I’ve never heard of Russell Moore before, and I don’t even remember the trail that led me to him today. I entered his site through a Q&A board, but then was pleasantly surprised by his most recent post: “Loving My Invisible Neighbor“.
Have you noticed how abstract and ethereal so much of our Christian rhetoric is on virtually every topic?
Some Christians rattle on and on about “The Family” while neglecting their kids. Some Christians “fight” for “social justice” by “raising consciousness” about “The Poor” while judging their friends on how trendy their clothes are. Some Christians pontificate about “The Church” while rolling their eyes at the people in their actual congregations. Some Christians are dogmatic about “The Truth” while they’re self-deceived about their own slavery to sin.
…As long as “The Family” or “The Poor” or “The Church” or “The Truth” are abstract concepts, as long as my interaction is as distant as an argument or as policy, then they can be whoever I want them to be.
. . .
This passage touches the root of all difficulties facing the believer–the extent to which we let Christ’s Spirit *actually* transform us. Whether we will ourselves become incarnations of Jesus. Whether we let His Spirit transform our embodied selves–not just our hypothetical, abstract selves (which really are no selves at all).
My buddy Susie and I have often talked about the challenge brainiacs have of being practically changed by the Holy Spirit, since thoughts and comprehension go waaaay further than what’s actually wrought in daily living. But thought is not reality (sorry Chopra followers). That’s why Kierkegaard, in spite of his admiration of Socrates, had to differ with him in a major way–we people have a SIN problem, not a knowledge problem.
And if we talk brass tax here (what does that even mean?), Jesus fought against knowledge of and purported commitment to the Lord not actually effected by the Spirit. Pharisees, anyone? And if Jesus fought against it then, no spouted knowledge of the truth will make up for the discrepancy between our profession and our lives.
We–fortunately and unfortunately –are bearers of 20/20 hindsight when it comes to the Pharisees’ hypocrisy. We have the advantage of heeding some dangerous spiritual tendencies, heeding the warnings about how deep blindess can go. But that same knowledge tends to put us in a position of comfort, anesthetized by hindsight bias.
I must work to always assume the worst of myself–that I am always prey to the yeast of the pharisees–in order to more confidently ensure that God’s multitude-of-sin-covering grace is what’s working in me.
. . .
Now, I ask the my Father and you to allow me some literary license (though probably not in an original way).
To some in the 21st century who are confident of their own righteousness and look down on everybody else, Jesus may be speaking this parable:
Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Baptist, Calvinist worship leader and the other a Methodist of the Arminian persuasion. The Calvinist stood up and prayed about himself: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men—Obama-supporters, users of the NIV, alcohol drinkers—or even like this Methodist here. I believe in the assurance of salvation and know that sanctification will never be complete on this side of heaven.’
But the Methodist stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’
Is it not likely to think that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God?
Because, as Jesus actually said, “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”
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