What God Really Thinks about Women

Breaking the Weight of Anxiety - Video Devotional

John Cotton was born in Derby, England, in 1585. At 13, he attended Cambridge University. William Perkins was at the zenith of his ministry—a preacher known for driving the terrors of the law so deeply into the consciences of his hearers that they trembled under conviction. Cotton didn’t appreciate it. When the bell tolled announcing Perkins’s death, he confessed to being secretly glad that the man who had “laid siege to his heart” was gone. But Cotton couldn’t escape God’s Spirit. On hearing a sermon by Richard Sibbes, all his false hopes gave way, and he turned to Christ—the Savior of sinners. Cotton served at Emmanuel College as fellow, lecturer, and dean before accepting a call to pastor St. Botolph’s Church in Boston, Lincolnshire, at age 28. Twenty years later, he was summoned before the High Court to answer the charge of nonconformity—specifically for refusing to kneel at the sacrament and neglecting other church ceremonies. There were only two options: prison or exile. He resigned his pastorate and sailed for the Massachusetts Bay Colony, arriving in a settlement barely three years old. He served the First Church of Boston for another 20 years before crossing the Charles River on a cold winter’s day and catching a severe cold from which he never recovered. He died on December 23, 1652. Twenty years in old Boston. Twenty years in new Boston. A life of struggle, persecution, grief, and loss. A tireless ministry. What makes this man still significant today? His political theology? His congregationalism? His postmillennialism? His view on religious liberty? His struggle for purity in worship? His role in the antinomian controversy? His contribution to the sociopolitical development of the colonies? All of it matters. All of it sets him apart. And all of it is in his Works. But there’s something else—namely, Cotton’s unwavering conviction that “a Christian’s whole spiritual life is Christ.” This vision of the Christian life appears in a series of sermons he preached on Galatians 2:20 while still ministering in old Boston. “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” This life, Cotton argues, consists of three parts. 1. We live the life of justification by faith in Christ. Cotton is adamant. We don’t look to be justified on the basis of anything in us. We see all we have as loss that we might win Christ, having not a righteousness of our own but that which is “through faith” in him (Phil. 3:7–9). “When the conscience is struck with remorse for sin,” says Cotton, “and the heart is deeply distressed, a man looks at himself as undone. Then, by faith he finds that indeed God has discharged him of all his sins.” Faith draws us to Christ. It convinces us of the goodness of God. It fixes our heart on Christ—to look to him, depend on him. Cotton pictures a child frightened by a midnight storm who runs to his father and clasps hold of him. That is us: Terrified by the sight of our sin, we hold fast to Christ alone for salvation. This is encouraging. God sees into our hearts—our self-love corrupting everything we think and do. Our sin is an affront to his holiness. And yet, wonder of wonders, the Son of God draws near to us in the incarnation. He fulfills the law’s demands, bears our sin, and rises triumphantly. The Spirit makes us one with Christ, so all the blessings he purchased now flow freely to us. What Christ was, he was for us. What he did, he did for us. We rest in the fullness of Christ’s perfection, and we find ourselves complete in him. 2. We live the life of sanctification by faith in Christ. Trusting Christ for justification, Cotton explains, conveys the Spirit of grace into our hearts, by whom we’re made holy. Faith, he says, presents “our work to God in the name of Christ and makes us believe that it will be accepted.” What Christ was, he was for us. What he did, he did for us. A young boy gathers flowers for his mother, but with every flower he picks, he inadvertently gathers weeds. His older brother takes the bundle, removes the weeds one by one, and presents a beautiful bouquet. That is what Christ does with our imperfect worship, prayer, service, and obedience. He removes every selfish motive, every imperfect act, every corrupt thought, and presents what remains as acceptable in the Father’s sight. This is reassuring. Our fumbling prayers aren’t lost on their way to heaven. Our bungling ministries aren’t dismissed as worthless. Our stammering sermons aren’t discarded as failures. Our woefully inadequate attempts at parenting aren’t despised. When we’re discouraged by our apparent defects and weaknesses, faith helps us see that every act of worship and service, every attempt at obedience and faithfulness, every prayer and meditation—however flawed—finds acceptance through Christ’s mediatorial work. 3. We live the life of consolation by faith in Christ. Cotton doesn’t deny the reality of pain, sadness, or discouragement. He knows we’re on a journey fraught with joys and sorrows, pleasant valleys and perilous mountains. He knows trials come in many forms—illness, bereavement, loneliness, poverty, and persecution. He knows there are sorrows carried in the innermost recesses of the soul, never spoken, never acknowledged. Cotton knew such sorrow firsthand. Eighteen years of marriage without children. His first wife, Elizabeth, dead from malaria. Separated from his church. Exiled from his homeland. An arduous ocean crossing. Two of his six children dead from smallpox. Through it all, he acknowledged that life isn’t life if it’s overwhelmed with discouragements. We’re on a journey fraught with joys and sorrows, pleasant valleys and perilous mountains. Cotton knew such sorrow firsthand. But he wasn’t overwhelmed, because faith refreshes the heart with God’s grace and peace, leads us to cast all our cares on him, shows us that trials come from fatherly love, and reveals the light of God’s countenance in the darkest days. One kind word, one favorable glance, one smile from God satisfies the soul’s deepest longing. “A Christian’s whole spiritual life is Christ.” Christ for justification, sanctification, and consolation. Christ in old Boston and Christ in new Boston. Christ in the home and Christ in the church. Christ in the light and Christ in the darkness. Christ on the mountain and Christ in the valley. Christ at the beginning and Christ at the end. This is the life we live “by faith in the Son of God,” who loved us and gave himself for us (Gal. 2:20).

Eli Thompson is a football player at North Greenville University. He recently wrote an essay for the Wall Street Journal titled, “I’m a College Student. Gen Z Sports Betting Is Wrecking My Friends’ Lives.” “On my campus, especially among many of my teammates, guys have become obsessed with online sports betting, sometimes spiraling into debt,” he writes. “Celebrities and influencers make sports betting look like a fast track to a new car or a Rolex.” But there’s also a deeper problem at work here—financial nihilism. Financial nihilism describes the hopelessness some in Gen Z experience. “It’s that nothing matters in the world,” says Demetri Kofinas, who coined the term. “Investing is not about allocating capital towards productive investments. It’s really a shell game.” In other words, there’s no objective value in the world as it pertains to economics, business, or investments. Prices, stock valuations, and interest rates are all made up. This is the core of postmodern philosophy applied to the world of finance. Perhaps this shouldn’t surprise us, since many other aspects of Gen Z’s life—from online gaming to social media to AI friends—often don’t seem real either. There are likely many ideas for solutions, but I believe the church is uniquely positioned to illuminate hope and truth. Here are four ways that have been important in my work as both a missionary and a financial planner. Understand Money’s Power On the surface, money is “a store of value,” writes Wall Street Journal financial columnist Jason Zweig. It’s a medium to exchange goods and services. But it’s clear to all—non-Christian and Christian—that money is so much more. “Money is a conduit of emotion and ego, carrying hopes and fears, dreams and heartbreak, confidence and surprise, envy and regret,” Zweig wrote. Money is a means of all kinds of good and evil, though the love of it immediately turns us toward the latter (1 Tim. 6:10). Money’s power is often compounded because, for many, finances remain a private and anxious subject. I was a missionary and pastor for 10 years and have now been a financial planner for 10 years. Having served in both contexts, it’s clear to me that Christians struggle to talk about money, and the church tends to focus primarily on two areas—debt or giving. As a result, Christians get most of their financial education from friends, neighbors, advertising, and social media. All subtly make promises about how life could be better and how money solves all problems, encouraging an idol that plunges people into ruin and destruction. This is why sports betting has an allure, crypto has appeal, but that feeling of hopelessness persists even in our churches. Churches that provide hope don’t shy away from hard conversations in these areas because Scripture has more to say about money than almost any other subject. Money is a discipleship issue. Good leaders intentionally incorporate—in their preaching, teaching, and small groups—ways to address the power of money and how it must come under Jesus Christ’s lordship. Recover Stewardship Ministry trained me in the ancient languages of Greek and Hebrew. Financial planning trained me in the modern language of personal finance. But in all my learning, nothing has been more important than understanding the language of God’s kingdom and my role in it—namely, that God is the Creator, King, and Lord. Scripture tells us, “The earth is the LORD’s, and everything in it” (Ps. 24:1, NIV). God also says, “If I were hungry, I would not tell you, for the world and its fullness are mine” (50:12). God is the owner of all things, including every aspect of our lives. The King made us in his image and entrusted creation to our care, to manage it according to his command (Gen. 1). This is called stewardship. Gen Z needs to recover the understanding of stewardship. Though this group faces unique challenges, stewardship is an aspect of redemptive history that’s required for every generation since the fall (Gen. 3)—when we tried to wrestle away God’s kingdom for ourselves, saying, “This is mine.” Jesus’s death and resurrection declare, “You are mine!” and the Christian life is the constant act of worship, as we declare, “All of mine is yours.” Stewardship is an aspect of redemptive history that’s required for every generation since the fall. Those in Gen Z who call Jesus “Lord” must remember the implication of his lordship over their money. He’s Lord over their education, jobs, budgets, car purchases, renting decisions, home purchases, retirement plans, and investments. He hasn’t handed it over to them to make whatever decisions they wish because it’s “their stuff.” Rather, he has entrusted his stuff to them in varying degrees to be managed carefully and reflect his lordship. This should convict them—and all of us. It should shift us away from worldly pursuits and toward kingdom purposes (Col. 3:5-17). Since we’re stewards, every financial decision we make carries the weight of managing and caring for God’s stuff. It requires constantly asking, “What would you have me do with this, Lord?” Develop a Theology of Enough Gen Z tends to think there’s just not enough for them—not enough employment, not enough housing, not enough hope. So they gamble or give up. But God calls Christians to something radically different: a theology of enough. The principle can be found throughout Scripture. One clear example is Proverbs 30:8–9: “Give me neither poverty nor riches, feed me with the food that is needful for me, lest I be full and deny you and say, ‘Who is the LORD?’ or lest I be poor and steal and profane the name of my God.” A theology of enough is a recognition that God alone owns it all, and he alone provides (“Give me . . .”). It expresses the reality that there are those with not enough (“poverty”) and more than enough (“riches”). Both ends can lead someone away from God as she either breaks his commands (“steal”) or forgets him altogether (“Who is the LORD?”). In a world where “enough” is defined as “just a little more” or “something I’ll never have,” a theology of enough rooted in Scripture is marked by (1) recognizing God alone provides, (2) receiving all that God provides, and (3) doing so without consuming it all. It’s the consistent practice of self-limiting for the sake of blessing and being generous to others. In a world where ‘enough’ is defined as ‘just a little more’ or ‘something I’ll never have,’ a theology of enough rooted in Scripture is marked by recognizing God alone provides, receiving all that God provides, and doing so without consuming it all. Gen Z shouldn’t wait to develop this theology, even though some are in high school, others in college, and others in their early career. Leviticus 19:9–10 states, “When you harvest of your land . . .” What’s assumed? That God will give the Israelites land! This is still well before they enter the promised land, and already God is giving commands about how they ought to live in it. Israel needed their theology to shape how they’d live in the future. The same is true of Gen Z—the sooner they see themselves as a steward of all the future things God is going to give them, and the sooner they define “enough” for themselves, the better it’ll be for them when the day arrives. Relocate Your Hope Financial nihilism declares the American dream is broken and there’s no hope to be found through it. To that, I say, “Amen.” This sober assessment by Gen Z may be a significant contribution to revival in the church. Ecclesiastes pictures a life spent pursuing all the world’s promises with the hope of finding some meaning in it. In the end, it was all meaningless. This is the natural end for any of us who hope in God’s stuff without ever hoping in God himself. The gospel reminds us that on the cross, Christ experienced the fullness of that hopelessness so that through his resurrection we could find a true and unbreakable hope in him. Romans 15:13 says, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit, you may abound in hope.” When you think about your financial future, if you’re filled with emptiness, sadness, anxiety, or fear, or if it’s leading you to reckless behaviors, ​​you must see that your hope is far from the God of hope. You’ve likely grasped the belief that you deserve more, that you should be in control, that Christ’s lordship isn’t good enough. Here’s where you can repent, find your hope in God, seek to steward the stuff he gave you—whether a little or a lot—and receive his joy and peace.

How do you talk about Jesus when people don’t share your assumptions anymore? Glen Scrivener joins Matt Smethurst and Ligon Duncan to help pastors navigate evangelism in a post-Christian culture. They explore how secular people are still shaped by Christian ideas, why believers shouldn’t feel embarrassed about their faith, and how leaning into Christian “weirdness” can open doors for gospel conversations. Resources Mentioned: The Air We Breathe by Glen Scrivener 3-2-1 by Glen Scrivener Speak Life Making Sense of Us by Glen Scrivener If you’re ready to go deeper, Southern Seminary’s PhD program is where that begins. Visit sbts.edu/phd to learn more.