Sure of Election: Once again, back to my habit of listening to almost any random message on SermonAudio that looks interesting, I came across a short message entitled Sure of Election. Okay, that interests me. The text being referenced was: “Knowing, brethren beloved, your election of God. For our gospel came not unto you in word only, but also in power, and in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance; as ye know what manner of men we were among you for your sake.” I Thessalonians 1:4-5.
Here is a fairly large portion of what was said in that message: “Let me ask you this question. He says, speaking to the Thessalonians, knowing, knowing, beloved brethren, your election by God. The gospel is preached, and anybody who is elect of God is going to hear the gospel. They will have heard the gospel, and they will have responded to the gospel. And Paul expresses their response to the gospel not in a prayer that was offered, though there may have been one, but in a life that was changed. He says, and you became followers of us and of the Lord, having received the word in much affliction with joy of the Holy Spirit. In other words, he says, I’m confident of your election by God, because when you heard the gospel, you responded to it with a changed life. Your life changed. You became a follower that caused you to begin a life of growing in Christlikeness. The whole basic direction of the person’s life is transformed as the sinner turns to God. How do you know you’re a Christian? Well, because 25 years ago I prayed a prayer. Well, there’s no evidence that you are elected by God. There’s no changed life, there’s no transformed life. It is the transformation of life that substantiates the reality of one’s being elected by God. Can you look at your life and see how your life has been transformed? I didn’t say your life is perfect, but God’s changed your life. You used to be this way, now you’re this way. Those are marks of a true Christian. I trust they are marks of your life.”
Although that long statement pretty much summarizes the entire message, I want to use one sentence in particular as a springboard: “It is the transformation of life that substantiates the reality of one’s being elected by God.” That is an interesting statement. Notice what has happened. We begin with election, move almost immediately to transformation, and finish by directing the hearer to examine his own life for confirmation of what God has done. A doctrine that should locate salvation entirely in the purpose and grace of God becomes another occasion for looking inward – to measure ourselves, compare ourselves, congratulate ourselves upon the changes we can see, and perhaps even glory in the flesh over what we have become.
Paul certainly does say: “Knowing, brethren beloved, your election of God.” I Thessalonians 1:4. And Paul speaks of what occurred among the Thessalonians afterward. They received the word, became followers, endured affliction with joy, and “turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God.” I Thessalonians 1:6,9. None of that is being denied. But listen again to this statement: “It is the transformation of life that substantiates the reality of one’s being elected by God.” That is where the emphasis begins to shift from what Paul observed to what the believer must prove from his own life. So here, we have moved beyond saying that Paul observed remarkable things accompanying the reception of the gospel among the Thessalonians. We are now being told that the transformation of our lives substantiates the reality of our election.
And then comes the inevitable question: “Can you look at your life and see how your life has been transformed?” There is the assurance system. Christianity is overflowing with this kind of language. We are told repeatedly that salvation is entirely of grace, entirely accomplished by Christ, entirely according to the purpose of God, and entirely apart from our works. But then, when the question becomes: “How do I know any of that is true of me” – the whole direction changes. Instead of being pointed again to Christ and what He has accomplished, we are sent back into ourselves to look for proof.
Look at your life. Look at your fruit. Look at your obedience. Look at your growth. Look at your transformation. Look at the direction you are traveling. And suddenly the sinner is no longer being directed principally to Christ, God’s promise, Christ’s finished work, or even God’s electing purpose. He is being directed to the history of himself. What were you like before? What are you like now? How much have you changed? Has there been enough transformation? Is the overall direction of your life sufficiently different? Can you find the marks? Can you prove to yourself that something has happened?
We begin with wonderfully objective declarations. Election is God’s. Justification is God’s verdict. Righteousness is Christ’s. Redemption is accomplished. Forgiveness is complete. Salvation is by grace. Christ finished the work. But then somebody asks: “How can I know?” And almost everything suddenly becomes subjective. Before long, the doctrine of election, presented in this sort of framework, is emptied of much of its comfort. We are told that election rests entirely in the eternal purpose and grace of God, but then we are told to establish our confidence in that election by examining the transformation of our own lives. What begins with God ends with us. Instead of looking to the purpose of God, the work of Christ, and the promise of the gospel, we begin measuring ourselves. Have I changed enough? Have I grown enough? Is my life sufficiently different? Are the marks there? And so the very doctrine that ought to take us outside ourselves becomes another mirror in which we stare at ourselves.
Now, none of this means that the gospel leaves our lives untouched. I don’t believe that at all. The gospel changes what we know about God, ourselves, righteousness, sin, death, judgment, forgiveness, and eternity. It gives us a hope we did not possess before. It produces gratitude, love, joy, liberty, and all kinds of effects that may be seen in countless ways throughout a believer’s life. We may look back and thank God for things from which He has delivered us, things He has taught us, ways He has corrected us, and mercies we never could have anticipated. The question is not whether grace has effects. The question is whether those effects become the basis upon which I must establish that I am truly one of God’s elect. That is an entirely different matter. A changed life may be something for which we thank God. It is a poor foundation upon which to build our certainty before God.
A few years ago I attended a baptism service at a thriving local community church. There were, if I remember correctly, about six people baptized. What struck me was that nearly every testimony was about the same thing: their changed life. What they used to do. What they no longer did. How different they had become. Christ was almost entirely absent from their testimonies. That is frightening when you stop and think about it. We have preached transformation so relentlessly that people can apparently stand before a congregation to identify themselves publicly with Christianity and tell the story almost entirely in terms of themselves. Look what I used to be. Look what I am now. Look what changed.
But once transformation becomes the evidence we are supposed to point to, the obvious question is: how much transformation is enough? Then we have to ask ourselves: How transformed should I be after five years? Ten years? Twenty-five years? What if I once thought I had changed tremendously, but after many years I have become much more aware of the depth of my sin? What if another Christian appears far more transformed than I do? What exactly is the standard?
And that problem becomes even more obvious when we stop speaking in broad terms about “changed lives” and look honestly at what Christians are actually like. Apart from certain outward alterations – habits abandoned, behaviors modified, perhaps a different social circle – those who profess Christ have not become some extraordinary new species of humanity. We are still full of pride, jealousy, lust, selfishness, pettiness, hypocrisy, and every other ugliness common to mankind.
Sometimes the strangest part is that the very doctrine meant to humble us ends up becoming a reason to distinguish ourselves from everyone else. We are the changed people. We are the transformed people. We have the marks. We have the evidence. And then we wonder why Christianity can appear to outsiders less like good news for sinners and more like a society of people congratulating themselves for not being what everyone else is. Christianity is not the story of impressive people becoming even more impressive. It is the story of guilty sinners finding everything they need in Christ. If a testimony can be told with scarcely any mention of Christ, then whatever else we may be describing, we should at least ask whether we are describing Christianity at all.
I’ll close with his example of someone who prayed a prayer twenty-five years ago. He asks, essentially: “How do you know you are a Christian? Because twenty-five years ago you prayed a prayer?” Fair enough. But notice the alternative we are then given: don’t look back to the prayer; look instead at your transformed life. Why should those be our only two choices? The gospel does not finally ask us to admire the sincerity of our prayer or the extent of our transformation. It directs us to Christ. Not to what we once did for Him. Not to what we have since become because of Him. But to who He is and what He has accomplished for sinners. If there is certainty to be found anywhere, it will not be found by staring long enough at ourselves. It will be found in Christ. MPJ