One of the major failures of our society’s moral and ethical standards is that nearly everything is presented as a struggle between abject evil and unblemished righteousness.  This arises from a well-meaning attempt to shun all that is bad, and at the most basic level it is simply the recognition that there are standards—that some things are right, and other things are wrong.  But it leads toward the mistaken notion that there aren’t behaviors that are acceptable but ill-advised, or others that are good but not compulsory.  The Bible provides us with a great many examples of people who demonstrate the value of going above and beyond, and the reason they deserve our respect, admiration, and imitation is precisely that they chose to do something better than the bare minimum of God’s expectations.

One such example is Joseph, the adoptive father of Jesus.  Although he appears in only a short segment of the Gospel story and we’re left to speculate as to exactly why he vanishes after Jesus’ childhood, his contribution to God’s beautiful plan for the salvation of man should leave an imprint on us.  The first thing we learn about Joseph is that he wished to divorce Mary when she turned up pregnant—an understandable desire, given that he had every reason to be confident this child was not his! 

“Joseph, being a just man and unwilling to put her to shame, resolved to divorce her quietly” (Mt 1.19).  We could shorten this sentence easily to simply say, “Joseph resolved to divorce her quietly,” and this raises the question: why include the bit about “being a just man and unwilling to put her to shame”?  What does it add to our understanding of the events in question?  It’s an explanation, telling us the cause of everything else.  We may paraphrase the sentence thus: “because Joseph was a just man and unwilling to put her to shame, he resolved to divorce her quietly.”  Many of the less literal and more interpretive Bible versions render the verse just about like this.

But we’re still not there—how is Joseph’s righteousness the cause of what followed?  Does it explain his desire to divorce her?  Yes it does.  He knows God’s standards, and has what in any other case would amount to absolute proof of his bride’s unfaithfulness.  There are individual ramifications, of course, but it goes even beyond that.  The Law of Moses made it very clear that God intended for each tribe’s land to be passed down from father to son, and not to permanently change hands from one tribe to another, one clan to another, or even one “father’s house” to another (as an even smaller division is labelled throughout the Law).  Without knowing the parentage of this child, Joseph would risk violating this part of the law.  Did the Jews generally bother to keep those commandments anymore?  No.  Consider that Joseph and Mary—of the tribe of Judah—lived in Nazareth, in the territory originally allotted to another tribe, Zebulun.  Clearly, at some point along the way, those rules were mostly abandoned.  Perhaps being conquered and deported a handful of times had a little something to do with that shift. 

Nevertheless, we can tell from events a few months later in the story that Joseph still does his best to adhere to even this defunct portion of the Law.

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be registered, each to his own town. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. (Luke 2.1-6)

He took his full-term pregnant wife all the way to his ancestral hometown of Bethlehem to be counted among the sons of David.  Contrary to some interpretations, Augustus was not concerned in the slightest with each subject’s birthplace, nor did he require them to take a break from their lives and travel there for the census.  A couple of Bible versions insert at least an implication to the contrary, but it’s just not in the actual text.  What Luke says is that each man went “to his own town”—not his birthplace or ancestral home, but the local polling location.  Joseph is the one who decided he ought to make the 90-mile trip on foot with a heavily pregnant wife to be counted in the city of his ancestor David.  That’s going above and beyond, and not to please the emperor, but to please God!

That brings us back to our question from earlier: how is Joseph’s righteousness the cause of his wanting a divorce?  We’ve now answered that.  It was out of extreme respect for God’s law, and not just a selfish—if reasonable—concern for his own heritage.  But there’s one more detail we’ve neglected.  If all of this is the case, why do it “quietly?”  The answer is right there in the verse: he was “unwilling to put her shame.”  Why shouldn’t he put her to shame?  Leave aside that Mary hadn’t actually been unfaithful—Joseph didn’t yet know that, and drew the most reasonable conclusion based on the evidence before him.  But even though all the signs pointed to his bride being untrustworthy and unfit to be his wife, he still planned not only to respect God’s law by protecting both families’ heritage, but to hush the matter up, enacting the principle Peter would later remind Christians to observe: “love covers a multitude of sins” (1Pe 4.8).

Joseph is one of the final shadows and types, however faint, of Christ himself.  The child he and Mary would soon raise in their home would eventually take that kind of sacrificial love to its extreme, actively pursuing the redemption, forgiveness, and salvation of billions who have broken faith with him.  He went above and beyond, agreeing to give up his rights and suffer harm—even death!—so that you, who have been unfaithful to him, might not be put to shame.

Jeremy Nettles

“With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”

He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6.6-8)

That last verse is high on the list of people’s favorites, and it’s easy to see why.  It reassures us that God’s expectations are not terribly difficult to fulfill.  It’s a pretty simple formula.  Of course there’s still some debate as to what exactly is just, and kind, and humble, and what are the boundaries of our walkway, and those questions end up causing a great deal of frustration and confusion, and even arguments.  The arguments lead to unkind words and actions, and then often escalate.  Those who disagree may become condescending and arrogant toward each other, and occasionally tempers flare to the extent that major acts of injustice are the result.  Justice, kindness, and humility have been rejected.  But the way Micah describes the formula skips over those darker aspects of the walk, and leaves us feeling secure.

Even people who disagree on many of the details still find encouragement in the terms: justice, kindness, and humility.  In fact, nearly everyone, of all cultures and religions, as well as at nearly every point in history, has agreed that these things are good and we should pursue them.  Why is that?  Paul tells us a little about it:

For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. (Romans 1.19-20)

This is the same thing David meant when he wrote, “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork,” followed up swiftly with “Their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world” (Ps 19.1&4).  Without a single word spoken in the usual sense, it is as if the very creation is silently screaming at us that someone made it; that its creator must have existed before the creation; that he must have astonishing power and authority; and that we—his creation—ought to direct our everlasting gratitude and honor to him.  Paul’s point was that these obvious facts lead quickly to the conclusion that we have an obligation to behave in a way consistent with God’s will, and he makes that point more clear in the next two chapters.  One might well ask, “how are we supposed to figure out what God wants us to do by listening to the silent voices of the heavens?”  Paul has an answer.

For when Gentiles, who do not have the law, by nature do what the law requires, they are a law to themselves, even though they do not have the law. They show that the work of the law is written on their hearts, while their conscience also bears witness, and their conflicting thoughts accuse or even excuse them… (Romans 2.14-15)

He doesn’t actually provide an algorithm for determining God’s will—instead he says that our actions demonstrate we already know his will, even if imperfectly.  The universal appeal of the simple formula provided by Micah, “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God,” demonstrates this innate understanding of God’s expectations.

But there is more to the story.  We haven’t yet considered verses 6-7 from Micah.  This introspection over what an individual owes to God isn’t supposed to come across as immoral or misguided.  In fact, it’s simply the logical progression of coming to grips with “the sin of my soul” (v7b).  The imagined worshiper is trying to come up with an adequate offering to repay his debt to God, and he realizes first that the burnt offering prescribed in the law is not enough to heal the rift.  Next, even an absurd quantity of precious items would not suffice—even if he had access to such wealth, it wouldn’t mean much to God.  Finally he suggests offering his firstborn, not because he doesn’t value his child, but precisely because he does love and value him, more than anything else.  Of course, the audience is supposed to reject that awful idea with disgust, but we’re left wondering still: how can this rift be healed?  In fact, can it be healed at all?

The answer is the simple, straightforward instruction “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (v8).  The sinner, aware of his shortcomings, has to trust that God knows what he’s doing, that he’ll take care of the rest.  And he did take care of it!  When Micah prophesied, the plan was not yet realized, but in fact God had already decided on a way to heal the rift, and it wasn’t to require us to sacrifice our firstborn!  It was for him to sacrifice his.

That may sound a little silly—how exactly is that supposed to work?  What are the mechanics?  Why this plan and not another?  Is that really the most logical approach?  Isn’t there another way?  Isn’t human sacrifice just about the worst sin there is?  But just like the hypothetical repentant sinner under the Jewish covenant in Micah, we’re left to trust that “the foolishness of God is wiser than men,” and go along with his plan.  “Christ crucified” is that plan.  He stands between God and man to reconcile the two, and we must follow his instructions to emulate his death, burial, and resurrection if we want to “come before the Lord” (Mi 6.6).

Jeremy Nettles

“Thus says the Lord of hosts: Ask the priests about the law: ‘If someone carries holy meat in the fold of his garment and touches with his fold bread or stew or wine or oil or any kind of food, does it become holy?’” The priests answered and said, “No.” Then Haggai said, “If someone who is unclean by contact with a dead body touches any of these, does it become unclean?” The priests answered and said, “It does become unclean.” (Haggai 2.11-13)

From a very early age, everyone becomes quite familiar with the concept of physical defilement.  Consider the baby with a summer squash and turkey purée covering his face, hands, chest, and perhaps even a little making its way down his throat.  He has very little command of his own fingers, and is still incapable of feeding himself, but he begins to offer his hands to Mom when the towel comes out, knowing through well-established habit that he’s going to be cleaned off at the close of another day’s filthy attempt at eating.  He wouldn’t clean himself if it were left up to his discretion, any more than a toddler would choose to change his own diaper, or a five-year-old to take a bath after a long day of making mud pies.  But parents clean them up routinely, and then teach them how to clean themselves, often before the children can even understand exactly why cleanliness is important.

The chief reason for physical cleanliness is that germs love messes, and just as God in the Law told the Jews, what is unclean easily rubs off on what is clean, but not the reverse.  The state of cleanliness—in this case a freedom from germs, contaminants, or other impurities—doesn’t transfer upon contact with, for example, a used hypodermic needle.  Its contamination rubs off on everything else, though!  This seems unsustainable, requiring constant, diligent efforts just to prevent contamination.  A lasting, sterile environment appears out of reach, as we all were made keenly aware during COVID. 

Sin is very similar.  It takes one transgression to ruin a flawless individual—and for most of us, that threshold is laughably low.  We’ve made ourselves amply unclean, and when that uncleanness touches something else pure, it renders it unclean also, and around and around we go.  It seems hopeless, and in the absence of some extremely powerful outside influence, it would be.  Blessedly, we’re not left in this wretched state. 

In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1.4-5)

Whereas uncleanness rubs off and contaminates everything it touches, causing an ever-growing cascade of defilement, light has a similar, but opposite effect.  Just as purity is the absence of imperfection, darkness is the absence of light.  One of these is a good thing and other bad, but they share the quality of fragility.  If an unclean item comes into contact with a clean one, there’s no battle between the two states.  No one conducts an assessment of whether purity or impurity is more broadly represented over the entire surface of the item.  Even if the impurity is small and subtle, it’s still an impurity, and therefore the whole item is impure.

But light works the same way, in the opposite direction.  Even a small and weak source of light pierces through the darkness and can be seen at a great distance.  On a dark night, a single candle flame is visible to the human eye more than a mile and a half away.  It takes a lot of light to utterly banish darkness, of course; but the darkness is powerless to smother the light once it begins to shine. 

Jesus is a much stronger light than a candle, stronger than anything man can devise.  The closest comparison is found in Revelation 1.16: “his face was like the sun shining in full strength.”  This is a great comfort to us, since darkness is one of Satan’s tools.  The Bible often associates it with sin and judgement, as when Jesus predicts that the condemned will be cast “into the outer darkness” (Mt 8.12, 22.13, 25.30).  But we started with uncleanness, not darkness, and it’s not obvious that shining a light on the mess is any help at all.  It does expose it for everyone to see, as Jesus tells Nicodemus, saying,

“For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed.”  (Jn 3.20). 

The light seems to chase away those who need it most, as he’d said in the previous verse: “the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.”  Jesus, the true light of men, exposes our uncleanness and shows it for what it is.  Dedicated sinners don’t like that, so they flee.

Due to the pandemic that was everyone’s main focus for a year, we were all reminded of an interesting aspect of God’s beautiful biological design: sunlight is an astonishingly powerful disinfectant.  The germs that cause so many diseases simply cannot survive being subjected to that light for any length of time.  The problem of sin and uncleanness plays out in the same way.  If we’re willing to admit we’re a mess and draw near to Jesus, he will continue to expose our impurities.  This is uncomfortable, and we’re likely to resent it, resist it, and hear the calls of Satan telling us there’s an easier path, and he’ll even make it enjoyable for us if we don’t look too far into the distance and see where it leads.  But if we’ll resist that temptation and stay in the light, listening to Jesus, obeying him, and subjecting ourselves to his intense light, he will continually purify us.  Reject Satan’s alluring call, and abide in the light of Christ.

Jeremy Nettles

Brothers, my heart's desire and prayer to God for them is that they may be saved. For I bear them witness that they have a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge. For, being ignorant of the righteousness of God, and seeking to establish their own, they did not submit to God's righteousness. For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes. (Romans 10.1-4)

This is just a snippet of a longer conversation that highlights the Jews’ rejection, by and large, of the very Messiah for whom they’d waited so expectantly.  They had been rejected in turn by God, and much of their rejection had to do with their misplaced confidence in the law—or more precisely, in their keeping of the law, “seeking to establish their own” righteousness. 

They had the tools.  The law was the foremost of these, since it provided the standard.  They also had God’s direct blessing and his presence, giving them strength or guidance as the situation required, and reminding them always that their battles were in his hands.  They didn’t make full use of the tools, and yet still claimed to have attained the standard.  Imagine a builder, who has ready access to a plumb bob and a level, yet prefers to just eyeball it.  Perhaps he’s gifted and experienced enough to pull it off in the eyes of a casual observer, but what good is that, if the joints fall apart and the building crumbles over time?  In the same way, the Israelites had left some important tools to gather dust in the toolbox—remember that one time, recorded in both 2 Kings 22 and 2 Chronicles 34, when they lost the book of the law for who knows how long and then had the audacity to be surprised when it showed up, of all places, in the Temple?  Doesn’t that seem like one of the top two or three places they should’ve searched, upon realizing it was missing?  We’re left with the feeling that they didn’t actually notice its absence.  They didn’t care. 

To their credit, when they found the law they made valiant efforts for a while to keep it, including some uncomfortable changes to the status quo.  But it didn’t last long, and by the next generation they were being carted off to Babylon in punishment for disobeying.

Tools are created with a clear sense of purpose.  In fact, an explicitly defined goal and a method for reaching it, is what makes them tools.  In archaeology, primitive tools are dug out of the ruins of some ancient culture, and the archaeologists have the often difficult task of figuring out how these tools were used.  Sometimes it’s obvious—a spear is a spear, an axe is an axe, a knife is a knife, and so on.  While there may be subtle variations that indicate a specialized niche for one form or another of these basic tools, the fundamental identity is difficult to miss.  Then there are tools, made of stone, bronze, ceramic, bone, or other long-lasting materials, whose purpose is a mystery, and will likely remain so to the end of time.  The artifact known as the Antikythera Mechanism is one such tool.  We can examine more closely, and in different ways, considering the chemical makeup of an object, or using x-rays to look inside of it and analyze its structure.  Those sorts of efforts occasionally lead to a stunning revelation, an undeniable answer about how the tool was intended to be used; most of the time, we’re left to speculate.

If the Law of Moses was such an important tool provided for the Israelites, it’s sensible for us to wonder: what exactly was its purpose?  That seems like an odd question—it goes without saying that there are laws, both natural and man-made.  For most of us, it even goes without saying that there ought to be a system of laws.  But why?  The plant and animal worlds seem to get along in an orderly fashion without any code of conduct at all, let alone someone to enforce it.  So we can’t explain its presence by saying that humanity would self-destruct in its absence. 

What purpose did the designer of the law have in mind, when he created it?  We could engage in philosophical discussion, and appeal to various passages in the scripture about the law, or at least given by the one who made it.  But the answer is provided in the very same passage that started us down this pathway.  “For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes” (Ro 10.4).  This doesn’t mean that Christ brings the law to an end—that is, abolishes it.  It’s true that he does, in a sense (see Ep 2.14-15), but Jesus himself looks at it in a different way, telling his disciples, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them” (Mt 5.17).  This verse helps to illuminate what Paul said: Jesus represents the fulfillment of the law.  This is true partly because he himself followed the law perfectly, thus fulfilling it in a way far beyond what even the most righteous Jew ever had done before.  But that’s not really what Paul means.  Rather, he means that Christ is the purpose—the τέλος-telos-“endpoint, goal” of the law.  It was given to the Jews, to point them to Christ, who demonstrated God’s righteousness so clearly in his mercy and faithfulness, opening up the way for us to attain the righteousness that comes by faith in his name.

We have a different set of tools than the Jews.  Ours are much better, including God’s Spirit, a much fuller set of revelations, and access to his throne through Jesus his Son.  If they were rejected for pursuing justification without using the purpose-built tool God lovingly designed and crafted for them, what will he do with us?  Let us use the tools in keeping with the their designer’s purpose.

Jeremy Nettles

I appeal to you, brothers, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment. For it has been reported to me by Chloe's people that there is quarreling among you, my brothers. What I mean is that each one of you says, “I follow Paul,” or “I follow Apollos,” or “I follow Cephas,” or “I follow Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul? (1 Corinthians 1.10-13)

These words are the first meat found in Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth, in which he addresses so many problems.  Already we can figure out a fair amount of what’s going on behind the scenes here, especially if we pay close attention to the details offered later in the letter.  This is the only time Chloe is mentioned, but it’s clear that this lady’s associates—probably members of her household—have relayed information to Paul.  Later, we find Paul introducing a new topic by saying, “Now concerning the matters about which you wrote…” (7.1), and abbreviated references to that unpreserved letter appear in 7.25, 8.1, 12.1, and several other spots.  Someone had to carry it to Paul, and it’s likely that “Chloe’s people” are involved.  At first glance, it seems that Paul is throwing his informants under the bus, but really he’s mentioning the source of his information in order to validate it, and to avoid the impression of whispered conversations in the shadows—on the contrary, this is out in the open already, and should be dealt with in the same manner!

Then, there’s the issue of the names Paul tosses around.  There probably are Christians at Corinth professing allegiance to most or all of these names, but a little later he notes,

So let no one boast in men. For all things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas… (1 Corinthians 3.21-22)

Then he says, “I have applied all these things to myself and Apollos for your benefit, brothers” (4.6).  He’s deliberately keeping some other names out of the picture.  Whose?  Prominent individuals (not to say, “ringleaders”) right there in the church at Corinth, whose names Paul would rather not mention.  The divisions at Corinth aren’t just about the ideas and doctrines emphasized by Paul, as compared to Apollos; they’re also showing up in cliques and factions within that congregation itself!  If we need further proof of this, chapter 6, with its discussion of actual lawsuits between local Christians, should wipe away any doubt.

This leaves us with two applications—the same ones the church at Corinth should have taken from this letter.  First is the need to treat all of the brothers properly.  Of course, there will be personality conflicts and even sins committed that require a reckoning.  Not everyone will enjoy everyone else’s company, and some people will simply rub each other the wrong way.  But when a family is operating as it should, those members who experience such friction will bend over backward for each other, in order to make sure they get along in spite of their differences.  They will pursue peace, goodwill, and the overall health of the family, and especially love and devotion to the parents or grandparents who made it all possible through years of hard work and sacrifice.  Of course, in the real world there is often at least one member of the family who won’t play along and makes it difficult for the rest, but the majority shouldn’t stoop to the level of the family’s most obstinate member, and it certainly should not begin to draw up battle lines and form alliances against itself.  That’s a recipe for disaster, whether in our earthly families, or in the church.  “If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand” (Mk 3.24).

Second, even though Paul’s focus on the higher-level names—apostles, prominent evangelists, and even Christ himself—is somewhat exaggerated to make the point, could there be a stronger indictment of the state of Christianity today?  So many people wear the label, Christian, yet adopt and preach some other person’s views on what exactly that means.  Maybe it shows up as, “well my pastor says it’s like this…” but at a higher level, the world of Christianity might as well be divided up as follows: each one says, “I follow Simons,” or “I follow Smyth,” or “I follow Calvin,” or “I follow Wesley,” or “I follow the Pope,” or “I follow Luther.”  This list only covers a handful of the thousands of different denominations, sects, and movements professing Christianity, but it certainly illustrates the problem! 

There are also some who, like the faction mentioned by Paul, more wisely throw out all of these other names and simply proclaim, “I follow Christ.”  It’s all too easy to let that proclamation define yet another faction, though.  All the rest would like to treat it that way.  Many even who make the profession, shunning the commandments of men in favor of straightforward obedience to Christ, end up buying into the divisions and becoming no more than another denomination, one among thousands.  What did Paul say to the divided Corinthians?

Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy him. For God's temple is holy, and you are that temple. (1 Corinthians 3.16-17)

God is not pleased with those who divide his temple and cause it to crumble.  Don’t play along with the divisions; and don’t make your refusal to play along turn into just another division.  Instead, “preach Christ crucified” (1Co 1.23), and “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord” (v31).

Jeremy Nettles