Chapter 9
Just to drive the point home, Paul reaches for an Old Testament story that would have been well known to the Galatians, though probably not so well known today.
When God asked Abraham to look up at the stars and count them, He gave Abraham a promise: his descendants would be as numerous as those stars — so many they would be impossible to count. At that point Abraham and his wife Sarah had no children, despite trying. But Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness.
So far, so much the legend.
But — from the human perspective — the promise of children took a long time coming. So long, in fact, that Abraham's wife Sarah cracked under the pressure. Time had moved on, and she was well past childbearing age. It seemed hopeless. "The Lord has kept me from having children," she says to Abraham back in Genesis chapter 16. "Go, sleep with my slave; perhaps I can build a family through her."
Sarah couldn't wait on God any longer. Yes, she had the promise of children, but to her it seemed she had waited long enough. If God wasn't going to act on His word, then she would. She needed to take matters into her own hands before things slipped out of her control entirely. No children? No fulfilment of the promise? Well — who needs faith when you can do something about it? Maybe this was what God was expecting her to do all along? So Sarah gears into action with a plan of her own.
Astonishingly, Abraham agrees. And Sarah gives her slave Hagar to her husband as a second wife, in the hope that Hagar will fall pregnant and that her offspring will carry the family line.
Given that God hadn't acted, it may have seemed the best thing to do at the time. God helps those who help themselves, right?
Actually, no — as we shall see — the opposite is true. Whenever we deviate from the promises of God, it always goes pear-shaped.
Of course, Hagar falls pregnant without any trouble at all. That's good, isn't it? That was the plan, wasn't it? But it seems no one stopped to think that Hagar might be her own person, and not a chess piece in Sarah's grand game plan for descendants. Now, having one up over her mistress, Hagar starts to get a bit too big for her boots. She begins to despise her mistress.
Again, this is almost a textbook illustration of what happens when we deviate from the promises of God and seize control for ourselves. We get exactly what we want, and then find it isn't what we wanted after all.
"You are responsible for the wrong I am suffering," Sarah says to her husband, for having the temerity to agree to her plan. "I put my slave in your arms, and now that she is pregnant she despises me. May the Lord judge between you and me."
Abraham, in perhaps the lowest moral moment of his life, replies: "Your slave is in your hands. Do with her whatever you think best." So much for the marriage to Hagar, and so much for Abraham's responsibility for his own child.
Hagar is so badly mistreated that she runs away.
What a mess. So much for Sarah's plan.
It is at this point that God enters the story. Contrary to what many people taught me at school, God helps those who can't help themselves. God visits the helpless runaway, gives Hagar promises of her own, and tells her to go back to Sarah. Things are going to work out for her and her child.
So full marks to Hagar. She obeys God, does exactly what He instructs, and gives birth to Ishmael.
Now fast-forward another decade, and suddenly the long-awaited promise comes true. Despite her age, Sarah gives birth to Isaac. A child of the promise is born. It is a miracle — but perhaps people shouldn't have been surprised. God had been telling them it would happen all along.
As things turn out, there were consequences to Sarah's earlier scheme.
Sarah noticed that Ishmael was not behaving well at the celebrations for Isaac's weaning. It was the last straw.
"Get rid of that slave woman and her son," she says, "for that woman's son will never share in the inheritance with my son Isaac."
Abraham becomes greatly distressed — which is much more like the Abraham we know and love. He clearly loves Ishmael. But God answers his concern with an astonishing twist.
"Do not be distressed about the boy and your slave woman," God tells him. "Listen to whatever Sarah tells you, because it is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned." This may be the last thing Abraham expected God to say. Listen to Sarah? She caused the problem in the first place, by insisting that he go to Hagar! How could God ask him to do that?
Looking back from a distance of thousands of years, we may question Sarah's motives — but in her words she lines up completely with the promises of God when she says that Isaac will not share his inheritance. The promise of God runs through Isaac, not Ishmael.
But God has not forgotten Ishmael. Even though Ishmael was the offspring of Sarah's plan to force God's promise through in her own way, God reassures Abraham that Ishmael will be all right:
"I will make the son of the slave into a nation also, because he is your offspring."
OK — that's the background. Paul uses this story to make an illustration.
Tell me, you who want to be under the law, do you not understand what the law says? For it is written that Abraham had two sons, one by the slave woman and the other by the free woman. His son by the slave woman was born according to the flesh, but his son by the free woman was born through the promise. These things serve as illustrations, for the women represent two covenants. One covenant is from Mount Sinai and bears children into slavery: This is Hagar. Now Hagar stands for Mount Sinai in Arabia and corresponds to the present-day Jerusalem, because she is in slavery with her children. But the Jerusalem above is free, and she is our mother. For it is written: "Shout for joy, O barren woman, who bears no children; break forth in song and cry aloud, you who have never travailed; because more are the children of the desolate woman than of her who has a husband," says the LORD. Now you, brothers, like Isaac, are children of promise. At that time, however, the son born by the flesh persecuted the son born by the Spirit. It is the same now. But what does the Scripture say? "Expel the slave woman and her son, for the slave woman's son will never share in the inheritance with the free woman's son." Therefore, brothers, we are not children of the slave woman, but of the free woman. (Galatians 4:21–31)
So Paul is lining up a few things together. Hagar, Ishmael (the son born according to the flesh), Sinai (where the law was given), and present-day Jerusalem (where the law is practised under temple worship). All of these have a common thread: they represent the column of the law, where people do stuff — strive, plot and work to earn God's blessing by their own means.
Sarah lines up with Isaac, the child of the promise — the barren woman who never bore a child.
His point? Those who have faith in Christ are children of the promise. They are like Isaac. And like Isaac, the child of the promise, we do nothing to earn that promise. We receive it by faith. Also like Isaac, we can be persecuted by the children of the flesh.
So this presents a problem: what happens when the children of the flesh persecute the children of the promise? What should a child of the promise do under such circumstances?
Why not give a little to those under the law? Why not bend to the child of the flesh? It only seems fair. It might be wise to hedge one's bets — to expand the portfolio of salvation. Children of the promise don't want to be arrogant, after all.
Compromise is a reasonable temptation. And compromise is sometimes a noble thing. It is sometimes an essential thing. But in this situation it means putting one leg back into the stocks. It means returning to slavery. It means allowing potting mix into the custard. Compromising here destroys the promise.
This is exactly what the Galatians were doing. They were compromising with those under the law.
"Why not get circumcised?" they might have said. But in this situation the two have nothing to do with one another. Hence the power of the words: "Expel the slave woman and her son." These two things should not be reconciled — more than that, they cannot be reconciled. Custard and potting mix should not be in the same bowl. Ever.
The Galatian Christians are children of the promise. Christians are children of the promise, and should have nothing to do with the apparent salvation offered to the "children of the flesh."
But what does this mean in practice? What should the Galatians actually do? What should we actually do?
All the way through this letter, the critical issue facing the Galatians in regard to the law was circumcision.
They had been saved in Christ, but were now being told by certain people that they needed to be circumcised too. Circumcision had been the sign given to Abraham that he was part of God's people. So, the argument ran, if you weren't circumcised, you clearly weren't part of God's people.
But Paul is passionate in his objection to this. Indeed, he turns the tables completely. Circumcision, he says, is a sign of slavery. It is a sign of going back to prison under the law — of being locked up by the jailer all over again.
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. (Galatians 5:1a)
Indeed. The freedom Paul is referring to is freedom from divine judgement — the freedom to serve God without trying to curry favour with Him, the freedom from anxiety about our last day.
But this freedom requires fighting for.
Stand firm, then, and do not be encumbered once more by a yoke of slavery. (Galatians 5:1b)
What does the Apostle ask of the Galatians? In one sense, not a lot. He merely asks them to "stand firm" — that is, to stay where they are. What do the Galatians have to stand firm about? They are to stand firm by NOT getting circumcised.
This may not seem like much, but it can take a great deal of effort. Once I was almost swept out to sea by a strong rip. It took me by surprise. The water was up to my shoulders and dragging me out into the larger surf. I leaned forward against the current, dug my toes into the sand, and stood firm. It was not a passive action.
This is the sort of thing Paul is talking about. Dig your toes in. Hold the line. Stand firm.
Stand firm against what? Just getting circumcised? The cultural current of the day? The temptation to fit in?
Many of us, when we think of standing firm, think of the bold individuals of the Reformation. We may think of Martin Luther in 1521, metaphorically signing his own death warrant in front of the most powerful council in Europe by saying, "Here I stand; I can do no other." Or take Hugh Latimer in 1555, tied to a stake as the flames flicked around his feet and the smoke curled into his eyes, crying out to his good friend who was tied beside him:
"Be of good cheer, Master Ridley, and play the man; we shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out."
These are moving and stirring words, spoken by people in extreme circumstances. But these (true) heroics can distract from what Paul is actually saying. They can make some people think that being a freedom fighter means objecting and "standing firm" on every tiny theological point they happen to disagree with. And so they sail straight into law-based waters.
But look closely at the words.
What Paul is asking of the Galatians is to trust God enough — to trust that they really are saved in Christ — that they no longer feel they have to do things to make sure of their salvation. That is, not to run a safety check. When they doubt (and what Christian doesn't doubt?), they are to stand firm and not lean on anything for confidence other than Jesus Christ and His work. They are to stand firm in the faith that they are indeed saved, through faith, by the death of Jesus on the cross — and that they need do nothing else to that end. They are children of the promise. Indeed, doing something extra to prove their salvation to themselves actually brings slavery. Going through the ritual of circumcision is not standing firm. In this situation, it is caving in. The freedom fighter has surrendered.
Take notice: I, Paul, tell you that if you let yourselves be circumcised, Christ will be of no value to you at all. (Galatians 5:2)
Christ will be of no value! Why? Because they would be trusting in a surgical procedure to secure their salvation. (And note that when Paul says Christ will be of no value, he is not saying Christ will be of no use. After circumcision Christ could still be of use — just of no value for salvation. Down through the ages, right up to our own day, people have put the name of Christ to all sorts of uses: hanging pictures of Him in their homes, or treating Him like a genie to grant their hopeful wishes of health and wealth — or, ironically, using Christ to help them obey the law.)
These are strong words. Christ will be of no value to you at all. Circumcision was the burning issue in first-century Galatia, and for most of us it is no longer an issue at all. But circumcision-as-proof-of-salvation has simply been replaced by all sorts of other things held up as "rock-solid evidence" of being in God's kingdom. Abstaining from marriage, sex, certain foods, alcohol, playing cards, partying, and generally having fun. Going on pilgrimages, church attendance, attendance at prayer meetings, youth groups and other Christian gatherings. Not getting divorced, raising children, saying "Grace" before the meal, becoming ordained or being made a deacon, or being in the choir or up the front at church. Singing songs in church like an angel. Playing the organ or piano or any instrument in church. Being accepted by church leaders and greeted by them with love and respect. Being able to recite the Lord's Prayer, or Psalm 23, or the whole catechism, or the whole of Galatians. Having "correct" theology and being able to debate it well. Being widely read, and having read all the works of eminent theologians such as Karl Barth, Thomas Aquinas or John Calvin. Speaking in tongues or engaging in the gifts of the Spirit. Having a gift of healing, or engaging in exorcisms or miracles. Abstaining from smoking and having a healthy body. Keeping trim and fit and having a good diet. Being a vegan. Taking no medications. Not taking illegal drugs. Being progressive, or being conservative. Being part of protests and standing up for social justice. Writing passionate letters to newspapers or politicians. Helping the disadvantaged and the dispossessed. Serving in a soup kitchen.
The list goes on and on, and I've only just scratched the surface. We sinful human beings have an unending capacity to take matters into our own hands by finding something — and that something can be intrinsically good — anything other than faith in Christ to cling to as proof of our salvation.
But if none of those strike a chord, I have one final classic example that trips up many of us.
Being good.
This is the ultimate example of "modern-day circumcision." Not doing bad things. Many people think Christianity actually is this — trying to be good (or at least not doing bad), in the hope that if you're good enough then maybe, just maybe, God will let you sneak into His kingdom as a special concession. This is particularly true when an individual looks at the scale of humanity and thinks, with some relief, that even on sober reflection, when compared to others, they are probably "in" rather than "out." Down through the ages people have got out their yardstick of humanity, lined themselves up against it, and concluded that they are so much better than, say, prostitutes, sinners, and traitorous tax collectors who only ever think about money.
But as in all the examples I have given, from abstaining to being good, the question is: who exactly is holding the yardstick? Is it the individual, or is it God? It can't be God, because God's yardstick cannot possibly be as puny as the list above. God demands nothing less than perfection. In Matthew chapters 5 to 7, Jesus has already shown us the true measure of God's yardstick.
This is what shocked the disciples in Mark chapter 10, when Jesus said:
"How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!" (Mark 10:23)
By the yardstick of the day, the rich were considered blessed by God, well on their way to salvation. But God's yardstick is utterly different:
"It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." (Mark 10:25)
"If this is the way," asks Peter incredulously — along with the others —
"Who then can be saved?" (Mark 10:26)
Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God." (Mark 10:27)
Again I testify to every man who gets himself circumcised that he is obligated to obey the whole law. (Galatians 5:3)
There it is — the whole law. Every jot and tittle.
It is a very foolish thing to use your own yardstick on the Almighty without pausing to think that God might have something to say in the matter — but that's exactly what many, many people do. As soon as people pull out their own measure of behaviour as to what will earn salvation, they drag God's measure up alongside it. As soon as they circumcise themselves, they have signed up for the law, and they must now follow the whole of the law. As soon as they try to be good in order to earn salvation, they have signed themselves up to be perfect. This causes so much misery and uncertainty. If you go down the track of the law — whether by circumcision or by "being good" — it will always end in one of two things: anxiety, because you have a sneaking suspicion that your yardstick is not enough; or arrogance, because you have a sneaking suspicion that it is; or possibly a strange mixture of both. In short, it ends in a falling away from grace.
You who are trying to be justified by the law have been severed from Christ; you have fallen away from grace. (Galatians 5:4)
How does a person fall away from grace? It happens when people stop trusting God for what He has done in Jesus, and start trusting in "the law" — that is, in doing stuff — as proof of their salvation. This falling away from grace can be deceptively subtle.
This is how people who call themselves Christians can become deeply un-Christian and yet think they are doing God's work. The subtle change from trusting Christ to trusting in doing stuff has knock-on effects in people's lives. The anxiety they feel can transfer to others, particularly when those others are not "doing the stuff" to earn God's salvation. They may decide that people need strong teaching about how to behave. They may grow anxious when others don't follow their ways. They become agitated and distressed. This sort of agitation has led some individuals to zealous behaviour like burning other people at the stake — and doing it in the name of Christ.
In our modern day we may not have experienced that sort of extreme agitation from others. But many churches and Christian groups can still get caught up in trying to justify themselves by doing stuff, and in so doing they alienate themselves from Christ. They fall away from grace.
What is to be done to avoid such a course?
Paul's answer is that we hope for what has already been given to us. This is not the sort of hope people have when they buy a lotto ticket. In that case people may talk about their hope of winning, and what they'll do if they land a fortune — but the chance of that hope being realised, though real, is unbelievably minuscule. It is hope, but it is a vain hope. The hope Paul is talking about is hope for something already sorted, already achieved — like looking forward to a holiday that is already booked and paid for.
And the hope Paul encourages is not a hope we have to suffer through to obtain. Paul tells us to be eager for it. We eagerly await the righteousness that has been given to us through Paul's message.
But by faith we eagerly await through the Spirit the hope of righteousness. (Galatians 5:5)
So here is the stark contrast. A Christian is not someone who tries hard to curry favour with God, worried that at any moment they might fall away. A Christian is not someone full of anxiety, wondering whether they've "made it" — fretting that they might need to circumcise their boys, or attend multiple services, or make sure they wear the right robes on the days of the Christian calendar, or never touch alcohol.
A Christian is a person who understands that a great gift has been given to them that they don't deserve. That a way has been opened up by Almighty God. That tremendous things are just around the corner. And with that expectant hope, they live accordingly. But this is not done under our own steam. The Spirit helps us.
And so anything else added to that is nonsensical.
For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value. What matters is faith expressing itself through love. (Galatians 5:6)
"Neither circumcision nor uncircumcision has any value." This could be applied to many, many other things that, down the ages, Christians have labelled as essential proof of salvation. There may be very good reasons not to drink alcohol — but in regard to God's salvation, drinking or not drinking has no value. Neither does going to church, nor having your theology correct, nor being good.
The only thing that counts — the one thing that counts — is faith expressing itself through love.
So a Christian freedom fighter is not someone who dons camouflage, carries a gun, and lobs grenades. A Christian fights for their freedom by continually humbling themselves and continually trusting God for their salvation because of what Jesus has done. They meditate on that freedom, and they come to realise that, despite the many, many things in this world, only one thing is truly important.