James 3:16:

“…where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and ever vile practice.”

We ask ourselves about some chronic sin, ‘why do I keep doing this?’, we look at our churches and say, ‘why don’t we look anything like the faithful depicted in scripture’, we look at our culture and our corporations and wonder, ‘why does that happen?’.

‘That lawsuit is just greedy.’

‘She hit me with her car, why is she yelling?’

‘Why isn’t he there for his kids?’

‘Why can’t he spend even one night without getting drunk and passing out?’

Sin has its roots in our personal and pervasive commitment to our own ambition. From the very first sin beneath that tree, it was only considering ourselves that lead us to neglect God and the purposes he had designed for us. And it continues today in every country, culture, people group, family and individual. Even the church. It is the personal commitment to self and our ambitions that leads to ‘disorder and every vile practice.’

I’ve often spoken to people frustrated by their inability to stop sinning. I sympathize because in so many ways, I suffer the same frustration.

The total message of James, and the frequently overlooked solution, I believe is this: We must see and trust God’s grace, and we must meet that with our own personal commitment to selflessness.

James 1:27:

“Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans, and widows in their affliction and to keep oneself unstained from the world.”

As we know from the whole of scripture, by trusting God’s grace, we have the power to live a religion undefiled before God, and by our own commitment to selflessness, our actions, by the same grace of God, begin to fall in line with those of God’s desire.

Of course, that is all much easier written that worked. It’s a good thing grace is the much greater part, no matter what it’s contrasted with.

I think that most people at first have a hesitation to be honest about their struggles when speaking to someone they recently met, or that they don’t know well. It makes sense. We’re unsure of their reactions. We don’t know if they will be sympathetic or judgmental. We don’t know if they’ll understand.

Even more so, I think that most of us have that same hesitation with God, but for much deeper reasons. We know of God’s holiness, and even though we hear of and believe in Jesus’ sacrifice, there remains a disconnect. God his holy, we are not.

But just as it is with people, the more we get to know them, and the more they get to know us, the more aware we become of their struggles and imperfections. Most, in time, become sympathetic of our struggles and the judgment from people who we’ve become close to stops being a worry. We can look at them and know they’ll understand. We come to trust their sympathy.

John Piper makes, perhaps, the most intelligent argument for why we can have that same confidence before God, right out the gate.

“On the way to the cross for thirty years, Christ was tempted like every human is tempted. True, he never sinned. But wise people have pointed out that this means his temptations were stronger than ours, not weaker. If a person gives in to temptation, it never reaches its fullest and longest assault. We capitulate while the pressure is still building. But Jesus never did. So he endured the full pressure to the end and never caved. He knows what it is to be tempted with fullest force.”

Humans know the displeasure of failure, and that’s something. But no human understands the full force and weight of temptation to sin—except Jesus. When we sin, Jesus knows, and relates to every ounce of weight we experienced before meeting our failure.

As John Piper continues later, “Jesus feels with us, not against us.”

Before Jesus, in spite of God’s holiness, we are able to come with our struggles and failures. Not only before a gracious God with a legal obligation to pardon us, but with an emotional understanding of what led to our struggle and sin. He gets it. And not only in a cosmic, all-knowing sense, but in a real, “I’ve been there” sense. One that is much more potent than any brother or sister we might have confidence in.

Colossians 2:9-10

“For in him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in him, who is the head of all rule and authority.”

Isn’t this a stunning correlation? I absolutely love the ESV’s translation here, using the same idea of being ‘filled’ with something to describe Jesus’ oneness with God. His being of God. Then, our own fullness in Christ.

Christ was God in man form. All of God dwelled inside the man. Now, as followers and believers in Jesus, we now experience a filling of our own. We are filled by Christ in the Holy Spirit.

How could that not give you chills?

I’ve been thinking this morning about our access to God. I take it for granted. Praying openly without thinking about how incredible it is that I am able to simple speak to God. That I’m not immediately swallowed up because of my sin.

There is a Catholic notion of the tabernacle. It’s a space where the Catholic church places the eucharist—what Catholics believe to be the actually body of Christ used during communion. The tabernacle can only be accessed by a priest and it is treated as holy ground. This is a concept borrowed from the Jewish concept of the same name.

God commanded Moses, in excruciating detail, just how to build the tabernacle. Once a year could the high priest enter into holiest of grounds. It’s even said that a rope would be tied to the ankle of the priest who went in, just in case he was struck dead for some reason, they would be able to drag his body out, since no one else would be able to enter.

But the Catholic sect of Christianity seems to have a corporate denial of the complete message of the Gospel. The tabernacle is among the traditions eradicated because of the fulfilling work of Christ. We are all priests and we all have full access to God, to the holiest places, because of Christ.

Christ became the true high priest, he entered the holiest of places, bore all the wrath due to mankind, not with the blood of animals, but with his own all sufficient blood and once and for all removed the curtain that kept us out. Not to mention, by drenching us in his own blood, we are now protected from the wrath that would lash out and destroy us should we approach on our own.

Hebrews 9:11-12

When Christ appeared as a high priest… through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation) he entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption.

Placing anything between us and God is an absolute neglect of what God has done in Christ to bring us to himself. This is among the paramount messages of the Gospel. To deny this would be like insisting to send word of your child’s birth by messenger pigeon, rather than email.

It’s an incredible thing that we can approach God. And it’s almost just as dumbfounding when Christians will not exercise this incredible privilege.

Philippians 3:12

“Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.”

Paul has just finished talking about the perfection we will achieve when we come into glory with Christ. He’s speaking about sanctification. And he’s made it clear that he’s not perfect. He’s admitting his imperfection and his own proneness to sin.

He hasn’t already obtained it, but he’s trying. Imagine that.

But it’s that last bit that I forget. Sanctification is an ongoing process of which we are co-workers with God. God shapes and forms us in all kinds of ways, meanwhile we attempt constantly to mortify the flesh. But why? Because Christ has made us his own.

By Christ’s blood, we were purchased and invited into the family of God. We are objects of mercy, which God is taking great care to conform to his own image. But what motivates us to fulfill our part is the constant and growing knowledge that we were bought with a price, that we are not our own. That we were plucked from the pathway of doom, and placed down in the seat of mercy, in spite of our widespread infection of imperfection.

It it is gratitude. It is our striving to live a life worthy of the Gospel. It is the child who knows his father loves him and does not want to disappoint him. Of course we will. And for that, there is grace too, yet again, feeding the motivation and desire to stand and reflect God’s glory back to the world.

I stumbled on something the other day. It was one of those sort of cheesy lessons learned lists. This one actually had a few chuckles in it. Namely this one:

The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside we ALL believe that we are above-average drivers.

But all joking aside, one of the points on the list has actually stuck with me for the last few days. Not because it was something that I couldn’t rationally think up, but because the whole thought was so concisely articulated.

“A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person.”

I had to think about that one for a moment. It immediately calls back to the idea of treating your neighbor as yourself and the very thing that caused Paul to call out Peter.

Everyone should be given due respect. Serving as a waiter is not grounds to withhold it. Neither are tattoos, unwed pregnancy, religion, voting preference, or sexual preference for that matter. We’re not better than anyone and we shouldn’t act like it.

“You cannot love or hate something unless it is a reflection of something you love or hate about yourself.”

What do you think about that statement?

Is it possible that the qualities we fall in love with are in some way the qualities we hold dear about ourselves? What about the statement that opposites attract? Could it be that we are attracted to our own weaknesses? I have a friend who is excellent at mathematics, I find that a very appealing quality. Could it be because I am so shamefully bad at it?

Jealousy. We hate someone because of something they are capable of, simply because we are incapable of it. Or pride. We feel good about something special we are able to do because it is something other’s cannot do.

A stretch, perhaps.

But I have to wonder whether this principle, if in fact true, extends to God as well. As unbelievers, do we hate God because he is all the goodness we are not? Certainly. After all, as believers, we love God because God is a being dwelling inside us.