Tullian Tchividjian's Blog, page 32

It's Okay To Not Be Okay

The gospel liberates us to be okay with not being okay. We know we're not—though we try very hard to convince ourselves and other people we are. But the gospel tells us, "Relax, it is finished."

Because of the gospel, we have nothing to prove or protect. We can stop pretending. We can take off our masks and be real. The gospel frees us from trying to impress people, appease people, measure up for people, or prove ourselves to people. The gospel frees us  from the burden of trying to control what other people think about us. It frees us from the miserable, unquenchable pursuit to make something of ourselves by using others.

The gospel frees us from what one writer calls "the law of capability"—the law, he says, "that judges us wanting if we are not capable, if we cannot handle it all, if we are not competent to balance our diverse commitments without a slip." The gospel grants us the strength to admit we're weak and needy and restless—knowing that Christ's finished work has proven to be all the strength and fulfillment and peace we could ever want, and more. Since Jesus is our strength, our weaknesses don't threaten our sense of worth and value. Now we're free to admit our wrongs and weaknesses without feeling as if our flesh is being ripped off our bones.

The gospel frees us from the urge to self-gain, to push ourselves forward for our own purposes and agenda and self-esteem. When you understand that your significance, security, and identity are all anchored in Christ, you don't have to win—you're free to lose. And nothing in this broken world can beat a person who isn't afraid to lose! You'll be free to say crazy, risky, counterintuitive stuff like, "To live is Christ and to die is gain"!

Now you can spend your life giving up your place for others instead of guarding it from others—because your identity is in Christ, not your place.

Now you can spend your life going to the back instead of getting to the front—because your identity is in Christ, not your position.

Now you can spend your life giving, not taking—because your identity is in Christ, not your possessions.

Real, pure, unadulterated freedom happens when the resources of the gospel smash any sense of need to secure for myself anything beyond what Christ has already secured for me.

Excerpted from my forthcoming book Jesus + Nothing = Everything.

Grace And Peace

Big shout-out to my friend David Zahl (Mockingbird) who recently highlighted this rich section from Martin Luther's seminal Commentary on Galatians:

Galatians 1:3. "Grace be to you, and peace, from God the Father, and from our Lord Jesus Christ."

The terms of grace and peace are common terms with Paul and are now pretty well understood. But since we are explaining this epistle, you will not mind if we repeat what we have so often explained elsewhere. The article of justification must be sounded in our ears incessantly because the frailty of our flesh will not permit us to take hold of it perfectly and to believe it with all our heart.

The greeting of the Apostle is refreshing. Grace remits sin, and peace quiets the conscience. Sin and conscience torment us, but Christ has overcome these fiends now and forever. Only Christians possess this victorious knowledge given from above. These two terms, grace and peace, constitute Christianity. Grace involves the remission of sins, and peace involves a happy conscience. Sin is not canceled by lawful living, for no person is able to live up to the Law. The Law reveals guilt, fills the conscience with terror, and drives men to despair. Much less is sin taken away by man-invented endeavors. The fact is, the more a person seeks credit for himself by his own efforts, the deeper he goes into debt. Nothing can take away sin except the grace of God. In actual living, however, it is not so easy to persuade oneself that by grace alone, in opposition to every other means, we obtain the forgiveness of our sins and peace with God.

The world brands this a pernicious doctrine. The world advances free will, the rational and natural approach of good works, as the means of obtaining the forgiveness of sin. But it is impossible to gain peace of conscience by the methods and means of the world. Experience proves this. Various holy orders have been launched for the purpose of securing peace of conscience through religious exercises, but they proved failures because such devices only increase doubt and despair. We find no rest for our weary bones unless we cling to the word of grace.

Interview With Mike Horton: Part Four

This is the fourth and final part of my interview with Mike Horton on the nature of the gospel and sanctification. You can (and should) read Part One , Two, and Three.

A friend of mine recently wrote this to me. How would you respond? "I've not heard many of the folks who focus on the indicative be very specific about how they handle the imperative in preaching and counseling. They keep saying, "Of course we believe in the imperatives…" Then what? It think it would be very instructive to have some "indicative folks" post specifics on how they preach and counsel with the imperatives. What is the role of the imperative in preaching, counseling, personal sanctification, etc.? What does it actually "look like" in real life ministry to build the imperatives on the indicative?

I wonder if this is quite fair. Speaking in my own defense, I've written a book on the application of the Ten Commandments to us today and I can't think of any book I've written on the gospel that doesn't include the claims of God's law as well. When you're trying to shift the focus, it's easy for people to think that this is all you talk about in the pulpit or in counseling. However, when preaching through the whole of Scriptures—which full-time pastors are privileged to do—there's no freedom to cherry-pick your favorite verses and emphases. To be sure, "the sacred writings…make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ" (2 Tim 3:15).  Nevertheless, "All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be competent, equipped for every good work" (v 16). Containing both indicatives and imperatives, Scripture itself gives us what we need; our job is to make sure that we distinguish these and recall which does the saving work.

A while ago, our family was reading through Proverbs. What wonderful wisdom! I didn't try to turn them into parables of the gospel. They were examples of the goodness of God's law that is sweeter than honey from the honeycomb. And yet, many parallels (even nearly identical proverbs) can be found in non-biblical wisdom literature. We need wisdom for daily life. And yet, we must never confuse this with the gospel.  Christ doesn't just add a little secret wisdom to the storehouse; he "became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption…" (1 Cor 1:30). The main point of Scripture—the height of true wisdom—"is Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge" (Col 2:3). To say that is not to negate the more mundane forms of wisdom that we find in Scripture—or even among the world's wiser sorts.  It's just to say that if the gospel isn't true—and central—then none of that really matters at the end of the day. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die."

One of the concerns that's been raised is that while many people seem to be reveling in the indicatives of the gospel (what Jesus has done) we are in danger of giving short-shrift to the imperatives (what we must do). I've argued  that if someone is giving short-shrift to the necessity of obeying biblical imperatives, it's because they are not glorying in the indicatives of the gospel. Their problem is not first and foremost that they aren't giving full-throat to the imperatives. It's that they're not giving full-throat to the indicatives–that disobedience happens not when we think too much of grace, but when we think too little of grace. Do you agree?

Again, think of how Paul answers that in Romans 6. He doesn't respond to the antinomian charge by saying, "Hey, the other side of this—just for balance—is that if you don't turn over a new leaf, everything I've just said doesn't apply to you."  Rather, he says, "Wait, there's more yet to the gospel—more indicatives that you need to understand and embrace as applying to you."

The Church of Corinth was a mess and Paul's epistles were basically disciplinary.  Nevertheless, before he goes to the specific charges of violating the law, he reminds them who they are in Christ.  "Don't you remember that while I was with you I preached nothing but Christ and him crucified?"  Perhaps some of Paul's agitators in Galatia would have replied, "Yes, indeed, and don't you think that may have been part of the problem, Paul?  After all, if you had preached more imperatives, they wouldn't be in this mess."  Paul always believed that deeper immersion into the gospel is essential for the health of believers and churches.

At the same time, he never failed to follow up the indicatives with very clear, practical, and urgent imperatives.  In my view, many evangelical churches—including many who claim to be Reformed—are very undisciplined.  We mirror our democratic, individualistic and egalitarian society.  It's not just sound doctrine, but sound structures of biblical government, worship, catechesis, and nurture that will help recover a solid vision for the growth of the body.

While I believe that it's generally true that those who are forgiven much love much and that those who are in view of God's mercies will present their bodies as a living sacrifice, we have to recognize the deep depravity in our own hearts even as regenerate believers. Often I find myself reveling in the glories of the gospel for my own delight, oblivious to the "reasonable service" that it yields toward my neighbor.  I can be writing a paragraph on the wonders of grace while I snap at my wife or children for interrupting me. We do need Christ to remind us, by his Spirit, through his law, that the gospel doesn't stop at our own personal security and welfare, but drives us out to our neighbors in love and service.  A good Shepherd guides his sheep.  A good Father rebukes those whom he loves.  We need to hear the very specific and uncomfortable rebukes of the law as well as the tender comfort of the gospel.

We always need the gospel wind in our sails and the directional equipment on our dashboard.  Without the former, we're dead in the water; without the latter, we're blown all over the map.

I've argued that there is one primary enemy of the gospel—legalism—but it comes in two forms. Some people avoid the gospel and try to "save" themselves by keeping the rules, doing what they're told, maintaining the standards, and so on (I call this "front-door legalism"). Other people avoid the gospel and try to "save" themselves by breaking the rules, doing whatever they want, developing their own autonomous standards, and so on (I call this "back-door legalism"). In other words, there are two "laws" we can choose to live by other than Christ: the law which says "I can find freedom and fullness of life if I keep the rules" or the law which says "I can find freedom and fullness of life if I break the rules." Either way you're still trying to "save" yourself—which means both are legalistic because both are self-salvation projects. So that, what some call license is just another form of legalism. How would you respond?

Yes, that's a great point, Tullian, and I hope everybody takes it to heart in this conversation. "Make a rule" or "break a rule" really belong to the same passion for autonomy (self-rule). We want to remain in control of our lives and our destiny, so the only choice is whether we'll conquer the mountain by asceticism or by license. However, when Christ comes to us, he does not come to improve the old self, to bouy its self-confidence and encourage its pride. Christ comes to kill us in order to make us alive in him, as new creatures. The gospel is the answer both to the guilt and the tyranny of sin and other lords that cannot liberate but hold us to their breast in a death grip.

Thank-you, Mike, for taking the time to interact with me on these crucial topics. We are all grateful for your life and ministry.

Interview With Mike Horton: Part Three

This is Part Three of my four-part interview with Mike Horton on the nature of the gospel and sanctification. You can (and should) read Part One and Two.

In a blog post of mine the other day I quoted Tim Keller who said that some people claim that to constantly be striking a 'note of grace, grace, grace' in our sermons is not helpful in our culture today because legalism is not the problem, license is. But Keller points out that unless you critique moralism, many irreligious people won't know the difference between moralism and what you're offering. He contends that non-Christians will always automatically hear gospel presentations as appeals to do more and try harder unless in your preaching you use the good news of grace to deconstruct legalism. Only if you show them there's a difference–that what they really rejected wasn't real Christianity at all–will they even begin to consider Christianity." Do you agree with this? And how does this square with the idea that non-Christians will never be able to hear the good news of the gospel unless they first hear the crushing blow of God's law?

Again, I'm not sure that the problem is either legalism or license: those are categories of a largely Christian culture, that thinks in theological categories. Our default setting is always legalism: the assertion of our own goodness. However, the reference point in our world today is no longer God, much less heaven or hell.  It's the "heaven" of personal peace and affluence and the "hell" of meaningless nihilism.  "Legalism" in our culture today often takes the secular form of climbing the corporate ladder while trying to raise a family and own three homes, with anxiety about which call to return and which song to download.  It's nihilism: the life of vanity described in Ecclesiastes.

Go back and read (or listen to/watch) R. C. Sproul's "The Holiness of God." Now there you can't help but be faced with a person rather than a principle. Your questions, not just answers, change. The vertical dimension is recovered. Sure, you'd like to have a better marriage and family, but a deeper set of questions emerges—questions you never had before. Then you find that God is not a prop or resource for your life movie, but your problem.  Only then does the question, "How then can I be saved?" arise.  Only then is the gospel really good news—namely, that in Christ the Judge has become your father.

So I agree wholeheartedly that a renewed proclamation of the law in its full force and threat is needed today, but that means a renewed proclamation of the Triune God.  People need to be stopped in their tracks, no longer measuring "god" by their own sense of morality, goodness, truth, and beauty.  They need to encounter the God who is actually there, judging and justifying sinners.  If we start with the Bible's answers, we're too late.  We need to allow God's Word to give us new questions first.  There is a massive place for God's holiness, justice, goodness, and righteousness in the law to do that.  Apart from the holiness of God, neither the law nor the gospel makes any sense.

At the same time—and I take it that this is Tim Keller's point—the gospel is just as necessary.  Otherwise, what we have is what the Puritans called "legal" rather than "evangelical" repentance: that is, fear of the law without gospel-driven hatred of sin.  It's one thing to run from a judge; it's another thing to hear the surprising announcement from the Good Father that he welcomes the sinner, wraps him in his best robe, puts a ring on his finger, and kills the fatted calf for the celebration. Many of our contemporaries have never met anyone like that.

Some say that union with Christ is the integrating structure for both justification and sanctification. In other words, we're justified "in Christ" AND we're sanctified "in Christ."  Sanctification doesn't depend on justification, but both depend on union with Christ. How would you respond?

There's a long and noble history of "the marvelous exchange" in patristic and medieval theology that the Reformers picked up. Bernard of Clairvaux had an especially significant impact on Luther and Calvin, and both Reformers gave a lot of space to this theme of union with Christ as an analogy not only for justification but for all of the saving benefits we have in Christ.

Like Paul (think especially of the transition from Romans 6 to 7), Calvin emphasized that we cannot embrace Christ for justification without at the same time embracing him for our sanctification. We don't just receive a gift, or even many gifts, but Christ himself by faith. We are united to him. He is the eschatological forerunner, head, Vine, and source for the new creation to which we now belong. The Spirit unites us to Christ by the gospel and the gospel is not only the good news that we are justified, but the good news that the Lord Christ has conquered the dominion of sin and we have been baptized into his death and resurrection. So the gospel is always the source of our sanctification, but the gospel includes freedom from both the guilt and tyranny of our sins.

But some among us suggest that because we receive justification and sanctification in union with Christ, there is no logical dependence of the latter on the former. I don't find that anywhere in the relevant scriptural passages or in the exegesis offered by the Reformers, the confessions and catechisms, and the Puritans.  Reformed theology certainly teaches that justification provides the secure legal basis for our growing and maturing relationship with Christ (i.e., sanctification).  At the same time, we're always returning to Christ for both.  So we have to resist the false choice between union with Christ or justification.  As much as Calvin referred to the former, he still calls justification "the main hinge on which religion turns," "the primary article," etc..  That runs straight through all of the great spiritual writings, sermons, and treatises of the Reformed tradition.

In the recent discussions at the Ref21 blog, Rick Phillips clarified that "Justification is logically prior to progressive sanctification." When you say that justification is logically prior to sanctification, are you speaking of definitive or progressive sanctification?

The idea of definitive sanctification (distinct from regeneration or progressive sanctification) was first proposed by John Murray.  I agree completely with his interpretation of the passages that lead him to this position, but think it can still be covered under the new birth.  If that's the case, then yes, the new birth precedes justification logically.  However, sanctification in no sense (however defined) is logically prior to justification, which would lead basically to Rome's position (justification as the outcome of sanctification).

To be continued…

Interview With Mike Horton: Part Two

This is a continuation of my four-part interview with Mike Horton on the nature of the gospel and sanctification. You can (and should) read Part One here.

Mike, what are the three uses of the law?

Reformed theology embraces these "three uses": (1) pedagogical or elenctic—to show us our sin and drive us to Christ; (2) civil (to curb vice with the threat of temporal punishment), and (3) didactic (to guide Christian living).

In order further to drive a wedge between Lutheran and Reformed approaches, I often hear Reformed brethren point to the "third use" as a Reformed distinctive that's denied by Lutheran theology.  This too is simply inaccurate.  It was Luther's sidekick Melanchthon who identified the "three uses" and the Antinomian Controversy in Luther's circle provoked the sternest rebukes from the Reformer.  As a result, the Book of Concord staunchly affirmed the third use of the law—and gives more space to it than any of the Reformed confessions.  To be sure, there are differences.  As I point out in The Christian Faith, the principal difference in my view is the eschatology of sanctification—that is, the relationship between the "already" and the "not yet."  When both groups go off the reservation, Lutherans usually wander into an under-realized eschatology (downplaying the "already" of the new creation) and we Reformed folks embrace an over-realized eschatology (downplaying the continuing struggle with sin).  However, that's a difference in emphasis.  In terms of basic doctrine, there is no difference between our confessions.  It's very helpful for people on both sides actually to read the others' confessions!

When applying these three uses, it's important to know our audience.  Our primary audience in preaching is the covenant community.  God has pledged his grace in Christ to his congregation.  They are baptized, hear the Word, make profession of faith, receive the Supper, participate in the communion of the saints in confession, song, fellowship, prayer, and gifts.  At the same time, as under the old covenant, not all physical descendants of the covenant (children of believers) are true children of Abraham.  Some, like Esau, sell their birthright for a cheap dinner.  In our preaching, we must use the law carefully.  We still need to use the pedagogical use: showing believers that they still, even in their regenerate state, do not have the kind of righteousness that can withstand God's judgment and must flee to Christ.  We proclaim the law to the nations as well (civil use), testifying to God's moral will for all of his creatures.  And we exhort believers to follow God's commands (third use).   In all of this, we have to be careful that we do not give the impression either that by following God's commands one can receive his saving benefits in Christ or that because we are saved by grace alone, apart from works of the law, that God's commands are no longer obligatory.

Does the law of God have the power to sanctify us? During this conversation, some have pointed out the Westminster Confession of Faith 19.6 and the Canons of Dordt 5.14 and conclude that both the promises of the gospel and the threatenings of the law carry the power to sanctify. So, when they hear you (or me) say things like "the law guides but only the gospel gives us the power to do what it says" they wonder if we disagree with those portions of our confession. How would you respond?

The law has an indispensable role in our sanctification, but it doesn't have any power to justify or to sanctify. The law and the gospel simply do different things, but both are essential.  The gospel doesn't tell us what to do; it tells us what God has done.  The law doesn't announce God's pardon and renewal; it tells us what God requires.  In a covenant of law (where perfect, personal, and perpetual obedience is the basis of blessing/cursing), the law can only condemn; in the covenant of grace, the law can no longer condemn the justified but can only guide them in the way of righteousness.  That's why Calvin called this third use "the primary use" in the Christian life, because while the threatening of the law still drive us to Christ (first use), it must never be used to terrify the conscience of those who cling to Christ.  So it's not only a question of whether the law is still present, but of what role the law has in determining the basis of the covenant.

The law and the gospel do different things. That doesn't change after conversion. Think of a sailboat. You can have all the guidance equipment to tell you where to go, to plot your course, and to warn you when you've been blown off course. However, you can't move an inch without wind in your sails. All of the spiritual technology in the world—tools, techniques, and guidance—will not actually drive sanctification anymore than justification. The law (in this case, the third use) directs, but it cannot drive gospel sanctification. Paul answers his own question, "Shall we then sin that grace may abound?" not by switching back to threats and principles, but rather he shows the expansiveness of the gospel as the answer to the dominion as well as condemnation of sin. Persevering on the high seas requires both God's guidance and God's power, but it's the gospel that is "the power of God unto salvation."

A more biblical analogy, of course, is adoption. As a minister, I have to ask myself whether I'm preaching the law in a given moment on behalf of God as Judge or as Father?  If I'm preaching to God's children as if the one I'm representing is their Judge (pedagogical use), without sending them back to Christ, I'm using the law unlawfully. There is such a thing as God's fatherly displeasure and rebukes. That's part of perseverance.

Sometimes, over-reacting against legalism, we're nervous about passages in Scripture that speak of God punishing his children when they transgress his will and rewarding them for obedience.  Yet these are wonderful passages.  Think of an older adopted child who is delighted when his new father disciplines him just as he does the others whom he has known much longer.  Similarly, "God is treating you as sons.  For what son is there whom his father does not discipline?  If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons" (Heb 12:7-8).  In this process, the law may rebuke as well as guide.

WCF 19.6 says that "believers are not under the law as a covenant of works, to be thereby justified or condemned"; yet it's "of great use" because it does the following things: (1) "informing them of the will of God and their duty, it directs and binds them to walk accordingly; (2) discovering also the sinful pollutions of their nature, hearts, and lives, so as, examining themselves thereby, they may come to further conviction of, humiliation for, and hatred against sin, together with a clearer sight of the need they have of Christ and the perfections of his obedience.  (3) It is likewise of use to the regenerate, to restrain their corruptions, in that it forbids sin: and the threatening of it serve to show what even their sins deserve; and what afflictions, in this life, they may expect from them, although freed from the curse thereof threatened in the law."

Very deliberately, the Confession does not say that "the threatening" of the law is an appropriate way to exhort repentant believers.  Rather, it causes us all to flee to Christ and its threats "show what even their [the believers'] sins deserve."  When it comes to the threatening power of the law, it can extend no further than "reaping what you sow" in temporal afflictions.  The Confession also speaks of promises attached to the law.  This is not because the law itself is gospel, since the law's promises (blessings/curses) are conditional on obedience.  However, the promises attached to the law do indeed become ours—not through the law itself, but through the gospel.  Without the law, though, we wouldn't even know what those promises are!  That's why this statement in 19.6 follows up with the reminder that this is not to be taken in the sense of "the law as a covenant of works."

A quick and folksy illustration.  My dad was a professional builder (constructed houses) and an expert mechanic (built planes during WWII).  In my case, the apple not only fell far from the tree; it rolled down the hill, into the street, under a bus, and was never seen again.  Nevertheless, my dad was fond not only of letting me watch him at work, but bringing me into the process at the final stage.  "Now drive in that nail," or "press that valve," he would say, and then we'd go home and he'd tell my mom that I built a house or fixed the car.  Calvin talks about God "crowning his own works" when he rewards believers.  It's not something they deserve, but something that God delights to give because he's a good father.  Although the child's performance doesn't exactly rise to the level of the prize, a good father does not reward bad behavior, but good behavior.

None of this threatens justification.  In fact, justification makes it possible for God in Christ to switch from Judge to Father and reward our obedience without any reference to what we deserve one way or the other, but rather what will benefit us.  Once the person is justified for the sake of Christ alone, his or her works can also be accepted.   As the ground of acceptance before God, our best works fall short of God's glory.  However, once we are declared righteous in Christ, God can overlook the imperfection—even sin—still clinging to our best works.  There's nothing that God as Judge can do with our works but condemn us, but there's nothing left for God as Father to do with our good works than delight in them.  Analogous to what my dad did with me, our Heavenly Father can say, "Well done, good and faithful servant," not only because of the imputation of Christ's righteousness but also because, on that basis, we are already totally justified in Christ.  Even the mixed works of a justified child bring pleasure to God.  He's too good of a Father to ignore our imperfect obedience, though even this is wrought within us by his Spirit.  This is over-the-top-amazing: On judgment day, it will not be enough that our gracious Father announces to the world what he has already declared to us: that we are perfectly righteous in Christ; he will add to this rewards for things that we didn't even really do perfectly, completely, or without mixed motives—and that we could never have done apart from his grace.  That's not justification; it's ON TOP OF justification!!!

By the way, in the passage you refer to in Dort, it says, "And as it has pleased God, by the preaching of the gospel, to begin this work of grace in us, so he preserves, continues, and perfects it by the hearing and reading of His Word, by meditation thereon, and by the exhortations, threatenings, and promises thereof, and by the use of the sacraments." Notice that it refers broadly to God's Word here, which contains both threatenings and promises—in other words, law and gospel. It doesn't say that the gospel contains both threatenings and promises. Similarly, we confess with the Heidelberg Catechism that the Spirit "creates faith in our hearts by the preaching of the holy gospel and confirms it by the use of the holy sacraments" (Q 65).

As for WCF 19.6, we read clearly that believers are "not under the law, as a covenant of works, to be thereby justified or condemned," but are still obliged to the law's direction (third use). Even though we continue to fall short of God's glory, we are finally free to delight in God's law because it no longer condemns us!  (In fact, this is the conundrum only true believers face, as Romans 7 underscores: simultaneously loving the law even while we break it.) Believers still need to hear the law in its first use in order to have "a clearer sight off the need they have of Christ and the perfection of his obedience…and the threatenings of it serve to show what even their sins deserve and what afflictions in this life they may expect for them, although freed from the curse thereof threatened in the law."

What these confessions have in mind is the importance of both the law and the gospel in the Christian life. However, we have to recognize that they do different things. You never settle your confidence on your obedience to commands—even in sanctification. At the same time, when we begin to take grace for granted, the law threatens. When we start to entertain the idea, "God likes to forgive, I like to sin: what a great relationship!", that's when we need the law to hit us between the eyes with stern rebukes such as, "No adulterer will ever enter the kingdom of heaven." We live in repentance every day—never in a state either of complete "victory" or complete destitution. However, those who are not repentant are not Christians. They need a good law-smacking!

In my pastoral experience, this happens more in counseling than in the pulpit.  Some people need to be uprooted from their carnal security by the terror of the law, so that they will truly repent and flee to Christ for full salvation.  At the same time, believers who are repentant and trust in Christ must never be discouraged from their confidence in Christ alone.  Calvin makes this point clearly when he writes, "Whenever the conscience trembles, it can give no place to the law." The antinomian's conscience doesn't tremble—that's the problem. That's why the full force of its threats must be heard. However, most of those under our care are not in this situation. "The gospel promises are free and dependent solely on God's mercy, while the promises of the law depend solely upon the condition of works," Calvin adds (Inst. 3.11.17).  Anyone who finds shelter in Christ alone is free of the law's condemning and threatening power.

Some recommend that we must always preach the law before we preach the gospel. How does that square with the Scriptural pattern (Ephesians, Colossians, etc.) of telling us first what Jesus has done (gospel) before we are told what to do (law)?

Yes, for example, William Perkins made that point in his book on preaching. However, in some extreme forms of Puritanism and pietism (Lutheran and Reformed), it became two distinct and often prolonged stages. You went from the "law-work" stage to "gospel assurance." I don't believe it's that formulaic in Scripture. We are always hearing God's law and gospel as distinct words throughout our Christian life.

Think of Romans. First, there's the pedgaogical (first) use of the law in the first three chapters: all the world condemned. Then there is the proclamation of the gospel for eight chapters. Then in chapter 12 you have the transition to the third use of the law: "Therefore, brothers, in view of God's mercies, present your body as a living sacrifice…" Even in making specific commands, the gospel soil in which they're grounded is never forgotten.  We love because we are loved by the Father in Christ. We contribute to the welfare of the saints because we have received all of God's riches in Christ.

The Heidelberg Catechism follows this logic: Guilt, Grace, and Gratitude. The second question and answer tell us that we know our sin and misery through the law and our salvation in the gospel. But the place where the Ten Commandments are unpacked in their didactic use is in the third section: Gratitude.  It's only in view of our the gospel, which has done away with our guilt and the tyranny of sin, that we can respond appropriately to the law in its third use.

The danger comes when we turn back to the first use at this point, threatening believers after we have directed them to Christ alone for salvation! Often, this comes in the form of a final point where, after treating the exhortations, we ask, "Does this describe you?" The sensitive Christian conscience will have to say, "Well, no—at least, not enough."  What then?  Is the gospel enough to save me when I don't see enough fruit in my life? Paul's answer is to say, "Yes, I've already told you [in chapters 6-8] that it DOES describe you! Now live as if you really believed it!"

I once heard a preacher say that the law sends us to Christ for justification and then Christ sends us back to the law for sanctification. This seems to indicate a law-gospel-law paradigm. Thoughts?

This relates to my point above. We have to follow the text. Some passages will pick up at a different place on the law-gospel business than our previous sermon. We don't preach the DISTINCTION between law and gospel; we preach the PASSAGES, clearly distinguishing between law and gospel. It's certainly true from the New Testament that Christ delivers us from the curse of the law only to wed us to himself and therefore to his commands as well as promises. It would be blasphemous to suggest that we could be married to lawlessness. To be united to Christ is to love his Word—the law as well as the gospel. Yes, we make only "a small beginning" in sanctification in this life, but as the HC also reminds us, every believer begins at the moment of conversion to turn from sin and follow Christ.

The danger of law-gospel-law, though, is that it can turn the gospel into a means to a supposedly greater end. The gospel becomes a brief rest stop where God is good, Christ is sufficient, justification is complete, and then we leave it behind on our steep ascent of sanctification. The gospel always has the last word over a believer. Always.

To be continued…

Interview With Mike Horton: Part One

The ongoing conversation regarding the nature of the gospel, the role and purpose of God's law, the relationship between justification, sanctification and union with Christ, and how all of this impacts preaching and the life of the Christian, is super-important (see here). These are big issues. I've devoted my life and ministry to working these things out.

One good friend of mine who has been instrumental in helping me think these things through is Mike Horton (when I recently referred to him as my personal theological "Yoda", he responded by saying, "Yoda only in body shape and odd speech patterns").

Mike is the author of of over twenty books including his recently published one-volume Systematic Theology entitled The Christian Faith: A Systematic Theology for Pilgrims on the Way. He is Professor of Systematic Theology and Apologetics at Westminster Seminary in Escondido, California. In addition to his work at the Seminary, he is the president of White Horse Inn, for which he co-hosts the White Horse Inn, a nationally syndicated weekly radio talk-show exploring issues of Reformation theology in American Christianity. He is also the editor-in-chief of Modern Reformation magazine.

Recently, I asked Mike a series of questions with regard to the issues that I mentioned above. Over the next week I'll be posting his answers to my questions in the hopes that he might bring theological help and clarity to those of us who long to see a gospel revolution sweep the church.

Enjoy…

In what sense has the current conversation been merely a matter of different emphases, and in what sense are there genuine disagreements?

I have only had opportunity to read bits here and there. However, I can speak to your question more generally. Sometimes it's no more than emphasis. However, faithful preaching includes the law and the gospel—never assuming that believers know either well enough that one can be heard without the other. Of course, we do have to be sensitive to different contexts of pastoral ministry, but every believer and therefore every church is simultaneously justified and sinful. Not only at the beginning, but always, every believer needs the law and the gospel.

It would be a lot simpler if we could say that congregations tending toward legalism need more gospel and those leaning toward antinomianism need more law, but I question that this is how it works.

In the first place, I'm not sure that "legalism" and "antinomianism" are the best categories for what seems to me at least to dominate contemporary "Bible Belt" religion in the U.S. today.  Sure, there are some antinomians (in theory) who believe that you can be justified without being sanctified—even without continuing in faith. Sure, there are some who say that the third use of the law (guiding believers) is no longer in effect. In their view, referring to the Ten Commandments as normative for how we should live would be going back "under the law" in the sense that Paul condemned. I'm also sure that there are legalists out there. But the portrait of the preacher threatening card-players with the fires of hell is a distant memory, replaced by the smiling motivational speaker telling you how you can have your best life now if you follow his seven easy principles.

That's where I think it all gets so tricky. We're using theological categories when one of the most transformative events in our churches has been cultural: namely, what Philip Reif called "the triumph of the therapeutic." What we're dealing with today in the majority of cases, I believe, is not accurately described as either antinomianism or legalism, but a pragmatic and narcissistic appeal to moralism. It's not "stop going to parties or you'll go to hell," but "follow these ten principles and your life will be a party." It's "principles for living" on any number of life management topics, mining the Bible for quotes, but for the most part ignoring the interests of the text itself.

So you can't really call this diet antinomian: it's full of imperatives (rules, steps, principles, motivational tips—some kind of "To Do" list). But you also can't call it legalistic, because the reference point isn't really salvation or damnation—or even God,  but me and my happiness or unhappiness. God only makes a cameo appearance. The whole paradigm is what sociologist Christian Smith defines as: moralistic, therapeutic deism. Say what you will about the legalists and antinomians of yesteryear, but despite their heterodoxy, they were more interested in the Triune God and in interpreting and applying Scripture than a lot of what passes for evangelical preaching today.

Can you explain the law-gospel distinction for those who may be unfamiliar with it? And why is this so important?

It's important to recognize that in Scripture "law" and "gospel" can be used in two different senses.

First, there's the redemptive-historical transition from "the law" as an era when the church was under the supervision of the Mosaic types and shadows, to "the gospel" as an era in which the old covenant is fulfilled and is therefore obsolete.  In thise sense, law and gospel are not opposed, even though the latter is greater than the former.

Second, "law" and "gospel" refer to radically opposed principles for gaining the covenantal inheritance.  The Mosaic covenant was strictly conditioned on Israel's obedience: "Do this and you shall live."  It was about long life in the land, not about everlasting life.  It was about salvation from the nation's enemies, as a type of the deliverance from God's wrath and the powers of darkness.  Paul's agitators had confused these two covenants—the Abrahamic and the Mosaic—and were trying to secure the everlasting promise by way of the temporal covenant (something never intended in the Old Testament).

So in this second sense, "law" and "gospel" refer to two antithetical answers to the question, "How can I be saved?"  This is what most people have meant by the need to clearly distinguish law and gospel.  There is basic continuity between law and gospel in the redemptive-historical sense (as Old and New Testaments), but radical discontinuity between law and gospel in a covenantal sense.  That's why the law-gospel distinction was espeically developed in Reformed theology by way of the differences between the covenant of works and the covenant of grace.

Law is everything in the Scriptures that commands and gospel is everything in the Scriptures that promises God's favor in Christ. If we confuse these, we'll weaken the law, lowering the bar to something that we can (or think we can) actually clear, and we'll make the gospel anything but good news.

The Triune God directs us by his law, but delivers us by his gospel. This distinction was not only crucial to Luther and Lutheranism but to Calvin and Calvinism. The gospel is never an exhortation for us to do something, but an announcement of something that God has done for us.  We are called to obey the gospel—that is, to embrace it, but the gospel itself is the good news about what God has done for us in Christ.  Beza said that "confusion of law and gospel is one of the principal sources of the corruptions in the church."  Ursinus, primary author of the Heidelberg Catechism, said the same. So did the great Elizabethan Puritan William Perkins, as well as John Owen, Charles Spurgeon, and Charles Hodge.  On and on we could go. So when some say that that this is merely a Lutheran distinctive, it is ill-informed. It's routine in our standard theological works and, as I said, it's woven deeply throughout our whole Reformed system in the covenant of works-grace scheme.

It's easy to see when law and gospel are being confused when Rome says, "Do penance and you will be saved," or Charles Finney says, "Perfect obedience to the law is the necessary condition of present justification."  It's more difficult to recognize that the gentle, affirming, smiling stream of exhortations and life coaching in our day is also a form of law (not necessarily biblical) that is often presented as if it were the gospel.

The word "antinomianism" has been thrown around a lot in this conversation. Can you explain what it is?

It means, literally, "against law." One branch of the ancient Manichean (Gnostic) movement taught this in the second century. It survived in various sects during the Middle Ages. It's usually part and parcel of "enthusiasm": the contrast between the Spirit speaking to me in my heart, directly and immediately, versus the Spirit speaking through an external Word, preaching, sacraments, or church officers. So it has often gone hand-in-hand with extreme forms of mysticism.

In 17th-century England, that was certainly true. Basically, the "Calvinistic" antinomians believed that the elect were justified from all eternity (otherwise their faith would be a condition of salvation). Not only in regeneration, but in conversion and sanctification, the believer does nothing (even by grace) but is always acted upon. It was the "let go and let God" philosophy that became especially prominent in the Keswick or "higher life" movement (despite its more Arminian underpinnings).  Many within this group denied the third use of the law. Because we are in Christ, the law has no place in the believer's life.

We see antinomianism today, as I mentioned above, especially in the "carnal Christian" teaching.  However, it should be said that many very sound people (like Thomas Goodwin and John Owen) were charged with antinomianism by legalists (like Richard Baxter and John Goodwin).  The "Marrow Controversy" in early 18th-century Scotland was an example of this.  A great theological textbook, written by a formative Reformed orthodox theologian (Edward Fisher) in the late sixteenth century, was rediscovered by preachers like Thomas Boston. Yet now, this standard Reformed teaching was regarded by many ministers in the Church of Scotland as "antinomian." That wasn't because it actually was antinomian, but because the Church had become increasingly dominated by legalism.

To be continued…

Gospel-Driven Sanctification

In light of the recent discussion regarding the nature of Christian growth and sanctification (see my last post), I thought I would re-post the helpful quote below from Sinclair Ferguson. In it, he reminds us that any piety and pursuit of holiness not grounded in, and driven by, the gospel will eventually run out of gas–that imperatives minus indicatives equal impossibilities:

The first thing to remember is that we must never separate the benefits (regeneration, justification, sanctification) from the Benefactor (Jesus Christ). The Christians who are most focused on their own spirituality may give the impression of being the most spiritual but from the New Testament's point of view, those who have almost forgotten about their own spirituality because their focus is so exclusively on their union with Jesus Christ and what He has accomplished are those who are growing and exhibiting fruitfulness. Historically speaking, whenever the piety of a particular group is focused on OUR spirituality, that piety will eventually exhaust itself on its own resources. Only where our piety forgets about us and focuses on Jesus Christ will our piety be nourished by the ongoing resources the Spirit brings to us from the source of all true piety, our Lord Jesus Christ.

Dr. Ferguson reminds us that the secret of gospel-based sanctification is that we actually perform better as we grow in our understanding that our relationship with God is based on Christ's performance for us, not our performance for him.

Deconstructing Moralism

A lot of conversation has been happening with regard to the nature of the gospel and it's role in sanctification. First, Kevin DeYoung and I engaged in a healthy dialogue about this a few months ago (see here, here, here, and here) and then over at the Reformation 21 blog this week Bill Evans and Sean Lucas have had a healthy dialogue about this (see here, here, here, and here). I have intentionally stayed out of the most recent conversation because I've already said in many ways what I would say again if I weighed in.

Without addressing all of the important details, nuances, and perspectives, the simple fact is that if someone is giving short-shrift to the necessity of obeying biblical imperatives, it's because they are not glorying in the indicatives of the gospel. Their problem is not first and foremost that they aren't giving full-throat to the imperatives. It's that they're not giving full-throat to the indicatives. I've never met anyone who revels in the gospel of grace who then doesn't want to obey God. It's a phantom fear (see this brilliantly creative post). Disobedience and moral laxity happens not when we think too much of grace, but when we think too little of it (Rom. 6:1-4). Grace is not the enemy of radical obedience–it is its fuel! That's all I have to say about that.

There is, however, something specific that has come up in the conversation that I do want to address. It's the idea that since our culture is relativistic, licentious, and morally lax, is preaching grace what this culture really needs? Or, to put it another way, is preaching the gospel of grace really the means by which God will save licentious people? I mean, surely God doesn't think that the saving solution for the immoral and rebellious is his free grace? That doesn't make sense. It seems backwards, counter-intuitive. Given our restraint-free cultural context, what does make sense to me is that preachers in our day should be very wary of talking about grace at all. That's the last thing lawless people need to hear. Surely they'll take advantage of it and get worse, not better. After all, it would seem logical to me that the only way to "save" licentious people is to show them more rules, intensify my exhortations to behave.

Well, besides the fact that the Bible makes it clear that the power which saves even the worst rule-breaking sinner is the gospel (Romans 1:16), and not the law (Romans 7:13-24), there's another reason why preaching the gospel of free grace is both necessary and effective (counter-intuitive as it may seem) even at a time when moral laxity reigns supreme: moralism is what most people outside and inside the church think Christianity is all about—rules and standards and behavior and cleaning yourself up.

Millions of people, both inside and outside the church, believe that the essential message of Christianity is, "If you behave, then you belong." The reason they come to that conclusion is because many of us preachers have led them to believe that. We've led them to believe that God is most interested in people becoming good instead of people coming to terms with how bad they really are so that they'll fix their eyes on Christ "the author and finisher of our faith" (Hebrews 12:2). From a human standpoint, this is precisely why many people outside the church reject Christianity and why many people inside the church conk out: they're just not good enough to get it done over the long haul. (Then there are those who ignore the gospel because they've deceived themselves into believing that they really are making it, when in reality they're not.)

In his article "Preaching in a Post-modern Climate", Tim Keller makes this point brilliantly:

Some claim that to constantly be striking a 'note of grace, grace, grace' in our sermons is not helpful in our culture today. The objection goes like this: "Surely Phariseeism and moralism is not a problem in our culture today. Rather, our problem is license and antinomianism. People lack a sense of right or wrong. It is 'carrying coal to Newcastle' to talk about grace all the time to postmodern people." But I don't believe that's the case. Unless you point to the 'good news' of grace, people won't even be able to bear the 'bad news' of God's judgment. Also, unless you critique moralism, many irreligious people won't know the difference between moralism and what you're offering. The way to get antinomians to move away from lawlessness is to distinguish the gospel from legalism. Why? Because modern and post-modern people have been rejecting Christianity for years thinking that it was indistinguishable from moralism. Non-Christians will always automatically hear gospel presentations as appeals to become moral and religious, unless in your preaching you use the good news of grace to deconstruct legalism. Only if you show them there's a difference–that what they really rejected wasn't real Christianity at all–will they even begin to consider Christianity.

As I've pointed out before, in Romans 6:1-4 the Apostle Paul answers antinomianism (lawlessness) not with law but with more gospel! I imagine it would have been tempting for Paul (as it often is with us when dealing with licentious people) to put the brakes on grace and give the law in this passage, but instead he gives more grace—grace upon grace. Paul knows that licentious people aren't those who believe the gospel of God's free grace too much, but too little. "The ultimate antidote to antinomianism", writes Mike Horton, "is not more imperatives, but the realization that the gospel swallows the tyranny as well as the guilt of sin."

The fact is, that the only way licentious people start to obey is when they get a taste of God's radical, unconditional acceptance of sinners. It was the kindness of the Lord that led you to repentance (Romans 2:4). What makes you think that same kindness which flows supremely from the gospel of free grace won't lead others to repentance?

On Death To Self

Ever since the Enlightenment, we've been told in a thousand different ways that accomplishment precedes acceptance; that achievement precedes approval. And since we all long for affirmation and validation, we set out to prove our worth by doing. Unwittingly, Christians in this cultural context have absorbed this mentality and taken it into their relationship with God and their understanding of the Christian life.

This was apparently a problem in Jesus' day too. For instance, when Jesus was asked in John 6:28, "What must we do to be doing the works of God?" he answered, "This is the work of God, that you believe in him who he sent." What? That's it? How terribly anti-climactic!

As it was with Martha in Luke 10:38-42, so it is with us: we just have to be doing something. We can't sit still. Achieving, not receiving, has become the mark of modernity's version of spiritual maturity. Martin Luther once wrote:

To be convinced in our hearts that we have forgiveness of sins and peace with God by grace alone is the hardest thing.

The hardest thing to do even as believers in Christ is to simply receive something. In fact, there's nothing we fear more than having all control taken out of our hands.

This MUST-READ sermon on Matthew 17:22-27 and 26:47-56 by the late Gerhard Forde expounds the beauty and brilliance of Christ's finished work for us and its impact on the way we live here and now. The truth is, that it's only when we come to terms with the fact that we can't to do anything for Jesus (Jesus paid it all) that we will want to do everything for Jesus (all to him I owe).

Enjoy…

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We speak a good deal about that supreme mystery of our faith, the death to self. For, as we have heard, he who would save his life shall lose it, and he who loses his life for Jesus' sake shall find it. But what does that really mean -to die to self? Does it mean, perhaps, selling my car and going on foot or by bus? It might. We can't rule out the possibility. Does it mean, perhaps, selling my good clothes and furniture so that my wife and I should sit around in rags on orange crates? It might. Certainly we can't dismiss that possibility either. For the problem is that words like "dying to self" are translated into some kind of action, or something that actually happens -that is, some real change -they don't have any real meaning. So we certainly must try, eventually, to translate them into the language of action.

But before we get too hasty and impatient there are some things at which we should take a hard look. The first is that we have a rather incurable tendency always to refuse to really listen to the words of God and instead to translate them immediately into something we are going to do, indeed, can do. This is what we always do with the law. We take it and translate it into a do-it-yourself kit for salvation. It is as though we think we are going to do God a big favor by living up to what is demanded of us and even, possibly, put him out of the salvation business by accomplishing all or at least some of it ourselves-even if that turns out to be just a teeny-weeny little bit. But when we do that we really come a-cropper when we come to this word about dying to self. For what can that possibly mean in a do-it-yourself religion? Here God has set a snare for us in our easy confidence that we are big enough to handle the job. For this is a word that we find difficult to handle. We find ourselves forced either to ignore it -which we mostly do -or to try to cut it down to size so we can handle it -maybe by selling our car or our furniture or our clothes. But even then we can't rest too easily with it, for we are never quite sure that that is enough. For however much discomfort such actions may cause us, is that really dying to self? They may be just another means of keeping myself in the business of doing God big -or little -favors, and thus of protecting myself from really hearing the words. The trouble is that the self keeps getting in the way.

But what then does it really mean? When considering this question, I was struck by some of the incidents recorded in our texts for today. For here we have the picture of Jesus on the way to his death. His disciples are with him, and are apparently figuring that they are going to have a hand in what is about to happen. They want to go along. They want to help out, to do their bit in the business of bringing in God's kingdom, even, as Peter says in Mark's account, if that means sacrificing their lives. But the really difficult thing for them to take, as I suspect it also is for us as "religious" people, is that in the final analysis there is absolutely and utterly nothing they can do. When Jesus sets his face to go to Jerusalem, Peter wants to do something about it. He sets himself in the way and says, "God forbid, Lord! Don't do it! Don't go!" Peter wants to do God a favor -to protect and preserve the Messiah and his kingdom. But Jesus looks at him and says, "Get thee behind me Satan! For you are hindrance to me, you are not on the side of God, but of men" (Mark 8:33)' This, Jesus says, is something that must happen; it is going to happen because God wants it, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

And at the betrayal in the Garden of Gethsemane when the crowd comes out against Jesus with swords and clubs, they still want to do something. They still want to do their bit for God. They want to take up the sword and risk their lives, perhaps, and fight. One of them grasps a sword and cuts off the ear of one of the assailants. But Jesus will have  none of it: "Put up your sword," he says, "for there is absolutely nothing you can do!" In Luke's account, Jesus even stretches out his hand to undo what the disciples had tried to do -he heals the wounded man. At that point, no doubt, everything within us cries out in protest along with the disciples. Is there nothing we can do? Could we not at least perhaps stage a protest march on God's behalf? Could we not seek, perhaps, an interview with Pilate? Could we not try to influence the "power structures"? Something -however small? But the unrelenting answer comes back, "No, there is nothing you can do, absolutely nothing. If there were something to be done, my Father would send legions of angels to fight!" But there is nothing to be done. "For how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?" And when it finally came to that last and bitter moment, when these good religious men finally realized that there was nothing they could do, they forsook him and fled.

Can you see it? Can you see that hidden in these very words, these very events, is that death itself which you fear so much coming to meet you? For there is nothing that the old man -the self which must die fears so much as having everything taken out of his hands. When they finally saw there was nothing they could do they forsook him and fled before the awesome truth. You, who presume to do business with God, can you see it? Can you see that this death of self is not, in the final analysis, something you can do? For the point is that God has once and for all reserved for himself the business of your salvation. There is nothing you can do now but, as the words of the old hymn have it, "climb Calvary's mournful mountain" and stand with your helpless arms at your side and tremble before "that miracle of time, God's own sacrifice complete! It is finished; hear him cry; learn of Jesus Christ to die!"

Can you see it? Can you see that really the last, bitter death is there? That in that cross God has stormed the last bastion of the self, the last presumption that you really were going to do something for him? Can you see that the death of Jesus Christ is your death? He has died in your place! He has done it. He made it. He created a salvation in the midst of time and his enemies. He is God happening to you. It is all over, finished, between you and God! He died in your place that death which you must die; he has done it in such a way as to save you. He has borne the whole thing! The fact that there is nothing left for you to do is the death of self and new birth of the new creature. He died to make a new creature of you, and as he arose, to raise you up to trust God alone.

If you can see it, perhaps then you can see, or perhaps at least begin to see, what is the power of God's grace and rejoice. For that is the other side of the coin once you have gotten out of your self-enclosed system. Then perhaps you can turn away from yourself, maybe really for the first time, and look upon your neighbors. Maybe for the first time you can begin to receive creation as a gift, a sheer gift from God's hands. And who knows what might happen in the power of this grace? All possibilities are open. You might sell your car, or even give it away -for someone else. You might find even that you could swallow your pride and stage a protest march -for your neighbor -or begin to seek to influence the power structures! For in the power of his cross the way is open! The way is open to begin, at least, perhaps in faltering ways, in countless little ways, to realize what it means to die to self. For that, in the final analysis, is his gift to you, the free gift of the new man, the new woman, the one who can live in faith and hope, for whom all possibilities are open!

The Double-Reach of Self-Righteousness

The Bible makes it clear that self-righteousness is the premier enemy of the Gospel. And there is perhaps no group of people who better embody the sin of self-righteousness in the Bible than the Pharisees. In fact, Jesus reserved his harshest criticisms for them, calling them whitewashed tombs and hypocrites. Surprisingly to some, this demonstrates that unrighteous badness is not the greatest threat to gospel advancement. Self-righteous goodness is.

In Surprised by Grace: God's Relentless Pursuit of Rebels, I retell the story of Jonah and show how Jonah was just as much in need of God's grace as the sailors and the Ninevites. But the fascinating thing about Jonah is that, unlike the pagan sailors and wicked Ninevites, Jonah was one of the "good guys." He was a prophet. He was moral. He was a part of God's covenant community. He was one who "kept all the rules", and did everything he was supposed to do. He wasn't some long-haired, tattooed indie rocker; he was a clean-cut prep. He wasn't a liberal; he was a conservative. He wasn't irreligious; he was religious. If you've ever read S.E. Hinton's novel The Outsiders, than you'll immediately see that the Ninevites and the sailors in the story were like the "greasers", while Jonah was like a "soashe."

What's fascinating to me is that, not only in the story of Jonah, but throughout the Bible, it's always the immoral person that gets the Gospel before the moral person. It's the prostitute who understands grace; it's the Pharisee who doesn't. It's the unrighteous younger brother who gets it before the self-righteous older brother.

There is, however, another side to self-righteousness that younger-brother types need to be careful of. There's an equally dangerous form of self-righteousness that plagues the unconventional, the liberal, and the non-religious types. We "authentic", anti-legalists can become just as guilty of legalism in the opposite direction. What do I mean?

It's simple: we become self-righteous against those who are self-righteous.

Many younger evangelicals today are reacting to their parents' conservative, buttoned-down, rule-keeping flavor of "older brother religion" with a type of liberal, untucked, rule-breaking flavor of "younger brother irreligion" which screams, "That's right, I know I don't have it all together and you think you do; I know I'm not good and you think you are. That makes me better than you."

See the irony?

In other words, they're proud that they're not self-righteous! Hmmm..think about that one.

Listen: self-righteousness is no respecter of persons. It reaches to the religious and the irreligious; the "buttoned down" and the "untucked"; the plastic, "boardroom", CEO Christians and the pious, coffee-house, artsy Christians. The entire Bible reveals how shortsighted all of us are when it comes to our own sin. Steve Brown writes:

You will find criticism of Christian fundamentalists by people whose secular fundamentalism dwarfs the fundamentalism of the people being criticized. Political correctness and the attendant feelings of self-righteousness have their equivalent in religious communities with religious correctness. If you look at victims, you'll find self-righteousness. On the other hand, if you look at the people who wield power, they do it with the self-righteous notion that they know better, understand more, and more informed than others…arrogance, condescension, disdain, contemptuousness, and pomposity are everywhere.

For example, it was easy for Jonah to see the idolatry of the sailors. It was easy for him to see the perverse ways of the Ninevites. What he couldn't see was his own idolatry, his own perversion. So the question is not whether you are self-righteous but rather, in which direction does your self-righteousness lean? Depending on who I'm with, mine goes in both directions. Arghhh!

Thankfully, while our self-righteousness reaches far, God's grace reaches farther. And the good news is, that it reaches in both directions!