All Things Work for Good

WE HAVE SEEN THAT IT IS EVIL TO CALL EVIL GOOD OR GOOD evil. This judgment is designed to avoid confusing the two. Yet, by distinguishing between that which is proximate, or immediate, and that which is ultimate, or remote, we can say that it is good that there is evil. What are the implications of this?

We frequently present seminars on the subject of the providence of God. During these seminars I ask the audience how they would feel if Christ walked into the room and announced that from this moment forward nothing bad would ever happen to us. Everyone is quick to say they would feel an enormous sense of relief.

Such an announcement from Christ would go a long way to free us from the assault of anxiety. Fear and worry are two dimensions of life that affect us all.

Besides making us uncomfortable, they leave scars from stress on both our bodies and our souls. Yes, life without fear or worry would be a sheer delight.

It is significant that the negative command, or prohibition, that Jesus most frequently uttered was "Fear not." I have often wondered why this was so. Jesus said the words "fear not" so often that it almost seems like it was a customary form of greeting in the ancient world. Of course it was not, but the customary greeting "Shalom" or "Peace" was not far removed from the words "Fear not."

When I leave the dentist's office after a series of visits and know that I don't have to return for six months, I feel a temporary euphoria. I am free from one worry for a season. But worry has a way of reappearing like the mythical multiheaded monster. Cut off one head of the Hydra, and she grows another in its place.

The essence of fear and worry is that something bad will happen to us, that we will suffer from some sort of physical evil such as disease, injury, accident, loss of property or finances, etc., or we will suffer as the result of someone's act of moral evil against us or from the consequences of our own acts.

All Things Work for Good

To live in an environment where there is no evil of any kind, either physical or moral, would be literally "heaven." But at the present time we live on earth, not in heaven. We are still in the vale of tears, and we walk through the valley of death; we walk in this valley fearing evil despite the courage of the psalmist.

David could say that he feared no evil because he could also say that God was with him. It was the assurance of God's presence that dispelled his fear. Behind Jesus' command "Fear not" was the clear reason for the exile of fear, "For I am with you."

But we do not see Jesus with our eyes or hear His voice with our ears. He has not walked visibly into our church buildings and announced that from this day forth no evil will befall us. Yet in another sense He has done precisely that. In and through the apostolic word we have the promise of Christ that no evil will befall us. How so? To answer this we must turn our attention to one of the most well-known and comforting texts of the New Testament: And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. (Rom. 8:28) We note that Paul does not say here that all things that happen to us are good things. In fact, bad things happen to us. Painful things. Things that crush our spirits. Things that leave wounds and scars. Things that evoke grief and lead us into the house of mourning. Yet all of these bad things that happen to us are working together for our good. This is to say that ultimately it is good that these things happen to us.

Four Categories of Reality

Again we stress the importance of not confusing good and evil. We have said that it is evil to call good evil or evil good. This involves moral dishonesty. But if we fix our attention on the distinction between the proximate and the remote we gain a different perspective.

Dr. John Gerstner has frequently distinguished four categories of reality. They include:

■ good good ■ bad good ■ bad bad ■ good bad At first glance these categories seem to represent an exercise in oxymoronism.

But let us give them the benefit of a second glance.

Good Good

Good good is good in the ultimate sense. It is goodness as conceived in the full biblical sense; the Bible says no one does good (see Romans 3). Yet from another perspective people are said to do good things. Jesus rebuked the rich young ruler for calling Him good because the man said this without knowing to whom he was speaking. Indeed Jesus was good, and the good He did was good good. For a deed to be considered good in the sight of God, it must meet two qualifications. The first is that it must conform outwardly to the law of God.

The second is that it must be motivated internally by a genuine love for God.

The Great Commandment requires that we love God with our whole heart. Such unmixed love, an absolutely pure love, is not found perfectly in the hearts of fallen creatures. This is what prompted Augustine to regard our good works as being at best "splendid vices." If we conform outwardly to the law of God yet do so with motives that lack a perfect love for God, this lack mars the perfection of the work. Good good, then, is good that not only perfectly fulfills the outward law of God but proceeds from a perfect internal love for God.

Bad Good

Bad good is that good that outwardly conforms to the law of God but is motivated by impure motives. Calvin, for example, allowed that pagans are able to perform acts of what he called "civil virtue"—works of charity or of righteousness that are strictly external. A pagan sometimes drives his car within

the legal speed limit. He does this not because he has a deep desire to honor God and show his love for Him by obeying the civil magistrates God has ordained. He has his own reasons for obeying the speed limit. He may be trying to avoid a ticket, or he may simply enjoy driving at that particular speed.

He may be acting out of what Jonathan Edwards called an "enlightened selfinterest." His interest, or motive, is self-centered rather than God-centered. We even see this pound of flesh present in the "good" works of believers.

Bad Bad

Bad bad, or evil evil, may be defined as evil or badness that has no salutary aspect to it. It is unmitigated evil. It is evil in the full and final sense. The sin that the impenitent sinner commits is heaped up against the day of wrath when he or she will experience the fullness of God's just judgment. Bad bad has no redeeming benefit for those who commit it.

Good Bad

It is this category with which we are most concerned when we seek to understand Paul's promise that "all things work together for good to those who love God" and "are the called according to His purpose." The bad that we experience is redeemed in the providence of God. This means that God brings good out of the evil we experience. Again, to say that all things work together for good is not the same thing as saying that all the things that happen to us are, when considered in themselves, good things. Yet if these things are working together for our good, then in an ultimate sense it is good that they happen to us.

These bad things are truly bad things. But they are only proximately bad things; they are not ultimately bad things. They are blessings in disguise.

Often these "blessings" are exceedingly well disguised, so well disguised that we scant can see the slightest possible good in them. We have no more insight into the secret counsel of God than Joseph did when he endured the multitude of bad things that happened to him. What we do have is a divine promise that these bad things within the providence of God are being used by God for our good.

The blessings may indeed be heavily veiled by disguise, but they are blessings nevertheless.

Blessing and Tragedy

To call tragedies blessings in disguise may smack of the worst sort of Pollyannaism as we glibly sing "Que Sera, Sera" with a maudlin happy face. It is easy to say, "It is the will of God" when tragedy strikes, but it is difficult to believe it firmly.

The tragedy may be real, but it is temporary and less than ultimate. For the Christian every tragedy is ultimately a blessing, or God is a liar. I once had a distressing experience as a seminary student. I was selected to deliver a sermon in chapel on a day when the entire presbytery was in attendance. I preached on the subject of original sin. At the conclusion of the sermon I was waylaid by three faculty members and the academic dean. They were livid. The dean was so angry at my sermon that he physically pushed me up against the wall in full view of the students and presbyters present. He berated me and humiliated me in that moment; my embarrassment was acute. When I finally escaped his clutches I rushed upstairs to the office of the faculty member whom I respected the most and told him of what had just transpired. A broad smile crossed his face, and in a kind tone he said to me, "How blessed you are to have undergone this experience."

I thought he must be joking, but I could feel he was speaking in earnest. I certainly didn't feel very blessed! "How could I be blessed by this?" I asked him.

He answered, "Did not our Lord promise us, 'Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake'?" He went on to applaud my sermon and said every saint from the apostle Paul to the great Princeton theologian B. B.

Warfield, who were in heaven, rejoiced at the sermon I had preached.

Since I am mentioning an incident that took place over thirty years ago, it is obvious that I haven't forgotten it. The professor's remarks stuck in my memory bank, and I have recalled them on many similar occasions. Of course I should not have needed to have this professor remind me of the promise of Christ. The Lord's beatitude itself should have been sufficient.

In theory it is easy to understand the premise that all things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose, but to get this into our bloodstreams is another matter. It is one of the most difficult tasks of the practicing Christian. It involves not only believing in God but believing God.

In truth we may be confident that nothing bad will ever happen to us if we belong to Christ. This does not mean that nothing painful will ever happen. Our hearts may be broken a thousand times in this world, and our bodies wracked with pain. But these things are part of the Refiner's fire, the crucible of the kingdom of God.

When Augustine was advanced in years, he saw the storm clouds rising of the imminent invasion of the barbarians to the Roman Empire. He feared the marauding host would destroy the work he had labored to establish. He went to God in prayer and uttered a petition in three parts. He first asked that his people would be spared the devastation that could result from the barbarian invasion.

Second, he asked that if that were not the will of God that he be given the grace to accept it. Finally, he prayed that in either case God would take him home soon. Augustine was obviously a man who believed Romans 8:28.

In contrast to the axiom that for the Christian every tragedy is ultimately a blessing is the predicament of the impenitent, or unrepenting, person. For that individual every blessing is a tragedy in disguise. God, in His common grace, pours abundant blessings upon unbelievers. His long-suffering sustains their very existence. But despite these many kindnesses, those who are impenitent continue in their rebellion against Him and maintain a steadfast posture of ingratitude. Indeed, this ingratitude stands at the very core of the indictment God makes against them, as we see in Romans: For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who suppress the truth in unrighteousness, because what may be known of God is manifest in them, for God has shown it to them.

For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse, because, although they knew God, they did not

glorify Him as God, nor were thankful, but became futile in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened. (Rom. 1:18-21) This text spells out the universal indictment: Natural man refuses to glorify God or to be thankful; this posture of ingratitude is sin and provokes the wrath of God. This wrath is augmented with every act of ingratitude toward the benevolence of God. In this regard the more grace and kindness the impenitent person receives from the hand of Providence, the more these blessings result in judgment. There is a limit to the long-suffering of God, as Paul declared to the Athenians: "Truly, these times of ignorance God overlooked, but now commands all men everywhere to repent, because He has appointed a day on which He will judge the world in righteousness by the Man whom He has ordained. He has given assurance of this to all by raising Him from the dead." (Acts 17:30-31) The appointed day of judgment marks the point in redemptive history when humanity's response to God's mercies is brought into account. On this day the blessings received by the impenitent will become tragedies, and the tragedies endured by the believer will be seen as blessings.

Enduring Evil for the Good of God

In his book Charity and Its Fruits, Jonathan Edwards considers the response Christians should have to slander and persecution against them. He focuses attention on the value of such personal suffering when measured against the value of the reward that flows from enduring such things. He reminds the reader of Jesus' teaching of the value of the individual soul compared with all the rewards this world has to offer. What will a man give in exchange for his soul? Jesus raised the question of ultimate profit, the "bottom line" of an earthly transaction, by asking, "What profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?" (Matt. 16:26).

This question from the lips of Christ is rhetorical; its answer is clearly obvious: No profit ensues. Despite all the wealth in the world, the bottom line is written in red ink, and the "owner" is virtually bankrupt. His material blessings have

become spiritual tragedies because he negotiated his soul in exchange for these goods. Such a Faustian bargain is no bargain at all because the merchandise received in the exchange is worthless compared with the value of the commodity traded for it.

In reverse fashion, Edwards reminds the reader that once our souls are secure in Christ and we have received the most valuable possession a person could possess, what possible tragedy could befall us at the hands of men to spoil the blessedness of our condition? The most we have to lose in this world by the assaults of the world, the flesh, and the devil is our physical and material wellbeing. We can lose our jobs, our health, our possessions, and even our reputations at the hands of our enemies. These things all seem tragic to us, and we labor to protect ourselves against such loss. But they cannot destroy our souls or the blessedness the Father has prepared for us from the foundation of the world. This was the idea that sustained Alexander Solzhenitsyn during his captivity, torture, and deprivation in the Russian Gulag. He knew his captors could take his life and in the process inflict pain and misery, but they could not touch his soul.

I once walked to the parking lot with one of my seminary professors after hearing an address that so distorted the teaching of John Calvin and so slandered the Reformer that I remarked, "If John Calvin had heard that he would have turned over in his grave." My professor stopped in midstride, turned to me, and said, "Don't you know that nothing could possibly disturb the felicity that John Calvin enjoys at this very moment?"

Many Christians have been called upon to endure great "evil" in this world.

Though he was never martyred at the hands of his enemies, Martin Luther perhaps endured more calumnies and slander than any saint in history; he was one of the most hated men of his time. Anyone who is familiar with the biographical details of Luther's life is equally familiar with the torments of his soul. He did not enjoy the loss of his peace and reputation; it grieved him deeply when some of his closest friends turned against him. Yet he found his solace in a mighty fortress. He sought his shelter in God. In the hymn he wrote around this theme drawn from Psalm 46, Luther wrote, "Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also."

For Luther these were not empty words to be mouthed to the accompaniment of the full diapason of a church organ. For him they were integral to his creed. He was willing to lose all his goods for the sake of the gospel. He was willing to let go of "kindred," a term that refers both to family and to friends. He was fully prepared to abandon his own mortal life, but what he would not let go, what he would not give up, was the blessing of the gospel; he was prepared to incur the wrath of the whole world in its defense. What he did not want to lose, and was not willing to negotiate, was Christ.

This view toward enduring the evil of this world for the good of God was not unique to Luther, Calvin, and Edwards. It was characteristic of the saints of the Old Testament, as is recalled by the author of Hebrews: And what more shall I say? For the time would fail me to tell of Gideon and Barak and Samson and Jephthah, also of David and Samuel and the prophets: who through faith subdued kingdoms, worked righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, became valiant in battle, turned to flight the armies of the aliens. Women received their dead raised to life again.

Others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection. Still others had trial of mockings and scourgings, yes, and of chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, were tempted, were slain with the sword. They wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented—of whom the world was not worthy.

They wandered in deserts and mountains, in dens and caves of the earth. (Heb. 11:32-38) The assessment of Scripture regarding these people who, as children of Providence, endured "good evil" for His sake is that the world was not worthy of them.