In his book of devotions, Year of Restoration, author John Eldredge, tells of knowing a man who was fired from his job at a Christian high school because one of the church elders saw him purchasing cigarettes. Though he was the best teacher they had, they smugly canned him. “What is even more diabolical is the pleasure these Pharisees had in firing him. Their judgment was swift and severe; their self-righteous (sic) was far sicker than any cigarette,” Eldredge wrote.
I suppose his story resonates with me because I’ve seen so much selective morality in my work, in my own life, and in others. And it hurts. It pains me to see good people, really good people, people who are outwardly less flawed than I am, turning their guns of moral self-righteousness on those who, like the Apostle Paul, have recognized the truth about themselves. “I want to do what is right,” Paul wrote, “but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway” (Romans 7:18-19). The Apostle found deliverance in Jesus Christ, but the conflict within himself continued.
It’s easy for those of us who don’t struggle with certain “no-no’s,” to look down upon those who do, all the time forgetting our own blind spots. So, we hang out with those who happen to have the same moral, shiny spots as we do, polishing our good works to a high gloss, while conveniently ignoring anyone might point a finger at the smudges on our lustrous armor.
It leads us into a complicated, moral labyrinth of our own making, complete a grading scale on every issue, guaranteed to exalt our own self-righteousness, ultimately holding us hostage to our own delusions of ourselves. The particular rules we are able to keep have a higher moral value, by our own fiat.
This system, called legalism, allows a man, for instance, to neglect his wife, treat her with inner disdain, then ignore her, all the while priding himself that he hasn’t committed adultery, and at the same time providing him the indulgence of exalting himself above those who aren’t as “pure” as he is.
We blindly become virtual experts at turning technical rule-keeping into holiness.
But it’s not the same thing: accomplishing high moral marks is not the same as holiness.
I know people who have messed up, are broken-hearted because of it, and are trying to make things right. They love God with all their heart, even while still struggling and walking with a limp, the consequence of their moral stumbles.
On the other hand, there are others who are straight up, paragons of virtue, yet have no love for God and as a result, no real love for others, beyond the ones who applaud them for their own goodness.
At some point, a moral disconnect strikes like lightening. Maybe it happens at home when mommas and daddies insist on church attendance while teaching their children to hate certain people who don’t measure up. Or maybe it’s on the way to church where for the umpteenth time a family argues until they arrive at church, whereupon they put on their “happy faces,” at least until they get into their car again, where the fighting resumes. Or, perhaps it comes down when a kid hears mom and dad insisting that the child tell them the truth, while the parents habitually lie to each other or their boss. Or it hits the fan when the upstanding citizen insists on taking unwanted liberties with his female employee.
The scenarios are as endless as the deposits of trash swept up on the seashore. And like that otherwise pristine beach, everything seems to sparkle from a distance, but you’d better wear shoes if you walk there, otherwise you will likely hobble away with the soles of your feet bleeding.
I’ll throw my lot in with the Jesus of the Scriptures, the One who took in the sinners whom the moralists threw out, the One who loved people for who they were, not for what they had done or not done, the Jesus whose only requirement for entrance to His rest was simply to come to Him.
Just come.
And rest.
And live—joyfully, truthfully, authentically—in the wonder of His grace.