I had occasion to address Mosaic Church on the subject of spiritual disciplines. In this sermon, I don’t present a bunch of options so much as I aim for the heart of what makes a life of spiritual discipline that moves us closer to God instead of just building a better Pharisee. I hope you find it helpful.
I had the privilege of going to the inaugural facilitator training course for the Paul Tripp/Tim Lane How People Change small group curriculum, several years back. One point that Tripp made over and over has really stuck with me. “If all we needed were principles, then God could have done everything we needed on Mount Sinai. If all we needed were principles, then why did Jesus come and die? Because we don’t just need principles; we need rescue.”
Indeed. I’d like to address that same line of thought at a slightly higher resolution.
1. If Sinai is sufficient, then why Calvary?
If principles/doctrine alone were sufficient, then God could have gotten it all done at Sinai. If that were true, then why Jesus? Because living by principles is never enough. We needed to be saved from ourselves, and this is something we simply could not do for ourselves, no matter how good the principles might be. The seeds of the problem are inside us, and we can’t excise them.
We have sinned “in thought, word and deed, by what we have done and by what we have left undone,” as the Anglicans say. We simply could not resolve the problem for ourselves; it took Jesus dying our death on the cross. We participate in His death, and in this way we are reconciled to God.
2. If Calvary is sufficient, then why Pentecost?
If Christ’s finished work on the Cross was all that we needed, then why send the Holy Spirit? Isn’t the work all done? No, it isn’t. Calvary reconciled us to God, but reconciliation is only the beginning of what God wants to give us. He wants to give us life.
Through our union with Christ, we participate, not just in His death for us, but also in His life. Ongoing participation in the life of Christ is a continuing miracle of the Holy Spirit, who indwells us and comes upon us in anointing for service just as He came upon Jesus for His earthly ministry. It is through the guidance of the Spirit that we advance God’s Kingdom here on earth.
3. What does it look like to live Sinai, Calvary, and Pentecost?
If we mess up the first question, we make the moralistic mistake of trying to earn God’s acceptance. Life turns into a never-ending round of “service” that is much more about our need to see ourselves as useful than it is about meeting actual needs. We become the sort of person that C. S. Lewis was talking about when he penned the epitaph, “She lived her life for others. Now she has peace…and so have they.”
If we mess up the second question, then we make the mistake of trying to seek God’s Kingdom and His righteousness without taking advantage of all His guidance for us. We’ll operate based on the general principles in Scripture — which (to be fair) give far more guidance than most people think. But the Scriptures also give far less guidance than is needed for the life that God would have you to live.
If we get both questions right, if we live into Sinai, Calvary and Pentecost, then we live a life that is guided by the Scriptures. Our character becomes deeply aligned with God’s character as He has expressed it in the Scriptures. And our lives become masterpieces, unpredictable works of art. Just applying the principles on our own would generate a decent life, but it would never yield the beautiful surprises that come from a living relationship with God.
For example, God used me to help a homeless guy named Michael last year. The biblical principles would lead me to helping homeless folks–the stranger in your gates, the least of these, and all that. But I have no shortage of opportunity to minister to homeless folks, and Michael was not hanging around the places I would usually go to minister. What led me to Michael was that God literally told me to turn the car around, go back to that exit ramp, and give him $5 and a message: “God has not forgotten you.”
I did. As the relationship developed over subsequent conversations, it turned out there were certain truths Michael needed to hear, and then to live. It just so happened that these were the same truths God was teaching me right then.
Was the guidance to engage that specific homeless guy at that specific time biblical? No. It was far more specific than I could have gleaned from the Torah, or from the Old Testament, or even from the completed canon. But it didn’t conflict in any way with Scripture; it just went further than general instructions to the whole Body could go. Was it God? Of course, and the good fruit bore that out, as Jesus taught us that it would.
In other words, to add to Tripp, we didn’t just need principles; we needed rescue. And we don’t just need rescue; we need relationship.
The first Neighborhood Sacramentology post on the Table considered the priesthood and the validity of the Eucharist, which raised the question of when we ought to observe the Table. The second post enriched the question by recasting it in liturgical terms, and that left us with three questions.
1. What are we doing/representing at the Lord’s Table?
2. How can we do that effectively in a given context?
3. Are there contexts where the Table should or should not be observed?
This post will tackle that first question.
Whether in a high-church Anglican service in Canterbury Cathedral or a secret meeting of a Chinese house church in a nondescript apartment in Beijing, the Lord’s Table will be the highlight of Christian worship around the world today, and rightly so.
On this day, we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.
A human being died, was buried, and on the third day, and was raised to new and incorruptible life.
But so what? It was 2000 years ago, in an obscure corner of the Roman Empire, and nobody’s successfully done it since. Other than being a candidate for Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, what does it have to do with me?
Nothing at all…unless somehow, I could participate in it. If the same thing could happen to me, then the resurrection of Christ is not just a historical oddity. It’s proof that new life and immortality await whoever follows in His footsteps, whoever partakes of Christ.
This is Paul’s point in Romans 6. We who believe in Christ participate with Him in His death and resurrection, and because He is raised, we also are raised to new life. Hebrews shows us Christ as our forerunner, the High Priest who leads us into the Presence behind the veil of the heavenly Tabernacle, going before us, whose ministry never fades because He always lives to intercede for us.
When we come into the Presence in worship, we find Him there ahead of us, blessing and breaking the bread and pouring the wine. “This is My body,” He says, and “This is My blood.” There in the throne room of His Father, He invites us to His victory feast: “He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood has everlasting life, and I will raise him up on the last day, for My flesh is food indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in Him.”
You are what you eat. We who eat and drink Christ are Christ’s Body, His hands and feet released into the world to do the works that He did, and greater works still. As the bread and wine are broken down and incorporated into our bodies, so He is incorporated into our hearts, as the Eucharistic exhortation also says: “Feed on Him in your hearts by faith, and with thanksgiving.”
This is what the Table does, and what the Table represents.
Christ is risen! Alleluia!
Naw, I don’t think life is a tragedy. Tragedy is something that can be explained by the professors. Life is the will of God and this cannot be defined by the professors; for which all thanksgiving.
-Flannery O’Connor, letter to Beverly Brunson, January 1, 1955
I remember talking with a roommate of mine in Bible college about our Spiritual Life class. He pointed out that 90% of what is taught in classes and books on the spiritual life is not actually anywhere in the Bible. Upon a little reflection, I agreed. We began to kick back and forth examples of things we’d heard that were nowhere in Scripture. I don’t remember most of them, but I vividly remember our contemptuous discussion of praying, “God, show me my sin” — a prayer we could find nowhere in the Bible. The real need, we felt, was to strip away that 90% — all the folklore that surrounded walking with God — and just stick to what it actually says in the Bible.
How silly we look in hindsight, all these years and miles later! Of course we should start there; that’s our foundation. And also of course, there are a tremendous number of superstitious fables grown up around the Christian life that actually serve to conceal biblical truth, and these weeds ought to be pulled out of the garden and burned before they cause any more trouble. But coming to understand how to apply that biblical foundation well is a skill at which we grow, and in growing, we pick up a great number of helpful hints and bits of folk wisdom.
God is a person, according to the Bible. Or three, if you like. How much of my know-how about living with my wife is written down anywhere? Much less than 1%, surely. Even if I set about to write it down, how much could I realistically write down? Maybe 5%, maybe? So despite my best efforts, 95% of my know-how about living with my wife will remain unwritten. It will come out, when it comes out at all, in a piece of advice to a friend in a particular situation: “Let it go, man. You’re not going to get anywhere with that right now.” Or “That’s a good question. Why don’t you ask her?” If my friend responds in that situation by saying, “Where is that in the Bible?” he’s going to miss some good advice.
So the astonishing thing is not that 90% of the advice about walking with God is not written anywhere in the Bible. What’s so very astonishing is that 10% of it is. It’s a testament to how much God wants us to know Him that we have so much guidance written down. But as with any other person, walking with God is an art. In the end, the know-how is experiential; we learn not by reading, but by doing it ourselves, and watching it done by others.
That “Show me my sin” prayer that my roommate and I so criticized? When a relationship is going sour and I need to come to grips with my own responsibility for it, asking God to expose my sins in the relationship so I can confess them and forsake them is a great idea. I am very glad that I have the freedom to do that, and I am delighted that He answers such prayers. I don’t need a specific verse to hang it on for it to be helpful.
I have heard “listening prayer” criticized on the grounds that there’s no Bible verse that says God speaks to us in prayer. That may be the case, but there’s certainly no verse that says God doesn’t speak to us when we pray, and when I come to God in prayer, ask my question, and then shut up and listen, well…He speaks to me. So there it is. Is this biblical? Well, yes. God did it with Abraham, didn’t He? Am I not a son of Abraham by faith, invited to share in the Triune fellowship by Jesus Himself through the power of the indwelling Holy Spirit? Why shouldn’t my prayer be a two-way conversation?
It happens all the time in Scripture that God speaks to people by a variety of means; there’s certainly nothing unbiblical about it. But as I coach someone in learning to listen to God’s voice, what I tell them will be a mix of biblical precedent and things I’ve gleaned from my own personal experience walking with God and hearing His voice myself. Mostly the latter, to be entirely honest.
Is there something wrong with that? Nope. “He who walks with the skilled will be skilled,” as the Good Book says, and I learned to hear God’s voice the same way — by being coached by people who had the skill. As I gain skill, I will coach others. This is the way God designed us to function in the Body of Christ.
Of course, if you think about it, it seems silly. Having given His inerrant and inspired Word, God then entrusts the task of teaching His people how to apply it to fallen, feeble, frail human beings. It’s amazing that it gets done, generation after generation. But that’s the mystery, isn’t it? The mechanism is us, and it looks like it will never work — but in spite of it all, Christ is building His Church into a glorious Bride without blemish or spot. A sensible, believable explanation for this eludes us — even the professors among us — but the fact of it is right there in front of us. In spite of all the good reasons that it should not be so, it is so. For which all thanksgiving.
“Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and shall bear a Son, and they shall call His name ‘Immanuel,’ which is translated, ‘God with us.'”
That was true beyond what Isaiah could have guessed. The prophecy was fulfilled, not by a child whose name reminds us that God is with us, but by a Child who was God with us. The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.
It took us centuries to think that one through. All the Christological debates back and forth for years, the roads being filled with galloping bishops hurrying from one council to another, all the letters written and polemical sermons preached, were just to come to grips with this simple truth.
Because it’s extraordinarily important, and being so important, it was under constant attack by the enemy. The Church was besieged by one idiotic scheme after another: “Well, maybe it worked like this….” Unfailingly, it would turn out that at the heart of the scheme would lie one of two flaws. Either Christ was divine, godish, but not really God, in the sense that the Father is God, or Christ was humanish, human in some respects, but not really man, in the sense that we are man.
What difference would that have made?
The center of the Christian faith, the promise on which we utterly depend, is that ordinary human beings may be partakers of the divine nature; that we, frail broken as we are, can come as we are, and enter into the fellowship of the Trinity itself.
How do we know this is true?
Because God promises it, of course, but also because we’ve actually seen it. Jesus did it perfectly. The Word became flesh. He was a man as we are men, and very God of very God, as the creeds put it.
If Jesus was humanish, but didn’t really have all the traits we do, then whence our confidence that the traits He did not assume could be redeemed? Without that confidence, we have no hope of being redeemed as human beings. The Fall was permanent; humanity is ruined forever, and salvation lies in becoming something less than entirely human.
On the other hand, if Jesus was only godish, divine, touched by the Father but not of the same nature as the Father, then we could hope to be better than we are, certainly, but we can have no confidence of entering into true fellowship, true union, with God. We can be good human beings, maybe even spiritual supermen, but entry into the fellowship of the Godhead is forever barred to us. If even Jesus couldn’t manage it, how could we?
But the Divine Word, true and complete God, became the son of Mary, true and complete man, and in His person bore our every sin and frailty to the cross. In Him dwelt all the fullness of the Godhead bodily, and therefore we may trust that we too can be partakers of the divine nature, and enter into the circle of the perichoretic Triune fellowship, as Jesus prayed that we would:
I do not pray for these alone, but also for those who will believe in Me through their word; that they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be one in Us, that the world may believe that You sent Me. And the glory which You gave Me I have given them, that they may be one just as We are one: I in them, and You in Me; that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that You have sent Me, and have loved them as You have loved Me.
The enemy has not stopped attacking our Christology. We’ve weathered the storm of doctrinal defections, but having pure doctrine on paper never saved anyone. It has to be lived, and the tragedy is that we simply fail to rise to the destiny Christ won for us. We live not only as if the Incarnation did not happen; we live as though it could not have happened. We settle for giving in to our flaws: “I’m only human,” we say, as though Jesus had not shown us what true humanity can be. Or we settle for being merely good, moral people, as if Jesus had been merely a moral man rather than very God. But we are neither called to be showcases of the sins of our flesh, nor showcases of the moral accomplishments of our flesh. We are called to be the image of God in the world, the Body of Christ, and members of the Triune dance. We are called to union with God, to know the love of God that passes knowledge, and this is not a thought experiment. It is a real experience, or it is nothing at all.
Today we celebrate the Incarnation, the ultimate demonstration that such an experience is available to us. Merry Christmas to you all.
I recently had occasion to hear from a disaffected pastor who felt that my talk about “community” was an affectation, an unnecessary flirtation with a popular buzzword. That furnished me with an occasion to think a little more deeply (and theopoetically) about why community has become a pillar of my practical theology. Below you’ll find some of my ruminations; I hope they’re helpful to you.
One person is a rotten image of the Triune God.
In the beginning, God saw that everything He made was good, except for one thing: a solitary person. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the person: the “not-good-ness” was very specific: “It is not good that man should be alone.” God is three Persons; one person is not a good image.
The fix? God puts the man in a death-like sleep, tears him in two, and fashions woman — the crown and glory of man — from his very flesh. She is different from him, other than him, not-him. And yet, what does he say?
“This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh. She shall be called woman, because she was taken out of man.”
He sees her, and knows her for what she is. She is his flesh — if you’ve seen her, you’ve seen him. And then, you haven’t; they are different.
“Show us the Father,” Philip says to Jesus, “And it is sufficient for us.”
“He who has seen me,” Jesus replies, “has seen the Father.” He later adds that He indwells the Father, and the Father indwells Him. In big theological polysyllables, we call this perichoresis. (That’s Greek for “dancing around,” by the way.) In another author’s terms, “In Him dwells all the fulness of the Godhead bodily.” This extends to the Church, and that’s only natural: we are the Body of Christ, of His flesh and of His bones, which is to say, His Bride. And while He has ascended, the Body remains here on earth, a tangible witness to the Father.
A solitary person, no friends, no family contact, is a lousy image of God. This is the image of the Trinity in the world: that we dwell in each other’s lives. A lot. In a husband and wife, this dancing around one another leads to nakedness and physical union, an intimacy so deep and glorious that it’s too dangerous to share with more than one person. Too much glory can kill you. On the other hand, that glory is also the ultimate picture of Christ and His church.
In other contexts, this dancing around leads to the shedding of masks and armor, so that we can see and love one another for who we are. A different sort of nakedness, to be sure, but it’s still quite threatening, and we’re still tempted to start stitching fig leaves together. Another person in my life is going to act like…well…not me. He’s going to be himself. In my life. He might not like me; he might not do things like me.
That’s all true, and it’s my job to give him the freedom to do that, as a gift. And to receive the same freedom from him, if he’s willing to offer it. That mutual gift becomes a dance that lets us both be ourselves, in harmony, richer than we could be separately. Sinners can’t do this naturally, but God never meant for us to be only natural; we were always meant to partake in the divine nature. The dance depicts the Trinity, and the dance requires the presence and guidance of the Trinity, or it will never work.
When it does work…wow. God has blessed me with this dance in a number of relationships, and I am rich beyond measure. I can’t begin to express my gratitude adequately, but the very least I can do is name some names: my Sunday morning thinktank partners, Jim and Michele; my youth ministry partners, Joe and Becca; my “huddle,” Dave, Jody, Brad and Joe (again); my church family at The Dwelling Place, whose names are too numerous to list, but y’all know who you are; and saving the best for last, my Lady Wife, Kimberly. I aspire to be the sort of blessing you have all been to me.
And you, gentle reader, wherever you may be: May God bless you with the same, and may you bless others with the same, that the world may know that the Father sent Jesus, and has loved us as He loved Jesus.
In the ongoing discussion of 3D Theology, our esteemed opponents have taken significant exception to the way we are using John 17:3. The various objections mostly have to do with how our reading of the verse conflicts with this theological formulation or that one, and are being dealt with in the venues where they were made. To my eye, one particular point of discussion has been notably absent: discussion of the immediate context. I’d like to remedy that lack today.
In a sense, this discussion needs to start in 1:1 — and some of the issues that will come up in the ensuing discussion can probably only be resolved that way — but for today, let’s just work through the beginning of this prayer.
- Jesus begins by saying that the hour has come, and then makes His request:
- He asks the Father to glorify Him.
- The purpose for the Father glorifying Him is so that He can, in turn, glorify the Father.
- He will glorify the Father because the Father has given Him power over everyone.
- The purpose for the Father giving Him power over everyone is in order that Jesus give eternal life to all those the Father has given him.
- And what is this eternal life? It is to know the Father, the only true God, and to know Jesus Christ whom the Father sent.
- Jesus says He has, in fact, glorified the Father, and finished the work the Father gave Him to do.
- On that basis, He asks the Father to return to Him the glory He had before the world existed.
It all hangs together nicely, doesn’t it? (For those of you who want to talk Greek, some comments are already online here .)
This is to say that eternal life is not a thing. It is not a widget that Jesus puts in your pocket and then you walk away. It is not a ticket stashed at the Will Call window by the pearly gates.
Eternal life is knowing the Father, and Jesus Christ His Son. Jesus is the Life (14:6); the Father has life in Himself and has granted to the Son to have life in Himself (5:26). Eternal life is ongoing relationship with the One who is Life. Because He is infinitely faithful and He loves you, if you want a relationship with Him, you’ll have one. He guarantees it.
Over time, eternal life looks like this: first, you don’t have it at all; you’re dead in your trespasses and sins. Then you believe, and you do have it. Then, as you grow, you have more of it, until you have an abundant life (10:10), and the living water Jesus gave you becomes a fountain of life to those around you (4:14, 7:38). Stop believing, like Thomas did (20:27), and you’re still a part of the family (1:12-13). You’re born again; you can’t get un-born (10:28-29). Eternal life is, well, eternal. But like Thomas, you can lose a blessing (20:29), and of course you can fail to be a blessing to others.
Simple as that. God is a Person–know Him.
We are often fond of saying that justification is a gift, and sanctification is a lot of work, which is true in one way. But what we often mean by it is that we do nothing in justification, and then sanctification is quid pro quo all the way. That needs a rethink.
In Ephesians 2:8-9, Paul says that salvation — by which he means being made alive with Christ, raised with Christ, and seated with Christ in the heavenly places — is not of works, lest anyone should boast. Boasting is excluded by God’s grace.
Thing is, this is also true of sanctification, is it not? We don’t buy our way into spiritual blessing in this life any more than we buy our way into the family to start with. Everything we have — everything — is given by God. “What do you have, that you did not receive? And if you received it, why do you boast as though you did not?”
God blesses us in sanctification, to be sure, but it’s not a quid pro quo type of transaction, any more than justification is. Sanctification is hard — very hard, at times. But it’s hard because we’re sinners, and it runs counter to our nature to cooperate with God instead of rebelling against Him. God is seeking to give us His blessings, to pour out far more than we can imagine, but there are certain relational blessings He simply can’t give us without our cooperation. You can give a rebellious 2-year-old a hug whether he wants it or not, but you can’t give him the experience of a good hug unless he’s willing to receive it. If he fights you, you may succeed in getting your arms around him and squeezing, but relationally speaking, it’s hardly the same experience, is it?
Sanctification is, above all, a relationship with the living God. Like all good relationships, it requires that we be willing to receive the other person.
But is this so different from justification? As long as a person insists on working, on taking his destiny into his own hands, on keeping Jesus out of the picture, then he cannot be born again. “But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to be called sons of God….”
The difference is in scope more than in kind. But we ought to expect nothing else: “Having begun in the Spirit, are you now being made perfect by the flesh?”
When we begin to talk about eternal life (or for short, “life”), we often adopt binary language — you got it or you don’t, end of story. Then, as a separate issue, we discuss the matter of sanctification. There is, of course, a reason for this. In the End, there are only two places to be, and two sorts of people to be in them. Those who have life will live on the New Earth, where God will dwell with His People, and those who have chosen death will die in the Lake of Fire, eternally quarantined away from the God they so despised. Among the folks who live on the New Earth, some of them will be spiritual giants like Deborah or Peter, men and women who receive great reward. Others will be…how to put it?…largely spiritual failures. People who, like Samson, might have shown a great deal of early promise, but frittered it away. There is a sense in which these are separate issues, the one decided in an instant of faith and the other worked out over the course of a person’s whole life.
In deference to that separateness, many folks will drop “eternal life” language entirely when they start talking about sanctification. Growing up, I can’t recall ever hearing anyone use “eternal life” language in connection with walking with God: “life” was always about justification, never sanctification.
This gets into your hermeneutics, and you begin to read any passage that discusses “eternal life” or “life” as if it were talking strictly about the new birth, which is a serious problem.
But a growing number of commentators have begun to realize that Scripture doesn’t quite speak in that way. In many passages, eternal life isn’t something you get when you die; it’s something you have now (e.g., John 5:24). So there is a growing desire to respond to those passages, but at the same time a great fear of impairing justification by faith alone by confusing justification and sanctification, and the result is an odd blend. These folks discuss the new birth in terms of having eternal life, and then discuss sanctification/growth in terms of experiencing eternal life.
This is a quantum leap forward from where we were, and we should applaud it. However, it doesn’t quite go far enough to really be following the way Scripture speaks of the issues.
In brief, it’s not enough to talk about having/not having eternal life, and then, separately, experiencing eternal life. That’s helpful, but it’s not the way the Bible talks. The Bible talks about not having life, then having it, and then having more life (e.g., John 10:10).
Here’s the difference. The “having/not having vs. experiencing” model is like a conventional light switch and a blindfold. The light is either on or off, but how much you experience the light depends on something totally separate — the blindfold. Maybe it’s on good and tight, and you can’t see a thing, even though the light is on. Maybe it’s slipped upward just enough that you can see down along the sides of your nose. Maybe it’s gone cockeyed, and you can see out of one eye, but not the other…and so on. The light being on is one concern; the blindfold is another, entirely separate set of concerns.
The “not having/having/having more” model is like your basic dimmer dial switch like you might find in a suburban dining room. Turn the dial just a little, and you’ll feel the click as the switch goes from ‘off’ to ‘on.’ But there’s just a trickle of current flowing; you can barely see the light. Keep turning the dial in the same direction, and the flow increases, the light gets progressively brighter. On and off are still distinguishable states, but it’s all on one continuum, not two totally separate issues.
Jesus came that we might have life, and that we might have it more abundantly. He gives us a gift in the new birth, and sanctification is, in this sense, a distinguishable, but not separate, affair. It’s getting more of what you got to start with.
During the summer, people generally prefer to swim outside. Although it is common to swim in pools these days, old-school swimming facilities usually depended on natural water features: ponds, rivers, and oceans. An ideal natural swimming location would have clean water, a gradually sloping, sandy bottom, and very little current. Such places existed, of course, but they weren’t as common as one might hope. In response, waterfront staff developed a variety of work-arounds to allow swimmers to safely use the water in the absence of perfect conditions.
In situations where the water was very deep, or the current too fast-moving, one of those work-arounds was called a swimming crib. The crib was basically a very large wooden crate, ballasted and tethered to function sort of like a ‘swimming pool’, immersed in the lake or river. (You can see an example here.) One of the most basic uses for a crib was to provide a shallow area for beginners to swim in water that was naturally very deep. The lake bottom could be thirty feet down, but a 3-foot crib provided an artificial ‘shallow end.’
One typical take on eternal life is that it’s “living forever with God” — a simplification that I have certainly been guilty of, myself. The focus is revivalistic, focused on a heaven-or-hell afterlife. A person who ‘has eternal life’ is ‘saved,’ which means that he’s going to go to heaven when he dies…and that’s pretty much it.
Given that definition, the Gospel of John, which is very, very focused on eternal life, takes on the appearance of being all about whether people go to heaven or hell. The purpose of the book, “that you might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you might have life in His name” is understood to be about taking people who were going to hell and making it so they’re going to heaven…and that’s pretty much it.
This is the theological equivalent of building a 3-foot swimming crib in some very deep, very fast-moving water. Problem is, what we’re protecting people from, in this instance, is God.
Eternal life has to be “living forever” — otherwise, as Zane Hodges aptly observed, “eternal life” isn’t a very good name for it — but is that all we need to say about it? Jesus didn’t think so. “And this is eternal life,” Jesus prayed to His Father, “that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom You have sent.”
Eternal life, according to Jesus, is knowing God. How? Through Jesus, who said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” That’s inexhaustible. It’s far, far deeper than “going to heaven when you die.” And while, of course, lip service is paid to this notion, in fact it is largely ignored. We keep everybody in the 3-food swimming crib of going to heaven, when they could be diving deep into relationship with God Himself.
The solution? We need to knock the bottom out of the crib. This will undoubtedly be the occasion for much whining, but we have no right to speak in a way that stands between people and a living relationship with God.