A rightly-oriented heart and a rightly-oriented love will consistently do what is best for God and best for our neighbor, which is why St. Augustine speaks of sin as a disordered love.
“Who is wise and understanding among you? By his good conduct, let him show his works in the meekness of wisdom. But if you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast and be false to the truth. This is not the wisdom that comes down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic. For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace” (James 3:13-18).
The lure of being right is intoxicating. Whether it’s politics, board games, or the doctrine of predestination, there’s something alluring about having all the correct answers that stirs up the blood of our old Adam. And when it comes to theology, that danger is all the more heinous. The implication is that you alone possess the secret “key” that unlocks all of the divine mysteries otherwise hidden from mere mortals. In the ancient world, this was known as gnosticism. Gnosticism was a widespread mystery religion which blended aspects of Christianity with gnosis—a kind of esoteric knowledge available only to a select few—and it was condemned early on as heresy. But it’s not hard to understand its appeal: Gnosticism throws wide the gates of knowledge and, in a very real sense, promises VIP access to the tree of the knowledge of good and evil once again.
Today, you won’t find The First Church of Gnosticism at the corner of Elmwood and Main, but you will find it in other places. Truth be told, it hasn’t really gone anywhere. It’s just migrated, often bathed in pious language or doctrinal certitude bordering on fundamentalism. Such beliefs are rarely stated overtly, but it is precisely in their hiddenness that their prideful venom lies. The unspoken assumption goes something like, “Without ___________ , you can’t properly interpret Scripture,” or “Without ___________ , your understanding of the Bible is deficient,” or even just, “Without __________ , you’re wrong.” You can fill in that blank with all sorts of things. good things. Beneficial things. Wonderful interpretive tools that are thoroughly helpful and biblically edifying. Things like “a law-gospel framework,” “a seminary education,” “the original languages,” “Martin Luther,” “John Calvin,” “St. Augustine,” “R.C.H. Lenski,” “Charles Spurgeon,” or “1517.” But any time we fill in that blank with something other than “The Holy Spirit,” we’re flirting with gnosticism. The problem isn’t “right theology” per se, but the pride that goes along with it.
Being a sola fide Christian doesn’t give you permission to be a jerk to your neighbor.
No one knew this better than James, the brother of Jesus, who may be most famous for his often-misunderstood claim that faith without works is dead (James 2:17, James 2:26). But even that statement falls under a broader umbrella: The theme of “wholeness.” The physical displacement of these diaspora believers from their homeland was symptomatic of an underlying heart condition, a kind of spiritual dislocation that needed to be set right. They weren’t just far from home physically, but spiritually as well. Yet their “lack,” says James, is met by God’s steadfastness, which makes them perfect and complete (James 1:3-4). James can say that Abraham’s faith was “completed” by his works (James 2:21), not in the sense that his faith was deficient until good works were added. Rather, his willingness to “sacrifice” Isaac flowed naturally from faith, providing evidence that his faith was not mere lip service. There’s a wholeness that results when faith and works are working in tandem. In other words, being saved by faith alone does not mean that faith is ever actually alone. Faith is never alone, but rather accompanied by good works. That’s what living faith looks like. Being a sola fide Christian doesn’t give you permission to be a jerk to your neighbor. You don’t get a pass because Jesus did it all. Jesus did it all so that you could love and serve your neighbor. And before you ask, the answer is, “Yes, even that neighbor.”
Jesus had some thoughts on this. When asked what the greatest commandments were, he responded with: “…‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind….And…You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matt. 22:37-38). Capitalizing upon this, the Apostle Paul went so far as to say that “love is the fulfilling of the law” (Rom. 13:10). In other words, at the heart of all of the commandments—all of the “thou shalt’s” and “thou shalt not’s”—when you strip everything else away, love is at the core. Love is the law’s governing principle. A rightly-oriented heart and a rightly-oriented love will consistently do what is best for God and best for our neighbor, which is why St. Augustine speaks of sin as a disordered love. He recognized the reality that humans are primarily heart creatures rather than head creatures, and the only language the heart seems to speak fluently is that of love. If country music has taught us anything (a highly questionable assertion, in my opinion), it is precisely this.
St. Paul would agree: “And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing” (1 Cor. 13:2). Without love, we are clanging cymbals one and all. Mere background noise. Dead in faith. And the rotten corpse is starting to stink. We might even be so bold as to appropriate Paul’s words here to our modern-day context as something along the lines of:
“If I have the power to rightly interpret Scripture using the secret hermeneutical key called law-gospel but have not love, I am nothing.
If I’m right on my doctrine but a jerk to my neighbor, I am nothing.
If I am an infralapsarian who can properly articulate TULIP and hold to the tenets of federal theology but have not love, I am nothing.
If I can quote my Book of Concord like the back of my hand but have not love, I am nothing.
If I can properly parse Greek and Hebrew verbs but have not love, I am nothing.
If I can provide a rational defense of the Christian faith but do not do so with gentleness and respect (1 Peter 3:15), I am nothing.”
To put this in the language of James, “If I lack anything, then I am not whole.” In this broken world, spiritual wholeness is an evasive goal and an ever-moving target.
The danger with gnosticism is that “knowledge puffs up, but love builds up” (1 Cor. 8:1). The contrast here is between an over-the-top, ballooned-up sense of self-importance (“knowledge”) and the action of carefully constructing a building (“love”). One is fragile, the other firm. One is full of hot air, the other is solid. As James warns us, mere knowledge leads to pride and selfish ambition. It is even demonic (3:15). But “the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere” (James 3:17).
Wisdom is not just a thing. It is a person. And that person is sufficient, whole.
So what is this wisdom? It actually has a name: “Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Col. 2:2b-3). Wisdom is not just a thing. It is a person. And that person is sufficient, whole. He is pure: perfect and sinless. He is peaceable: speaking words of comfort to our anxious hearts. He is gentle: not bruising reeds nor snuffing out smoldering wicks. He is open to reason: engaging those who think differently from him. He is full of mercy: pouring out every last drop of his blood while we were still his enemies. He is impartial: not driven by selfish biases but judging clearly and perfectly. He is sinless: the spotless Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. He is the one who alone has a lock on the divine mysteries, yet never holds that knowledge over our heads.
You don’t have to know everything as long as you know the one who does. Maybe this Lent, then, you should seriously consider giving up your need to be right. At the very least, it will make life more bearable for everyone else.
