holy condescension.

Between the 2nd and 5th of August, a party of 20-odd young churchgoers congregated in Mamfe, leaving behind the raucous hustle of Accra to stay at a retreat center designed, built and run by a certain family with a particular penchant for Christian scholarship. What was the grand idea? To retreat. To be away with God. To "be shut up with God", as Paul Washer would say. As a member of the party, I'd like to share with you, dear reader, a central takeaway from our time away.

Call me Paul. What kind of witness am I? Well, I was in Mamfe from the evening of Friday, August 2nd to the late afternoon of August 5th, the following Monday. I lived through the entire retreat; I couldn't have possibly gotten there any earlier or left any later. My experience, as an insider who was privy to the organisational details of this retreat, and also as one leading a pair of sessions, is rather unique. I hope that little introduction suffices in assuaging any and all concerns. If it is, I'll open by stating what I consider to be the only fitting characterisation of that extended weekend: holy condescension. This condescension was holy because He who condescends is Himself holy. I am speaking of the Lord God, creator of the heavens and the earth. The Lord condescended, for He met us at our point of need. Perhaps communion would be a more appropriate term, but I'm deliberately echoing long-gone disciples of Christ, whose voices reach us through the written letter, by employing the concept of condescension.

As an English term, condescension refers to the voluntary descent from rank or dignity, to relate with an inferior. Despite its negative connotation in quotidian parlance, the term is an apt description of God's action towards us. Spurgeon will tell us that God condescended both in the incarnation of Christ and in the indwelling of the Holy Spirit (see this sermon). For indeed, Jesus Christ is the fullness of God (Colossians 1:15, Colossians 2:9), in the flesh and likeness of man: fully God, fully man. He willingly set aside His divine glory (Philippians 2:6-8, 2 Corinthians 8:9) to come save mankind. Spurgeon highlights in that same sermon how the Holy Spirit not only condescends in revealing to us the things of Christ (for after all, who are we, that God is mindful of us?), but also does so as He dwells within us. The Scriptures state that believers are each temples of the Holy Spirit:

Keep in mind, however, that these temples still harbour uncleanness, are imperfect and are still tainted with the sinfulness of human nature. The Holy Spirit condescends nonetheless, dwelling in millions upon millions of such temples, across time and space.

I prepend the term with the word "holy" not only to fashion a fitting title for this post but also to firmly center any characterisation of our retreat on God alone. I wish to underscore how God met us, gracing us with His presence, perfectly congruent with Jesus' love and sacrifice. The love of our Saviour isn't merely frozen in time at some moment in history: it still continues till today and will remain, well past the heat death of the universe or whatever cosmic endgame scenario you fancy most. This is what the Christ died for, and what He promised verbally, emphatically enunciating it for those hearts (like mine) that so often conjure up doubt in the face of overwhelming evidence. This is Emmanuel. God is indeed with us: He condescends again and again, willing to visit His stubborn children, loving them back to life. He tires not! If you're saved, forget not that your Saviour is also your high priest, interceding on your behalf before the Father, using the blood He shed as atonement for sin and making you acceptable to God (see Hebrews 7-10). What Jesus began, when He accepted the mission of reconciling mankind and stepped into with those first wails in the manger of Bethlehem, He continues to this day (Romans 8:34, 1 John 2:1-2).

It is therefore not surprising, yet profoundly amazing, to see our Heavenly Father stay true to His character, which He never shies away from fully expressing. He never misses an opportunity to visit His children, as David reminds us:

Indeed, His delight is in those He has chosen (Psalm 16:3). The Lord visited His children during our time in Mamfe, and I'm certain He delighted in it. I was wrestling during the days leading up to that first Friday evening and even on Saturday, intent on figuring out how this time away would be a grand answer from God on specific current personal concerns, but I eventually let go. Midway through that Saturday I stopped straining and simply relaxed into the stream of God's glorious grace, choosing to be present and savour my Father's nearness. This walk with Jesus isn't ultimately about breakthrough and victory over enemies; it's about walking with Him. Cast your mind to Genesis, the garden of Eden, and God's interaction with Man before the Fall. A grave question presented itself to me that day, and I put it to you: if you had everything you wanted, would you still want to be with God? The answer might surprise you, and I believe it is one worth looking for. My Father came for an evening visit, and I'm a little ashamed to admit I didn't sit down with Him till lunchtime on the morrow.

Here stands our great challenge: when God comes knocking, do we promptly open the door? If we're slow to open, why do we behave this way? Are we not convinced that He cares? He prepares a table for us, in the presence of enemies, what more do we want?

Isn't that enough for us to realise His intention? He desires to dine with us, enemies be stuffed. Frustratingly, we have such a tendency to get up from the table, take up our sword and swing at them. Tut, tut. We've got poor manners. We ought to sit down, tuck in and have a chat. Indeed, it's rude to leave the table before the master. Dear reader, this is the essence of the matter. God will come to us, but He will not play second fiddle. James lays out it for us:

We often draw near with our lips, and as God starts revealing Himself we begin to heed distractions.

During the retreat, I was in charge of prayer and Bible study and so was particularly concerned by any displays of what seemed to be nonchalance or anything even vaguely resembling lassitude. From what I observed on the grounds and after the retreat, pretty much everyone in attendance had at least one moment of genuine connection to God. I didn't expect, however, to be so embattled in my own heart. Being present with our Heavenly Father is no mean feat. In fact, I'd wager it's impossible. So impossible, that God needs to come to us: He must condescend. And, just like the parable of the shepherd who went out seeking the lost sheep, Jesus bears us up towards the Father.

So, I leave you with a challenge. Cease those prayers for something, and start praying for someone. Seek to spend time with Jesus. Sing to Him. Write a song, a psalm, a poem, a letter. Go on walks. He condescended once, and that heart of His is far too set in its ways to change: He's willing to come to you, no matter the time or circumstance. In this I am also a witness; over the years I've come to exult in Him, to enjoy His Word (Psalm 19:7) and spend time opening my heart to Him in prayer. Trust me, it is better to seek God's face than His hand.