Most everyone knows that the Arabic word “jihad” means a holy
war against the enemies of Islam. But you probably did not know the Koran also gives it a broader
application: it also means an internal spiritual struggle—probably not unlike our biblical
term “spiritual warfare.” And like “jihad,” our “spiritual warfare” denotes
both an inner and outer battle: the latter, our battle with the “god of this
world” and demons in the heavenly realm (2 Cor. 4:4, Eph. 6:12); the
former, the warring of the Spirit against our unruly flesh (Gal. 5:17, Ro. 7:23) in order to bring it into subjection.
Significantly, one of the primary strategies of “Jihadists” is to secretly
invade the place they plan to attack. Similarly, the Holy Spirit employs an
aggressive invasion strategy—a ‘search and destroy’ mission in our hearts, to root out everything
that is un-holy in us. Unlike jihad, though, it is truly a Holy Invasion, and He is a welcomed invader. “Search me, O God, and know my heart” (Ps. 139:23).
This week my oncologist told me that of all persons with pancreatic cancer, only 15% are diagnosed while still in stage one (localized). I am, by God’s grace, a member of that modest faction. After pancreatic cancer has begun to spread, and surely after it has metastasized, surgery is ineffective. Only in the early stage is it most likely the tumor and its roots can be eliminated. But even then pancreatic cancers can hide and return. Cancer survivors must be vigilant to guard against that possibility. Thus, it is probable I will undergo months of post-surgery chemotherapy.
Of course the spiritual analogy shouts at us. Every one of us is born with a root of sin (called flesh), which is incapable of doing anything but growing and producing sin (tumors). And while the Cross, like the surgeon’s knife, has removed the tumor (Rom. 6:6, 11), the surrounding tissues of our heart still contain that nasty self-serving, self-loving, self-protecting thing we call flesh. (We are all too aware of its unwelcomed influence.) But, thank God, there are two sides to the surgeon’s knife (the Cross): one deals with the power of sin (eliminating the tumor); the other deals with ongoing presence of sin (like hidden cancer cells, waiting to return).
“Unless the knife is applied to the ‘flesh,’ it will always be ground for the enemy to attack, so as to weaken us in the conflict. The ‘flesh’ must be kept under the knife of the Cross… Our prayer must be: ‘Lord, apply the knife of the cross to every bit of the old life in me, where you can see it—down deep in the secret places I do not know.” (Jessie Penn Lewis, “The Conquest of Canaan”)
Are you observing Lent this year? If you are non-Catholic evangelical, you may not observe it. But many non-Catholics do. There is certainly nothing wrong with the purpose of Lent: the preparation of the believer — through prayer and self-denial — for Easter's Passion Week. Traditionally, Lent lasts forty days, thus imitating Jesus’ withdrawal into the wilderness for forty days of self-denial through prayer and fasting.
Yesterday, I mentioned Pope John Paul’s practice of self-mortification. Perhaps you are quick, as I was, to dismiss it as ‘human’ effort to attain righteousness. But the Bible does command us to deny the self, even, as Paul said, to die daily. The word “mortify” means to discipline one's body and physical appetites by self-denial or self-inflicted privation. Isn't that biblical? Paul tells us he “beat his body” into submission (1 Cor. 9:27). I don’t think Paul flailed himself with a whip but the word “beat” means “to beat black and blue.”
While Paul warns against those who teach “self abasement and severe treatment of the body” as a means to fight the flesh (Col. 2:23), he enjoins believers to suffer the loss of all things in order to know the fellowship of Christ's sufferings (Phil. 3:8, 10). At a minimum, “putting off the old self” means no longer living by your sinful flesh. But does it not also include denying ourselves ‘creaturely comforts’ that keep us from complete devotion to Jesus? We don’t deny ourselves these things to become righteous; we keep our appetites under control because it is our grateful heart’s response to the grace of God. We deny ourselves certain indulgences because we are afraid we may love them more than we love Jesus (1 John 2:15). Might that be what Pope John Paul was trying to do? Is that not the spirit of Lent?
Almost 300 years ago, Puritan writer John Owen wrote: “mortify your flesh and moderate your desires.” Now that sounds like a good standard to live by. And not just during Lent, but every day.
We say we want to crucify our flesh, but as soon as it starts to hurt, we pull back—the reason: we love ourselves.
Yet Jesus said "If anyone comes to me, and does not hate his own life, he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26). In our psycho-friendly churches, we are taught to love ourselves. Our teachers say ‘go easy on yourself; after all, you are only human’. In 1981, a Christian book “Make Friends with Your Shadow” captured the essence of this philosophy: “how to accept and use positively the negative side of your personality.” Our ‘flesh’ was redefined as a “friend,” a 'wounded child' within us. Peter says you are to wage war against your flesh (1 Pet. 2:11) but how can you do so if you see it as your friend?
So how do we hate ourselves? As we grow in love with God, embracing His holiness, we progressively hate everything He hates, and that includes our self-centered flesh. You ask: does God hate? Yes. Solomon tell us the seven things God hates (Prov. 6:17-19). Then Moses tells us God hates idoloatry (Deut 12:31). God hates everything that hurts the things He loves. Humanly speaking, if you love someone, you hate whatever would harm that person. If you're a parent, you hate anything that would harm your children. If you're married, you hate anything that would hurt your spouse. So it should be with God: “You who love the Lord, hate evil" (Ps. 97:10).
When Jesus says hate your own life, He means your self-life (your self-reliance, self-sufficiency, self-love) because it opposes God-love, God-reliance, God-sufficiency. When you see how offensive and grievous your ‘own life’ is to God, you will hate it. The more you try to please God in your own strength and fail to do so, the more you will hate your ‘own life.’
