Trust Your Savior - Not Your Symbols

 

Trust Your Savior – Not Your Symbols

Trust Your Savior - Not Your Symbols - Audio/Visual 

You call yourself a Jew. You trust in the law of Moses and brag that you are close to God. . . . You think you know everything and have all truth. You teach others, so why don't you teach yourself? (Romans 2:17, 20-21)

Suppose I invited you to go sailing with me. "I didn't know you’re a sailor," you say. "You bet your barnacles I am," I answer. "Where’d you learn to sail?" I flash a cocky smile and pull a faded photo out of my pocket. You look at the sailor standing on the bow of a schooner. "That's my great grandpa. He sailed Cape Horn. Sailing’s in my blood. I’ve got saltwater in my veins." "Your great grandpa taught you how to sail?" "Of course not. He died before I was born." "Then who taught you to sail?" I produce a leather-bound book and boast, "I read the manual." "You read a book on sailing?" "More than that. I took a course at the community college. I can tell you the difference between fore and aft, and I can show you the stern and the bow. You ought to see me hoist a mast." "You mean, 'hoist a sail'?"

"Whatever. We even went on a field trip, and I met a real captain. I shook his hand! Come on, you want to sail?" "Honestly, Randy, I don't think you’re a sailor." "You want the proof? Do you want real proof? Take a look, matey, I've got a tattoo," and I roll up my sleeve revealing a mermaid sitting on an anchor. "Watch how she jumps when I flex!" You aren't impressed. "That's all the proof you have?" "What else do I need? I've got the pedigree. I've got the book. And I've got the tattoo. Anchors aweigh!" Chances are you'd stay on shore. Even a landlubber knows it takes more than a family tree, a night course, and ink-stained skin to be seaworthy. You wouldn't trust a guy like me to sail your boat, and Paul wouldn't trust a fellow like me to navigate the church. But apparently some were trying.

Oh, they weren't the seafaring type; they were the religious type. Their ancestors weren't shipmates; they were pew mates. They didn't have a book on boats, but they had a book called the Torah. And most of all, they'd been tattooed, i.e., they'd been circumcised. And they were proud – proud of their lineage, their law and their initiation. My hunch is they were also proud of Paul's letter, too. Just imagine the congregation listening to this epistle. Jews on one side, Gentiles on the other. Can't you see the Jews just beaming? Paul speaks out against the godless deviants, and they nod. Paul warns of the divine wrath directed at hedonists, and they smile. As Paul, their fellow Jew, lambastes the evil uncircumcised, they erupt in a chorus, "Amen! Paul. Preach it!" But then Paul surprises them. He pokes his finger at their puffy chests and asks, “And what about you?” What about us?

“You call yourself a Jew. You trust in the law of Moses and brag that you are close to God. You know what he wants you to do, and what is important, because you have learned the law. You think you are a guide for the blind and a light for those who are in darkness. You think you can show foolish people what is right and teach those who know nothing. You have the law; so, you think you know everything and have all truth.” (Rom. 2:17-20) Those aren't fireworks you’re hearing; those are bombshells. Seven bombshells to be exact. Seven heat-seeking verbs launched into the midst of legalism. Just when the deacons thought they were going to get praised, they got blasted.

Paul tells them, "Some Jews you are. You trust in the law rather than the Lawgiver and brag that you have a monopoly on God. You're convinced you are a part of a prized few who 'know' (beyond a shadow of a doubt) what God wants you to do. And if that's not bad enough, you 'think' you are God's gift to the confused and to the foolish. In fact, you 'think' you know everything." Something tells me Paul just blew his shot at being nominated for "Pastor of the Year."

The apostle, however, is more concerned about making a point than scoring points, and his point for religious rock-stackers is clear: "Don't put pride in your pedigree." Being born with a silver mezuzah in your mouth means nothing in heaven. Faith is an intensely personal matter. There is no royal lineage or holy bloodline in God's kingdom. But these Jews were riding on the coattails of their heritage. It didn't matter that they were thieves, adulterers and extortionists (See Rom. 2:22-23); they still considered themselves God's chosen few.

Perhaps the branches of your family tree are heavy with saints and seers. Perhaps you were born in a church basement and cut your teeth on a pew. If so, be grateful, but don't be lazy. Or maybe you have no pedigree. Your ancestry is more like a lineup at the county jail than a roster of Sunday school teachers. If so, don't worry. Just as religious heritage brings no bonus points, a secular heritage brings no deficits. Family trees can't save you or condemn you; the ultimate decision is yours.

Having dealt with the problem of pedigree, Paul then addresses the problem of the tattoo. He turns his attention to the most sacred badge of the Jew: circumcision. Circumcision symbolized the nearness God desires with his people. God puts a knife to our self-sufficiency. He wants to be a part of our identity, our intimacy and even our potency. Circumcision proclaimed that there is no part of our life too private, or too personal for God. Yet, rather than seeing circumcision as a sign of submission, the Jews had come to see it as a sign of superiority. With time they began to trust the symbol more than the Father. Paul shatters that illusion by proclaiming, "True circumcision is not only on the outside of the body. A person is a Jew only if he is a Jew inside; true circumcision is done in the heart by the Spirit, not by the written law. Such a person gets praise from God rather than from people." (Rom. 2:28-29)

Later Paul asks, "Did God accept Abraham before or after he was circumcised?" (Rom. 4:10) Important question. If God only accepted Abraham after the circumcision, then Abraham was accepted according to his merit and not according to his faith. So, what’s Paul's answer? Abraham was accepted "before his circumcision." (v. 10) Abraham was accepted by God in Genesis 15 and circumcised in Genesis 17. Fourteen years separate the two events. But if Abraham was already accepted by God, then why was he circumcised? Paul answers that question in the next verse: "Abraham was circumcised to show that he was right with God through faith before he was circumcised." (v. 11) Paul's point is crucial: circumcision was symbolic. Its purpose was to show what God had already done. Here’s what I mean.

On my left hand is a symbol – a gold ring. It's priceless. It cost a beautiful legal assistant a lot of money. She gave it to me on the day we married. The ring is a symbol of our love, a statement of our love, a declaration of our love, but it is not the source of our love. When we have disagreements, I don't take off the ring, set it on a pedestal, and pray to it. I don't rub it and seek wisdom. Were I to lose the ring, I'd be crushed, but our marriage would continue. It’s a symbol, nothing more.

But suppose I tried to make the ring more than it is. Suppose I became a jerk of a husband; cruel and unfaithful. Imagine that I failed to provide for my wife, or care for our children. What if one day she reached the breaking point and said, "You’re not a husband to me. There’s no love in your heart or devotion in your life. I want you to leave." How do you think she'd respond if I countered, "How dare you say that? I'm wearing the ring you gave me. I've never removed it. Not for a minute! Sure, I beat you and cheated on you, but I wore the ring. Isn't that enough?" How many of you think that such a defense would move her to apologize and weep, "Oh, Baby, how forgetful of me. You’ve been so sacrificial wearing that ring all these years. Sure, you’ve beaten me, abandoned me and neglected me, but I'll dismiss all that because you’ve worn the ring"? Right. She'd never say that. Why? Because apart from love, the ring means nothing.

The symbol represents love, but it cannot replace love. Paul is accusing the Jews of trusting the symbol of circumcision while neglecting their souls. Could he accuse us of the same? Substitute a contemporary symbol such as a cross, or communion, or church membership. "God, I know I never think about you. I know I hate people and cheat on my friends. I abuse my body and lie to my spouse. But you don't mind, do you? I mean, after all, I’ve been a member of this church since I was ten years old." Or "Every Easter I take communion." Or "My father and mother were fifth-generation Puritans, you know." Do you think God would say, "You're right. You never think of me or respect me. You hate your neighbor and abuse your kids. But, since you’re a “member,” I’ll overlook your rebellion and evil ways"? Sure. A symbol has no power apart from the ones who share it.

In a closet at my mom’s house is a varsity football jacket. I earned it by playing four years of high-school football, track and wrestling. It, too, is a symbol. It's symbolic of sweat and work and long hours on the practice field. The jacket and a sore knee are reminders of something I could do almost 50 years ago. But do you think if I put the jacket on now, I'd instantly be forty pounds lighter and a whole lot faster? Do you think if I wore that jacket into the office of a coach, he'd extend his hand and say, "We've been waiting for a player like you. Go out there and suit up!"? Right. That jacket is merely a memoir of something I once did. It says nothing about what I could do today. It alone doesn't transform me, empower me or enable me. Neither does your heritage, even if you're a descendant of John Wesley.

Granted, symbols are important. Some of them, like communion, illustrate the cross of Christ. They symbolize salvation, demonstrate salvation, even articulate salvation. But they do not impart salvation. Putting your trust in a symbol is like claiming to be a sailor because you have a tattoo, or claiming to be a good husband because you have a ring, or claiming to be a football player because you have a letterman’s jacket. Do we honestly think God would save his children based upon a symbol? What kind of God would look at a religious hypocrite and say, "You've never loved me, sought me or obeyed me, but because your name was on the church roll and in the right denomination, I’ll save you"? On the other hand, what kind of God would look at the sincere seeker and say, "You dedicated your life to loving me and loving my children. You surrendered your heart and confessed your sins. I want to save you so badly but I'm sorry, your church took communion before the sermon. It should have been the other way ‘round. So, because of a technicality, you’re forever lost in hell"? Our God is abundant in love and steadfast in mercy. He saves us, not because we trust in a symbol, but because we trust in a Savior.

Please note Paul hasn't changed subjects; he's just changed audiences. His topic is still the tragedy of a godless life. "The wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all the godlessness." (Rom. 1:18) From God's perspective there’s no difference between the ungodly partygoer, the ungodly finger-pointer, and the ungodly pew-potato. The message is the same: without God all of us are lost. Or, as Paul summarizes: All of us, whether insiders or outsiders, start out in identical conditions, which is to say we all start out as sinners. Scripture leaves no doubt about it: "There's nobody living right, not even one, nobody who knows the score, nobody alert for God." (Rom. 3:10 MSG) Just as lineage, laws and tattoos don't make me a sailor, heritage, rituals and ceremonies don't make me a Christian. God justifies the believer, not because of the worthiness of his belief, but because of Christ's worthiness.

Let's go back to my sailing invitation. I know I said you probably wouldn't go, but let's pretend that you aren't as smart as you look, and you accept and board the boat. You begin to worry when you notice that I lift the sail only a few inches on the mast. You think it even stranger that I position myself behind the partially raised sail and begin to blow. "Why don't you raise the sail?" you ask. "Because I can't blow on the whole thing," I pant. "Let the wind blow it," you urge. "Oh, I can't do that. I'm sailing this boat by myself." Those are the words of a legalist – huffing and puffing to push his vessel to heaven.

With time we drift out to sea, and a powerful storm hits. Rain splatters on the deck, and the little vessel bounces on the waves. "I'm going to set the anchor!" I yell. You're relieved that I at least know where the anchor is, but then you’re stunned at where I put it. First, I take the anchor and set it up near the bow. "That should steady the boat!" I shout. But, of course, it doesn't. Next, I carry the anchor to the stern. "Now we’re secure!" But the bouncing continues. I hang the anchor on the mast, but it doesn't help. Finally, in fear and frustration, you take the anchor and throw it out in the deep and scream, "Don't you know you have to anchor to something other than yourself!" A legalist doesn't know that. He anchors only to himself. Her security comes from what she does, his lineage, her law, and his tattoo. When the storm blows, the legalist casts his anchor on his own works. She tries to save herself.

After all, isn't he in the right group? Doesn't she have the right law? And hasn't he passed through the right initiation? Here’s the point: salvation is God's business. God is the One who saves his children. There’s only one name under heaven that has the power to save, and that name is not yours – regardless of the mermaid on your tattoo.

Grace,

Randy