When Good Works Go Bad

What a mixed bag of good and bad, wisdom and foolishness are the people of God. The Scriptures teach what the Reformers clearly articulated as the doctrine of Total Depravity. I know that no one wants to think of themselves as 'totally depraved.' After all, we are capable of wonderful acts of kindness and generosity. But this doctrine, which is revealed throughout the Scriptures, does not mean that we are as bad as we could be. It means that there is no part of us that has escaped the ravages of sin. That is, the totality of our being has been touched by wickedness, scared by fallenness.

We see the reality of total depravity enacted on a global scale through genocide, tyranny, injustice, greed, and sexual license. We see it in our own communities in crass materialism, addiction, adultery, and violence. In Christian households we see the ravages of total depravity in the disrespect of children for their parents, the lack of serving love between spouses, and the ruin of irresponsible stewardship. In our own hearts there is lust and covetousness and pride. The heart is truly deceitful.

Even our good deeds do not go untouched by sin. Our motives are mixed. We call attention to our acts of generosity or spiritual maturity because we crave the admiration of others. We let slip evidence of our generosity, spiritual discipline, service, or fasting. But not only do we crave admiration we also seek to press our advantage over others. If I have loved more, prayed more, served more, or fasted more than you, then certainly I am more spiritual than you.

Jesus warns against this impulse by calling us to secrecy in our good works and acts of devotion.

“And when you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you" (Matt 6:16-18).

We must be careful not to broadcast our good works. Let it be, as it were, a secret even to ourselves. This will certainly rob us of the applause of man but it will gain for us a greater reward from our Father.

In Colossians 2 Paul tells us to not submit to the legalistic standards of others:

"Therefore let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food and drink, or with regard to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath. These are a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ. Let no one disqualify you, insisting on asceticism and worship of angels, going on in detail about visions, puffed up without reason by his sensuous mind..." (vv. 16-18).

The implication is that we must not demand that others submit to our own standards of spirituality. If I choose to spend time in the Scriptures every morning at 5:00 then I must strenuously avoid any expectation that you should do the same. If I choose to abstain from drinking a glass of wine then I must not demand the same of you. If I fast on Saturdays as a way of preparation for the Lord's Day then that in no way obligates you to do the same.

There is something in our hearts that always seeks an advantage over others. But this prideful impulse is a cruel mistress for it eventually ruins the very thing it promised to satisfy. In this case, pride ruins the virtue of the virtuous deed. Pride makes good works go bad.

The Scriptures speak quite clearly about the dangers of good works. Our Lord said, "Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. Thus, when you give to the needy,

sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you" (Matt 6:1-4).

I have a practice of not using any of my good works as sermon illustrations. I know my tendency to love the admiration of others so it is vital that I avoid broadcasting my good deed. Of course, in writing about my virtue of not bragging about my virtue I have just preened the feathers of my self-righteousness. Total Depravity indeed!

I am not humble; really...

Readers of this blog know that one of my favorite writers is Carl Trueman. He always makes me laugh and then he makes me think.

His latest article posted at Ref21 caused me to look at myself in the proverbial mirror. When I think about what drives me I cannot help but be mindful of how incomplete is my sanctification. I am so prideful! I care too much about my reputation. I crave recognition. I love for people to think highly of me and dread my faults (which are legion) being known. In short, I have a long way to go.

Trueman writes:

I am a man divided against myself; I want to be the centre of attention because I am a fallen human being; I want others to know that I am the special one; and as long as the new me and the old me are bound together in a single, somatic unity, I will forever be at war with myself. What I can do, however, is have the decency to be ashamed of my drive to self-promotion and my craving for attention and for flattery and not indulge it as if it were actually a virtue or a true guide to my real merit. I am not humble, so I should not pretend to be so but rather confess it in private, seeking forgiveness and sanctification. And, negatively, I must avoid doing certain things. I must not proudly announce my humility on the internet so that all can gasp in wonder at my self-effacement. I must make sure I never refer to myself as a scholar. I must not tell people how wonderful I am. I must resist the temptation to laugh at my own jokes. I must not applaud my own speeches. I must deny myself the pleasure of posting other people's overblown flattery of me on my own website, let alone writing such about myself. I must never make myself big by clinging to the coat-tails of another. In short, I must never take myself too seriously.

Read the entire article HERE.

Talking back to my inner Nimrod

Tomorrow I am preaching from Genesis 11:1-9. It’s the account of Nimrod, the people of Shinar, and their quest to build a great city with a tower reaching into heaven. They were building, we are told, in order to make a name for themselves. They were seeking to bridge the gap between man and God by their own power and ingenuity. They were seeking to erase the distinction between creature and Creator. The account tells us almost everything we need to know about mankind. We are a prideful lot. We seek lives of independence from God.

But I probably shouldn’t write in generalities. The fact is I am a prideful man. I love my independence. I am far too interested in my own name while not nearly as interested enough in God’s great name. I find God’s interests often competing with my own. It is in those times when my inner Nimrod rises up within me. My inner Nimrod wants recognition and respect. He wants to be served. In those moments the only voice that can adequately talk back is that of Jesus.

The person and words of Jesus are an open rebuke to my inner Nimrod. Paul tells us in Philippians that Jesus, though in very nature God, nevertheless put away His divine rights and became a servant. In His teaching ministry Jesus turned upside down the prevailing attitudes about greatness. In the kingdom of Christ greatness is not about who finishes first or gains the most but who serves in anonymity.

As He was explaining to His disciples that His time had come to offer up His life Jesus said, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24). Obviously, Jesus is referencing His coming death which would bear the fruit of redemption. It makes sense that histories most significant death bore histories most significant fruit. But there is, it seems to me, an application to be had for all of us who know Jesus. Fruitfulness for God involves a kind of death.

Humility is hard to come by. Everything in us resists humility. We resist with all our might those things that make us humble. And so I have been thinking about Jesus’ metaphor of the grain of wheat. Seeds are put into dark, dank holes and covered over. They are drowned with water and then left to rot in the soil. Only then, after enough time has passed does the fruit come. It’s never pleasant but it’s good.