On Defeat Following Triumph

For our wedding anniversary a couple of years ago, I gave Ginny a paper shredder.

Isn’t that romantic?

Actually, it was her idea.

I would have preferred to get her a flaming red lacy negligee, but she wanted to have a paper shredder. So that’s what I bought her.

That’s the kind of romantic guy I am.

I mention this because last night I walked in her office to find her digging through shredded giblets for scraps and piecing them together on top of her desk.

She’d inadvertently shredded an important credit card. It had stuck to the back of a sheet she actually meant to shred.

So, she was trying to fit the pieces back together so she can order a new card from the maker.

What a picture of life!

We all end up shredding things we don’t really mean to; and we can’t piece them back together; our only recourse is to do without, or apply to the Maker for a new life.

But, that’s not what I meant to write about this morning.

I meant to write about a personal defeat.

Once again I have given in to a temptation (does it matter which one?). Yeah, I suppose it does. Almost immediately after sending the Ward Diary off to the printer for proof pages, I began to browse the internet for photos of bikini girls again.

Yeah, that’s also the kind of guy I am.

Why does strong temptation follow right on the heels of spiritual triumph?

In Scripture, we see this dynamic played out again and again:

Smoke had not gone up from Cane’s altar before he whacked his own brother in the head with a rock.

The Israelites saw God flatten the walls of Jericho, then immediately afterwards, sin defeated them in the battle for Ai.

Elijah saw the fire fall from heaven, he defeated 400 of Baal’s witchdoctors, then immediately afterwards, we see him cowering depressed in a cave because a woman threatened to kill him.

Jonah saw God revive the whole city of Nineveh, but immediately afterwards, here’s Jonah depressed, suicidal, and mad at God because a caterpillar ate his gourd vine.

Within 24 hours of partaking of the Lord’s Supper and having Christ wash his feet, Peter denied Jesus with curses.

And John Cowart moves immediately from preserving an important spiritual document to browsing for bikini photos.

Strong temptation often follows spiritual triumph.

Why does this sort of thing happen?

Part of it is the simple human joy of giving ourselves a treat for an accomplishment. Like the lady who steps on the scales, realizes that she’s lost 30 pounds and celebrates by eating a whole tub of chocolate chip ice cream to reward herself..

Of course, another easy answer says that religious people are hypocrites, that all this faith stuff is a false front, a facade erected to fool onlookers.

There is an element of truth in this accusation. I know that I want people to think me better than I really am. I want to make a good impression so I glaze over my faults, defects and sins. I even wear aftershave to disguise my natural smell.

That’s the kind of guy I am.

But I think the answer to the problem of spiritual triumph and defeat lies even deeper in the very nature of what it means to be a Christian.

Saint Paul struggled with his own temptations with what he calls “the old man”. He speaks of a “another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members”.

I have no idea which particular temptation provoked Paul to say this; I’m pretty sure he did not have internet access to look at bikini girls.

But temptations are tailor-made to fit the individual. Mine are not yours, nor yours mine. Our struggles may be similar but the details differ. I suspect that’s a reason we are told not to judge others.

The Scripture says, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.

If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

If we say that we have not sinned, we make Him a liar, and His word is not in us”.

In another place, Paul says that God has grafted us Gentiles Christians onto the root of His Jews. “Thou wert cut out of the olive tree which is wild by nature, and wert grafted (contrary to nature) into a good olive tree…”

I may be wrong about this, but extrapolating from that idea, I wonder if the new nature which Christ imparts to me as an individual, has been grafted onto my natural nature, my old man, my carnal nature.

In other words, I wonder if my roots are still faulty.

And, I wonder how, or even if, God can use such a mixed up man as I am.

One chapter in my book Strangers On The Earth profiles 19^th Century minister Charles Spurgeon, the most popular preacher of his day.

On October 19, 1856, so many people gathered to hear him preach that his church rented a London music hall to accommodate the crowds. Twelve thousand people jammed inside and thousands more stood in the streets to hear his message.

Spurgeon felt this attention marked him as a preacher favored by God.

The service began.

A multitude of voices joined in the opening hymn. A deacon led in prayer. Another hymn. Spurgeon mounted the pulpit and surveyed the thousands of expectant faces before him. He read his text and began his opening remarks.

Then it happened.

Somewhere in the crowd a voice screamed a single word — FIRE!

Other people began shouting “FIRE!” also. Panic spread as everyone stampeded toward the exits. Men and women shoved and clawed each other to escape.

Those outside heard the commotion and pressed toward the doors to see what was going on inside. Those inside knocked each other down struggling to get out.

People trampled those knocked to the floor. They fought for an inch of space and pulled back those ahead. Mothers dropped their babies. Men smashed windows with chair legs and clambered through.

There was no fire.

Someone had just shouted that to break up the meeting.

Seven people were trampled to death; twenty-eight were hospitalized; scores of others suffered broken bones or were crushed trying to get out of the hall.

Charles Spurgeon was devastated by the tragedy.

He preached to bring men to life in Christ, and he had thought that his extreme popularity was a mark of God's approval. But now, for a time, he felt his popularity had brought death and destruction.

He looked for meaning in what had happened. He said, “If the Christian did not sometimes suffer heaviness, he would begin to grow too proud, and think too much of himself, and become too great in his own esteem.”…

The Saturday Night Review newspaper said, “This hiring of public amusement places for Sunday preaching is a novelty and a painful one. The deplorable accident, in which seven people lost their lives and scores were maimed, mutilated or otherwise cruelly injured, Mr. Spurgeon only considers as an additional intervention of Providence in his favor.”

Detractors demanded Spurgeon give up preaching lest he “preach another crowd into a frenzy of terror — kill and smash a dozen or two more.”

After a time of soul searching, Spurgeon resumed his ministry and gained a reputation in his generation similar to that of Billy Graham in ours. They called Spurgeon, “The Prince of Preachers”.

Concerning the theme of triumph and temptation, Spurgeon once said:

Many professors give way to (temptation) as though it were useless to attempt resistance; but let the believer remember that he must be a conqueror in every point, or else he cannot be crowned. If we cannot control our tempers, what has grace done for us? Some one told Mr. Jay that grace was often grafted on a crab-stump. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘But the fruit will not be crabs.’ We must not make natural infirmity an excuse for sin, but we must fly to the cross and pray the Lord to crucify our tempers, and renew us in gentleness and meekness after His own image.

I find these words echo across the years for my encouragement and comfort.