The teacher laughed
as she discussed the Pharisees’ rules.
She was particularly amused by the dilemma of the poor Pharisee who
needed to move a chair across the room on the Sabbath. Picking the chair up and moving it would
violate the law against carry a load on the Sabbath; dragging the chair across the
dirt floor would violate the law against plowing.
As much as we
might wish it, legalism like that of the Pharisees was not left behind in the
first century; nor did the Reformation purge it from Christianity. And, some of these instances of legalism are
as amusing as the prickly rules of the Pharisees.
There’s an
account of a New England Puritan who hanged the cat because the poor beast
caught a mouse on a Sunday.
In The Cross and the Switchblade, David
Wilkerson wrote of how his grandfather stood at the front of the church during
“the altar call” (the “invitation,” as Baptists say) to observe any women who
might come forward to receive salvation.
Should any of them have bows or ribbons on their dresses, he used the
shears he carried to cut off these worldly decorations.
When I was a
teenager, my Sunday school teacher warned our class we might “lose our
testimony” if we were seen drinking a root beer out of a bottle. Whoever might see us drinking from a brown
bottle might assume we were drinking “real” beer. Life was much easier three hundred years
earlier. I can imagine that Puritan
comforting himself with a flagon of ale after his wife scolded him for
executing such a good mouser; the point is, the rules of legalism may vary from
era to era—teetotalism didn’t become a hallmark of the Evangelical lifestyle
until after the mid nineteenth century.
I have a friend
from a denomination known for its social conservatism. While he attempted to plant a church in a
university town, the presbytery called him to answer charges of
misconduct. He had allowed the young
women in the new church to wear slacks to a bowling party. This, the presbytery claimed, was immodest. When my friend countered that a young woman
wearing slacks while bowling might actually be more modest than if she were
wearing a skirt, one critic told him, “I can remember when we preached against
chewing gum and coffee.”
As petty as
they might seem, I suppose nothing is really lost by following such rules. Pour your root beer over some ice cream and
you can enjoy a frothy float assured your testimony is intact. Still, the woman who saved to buy that dress
with its ribbons and bows might have regretted it being mutilated. But, surely, that’s a small price to pay for
salvation.
Of course,
Grandpa Wilkerson’s denomination probably didn’t actually deny salvation to a
young woman wearing ribbons and bows but, as Terry Goodkind insists, “Reality
is irrelevant. Perception is
everything.” The young girl sitting in a
pew watching the snipping ritual might easily conclude either God is rather
fussy when it comes to fashion or assume she had always held the moral high
ground since she had never worn ribbons and bows.
Before we move
on, let me offer some definitions of legalism.
The first is informal. We can see
legalism as an outlook that says spirituality may be achieved by strictly
following a code of conduct that may, at times, exceed any behavior required in
the Scripture and observing certain taboos that may find little support in the
Scripture. The one who follows such a
lifestyle often believes he or she has attained a position of spiritual
superiority over other Christians who do not live so circumspectly. In extreme cases, legalists believe their way
of life actually earns God’s favor.
A second, more
formal definition, comes from The Pocket Dictionary of Theological Terms:
Legalism is the attitude that identifies
morality with the strict observance of laws or that views adherence to moral
codes as defining the boundaries of a community. Religious legalism focuses on
obedience to laws or moral codes based on the (misguided) assumption that such
obedience is a means of gaining divine favor._
Sometimes, the
most radical forms of “Christian” legalism say salvation is a matter of “Jesus
plus something else,” usually keeping certain rules or performing certain
rites.
Legalism
diminishes the role of Jesus in our redemption and robs the Christian of joy
that ought to come from resting wholly on Christ’s work. Legalism suggests the “good news” isn’t quite
as “good” as it initially seems.
Legalism has the capacity to transform our relationship with others—I
may cast myself in the role of a judge trying to discern the lapses in
another’s behavior so I can assure myself that I stand on higher moral ground. Legalism may also redefine Christian charity;
acts of kindness are never performed out of disinterested benevolence, they are
done to enhance my standing with God.
There is a
further point I cannot stress too much: Legalism is insidious. It can
wheedle its way into our thinking without our noticing. A few years ago, an evangelical known for
holding some very liberal positions on certain social issues addressed a
convention of WMU women. He told them no
real Christian would wear a Rolex. Now,
this man knows you can’t make such a judgment about a fellow Christian, but a
kind of “liberal legalism” had found a place in his heart, probably without his
knowing it. Amazingly, he was praised
for what he said; praised, perhaps, by Baptist journalists wearing
Timexes.
Legalism
exploits our fears and worries. Legalism
often becomes more prevalent when society seems out of control. We feel we need to build stronger walls to
protect ourselves.
Legalism
steals our joy, mars our peace, and undermines our hope. We are left constantly asking, “Have I done
enough?” Paul’s treatise against
legalism, Galatians, tells us Jesus has done all that needs to be done to
provide our salvation, adding that we couldn’t do anything more if we
tried.
Lately, considering
just how insidious legalism can be, I’ve been wondering if there is another, less
obvious, message in Paul’s letter.
I noticed it when I was dealing
with Paul’s most powerful statement about circumcision (Galatians 5:5-6).
For through the Spirit, by
faith, we eagerly wait for the hope of righteousness. For in
Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything; the
only thing that counts is faith working through love.
Harsh as he
could be at times, Paul seems to have preferred talking about God’s great
scheme of salvation. He preferred
celebrating our freedom in Christ to castigating legalists.
Paul reminds us
of the Spirit’s work in our salvation (vs. 5).
This is important because in any scheme of salvation based on our own
efforts we are left to our own devices.
We have to make ourselves holy enough to please God and Paul had already
shown that to be a lost cause earlier in the letter.
Instead, we
have the Spirit at work in us. The
Spirit is at work in us, moving us to a final and perfect state of
righteousness—perhaps not in this world but in the next. Paul would tell the Ephesians, “For we are
his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared
beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (2:10), so our good works are the
product of God’s good work in us. And,
again, he would tell the Philippians, “For I am sure of this very thing, that
the one who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ
Jesus,” (1:3) implying that we are not yet all we will be but God is at work in
us.
It’s a relief to know that having begun our
Christian walk through the Spirit we are not expected to complete that walk by
our own efforts (Gal 3:3).
This reality
gives us the proper perspective toward matters like circumcision, a really big
deal in the Galatian church.
Listen again to
verse 6: “As far as our relationship to Christ Jesus is concerned, it
doesn’t matter whether we are circumcised or not. But what matters is a faith that expresses
itself through love.”
Paul is
reminding us we may be blessedly indifferent to some outward expressions of religion. Here Paul is speaking of circumcision. Earlier he spoke of holy days and elsewhere
he speaks of diet being unimportant to our spiritual advancement. Paul is obsessed with Christ; he won’t let
himself be obsessed with anything else.
He understands the difference between excess and moderation; he would
tell the Ephesians “do not be drunk with wine” and tell the pastor of that
church “drink a little wine to help your stomach.”
I have known
those who felt they could judge the quality of your spiritual commitment by
what was in your refrigerator or the movies you attended; some would even
question your commitment if you attended movies. We may not encounter as many such people as
we once did but they’re still around, along with those who would judge your
spirituality by your bumper stickers.
Paul would have never played that game.
These things
may not be important but there one thing that is, “a faith that expresses
itself through love.” Paul follows this
statement with a question, “You were running well; who prevented you from
obeying the truth?”
The Galatians, he
says, “were running well.” As he looked
back at the birth of the church in Galatia, he recalled a time of excitement in
their new faith and anticipation of great things to come. But something or someone “prevented them from
obeying the truth.”
Doubtless Paul
knew who was behind the effort to derail the young church but his focus is on
the enormity of what they were attempting to do. When he speaks of them being
“prevented” or “hindered” he is using a military term for interfering with the
forward advance of troops. The effect of
this action by the false teachers was to stop the Galatians “from being
influenced by the truth.” Those who had
fallen under the spell of the false-teachers had stopped “obeying” or living in
light of the gospel’s truth.
Listening to
these false teachers, they had snapped the chains of legalism back onto their
wrists and ankles.
Anyone who has
studied Galatians knows this. Paul
wanted those liberated by Christ to live in liberty (5:1-2). We can’t emphasize that enough. But recently
I’ve wondered if we have missed a significant part of what Paul was saying
because we have focused so much on only part of his declaration. We know “circumcision” doesn’t matter; do we
recall that “uncircumcision” doesn’t matter either?
In exploring
this I am at a loss for words, almost literally. There is no really good antonym for
legalism. “Antinomianism” and
“libertine” both imply a complete abandonment of restraint. That’s not what I have in mind. Someone with a more flexible vocabulary might
suggest a better term but, for now, I am going to use “un-legalism” and its
variants. Again, it may not be the best
choice—I considered post-legalism, but rejected it because it assumes a
previous commitment to legalism—but, at least, unlegalism mirrors Paul’s
use of uncircumcision. (In any
case, most English translations avoid literally translating the term Paul uses,
perhaps to keep adolescent boys from giggling during the Bible reading and
older ladies from blushing.)
Like legalists,
un-legalists believe their behavior demonstrates their spiritual
superiority. Like legalists, un-legalists
exhibit profound hubris or pride about their lifestyle; raising a glass
occasionally to toast how much freer they are than the poor legalist down the pew. Like legalists, un-legalists can create
division within a Christian community by suggesting fellow believers haven’t
attained an appropriate level of spiritual maturity. Had Jesus told a parable about a typical un-legalist,
he might have imagined this prayer:
“Thank you, God, that I am not like that Pharisee.”
In writing to
the Galatians, Paul was not concerned there might be those who choose to practice
circumcision or observe certain dietary rules as part of their cultural
heritage or to help win an audience for the gospel. His concern focused on what people believed
about these practices.
Like legalists,
un-legalists must examine what they believe about their behavior. If Dr. Pepper believes she is the superior
Christian because she drinks only soda, she needs to pause a moment and examine
her heart. If Bud believes he is the
superior Christian because he enjoys a beer after Bible study, he needs to
examine his heart.
Of course, some
Christians behave like legalists concerning some things and like un-legalists concerning
other things. We seem unable to resist
the temptation to compare ourselves to others.
Years ago I
heard a story about a group of American Baptist scholars visiting some Baptist
scholars in Germany. Following an
afternoon of lectures and discussion, there was a banquet. When the meal was over, the American Baptists
lit up cigars and cigarettes. Seeing
this, the German Baptists were so shocked they almost dropped their beers. (The storyteller didn’t say so but I can
imagine the Americans’ cigars and cigarettes drooping at the sight of all those
steins.)
If Paul was
indifferent to both circumcision and uncircumcision, indifferent to whether he
ate lox and bagels for lunch or a bacon cheeseburger, there was something he
wasn’t indifferent to. (If you complain
about that preposition, you’re a legalist.)
He told the Galatians, “… what matters is a faith that expresses
itself through love.”
If Christians were really motivated by the
kind of love Paul had in mind, they could all sit down at the table with their Cokes
and Guinnesses without a dram of trouble.
In the interests of full disclosure: Though
Paul might have been indifferent on the issue, I’d prefer the bacon
cheeseburger.
