Gospel-Centered Resources from Midwestern Seminary
What’s the big deal about expository preaching? Does it really matter if we preach through books of the Bible? Can’t we just do something more “relevant” or innovative? In this episode, Jared Wilson and Ronni Kurtz talk about the biblical, theological, and pastoral importance of preaching expositionally and warn about some challenges and pitfalls in the practice.
Why did early theologians feel the need to distinguish “senses” of the Scriptures in the first place? Denys Turner asserts that there are three reasons. First, Scripture itself distinguishes between the literal and allegorical senses. Even though the biblical authors didn’t fully outline this form of interpretation, they themselves distinguished between the literal and spiritual senses (2 Cor. 3:6). They interpreted literally but also allegorically (Gal. 4:24; 1 Cor. 10:3–4), tropologically (Rom. 15:4), and anagogically (Gal. 4:26).
Second, early interpreters distinguished between the senses because the quadriga was a useful method in uniting the Jewish Scriptures and explaining how Christ’s coming had changed history. The four senses allowed them to read the whole of the Scriptures as a Christian document. Thus, every text had something to say to God’s people even if it was written under another covenantal epoch.
Finally, distinguishing between the senses provides a mechanism by which interpreters can commune with God. For most of Christian history, this was the primary purpose of biblical reading. Modern methods, by contrast, seek the correct interpretation—a worthwhile goal but not the ultimate one. Each of the four senses leads interpreters higher up the ladder until they reach an interpretation that points to the glorious future and causes us to proclaim, “Maranatha.”
Now we turn to a more philosophical summary of the senses. The four senses are essentially two senses: the literal and the spiritual. The literal sense indicates what God is saying in the text, and the spiritual senses show where God is going with the text. The spiritual sense is broken down into three categories, which results in the quadriga. The four senses historically have been described as the literal (littera, historical), allegorical (allegoria, symbolic), tropological (tropologia, moral), and anagogical (anagogia, futuristic).
The literal sense refers to the most natural sense of the words in their grammatical and historical context, a sense that will be discovered by sound exegesis. It, as some have paraphrased Aquinas, is “the way the words go” and is the author’s intention in accordance with genre. The literal sense contains, discloses, but also veils the mystery of Christ. When we seek the literal sense, we ask questions of the text like “What is being said?” and “To what does this refer?”
The allegorical sense refers to symbolic or figural meanings that have some connection with Christ or the church. To discern an allegorical sense is to assert that the words point to things that point to other things. But an allegorical sense will always be in conjunction with the literal sense. This sense has gone by a variety of names throughout history—typological, mystical, sacramental, spiritual, theōria (contemplation), and hyponoia (deeper sense). To seek an allegorical sense is to ask questions such as “Where is Christ or the triune God in this text?” and “How does this text point to the church?”
The tropological sense is another spiritual sense, but when we seek this sense, we narrow our focus to the formation of the church and persons in the church. We’re concerned with morality, ethics, and being. A tropological interpretation affirms that the Scriptures are meant to be lived, not simply studied; they pertain to what we are called to do. This phase of interpretation asks questions such as “Who are we?” and “How is this text calling us to act?”
The final spiritual sense is the anagogical. This sense pertains to what is to come, what we are hoping for, and our ascent to God. When we interpret anagogically, we ask questions like “How does this text point to the new creation or God’s judgment?” and “How does it help me ascend to God?”
Literal > Allegorical > Tropological > Anagogical
The four senses have been expressed in this little jingle:
The letter teaches facts, allegory what you are to believe,
The moral meaning what you ought to do, anagogy what you should strive for.
Bonaventure puts it this way: “By tropology, they teach us how to act as men; by allegory, show us what to believe with faith; by anagogy, reveal to us what to desire for our eternal delight.”
In essence fourfold interpretation affirms that meaning is referent. The literal sense points to an immediate referent, whether abstract or concrete. The spiritual senses extend that referent. The referent changes in one sense (Moses is not Christ), but in another it is simply drawn out to its true and ultimate referent (Christ is the new Moses). The curtain of the temple in the Old Testament truly was the sewn cloth that resided in the tabernacle and temple of ancient Israel. Yet the referent is ultimately Christ, since the curtain participated in and points to something greater that Christ fulfills. Because Christians believe in a providential view of history and because Christians believe all things participate in Christ, a word can have multiple referents in accordance with the progressive nature of revelation. These referents are linked but distinct.
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The most famous example of the fourfold sense can be found in ancient interpretations of the name Jerusalem. Though such interpretations are usually done with reference to Galatians 4, we will look at Matthew 23.
In Matthew 23:37 Jesus says, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her.” The fourfold sense can be explained in this way. Jerusalem refers first to a historical city and its first-century inhabitants. The city was once inhabited by the Jebusites, captured by David, and made the capital of Israel and later the capital of the Southern Kingdom of Judah (literal). Jesus is entering that historical city and referring to the people of the city on his way to his death on the cross.
But Jerusalem is also more than simply a historical city and its people. Jerusalem can also be understood as a cipher for all God’s people, both past and present (allegorical). Jesus’s words refer first to the historical city and the people who rebuff him. Yet Jerusalem spiritually represents all God’s people who have killed the prophets—past, present, and future (Gal. 4:25).
Jerusalem also represents the individual human soul (tropological). Christ’s lament is personal. He longs for his own people to be ready to accept their Savior. He longs for you and me to have our hearts opened to him. We shouldn’t be like historical Jerusalem, which sought to kill him.
Finally, Jerusalem reminds us of the new Jerusalem (anagogical). Christ’s cry of agony over Jerusalem is a prayer aimed toward the time when his great city will welcome him with open arms. His cry is laden with hope: On the last day, Jesus will no longer lament over his people but rejoice over them (Gal. 4:26; Heb. 12:22–23; Rev. 21:2).
The Reformer Johannes Oecolampadius makes the same sort of exegetical move when speaking of Babylon’s destruction as described in Isaiah 13–14. He says that the prediction concerns Babylon’s fall in history (literal sense). Then he describes how Babylon’s destruction should be understood according to the other three senses. “Babylon has been destroyed by Christ who has restored our every freedom. For he says, ‘Take heart, for I have overcome the world’ (John 16:33). And through him we are daily conquering Babylon within ourselves. But the full and true overthrow of the world will not occur until the end of the ages of this world.” Babylon, as representative of the kingdom of this world, has already been overthrown by Christ (allegory), has to be daily conquered by the Christian (tropology), and will finally be destroyed in the last day (anagogy). Even a Reformer employs the quadriga.
| Senses | Description | Jerusalem Example |
| Literal | What took place | Historical city and people |
| Allegorical | Ought to believe | All God’s people |
| Tropological | Ought to do | Human soul |
| Anagogical | Ought to strive for | Celestial city of God |
Another example comes from Aquinas, who articulates the four senses through a phrase from Genesis 1:3, “Let there be light” (as it is rendered in the Latin of the Vulgate: “Fiat lux”). He says that, with reference to the literal sense, “let there be light” pertains to corporeal light. God created physical light at creation. However, according to the allegorical sense it means “Let Christ be born in the church.” This is confirmed in John’s Gospel, which compares Jesus’s coming to the light shining in the darkness (John 1:5). The tropological sense refers to “Christ illumining our understanding and kindling our emotions.” Paul commands us to walk in the light (Eph. 5:8), and the psalmist says God illumines our darkness (Ps. 18:28). The anagogical sense urges us, “Let us be led into glory through Christ.” In the last day, the earth will be illuminated by Christ’s splendor (Rev. 18:1; 21:23). Inherent in the language of Genesis are all these senses.
We have looked at examples of the quadriga that interpret a single word (Jerusalem, Babylon) and a phrase (Let there be light), and now we will see an illustration of this practice through a major event—the exodus. The literal sense tells us that Moses and Israel crossed the Red Sea to escape from Pharaoh; it relates both to the event and to the narration of the event. The allegorical sense is that the literal sense points beyond itself to Christ’s death on our behalf and his victory over the powers. This victory is then embodied in us as we are baptized and practice a new way of life (tropology). Finally, we long for the day when we make our final journey and cross from death to eternal life (anagogy). Dante puts it this way: “For if we inspect the letter alone, the departure of the children of Israel from Egypt in the time of Moses is presented to us; if the allegory, our redemption wrought by Christ; if the moral sense, the conversion of the soul from the grief and misery of sin to the state of grace presented to us; if the anagogical, the departure of the holy soul from the slavery of this corruption to the liberty of eternal glory presented to us.”
Content taken from The Four Senses of Scripture by Patrick Schreiner, ©2026. Used by permission of Baker Academic.
The Bible often articulates the virtue of temperance as sobriety or self-control, as in 1 Peter 1:13: “preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded.” Or, in 1 Peter 4:7 he says, “The end of all things is near; therefore, be alert and sober-minded for prayer.” Likewise, in 2 Peter 1:5–8 he commands believers to “make every effort to supplement your faith with goodness, goodness with knowledge, knowledge with self-control, self-control with endurance, endurance with godliness, godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love.” Here we see why Scripture frequently contrasts the outer man from the inner man, the old man from the new (1 Cor. 15:47–49; 2 Cor. 4:16; Col. 3:1–17). This is the substance of temperance, “to put off the old man and to be renewed in God—that is, to scorn all bodily delights, and the popular applause, and to turn the whole love to things divine and unseen.”[1] Temperance is that habit of grace, by the Spirit’s employment, whereby the Christian is able to keep his soul from corruption, degradation, and deformation.
The cultivation of virtue is not an end in itself, nor are virtues simply to bring about the common good. Rather, we are in service to holiness since we are in union with Christ to God. Because believers are united to Christ—having his righteousness imputed to them—the pursuit of virtue has a new foundation and end. It is directed toward eternal life and blessedness, culminating in the vision of God when we see Christ as He is.
Augustine says temperance is “restraining and quieting the passions which make us pant for those things which turn us away from the laws of God and from the enjoyment of His goodness, that is, in a word, from the happy life.”[2] Temperance is not merely avoiding or negating earthly passions, but cultivating love for the chief love. It is like a faithful parent who restrains and trains a child to grow up and flourish. Like good parents, temperance seeks to use the proper means of discipline and restraining and of conditioning and training.
Robert Murray McCheyne’s well-known comment about the pastor’s holiness is well-known and worth being reminded of (even if it’s apocryphal): “The most important thing our people need is our holiness.”
Pastors are models of what the psalmist says, “My soul longs, yes faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God.” (Ps. 84:2)
One of Satan’s greatest devices against pastors is to adorn the world’s folly in such beauty that the soul is ensnared into false affection. He does this to keep us from the holy life of mortifying sin and vivifying Christlikeness. The actions of mortifying and vivifying not only capture the regenerate life of the Christian in Colossians 3:1–17, but also the way of pastoring. The one who is hidden with Christ in God mortifies that which remains fleshly (vv. 5–10) and vivifies, or enlivens, who we are in Christ (vv. 12–17) for the sake of the flock entrusted to him.
However, for the pastor, the life of holiness and temperance is not without peculiar obstacles.
Even within the holy action of temperance, there is opportunity for disorder and entanglement. Of this disorder, Webster insightfully notes that mortification and vivification are “often marred by self-absorption, whether in the form of excessive confidence in human powers of self-realization, or in the form of restless anxiety about performance. Both threaten the flourishing of the Christian life, because both manifest mistrust in the condition in which God’s grace has placed the believer, and are accompanied by the temptation to detach mortification and vivification from the original grace of regeneration.”[3] In other words, the pastor is not merely tempted to have excessive confidence or restless anxiety in his leadership or preaching, but in his very life of holiness.
As a gift of God’s grace, the virtue of temperance allows us to both restrain and quiet the passions by resting and enjoying Christ’s temperance for and on behalf of us. The virtue of temperance is designed by God in such a way for pastors to be who they were made to be by seeing that “the true sacrifice is offered in every act which is designed to unite us to God in a holy fellowship, every act, that is, which is directed to that final Good which makes possible our true felicity.”[4] Instead of morbid self-absorption that ruins our enjoyment of this earthly life, the practices of temperance are themselves the path to true joy in the chief good.
The virtue of temperance says the life of the pastor is ordered in such a way that he restrains the passions and trains his affections to produce righteousness, resting all the while in Christ’s righteousness imputed to them. As such, pastors cultivate temperance by ordering affections through enjoyment of God.
If David relishes the contentment found in the self-sufficient God in Psalm 34, then he revels in the abundant joy of the right hand of God in Psalm 16. Being content in God means participating in his ever-new happiness. With contentment in the all-satisfying and self-sufficient God, the pastor bears the fruit of joy because he is made happy in Christ. In both Psalm 16 and 34, David relates his enduring joy specifically in God’s goodness. Moreover, David says he has no good apart from God (16:2), but that in God he lacks no good thing (34:10).
Though this God-centered and God-backed joy is real now, it awaits full completion. Pastors daily encounter competitors to God’s goodness, rivals to God’s beauty, challengers to God’s truth. Thus, in other Psalms, David repeatedly makes known his laments and longings for the fully satisfying enjoyment of God (i.e., 42:2; 63:1; 84:2; 119:81; 143:6). This complete satisfaction and enjoyment of God is both our source of strength and our motivation to endure in the life of temperance (i.e., Rom. 5–8).
In other words, the relation of God-centered joy, which arises from God-centered contentment, to temperance is that the hope of heaven trains us for our arrival on heaven’s blissful shore (Ps. 16:9–11). Temperance believes that God will make sure we make it home. The hymn on Psalm 16 helps the pastor treasure God as his chief good as he is an eager and willing example to the flock entrusted to him:
You have made know to me
The path of life divine.
Bliss shall I know at Your right hand;
Joy from Your face will shine.[5]
[1] Augustine, Morals of the Catholic Church, 63-64.
[2] Ibid.
[3] John Webster, God Without Measure, vol. 2, 105.
[4] Augustine, City of God, X.6
[5] Words: Psalm 16; Music: Ananias Davisson (1780–1857), arr. David Iliff (1939–present)
As we study the seven virtues in this book, we will seek Christian formation that is conformed to divine revelation and transformed by divine grace. Apart from divine revelation, we are in danger of sinful rationalization and satanic deception. Our loves are disordered: We do not esteem God rightly or honor his design.[1] Instead, we invert the order of reality and idolize created things (Rom 1:21-23). Though we might perceive in part the goodness, truth, and beauty of God’s creation, we are like a building misaligned with its cornerstone. We do not rightly relate these goods to the ultimate good-God-and therefore cannot rightly relate these goods to each other or to ourselves. Christian formation, however, is taught the order of reality in Christ, the treasury of wisdom and knowledge in whom “all things hold together,” who reconciles creation to God as God in a created human nature (Col 1:17, 20; 2:3). Christian formation is a way of being and becoming human that is conformed to divine revelation.
Apart from divine grace, we are in danger of self-help legalism and the self-pitying despair. We may, through flawed-yet-functioning faculties of the soul, order our appetites to obey our intellect through the mediation of our willpower. (Without the benefits of moderate health and decent education, even this prospect seems unlikely.) We do not need knowledge in general. We need the knowledge of God that takes root through faith in Jesus and produces good fruit by the Spirit. The argument is not that Christian formation “works,” whereas sub-Christian or anti-Christian formation do not. There are many natural practices that can help humanity to, for example, become physically fit, gain expertise in particular subjects, or even cope less destructively with the horrors of a fallen world. But what profits us partially and temporarily cannot perfect us, because being and becoming human requires an everlasting unit with God and his people. Christian formation is the carrying on of the process of beholding Christ that culminates in the transformation of the human nature into the heavenly glory of Christ on the last day (2 Cor 3:18; Phil 3:21). Christian formation is a way of being and becoming human that is transformed by divine grace.
Through faith in Christ, the incarnate Word, “with all those in every place who call on the name of Jesus Christ our Lord,” Christian formation is a way of being and becoming God’s new humanity (1 Cor 1:2). This eschatological orientation of Christian formation—already inaugurated and not yet consummated—means that it must be pursued under Scripture and, therefore, as the church.[2] If Christian formation is both a conforming to revelation and a transformation by grace, then theology and spirituality depend on the Spirit’s Word (Scripture) and the Spirit’s people (the church). It is the Spirit, after all, who reveals the mind of God to us as we behold the Son in the Scriptures (1 Cor 2:11; 2 Cor 3:18). Further, the spirituality of theology necessitates that we seek to learn alongside Christians from around the world and throughout the ages. Because this Spirit unites believers in one body, we are to make “every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit,” including in our theology, “until we all reach unity in the faith” (Eph 3:3–4, 13).
Though there are “necessary … factions” that distinguish us from those who undermine the faith (1 Cor 11:19), and “sharp disagreement” leads brothers to part ways temporarily (Acts 15:39), we must humbly recognize that God’s Word did not originate with us. The Word has “reached” us through the millennia-long relay race of believers preserving and proclaiming it (1 Cor 14:36).[3] From the Father, in the Son, by the Spirit, and under Scripture, the church is God’s school of theology and spirituality, through which God forms his new humanity so that we are “mature and complete, lacking nothing” (Jas 1:4). The gift of perfection comes from above, through trials, with the new humanity (Jas 1:4, 17–18).
Editor’s Note: This is an excerpt from Every Perfect Gift: Classical Virtues for Christian Formation by Travis J. Montgomery and Joseph Lanier, released by B&H Publishing (August 2026).
[1] As we will discuss more, especially in chapter 4, Augustine defines virtue as “ordered loves” in his City of God, XV.22. C. S. Lewis succinctly summarizes Augustine, Aristotle, and Plato on the idea of ordo amoris (order of love) in his Abolition of Man, 16–17. See also Oliver O’Donovan, The Problem of Self-Love in Augustine (Wipf & Stock, 2006).
[2] John Webster, Word and Church: Essays in Christian Dogmatics (T&T Clark, 2001), 196.
[3] As will become clear throughout this book, we are approaching the topic from the perspective of Reformed. catholicity. Often, catholicity will take center stage, emphasizing the common ground of Christian thought through the ages. At certain points, however, our decidedly Protestant, Reformed, evangelical, and Baptist convictions will be apparent. On the biblical, historical, and dogmatic basis for this term, see Michael Allen and Scott R. Swain, Reformed Catholicity: The Promise of Retrieval for Theology and Biblical Interpretation (Baker Academic, 2015).
Our very first Sunday with our oldest was full of tears. We had taken her into our home just days before. We had wanted to grow our family, and God gave us a 16-year-old who experiences cognitive and physical disability. During service, she struggled to be quiet, it was difficult to tube feed her in the sanctuary, there was nowhere to change her diaper, and the number of items to bring for her was incredible.
The following Sunday, the couch was calling my name. It would have been much easier to stream the service and let her play with her noisy toys, feed her in the comfort of my own home, and not have to load, unload, and reload a giant stroller. Yet, we persisted.
Almost four years have passed, and we have come to realize that our church needs us there as much as we need to be there. Our family serves as an encouragement to others who also walk with the special needs demographic. Looking back at those first weeks and months, I can see many things my congregation did that helped us feel loved and welcomed. I also see opportunities for churches to continue growing in how they serve families with disabilities.
Here are seven ways churches can care well for these families:
Perhaps you do not have chairs rather than pews, but the point is the same. We had a specific place we sat regularly. In our case, it was a shorter pew to accommodate wheelchairs. Individuals with neurodivergence often find more comfort in consistency. When they have a place to sit each week and a spot to call their own, it can make for smoother Sunday mornings.
Not everyone with physical disabilities needs this accommodation, but many do. Our church purchased a privacy screen and changing mat for diaper changes. This way, she was able to be changed with dignity and discretion.
Though I cannot say each and every person learned ASL, a few people took interest and asked specifically for the words our daughter knew. You don’t need to become fluent—even learning a handful of signs goes a long way. It is as easy as an internet search to find common signs to make deaf, hard of hearing, or mute congregants feel more welcome.
Rather than the natural instinct to shrink away when a person feels uncomfortable to talk to, the people in my church regularly drew near. There were individuals each week who made sure to say hello to my family—all five of us. This was by far the most meaningful; no one was forgotten.
Putting together a few sensory-friendly bags for families to use during their time at church would be a special help for many. Filling them with noise-canceling headphones or earplugs for them to use during the worship service, squishy toys, and fidget items would serve these members well while not drawing attention away from the service. These are items kids can look forward to playing with only at church.
Churches increasingly have programs for children. However, once the kiddo is a teenager or young adult, the opportunity for relationship dwindles. This can leave individuals with disabilities feeling isolated after aging out of children’s ministry.
Churches can intentionally encourage friendships by inviting peers to include them in conversations, activities, and everyday church life. Often, a simple invitation to belong can make a family feel seen and welcomed.
I do not pretend that every family will trust those within their church to care for their favorite humans, nor should they feel pressured to do so. Trust takes time.
Even so, churches can intentionally care for caregivers in practical ways. Perhaps individuals and families in the church can check in through texts regularly, arrange meals during times of illness, and ensure that the parents do not become too isolated.
Being a caretaker can offer great reward, but it can also take a severe toll on the provider. A church that consistently encourages and supports caregivers reflects the love of Christ in tangible ways.
As we journey to the throne, may our churches show love to families of all types. “And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me’” (Matt. 25:40).
The mailbag is full! In this installment of our regular listener-submitted feature, Jared Wilson and Ronni Kurtz dig into the private reserves of messages in order to tackle questions and topics like siblings serving on an elder team, theological triage in speaking engagements, what new members should ask about the church they’re joining, finding your preaching voice, and differences of views among elders. As always, if you’d like to submit a question or topic for the Mailbag, you can email us at [email protected]
Suffering in the Christian life is like a microwave. Like it or not, we’re fast tracked on the road of sanctification. As the Lord meets us in our sorrow, He often reveals the beauty of the gospel and the depth of our sin in ways that change us. The Lord uses the furnace of trials to refine His children.
If suffering is a microwave, inconvenience and discomfort are slow cookers. They take longer, but sanctification still happens beneath the surface.
James 1:2–4 tells us, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.”
Sometimes the trials we face will be big—terminal illnesses, house fires, car accidents, war. Sometimes they will be small—traffic, long lines, toddler tantrums, difficult coworkers. Yet, big or small, all these afflictions are preparing for us an eternal weight of glory (2 Cor. 4:17).
As Christians, we talk about the “big” suffering we experience in this life a lot. We often fail to consider the little discomforts we face daily, though. These are not the microwave, but the slow cooker. The Lord still has plans for our good in these moments; we just need eyes to see them.
Most of our lives play out in the mundane moments between indescribable joy and intense sorrow when everything feels ordinary, and our minor inconveniences feel like a big deal. These discomforts matter because the Lord is too good to waste even one moment.
Inconveniences come for everyone every day. Seasons of intense suffering still include stubbed toes. Seasons of joyful success are still punctuated by changing deadlines at work. We can try to prevent these things—we can offload tasks and adopt the way of the “essentialist”—but we will never eliminate all the minor pain points that plague our days. They’re part of life in a fallen world and they’re part of God’s plan for our sanctification.
If you’re rolling your eyes right now, thinking this is an attempt to “bludgeon you with providence,”[1] just know, it’s not. We don’t know what God intends to do through every inconvenience we face, but we do know that 1 Thessalonians 4:3 says, “This is the will of God, your sanctification.” No matter what else He may be doing, we know that God is working to make us more like Jesus, and He uses everything we face for that purpose. The slow cooker is on, and the heat is working.
A few years ago, while in Dallas for a Christian conference, I got to see this in action. My boss realized her credit card was missing after we returned to our hotel from a restaurant. We had to go back. We struck up a conversation with our Uber driver, and he mentioned that he hadn’t been to church in years. After hearing about his life and his ideas about God, a coworker explained the true gospel to him. She prayed with and for him and concluded just as we got to our hotel. Without that forgotten card, we would have missed this opportunity entirely.
That said, I forgot my wallet the very next day, and it didn’t lead to any clear gospel opportunities. But in that moment, in an Uber on a crowded highway, God desired for a man named Sam to hear the good news about His Son. I can also trust He had good purposes the next day when it was my wallet that went missing. Glory be to God, He uses everything.
When the paperwork piles up and we wait on hold for hours, we can be assured that this is not wasted time. In God’s economy, there is no such thing. The Lord is always sanctifying us, and if we see no other good from our circumstances, we can meditate on this: One day, these things will be over. We’ll work without the frustration of weeds. We’ll no longer tediously try to force back the effects of the fall because they will all be gone. There will be no more forgotten passwords, hidden costs, or grocery bags that tear when you pick them up.
God uses the temporal things of this world to increase our longing for the eternal. Ecclesiastes 3:11 tells us that God has put eternity in our hearts. By God’s design, we long for a better day. Our momentary afflictions are preparing for us an eternal weight of glory. They are lifting our eyes from the things we can see, which are transient, to the things we cannot see, which are eternal (2 Cor. 4:17–18).
There is purpose in our inconvenience. Perhaps the traffic jam, delayed flight, and toddler tantrum are working together to lift our eyes from the world and force them heavenward. Perhaps they are kindnesses from God to remind us that we’re not yet home. This world is not where we belong.
So, what can we do today when inconvenience comes—when thorns poke through our garden gloves and thistles attach themselves to our pantlegs?
We can pray that God would open our eyes to see what He is doing in this world—through this inconvenient circumstance. As John Piper famously said, “God is always doing 10,000 things in your life, and you may be aware of three of them.”[2]
We can ask God to show us what He’s doing and help us delight in it. We can ask Him for faith to believe He is at work, even when we can’t see it.
When inconvenience arises, we can look for doors the Lord may be opening. We can look for good works He is revealing. We can look at what rises in our hearts as a response to the inconvenience. Is it the peaceful fruit of the Spirit or is it the ugly fruit of discontentment and frustration?
We can rejoice that God breaks into our ordinary days with beauty and purpose. We can rejoice that He is too good to waste anything. We can rejoice when we see His Spirit at work in us and in the world around us.
We don’t have to despise the slow cooker. We can rejoice because God can be trusted with everything—big, small, happy, sad, or mildly frustrating. We can walk toward Him and do the good works He’s prepared for us, even when they show up in unexpected and undesired places.
This world is not our home. It will be full of thorns and thistles, but take heart. Our Lord bore the cursed thorns we deserve on His own brow. He reversed the curse, overcame the world, and He’s loosening our grip on it. As we sit in the slow cooker or bake in the microwave, we can know that none of this is wasted; the Lord is completing the good work He began in us. We’re almost home.
[1] Tim Challies, “Bludgeoning with Providence,” Challies, September 7, 2007, https://www.challies.com/articles/bludgeoning-with-providence/.
[2] John Piper, “God Is Always Doing 10,000 Things in Your Life,” Desiring God, January 1, 2013, https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/god-is-always-doing-10000-things-in-your-life.
Three weeks ago, my nine-year-old daughter asked me a question that left me feeling like a complete moron. I was resetting the router for our home internet when she looked up at me and said, “Dad, how does WiFi work?” She has noticed that when the internet goes out, we immediately rush to fix it. So, she naturally assumes that it’s essential. And if it’s essential, it must be something we could explain.
Can you guess how I answered her? I looked right into her beautiful bright eyes and said, “Sweetie, I have no clue how the internet works.”
To riff in light of Jesus’ words to Nicodemus in John 3:12, “If I can’t explain how the WiFi works, how will I explain the deep things of God?” And yet, we have a sacred responsibility to tell the mighty acts of God to the next generation.
Over the last 10 years, I’ve lived in the tension of comprehending high and communicating low. I am the father of two girls under the age of 10, and my family served as a foster family for several small children over the last five years. In addition to that, I pastor a church with hundreds of kiddos under the age of 10.
I firmly believe that deep doctrine is for everyone, including little disciples. But how?
Last year, I released a book on union with Christ entitled Home with God. I immediately heard back from adult readers of the book asking, “How can we share the doctrine of union with Christ with the kids in our homes and ministries?” When we encounter life-changing truths about God—when they pierce our hearts—we are compelled by the Spirit of God to share them. We are missionaries for whatever has captured our hearts.
But trying to explain a “mystical union with Christ” to a five-year-old will leave even the most persuasive poets, parents, prophets, and preachers grasping for the right word or phrase.
Over the last 10 years, I have discovered three faithful paths to proclaiming deep doctrine to little disciples.
At one point when some tax collectors in Capernaum are trying to trap Jesus with some hard-hitting questions about taxes, Jesus tells them to go catch a fish and look for the coin in its mouth. That’s a bit of a departure from a three-point sermon or an exegetical paper.
When teaching deep doctrine to little disciples, mimic the approach of Jesus. Don’t be afraid to use props and objects. Make a craft, color a picture, or maybe even go fishing.
Jesus doesn’t tell parables because He is unfamiliar with sermons. Keep in mind that most of the recorded parables occur after He preaches the greatest sermon ever. The parables are there to bring the truths of the kingdom into the imaginative field of His audience.
We are all story-shaped creatures, but kids are story sponges. Don’t be afraid to faithfully paraphrase and summarize biblical stories, use storybook Bibles, and make up your own parables to point to Christian truth and virtue.
In an attempt to help parents and ministry leaders teach the doctrine of union with Christ to kids, I recently released a kid’s picture book entitled The Dragon Slayer and His Super Special Suit. It’s an imaginative retelling of the gospel story with a focus on the armor of God and union with Christ.
Quite a few people expressed surprise that I would take an allegorical and fantastical approach to a retelling of the gospel story, but I was surprised that they were surprised. One of the most effective ways to engage a kid’s heart and mind is through the door of the imagination. Hollywood, and every tech startup in Silicon Valley, knows this and I am absolutely not going to outsource training the imaginative world of the kids in my home and church. And I don’t think you should either.
Embrace and explore imaginative approaches to teaching deep doctrine to little disciples. Jesus did—and we should too.
When you think of a servant, who comes to mind?
Maybe someone famous, a first responder, a parent, a spouse, or someone in your church. Whoever comes to mind, servants are compelling. We may not always want to do what they do, but we admire them. We recognize the wisdom and beauty that manifest in a life of service. But how can service become more central to who we are?
Serving is part of every relationship, but it’s not easy. We often don’t know what to do. We struggle to serve with joy. Over time, we burn out.
How can we grow in serving with wisdom?
Often, we serve emotionally. A GoFundMe shows up. A tragedy happens. A big event needs support. We feel moved, so we give, help, respond, or rally around the need.
That isn’t bad. But sometimes the big gesture feels easier than the daily one. It’s easier to buy the spa day than to do the dishes every day. We may more readily commit to a Disneyland vacation than to a regular practice of family worship. It’s easier to say, “I would die for Jesus,” than to say, “I’ll set up pipe and drape for Jesus.”
The Bible calls us to more than bursts of emotional service. Paul says, “Do not grow weary in doing good” (2 Thess. 3:13). That command assumes a life of repeated, ordinary, tiring good. Jesus gives us the clearest picture when He washes His disciples’ feet. He takes the posture of a servant and does something basic, dirty, menial, and lowly. Then He tells His disciples to wash one another’s feet too (John 13:14).
True Christian service often looks less like changing the world and more like showing up again and again in ordinary ways.
Christians know how to use words. When people are in need, words can roll easily off the tongue: “God bless you.” “Go in peace.” “I’ll pray for you.” Words matter. But the danger is that words can make us feel and look good without actually helping the person in need. Love is not merely something we feel; it is something we do.
John says we know love because Jesus “laid down his life for us,” and therefore “we should also lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters.” Then he says, “Let us not love in word or speech, but in action and in truth” (1 John 3:16–18).
Christian love should cost us something so others gain something. One way we try to cultivate this in our church is by asking small groups to share not only “prayer requests” but also “needs requests”—real, practical ways the body can help.
One of the most common things we say when someone is struggling is, “Let me know if you need anything.” It sounds kind and thoughtful, but almost nobody responds to it.
If someone said, “I’d like to bring you and your family dinner tonight,” I’d probably say, “Wow, that would be really helpful.” But if they said, “Is there anything I can do for you?” and I answered, “Yes, would you make me dinner tonight?” that would feel rude.
We all know this. Nobody has a baby and texts the church, “I would like lasagna on Wednesday.” But meal calendars get set up because someone else says, “Let’s bring them meals.”
Paul says, “Everyone should look not to his own interests, but rather to the interests of others” (Phil. 2:4). Availability says, “I’m here if you need me.” Intentionality says, “I see you, and here’s what I’m doing about it.” Instead of saying, “Let me know if you need anything,” say, “Can I bring dinner?” “Can I watch your kids?” “Can I help you move?” “Can I sit with you?”
Often, we think about serving in a reciprocal way. You helped me move, so I’ll help you move. You made me a meal, so I’ll make you a meal. We want the equations to balance—but often, they don’t. Even if serving continues, bitterness grows.
However, Jesus calls us to move beyond reciprocity. He says, “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?” Then He says, “Love your enemies, do what is good, and lend, expecting nothing in return” (Luke 6:32, 35).
Jesus calls us to serve graciously without keeping score—to serve those who don’t deserve it. This frees us from watching the scales and measuring others’ responses.
This kind of service is beautiful, but it isn’t easy. It pulls against many of our instincts. If we want the wisdom and endurance to serve with joy, we need more than a command to serve. We need to fill our hearts with how Jesus has perfectly served us in all these ways.
Jesus serves us consistently. He doesn’t serve us in a burst of emotion and then leave us alone. He gives daily bread and keeps showing up.
Jesus served us sacrificially. He didn’t merely shout, “I love you” from heaven. He took on flesh and went to the cross to give us life.
Jesus serves us intentionally. God isn’t standing far away, saying, “I’m available if you ever need me.” He knows what we need before we even ask and is presently working all things for our good.
And Jesus serves us graciously. None of us deserved His love. We were enemies of God, yet He gave us everything.
There has never been a moment when Jesus looked at your life unmoved, uncaring, or unwilling to act. He is the perfect servant. The more His service fills our heads and hearts, the more our hands are trained to serve with wisdom, joy, and endurance.
In the latest installment of our occasional Grab Bag feature, Jared Wilson and Ronni Kurtz ask each other surprise questions. We’d tell you what they are, but we want you to be surprised too.
