and knock. This door will always open—so long as we truly want the gifts that the Holy Spirit gives.
We do have to seek, we do have to ask, and we do have to knock. But the connection—the way by which we can invite God to enter our hearts and lives—remains ours. From the first day of faith forward, the amount of the Holy Spirit in our lives can only increase.
Yet the skeptic might argue that there’s nothing spiritual in this. The effect is purely material. The effect is endorphins. Writing just triggers the good chemicals in my brain.
Maybe. I’m not much moved by that argument. The fruits of the Spirit can have a physical component—God is more real than my body. The argument that “it’s all purely physical” still does nothing to explain how an election on my part—the choice of one pursuit out of many I might have chosen—could drive these material shifts in the physicality of my body.
However, there is another objection the skeptic might raise that does give me greater pause. Namely: Writing has always been with me. It was a part of my life before I believed in Christ. I have found something new to do with my writing, but I have always derived love, joy, peace, and patience from the attempt to try to capture ideas in paragraphs.
So if I have always had these fruits, where then is the Spirit?
The Line
The question is meaningful, because scripture suggests there ought to be a clear line of demarcation involving the Spirit’s relationship with us. Peter draws the line in his speech at the Pentecost in Acts 2. “Repent and be baptized,” he says, “and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:38).
I believe I have repented. I have also been baptized. However, there has been no personal Pentecost I could discern. At the time of my baptism or later on, there was no wind rushing in, and nothing like the flame or foreign language discernment that Acts 2 described.
Therefore: Did I do something wrong?
The clear line of division can be just as elusive if we ever try to distinguish which people have the Holy Spirit. Since love is first among the fruits of the Spirit, the believers in Christ ought to have more love than those who do not believe—correct?
I do see professing Christians who are profoundly loving. Their love is part of what persuaded me to join them. But not all are this way. Then, I take note of the wonderfully loving people who apparently have no interest in Jesus Christ. I know a person like this; I bet you do, too. What are we to make of the discrepancy?
Does the indwelling of the Holy Spirit have a meaningful impact or not?
All these questions feel a little like elephants in the church. We believe in the Holy Spirit, but we’re not necessarily sure what that belief means. Yet the questions are worth exploring for that very reason. One of the teachings of Jesus that remains the most startlingly profound is that there is this other facet of God—this God who comes to live with us. We are to seek God, and that includes seeking the God who is both mysterious and powerfully near.
He Reveals Himself
I think the beginning of an answer to these questions can be found in a distinction—a seemingly small difference that actually has profound importance. We tend to confuse the Holy Spirit with the manifestations of the Holy Spirit.
The Holy Spirit is everywhere. See Psalm 139:7-8. It is therefore meaningless to say that we could ever “sense” or “detect” his presence—that presence is ubiquitous. However, the Holy Spirit does sometimes assert himself in ways that we do sense, or can perceive. When he does this, he does it for one reason. He manifests his presence for the “common good” or the “benefit of all” (1 Corinthians 12:7).
The Pentecost of Acts 2 was for the benefit of all. Jesus had just left. He went to heaven. The church was left behind, and it is difficult to imagine what this loss must have felt like. A profound loneliness must have set in, the loneliness that God is gone. But then, as if on cue, the Holy Spirit showed up. He showed up vividly—uniting the body of believers through a common language, and spiritually igniting them with tongues of flame. This was the Pentecost, and it would be hard to argue that the event did not serve the common good.
The situation is different today. We have the scriptures. We have the testimonies of those who have come before us. If every one of us today obtained a clear and predictable sign at the moment we “joined,” then we would not be part of Christ’s body by faith, but by validation.
Imagine also what we might do with this information. If all believers had some mark of the Spirit in their lives that was both clear and predictable, then it would be easy (easier than it already is!) to pigeonhole people according to a view of who is “in” and who is not. Perhaps the common good is better served today by a situation in which Christians are sometimes challenged by the sight of non-Christians who seem to be bearing more of the Spirit’s fruit.
Back Then
As we have already seen from the reference to Psalm 139, the Spirit was apparent to people in the Old Testament. Indeed, Psalm 51:11 offers a plea: Do not take your Holy Spirit from me. The Holy Spirit was present back then—and I think something similar is true for the “back then” of my own life. The Holy Spirit was with me, even manifest, before I believed in Christ.
How could this not be the case?
Yes, I was rejecting God. But God kept calling.
Yes, I was rejecting the One whose love and authority should have been obvious—but this is the God who pursues his lost sheep (Luke 15:4). This is the God who showers blessings on believers and nonbelievers alike (Matthew 5:45).
Of course his Spirit touched me and of course his Spirit even came to my aid! His Spirit showed me what more I could have had, if only I had welcomed him. Instead, back then, I simply took the blessings and indulged in them before I turned back again to going my own way.
Do Not Take Your Spirit Away
Something decisive did happen at Pentecost. As discussed in a previous post, there is a statement from Jesus (Luke 11:13) that makes little sense unless the Holy Spirit is something of which it is possible for us to have “more.” That is, the Holy Spirit within us can increase. Consider this in light of what Peter said. He did not speak of the “arrival” of the Holy Spirit. He did not make an introduction. Rather, he spoke of a gift that had been given, a gift of the Holy Spirit, a gift that changed the nature of the Spirit’s relationship with us.
Something decisive happened at Pentecost, and something decisive happened with my own baptism and belief. I have been searching for manifestations of the Holy Spirit in my own life of faith—ways that the Spirit has reshaped my life and character. I think I have found them. However, I do not include these fruits I experience through writing as part of this list. I was fortunate enough to have those before I had faith.
Rather than the Spirit appearing for the first time at my baptism, I believe the decisive thing that happened is this: The plea of Psalm 51 was heard. God did not take his Holy Spirit away. He did not take the manifestations away.
In fact, God took away the very fear that the Holy Spirit would be taken. This is the fear that the nonbeliever lives with, without even knowing its name.
At Pentecost, the current and future believers in Christ got something that was genuinely new. They received a door in their hearts, a door at which they could always search and knock. This door will always open—so long as we truly want the gifts that the Holy Spirit gives.
We do have to seek, we do have to ask, and we do have to knock. But the connection—the way by which we can invite God to enter our hearts and lives—remains ours. From the first day of faith forward, the amount of the Holy Spirit in our lives can only increase.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
What Does the Holy Spirit Do? (Here is Where God’s Answers are Already Yes)
If [even you] know how to give good gifts to your children, then how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!
—Luke 11:13
In chapter 11 of Luke’s gospel, a disciple asks Jesus how to pray. Jesus gives him a model prayer—Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. This response should have been sufficient to answer the question.
But the answer didn’t speak to what the disciple really wanted to know—or so I gather. Jesus elaborated on his answer in a way that suggests he saw the further question on the man’s face. If that disciple was anything like me, then what he really wanted to know was, How do I pray effectively, Jesus? How do I pray so that my prayers will work?
Jesus perhaps paused a moment, and perhaps noted the others who were also listening.
He said there is something God wants to give you—he just wants you to want it. If you do, he will give more. “Keep asking and it will be given to you,” Jesus said. “Keep searching and you will find. Keep knocking and the door will be opened to you” (Luke 11:9).
What is this gift that will be given in proportion to your asking? The gift is actually a person—the Holy Spirit.
Indeed, the words of Jesus quoted at the top of this post imply that the Holy Spirit is a person who comes in quantity. That is, the Holy Spirit is someone of whom we can receive more and more, provided we continue to ask, seek, and knock. The gifts that the Holy Spirit provides are the gifts that God the Father desires to give, and we can have those gifts in increasing fullness.
So what are those gifts?
What, specifically, does the Holy Spirit do?
It is not an idle question. The Spirit is not portrayed in scripture to the same detail as the other two members of the Trinity. The Spirit is mysterious. We tend to overlook him. Francis Chan’s book about the Holy Spirit is aptly titled Forgotten God for this reason.
I wanted to understand specifically what it is God wants me to ask for, what gifts he wants to give. What follows, therefore, is a composite picture of the Spirit. I am grateful to Mr. Chan’s book for helping with this. Nearly all the verses of scripture below are cited in the book’s third chapter.
Here then are roles the Holy Spirit fills—or at least my attempt to describe them. To the extent that these summaries are correct, God wants to do more of these things. His Spirit wants to do more of these things. Assuming you want these things, too, then all you have to do is ask. The answer is already Yes. God wants the Holy Spirit to fill all of these roles. He wants the Spirit to be these things for you:
● Freedom and Life
The Spirit transforms who we are. Your outward life might change, but even if it doesn’t, he will give you a new life within that previous life. He will liberate you, producing a freedom that is unfazed by the outer trappings. (Romans 8:10-11, 2 Corinthians 3:17)
● The Instructor
He teaches you. The Spirit instructs you about the Son, and about all manner of things that couldn’t be known by earthly knowledge. He provides insight to specific challenges you face. In all these things, His way is to walk with you, illuminating the truth one step at a time. (Many verses: Psalm 143:10, John 14:26, John 15:26, Acts 13:2, Acts 15:28, 1 Corinthians 2:9-10, Ephesians 3:18-19, 1 John 5:6)
● The Guide
The Spirit steers you rightly through this world of moral and spiritual confusion. He guides you in the matter of sin (because the world has a sense of good and bad that is not informed by Christ) ... in the matter of righteousness (in the same way Jesus would point out the righteous if he were here in the flesh) ... and in the matter of how to regard the world (because the kingdom of this world has already been judged). (John 16:8-11.)
● The Intercessor
He prays for you when you don’t know what to pray. (Romans 8:26)
● The Outfitter
He reveals abilities—gifts that are particular to you—so you can exercise these gifts for the benefit of others. (1 Corinthians 12:7)
● The Voice
In the hour when you are called before authorities because of your faith, he gives you words to speak. (Mark 13:11, Luke 12:12)
● The One Who Makes the Infinite God Our Dad
He also lets us know we are God’s chosen sons and daughters. The fear of God is coupled to this profound comfort. Through the Spirit, we see God the all-powerful as God our Father, our Abba, and we have the assurance that we are his beloved children. (Acts 9:31, Romans 8:15-16)
● The Creator—Your Creator
The Spirit is making you more like Jesus. He is making your nature more like the nature of God, so that you think, act, and live in ways that are in harmony with God’s Law—even without a need for the written law to keep you in check. (Genesis 1:26, Romans 8:2, 2 Corinthians 3:18, Galatians 5:22-23)
● The Emboldener
He gives you courage and personal power. He gives you hope. He will give you these things out of love. He will give them to you, also, so that you might act as the Lord’s witness. (Acts 1:8, Romans 8:26, Romans 15:13, Ephesians 3:16, 1 Thessalonians 1:5)
—Luke 11:13
In chapter 11 of Luke’s gospel, a disciple asks Jesus how to pray. Jesus gives him a model prayer—Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer. This response should have been sufficient to answer the question.
But the answer didn’t speak to what the disciple really wanted to know—or so I gather. Jesus elaborated on his answer in a way that suggests he saw the further question on the man’s face. If that disciple was anything like me, then what he really wanted to know was, How do I pray effectively, Jesus? How do I pray so that my prayers will work?
Jesus perhaps paused a moment, and perhaps noted the others who were also listening.
He said there is something God wants to give you—he just wants you to want it. If you do, he will give more. “Keep asking and it will be given to you,” Jesus said. “Keep searching and you will find. Keep knocking and the door will be opened to you” (Luke 11:9).
What is this gift that will be given in proportion to your asking? The gift is actually a person—the Holy Spirit.
Indeed, the words of Jesus quoted at the top of this post imply that the Holy Spirit is a person who comes in quantity. That is, the Holy Spirit is someone of whom we can receive more and more, provided we continue to ask, seek, and knock. The gifts that the Holy Spirit provides are the gifts that God the Father desires to give, and we can have those gifts in increasing fullness.
So what are those gifts?
What, specifically, does the Holy Spirit do?
It is not an idle question. The Spirit is not portrayed in scripture to the same detail as the other two members of the Trinity. The Spirit is mysterious. We tend to overlook him. Francis Chan’s book about the Holy Spirit is aptly titled Forgotten God for this reason.
I wanted to understand specifically what it is God wants me to ask for, what gifts he wants to give. What follows, therefore, is a composite picture of the Spirit. I am grateful to Mr. Chan’s book for helping with this. Nearly all the verses of scripture below are cited in the book’s third chapter.
Here then are roles the Holy Spirit fills—or at least my attempt to describe them. To the extent that these summaries are correct, God wants to do more of these things. His Spirit wants to do more of these things. Assuming you want these things, too, then all you have to do is ask. The answer is already Yes. God wants the Holy Spirit to fill all of these roles. He wants the Spirit to be these things for you:
● Freedom and Life
The Spirit transforms who we are. Your outward life might change, but even if it doesn’t, he will give you a new life within that previous life. He will liberate you, producing a freedom that is unfazed by the outer trappings. (Romans 8:10-11, 2 Corinthians 3:17)
● The Instructor
He teaches you. The Spirit instructs you about the Son, and about all manner of things that couldn’t be known by earthly knowledge. He provides insight to specific challenges you face. In all these things, His way is to walk with you, illuminating the truth one step at a time. (Many verses: Psalm 143:10, John 14:26, John 15:26, Acts 13:2, Acts 15:28, 1 Corinthians 2:9-10, Ephesians 3:18-19, 1 John 5:6)
● The Guide
The Spirit steers you rightly through this world of moral and spiritual confusion. He guides you in the matter of sin (because the world has a sense of good and bad that is not informed by Christ) ... in the matter of righteousness (in the same way Jesus would point out the righteous if he were here in the flesh) ... and in the matter of how to regard the world (because the kingdom of this world has already been judged). (John 16:8-11.)
● The Intercessor
He prays for you when you don’t know what to pray. (Romans 8:26)
● The Outfitter
He reveals abilities—gifts that are particular to you—so you can exercise these gifts for the benefit of others. (1 Corinthians 12:7)
● The Voice
In the hour when you are called before authorities because of your faith, he gives you words to speak. (Mark 13:11, Luke 12:12)
● The One Who Makes the Infinite God Our Dad
He also lets us know we are God’s chosen sons and daughters. The fear of God is coupled to this profound comfort. Through the Spirit, we see God the all-powerful as God our Father, our Abba, and we have the assurance that we are his beloved children. (Acts 9:31, Romans 8:15-16)
● The Creator—Your Creator
The Spirit is making you more like Jesus. He is making your nature more like the nature of God, so that you think, act, and live in ways that are in harmony with God’s Law—even without a need for the written law to keep you in check. (Genesis 1:26, Romans 8:2, 2 Corinthians 3:18, Galatians 5:22-23)
● The Emboldener
He gives you courage and personal power. He gives you hope. He will give you these things out of love. He will give them to you, also, so that you might act as the Lord’s witness. (Acts 1:8, Romans 8:26, Romans 15:13, Ephesians 3:16, 1 Thessalonians 1:5)
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