There was a shout from the top of the line.

“Come on!” called Christopher Robin.

“Come on!” called Pooh and Piglet.

“Come on!” called Owl.

“We’re starting,” said Rabbit.  “I must go.”  And he hurried off to the front of the Expotition with Christopher Robin.

“All right,” said Eeyore.  “We’re going.  Only Don’t Blame Me.”

Winnie-the-Pooh, A.A. Milne

Paul began his first letter to the Corinthians with a phrase that set apart his ministry to them, as it has set apart those sent by God before and since, with its most important identifying characteristic.  He said, “Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.”

It is perhaps more surprising to note what he did not say.  Though the church was rife with error, steeped in immorality, and torn apart by factions, Paul did not address these problems immediately.  He began as do the Scriptures, in the Beginning, with a proclamation of Who it was that brought all this to pass.  If God made the world and everything in it, he is rightly to be introduced to us as our Creator.  If God called the Church to its journey of faith, he is rightly to be introduced to us as the Author of that faith.  It is no mere acknowledgement of association that Paul made, as if he needed only to establish the validity of his apostleship.  Recognizing the gravity of the situation in the Corinthian church (as in many churches since then), he knew that only the Spirit of God could move over the face of that tumultuous deep to endow it with the framework of meaningful existence.  And we will find that it is that same creative will which must from the very outset define us as a church today.

What does it mean to speak of the will of God?  His will is comprehended by the impact it makes on those surroundings that resist its progress, as wind is perceived by the height of the waves it churns up, as fire by the devastation left in its path, as greatness by the change that is brought about by one person’s life.  If there were no resistance to the wind we could not see it.  If the trees were impervious to the spark there would be no devastation.  If mankind were not intrinsically helpless there would be no need for a champion.  So when we think of God’s will we are left with a definition that is rooted in the brokenness of this world.  Disappointing though it is to admit that we are consigned to see God’s glory through the darkening glass of sin, it is yet a comfort that we see it at all.  There are utterances more terrible than a rebuke, and it is far better to be confronted with the presence of a holy God than it is to be left alone.

If the manifestation of the will of God is demonstrated by its effect on the resistance mounted against it, its purpose is reflected in the result of that confrontation.  When I was 13 years old and wrestling with the doctrine of election (or at least I thought I was), I made the passionate statement that “God doesn’t want robots!”  What I said was very true, if not as devastating an argument against the eternal decrees of the Almighty as I intended.  God saves us not to create spiritual automatons to carry out his will, but to deliver us from our unholy independence and open our eyes to a greater possibility than our own exaltation.  The mark of a Christian, then, is not merely one who does what God says (a good thing too), but it is one who truly wants what God wants.  If God says “Purge the evil from Israel,” the Christian responds “Thy kingdom come” and begins looking in his own heart for things at which to cast the first stone.  If God says “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion,” the Christian responds “Thy will be done” and starts digging for the wells of joy at a time when gladness is dried up from the children of man.  And the Christian wants these things not just because we know God wants it, as if we’d get more holiness points or something for agreeing with him, but because in them we can see the unmistakable embryo of a new life being knit together.  While the world around us is spiraling downward in the grip of entropy, as nature relentlessly demands an accounting for the expenditure of energy like the most unforgiving IRS auditor there ever was, a new existence is springing up within it: inexplicably, inexorably, freely stretching and growing in the fierce joy of the pleasure of God.  It is a kingdom willed into existence by a God to whom human beings were worth more than following the rules, conceived when Jesus determined not to lose any of those the Father had given to him, made possible when Grace triumphed over Law – when love and power wed, as Rick said this Sunday.

It is to such a kingdom that the will of God has brought us, and truly we are there now, as those laboring in the ruins of a city once glorious, yet to be so again.  For our journey is not to some far-off land, as though everyone and everything we move among today will someday be irrelevant.  It is instead to the fulfillment of a place we have always known and a people we have spent our lives with (know ye not that we shall judge angels?).  And I think the rebuke may be brought against us that though this is true, yet we often do not know that world when we are permitted a glimpse of it.  Did it frighten you when the exhortation this Sunday moved us into a prayer to lay claim upon the city of Staunton in the name of Christus Victor?  It frightened the heck out of me.  Trying to drum up a sufficiently pious nod of hypocritical assent, I was forced to acknowledge a moment of real and abject terror at the very thought.  That is a goal too big, with stakes too high, and enemies too formidable, for me to comfortably follow along with, let alone to lead others in.  Although duty always overcomes good sense and I eventually stop kicking at the goads, mine is usually the response of Eeyore: “OK, let’s do it, but don’t look at me when this crazy idea doesn’t work!”  I need to hear Paul’s gentle reminder, spoken first as of utmost importance: we were brought here to Staunton by the will of God.  It is the love of Jesus that will overcome this city, and he will receive the glory for it.  He calls me only to be willing to be one of those foolish things by which he will confound the wise, and to be one of those low and despised things by which he will bring to nothing the things that are.  In that I will glory.

Author: Jeremy Vogan

My name is Jeremy Vogan. I live in Staunton, VA with my wife and four kids. I love to write, and seek to honestly explore the intellectual and emotional implications of following Jesus as a deeply broken person in a twisted, cruel world that is full of veiled beauty and meaning. Writing is part of how I faithfully look for Jesus Christ to someday make all things new. I'd enjoy hearing your feedback! JV