Exclusive and Inclusive

The Lord appears to make two opposite claims in Mark 9 and Matthew 12. In Matthew 12:30, He says, "he that is not with me is against me." In Mark 9:39–40, He says, "he who is not against us is for us." We might describe the former as an exclusive statement, and the latter as an inclusive statement. It's worth thinking about these two statements.

It seems to me the difference between those two statements is the pronoun: when the Lord makes an exclusive statement, He uses the pronoun "me"; when He makes the inclusive statement, He uses the pronoun "us". In other words, when the issue is Christ Himself ("me"), then we can't be too exclusive. If you're not for Christ, then you are against Him, period. But when the issue is Christ and His followers ("us"), then we need to be inclusive. If you're not actively against them, then you are for them.

It seems to me there are two errors we might fall into here. The "liberal" error is to make an inclusive statement about Christ Himself, misquoting Matthew 12:30 as "he who is not against me is for me." The opposite error is to make the exclusive statement about a group, misquoting Mark 9:40 as, "he who is not with us is against us."

If we make an exclusive statement about a group, then we end up in some difficulty. We end up making loyalty to a group to be virtually the same as loyalty to Christ. And I know people who have had to deal with this: people who have been accused of defecting from the truth because they started to meet with a different group of Christians. Now, I may have problems with some of the fellowship decisions people around me have made, but to accuse someone of leaving Christ! I just don't see how someone who truly fears God wouldn't be terrified to say something like that.

On the other hand, if we make an inclusive statement about Christ Himself, then we're really denying the Gospel, aren't we? The Christian life centers on Christ. J. N. Darby wrote a paper called "Bethesdaism, or Indifference to Christ." I can't recall much about the article, but that title has haunted me for many years. What a description! How could a believer be indifferent to Christ?

Sadly, it happens. Sadly, it's a lot easier than we might think. I have found myself pretty close to indifferent to Christ many times, when I've let other things get in the way. It's all too easy for us to allow ourselves to find something that comes between us and the Lord.

But the point is, making an inclusive statement about Christ Himself (not about Christ and His followers) is really the first step to syncretism.

One of my daughters' friends was telling us that he was at some sort of interfaith event at a college, and there was a panel taking questions. He asked if each panel participant could briefly explain how their beliefs were divine, as opposed to being merely moral philosophies. In other words, is your faith really about God? Or is it just a moral code?

It seems to me that evangelicalism has reached a point where it's much more a moral code than a religion. When I was growing up, it was common to hear Christians claiming, "Christianity isn't a religion, it's a relationship." I'm afraid even "religion" would be an improvement for many at this point. It's remarkable how popular a Christ-optional Christianity is.

We're called to fellowship with the Father and with the Son (1 John 1:1–3). There is implicit morality there, but it's not really a moral code. Indeed, James 2:21–26 holds up Abraham (who was on the verge of killing his son as a sacrifice) and Rahab (who committed treason) as examples of faith. The moral code that comes from loving and fearing God might well be something the world around us finds incomprehensible, or even reprehensible.

But that's really the point: we're not called to a moral code, we're called to a Person.

So I'm trying hard to remember that when it's about Christ alone, I need to be exclusive. When it's about Christ and His followers, I need to be inclusive.

Best wine

John 2:1–11 tells the story of the first of the signs in John's gospel: turning water into wine. I've been thinking a lot about this story over the last several months, because it seems to me like it shines light very clearly on an error I fall into. This is a story we hear in connection with marriage quite frequently: the Lord attending a wedding, which we cite as evidence that marriage is endorsed by Christ Himself. I think that's a completely valid conclusion to draw from the story.

We remember the story: the Lord attends a wedding, and they don't have enough wine. A friend of mine said in a Bible reading, "'no wine' is a serious problem – not as serious as 'no water' – but serious nonetheless." I think that's a good summary. I'm afraid (having grown up among Canadian evangelicals) "no wine" doesn't strike me as very serious... but the Lord took it seriously, and so does John.

So the Lord has them pour water into six earthen vessels, and when they draw out the water, they find it's turned to wine. And then they take this new wine to the master of the feast, who comments that they planned the feast wrong: they ought to have served the good wine at the start of the feast, then they should have served the lesser wine after the guests have drunk enough (John 2:10). (Presumably the guests' drinking was supposed to have dulled their palates.) But at this wedding, they served the best wine last.

My buddy went on in that same Bible reading to say that we're going to taste that vintage, but we need to wait until the Kingdom. I'm not much of a wine drinker, but I'm looking forward to tasting that one.

I've been mulling over the fact that the Lord made the best wine. The feast master's appraisal doesn't actually add anything to the miracle: Christ shows who He is by turning water into wine. But the Scripture includes it anyway, which indicates there's a lesson to be learned in it. There is a point beyond the "mere" miracle of turning water into wine: it shows that the Son of God paid attention to something as frivolous as the quality of the wine at a wedding. He didn't take an austere position and tell them that too much wine is bad for them, He didn't tell them they should be grateful for any wine He gave them: He made the best wine.

I confess that my views on Christianity – on sanctification and salvation and manifesting the life of Jesus in our mortal bodies – can lead to a completely passive Christian life. It's not hard from there to fall into a sort of a Gnosticism, where the world around us is somehow irrelevant. And I'm sorry to say that I've known many believers who have fallen into this exact error: they end up almost enslaved to their theology, afraid to act lest they do so "in the flesh" and contrary to the work of the Holy Spirit. It's all too easy to take what Scripture says about "death working in us" to an idea where we strive to be nothing so that Christ can be everything. But as one friend said, "striving to be nothing isn't Christianity, it's Buddhism."

Francis Schaeffer warns in Escape from Reason that if we divorce "Grace" from "Nature", we end up with an autonomous "Nature" that will eventually destroy "Grace" (pp. 28–29). Of course his concern was mainly about humanist intellectuals starting with Thomas Aquinas, but I have fallen into the exact error he cautions against, and I'm not alone.

The problem is as simple as tunnel vision. The truth of our unity with Christ in His death, burial, and resurrection is glossed over to the point of complete neglect in many Christian circles. So we end up with a glut of "ministry" that urges counterfeit spirituality, where men and women attempt to be made perfect in the power and energy of the flesh. And when someone sees the truth of their unity with Christ, and the freedom that comes from that, the natural tendency is to share that with everyone. And the more it's resisted, the more it becomes the focus.

So let's just say that our death, burial, and resurrection with Christ is the key to a godly life. There can't be fruit for God unless we have been made dead to the Law by the body of Christ (Romans 7:4).

But let's not lose sight of the whole counsel of God.

Consider 1 Corinthians 6:19–20; we're called to glorify God in our bodies. Consider 2 Corinthians 4:10–11; we're called to manifest the life of Jesus in our mortal flesh. Consider Romans 12:1–2; we're called to present our bodies as living sacrifices. We could go on, but the point is that we're not called to a hypothetical life. We're called to live the life of Jesus in physical bodies, in the physical world.

Yes, the creation is fallen. Yes, our bodies are fallen. Yes, we look for a new heaven and a new earth. But I can't find in Scripture where I'm allowed to treat this creation like it doesn't matter.

A while back, Rodger shared a quote where someone said that Scripture talks about the "new creation", but it never once mentions the "old creation". There's an "old man" and an "old covenant", but there isn't an "old creation" in Scripture, because God isn't finished with the first creation yet. God doesn't call something "old" until He's done with it.

But I have frequently fallen into the trap of calling this present world the "old creation", out of a desire to draw attention to the [Scriptural] idea of New Creation. And I'm not alone.

So let's go back to the wine at Cana... when the Lord Jesus made wine, He made the very best wine. That comment doesn't just give us a hint into the wedding customs of that day: it shows us that the Lord Jesus treated the first creation with dignity as being the work of God. It's fallen, but it's not nothing. It matters. And good wine matters: Christ didn't act like it's unimportant whether the wine is good. He made the very best wine.

And I'm having to remind myself that when I allow myself to divorce this life from heavenly truth, I end up with an autonomous view of this life that eventually overtakes and pollutes my view of the heavenly. It's not just a philosophical trick Schaeffer was playing: it was a very serious warning about a truly dire problem.

Eating the sin offering

Leviticus 6:24–26; Numbers 18:8–12; Ezekiel 9; Daniel 9; 1 Corinthians 5

There has been some conversation about eating the sin offering in the gathering here. I wanted to put a few of my thoughts on "paper", mainly for my own reference later.

The law of the sin offering (Leviticus 6:24–30) details that the priest is to eat the sin offering. That is, when an animal was brought to be sacrificed, it was mainly the animal's blood and fat that were offered. The flesh of the animal was the priest's. This is slightly over-simplified: there were various subtle differences in offerings, depending on what was offered and by whom. But in general, the law of the sin offering is that the priest is to eat the flesh of the sin offering (Leviticus 6:26).

We understand that the Levitical laws contain "typical" teaching for us. We understand this because Scripture very carefully points this out, especially in Hebrews. I understand that some Christians have taken this idea to the point where they hardly seem to think that the Pentatuech has any historical significance at all: they seem to think it is some sort of allegory. Of course that's wrong, but the New Testament does appeal to typical teaching in the Levitical law, and we don't want to miss what the Holy Spirit is trying to teach us.

Numbers 18:8–12 picks up this theme and teaches us that the priests are fed from the offerings that are brought to the Tabernacle. They don't have a part in the inheritance God gave Israel, so He gave them the offerings. And so the priests are told, "this shall be thine: the heave-offering of their gift, with all the wave-offerings of the children of Israel; I have given them unto thee, and to thy sons and to thy daughters with thee, by an everlasting statute" (Numbers 18:11).

Is there a typical teaching for us in the priests' eating the offerings? It would seem so, and 1 Corinthians 10 picks up this theme. "See Israel according to flesh: are not they who eat the sacrifices in communion with the altar?" (1 Corinthians 10:18). Here the Apostle's argument is that although an idol is really nothing (it's just a piece of metal or wood or stone), idolatry is very real. And eating what has been sacrificed to an idol brings us, in a way, into communion with the idolatry. The appeal is made to the Levitical law: doesn't eating the sin offering bring the priest into communion with the offering?

This statement sheds a great deal of light on what it means to eat a sin offering. Eating the sin offering wasn't only God's provision for the priests, to give them fresh meat. It was putting a responsibility on the priests and on their families, because they were in communion with the offering of those sacrifices.

If a man in Israel was to bring a goat to the priest as a sin offering, then when that priest was eating the flesh of that goat later that day, he was expressing a fellowship with the man's offering. Not merely the man's act of slaughtering a goat, but the man's need to slaughter the goat. The man's responsibility was to bring the offering to the priest, but the priest was not allowed simply to slaughter it and go about his day: he had to express communion with that offering probably after the man had stopped thinking about it.

If we think about Aaron, we notice that he grew into his priesthood. When Moses was up the mountain, receiving instruction from the Lord about Aaron's role as priest (Exodus 28), Aaron was down on the plain, leading the people in idolatry (Exodus 32:1–6). And when the Lord was angered about the idolatry, it was Moses and not Aaron who went to make atonement for them (Exodus 32:30–35). In fact, I'm not sure that Aaron really took up his role as priest until the rebellion of Dathan and Abiram, when he ran to stand between the people and the plague (Numbers 16:46–50).

(I realize there is a difference between Advocacy and Priesthood, and perhaps Moses up on the mountain in contrast with Aaron on the plain illustrates this... but the fact remains that Aaron's priesthood grows in Scripture.)

But through the Old Testament, we have the histories of others who took up the duty of the priest, even if they weren't called to it. I don't mean ceremonially, but morally. Morally, the duty of the priest is to take represent the people to God. We see this in Samuel (1 Samuel 12:23), and Daniel (Daniel 9), and Ezekiel (Ezekiel 9:8), to name a few. The priest stands between sinful people and holy God.

So what does it look like to eat the sin offering morally, if not physically? Daniel 9 is an example. Daniel read Jeremiah and realized the Babylonian Captivity was about to end. So he got down on his knees and prayed. His prayer is listed in Daniel 9:3–19. The vast majority of the prayers (vv. 4–16) is confession of the sins of Israel. But here's the thing: Daniel hadn't actually committed a single one of those sins. In fact, Daniel wasn't even in Jerusalem, he was in Babylon and had been since before Zedekiah's reign.

This is what we mean when we talk about eating the sin offering. Daniel himself hadn't sinned, but he expressed fellowship with his people in their sin. He confessed the sins as his own, and he took God's side, as it were. That is, he didn't make excuses, he acknowledged God's righteousness in judging the sins of His people.

Ezekiel 9 gives us a little more light on the subject. Here the Lord is judging Jerusalem for their idolatry. But before He sends judgment on them, He commands what appears to be an angel to go through the city, marking out certain people as untouchable (v. 4). What was the test? What made someone escape the judgment? It was simple: "mark upon the foreheads of the men that sigh and that cry for all the abominations that are done." God wasn't looking for a Jerubbaal who'd pull down an idol altar. He wasn't looking for a Josiah who'd go out and slaughter the idolatrous priests. He was looking for someone whose heart was touched with the enormity of their iniquity. He was looking for someone whose reaction in the middle of all this corruption was a broken heart.

This brings us into 1 Corinthians 5. Notice what the Apostle says to the Corinthians: "*ye* are puffed up, and ye have not rather mourned, in order that he that has done this deed might be taken away out of the midst of you" (1 Corinthians 5:2). So the "normal Christian" response to blatant immorality is supposed to be mourning. And I have to admit, I don't see a lot of that. The reactions I've seen have been more along the lines of gossip, slander, finger-pointing, or even just a deliberate ignoring of the sin. But Scripture says that "normal" reaction is mourning.

What's really interesting is the statement, "that he that has done this deed might be taken away out of the midst of you". I'm not going to be dogmatic about this, but this suggests that the Lord might have stepped in and intervened, had He seen the Corinthians mourning. If that's true, then we might conclude that assembly discipline in disfellowshipping someone is an indicator of failure. Had they been mournful of the sin, they wouldn't have had to act.

Regardless, Ezekiel 9 and 1 Corinthians 5 carry this theme: that the reaction God is looking for is sorrow. We see this same theme in Exodus 32. And so we have to ask ourselves: when we observe sin in the assembly, is our reaction sorrow?

When Daniel recognized the sin in Israel, he reacted to it as though it was his own. There was a degree of humility that comes from mourning sin: it reminds us sharply that we aren't above the sin we have seen. Daniel couldn't very well repent of the sins of Israel before God and then say, "I wouldn't ever do that!". But we see that reaction quite frequently among Christians: "How could he have done such a thing?" When we find ourselves asking that question, we've forgotten the lessons of Romans 6–8.

It's one thing to despise sins we've committed, but eventually we have to learn to despise the indwelling sin that is their source. That's the lesson of Romans 7, isn't it? It's one thing to despise what we do, it's another to recognize that "in me, that is in my flesh, dwells no good thing".

Galatians offers a warning to those who'd take the lead in the assembly: "if even a man be taken in some fault, ye who are spiritual restore such a one in a spirit of meekness, considering thyself lest *thou* also be tempted" (Galatians 6:1). What's the danger hidden in the godly desire to help out? There is the same flesh in me that is in every other child of God. When a believer is "taken in some fault", he or she is simply expressing the same sin that is in me too.

Galatians says the remedy is a "spirit of meekness". That's what Daniel had, that's what Ezekiel had. We don't see in either Daniel or Ezekiel a sense of superiority. We don't see them pointing to the idolaters without a sense of their own frailty. Ezekiel and Daniel are both deeply touched by what they've seen, and they're both dismayed to see it.

When a Christian falls into sin, there's frequently a sort of feeding frenzy among other Christians. We get the scent of blood, and we get into a self-righteous condemnation. The Lord Jesus said, "there's none good but God" (Mark 10:18). We'd do well to bear that in mind.

Now, this doesn't mean we can just ignore sin. At no point does Scripture ever teach, suggest, or imply that we should just ignore sin. Scripture is quite clear: "Let every one who names the name of [the] Lord withdraw from iniquity" (2 Timothy 2:19).

What it does mean is, the proper response to sin is meekness and sorrow. We've no call to act in malice, arrogance, and self-righteousness when sin in the assembly comes to light. The godly ones are always called to walk in humility. Yes, we are to separate from evil. Yes, we are called to walk in separation. Yes, the Scripture certainly prescribes a breaking of fellowship with the unrepentant. But when it comes to assembly matters, the how is at least as important as the what.

Try harder!

I listen to a lot of sermons at work: my job is sometimes heavily interactive, but there are a lot of days where I am working alone more or less all day. I wear headphones to sort of announce my desire not to be disturbed, and I frequently spend a whole work day listening to sermons as I work. By far I listen to MP3s from VoicesForChrist.org the most.

I've noticed a real rise in "try harder theology" in the messages I've been listening to. What do I mean by "try-harder theology?" I mean that line of teaching that would tell us that a holy life is the result of will power and effort. I suppose we might use terms like "law" or "legalism" too. I refer to it as "try harder" theology, because it seems we always need to try a little harder. That's because it fundamentally doesn't work: you can't actually try hard enough.

People who teach this sort of thing like to offer advice that should work, but it doesn't. They'd tell us what we need to do is make covenants, perhaps we need to exercise our will more, or maybe what we really need to do is to fast and pray. But in the end, we find what Paul found:

I find then the law upon *me* who will to practise what is right, that with *me* evil is there.
For I delight in the law of God according to the inward man:
but I see another law in my members, warring in opposition to the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which exists in my members.
(Romans 7:21–23, JND).

There are all sorts of nice theories out there about how we can live more godly lives. And they seem to make a lot of sense, but the Scripture is very clear: there is a law of sin in our members. That law says, when I want to do what is right, evil is right there with me. We can't escape this law as long as our bodies are unredeemed. We are new creatures in Christ, but we live in the old creatures' bodies. And as long as we're in the unredeemed body, the law of sin is there. And the harder we try to do right, the more we find that law of sin working against us.

Law---any law---can't help us. The problem is not that we lack laws, the problem is that the whole purpose of law is to point out what we're not. Law can't make us good, it can just tell us we're not. The Law of Moses is a perfect law---the only perfect law---and it can't make us good. If the perfect law is powerless to make us good, surely any other law is equally powerless.

So when we put ourselves under law---any law---to make us more godly, we find that we merely prove what God has already said: we are not.

This was the error of the Galatians. They began in the spirit, but they thought they could be made perfect in the flesh (Galatians 3:1–3). They thought they could get life through faith, but live it out by works. This is not Christianity, the just shall live by faith. The Colossians were told, "as therefore ye have received the Christ, Jesus the Lord, walk in him" (Colossians 2:6, JND). We are to walk as we received; by faith.

I spent many years trying harder. I memorized my Bible, I fasted, and I prayed. But in the end, I found exactly what Paul found: there is sin in my flesh. As long as I live in an unredeemed body I'll carry sinful flesh around with me. And like Paul, I found not only was it there, but I was powerless over it. I wanted to do what was right, I found myself doing what was wrong. So I assumed I needed to try harder. And I tried very hard, but it was never hard enough.

Paul gives us the answer in Romans 7:24, "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me out of this body of death?" (JND). The problem is not that I need to try harder, the problem is that I need someone to deliver me.

J. N. Darby said it wonderfully:

Nor can you get out of the difficulty until you have come to the personal consciousness, the self-knowledge, which finds out that you cannot get the victory over sin. It is a terrible thing to see; but it is learning this, that I have no power, and not merely that I am guilty. "To will is present with me, but how to perform that which is good I find not"; and until you are brought to the conscience of "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me?" I cannot succeed; sin is too strong for me; I am not brought to the point, where alone the deliverance is got. I may or may not have the knowledge of forgiveness. This modifies the form, but not the substance, of the experience. It is always essentially under law, that is, a claim upon us to be in a given state. But you say "I must try." "Very well," I say, "Try away, try away." Why? Because then he will learn that he cannot, and presently he will say, not "How shall I do better?" but, "Who shall deliver me?" He is then in such a condition that another must take him out of it. He finds he is not only ungodly, but without strength; he has learned what he is, not merely what he has done; and then he sees Christ there in power, and the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus makes him free from the law of sin and death. This is not a question of non-imputation, nor of cleansing, but of making free. Then I find it settled in seeing the truth and ground of it in the cross of Christ, and not in my personally obtaining of purity at a given moment.
("Cleansing and Deliverance", Collected Writings, Vol. 23)

Read those first two sentences carefully. The problem is not only that we have sin in our flesh, but that we are utterly powerless to overcome it. Until we learn that, Darby says, we will try to be better instead of looking for deliverance.

This is closely related to the teaching of Romans 6, although it's not the same thing. We are crucified with Christ so that we are dead to sin. Not so that we can die to sin, but so that we have died to it. The basis of our deliverance is, we have died to sin. But Romans 7 tells us something more: sin is still there in our flesh. We are new creations, but we live in old bodies.

God never meant for us to duke it out with sin. We've been crucified with Christ to be freed from sin (Romans 6), and we need to be delivered from the sin we find in ourselves (Romans 7). In both cases, it is God's work to rescue us. But "try harder" Christianity takes us from our Deliverer and throws us back into the conflict to fight it out for ourselves. It is foolishness. It is the opposite of faith.

I've been down that road; there's nothing good down there.

A particularly egregious example is a message from the 2005 Shepherding Conference at Greenwood Hills in Pennsylvania, "A Critical Need" (MP3). Here we have a speaker addressing leaders from several "open" assemblies in the USA and Canada. He addresses the problems of moral purity in leadership, focusing mainly on Internet pornography and so forth. It's uncomfortable, but probably necessary. And it's commendable that he speaks openly about it. But around 13 minutes into the talk he presents his "solution"... from Daniel 1:8 and then later from Job 31:1.

Daniel purposed in his heart that he would not pollute himself (Daniel 1:8, JND)

I made a covenant with mine eyes; and how should I fix my regard upon a maid? (Job 31:1, JND)

And then he spends the rest of the message urging the brethren to enter into covenants to avoid this sort of sin.

It is utterly appalling. This brother points out a very real problem, but he offers no solution. His solution is law. I can't repeat it enough, the solution to lawlessness isn't law. That's the whole point of Galatians: the Law was given to demonstrate that we need a Saviour. Once we come to Christ, the Law has done all it can:

But before faith came, we were guarded under law, shut up to faith which was about to be revealed.
So that the law has been our tutor up to Christ, that we might be justified on the principle of faith.
But, faith having come, we are no longer under a tutor;
for ye are all God’s sons by faith in Christ Jesus.
(Galatians 3:23–26, JND)

This is exactly what Romans 7 is talking about: law doesn't actually empower us to live lawfully. Law can tell us we're bad, but it has no ability to make us good. We don't need law, we need deliverance. The problem of lust isn't to be conquered through purpose of heart, strength of will, or a covenant with or eyes (or anything else). What does Romans 7 teach? There is sin in the flesh and you are powerless over it. You can't beat this thing, it's stronger than you are. There is a law of sin in your members and the harder you try to be good, the worse you're going to find you are. And what is the result? The result is we realize we are "wretched" and we look for the Deliverer.

This sermon is putting Christians under law, plain and simple. It is the opposite of the teaching of the New Testament. It is opposite to the faith of the Apostles. The Epistles uniformly present not law nor the power of the will (because really, that's all he's offering in this sermon), but new life in Christ as the power for our walk down here. Christ has been crucified and I have died with Him. He was raised from the dead, and I am to walk in newness of life. I have died with Him: this is fact. I am to act on this fact by reckoning myself to be dead to sin. And when I find that law of sin in my members; when I recognize that I am a new creation in the old creation's body, then I am to look for my Deliverer. That is the teaching of Romans 6 & 7, Galatians 2, Colossians 2 & 3, and Ephesians. The Epistles don't tell us how to deal with this problem, they tell us how Christ has already dealt with it. They don't tell us to make covenants or put ourselves under law: on the contrary, they warn us that these attempts will merely exacerbate the problem.

This sermon offers as a solution the very thing Romans 7 tells us doesn't work. I don't know how I can say it more plainly than that.

And what I'm proposing ought not to be "strange doctrine" to these brothers. It was the settled doctrine of "brethren" from their beginnings in the 1820s until very recently. Darby might have said it best, but it was taught by W. Kelly, C.H. Mackintosh, F.W. Grant, George Mueller, etc. Literally all "brethren" for more than a century held that sanctification is by grace, not law. I am not proposing anything new: I have many books on my shelves more than 100 years old that all insist on the same thing.

Not everything on VoicesForChrist.org is bad. Indeed, there is some very good ministry there. In fact, there is a series on Romans by William McRae that's just excellent. And there is a lot of solid stuff by Neil Dougal, John Phillips, and Colin Anderson, as well as many others. But I'm finding "try harder" theology is becoming more and more prevalent there.