Consider This:
We spend a lot of time focusing on
WHAT we think.
It’s time we focus on
HOW we think.

When it comes to thinking, the Bible has one overarching meta-message:

We are called to be
good stewards of our thinking.

Stewarding our thinking isn’t just managing what we think, it’s managing how we think. Thinking only good thoughts or learning more information about God isn’t helpful if we’re relying on unhealthy approaches to process it all.

Stewarding our thinking is about understanding the things that shape our perception of God, ourselves and the reality we live in. It’s about practicing the disciplines that allow for wisdom to take root and flourish.

We are called to think the way God thinks—having the mind of Christ—so that we can relate to God the way he relates to us.

The Impact of Not Stewarding

If we don’t steward our thinking well, we set ourselves up for frustration and anxiety. Poor thinking habits interfere with hearing God.

For example, think of Jesus’ teaching not to worry (Mt. 6.25-34). Jesus made it a command because worry reinforces a false belief about God. Specifically, that God is unwilling and/or unable to provide for our needs.

But how can we eliminate worry if we approach it as a task to complete—without addressing the thinking that actually created the worry?

How should we expect to hear God if we actively hold on to a way of thinking that believes he’s not who he claims to be? How will this damage our experience of faith if it’s never addressed?1

Uncorrected, bad thinking habits
can literally shape our physical brain
making it hard to hear God effectively—
even when our hearts WANT to hear him.

We’re not relating to him the way he’s relating to us.

2 Realms + 2 Domains + 3 Phases + 1 Flow

As the heading above indicates, I will walk through four aspects of managing our thinking. But before doing so, we need to be conscious of a very real risk:

It’s easy to oversimplify the process,
and potentially do more harm than good.

Human thought processes are incredibly diverse, intimate, multifaceted and organically unique to each of us. Contrary to what the heading might imply, our thinking is NOT reducible to a formula that works mechanically, predictably the same way, every time, for every single person.

Trying to comprehend thinking by breaking it into its constituent parts can easily lose sight of the integrated whole. So instead, let’s see how the parts operate within the coherent context of human existence “in God”—and him “in us.” 2+2+3+1 are macro-patterns that allow us to appreciate, with awe and wonder, how God created us to commune with him.

This article will be a fly-over of the first two (2 Realms and 2 Domains), and the next article will cover the last two (3 Phases and 1 Flow).

2 REALMS of Thinking

We are embodied spiritual beings, harmoniously living in two realms simultaneously: the physical and the spiritual. Applying this in the context of thought activity reveals two areas of focus:

• The MIND — The thoughts in your mind are the part of your spirit/soul, the immaterial part of you that is a conscious and sentient being that is intimately connected to but distinct from your physical body.2

• The BRAIN — The thoughts in your brain exist as physical energy: electrical impulses stored and transmitted across the cells and synapses of your brain.

It’s impossible to know, of course, where one realm stops and the other starts. But we don’t need to know that to manage them well. What’s most important for us to know is that both require renewal for our spiritual transformation to occur (Rom. 12.1-2).

So we must steward both intentionally.

Why The 2 Realms Matter

I find it helpful to understand the interaction of the brain and the mind by picturing the brain as a car, and the mind as the driver. This, of course, is a metaphor (remember my caution about over-simplifying above). But it reveals a significant principle that’s necessary for our spiritual formation:

• As the driver, the mind decides where to go and how to get there.

• As the car, the brain responds to and activates the mind’s inputs.

The problem comes in that it’s easy for the mind to allow the brain to drive autonomously.

When the mind allows the brain to drive,
the mind becomes a passenger—
“along for the ride”
to wherever the car is going.

When parts of the physical brain hold on to unrenewed thoughts, the brain resists driving toward the new ways of thinking God invites us into:

• “Love your enemies.”

• “Consider it pure joy when you encounter trials.”

• “When you are weak, then you are strong.”

• “You are my masterpiece, and I’m so pleased with you.”

Our brains have been traveling those opposing pathways all our lives, so the old roads are broad, familiar and easy to follow. Our brain needs to be trained to think differently.

This training involves a process called neuroplasticity—the brain's capacity to physically reorganize itself by strengthening, weakening and developing neural connections in response to repeated experience and thought. I’ll talk about this more in future articles, but the main point is this:

Our brains will not develop
unless our minds engage as the driver.

Thinking Correctly in the 2 Realms

Mostly, this comes down to three principles:

1. Know that your mind is more than a passenger to your brain’s thoughts.
   Your mind can drive changes in your physical brain. This will require constant attention and continual repetition of thought—along with the belief that the changes will come—but your brain will eventually conform.3

2. Just because you have a thought in your brain doesn’t make it legitimate or true.
   Remember worry? Thoughts of worry and anxiety seem natural … but they’re based in fear, not in truth. They may feel familiar, but just because we practice them all the time doesn’t mean they’re reliable.

3. Neuroplastic development comes through repeated, habitual use of the new thought.
   It’s not enough to think the new thought one time, or to simply acknowledge a thought as true. It requires consistent, focused thinking that then becomes a lifelong habit we leverage daily until we see Jesus face-to-face.

2 DOMAINS of Thinking

In addition to thinking in 2 realms, there are two different ways to attend to the things we perceive, know and experience:

• Rational Processing — This is explicit, tangible, abstract (i.e. it’s understood apart from a specific context) and typically conscious. Math, for instance, largely utilizes rational processing, as does most of our language function.

• Intuitive Processing — This is implicit, intangible and is usually highly connected to a context. We might be consciously aware of some intuitive processing, but most of it is unconscious. Typical practices include having “gut” feelings, empathy, emotions, reading body language, comprehending metaphor, paradox, sarcasm and narrative/story.

Importantly, both domains are legitimate and viable—neither is more important than the other. Both domains require renewal for our transformation, so we must be intentional about stewarding both domains.

Generally speaking, these two domains correspond to different emphases in our brain’s hemispheres:

• The right hemisphere tends toward processes that support intuition.

• The left hemisphere leverages processes that support rational thinking.

Both hemispheres are involved in virtually everything we do. So the old perception of someone being either “right-brained/creative” or “left-brained/logical” is almost entirely useless. This concept should be thrown as far downwind as possible.

We have one brain, and both hemispheres of our brain are designed to work together harmoniously and interdependently—even though in many ways they are opposites of each other.

The problems come when
we don’t use them in
the way God designed them.

Why The 2 Domains Matter

In the West, we are now over-reliant on the rational (left-hemisphere) domain, while simultaneously overly-suspicious of the intuitive (right-hemisphere) domain.

We’ve become captivated by the clarity and certainty that the rational domain provides. It’s easier and feels more “real.” As a result, we simply don’t know how to recognize—much less utilize—the intuitive domain. We’ve trained our brains to drive autonomously using our left hemispheres.

We’ve lost the competency of integrated thinking.
We’ve lost our minds.

And now we can’t relate to God the way he’s relating to us.

Thinking Correctly in the 2 Domains

This may be the most challenging part of changing our thought habits, because virtually everything else in our experience reinforces a rational, left-hemispherical way of thinking.

The next article (covering the 3 Phases and 1 Flow) will provide more structure. But for now, the biggest hurdle involves belief—we simply don’t believe that intuitive processing is legitimate and trustworthy.4

So the first step is simply this: Notice.

• What do you recognize in your thinking? What patterns consistently show up?

• That random thought that just shot across the bow of your thinking … what was it?

• What emotion are you feeling at the moment (don’t react to it, just notice it)?

• What’s your gut telling you (again: don’t act on it, but what’s it telling you)?

• What might this person be trying to say, though their word-choice is poor?

• How is fear motivating my thinking right now?

• What images, memories, stories or people are coming to mind?

Engaging in thoughts like this might seem … distracting. You might be thinking, “I don’t have time or energy to think about all this!” But actually, all this processing is already happening—you’re just not consciously aware of it.

The opportunity comes in noticing it. You may want to take 5-minute breaks from your activity (like the end of the day or at lunch) to give yourself the space to notice. The content in the next article will provide you a way to process it effectively. Eventually, you’ll learn how to integrate it seamlessly and effortlessly into your thinking.

Relating to God

The next article will show how to practically apply the 2 Realms and 2 Domains. So for now, don’t try to fix what you notice.

Just notice.

Pay attention to the thoughts, emotions, images, instincts and reactions already moving through you.

Learning to steward our thinking begins by becoming aware of how we’re already thinking so we can bring it into conformity to Christ. Some will involve correction; some will involve deepening. It will all get sorted out and aligned in due time.

Because the goal isn’t simply to think better. It’s to become increasingly capable of relating to God in the same way he’s relating to us.

Peace be with you …

Agree? Disagree?
I’m eager to know your thoughts and
kick this content around with you.
Leave a comment or message me to discuss.

Leave a comment

Footnotes:

Consider This:
If someone speaks to you in a language you don’t recognize,
do you automatically assume that they aren’t communicating?

I’m currently writing a series of articles themed around hearing God. I kicked it off with Can We Hear God?, where I suggested the clear and common-sense understanding that hearing God—from an identity of dependence—is an organic part of being human.

If we can agree that hearing God is participating in ongoing interaction and communication with the Holy Spirit, then to NOT hear God is to miss out on the fullness of life he intends for us.

I also highlighted that this topic has unfortunately devolved into a polarized theological argument—which is distracting us from the most important issue:

Our greatest concern shouldn’t be
defining how God speaks.
Our concern should be
understanding how we hear.

In the Can We Hear God? article, I laid out two primary reasons we don’t hear God:

1. We’re NOT READY to hear him.

2. We DON’T KNOW HOW to hear him.

I followed that article up with a deeper dive into reason #1: the spiritual issues around not being ready to hear God.

Here’s a link to it if you want to review it …

Part 2 will now unpack the practical issues around how to hear God.

Note: This is part 2 of a paid-subscriber follow-up to Can We Hear God. Upgrade to a paid subscription if you want to have access to this article (and future articles like it).

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Read more

Consider This:
We think hearing God
comes from good theology.
But actually, good theology
comes from hearing God.

If someone asked you, “Can you hear God,” how would you respond?

And in considering your response, are you aware of any confusion, failure, regret or unworthiness over not being able to hear him clearly—or hear him at all?

If so, this is an opportunity to change.

Hidden Irony

The question about God’s people hearing him isn’t new. Western Christianity has wrestled with it for centuries, as far back as the Protestant Reformation (and beyond). Unfortunately, the topic has now devolved into a binary theological argument and interpretive debate.

It’s become so technical and abstracted from reality that it feels more like opposing attorneys arguing for what can be proven, rather than God’s people seeking truth.

Not to oversimplify this, but:

• The Cessationist perspective proposes that God now speaks only through the Scriptures.

• The Continuationist perspective proposes that God’s activity of speaking to his followers has continued from the patterns observed in the biblical record.

Interestingly, there’s an irony in these two positions we often overlook: We’ve focused the debate around how God speaks, not how we hear. So there’s a key truth that both perspectives miss:

However God speaks,
we still need to be able to hear him—
and we’re in dangerous waters if we can’t.

This is a great concern for the Western church. Because we, like the recipients of the letter to the Hebrews, “have become dull of hearing” (Heb. 5.11 ESV).1

We ARE Hearers

In my last article, I defined “hearing God” as participating in ongoing communication with the Holy Spirit. (Here’s the article, if you want to review this in more detail …)

My point in using this definition is to refocus something that has been peripheralized in the theological debate: Our identity—how we perceive ourselves. If we doubt that we can hear God, then we deny the nature of our ontological design. We are questioning part of what it means to be human.

Hearing God should be as natural and organic as breathing. It’s an experience common to God’s people throughout the Bible. But it’s not a common experience for Western believers. And many doubt that it’s possible to hear God consistently and accurately—whether we would admit it out loud or not.

So why this disconnect? Why doesn’t our experience align with our identity?

One reason is that we’ve gradually adopted the world’s thinking habits and beliefs over the course of our history, and appropriated them for use in a Christian context. It was probably unintentional. But once it started, it became too tempting to resist.

These thinking habits drove us to pursue accurate theology, assuming it is the vehicle for hearing God. But in reality, hearing God is what forms truly biblical theology.

If we don’t hear God well,
our theology will be useless
for transforming us into
the image of Christ.

How We Can Move Forward

We should go back to the clear and common-sense understanding that hearing God—from an identity of dependence—is a part of being human. To not hear God is to miss out on the fullness of life he intends for us.

In my last article, I laid out two primary reasons we don’t hear God:

1. We’re not ready to hear him.

2. We don’t know how to hear him.

I want to unpack those realities in two Living It articles. This is Part 1: being ready to hear God.

Note: This is a paid-subscriber follow-up to Can We Hear God. Upgrade to a paid subscription if you want to have access to this article (and future articles like it).

Subscribe now

Read more

Consider This:
What if hearing God isn’t a special ability
reserved for a few people, but part of
what it means to be fully human?

Some questions appear to offer only binary answers. “Did I turn off the stove?” “Is 2 + 2 = 5?”

At first glance, “Can we hear God?” looks like one of these. But trying to answer it with a yes or no response quickly becomes … silly. Not because the answer might be wrong, but rather because the question is so profound.

As a closed-ended question, it certainly allows for a binary answer—but only in an unsatisfying way. It’s a question that resists quick-and-easy, trite responses, and instead compels us to ask more questions.

It invites us, if we are willing, to do just that.

That’s the purpose of this article. I will introduce follow-on questions that call us into deeper reflection around God’s identity, our identity and how it is that we live, move and have our being in this reality we find ourselves in.

I’ll be offering reasonable and biblical perspectives, but this will be far from an information dump. In fact, quite the opposite:

This will be an invitation
to explore what hearing God
means for you.

Meaning: It’s more beneficial if we avoid cookie-cutter formulas to hearing God—which is anything but formulaic. While there are overarching principles that apply to all of us, there are also aspects that are unique to each of us. Your experience of interacting with God in the context of your relationship with him is unique to you.

“Hearing God” is uniquely personal to each of us—exactly as God designed it to be.

So WHAT IS Hearing God?

Before we can answer the question “Can we hear God?”, we first have to define what “hearing God” means.

At its most basic level, hearing God is participating in ongoing communication with the Holy Spirit. As such, the experience of hearing God could include any number of things, like:

• New insight, creative ideas or solutions

• Keener awareness of emotions

• Deeper understanding, fuller comprehension

• Illumination or enlightenment of new truth

• A sense of wisdom or discernment

• An urgent conviction or admonition

• Affirmation of identity or clarification of purpose

• A broader awareness of context

• Encouragement, peace or joy

… Just to name a few.

I’ve observed that, as Westerners, we don’t often view these experiences as integral parts of communing with God. We tend to limit “hearing God” or “God speaking” to cognitive processing of rational information and propositional statements.

This is largely the result of our Western worldview:1

Thinking habits and perspectives
that the Western church has
unknowingly embraced
over the last 1,800 years—
to our great loss.

It’s short-sighted to dismiss the experiences above as legitimate aspects of communing with God. After all, most communication involves things other than articulated rational language. And the deeper and more trusting the relationship, the more complex and comprehensive the communication becomes.

For example, Cheryl (my wife) and I communicate wordlessly at incredibly deep levels. We often know what the other person is thinking without vocalizing it. And the meanings inside this communication are unmistakable and easily interpreted—between us. Much of this communication doesn’t actually need language; indeed, words often fail to capture the meaning.

Why would spiritual communication with our Creator God be any different? After all, he designed us, lives in us and knows us at levels deeper than even the most intimate human relationship.

We should consider:

What would change within us
if we viewed hearing God as
a primary spiritual competency—
a part of what makes us human.

Unfortunately, this question has become framed almost entirely around a theological debate. Before we continue, we should acknowledge that discussion.

CAN We Hear God?

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I say: Yes!

But please don’t view “Yes!” as a defense for one theological position over another. Unfortunately, this topic has devolved into a polarized theological argument in the Western church, leaving us with two binary options:

1. A Continuationist Perspective — God’s activity of speaking to his followers has continued from the patterns observed in the Old and New Testaments.

2. A Cessationist Perspective — God has communicated and revealed himself and his will completely in Christ and the canon of Scripture, so additional revelation is no longer necessary.

I’m asking that we suspend our tendency toward binary thinking for the moment, as it’s unhelpful, simplistic, unproductive and divisive.

What I will present will be applicable and relevant no matter what your theological position may be. My goal is to “make every effort to do what leads to peace and mutual edification” (Rom. 14.19).2

DO We Hear God?

Not to be Captain Obvious, but unfortunately the answer is “no”:

Not all of us hear God,
and not even some of us
hear God all the time.

There are a number of reasons why, many of which I’ll touch on in the coming series of articles. But I see two primary dynamics in play:

1. We’re not READY to hear, and

2. We don’t know HOW to hear.

The first (not being ready to hear) is spiritual. It results from things like:

• We don’t believe we can.

• We’re focused on other things (e.g. lies, falsehood, self-interest, situational realities, etc.).

• We hear on our terms, not God’s (e.g. we’re listening for what God wants us to do, when God’s focus is who he wants us to be).

The second (not knowing how to hear) is practical. It’s derived from things like:

• We listen for the wrong things (ex: listening for information when God’s talking to us about trust).

• We listen the wrong way (I'll explore this more fully in a future article, but for now I’ll summarize by saying we’re over-using our brain’s left hemisphere processes and ignoring our right).

• We listen with skewed expectations (e.g. we ask “why,” when knowing “why” isn’t what’s most relevant).

• We substitute hearing practices (e.g. solitude and silence) for hearing posture—“having ears to hear.”

The coming series of articles will walk through these in more detail. But for now, it might be helpful to simply begin reflecting on your experiences of hearing God in these two domains.

SHOULD We Hear God?

Yes. I say this not only as a matter of opinion, but of Scriptural imperative. In short,

We’re made to hear.

For example:

• Jesus defines us as his sheep who hear his voice and can distinguish it from the stranger’s voice (John 10.4-5).

• In Christ, we are led by the Spirit—assuming we choose to hear and obey (Gal. 5.18).

• The Spirit teaches us truth, reminds us of all that Jesus has said (John 14.26), and explains spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words (1 Cor 2.10-14).

• Our conscience is one of the primary ways God alerts, convicts and guides us (see Rom. 14)—unless our conscience has become calloused, corrupted or seared (see 1 Tim. 4.1-2).

If the appropriate context for hearing God is an ever-more intimate, abiding, robust and resilient relationship with our God—in which we’re tangibly “in him” as he is in us—then we must reframe the concept of hearing God so that it fits in that context.

If we desire that kind of relationship with God, then we must pursue the kind of interaction with God that aligns with it. We are designed by God as hearing beings, so hearing God well fulfills our designed purpose.

So Why DON’T We Hear God?

There’s good news and bad news here …

The bad news is that

WE are the biggest reason
we can’t hear God.

The Scriptures consistently point to the condition of our hearts as the key factor in hearing God. In this sense, if we’re struggling to hear God then we’re an example of the old business mantra: “You’re perfectly positioned to get the results you’re currently getting.”

The good news is that learning to hear God is a straightforward process—with one important caveat: There’s no app for this. It requires concerted and deliberate attention toward repentance (transformation of the mind and how we think).

It involves some things we’re not comfortable doing. This includes arguably the two most challenging disciplines:

1. Abandoning our independence, and

2. Moving away from our consumer mindset.3

Though these are straightforward disciplines, most Western believers don’t practice them well or consistently. We’ve operated from the old patterns for most of our lives. Very likely, we’re not consciously aware of how much they’re impacting our attempts to hear God.

So …

If you’re not willing to
move away from them (i.e. repent),
then your current experience
of hearing God
will remain the same.

Selah.

Where’s This Going?

Over the next several articles we'll explore what prevents us from hearing God, how our thinking gets in the way, why posture matters more than methodology and why God never intended us to discern his voice entirely in isolation.

As of this writing, I’m planning on five future articles on hearing God:

• We’re Not Thinking Correctly (But We Can)

• We’re Not Ready to Hear (So Let’s Get Ready)

• We Don’t Know How to Hear (So Let’s Figure It Out)

• We Don’t Know What It’s For (So Let’s Clarify It)

• We Don’t Hear God Together (So Let’s Get Started)

As we go through the process, I’ll look for opportunities to address questions and issues that surface. So please make sure to leave comments and/or message me directly. I’m looking forward to walking through this with you!

Peace be with you …

Do you have a question or issue
about hearing God you want to discuss?
I’m eager to know your thoughts and
kick this content around with you.
Leave a comment or message me to discuss.

Leave a comment

Consider This:
What would change if you
stopped asking God to bless your plans and
started asking what his plans are?

A Friend’s Story

I have a friend who I’ve been journeying with spiritually over the past few years. He’s been a faithful follower of Jesus for a long time, and is committed to being a disciple that looks like Jesus and equipping others to do the same.

In recent years, he’s become aware of his need to live surrendered to God. In recent months, he’s begun to apply this by intentionally setting aside his personal agenda and expectations in order to hear God’s. In other words, his desire is to experience every conversation, every opportunity, every challenge … with a consistently singular approach:

To receive God’s direction.

Not just to SEEK God’s direction, to RECEIVE it.

That may seem like subtlety, but they are radically and fundamentally different postures.

• Previously he would come into a leadership team meeting with an agenda of what he wanted for and from his team. But now he comes with questions: “Lord, how are you working in my team? What does each person need? What do they not fully understand about this business and their role in it? What do they need from me?”

• He used to come into a meeting with a demanding customer with a list of expectations and anxieties. But now he asks, “God, what do I need to understand about this customer? What is he afraid of? How can I/we best serve his needs? How can I help him understand our requirements? How can we collaborate together to get past this roadblock?”

This might seem like a haphazard management style for an owner of a thriving business. But it’s generated some noticeable outcomes, namely: more satisfied customers, better collaboration and smoother operations.

And the most surprising outcome has been something no one else outwardly sees: joy and peace in his heart.

Two Postures

My friend now has a more tangible and lasting sense of God’s presence. He's grown more aware of how God is at work in his life, his business and in the lives of everyone he has the opportunity to influence personally and professionally.

But this realization of God’s work and presence came after becoming aware of his prior posture of independence from God. In other words, he used to believe that God was there to help him accomplish God-honoring things. Now he understands that he’s being invited into the things God is doing.

The old posture assumes that …

1. We know what’s going on and what should be done.

2. We are gifted and capable of accomplishing that—with God’s help, of course (which we ask for in particularly challenging situations).

In other words, we operate from a posture of independence.

The new posture is 180 degrees opposite, and assumes that …

1. Only God knows what’s truly going on and what should be done.

2. By faith, we can receive God’s insight and direction—that often don’t make sense or fully align with what we do on our own.

This new posture doesn’t deny or dismiss our personal capacity, experience, gifting, skills … In fact, to the contrary: It actively puts them at God’s disposal and direction. It takes us out of the driver’s seat of our life, so that we become God’s servant in the moment—to bring his will and intention to bear.

In putting ourselves in a posture of dependence to receive God’s direction,

we become an extension of God
in the physical world.
We live out our identity as
“… the fullness of him
who fills everything in every way.”
(Eph. 1.23)

My Question

Though this had been an ongoing conversation between us over the last year, I recently texted my friend and asked him to describe his experience.

• What moved and motivated him into this dependent posture?

• What tipped the scales toward desiring to live dependently seeking the Spirit’s direction on a moment-by-moment basis?

His text response was interesting, and insightful …

His Response

“That’s an interesting question. This would take a while to unpack, but a few things quickly come to mind:

1. “Affirming that I can do nothing on my own. Realizing through experiences and personal reflection that I can do nothing apart from Christ. As a branch abiding in the Vine, I have to receive from him in order to have any fruitfulness at all. There is nothing in me that has the capacity to produce kingdom fruit. I have to truly discern the will of God, which is often contrary or counter to the normal ways of the world—even the ones that seem practical and logical.

2. “Recognizing outcomes from my own initiative. I’ve had enough difficult experiences resulting from acting on my own independent wisdom—even as a follower of Christ who professed that “he leads me.” These difficulties helped lead me to my knees and into a place of surrender. He’s pruning me.

3. “Comprehending that God speaks to his people. Accepting the truth that God speaks to his people—if they hear his voice and they follow him. Really? If so, we need to be listening to the Spirit with the fabric and filter of the word of God, the truth, thoroughly ingrained in our beings.

4. “Seeking intimacy with God. The joy of deeper relational fellowship with God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. A life of faith just seems empty without the intimacy that allows for the give-and-take, the prompt-and-respond; the seeing and experiencing of miraculous things in result.

5. “Desiring to see God’s kingdom come. I have a greater desire to see the kingdom come and his will be done; to see the gospel advanced on the Earth. A greater sense of accomplishment from that than anything else on earth … Greater than family, business, other things … More of an eternal perspective.

6. “The fear of God. I’m gonna stand before him one day and give account for all I’ve said and done. It better be what he wanted … I don’t want that day to be one where I show up having done a lot of good things, depended on myself or done what I thought was right, and have them not be the things he had for me or wanted me to do. I want to be like Jesus and glorify him as well as finish the work that he (God) gave me to do (Jn. 17:4).”

[60-SECOND PAUSE … AND A SECOND TEXT]

“Hey, for some reason, I just thought more about your question … I paused for a moment, and a somewhat simple concept emerged:

I perceive myself more as a young child,
smiling, curious and just enjoying life
because I know I have a heavenly father
who is taking care of me
and will order my steps.

“Probably a more mature way than a child would actually think about it, but the sense I have is like being a kid again.”

Unpacking His Response

A couple of things in his response are worthy of note.

Wisdom (Not Just Information)

Thinking about the content of what my friend shared, I see four elements.

1. Our Identity. He saw himself as “a branch,” an embodied metaphor that describes who we are, not just how we function.

2. God’s Identity. Jesus is the Vine that provides life for us.

3. God’s Activity. God speaks to us, and desires intimacy with us. He’s advancing his kingdom and building his church. Everything he’s doing is moving toward a conclusion.

4. How We “See” Our Reality. We have the option of either choosing to be a part God’s activity, or not.

These aren’t theological statements or new strategy or methodology. This isn’t information.

This is comprehending reality
at a whole new level.

His thoughts are outcomes. They represent experiential knowledge and wisdom that came as a result of experiencing intimacy with God.

Renewing (Not Just Thinking)

Without realizing it, my friend experienced an aspect of mind renewal: thinking in ways that leverage his whole brain to process his thoughts.

I’ll be digging into this more in future articles, but the big idea is that we can be better stewards of our thinking by using both hemispheres of our brains in collaborative ways.

Take a look at the six items in the first part of his response. What do you notice? They’re …

• Explicit.

• Clearly defined.

• Describable using familiar language (even if that language is developing deeper meanings).

• Actionable, practical and somewhat measurable.

• They create a clear contrast in our minds.

Now what do you notice about the thoughts after the 60-second pause? They’re …

• Experiential.

• Relational.

• Identity-laden (“like being a kid again”).

• Open, unbounded and limitless.

• Curious.

• Exploratory.

• Joy-full and carefree.

The numbered list is RATIONAL processing. It came quickly to mind because his left hemisphere has become consciously aware of them. They are things that he’d recognized over the course of the year of walking with God experientially. They have become milestones and pulse-checks for his journey with Jesus.

The awareness of being a child is INTUITIVE processing. It came after a time of reflection, which allowed his right hemisphere (which is more attuned to unconscious processing) to present the deeper realities of his identity and relationship with God to his conscious processing in his left hemisphere.

Interestingly, it may appear that the explicit, left-hemisphere list produced the implicit child-of-God awareness. But it was actually the other way around.

His right-hemisphere’s implicit knowledge (being a child of God) UNCONSCIOUSLY created the environment that then produced his left-hemisphere’s explicit knowledge (concrete, rational descriptions).

His further reflection on the clear and concise nature of practically embracing his dependence (what I like to call “reintegration”) then allowed for him to become conscious of what he previously only knew unconsciously:

He’s God’s kid,
and God’s kids are confident
in what they do in life.

What Does All This Mean?

My friend’s story is a real life example of how …

1. Stewarding our thoughts, and

2. Embracing our identity

… work together in sync with hearing God.

Jesus affirms that he speaks to his followers, and that knowing him allows us to hear his voice (Jn. 10.1-16). This makes hearing God one of the most basic spiritual life realities for the church.

And yet, the church in the West
struggles to understand it—
much less consistently practice it.

I want to offer some insights that will help change that. I’ll be working in this theme in my upcoming articles for the next little while, so stay tuned.

Peace be with you …

Have any thoughts or questions about hearing God?
I’m eager to hear from you.
Leave a comment or message me to discuss.

Leave a comment

Consider This:
Every day something tells you who you are.
The only question is
whether you’re listening to God
—or everything else.

This is the second installment of a 2-part look into what it means to be made in God’s image. I opened the previous article by saying that most Jesus followers agree that we are the imago Dei (Latin for “image of God”), but few know what it really means—much less know what difference it makes in how we live.

So the goal of these two articles is to provide two insights in genuinely living as God’s image bearer—in a New Testament, “in Christ” context:

1. A simple but foundational mindset that reframes your reality.

2. A way to practice that mindset on a day-to-day basis.

Since Part 1 covered the foundational mindset, Part 2 will provide an operating template that we can apply on a daily and even moment-by-moment basis to walk out our renewed identity in Christ in tangible ways.

The Mindset Revisited

The mindset from Part 1 includes some elements that are relevant to the daily practice I’ll be laying out in this article. Here’s a refresher (and a link to the full article):

1. As the imago Dei, we are a physical extension of God.

• We’re made to reflect and represent him, rule over creation (pre-Fall), serve as his reconciling ambassadors (post-resurrection) as “the fullness of him who fills everything in every way” (Eph. 1.23).

2. Being an extension of God requires a dependent identity.

• “Dependent” here isn’t (just) a faith practice, it’s our design—we are dependent beings by nature.

• The moon is the brightest thing in the night sky, but it isn’t a light source—it’s a light reflector. Just as the moon is dependent on the sun, so we are dependent on God to reflect his image.

3. Not embracing our dependent nature is rejecting what God made us to be.

• This was Adam and Eve’s choice in the Garden.

4. Rejecting our created nature doesn’t eliminate our dependence, it just redirects it—to the world.

• We don’t have the capacity to function independently (though it feels like we do).

• Our dependent nature means that we’ll always depend on something, whether that’s God or the world (and everything in it).

Note: This 2-part series is a paid-subscriber follow-up to a previous article that was free to everyone: You Were Designed to Depend.

Subscribe if you want to have access to this 2-part series (and future articles like it).

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Consider This:
Every single one of us lives dependently.
The only question is what
—or who—we’re depending on.

Most Christians agree with the statement that we were made in God’s image. But …

Few of us comprehend what that actually means, much less know how to practically apply it in our lives.

This, folks, is an enormous problem. Not only does this lack of understanding negatively impact virtually every aspect of our faith practice, it is the source of almost every destructive thing that happens in the world.

I want to give you two things that will allow you to live as God’s image bearer—in a New Testament, “in Christ” context:

1. A simple but foundational mindset that reframes your reality.

2. A way to practice that mindset on a day-to-day basis.

This article (Part 1) will cover the mindset, and a follow-up article (Part 2) will walk through the daily practice.

So let’s explore the reality-framing mindset that Jesus calls us to adopt. And just so you know: It’s a mindset you’ve probably never considered before …

Note: This is a paid-subscriber follow-up to a previous article,
You Were Designed to Depend.

Subscribe if you want to have access to this article (and future articles like it).

Subscribe now

Read more

Consider This:
After my recent cataract surgery,
I was amazed at how much brighter and sharper
the world appeared through my new lens.
More sobering, however, was realizing
how long I had mistaken
a distorted view of reality
for reality itself.

New Eyes

I’d known I had cataracts for several years, but put it out of my mind because “it was minor” and “I didn’t need to worry about it.” So when it became difficult to see with my glasses—especially driving at night—I assumed I needed a new prescription.

But the ophthalmologist told me I didn’t need new glasses, I needed new eyes. The cataracts in my eyes’ lenses had gotten much worse since they were first discovered, and I had absolutely zero awareness of it.

I blamed my glasses. But the problem was me.

I recently had cataract surgery on both eyes (which is why I haven’t posted since my last article). They replaced my left lens first—my dominant eye. It’s hard to describe the shock I experienced.

I first noticed it the day after surgery, in our bathroom. When I looked through my right eye (with its cataract), the white countertop looked normal. But when I looked through my repaired left eye, what I saw was dramatically brighter.

This picture (as best I can reproduce it) captures what I saw:

What I’d thought was white was actually a dirty-yellow haze. And if you’d have told me the white I was seeing was yellow, I would’ve said you were wrong.

Selah.

More Than Eyesight

Why does Scripture place so much emphasis on seeing?

• “Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law” (Ps. 119.18)

• “LORD, my eyes are not haughty” (Ps. 131.1)

• “I have been broken over … their eyes that go whoring after their idols” (Ezek. 6.9)

• “They have eyes to see, but do not see” (Ezek. 12.2)

• “They have closed their eyes” (Mt. 13.15)

• “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see” (Luke 10.23)

• “They cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ” (2 Cor. 4.4)

• “That the eyes of your heart may be enlightened” (Eph. 1.18)

Throughout Scripture, the eye is often used as a symbol for mental perception—the means by which we discern, interpret and respond to reality.

That may explain why Jesus' most famous statement about the eye has almost nothing to do with vision.

The Lamp of the Body

“The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness!”
(Mat 6:22-23)

Jesus includes this comment in describing things that seduce our trust, like public approval, treasure and competing masters. Whatever captures our trust also captures our attention, which gradually becomes the lens through which we interpret everything else.

In other words, we choose what we want to observe, and the mindset by which we observe it. And this observational choice changes what we end up “seeing.”

My cataract didn’t change reality, but it dramatically changed what I perceived reality to be. Similarly, the eye functions as a lens for the rest of life. What enters through that lens doesn’t define reality, it shapes how we interpret reality—and how we then live it out.

The weight of Jesus’ comment is profound: Distorted perception isn't merely possible—it’s one of humanity's most defining problems.

Few passages illustrate this better than Isaiah's commissioning.

Seeing But Not Perceiving

In Isaiah’s call to ministry, God gives him an astounding task:

Go and tell this people: “Be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving.” Make the heart of this people calloused; make their ears dull and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed.”
(Isa. 6:9-10, emphasis mine)

Jesus cited this passage to explain why he spoke in parables. His point:

• Those with “good” eyes would see the meaning and truth of the kingdom and pursue it further.

• Those with “bad” eyes would see only gibberish.

This may be one of the Bible’s most sobering warnings. If our “eye” isn’t healthy, we can be looking directly at reality—with all sincerity and the best of intentions—and be blind to what it truly is.

The truth becomes false; and false becomes our truth. And the onus for our lack of comprehension is on us.

My cataract-affected lenses were normal to me. Likewise, we can see through the lenses of experiences and faith practices that seem normal but are actually giving us a false perception of reality.

Things like traditions, strategy, theological constructs, doctrines, goals, vision … Though healthy and purposeful, they become dangerous when they replace humble dependence upon God. Experiences that elevate us in the eyes of others can change the way we see ourselves, people and God. Traumatic experiences induce so much pain and vulnerability that they affect how we see the rest of life.

They can all make our eyes bad.

Jesus dealt with a group of people who provide perhaps the clearest biblical example of sincere people whose spiritual lenses had become corrupted.

Blind Idolatry

The Pharisees of Jesus’ day were deeply devoted to God. They were disciplined, knowledgeable and passionate; solely dedicated to the Messiah’s coming.

Yet Jesus repeatedly called them blind. Why?

Because their interpretations and rules became the eyes through which they saw reality. Though it was disconnected from reality, their way of life had become normalized to their own interpretation.

They hadn’t rejected God. Instead, they’d gradually replaced dependence upon God with confidence in their own interpretation of him. Entirely unintentionally—yet of their own choosing—they’d slipped into a form of idolatry: an idolatry of self.

After all, idolatry isn’t merely the worship of figurines; that’s far too obvious. Idolatry comes much more subtly and insidiously.

Practicing idolatry involves two key factors:

1. Creating false images of God (huh … another “seeing” activity), and

2. Placing functional trust in ourselves and the things we control—instead of God.

Though they claimed to honor God, they put their trust in their self-generated interpretation of reality. It expediently positioned them in authority over the God they claimed to honor.

The image of God they created in their minds was so distorted that when God showed up in the flesh, they killed him.

I wonder: Do we believe we are immune from the same error?

Selah.

What If We Cannot See Our Own Blindness?

Frankly, I have grave concerns for the church in the West. The greatest danger we face isn’t related to things we usually pay attention to: doctrine, theology, strategy or our position on social issues.

The greatest danger is our unrecognized blindness that reduces faith to information, positional statements, public following and adherence to accepted behavior.

Consider: What kind of spiritual “eyes” produce the behaviors we commonly exhibit?

• Why do we so easily create lists of approved theological positions to hold, churches to attend and teachers to follow?

• Why are we so quick to promote what we “see” as right, and judge everything else as wrong?

• Why are we so attracted to answers that can’t be questioned, and so impatient with questions that can’t be answered?

• Why do we give so much energy and attention to distinguishing ourselves from each other, instead of focusing on what we share in common?

• Why do we so readily desire power, control and status, and have such apathy for service, humility and faith?

• Why do we so easily elevate some people—including ourselves—over others?

• Why do we struggle to be in relationship with people different from us?

• Why do we view faith as something to consume rather than something to be?

• Why are we so afraid and anxious?

• Why do we so poorly excel in love?

Selah.

The Eyes of Our Heart

One of the apostle Paul’s most heartfelt prayers for the Ephesian believers was that “the eyes of [their] heart may be enlightened” (Eph. 1.18). What a beautiful contrast to Pharisaical blindness.

Paul isn’t praying for more information. He’s praying for clearer perception.

We see the same theme over and over in the New Testament:

• Romans 12 — transformation, humility and inter-personal connection as the outcomes of a renewed mind.

• Philippians 2 — a commitment to seeing reality from Jesus’ mindset.

• Colossians 3 — setting our focus on heavenly things, not earthly.

The goal of being and making disciples that look like Jesus isn’t merely better doctrine and theological certainty, it’s learning to perceive reality through the eyes of Christ—to have his mind; to live as he lived, and love as he loved.

Seeing What We’ve Been Missing

Before surgery, my distorted vision had become my normal. My bad eye was not obvious to me because I had adapted to it.

Our opportunity is to become aware of what we've adapted to, and through new eyes to see how far out of alignment we may be with the kingdom. In other words, repent—metanoia (transformed thinking).

Because Jesus’ invitation isn’t merely to believe the right things. It is to have eyes to see.

He calls us to continually surrender our false identities, assumptions and perceptions to him. To allow the Spirit to expose the lenses through which we interpret reality, so that we can become more like him.

Brothers and sisters, let’s build the kind of legacy that—when time is done—it can’t ever be said that our greatest problem was failing to see.

Peace be with you …

Agree? Disagree?
I’m eager to know your thoughts and
kick this content around with you.
Leave a comment of message me to discuss.

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I was out of hope.

At 24, I knew I had no more backyard left to bury my guilt. Though I didn’t consider myself bad, I knew I was a failure at being good.

I’d come to realize that attaining self-directed “goodness” is a useless strategy.

Having grown up with a German Catholic heritage, my perspective on life in general centered on get-it-done, follow-the-rules and do-it-right-or-don’t-do-it-at-all thinking. Religiously, I’d assumed God operated from this same “be good” approach, so I worked hard to be good (enough) and put my all chips on the hopes that he’d grade on a curve.

Uh, … no.

So here I sat, a hopeless failure at being good. But hope came in a flood to my hopelessness when I read Galatians 2.21:

“If we could be made right by following the rules (a.k.a. being good), then Christ died for nothing.”
(my paraphrase)

I didn’t understand it, but I knew it was true—at levels I didn’t know existed and couldn’t explain. Instantly, my world went from black-and-white to full color. I didn’t know what to do, so without thinking I stood up with my arms raised and shouted to God, “You got me!”

I left behind the idea of achieving self-directed “goodness” … or so I thought.

The Rest of the Story

My journey took a hard right turn into newness of life; wonderful beyond description. “Born again,” the Bible called it.

But as renewing and transformational as it was, I still couldn’t shake an old self-perception of being a failure. For 40 years—including a seminary education and 15 years of vocational ministry experience—I lived with the familiar nagging of accusation and doubt that I didn’t quite measure up.

I knew I was saved, but I viewed myself as a saved failure. I assumed it was my “flesh”1 influencing me, or that it was spiritual attack from the enemy—neither of which, frankly, offered much freedom.

I wondered what it meant to be “free indeed” (John 8.36). I resigned myself to the belief that this indeed-level freedom would eventually come in heaven.

Looking back, I see now what I didn’t then: I believed Jesus had forgiven me, but I still interpreted myself through the same old lens. I’d embraced being a “new creation” in Christ (2 Corinthians 5.17), but held on to the one thing my salvation wouldn’t change: my old identity.

Unknowingly, I was living with two active and opposing perceptions of who I was.

Two Selves?

On paper, having two active self-perceptions may sound like some kind of schizophrenia or dissociative identity disorder (DID). But it’s not.

At the core of these two self-perception options is one central question: What do we believe about being a dependent being? Fundamentally, ontologically, are we relying on God to define us, or are we self-defining?

God created us to “image” him, to be utterly dependent upon him. However, sin involves the inherited belief that we are independent: that we have the ability to generate our own identity, meaning, purpose and passion from within ourselves.

The implication of this dependence/independence issue is profound: We don’t have the ability to 1) define who we are, 2) make sense of our reality, 3) understand our purpose or 4) generate a holy passion for living out that purpose in God-aligned ways.

According to Scripture, we never were meant to.

God designed us to receive all these from him—a concept Jesus reiterated to his disciples, which he described as “abiding”:

“… apart from me you can do nothing.”
(John 15.7)

In my case, I was operating (unconsciously and unawares) from my old identity: independently trying to live out my new dependent identity in Christ. It sounds silly to write it that way, but that’s what was happening.

I was living out the belief that I could (with the help of the Holy Spirit) achieve self-directed “Jesus-ness”2—which, of course, is impossible; nonsensical. In truth, I was failing … at something that no human can ever achieve.

All this contributed to that unshakeable nagging and doubt.

• The enemy was telling me I was failing because I was a failure—a lie that I accepted all too frequently.

• The Spirit of God was telling me I was failing because my belief about who I was (and who God is) was unrenewed—a truth I’d never explored.

My understanding of what Jesus had saved me from was too narrow.

Problem: Our Limited Perspective on Sin & the Gospel

Western patterns of thinking often narrow our perception of the gospel. We typically view sin and salvation through rational, logical and sequential lenses. Through these lenses:

• “Sin” = doing bad things

• “Gospel” = the transaction of Jesus’ death as payment for “sin”

• “Belief” = the “gospel” content that we grasp intellectually

“Salvation” becomes accepting the gift of justification (where Jesus’ death pays the penalty for sin), while holding on to our old, independent identity.

We add Jesus to our old life.

This perspective misses the broader and more holistic contexts of identity, restoration and reconciliation.

Solution: “Sin” as Separation & “Gospel” as Reconciliation

In my last article—What’s Actually Broken in Us—I laid out how the Fall didn’t just cause humanity to begin doing bad things, it disconnected us from the source of life itself. Living in full dependence on God was replaced with a rebellious, independent identity that distanced us from him.

So sin isn’t just unrighteous behavior and being in a state of unholiness; it’s separation from the source of all righteousness and holiness.

Seeing sin as separation helps us see how the gospel’s over-arching emphasis is reconciliation. The gospel reconnects us to God. And since our independent identity is what separated us from him, it can’t contribute to our reconciliation.

So instead, God gives us a new identity—one that’s (being) conformed into the image of Jesus.

In other words: When we trust in Jesus, God doesn’t upgrade our old self. He gives us a new self, and calls us to live in it.

Practicing New Identity: Denying, Putting Off & Putting On

This is why Jesus said:

“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”
(Mark 8.34)

My experience is that we usually interpret “deny ourselves” to mean penitence or self-sacrifice, to deprive, loathe or shame ourselves. Or even worse, to believe that we’re unworthy.

Which misses Jesus’ point altogether.

He goes on to clarify what he means:

“For whoever wants to save their [self/soul]3 will lose it, but whoever loses their [self/soul] for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?”
(Mark 8.35-37)

Read these verses again … but this time from the perspective that Jesus is talking about the two options of our self-perception—who we think we are and who we want to be—which is either …

• Our old autonomous, independent self, or …

• The new dependent self that God created us to be—who he wants to live with to accomplish his kingdom purposes.

Jesus’ point is that reconciliation with God requires abandoning the old independent identity that separated us from him.4 It means losing sight of who we were, shutting ourselves off from its independent interests in order to accept and embrace our dependency to God in Christ.

Paul describes this as “putting off” the old self and “putting on” the new.

“Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.”
(Col. 3.9-10)

“You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the [spirit] of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.”
(Eph. 4.22-24)

Holding on to the old self is the futile thinking habits of being separated from God. It makes people darkened in their understanding, ignorant and hardened in their heart, making them insensitive to God.

They become increasingly insensitive to God’s presence and influence. So their only way forward is to give themselves over to ever-increasing sensuality, which leads to over-indulgence, impurity and greed—which is idolatry.5

For Paul, this putting off and on is an intentional thought habit believers should lean into. He says to set our minds on things above, not on earthly things (Col. 3.1). We’re told to count our old self as dead to us, since we’re no longer bound to it (Rom. 6.8-14).

Implications

There are several significant implications we need to consider.

Misplaced Trust

We can’t live “free indeed” with two competing self-perceptions. Accepting our new dependent identity without also denying our old, independent self confuses what we trust.6

Sometimes we trust God. Other times we trust ourselves. And even when we trust God, it’s often partial and selective—we aren’t fully convinced he’s trustworthy.

Becoming Double-Souled

This contributes to us being “double-minded” (James 1.8, 4.8)—a term that literally means “double-souled” (“minded” is psychos, the same word translated as “life” and “soul” in Mark 8.35-37).

The result is instability. We trust God for eternal salvation (conveniently, since it’s outside our control anyway), while struggling to trust him for today.

Self-Identifying as Slaves

Perhaps the most insidious and indicting implication is that trusting ourselves means choosing to live under our old self’s power and influence. Though free, we prefer slavery.

This is an identity statement: Instead of living as free-indeed beings, we self-identify as slaves.

Practicing Putting On

I’m choosing the alternative. I’m setting my heart and mind on heavenly things, and learning to deny the old self’s influence over me.

In Jesus’ words, I’m losing my identity—in order to gain it.

Being a disciple is less about becoming a better version of ourselves, and more about learning to live from the identity God gave us in Christ. Let’s do this, together, and then make disciples that do the same.

Peace be with you …

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Footnotes:

We all know that there’s more to life than we usually experience. It’s a steady awareness that life was meant to feel … more. More whole, grounded and alive than it often does.

This awareness immediately drives us to ask: What can we do about it? But although this is a natural question, it’s unfortunately the wrong question—it assumes we already understand the problem.

“What can we do?” is a strategy question. And if we haven’t identified the actual problem, no amount of strategy will help us.1

And it most likely will hurt us—especially when it comes to making disciples. Because the church won’t have anything to offer a world longing for more if it has no solution itself.

We can’t fix a problem we haven’t identified.

What’s Really Broken?

This is where it gets a bit tricky. Because our Western Christian orientation quickly blames sin as the problem, and just as quickly points to the gospel as the solution.

This isn’t wrong, but it is too narrow in scope. After all, if we’re so settled on sin as the problem and the gospel as the solution, why does our longing persist?

Here’s the reality: While sin is indeed the problem (and the gospel is indeed the solution), we don’t fully comprehend the scope of the problem of sin, and what sin actually broke.

And because we don’t know what’s actually broken, we don’t understand what the gospel actually fixes.

Sin As Separation

Our longing for more in life reflects a reality Scripture describes in simple but far-reaching terms: separation.

The Fall didn’t just cause humanity to begin doing bad things; it disconnected us from the source of life itself. Living in full dependence on God was replaced with distance from him.

That separation existentially reshaped us. Rest became striving, peace became uncertainty and openness became vulnerability. Life’s “normal” patterns trace back to that shift, even if we don’t recognize it:

• We try to secure our own sense of worth.

• We manage outcomes we can’t control.

• We search for meaning in temporal things.

Defining sin as “falling short of God’s glory”—our typical Western definition—turns our focus toward behavior: our failure to live up to God’s standard of holiness. But defining sin as “separation from God” reveals that our unrighteous behavior is an outcome that flows from something deeper.

Sin isn’t just unrighteous behavior and a state of unholiness; it’s separation from the source of all righteousness and holiness.2

Identity: What We Were Made For (and What Changed)

In my previous article—You Were Designed to Depend—we explored what it means to be created as dependent beings. We were designed to receive our identity, meaning and purpose from God, not to generate them from within. That dependence wasn’t a limitation; it was the structure of life itself.

When separation occurred, our identity shifted with it.

• Instead of receiving who we are, we try to define ourselves.

• Instead of living from connection, we live from independence.

That shift didn’t just change what we do; it changed what we believe about ourselves. We’ve learned to live as if we direct our life, expecting God to help us be who we want to be—even as we feel the weight of sustaining it.

Reconciliation: What the Gospel Fixes

If separation is our problem, then the solution cannot simply be our improvement.

So the gospel addresses the root issue by restoring what was broken: our connection to God. Through Jesus, reconciliation with God becomes reality—not only as an eternal hope, but as a present truth; not only as status and classification, but as relationship.

This is so much more than being forgiven of our sins. It means being brought near, reconnected to the source of life itself (Ephesians 2.13-18).

A New Identity to Receive
(and Freedom From the Old One)

Being connected to God doesn’t upgrade our identity; it gives us an entirely new identity (2 Corinthians 5.11-21). Scripture describes living in this new identity as “putting off the old self” and “putting on the new” (see Ephesians 4.22-24, Colossians 3.5-10).

To receive our new and dependent identity, we must actively abandon our old, independent one. This is a mix of paradoxical actions:

• Letting go of our right to live independently and autonomously (literally “self-rule”)—something we’ve done all our lives …

in order to …

• Grab hold of a life of dependency and letting someone else direct us (specifically, the Holy Spirit)—something life and the world have conditioned us to be afraid of.

But this raises an important—and often confusing—question: What happens to our old identity when we let it go?

A complicating factor is that getting our new identity doesn’t eliminate the old one. Romans 6 confirms that in our baptism with Christ, it was our old identity’s power over us that died, not the identity itself. We’re no longer bound to live from the old self (though it still compels us to).3

In other words, we now are free to practice a new kind of responsibility: to choose which self-perception we will live from—independent, or dependent.

Collective Identity: Restored Together

Another part of our problem is that sin not only separated us from God, it separated us from each other.

Our new identity addresses this problem because it’s simultaneously individual and collective. Scripture consistently describes us in communal terms: a body, a family, a household, a people, a kingdom. We are individual reflections of Jesus, and at the same time members together of that body.

So our new identity not only eliminates our independence from God, it eliminates our independence from each other. We are uniquely distinct from each other, yet intimately interdependent with each other. We reflect our triune God in that we who are many are also one—and neither our individuality or our unity is compromised.

The writer of Hebrews captures this reality in a way that challenges our assumptions:

Let this sink in: The heroes of the faith that preceded us are made complete through our collective practice of faith today.

The gospel isn’t manifested in isolation, as some kind of individual transaction. We’ve been brought into something that’s bigger than us: An identity that’s interwoven, collectively and across time.

We are the body of Christ.

Where Do We Go From Here?

So … We now have our new identity—but we still live with the pull of the old one. So how do we actually live from what’s now true?

My next article will address how to practically live out the gospel of our reconciliation by putting it into practice. Specifically, this involves putting off the old self and putting on our new one that looks like Jesus.

Peace be with you …

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Footnotes:

You weigh your options, and make your decisions. You define your path. Your create your strategies and carry responsibility for what your life becomes.

That’s normal. It’s what you’ve been taught.

Especially in the West—and even more so in the U.S.—we’ve been shaped by a story that prizes independence, self-sufficiency and personal agency. We’re taught to stand on our own, figure things out and make something of ourselves.

There’s discipline in that. Initiative. Responsibility.

But there’s also something underneath it that we rarely stop to question. Because even when things are going well, there’s often a subtle tension running beneath the surface. A low-grade anxiety. A sense that something’s slightly off—even when we can’t quite explain why.

We carry more than we expected to carry. We feel responsible for more than we were designed to manage. We worry about failure. We’ve lived it so long it feels natural.

But what if it isn’t? What if independence isn’t just a cultural value—but a misalignment with how we were created? What if the tension we feel isn’t random?

What if it’s the result of trying to live independently … in a reality that was never designed for it?

We Were Never Meant to Be Self-Generating

The opening pages of Scripture present a reality that’s both simple and profound. God creates humanity in his image—the imago Dei—not as isolated individuals, but as a unified humanity that reflects him.

This isn’t just a statement about value or dignity. It’s a statement about function: Human beings were created to reflect God, not to generate their own identity.

But that’s not how we tend to think about ourselves.

We often assume identity is something we discover within—something we define, refine and project outward. Something we aspire to and build over time.

The biblical picture turns that assumption upside down.

We were designed to receive our identity, meaning, purpose and passion from outside ourselves—from God. Not with God’s help. Not partially. Not independently.

Completely dependent.

As Richard Lints puts it, our identity as image bearers is inherently dependent: An image has no identity apart from what it reflects. But he goes further, clarifying what that actually means for how we live:

“People, who are created as divine image bearers, are also capable of reflecting the created order. Thus humans may be said to have a reflective identity. In some sense they find meaning outside themselves by virtue of what they reflect.”1

That phrase—reflective identity—gets at the heart of it:

• We don’t design ourselves, God does.

• We don’t generate meaning; we reflect it.

• We don’t originate purpose, we receive it.

• We don’t define ourselves from within, we become who we are by who we’re connected to.

Which leads to something we don’t naturally want to accept: We don’t have the capacity to define ourselves independently.

We were never meant to.

Dependence Isn’t a Weakness—It’s Reality

If that feels unsettling, you’re not alone. Dependence sounds like vulnerability. Exposure. Risk. It feels like losing control.

In many ways, it is.

But it’s not a flaw in the system—it is the system.

Jesus makes this explicit in one of his simplest and most familiar illustrations:

“I am the vine; you are the branches … apart from me you can do nothing.”
(John 15.5)

We tend to hear this in terms of Western interpretative themes. Like productivity, for example: as if Jesus is saying “You won’t be very effective without me.” Another is intimacy, as if we’ll experience higher levels of connection with him by emotionally drawing near to Jesus.

Both of these interpretations miss the boat, however. They end up sustaining a false perspective that Jesus is some kind of superpower, or on-call genie; a lifeline when we need him most.

Jesus is actually saying something far more fundamental: A branch doesn’t just struggle to produce fruit on its own—it has no life in itself at all. It doesn’t even qualify as a branch when it’s disconnected.

Picture the contrast. A branch filled with grapes—alive, full, fruitful—isn’t impressive because of what it produces on its own. It’s impressive because of what it’s connected to. The life of the vine is flowing through it, producing something the branch could never generate by itself.

Now picture a branch cut off from that vine. It may still look like a branch, but it’s already lost its identity. No matter how much effort it exerts, it can’t produce fruit. Not because it’s trying poorly—but because it’s no longer connected to the source of life.

That’s not just an agricultural metaphor. It’s an identity statement. We don’t occasionally depend on God. We are dependent, as an existential reality.

The only question is whether we recognize it—or try to live as if it’s not true.

The Kind of Life We Can Barely Imagine

Before anything went wrong—before sin, shame and fear—humanity lived in this state of dependence. And they weren’t even aware of it.

Adam and Eve weren’t trying to depend on God. They weren’t striving for it or working to maintain it. It was simply reality. They lived in complete trust, with no competing allegiances and no internal conflict.

They were both fully known and fully exposed—“naked and without shame.” There was no fear of loss, no instinct for self-protection; no anxiety about the future. They had no need to generate their own identity or meaning, because everything they needed was already being received.

They lacked nothing.

Perhaps most striking of all, they had no awareness that independence was even an option. That’s how complete their dependence was.

Why This Feels So Foreign to Us

That kind of life feels almost impossible for us to imagine—not because it’s unrealistic, but because it’s unfamiliar.

We live in a world where independence is assumed. We plan our lives, manage our outcomes, hedge against risk and protect ourselves—physically, emotionally, relationally, financially. Even (or particularly) spiritually.

Underneath the ebbs and flows of life, we retain control of our identity. We see ourselves as fundamentally self-directed people who include God, rather than dependent beings whose first belief is that we receive everything from him.

This is where the distinction becomes more than theoretical. Do we see ourselves as independent beings who occasionally depend on God? Or as dependent beings who have no identity apart from him?

This isn’t nuance. It’s the difference between managing a relationship with God and being defined by it.

The Weight of That Choice

This is where the tension shows up.

Because if we’re honest, most of us don’t want to be dependent. We might say we do, or believe we should be. But the idea of receiving our identity, meaning, purpose and passion only from God can be threatening.

What happens to our control? Our plans? What happens to the version of ourselves we’ve worked so hard to build?

These aren’t abstract concerns. They expose something deeper: We don’t just struggle to practice dependence—we struggle to desire it.

And that resistance matters. Because if dependence is who we were created to be, then our hesitation reveals how deeply we’ve come to identify ourselves as independent.

Why This Matters More Than We Think

At the same time, there’s something in us that resists dismissing this entirely.

We feel it in moments we don’t fully understand—when life slows down just enough for us to notice that something’s missing. It’s that subtle, persistent sense that we’re carrying more than we were meant to carry; that we’re responsible for more than we were designed to manage.

We’ve learned to live with it, so it feels normal. But what if that tension is the result of trying to function independently in a reality that was designed for dependence?

That possibility shifts how we approach everything. Because it means the issue isn’t primarily what we’re doing—it’s how we’re existing. So the invitation in front of us isn’t to become more disciplined or even more “spiritual.” It’s to reconsider something far more foundational: what it means to be human.

This invitation is about shifting away from seeing ourselves as independent individuals, who generate our identity and meaning from within and then incorporate God into our lives. It’s about seeing ourselves as dependent beings that reflect what we’ve received and live together as extensions of him in our world.

That’s not an easy shift to explore. It presses against instincts we’ve relied on for most of our lives. It challenges assumptions that feel obvious—even necessary. But if dependence is who we were created to be, then this isn’t optional. It’s reality—whether we embrace it or not.

And that raises a simple but weighty question: Are we willing to explore what it means to live like it’s true?

A Simple Practice: Relearning Dependence

Before moving on, it’s worth slowing down enough to engage this personally—not as a concept, but as a reality.

Set aside 5–10 minutes with no agenda and no checklist. Sit quietly and ask:

“God, what does it mean that I was created to receive all of my identity, meaning, purpose and passion from you?”

Pay attention to what surfaces—not just your thoughts, but your reactions.

• Where do you feel resistance?

• Where do you feel curiosity?

• Where do you feel discomfort?

Don’t rush to resolve it. Just notice it.

Then ask:

“What part of me still wants to define myself on my own?”

Let whatever comes to mind surface without forcing or controlling it—and certainly without judging it.

Then move to the next question:

“What would it look like for me to depend on you—not occasionally, but completely?”

You may not have clear answers, and that’s okay. This isn’t about solving something. It’s about becoming aware of something that’s already true.

Finally, ask:

“How can I pass this on to others, and make disciples that receive their identity, meaning, purpose and passion from Jesus?”

This is the ultimate outcome of being dependent: being able to reproduce this same identity in others, for the sake of the gospel and the kingdom.

Final Thoughts

We don’t become dependent.

We are dependent.

The question is whether we’re willing to see it—and explore what that means. Because if this is who we were made to be, then everything about how we live may need to change.

Peace be with you …

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Footnotes

“I don’t care about knowing how my brain works … I just think.”

This was one church leader’s initial reaction to my content on the church’s thought habits. “I have to fight off the urge not to care.”

I appreciated his transparency … and I understand his point: If we’re satisfied with how we think, why take the time to check under the hood of our thinking?

But that reaction actually proves the point—because the way we think has already shaped what and how we want to engage. Saul, Israel’s first king, is a sad but real life example of this.

Note: This is a paid-subscriber follow-up to a previous article, The Lens We Don’t Know We’re Looking Through. It provides a biblical example of the disastrous effects of false paradigms.

Subscribe if you want to have access to this article (and future articles like it).

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In the last article, The Unseen Thinking Drift, I explored how Western culture has been shaped by a subtle but powerful shift in our thinking habits—a drift toward left-hemisphere’s rational processes, and away from the right hemisphere’s intuitive perspective.

What if that same shift has quietly made its way into the church? What if our environment has changed the way we’ve learned to think about faith?

If we’re the proverbial frog in the kettle, when do we recognize that the ever-warming water we’re swimming in is killing us?

Could we even recognize it—given that our ability to recognize is the thing that’s shifted?

A Familiar Voice

It’s telling that most of us know the famous line from the poem Invictus, even if we don’t know where it came from:

“I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”

This image resonates with Westerners. It portrays the values of individual grit and the pursuit of achievement—indeed, in the U.S., these are iconic national virtues.

Yet this creates a tension: What happens when a culture that worships independence shapes a church called to dependence?

The Shift in How We Think About Faith

Faith in Jesus is built on dependent abiding, trust and submission. Jesus’ words are direct: “Apart from me you can do nothing.”

Yet the church in the West shifted from this dependent abiding—not in our stated beliefs, but in how we process and live those beliefs. We now predominantly approach faith as something to understand, define and apply.

Of course, understanding, defining and applying aren’t wrong. But when they take the lead on faith, faith becomes less about trust and more about information and methodology. And since those produce results, they don’t feel like a departure. They actually feel like clarity and growth.

That we’re unalarmed at how easily this approach supports an independent, “master and captain” identity should tell us something.

The question is: Does it?

Losing Wisdom

This shift wasn’t a conscious decision to move away from God. It was, however, a lack of wisdom: We allowed ourselves to be conditioned by the world.

Embracing independence opened the door to loving the world’s thinking. Just as the Israelites intermarried with pagan wives and came to worship their gods, we intermarried our thought processes with the world’s. As a result, we now have come to think like the world.

So how did this happen?

The Cognitive Coup d’État

Imagine a wise leader of a country. She sees the big picture and knows what matters most. She is supported by a highly capable executive who organizes and executes plans. Over time, the executive becomes so effective that he begins to assume the authority of the leader he served. Others respond, seeming to affirm the exercise of authority as the right move.

But things eventually become unstable. His management lacks foresight. His leadership becomes reactionary and expedient. His decisions are based on retaining control. He becomes intolerant of perspectives that aren’t his, and suspicious of others’ motives. He tightens his inner circle to include only those who will unquestioningly obey him. Diplomacy suffers as relationships abroad grow competitive and combative. Ultimately, the citizens suffer most, as life becomes anxious, fragmented and individualistic.

His executive competencies—so capable in partnership with the wise leader—become incompetence at actually leading.

In a similar way, the part of our thinking designed to execute faith has taken the lead over the part designed to comprehend faith. What we can explain now feels more real than what we are called to trust; what we can manage feels more valuable than what we must receive.

The Drift Has a History

This shift made its way into the church gradually, shaped by the same forces that shaped Western culture as a whole. If we look for it, we can see the pattern across history:

• Centralization of authority under the bishops (2nd–3rd centuries)
  The bishops in the major cities began to mirror Rome’s leadership. They gained increased influence and reinforced hierarchy, positional authority and control.

• Council of Nicaea (AD 325)
  The first empire-wide council defined doctrine in a formal creed—centralizing, formalizing and enforcing doctrinal clarity (including excommunication for non-compliance). It was convened by the emperor (not the church).1

• Institutionalization of clergy ordination (4th century+)
  The division between clergy and laity becomes formalized, marking the boundary of authority and faith practice in the church.2

• Imperial alignment after Constantine (4th century+)
  The church became embedded with political and social power, normalizing institutional support and external authority.3

• Establishment of Empirical Christendom (4th-15th centuries)
  The church was established and the “gospel” was advanced through the exercise of social, political and military power.4

• Monasticism (4th century+)
  This was a reaction against the church’s institutional rigidity and perceived loss of genuine spirituality. Interestingly, Monasticism was largely set apart from the laity, who commonly regarded monks as spiritual guides and sought spiritual vitality through them by proxy.

• Scholasticism (5th-15th centuries)
  An educational approach that sought knowledge of God through logical analysis and disputation, emphasizing precision and intellectualism while deemphasizing deepening virtues and character.

• Humanism and the Renaissance (14th-16th centuries)
  Humanism emphasized human potential, individuality and human agency. The Renaissance advanced both humanism and scholasticism. It revived classic literature and Greek philosophy, inspiring diplomacy, inductive reasoning, national identity, independence, individualism, intellectualism and spiritual freedom.

• Rise of scientific reasoning (early modern period)
  The systematic method of acquiring knowledge through methodical observation, skepticism, hypotheses and experimentation. Its acceptance strengthened the belief that truth is defined by what can be measured and explained, cementing the practical trust in rational analysis over intuition.

• Reformation (16th century)
  This was the broad response to the Catholic Church’s abuse of power and corrupt authority, as well as the recovery of the Scriptures as spiritually authoritative. Most of the reformers were operating from a humanistic mindset, and leveraged scientific reasoning in their interpretive approach.

• Denominationalism (16th century+)
  Following the Reformation, Protestant groups began distinguishing themselves from each other and separating over perceived doctrinal and interpretive issues, creating the proliferation of divided denominations that exist today.

• “I think, therefore I am” (16th century+)
  Rene Descartes’ famous quote becomes a defining statement in modern philosophy, and is widely recognized as the basis for understanding. Curiously, Descartes believed true knowledge is only available through radical doubt of self-existence and identity.5

• Enlightenment (17th–18th centuries)
  Based on humanism and scientific reasoning, this movement promoted individual liberty and judgment, religious tolerance and progress. It spawned the concepts of constitutional forms of government and eliminating state-enforced religion.

• New World expansion and colonization (16th–19th centuries)
  Separated groups took advantage of the opportunity to establish like-minded colonies apart from government authority. Kingdoms colonized (and exploited) other peoples to expand their influence (often in association with the church), to gain access to resources and export their way of life.

• Formation of the United States (18th century)
  Independence and the pursuit of self-determination became cultural virtues, and deeply shaped how faith is practiced.

• Industrial Revolution (18th–19th centuries)
  Efficiency and production-oriented output—along with the centralization of money and power—became dominant social and personal realities. It has drastically reshaped how people see their worth, value and contribution to society as a whole.

Admittedly, this might be painting with a broad historical brush. But my point is show how the church was largely reactive in all these social movements and philosophies.

It’s interesting to wonder, in these movements:

• What if the church had thought with the mind of Christ?

• What if we’d chosen meekness over power, or unity over division?

• What if we’d loved, instead of … not loved?

How might it have shaped human history?

The sad reality is that, more often than not, the church was influenced by society rather than being an influence. And so our thinking has been shaped by a world that increasingly trusts independence, the elevation of human reasoning, analysis, certainty, power and control.

What It’s Produced

So now, in the church, we see:

• An emphasis on knowing about God more than knowing God.

• A preference for teaching that explains rather than forms.

• A need for certainty, even where Scripture invites trust.

• Discomfort with mystery or unresolvable tension.

• A tendency to measure spirituality by activity and output.

• The belief that right methods produce right outcomes.

• A reliance on systems and strategy to produce spiritual growth.

• A subtle individualism that prioritizes personal interests over shared identity.

• A perception that the church is an organization, not a family.

At its core, this shift in thinking is about functional trust—what we’re actually trusting. The list above is the product of beliefs: We believe we are independent beings who partner with God, rather than dependent beings who live in and through him.

“I am the master of my fate …”

Even if we’d never say it, we live as if it’s true.

What Do We Do With This?

The goal is not to fix things ... yet.

The goal is to see, with spiritual eyes. To recognize that what feels normal may not actually be whole, and to sit with that long enough for it to surface what is true.

If there has indeed been a drift, then changing behavior without genuine repentance (a change of mind; changing the way our minds think) could actually be destructive.

This is ultimately heading toward identity transformation, toward examining the patterns we have inherited and the assumptions we have normalized.

And if we are willing to see it, it may lead us somewhere we’ve not yet been willing or able to go: Back to our original identity, where we all began.

Peace be with you …

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Footnotes:

In the last article, Your Faith and the Two Sides of Your Brain, we looked at how the brain focuses attention in two different ways—one intuitively, utilizing identity, trust, relationship and context, and the other rationally, utilizing analysis, clarity and control.

That distinction matters more than it might seem, because this difference in focus isn’t just personal—it’s cultural. And because it’s cultural, we’re being conditioned. We’ve been formed to think this way, together; over time, across generations and through the development of Western society itself.

If that’s true, then the way we think isn’t neutral and objective (though, ironically, it increasingly feels like it is). Remember the nature and impact of paradigms: Our thoughts shape what we see, what we trust—literally, our very perception of reality.

That leads to a question most of us don’t stop long enough to consider: What if the way we’ve been conditioned to think is quietly pulling us away from the kind of life—and the kind of faith—God intended for us? And what if that drift has been happening for, say ... 1,800+ years?

This article is about making that drift visible.

What Feels Normal

If the idea of “cultural drift” feels abstract, it becomes clearer when you look at how we actually move through everyday life. Consider, for example …

• How we engage with information. We scroll, react and form opinions quickly. We rarely pause long enough to sit with something, turn it over or consider what we might be missing. Reflection feels inefficient and unnecessary, and slowing down feels unproductive. When we do engage, it often becomes polarized—less about understanding what’s true and more about taking a position.

• How we engage with attention. We expect immediacy. We grow uncomfortable with ambiguity and patience. We prefer microwaving our thoughts instead of crock-potting them. We embrace the clear, explicit and definitive—even when reality isn’t.

In the process, we aren’t just consuming information; we’re being shaped by the way we consume it. Consider that, historically, commodities were things like land, energy and goods. Today, the most valuable commodity is your attention. Entire systems are designed to own it, shape it and exploit it.1

This isn’t just about distraction; it’s about formation.

A Pattern Beneath the Surface

These patterns aren’t random. They point to something deeper—a consistent way of approaching the world that has become normal for us.

In the framework from Your Faith and the Two Sides of Your Brain, this is what happens when the left hemisphere begins to take the lead on our thinking. It’s exceptionally good at narrowing focus, isolating details, creating categories and producing certainty. It gives us precision, language, systems and control. It allows us to analyze, define and act with confidence.

But without the right hemisphere’s input, the left hemisphere tends to reduce what it encounters into parts. It prefers certainty over mystery, answers over comprehending and efficiency over depth. When that mode of thinking becomes dominant at a cultural level, it begins to shape not just how we see—but what we see.

What It Produces

A culture formed this way will ...

• Value what can be measured over what can be experienced,

• Trust data more than intuition,

• Prefer quick conclusions over slow understanding,

• Substitute debate for dialogue, and

• Engage in relationships transactionally.

At first, this feels like progress because it produces results, efficiency and clarity. But over time it creates unintended consequences—that come with significant downstream costs:

• We’ve become remarkably efficient—and increasingly fragmented.

• We’re more connected than any generation in history, yet more isolated.

• We have access to more information than ever before, yet struggle to make sense of it.

• We can communicate instantly across the globe, yet find it difficult to truly understand one another.

• Our pace has increased, but our depth has evaporated.

At the same time, a subtle but persistent desire begins to surface: the desire to control. We want control over our outcomes, our environments and our futures. And this desire is reinforced constantly by the systems we live in.

Fear—sometimes overt, often subtle—is used to motivate action. There is always something to be concerned about, something to prepare for, something to guard against.

The proposed solution to fear is almost always the same: Take control. Buy this, learn that, take these steps, protect yourself. Over time, this becomes instinctive, and we begin to trust what we can control.

Which, incidentally, is a principal expression of idolatry:

Selah ...

A Long Time in the Making

This didn’t develop overnight. According to neuroscientist and philosopher Iain McGilchrist, Western culture is exhibiting a long-term shift toward left-hemisphere dominance in how we process reality.

He traces this pattern across major movements in Western history—the Renaissance, the Reformation, the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution and into modern and postmodern thought. These are part of a larger trajectory in which the analytical, controlling mode of thought increasingly takes precedence.2

Importantly, McGilchrist outlines what a society would begin to look like if this pattern continued. Here’s a sobering (and long) list of patterns he highlights.3

• Knowledge would be reduced to information, while wisdom would be sidelined as too vague or impractical.

• We would engage with the “bits” of knowledge that can be grasped and elevated in importance, and the big picture would become the sum of the “bits.”

• Empirical data would be trusted more than lived experience, intuition or common sense.

• Credentials, systems and formal structures would replace knowledge gained through experience.

• The world would become increasingly virtualized, with representations of reality substituting for reality itself.

• Work would shift toward documenting, measuring and justifying activity rather than actually engaging in meaningful work.

• Technology would flourish as a primary means of controlling and manipulating life for our purposes.

• The living world would be treated as mechanical—something to be used, optimized and exploited.

• Human beings would be valued based on how much, how quickly and how consistently they can produce.

• Perception would become more binary, favoring “either-or” thinking over nuance, tension or degrees of meaning.

• Morality would increasingly be defined by utility and self-interest rather than by truth or virtue.

• Society would become depersonalized, with relationships shifting from cooperation toward competition and exploitation.

• Individual identity would give way to group-based identity categories, often placing those groups in opposition to one another.

• Suspicion and mistrust would increase—both between individuals and between citizens and governing authorities.

• Governments would expand control, justifying it by the need to need to reduce threats.

• Compliance would be emphasized over personal responsibility and discernment.

• The desire to be “in control” would intensify, along with anxiety about anything that cannot be controlled.

• Entertainment and sexuality would become increasingly explicit and objectified, as a preoccupation of society.

• Anger and aggression would rise in public discourse, as empathy and understanding diminish.

• A general erosion of self-control and personal agency would emerge, alongside increasing passivity.

Feels ... familiar, doesn’t it?

If McGilchrist is right, then what we’re experiencing now isn’t random. It’s the latest phase of a centuries-long shifting—and it has shaped the way we think.

Closer Than We Think

It’s easy to see this as something happening “out there,” in the world; in culture, media or politics. But the far more important question is: How it has shaped us, and the way we approach faith?

We can approach faith as something to analyze, define and manage. Something to understand clearly, categorize accurately and apply effectively. In doing so, we can prioritize clarity over trust, certainty over dependence and information over transformation.

In that framework, faith becomes something we grasp rather than something we live within. It feels normal because it aligns with the way we’ve been conditioned to think.

But “normal” doesn’t mean neutral.

The Assumption Beneath It All

Beneath all of this is a quiet assumption: We’re responsible for securing our own lives.

We assume we must understand enough, control enough and manage enough to be okay, and that if we don’t take control, things will fall apart. This assumption rarely presents itself as a lack of faith; it presents itself as responsibility—which is precisely what makes it difficult to recognize.

It shows up in how quickly we move to create strategy and define expected outcomes; in how we fix, solve and secure. It shapes what we trust, what we fear and how we respond to life’s uncertainties. It centers everything on ourselves—not in an obvious or defiant way, but in a way that assumes we are responsible for making life work.

Consider: How does this mesh with the truth that our creation in God’s image means we are designed to be fully dependent upon him? Or that, in Jesus’ words, we can do nothing on our own (Jn. 15.5)?

Again, selah ...

What Do We Do With This?

The goal here isn’t to reject analysis or clarity. Those are good gifts that are essential for navigating life. The question is whether they’ve taken the lead in ways they were never meant to—and whether they’ve shaped not just how we think, but what we trust.

A few questions can help bring that into focus:

• Where do you feel the strongest need for control right now?

• When you face uncertainty, what do you instinctively reach for first—a fixing strategy, or trust?

• When you encounter an ambiguous or paradoxical issue, how often do you slow down to ponder it instead of settling for a resolved perspective?

• In your faith, do you find yourself trying to dictate outcomes, or learning to live within something you don’t fully control?

These questions aren’t meant to be answered quickly. They’re meant to be noticed. Because awareness is the first step in recognizing whether there has, in fact, been a drift.

Where This Leads Next

The last lines of the poem Invictus capture the spirit of our modern Western age. It’s a declaration that feels both empowering and unquestioned:

There is strong evidence to confirm the drift in Western thinking, passed down over centuries to successive generations. And while we might not consciously and boldly claim Invictus’ declaration, there are sufficient signs evident in the Western church that the same drift has unconsciously shaped us as well.

If we are honest, humble, courageous and faithful enough to see them.

We’ll start there in the next article. For now, it’s enough to recognize that the way think may be shaping more than we realize—and in ways we never intended.

Peace be with you …

Leave a comment

Footnotes:

Having trouble relating to the prospect of “idolatry” in the Western church? Does it seem impractical or low-priority? Maybe even alarmist?

That’s exactly why you need to keep reading.

Note: This is a paid-subscriber follow-up to a previous article, Hiding In Our Blind Spot. We’ll uncover additional understanding on how idolatrous beliefs find their way into our thinking, and explore some practical insight on how to expose them.

Subscribe if you want to have access to this article (and future articles like it).

Subscribe now

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God calls us to be good stewards of our thinking. Unfortunately, my experience is that the church in the West—despite the best of intentions—is showing evidence that we don’t understand how to steward our thinking in practice. We often equate “healthy thinking” with having more knowledge, but these are actually vastly different. And as a result, though we have more access to more information than ever before, we demonstrate a lack of wisdom.

This, as we’ll see, isn’t just an extraneous philosophical observation—it reflects a tectonic shift in how we think.

While there are many contributing factors to our situation, the solution is actually pretty simple—once we realize the actual problems. There are two primary dynamics in play:

1. We don’t understand how we think.

2. We don’t understand how our brains actually work.

As a reminder, my last article addressed the first issue (and here’s a link to it):

It highlighted a reality few of us recognize: Our brain and our mind are distinct, yet they work together as we live as embodied spiritual beings.

• The mind is us. It thinks, believes, chooses and feels.

• The brain is the physical organ our mind uses, processing thoughts as electrical impulses across synaptic connections.

The brain (like a car) must respond to the mind’s direction (the driver). But problems arise when our mind allows our brain to drive autonomously. When that happens, we assume “we” are thinking—but we’re really just a passenger.

Understanding this dynamic is essential for grasping what follows: how our brains actually work.

Two Sides to the Brain’s Story

The cerebrum—the largest part of the brain—includes two hemispheres that process thoughts in very different ways. Both are involved in nearly everything we do, but how they participate reflects God’s remarkable design.

Before exploring the differences, we must abandon the old “left- vs right-brained” idea. The notion that some people are “left-brained” (analytical) and others “right-brained” (creative) is an oversimplification that has led to misunderstanding.

We have one brain with two distinct, complementary hemispheres. Each supplies what the other lacks. These differences aren’t theoretical—they shape how we interpret reality, truth and even perceive God.

Here’s a table that shows the differences:

The right hemisphere “sees the forest.” It’s oriented toward big-picture awareness—intuition, connection, meaning, identity, relationship, mystery. It’s goal is achieving coherence and contentment (joy and peace).

The left hemisphere “sees the tree.” It’s oriented toward analysis—rational process, details, language, structure, certainty, execution. It’s goal is achieving clarity and certainty (functional knowledge).

Because the right hemisphere sees the forest, it’s better suited to comprehending reality as a whole, understanding truth in context, experiencing relationship and processing our sense of identity. It’s designed to initiate thinking.

Because the left hemisphere sees the tree, it’s better suited to explicit and detailed knowledge—how things work. It uses words, systems, strategy and actions to do something usable. It’s designed to execute thinking.

Interestingly, the right hemisphere is more associated with unconscious processing to do its work, while the left hemisphere is more associated with conscious processing.

In a healthy pattern, the right hemisphere leads and the left hemisphere serves. But when this order breaks down—especially when the brain begins driving autonomously—some interesting and potentially damaging patterns can develop.

1) We Can Become Unteachable

When the left hemisphere dominates, it prioritizes certainty over coherence, and what’s consciously known over what’s unconsciously being revealed. It narrows focus.

It is naturally skeptical, mistrusting ambiguity and anything that can’t be proven. It becomes confident—sometimes overconfident—in its conclusions. When that happens, learning shuts down … not because there’s nothing left to learn, but because we think we already know.

This doesn’t make the left hemisphere wrong—it makes it incomplete when operating alone.

Connecting this to repentance and renewal, it becomes clear why left-hemisphere priority is insufficient for developing the mind of Christ. The left hemisphere isn’t naturally inclined toward change or growth, especially when it involves stepping beyond what is already known.

It isn’t comfortable taking leaps of faith on its own.

Yet repentance and renewal require openness—a willingness to reconsider what feels settled. Without this, the left hemisphere retreats into the castle of self-protection, confidently defending what it already knows.

It becomes unteachable.

2) We Can Become Unwise

Being unteachable makes knowledge dangerous, because it’s easy to mistake rational knowledge for intuitive wisdom. Wisdom isn’t accumulated knowledge, it’s integrated knowledge. Wisdom leverages existing knowledge in new and varied contexts.

Wisdom emerges when left-hemisphere knowledge is reintegrated—deepened through reflection and connection. It enables us to navigate new paths with confidence (almost as if we’ve been there before).

But when thinking remains confined to rational analysis and information, it never matures. It stays abstracted from our reality, identity and experience with God. We accumulate information, refine arguments and pursue precision, yet fail to become wise.

And without wisdom, our thinking becomes fragmented—accurate in parts, but disconnected as a whole.

3) We Stay Unrenewed

Here’s where it becomes more personal.

There are thoughts in your brain—about life, God, yourself and others—that were formed long ago. Some came from experiences, others from wounds or teaching.

Many remain unexamined. They operate 24/7 beneath your awareness, shaping how you interpret everything. If they’re never brought into the light, they continue to drive your life—without you realizing it.

They seem normal, and even trustworthy. Yet they may be false, dysfunctional and perhaps even destructive.

Seeing repentance as a one-time event won’t renew them. Practicing repentance as sorrow or regret won’t renew them. Experiencing and expressing emotion alone won’t renew underlying thoughts and beliefs.

4) We Lean On Our Own Understanding

Eventually, all of this converges into a single unhealthy thinking posture: Self-reliance.

We rely on what makes sense to us—what feels certain. We trust in what aligns with our existing framework. Without realizing it, we filter everything—including God—through that lens.

Our thinking becomes calloused to the Spirit. Our hearts harden as we’re pulled into the gravity of self-reliance and autonomy.

This isn’t obvious, intentional rebellion. It’s quieter and more subtle. We intend to be faithful, but we redefine faithfulness—from responsive trust to religious adherence. We self-protect and control as a way of life.

Even as we give our allegiance to God.

We’re still thinking, believing and acting—but now we do so within a system we unconsciously chose and yet would consciously deny.

And this also happens to be a cultural issue for the world in which we live.

This fourth pattern is the most concerning, and is where we must turn next.

State of Mind

Here’s my proposition: The church in the West has entered a phase where thinking has shifted predominantly to the left hemisphere.

I’ll develop this in future articles. For now, understand that this shift has unfolded gradually over centuries, largely unnoticed. We’re now seeing the effects in both thinking and behavior—which is where I will go in my next article.

But for now, I ask you to reflect on the state of your mind. Consider these questions, for example ...

Which seems more “real,” tangible and trustworthy:

• Theological constructs, opinions of Christian thought leaders, Bible resources, creeds and traditions
  or

• The voice and fellowship of the Holy Spirit?

When you hear “church,” what comes to mind first:

• An organization that sponsors weekly spiritual activities and affirms your personal doctrinal positions
  or

• The collective of those who’ve followed God across history?

Which better describes the meaning of “abiding”:

• Practicing spiritual disciplines and personal devotions
  or

• Living as a branch that’s dependent on the Vine?

When you hear “identity in Christ,” do you think of:

• Your forgiveness and justification through the cross
  or

• Being a living and personal expression of Jesus?

What resonates most when you hear “be sanctified”:

• Working toward holiness to please God
  or

• Remaining in your state of declared holiness?

What defines “leadership”:

• Exercising power and positional authority in a hierarchy
  or

• Influencing through serving others?

The degree to which you struggled to choose the second bullet on each question is an indication of just how left-hemispherical we’ve become in our thinking preference. All this discussion about the mind and the brain, the brain’s two hemispheres ... it isn’t philosophical intellectualizing. It’s practical, tangible—even existential.

There’s more to explore, and it’s easy to get lost in the details. But I’ll close with a paraphrase of God’s consistent instruction from the Bible about thinking well—using both hemispheres in alignment.

Notice the pattern: One thought establishes context, the other executes. One grounds in truth, the other uses that truth to move to action.

Contemplate it—and ask God to show you how to think more effectively.

Peace be with you ...

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Consider This: What if HOW you think matters more than WHAT you think?

At first glance, the opening question can feel backward. After all, Western Christians have been trained to prioritize what we think: right doctrine, correct beliefs and accurate interpretations. We assume that if we can get the content of our thinking right, everything else will follow.

But what if the deeper issue isn’t the content of our thoughts, but the process that produces them?

Think About It

We don’t usually think about how we think. We just think.

Thoughts appear, conclusions form, decisions follow—and we move on. It feels natural; automatic and reliable.

But underneath that sense of normalcy is a hidden reality: Your thinking isn’t neutral—it’s patterned. And those patterns are being shaped continuously (usually without our awareness). As we saw in my last article, our paradigms not only impact our thoughts, they can actually determine them.

Here’s a link to the article if you want a refresh:

This is why Jesus began his ministry preaching the need for repentance—metanoia, literally “change the mind” (Mat. 4.17). And it’s why the renewing of our minds produces transformation (Rom. 12.1-2).

But what exactly is changing when we ‘change our mind’? To answer that, we need to check under the hood of our thinking.

By the way, for more insight into both the need and the opportunity for mind change facing the church, I recommend Alan Hirsch and Rob Kelly’s book:

Mind + Brain

To begin, we need to make a basic distinction: Your mind and your brain are not the same thing.

Your mind is the part of your spirit and/or soul that thinks, believes, chooses, and feels. It’s tied to your identity, your will and your ability to direct your affections.

In contrast, your brain is the physical organ that processes those thoughts. It stores patterns. It builds pathways. It reinforces what is repeated. Every thought you think leaves a trace. Every repeated thought strengthens that trace. Over time, your brain becomes wired to think in certain ways—not because those ways are true, but because they are familiar.

That distinction changes everything, because it means that your mind may not always be functionally in charge.

Even though it feels like it is.

Car and Driver

Think of it like this: Your brain is like a car, and your mind is like a driver.

The brain responds to input—the same way a car responds to the driver’s input by accelerating, turning and braking. But the car isn’t designed to choose the destination, it’s designed to help the driver get to the destination.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.

But something subtle can happen: If the mind becomes passive, distracted or unaware, it lets the brain drive autonomously. Not because it has intention—but because it has opportunity.

And if the brain has been allowed to operate this way for an extended period of time, the repetition and reinforcement make its thoughts feel directive. And the more the mind becomes a passenger, the more it feels like we’re doing the thinking—when in reality, our brains are.

Increasingly, this is where most of us live. We assume we’re driving, but we’re mostly along for the ride. 1

So where does this leave us? Well, there’s good news, bad news and really bad news.

The Good News

Here’s the opportunity that we rarely realize: Your brain is changeable. It responds to your mind’s direction. When you intentionally choose a new thought—and then return to it, reflect on it, act on it—your brain begins to reorganize around it. New pathways form, and old ones weaken. What initially felt unnatural becomes familiar.

This is a biological process known as neuroplasticity, where your brain creates and begins utilizing new synaptic connections at scale. Unfortunately, it isn’t instantaneous. It takes time, attention and repetition to become established and substantial enough to override the pathways supporting the old thinking process. After all, those neural networks—many of which have been used and reinforced for decades—are vast and immeasurably interconnected. 2

But the principle holds: Your mind drives your brain—one thought at a time. That’s ultimately what makes repentance and renewal possible. Not as a momentary event—but as a patterned response of obedience.

The Bad News

But there’s also a problem: If your mind isn’t actively directing your thinking, your brain will seize its autonomous opportunity. And many of those autonomous thought patterns weren’t formed in a neutral environment. They were shaped by experiences—many of which are painful, confusing, or incomplete.

This means your brain often presents thoughts that feel legitimate and true … but aren’t. And because those thoughts seem automatic, we rarely question them. In fact, we assume they are true and accurate, and so we swallow them hook, line and sinker.

The Really Bad News

Over time, these repeated, unmanaged thought patterns become deeply embedded physically. Connections become faster, more efficient and more automatic. Neuroplasticity strengthens what’s used most. So even false or negative beliefs, fears and distorted assumptions can feel neurologically “normal.”

Eventually, thoughts don’t feel like options anymore—they feel like reality. We trust them, using them to create the paradigms that then shape what we think about God, ourselves and our reality.

It’s here that repentance (“mind change”) becomes difficult—not because it’s unavailable, but because it’s unfamiliar. To change your thinking at this point doesn’t just require new information, it requires interrupting what feels natural.

And that’s uncomfortable.

The Bottom Line

Ultimately, if our minds don’t drive our brains, our brains simply won’t change. They’ll lock into false patterns of thinking that don’t align with either God’s identity or our own. And the more it progresses, the deeper down the rabbit hole of false thinking we’ll go.

Internally, we’ll experience reality tangentially. Life will seem ... off—with no clear explanation or solution. We’ll feel hindered from receiving new spiritual insights. Joy and peace will be elusive.

Behaviorally, we’ll be driven to unhealthy habits, self-focused consumption and greed. It may drive us to rigid religiosity or hyper-intellectualism. Or it may drive us to the mental cul-de-sac of ambivalence, where nothing matters (or so we tell ourselves).

We won’t have the mind of Christ.

So how can we take control of our brains?

What to Do

You can’t change thoughts you don’t know are false and that you’re not aware of. So the first step is mind-blowingly simple—but absolutely essential: You must believe.

Believe that God designed your spiritual mind to drive your physical brain. Believe that your thoughts need renewal, and that God is motivated to produce this.

The second step is equally basic and necessary: You must prepare.

Prepare yourself—from an identity and posture of dependence—to be open and receptive to the changes God desires to reveal. And embrace the reality that you need more renewal than you think you do.

For me, I capture these two steps in a simple prayer:

“Lord, I want to be like Jesus. I believe this is your desire for me. Please show me anything in me that doesn’t look like him.”

The third step is practicing the discipline of reflection, which will disrupt your brain’s default patterns to allow space for your mind to begin driving your thinking.

Here’s what it looks like in practice:

1. Start with a truth. This lays a thought foundation. Something like, “Jesus loves me” or “God is pleased with me” works great.

2. Notice your thoughts. Not just what you think, but how quickly you accept it as true or false. Expect some thoughts to be positive and others to be negative (e.g. accusatory or fearful). Watch for what gets exposed, like attitudes, assumptions and self-perceptions.

3. Interrupt the automatic. When a thought feels obvious or certain, pause. Get curious about where it came from. Don’t move to closure or action step (yet).

4. Return to truth relationally. Reflect again—not just as information, but as something to be experienced and integrated.

5. Repeat intentionally. New patterns don’t form from single thought. They form through repetition.

This won’t take long—often just 5 minutes is sufficient to disrupt your brain’s “normal” thinking patterns. If you journal, you may find it helpful to capture what comes out of the process and detect patterns in your thinking.

Also, don’t be surprised if at first this feels silly or unnecessary—perhaps uncomfortable; maybe even scary. Your brain doesn’t want to conform; it resists repentance and renewal because it’s extra work.

Reflection is a disciplined step of engagement that recognizes renewal as a process, and repentance as an action step in that process. Repentance is a change of mind—literally, a change in how your thoughts operate.

It steps out of automatic thought patterns enough to become aware of them. It re-evaluates what has historically felt certain. It engages thinking differently, allowing you to be dependent upon God in ways you weren’t aware of.

And then repeating that choice until it becomes your brain’s new pattern.

Back to the Question

So … what if HOW you think matters more than WHAT you think?

If how you think ultimately shapes what you think, repentance and renewal aren’t just about correcting wrong thoughts. They’re about transforming the process that produces them. They’re ongoing, practical, embodied opportunities to think differently. To live differently. To become who God made you to be.

That’s game-changing.

The question isn’t whether you’re thinking. You are.

The question is whether you’re aware of how you’re thinking—and whether you’re willing to purposefully change it.

Because if you’re not, something very dangerous can happen. And for the church in the West, it may already be happening.

It may have already happened.

To fully grasp the gravity of that possibility, there’s one more thing we need to understand about how our brains operate—specifically, how they process reality in two distinct but connected ways.

To be continued ...

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Consider This: What if what you THINK you see isn’t really what you SHOULD see … or what you COULD see?

As stated previously, I’m currently in a series laying out the premise for my next book project, tentatively titled Mind Your Faith. This is a continuation of that series.

From Declaration of Dependence we see that we were originally designed to reflect God. Literally, pre-Fall humanity WAS the image of God (Gen. 1.26-27). This imaging of God highlights the first of three macro-perspectives that I call Identity.

Then in the last article, Hiding In Our Blind Spot, we saw that our ability to perfectly image God was corrupted when Eve and Adam chose independence over dependence. This touches on the second macro-perspective: Idolatry.

This article will focus on the outcome of these two truths, with some interesting spiritual maturity and Great Commission opportunities for the Western church. But first, a story ...

Sunglasses

The screen was black, which didn’t make sense. I was riding in the passenger seat of my friend’s car. I could hear music, but no map was showing—which my friend seemed unconcerned about. When he asked his wife in the back seat for clarifying details on when to turn, it confirmed my suspicion that the screen must be broken.

My entire perspective changed when I happened to tilt my head to the side. Suddenly I could see that the infotainment screen was actually working perfectly. It was a bit humbling to realize the problem wasn’t the screen, it was me. Or more accurately, what I was using to see the screen.

I couldn’t see the reality that everyone else could; the truth right in front of my face was hidden from me by my own perception.

This is the kind of polarizing effect that paradigms have on our thinking. Paradigms, as we shall see, are a major part of the third faith minding macro-perspective: Ideology.

So What Are Paradigms?

Paradigms are mental models that become established in our brains. They are a cognitive frame of reference we use to perceive and engage in reality. Even more specifically, they’re what we use to define reality as we perceive it. Paradigms effectively become the lens we use to “see” the world and how we exist in it.

Polarized sunglasses are a great illustration for how paradigms work. Polarized lenses only allow light waves from a single direction to pass through the lens, filtering out glare and reflections that come from all different directions. Likewise, paradigms filter out thoughts and perceptions that don’t align with the paradigm.

Paradigms are part of what allow our brains to function efficiently. But this efficiency brings some realities we must be aware of.

What’s the Big Deal With Paradigms?

Paradigms can actually determine our perception of reality. They are largely the reason why two groups of people can look at the same data and see entirely different things.

They’re part of why you can lead a horse to water but can’t make it drink, and why old dogs don’t learn new tricks. They’re what drives our tendency to operate from either a fixed or a growth mindset, but not from both (see Carol Dweck’s popular book Mindset: The New Psychology of Success). Paradigms are why we habitually exhibit things like prejudice and biases (negatively), or kindness and respect (positively).

We see the evidence of paradigms in the Bible. It was paradigms that drove the Israelites’ behavior during the time of the Judges: “Everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Jdg. 17.6). Paradigms were why Jesus taught in parables: to filter for those whose paradigms were willing to see him and the evidence of the kingdom of God, and to filter out those who weren’t (see Mt. 13.10-17).1

That last point leans into what is most concerning for us. Unhealthy paradigms (that aren’t based on the truth of God’s identity and that don’t align with faith in him) can harden our hearts against God. Unmanaged paradigms that aren’t continually renewed become self-protective and perpetuating. We end up thinking in ways that validate and reinforce the paradigm, making it progressively challenging to consider alternative thoughts.

And all the while, they’ll convince us that our perceived reality is true.

This leads to a dangerous scenario: If we DON’T break out of our false and unhealthy paradigms, we may get to the point where we CAN’T break out of them.

Gulp.

Clearly, paradigms deserve our attention. But first, a caution ...

How Paradigms Aren’t Changed

We can’t fully understand—much less change—our operative paradigms through interacting with them at the intellectual level. In fact, we often won’t even know they exist.

Think of it this way: Paradigms effectively are the lens we use to “see” the content of our conscious thoughts. In the same way that we see the object and not the lens we look through, we’re often not even aware that a paradigm is in play.

Paradigms are formed from and maintained by an array of strongly entrenched (and primarily unconscious) beliefs, convictions, perceptions, experiences, fears, relationships and influences. Which means we can’t manage our paradigms only through conscious, rational thinking processes. In fact, trying to change our paradigms (assuming we even know they’re present) without dealing with the root issues that formed them is limited at best and, at worst, faith-damaging and conscience-wrecking.

How Paradigms Are Changed

Paradigms don’t exist in isolation. They operate within a broader mental framework that shapes how we think, interpret and act. That broader framework is what I’m calling Ideology, of which paradigms are a part of. While this might be an atypical use for the word, “ideology” describes the holistic integration of active thought processes in our brains. Ideology, as it turns out, isn’t a set of beliefs; it’s a set of desires—deep motivations that organize what we believe, how we think and how we act.

Ideology encompasses four primary things:

1. The content and organization of our thoughts—what we think we know and where it all comes from.

2. The way we operationalize that knowledge in our world (i.e. our behavior, language, habits, goal-setting, strategy, etc.).

3. The way our thinking and behavior reinforce what we come to believe is true.

4. The role of our physical brain—the organ in our body that interfaces with our spirit-soul-mind-heart, in order to live in an embodied way.

Ultimately, we must get our minds around (pun absolutely intended) two realities:

1. Our Ideology Reflects Us — It is a manifestation of who we think we are and what we believe to be true and real.

2. Our Ideology Either Blinds or Reveals — And we’re largely responsible for whether we choose to be blind or see the real world.

The health of our ideology—both personally and collectively, as the church—is deeply dependent on healthy thought disciplines. A proposition I’ll be making and reinforcing over the course of this series is that the church in the West has embraced the world’s thinking habits over the course of its history. These habits are destructive and contrary to our identity in Christ, in ways we simply don’t “see.” They block our ability to make disciples that look like Jesus. And they are undermining our gospel witness and limiting our contribution to the kingdom of God.

In short, we’ve simply become lazy. We’ve learned how not to think in biblical ways that allow us to be good stewards of our brains.

Closing Thoughts

Let me leave you with some closing thoughts on paradigms and ideology:

• Having paradigms isn’t bad or wrong. God designed our brains to utilize them. The concern with paradigms is more centered on 1) What the paradigms are based on (e.g. Spirit-aligned truth), and 2) How we are stewarding our thoughts so that our paradigms are serving us, rather than us serving them.

• There are things we’re just not seeing. In the case of unhealthy paradigms, it is our own thinking that makes us blind to things we could see—or should see.

• We need a reorientation in perspective. Like turning my head 90-degrees to see the car’s screen, we have to be willing to experience an Overview Effect to force our brains to back out of our ideology enough to engage in thought patterns we didn’t use previously.

• Dealing with our ideology takes some courage. We’ve grown comfortable with our paradigms, and so we trust them to operate for us. But even healthy, well-intentioned paradigms built on biblical orthodoxy can begin to work against us if we use them ineffectively and don’t submit them to the leadership of the Holy Spirit.

Clearly there’s a lot here to unpack—which is why this will take a series of articles. But despite the complexity of our paradigms and ideology, the way forward is surprisingly simple.

In fact, it’s so simple that most of us miss it.

Or dismiss it.

I know I did.

In the next article, we’ll begin exploring the one truth that allows us to step outside our paradigms long enough to see them—and, eventually, to change them.

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This is a paid-subscriber follow-up on Declaration of Dependence, a February 17th article where I unpacked the implications of humanity being God’s image. This article (and future Digging Deeper articles to come) is designed to drill into some of the more critical points.

I’ll use quotes from the article to explore deeper understanding and application as individual followers of Jesus. In encourage you to use this as a prayerful reflection guide.

Here’s a link to the original article, if you want to review before moving on …

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Consider This: What if the greatest threat to the church isn’t opposition from outside, but substitution from within?

In my last post, Declaration of Dependence, I highlighted how God created humanity as his image bearers—the imago Dei—with the unique quality of being fully dependent upon him. In other words: He’s the object we are designed to reflect. So reflecting him perfectly requires that we contribute nothing to the image.

Practical translation: We were made to receive all our sense of identity, meaning, purpose and passion from him, not from within ourselves. And to do this requires comprehension of our embracing an identity of dependence.

Here’s the link, if you want to review the article before continuing:

In this article, I will explore the consequences the previous article creates—specifically, what happens if we choose NOT to declare our dependence. The answer is compelling, especially for the church: idolatry.

Idolatry is not primarily about worshiping idol figurines. It is about creating and maintaining a false perception (an “image”) of God. And because we are created as God’s image-bearers, having a false perception of God automatically creates a false perception of ourselves.

What we (specifically the church in the West) must come to terms with is that we have inherited a pattern of faith that incorporates the idolatry of the world we live in. We have adopted the world’s contemporary perspectives and thinking patterns regarding identity. The process has been gradual over the course of many years, but the cumulative effects now put us in a tenuous and dangerous position.

I get that such a message to the Western church (that considers itself faithful) carries a sting, and sounds sensationalistic and hyper-spiritual. But I encourage you to see and hear it differently. This isn’t a charge of insincere devotion, it is a diagnosis of something deeper.

Idolatry is one of the most common of human tendencies. It should not escape our notice that God included it as the focus of the first three of the Ten Commandments. It was present throughout most of the nation of Israel’s history. It was active in at least two of the seven churches in Revelation—only 40 years after they were started (from Paul’s training in the Hall of Tyrannus in Ephesus in Acts 19). It’s a tendency we can fall into as easily as we fall out of bed in the morning.

And speaking of falling …

The First Idolatry

It should be a warning siren to us that the most striking example of idolatry happens in the first pages of Scripture. The serpent tempted Eve and Adam into a subtle but massive change of perception:

• “God is keeping knowledge from you—so he isn’t who you think he is.”

• “You can acquire this knowledge if you take charge of yourselves—then you’ll be able to realize your potential.”

Interestingly, both were half true (as is usually the case for the enemy’s deceptions):

• God, of course, did know that their eyes would be opened. He was absolutely holding back revelation from them—because it would be destructive for them.

• They, of course, didn’t know all that God knew. And gaining the knowledge God was withholding was easily within their grasp—BUT …

  • Having this knowledge wouldn’t make them like God, and in fact …

  • They were already like God in every way that truly mattered.

Both attacks were distractions (the Deceiver’s go-to strategy) that drew Adam and Eve’s attention away from the core issue: Their comprehension of identity. This corruption of belief is the primary, two-part mechanism of idolatry:

1. A false perception of God (i.e. we see God as less than he is).

2. A false perception of ourselves (i.e. we see ourselves as more than we are, and so we trust in ourselves).

It is this mechanism, wielded by the craftiest deceiver of all time, that we must actively guard against. For we are not immune to it, even given the dedication of our religious fervor—which is actually part of his strategy for distracting us.

But, Jesus Is Lord and Savior …

I hear the reply forming in your mind: “But we’ve declared Jesus as our Lord and Savior. We stand redeemed in his completed work on the cross and the redemption in his blood. We have the Scriptural Canon, which we uphold and teach in our vast array of seminaries, schools and churches. We have the legacy of theological orthodoxy. We have the Holy Spirit guiding us into all truth and the Great Commission to inspire us.”

And what you might be thinking subconsciously, “We’re more intelligent than that. We’ve progressed beyond the point where we would embrace idolatry.”

I’ll concede that, generally speaking, the Western church’s beliefs are sound at the conscious and rational level. But what we don’t recognize is that conscious, rational beliefs don’t actually define our perception of reality. Our unconscious and intuitive beliefs do.

For example, it’s our unconscious beliefs that produce things like …

• Anxiety despite belief in God’s sovereignty,

• Self-reliance despite professing trust, and

• Identity rooted in religious or spiritual performance.

That unconscious level of belief is what’s most concerning.1

In other words, our conscious, rational thoughts aren’t lining up with what we unconsciously, intuitively believe under the hood of our faith. The conscious and rational beliefs can easily become mere details the Deceiver uses as distractions. He’s skillfully kept the Western church in an entrenched pattern we rarely recognize.

Just as the Israelites historically fell into worshiping Baal as a part of worshiping God, we too can fall—have fallen—into incorporating the identity and thinking patterns of the world into our faith practices.

And it’s killing our witness as the church.

Think Again

We would do well to give the prospect of idolatry some serious consideration—and perhaps from a different perspective than normal.

To begin with, we must understand four things about it:

1. Our zeal, history, theology and resources won’t prevent idolatry. They bring very little to the table in dealing with idolatry, and may actually make us more vulnerable to it.

2. Idolatry is inherently deceptive. We will only see it when we look in our blind spots—which requires admitting that we actually have blind spots.

3. Idolatry has a frog-in-the-kettle dimension to it. It comes on gradually, insidiously. It often seems positive in the beginning stages. Meaning: We don’t realize we’re in trouble until things have gotten really bad.

4. We’re incredibly susceptible. If living in Eden without a fallen identity didn’t prevent Adam and Eve from stumbling into idolatry, what does that say about our situation?

To give an example of how “thinking again” can help us assess idolatry, consider how the Western church might typically engage with the topic. Clearly, we’d view idolatry as sin. But in doing so, our first glance at idolatry passes through the lens of our traditional and widely-accepted definition for sin: “missing the mark.” That is to say, Westerners tend to define sin as falling short of God’s perfect righteousness and holiness—which, not coincidentally, also appeals to our Western guilt-innocence worldview.

To evaluate whether the claim of our idolatry is accurate or not, our next thought is to look for evidence of idolatry behaviors (e.g. “Where are we making idols?” “When are we worshiping demonic spirits?” “How are we not affirming Jesus’ authority as Lord?”). And using this paradigm, we don’t find evidence of idolatry and so dismiss the charge.

Hopefully, you’re beginning to see the susceptibility in our thinking. Our working definition (i.e. belief) of sin doesn’t allow us the opportunity to consider idolatry from the fuller biblical meaning of sin. We unknowingly overlook the historical Hebrew context that defines sin broadly, not just as “missing the mark,” but also as “missing the way” and “missing what is sought or expected.”2

The result: Our pragmatic and inherently Western concept of sin (while true) creates a blind spot—one where idolatry can flourish apart from our awareness.

To see our reality and our tendency toward idolatry, we must rethink how we see ourselves. Idolatry is primarily a matter of spiritual identity, not spiritual behavior.

Starting from the foundation of our created identity as reflectors of God’s image, now broaden your perspective to define sin more holistically. View sin as being separated from God. This perspective reminds us that our lack of righteousness and holiness are actually the outcome of sin, not the mechanism of sin.

This perspective also highlights the source of sin: humanity’s rebellion against God. And this rebellion was caused by the corruption of God’s identity in our minds, followed closely by (or simultaneously with?) the corruption of our own identity.

We chose to stop seeing ourselves as dependent image bearers, and chose instead to see ourselves as independent beings who function on their own.3

Idolatry Is Part of Our Inherited Nature

My primary point with all of this is that we are idolaters by nature. As physical descendants of Adam and Eve, we inherit their independent identity and separated condition. And so sin’s first inclination in us is toward idolatry—even if we’re covered by the blood of Christ.

The real issue with our sin condition (e.g. the “old self” of Eph. 4.22) isn’t that it is unholy and unrighteous, but rather that it’s fully inclined toward independent autonomy and self-reliance.4 So our natural understanding of God—who we intuitively believe him to be in our minds—is corrupted. Apart from faith and the Holy Spirit, our old self rejects him, desiring and trusting in other things (see Rom. 1.20-23, Eph. 2.2-3).

The beliefs supporting our old and corrupted identity are deeply ingrained in our brains, and simple declarations of faith in Christ aren’t sufficient to change them. And so it’s here that God’s Spirit must do his work of renewal, which in turn produces our transformation … assuming, of course, that we choose to participate in it.

We’ll discuss this renewal more in due time. But before we go there, we must come to terms with how our brains actually work—both for us and against us. That’s where we’ll go next.

In the meantime, I encourage you in the next week to meditate on our identity in Christ as simple reflections of our Creator, nothing more, nothing less. Contemplate on the wonder and immensity of God, and then (like Jesus) continue to see yourself as wholly and wonderfully dependent upon him.

Peace be with you …