by Drew Dyck
We weren’t always uncomfortable with the language of striving. Listen to these words from a sermon Billy Graham preached in 1957:
The Christian is likened to a boxer, who masters his own body and practices self restraint, and all the way through the New Testament you’ll read words like this, describing the Christian life: Fight, wrestle, run, work, suffer, endure, resist, agonize, persevere. All of these are New Testament words describing the Christian life. It is to be a disciplined life.2
I find such descriptions of the Christian life jarring, probably because I’ve grown so accustomed to equating spirituality with passivity. But there’s no getting around it: they’re thoroughly biblical. And taking them seriously will mean resetting my expectations. I can’t expect my life to be a pleasure cruise toward holiness. I’ll have to come to peace with the difficult truth that growth won’t always feel good. In fact, like an athlete pushing his body to the breaking point, I’m learning that progress can feel a lot like pain.
BUT WHAT ABOUT GRACE?
If this teaching is so clear in Scripture, why do we shy away from it? Part of it is just laziness. I know my reluctance is largely a smokescreen, a way of avoiding the humbling, hard work of seeking to change. But there is another reason why we’re uneasy with the idea of striving, and it comes from a good place. We want to protect grace.
The Christian experience can be divided into two major categories: justification and sanctification. Justification means we’re made right before God. This is what happens when God saves us. When we put our trust in Christ, we cross from death to life and become members of God’s family. This astonishing event happens purely by the grace of God. We don’t deserve it. We can’t earn it. We can’t start delivering pizzas at night to pay God back. It happens instantaneously, even if we can’t recall exactly when it occurred. God, in His infinite mercy, reaches down and saves us. We’re justified.
Sanctification is different. It refers to the spiritual growth that happens after you’re saved. It’s about becoming more and more like Jesus. Like justification, it is initiated and empowered by God. But unlike justification, it happens gradually, over a lifetime. It’s a process. And it demands human effort. As my friend Matt Capps says, “Salvation is surrender. Sanctification is war.”
The problem is that we tend to conflate these categories. We want to protect the beautiful truth that we’re saved by grace alone and not by anything we’ve done. So we carry that truth over and apply it to sanctification. When we do that, we assume sanctification should happen like salvation: instantaneously and without effort. But in our attempt to protect one biblical truth, we distort another. We end up believing sanctification is a passive enterprise in which God transforms us unilaterally. But as we’ve seen, this isn’t a biblical idea, and it hampers our spiritual progress. As pastor Kevin DeYoung writes, “Some Christians are stalled out in their sanctification for simple lack of effort.”3
Furthermore, viewing sanctification in this way does nothing to protect our understanding of justification as a gift from God. Again DeYoung writes, “Stressing the necessity of personal holiness should not undermine in any way our confidence in justification by faith alone.”4 In fact if you try to eliminate the need for holiness, you wind up with what Dietrich Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace,” an unbiblical view of the gospel that embraces Christ’s message but refuses the hard work of following Him. Such an approach devalues grace and cripples our spiritual growth. But by striving for holiness, we honor the gift of grace.
ISN’T STRIVING LEGALISM?
At this point, objections might be popping up in your mind.
Are you saying God doesn’t play a role in my spiritual growth? That I can just roll up my sleeves, and transform all by myself? Isn’t that legalism?
In his book on spiritual disciplines, pastor John Ortberg addresses this common reaction. “People who live under the bondage of legalism and then hear the message of grace are sometimes leery that talk of disciplines might lead to another form of religious oppression,” he writes. Yet he assures readers that “spiritual disciplines don’t oppose or live in tension with grace.” Rather, they complement each other.5 If you’re worried I’m making the case for backbreaking legalism, let me put your mind at ease: I’m not. Guarding against passivity is crucial. But we need to avoid the opposite, and equally dangerous, error: thinking we can transform all by ourselves. Let me be clear: true spiritual growth doesn’t come apart from God’s empowerment. You can’t pull your soul up by your spiritual bootstraps. If you try, you’ll become like the Pharisees. You will end up trusting in your own efforts to fulfill God’s law, never quite sure whether you’ve done enough.
So we need to guard against passivity and exert effort. On the other hand, we must draw on God’s power to live the Christian life. Fudging on either commitment will stall our spiritual growth. Discounting our role in sanctification leads to license. Ignoring God’s role leads to legalism.
But here’s good news: there’s really no conflict between divine empowerment and human effort. As the late Dallas Willard said, “Grace is not opposed to effort. It is opposed to earning.”6 The Bible is crammed with passages showing both the divine and human role in sanctification.
Consider this passage from Romans: “if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live” (8:13). Note the dual roles represented in this verse. Who is the active agent here? Well, “you put to death the misdeeds of the body.” Does that mean God isn’t involved? Not at all! The passage is equally clear that this crucial act of killing sin only happens “by the Spirit.” We need the Spirit to eradicate sin in our lives.
In 2 Peter 1:3 we see the same pattern: “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.” At first blush, it appears we are mere passengers on the train to holiness. After all, God has provided the power … what’s left for us to do? A lot, apparently. The passage goes on to command us, “For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge self-control.” Did you catch that? We’re commanded to “make every effort” because “His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life.” For Peter, divine empowerment and human effort aren’t enemies. They’re allies. God has given us His power. That’s why we strive.
In Philippians 2:12 we’re commanded to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” That language clearly shows the requirement of human effort. But the very next verse reminds us of who is really effecting the change: “for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose” (2:13).
Perhaps the clearest example of the divine and human roles operating in tandem comes from Colossians 1:29: “For this I toil, struggling with all his energy that he [Jesus] powerfully works within me” (ESV, emphasis mine). Here there’s no doubt that Paul is expending effort. Another translation reads, “I strenuously contend.” At the same time, it is equally clear that it is “he” (Jesus) who is working within him. And it’s Jesus’ internal working that motivates Paul’s effort: “For this I toil …” These passages (and scores of others) show that divine empowerment and human effort are not only compatible, they’re complementary. We may be tempted to pit them against each other, but it appears that the writers of Scripture envisioned them working together. Perhaps that’s why theologians call our spiritual activities—prayer, Bible reading, service—“means of grace.” They’re ways that we cooperate with God’s supernatural work in our lives.
I used to work for a company that didn’t offer retirement benefits. I had the option to contribute to a 401(k), but my employer didn’t have a matching program. Guess what? I didn’t put in a dime. But then I started working for a company that had a program that matched my retirement contributions. In fact, they did more than match. They doubled them! Guess who started investing? Every month I put in the maximum possible contribution. Knowing that
each dollar I put in was doubled motivated me. Sure, it was still a sacrifice to have a few hundred bucks shaved off each paycheck, but it was well worth it.
That’s a very flawed analogy for Spirit-empowered striving. But it gets one part of it right. When I know that God’s power is available, it makes me more likely to strive, not less. The promise of His supernatural assistance motivates me to participate. I like the way Todd Hunter puts it: “Sin always brings a struggle. But rather than struggling against the Spirit and our conscience, we need to strive with them.”7
That’s not to say that our efforts are on equal footing with God’s power. If you’re tempted to give your effort too much credit, remember this: God is the one who gives you the desire to strive after holiness in the first place! He’s also the one who alerts you to the presence of sin, helps you discern what’s right, and then empowers your efforts to do it! And when you fail, as we all do, He’s there to offer forgiveness and restoration. It begins and ends with God. Yes, He allows us to contribute to the process, but we should never mistake our modest part in the play as the leading role. When it comes to spiritual growth, God does the heavy lifting.
And thank God for that! We need His power! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Christian life is hard. Have you read the Sermon on the Mount? How in the world am I supposed to rejoice when people persecute me? Or love my enemies? Or not lust (even in my heart)? If I’m relying only on my own efforts, I don’t stand a chance. Obeying God’s commands is impossible apart from God’s strength. But we still have to obey.
Sanctification is like sailing. Sailors can’t move without the wind, but that doesn’t mean they kick up their feet on the deck and wait to start moving. They’re tying knots, adjusting sails, turning the rudder—all while making sure the boom doesn’t swing across the deck and smack them in the head. Sailing is hardly a passive enterprise—but it’s completely dependent upon the wind. In a similar way, we’re completely dependent on God’s Spirit to make progress. But we’re not passive. Our effort works with God’s power to move us forward. I remember talking about the tension with a friend, Kim Cummings. She was grappling with the relationship between God’s empowerment and human effort, and came to this conclusion: “I participate in this work, this sanctification, through prayer, obedience, interaction with God’s Word and His saints. But ultimately the work is His and I can rest in that.”
And what about grace? Well, it’s still beautifully, wondrously, irrevocably free. We don’t add anything to it, and we can’t take anything away. Striving after holiness is just the appropriate response to the lavish gift of salvation. We’re not trying to earn what’s been given. Instead we act out of gratitude and joy. And that leads to effort. “You have never seen people more active,” Dallas Willard said, “than those who have been set on fire by the grace of God.”8
THE POWER OF A FRESH START
Grace is instrumental in salvation. It also spurs us to righteous behavior. Scripture tells us that it is “the grace of God” that “teaches us to say ‘No’ to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives” (Titus 2:11–12).
The idea that grace teaches self-control can seem a bit surprising. After all, if I’m freely forgiven of my sins by the grace of God, why resist sin? If there’s always more forgiveness on tap, why strive after righteousness? The apostle Paul anticipated this reaction—“Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?”—and immediately shot it down: “By no means!” he wrote. “We are those who have died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?” (Rom. 6:1–2) To Paul, the idea that we should keep sinning because of grace was silly, absurd, the equivalent of Bill Gates knocking off a 7-Eleven. Instead, forgiveness lays the groundwork for transformation.
In high school I had a close friend who described himself as an atheist. When he told me he didn’t believe in God, I could only think of one biblical rejoinder: “The fool says in his heart ‘There is no God’” (Ps. 14:1). Since he was a lot stronger than me, and liked to fight, I kept the verse to myself.
I tried talking to him about my faith, but nothing seemed to get through to him. Nothing except for this: I described to him, as best I could, the experience of forgiveness. “There’s nothing like coming to God with all the bad things you’ve done and asking for Him to cleanse you,” I told him. “It’s like taking a shower after being dirty for a long time. You feel completely new, totally clean.”
He was silent.
“Hey, man. I don’t mean to preach at you,” I said.
“That doesn’t sound like preaching,” he replied looking off at something. “It doesn’t sound like preaching at all.”
I wasn’t much of an evangelist, but I got one thing right. There’s something powerful about the prospect of forgiveness, of being made clean. As the Presbyterian minister Henry Van Dyke said, “For love is but the heart’s immortal thirst to be completely known and all forgiven.” When you feel that forgiveness, the last thing you want to do is rush out and start sinning.
In 1 Corinthians 6, Paul gives a long list of “wrongdoers” who will not inherit the kingdom of God. The list includes some pretty despicable characters, including swindlers, drunks, thieves, and adulterers. But before his readers could feel too superior, he added these words, “… and that is what some of you were.” Those descriptions only applied to his readers in the past tense. Something had changed: “you were washed, you were sanctified” (6:11), Paul reminded them. In other words, because of the fact that they’d been forgiven, they had entered a whole new way of living. The next verses unpack how “washed” people are to live, by “not [being] mastered by anything” and living free from sexual immorality. Holiness flows from forgiveness.
It’s a spiritual principle, and a psychological one. Researchers talk about the benefits of the “fresh start effect.” Basically it means that when we feel like we’ve been given a clean slate, our behavior improves. That helps explain why people who use “temporal landmarks” like birthdays, the beginning of a new year, or even the beginning of the week to start pursuing a new goal make greater progress. They feel like they’ve been given a new start and they don’t want to mess it up. According to Francesca Gino, a behavioral scientist, “We feel more motivated and empowered to work hard toward reaching our goals when we feel like our past failures are behind us.”9
That’s good news for Christians. We get the ultimate blank slate when we place our faith in Christ. Then we receive that blank slate over and over again. First when we come to Christ and receive a whole new life (2 Cor. 5:17), and then repeatedly as we repent of our sins and ask God for forgiveness (1 John 1:9).
Unfortunately, we don’t always take advantage of this blank slate. Or at least I don’t. When I mess up, I’m reluctant to confess my sins and ask God for forgiveness. Not only that, but I start avoiding my Bible and stop praying. In order words, I start avoiding God (as if I could).
I realize this makes no sense. I know God loves me unconditionally. But because of my actions, suddenly I feel like we’re not on talking terms. This strange avoidance behavior is always a mistake. When I fail to confess my sins, I’m more likely to sin again. What’s one more sin, I think. I’m already messing up.
Researchers have a name for this phenomenon too. They call it the “What-The-Hell Effect.” Basically, it means that after messing up, we tend to mess up even more. It was coined by dieting researchers who noticed that when their subjects had even small indiscretions (a bite of ice cream or one slice of pizza) it was followed by a full-on binge. Psychologist Kelly McGonigal explains this thinking behind this behavior.
Giving in makes you feel bad about yourself, which motivates you to do something to feel better. And what’s the cheapest, fastest strategy for feeling better? Often the very thing you feel bad about…. It’s not the first giving-in that guarantees the bigger relapse. It’s the feelings of shame, guilt, loss of control and loss of hope that follow the first relapse.10
I’m con
vinced this dynamic plagues my spiritual life as well. When I sin, the shame and guilt drive me away from God. I feel bad about myself, and in a cruel irony, I engage in more of the sin that made me feel bad in the first place.
When I confess my sins, the circle stops. I feel like I’ve hit the refresh button on my spiritual life. Suddenly I’m motivated to resist sin and pursue holiness. Wallowing in my guilt merely makes me sin more. Confession gives me a fresh start and I don’t want to mess it up. It can be natural to think that feeling really bad about yourself is the way to improve your behavior. But piling on guilt is never the answer. It’s to keep diving back into grace.
THE POWER OF ATTACHMENT
There’s another, even more profound way that grace enables self-control. It provides the deep trust in God’s goodness that’s essential to live a righteous life. Without grace, you’re always left wondering where you stand with God. You’re never sure if God loves you, whether God is for you. You might think such uncertainty would spur you to greater action. (After all, you’re never quite sure if you’ve done enough.) Yet it doesn’t. It fuels resignation and defeat. It engenders distrust in God and drains your ability to please Him.
If you’ve taken Psychology 101, you’ve probably heard about attachment theory. The theory gained traction in the 1960s when researchers had parents do what my wife and I do every Sunday morning: leave their young children in a room with strangers. The difference is that the researchers stuck around to observe how the children reacted.
Some of the babies would cry when their mothers left the room, but would calm down after a few minutes. Then, when their mothers returned, the babies were happy to see them. Sad to see you go, happy to have you back. The researchers labeled this as healthy attachment.