We were sitting in a circle on a Wednesday night in the part of the church building called the parlor. If you grew up in a Southern Baptist church there’s a good chance you know which room it is. It’s got mauve wallpaper and darker mauve carpet and chairs made to appear Victorian but that actually look like they were bought in the 60’s, which they absolutely were. This is the room where you have wedding showers and…well, I’m not sure what else. We use it for book studies and prayer meetings, those kinds of church events that are typically less attended by churchgoers across the country. You know what I mean.
It was not so long ago when we circled up in the mauve parlor around a book and a dialogue, and to be honest, these are some of my favorite parts of church life. Sitting on outdated furniture in a small room where the air conditioning sometimes works with the salt-of-the-earth folks that had the compulsion to show up on a Wednesday night in the summer, this is where some of the deeper work of fellowship and building up together happens. That night, the chapter in the book our little church is reading covered the topic of fighting sin, and I’ve been plagued by the author’s absence of actionable steps ever since. There wasn’t a plan for overcoming the things that rear their big, ugly heads in our ugly, little hearts. There was simply the encouragement to behold the glory of God.
We often want a three-step formula for fighting our sin. Do this + don’t do that = victory over sin. That seems reasonable. Tell me what to do to be better, Jesus. It makes my pharisaical little heart bloom with pride when I can fix something, when I can fix it. (Never mind that I broke it in the first place.) But, the absence of steps in the book reminded me of the absence of steps in Scripture. Certainly, there are Scriptural calls to be alert and to be faithful in prayer and in exposure to the Word. Making war on our sin is an absolute must. But unlike the things in life I can progressively conquer with bulleted steps like weightloss or increasing my savings account, I’m struggling to come up with an exact formula for killing my sin. The “doer” in me really wants a bulleted list.
But you know, these three-step plans aren’t what we need because they speak to our pride-bent nature for trying to work our way into God’s good graces. Like that’s ever worked for anyone. It’s what Paul said with an obvious note of incredulousness in his voice in Galatians 3, “Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit, are you now going to be made complete by the flesh?” Essentially, it’s this: “Look here, dummy. You didn’t save yourself. You can’t sanctify yourself either. Stop trying!” (Maybe Paul wouldn’t call us dummies, but he was kind of salty like that sometimes.) We are as desperate for the Spirit’s work in our sanctification as we were for His work in our salvation. So, accumulating a pile of steps for conquering sin doesn’t really fit into the framework of the gospel. But filling up with the glory of Christ until there’s room for nothing else—that fits.
Accumulating a pile of steps for conquering sin doesn’t really fit into the framework of the gospel. But filling up with the glory of Christ until there’s room for nothing else—that fits. Click To TweetFor the sake of better arguments, I’m combining quotes from John Piper, Ray Ortlund, and Jared Wilson, but the point they all make (and the point we discussed at length that mauve night in the parlor) is that if you want to fight your sin, you don’t do it by trying really hard not to sin. You do it by looking hard at Jesus. Until you see Him. Beholding Him until He edges out the darkness and it hurts your eyes in a really good way because you can’t stop looking at Him.
Maybe that seems abstract, but it’s not when you break it down. It’s looking at the bigness of God when the siren’s voice of habitual sin calls your name. Rather than listen to her, lift up your eyes instead. Maybe even literally. To fight the sin of lust, John Piper says to go outside and look at the sky, and as weird as that sounds, there is something good and right about filling up your eyes with what cannot be tamed by your wicked heart.
If you want to fight your sin, you don’t do it by trying really hard not to sin. You do it by looking hard at Jesus. Click To TweetI began reading the Bible for myself when I was a teenager, and I remember I used to get stuck in the more positive chapters of Job and Isaiah that expound upon God’s, well, His largeness, for lack of a better word. I learned that the size of the galaxy and the sheer vastness of the undiscovered areas of the universe are tiny dots in God’s big hands. That fascinated me. We lived way out in the country in West Tennessee in those days, and when it got dark, it got really dark. The stars were brighter than they are where I live now next to street lights and lots of neighborhood porches. At fifteen, I would go out into the backyard and lie on my back with my hands folded under my head. I’d stare at the sky until everything else in my life seemed inconsequential, until I could believe with my whole heart that God was bigger than me, until nothing mattered more than the One who spoke all that vastness into being like it was nothing.
These days I’m too busy scrolling on screens and typing on screens and being entertained by screens to step outside on a summer night and behold the bigness and glory of God through the things that He has made for His glory. What would change internally if I changed my habits externally, I wonder.
But more than looking at the sky, beholding God’s glory–looking at Him until we really see Him–means the age-old practice of beholding Him through His own words. This morning before the sun came up, I sat on my couch with bedhead and a half-drunk cup of coffee and read a good portion of Hebrews with tears in my eyes praying, “Lord, please kill this sin in me. This same old sin. Kill it dead.” It feels really helpless, but I know it’s the right thing to do. If I could reduce this sin-killing stuff down to one step, it’s this very act of looking at Jesus until I see Him, until I’m happier in Him than I am in my sin. It’s looking at Him when I feel like all I can see is the darkness of my own heart, when I fear I’ll never get past my anger, when the everydayness of my transgressions feels bigger than the One who paid for them at the cross. I just have to keep looking at Him until His bigness is bigger than my sin. He’s already bigger. I just need to practice seeing that He is. Part of sanctification is the everyday practice of looking at God. The other part is trusting Him to do the rest.
We kill our sin by sweeping the house clean and then filling it up with the goodness of Christ until it’s so jam packed with His glory there’s no room for the dark to creep back in so easily. It’s less of a formula and more of a dependency on the Lord to aid us in beholding Him. If you are despairing over the sin that calls your name with faithful regularity, turn your face away from the dark and stare at Jesus until He’s all there is. Look at Him until you really see Him, until your heart is happier in Him than it could ever be in your sin.
Part of sanctification is the everyday practice of looking at God. The other part is trusting Him to do the rest. Click To Tweet“…work out your salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God who is working in you, enabling you both to desire and to work out His good purpose.” Philippians 2:12b-13
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.