“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may follow all the words of this law.”
Deuteronomy 29:29
There is something deeply merciful in this verse.
It does not say there are no secret things. It does not pretend that everything will be explained to us. It does not hand us control over the hidden machinery of life, suffering, regret, consequences, timing, repentance, or redemption.
It simply draws a line.
Some things belong to God.
Some things have been given to us.
And the things given to us are not given merely so that we may understand. They are given that we may follow.
The Pull of the Hidden Things
The secret things are many.
What might have been.
What I missed.
What I could have done differently.
What another person is thinking.
How God is working in someone else.
Whether a story is finished.
Whether a broken relationship will be restored.
Whether grief could have been avoided.
These things gather like mist in the corner of the eye. When I turn to look at them directly, they vanish. Yet somehow they still manage to trouble me.
The mind wants to plot, scheme, fix, rehearse, and repair what is not currently in my hands.
Guilt cries out: if only.
But if only is one of the hidden things.
It is not revealed ground.
It is not obedience.
It is not today’s bread.
It is theatre.
My daughter once warned me:
“Beware of your own theatre. Be careful of your theatre. When you rehearse how it’s going to go, and then it doesn’t turn out that way, you end up hurting your own feelings.”
That has stayed with me.
Because the mind can build entire worlds no one else is living in.
Revealed Things Are for Doing
The wording of Deuteronomy 29:29 matters.
The revealed things belong to us and to our children.
Not merely to me privately. Not as a secret key. Not as a mystical advantage. The revealed things are given to a people, across generations, so that they may walk.
And the purpose is clear:
“that we may follow all the words of this law.”
The revealed things are for obedience.
Not obsession.
Not self-torment.
Not endless explanation.
Not control over the unseen.
They are given so that we may live faithfully in the light we have.
The Power to Become
John writes:
“But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.”
John 1:12
That phrase, to become, can trouble me.
If I hear it wrongly, it sounds as though I am not yet acceptable. As though I must manufacture myself into someone worthy. As though identity is always somewhere ahead of me, just out of reach.
But that is not the gospel.
The Christian life is not self-manufacture.
It is not me building an identity from nothing.
It is not me proving myself lovable.
It is not me constructing righteousness out of my own resources.
It is more like this:
I am becoming what has already been given.
I am learning to walk in who I am.
I am being transformed by the One who called me.
Proving What Is Real
Romans 12 says:
“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice… be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God.”
Romans 12:1–2
There is a testing here. A proving.
Not proving in the sense of pretending. Not proving as theatre. Not proving as image management.
Testing reveals what is real.
In the movie The Ghost and the Darkness, Val Kilmer’s character takes an unfamiliar rifle into the hunt instead of his own. Later, when he has the chance to bring down the lion, the gun misfires. Michael Douglas’s character scolds him for bringing an unproven weapon into battle.
That image stays with me.
There are unproven weapons we carry into life:
borrowed righteousness,
imagined courage,
spiritual personas,
rehearsed speeches,
theatre,
self-confidence dressed up as faith.
Pressure reveals them.
Obedience, practiced over time, proves what is real.
Not because obedience creates identity from nothing, but because obedience embodies what has been planted.
To Know Him
Paul says:
“That I may know him…”
Philippians 3:10
To know Christ is not merely to know correct ideas about Christ.
It is to participate in his life.
To love as he loves.
To forgive as he forgives.
To suffer without surrendering to bitterness.
To obey when obedience does not hand me control.
To trust God when the outcome remains hidden.
Knowing Christ is not theoretical. It is tested in the body.
It is lived.
Like a Tree
Psalm 1 says the blessed man is:
“like a tree planted by streams of water, that yields its fruit in its season.”
A tree does not create water.
A tree does not panic in winter.
A tree does not accuse itself because fruit is not visible every day.
It is planted.
It receives.
It remains.
It bears fruit in season.
This matters.
Fruit is not the root.
If fruit becomes the basis of my identity, then every winter becomes a crisis. Every failure becomes a verdict. Every barren branch becomes an accusation.
But if rootedness comes first, fruit becomes witness.
The tree is not trying to become a tree by staring at its own branches.
It lives from where it is planted.
Righteousness From Outside
Bonhoeffer says that the Christian’s righteousness is an “alien righteousness” — a righteousness that comes from outside us.
That is deeply freeing.
The Christian cannot finally point to himself and say, “Here is my salvation.”
He points away from himself.
To Christ.
To the Word spoken to him.
To the grace that comes from outside.
To the righteousness that is not self-generated.
Bonhoeffer also says:
“The Christ in his own heart is weaker than the Christ in the word of his brother.”
That sentence is painfully honest.
Because inside my own heart, things shift.
Moods change.
Accusations rise.
Memories distort.
Shame rehearses.
Theatre forms.
I need the Word of God spoken from outside me.
I need Scripture.
I need my brother.
I need the body of Christ.
I need truth that does not originate in my own unstable inward courtroom.
Christian community is not merely shared interest or emotional compatibility. It is the place where needy people bring the Word of Christ to one another.
Stewards, Not Owners
Paul writes:
“This is how one should regard us, as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God.”
1 Corinthians 4:1
Stewards of mysteries.
Not owners.
Not masters.
Not controllers.
And then:
“It is required of stewards that they be found faithful.”
Not all-knowing.
Not impressive.
Faithful.
Then Paul says something astonishing:
“I do not even judge myself.”
1 Corinthians 4:3
That does not mean Paul has no conscience. It does not mean he refuses examination.
It means he will not sit as final judge over himself.
That is not his seat.
The self is a poor final courtroom. Especially when guilt, fear, regret, and theatre are all trying to testify at once.
Paul says:
“Do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness…”
Again, the hidden things belong to God.
Even the final interpretation of my own life is not fully mine to possess.
The Mind of Christ
In 1 Corinthians 2, Paul says:
“The Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God.”
And:
“We have the mind of Christ.”
This does not mean we now possess exhaustive divine knowledge. It does not mean we control the hidden things.
The mind of Christ is cruciform.
It is shaped by the cross.
Humility.
Dependence.
Weakness.
Self-giving love.
Obedience.
Trust.
The Corinthians wanted status, hidden wisdom, superiority, elevation.
Paul brought them back to Christ crucified.
The wisdom of God does not inflate the ego. It kills theatre.
A Simpler Way to Say It
The secret things belong to God.
The revealed things are for walking.
Obedience does not create my identity from nothing.
It reveals, tests, strengthens, and embodies what God has given.
Transformation is not self-manufacture.
It is cooperative participation with God in truth.
Fruit is not the root.
Fruit is witness.
And the hidden things — the alternate lives, the unlived pasts, the imagined outcomes, the final verdicts — are not mine to hold.
What is mine?
The next revealed thing.
To love.
To forgive.
To confess.
To wait.
To remain.
To speak truth.
To receive grace.
To be planted.
To walk.
Not because I possess the map.
But because the Word has come from outside me.
And it is enough for today.
Running Down Vimy 