Contrasting the Legal and Faithful Minds(2) – Part Twenty Two

In last month’s issue (Tidings, 9/2000), Bro. David made detailed comment on the first nine items in the above table. This month he continues his comments with a development of point 10.

Content vs. process thinking (development of 10)

The legalist, with his focus on ritual and external evils, needs to categorize every object and activity in his world as “clean” or “unclean.” He focuses on the external object, not on the relationship of the object to the person. The faithist believes the New Testament teaching that evil comes from within; all things remain clean if used properly. Thus, the faithist focuses not on the external object, but on the use of the object, that is, the relationship between user and external object. The legalist focuses on the “what,” the faithist on the “how.” If you ask a legalist if something is good or bad, he’ll give you an answer. If you ask a faithist the same questions, you’ll only get “depends.”

Another way of describing this dynamic is concrete vs. abstract thinking. The legalist only sees the what, the faithist sees the how. Let’s look at an example that’s sure to get some folks riled up. It’s about modern versions of the Bible. In this somewhat trivial example, the “what” in question is the form of words.

Many people favor the King James Version language over “modern versions” but that’s a content distinction. The KJV fits the criterion for “mod­ern” 400 years ago. At that time, it was translated into modern English, so at a process level, it’s modern. To produce an “old-fashioned” version you must deliberately use out-of-date word forms, use meanings of words that have no current application, and ignore textual scholarship of the past few centuries. Words themselves like “makest” and “thou” and “waxeth” and “concupiscence” sound old-fashioned but were common currency when the translators used them 400 years ago.

There’s nothing inherently special about “thou.” In the language of 400 years ago, it was not used as a formal word or special address for God. In fact neither Hebrew, Greek nor King James English have formal pronouns; the same second person pronoun suffices for God and man alike. Some use “thou” in prayer, others find it unsuitable; to each his own on this matter. It’s only when people think that the word itself has something holy or special about it that we have a problem. People who do use “thou” and similar anach­ronisms in prayer should know these linguistic artifacts have no basis in scripture.* Whether we say “thou” or “you,” we all pray for the glory of God. Other examples of content thinking get us in much worse trouble in areas far too involved to discuss here, such as the atonement and remarriage.

Fears (13)

The legalist has several life-consuming fears. Fear of uncertainty and ambiguity, fear of failure and rejection, and fear of God. No, not the awe of God, but being afraid of God, in the sense that one is afraid of an angry superior. The faithist, on the other hand, lives in awe of God, and has a profound respect — for God’s power, goodness, and mercy. The faithist can live with the uncertainties and ambiguities of life because he knows that the omnipotent God – not himself, his own pharisaical God — really controls the universe.

Fear of ambiguity and uncertainty stems from the fundamental belief in external evil. Because the world has so many defilements, it’s vitally impor­tant to carefully and precisely box everything – leave nothing to chance or doubt. When in doubt, cast it out, but leave nothing to uncertainty. The legalist fears the undefined because it could let something unclean in through the door.

Scruples (11, 12, 14, 17)

Fear of ambiguity shows up when one tries to foist — or force – one’s scruples on others. This happens when we focus on the external thing, not one’s relationship to it. If something is unclean, then it must be unclean for everyone. But the faithist knows that the New Covenant has much inherent ambiguity. For instance, Paul says it’s fine to get married, but better, to stay unmarried (I Cor. 7:38). Some people celebrate a day (which might include hauling a tree into the house), some don’t (Rom. 14:6); both receive approval. Some, “the weak,” eat only vegetables, others eat anything (Rom. 14:2). Some bring forth sixty-fold, some thirty, some a hundred (Mt. 13:8); God accepts them all.

We have one standard — the perfection of Christ — but many individual approaches. Paul’s lack of precise definition when dealing with matters of scruples would have totally unwound the true legalists who read his letters. Paul wouldn’t say, “meat offered to idols is unclean.” Instead he said, “maybe, depends on your attitude and circumstances.” He allowed for different con­tent standards (food clean or unclean), but the same process standard (spiri­tual growth). But the legalist only looks at the content and sees ambiguity, which scares him.

Thus, the legalist desires to export his weaknesses. If it’s unclean for him, then it must be for everyone. If TV is bad for him, it’s bad for everyone. If taking a psychology class in college — or even going to college at all — represents an “evil” to the legalist, then it’s verboten for all. Differing levels of faith and practice make no sense in the absolute world of the legalist.

The faithist keeps his faith to himself (Rom. 14:22), and he’s perfectly happy to allow others their scruples. He has no fear of ambiguity because he knows that we all grow at different rates toward an infinite standard, and of course ecclesial and personal life will have their uncertainties in language, form of worship, dress, style, musical taste, and so many other variables. The faithist knows that ecclesial life goes much easier when we tolerate other’s scruples and keep ours to ourselves. He fears not, because most of those scruples focus on content, on things, and not on issues of faith. God controls all, anyway, and we don’t have to iron out every little wrinkle.

Fear of failure and rejection (15, 16)

Law and grace oppose and mutually exclude each other. The legalist, being under law, has a hefty load of ritual observance and defilement-avoiding to get his reward. Thus, he has a fear-based religion. If he doesn’t do right, he has no grace. He only has his own works, and that’s no easy task, given the huge legalist structure he has built. The legalist lives in constant fear of something going wrong — missing a ritual, contacting a defilement, doing something wrong. This fear leads to the restrictive life we treated earlier; it also leads to a dreadful misconception of our loving heavenly Father.

In the parable of the talents (Mt. 25:14-30), we have one man afraid to risk his money. The other did risk much, for no one in business doubles his investment without considerable risk-taking. One made ten talents of five, the other four of two; the exact amount (content) is unimportant. They must have loved their master and trusted that even if their ventures failed, he would accept them. But the man who hid his talent for fear of losing it, didn’t even avail himself of a safe investment. He had no trust or love for his master. He only had fear that if he failed, he would incur his master’s ire. Therefore, at all costs, he refrained from doing bad. His definition of a good work — preserv­ing what his master gave him — reflects the legalist thinking, “avoid evil and I’m okay.” His conception of God did not inspire him to do anything useful at all. His fear of God was entirely the wrong kind of fear.

The legalist is truly afraid of God because he has made a God in his own image, an imaginary idol of fleshly ideology and attributes. The God of the legalist is vengeful, offendable, and irascible. He doles out rewards only to those who have earned it. Keep him happy, or else. So he fears God just as he would a powerful human tyrant.

The faithist serves a loving father. He operates from a basis of respect, love, and trust. His belief in providence and forgiveness supports the manda­tory risks of faith so that he can lead a productive and useful life. Think of Abraham as an example of risk-taking, and you’ll know the power of one’s conception of God to control the destiny of life.

Regeneration (18)

At this point in our discussion, we’ve pretty much painted the picture. Suffice it to say that following laws and rules only yields stenosis and stagna­tion, not spiritual growth. The concept of moral regeneration — the only answer to the evil within us — has no basis in the legalist construct of external evil.

Knowledge (19,20)

Even Jesus commended the Pharisees’ Bible knowledge (Mt. 23:2); what they did with it led to their downfall. Knowledge (content) can yield faith, or it can yield laws. It’s how we use it (process) that counts. To the legalist, the acquisition of knowledge is an end in itself. Christadelphians have a wonderful tradition of scholarship and Bible study. If we use it to build faith, well.

The oft-heard phrase “wise unto salvation” is wrested Scripture. The complete phrase reads, “wise unto salvation through faith in Christ Jesus” (II Tim. 3:15). Pox on any Christadelphian who substitutes knowledge for faith in Christ as the basis of salvation!

The faithist also knows that the more he knows, the more he knows how much he doesn’t know. Good Bible study makes a very humble disciple. He who reads with the intent to learn faith gains much character. He who reads with the intent to use knowledge itself for self-aggrandizement, ecclesial power, or the ego of wisdom is a fool.

Claims of “purity” (21)

A writing device used by John in his first epistle separates the claims of the psuedo-pure from the lives of the truly godly. The apostle often uses the phrase “If we say…” to start the negative line of a contrasting ethical couplet (cp. 1:6 with 1:7; 1:8 &10 with 1:9; 2:4 with 2:5; and 2:9 with 2:10). Some people claim purity, others just do it, quietly leading lives that reflect the work of God in their hearts. We have no need, like the Pharisees, to stand up for the “purity of the truth.” No human can sully God’s inviolate truth. Claiming to uphold purity amounts to nothing — doesn’t everyone believe they uphold “pure truth”? Who among us would claim that he doesn’t stand for true apostolic religion?

A believer who lets God rule in his heart has no need for claims, because his life speaks for itself. Moreover, because it’s God’s purity, not his, the faithist knows that he, of himself, cannot have or hold God’s purity purely. Paradoxically, we uphold the purity by recognizing that as humans, we can only impurely reflect God’s ineffable truth.

Pride & hypocrisy (22, 23)

The end of the legalist approach comes to, “I did thus and so; I obeyed the rules.” No manner of humility of character can reverse the consequences of self-justification. You have taken God and grace out of the picture, and made salvation a matter of your own doing. This defines pride. However, because no one can fully do right, we have the blotches which lead to “hypocrite,” Jesus’ special cognomen for the Pharisees.

Hypocrisy happens this way: we establish a rule, and attempt to keep it. Maybe we do, but even if so, God extrapolates from the specific behavior of the rule to the ethos represented by the rule, and then He holds us entirely responsible for keeping that (Rom. 2:22, etc.). If we preach against stealing, but “steal” time from God by wasting our life on trivial pastimes, then God holds us guilty of stealing. If we believe very strongly against adultery, God will hold us accountable for every lust of the eye which leads to the adultery of the heart. Then we become hypocrites. We claim adherence to a law, but fall down in another application of the same principle.

Should we adopt consistent immorality to avoid hypocrisy? God forbid! Instead, we search for the perfect standard of Christ, and devote our lives to growing into his character, relying on his grace to cover us in the process. Forming character, not following laws, cannot lead to hypocrisy, because we know that we are a work in progress.

Summary

The end of the parable in Luke 18 makes a convenient conclusion to our discussion of the legal mind in contrast to the faithful mind. The man who dared not compare himself with others or trumpet his good works, but only begged for mercy with his head bowed, went home justified. It’s really all we need to know, isn’t it? The power of accurate theology and confession, not his good works, saved him. To those with heads bowed in the true humility of contrition Jesus gives the exhortation, “Lift up your head, for your redemp­tion draws nigh” (Lk. 21:28).