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

In the 18^th chapter of the book of Acts, we follow Paul’s work at spreading the gospel of Christ in the city of Corinth.  He spent at least a year and a half there, which is longer than he’d stayed at any of the churches he and his helpers had established up to that point.  They were well off, considering the amount of time Paul spent there, teaching them not only the basics of Christ’s message of repentance, rebirth, and salvation, but also much about how these new Christians ought to live under Christ’s reign.  They suffered persecution at the hands of some Jews who still held the mentality Paul himself had exemplified about fifteen years earlier, but they weathered the storm and continued on after Paul left, apparently in a bit of a rush to get back to his home base in Antioch.

These new Christians were in some of the best circumstances of any in that period.  They’d been incredibly blessed to have people such as Paul, Silas, Timothy, Aquila, and Priscilla as their teachers and examples over a long stretch of time.  They were in a metropolis full of wealth and commerce, and with a great influx of people from all over the Mediterranean who needed to hear this message and be transformed.  It seems obvious that they would continue growing and bearing fruit, remaining steadfast in their proclamation of Jesus’ lordship and carrying out works of love and mercy toward all.

Yet, when Paul writes to them from Ephesus a short time later, it’s an understatement to say that the church in Corinth is plagued by many problems.  They do have some things in their favor, as Paul outlines in his greeting.  His custom is to quickly note the author and addressee, wish for “grace and peace,” and then build up his audience by telling them that he thanks God for a few things about them.  Usually it’s their faith.  Often Paul mentions their love, in one way or another, and occasionally other good works or generic fruit is mentioned.  Let’s take a look at what he says to the Christians at Corinth:

I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that was given you in Christ Jesus, that in every way you were enriched in him in all speech and all knowledge— even as the testimony about Christ was confirmed among you— so that you are not lacking in any gift, as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ, who will sustain you to the end, guiltless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. (1 Corinthians 1.4-9)

How nice!  Paul is definitely building them up, and he’s done a great job of creating an uplifting atmosphere from the beginning, but notice: he hasn’t actually praised these Christians for anything.  He extols the grace of God, which was given to them.  He says that through Christ they were enriched.  The testimony was confirmed—not by them, but among them.  With what are they well supplied?  Not every good work, but every gift, meaning the things given to them, not coming from them.  Why would they be guiltless?  Is it because, like the Thessalonian Christians, they “turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God” (1Th 1.9)?  No, it’s because Jesus “will sustain [them] to the end” (1Co 1.8).  Are they, like the Ephesian and Colossian Christians, “faithful” (Ep 1.1, Co 1.2)?  Paul doesn’t say they are; and although he also doesn’t directly say they’re unfaithful, he stresses that “God is faithful” (1Co 1.9), conspicuously remaining silent on the question whether the Corinthians are upholding their end of the covenant.

We’ve all been in a situation like this, at some point.  We’ve all heard the old cliche, “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all,” and while this is generally a good lesson to teach our kids, we sometimes see it taken to ridiculous extremes among adults.  Most of us have witnessed with our own eyes and ears the foundations of the expression, “preach someone into heaven,” as we sat through a funeral for an unpleasant and immoral person who suddenly was pronounced a saint during the eulogy.  That’s to be expected—after all, “eulogize” is a Greek term that literally means to speak well of someone, apparently whether they deserve it or not.  That’s not exactly what’s going on in this letter, of course.  Paul will go on to say some very harsh things to these Christians; but he’s trying to at least start out on a good note, building them up in some way while only telling the truth.  He’s trying to find something good to say about them, but their actions and attitudes since he last saw them don’t provide much material.  All he can find are the many gifts given to them. 

It’s sad, first of all, that the Christians at Corinth are bearing so little fruit for the master.  Even more, it’s sad that they behaved so badly in spite of the overwhelming resources available to them, much like Jesus’ parables of the talents and the minas in Matthew 25 and Luke 19.  And this is where we should begin looking at ourselves.  What kinds of gifts has God given you?  Grace in Christ Jesus?  A wealth of knowledge?  Good teachers and examples to follow?  Compared to the people of the 1^st century, nearly everyone has access to the same sort of gifts, or better.  What are you doing with them?  If Paul were to write a letter to you, would he be able to find praiseworthy fruit to mention?  Would he be able to express confidence in your faith and love for God and man?  Or would he only have confidence in God, remaining quietly cynical about your response to God’s faithfulness?  Would his thanksgiving be all about what God has done for you, and none about what you have done in return?

Jeremy Nettles

It’s finally happening: the CDC issued a new set of guidelines that essentially tell us we really don’t need these masks anymore.  That’s oversimplifying it, but considering the availability of the COVID vaccine to everyone who wants it, its astonishing effectiveness, the huge number of people who vaccinated already—including an overwhelming majority of those over age 65, the group at the highest risk—and also considering we can never eliminate all risk to life and health, that we bear responsibility for our own decisions, and that there have been huge costs in other areas due to the pandemic…considering all of that and more, the sentiment of most people by now is that it’s about time!  For over a year, we’ve been trying to get back to normal, and we’re getting a glimpse of normality as the most visible symbol of pandemic life begins to fade away.

Yet, is “normal”  something we can really expect to see returning?  Many times throughout history, something extraordinary happened, and everyone thought things would go back to the way they were, afterward.  For example, when a large group of Roman senators conspired to assassinate Julius Caesar, they really thought that with this menacing dictator out of the way, things would go back to normal—that their civilized republican government would pick up where it left off and bring back the way things used to be.  They ran through the city shouting, “people of Rome, we are once again free!”  In reality, they had not ushered in peace and security, but fourteen years of unrest and civil war, and the endpoint was not a revival of the good old Roman Republic, but the beginning of the Roman Empire.  Back to normal?  Not so much.

The scribes, Pharisees, and chief priests learned something similar, a few decades later when they, just like the Roman senators pining for the good old days, decided conspiracy and murder were the way to get things back to normal.  Here this Jesus guy exploded onto the scene and started teaching “as one who had authority, and not as their scribes” (Mt 7.29), and had the audacity to back up his authoritative claims with good works of great power, so that many of the people actually believed in him!  Well, they didn’t much care for that, so they tried to undermine him.  On one occasion, it was by attempting to get him to sin, or at least appear to have sinned:

And a man was there with a withered hand. And they asked him, “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?”—so that they might accuse him.

(Matthew 12.10)

Sure enough, Jesus tells them that “it is lawful to do good on the Sabbath” (v12), and heals the man.  Having gotten what they wanted from Jesus, but apparently not from the popular opinion, “the Pharisees went out and conspired against him, how to destroy him” (v14).  This is surely a violation of the commandment, “You shall not join hands with a wicked man to be a malicious witness. You shall not fall in with the many to do evil” (Ex 23.1-2).  But they don’t care.  They think they know what is good, and they’re willing to commit as many acts of evil as necessary, in order to bring about their supposedly good objective.

This continues for some time, eventually working its way up the totem pole to the council in Jerusalem:

So the chief priests and the Pharisees gathered the council and said, “What are we to do? For this man performs many signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.”

(John 11.47-48)

Notice that they aren’t concerned with right and wrong, or with violations of the law—they’re concerned with their place, and their nation.  They think Jesus is an existential threat to their nation because, regardless of whether Jesus actually is who he says he is, they see the political ramifications of this religious revolution.  They are, of course, correct about how the Romans would respond; but entirely wrong about what they should do about it.  But even before that, their first concern was that Jesus threatened their place, meaning their position of authority, power, and honor.  They don’t like the way things are going, and they want to go back to normal.  Why?  Because they liked the way things were before.  Jesus promises forgiveness, cleansing, and eternal life, and performs enough miracles to convince them he’s not just a whackadoodle, and should be taken seriously.  But they don’t want those things.  They’re happy to be in charge in the here and now, and to enjoy the fruits of appearing to be righteous, even while their hearts are rotten.  How far does this extend?  The high priest himself—who should be a devout and trustworthy voice for God, the law, righteousness, and purity—says, “it is better for you that one man should die for the people, not that the whole nation should perish” (Jn 11.50).  John points out that he’s quite right, in a sense, but in order to get back to normal, he’s willing to descend into the pit of hell.  Ultimately, no matter what they did, they couldn’t stop God’s plan, and things would never truly get back to normal.  And thank God for that!  Jesus brought something far better than the good old days, which weren’t so good after all. 

We can’t undo all that has happened over the past year, and even as the viral threat fades, life will never really go back to exactly the way it was before.  This shouldn’t surprise us, and we shouldn’t be upset about it, either.  Instead, we should move forward with stronger fellowship, a firmer devotion, and a more resolute commitment than ever before, to live lives of holiness through Christ.

Jeremy Nettles

We use many different tools to make sense of the world around us.  Some of these tools were built by people like us—the instruments in our vehicles that tell us how fast we’re moving, the news media we use to stay informed about what’s happening across the world, the phones that allow us to easily communicate and make plans with distant friends and relatives, and other things like these.  Then, there are tools we didn’t build, that were given to us by God—our eyes and ears, which help us to create a 3-dimensional map of our surroundings; our nerves, which give us immediate feedback when we touch something, including whether it’s going to immediately damage our bodies; our memories, which allow us to store information we’ve already gathered and recall it later in order to make decisions or analyze complex situations; and there are many more of these, too.

One of these tools, which God has built into our minds, is narrative.  We use it to see the relationship between cause and effect, to predict the outcomes of our present decisions, to sort out our moral obligations, and more.  Much of the Bible is written in a narrative style.  Sometimes the narrative is meant to be taken literally, like the story of Nehemiah overseeing the rebuilding of the wall around Jerusalem.  Other times, the narrative is not the relation of facts, but a metaphor, such as the parable that begins, 
My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill. He dug it and cleared it of stones, and planted it with choice vines; he built a watchtower in the midst of it, and hewed out a wine vat in it; and he looked for it to yield grapes, but it yielded wild grapes. (Isaiah 5.1-2)

In this case and others like it, we don’t ask, “where was the hill?” or “how tall was the tower?” because we understand that it is an analogy.  That doesn’t make the point of the story any less true, of course.  The narrative conveys a point that the audience may have struggled to understand when the simple facts were related.  But when a story was presented—even a figurative one—the lesson became more clear.

As we automatically frame our understanding of the world through narrative, we often oversimplify the reality in order to better relate to the story.  One of these oversimplifications is the casual way we toss characters into one of two buckets: the good guys, and the bad guys.  This is a childish way of looking at things, of course.  Young boys for ages have played games and participated in fantasies that make use of this simple distinction, with names like “cops and robbers,” the now grossly offensive “cowboys and Indians,” or even the amusingly simplified version simply called, “good guys and bad guys.”  But it’s not just kids.  When we watch a movie, read a book, or hear a story being told, the first question we generally ask ourselves without even realizing it is, “who’s the hero, and who’s the villain?”  Everything about the story hinges on the answer to that question.  Sometimes it becomes fashionable to show that the hero has a flaw, and in the genre of tragedy, the biggest flaw is a villain in itself, bringing about the hero’s downfall.  But he’s still clearly the hero, and the audience still roots for him, even while disapproving of his bad behavior and, hopefully, taking home the lesson: don’t exhibit that flaw, if you don’t want to end up like Hamlet, or Oedipus—or for some more modern examples, Harvey Dent, Ned Stark, or Anakin Skywalker.

Since we understand reality through storytelling, it’s worth asking, who’s the hero in your story?  We see the world through our own perspective, and so the most natural answer is that you yourself are the hero.  But now, we have a problem.  If you’re the hero, then you can either be an oversimplified and unrealistic “good guy”—a character we don’t see around us in reality—or if you are willing to acknowledge that you are flawed, you could be a tragic hero—in which case the story ends with your downfall.  If you’re unsure, or think that maybe you’re the white knight in shining armor, let’s remind ourselves that God tells us very plainly, “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Ro 3.23).  

There are other options: you could be an antihero, or the villain, or any one of many types of second- or third-order supporting characters, but some of those are off the table due to unacceptable endings, and others would mean it’s not really your story, but someone else’s.  Let’s tug on that final thread.  Is it really all about you, or could there, perhaps, be another figure at the center of the story?  Has there ever been anyone who truly lived up to the shining white knight character trope?  Of course!  Jesus is even portrayed in the Bible as follows: 
Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. (Revelation 19.11)

We’ve been looking at the story from the wrong perspective.  You’re not the hero of your own story, nor are you the villain.  The hero is Jesus, and the villain is Satan.  But you don’t have to be some random, uncredited extra on the film set.  In fact, each of us is a uniquely important character, a member of the hero’s love interest, the human race.  That doesn’t mean the story will necessarily end with a “happily-ever-after” for you, though.  That’s only for Christ’s Bride.  He has already defeated the great red dragon in order to rescue you.  Soon, he’ll slay the beast.  The choice is up to you: do you prefer to stay imprisoned with the dragon until the end, or will you go with the hero?

Jeremy Nettles