Author, teacher, adventurer and mountain climber Tim Hansel was seated on a plane reading his New Testament when the woman next to him asked forthrightly: “Sir, are you a Christian?” His answer is memorable, and a lesson in itself: “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, “right down to my toes. Right down the marrow of my bones.” (Holy Sweat p. 28) His open-faced declaration pulls back the curtain to display a holistic picture of Christian discipleship that is seldom seen by the casual or the merely curious. It portrays that following Jesus is not just static adherence to orthodoxy, or detached, cerebral assent. It is not merely Sunday activities, nor even strenuous moral conformity to a new value system. Being a disciple is a total commitment. It is a life given over, given up, given to an unceasing quest. This is Christianity embraced comprehensively, with no walled-off compartments, no reservations, no limits. It is head and heart, body and soul, theology and lifestyle all entwined. Yes, Ma’am!
The woman receiving this answer must have been surprised, perhaps even shocked. Her casual question might have garnered a mumbled affirmation, or a philosophical feint such as: “that depends on what you mean by ‘Christian.’” Refreshingly, Hansel was instantly all in, like he had been just waiting to pounce. But, besides the raw energy of this response, there is something else unusual about it. Popular culture is unaccustomed, or perhaps purposely deaf, when it occasionally hears what a Christian, an evangelical, is FOR. The culture, and the media, it is safe to say, seem to think that bible-believing, Christ-following disciples are defined by what they are against, not what they are for. High profile marches, referenda, petitions, and radio talk-shows clearly highlight the moral issues of our day, like abortion, homosexual rights, illegal immigration, curriculum wars, or a dozen other important, and controversial, concerns. Evangelicals, rightly or wrongly, fairly or unfairly, are often pasted with labels regarding their stance on these issues. And, quite naturally, evangelicals are most often painted with a broad brush, usually caricatured as angry, militant, oppositional, and against. The whole lot is unfortunately perceived by many as a bunch of religious contrarians, people who just love to throw their weight around while appealing to a higher power for unquestioned moral superiority. Jesus followers are dismissed as againsters, nay-sayers, and obscurantist grumblers with nothing better to do. So the popular culture largely believes.
But what if true Christ-followers became known for that they are FOR, not just for what they are against? What if, in fact, the watching culture began to see that disciples have many better things to do, many good things to be, and that this pervasive goodness is more—much more—than going to Sunday school or signing a petition: it is the very aroma of their Master wafting unobtrusively into the culture. This is the real deal, the “down to my toes” kind of radical goodness that our coach Peter wants to encourage. His is a positive, aerobic, and forward-leaning kind of spiritual life that does not idle away its horsepower in privatized mulling. This faith springs out; it walks into; it climbs higher; it permeates the unsuspecting world. It answers life’s questions with startling energy and intriguing commitment. So, we may be as startled as this airline passenger when Peter begins his list of life skills that are to be added to faith.
“Make every effort to add to your faith goodness.” (2 Peter 1:5)
Not strictness. Not against-ness. Not defensiveness. Not resistance, nor contrariness. Add goodness, right down to your toes. Peter is doing more than suggesting. He is inciting every believer to become more and more proficient in living out the goodness that God’s Spirit has put in us. “He has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires” (2 Peter 1:4). Reading Peter’s thoughts in sequence, it is not a stretch to conclude that as we participate in what we are FOR, we will receive the power to escape and resist what we, and the Lord, are AGAINST. But, the movement Peter portrays is profoundly pro-active and positive. It is primarily, and seminally, FOR, and secondarily AGAINST. Exercising the Spirit’s endowments will rescue us from the world’s enticements and the old nature’s pitfalls. On a practical level, it will startle the person in the next seat, or next cubicle, or the next crisis, with an indomitable and pervasive goodness that the world seldom sees. Sadly, many believers do not perceive the influence of this handhold, this life skill that Peter wants to teach us.
I admit that when I first reflected on Peter’s list of life skills to add to faith, I felt this first one gave the whole challenge a weak start. It sounded wimpy and syrupy, like “be nice.” Be good; don’t cause problems; raise your hand before speaking; don’t rock the boat, say “excuse me” when you sneeze, mow your lawn, recycle, and be a good tipper. Be a good boy. Be a good girl. Be harmless, invisible and silent. My mental image of goodness made me cynically wonder: do we really need special revelation, with apostolic authority, to teach simple, third-grade citizenship?
My respect for Peter’s muscularity was restored when I began to look into the word he uses here. The word is Arete, a rich Greek word often translated “virtue.” It means moral excellence, and in a broader sense it describes anything that properly fulfills its function. The goodness Peter is encouraging is anything but an insipid niceness, or a Pollyanna goody-ness.
As we climb toward greater effectiveness and spiritual fruitfulness, our faith is to be supplemented with a noticeable movement outward, toward our world. It is to evidence itself in a lifestyle, and a personal demeanor, of goodness. This is no small thing. Think about how the word “good,” and “goodness” is used in the bible, and it becomes huge!
There are at least three ways to measure the size and majesty of this character trait. First of all, goodness is the size of God Himself. The table grace we said at every supper as I was growing up was: “O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is GOOD, and his mercy endures forever” (Psalm 106:1). God retains and exercises all of his attributes continuously and simultaneously. But, permeating God’s justice, his omnipotence, or His love, or even his wrath, is goodness. Every aspect of God is saturated with goodness. He is good. All the time. My faith in Him is to make me, in some small measure, like that pervasive goodness within my sphere of influence.
The second measure of goodness is this: it is the sum of all creation. When God culminated his works ad extra, revealing his majesty and glory for all the universe to exude, He chose a summary word. “It is good.” In fact, God said “It was very good.” (Genesis 1:31) God’s creation wasn’t like so many of my projects, where I cover my imperfections by intoning: “That’ll do for now. We’ll improve on it later, or fix it when it breaks again.” No, God looked at his entire universe, and chose a word which bespoke its moral, biological, purposeful, beautiful completeness: It was good. Every discrete, created entity was good in itself, and entire whole was very good collectively, because it fulfilled its design and function.
A third, more personal way to get perspective on this great word “goodness” happens when we realize that this is the word that undergirds God’s purposes for me—his purpose in redemption, and sanctification. The motivation for personal devotion, sacrifice, and daily worship is that it will “prove what God’s will is—his GOOD, pleasing and perfect will” (Romans 12:2). This word also describes the rewards of following Christ, and the personal satisfactions found in obedience: “Every GOOD, and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights…” (James 1:17).
Gaining the measure of this word caused me to be much more interested in its challenging implications, and its muscular applications. It is The Next Right Thing to add to what can easily become a silent, privatized faith that hunkers down in the ghetto-ized insulation of a merely cerebral belief system. Peter chose this word carefully, placing it strategically in his proposed skill set for the believer. It is obvious that he intends this goodness to be a motive of the cleansed heart, an influencer of our culture, and a legacy of the living body of Christ in the world. Faith outs itself in outward, influential, inexhaustible goodness in and toward the world.
The scale of this word is as big as life, and the example to follow is that of the Master. The goal is to fully function on earth as a representative of our good sovereign in heaven. The challenge is to display the transformed life of a totally new person to a watching and needy world.
By pondering the wealth of this word I become aware of the risks involved in such visible, magnanimous, and far-reaching goodness. This discipline of goodness is counter-culture. It is anti-flesh. Aspiring to this attribute will jolt us out of private reverie and into visible and vulnerable practice of our faith in the real world, with real people. Big talking—even big theologizing—will not substitute for goodness on the ground, in real time, in the real world.
This actual practice of goodness is like the feeling that rock climbers call “exposure.” It’s that gut-check of nerve and will when moves deemed strenuous and impressive in the gym require real skin on the line and raw courage two hundred feet from the ground. Talk and strategy are useless unless they are implemented in real time, under visible and palpable risk.
I well remember my introduction to real rock climbing. It began safely enough in the secure envelope of the classroom. Robin held class in a barn, instructing all of us in basic terms, knots, commands and procedures. He showed us how to belay each other from above, and demonstrated to each of us that a good belay could hold our weight in case we slipped. He inspired confidence. Armed with that knowledge, we hiked out to the “pit,” a sandstone arroyo with a variety of cliffs and boulders where we could apply our newfound expertise. I made my first climb on a forty-foot cliff, belayed from above by Robin, who was himself tied into the solid rock by anchor bolts. Every safety measure was in place. The climb was a purely athletic test. I never thought twice about falling, or danger. I concentrated on handholds and footholds. It was a piece of cake. I was ready for a real challenge: something higher, harder, and more demanding.
That challenge came a week later. Now we were high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of northern California, and I, the neophyte climbing “leader” found myself half-way up a nearly vertical chute. The handholds were plentiful, the granite was sharp and strong, and the day was sparkling. But, when I got about fifty feet up the chute, I realized that the ledge toward which I was climbing was not flat, but sloped. That meant I would not be able to rest, or belay the rest of my team up to join me. The security I had envisioned suddenly evaporated. I had no “protection:” pitons and cams that can be lodged into cracks to provide safety. Retracing my progress was impossible. Worse yet, I looked down. The exposure gave me cottonmouth. My knees began to shake in spasms, cynically called “sewing-machine leg” in climber speak. Suddenly, the risk I had been accruing with every upward move came home to me. This was no longer a clinic in athletic prowess. It was a life-endangering predicament. By some miracle I managed to control my quaking, move laterally, and ascend another thirty feet to a wide ledge. Then and there I learned, in my puddle of exhaustion and relief, the difference between “lead climbing” and “top rope” climbing. It’s all about exposure.
When rock climbers are tackling a major rock face, like the legendary El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, their strategy is efficient and very simple. They break down the climb into stages they call “pitches.” A pitch can be anything from a forty to a hundred-foot section of the wall. This is the epitome of reaching an ultimate goal by means of intermediate and short-term goals. Pitch by pitch, the climbers lay siege to the wall. But, the catch is: somebody has to lead. Somebody has to “lead climb” above their “protection” to advance the climb. This “lead climbing” of a pitch is the true test of the climber. It is skill, strength, and partnership in the face of increasingly threatening exposure. Lead climbing high on the wall means that climbing is no longer an exercise merely in gymnastic proficiency. It is raw physical courage in the face of yawning, potentially deadly exposure.
With proper use of protection, a skilled climber minimizes his risks. As he climbs he places wedges, chocks, and cams into cracks, and clips his rope into them. But, there is no way to eliminate all risk. As he is belayed from below, this means that if he falls, he will fall past his last point of protection until the rope arrests him. His fall can be anywhere from ten to thirty feet, depending on the placement of protection. Though this kind of fall is not fatal, it is, in the droll language of climbing, “unpleasant.” Especially if you are twelve hundred feet above the valley floor, and your life is dependent on a half-inch rope, or a one-eighth-inch nubbin of a foothold.
What I learned on the first day of climbing is that anybody can top-rope climb. Even those afraid of heights can steel themselves with the knowledge that they are held from above, and that slips or falls will be caught instantly, and without injury. It’s like riding in those little kiddie cars at the amusement park. They move around the course, but they are guided by a track that ensures a predetermined destination. Top-rope climbing is fun, but it’s like training wheels on a bicycle.
When Peter lists “goodness” as the next handhold for the disciple following an initial faith, he is thrusting every disciple into “lead climbing.” This first life-skill measures our courage and commitment instantly. It is breath-taking, and knee-knocking. It is an immediate challenge to accept the exposure and vulnerability of lead climbing. He points out the implications in his first letter:
“Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.” (1 Peter 2:12)
Prepare to jump into the deep end. Point your kayak into the maelstrom of rapids. Step out of the greenhouse. Don’t hide in the incubator. Take the next pitch. It’s your turn to lead. Risk the exposure of ridicule, resistance, and potential slip-ups. Live your faith with visible, unquenchable goodness in a world determined to pull you down.
But hold on one second. Though Peter is not counseling every Christ-follower to delay his sortie into the real world by first spending four years in graduate school, neither is he sending us off like lemmings to needlessly plunge to our deaths. Peter was, after all, schooled by Jesus, who warned: “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). “…If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first” (John 15:18). “…If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also” (John 15:20). Peter himself lived with the Lord’s own prophecy regarding his excruciating future. So, we can be confident that Peter is well aware of the conditions these believers will face when they “out” their faith in goodness.
Visible and generous good works, pulling upward against the pernicious gravity in a fallen world, will require consistent moral courage, combined with tactical shrewdness. Absent this mental toughness and practical preparation, our spasms of goodness will be mere quixotic forays without redemptive impact. So, before we jump into a “do list” of Pollyanna activities and spectacular sacrifices let’s look at some necessary training and preparation in order to sustain the kind of goodness Peter is calling for.
Goodness is only sustainable from a core strength that exudes from sound spiritual hygiene. A heart of humility is at the center of this hygienic regimen. Goodness in our dangerous world doesn’t fail for lack of I.Q., or dollars, or good intentions. It fails because the hearts of Christ-followers don’t desire and cultivate goodness at the deepest level. We are easily distracted by the challenge, caught up in the planning, or grieved by the need, but we too often neglect the condition of our own hearts. This is the wellspring (Proverbs 4:23). It is the pump through which all loyalty, wisdom and courage must flow. For goodness to thrive, the heart must be clean, clear, and strong. “Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place” (Psalm 51:6). The courage to lead climb begins in a place no one will ever see, except God. It is nurtured in a humble heart.
This heart preparation is solitary. It is must be honest and guileless. Vigilance must be recurrent and lifelong. The hygienic heart wanting to practice goodness confesses deeply that “nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature” (Romans 7:18). So, it trains on daily grace, sought in daily humility, fed by daily reminders to “Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.” (Romans 12:9). There is a conscious striving, first and foremost, to love the good and hate the evil at the deepest level, especially when it gurgles up right inside my inmost being. Long before laying siege to the challenge in the world, the true disciple faces the slipperiness of his own heart. To rush out into the void armed with freshly inflamed altruism and entrepreneurial adrenaline will only lead to inevitable breakdowns higher on the climb. This neglect will bring harm to those who follow us, and depend upon us. Doing good without first treasuring goodness in the heart will only hasten the split in our core we call hypocrisy: Trying to be, and trying even harder to appear to be, someone we are not. Hypocrisy has a very short shelf-life. As risk and fatigue increases, the dis-integrated, unexamined heart will renege when the next lead requires fresh courage.
We must be careful here. All these muscular, outdoor allusions may lead to the false conclusion that lead climbing is only for the elite, the few. But Peter had no such restrictions in mind. He is calling the whole church, and we are just beginning the list of life skills. The implication is clear. Ascent into greater and greater spiritual effectiveness (2 Peter 1:8) is not magical. It is not a product of secrets, pedigrees, or bravado. Spiritual effectiveness and productivity is the product of a process, and great reward is promised, but the unprepared will quickly be outmatched in the real world of gravity and risk.
I experienced the sting of ill-preparedness one summer on a trip to Scotland. We were a team of eight on a short-term mission of evangelism and encouragement in partnership with a church in Glenrothes, a “new town,” built after World War II. As our time with them came to a close, we were invited to the nearby town of Newborough that was hosting the Highland Games. There on the green was staked out a quarter-mile oval for foot races and bike races. We watched huge men in kilts toss the caber, a twelve-foot log, and hurl the thirty-five pound weight over a bar. There were Scottish folk dancers and bagpipes. But our truest taste of Scotland was the finale of the Highland Games: the tug-of-war. They were calling for teams to sign up, so we looked at each others and said: “Hey, why not!” We had been to summer camp. We were reasonably athletic, and we had a secret weapon. Karry was a two-hundred-eighty pound former offensive lineman for the Colorado Buffalos. We figured we would just tie the rope around him as an anchor, and it would be game over.
Confidently, we dubbed ourselves the “Glenrothes All-stars.” Our confidence lasted right up until we saw the other team. They were all as big as Karry. Towns sponsored these all-star teams. They wore rugby jerseys with the names of their sponsoring pubs and car dealerships. Each one had a wide leather belt like a weightlifter. Most ominous of all were their boots. Hobnail boots. As if that weren’t enough, these boots had a three-inch metal spur sticking straight out of the heal so that they could dig into the slippery, grass turf. It was then that we notice our loafers, and the wet grass.
We approached the rope like lambs to the slaughter. The hooting crowd was beside itself, but we smiled with good-natured American sportsmanship. The judge lined us up, five to a side, and called “Pull!.” We held them to a stalemate! The rope was taut. Our grip was firm. We leaned our weight and pulled with all our might. Then, the whistle blew, and we instantly realized that the first command to “pull” was only a way to take the slack out of the rope. At the whistle, their captain bawled “PULL!” and we slid across that wet turf like Bambi on a frozen lake. As if that weren’t bad enough; while the crowd howled and whistled we learned from the referee that this contest was best two-out-of-three. We had another chance to be utterly humiliated. We were dragged to ignominious defeat again, in record time. Grass-stained, embarassed, and publicly defeated, we just wanted to get out of town as quickly as possible. When they asked where we came from, we said: “Canada.”
People who are unprepared and inexperienced are easily defeated by the realities on the ground, and ready prey for those who are practiced in their craft. Defeated people don’t want to repeat the attempt. Visible failure makes us just want to stay anonymous, and get private as quickly as possible. After a thumping, it is completely counter-intuitive to want to risk again.
That’s why lead climbing with muscular goodness requires courage. The risks are obvious, and the powers against goodness are well outfitted. Goodness is not a health club workout: it is a real world risk. We can be hurt, overwhelmed, and embarrassed on the fields of play. Having taken the risk and expended the energy to lead climb, it hurts to slip, fall past your protection, and be slammed against the rock face. It doesn’t take many repetitions of this experience before we resolve to stay safe, hunker down, and let someone else challenge the mountain.
Our life coach, Peter, is not naïve, nor silent about the nature of the world we inhabit. He doesn’t leave us guessing about the dangers of our climb, the intent of the evil one, or the slipperiness of our own flesh. That’s why Peter is rallying our faith to make a firm and irrevocable commitment to this first handhold. His challenge: “Make every effort to add to your faith goodness…” (1 Peter 1:5). Choose this strenuous first discipline with full alertness. Prepare for the sharp and abrasive realities of ascent. Commit, down to your toes, to be a Christian.
