A serious problem—OK, I am under no illusion that I have the
solution to this dilemma, but I have three modest suggestions.
My second modest suggestion: be grateful to live at a time
in history when technology allows us access to preaching that a few years ago
would have been out of reach. We can download and listen to sermons and
lectures that meet the need we have, and we should do so. This is not, however,
a replacement for church for it leaves out the graces found only there: the
sacraments, Christ’s spiritual presence, the communion of saints, and the unity
of the body. And since attending church brings us back to sermons that fail to connect
to life, I have one more suggestion.
My third suggestion is to listen more deeply. As you sit in
the pew, before you are a text of Scripture and a sermon. The same Spirit that
inspired the text is at work in the church today, but the text is primary—the
sermon seeks to explain the text but never exhausts it. I do not mean to
dismiss the sermon in saying this, but to properly honor the text.
You can even take this one step farther. Meet with a few
like-minded friends for lunch and listen deeply together. Talk about the text
and the sermon in light of the three questions I have listed. Process together.
Share each other’s creativity. And don’t be discouraged if you find this
process difficult at first—meditation is actually a skill to be learned and
mastered. That is why it is called a discipline. My third question—composing a
single intriguing sentence—might prove to be the most difficult. We tend to be
used to speaking in a dialect that has been birthed in the church sub-culture
and that actually sounds strange to outsiders. It’s a dialect designed to
repeat what we know in the terms we were taught to affirm we are correct. It
isn’t designed to find some creative twist or surprise in the text, though that
is exactly what the Scriptures are full of. You will probably add questions of
your own as you develop skill in meditation. The details aren’t as important as
the spiritual discipline itself: learning to listen more deeply to the text as
you listen to a sermon.
And let me know what you think of my three suggestions.
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.