Does Jesus Have a Double Standard?

Did Jesus use a double standard when dealing with people? It almost seems that way. Generally speaking, He reacted harshly to the scribes and Pharisees while showing tenderness to the promiscuous and delinquent. It isn’t because only one of the groups was in the wrong—they both were. Hypocrisy and debauchery are both sins, so why treat some sinners with force and others with gentleness?

The answer is the distinction between law and gospel. To quote an article in the Lutheran Study Bible, “One of the principles of Law and Gospel is that the Law is used with unrepentant sinners and the Gospel is used with repentant sinners.” Or, to use the words of Martin Luther, “For this also must be noted: that as the voice of the law is brought to bear only upon those who neither feel nor know their sins…so the word of grace [i.e., the gospel] comes only to those who are distressed by a sense of sin and tempted to despair” (Bondage of the Will).

The law’s purpose is to awaken a dead—or, at least, a hard—conscience; the gospel’s purpose is to soothe a convicted conscience. The Pharisees often displayed the former, whereas the more blatant sinners often demonstrated the latter.

In order to wrap some meat of practicality around these bones of theory, let’s look at three different examples from Scripture.

The Law

When the rich young ruler asks Jesus what a person needs to do to inherit eternal life, Jesus answers by listing several commandments. The ruler confidently—and mistakenly—states that he has kept all of them from his youth. Such obedience, however, is impossible. Instead of arguing with the ruler, though, Jesus ups the ante: “One thing you lack: Go your way, sell whatever you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, take up the cross, and follow Me” (v. 21).

Jesus is still speaking with the voice of the law. The young man’s misguided notion of his own goodness means he is not ready to hear the gospel. The law still hasn’t done its work; indeed, the man has misinterpreted God’s standard as being attainable. Thus, Jesus zeroes in on the root of the man’s problem (the idolatry of his wealth) with a proclamation of the law. Christ is showing this young man, who thinks he is near salvation, just how far from salvation he actually is.

Law and Gospel

In 2 Samuel 12, the prophet Nathan approaches King David with a story of a rich man who violently mistreats his neighbor. When David expresses anger over the misdeed, Nathan reveals that the criminal is actually David himself. He then rehearses how David has specifically broken God’s law, adding that there will be future repercussions of these sins, including that members of his own family would rise up against him (v. 11).

With the light of the law shining down on his now exposed sin, David’s hardened conscience is softened. In sorrow, he confesses the evil of his transgression. Nathan responds by speaking with the voice of the gospel: “The LORD also has put away your sin; you shall not die” (v. 13). This gospel promise strengthens David’s heart, giving him hope even when he later faces the consequences Nathan prophesied. (Read Psalm 3 as an example, where David proclaims confidence in God’s favor, even while experiencing the Lord’s discipline.)

The Gospel

We find a beautiful gospel promise in Ezekiel 33:

“As I live,” says the Lord GOD, “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live. Turn, turn from your evil ways! For why should you die, O house of Israel?” (v. 11)

These words have often been mistaken as a statement of law, where God is pleading with hardened sinners in an attempt to win them over. In reality, this verse is a cry of the gospel, aimed at sinners whose consciences have already been pierced. Luther says about this passage,

None receive it with joy and gratitude but those who are distressed and troubled at death, those in whom the law has already completed its work, that is, given knowledge of sin [Rom. 3:20]. Those that have not yet experienced the work of the law, who do not recognize their sin and have no sense of death, scorn the mercy promised by [this] word.

Depending on the circumstance, the law or the gospel—or both—may be necessary to sway a sinner’s heart. To be clear, we all need to hear both eventually, but the self-righteous often require a healthy dose of the law, whereas delinquents with guilty consciences often need a healthy dose of the gospel. Whatever the case, it takes great wisdom to use the law and gospel rightly. Thanks be to God, the master craftsman, who can teach us how to use these tools well!

The Litmus Test of Genuine Christianity

Late last week, The Gospel Coalition was kind enough to publish an article I wrote about the test of pure and undefiled religion. You can check it out here.

The Gospel We (Don’t) Believe

If you’re a Christian, you’ve been saved by the gospel. That doesn’t necessarily mean, however, that you sufficiently understand the gospel. Just as it is easy to mistake the essence, purpose, and function of the law, so it is possible—and dangerously easy—to misinterpret the gospel itself. Yes, even believers can have a faulty view of the gospel—to the detriment of their Christian walk.

Here’s a short quiz. Look at Genesis 12:2-3 and see if you can discern where the gospel is located.

I will make you a great nation; I will bless you and make your name great; and you shall be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse him who curses you; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.

We can see that this is a promise, not a command. Therefore, God is speaking here with the voice of the gospel, not the law. We can be even more explicit than that, though. These verses are, in effect, the very gospel of Jesus Christ—on par with Paul’s statement in 1 Timothy 1:5: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.”

How can I say that? Because Paul says that. In Galatians 3:8 he writes, “And the Scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, preached the gospel to Abraham beforehand, saying, ‘In you all the nations shall be blessed.’” Paul labels God’s words to Abraham in Genesis 12 as “the gospel”—even though it doesn’t specifically mention Christ. This is because the essence of the gospel is God promising to do something on our behalf without any help or assistance from us.

But isn’t Genesis 12 simply foreshadowing the coming of Christ, through which God’s promise will be fulfilled? Isn’t that why Paul can refer to it as the gospel? Well, yes—and that is exactly the point. Every promise—that is, every gospel proclamation in the Bible—is ultimately fulfilled through Christ. “For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory” (2 Cor. 1:20, ESV). When God makes a promise, it can never be fulfilled through the law (i.e., our works)—only through the gospel (i.e., Christ’s atonement).

At this point, some may say, “That’s all fine and dandy, Cap, but it’s old hat. I already believe that. All Christians believe that.” Okay, let’s put some legs on this doctrine of ours and see if it actually walks.

First, let’s ask where our emphasis lies—on the law or the gospel? Do we spend most of our time thinking and talking about our responsibility or Christ’s sufficiency? As Internet Monk has pointed out, much of our teaching and talking exhorts people this way: “if they would take their talent and use it for the Lord, they’d be blessed. Or if they surrender their all to Jesus, they’ll be happy no matter what happens. Or if they will stop making excuses and get serious about following Jesus, they can please God.” Law, law, law. Law for breakfast, second breakfast, and elevenses—and that’s only what we eat in the morning. Too many of us roll around in the law like mud-stained pigs—and we like it. It makes us feel good about ourselves and how we relate to God. But we were meant to feel good about God based on how He has chosen to relate to us.

Second, let’s ask what we believe about saving faith. Is it ultimately God’s gift, or is it ultimately our choice? Do we contribute to salvation, or is it, as Romans 5 says, a “free gift” (vv. 15, 16, 18)? It can’t be both. The entirety of salvation—grace, faith, and everything else involved—is either a gift (Eph. 2:8), or the result of an act of our will, giving us a right to boast (Eph. 2:9). If I think the ultimate determining factor in my salvation was something that originated in me, then I am ultimately claiming salvation on the basis of law, not gospel.

Scripture sometimes refers to the promise of the gospel as an inheritance (Eph. 1:14, 18; Heb. 9:15). We all know what an inheritance is: something you receive from the work (and death) of a next of kin. Christ’s perfect life and substitutionary atonement act as the work and the death that secure our salvation. An inheritance that comes through the law is, as Paul says, “no longer of promise; but God gave [the inheritance] to Abraham by promise” (Gal. 3:18). If we hope to be saved like Abraham was, we need only trust in the promise of God’s saving work through Christ—through the gospel.

Using the Law Unlawfully

Have you ever sought to defend a cause only to end up proving something you didn’t mean to—like attempting to prove the existence of God only to find yourself backed into a corner? It’s a humbling, and evening a frightening, experience. Since I don’t think quickly on my feet, I have argued myself into a corner on more than one occasion.

One such occasion (or a period of time, rather) involved the realization that I had misinterpreted more than half the Bible. Up until that point, I was convinced that the prominent use of Scriptural commands—“Choose this day,” “If you are willing to obey,” etc.—proved that those commands could be obeyed. But as last week’s post pointed out, such a conclusion is faulty.

The conclusion is more than just faulty, though. It undermines the very faith on which we stand. You see, when we use the law to prove mankind’s ability, it ends up proving much more than we bargain for. It proves not just that we have some ability to follow after God; it proves that man can do all that God requires, without any aid from God.

We need to remember that God requires that we obey all of His law, not just a part of it. “You shall therefore keep all My statutes and all My judgments, and perform them” (Lev. 20:22); “keep all His statutes…all the days of your life” (Deut. 6:2); “walk always in His ways” (Deut. 19:9). That is the condition on which God’s promises rest: full and complete obedience.

Consider what Christ described as the greatest commandment of all: “You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind [Deut. 6:5]” (Matt. 22:37). This command is the sum of how we are to relate to God. The command exists, so does that mean it is within man’s power to love God totally and completely, without God working in his heart at all?

The answer should be obvious. Just take a look at Matthew 5, where Christ expounds on several Old Testament laws, and evaluate how you have measured up to that standard in the last few weeks—let alone, in the last several years. Obedience that truly gives God His due is just as far from our grasp as the stars in the heavens.

Saving faith entails an acknowledgement that our obligation to the law exceeds our ability. We cannot obey it—not partially, not completely, not even to save our own lives. We are like a man who files for bankruptcy, declaring that he cannot pay off what he owes. Because his obligation exceeds his ability, he pleads for mercy in the form of the elimination of his debts.

But maybe you only want to prove that man can love God to a certain extent, to at least make a strong effort to pursue God. Even if that were so, where does that leave us? James says, “whoever shall keep the whole law, and yet stumble in one point, he is guilty of all” (Jas. 2:10). When it comes to being justified in God’s sight, partial obedience isn’t any better than no obedience.

If God’s commands are within our grasp, if mankind is able to obey and love God of his own accord, then there is no need for grace. There is no need for Christ. We may argue to the contrary, but that is the logical conclusion of using the law to prove mankind’s ability.

Either we have the power to fulfill the entire law or we cannot fulfill any of it. There is no middle ground. And Scripture tells us that Christ came to call not the righteous (i.e., law keepers), but sinners (i.e., law breakers) to Himself (Luke 5:32). Righteous, God-fearing, law-abiding people don’t need to repent; only sinners do.

If we fail to grasp that the law exists to show us our inability, we will end up using the law illegally. That’s right; we will take a good thing—the law of God—and use it contrary to God’s purposes. That is what Paul says in 1 Timothy 1:8-9: “But we know that the law is good if one uses it lawfully, knowing this: that the law is not made for a righteous person, but for the lawless.” The law was made not to prove our righteousness but our unrighteousness. It was never made for those with the power to keep it—only for those who cannot. And those who find themselves powerless are perfectly situated to receive the amazingly good news of the gospel.

What’s Law Got to Do with It?

In explaining the Lutheran distinction between law and gospel last week, I made the claim that the law does not show us what we can do; it simply shows us what we ought to do. Since that is a controversial statement, further explanations are in order.

It is easy, and even logical, to assume that if the law only tells us to do things we cannot do, the law is meaningless. It only mocks us and makes light of our condition. That is the stance I had for most of my life, actually. Only when exposed to the keen Biblical insights of Martin Luther did I realize the fallacy of my reasoning.

The law does not mock a person who is incapable of obeying it. In fact, by commanding the impossible, the law helps him. How? To answer, let me paraphrase an argument from Luther’s Bondage of the Will: Imagine a man with his hands bound behind his back, but who clearly and fully believes he can move his hands in any direction, whenever he wished. How could you best help this person? Well, by pointing out the fallacy of his delusion—that is, by telling him to move his arms. Only then would he have hope to change his assumptions. This is exactly how the law treats all of us.

Some argue that we are capable of obeying the law, or that we are already aware of our inabilities. But Luther disagreed. He argued that a man who is either capable of keeping the law or aware that he cannot “is nowhere to be found. If there were such, then, in truth, either the commanding of impossibilities would be absurd, or the Spirit of Christ would be in vain. But the Scripture sets before us a man who is not only bound, wretched, captive, sick and dead, but who, through the operation of Satan his lord, adds to his other miseries that of blindness, so that he believes himself to be free, happy, possessed of liberty and ability, whole and live” (Bondage of the Will, eds. Packer and Johnston, 161-162).

When we grasp this truth, the Bible explodes with new meaning. It starts to make sense how God can command something in one place and promise it in another; instead of contradicting Himself, He is simply speaking with the different voices of law and gospel.

Let’s look at a few specific distinctions:

A Circumcised Heart

• The law: “Therefore circumcise the foreskin of your heart, and be stiff-necked no longer” (Deut. 10:16).
• The gospel: “And the LORD your God will circumcise your heart and the heart of your descendants, to love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul, that you may live” (Deut. 30:6).

A New Heart

• The law: “…get yourselves a new heart and a new spirit” (Eze. 18:31).
• The gospel: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh and give you a heart of flesh” (Eze. 36:26).

Fear of the Lord

• The law: “And now, Israel, what does the LORD your God require of you, but to fear the LORD your God, to walk in all His ways and to love Him, to serve the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul” (Deut. 10:12).
• The gospel: “I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear Me forever, for the good of them and their children after them. And I will make an everlasting covenant with them, that I will not turn away from doing them good; but I will put My fear in their hearts so that they will not depart from Me” (Jer. 32:39-40).

The law is contingent on man’s performance, whereas the gospel is contingent on Christ’s performance. When we fail to recognize this distinction, we create a perverse hybrid in our minds: We combine the main principle of the law (by works you will be saved) with the main principle of the gospel (by grace you will be saved). And what we end up with is a humanistic and performance-oriented gospel—which, in the end, is no gospel at all (Gal. 1:6-7).

Lutherans Know Something We Don’t Know

A Charismatic, a Presbyterian, and a Lutheran walk into a bar. Okay, that probably would never happen, but if those three people were to somehow enter a bar, coalesce, and emerge from the establishment as one man (who realized he wasn’t too fond of beer to begin with), that one man could possibly be me.

Yes, many denominations have made an impact on my spiritual development. And while I could possibly be labeled as something of a Reformed Charismatic (which, I assure you, is not a contradiction in terms), I have also been heavily influenced by the teachings of Martin Luther. One Lutheran doctrine in particular has been especially helpful—the paradigm-shattering distinction between law and gospel.

As any Lutheran worth his salt will tell you, this distinction is critical for properly understanding the Bible. The law is defined as any imperative statement—i.e, a command to do (or not do) something. The gospel, on the other hand, is an indicative statement—a promise that God has accomplished (or will accomplish). Throughout Scripture, God speaks with the voice of either the law or the gospel, and we need to discern which voice is speaking whenever reading a verse or passage. Pretty simple, right?

While the concept itself is simple, understanding and believing and applying it is not so simple. We must understand that the law shows us what we ought to do, not what we can do. God designed the law to act as our tutor—to show us just how wide a gap exists between what we must accomplish and what we cannot accomplish. Then, when we see our plight for what it truly is, the gospel steps in and promises that God has done what we could not. If we interpret the law of God as being attainable through human effort, we will misinterpret countless Scriptural passages.

Or think about the gospel—a word that, in the Greek, literally means “good news.” As has been explained by men much wiser than I, there is a big difference between good news and good advice. The gospel is the former, not the latter. It is the story of the finished work that God has accomplished on our behalf, apart from our help or assistance or merit. The gospel is not a command, but we often interpret it as such. Just the other day, I heard a lady describe the gospel as being about what we should and shouldn’t do. That’s good advice, not good news—and good advice has no power to save a sinner trapped by the condemnation of the law.

One particular aid I have found for discerning law/gospel distinctions is the Lutheran Study Bible. Released in 2009, it has significantly affected my communion with God during Scripture reading. Throughout the entire study Bible, each section—or, at the very least, each chapter—is accompanied by a “Law and Gospel Application.” As the study Bible explains, “These notes summarize sections of Scripture, applying both Law and Gospel for the reader and providing a petition or praise to guide the reader into prayer, since studying the Bible is always a devotional act for Lutherans.” If you’re looking for a new study Bible, this is the one I would recommend most highly.

Regardless of our denominational upbringings, we have all interpreted commands as promises and promises as commands. We need humility, wisdom, and grace in order to rightly divide the word of truth. The Lutherans have been a means of such humility, wisdom, and grace in my life.

And now, since I’ve opened a can of, among other things, a Diet of Worms, I think we’ll need to take a closer look at the distinctions between law and gospel. We’ll check out some specific examples next week.

Finding God’s Favor without Doing Anything

Some Bible verses are almost impossible to interpret properly—on the first read-through, anyway. Take Malachi 3:18, for example: “Then you shall again discern between the righteous and the wicked, between one who serves God and one who does not serve Him.” When I read this verse, I practically can’t help but think only of intrinsic righteousness—that is, a righteousness that is mine by effort. I can only be considered righteous if I serve God—that is, if I somehow merit God’s favor.

It is tempting to make this assumption when reading a plethora of Bible passages, including the stories of Noah and Mary. Both of these individuals received the Lord’s stamp of approval. “But Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord” (Gen. 6:8). “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God” (Luke 1:30). It is easy to translate this favor as resulting from their righteous lifestyles. But in both of these cases, the words translated as “favor”—one Hebrew and the other Greek—literally mean “grace.”

By definition, grace is God’s favor to those who have not earned it. Otherwise, it would not be grace (Rom. 4:4). If a person could attain God’s favor through merit, God would, in essence, be giving him something that He owed him. But God owes us nothing because He already owns everything that exists (1 Chron. 29:11; Job 41:11; Ps. 50:12).

God wasn’t rewarding Noah or Mary for human righteousness. He was simply giving them favor they didn’t deserve. That is what grace is. That is how God works.

God chose the Israelites as His special people, not because they were mighty and prosperous, but because He is loving and faithful (Deut. 7:7-8). Similarly, Paul shows us in 1 Corinthians that God shows His grace, not to the strong and powerful, but to the weak and lowly (see vv. 26-31). Angels announced the arrival of the Son of God to shepherds, not royalty. Over and over again, we see God bestowing favor on the undeserving.

Even in cases where a person exhibits a certain level of verifiable righteousness, it is still ultimately God at work in that person’s integrity. For example, when Abimelech took Sarah to be his wife, he did not know that she was actually Abraham’s wife. He was, to a certain degree, innocent. So when God came to him in a dream and threatened him for taking a married woman to be his wife, Abimelech responded by saying, “Lord, will You slay a righteous nation also? . . . In the integrity of my heart and innocence of my hands I have done this” (Gen. 20:4-5). After acknowledging this integrity, God revealed that it was actually the result of His restraining grace: “Yes, I know that you did this in the integrity of your heart. For I also withheld you from sinning against Me; therefore I did not let you touch her” (v. 6).

It is easy—and common—to see obedience as the key to God’s favor. In contrast, Scripture points us to saving faith, which connects an unrighteous person to the righteousness of God. Once this connection is made, then obedience follows. A sinner is first declared righteous through faith before he demonstrates righteousness through obedience. So when Malachi 3:18 references the righteousness that serves God, we know that something else has already taken place—the scandalous righteousness that consists of nothing more than believing God when He makes a promise.

“I Need to” vs. “God Is”

When it comes to the Christian life, our minds can be filled with a myriad of “I need to” thoughts: “I need to pray more,” “I need to spend more quality time with the Lord,” “I need to grow in loving my neighbor as myself,” and so on. In many cases, this tendency can be a sign of something Scripture warns us against: thinking that we are saved by works and not faith.

Saving faith isn’t anything we do. It is accepting God’s work on our behalf. Saving faith is a gift from God so that no one can boast (Eph. 2:8-9).

We may say we believe that saving faith is not a work, and that we are not saved by our works, but our inner monologue—filled with “I need to” statements—may reveal a heart that easily turns the walk of faith into a work of human effort. When we treat Christianity as moralism, we reduce it to a means by which we feel good—or bad—about ourselves based on our performance.

The good works performed by the Christian reveal the fruit of Christianity—not the root of Christianity. We work because we are saved, not in order to be saved. Confusing the fruit and the root is spiritual suicide.

Noticing this tendency in myself, I’m praying that God will help me replace my “I need to” thoughts with “God is” thoughts. Knowing God is what truly makes us more like Him. For example, after reading through an Old Testament story such as Daniel’s three friends and the fiery furnace, I shouldn’t jump to the question, “What does this story tell me about what I need to do?” The more important question is, “What does this story tell me about God?” After all, if I am going to have a faith as unshakable as that of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego, I will need to have a firm grasp on how unshakably powerful God is. In fact, that is exactly what gave teeth to these young Israelites’ faith—they had a firm conviction about who God was (Daniel 3:17ff).

Do I want to love other people more? Only as I see God’s love for me more clearly will I be able to genuinely display that love toward others. (Otherwise, I’ll try to muster up something that Scripture says only God can give me through His Spirit.) Do I want to spend more time with the Lord each day? Only as I see the beauty of God’s holiness more clearly will I be able to seek His face more earnestly. (Otherwise, I’ll treat my communion with God as a duty and not a delight—and that doesn’t really glorify God or benefit me.) If I can look beneath the surface of the “I need to” statements, I will better discern the fruit from the root.