Entire Sanctification

The House Has a New Owner

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Since my mom died, my brothers and I have faced a task that eventually comes to almost every family: cleaning out her house.

There is nothing particularly unusual about cleaning out a house. You open drawers. You empty closets. You decide what to keep, what to give away, what someone else in the family might want, and what simply needs to be thrown away. Except when it is your mother’s house, nothing is quite that simple.

A drawer isn’t just a drawer. You open it and find something you remember from childhood. A closet contains clothes you still picture her wearing. A cabinet holds something you haven’t seen in thirty years, and suddenly you aren’t standing in an empty house anymore. You’re ten years old again.

Cleaning out Mom’s house brought floods of memories. But it also brought another realization. Life can become incredibly cluttered without us ever noticing it.

Very few of us wake up one morning and decide, “I think I’ll fill every drawer, closet and cabinet in my house with things I may never use again.” It just happens.

We put something in a drawer because we might need it someday. We move something to a closet because we don’t know what else to do with it. We keep something because it belonged to somebody we loved. We hang on to something because throwing it away feels wasteful. One thing becomes ten things. Ten things become a closet full of things. Eventually we stop noticing.

It isn’t necessarily bad stuff. Some of it is valuable. Some of it is sentimental. Some of it once served an important purpose. But somewhere along the way, the house became cluttered.

As we worked through Mom’s house, another thought slowly began forming in my mind. This is what Jesus wants to do with my house. Not the house where Vanessa and I live. Me. My spiritual house.

The House Gets a New Owner

When we come to faith in Jesus Christ, something far more significant happens than inviting Jesus into our lives. The house—my house—gets a new Owner. We deed the property to him.

Paul puts it rather bluntly:

“You do not belong to yourself, for God bought you with a high price.”
—1 Corinthians 6:19–20 NLT

The deed has changed hands.

But here’s where things get interesting. We still live in the house. And living in a house you used to own after someone else has taken ownership can get uncomfortable. Because the new Owner begins opening drawers.

“What’s this?”

Oh, I’ve had that for years.

“Do you need it?”

Well, no. But I’ve always had it.

Then he opens a closet.

Jesus, we really don’t need to go in there.

But he does.

Opening the Drawers

There are resentments we’ve stored away. Old wounds we’ve carefully boxed up. Ambitions we haven’t quite surrendered. Habits we’ve learned to live with. Attitudes we’ve stopped questioning. Fears we’ve carried so long that we think they’re part of the house.

Some things aren’t necessarily sinful at all. They simply no longer belong in the life Jesus is creating. And some things carry memories. That’s when cleaning gets difficult. Because Jesus isn’t sorting through somebody else’s house. He’s sorting through mine. He starts rearranging furniture.

Wait a minute. That chair has always been there.

“I know.”

I like it there.

“I know.”

Then why are you moving it?

“Because this is my house now.”

And there, I think, is much of the uncomfortable work of sanctification. By grace, we gladly gave Jesus the house. We meant it when we did. But we didn’t necessarily understand everything that new ownership would mean.

We knew about the things lying around in plain sight. Those were often among the first things we expected Jesus to change. But then he starts opening drawers. Then closets. Then boxes we haven’t opened ourselves in years. And sometimes he points toward a door and we realize we’ve been living in this house so long that we had almost forgotten there was a room behind it.

“I’d like to go in there.”

There?

“Yes.”

Why?

“Because it’s mine.”

The Whole House is His

That may be one way of understanding what we Wesleyans have traditionally called entire sanctification. It does not mean Jesus has finished cleaning the house. It means there are no rooms we knowingly refuse to let him enter.

There comes a point when we stop following him from room to room negotiating over every drawer and simply say, “The whole house is yours.”

And that is more than another step in the cleaning process. It is a moment of surrender—a decisive work of grace in which I quit deciding which parts of the house Jesus may have. By grace, I hand him every key I know I possess. I may not yet know everything stored in every room, but there is no room I knowingly reserve for myself. The question is no longer, “How much of this house will I let Jesus change?” The answer has become, “All of it. Whatever you want. Wherever you want to go. The whole house is yours.”

Not just the living room where everybody can see. Not just the rooms I’ve already cleaned up. The closets. The drawers. The attic. The boxes. The room at the end of the hall. All of it. Yours.

Ownership and Renovation

That surrender can be real and decisive. But it doesn’t mean the work is finished. In fact, it may mean the real work has only begun. Because complete ownership is not the same thing as completed renovation.

Tomorrow Jesus may open another drawer. Next year he may move another piece of furniture. Ten years from now he may show me something that has been sitting in a corner my entire life, something I have walked past ten thousand times without ever realizing it didn’t belong there. That’s not evidence that I never gave him the house. It may be evidence that he loves me enough to keep working on it.

John Wesley understood sanctification as both something God does decisively and something in which we continue to grow. There is a genuine surrender of ourselves completely to God, but there is also a lifetime of discovering what that surrender means.

Maybe that’s because we don’t know our own houses nearly as well as we think we do. We know the rooms we use every day. Jesus knows what’s behind the walls. And grace keeps working. Opening. Sorting. Cleaning. Repairing. Rearranging. Sometimes throwing away. Sometimes uncovering something beautiful that had been buried beneath years of clutter. And all the while, we are still living in the house.

Trusting the New Owner

Maybe that’s one reason sanctification can be uncomfortable. The old owner still has opinions about where the furniture ought to go. I certainly do. But I’m learning that the question isn’t whether I like every change Jesus makes. The question is whether I trust the Owner.

After all, he didn’t purchase this house in order to destroy it. He bought it because he loves it. And he intends to make it into what it was always meant to be.

So perhaps the prayer of sanctification isn’t nearly as complicated as we sometimes make it: Jesus, this house belongs to you. Whatever you find, whatever needs to change, whatever room I have yet to discover—remind me whose house this is.

As my brothers and I worked our way through Mom’s house, every drawer we emptied and every closet we opened made the house a little less like the house we had always known. That was tough.

Those things were part of her life. Our life with her. Some brought laughter. Some brought tears. Some made us wonder why in the world she had kept them. And some were almost impossible to let go. But eventually, everything had to be examined.

Maybe that’s what I didn’t understand about sanctification for a long time. When I gave my life to Christ, I gave him the house. But I brought a lifetime of stuff with me.

Jesus keeps cleaning, sorting and rearranging, not because he despises the house, but because he loves the person who still lives there. And perhaps that’s the grace I’ve begun to see differently. Jesus didn’t buy the house so he could throw me out. He bought the house so that, room by room, it might become a place shaped by his presence.

So, when he opens the next drawer, perhaps I don’t need to become defensive. When he points toward the next closet, perhaps I don’t need to hide the key. And when he decides the furniture needs rearranging, perhaps I can trust that he sees something I don’t.

After all, the house isn’t mine anymore. I still live here, but thanks be to God, I don’t live here alone.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

Why I Am an Evangelical Methodist

/ pastorlynnmalone / 2 Comments

People occasionally ask me why I am a member of the Evangelical Methodist Church, yet I pastor a Global Methodist congregation. It’s a fair question.

I spent more than twenty-eight years as a pastor in the United Methodist Church. I served churches large and small. I served for two years as a district superintendent. Methodism shaped me as a pastor and as a disciple, and I remain deeply grateful for many of the people and experiences that were part of those years. But today I am an ordained elder in the Evangelical Methodist Church. Why?

The answer begins with something very simple: They gave me a home when I didn’t have one.

When I Didn’t Have a Home

My introduction to the Evangelical Methodist Church came long before I ever imagined becoming part of it. In 1995, Rev. Dr. Fred Layman was one of my Supervised Ministry professors in seminary. Dr. Layman was a member of the Evangelical Methodist Church, and through him I learned for the first time that there even was such a thing as the EMC.

I wasn’t looking for another denomination. I was a United Methodist pastor and fully expected to remain one. The EMC was simply this little Methodist denomination that I learned about because one of my professors happened to be part of it. I certainly didn’t imagine that twenty-five years later it would become my denominational home.

In February 2019, I served as a delegate to the called General Conference session of the United Methodist Church. That experience became a significant turning point for me. After considerable prayer and discernment, I concluded that I could no longer remain in the denomination I had served for most of my adult life. By August, I had surrendered my United Methodist clergy credentials. What I didn’t have was somewhere else to go.

For almost a year, I was spiritually homeless. I still loved the Church. I still believed God had called me to ministry. I was still Methodist—Wesleyan down to my toes, as they say—but I no longer had a denominational home.

Then, in July 2020, the Evangelical Methodist Church gave me one. There is something powerful about being welcomed when you aren’t quite sure where you belong. The EMC received me, recognized my calling and ministry, and gave me a place to serve. I will always be grateful for that.

But gratitude alone doesn’t explain why I’m still here. Gratitude brought me through the door. Conviction is why I’m still here.

I Have Found a Theological Home

One of the things that increasingly attracts me to the EMC is its emphasis on Wesleyan holiness. In some ways, that attraction reaches all the way back to my childhood. I grew up next door to Pentecostal cousins, and occasionally I would attend worship with them. Those experiences made an impression on me. There was an expectancy about the work of the Holy Spirit that was different from much of what I experienced elsewhere. Then came the charismatic movement of the 1970s, right about the time I was coming of age. That movement reached even our little church in Chatham, LA.

So, from an early age I was exposed to Christians who believed there was more to the work of the Holy Spirit than simply getting us saved and getting us to heaven. They expected God to continue doing something in us. That stayed with me.

As I grew older and eventually entered ministry, however, I began to struggle with some elements of Pentecostal theology. In particular, I had difficulty with the emphasis on speaking in tongues as the evidence of a subsequent work of the Holy Spirit.

Wesleyan holiness theology eventually gave me another framework for understanding something that had attracted me for much of my life. The holiness tradition retains the expectation of a deeper work of grace. It has traditionally spoken of entire sanctification as a “second work of grace” or even a “second blessing.” But the emphasis isn’t on speaking in tongues. The emphasis is on holiness of heart and life.

God doesn’t merely want to forgive us. God wants to transform us. Grace isn’t finished with us when we are converted. The Holy Spirit continues working to make us more like Jesus. And there comes a place in the disciple’s journey where we are called to surrender ourselves fully to the sanctifying work of God.

I’m still working through exactly how I understand some of that language and how I understand it in my own experience. I can’t necessarily point to a particular date on the calendar and say, “There. That’s when it happened.” But I have become increasingly convinced that conversion cannot be the end of what God’s grace intends to accomplish in us.

One way I’ve come to think about sanctification is that when we come to Christ, the house gets a new Owner. Sanctification is the work of that new Owner opening closets, cleaning out drawers, rearranging furniture and sometimes showing us things we’ve kept around far too long. The goal isn’t merely that Jesus occupies a room in the house. The whole house belongs to him.

I find a theological home for that conviction in the Evangelical Methodist Church.

I Like Being Part of a Small Denomination

There is another reason I love the EMC that isn’t nearly as theological. It’s small. And I mean that as a compliment. Actually, there are only a few more congregations in the entirety of the United States than there were congregations in the district I served as District Superintendent in the UMC.

After spending most of my ministry in a large denomination, I’ve discovered something refreshing about being part of a denomination where it is possible to know one another.

I know our denominational leaders. They know me. They aren’t simply names printed beneath titles on an organizational chart. They’re people I can talk to, pray with, disagree with, eat with and call when I need something. There is something healthy about that kind of accessibility.

At our General Conference this summer, I was reminded again how much I value that. These aren’t distant denominational officials I know only by title. They’re brothers and sisters in ministry I actually know. Seriously, every congregation in the connection was represented. Every pastor was present. In all my years in the UMC, I never experienced anything like that.

Small doesn’t mean insignificant. And large certainly doesn’t mean bad. There are strengths and weaknesses that come with both. But at this stage of my life and ministry, I have discovered that I value relationships more than organizational machinery. I like knowing the people with whom I’m doing ministry. I like being known by them.

The EMC feels less like an institution I belong to and more like a family of churches and pastors with whom I share ministry. That matters to me.

I Like Simple

I also appreciate the relative simplicity of the EMC. I’ve spent enough years in church meetings to know that Methodists are capable of turning almost anything into a committee. And then appointing a subcommittee to study it. And then requiring a report from the subcommittee so the original committee can discuss it at the next meeting. Oh, and let’s not forget the potato salad—well actually, that part was good. But I don’t miss the endless meetings.

There is accountability in the EMC. There is structure. There are reports that have to be completed and meetings that need to happen. Any denomination needs those things. But the machinery doesn’t overwhelm the mission.

The paperwork is relatively simple and can be completed online in a matter of minutes. The denominational structure is relatively simple. There aren’t endless layers of meetings demanding the time and energy of pastors and congregations. I appreciate that more than I probably would have twenty years ago.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that the church’s structures should exist to support ministry rather than ministry existing to support the church’s structures.

I want to preach the gospel. I want to make disciples. I want to pastor people. I want to help people become more like Jesus. If our denominational machinery helps us do those things, wonderful. If maintaining the machinery begins consuming the energy we need to do those things, something has gotten out of order.

I’ve found the simplicity of the EMC refreshing.

Why I Have Stayed

There is one other part of the story worth mentioning. When I became part of the Evangelical Methodist Church in 2020, the Global Methodist Church did not yet exist. So, I didn’t choose the EMC over the GMC. There was no GMC to choose at the time.

Since the GMC was formed, however, I have been approached numerous times about becoming part of it. I’ve chosen to remain where I am.

That isn’t because I’m opposed to the Global Methodist Church. I’m not. I have friends there. I currently serve a congregation in the GMC. I want the GMC to succeed in its mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ and spreading scriptural holiness across the globe.

But somewhere along the way, something changed for me. The Evangelical Methodist Church stopped being simply the denomination that gave me somewhere to belong when I needed a home. It became my church.

Its Wesleyan holiness theology increasingly resonates with what I believe about the disciple’s life. Its size allows relationships that I have come to value deeply. Its leadership is accessible. Its structure is relatively simple. And its emphasis on holiness keeps calling me toward the kind of disciple—and pastor—I believe Jesus wants me to become.

I’m not suggesting the Evangelical Methodist Church is perfect. That would be a particularly strange claim coming from a guy who has a website called Not the Perfect Pastor. Every denomination has its weaknesses. Every denomination has things it needs to do better. The EMC is no exception. 

One example is our language around children and baptism. I remain uncomfortable with the option the EMC offers of dedicating children rather than baptizing them, because my understanding of Wesleyan sacramental theology leads me strongly toward infant baptism. 

That’s one place where I continue to wrestle with my own denomination. But I’ve reached a place in my life where I’m less interested in finding the perfect denomination than I am in being faithful where God has placed me.

Almost thirty years ago, Dr. Fred Layman introduced me to a little denomination I had never heard of. Twenty-five years later, that denomination welcomed me when I didn’t have a home. And over the years since, I’ve discovered something I couldn’t have known then: I wasn’t merely looking for somewhere to land. I was finding home.

Gratitude brought me through the door. Conviction is why I’m still here.

And that, my friends, is why I am an Evangelical Methodist.

Until next time, keep looking up…

If any of my reflections encouraged or challenged you, follow Not the Perfect Pastor on Facebook for more conversations about faith, ministry, and becoming faithful disciples of Jesus.

Not Nearly Enough…

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A friend asked me a question this week. It was a simple question asked in sincerity, but it challenged me in a way I haven’t been challenged since I left full-time ministry.

What was the question? “How common in your career did you see pastors and leaders teaching entire sanctification?”

I had to think real hard the last time I heard a sermon on entire sanctification. Honestly, I couldn’t remember one. Honestly, I had to check my sermon file to see if I had ever preached one. Luckily, I found ONE sermon in my file. Entire sanctification is obviously something that was never high on my list of priorities to preach and teach.

Well, if it was impossible for me to remember if I had preached a sermon on entire sanctification, it was impossible to remember hearing one. I could only answer my friend with, “In The United Methodist Church, rarely!”

Perhaps that is what is wrong with The United Methodist Church (or any other Wesleyan denomination). The doctrine of entire sanctification lies at the heart of Wesleyan theology, and yet we (meaning me) rarely heard it preached (or preached it) from a Wesleyan pulpit.

Sure, we mentioned it (or heard it mentioned) in passing, but we never dug deeply into it or spent too much time on it. Let’s face it. When we pastors and laity went to Annual Conference, we didn’t get deep dives into Wesleyan theology. We got motivational speeches and rah-rah talks about best practices in ministry that we could take back to our congregations.

Same thing when we attended leadership conferences. Seriously, how many preachers (and laity) would ever sign up for a conference entitled “Sanctification Summit?” Nah! Not many. Instead, we’d rather flock to conferences with names like “Refuel,” or “The Global Leadership Summit,” or “Disciple Making Summit,” or the “Orange Conference” (what do oranges have to do with ministry?). After all, we want to grow our churches. I mean, isn’t that the point?

Entire Sanctification

Unless you’re a pastor in the Wesleyan tradition, you’re probably asking yourself, “What does he mean by entire sanctification?” I’m glad you asked.

Rev. John Wesley

Sanctification is a $3 theological word that means “holiness.” Well, if we don’t like the word sanctification, we probably like the word holiness even less. Me? Holy? Never! Yet, holiness is at the heart of John Wesley‘s theology, and we Wesleyans ought to be teaching it! Maybe that’s the key to our church growth? Maybe holiness is what will make the church stand out from the culture?

For most folks, holiness is reserved for monks, missionaries, mystics and martyrs, not everyday Mark and Mary. Nothing could be further from the truth. It was Chuck Colson who said, “Holiness is the everyday business of every Christian. It evidences itself in the decisions we make and things we do, hour by hour, day by day.”

Colson is correct, and his statement echoes the words of the Apostle Paul written to the Church at Thessolinica two thousand years ago. God’s will for our lives is holiness. Paul says so right there in chapter 4, verse 3: God wants you to be holy, so you should keep clear of all sexual sin. The NIV translates it this way: It is God’s will that you should be sanctified: that you should avoid sexual immorality. The KJV says it this way: For this is the will of God, even your sanctification.

Avoiding Holiness

One reason we shy away from holiness as a way of life is because of the “holier-than-thou” crowd. Actually, “holier-than-thou” is not really holiness at all. In Jesus’ day, the “holier-than-thou” crowd turned out to be the Pharisees—arrogant, prideful and self-righteous. Certainly not the traits Jesus would applaud and want his disciples to emulate. Rather, it was the Pharisees for whom Jesus reserved his most scathing condemnations.     

Another reason we might shy away from the word holiness is the word’s close association with the “holiness” movements of the late-19th century, and the Pentecostal and charismatic movements of the mid-to-late 20th century (which actually had their genesis in the Wesleyan tradition).

The extremes of those movements gave too many people in the church permission to separate themselves from holiness. Use whatever excuse we may to lay claim to our own unholiness, it doesn’t change the fact that God’s will for our lives is for us to be holy.

Perhaps a third reason we shy away from the teaching of holiness (entire sanctification) is because we confuse it with “perfection.” We think we have to be perfect, and after all, no one is perfect (boy! don’t I know that to be true?). How can I teach what I am not? How can I be what is impossible to be? Well, let’s go back to Wesley…

The Heart of John Wesley’s Theology

John Wesley helps us understand better in his A Plain Account of Christian Perfection. Holiness is not sinless perfection. Unconscious sin will always remain. No matter what level of holiness we attain, there will always be more room to grow. This fact helps us live in humility. It’s like Jesus would tell the Pharisees, “Take the log out of your own eye before you complain about the speck in your neighbor’s.” Knowing we have further room to grow keeps us from the holier-than-thou attitude.

Wesley would further say that holiness (or perfection) does not mean freedom from errors or mistakes. We’ll always have inaccurate perceptions, deal with deceptive apperances, have clouded memories and distorted opinions based on faulty information. It does not mean the sin nature has been eradicated. The seed of the sin nature still exists, and abiding outside of God’s grace leads to the sin nature conquering us.

And, Lord help us, holiness is not about freedom from temptations. As a matter of fact, Satan’s attacks will likely increase because he thinks he’s losing control.     

Well, if holiness is not that, what is it? For Wesley, as for the Apostle Paul, it is a heart full of love—love for God and love for neighbor. According to Paul, if we love God and love our neighbor, it changes our conduct. As our love for others increases, God establishes our hearts blameless in holiness. Our holiness is reflected in the way we treat others.

Waiting for Sanctification

Wesley, in his sermon The Scripture Way of Salvation would say it thusly:

“It is thus that we wait for entire sanctification; for a full salvation from all our sins, –from pride, self-will, anger, unbelief; or, as the Apostle expresses it, ‘”‘go unto perfection.'”‘ But what is perfection The word has various senses: here it means perfect love. It is love excluding sin; love filling the heart, taking up the whole capacity of the soul. It is love ‘”‘rejoicing evermore, praying without ceasing, in everything giving thanks’.”

“…we wait for entire sanctification…”

We wait. Sanctification is not an overnight thing. Sanctification is growing in grace. Sanctification is a moment-by-moment, day-by-day decision on our part. Yes, it is done through the power of the Holy Spirit, by the surrender of our will to His, but surrender is done daily by our choice–that’s called “free will.”

Attaining and Maintaining

Don’t think you can attain holiness (entire sanctification)? Oh, I think you underestimate the power of grace. Also, how uncouth would it be for the Lord to ask something of us that He knew we couldn’t achieve?

John Wesley said it this way: “Christ died to deliver sinners from not only the guilt but also the power of sin.” Our salvation (which is God’s will for our lives) would be an incomplete salvation unless it delivered us from sin’s power as well as sin’s penalty. God never intended the cross to address only the “judicial” matters of our sin. God equally intended the cross to reshape those who believe toward the holiness to which He calls us.

Salvation is the simplest thing to attain, but it is the hardest thing to maintain. It is in the maintaining that we reach what Wesley termed “entire sanctification, for a full salvation from our sins…” Salvation is attained through the simple act of believing. Salvation is maintained through the difficult act of obedience. Believing and obeying both demand surrender.

Full salvation is a long time coming, but salvation is attained and maintained as a child. As a child trusts to attain and as a child obeys to maintain, but maintaining is so much harder than attaining.

So, how often have we taught entire sanctification? Not nearly often enough. How often should we teach entire sanctification? Well, if we’re truly Wesleyan, a whole lot more often than we have.

Well, that just what I think, but I’m not the perfect pastor, which is probably why I haven’t preached and taught full salvation more often. Maybe by His grace, I’ll do better.

Until next time, keep looking up…