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Tomorrow, 7 eastern please join us online on Facebook Live, RC-Lisa Sproul, or in person as we celebrate Advent Sunday for our fourth and final time
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Tomorrow, 7 eastern please join us online on Facebook Live, RC-Lisa Sproul, or in person as we celebrate Advent Sunday for our fourth and final time

“By this,” Jesus said, “all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). Here Jesus gives us an apologetic we seem to have lost sight of. One of the blessings that come with God’s people loving one another is that those who are not God’s people are better able to recognize God’s people. It blesses those within the church, and those without the church. Better still, it shows forth His glory. We, on the other hand, would rather argue worldviews, amass compelling evidence, make bold prophetic statements. What God would rather have us do is to love one another. God would rather we do the hard thing, for that is where the power is.
The common bumper sticker makes a salient point. The watching world affirms that what makes Christians so reprehensible is our hypocrisy. They see us sin, while believing we believe that we don’t sin. And they hate us for it. The sticker, then, answers the objection- “Christians aren’t perfect, just forgiven.” We’re not perfect. We are forgiven. But the forgiveness we have from the Father works itself out, takes on feet, when we in turn forgive others. The fruit of forgiveness received is forgiveness given. How many times does Jesus remind us of this connection? We who have been forgiven much manifest that truth in forgiving others. Perhaps that ought to be our bumper sticker- Christians aren’t perfect, just forgiving.” I’m afraid the world around us may find that too hard to swallow. They know us all too well.
We are accustomed to thinking of worldliness in the narrowest of contexts, if we think of it at all. We think it a synonym for pleasure, as if the devil has cornered that market. Our problem, however, isn’t that we drink like the world, but that we think like the world. The world is a place where every human interaction is a battle, a zero-sum game that you either win or lose. We suspect one another, rather than trust one another. We are always intent on protecting our interests, or at least what we perceive our interests to be. It’s a dog eat dog world, and no one likes to be eaten. Too often the church is the same. In I Corinthians 6, just seven short chapters before Paul gets around to describing the qualities of love to us, he scolds this worldly church for their litigious habits, “But brother goes to law against brother, and that before unbelievers! Now therefore, it is already an utter failure for you that you go to law against one another. Why do you not rather accept wrong? Why do you not rather let yourself be defrauded?” (verses 6-7). The problem isn’t merely going to the secular courts. The problem is not just dropping the matter. Why do we not rather accept wrong? Because we are worldly. Because we have our interests to protect.
When Paul does describe love for us, we see much the same. Love suffers long, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil, and bears all things. Love is the antithesis of the grasping paranoia that marks the world. Love, in short, is the very fruit of our own deaths. That is, as we die to self, we are no longer interested in keeping score. As we die to self we feel no need to protect our own interests. As we die to self, when our brothers do us wrong, we find it easy to forgive, for who can harm a dead man? As we die to self, we let our lives shine before men, and show them that we are His.
A very wise man once said, “Never ask God for justice. He might just give it to you.” What defines us is that we are a people who have been given grace. We were not only given the grace of forgiveness, but were given the grace of repentance. As we keep our sins ever before us, we will see His forgiveness ever before us. And we won’t have opportunity to see the speck in our brother’s eye.
A day will come by God’s grace when the church of Jesus Christ won’t be known for hypocrisy. We won’t be defined by the men we vote for for office. Our reputation won’t be built around the things that we are against. A day will come when we are no longer recognized by the bumperstickers on the backs of our cars. A day will come when Jesus’ promise will be fulfilled, that they will know that we are His by our love one for another. That love will show itself the same way God’s love for us is shown, in our zeal to forgive one another. A day will come when every man, as he passes by a church, will know that this is the place where you will find forgiveness not only from our Father, but from our brothers and sisters as well. We hasten that day as His will is done on earth as it is in heaven, as we love and forgive like only His children can do.

The story is told that Benjamin Franklin, as a young man, took it upon himself to keep a running inventory of his moral progression. He wrote down a list of ten to twenty character traits and gave himself a score for each on each day. He abandoned this process not long after he started, when he noticed that the higher his scores in general, the lower his scores on humility. The lower the scores he gave himself in general, the higher the scores he gave himself in humility.
One could argue that Franklin ran into this problem, that pride is persistent. It doesn’t often flee from us, whatever victories we may have won. In fact, with every victory, pride is there to pat us on the back and tell us what a good job we have done. And, as Franklin found out, even when you gain no victories and find yourself humbled by your failures, the devil is there to praise you for your humility.
Which brings us to the second thing that makes pride so sticky. There are an immeasurable number of axes on which it can come. My skills as a handyman may be so bad that no one would ever mistake me for Mr. Fix-it. My earning power may have me on my tiptoes reaching for the bottom rung. My looks may attract the eyes of others, not because I’m handsome, but in disbelief that someone as ugly as me could be out in public. But if in the midst of all that I can still believe I’m more pious than my handy, high-earning, good looking friends, I’ve found a perch from which I can look down on them.
A third reason ought to be obvious to us all- it’s kind of tough to lose when we are the judge. The very piety I think I have that allows me to look down on others may be no piety at all. The Pharisees surely saw themselves as exemplary men. Others, however, rightly saw them as examples of pride. Worse still, we often find ourselves using what we perceive as our victories as cover for our defeats. I may think, “I don’t have the same kind of earnest prayer life, the kind of constant emotive closeness to Jesus that this one has, but it’s okay because my theology is so much more precise than his is.” Sound familiar?
Pride is what brought the devil down in the first place. It is then the root sin of sin, both for him and for us who are by nature his children. He is the expert and we his all too eager students. The devil fell when he compared himself to all the rest of the creation and, rightly, concluded that he was the best and the brightest. And wrongly concluded that those below him should serve him. Had he instead compared himself to the almighty, the Creator, he would have realized he was nothing, and should do whatever his Creator commanded.
When Adam and Eve fell, they were already thinking the same way. God, they thought, was trying to rob them. Them, of all people, the only people. They deserved better, they thought. Why should they have to wait for His blessing to eat of the tree? They, after all, were superior to all the animals. Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Lord, I pray for humility. And if it takes humiliation, send that. Do what You know to be best, O Lord, God of my salvation.

How easily, because of his craftiness, we confuse Satan and Santa. Their names are indeed anagrams of each other, and they both were obviously told by someone, somewhere along the way that they look good in red. We tend to think, however, that just as Santa carries about a giant bag of goodies, so the devil carries around a giant bag of temptations, that his principle weapon is to tempt us toward illicit pleasures. Truth be told Satan’s name is derived from the word for Accuser. He is far more interested in pointing out our past failures than he is enticing us to new ones.
Several years ago I went through a rather unpleasant humiliation, the bitter fruit of my own sin. God, however, is not given to waste anything, even my sins. I found myself needing to repent for my sins. That’s a good thing. It hurt at first, but God forgives sinners like me because Jesus died for sinners like me. Though I have miles to go before I sleep, humiliation can be a difficult but potent means to the glorious end producing the fruit of humility.
One bad fruit, however, was that my remaining pride pushed me to an unhealthy silence. I found myself reluctant to speak up virtually anywhere on the world wide web for fear that my critics would show up, and parade my dirty laundry for all to see. Sometimes disgrace, or fear thereof, rather than discretion, is the better part of valor. I sat on the sidelines, thinking every point I would make would sooner or later be rebutted with, “Don’t listen to him. Don’t you know what he did?”
In God’s grace most of my critics eventually grew weary of beating the dead horse that is my reputation, and moved on to fresh game. Slowly I have begun to come out of my shell. Every now and again, however, someone still shows up to accuse. And therein comes the second reason for the devil’s stratagem- discouragement. Every time there is another comment I sigh, shake my head, and wonder if, no, fear that these things will never be behind me. Like Pilgrim before me I once again feel the weight on my back, slowing me down on my journey to the Celestial City. I once again feel myself sinking into the Slough of Despond.
Which is a good thing. The Good News, of course, is that Jesus has already overcome the devil. I need not be silent as a teacher and writer, because He is not silent before the Father, but rather calls me His own. I need not either despair, because He has removed my sins as far from me as the east is from the west. There is only one perspective on me that matters in the least, and His says of me today and every day, “You are My son. I love you and will never forsake you.” The pangs that come with the accusations of the devil and his minions are more than salved by the balm of Gilead. They instead become the very savor, the very joy of my salvation. “This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief” (I Timothy 1:15).

Tetzel, the seller of indulgences that first got Dr. Luther’s goat, was known for a rather crass sales pitch. “As soon as the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from Purgatory springs.” This practice is what sparked the Reformation. Intent on raising funds for refurbishing the church at Rome, the Pontiff offered to use his powers to hasten the day that people could be set free from purgatory. All it took was a sufficiently sizable donation. Write a check, and grandma can skip the torment of having her sins purged, and skip right to heaven itself.
We, of course, because we are moderns, believe ourselves to be past all that. The Reformation happened, and now even Rome wouldn’t practice such flim-flammery. And we, because we are moderns, act like hopeless fools that just fell off the turnip truck. The devil doesn’t give up easily on successful stratagems. On those rare occasions that we figure him out, he simply repackages the same old snake-oil, and we rush to buy it.
Here is how it works in our day. First, we buy into the world’s therapeutic revolution. We believe, like our unbelieving neighbors, that the good life is one of psychological wholeness. We believe, like our unbelieving neighbors, that the purpose in life is self-actualization. We believe, unlike our unbelieving neighbors, that the right church, or church program, or church guru, will get us there. We believe that the church will give us our best life now.
The church offers to help us feel better about ourselves. It promises programs and premium coffee. It presents feel good talks delivered by some charming guy in a sweater, the Christian equivalent of Dr. Feel-Good. And all it asks in return is that we drop a check in the plate, that we purchase the program, that we donate to the guru. These will drive our guilty feelings far from us, and we will be purged of all that makes us feel utterly unlovely. That is how the program is supposed to work, and now we, heirs of the Reformation, build cathedrals to our own glory.
Luther did not have as his goal psychological wholeness. His beef wasn’t that indulgences didn’t deliver the emotional goods. Neither was his goal the recovery of an abstract doctrine. He wanted instead to recover the very work of Christ. He wanted people to not jettison their feelings of guilt, but to have their guilt taken away.
The church is that place where we must be told the truth. We must be told the ugly truth that we are in ourselves nothing but ugly, a poisonous blending of dust and rebellion. We must be told the ugly truth that our sins drove Christ to the cross, that we crucified Him. We must be told the shocking truth that because God brought this to pass, we now, if we are His, have peace with God, that we have been adopted into His family.
Here we stand. We can do no other. God help us.

Of course. Well, wait, it’s complicated. Most Christians agree that we are not to obey what Bible scholars call “the ceremonial law.” The notion that a believer must be circumcised was a critical battle while the New Testament was being written. And the apostles were clear that such was not only not required, but that those who did require it preached another gospel. Paul even wished that those who taught that view would emasculate themselves (Galatians 5:12). Christians disagree about the responsibility of the state to enforce the civil law that God gave to His people Israel. This is that portion of the law that called for the state to punish evil-doers.
What then, of the moral law? There are moral laws in the Old Testament that were neither ceremonial (part of the sacrificial system) nor civil. When, for instance, God forbids coveting our neighbors’ goods, there is no ceremonial instruction as to what should be done with those who do covet. Neither is there given a punishment from the state. Coveters were not, in Old Testament Israel, subject to jail, fines or flogging under the local sheriff.
All Christians are indeed required by God to obey His moral law, even that which He gave in the Old Testament. Some Christians, however, object. They say we are under grace, not law. That Christ, not Moses, is our law-giver. They argue that the law is a school teacher that drives us to Christ. To which I heartily concur. As long as we are careful. We are under grace, and not under law. That is, our Father is pleased with us already, because His Son lived a righteous life for us, and suffered the wrath of His Father in our place. The law can no longer condemn us. But, we do not in turn sin all the more that grace may abound (Romans 6:1). Christ is, likewise, indeed our law-giver, and as our lawgiver He tells us that not one jot or tittle of the law shall pass away until the heaven and earth pass first (Matthew 5:18).
And finally the law is, as stated, a school-teacher. It powerfully exposes our own inability to please God. It reveals our sin. It is the mark that we so dreadfully miss. How this truth, however, could lead us to believe that we therefore don’t have to obey the law dumbfounds me. If we have no obligation to keep the law, how does the law drive us to Christ? If it shows us our failure, are we then not called to succeed? Not only do I not understand why someone would feel the need to toss one use of the law (telling us what God requires of us) in order to protect a second use (showing us our need for Christ) but I don’t see how one can even be preserved without the other.
Of course the Old Testament doesn’t come color-coded, with ceremonial laws highlighted in red, civil laws in blue and moral in yellow. As I said, it can be complicated. But as we wrestle with these issues, let’s guard against our own antinomian temptations as zealously as we guard against our Pelagian temptations. Let us ever and always confess that we do not obey His law, and that we ought to.