Why is it that some Christians who claim to believe in grace turn out to be angry, sarcastic, and reactionary? Tim Keller, pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian in Manhattan, NY, provides an answer:

There are two basic narrative identities at work among professing Christians. The first is what I will call the moral-performance narrative identity. These are people who in their heart of hearts say, I obey; therefore I am accepted by God. The second is what I will call the grace narrative identity. This basic operating principle is, I am accepted by God through Christ; therefore I obey.

People living their lives on the basis of these two different principles may superficially look alike. They may sit right beside one another in the church pew, both striving to obey the law of God, to pray, to give money generously, to be good family members. But they are doing so out of radically different motives, in radically different spirits, resulting in radically different personal characters.

When persons living in the moral-performance narrative are criticized, they are furious or devastated because they cannot tolerate threats to their self-image of being a “good person.”

But in the gospel our identity is not built on such an image, and we have the emotional ballast to handle criticism without attacking back. When people living in the moral-performance narrative base their self-worth on being hard working or theologically sound, then they must look down on those whom they perceive to be lazy or theologically weak.

But those who understand the gospel cannot possibly look down on anyone, since they were saved by sheer grace, not by their perfect doctrine or strong moral character.

Another mark of the moral-performance narrative is a constant need to find fault, win arguments, and prove that all opponents are not just mistaken but dishonest sellouts. However, when the gospel is deeply grasped, our need to win arguments is removed, and our language becomes gracious. We don’t have to ridicule our opponents, but instead we can engage them respectfully.

People who live in the moral-performance narrative use sarcastic, self-righteous putdown humor, or have no sense of humor at all. Lewis speaks of “the unsmiling concentration upon Self, which is the mark of hell.” The gospel, however, creates a gentle sense of irony. We find a lot to laugh at, starting with our own weaknesses. They don’t threaten us anymore because our ultimate worth is not based on our record or performance.

Martin Luther had the basic insight that moralism is the default mode of the human heart. Even Christians who believe the gospel of grace on one level can continue to operate as if they have been saved by their works. In “The Great Sin” in Mere Christianity, Lewis writes, “If we find that our religious life is making us feel that we are good—above all, that we are better than someone else—I think we may be sure that we are being acted on, not by God, but by the Devil."

Gracious, self-forgetful humility should be one of the primary things that distinguishes Christian believers from the many other types of moral, decent people in the world. But I think it is fair to say that humility, which is a key differentiating mark of the Christian, is largely missing in the church. Nonbelievers, detecting the stench of sanctimony, turn away.

Some will say, “Phariseeism and moralism are not our culture’s big problems right now. Our problems are license and antinomianism. There is no need to talk about grace all the time to postmodern people.” But postmodern people have been rejecting Christianity for years, thinking that it was indistinguishable from moralism. Only if you show them there’s a difference—that what they rejected wasn’t real Christianity—will they even begin to listen again.

Source: “The Advent of Humility: Jesus is the reason to stop concentrating on ourselves,” by Tim Keller in Christianity Today (December 2008) pp. 50-53.

“The history of all things proceeds according to His counsel toward the redemption of the church as the new humanity, toward the liberation of the world in an organic sense, toward the new heaven and the new earth. Even now, by rights, everything in principle belongs to the church, because it is Christ’s and Christ is God’s. As a priest in the temple of the Lord, he who believes this is king over the whole earth. Because he is a Christian, he is human in the full, true sense. He loves the flowers that grow at his feet and admires the stars that sparkle overhead. He does not disdain the arts, which are to him a precious gift from God. Nor does he belittle the sciences, for these, too, are a gift from the Father of lights. He believes that everything God has created is good and that, taken in thanksgiving, nothing is condemned. He labors not for success and doesn’t work for wages, but he does what comes to hand, seeing, by means of God’s commandments, though ignorant of what the future may bring. He does good works without thinking twice and bears fruit before he realizes it. He is like a flower that spreads its fragrance unawares. He is, in a word, a man of God, perfectly equipped to all good works. And while for him to live is Christ, to die is gain.” [The Certainty of Faith by Herman Bavinck, pp. 96-97]

PS. Thanks to my good friend, Steve Froehlich, for sending this quote to me.

My pastor mentioned something in his sermon on January 11^th that has been bothering me ever since. Not bothering me in the sense of his having said something wrong. Bothering me in the sense that what he said lodged itself in my imagination like a splinter under a fingernail. His text was in St Luke’s Gospel chapter 3, which tells the story of John the Baptizer, and his message of repentance.

Reverend Harper ended his sermon by proposing we ask a close, trusted friend this question: “What would it look like if repentance was more a part of my life?”

I haven’t posed the question to anyone.

Yet.

Even Money (2006) is not a great movie, but it tells a story that is true and that needs to be told so that each generation hears it. It’s a simple story, and a particularly strong cast (Kim Basinger, Kelsey Grammer, Forest Whitaker, Ray Liotta, Tim Roth, Danny DeVito) makes the story plausible.

The story of Even Money is this: make money—or the fame or security it promises to provide—the central thing in your life, and you will unleash forces that can kill you and destroy all you hold most dear. Seemingly small choices have unexpected consequences, and soon lies, corruption, injustice, even death follow the avalanche of self-deception and deceit that is required to maintain the addiction the idol spawns.

“Sometimes you go looking for more,” the narrator says, “and you end up with less.” Indeed.