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The Rhythms of Sanctification

THE PRACTICE OF SANCTIFICATION IS THE EMBRACEMENT of truly human living. If we

understand the fruit of repentance as the changed life which results from going from self-
love to loving God (keeping in mind the genuine reorientation of the mind and consequent
implementation of that reorientation through the reorganization of our lives), and if
devotion to God is what it means to be truly human (as we see in countless texts, not least
Genesis 1-2), then the fruit of repentance is the embracing of truly human living, forsaking
that which is sin (un-human) and embracing that which is good (fitting for human beings).
Sanctification is the process by which a person embraces truly human living, and it begins
with regeneration, which is commonly known as being “born again.”

Regeneration: Becoming Truly Human

The doctrine of regeneration can be summed up in one word: rebirth. In regeneration God
changes the very nature of a person, drowning the person in healing, restoration, and
renewal. The ancient prophet Ezekiel spoke of the day when God would do this, and this
“doing” of God would be intrinsically tied to the renewing of the covenant. In Ezekiel 36 we
find the cryptic prophecy of God removing men’s “hearts of stone” and giving them “hearts
of flesh.” The stone/flesh imagery contrasts a heart that is in rebellion against God (a heart
of stone) and a heart that is submissive and yielding to God (a heart of flesh). The
distinction is between subhuman living and fully-fledged human living. This transformation
wouldn’t just be something of the mind, or of the body, or whatever; it is something done in
the heart, in the very essence and nature of the person. While the New Testament only once
gives the Greek word for “regeneration” (in Titus 3.5), the doctrine stretches all the way
back to the gospel of John (3.3-8), where Jesus says that a person must be born of water and
Spirit. The whole concept of being “born again” is tied to regeneration; to be “born again,”
to experience divinely-wrought rebirth, is to be regenerated. Regenerated to what? To a
truly human being. This is the doctrine that speaks of what happens when God takes a
fallen, dehumanized image-bearing creature and makes him (or her) human again. It is the
rebirth, rescue, renewal, and restoration of human beings.
Although Titus 3.5 has the only explicit mention of regeneration, we find the concept
taken forward in various Pauline writings, albeit in varying language. In Romans 6.1-14 Paul
frames regeneration as an act of crucifixion and resurrection, the God-wrought crucifixion
of the “Old Man” and the God-given gift of raising into the “newness of life,” which is the
“New Man,” the restored human being. Elsewhere in Paul (as well as in John) it is going
from Death to Life (see Ephesians 2.5-6, John 5.24, and 1 John 3.14). Paul uses different
language to speak of regeneration (and the subsequent implication of regeneration, which
is sanctification) in Colossians 2.11-13 and 3.1. At the heart of the matter is a change of
metaphysical identity (Col 1.13, Gal 1.4, 2 Cor 5.17 and Eph 2.10). By virtue of what God
does to a person, that person’s identity changes. A person goes from being “subhuman” to
“fully human” (although, it must be noted, that while one’s identity as “fully human” is
cemented in regeneration by an act of God’s grace, that identity remains to be vindicated
and validated at the resurrection of the dead, and it is to be put into practice throughout
life). Regeneration, which effects a change in one’s metaphysical identity while often
leaving one’s “social” identity untouched, is supplemented by the empowerment to live
within this new identity (by virtue of being freed from the indwelling power of sin and
indwelled with the person of the Holy Spirit). Thus the regenerate (or reborn) person can
obey God and reject subhuman living (Romans 8.7-8, 7.7, in contrast with 7.14-25).
Regeneration takes place at baptism, as we see in various texts. Romans 6.1-14, which
presupposes regeneration as the backdrop for Christian ethics, has as a fixed point one’s
baptism into the covenant community. For Paul, looking back to baptism is a logical thing
to do when discussing Christian ethics in light of one’s identity. At baptism a person is
incorporated into Jesus’ death and resurrection. Colossians 2.12-13 is prefaced with the
language of baptism, and the only direct mention of regeneration, in Titus 3.5, locates
regeneration not merely “in context” with baptism but by baptism (the language of
“washing,” despite some interpreters’ attempts to soften the blow, points straight to the
widespread and foundational early Christian baptismal practices). This washing and this
baptism, however, isn’t due to the power of baptism (or washing) itself. As we see
elsewhere, we are sanctified solely by Jesus’ blood (Heb 2.9, 10.10, 13.2); simply plunging
into the water—or having water sprinkled over you—doesn’t do anything except get you
wet and, if you have water enough, wrinkled. It is what God does in baptism that causes a
change: it is the work of the Spirit at the point of baptism (John 6.63, Romans 8.2, Titus
3.5). The moment at which a person comes into contact with Jesus’ blood, the place at
which the Spirit performs the work of regeneration, is baptism.
Regeneration is the obvious starting point for any discussion on how one goes about
embracing truly human living, because it is possible to make the erroneous assumption that
a person isn’t truly human until he or she gets it all together. This isn’t the case. A person
doesn’t make himself truly human. A person becomes truly human by the grace and divine
work of God. It is something God does; man doesn’t have a role to play in regeneration.
When it comes to the question of how one embraces human living, the question isn’t “How
does one become truly human?” but “How does one live out his or her identity as a
renewed human being?” Regeneration (the rebirth of dehumanized human beings into truly
human beings) is the launching-pad and genesis of the Christian doctrine of sanctification,
which can be understood as the process by which truly human beings begin and continue to
live as is fitting for their renewed identities precisely as regenerated human beings.
 Sanctification: Embracing Truly Human Living
The word “sanctification” has at its root the Greek word for “holy” and all its siblings; to be
“holy” means to be set apart, and those who are “holy” are saints. The language works on
two levels: a person is set apart metaphysically at regeneration—what one might call
positional sanctification—and the person is to be set apart pragmatically, and in deepening
degrees, in actual living—what one might call progressive sanctification. To top it off—and
to finish the process—there is future sanctification, which is chiefly eschatological in scope.

(1) Positional Sanctification speaks to the reality of regeneration. One is sanctified in his or her
position before God when God changes that person’s metaphysical identity. The person
who was unrighteous, unholy, guilty, and a sinner becomes righteous, holy, blameless, and
innocent. It is a declarative act of God that changes our metaphysical identities, and thus all
Christians are equally positionally sanctified in a one-time, past event (see 1 Cor 6.11 and
Acts 20.32).

(2) Progressive sanctification speaks to the process whereby Christians become more and more
“like Christ” in varying degrees (2 Cor 3.18). That this is a process is acknowledged by St.
Paul in his own life (Phil 3.9ff), and it involves the mind, not just behaviors, and this
involves strenuous work and activity. It doesn’t just happen; despite what romanticists
might hope to be true, most Christians aren’t instantly filled with the desire, determination,
and instinctive ability to “do good and forsake evil,” to put on the clothes of truly human
living without being itched by the new fabric and made uncomfortable by the new seams.
The ethical exhortations in the New Testament cry out for deepening sanctification. Just as
unbelievers vary in the depth and depravity of their dehumanization, so Christians will vary
in their depth and soundness in progressive sanctification.

(3) Future sanctification is all about the completion of sanctification. While Christians are
sanctified in their position before God, their struggling and striving in authentic human
living is proof that this sanctification has not yet run its course to the point where a person
is fully sanctified in heart, mind, body, and soul. At death, Christians are fully sanctified in
their hearts (Heb 12.23, Rev 21.27): this means that the person’s inclination to sin is
removed. The mind is made whole; the heart is made whole; the spirit is made whole. The
soul, however, which we understand to be the entire personality of a person, including the
heart, mind, body, and spirit, is yet incomplete. Future sanctification stretches beyond mere
death all the way to glorification. Sanctification involves our bodies, as we see in 2 Cor 7.1
and 1 Thess 5.23, and thus sanctification will not be complete in all aspects until
glorification, when those who have been saved are fully and finally saved and given
resurrection bodies.
 Positional sanctification—or regeneration—lays the groundwork for progressive
sanctification, and our focus here is on the latter, because therein lies the answer to the
question: “How does a person embrace truly human living?” The romanticist will say, “God
does it all. Just sit back and let it happen.” The legalist will say, “It’s all up to you. Gird thy
loins, grit thy teeth, and make fully-flourishing human living happen.” We shake the finger
at both and give a thumbs-up to both. Both the romanticist and legalist are wrong, but
they’re close to the truth. The answer lies in the middle: Is it something God does? Is it
something we do? The answer is: “Yes.” Progressive sanctification is both a work of God
and a work of man; or, to put it another way, it is a work in which God and man cooperate
(although both have different roles, and man is certainly not God’s equal).
Sanctification & The Work of the Spirit
While sanctification involves those things that we do, the heart of the issue is the people we
are. As the old saying goes, “You are what you do.” This is what Jesus said when he talked
about good trees bearing good fruit and bad trees bearing bad fruit. An example from the
world of drunkenness shows how accurate (and forgotten) is the connection between one’s
behaviors and heart. It’s not uncommon for a person to become absolutely trashed and then
to do something which they regret later. Let’s say a man goes out, gets hammered, and
sleeps with someone he doesn’t know. The poor chap wakes up in the morning feeling
disgusted with himself (both emotionally and physically), and he swears it off: “That wasn’t
me. I was drunk. The liquor’s to blame.” What one does, according to modern culture, is
disconnected from how a person acts. “I’m better than that,” they might say, to which Jesus
would respond, “No, you aren’t.” While it’s medical knowledge that drunkenness lowers
inhibitions, it’s popular knowledge that drunkenness makes you do stupid and out-of-
character things. The reality, however, is that when a person’s drunkenness leads to lower
inhibitions, the condition of that person’s heart will shine all the more brighter without the
nagging restraints of conscience and social norms and mores. What a person does when he
or she is drunk is a testament to the condition of that person’s heart. The things that we do
are done as the manifestation of the condition of our hearts. While it’s nice to think we all
have good hearts, the reality is that we don’t. Thank God that he embraces us and accepts
us as we are, rotten through-and-through; he chooses us muddied, bloodied, disoriented
and confused—but he doesn’t intend to leave us that way. He is giving us new hearts,
hearts that are submissive and yielding to him; hearts that are rooted in devotion to him.
This isn’t just a matter of external behaviors but of the condition of our hearts, and while
the romanticist likes to say this will happen overnight at conversion, the reality is that the
“granting of a new heart” is a process. It doesn’t just instantaneously happen.
But we’re not left on our own. We don’t know our own hearts, and thus we can’t self-
operate. Focusing merely on external behaviors is like trying to perform heart surgery
without having any idea where the heart lies behind the ribs. You’ll just end up hurting
yourself something awful. That route leads to legalism, and legalism nearly always leads to
either despair and resignation or disenchantment and cognitive dissonance. Sanctification,
which involves the person’s behaviors, is nevertheless more concerned with the person’s
heart. It’s about changing the inside, and the outside will follow. And that is where God’s
role in sanctification finds its focus. We can’t perform surgery on ourselves; we don’t have
the skills or the knowledge to do it successfully, or even at all. God, however, who searches
all hearts, who knows us inside-&-out, has the skill and knowledge to do what we are
incapable of doing. Over against the romanticist ideal of God doing this all at once, the
orthodox Christian belief is adamant: God can change us however he pleases, he can speak
to us through any circumstances, he can invade us with his Spirit and bring transformation
in any way he desires, but he has set down specific ways in which we can approach him and
be changed by him. These “specific ways” are called “spiritual disciplines,” and they’re
specific avenues which God has laid down for us to come and be changed, not by virtue of
the disciplines themselves but by the Spirit who works in us and through us as we engage in
the disciplines.
It’d be nice if spiritual transformation, character development, or “growing into
Christian maturity” happened overnight. It’d be easy if it were something that just fell into
our laps. But despite those Christian slogans that tell us otherwise (my favorite being, “Let
Go & Let God!”), the reality is that spiritual formation, even that done by the Spirit, involves
our cooperation. The Spirit doesn’t force himself upon us; he doesn’t strap us down and
inject us with grace and rid us of subhuman living; he doesn’t change our hearts as we
sleep. It involves hard work on our part, and this comes as quite an unsettling thought to
many who find it absurd that God and man would work together under the blanket of grace.
Again: embrace the paradox! There are disciplines which we find throughout the Bible that
have been used by God’s devotees, ancient and modern, for centuries upon centuries, and
which have proved themselves again and again to be avenues through which one
communes intimately with God and is changed by him.
Our culture is fascinated with self-help, quick-fix formulas for getting to where we want
to be. The Christian culture hasn’t been immune to this cultural absurdity. Walk into any
Christian bookstore, and you’ll find entire sections on Christian self-help. Sometimes the
aisles are labeled appropriately—“Self-Help”—but most often they embrace more religious
language (such as “Christian Living”). Christians, experiencing struggling in their own
lives, want to get to the point where they’re no longer ashamed of their addictions, no
longer losing battles with the flesh, and in our culture’s inebriation with quick-fixes, we
often turn to books that tell us that if we have a thirty-minute prayer session before
breakfast and some gospel with a bagel, then our spiritual lives will be on the roll. The thing
is, however, most of the time, it isn’t that simple. We spend exhausting hours pouring
through bible studies, and many times the end result is a weighted brain and wearied heart.
We go to church and leave feeling empty. There are times when we gather for corporate
worship and the words just come out of our mouths as our hearts simmer in a coma just
beneath the skin. We fall asleep during thirty-minute morning prayers and the bagel holds
our attention more than Leviticus. I say all this to make the point that these things are of
value only when they are utilized as avenues of communion with God. Anyone can study the
scriptures; anyone can go to church. It’s merely an exercise of mental and geographical
movement. Yet when it’s infused with the Spirit, change will happen. Not all at once, and
certainly not with an element of euphoria after each tweaking of the heart (sometimes the
exact opposite is the case), but change will happen.
Embracing spiritual disciplines isn’t a matter of adding a few habits and exercises into
our busy schedules. It doesn’t culminate in more detailed bible studies or longer prayer
times. Neither of them are bad, but they’re fruitless unless infused with the Spirit. The
practice of the spiritual disciplines is all about immersing ourselves in God, bathing in his
presence, and letting the soap and shampoo of his Spirit wash over us, cleansing us of our
inward filth and renovating our hearts. True spiritual formation, true spiritual change—the
kind that God desires and demands of his loyal image-bearing subjects—is a change that is
deeper and more serious than what we do, and it’s a change where we allow God to change
who we are in the core of our beings. This is a matter of utilizing tried-and-true practices to
bathe in the Spirit, and the result is that the Spirit works within our hearts to conform us to
genuine human living. This lies in the logic behind the “fruit of the Spirit” in Galatians 5:
this isn’t just something we do, it’s something we become. And by virtue of our own hard
work and diligence? No: by virtue of the Spirit working within us.
During the 1960s, the “Jesus Movement” took a flame and breathed it into an inferno,
the flame being “spirituality.” Nowadays spirituality is the newest fad, evidenced again and
again in the resurgence in American society of ancient pagan religions as well as the wide-
spread “conversions” to such religions as Buddhism, Sikhism, and Hinduism. “Spiritual”
(as opposed to “religious”) is the thing to be, and it finds its roots in a reaction against the
imperialistic, enlightenment-launched, remote and distant God. Those who are “spiritual”
are those who prefer a grounded, down-to-earth spirituality as opposed to “religion,” which
is perceived as any system of thought and praxis that is oriented around a deistic perception
of a higher power. Never-mind that the earliest religions (even those preceding Judaism,
which is the paramount exemplar of “grounded” religions) were down-to-earth, with the
first whispers of “deism” not being spoken until the days of the Greco-Roman Empire.
Christians have embraced the slogan “I’m Spiritual, Not Religious” in an attempt to both
(a) separate themselves from the legalistic, uptight, rules-ridden fundamentalists and (b) to
appear hip and relevant to the explosion of spirituality. Never-mind that the most basic
definition of a religion is a system of thought which ascribes to a higher power as
authoritative, and the “religious” are those who orient their habits and thoughts around that
system-of-thought (meaning that everyone who claims to be “spiritual” rather than
“religious” is simply doing the same thing, except using different language to wrap it in a
different façade). Not that the interest in spirituality has been negative; if it’s been negative,
then it’s also been positive. The Christian faith is being rearticulated and gaining traction,
and our culture’s fascination with everything “religious” is being overtaken by the kingdom
of God. One of the greatest results of this new interest is a resurgence in thought and study
regarding spiritual disciplines. The old ways of praying before every meal and going to
church every Sunday have been rethought and reapplied, and in the process attention has
been given to those spiritual disciplines which, despite having once been perceived as
burdensome and ill-fitting, now become enticing and attractive. Individuals and
communities are once again embracing the classic disciplines of fasting, meditation, and
service, to name a few.
There’s no room here to examine key spiritual disciplines in-depth, but things would be
amiss if none were to be mentioned. Spiritual disciplines have been identified as being
either “corporate” or “private” (though the either/or distinction draws too sharp a line
between those disciplines that can be practiced privately as well as corporately). Some of
the most common involve studying the scriptures, praying, and gathering together in
Christian community (all of which, except for the latter, can be practiced privately as well as
corporately). Other disciplines include solitude, silence, frugality, meditation, and
simplicity. Corporate disciplines include fellowship, submission, and sacrifice. One
discipline which has often been forgotten, and which is both corporate and private, is the
discipline of celebration: celebrating the kingdom of God, enjoying life and God’s blessings,
laughing loud and dancing and celebrating newness of life, the advancing kingdom of God,
and the certain hope of the kingdom’s consummation. Another half-forgotten discipline,
and one that transcends many rigid conceptions of “discipline,” is suffering: in suffering,
privately and corporately, we are drawn to embrace the cross in greater degrees, and in our
suffering the Spirit comforts us and molds us into creatures who reflect our true identity as
God’s renovated people.
I urge the reader to the works of Dallas Willard and Richard Foster for detailed analyses
and suggestions for daily life regarding the disciplines. The point must be made again,
however, that these disciplines have no value as they stand alone. Only when they are
approached and lived-out as a means to bathe in God’s Spirit does the Spirit really begin to
work through them and transform us. And all of these disciplines and the Spirit working
through them presupposes faith in Christ, engaging in Christian community, and soaking
oneself in prayer and scripture. One must not forget that at the heart of the disciplines lies
the work of the Spirit. It is the Spirit working in us and within us to the pleasure of God.
Not everyone has the Spirit; the Spirit belongs only to those who have been regenerated. If a
person isn’t a Christian, then the Spirit will not be present to change one’s heart of stone
into a heart of flesh (though this isn’t to say that the Spirit won’t work on a person’s heart to
bring them to the point of conversion; but the difference of the Spirit’s work lies in the
difference between a surgeon and a persuader).

Sanctification & The Work of Man

The section above delivers the death-blow to the legalistic idea of sanctification being
something mankind has to do all on his own; the Spirit is integral to it all, of supreme
importance, and any thought otherwise is downright wrong. Now we deliver the death-blow
to the romanticist’s ideal of sanctification being something God does alone, in the sense
that mankind has no role save for a passive one, that of sitting back and just letting God
work on the heart. We are to be passive in the sense that we trust God for our sanctification,
relying upon him and bathing in him through the spiritual disciplines, giving the Spirit
“room to breathe” in our hearts. This passivity, however, is integrated with proactivity on
our part, our own activity and volition empowered by the Spirit, and this proactivity is
coupled with the work of the Spirit in our hearts and lives. This entails, as we see in several
Pauline passages, violent self-discipline and implementation of our co-crucifixion and co-
resurrection with Christ:

Put to death, therefore, what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil
desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. On account of these the wrath of God is
coming. In these you too once walked, when you were living in them. But now you must
put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth. Do not
lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on
the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator. Here there
is not Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free; but
Christ is all, and in all. Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate
hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one
has a complain against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you
also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything in perfect
harmony. (Colossians 3.5-14)

Now this I say and testify in the Lord, that you must no longer walk as the Gentiles do, in
the futility of their minds. They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life
of God because of the ignorance that is in them, due to their hardness of heart. They have
become callous and have given themselves up to sensuality, greedy to practice every kind of
impurity. But that is not the way you learned Christ!—assuming that you have heard about
him and were taught in him, as the truth is in Jesus, to put off your old self, which belongs
to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in
the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true
righteousness and holiness. (Ephesians 4.17-24)

Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, to make you obey its passions. Do not
present your members to sin as instruments for unrighteousness, but present yourselves to
God as those who have been brought from death to life, and your members to God as
instruments for righteousness. For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not
under law but under grace. (Romans 6.12-14)

This brief collection is littered with exhortations to violent self-discipline: “putting on”
the new self and “putting off” the old self, which is to say that the Christians are to put into
practice their new life in Christ, embracing those habits and virtues which are in accordance
with genuine human living (this isn’t a call for hypocrisy—pretending to be something
you’re not, putting on a façade of sorts—but for implementation of one’s crucifixion and
resurrection with Messiah, which, unlike hypocrisy, is humble), and to discard those
manners of living which are incongruous with genuine human living. Christians are to
refuse to let sin “reign” in the body, instead submitting themselves to God as those who
have been brought back from death to life. This isn’t simply “letting God and letting God”;
it’s taking the helm and pressing forward, implementing in daily life one’s co-crucifixion
and co-resurrection with Christ (the text from Romans is prefaced with baptism as the
reference point for Christian life because, within baptism, regeneration took place as the
person participated in Messiah’s death and resurrection). Throughout the New Testament,
too, we see again and again the strenuous activity, the striving, involved with sanctification
(Heb 12.14, 1 Thess 4.3, 1 John 3.3, 1 Cor 6.18, and 2 Cor 7.1).
Another important text is 2 Peter 1.5-7: “[Make] every effort to supplement your faith
with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control
with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection,
and brotherly affection with love.” “Make every effort!” Peter says; again, this isn’t a matter
of just sitting down and waiting for God to change the heart. One must put forth his or her
best effort, applying all diligence. And how is this done? By practicing the virtues of the
Christian life, those character traits which are trademarks of genuine human living, the
pinnacle of which is love. What we find isn’t a step-by-step guide on how to reach Christian
maturity; it’s not like one begins with faith, then tacks on some virtue, and then a year later
adds on knowledge, and two years after that puts on self-control (or, rather, three years,
since self-control is quite difficult to muster). The goal of sanctification is genuine human
living, and this involves pursuing the renewing of the mind (adding on knowledge),
carrying out one’s intentions without being thrown-off course (self-control), being patient
and enduring amidst the journey, sticking with it over the long haul and not making
decisions based solely on feelings (steadfastness), and the sum of all this is godliness,
which is what it looks like to be genuinely human. And all this is encompassed with love:
brotherly affection towards the Christian community and a self-sacrificial disposition
towards everyone, including those who aren’t members of God’s covenant. We must
emphasize again that this isn’t a legalistic route that leads to pride, interior corruption, and
exhaustion; rather, it’s an exercise of both trust and obedience in which God and man
cooperate; and, like the note at the end of the previous section, without the context of
Christian community, faith in Christ, and soaking oneself in the scriptures and in prayer,
this quickly leads to legalism.

Progressive Sanctification as Metamorphosis

Thus far we’ve looked at the “how” of sanctification—both the work of God and the work of
man—and if we fail to remember the what of sanctification, we’ll miss the forest for the
trees. Regeneration—being made truly human—is the genesis of sanctification—the
process whereby genuine human beings embrace genuine human living and forsake
subhuman living. Brilliant theologian Wayne Grudem defines sanctification as a
“progressive work of God and man that makes us more and more free from sin and like
Christ in our actual lives.” As we saw in the previous chapter, becoming “like Christ”
means “becoming a genuine human being” (not in the sense of drifting into a metaphysical
identity-change but coming to live out one’s regenerate identity in deepening degrees).
Grudem’s analysis, I believe, is spot-on, but we can take it a bit further and look at it
telescopically through the lens of our salvation precisely as rescued and restored human
beings. Thus positional sanctification becomes being renewed and restored to genuine
human being status; progressive sanctification is developing more-and-more into the living-
out of our new identities, putting into practice what it means to be genuinely human,
growing in authentic living; and future sanctification is being fully restored, in all aspects,
as genuine human beings.
Progressive sanctification is the progressive work of God and man that makes us more
and more like genuine human beings in our actual lives. If there were a single word for
defining sanctification—other than the word itself—I believe that word would be
metamorphosis (Greek It’s a word we learn in second grade as we watch
caterpillars become butterflies, and it’s a Greek word that is formed by the combination of
the Greek meta (meaning “change”) and morphe (meaning “form”). Metamorphosis
literally means “the change of form,” and in the scientific realm it’s applied to all sorts of
insects (such as the butterfly) which undergo physical changes or transformations as they
grow from babies to adults, or from immaturity to maturity. Metamorphosis is an apt
definition for progressive sanctification, because progressive sanctification is all about
changing form; and, even more-so, it’s about growing from infancy into mature adulthood.
We find this train-of-thought in Ephesians 4.11-16 (which precedes the passage above where
Paul tells the readers/hearers to “put off” the old self and to “put on” the new self):

And [God] gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers, to
equip the saints for the work of ministry, building up the body of Christ, until we all attain
to the unity of faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the
measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed
to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by
human craftiness in deceitful schemes. Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up
in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and
held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly,
makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. (italics mine)

At the beginning of Ephesians 4, Paul tells the Christians to really love one another, with
patience and humility and gentleness, and then he dove-tails into writing about spiritual
gifts God gives to the church, gifts which are given for the “edification” (or building-up) of
the church. The word “edification” is often taken to mean “encouragement,” as if the whole
point is that the church receive kind words and have its heart tenderly warmed. This isn’t
the point Paul’s getting at, as we see in the passage above: the passage is coached with Paul
telling the Christians to really love one another (4.1-7) and then with Paul telling the
Christians to embrace their new lives in Messiah and to simultaneously cast away
everything associated with their old, dehumanized selves (4.17-32). The gifts given by God
are given for the same purpose for which Christians are to love one another and to embrace
new human living: so that, like the caterpillar, they can grow up into mature manhood, no
longer being mere children. The goal of edification, the goal of Christian striving, both
individually and communally, is genuine human living. The goal of sanctification, the goal
of spiritual development, the point of Christian ethics and thus the Christian life, is genuine
human living. And what better word could we find than one which gives us the beautiful
picture of a scraggly, gross-looking caterpillar becoming a beautiful, brightly-winged, free-
flying creature at which both children and adults alike marvel?
When we become fully human before God, we’re still like the scraggly caterpillar,
crawling around in the dust, inching along, not sure of where to go or what to do. We retain
the bristles on our backs and young children are terrified of us. But as the Spirit changes us
internally, and as our external living is reflected by that internal change, a new shape begins
to come about. We grow into fully-flourishing human living, step-by-step, day-by-day,
struggle-by-struggle. And as we develop, we find true liberty, true freedom, and we live in
the world as something markedly different from that which is all around us: we are
butterflies in the midst of caterpillars.

The Myth of Sinless Perfectionism & Seventy-x-Seven

Must sanctification be perfect? When a person repents and suddenly realizes that the
implementation is quite difficult and taxing, he or she might become concerned—“Have I
really repented if I still sometimes choose to sin?” The romanticist will say that this is proof
that true repentance hasn’t taken place, because if the repentance were genuine, obedience
would be easy (as God would change, almost instantaneously, the person’s heart). The
legalist will say that the repentance is disingenuine, because the fact that the person still
sins in many areas is a testament to the repentance being no more than an illusion.
Answering this question is essential, and in doing so we must tackle a growing
misconception within evangelical Christianity, the idea of sinless perfectionism.
If sanctification must be perfect, in the sense that when a person repents, his or her
whole life will change overnight, then the false doctrine of sinless perfectionism must be
vaulted as truth. While some texts do seem, upon first glance, to imply that sinless
perfection can be reached in this life—and that those truly devoted to God are demanded
and expected by God to reach that point—we must remember to take them in context with
the rest of the scriptures. As the old adage goes, “Scripture Interprets Scripture.” Advocates
of sinless perfectionism will point out texts like Matthew 5.48 (“You must therefore be
perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”), 2 Corinthians 7.1 (“Since we have these
promises, beloved, let us cleanse ourselves from every defilement of body and spirit,
bringing holiness to completion in the fear of God.”), and 1 Thessalonians 5.23 (“Now may
the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and
body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.”). These texts don’t
demand that Christians become perfect; rather, within them we find the goal of our
sanctification. This is what we aim for, and prior to glorification, we will not attain it; thank
God for grace—and for future glorification!
Another popular text is 1 John 3.6: “No one who abides in [Christ] keeps on sinning; no
one who keeps on sinning has either seen him or known him.” It seems clear: those who
continue to sin don’t belong to Christ, and they have neither seen him nor known him. In
context with 1.8-9, however, it becomes clear that what John is writing about is a continual
practice of repentance, not of perfectionism. Elsewhere the Bible is clear, and we ought to
let scripture interpret scripture; many passages (not least 1 Kings 8.46, Proverbs 20.9,
Matthew 6.11-12, and James 3.2) are quite clear: no one will ever be completely free from the
entanglements of sin (regardless of whether or not one is enslaved to sin). Paul exhorts the
Christians in Rome to make a practice of their freedom from sin, but he doesn’t write that
they will become sinless.
Our original question—“Must repentance be perfect?”—can be brought into focus with
a text we just looked at: 1 John 3.6. Here St. John writes that those who continue to just “go
with the flow” of the world, those whose minds are defiled and supplanted upon earthly
things, those who worship their own kingdoms, they are the ones who are not partakers of
Messiah. Those who are partakers of Messiah aren’t deemed such by virtue of being sinless,
but rather by virtue of their devotions: continually turning their devotions upon God
whenever said devotions stray, making a continuous and habitual practice of repentance.
Our Old Testament friend Job was not “righteous” because he never sinned but because
when he did sin, he repented. In the same way, devotion to God is not marked by sinless
perfectionism but by the changing of devotions and the deepening of those devotions. St.
James confesses quite succinctly, “We all stumble in many ways.” (James 3.2) And when we
who are Christians—we who have repented—sin, what are we to do? John tells us: “If we
confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all
unrighteousness.” (1 John 1.9) Nowhere in the New Testament do we find the idea of
sinless perfectionism; rather we find, in its stead, the humble confession of reality: we who
are in Christ, we who have repented, will continue to sin. And when this happens, it doesn’t
mean our repentance is a lie (though it may be weak; but even the mustard seed grows into
a beautiful tree); it means that we are not yet glorified, and we can celebrate the forgiveness
that is ours through the abundant grace and mercy of God. We must understand that the
New Testament doesn’t expect Christians—those who have repented—to be perfect; and so
as long as we are convinced our repentance isn’t “good enough” because we still sin, we’re
missing the whole point. Our repentance is not brought into question just because we still
wrestle with sin.
“But is there a limit to God’s forgiveness?” How long until God’s patience wears out?
Let us go straight back to the gospels: Matthew 18.21-22. Peter asks Jesus, “How many
times should I forgive my brother? As many as seven times?” Many ancient Jews taught that
the maximum amount of times for forgiving someone came out to be around three times;
Peter’s speculation of seven, then, is quite commendable: twice the norm and plus one!
Jesus’ response is cryptic: “No, not seven times, but seventy times seven.” This isn’t some
abstract proposal—forgive your brother 490 times, and then you’re allowed to cease
forgiving—and nor is it just figurative language—keep forgiving your brother time and time
again. Rather, Jesus is harking back to an ancient prophecy found in Daniel 9, a prophecy
dear to his heart, where the prophet Daniel asks an angel how long the exile will continue:
“Will it be seventy years, as Jeremiah foretold?” The angel answers, “No, it will be seventy
times seven.” 490 years—seventy years time seven—is how long it would take “to finish the
transgression, to put an end to sin, and to atone for iniquity, to bring in everlasting
righteousness.” (9.24) The angel wasn’t talking about the Babylonian exile (which ended
when Jeremiah prophesied), but of the eschatological exile. This exile—the ultimate exile—
would end in 490 years, a date which leads straight into the days of Jesus Christ. Jesus
answers Peter’s question by looking back to the prophecy, and within his cryptic answer is
the declaration that the New Age has dawned, the kingdom is arriving, and the age of
forgiveness has been inaugurated. Jesus isn’t giving Peter a calculation of how many times
to forgive someone; he’s slapping him on the face and exclaiming, “Wake up! Don’t you see
what time it is?! The age of forgiveness is here!” Thus Peter’s question is answered: in
forgiving others, one must embrace the new age and forgive as God forgives: extravagantly,
richly, joyously. No matter how many times we fall, no matter how many times we stumble,
forgiveness is there; and, as I like to say, I suspect God is more eager to forgive than we are
to receive his forgiveness.

The Christian Life: Prone to Wander

Thomas a’ Kempis’ The Imitation of Christ serves as a guidebook to monks hundreds of
years ago. Kempis exhorts the monks to greater and greater holiness, forsaking the
pleasures of the world for devotion to God. His stark-naked demands for holiness stand in
black-and-white contrast to the dilapidated and often lukewarm exhortations to holiness
found within western Christianity. The depth and penetration of Kempis’ demands may
lend the reader the idea that Kempis envisages a life free of sin; but Kempis readily admits,
again and again, that “you will not be free from sin in this life.” Kempis accepts the reality
but, in the spirit of St. Paul, draws the reader to pursue a life characterized inside-out by
holiness. It didn’t escape Kempis’ attention that the Christian life is fraught with both
struggling and failing; he writes, “It is often a small thing which casteth me down and
maketh me sad. I resolve that I will act bravely, but when a little temptation cometh,
immediately I am in a great strait. Wonderfully small sometimes is the matter whence a
grievous temptation cometh, and whilst I imagine myself safe for a little space; when I am
not considering, I find myself often almost overcome by a little puff of wind.” Kempis, a
monk who far outrivals the desire and pursuit of holiness than that which we find nearly
anywhere in the Western world, is not exempt from the human condition of being prone to
wander. Kempis confesses that true perfection will not be found in this life, but that ought
not be a reason for not pursuing it; and the pursuit of holiness itself is marked by struggling
and wrestling.
It’s cliché to say that we struggle with sin. In high school our church had
“Accountability Groups.” Three friends and I were in such a group, and each week we
would meet and talk about our “struggles.” We struggled with sin quite consistently. We’d
go around the circle, Russian roulette-style, and share about how we were struggling with
this or that. All through high school this continued, and each week we would struggle with
the same entangling sins. As a matter of fact, no measure of movement had been made in
deepening sanctification. In the western church, we often perceive any sin in our life as a
struggle. But the nature of struggling involves wrestling, fighting, blocking and sparring,
becoming winded and exhausted. How often do we claim to “struggle with sin” when none
of the elements of a struggle are present in our disposition towards sin and its activity in our
lives? It makes us sound spiritual, and it makes us feel a bit better. “I’m a sinful person, and
I’m struggling…” It’s quite calming to any guilt complexes we might have. And thus it can
become a sort of self-deception. There’s this sin in our life, a habitual sin, that we refuse to
wage war against, refuse to take up arms against, and we call it a “struggle” when it’s really
nothing more than a surrender. If a person is addicted to pornography, and the person
consistently looks at pornography day-in and day-out, where is the struggle? He may say,
“I’m struggling with this,” but he’s not. He’s embracing it. Sure, he may feel bad about it.
He may even feel guilty or ashamed. But even Judas felt that after he betrayed Jesus—and
then he went and hanged himself. He didn’t repent. Self-deception is a harsh reality, and
when it comes to struggling, we must examine ourselves and our words and our own
perceptions of ourselves to see if these things are in alignment with reality. If we claim to
struggle with sin, is there evidence of that struggle? If there’s no evidence of that struggle—
e.g. fighting the temptation to the point of great strain, fleeing from situations where we
know we’ll be tempted, etc.—then chances are we’re just embracing our sin and calling it a
struggle so that we can save face before others and even before ourselves. Struggling with
sin involves—and I know this is common sense, but somewhere along the line we’ve
forgotten it—struggling. It doesn’t mean that there will be victory every time; but there will
at least be a battle. And in the failures we can take hope and comfort in the fact that the
battle has already been won, sin has already been defeated, and we remain victorious even
amidst the war, and we will one day stand victorious and glorified over the smoking and
smoldering battlefield.
 Granted there will be times when the struggling is greater or lesser, we can’t escape the
reality that the Christian life involves much wrestling. St. Paul, who has long been vaulted
up as the pinnacle of Christian holiness, writes about how the Christian life is a struggle in
Philippians 3.12-14. Having revealed the ultimate goal of Christian existence—
glorification—Paul writes:

Not that I have already obtained [resurrection] or am already perfect, but I press on to
make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider
that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining
forward what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in
Christ Jesus.

Despite any form of super-spiritualism which tries to tell us that resurrection has already
happened—or that we can attain perfection prior to glorification—, Paul is adamant about
the exact opposite: resurrection is a future event, and Christian maturity in the present isn’t
marked by a life free of sin but by humility, acknowledging that we’re not perfect, and by
patience, being patient as we await the day when we will be made perfect, healed and
whole. And with the imagery of the athlete, Paul compares the Christian life to a race: we
are the runners and the finish line is glorification. Rather than just sitting on our butts
waiting for glorification to happen, we are to run towards it full-steam-ahead, implementing
the resurrection life prior to bodily resurrection. We are, in other words, to embrace the life
of the age to come in a world where the age to come has broken in but has not yet been
completed. The race, marked by struggling and quite often by stumbling, is a race which
we run, getting up after each stumble and fall, and pressing on without looking back. And
this isn’t, as we are aware, something that we do on our own. We are not left on the
racetrack to fend for ourselves. Christ has made us his own; in other words, our race is ran
in the context of what Messiah has done for us, in the context of grace and forgiveness and
in the Spirit’s empowerment in our lives. We belong to Messiah, and the race we run we
don’t run alone. As we struggle, Messiah is there; as we stumble, Messiah is there; as we
fall, Messiah is there. And before we can pick ourselves up, Messiah is gingerly pulling us
to our feet, brushing the dirt off our clothes as we strain to catch our breath, and he is
guiding us down the track.
Romanticists will tell you that the Christian life ought not be marked by struggling. The
reality is quite different. Much struggling—or athletic work—is involved. This isn’t,
however, the gloomy struggling of the legalists but the joyful, celebration-filled struggling
of those whose victory is already secure. When it comes to repentance (or the
implementation of that repentance), we must be conscious that (a) the Christian life is a
struggle, and there will be stumblings and collapses, and (b) our victory is certain, our hope
is secure, and God’s grace and forgiveness drown us in all our little pitfalls and mishaps. At
the same time, we must also be aware that if we have repented, and if there is no desire for
change, no struggling nor wrestling, then we have every reason to be skeptical about the
authenticity of our repentance.

The Christian Life as Struggling: Five Factors

Now I want to ask the question: “Why is the Christian life a struggle?” There are several
factors which contribute to the reality that the Christian life is a struggle rather than
something that’s easy to implement or something that falls into our laps when we become
filled with the Spirit.

Factor #1: Weak Devotion

St. Paul expects the Corinthians’ faith to grow (2 Cor 10.15), and he acknowledges that the
Thessalonian Christians’ faith grows more and more (2 Thess 1.3). Inherent within these
texts is the reality that faith isn’t always perfect. Indeed, because faith must grow, the faith
which is the result of repentance isn’t a perfect faith. Perfect devotion to God involves
unbroken obedience and a complete forsaking of all that is evil; it demands an unfettered
trust and allegiance to Christ which cannot be affected by myriad temptations. One of the
reasons the implementation of repentance is so difficult is that our devotion to God must
grow. When a person repents, most often that faith is weak; yes, it is strong in many ways,
as many new converts will attest, but there are weaknesses within it, many of which will not
become apparent until later on in our Christian walk. A person who repents must be
diligent, for there are pressures whaling against the penitent, and it is easy to repent back to
former devotions. After we repent and turn to God, and when we find the Christian life
difficult and trying, and even paradoxical to all that we thought we knew, we shouldn’t be
discouraged as we stumble and fall many times. We must not allow appropriate guilt or
shame to become a poisonous gall which prevents us from advancing; we must not throw
up our hands at our weak devotion and determine that all is lost, thus what’s the point? We
must refuse to give up, we must keep moving, nourishing our devotion in prayer, in the
scriptures, and in Christian community. The Spirit will work within us, and our devotion to
God will grow. An infant cannot eat meat anymore than a new convert can scale ethical
mountains.

Factor #2: Resilient False Devotions

Repentance is a matter of the heart, a matter of where our devotions are placed. The
question is, “Do we love God or do we love ourselves?” That question draws a sharp divide
between the two; but our hearts are, to put it lightly, convoluted: a person who loves God
can and most likely will also love himself. The tension is present, manifesting itself in all
spheres of life; and in repentance, the struggle and tension isn’t eliminated. Its feathers are
not merely ruffled but enflamed like a peacock’s plume, more vibrant than ever. Repentance
takes place when a person decides to devote himself to God rather than continuing in
devotion to Self. It’s what happens when a person turns from devotion to her own
kingdom—whatever that kingdom may be—and instead devotes herself to God’s kingdom,
to his rule on earth now and in the promised future. When this decision is made, the war is
won, but the battles are by no means over. Just because we make the decision to repent
doesn’t mean we’ll be entirely free of other devotions. The sinful devotions to our selves and
to our kingdoms must not be merely pushed to the sidelines, nor even excommunicated,
but must be crucified entirely. And even though we drive in the nails, some devotions will
just seemingly refuse to die. The pressures of these former devotions can weigh so heavy
upon us that we forsake the way of repentance and return to our former devotions: we pry
out the nails and carry the body from the cross, resuscitating it and then courting it. This
happens often when our repentance is weak and lacks resolve; and even the most
determined repentance isn’t free from occasional relapses.
The greatest false god whom we worship is the Self, and thus making the decision to
turn from self-worship to the worship of God is monumentous. At the same time, there is a
plethora of gods whom people worship; and although not as demanding as worship of the
Self, the worship of these false gods will thwart our efforts and ability to grow in God-
devotion. The most common false gods worshipped—what I call the worldly triumvirate—
are the false gods of Nietzsche, Marx, and Freud: power, money, and sex. There are other
gods whom we often find ourselves worshipping: the god of prestige, the god of popularity,
the god of success, and even the god of the American Dream (a god whom countless
Western Christians worship without the slightest clue of the inherent idolatry). The worship
of these false gods lies at the helm of why the penitent-life is difficult: all of these false gods
stand in opposition to the true God, and as long as we are worshipping them, we are, in
some sphere, not worshipping God. Many times we won’t be aware of these false gods; but
when we do become aware of them, we must crucify them and work against them.

Factor #3: The “Foreign” Nature of the Christian Life

Having lived so long in devotion to Self that we don’t know how to live any other way, the
practice of repentance becomes difficult. Repentance involves a reorientation of our entire
lives, inward and outward, psychological and sociological, personal and communal. We are
forced to unlearn all that we’ve learned and to embrace a new modus vivendi, a new way of
living, that feels foreign. C.S. Lewis, in Mere Christianity, acknowledged this:
“[Repentance] means unlearning all the self-conceit and self-will that we have been training
ourselves into… It means killing part of yourself, under-going a kind of death.”
This new way of living is scary and uncomfortable.
It’s alien, not what we’re used to.
It’s like picking up a trombone with no prior experience, or walking in Paris with no
knowledge of French customs and language. For this reason repentance is, to quote an old
friend and former professor, “damn hard.” The temptation to return to our homeland, to
that which is familiar, gnaws at us; and at times we may go back in that direction, but God’s
Spirit is within us, guiding us and encouraging us and convicting us. Over time we’ll learn
how to play the trombone, and over time we’ll learn the French customs and language. As
our devotion to God deepens, perhaps we will even write beautiful symphonies or hammer
out exquisite French poetry. Repentance demands donning an entirely new manner of
living centered upon God-worship rather than self-worship, and it’s only expected that this
will be difficult, even hellishly difficult.

Factor #4: Disharmony with the World

Another reason the practice of repentance is difficult is because we live in a world that spurs
God-devotion and embraces self-devotion. Especially in the Western world, the gods of sex,
money, and power are worshipped with full and alert submission. People identify
themselves and thus frame their lives around these false gods. Those who refuse to worship
those false gods, and instead embrace worship of the true God, will be met with one of three
things: (a) indifference, (b) curiosity, or (c) persecution. Tolerance demands indifference;
open-mindedness demands curiosity; and fear demands persecution, which we understand
not only to be martyrdom but also mockery, slander, and prejudice against Christians. The
secular world spurs the Christian worldview, and those who embrace it are labeled as
ignorant, foolish, old-fashioned, and even evil. The secular world promotes self-indulgent,
self-focused living; the Christian life of love, compassion, mercy, and sacrifice, which is the
exact opposite, stirs fear within peoples’ guts. The result will often be persecution of some
kind. The Christian, living in disharmony with the present evil age, will find it difficult to
live out this new life in a time when such living is mocked and despised as stupid, arrogant,
or weak. For this reason Christian community is a must: like-minded people, gathering
together, working together, growing together, deepening in their love for one another and in
their devotion to God.
Factor #5: Influencing Pressures
There are various pressures that can influence Christians away from devotion to God. There
will often be pressures from friends and family who don’t share the Christian worldview and
who perceive the Christian life as ridiculous, to say the least. We may experience ostracism
because of our devotion to God, and out of our desire to be connected and loved, we may be
tempted to forsake the Christian faith. Doubts and uncertainties may assail us; and instead
of facing these doubts and certainties, and instead of wrestling with them and trying to
understand them top-to-bottom, we may become overwhelmed and abandon the whole
enterprise altogether. The world will entice us with its false gods, and our own refusal to
surrender our devotion to false gods will make the practice of repentance difficult.

Factor #6: The Powers & Principalities

C.S. Lewis cautioned in regard to the study of spiritual darkness (which encompasses such
things as demons, the devil, and the powers of evil), “There are two equal and opposite
errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence.
The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them.” Since the
Enlightenment, hordes of people, including Christians, have ceased to believe in the
existence of demons (which Christians understand to be fallen angels, angels who have
rebelled against God), claiming that the Bible’s language of such entities is a cultural
misunderstanding or a remnant of a bygone, superstitious and unscientific age. Others
create from the twisting and gnarling of scripture a vast and intricate storyline about the
origins of demons, their present activities, and all sorts of strange information about them.
The reality is that the Bible both acknowledges the existence and activities of evil entities
but simultaneously doesn’t delve too deeply into explaining all their ins-and-outs. In fact
the origin of evil entities is unknown, left to conjecture: the biblical texts from the prophets
and Revelation which are most often used in referencing this event are really talking about
entirely different things! While we don’t know where demons came from, and while we
don’t know the full extent of their activities, this we can be sure of: they opposed Jesus in
his ministry, they were defeated at Calvary, and they will be annihilated at the
Consummation. Between Easter and Consummation, however, they are certainly active,
albeit in different ways in different times and places, working against God’s kingdom not
because they are deluded into believing they have victory but because they’re so in angst
over their defeat that they want to hurt God by bringing down as many of his beloved
image-bearing creatures as possible. The study of demons, demonic possession, and
demonic oppression isn’t something that has interested me in a long while; yet I know,
from personal experience and from the valid testimonies of others, that demons are at work
in the world, fighting against the cause of God, and they are not dumb brutes but, rather,
clever and witty creatures whose brilliance supersedes even the humblest Christian. Much
of the difficulty in living the Christian life, I think, can be drawn back to the activities of evil
entities in our lives and their use of various tactics to steer us off course in the hopes that we
will, for whatever reason, abandon Christ. Nevertheless these entities are defeated powers
and they, too, will bow down before Jesus Christ as Lord.

We must embrace the truth: our devotion to God will not be perfect. As long as we live in
this present evil age, suspended between Easter and Consummation, we will wrestle with
our former loyalties, who beg of us our worship and devotion. Even St. Peter stumbled in
his devotion to Jesus. The one who preached repentance on Pentecost stumbled in his own
devotion to God both before and after the sermon. Was his devotion rejected by God or
declared bankrupt? No.
Jesus asked him, “Do you love me?”
Or, to put it another way, “Are you devoted to me?”
Peter’s answer: “You know I am, Lord.”
Peter wrestled with other devotions, but this didn’t change the fact that he was devoted
to God: his devotion just needed to grow. If even Peter experienced imperfect sanctification,
why should we expect to perform better? We won’t. No one’s perfect, and no one is 100%
devoted to God and his kingdom. We’re broken and marred, wounded and staggering,
imperfect and blemished pots. Our devotion to God may start out small as a mustard seed
but it must grow: as we develop as God’s people, our devotion to God must increase and
our devotion to self must decrease. We must embrace humility (we are, after all, made of
dust) and patience (we cannot expect to flourish as genuine human beings right off the
bat); we must praise God for his grace and be diligent, pressing on in our sanctification and
deepening our roots in God-devotion.