Day 21

How the Self Dies — In the Body of Christ

Today's Scripture: Ephesians 4:15–16 (NLT)

There is a grand illusion that many believers fall into during seasons of serious spiritual pursuit, and it is the illusion that the deepest work of God in the soul is essentially private — between the Lord and me, in my prayer closet, in my Bible study, in my personal pursuit of His face. That work is real. The closet is essential. The Bible is the bread. But the New Testament will not let us settle into the illusion that holiness is finally a solo project. The self that lives in us is killed, by the design of God, in significant measure through the awkward, glorious, frustrating, sanctifying gift of the body of Christ.

Paul tells the Ephesians that we grow up into Christ — and listen carefully to how he says it — "from whom the whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love." Read that again. The growth comes through every joint, every part, every member supplying what it has been given to supply. You do not grow up into Christ by yourself. You grow up into Christ in connection with others who are also growing up into Christ. And the rubbing together of these growing souls, in the providence of God, is one of His chosen instruments for grinding off the corners of the self that no solitary prayer would ever have reached.

This is one of the deepest, most surprising secrets of the crucified life. The believer who tries to die to self in isolation will fail in ways that the believer in committed community will not. Why? Because the self has hidden places that only the friction of relationship can reveal. You can pray alone in your room for a year and never encounter the part of you that becomes defensive when corrected, impatient when interrupted, jealous when overshadowed, controlling when challenged, prideful when crossed. These selves do not show up in solitude. They show up when other people get close enough to step on the toes you did not know you had. And the believer who flees community to escape the friction is fleeing the very means by which God planned to expose and kill the selves that solitude cannot touch.

Think of how the early church operated. They were "all with one accord in one place" (Acts 2:1). They "continued daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house" (Acts 2:46). They had "all things common" (Acts 2:44). This was not just a social arrangement. This was a discipleship method. The closeness of life forged the depth of Christ in them. They could not escape one another, and so the parts of them that would have liked to escape — the proud parts, the comfortable parts, the self-protective parts — could not escape the sanctifying friction of the body. They were ground together until what remained, more and more, was Christ.

We who live in an individualized age have lost much of this. We can attend church without ever being known. We can give offerings without ever being involved. We can listen to sermons without ever being corrected. We can grow old in pews without ever having our selves exposed to the kind of friction that produces real holiness. And our holiness, in many cases, has suffered accordingly. We have become Christians who can sing well, pray well in private, and study well — but who have not been ground down by the body of Christ because we have not gotten close enough to be ground down.

What does death to self in the body look like? It looks like staying when the relationship gets hard. It looks like accepting correction without retaliating. It looks like serving in places where your gifts will not be noticed by the people who would normally notice them. It looks like submitting to spiritual authority even when you could outargue it. It looks like apologizing first when the offense was, in your reading of the situation, not entirely yours. It looks like covering, not exposing, the weaknesses of brothers and sisters. It looks like rejoicing genuinely when another believer is exalted in a way you secretly hoped for yourself. It looks like the thousand small interpersonal dyings that the New Testament fills entire chapters describing.

This is why so much of the New Testament's instruction is about how to be with one another. Love one another. Forgive one another. Bear with one another. Submit to one another. Confess your faults to one another. Pray for one another. Esteem others better than yourself. Look not only to your own things but to the things of others. These are not extra credit. These are the actual curriculum of the crucified life. And the believer who has not entered into the friction of the body has not yet entered into the full classroom God designed for them.

So enter. If you have been hovering at the edges of community, draw closer. If you have been hiding in spiritual privacy, let yourself be known. If you have been avoiding the friction, walk back into it. The Body is not optional. It is the gymnasium where many of the selves God wants to kill in you are killed — and the temple where the Christ He is forming in you is shown.

Prayer

Father, I have sometimes hidden from Your body in the name of pursuing You more closely. Forgive me. Show me where I have used solitude as a refuge from the sanctifying friction You meant to use to shape me. Bring me back into the body, into the friction, into the joints and ligaments where Your Spirit is at work in real relationships. Let the body of Christ be the gymnasium of my dying and the temple of my growing. Amen.

Today's Challenge

Identify one relationship in the body of Christ where you have been avoiding the friction. Today, lean in. Have the conversation. Receive the correction. Make the apology. Stay where you wanted to leave. Let the body do its sanctifying work.

"The self has hiding places that only the body of Christ can reach; flee the body, and the self lives on undisturbed."