Abiding in Christ

In February of 2022, Scottie Scheffler was a 25-year-old beginning his third full season on the PGA Tour, ranked 15th in the world. He was still seeking his first victory on the game’s top circuit. And on Sunday April 10, Scheffler became a Masters champion as well.

In a press conference after his victor, sporting his new green jacket, Scheffler was asked how he balances his desire to compete—which is fierce—without letting it define who he is as a person. Scheffler then opened up about his faith:

The reason why I play golf is I’m trying to glorify God and all that He’s done in my life. So, for me, my identity isn’t a golf score. Like my wife, Meredith, told me this morning, “If you win this golf tournament today, if you lose this golf tournament by 10 shots, if you never win another golf tournament again. I’m still going to love you, you’re still going to be the same person. Jesus loves you and nothing changes.” All I’m trying to do is glorify God and that’s why I’m here and that’s why I’m in [this] position.

Possible Preaching Angle:

No matter how successful we become, our identity is not tangled in our wins and losses. Our identity comes through Christ and bringing him glory.

22-year-old Apu Sarker lives with his family in a village in northern Bangladesh. His father and his grandfather were farmers. The men in Apu's family appear to share a very rare genetic mutation: they have no fingerprints.

Back in the day of Apu's grandfather, having no fingerprints was no big deal. But over the decades, the tiny grooves that swirl around our fingertips have become the world's most collected biometric data. We use them for everything from passing through airports to voting to opening our smartphones.

When Apu was still a boy, Bangladesh introduced National ID cards for all adults, and the database required a thumbprint. The baffled employees did not know how to issue a card to Apu's father. Finally, he received a card with "NO FINGERPRINT" stamped on it.

In 2016, the government made it mandatory to match a fingerprint with the national database in order to purchase a Sim card for a mobile phone. Apu said, "They seemed confused when I went to buy a Sim, their software kept freezing every time I put my finger on the sensor.” Apu was denied the purchase, and he now uses Sim cards issued in his mother's name.

Apu recently got a new kind of national ID card being issued by the Bangladeshi government, after presenting a medical certificate. The card uses other biometric data, a retina scan and facial recognition. But he still can't buy a Sim card or obtain a driver's license. But he hopes he will be able to get a passport. He would love to travel outside Bangladesh. He just needs to start his application.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Identity; Identity in Christ – Our entry into heaven is not based on fingerprints or biometric data, but on our identity in Christ. We have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and are guaranteed full access to our heavenly home since our names are written in the Book of Life.

Julie Canlis writes in “The Bible’s Best Description of Salvation Is a Phrase We Rarely Use”:

Years ago during graduate studies at Regent College, I had a desperate talk with Eugene Peterson about how my PhD had turned the words of God into a great, big research project. I was trying to read my lifeless Bible, but I was interrupted 1,000 times by children needing to be fed, changed, read to, and more. I begged him to give me a spiritual discipline, some rope to haul me out of the hole I was in.

“Well, Julie,” he said, “is there anything you are doing in a disciplined manner already?”

I thought about my newborn daughter, Iona, and the hours that I spent nailed to our couch feeding her. She had reflux, and most of what went into her immediately came up again, which meant that I had to repeat the feed all over again. “Nursing Iona is the only thing I can count on,” I said. “She makes sure of that.”

He patted my hand, then, like a parent consoling a dissatisfied child who is not content with their lot in life. “Julie, that is your spiritual discipline. Now start paying attention to what you are already doing. Be present.”

In that moment and so many others like it, I was weakened by a very common and insidious temptation: I wanted to be for Christ instead of being in Christ. I saw my familial responsibilities as obstacles to a godly life when in fact they were the very place he wanted to meet me. Accordingly, I had to radically revise my view of obedience to include the simple act of abiding in Christ.

In his book Identity Matters, Christian author Terry Wardle tells a story from his childhood. Terry had a hand-me-down, fixed-up, big, blue girl's Schwinn bike. One day his mom finally let him venture outside his own neighborhood. Wardle tells what happened next:

I had broken free of the constraints of my little neighborhood, and now I was on my own to experience a grand adventure. I felt like a somebody, even on a big, blue, girl's Schwinn bike. With saddlebags! As I crossed the railroad tracks and then rumbled over a small creek on a single-lane bridge. The bridge, made of wood and steel, was no big deal. But on that day long ago it became a bridge too far. As I began to cross, four teenage boys stepped onto the far side of the bridge. I intended to pass on by.

They had other things in mind. One of the boys grabbed my handlebars and spun my bike to an abrupt stop. "Hey, where do you think you're goin'?" he snarled, as another boy chimed in, "Yeah, kid, where ya goin'?" Instantly I knew they intended to beat me up. I was petrified. I couldn't fight or break free to run, so I stood there frozen. Suddenly one of the bullies asked, "What's your name?" I answered him in a high-pitched preadolescent, quivering voice, "Terry Wardle."

The three remaining teenagers got a bit silent and looked at one another nervously. "Are you related to Tom Wardle?" Tom was a much older cousin, who happened to play defensive end on the high school football team. But I lied and told them Tom was my brother. They immediately backed off. One of the boys straightened out my shirt, and started saying, "Hey, we were just funning you. No harm. You're a great kid, and … if anyone ever gives you any trouble, you tell us and we'll take care of you."

That was a formative day for me. I learned that simply being Terry Wardle was not enough to be respected, accepted, and safe. In the panic of the moment, when the cry for safety was loudest, I lied. Yes, everything did turn out okay, but I had to pretend to be something I was not or they would have roughed me up. I had learned that this is an unsafe and ungenerous world, and that attaining any degree of success in life would demand much more than simply being me.

Possible Preaching Angles: Identity; Significance; Identity in Christ—Like Terry Wardle, we have all found ways to base our sense of identity and significance in something else besides our deepest identity found in Jesus Christ.

Yes, we all know we should eat healthy. But even the healthiest of diets can meet their match in an all-too-familiar enemy: stress.

A study published in Molecular Psychiatry "suggests stress can override the benefits of making better food choices." The findings were based on research in which 58 women "completed surveys to assess the kinds of stress they were experiencing" and also were given "two different types of meals to eat, on different days": one meal with plenty of saturated fat, the other a healthier option with plenty of plant-based oils. Some "counterintuitive" results came back from the experiment. According to the study's author, Janice Kiecolt-Glaser, "If a woman was stressed on a day when she got the healthy meal, she looked like she was eating the saturated fat meal in terms of her [inflammation] responses." Over time, high levels of inflammation could potentially lead to "a range of diseases."

Thankfully, NPR's coverage of the study ended on a hopeful note, alluding to "a whole range of strategies that have been shown to help manage stress," including performing kind deeds for others and what they called "perhaps the world's greatest stress reliever"—close, personal relationships.

Potential Preaching Angles: Science is showing that healthy eating may not always win out against stress, and even the best stress relievers may fail at times—but the "close, personal relationship" we have with our Savior is one that has already won against stress, fear, and even death.

For too long, we've called unbelievers to "invite Jesus into your life." Jesus doesn't want to be in your life. Your life's a wreck. Jesus calls you into his life. And his life isn't boring or purposeless or static. It's wild and exhilarating and unpredictable.

Tim Keller tells the following story about the power of Christ's resurrection:

A minister was in Italy, and there he saw the grave of a man who had died centuries before who was an unbeliever and completely against Christianity, but a little afraid of it too. So the man had a huge stone slab put over his grave so he would not have to be raised from the dead in case there is a resurrection from the dead. He had insignias put all over the slab saying, "I do not want to be raised from the dead. I don't believe in it." Evidently, when he was buried, an acorn must have fallen into the grave. So a hundred years later the acorn had grown up through the grave and split that slab. It was now a tall towering oak tree. The minister looked at it and asked, "If an acorn, which has power of biological life in it, can split a slab of that magnitude, what can the acorn of God's resurrection power do in a person's life?"

Keller comments:

The minute you decide to receive Jesus as Savior and Lord, the power of the Holy Spirit comes into your life. It's the power of the resurrection—the same thing that raised Jesus from the dead …. Think of the things you see as immovable slabs in your life—your bitterness, your insecurity, your fears, your self-doubts. Those things can be split and rolled off. The more you know him, the more you grow into the power of the resurrection.

In his book Connecting Christ, Paul Metzger retells the story of the friendship between the Jewish writer Elie Wiesel and the French Christian writer Francois Mauriac. While in Auschwitz, Wiesel was torn from his mother and sisters and forced to watch his father get beaten to death by Nazi guards. After the war, Wiesel chose to keep silent about his traumatic experiences. But as a young writer, Wiesel had the chance to interview Mauriac, a prominent Christian writer and former leader in the French Resistance movement. Though he respected Mauriac, Wiesel arrived at Mauriac's apartment with an ulterior motive: he wanted Mauriac to help him meet the Prime Minister of France, which would have been a boost to Wiesel's emerging writing career. In a 1996 interview here's how Wiesel recounts their first meeting:

Mauriac was an old man then, but when I came to Mauriac, he agreed to see me. We met and we had a painful discussion. The problem was that [Mauriac] was in love with Jesus. He was the most decent person I ever met in that field—as a writer, as a [Christian] writer. Honest, sense of integrity, and he was in love with Jesus. He spoke only of Jesus. Whatever I would ask—Jesus.

Finally … when he said Jesus again I couldn't take it, and … I was discourteous, which I regret to this day. I said, "Mr. Mauriac … ten years or so ago, I have seen children, hundreds of Jewish children, who suffered more than Jesus did on his cross, and we do not speak about it." I felt all of a sudden so embarrassed. I closed my notebook and went to the elevator. He ran after me. He pulled me back; he sat down in his chair, and I in mine, and he began weeping. I have rarely seen an old man weep like that, and I felt like such an idiot. I felt like a criminal. This man didn't deserve that. He was really a pure man, a member of the Resistance. I didn't know what to do. We stayed there like that, he weeping and I closed in my own remorse. And then, at the end … he simply said, "You know, maybe you should talk about it?"

He took me to the elevator and embraced me. And that year, the tenth year, I began writing [Night, my novel about the Holocaust]. After it was translated from Yiddish into French, I sent it to him. We were very, very close friends until his death.

Later in his life Wiesel declared that it was Mauriac, the man "who declared himself in love with Christ," who influenced him to share his story and become a writer.

Suppose you were exploring an unknown Greenland glacier in the dead of winter. Just as you reach the sheer cliff with a spectacular view of miles of jagged ice and mountains of snow, a terrible storm breaks in. The wind is so strong that the fear rises in your heart that it might blow you over the cliff. But in the midst of the storm you discover a cleft in the ice where you can hide. Here you feel secure.

But, even though secure, the awesome might of the storm rages on, and you watch it with a kind of trembling pleasure as it surges out across the distant glaciers. Not everything we call fear vanishes from your heart, only the life-threatening part. There remains the trembling, the awe, the wonder, the feeling that you would never want to tangle with such a storm or be the adversary of such a power.

And so it is with God. The fear of God is what is left of the storm when you have a safe place to watch right in the middle of it. Hope turns fear into a trembling and peaceful wonder; and fear takes everything trivial out of hope and makes it earnest and profound. The terrors of God make the pleasures of his people intense. The fireside fellowship is all the sweeter when the storm is howling outside the cottage.

In his book Deserted by God?, author and pastor Sinclair Ferguson shares the following story:

The first physician to die of the AIDS virus in the United Kingdom was a young Christian. He had contracted it while doing medical research in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. In the last days of his life, his power of communication failed. He struggled with increasing difficulty to express his thoughts to his wife. On one occasion she simply could not understand his message. He wrote on a note pad the letter J. She ran through her medical dictionary, saying various words beginning with J. None was right. Then she said, "Jesus?"

That was the right word. He was with them. That was all either of them needed to know. [And] that is always enough.

Stuart Briscoe, author and long-time pastor of Elmbrook Church in Brookfield, Wisconsin, tells the following story:

Many years ago, during the Cold War, I traveled to Poland for several weeks of itinerant ministry. One winter day my sponsors drove me in the dead of night to the middle of nowhere. I walked into a dilapidated building crammed with one hundred young people. I realized it was a unique opportunity.

Through an interpreter I preached from John 15 on abiding in Christ. Ten minutes into my message, the lights went out. Pitch black.

My interpreter urged me to keep talking. Unable to see my notes or read my Bible, I continued. After I had preached in the dark for twenty minutes, the lights suddenly blinked on, and what I saw startled me: everyone was on their knees, and they remained there for the rest of my message.

The next day I commented on this to one man, and he said, "After you left, we stayed on our knees most of the night. Your teaching was new to us. We wanted to make sure we were abiding in Christ."

Helen Roseveare is a British medical doctor who worked for many years as a missionary in Zaire. During the revolution of the 1960s, she often faced brutal beatings and other forms of physical torture. On one occasion, when she was about to be executed, she feared God had forsaken her.

In that moment, she sensed the Holy Spirit saying to her: Twenty years ago you asked me for the privilege of being identified with me. This is it. Don’t you want it? This is what it means. These are not your sufferings; they are my sufferings. All I ask of you is the loan of your body.

The privilege of serving Christ through her sufferings overwhelmed Dr. Roseveare. After she was delivered, she wrote about her experience with God: “He didn’t stop the sufferings. He didn’t stop the wickedness, the cruelties, the humiliation or anything. It was all there. The pain was just as bad. The fear was just as bad. But it was altogether different. It was in Jesus, for him, with him.”

If Jesus makes you feel comfortable with your agenda, then he's not Jesus…. Once you domesticate Jesus, he isn't there any more.