When Christ Lives in Us: Cuando Cristo vive en nosotros

By Dr. Justo L. Gonzalez

This study by renowned author Justo L. Gonzalez, emphasizes Jesus' life and ministry. Gonzalez explores how today's adult Christians may walk with Jesus in specific forms and acts of ministry. Written in both Spanish and English, this book contains eight sessions on the themes of: Calling, Praying, Feeding, Healing, Commissioning, Teaching, Witnessing, and Giving. The bilingual book is a combination student/leader book with discussion questions at the end of every session.

Este estudio del reconocido autor Justo L. González resalta la vida y el ministerio de Jesús. González explora cómo los cristianos adultos (mujeres y hombres) de hoy pueden caminar con Jesús de forma concreta y con actos de ministerio definidos. Escrito en español e inglés, este libro contiene ocho sesiones sobre los siguientes temas: llamado, oración, alimentación, sanación, comisionamiento, enseñanza, testimonio y
donación. Este libro bilingüe combina el libro del estudiante y del líder e incluye preguntas de discusión al final de cada sesión.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abingdon Press
• Release date: Jul 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781501899751

Dr. Justo L. Gonzalez

Justo L. Gonzalez has taught at the Evangelical Seminary of Puerto Rico and Candler School of Theology, Emory University. He is the author of many books, including Church History: An Essential Guide and To All Nations From All Nations, both published by Abingdon Press. Justo L. Gonzalez es un ampliamente leido y respetado historiador y teologo. Es el autor de numerosas obras que incluyen tres volumenes de su Historia del Pensamiento Cristiano, la coleccion de Tres Meses en la Escuela de... (Mateo... Juan... Patmos... Prision... Espiritu), Breve Historia de las Doctrinas Cristianas y El ministerio de la palabra escrita, todas publicadas por Abingdon Press.

Book preview

Justo L. González

When Christ

Lives in Us

Cuando Cristo

vive en

nosotros

WHEN CHRIST LIVES IN US

Copyright© 1995 by Abingdon Press

CUANDO CRISTO VIVE EN NOSOTROS

Copyright© 2020 by Abingdon Press

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed in writing to Permissions, The United Methodist Publishing House, 2222 Rosa L. Parks Blvd., Nashville, TN 37228 or e-mailed to [e-mail].

Scripture quotations in English, unless otherwise indicated, are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyrighted © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the USA. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations in Spanish are from Reina Valera Contemporánea® © Sociedades Bíblicas Unidas, 2009, 2011. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN 9781501899744

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29—10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ABINGDON PRESS

Nashville

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 - Calling

Chapter 2 - Praying

Chapter 3 - Feeding

Chapter 4 - Healing

Chapter 5 - Commissioning

Chapter 6 - Teaching

Chapter 7 - Witnessing

Chapter 8 - Giving

Unconclusion

Preface

When The United Methodist Publishing House approached me about writing this book, I undertook the task with both excitement and trepidation. Excitement, because this project would give me the opportunity to express coherently, and in book form, some of the deepest concerns with which I have been struggling in recent years—concerns both for my own life and for the life of the church. Trepidation, because I know better than anyone else how far short I am from the fullness of Christ’s presence of which this book speaks. Excitement, because this is a unique opportunity to call myself and the entire church to fuller discipleship. Trepidation, because this is a task that I dare undertake only as a fellow pilgrim with the many others whom I must now call to follow along the way. Excitement, because we are dealing with things holy. And trepidation, because we are dealing with things holy.

I therefore invite the reader to approach, not this book, but the Word that it seeks to express, with similar enthusiasm and apprehension. Be excited, because God is calling you to great things. And be fearful, also because God is calling you to great things. Above all, seek to be open to God’s Word; and read this book in prayer both for yourself and for me, knowing that it has been written in prayer both for myself and for you.

Justo L. González

Princeton, New Jersey

June 5, 1995

Introduction

I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me (Galatians 2:19-20).

My little children, for whom I am again in the pain of childbirth until Christ is formed in you (Galatians 4:19).

The title for this book is drawn from the words of the apostle Paul in the first of the quotes above. They are radical words; for they describe the Christian life, not just in terms of following an ethical teaching or even in terms of believing certain theological doctrines, but rather in terms of having Christ living in us. Even more radical, they imply that there is a correspondence between Christ living in us and our being crucified with Christ. The words indicate that along with the positive side of having Christ living in us, there is also the negative aspect of our being crucified with him.

The second quote is also intriguing, because here Paul reverses his most common metaphor. As we read his letters, we frequently hear Paul saying that believers are (or should be) in Christ. Probably the best—known passage in this regard is 2 Corinthians 5:17: "So if anyone is in Christ [italics added], there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! There, as in many other passages where Paul speaks of freedom in Christ or of being made alive in Christ or of all being one in Christ or even of boasting in Christ, the image suggests that it is the believers who are to be in Christ" and that their lives are to be shaped by Christ.

In the passage in Galatians 4, by contrast, it is Christ who is being formed in the believers. Moreover, in this context the image is that of a womb in which a child is taking shape. Of course, Paul does not literally mean that there is no Christ until he is formed in us, in the same way that there is no child until he or she is formed in the mother’s womb. What Paul does mean is that Christ, having come into the lives of believers in an initial way, almost as a seed, must now grow and take shape in those lives. One might think here also of the manner in which a child being shaped in his or her mother’s womb in turn shapes the mother herself. Thus, as Christ is being formed in us, it is we who are at the same time being shaped by Christ.

The dual Pauline metaphor of believers being in Christ and of Christ being shaped in believers helps us understand how it is that our lives are to be patterned after him—or, in the other set of metaphors, how it is that we are to be crucified in order to have Christ living in us. In particular, it helps us see the value and the danger of what has traditionally been called the imitation of Christ.

Quite often, and at different times in the history of the church, Christians have sought to base their lives on the imitation of Christ. Probably the most famous instance is the late medieval book, attributed to Thomas a Kempis, that carries the title Imitation of Christ. But there have been many others. Paul called himself an imitator of Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1). Later, many martyrs were convinced that in their deaths they were imitating the sufferings of Christ. (For instance, early in the second century, Bishop Ignatius of Antioch wrote to some Christians in Rome, who apparently were plotting to free him from prison and martyrdom, Allow me to be an imitator of the sufferings of my God.) In the Middle Ages, many argued that the highest form of Christian life was voluntary poverty in imitation of Jesus, who had been poor. Some went so far as to try to fashion their dress after what they imagined Jesus had worn. In more recent times, there was a popular book, In His Steps, by Charles M. Sheldon. Sheldon’s basic premise was that at every turn in life we must ask, What would Jesus have done in my place? and guide our actions accordingly.

There is much value in all this, but there are also some real dangers. One danger is that we might overestimate our capacity to be imitators of Christ. Certainly, there is no better role model to imitate; but when measured by the standards of Jesus, we must all fall short. To imagine otherwise is to think either too highly of ourselves or too lowly of Jesus. An even greater danger is that we might substitute the form for the substance, imitating Christ in a number of things and yet not being truly transformed by him. Finally, there is the possibility that by imitating Christ, we reduce him to the level of a role model and forget that he is also Lord, Savior, Word of God incarnate.

The value of this imagery, on the other hand, lies in the fact that it is possible for practice to shape life and character. There are times, for instance, when I seem to be sad for no reason at all. At such times I simply do not feel like smiling; and if it were up to me, I would prefer to ignore everyone else. However, if at such times I force myself to smile, to continue smiling, and to greet people as if I were really happy to see them, quite often my inner attitude will slowly change. Eventually, I will find myself smiling and greeting people, no longer because I am forcing myself to do it, but rather because I am really enjoying it. Somehow, by acting differently, I have come to feel differently.

Likewise, there may be times when I do not feel like acting as a Christian should; sadly, there are many such times. If I were to act out of the depths of my heart at such moments, my actions would be most unchristian—and often they have been. Yet, I have also learned over the course of the years that if I force myself, even against my inner inclinations, to act as Christ would have me act and if I persist in it, there is a good chance my feelings and inclinations will change to fit my actions. And, as a result, I will find myself acting out of a heart that is beginning to be transformed.

If you have studied the life of John Wesley, you may remember that at a time when he was not sure he had found the saving grace of Christ, he was given the advice that, while he was still seeking, he should continue preaching as if he had found it; and that later, after having found it, he should preach because he had found it. Such advice, which may seem strange to us, worked in Wesley’s case.

Obviously, there is always the possibility that, no matter how hard I smile, my expression of joy will be superficial. I may get to the point where I smile all the time almost automatically, even when my heart cries out in pain or in hatred. My smile becomes a permanent facade that I do not allow to touch my inner being, and I no longer feel the contradiction between my face and my heart. In that case, I have become a hypocrite. Likewise, the imitation of Christ, which can really help us to become more Christlike, can also be turned into a hypocritical religiosity, where form is substituted for substance and sham for truth. To be sure, Wesley did have his Aldersgate experience; his inner life and faith came to match his preaching and, eventually, to enliven it. But until then there was also the danger he might grow satisfied with preaching as if he had found what he was proclaiming and quit longing for what he did not yet have. Had the danger been realized, Wesley, instead of becoming a powerful and faithful preacher, would simply have become one more hypocrite.

It is for these reasons that, while affirming the positive value of imitating Christ, we must find other ways to express how he shapes our lives. And it is at this point that Paul’s double metaphor of being in Christ and of Christ being formed in us is particularly valuable. Being in Christ means that he is the very ground on which we stand, the very air that we breathe. He is not just someone who goes ahead of us setting a good example so that it suffices to walk in his steps. Christ certainly is that, but he is so much more! He is also the One who walks next to us, holding our hand when we stumble and pulling us back to our feet when we fall. He is the One who walks behind us, erasing the footprints of our wayward steps, watering and blessing the poor seeds we plant, pulling the weeds we leave behind.

Furthermore, having Christ formed in us means that he is not purely an exterior support or a model whom we imitate. Christ is also an inner reality, being shaped within us and in the process shaping us—again, much like a child being formed in the mother’s womb shapes both her body and her life. When Christ lives in us, we are constantly being formed by his presence and influence.

The purpose of this book is to study the ministry of Jesus, to see how his ministry calls our ministry into being and how his ministry shapes ours. However, we are not seeking merely to learn how to imitate Jesus. It is much more a matter of probing the depths of what it means to be in Christ, to be transformed by Christ, and to have Christ formed in us and living in us.

It is crucial we understand that the process of being transformed by Christ is both individual and communal. Having Christ formed in us is a private matter that requires many of those hours in which we do as Jesus told his followers: Go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret (Matthew 6:6). We all need those hours, for without them our faith and commitment wither like flowers cut from the plant that gave them life. But being in Christ and having Christ formed in us is also a communal matter. The passage in Galatians in which Paul speaks of Christ being formed in the believers is in the plural; it is addressed to an entire church. Thus, one could say that the womb in which Christ is to be formed is not just the private womb of each one’s inner being; it is also and above all the one womb of the community of faith—the body of Christ. Christ must be formed, not only in me but also in us; and both aspects are equally important.

Paul has a strong view on the bonds of this community of faith. In Galatians 4:19 he uses the image of pregnancy and childbirth in still another way: Not only must the Galatians have Christ formed in them, it is Paul who is in the pain of childbirth until that happens! He says he is in such pains again. The first time apparently was when through his ministry the Galatians were born into the faith; this second time it is because they still have to be born as full Christians. The Galatians ought to know that Paul is not just telling them what to do and what to believe. He is also suffering as he sees them stray from their true course. Thus, as Christ is being formed in the Galatians, they are not the only ones going through the difficult adjustments of pregnancy. Paul is with them, suffering with them as in childbirth.

Likewise, as Christ is being formed in us, we must constantly remember that this is not a private enterprise and that our failures are not private failures. We are part of a single body to such a point that if one member suffers, all suffer together with it (1 Corinthians 12:26).

Throughout my Christian life, I have been supported and have been brought back to obedience by many who suffered pains as of childbirth because I did not act as one in whom Christ was being formed. For them, I am most grateful; without them, my faith would most likely have been aborted. Again, we must constantly remember that having Christ formed is us is not a purely private matter; it is one that deeply affects those around us. We are all jointly in childbirth until Christ be formed in us. When Christ lives in us, he lives in us both as individuals—Christ in each of us—and as a community—Christ living in our common lives. Only when these two come together can we say that Christ lives in us.

This is a fairly short book, but it speaks of a long process. Do not read it all at once. Take the time to meditate on the Bible passages that are being studied. Take the time to allow Christ to be formed in you. Even if you read privately, do not read alone! This book is meant to be studied by those who are part of a community of faith. Therefore, if you study it privately, remember that for Christ to live in you requires that you live your faith in community. If, on the other hand, you read it as part of a group, take the time to consider privately some of the thoughts that your study might provoke.

CHAPTER 1

Calling

As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, Follow me, and I will make you fish for people. Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him. (Matthew 4:18-22)

The Power of the Call

As we look at the life of Jesus, we see how much of his time was spent calling. In what is perhaps the best-known instance, he called the fishermen by the Sea of Galilee. But he also called Matthew from his tax booth (Matthew 9:9), the rich ruler away from his wealth (Luke 18:22), and an unnamed follower away from his father’s funeral (Luke 9:59-60). Jesus repeatedly called his disciples to him in order to send them on a mission or to teach them (Mark 6:7; 9:35). He even called a young girl back from the dead (Luke 8:40-56) and Lazarus out of the tomb (John 11:1-44).

The variety of such instances—and many more that could be mentioned—is an indication that calling implies much more than we often think. In the modern world, we have come to undervalue the power of words and names; we seem to think that they do nothing but communicate ideas and describe reality. But in the Bible the power of speech and of naming is far greater than that. Look, for instance, at the first chapter of Genesis, where God creates all things through speech: God said, ‘Let there be . . . ‘ and there was. God calls all things into being out of non-being; and precisely because God calls them, they come to be!

In the New Testament, the Fourth Gospel tells us something similar: In the beginning was the Word. . . . All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being (John 1:1-3). One could say that, before coming into being, all things are pronounced by God and that it is because God pronounces them that they come into being.

But the Fourth Gospel goes one step further. It tells us that this Word that was in the beginning, this Word that is the creative power of God through which all things are made, became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory (John 1:14). This is what we mean when we claim that Jesus is the incarnate Word of God or the Word made flesh.

Therefore, when the fishermen by the Sea of Galilee were approached by Jesus, they were not being approached just by a teacher or even just by a miracle worker. They were being approached by the Word through whom all things are made. And when Jesus spoke to them and called them, the power in that calling was the same power that called light out of darkness and all being out of nothingness. Why can Jesus call the young girl from the land of the dead and Lazarus from beyond the tomb? Because the voice that is calling the girl and the man into life is the same voice that called them into being in the first place!

That is also the answer to a question that puzzled me when, as a young boy, I first heard this story. Matthew does not say a word about Simon, Andrew, and the rest having met Jesus before. The first time we meet them in the Gospel, Jesus tells them to follow. And they do! This always puzzled me because, among other things, I had repeatedly been warned not to follow strangers. And even after I grew up, it puzzled me; for Jesus gave them no reason to follow or to obey. He simply told them. Why, then, did they go with him?

The answer, at least in part, lies in the identity of the one who speaks. The one who speaks is the Word through whom all things were made. The one who speaks is the Word who says, Let there be light; and suddenly there is light! Therefore, when Jesus calls Simon and Andrew and James and John and us, he is not just issuing an invitation or even a commandment; he is creating a new reality!

That is also why, in calling Simon and his brother Andrew, Jesus has the power not only to persuade them to follow him but also to redefine and recreate their lives. Up to this point they have been fishing for fish; now they will become fishers of people. The same Word who calls the world from nothingness into being and Lazarus from death to life calls Simon and Andrew from fishing for fish to fishing for people. When God calls, God creates. When Jesus calls these four, he also makes them something they were not before. Eventually, he will even tell one of these, volatile and unstable Simon, that he is to be called Peter, which in Greek means rock; for he is to become like a rock. And Peter the Rock he became!

Most of the time, when I call a friend on the telephone, I just want to kill time and chat for a while. At other times, I have some information to share or a favor to ask. But when Jesus calls, things happen! His very calling is also an act of creating. He not only calls us to be something, he also provides us with the power to be what we are called to be.

The Price of the Call

Still, that does not make it easy for those whom Jesus calls. The first thing that happens in the text we are studying is that these four follow him. But in order to follow him, they have to leave certain things behind. The first two, Peter and Andrew, leave their nets; and the other two, James and John, leave their father and their boat. Although these men have not yet been told where Jesus is going, it is clear that the call to follow means that he is going somewhere; and it is impossible to go somewhere and to stay put at the same time. These four have to make a decision, and every decision implies both a positive side—in this case, following Jesus—and a negative side—in this case, leaving nets, boat, and father. They cannot follow Jesus and remain by the Sea of Galilee. They cannot become fishers of people and remain fishers of fish. Not that there is anything intrinsically bad about the Sea of Galilee or about fishing as an occupation. But at that time and in those circumstances, to follow Jesus required abandoning accustomed place and occupation. In order to follow Jesus, they had to give up things that under other circumstances would be considered indispensable.

A theme that appears repeatedly in the history of Christian devotion is that of renunciation—of giving up things and comforts in order to become a better follower of Jesus and his way. Much of the monastic tradition is built on the discipline of renunciation, to the point that eventually renunciation was seen as a virtue in and of itself. At times, this ideal of renunciation even led to cruelty both to oneself and to others. There was, for instance, the legend of Alexis, a moderately wealthy man who supposedly left his family to become a beggar. When he returned home, he had been so changed by his new style of life that even his relatives did not recognize him. According to the legend, he spent the rest of his days begging at the door of his own house. It was not until after his death that his family discovered who the old beggar at their door was. Clearly, the legend of Alexis, and many others like it, turned renunciation into what it is not supposed to be, as if there were something particularly Christlike in punishing oneself—and in the case of Alexis, those around him—with no other purpose than the punishment itself. For that reason, the language of renunciation has become unpopular in many Christian circles, to the point that we hardly use it today.

And yet, there is a sense in which renunciation is