I have a friend who was once a performer. He is a passionate man, but also, from time to time, profoundly honest. I went to see him perform and he made this confession. He said, “My wife told me that all I ever talk about are the things I’m against. ‘Why don’t you,’ she asked me, ‘ever tell your audience what you are for?’” Though he may have forgotten that line, I never will.
When we are just reaching adulthood, many of us find it rather easy to be mad. None perhaps more so than we who, ironically, embrace the doctrines of grace. “Young, restless and Reformed” as a descriptor was soft-pedaling the reality. “Young, angry and Reformed” is more like it. There are, of course, plenty of things for us to be angry about. The dogs of sin have paved paradise and put up a barking lot. Jesus is about the business of bringing all things under submission. Until He has finished there will always be death, disease, and destruction. What there should not be from us, the redeemed, is despair.
Which means, in turn, that we ought to be the most cheerful of people, the most upbeat. That’s hard for me, as my spirit animal is a marshwiggle. But the objective reality is that I have much to be thankful for, which means in turn I have a lot to be for.
My book, Growing Up (with) RC recounts various conversations I had along the way with my father. In one chapter I tell the story of when my father, noting my budding folly of skepticism, warned me, “Son, the cheapest way to develop a reputation as an intellectual is to adopt the pose of the cynic.” The temptation is still there. To be always on the attack, to spend our time and energy on the things we are against is to look too sophisticated to be taken in, to protect oneself from the vulnerability that comes from being moved. It keeps me behind the judge’s bench, clutching what I think is a gavel, but which is just a baby rattle.
It is true enough that we live in a world, and in a church, that is reluctant to call sin sin, that won’t give the context of the bad news by which the good news becomes sweet. That said, our message is good news. It is good news for us, the redeemed children of God. It is likewise good news for those yet outside the kingdom, the not yet redeemed of God. No, it’s not good news for the reprobate. We don’t however, know who they are.
Shouldn’t we, once not a people, but now a people, once strangers to the promises but now joint heirs, be giddy heralds of the message of Jesus Christ? Yes, let us warn those outside to consider the cost. But how shall they believe that if they taste they will see that He is good, if our own faces are perpetually sour?
If we believed the good news we would dance like no one’s watching. And because they are watching, they just might join us.
Of course not. Is it a necessary, vital biblical view of the work of Christ? Of course it is. Anyone who can rightly see this will skirt safely away from most debates on the subject. That is, the either/or’s are wildly outnumbered by the both/and’s. Despite this the bulk of the arguments that I’ve seen against penal, substitutionary atonement consist of little more than arguments in favor of the Christus Victor view or the moral example view. The bulk of the arguments I’ve seen in defense of penal, substitutionary atonement consist of little more than arguing that if you give up penal, substitutionary atonement you give up the gospel. I say woot and huzzah to both arguments in what they affirm, and give two thumbs down to the arguments they deny.
Jesus suffered the wrath of the Father in our place. It pleased the Father to bruise Him (Isaiah 53:10) and it pleased the Son to do the will of the Father (Luke 22:42). The entire Old Testament sacrificial system is built on the concept of penal, substitutionary atonement. To deny this truth is to reveal a presuppositional bias against the plain teaching of the Bible. If Jesus didn’t suffer God’s just wrath for me then I will face God’s just wrath for me.
Jesus likewise triumphed over the forces of evil in His death for us. The devil, fool that he is, no doubt danced a jig when Jesus commended His spirit to the Father. Satan danced until he felt the heel of Jesus crush his head. In His resurrection Jesus, the first born of the new creation, began the process of making all things new, reversing the destruction of the fall. He planted the flag of the new heavens and the new earth as He stepped out of the tomb and into the Garden. We ought never to lose sight of this greatest of all victories.
Jesus also gave us an example of what it looks like to love our neighbor. His silence, like a lamb to the slaughter, His prayer that the Father forgive them for they knew not what they did, His refusal to speak on His own defense, these are all examples given for us. That said, as we follow Him, taking up our cross daily, walking the via Delarosa, we must be mindful that we are not able to drink the cup that He drank, that we cannot atone for others, needing atonement ourselves.
It may be that one of these tends to resonate more with you than others. If you tend to see yourself as a saint, the moral example will ring true. If you see yourself as a soldier, the Christus Victor view may sound like a clarion call to battle. If you see yourself as a sinner, then the penal, substitutionary atonement will be your balm. The truth is, however, that just as all three views of the atonement have merit, albeit non-exclusively, so to do all three views of ourselves have merit. We are saints, because He is our guide. We are soldiers, because He is our Captain. We are sinners, because He is our Redeemer.
Every culture and subculture has its own taboos. Not all of them are the same, however. Given that we are all human, how can we explain the divergence of cultural standards? Why is it that one culture will find adultery to be a mere peccadillo, while another will consider it the unforgivable sin? Why was it that in polite society in Victorian England one did not call the leg of a table the leg of the table, for fear of offending delicate sensibilities, while on the other hand, there were more brothels in London than there were churches? The answer may get at the grave sins of our own broader culture.
Certainly a culture committed to ethical relativism, the notion that there is no objective right and wrong, will hang its moral hat on its stunted view of the command of Jesus that we judge not, lest we be judged. (Cheerily skipping over the too embarrassing reality that they are judging the judgers, and thus judging themselves.) Accusing someone of wrongdoing is just about as bad as it can get in the world — not to mention the evangelical world. Not far behind that grand taboo, however, stands this one. We can commit this sin or that. We can manifest this grave character flaw or that. But to really earn your way into the rogue’s gallery, you must commit this heinous sin — hypocrisy.
Jesus, of course, had some harsh words for hypocrites, “Woe to you scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence” (Matt. 23:25). Hypocrisy is a real sin, something to be ashamed of, something to repent for. It’s shameful to its core. But there is something to be said for it. In fact, Francois de La Rouchefoucauld said this about it, “Hypocrisy is the homage that vice pays to virtue.” The hypocrite, while caught up in whatever sin he is caught up in, plus being caught up in hypocrisy, has this going for him: he is able to recognize virtue and desires to be perceived as virtuous, even while lacking virtue. We hypocrites cover our sins because, while we certainly commit them, we recognize them as sins. While it is far better to be good than to look good, in either case we confess, however feebly, the reality of the good.
This, I believe, is the driving force behind this cultural taboo. We postmoderns hate hypocrisy not because we have such an abiding commitment to honesty, but for the same reason we judge so harshly those who judge, because we are dishonest enough to pretend there is no such thing as virtue. Those who hide their vice by masquerading it as virtue commit the one cardinal sin — affirming the reality of sin. They break the social contract by confessing a higher standard.
Hypocrisy, then, to the broader culture isn’t just the one deadly sin, but avoiding hypocrisy is also the means of atonement for sin. This is why we hear people argue, “Well, I may be selfish and egotistical, but at least I’m honest about it.” Or, stranger still, we have philanderers who suggest, “Well, I may not have kept my marriage vows, but at least I’m honest about it.” This proud confession of sin is a diabolical perversion of true repentance. We “acknowledge” our sin in that we admit to doing what we did. But we dismiss the sin because in admitting it we make it no longer a sin. Imagine if the serpent were to confess, “Well, sure I rebelled against the Maker of heaven and earth, and sought to topple Him from His throne. But hey, at least I’m honest about it.”
If we were honest about our sins, we would not only admit to committing them, but we would recognize them for what they are, each and every one of them rebellion against the Maker of heaven and earth, each and every one of them an attempt to topple Him from His throne. If we were honest about our sins, we would not cover them up, but cover our eyes, because to look at them is simply too painful. If we were honest about our sins, we would admit that what we are usually doing when “admitting” our sins is copping a plea. Maybe, we rationalize in the quiet of our hearts, if I admit to this, they won’t see these other sins. If we were honest about our sins, we would admit that all our games fail us, that all our sins follow us.
To understand the broader culture we have to grasp this reality. The world is not happily pursuing their vices without a care in the world. They are instead pursuing their vices under the cloud of an ever present knowledge of who they are. The defining quality of every culture not built around the Gospel is the haunting of sin. Which is why the solution for every culture, just as it is for every member of that culture, is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He did not “honest” away our sins. He did not relativize our sins. Instead, He paid for them. He bore the wrath and fury of His Father that was due for our sins. He knows them more intimately than we ever will. And yet, glory be to the Father, they have been washed away in His blood.
Dr. Al Mohler found himself in the cross-hairs of the evangelical left recently when he publicly stated that Christians are being “unfaithful” when they vote wrongly. I honestly cannot begin to fathom how any faithful Christian could even question such a statement. One could, as a faithful Christian question all sorts of things as it relates to voting. One could question whether one should vote for this candidate or that candidate, or even the other candidate. One could question whether one should vote for this party or that party, or even the other party. One could question whether one should vote for this proposition or that one. What one cannot do is affirm that a Christian could vote wrongly without being unfaithful. Every wrong that we do is an act of infidelity. Christians are unfaithful when we feel wrongly, act wrongly, believe wrongly.
Some of the objections Dr. Mohler faced were that he was guilty of violating the 1st Amendment and that any institution making such a claim should lose its tax-exempt status. One person even suggested that Dr. Mohler, in making his statement was teaching a works righteousness, denying justification by faith alone. Others suffered a relapse of Trump Derangement Syndrome though the bad, orange man wasn’t even mentioned. No one, however, actually spoke against what was actually said. That is, no one said either, “Christians are being faithful when they vote wrongly” nor “Christians are being unfaithful when they vote rightly.” Because, when you put it like that, it sounds kind of crazy. But to object to what Dr. Mohler said is to affirm one of those two crazy statements. There is no escaping it. The only way for a Christian to be faithful when voting is to vote rightly.
We can, of course, have a vigorous debate about what voting rightly looks like. I have publicly affirmed that no man who will not affirm his commitment to use every power of his office to protect every unborn child will ever receive my vote. I’ve had countless Christians rebuke me for this position. It’s possible, though I have trouble seeing it, that they may be right. If they are, I am being unfaithful. If they are not, they are being unfaithful.
Suppose there were three men running for the same office. Suppose their personal lives were virtually identical. Their policy positions are virtually identical. Their experience levels are perfectly identical. The only difference between them is that one believes in a flat tax of 9.5%, another in a flat tax of 9.3% and the third a rate of 9.1%. Is there only one faithful vote? Of course there is. Might it be difficult to discern which is the faithful vote? Sure. But there is a right answer, grounded in the right application of the law of God.
Voting is an activity of profound moral import. All those chastening Dr. Mohler, should they as Christians ever find themselves in a tight race against a Nazi Satanist running on a platform of forced abortions and legalized sex trafficking, they too would insist that voting wrongly would be an unfaithful act for the Christian. Which means, ipso facto, that those objecting to Dr. Mohler agree with the principle he expressed and disagree with the application they perceived him to make. Which, finally, means they’re yelping because they want to vote for pro-abortion candidates, or to put it another way, they want to vote wrongly, and unfaithfully.
It may be the most frightening command in all of Scripture. We are told by our Lord to pray, and to pray these words, “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.” If you fail to pray this way, you invite the judgment of God for your disobedience in prayer. If you succeed in praying this way, you invite the judgment of God for your disobedience in forgiveness. Now you’re stuck between a rock and a hot place.
What we need is some context. This prayer, after all, isn’t given universally to the human race. It is given instead to the children of God. We begin with “Our Father, who art in heaven…” Only the redeemed have any business praying this prayer. And only the redeemed can pray this with confidence. The relationship between forgiving and being forgiven, in God’s economy, works backwards. That is, Jesus isn’t teaching a doctrine of justification by forgiving alone. We are not forgiven because we forgive. Instead, we forgive because we are forgiven. If we are His children, we became such because we were, by the sovereign power of His Spirit, made aware of our sins. We confessed our sins. We clung to the cross of Christ. We come out the other side of this process not just forgiven, but changed.
We know what we were. We know something of the cost it took that we might be forgiven. Now, how can we do anything else but forgive others? We don’t forgive others out of fear of being not forgiven ourselves. We forgive others out of joy at being forgiven ourselves. This, in turn, is how the world knows that we are His. Our love one for another is the sweet fruit of forgiveness. Saints and sinners alike not only sin, but sin against each other. The difference is two-fold. Saints repent, and saints forgive. Pray boldly, and keep going back to the heart of the matter.
It’s about forgiveness, forgiveness.
We will once again be sharing our home Bible study through Facebook Live this evening, 7 eastern. Those who would like to meet face to face, you’re also invited for dinner at our home at 6:15. Tonight we consider our calling to believe II Timothy 3:16.
Join us, one way or the other, and we pray your faith will be strengthened.
It’s a common question, and understandably so. What Christian parents wouldn’t want to do this? Which is why I’m so happy to present this sure-fire method to you all. Please feel free to share it far and wide. Here’s what you need to do. First, gather you’re whole family together. Make sure you don’t leave any behind. Now, lead them to any door that leads outside of the house. Open the door. At this point what you do is walk through the door, you and the rest of the family. As the last person passes through they should reach back, grasp the handle and pull the door shut. Now your home is pure from negative spiritual influences.
It is certainly true enough that bad company can corrupt good morals, that the people we spend time with can have a profound influence on us. I’m not arguing that wise parenting involves surrounding our children with the worst sinners imaginable. I am, however, suggesting that it is quite possible to wisely remember the importance of sheltering our families from the influences of the world and at the same time remember that we’ve already failed and worse still, we are, each one of us, a negative influence. The counter argument to sheltering in the extreme is not “Jesus hung out with sinners” but “Jesus hangs out with me, a sinner.” A perfect environment does not make for perfect behavior. Our first parents demonstrated that. The problem isn’t ultimately the world out there so much as it is the sin in here.
When we teach our children, explicitly, or more likely, implicitly, that they are the pure ones and those on the outside, or worse still, those believers who have been widely shaped by the world the impure ones, we teach them the worst possible lie, that they don’t need Jesus. We raise them up to pray, “I thank you Lord that I am not like other men…” rather than, “Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Spiritual pride is far more dangerous than the loony ideologies, or the carnal sensuality of the unbelieving world. This doesn’t mean the world’s ideologies are not loony, nor its sensuality not carnal. It means all of us are plenty bad in ourselves. Our only hope isn’t to escape from others but to repent of ourselves.
When Jesus lives in our homes we are not especially interested in how much better we might be than other sinners. That He loves us, dwells with us, directs us, despite our own manifold moral flaws, is a picture of how we might love others. Not in embracing sin or excusing it. Not in diminishing the law of God. But by celebrating the grace of God. Our prayer is that when those outside the kingdom enter into our homes they are not overwhelmed by how good we are, but are stunned by how repentant we are. And by how fully we believe the glorious truth that we are forgiven. We are, after all, nothing more than beggars telling other beggars about the Bread of Life.
