“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

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