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March 1978
O ne outcome, the Bible tells us, of this life of union with Christ is purity of heart. Peter made this comment when he told the church at Jerusalem about the Holy Ghost falling on Cornelius and his household. He said that His coming "put no difference between us and them, purifying their hearts by faith". In other words, the first Pentecost had given heart purity, and the second the same.
Again in his letters, Peter writes, "Seeing ye have purified your souls ... see that ye love one another with a pure heart fervently". And again, "I stir up your pure minds by way of remembrance". Paul says, "The end of the commandment is charity out of a pure heart..." And the Saviour, "Blessed are the pure in heart." We should therefore be bold in affirming the same by faith.
The physical term "heart" is used symbolically in the Bible. Just as the physical heart is the centre of the bodily functions, so we have an inner spiritual centre where we make our final choices, and are controlled by our true affections. It is there we are real, whatever we may put on outside. Thus


it says that "the word of God ... is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart", and "keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life."
Heart and spirit are linked in the Lord's word by Ezekiel: "A new heart will I also give you, and a new spirit will I put within you." Again by David in his cry of penitence, "Create in me a clean heart, 0 God; and renew a right spirit within me". We may say that the heart is the inner sanctuary of the human spirit, and thus of the whole man.
For this reason the integrity of this central citadel of our being is fiercely assaulted by the enemy, and many of God's people are deceived into a false surrender. All too quickly do we accept a lie from Satan that our hearts are in the condition described by Jeremiah, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?" Very evidently the purified heart and such a desperately wicked heart cannot be in the same person at the same time!
L et us get the situation clear. A thing that is pure is unmixed, such as water with no dirt in it. Therefore, a heart that is pure has no rival affection in it. Now sit down a moment and examine the well-springs of your own heart, if you are joined to the Lord, one spirit. There are two great commandments: to love God with all our hearts and our neighbour as ourselves. Has God done such a work of grace in your heart that you can say these are
true of you? I believe we can honestly say yes to both. Down in our hearts we love Him supremely with no rivals, and we are ready to lay down our lives for the brethren, as God shows us how. Many a time we temporarily fall short of these standards, but we always come back to them, for they are the single intent of our hearts. That is the pure heart.
An interpretation of the pure in heart given recently in a secular daily paper is interesting. "The pure in heart do not see things through the distorting medium of self, and therefore they are the only persons who see things with perfect clarity. When your vision is distorted by self, you can see nothing as it really is-least of all the absolute and ultimate reality." Not knowing the wonderful secrets of grace, the writer added, "That, I think, is what Christ meant by the phrase, and if you ever had the courage, you would realize how extraordinarily difficult it is to be pure in heart."
But Satan's aim is to get us into false condemnation and thus cut the lifeline of faith. "If our hearts condemn us not, then have we confidence toward God." But, "if our hearts condemn us"-and the trouble is we so often let them. The comment John then makes is, "God is greater than our heart and knoweth all things". By this he means that God knows the inner intent of the heart to be pure, and that we have no business to accept this living condemnation so disturbing to our union and communion with Him.
The way Satan does it is simple. He diverts my attention by some temptation, and perhaps gets me to respond and thus to sin. My way back is plain enough through confession and the cleansing blood; but he has other purposes in thus tripping me up. He wants to invade the inner sanctuary of my heart where spirit is joined to Spirit, and disturb or destroy that union. So he points his lying finger as me and asks, "How can you claim a pure heart, when you do a thing like that?" And often he gets me to agree with him. But it is a lie, and he is pilfering from me my central position in Christ, where the pure Spirit lives in the purified heart. He has not only tripped me up, but seeks to wipe his dirty boots on me. So I learn not to take that lie. I don't allow him into that holy place. All he has done is to divert me temporarily, just as when my attention is drawn from looking in front of me when out for a walk. I don't walk looking sideways. I walk looking straight in front. If I do glance to the right or left, I soon return to eyes front. And the devil is a liar when, having caused me to look this way or that, he tries to tell me I always walk with a squint. I don't! The side-glance is only temporary. The single eye, the pure heart, is the norm of the new life.
(The foregoing article was taken from The Liberating Secret, Norman Grubb (Ft. Washington, Pa.: Christian Literature Crusade, 1977). See page 15 for details on this recently reprinted book.
"Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you"
Ezekiel 36:25,26
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I spent long hours reciting my prayers before the holy statues in front of the altar, mixing in what Latin phrases I had learned. Agnus Dei, qui
tolls pecata mundi, miserere nobis. I
would kneel on the bare floor, thinking that such ascetic practices would purify my devotion to God. I would even recite my beads, though discreetly, for the rosary seemed more a past-time of old widows. During those hours which I passed in that somber church, I felt a pounding in my heart. It was a combination of pious fear and child-like love. I felt a warm touch that comforted me in my childhood anxieties. I do not know if that feeling was the touch of God, or if it was merely a psychological effect of all the holy things which fill a Roman Catholic church. But whatever doubts I have about the origin of that warm feeling, I know that the feeling itself was very real to me. I lived for that feeling.
Only vague impressions and isolated incidents of my childhood have survived. When I reflect on my Catholic upbringing, two words bring themselves to mind: "scruples" and "consolation." "Scruples" referred to the doubts and misgivings I had about myself and about my faith. When I was feeling guilty and repentant over a certain sin, when I did not feel that I was making progress in my devotions, when I felt insufficiently humble -during these times I would say, "I am experiencing scruples." "Consolation" referred to the good feelings I would derive from my devotions. I would often receive consolation after Holy Communion, after Confession, or during those long hours of reciting prayers on my knees before the crucifix or the icons.
At ten years of age life was already a serious business for me. It consisted of a continual struggle between scruples and consolation. The Catholic catechism of the fifties took account of every act of bad behavior. We were given lists with examples of "mortal" sins and "venial" sins. We were taught that unless a sin had been forgiven by a priest, we would have to suffer for it in the hereafter. If, when we died, our souls were stained with unconfessed mortal sins, then we would go to hell. If we had unconfessed venial sins, we would have to serve time in purgatory. I remember praying that God would let me die as I was walking out of a confessional box - with no unconfessed sins! As a child I could never escape the fear of death. These were my scruples.
On the other hand, I experienced great consolation in the Church. My young heart was easily stirred by all the holy objects: holy cards, statues, amulets, holy water, the Eucharist, the missals, the rosary. These instilled in me a sense of purpose in my life. Serving God gave me tremendous satisfaction. This was my consolation.
I tried to increase my consolation and decrease my scruples, but I never made much progress. My scruples always hung over me, whereas my consolation would leave me as soon as I left the church building. I began to question the intricate system of sins which was detailed in the catechism. Frustrated and weighed down by scruples, I finally gave up my faith in the Church and in God. Looking back, I do not regret those years. They were part of God's process in me, and those years linger with me still.
At age fifteen I met Jesus Christ and knew Him in a way that I had not known
Him as a child. Christ's presence in my life became tremendously real, and this new faith in Him was more solid than my childhood faith in the Church and the catechism. Still, there were certain parallels between the two faiths. I no longer feared death, because I knew that my sins were already forgiven by Christ, but the problem of scruples reemerged in full force. I found myself continually questioning my faithfulness to God. I doubted the sincerity of my good deeds, and I constantly rated my performance and found it lacking. I was not praying enough, or I was not sharing the gospel adequately. I did not apply myself as diligently to the Scriptures as I was able, or I simply did not devote enough of my energy to "spiritual" matters. My first years as a believer were happy years, yet I remember with clarity these selfdoubts -these scruples-that oppressed me.
The battles of scruples brought me to a point of despair. In that despair of utter solitude, after I had given up the battle as lost, God spoke to me, saying, "All battles are won in Me. Come to Me and I will give you rest. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light." I did rest in Him, and I learned that I could rest in Him because He was resting in me. The 139th Psalm best captures the spirit of that period in my life:
Where can I go from Thy Spirit? Or where can I flee from Thy presence?
If I ascend to heaven, Thou art there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, Thou art there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
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If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Thy hand will lead me, And Thy right hand will lay hold of me,
If I say, "Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,"
Even the darkness is not dark to Thee,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to Thee.
-Psalm 139:7-12
I basked in the love of God, ever
"The consoler no longer experiences miracles; rather, he himself is in some sense a miracle to others."
being aware of His intimate presence within me. My life was devoted to thanking and praising our Lord without ceasing. Even in my dreams I would worship Him. Sometimes I found it difficult to concentrate on my work at hand, because I was so filled with the sense of His presence. Scruples were no longer a problem; now I was experiencing consolation.
Resting in the Lord was a wonderful place to be, and I was convinced that I would stay there all my life. What I did not consider is the possibility that Christ might not stay. After having such a strong sense of His presence, I suddenly found myself without Him. I would pray and meditate and read the Scriptures, but my awareness of God's presence diminished until I felt that He had left me altogether. Oh I still knew that Christ was joined to my spirit as one, but my knowledge rested solely on blind faith. I could not feel Him, see Him, or hear Him. I could not sense Him so as to worship and love Him.
In desperation I finally shook my fist at God, saying, "How can life be worth living, if I cannot live it with You? Why do You keep Yourself so far from me? You know that I love You, yet You hide Yourself. What is it, Lord? What do You want from me?"
He answered me then. He said, "All these years I have made you very aware of My love for you. I have been a Rock on which you have stood firmly. Freely you have received; now freely give. As I have loved you, so you shall love others. You shall be a rock to those around you. Go, you be christ to the world."
In a very real sense Christ left me. And He has never returned. God
pushed me out of "resting in the Lord" into "resting as the Lord." Rather than receive consolation, I was to give it out. Having left behind scruples, and no longer having the consolation of wonderful feelings from my friendship with Christ, I was left with a new purpose: to console.
I have occasionally missed the times of consolation, but there is no turning back in this life. Since I know myself as a form of Christ, I no longer feel Him as a separate Person. I am aware of the transcendent God who is wholly beyond my human understanding, but my vision is no longer centered on the outer God. Instead I focus my attention on the inner Christ, who is the real me.
My friendship with Christ, wherein He was always with me and consoling me, has given way to the realization of myself as a form of Christ, wherein I must be a friend to others.
After depending on the Lord to work through me for so many years, I suddenly found Him very quiet, saying only, " Do what you want to do. You are a creator." I saw myself saddled with tremendous responsibility, and I felt as though I was returning to my childhood faith in which God's work depended on me. But now there was a great difference. Now I had the endless resources of Jesus Christ from which to proceed. I knew that it is not I, but Christ in me. But yet it is me. Now I am the decision-maker, knowing that my will is His will. To say "I believe in God" also means "I believe in myself." No longer can I go whining to God; He does not hear me. He only says, "If you seek comfort, then look into yourself, for you are a comforter now."
A consoler is a leaning post for others. He listens, he empathizes, he meets physical needs, he gives counsel, he believes in others, he loves. A consoler has faith and builds confidence in those who have no selfconfidence. Through the love of a consoler, the consoled one is able to finally love himself. By placing confidence in an insecure person, that person gains confidence. A consoler must be a changeless, visible christ to those who still need the outer support of signs and miracles. In other words, the consoler no longer experiences miracles; rather, he himself is in some sense a miracle to others. Through death in himself he brings life to the world.
The consoler peels off the layers of guilt and shame with which others have clothed themselves. He shows others that they are valuable, wonderful people, precious in the sight of God. He gives people hope and makes them feel good about living. Yet the consoler himself dies a daily death. He bears upon himself the burdens of others, trading his compassion for their griefs. The consoler is responsible for those who depend on him, and he constantly drains himself for their sakes. Hence the consoler often feels empty, yet somehow he creates life for others out of that emptiness. Even when he feels physically, emotionally, or spiritually sick, the consoler will continue to give out joy to those who lean on him.
The consoler walks a lonely road. There are many who love and respect him, but when those who receive his consolation are ready to stand on their own, they often take their leave without so much as a "thank you." Some who receive his consolation cannot really return love, because they are not yet able to love themselves. He who consoles bears the sorrows of others, yet there are few people with whom he can share his own sorrows and frustrations. Added to all this is God's seeming abandonment. The consoler finds himself all alone. 'Mysteriously, it is that aloneness which continuously impels him to reach out of himself to people in need.
Other people are the joy and glory of the consoler. He does not care about recognition, and he is not preoccupied with his own image as a "good Christian." His life is for others, and that is all there is to say.
Reader, if what you have read makes no sense to you, put this piece of writing aside. Perhaps at another time in your life it will have some significance. Or perhaps the concept of "consoler" as I have described it will never be meaningful to you. That is fine and good. I have not written this article to sway opinions. Neither do I wish to imply that God is leading us all to be consolers by way of my description.
What I have recorded is God's own dealing with me, from scruples to consolation to consoler. I have written for those who have had similar experiences - for those who have experienced this aloneness, this feeling that God has in some sense left them. To these people I say, "Do not despair. Do not think that you are regressing. On the contrary, God is pushing you into yet another dimension. Your loss of His consolation is being replaced by a far greater calling: the role of consoler." Can we accept this joyful but arduous calling? Our whole lives have been leading to it. How can we reject it?
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Daniel S. Grubb is a Professor of English at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, as well as the Associate Editor of UNION LIFE. He and his wife, Rosemary, have followed the Lord for many years, until at last they have come to know themselves as perfect expressions of Christ.
The following article challenges us to look beyond unpleasant appearances to the reality of God who is all in all. Dr. Grubb clearly sees God in his vocation, making frequent references to Shakespeare, T.S. Eliot, and other great writers.
T his has been my happiest Christmas, and I think I know why. I have begun to see below the appearance to the reality. It has taken fifty years to learn that lesson, but if I have really learned it, I consider it fifty years well spent. King Lear's Kent had learned an acute lesson while sitting in the stocks; he was able to say, "Nothing almost sees miracles but misery" (II, ii, 172).' I believe there has to be a stripping away before there can be a finding.
The difference between appearance and reality has always bothered mankind, and it is about that I wish to write. The appearance is the Christmas tree, the babe in the manger, the star, and the wisemen; the reality is the cross in our lives, the Christ within us, and the light we bring to others. Again, the appearance is the discomfort of suffering, the trauma of spiritual maturation, and the stigmatism of the spoken word; but the reality is the joy, the enlightenment, and the fulfillment.
As a logician, I have. always sought for a logical explanation of things. We are all made differently, of course,
'Citations from Shakespeare in the text are from Shakespeare: The Complete Works, ed. G. B. Harrison (New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, 1968).
but I have never been content with mere sentimentality or the effluvia of the moment. What I have sought for in Scripture is a logical explanation of God's dealings with men, and I have always found it. That is why I have entitled this article: "Cause and Effect God: The Olive Branch or the Rod," because when a biblical character has walked in the Spirit, he has walked in the light, and found the peace of God which "passeth all understanding." Only when he has forsaken the true and living Way has he become confused and his understanding darkened. When we find the lights suddenly go out in a room, we immediately seek the source of the trouble, perhaps replace a burned out fuse or repair a shorted light cord. Then immediately the light has been restored. So David, entering into darkness because of the Bathsheba affair, has light shed on his actions by Nathan, the prophet of the Lord, and repents. It is true the rod is applied in his case, and God kills the child, but once fellowship is restored, God gives him another child whose descendent on the mother's side is Christ our Lord. This does not mean God condones the sin, but he blesses the "saint" when he acknowledges his sin, and in spite of it. David further reaps the effect of his action (which is the cause) through the division that accompanies all of his ac-
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tions for the rest of his life. God does not promise to prevent consequences taking their natural course, but he does promise to bless in spite of them, "to restore the years the locust hath eaten" (Joel 2:25).
I t was many years ago I learned the lesson that I have nothing of my own. All has been lent me. When I was an undergraduate at The King's College, then located in Delaware, a Christian friend had given me sixty dollars with which I had bought a much needed Omega watch, my pride and joy. I had intended to have "God's Gift" engraved on its back, but before getting around to taking it to the jeweler's, my watch was stolen. Belatedly I learned that God's gifts could be taken away. Years later as a graduate student at Duke University, God had to repeat this lesson. My faith had been shaken by an atheistic psychology professor and I had found my ship becalmed like the Ancient Mariner's in the middle of a desolate ocean, without living water, not knowing that all the time that Water was within me. First my wallet was stolen, then my health broken. Like Jonah, I ran away to hide, only my whale's belly was Caney College, Kentucky, from where I wrote cancelling my registration at Fuller Theological Seminary for the fall. But even in the midst of the sea, His hand upheld me (Ps. 109), and a stone intended for me crashed through my bedroom window onto an empty pillow, and a few weeks later God again preserved my life when an attempt was made to lynch me.
I have found there is a voice within that says, "This is the way, walk ye in it" (Is. 30:21). It is a small insistent voice, but it is there. Jesus, united to my spirit, guides my way and makes even my enemies to be at peace with me. I have also begun to see material things as merely adjuncts to His purpose. That is why it doesn't matter whether we have one arm, leg, or eye. God is concerned with the spirit of man, and his body, clothes, food, comfort, are only to be used to the one end of proclaiming Christ as Lord to the
glory of God the Father. So Moses' stutter (I find it impossible to accede to Moses' belief in his elocutionary inadequacy after reading Deuteronomy) is of no significance as an impediment to God, because Moses' spirit was right. So Miss Francis Ridley Havergal could minister from her bed because her spirit was united to Christ's. Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel would all be considered "kooks" by psychologists, but a fire burned within their bones that made their inadequacies flames for God. As God says, he has confounded the wise through the foolish and taken the despised and debased and made them mighty (I Cor. 1).
When Isaiah beheld the glory of God, he cried out: "Woe is me ... because I am a man of unclean lips." But God touched his lips with fire from the altar. Thus enabled, this prophet responded to God's challenge: "Who will go for us?", with, "Here am I; send me" (Is. 6). Thus centuries later T. S. Eliot can write in The Four Quartets, "We only live, only suspire,/consumed by either fire or fire" ("Little Gidding," IV, 144)2 That fire can be -should be - the Spirit of God igniting us to His service; on the other hand it can be the self-motivating anguish of the materialist, who builds barns which remain empty and whose epitaph is Christ's cryptic remark: "So is he that layeth up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God" (Luke 12:21). Or as T.S. Eliot puts it in his "Choruses from the Rock": "his only monument the asphalt road, and a thousand lost golf balls" (III, 103).
In The Winter's Tale, Shakespeare tells of how Hermione is recalled to life after sixteen years. Standing as a statue surrounded by friends and relatives, Pauline tells her:
'Tis time to descend, be stone no more.... Strike all that look upon you with marvel Come, I'll fill your grave up. Stir - nay, come away, Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. (V, iii, 99-103)
In Shakespeare's last plays particularly, Christian themes, as here, are evident to all but the most obtuse reader. "Dear life" for the Christian must mean our Lord Jesus Christ, who overcame death and the grave both physically and spiritually. He alone can recall to life. That life is ours through the atonement of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. But so often, I think, we remain as statues, beautiful to look at, touch, and even hold, but without the fire that warns others around us with the sense of that Presence we claim to have within, the fire of love, of compassion, of a sound mind. His wholeness is our wholeness as we speak, touch, and minister to others. It is His love that Christ would have us share.
Dr. Manette, in Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, is unjustly imprisoned for eighteen years in the Bastille by a malicious nobleman in pre-revolutionary France. Unexpectedly, "recalled to life," he is able years later to minister to others in the same condition during the terror that accompanied the French Revolution. One of these is his own son-in-law, who, ironically, is the nephew of the marquis who had incarcerated Dr. Manette. But the good doctor sees only that his old pain and suffering have given him the strength and power to help. Out of what dungeons have you and I been called, united with the Spirit of life, to go forth, flames of fire, ministering to others in our different ways?
'Citations from T. S. Eliot in the text are from T. S. Eliot: The Complete Poems and Plays: 1909-1950 (New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, 1950).
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We have this treasure in earthen vessels,
Does the union-life emphasis upon "Spirit as ultimate reality" encourage license? Directly or indirectly this question is asked of me more than any other.
My first response is the same as Paul's: "Shall we sin because we are not under law but under grace? May it never be!" (Rom. 6:15). My second response is that I prefer to label as "growing pains" that which others call license. Some might prefer to say that what looks like license is God's unique way of working His truth into our inner consciousness. At any rate, this subject certainly needs further clarification, for to many observers union-life teaching appears at times to encourage license.
THE PROBLEM PRESENTED BY DUALISTIC THOUGHT
When people first hear union-life or spirit teaching, they tend to express the only point of view available to them. Because they are entrenched in a dualistic outlook, they just naturally translate what they hear as an encouragement to sin. Society trains us to be objective persons (see-aters) who distrust the unseen, the spiritual, or the metaphysical. We are the products of the educational system in which we grew up. Unfortunately, that system has taught us to judge by outer appearances, even though Jesus ex
pressly warned against it. "Judge not according to appearance, but judge righteous judgment" (John 7:24).
In addition, society has dictated certain standards of conduct for each peer group. These standards are enforced by a reward system which we might call the Law of Rewards. Each peer group extends or withholds favors to its members based upon their conduct. The system is totally based upon performance, on outer actions. Since the system is the dispenser of approval and rewards, persons governed by that system are led to believe that the system is inherently sacred. From such a belief these persons naturally but erroneously conclude that spiritual maturity, begun in Grace, can somehow be completed in works. Of course, union-life teaching intrudes as an unwelcomed contradiction to the Law of Rewards.
An added error emerging from our compliance with the Law of Rewards is the ridiculous notion that we can somehow repay God for His redemptive work. We are led down the path of "commitment to Christ," of "consecrated self," and of a myriad of other designations for the same dead-end. We become enmeshed in the RomansSeven syndrome of attempting to do good, but we seldom attain the desired inner consciousness of satisfaction. Our attempts to discipline ourselves or refrain from doing "wrong" end with
THE TRANSITION TO INNER CONSCIOUSNESS
To those who hear union-life teaching and know they have heard truth, the "eyes of the heart" (Eph. 1:18) have been enlightened. They have taken the Spirit's bait. They differ now in their inner consciousness, for they are becoming "see-through-ers" rather than "see-at-ers."
Though the Spirit is beginning His work in the inner man, the new seethrough-er does not yet live from a fixed inner consciousness. He vacillates between a new awareness of his fixed union with God and an old consciousness of separation from God. But in the process his perspective on life is moving from the level of what is visible to the level of the invisible, which is spirit.
During this period of vacillation, some spectators will inevitably conclude that the believer has fallen into
that the surpassing greatness of the power may be of God and not from ourselves. 2 Corinthians 4:7
equally disappointing results. The only way our frustration can ever be appeased is by comparing our meager actions with someone else's failure; or by excusing our failure in the light of another's grosser wrong. We find comfort in measuring ourselves by our intentions and others by their actions. That approach gives us an outside possibility of overcoming the RomansSeven syndrome.
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license if his conduct fails to conform to the acceptable pattern of the peer group. This license may take the form of smoking, social drinking, swearing, using make-up, being divorced, an unacceptable sexual practice, or a hundred other activities. The spectators are even more appalled when the believer now takes these deviations not as gross license, but as God's intended path for him!
What is happening? The believer is moving into a fixed inner consciousness by personally experiencing and acknowledging the Spirit's work in his humanity. I am the first to admit that many who hear union-life teaching initially interpret it as a green light for increased permissiveness. Some people need to experience a total overthrow of their old standards. But in time they will put aside promiscuous activities, for they will realize that those outer crutches offer nothing more than a new bondage.
This process will appear as license to those who only perceive reality on the performance level. However, what is needed at this juncture is not condemnation, but a patient awareness that God is at work producing a fixed inner consciousness in each believer..
UNION-LIFE TEACHING DOES NOT ENCOURAGE LICENSE
As the inner consciousness becomes his fixed consciousness, the seethrough-er discovers in himself the full identity of the One he contains - his ..not I but Christ" Spirit. Colossians 2:9,10 says, "For in Him (Christ) all the fullness of Deity dwells in bodily form, and in Him you have come to fullness of life." Since all the fullness of Deity dwells in Christ, and Christ dwells in the believer, the fullness of Deity (at least qualitatively) dwells in each believer.
Union-life trusts the Spirit to woo and illumine each individual to the awareness of his true position in Christ. We know that God uses alternatives in this matter-life to cause us to know him, to act, or to do whatever He desires from us at the moment. God means us to have the results of our ac
tions. But these results have the purpose of leading us into a fixed inner consciousness of Oneness. Admittedly, some actions appear to plunge the person into further fires of purification. However, these experiences are personal and private, and we dare not judge by unrighteous judgment what God is doing in another's life. To do so is to tread on holy ground.
We must see that life's actions are designed to purge a person from dualistic living -from separate seeing, from separated choices. These fires of purification drive him to see all outer conduct as the work of the Spirit.
The home-base for the see-througher is the awareness of his own life as an expression of God, the other-lover. This position knows no reward system for good conduct. This path results in a death for us, and in life for others. "So death works in us and life in you" (2 Cor. 4:12). Paul also calls it a weakness (2 Cor. 12:5, 9, 10). No one seeks this type of "death"; it is thrust upon him. It is the life for which God has been preparing him. It is summed up in the statement, "a body have you prepared for me" (Heb. 10:15). Temporary excursions into what objective persons call license is but a chapter in the preparation for throne living.
Again, the principle is not life unto life, but death unto life for others. "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (John 12:24). Life for others comes spontaneously as the container (the person) becomes fixed in his real reason for being. Jesus said, "He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for my sake will find it (Matt. 10:39).
Remember my earlier statement, "The work of the Holy Spirit for each person is private and personal." The work of the Spirit is to transfer one's perspective from temporary appearances to Spirit reality. He is transferring us into the fixed inner consciousness that the Spirit realm is the realm of Ultimate Reality. As a form of Christ, the see-through-er exists for others. The see-through-er has moved from seeing temporary, outer appearances as Reality to seeing permanent, inner Spirit Reality.
We need not be side-tracked by the seeming inconsistency of outer conduct, for in the spirit realm God has produced the finished product. Outer conduct is never the yardstick for Holy Spirit persons whose inner consciousness is fixed on the permanent reality. Jesus' own outer conduct was a puzzle to the religious community of His day. Most of them rejected Him. Union-life persons know themselves to be available to God for His purposes, even in the apparent inconsistencies.
Union-life does not encourage license. However, it does see through the temporary outer events of our lives to the inner working of the Holy Spirit. This teaching accepts as the work of the Spirit what some may call license. It speaks the word of faith: "For it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His own good pleasure" (Phil. 2:13).
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