The Holy Spirit Stamp of Approval

“Now you too, in him, have heard the message of the truth and the good news of your salvation, and have believed it; and you too have been stamped with the seal of the Holy Spirit of the Promise, the pledge of our inheritance which brings freedom for those whom God has taken for his own, to make his glory praised.” Ephesians 1: 13-14 (JB)

There was a short period of time, years ago, when I wondered if I “had” the Holy Spirit within me. I was pretty sure it was a prerequisite to really being a Christian: a believer who was wanted and chosen by God. At that time I imagined that a lot of so-called Christians had come to the Lord very much like applicants—standing in a line before the altar. Their sinner’s prayer, repentance, and/or confession of faith served as their application form to the Kingdom of Heaven or the Family of God. The problem was most people (including myself) had scanty or shady references, and a pretty poor “work experience” morally and religiously. So once you had applied for Christian membership (at the altar or the front of the stadium) you waited to be chosen. The proof of your citizenship in Heaven, or adoption into the Family of God, was the presence of the Holy Spirit in undeniable terms: “You believed in Christ, and God put his stamp of ownership on you by giving you the Holy Spirit he had promised. The Spirit is the guarantee that we shall receive what God has promised his people…”

There were some Christians who made a big deal about this Holy Spirit guarantee and stamp of approval. They spoke in tongues, fell backwards at revival meetings ‘slain in the Spirit,’ and they could heal people and speak of God in a mighty way. Awesome testimonies abounded. The bigger the gift—or rather the flashier—the better the Christian. Or that’s how it seemed to me. I wanted to heal someone. I had always wanted to be God’s instrument in a matter of healing. I used to pray that God would chose me to directly lay my hands on someone sick, or injured, or someone that had cancer or were deaf and that they would be healed miraculously. I’m not sure if it was to witness a sign or miracle so I wouldn’t doubt ever again, or that I just wanted to make sure I was part of the club, that I really belonged to the Family of God. I figured that healing someone would be far more practical and useful than babbling incoherently—righteously and religiously, no doubt—but still incoherently. (I’ve tended towards pragmatism for quite sometime). Even then I figured that the Holy Spirit must feel delightful in those charismatic, tongue-speaking Christians—all tingly and electric inside. So I searched my heart for that euphoria. I prayed secretly for someone’s illness or disability and waited for them to say they’d been healed the next day. I was far too self-conscious to offer to lay my hands on them. That would be too presumptuous, not to say embarrassing, when/ or if the prayer wasn’t answered as we would inevitably hope. But these wonder signs never came.

I have met some people who have said that God “told” them something—at one time or another. Some of them will admit it wasn’t exactly audible ~ but the message was clear—sometimes to the exact words (usually only a short phrase). I’ve never heard God in that manner. So I wondered, for awhile, whether I was chosen yet—one of the elect. There is the hymn: "Blessed Assurance Jesus is Mine." I didn’t exactly feel any blessed assurance (in that tingly, electric sort of way), so when the grace-oriented Christians (versus the gift-oriented charismatic sort) quoted scripture they would smile and nod their assurance that I was saved despite my doubts or lack of assurance ~ it almost felt patronizing. I identified (and still do) with the grace-oriented evangelical Christians more than the charismatic ones, but I didn’t like the feeling of ambiguity that persisted. I was told that I needed to rest assured: Jesus loved me. It was all because of His grace. Yet I longed for something more dramatic, more unmistakable.

Well, I’ve never been very content with the ambiguity actually, but I do believe that the Holy Spirit is within me. So how is it that I finally became convinced that I know that I am saved and continue in the process of being saved?

First, I know that I desire God, and that I love Him, and trust that His will for me and those I love, is undeniably, comprehensively GOOD. His will IS the BEST plan for us, bar none. We cannot better it with fretting, planning, contriving or interfering.

Second, I love others and this agape love derives from God. 1 Corinthians 13, and 1 John, teaches that love is the greatest of gifts, and the very essence of divinity. I do not need ‘second-tier’ gifts to boost my assurance quotient. I just need to love more people—more deeply and thoroughly, more sacrificially and unconditionally—more like Christ Jesus my Lord.

Third, I know (and have been told) that I have affected people positively (again through love) and they respond in such a manner that it appears God is working through me—through my words, my presence, my touch, my humor, and my convictions. Students and their parents testify to this fact. It humbles me, and probably because I do feel humbled (and red-faced, at times) I know and acknowledge that it is not because of something inherently ME: it’s because of something inherently HIM.

For these reasons, and others (such as my appreciation of the beauty of nature’s poetic and aesthetic design), I no longer doubt the stamp of God’s approval, and the fact that His Holy Spirit dwells within me. Life is always going to be filled with ambiguities. It will also be filled with glitz and people who specialize in the Capitalization of Glitz. God’s grace is neither. God's grace whispers to me in a still small voice, or roars as the Consuming Fire. It is testified by the sweeping, flowing ribbon of geese in flight, as well as by the gilding of cloud curtains suspended on the wind’s wings at dusk. God’s grace sings to me through the prominent blue eyes of Luke, a particular eleven-year-old boy, smiling impishly at a joke we’ve shared in class. God’s grace announces itself, and pronounces its blessing through the handshake of a friend, or through the constancy of our men’s group at the Sage. I no longer need to speak the tongues of angels or other creatures unearthly, now knowing the generosity of those being redeemed. It is enough.

What I have received up to this very day shall forever be sufficient for assurance: Jesus is mine and I am His.