Obedience Impossible, but for a New Heart
From 1 Timothy 1 – 1 Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, by the commandment of God our Savior and the Lord Jesus Christ, our hope,
2 Timothy, a true son in the faith: grace, mercy, and peace from God our Father and Jesus Christ our Lord.
3 As I urged you when I went into Macedonia – remain in Ephesus that you may charge some that they teach no other doctrine, 4 nor give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which cause disputes rather than godly edification which is faith.
5 now the purpose of the commandment is love from a pure heart…
On Star Trek: The Next Generation, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, even to a futuristic culture that prizes evolved self-discipline, is a model for it. He is able to keep perspective on the conflict and immaturity he sees and offer the cool, considered voice of reason before those he influences charge in. The viewer is actually somewhat surprised to find out that this wasn't always so.
As an impetuous cadet at Starfleet Academy, it turns out that young Picard brashly challenged a member of a race known both for its temper and its power, and that doing so nearly cost him his life. He was impaled through the back and literally had to have his heart replaced in order to live out his dreams of service and leadership. In a later episode in which we learn this fascinating back story, the self-possessed captain is equally dependent on having that no heart fixed in order to continue charting his career course.
Timothy, it turns out, is a prototype of Picard, even if we concede the show's writers likely never considered the connection. In young manhood, Picard would have assented to many of the cautions Paul gives to Timothy to open the letter. There is a Picardian residence to being given a great and noble charge and being warned not to get distracted from it with lesser matters. Picard's disdain for light reading later in life demonstrates the kind of mission discipline one might think of as Pauline. No mythology or genealogies for them. Both are set apart to discipline themselves and their affections so they can behave up to the ideals to which they were called.
Enter, as we progress in verse five, the stubborn yet glorious reality of the necessary new, pure heart. Do, Paul says, and yet, just as begin to appreciate the discipline it takes to love and to do rightly, recognize that none of that would happen but for a pure heart which is God's unmerited gift. Just as Picard was entirely helpless on the operating table both to receive his new heart and in the medical version of sanctification which kept it up to the challenges of noble service, so we are helpless but for God's initiating an ongoing grace.
Does this theology matter except as a turn of phrase? Does it matter whether committed service to others comes primarily from rigorous self enforcement or from new life which can only be imparted to us? God's Word teaches that these beginnings and new beginnings matter a great deal. If we recognize that we, spiritually dead more than temporarily anesthetized, live again and recognize it, every moment is a gift. That sense is not to be crowded out by unrealistic expectations on itself, or others. Life in this moment, the new heart beating, is a gift we get to give back, a dance in which Picard's unwilling awkwardness would have readily revealed the absence of a childlike outlook.
He has an excuse. He is a fictional character begotten in a world nearly scoured of Christ's impact. Do we, when the heavens and the image-bearing humans underneath them are so often declaring the glory of God? God's persistent, pervasive testimonies to Himself are enough to leave us breathless for a moment, just about enough to make our new heart skip a beat.
2 Timothy, a true son in the faith: grace, mercy, and peace from God our Father and Jesus Christ our Lord.
3 As I urged you when I went into Macedonia – remain in Ephesus that you may charge some that they teach no other doctrine, 4 nor give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which cause disputes rather than godly edification which is faith.
5 now the purpose of the commandment is love from a pure heart…
On Star Trek: The Next Generation, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, even to a futuristic culture that prizes evolved self-discipline, is a model for it. He is able to keep perspective on the conflict and immaturity he sees and offer the cool, considered voice of reason before those he influences charge in. The viewer is actually somewhat surprised to find out that this wasn't always so.
As an impetuous cadet at Starfleet Academy, it turns out that young Picard brashly challenged a member of a race known both for its temper and its power, and that doing so nearly cost him his life. He was impaled through the back and literally had to have his heart replaced in order to live out his dreams of service and leadership. In a later episode in which we learn this fascinating back story, the self-possessed captain is equally dependent on having that no heart fixed in order to continue charting his career course.
Timothy, it turns out, is a prototype of Picard, even if we concede the show's writers likely never considered the connection. In young manhood, Picard would have assented to many of the cautions Paul gives to Timothy to open the letter. There is a Picardian residence to being given a great and noble charge and being warned not to get distracted from it with lesser matters. Picard's disdain for light reading later in life demonstrates the kind of mission discipline one might think of as Pauline. No mythology or genealogies for them. Both are set apart to discipline themselves and their affections so they can behave up to the ideals to which they were called.
Enter, as we progress in verse five, the stubborn yet glorious reality of the necessary new, pure heart. Do, Paul says, and yet, just as begin to appreciate the discipline it takes to love and to do rightly, recognize that none of that would happen but for a pure heart which is God's unmerited gift. Just as Picard was entirely helpless on the operating table both to receive his new heart and in the medical version of sanctification which kept it up to the challenges of noble service, so we are helpless but for God's initiating an ongoing grace.
Does this theology matter except as a turn of phrase? Does it matter whether committed service to others comes primarily from rigorous self enforcement or from new life which can only be imparted to us? God's Word teaches that these beginnings and new beginnings matter a great deal. If we recognize that we, spiritually dead more than temporarily anesthetized, live again and recognize it, every moment is a gift. That sense is not to be crowded out by unrealistic expectations on itself, or others. Life in this moment, the new heart beating, is a gift we get to give back, a dance in which Picard's unwilling awkwardness would have readily revealed the absence of a childlike outlook.
He has an excuse. He is a fictional character begotten in a world nearly scoured of Christ's impact. Do we, when the heavens and the image-bearing humans underneath them are so often declaring the glory of God? God's persistent, pervasive testimonies to Himself are enough to leave us breathless for a moment, just about enough to make our new heart skip a beat.
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