There are many times when we fail to lean the books of
our lives—our spiritual and temporal activities—on the first bookend of
Christ’s righteousness and instead trust in our own righteousness. Our books
may start tipping over whenever we look in the mirror and wonder, “How well am
I doing at personal obedience?” When we respond by resting in the assurance
that we’re successful enough, we harbor self-righteousness, which is Gospel
Enemy #1. And when we respond with anxiety over the inadequacy of our
performance, we harbor persistent guilt, Gospel Enemy #2.
Self-righteousness is an ugly word. It’s associated with snobbery, conceit, and
a holier-than-thou attitude. We find such behavior repulsive, and we should.
Yet when we assess self-righteousness at this level, we’re considering it
merely in terms of human relationships. The self-righteousness we refer to in
this book goes deeper; it’s a self-righteousness toward God. It’s as if we tell
him, “I’m doing so well; surely I deserve your blessing. You owe it to me.”
Most of us would not actually venture to say something as presumptuous as that
to God. But we essentially make this very statement whenever we depend on our
own performance to merit any or all of the following six “A”-mazing blessings
of God:
·
Approval by
God—his favor;
·
Access to
his holy presence—his fellowship;
·
Acceptance
into his family—his community;
·
Admittance
into heaven—his eternal life;
·
Appropriation
of our daily provisions—his earthly sustenance;
·
Ability to
live the Christian life—his strength.
Striving to merit these blessings may
seem innocuous enough, but such an approach to God is downright dangerous. Paul
says this kind of self-righteousness actually nullifies God’s grace: “I do not
nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then
Christ died for no purpose” (Galatians 2:21). What’s being nullified here is
our ability to experience God’s grace—the assurance that, based on the gospel
alone, we receive all the above-mentioned blessings rather than the curse we
justly deserve for our sin. Grace changes everything—now and forever! Its cost
to God was infinite; its value to us is incalculable. So the thought that we
could somehow forfeit the experience of that grace should make us shudder.
Paul implies that we nullify grace
whenever we’re self-righteous toward God. Who needs the cross if we can justify
ourselves before God and earn his blessings by obeying the law? Do you see how
this approach treats Christ as if he died for no purpose? Self-righteousness is
a gospel enemy because it disregards, devalues, and discredits the gospel
provision of the righteousness of Christ—the sinless life he lived for us and
the sin-bearing death he died for us. Self-righteousness turns grace on its
head because it views the sinner as deserving God’s blessings rather than as
undeserving.
Paul’s letter to the Galatians displays
how vital it is that we understand this. After a brief greeting, he gets right
to the point:
I am astonished that you are so quickly
deserting him who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a
different gospel—not that there is another one, but there are some who trouble
you and want to distort the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from
heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you,
let him be accursed. (Galatians 1:6–8)
The next verse is essentially a carbon
copy, deliberately restated for emphasis: “I say again: If anyone is preaching
to you a gospel contrary to the one you received, let him be accursed.” If you
think this is strong language, Paul later states, “I wish those who unsettle
you would emasculate themselves!” (Galatians 5:12). Not a pretty word picture.
But this is in the Bible for a good
reason. The “different gospel” Paul referred to was a doctrine of
self-righteousness— a man-centered, performance-based, legalistic approach to
making oneself acceptable to God by following religious rules. It was
anti-gospel, a dangerous doctrine of self-justification. No wonder Paul is so
adamant. Yet this approach to God is as prevalent in our day as it was in
Paul’s.
Here’s a classic example. Picture
yourself stopping a hundred people in the mall to ask the proverbial question,
“If you died today and God asked you why he should let you into his heaven,
what would you say?” You already know the prevailing answers: “Because I’m a
pretty good person.” “My good deeds outweigh my bad deeds.” “I’m better than
most people.” People readily acknowledge they’ve sinned. After all, “I’m only
human; nobody’s perfect; everyone makes mistakes.” But look carefully. What is
the object of their dependence? It’s their own relative righteousness
(goodness), not the absolute righteousness of Christ alone. All these people
are spiritually self-righteous. They see Christ’s righteousness as irrelevant,
if they see it at all. And even though they may be comparatively “pretty good”
people—they nullify grace.
We’ve been discussing nonbelievers, but
a similar question may be asked of us: suppose you have an urgent prayer
request and God were to ask, “Why should I answer your prayer?” How would you
answer? Would you immediately begin adding up your recent merit and demerit
points?
One of us recently had such an experience. On the heels of asking God to meet a
specific need, the thought occurred, “Lord, haven’t I been serving you day and
night for weeks?” Then the words from an old hymn came to mind: “My hope is
built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.” It became a moment
to repent from self-righteousness. Similarly, when we’re tempted to appeal to
God by pointing out that we haven’t committed a particular kind of sin lately,
we must remember: there’s no difference between trusting God for salvation and
trusting him for answers to prayer; in both cases we’re dependent on Christ’s
righteousness alone.
Many today are banking on the hope that
a just God will consider their good deeds to have enough redeeming value to
offset the guilt of their bad deeds. But people who think like this make two
dangerous assumptions that are inconsistent with Scripture; they misjudge God’s
justice, and they misconstrue the value of their own righteousness.
Jesus addressed these individuals in “a
parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous.” There he
described a Pharisee and a tax collector praying in the temple (Luke 18:9–14).
The Pharisee was a member of the religious elite. His dependence on his own
righteousness is apparent: “God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortionist,
unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I
give tithes of all that I get.”
He assumed his standing before God was
secure, based on his perceived superior obedience to the law compared to
others. But instead of gaining God’s approval by his wide spectrum of religious
activities and moral performance, the Son of God revealed his spiritual
condition: “Not justified!” The gospel did not benefit the Pharisee; for him it
was not good news.
We have a friend who looked back on the
days before he trusted in Christ’s righteousness and remarked:
I was like a modern-day Pharisee. I
went to church each week and sat there thinking how much better I was than my
family members who slept in. I believed God accepted me because my sins were
small compared to those of my friends. But once I understood the righteousness
of Christ provided in the gospel, I realized I had been no more than a “good”
unbeliever. I called myself a Christian, and sat alongside others who truly
placed their faith in Christ’s sacrifice and righteousness, but at best I was a
nominal Christian—a Christian by name only—not by genuine faith in the gospel.
Even longstanding believers can fall
into a similar trap—not with regard to our salvation but with regard to our
perception of our standing with God. Unless we’re vigilant about this, we’re
unlikely to recognize the remnants of self-righteousness in our lives. At times
our approach to God becomes like preparing a résumé for a job application—we
carefully include all our accomplishments, anything that might present us in a
good light and make us more acceptable. Gradually, before we know it, our
Christian life consists of continually trying to update our spiritual résumé to
remind God and others of what we’ve done and not done. But in reality, the
whole of our résumé is either sin or filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6). So every time
we approach God in prayer, worship, or any other spiritual discipline, we must
see our résumé only as he sees it—overlaid by Christ’s perfect résumé.
To do battle with Gospel Enemy #1, we
must gain a practical understanding of how self-righteousness works in the
lives of believers. There are two categories of self-righteous believers. The
first is the self-disciplined moralistic believer who partially embraces the
gospel but feels deserving of one or more of those six “A”-mazing blessings on
the basis of his or her religious performance. There’s a fine line between such
a person and the moralistic unbeliever; they look so much alike, we may not be
able to distinguish between the two.
For believers in this category, much of
their everyday faith and confidence resides in certain aspects of their own
performance—their lack of scandalous sins, regular church attendance, serving
others, Scripture memorization, daily devotions, tithing, or their sacrificial
giving of time, talents, and material goods. Their dependence does not rest
solely on the two-part atoning work of Christ—his perfect obedience in their
place and his perfect sacrificial death in their place. Instead, Christ’s
finished work of substitutionary atonement seems vaguely inadequate to them, as
though it somehow lacked power and validity.
In holding this view, they unwittingly
make a demeaning statement about the Son of God: “Christ’s righteousness alone
isn’t enough to make me acceptable to God—he needs my help in order to
completely justify me.” When we put it this way, we would all agree this is
prideful: God can’t possibly get all the glory if an essential part of my
acceptance depends on me. This approach falls short of the glory of God in a
subtle yet significant way.
A quote from one of our favourite books
provides insight for Christians who, in practice, live as if God’s love for
them ebbs and flows according to their actions:
When we have our quiet times for the
day, or when we have given a tithe, we are confident of God’s love toward us.
But when our days become crowded and personal devotions end up neglected, we
start to avoid God, sensing that we are under his wrath and anger. We imagine
that God is waiting for us to get ourselves together before we again enter his
presence. Such thinking betrays our failure to grasp the security of our union
[with Christ] and the depth of God’s love and consequently disrupts our
communion with him. Making God’s love contingent on our action is a sad but
common misunderstanding in the church. Remember, a believer’s union is never in
jeopardy. For God’s love is an eternal love that had no beginning, that shall
have no ending; that cannot be heightened by any act of ours; that cannot be
lessened by anything in us. While our sense of communion with God may
fluctuate, his love does not grow and diminish. The wrath of God against the
sin of saints was completely exhausted on the cross.
Do you sometimes feel as if God’s love
for you ebbs and flows, depending on whether you’ve had a good quiet time? Do
you know you’re saved by grace but live as if God’s day-to-day blessings are
bestowed in accordance with your performance? Are you beginning to have doubts
about the degree of freedom you actually have from the influence of
self-righteousness?
Below is our list of probing questions
designed to help you gain clarity. As you meditate on them, be brutally honest,
for much is at stake. When you analyze your Christian walk:
1) Do you tend to live by a list of dos
and don’ts?
2) Is it difficult for you to respect those whose standards aren’t as high as
yours?
3) Do you assume that practicing spiritual disciplines should result in God’s
blessing?
4) Do you feel you’re better than most other people?
5) Has it been a long time since you identified a sin and repented of it?
6) Do you resent it when others point out your “spiritual blind spots”?
7) Do you readily recognize the sins of others but not your own?
8) Do you have the sense that God owes you a good life?
9) Do you get angry when difficulties and suffering come into your life?
10) Do you seldom think of the cross?
If you found yourself answering yes to
at least half these questions, it’s likely you’re living under a stronghold of
self-righteousness toward God. You need to see this for what it really is—a
hideous enemy disguised as a satisfying glory. It will let you down and leave
you hanging. Its satisfaction is as short-lived as an ice cube in the blazing
sun; its glory has all the appeal of a well-dressed corpse. And at the end of
the day this fact remains: no amount of personal performance will ever gain the
approval of a holy God.
There’s a second category of
self-righteous believers. They also partially embrace the gospel, but they
constantly live under a sense of guilt due to an acute awareness that the
expectations they set for themselves are considerably under-fulfilled. They’re
displeased with themselves and assume God is also displeased. Their attitude
can be deceptive: outwardly it may look like humility. But persistent guilt is
a child of self-righteousness toward God. It’s the belief that we should find
our source of righteousness within ourselves, though we’re painfully aware of
our shortfall, as if to say, “I can do better, and I should do better”—emphasis
on I. Like moralistic believers, these also border on unbelief. Only God knows
their heart and whether they truly place their faith in the righteousness of
Christ.
Most believers, including the two of
us, often vacillate between these two categories. One day we feel good about
our performance, and we look to God with confidence, harboring a subtle,
unspoken attitude that we’ve earned his favor and deserve his blessing. We
imagine a scene where we approach God with our list of attributes and
accomplishments. Just like the Pharisee, we compare ourselves to others in an
attempt to feel “justified.” Although we primarily depend on the righteousness
of Christ, we like to think we’ve added some of our own merit for good measure.
But this is an insult to the gospel of the cross; we treat it as though our
personal performance can add to its immeasurable and all-sufficient merit.
The next day we catch ourselves falling
to temptation. Suddenly we are downcast and inwardly assume there is no way God
is going to bless us until we straighten up. Instead of depending on the first
bookend, we anxiously wait for our books to tip over and drop to the floor.
This, too, is an insult to the gospel. We call it Gospel Enemy #2 because it
treats Christ’s death as though it were inadequate.
We succumb to it when we fail to rely on the fact that the righteousness of
Christ is never even slightly changed or diminished by our sin. Christ’s work
in the gospel is a finished work; its result is permanent. Even on our worst
days we’re to stand in the present reality of our justification in him.
Regardless of which of these two
categories we lean toward, all of us are inclined at times to handle our books
in ways that disregard the first bookend. We would even go so far as to say
every believer has a built-in tendency to do this on a regular basis. You may
find that statement alarming, but isn’t it true we feel better about ourselves
and our relationship to God when we’re obedient compared to when we’re
disobedient? We must continually battle these two gospel enemies,
self-righteousness and persistent guilt. They represent a form of unbelief that
may not send us to hell but will rob us of fruitfulness, joy, and the assurance
that God is for us and not against us, both now and forevermore.
Both enemies surrender to the same
God-given, strategic weapon—the righteousness of Christ, the first bookend.
We’ll show how to apply this in chapter 5. But before we do, let’s take some
time to get to know Gospel Enemy #2 in more detail.
Chapter 3
from The Bookends of the Christian Life
by Jerry Bridges & Bob Bevington
