The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned. The spiritual person judges all things, but is himself to be judged by no one. “For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” But we have the mind of Christ. (1 Corinthians 2.14-16)

This incredibly uplifting passage is found nestled between two sections of the letter in which Paul tears into the Christians at Corinth for a long list of sins, failures, and bad attitudes.  In fact, knowing that broader context makes it harder to receive and appreciate the encouragement in what Paul is saying.  He’s about to follow up these gently comforting words by saying,

But I, brothers, could not address you as spiritual people, but as people of the flesh, as infants in Christ. I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for it. And even now you are not yet ready, for you are still of the flesh. (1 Corinthians 3.1-3a)

Reading these two passages gives us an experience of mental whiplash, because Paul deliberately contrasts the way things should be, and the way they actually are.  The line has been plainly drawn—on one side those who are spiritual, and on the other, those who are, as Paul says, “natural.”  Many is the person who finds consolation for his faults, by reminding himself that it’s only natural to feel or behave that way.  We live in an age of excuses and blame-passing, and for many years it’s been common to explain away vile behavior, finding a way to assign fault to anyone but the person who actually did the deed—in this case, the scapegoat is nature.  As usual, the lie begins with a kernel of truth—that the person who tempts someone else is partially responsible for the other person’s sin, and should bear a portion of the consequences.  Jesus warned against becoming stumbling blocks, for example saying,

“whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.” (Matthew 18.6)

But all too often, we go beyond this, and instead of allotting a portion of the blame to the tempter and the bulk of it to the sinner, we refuse to accept blame for ourselves or the people we love, and instead cast it all on the nearest convenient scapegoat.

Diverting blame, judgment, and especially punishment, regardless of the truth, is itself a natural behavior—little kids do it by instinct, and even animals do it.  But natural does not mean good, or right.  We shouldn’t console ourselves, or defend ourselves, on the basis that we’ve done something natural!  And that’s getting pretty close to the point Paul is making in 1 Corinthians—the natural person, that is, the person looking at the world from the perspective of the flesh or of the physical, cannot comprehend spiritual things.  They do not make sense to him.  In fact, we could describe “the things of the Spirit of God” as unnatural, although perhaps it would sound better to call them supernatural.  Can what is unnatural be good?

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. (Galatians 5.22-23)

Of course it can be good!  Paul points out that even our law recognizes that such qualities as these are good, and never prohibits them.  But that’s not how the fleshly person behaves.  The fleshly person is motivated by fleshly desires to do fleshly things.  Paul provides us an admittedly incomplete list of these behaviors just a couple verses prior in Galatians:

Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. (Galatians 5.19-21a)

When we read this, we tend to imagine a single person engaging in all of these evil, soul-crushing behaviors at once, and so it’s easy to compare ourselves to that depraved caricature and reassure ourselves we’re doing ok.  But that’s not what Paul said.  Perhaps you’re not a drunk, a sorcerer, or a craven fornicator; but do you indulge your jealousy?  How often do you lash out with angry words?  Are you divisive, rather than a peacemaker?  All of these are works of the flesh.  None of them leads to the kingdom of God.  In fact, each one of these fleshly behaviors, even in the absence of all the others, is an obstruction between you and God, keeping you from the fullness of his love and care, keeping you from his presence.

When you become a Christian, you are reborn according to the Spirit, but that doesn’t mean the temptation to live according to the flesh will go away entirely.  Nor will it go away overnight—Paul told Christians at Corinth that they were still people of the flesh.  Salvation is fundamentally a very simple thing, focused on a complete change of mind, attitude, and behavior in a single moment—an act of submissive faith in surrendering through baptism.  But while we rejoice at the birth of a beautiful new baby, we don’t expect that the work is finished!  That child needs to be fed, nurtured, protected, and taught, and his life could still turn out to be a great tragedy.  It’s the same with the “infants in Christ” Paul addressed in his letter.  The new birth was cause to rejoice, but it’s time to grow up.  Growing up in Christ entails seeing the world as it really is—both the physical, and the spiritual.  Are you a spiritual person?  Or, are you only fleshly?

Jeremy Nettles

Then Araunah said to David, “Let my lord the king take and offer up what seems good to him. Here are the oxen for the burnt offering and the threshing sledges and the yokes of the oxen for the wood. All this, O king, Araunah gives to the king.” And Araunah said to the king, “May the Lord your God accept you.” But the king said to Araunah, “No, but I will buy it from you for a price. I will not offer burnt offerings to the Lord my God that cost me nothing.” So David bought the threshing floor and the oxen for fifty shekels of silver. And David built there an altar to the Lord and offered burnt offerings and peace offerings. (2 Samuel 24.22-25)

The background of this little episode has to do with an unauthorized census and a plague sent by God as punishment for David’s lack of faith.  The idea was that, whether the census was for taxes, military conscription, or both, David’s help came from God, so why was he now assessing his own strength for the first time?  But the particular sin isn’t really what’s important right now.  Consider David’s response to judgment.  God had told him the pestilence would last three days (v13), but his sorrow led him to to the point of offering up a sacrifice anyway.  The owner of the land didn’t feel right profiting from David’s problem, and offered his own property as a gift, both to David and to God.  David’s response, “I will not offer burnt offerings to the Lord my God that cost me nothing,” is a lesson lost on far too many people today.

Consider an illustration from current events: Russian dictator Vladimir Putin, after years of moving in this direction, finally unleashed an invasion of Ukraine, under the dubious justification of having been asked for help by the totally-legitimate and totally-not-funded-by-Russia-in-the-first-place separatist forces in the eastern corner of the country, and never mind that the invasion extended over pretty much all of Ukraine from the very first day.  He also said his invasion represented the “de-Nazification of Ukraine,” which was morbidly amusing, considering that Ukraine’s current president is Jewish, but let’s move on.  There has been discussion among political leaders around the world, as well as the usual risk-less opinion spouting by pundits across the spectrum, but at least as of this writing, no one outside Ukraine has actually seen fit to lift a finger in its defense. 

It’s not the goal here to answer the question, whether anyone should step in to help.  But it’s revealing how relatively united the western world has been in condemning Putin and shouting that something must be done—and yet what measures are actually under consideration?  No one wants to send soldiers to die on the other side of the globe, but everyone wants to spout off about how evil Putin is.  Everyone wants to threaten economic sanctions on Russia, but there’s less support for actually imposing them.  When there are finally sanctions, there are massive exceptions—rather than a complete embargo, Europe is happy to keep selling high-value goods to Russia, as well as buying gas and oil from them, which is the industry that keeps Russia’s economy afloat almost on its own.  Why?  Well, we wouldn’t want to hurt our own industries, would we?  Nor would we want the cost of energy to increase.  So the consensus seems to be that Putin is a very bad man doing very evil things, and someone should put a stop to it; but not me!  Perhaps you can see how Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, and others in the 20^th century graduated to greater and greater depths of evil, while the world looked on and shrugged.

It’s so easy to profess righteousness, then refuse to act in keeping with the profession.  But in the end, if we’re not willing to take a hit in the name of righteousness, it’s just a hollow shell.  Satan doesn’t mind us saying godly things, so long as, when the chips are down, we do his will, instead.  The invasion of Ukraine is in sharp focus right now for 40 million Ukrainians, but for the average person on the other side of the world, it’s just a lucid illustration of the struggle we face every day, which was with us long before the invasion started and will remain long after it's over.  We all face the temptation to say one thing, but do another.  Jesus took the Pharisees to task for this very thing, saying that

“they preach, but do not practice. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people's shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger. They do all their deeds to be seen by others.” (Matthew 23.3-5)

They didn’t really care about pleasing God.  When they thought no one was looking, they made no effort.  But it wasn’t just a problem among those who rejected Jesus—Christians in the early church faced the same struggle!

If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? (James 2.15-16)

We justify inaction by saying we don't have time, can’t afford it, or have other duties to fulfill.  These are common excuses precisely because they may be legitimate!  Whether we’re sincere in any one case is a judgment call, and we dare each other to make that judgment.  Look from the other side—rather than judgment, who receives praise?  When Christians in Judea suffered financial need, Paul says of the churches in Macedonia,

their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. For they gave according to their means, as I can testify, and beyond their means, of their own accord, begging us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints…” (2 Corinthians 8.2-4)

It’s supposed to hurt.  It has to hurt.  When they knew it was going to hurt, these Christians gave anyway.  Go, and do likewise.

Jeremy Nettles

“Jerusalem shall be inhabited as villages without walls, because of the multitude of people and livestock in it. And I will be to her a wall of fire all around, declares the Lord, and I will be the glory in her midst.” (Zechariah 2.4-5)

When Zechariah prophesied, the people of Judah had already endured a 70-year period of enforced exile from their homeland, due to the Babylonian conquest beginning in the late 7^th century BC.  Those exiled due to the Assyrian conquest of Israel, nearly a century and a half before, had been away far longer.  When Cyrus conquered the empire in 539 BC, he allowed them all to return home, but this promise came more than 20 years later, in “the second year of Darius” (Zec 1.1), 520 BC.  It was a risky and expensive trip, and it meant leaving behind homes, businesses, friends and family, and the relatively comfortable and stable lives they’d built for themselves over time.  Most of them didn’t go back to take up the task of rebuilding a nation from scratch, including Jerusalem and the Temple.  The Babylonians had destroyed the city’s walls, and it would be the greater part of another century before Nehemiah would come along and speed up the process of rebuilding them. This large city clearly needed to be fortified against raiding and plundering, and yet for that work to be done, people would have to move there and build.  But they didn’t want to move to Jerusalem, because it had no walls!  This Catch-22 scenario meant that the work on both the walls and the Temple dragged to a halt, and the great City of David remained a depressing collection of mostly empty ruins.

When God gave them this promise, he was deliberately invoking well-known events from Israel’s history.  God appeared in a “pillar of fire and of cloud” (Ex 14.24) that stood “between the host of Egypt and the host of Israel” (v20) while the waters of the Red Sea parted before them to provide their escape.  Later, the psalmist described God’s relationship with this city:

As the mountains surround Jerusalem,

        so the Lord surrounds his people,

        from this time forth and forevermore. (Psalm 125.2)

What about God’s glory in Israel’s midst?  There are several options for this one, but the most appropriate comparison would be the dedication of Solomon’s Temple, when

a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord. (1 Kings 8.10-11)

But this last one introduces a bit of a problem to our interpretation.  It’s not that we’ve been reading it wrong; God did, in fact, bless and protect the Jews and Jerusalem.  He thus enabled them to build a majestic Temple complete with implements of immense value in gold—in a city with no wall to protect its inhabitants!  Even after the walls were rebuilt by Nehemiah much later, the city continued to expand in size, just as God said it would do, to the point that it overflowed its walls repeatedly.  At various times over the next few centuries, most of its inhabitants were outside of them, and might as well have been living in “villages without walls” until another wall could eventually be built to protect a larger and larger area.  The nation did indeed re-establish itself and regain some degree of respect from its neighbors. 

But it was never like the good old days, when David was king and no other power could challenge his might.  But the greatest discrepancy comes when we consider the last in this string of promises—that God’s glory would again be seen in Jerusalem.  In the metaphorical sense, perhaps we could say that Jerusalem recaptured its former glory, but that’s really not what God promised.  The primary audience for Zechariah’s prophecy expected the cloud of the Presence to reside in the Temple again.  And that never happened.

Did God fail to keep his promise, then?  No.  It’s not that we’ve been reading it wrong, but the fulfillment, at least in Jerusalem’s growth and renewed prosperity, was a bit underwhelming, considering the way God presented it.  That’s because what God really meant was bigger and better than they could have imagined.  This promise involves us.  A few verses later, we find this:

And many nations shall join themselves to the Lord in that day, and shall be my people. And I will dwell in your midst, and you shall know that the Lord of hosts has sent me to you. (Zechariah 2.11)

Who’s the “me” of this verse?  The prophet Zechariah?  Zechariah will dwell in their midst?  Whoop-tee-doo.  Is it, instead, the angel who was introduced earlier in the chapter?  We’re closer here, and can understand why the Jews of the late 6th century BC might interpreting it this way, but one would hope they at least furrowed their brow when they said it.  In fact, it’s ultimately about Christ.  The whole thing was about Christ.  His kingdom grows constantly, starting at Jerusalem.  It has no borders to confine it.  He is himself her protector, and an ever-expanding wall about her, guarding her against predators with a fiery fury.  And not only did he walk the streets of Jerusalem and in that city die and rise again, but now, in the New Jerusalem—the church—he dwells in our midst. 

The promises meant something to the returned exiles and their near future, but in the greatest sense it was always about Christ.  The exile is the world; Jerusalem is his kingdom, tasked with building his house and glorifying him.  What are we to do about all of this?  Zechariah tells us: “Up! Escape to Zion, you who dwell with the daughter of Babylon” (Zec 2.7).

Jeremy Nettles

One of the most surprising turns in the story of the kings of Judah involves the king often considered to be the worse of the bunch: Manasseh.

And he did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, according to the despicable practices of the nations whom the Lord drove out before the people of Israel. For he rebuilt the high places that Hezekiah his father had destroyed, and he erected altars for Baal and made an Asherah… And he built altars in the house of the Lord, of which the Lord had said, “In Jerusalem will I put my name.” And he built altars for all the host of heaven in the two courts of the house of the Lord. And he burned his son as an offering and used fortune-telling and omens and dealt with mediums and with necromancers. He did much evil in the sight of the Lord, provoking him to anger. (2 Kings 21.2-6)

This guy is just the worst.  Yet his father, Hezekiah, was among the rather few kings in Judah’s history to be considered righteous, comparing favorably to the beloved King David—“And he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, according to all that David his father had done” (2Ki 18.3).  Of course, since Hezekiah’s life gets a fair amount of text, we learn about his mistakes, too.  For example, he displayed his immense wealth to visiting diplomats from Babylon.  Babylon wasn’t the sort of nation that inspired fear, at the time, but God told him what would be the consequence of his pride: “all that is in your house…shall be carried to Babylon. Nothing shall be left, says the Lord” (2Ki 20.17).

That’s a major consequence, and we clearly see the mistake that caused it.  But we’re left to speculate about what caused another consequence—why did this righteous king’s son stray so far from the pattern his father established?  We have all sorts of expressions, like “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” which we put to use when someone does something reminiscent of his father’s behavior; but they don’t seem to get as much use in regard to scenarios like Manasseh’s.  As his father, Hezekiah had some kind of influence on his son, but we can’t say whether Manasseh’s list of sins reflects a mistake in Hezekiah’s parenting technique or a stubborn rebellion on the part of the son (or, more likely, some combination of the two).

We’re ready to trot out the phrase, “chip off the old block,” when it comes to Manasseh’s son, though!

[Amon] did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, as Manasseh his father had done. He walked in all the way in which his father walked and served the idols that his father served and worshiped them. He abandoned the Lord, the God of his fathers, and did not walk in the way of the Lord. (2 Kings 21.20-22)

When we read that Amon’s own servants got together and killed him, we’re almost ready to cheer them on—almost disappointed that “the people of the land struck down all those who had conspired against King Amon” (2Ki 21.24), as if the bad guys won.  He was a jerk, and we’re glad that he only reigned two years before being assassinated, meaning he didn’t have very much time to wreak havoc.  But what kind of king will replace him?  Well, Amon’s son, Josiah,

did what was right in the eyes of the Lord and walked in all the way of David his father, and he did not turn aside to the right or to the left. (2Kings 22.2)

How did this happen?  When we consider that Josiah was only eight years old at the start of his reign, we can surmise that he got a lot of help from advisors, and this explains a lot.  But there’s more to it.  Manasseh, after reaping some of the consequences of his sins, “humbled himself greatly before the God of his fathers” and repented of his evil deeds (2Ch 33.12).  He did his best to clean up the messes he’d made in his younger days.  While his son and heir, Amon, was a real piece of work as we saw, it’s worth noting that Josiah was six years old when Manasseh died—Amon having become his father at age 16.  It’s clear that Amon wasn't a godly man, repeating his father’s many sins.  But as Manasseh drew near his death, he had the opportunity to be a better influence on his young grandson, who was in line for the throne, than he had been on his own son. 

As with Manasseh himself, we can’t credit all, or even most of Josiah’s righteousness to this hypothetical godly influence from the family patriarch.  The four generations between Hezekiah and Josiah demonstrate that sons do not always turn out like their fathers—they make their own choices whether to submit to God’s will, or exalt their own.  But we also see that influence—good or bad—can make a difference, and echo through the generations.  Is that any less true today?  Your relationship with God comes down to an intensely individual responsibility, regardless of external circumstances or influence, to live out an obedient faith in Jesus.  At the same time, Jesus tells us that “whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea” (Mt 18.6).  Paul tells us to bring up our children “in the discipline and instruction of the Lord” (Ep 6.4).  The present generation will have a substantial effect on whether the next generations love the Lord and walk in his ways, or rebel and follow the road that leads to hell.  Use your influence wisely.  Start by seeking adoption into God’s household, through the intercession of his only true Son.  Then, imitate the Son and be conformed to his image, living as he lived, righteous and selfless.  Finally, work to bring others into God’s house—family, friends, and the little children, before the door is shut.

Jeremy Nettles

So Peter opened his mouth and said: “Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.” (Acts 10.34-35)

With these words, Peter began the first gospel sermon delivered to an audience of Gentiles.  His choice of words shows that this isn’t a popular opinion or an accepted fact.  Rather, he voices it as a concession—as a surprising conclusion he can no longer avoid.  That’s hard for us to grasp, because we take it for granted;  we would be disturbed by the suggestion that God acts prejudicially on the basis of race.  But Peter is surprised to have arrived at this conviction.  Why?  Because, to paraphrase Paul in Romans 2.17-20, he called himself a Jew, relied on the law and knew God’s will; he could consider himself a guide to the blind and an instructor of the foolish, because of his heritage as a Jew, and therefore his important place in God’s plans. And he wasn’t far off.  In contrast to the Jews, the Gentiles were formerly

separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. (Ephesians 2.12)

Later in the same letter, Paul calls God’s plan from the start a “mystery,” now revealed: “that the Gentiles are fellow heirs, members of the same body, and partakers of the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel” (Ep 3.6).  The Jews didn’t expect this, despite hints in the Old Testament, such as this one:

In that day the root of Jesse, who shall stand as a signal for the peoples—of him shall the nations inquire, and his resting place shall be glorious. (Isaiah 11.10)

The Messiah would not only be the chosen one for the Jews, but for the nations—the Gentiles!  Yet the Jewish audience, happy to agree the Messiah would rule over the Gentiles, didn’t realize that he would rule over the Jews themselves in the very same way!  They imagined he would give them glory and put them above the nations—they were, after all, God’s chosen people.

Jesus himself gave plenty of hints about this mystery, for example saying in John 10.16,

“And I have other sheep that are not of this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.”

There’s plenty more where that came from, but although the apostles heard him speak these words, they still didn’t get it.  Jesus told them to be his “witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth” (Ac 1.8).  In fairness to the apostles, the Jewish diaspora included much of Europe, North Africa, Babylon, and farther east, as well.  It’s understandable that they would have assumed he meant the gospel was to spread to those Israelites who had been scattered to the four winds.  But “to the end of the earth?”  There were not at that time a whole lot of Jews in Britain, nor in Japan, nor in North America.  “To the end of the earth” is what Jesus said, though. 

Even the message the apostles preached implied that God was opening the door to the Gentiles.  Peter reminded the crowds at the temple of the promise God gave to Abraham:

“‘in your offspring shall all the families of the earth be blessed.’ God, having raised up his servant, sent him to you first, to bless you by turning every one of you from your wickedness.” (Acts 3.25-26)

It seems impossible to miss, and yet a lot of time passed between this proclamation and Peter’s somewhat begrudging admission before Cornelius, “Truly I understand that God shows no partiality.”  How could it be that the very men tasked with making “disciples of all nations” (Mt 28.19) had to be prodded forward into sharing the gospel with the first Gentiles?  Why was Peter criticized by Christians immediately upon returning to Jerusalem?  “You went to uncircumcised men and ate with them,” they said (Ac 11.3), and it wasn’t a statement of fact, but an accusation!  Despite the clear and mounting evidence to be found in God’s hints and eventually direct statements throughout the ages, they continued to see what they wanted to see.

God is patient, and led them along at his own pace, until they finally realized the obvious: that “God shows no partiality.”  It’s not the only time God has put up with man’s failures on a fairly basic issue, and gently coaxed him in the right direction over a period of time spanning generations.  There was polygamy, divorce, slavery, and more.  We tend to accept what society tells us is right and wrong, never mind that the standards are different now from those of ten years ago—or perhaps even ten minutes ago!  Anyone who’s not up on the current orthodoxy (subject to change without notice) is a prime target for shame and ostracizing.  When the overwhelming majority around you say this is right and that is wrong, will you go along with them, or sincerely seek God’s word on the matter?  When you examine his word, will you see what you want to see, or what he actually said?  Would his patience have endured, if Peter had still refused to go and preach the gospel to Cornelius’ household after Jesus told him the distinction between Jews and Gentiles was passing away, just like the Jews’ dietary code with its distinction between clean and unclean foods, saying, “What God has made clean, do not call common” (Ac 10.15)?  Best not to find out!  Instead, follow Peter’s example and adhere to God’s word not only when your enemies disagree, but when your friends disagree, too.  Society’s orthodoxy means nothing in the long run.  Conforming to society makes your life a little easier, but you have to give up your soul in exchange.  Worry instead about conforming to the image of God’s Son.

Jeremy Nettles