October 20, 2020

My Favorite Post from Michael Spencer

winter tree

Note from CM: I try to publish this about once a year. The truth is, I need it about once a week, if not more often. Of all that Michael Spencer wrote, this was the piece that convinced me of the genius of Mike’s spiritual insight and his ability to present that in plain-spoken terms. These words grab me by the lapel, shake me, and yell at me to wake up. But they are not all words of conviction, for herein we also see Jesus, companion in our weakness, our resurrection, our life.

* * *

When I Am Weak: Why we must embrace our brokenness and never be good Christians
by Michael Spencer, c. 2004

The voice on the other end of the phone told a story that has become so familiar to me, I could have almost finished it from the third sentence. A respected and admired Christian leader, carrying the secret burden of depression, had finally broken under the crushing load of holding it all together. As prayer networks in our area begin to make calls and send e-mails, the same questions are asked again and again. “How could this happen? How could someone who spoke so confidently of God, someone whose life gave such evidence of Jesus’ presence, come to the point of a complete breakdown? How can someone who has the answers for everyone one moment, have no answers for themselves the next?”

Indeed. Why are we, after all that confident talk of “new life,” “new creation,” “the power of God,” “healing,” “wisdom,” “miracles,” “the power of prayer,” …why are we so weak? Why do so many “good Christian people,” turn out to be just like everyone else? Divorced. Depressed. Broken. Messed up. Full of pain and secrets. Addicted, needy and phony. I thought we were different.

It’s remarkable, considering the tone of so many Christian sermons and messages, that any church has honest people show up at all. I can’t imagine that any religion in the history of humanity has made as many clearly false claims and promises as evangelical Christians in their quest to say that Jesus makes us better people right now. With their constant promises of joy, power, contentment, healing, prosperity, purpose, better relationships, successful parenting and freedom from every kind of oppression and affliction, I wonder why more Christians aren’t either being sued by the rest of humanity for lying or hauled off to a psych ward to be examined for serious delusions.

Evangelicals love a testimony of how screwed up I USED to be. They aren’t interested in how screwed up I am NOW. But the fact is, that we are screwed up. Then. Now. All the time in between and, it’s a safe bet to assume, the rest of the time we’re alive. But we will pay $400 to go hear a “Bible teacher” tell us how we are only a few verses, prayers and cds away from being a lot better. And we will set quietly, or applaud loudly, when the story is retold. I’m really better now. I’m a good Christian. I’m not a mess anymore. I’m different from other people.

Please. Call this off. It’s making me sick. I mean that. It’s affecting me. I’m seeing, in my life and the lives of others, a commitment to lying about our condition that is absolutely pathological. Evangelicals called Bill Clinton a big-time liar about sex? Come on. How many nodding “good Christians” have so much garbage sitting in the middle of their lives that the odor makes it impossible to breathe without gagging? How many of us are addicted to food, porn and shopping? How many of us are depressed, angry, unforgiving and just plain mean? How many of us are a walking, talking course on basic hypocrisy, because we just can’t look at ourselves in the mirror and admit what we a collection of brokenness we’ve become WHILE we called ourselves “good Christians” who want to “witness” to others. I’m choking just writing this.

You people with your Bibles. Look something up for me? Isn’t almost everyone in that book screwed up? I mean, don’t the screwed up people- like Abraham, Jacob, Moses, David, Hosea- outnumber the “good Christians” by about ten to one? And isn’t it true that the more we get to look at a Biblical character close up, the more likely it will be that we’ll see a whole nasty collection of things that Christians say they no longer have to deal with because, praise God! I’m fixed? Not just a few temper tantrums or ordinary lies, but stuff like violence. Sex addictions. Abuse. Racism. Depression. It’s all there, yet we still flop our Bibles open on the pulpit and talk about “Ten Ways To Have Joy That Never Goes Away!” Where is the laugh track?

What was that I heard? “Well….we’re getting better. That’s sanctification. I’ve been delivered!” I suppose some of us are getting better. For instance, my temper is better than it used to be. Of course, the reason my temper is better, is that in the process of cleaning up the mess I’ve made of my family with my temper, I’ve discovered about twenty other major character flaws that were growing, unchecked, in my personality. I’ve inventoried the havoc I’ve caused in this short life of mine, and it turns out “temper problem” is way too simple to describe the mess that is me. Sanctification? Yes, I no longer have the arrogant ignorance to believe that I’m always right about everything, and I’m too embarrassed by the general chaos of my life to mount an angry fit every time something doesn’t go my way. Getting better? Quite true. I’m getting better at knowing what a wretched wreck I really amount to, and it’s shut me up and sat me down.

winter tree 2I love this passage of scripture. I don’t know why know one believes it, but I love it.

7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. 8 We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; 9 persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; 10 always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. 11 For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. (2 Corinthians 4:7-11)

Let me attempt a slight retelling of the text, more in line with the Christianity of our time.

But we have this treasure in saved, healed, delivered and supernaturally changed vessels, to show that God has given to us, right now, His surpassing power over ever situation. We are no longer afflicted, perplexed, in conflict or defeated. No, we are alive with the power of Jesus, and the resurrection power of Jesus has changed us now…TODAY! In every way!. God wants you to see just what a Jesus-controlled person is all about, so the power of Jesus is on display in the life I am living, and those who don’t have this life, are miserable and dying.

Contextual concerns aside, let’s read Paul’s words as a basic “reality board” to the Christian life.

We’re dying. Life is full of pain and perplexity. We have Christ, and so, in the future, his life will manifest in us in resurrection and glory. In the present, that life manifests in us in this very odd, contradictory experience. We are dying, afflicted, broken, hurting, confused…yet we hold on to Jesus in all these things, and continue to love him and believe in him. The power of God is in us, not in making us above the human, but allowing us to be merely human, yet part of a new creation in Jesus.

What does this mean?

It means your depression isn’t fixed. It means you are still overweight. It means you still want to look at porn. It means you are still frightened of dying, reluctant to tell the truth and purposely evasive when it comes to responsibility. It means you can lie, cheat, steal, even do terrible things, when you are ‘in the flesh,” which, in one sense, you always are. If you are a Christian, it means you are frequently, perhaps constantly miserable, and it means you are involved in a fight for Christ to have more influence in your life than your broken, screwed up, messed up humanity. In fact, the greatest miracle is that with all the miserable messes in your life, you still want to have Jesus as King, because it’s a lot of trouble, folks. It isn’t a picnic.

9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

Here is even more undeniable, unarguable language. Weaknesses are with me for the whole journey. Paul was particularly thinking of persecutions, but how much more does this passage apply to human frailty, brokenness and hurt? How essential is it for us to be broken, if Christ is going to be our strength? When I am weak I am strong. Not, “When I am cured,” or “When I am successful,” or “When I am a good Christian,” but when I am weak. Weakness- the human experience of weakness- is God’s blueprint for exalting and magnifying his Son. When broken people, miserably failing people, continue to belong to, believe in and worship Jesus, God is happy.

Now, the upper gallery is full of people who are getting upset, certain that this essay is one of those pieces where I am in the mood to tell everyone to go sin themselves up, and forget about sanctification. Sorry to disappoint.

The problem is a simple one of semantics. Or perhaps a better way to say it is imagination. How do we imagine the life of faith? What does living faith look like? Does it look like the “good Christian,” “whole person,” “victorious life” version of the Christian life?

Faith, alive in our weakness, looks like a war. An impossible war, against a far superior adversary: our own sinful, fallen nature. Faith fights this battle. Piper loves this verse from Romans, and I do, too. But I need to explain why, because it can sound like the “victorious” life is not Jesus’ life in the Gospel, but me “winning at life” or some other nonsense.

13 For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put (are putting) to death the deeds of the body, you will live. (Romans 8:13)

The complexity resides right here: Faith is discontentment with what I am, and satisfaction with all God is for me in Jesus. The reason that description works so well for me is that it tells us the mark of saving faith is not just resting passively in the promises of the Gospel (though that is exactly what justification does), but this ongoing war with the reality of my condition. Unless I am reading Romans 8 wrongly, my fight is never finished, because my sinful, messed-up human experience isn’t finished until death and resurrection. That fight- acceptance and battle- is the normal life of the believer. I fight. Jesus will finish the work. I will groan, and do battle, climb the mountain of Holiness with wounds and brokenness and holy battle scars, but I will climb it, since Christ is in me. The Gospel assures victory, but to say I stand in a present victory as I “kill” sin is a serious wrong turn.

What does this fight look like? It is a bloody mess, I’m telling you. There is a lot of failure in it. It is not an easy way to the heavenly city. It is a battle where we are brought down again, and again and again. Brought down by what we are, and what we continually discover ourselves to be. And we only are “victorious” in the victory of Jesus, a victory that is ours by faith, not by sight. In fact, that fight is probably described just as accurately by the closing words of Romans 7 as by the “victorious” words of Romans 8.

23 but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. 24 Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? 25 Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin. (Romans 7:23-25)

I fall down. I get up….and believe. Over and over again. That’s as good as it gets in this world. This life of faith, is a battle full of weakness and brokenness. The only soldiers in this battle are wounded ones. There are moments of total candor- I am a “wretched man” living in a “body” of death. Denying this, spinning this, ignoring this or distorting this reality is nothing but trouble in the true Christian experience. The sin we are killing in Romans 8 is, in a sense, ourselves. Not some demon or serpent external to us. Our battle is with ourselves, and embracing this fact is the compass and foundation of the Gospel’s power in our lives.

What lands us in churches where we are turned into the cheering section for personal victory over everything is denying that faith is an ongoing battle that does not end until Jesus ends it. Those who stand up and claim victory may be inviting us to celebrate a true place in their experience at the time, but it isn’t the whole person, the whole story, or all that accurate. They are still a mess. Count on it. This battle- and the victories in it- are fought by very un-victorious Christians.

I will be accused of a serious lack of good news, I’m sure, so listen. At the moment I am winning, Jesus is with me. At the moment I am losing, Jesus is with me and guarantees that I will get up and fight on. At the moment I am confused, wounded and despairing, Jesus is with me. I never, ever lose the brokenness. I fight, and sometimes I prevail, but more and more of my screwed up, messed up life erupts. Each battle has the potential to be the last, but because I belong to one whose resurrection guarantees that I will arrive safely home in a new body and a new creation, I miraculously, amazingly, find myself continuing to believe, continuing to move forward, till Jesus picks us up and takes us home.

Now, let’s come to something very important here. This constant emphasis on the “victorious life” or “good Christian life” is absolutely the anti-Christ when it comes to the Gospel. If I am _________________ (fill in the blank with victorious life terminology) then I am oriented to be grateful for what Jesus did THEN, but I’m needing him less and less in the NOW. I want to make sure he meets me at the gate on the way into heaven, but right now, I’m signing autographs. I’m a good Christian. This imagining of the Christian journey will kill us.

We need our brokenness. We need to admit it and know it is the real, true stuff of our earthly journey in a fallen world. It’s the cross on which Jesus meets us. It is the incarnation he takes up for us. It’s what his hands touch when he holds us. Do you remember this story? It’s often been told, but oh how true it is as a GOSPEL story (not a law story.) It is a Gospel story about Jesus and how I experience him in this “twisted” life.

In his book Mortal Lessons (Touchstone Books, 1987) physician Richard Selzer describes a scene in a hospital room after he had performed surgery on a young woman’s face:

I stand by the bed where the young woman lies . . . her face, postoperative . . . her mouth twisted in palsy . . . clownish. A tiny twig of the facial nerve, one of the muscles of her mouth, has been severed. She will be that way from now on. I had followed with religious fervor the curve of her flesh, I promise you that. Nevertheless, to remove the tumor in her cheek, I had cut this little nerve. Her young husband is in the room. He stands on the opposite side of the bed, and together they seem to be in a world all their own in the evening lamplight . . . isolated from me . . .private.

Who are they? I ask myself . . . he and this wry mouth I have made, who gaze at and touch each other so generously. The young woman speaks. “Will my mouth always be like this?” she asks. “Yes,” I say, “it will. It is because the nerve was cut.” She nods and is silent. But the young man smiles. “I like it,” he says, “it’s kind of cute.” All at once I know who he is. I understand, and I lower my gaze. One is not bold in an encounter with the divine. Unmindful, he bends to kiss her crooked mouth, and I am so close I can see how he twists his own lips to accommodate to hers. . . to show her that their kiss still works

This is who Jesus has always been. And if you think you are getting to be a great kisser or are looking desirable, I feel sorry for you. He wraps himself around our hurts, our brokenness and our ugly, ever-present sin. Those of you who want to draw big, dark lines between my humanity and my sin, go right ahead, but I’m not joining you. It’s all ME. And I need Jesus so much to love me like I really am: brokenness, memories, wounds, sins, addictions, lies, death, fear….all of it. Take all it, Lord Jesus. If I don’t present this broken, messed up person to Jesus, my faith is dishonest, and my understanding of it will become a way of continuing the ruse and pretense of being “good.”

Now I want to talk about why this is important. We must begin to accept who we are, and bring a halt to the sad and repeated phenomenon of lives that are crumbling into pieces because the only Christian experience they know about is one that is a lie. We are infected with something that isn’t the Gospel, but a version of a religious life; an entirely untruthful version that drives genuine believers into the pit of despair and depression because, contrary to the truth, God is “against” them, rather than for them.

The verse says, “When I am weak, then I am strong- in Jesus.” It does not say “When I am strong, then I am strong, and you’ll know because Jesus will get all the credit.” Let me use two examples, and I hope neither will be offensive to those who might read and feel they recognize the persons described.

Many years ago, I knew a man who was a vibrant and very public Christian witness. He was involved in the “lay renewal” movement in the SBC, which involved a lot of giving testimonies of “what God was doing in your life.” (A phrase I could do without.) He was well-known for being a better speaker than most preachers, and he was an impressive and persuasive lay speaker. His enthusiasm for Christ was convincing.

He was also known to be a serial adulterer. Over and over, he strayed from his marriage vows, and scandalized his church and its witness in the community. When confronted, his response was predictable. He would visit the Church of Total Victory Now, and return claiming to have been delivered of the “demons of lust” that had caused him to sin. Life would go on. As far as I know, the cycle continued, unabated, for all the time I knew about him.

I understand that the church today needs- desperately- to hear experiential testimonies of the power of the Gospel. I understand that it is not good news to say we are broken and are going to stay that way. I know there will be little enthusiasm for saying sanctification consists, in large measure, in seeing our sin, and acknowledging what it is and how deep and extensive it has marred us. I doubt that the triumphalists will agree with me that the fight of faith is not a victory party, but a bloody war on a battlefield that resembles Omaha Beach more than a Beach party.

I write this piece particularly concerned for leaders, parents, pastors and teachers. I am moved and distressed that so many of them, most of all, are unable to admit their humanity, and their brokenness. In silence, they carry the secret, then stand in the place of public leadership and present a Gospel that is true, but a Christian experience that is far from true.

Then, from time to time, they fall. Into adultery, like the pastor of one of our state’s largest churches. A wonderful man, who kept a mistress for years rather than admit a problem millions of us share: faulty, imperfect marriages. Where is he now, I wonder? And where are so many others I’ve known and heard of who fell under the same weight? Their lives are lost to the cause of the Kingdom because they are just like the rest of us?

By the way, I’m not rejecting Biblical standards for leadership. I am suggesting we need a Biblical view of humanity when we read those passages. Otherwise we are going to turn statements like “rules his household well” into a disqualification to every human being on the planet.

I hear of those who are depressed. Where do they turn for help? How do they admit their hurt? It seems so “unChristian” to admit depression, yet it is a reality for millions and millions of human beings. Porn addiction. Food addiction. Rage addiction. Obsessive needs for control. Chronic lying and dishonesty. How many pastors and Christian leaders live with these human frailties and flaws, and never seek help because they can’t admit what we all know is true about all of us? They speak of salvation, love and Jesus, but inside they feel like the damned.

Multiply this by the hundreds of millions of broken Christians. They are merely human, but their church says they must be more than human to be good Christians. They cannot speak of or even acknowledge their troubled lives. Their marriages are wounded. Their children are hurting. They are filled with fear and the sins of the flesh. They are depressed and addicted, yet they can only approach the church with the lie that all is well, and if it becomes apparent that all is not well, they avoid the church.

I do not blame the church for this situation. It is always human nature to avoid the mirror and prefer the self-portrait. I blame all of us who know better. We know this is not the message of the Gospels, the Bible or of Jesus. But we- every one of us- is afraid to live otherwise. What if someone knew we were not a good Christian? Ah…what if…what if….

I close with a something I have said many times before. The Prodigal son, there on his knees, his father’s touch upon him, was not a “good” or “victorious” Christian. He was broken. A failure. He wasn’t even good at being honest. He wanted religion more than grace. His father baptized him in mercy, and resurrected him in grace. His brokenness was wrapped up in the robe and the embrace of God.

Why do we want to be better than that boy? Why do we make the older brother the goal of Christian experience? Why do we want to add our own addition to the parable, where the prodigal straightens out and becomes a successful youth speaker, writing books and doing youth revivals?

Lutheran writer Herman Sasse, in a meditation on Luther’s last words, “We are beggars. This is true,” puts it perfectly:

Luther asserted the very opposite: “Christ dwells only with sinners.” For the sinner and for the sinner alone is His table set. There we receive His true body and His true blood “for the forgiveness of sins” and this holds true even if forgiveness has already been received in Absolution. That here Scripture is completely on the side of Luther needs no further demonstration. Every page of the New Testament is indeed testimony of the Christ whose proper office it is “to save sinners”, “to seek and to save the lost”. And the entire saving work of Jesus, from the days when He was in Galilee and, to the amazement and alarm of the Pharisees, ate with tax collectors and sinners; to the moment when he, in contradiction with the principles of every rational morality, promised paradise to the thief on the cross, yes, His entire life on earth, from the cradle to the Cross, is one, unique grand demonstration of a wonder beyond all reason: The miracle of divine forgiveness, of the justification of the sinner. Christ dwells only in sinners.


  1. A wonderful post.

    Thanks for sharing Michael’s thoughts with us, once again.

    Michael knew what a sinner he was. And what a wonderful Savior us real sinners truly have.

  2. I fall down. I get up….and believe. Over and over again. That’s as good as it gets in this world. This life of faith, is a battle full of weakness and brokenness.

    This statement, despite its direness, is reassuring to me – especially when I fail again and start to doubt my faith.

    Is the $400 a reference to something specific?

  3. I already have this one filed in my Michael Spencer folder. Michael became so good at cutting through the crap.

  4. This is one of my favorites also – a few years ago when I was going through a particularly rough time, I printed this out and carried it in my purse. I would read it on my lunch break at work. Good stuff.

  5. these words from Michael brought me to tears the moment I read them:
    ” . . . He wraps himself around our hurts, our brokenness and our ugly, ever-present sin.”

    did I view it personally? Or did I take it to mean Christ embraced our humanity in Incarnation?
    Or is it really both/and ?


  6. Dan Crawford says

    Maybe we need to republish this every week? Thank you, Michael. And what does one do when one is held in repute as a good Christian? Scratch a saint, and you will hear the saint lamenting endlessly that s/he is a sinner who struggles with faith – often in the dark night.

  7. This truth preached by Michael Spencer rings throughout time touching people today through your re-post. It brings to my mind another thought. “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord… that they may rest from their labors for their deeds follow with them.” Micheal preached hope now for the journey, and in all eternity, because of Christ. Blessed be the name of the Lord!

  8. Travis Sibley, aka BigLove says

    Just printed this one out and shared it on FB. This is something that most of us should read at least weekly. Just spot on.

    Thanks for sharing it again. It is timeless.

  9. Isn’t this the prime example of perspective? I think the song writer is right about the mystery of God who knows the words we think/speak before we even formulate them. We really do struggle . . . in our hearts . . . about the interior closets . . . that God so desires to heal . . . IF we give permission for His Spirit to cleanse . . . and restore! I printed this to remind myself there is work to do.

  10. Powerful. Several lines from this post have stuck with me for years.

  11. This is the second time I’ve read this. He was quite gifted. (God give him rest.) Propaganda (whom I’ve been listening to today) is perhaps less generous – calling us all out as liars.


  12. “I write this piece particularly concerned for leaders, parents, pastors and teachers. I am moved and distressed that so many of them, most of all, are unable to admit their humanity, and their brokenness. In silence, they carry the secret, then stand in the place of public leadership and present a Gospel that is true, but a Christian experience that is far from true.”

    I remember reading those words, being relieved to find a Christian leader honest and kind enough to recognize this. Thank you for re-posting.

  13. Michael’s words in this post are powerful and I am tempted to believe them. But there is something VERY troubling here. This sort of thing is fine if your sins are of the sort that he lists. They sound bad but they are really just garden variety. What of the people who are dangerous? What of the killer, the child molester, or worse? To think they don’t exist is to live in a fantasy and to say that Christianity holds no hope of change for them is to condemn them to despair. What sort of useless Gospel is this if it offers no hope of any victory here and now???

    • The Gospel is not “useful.” Christ and the Holy Spirit do have a tendency to drastically reorient lives, look at the apostle Paul. However, this reorientation is not the Gospel itself, it is the effect of the Gospel. These effects are not predictable and do not follow any sort of rules. In other words, you should never argue back from moral improvement to faith as if our good works validated the sincerity of our belief. THAT, my friend, can only lead to despair, provided we are hearing the full weight of the law. The Gospel rightly preached creates faith, and faith creates good works.

      It doesn’t matter what your sins are: God forgives them fully and freely, for Jesus sake, and not on the basis of your potential improvement. Some addicts may never recover, but it doesn’t necessarily mean their faith was not genuine. We can never know that for certain about another person, only about ourselves. And a liberating thing this is, ’cause I got my hands plenty thinking on myself with sober judgment.

      • “…this reorientation is not the Gospel itself, it is the effect of the Gospel.”

        I do understand what you’re saying, and while those sorts of distinctions make sense in an intellectual discussion, in practice they aren’t so important because Salvation (maybe I should have used that word instead of Gospel) is a multifaceted thing and the cause/effect can’t be separated.

        “The Gospel rightly preached creates faith, and faith creates good works.”

        Yes, that is what I want, but I read none of that in the post above and so it leaves me discouraged instead of encouraged.

        “Some addicts may never recover, but it doesn’t necessarily mean their faith was not genuine.”

        If I was hurting myself, or worse, someone I loved and Jesus ONLY forgave without granting the power to stop doing the hurting, I would be very miserable indeed. What sort of salvation is that?

        • TPD,
          I ponder the same questions you do.

          I’m perfectly willing to acknowledge that I’m in no position to judge the authenticity of another person’s faith based on their performance, or their failure to change evil or destructive behaviors. I don’t know where they started from, and I don’t know how far they’ve come, or how to measure the meaningfulness of the distance they’ve traveled.

          And I’m forced by my own experience to acknowledge that growth in a life consecrated to Jesus Christ is not a simple straight line progression, but involves many setbacks, and also the necessity to start over again and again.

          But if a life forgiven doesn’t issue in a life transformed in some significant way, and if it leaves no evidence or hope of change for us when we desperately (I mean, desperately!) need change, then it’s almost unavoidable to question whether there really has been forgiveness to begin with; rather, one begins to suspect that one has been engaging in a psychological and spiritual con game with oneself.

          And this is precisely the way the non-Christian world looks at Christians who talk about the power of Christ to transform lives, while demonstrating no transformation in their own lives. They figure that we’re just playing mind games, and there’s really nothing behind it all but wishful thinking.

          Why should they believe otherwise? More importantly, in the absence of any meaningful transformation in our own lives, why should we believe otherwise?

        • I don’t think faith in Christ ever puts us in any sort of position of “power,” the kind of child like trust he requires is much more like a position of weakness. The Holy Spirit does strengthen believers for the performance of good works, renews our mind, and cleanses our hearts to more fervently desire to walk rightly, but it is never a good thing for us to try to quantify or measure our “progress.” Too often our sanctification agenda is not His, and often influenced by ulterior motives. Many times God changes us or causes us to grow in areas we are not primarily concerned with or troubled about, and often the kind of growth he brings into our lives is in ways we may never even notice. The most important kind of growth is learning to see our sin more clearly, that we might trust him more deeply. But when we try to measure our “progress,” it can only lead to either extreme of pride at our accomplishments, or despair at our failure to measure up to what in the end is always a man-made evaluation.

          But the cause and effect of salvation absolutely MUST be separated. If they aren’t, then suddenly my personal experience with Jesus becomes the Gospel, and the fact that he helped me turn my life around, get my act together, and pull myself up by my own bootstraps replaces the cross. If we do not tenaciously guard this distinction, atonement becomes displaced by moralism.

          There is no “if” to your last paragraph. Your sin IS hurting yourself and those you love. Some of this sin is known to you, some is not. Christ did not come and die to set you on a never ending treadmill of self improvement. He came to set you free. Jesus does help us to stop doing the hurting, but we do not place our hope in the results. Our improvement in this life is limited, and does not follow the trajectory we imagine it should. God has deeper plans than our results based growth methodologies have room for. The important thing is the forgiveness of our sins. Drown yourself in this, and you may be surprised to see how you begin extending it to others.

    • I do not interpret Michael saying that there is “no hope of any victory here and now.” I do think he felt he needed to be stark and direct, however, to cut through all the noise of false promises out there.

      • I do appreciate his stark honesty. It resonates as true, as does his his denunciation of the religious facade. But if the Gospel doesn’t lead to change in me then I would certainly despair. I’ve just reread what he wrote and I don’t see anywhere where he mentions a changed life, “keep on fighting” is the closest he comes. I can understand that he may have been deliberately overemphasizing to make a point, but all the promises of change can’t be false or the bad wiring jobs are screwed.

    • Much of Jesus’ “Good News” gospel message was for people trapped in religiosity (or against the people promoting religiosity). In fact, most of his final week was spent taking on the religious establishment. (See Matthew 23 in particular.)

      I see this particular article of Michael’s as him focusing on that aspect of Jesus’ message, focusing on the kind of good news intended for the believer trapped in religiosity, who needs to hear what “Jesus-shaped” spirituality looks like as opposed to the kind of spirituality RELIGION tends to burden us with.

      I think a secondary point of the article is that Jesus brings Good News to the sinner and broken, but there needs to be some sort of recognition on the sinner’s part for their need of the Good News. So for the child molester and murderer, the Good News is available to them, but they need to recognize their brokenness. Certainly not useless to those who are willing to hear.

      • I agree with you that this is an article taking on the religious establishment and reading it as such helps me fully appreciate it. I think my initial reaction to it was caused by my interactions with those who know exactly how broken they are and are desperate for a hope of change. The message above is fine if the worst thing you’re doing is looking at porn or even having an affair. But when the sins get darker, the need for change is greater.

        • TPD,
          I agree with the concern evidenced in your comments. But I’m not sure I can go along with the distinction you make between “darker” and less “dark” sins.

          Speaking for myself and from my own experience, I’m painfully, excruciatingly aware of a need to overcome sins in my life that are in your category of those that are less “dark,” because I’m aware of how horribly destructive they are to myself and those for whom I care. In addition, my awareness of the negative payload of my habitual, ordinary kinds of sin make me loathe to draw a strict distinction between them and the “darker,” less ordinary sins of others.

          What knowledge I have in this matter tells me that these ordinary sins create ripples in my life and the life of others that undoubtedly overlap with the ripples that flow from the less ordinary kinds of sin of others, and that it is the synergy between these different kinds of sin that packs the most destructive effect. On this basis, it seems to me that to make a definitive distinction between my ordinary sins and the less ordinary sins of others would be hypocritical.

          • Robert,

            I know that theologically he who has broken one commandment has broken them all and no sinner is greater than the next. But practically, when someone is on the receiving end it makes a big difference, for example, whether they are being struck with a fist or “just” glowered at. My concern here is practical not theological and it is on behalf of those who struggle with committing “less ordinary” sins. That is my whole point, the article above is fine for those who struggle with “ordinary sins” but it doesn’t cut it for those with darker (maybe I should say more dangerous) impulses.

  14. It’s helpful for me to think of this life more as a siege, and I fight on, in a castle – as it were – of faith, but wounded, fearful, scared, tired, despairing, and the like, not knowing when the siege will be lifted, reminding myself that it eventually will be raised.

  15. This, too, is my favorite of Michael’s essays. I’ve shared this essay with a number of people, none of whom it seemed to affect as it did me. I finally read it aloud to my wife, and while she liked it, it was nothing like the way it further shook me to actually say Michael’s words. I did not, and cannot, get through it without tears. It’s such comfort, even more now than when I first read it and began my own post-evangelical journey.