Many factors beyond our control have influenced our worldviews, relational dynamics, and psychology (the previous two are kind of wrapped up in the third) for better or for worse. I would like to suggest that theology is a significant one of those factors, and that if I feel justified in my raised eyebrow, tight lips, and condemning pointer finger, my theology either started out bad or has gone sour in some way. Either I’ve been eating poison and filling my theology tank with toxins, or I’ve hidden my infected theology under the bed until what was a minor infection spread into a rotting heap of death. Lots of Christians start out this way: with a small understanding of the bigness of God’s Word, character, and plan. BUT, like children that grow in their knowledge and understanding of the world and how things work, our vision and understanding of God, His purposes, and His people should not stay as small as it was when we first begun.
I think this pattern of disproportional smallness and decaying theology is an easily predicted result of sin-infected minds and hearts. It’s no surprise that broken people have broken perspectives- that warped desires and minds turned inwards interfere with true knowledge and spiritual growth. Things get complicated fast here! Often times we find ourselves at war on the inside, longing to love and be loved, but instead repeating patterns of impatience, intolerance, anger, fear, and rejection.
I believe that unrecognized legalism in our hearts is a big player in this frustrating cycle. You know, that righteous sin, often eloquently and forcefully defended with misplaced scriptures and Christ-less interpretations of miscellaneous passages. Could I be guilty of that sin?! Not me! I don’t depend on adherence to the law for my salvation… or for my righteousness… or for my identity… And I certainly don’t hold others to that standard! Or do I?? I have to admit that there is a list of assessment questions that I find myself needing to check back over frequently to help me answer these questions with integrity:
Do I have a holiness checklist for my spouse?
Do I have a holiness checklist for my kids?
Do I have a holiness checklist for my friends?
Do I have a holiness checklist for my church?
Do I have a holiness checklist for myself?
In other words, do I have a list of righteous laws for my spouse and others that they have to meet before I can feel loved by or love them, or by which I judge their or my own acceptableness? Youch. Yep, I do. Laws straight from the Bible, folks. Laws founded on a mixture of inherited bad theology, passages that I misunderstood and misapplied, some good desires and biblical truth, and the faulty belief that I am The Judge.
It’s terrifying how subtly the serpent bribes us! How quickly we eat up lies and forge our own. In many cases our self-justified, holy hatred makes our hearts glow with pride and fulfillment as we walk the narrow road to outward togetherness and inner rottenness. Like whitewashed tombs full of bones, we smile lovingly at the little broken people around us and rattle, rattle, rattle our bones in the face of their struggles, griefs, and needs. We will feed them our rotted theology, fix them with our whitewashed ways, and crush them with our bones. Legalism can also manifest in a totally different way. When some us may tend to feel big and see others as small, continually crucifying others for their sins, others of us may bind ourselves more tightly to the stake of self-earned holiness, and spend way too much of our lives smoldering in self-condemnation and debilitating shame. It could be dying to self (probably not), but it sounds more like dying under the law. It definitely isn’t living to Christ. Neither manifestation of slavery to the law is life in the freedom of Christ’s law. Neither group of people can extend God’s law of redeeming love to others or often even themselves without extensively editing it first.
Jesus didn’t work with measuring rods, scales, and chains and it’s not how Jesus works now. Not with the broken, and not with the whitewashed. Somehow, the Holy Spirit manages to shatter our covers. Where He needs to, He empties us- drains our cavernous wounds, and when necessary even carves out our bones. And while that may be the beginning of His work, a painful, terrifying beginning, it is not the end. Be still. Don’t run from the Surgeon’s table. Look at what He uncovers. Cry. Then be quiet and wait. Do not be afraid. Although change can be terrifying for many reasons, recognizing and putting away the books of the Pharisees is necessary for wisdom, growth, life, and love. Where the Holy Spirit uncovers and carves away, the precious, clean blood of Jesus fills. Like streams of living water, His Word of grace, love, and peace will wash away the rancid quagmire of hate and deadly theology that has so long plagued our souls and the lives of those we love most.
Comments