“If he’s guilty of even half of what he’s been accused of, people should run for their lives from him.” Ever heard that said of someone? Ever said it yourself? Here’s a much more biblical version, “If he’s guilty of only half of what he’s been accused of, people should run for their lives from his accusers.” In Deuteronomy 19 God establishes a legal principle that ought to resonate with us all. There He says,
“If a false witness rises against any man to testify against him of wrongdoing, 17 then both men in the controversy shall stand before the Lord, before the priests and the judges who serve in those days. 18 And the judges shall make careful inquiry, and indeed, if the witness is a false witness, who has testified falsely against his brother, 19 then you shall do to him as he thought to have done to his brother; so you shall put away the evil from among you” (16-19).
If that’s not sufficiently clear, let me rephrase. If a man commits perjury the penalty isn’t a generic penalty for perjury, but the penalty that the accused is facing. Falsely accuse a man for jaywalking, and you’ll get a ticket. Falsely accuse a man of murder and you’ll get the chair. What God’s law does here is teach us how destructive it is for us to testify about that which we know not of. It teaches us in turn just how easy it is to falsely accuse someone when there is no threat of reprisal for lying, or for jumping to a conclusion.
We, of course, think we know better than God. The thought of giving Tawana Brawley, who made headlines thirty years ago falsely accusing six men of rape, 10 to 15 seems barbaric to us. Putting Jussie Smollett behind bars seems like overkill. That, however, is because we refuse to see the destruction wrought by false allegations. God, however, sees all. His justice is just, while the “mercy” of our own culture is cruel.
What though do we do with those who are careful enough not to falsely testify against someone, but reckless enough to believe false testimony? What do we do with those who would utter that first sentence above, “If he’s guilty of even half of what he’s accused of…”? We try to slow them down. We warn them, and we refuse to lend our ears to them. Because the principle in Deuteronomy 19 comes from God, it stands even in a culture that won’t see it. That is, God will see that justice comes to those who testify falsely. No one is anonymous to Him. When we remind our friends, as they seek to share with us of some piece of juicy gossip, that God hears every tale we bear, we are not only seeking to encourage them not to rush to judgment against those they accuse, but we seek to encourage them not to rush headlong into their own judgment at the hands of God. We warn them.
Tonight we continue our look at the monumental, towering book of Romans. All are welcome to our home at 7 est, or you may join us for dinner at 6:15. We will also stream the study at Facebook, RC-Lisa Sproul. We hope you’ll join us.
Yes. Of course yes. Who could doubt it? I don’t mean, either, illegal aliens, or undocumented visitors. I mean beings that are not human, that visit our planet, who snatch up people, who seek to seize control over the whole planet. These beings are real, present here and now and have been experienced by thousands over the years. What I don’t believe in is little green men. I don’t believe that intelligent life resides on other planets and travels here through space. I’m not saying such is impossible. It just seems rather improbable that there would be another story on another planet when the triune God has told His story here.
Given the great mystery surrounding the sundry unidentified flying objects recently downed by US fighter aircraft it’s no wonder questions of aliens have cropped up again. It’s difficult to be bereft of what ought to be simple answers- what are these things and where did they come from? I don’t know the answers either. What I do know is that the Bible reminds us that there is a reality beyond that which we experience with our senses, a spiritual realm. The Bible tells us that our battle is not against flesh and blood but against principalities and powers.
What is less clear, though some say Genesis 6 teaches such, is how demons interface with this world. That they do we know. How they do we don’t know. Could it be that, given a secular mindset that dismisses anything beyond the natural realm, what some ascribe to visitors from other planets are actually visitors from another dimension? Could experiences of abduction, experimentation, and probing be the work of demons that are wrongly assumed to be from other planets?
Demonic incursions into the natural realm would be, like visitors from other planets, secretive, mysterious, unusual, frightening. It would likewise be in the best interests of demons to pretend to be something other than demons. CS Lewis wisely pointed out that the devil likes either to appear to be virtually omnipresent and all powerful or, on the other hand, non-existent. With the former people are in fear and in awe. With the latter their defenses are down.
Sadly, evangelicals, despite the clear teaching of God’s Word, tend to fall into the latter camp. Because we have been so influenced by the enlightenment, because we so hunger for the world’s approval, we tend to see the demonic realm like some embarrassing reality from our distant pass that we no longer talk about. We have to admit that demons are real because Jesus dealt with them. But, we want to change the subject quickly.
I’m not boldly affirming these unidentified objects are the work of demons. I suspect first that we will likely never be told, and second, that like the first of the objects to be downed, the others likely have been stamped, “Made in China.” That said, we need to remember, as real and as important as geo-political matters may be, the real war is not with flesh and blood.
The children of God are rather different from the children of men. We have been reborn by a sovereign God. They have not. We have been redeemed by a sovereign God. They have not. We are being remade by a sovereign God. They are not. Despite these things that distinguish us, that set us apart, there are yet ways where we are very much like those outside the kingdom. We, both inside and outside the kingdom, have drunk deeply of the modernist conceit that we are defined by what we know. Thus, we think the difference between us and them, between sheep and goats, is a matter of knowledge. We are those who have been blessed to have the truth revealed to us. Once those outside the kingdom have the truth revealed to them, we seem to think, they will become just like us.
Jesus, of course, dispelled this nonsense. Indeed, His harshest words while ministering on the earth were directed at the scribes and Pharisees, the most widely read, the most highly educated, the most in the know. What separates us in the end isn’t that we know that Jesus is the Son of God, the promised Messiah. What separates us isn’t that we know He suffered the wrath of the Father in our place on the cross. What separates us isn’t that we know that the third day He rose again. Remember that the Devil himself believes all those things. The difference is that we not only know these truths but trust in them, cling to them, depend upon them.
Now, inside the kingdom of God, among His children, there are still differences. We who are Reformed, or Calvinists, know that we have been reborn from above. Others affirm that they were reborn from within. We know that we have been sovereignly redeemed. Others affirm that they cooperate with God in their salvation. We know that we are being sovereignly sanctified. Others affirm that they determine themselves how, and even if, they will grow in grace. But once again, we who are Reformed make the mistake of thinking that it is what we think that separates us from our less-than-Reformed brothers. We think it is because we know that God is sovereign and that if they will but be so informed, they will join us.
This too is nonsense. Our calling, in the end, isn’t merely to affirm that God is sovereign, but to rest in that sovereignty, to trust in it, to cling to it. Which means, in turn, that we ought not to worry. God’s wisdom literature draws for us a stark contrast between how those within and those without deal with fear. Solomon tells us that “the wicked flee when no one pursues, but the righteous are bold as a lion” (Prov. 28:1). The difference is not that the wicked don’t know there’s nothing to be afraid of, but the righteous have been informed. Nor is it that the wicked are well aware of the dangers and are afraid, but the righteous overcome those fears. The distinction runs on two difference tracks. The wicked have fear when they need not. The righteous have courage even in the face of danger. A leaf rustles, and those outside quake. Whereas the godly man finds himself in the valley of the shadow of death, and he fears no evil. What sets us apart from them is that they are craven cowards, while we are, at least we’re supposed to be, courageous heroes. The difference is found in actually believing in, trusting in, resting in the sovereignty of God.
How, though, can we move from simply affirming the sovereignty of God to resting in it? We will rest in His sovereignty when we remember not just that He is almighty, but that He who is almighty loves us with an everlasting love. It is because He is with us in that valley of death that we do not fear. It is because He has prepared a table for us in the presence of our enemies that we can be assured that goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives. Our fears in the end are grounded in either a failure to believe in His strength or a failure to believe His gospel. The solution is to believe both.
If our consuming zeal is to see the kingdom come in its fullness, if we are about the business of seeking first His kingdom, and if we know that He will indeed bring all things under subjection, what could we possibly have to fear, save the King Himself? This, in the end, is why we are more than conquerors, why we not only have the courage of a lion, but have the courage of the Lion of the tribe of Judah. Should we not be of good cheer, knowing that He has already overcome the world? And He has made us His own, just as the psalmist describes in the following (46:8–11):
Come, behold the works of the Lord, how he has brought desolations on the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire. Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.
Though we don’t feel guilty about it, we are guilty of conflating our feelings of guilt with the reality of guilt. That is, perhaps because we live in a therapeutic culture, or perhaps because we live in a relativistic culture, we only think we are guilty when we feel guilty. And then we turn around and feel guilty for feeling guilty. It’s not, after all, like there is some list of rules out there that we’re supposed to measure up to, right? If there is no list of rules, whence comes the guilt? Is guilt merely a cultural construct, a societal super-ego that we ought to ignore? Is it just a man-made tool designed to keep us in line? Are we showing ourselves to be slaves when we are shackled to guilt? And is this shame something we should keep in the closet, lest others be tempted to fall into the same morass?
Herein is a dilemma. If there is no “ought” that we fail to measure up to, then there is no “ought” for failing to measure up to our conviction that there is no “ought.” If there is no “ought” why ought we to believe such? To feel guilty for feeling guilty is to be guilty of the greatest sin of our age, affirming a standard of right and wrong. Heck, feeling guilty for feeling guilty practically makes you a raving fundamentalist. That is, if there are no rules we can be actually guilty of breaking, then there is no rule to say we must not think ourselves guilty.
Our little minds are haunted by this hobgoblin of inconsistency. Sometimes we live as if there actually were a set of rules somewhere, and sometimes we live as if no such list exists. To put it more bluntly still, all of us deny the reality of an objective good and evil, a standard higher than our preferences, when we want to do that which makes us feel guilty, but all of us assume the reality of good and evil when others want to do to us what makes them feel guilty. When we cheat on our taxes, there is no right and wrong. When we are being mugged, there is a right and wrong. There are no atheists in foxholes, and there are not moral relativists in Dachau.
If we want to hold on to our moral indignation over holocausts, global warming, and the clubbing of baby seals, then we are stuck with a moral standard, something above us that we are accountable to, something which may demonstrate that whether we feel it or not, we are guilty. And so it is. We feel guilty because we are guilty. The truly scary thing is that we will not escape the reality of our guilt, should we succeed in casting off our feelings of guilt. They’re not the same thing at all. A seared conscience may not feel guilt, just as a paralyzed hand may not feel the heat on the stove. In both cases, however, great damage is done.
Your guilty secret isn’t a secret. Though I don’t know you, I know this about you. You, when no one is looking, when you go to sleep at night, know that you are guilty. You know that you don’t put in a full day’s work for a full day’s pay. You know that you visit websites that you are ashamed of. You know that you speak ill of your friends and neighbors, that you spread gossip. You know that others suffer for your temper. You know that you enjoy far more than you deserve, and yet you do not give thanks. Which brings us to another guilty secret- you know that the good you do does not make up for all that you do wrong. You tell yourself, “I try to be the best person I can be” but you know it isn’t true. You know that even if it were true, your best does not make up for your worst. And so the guilt feelings hang around, nestled up close to your very real guilt. You feel guilty because there is a standard of right and wrong, something higher, more transcendent than mere societal norms. You know the standard exists, and you know that you do not measure up.
I know you know this not because I have been given second sight, not because I am a prophet or the son of the prophet, but because I too am a sinner, and the son of a sinner. I too have fallen short of my own moral calling. I too fail to give thanks for the many blessings I receive, that I do not deserve at all. I too lie awake at night, alone with my guilt. I too have tried any number of strategies to jettison this ball and chain, and like you, each time I have failed.
Guilt is real, and must be punished. When you consider that in order for there to be a transcendent law there must be a transcendent law-giver, then you begin to realize the depth of our problem. We violate the very law of our Maker. We are rebels against our Creator. As small as we are, we have managed to offend the infinite God. And because He is who He is, He too cannot disregard the law. He cannot wink at our sin, or simply “nice” it away. It must be punished. And so it was.
This is the good news. The sins of those who are His, our real guilt, they have already been punished. For while God cannot wink at sin, He can and does love His children. Out of this love, He took on flesh and dwelt among us. The very Son of God was born in a stable. From there He grew. He experienced what it is to be a man, save one thing. He never felt guilt, because He alone was never guilty. He kept the standard, perfectly. And then, when His time had come, He was punished for our sins. His Father poured out His just wrath toward our sins at His only-begotten Son. This is the answer to Jesus’ cry of agony, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken Me?” He was forsaken that we might be forgiven. And then, so that all the world might know that Jesus was not guilty in Himself, He was raised from the dead. He walked out of the tomb, having defeated our guilt, and having defeated death.
This is God’s only solution to our guilt. If we confess our sins, He promises, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins. If we believe in our hearts and confess with our mouths that Jesus has been raised from the dead, we are forgiven. This is why God became man, to solve the problem of our guilt. That is why we celebrate His birth, His death, and His resurrection.
Those who deny their guilt are, quite literally, damned liars. That is, they will pay for their sins on into eternity, suffering themselves the wrath of God for their sins. Those, on the other hand, who confess their guilt will have it wiped away, will be declared innocent on that great and final day. Of course, until that day, we all continue to sin. And those who have been forgiven continue to confess, and continue to be forgiven. Like the bumper sticker says- Christians aren’t perfect, just forgiven. We confess that there is a standard. We confess that we fall short of that standard. We confess that there is a Giver of that standard. We confess that it is He that we offend in our sins. And we confess that unless Jesus has paid for our sins, we too are doomed.
The same God who established the standard that we fail to meet, the Bible tells us, likewise calls all men everywhere to repent. This is the only way to not only escape our guilt, but to escape what our guilt has earned, the wrath of God. We are guilty, but in Christ we can be declared innocent. Repent, and believe the good news.
While we rejoice that when we embrace the work of Christ by faith we are forever forgiven, loved and adopted, faith itself isn’t a one-off, but a calling. We are to grow in our faith, to move from faith to faith, to believe God more fully each day. When He promises He is with us always, we rejoice. When He promises He will never forsake us, we rejoice. Faith, however, is not just something we cultivate, but for me, something I’ve had the blessing of witnessing. What attracted me to beloved wife was first her faith. I watched her walk through hardship and challenge with her eyes on the Lord, resting in His faithfulness. I watched her proclaim His grace fearlessly. I watched her take genuine and deep risks, forgoing the faithless counsel of friends, and sometimes even my counsel, because she believed God.
My love not only walked in faith, but that faith spilled out to others, especially me. When we met I was a man without hope, counting down the days until my body joined my spirit in the grave. I believed I was good for nothing. Her belief in me instilled in me the blessings of hope. I always lived in hope of the eschaton, confident that the “not yet” would be beyond my imagination. She reminds me that Jesus reigns now and that the “already” is His world, that He is at work in the here and now, that He is not only high and exalted, but is likewise always near. Listening to her prayers I feel Him fill the room, because such is just where He is. Since she became my wife I wake each morning in gratitude and in hope, praising God for all His blessings, for the blessing of my bride and looking forward to seeing Him at work, at walking in those mercies that begin afresh each day.
The greatest of these is love. It is an immeasurably deep blessing to be able to love my wife. It is life giving to give love, to pour into her my delight in her. It is, however, not just blessed to give but also to receive. That is, it is an immeasurably deep blessing to be loved by my wife. This woman who walks by faith, who spills out hope, showers me with her love. Better still, she loves her Redeemer. To walk with my beloved is to follow after our Lord. He is the third strand that binds the two strands so closely together. He is our reason for being, our end and purpose, together.
Never has He blessed me more fully than He has in giving me Lisa as my wife and my Valentine. She will Be Mine, forever.
Tonight we continue our look at the monumental, towering book of Romans. All are welcome to our home at 7 est, or you may join us for dinner at 6:15. We will also stream the study at Facebook, RC-Lisa Sproul. We hope you’ll join us.
