Chapter 11
Some people object to Paul's message because it seems to leave no incentive to strive to be better. If we are guaranteed salvation through faith in Christ, then why strive? Without the reward of heaven and the risk of hell, why be good? It would appear that all one could ever wish for has been given already. The sinner's prayer has been said, the ticket to heaven has been issued, and it seems we can all relax and live the comfortable life of Riley while we wait for glory. No need to help the poor. No need to practise piety. No need to search the Scriptures. No need to let go of our sins and bad behaviour. No need to forgive people — we've been forgiven, and that's all that matters. Just relax and be yourself.
If this objection has never once crossed your mind, then perhaps Paul's message has not been properly understood. His message is so counter to the way we naturally think that it is often the very first objection that springs up.
Sometimes people make this objection because they cannot understand grace. They are locked in the law and unable to comprehend any other way. They cannot imagine any other motivation for changing one's behaviour. Often this sort of thinking has heard a form of Paul's message but can only process it through the lens of "law speak."
But sometimes the objection is not based on law speak at all. It is based on observing people who call themselves Christians and use their supposed freedom to indulge in bad behaviour. This objection is about people who treat Paul's message as a licence for self-indulgence, with the arrogant confidence that they have "made it."
These people do exist. I've met them. For some of them, any talk of striving is dismissed as "going back to works." They reason that, since we are under grace and not under the law, we are released from any worry about the way we live — no need to reflect on repentance, no need to strive to be more like the Lord Jesus. These people see no reason to discipline themselves to read God's word or to pray. So long as they have the "get out of hell" card in their pocket, they feel free to live just as they please.
This is a grotesque distortion of Paul's message — one the Apostle is at pains to correct.
For you, brothers, were called to freedom; but do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh. Rather, serve one another in love. The entire law is fulfilled in a single decree: "Love your neighbor as yourself." (Galatians 5:13–14)
Yes — those who accept Paul's message and come to Christ have been given freedom. Freedom from the law, freedom from judgement, freedom from the fear of punishment. They have been forgiven and brought into God's family.
And that is an astonishing freedom. It gives us, in one sense, the freedom of choice. We may choose to follow the one command, "love your neighbour as yourself," or we may choose instead to indulge the flesh. God calls us to trust Him through Jesus. But to those who do — incredibly — God then trusts us to obey Him.
Perhaps it is this very freedom that some people find so unnerving. They simply can't believe that the absence of eternal punishment would somehow make us more inclined to obey the command "love your neighbour as yourself." What's the incentive, they ask? Where's the punishment? But that is law speak, not grace speak.
It is a misunderstanding of Paul's message — perhaps the most fundamental one of all.
We do have freedom to choose, but in another sense we don't have freedom to do whatever we like. Think of what happens when we love someone. In one sense we are free to do whatever we want; in another sense we put ourselves at their total beck and call — and we love it.
It is in this second sense that we become just like Paul — slaves of Jesus Christ. Following Jesus is not like carrying a "get out of hell" card; it is a total, life-changing revolution. It is slavery, yes, but it is a glorious, brilliant slavery. It is a servitude of love: love for what He has done for us, love for what He is doing in us, and love of what we will become. It is the most wonderful road anyone can ever travel. The Christian who serves others does so not in the hope of earning brownie points toward salvation, but out of love for being saved, and love of what has been coined "future grace" — the hope of glory.
There is a story in the Gospels of a woman who came to Jesus with an alabaster jar of perfume. It was a very expensive item, worth the equivalent of a year's wages. She blew the lot on Jesus. She broke the jar and poured out its costly contents over Him. Out went the precious liquid, onto His feet and onto the floor. The room must have been filled with the aroma for everyone to enjoy.
But not everyone appreciated it. One man was watching the whole thing with a critical eye — a sensible type who knew which way was up, a man of the law. He thought to himself:
If this man were a prophet, He would know who this is and what kind of woman is touching Him—for she is a sinner! (Luke 7:39)
Q.E.D. Problem solved. We've seen enough. The logic is inescapable. Prophets don't let sinful women get close. No more needs to be said.
But not so fast. Jesus Himself has a few words to teach this man with the critical eye that there are more things in heaven and earth than he ever dreamt of in his critical, law-bound philosophy.
Simon, I have something to tell you. (Luke 7:40)
"Tell me, Teacher," he says.
Two men were debtors to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they were unable to repay him, he forgave both of them. Which one, then, will love him more? (Luke 7:41–42)
I've heard people complain about how obtuse Jesus's parables can be, but in this case there are no tricks. It's a no-brainer, and Simon — who sounds a little bemused — gets it right.
I suppose the one who was forgiven more. (Luke 7:43)
This little story is not a trap. It's a tool — an exercise in teaching this man of law what really drives people. And it is a story for us too. It teaches us what drives people to do good things. To blow the lot on Jesus. This woman didn't have a checklist. No one had told her, "Now you have to buy the perfume and anoint Jesus. If you want to be forgiven, you have to! You have to, to show your devotion. Now do it — for your salvation!" No one instructed her to pour out what was probably an inheritance on Jesus. She was so overcome that she gladly did it.
The story ends with Jesus saying that her many sins have been forgiven, for she has loved much (Luke 7:47). Why did the woman do this extravagant, over-the-top thing? Because she realised that she — yes, she — had been forgiven by Jesus. That's why she blew the lot. She couldn't do otherwise.
Becoming a follower of Jesus is breaking the alabaster jar. It's leaving the nets that so easily entangle and trap us. It's a complete change. It's like becoming a new creation; it's like being born again.
To say that you are a follower of Jesus and yet think it's fine to indulge the flesh makes those who have truly been born again blink in confused astonishment. To them, it is a horrible idea.
Those who are a new creation enter a training ground to become more and more like God's likeness — to serve one another humbly in love. That doesn't mean that walking the talk of Paul's message comes immediately. It takes practice, and it takes guidance.
My grandfather, who was a Church of England minister in the UK, wrote me a letter once on my tenth birthday. He said the Christian life was like a game of cricket, and you are at the stumps. The Devil comes in to bowl. You swipe at the ball but miss it completely. It hits the wicket.
"Howzat?" the Devil cries to the umpire.
"Not out," says the umpire.
"Not out?" says the Devil incredulously. "But that was middle stump!"
"Not out," says the umpire. "I died for this one. Bowl again."
Years later I reflected on this cricketing metaphor, and saw that it could be pushed further. Imagine if we threw our bat away and lay down for a snooze while the Devil bowls again, secure in the knowledge that we won't get out — happy to indulge ourselves and never improve our batting, feeble as it may be.
Worse still: imagine if, instead of going for a snooze, the lazy batsman started using his energy for the wrong reasons. Imagine he started shouting at his teammates and whacking them with his bat.
But if you keep on biting and devouring one another, watch out, or you will be consumed by one another. (Galatians 5:15)
This is what happens in churches where people abuse the freedom they have in Christ. They become monsters. They don't think they're monsters, of course. They think their cause is right and just. They are simply irritated and offended by other people and want them out of the way. They think the annoying people are frustrating their vision. They think the weak people are dragging down their plans — plans for church growth, plans for ministry, plans to glorify God, and (as in the case of the Galatians) plans to see everyone circumcised. The only thing left is to take matters into their own hands — God helps those who help themselves, right? — and metaphorically bite and devour the individual or individuals who are such a nuisance.
Such thinking is monstrous, and yet there are many Christian folk, and many Christian leaders, who think it is exactly the right path to take. And they take it one step worse. Sometimes they claim to do these things for God — for His Kingdom, for His ministry — perhaps imagining that when Paul speaks of the flesh he really only means sexual sin, or possibly the sin of gluttony. Surely, they think, he didn't mean pride, self-absorption, selfishness, selfish ambition or greed.
So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. (Galatians 5:16)
So there is the command: walk by the Spirit, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. These two things are in conflict with one another.
For the flesh craves what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are opposed to each other, so that you do not do what you want. (Galatians 5:17)
There we have it — we are not to do whatever we want. St Augustine's tremendous line, "Love God and do what you will," can easily be misconstrued by our modern age and its fixation on self-actualisation. Paul plainly states that there are some things we may want to do that we should not do. There are times when we may want to say a brilliantly witty thing that we ought not to say. There are times when we may want to act to "sort things out" when we ought not to act.
Being a Christian doesn't switch off all the bad things we want to do. The bad desires that rise up from greed, lust, pride and arrogance are in constant conflict with the Spirit's generosity, humility and meekness. Day to day, these are often not recognised as "bad desires" at all. We just want to do something.
Few people would claim they have never felt the internal war that rages between the flesh and the Spirit. It is a real thing, and a lifelong struggle. And often — just when an individual thinks they've "made it" — something happens to show them how far they still are from the ideal.
The temptation, then, is to go back to the law. Get out that list of all the things you need to do to curry favour with God.
No way, says Paul.
But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law. (Galatians 5:18)
"But," someone may say, "if we are not to use our freedom to do whatever we want, then clearly there are some things we shouldn't do, right? So here's the question: what are those things? What are they, so that we can avoid them?"
Paul says they are as plain as a pikestaff.
The acts of the flesh are obvious: (Galatians 5:19a)
Are they?
sexual immorality, impurity, and debauchery; idolatry and sorcery; hatred, discord, jealousy, and rage; rivalries, divisions, factions, and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. (Galatians 5:19b–21a)
The acts of the flesh are indeed abundantly obvious when one is observing them — and especially when one is on the receiving end of them. When you are the recipient of someone's fit of rage, for example, you see clearly that this is an "act of the flesh." Truly, they are obvious.
But they are not nearly so obvious to the person doing them. Christians have engaged in every item on that list above and worked hard to justify it. Christians caught in sexual immorality have explained that they were under extreme stress and needed release. Others brush aside their fits of rage by quoting the secular proverb "you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette," or they complain that people are too sensitive and "should toughen up."
All this shows how truly Jeremiah spoke when he said:
The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? (Jeremiah 17:9)
I've seen many a Christian astonished when it's pointed out that their behaviour is causing, say, dissension. But — Gentle Reader — why point that finger at others? My own "acts of the flesh" have been pointed out to me again and again, especially my pride and arrogance. And again and again I dismissed it, brushing it aside as preposterous and totally irrelevant. It was only later, when I had repented and looked back, that I saw how obvious it had been.
I warn you, as I did before, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. (Galatians 5:21b)
God cannot be mocked. Those who persist and persist in the acts of the flesh will not inherit anything, even though they may give every appearance of being an assured shoo-in (more of this in the next chapter).
By contrast, Paul tells us what it is like to be full of the Spirit. What does that person look like?
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such things there is no law. (Galatians 5:22–23)
What a tremendous list. It has often been said that these are nine attributes of one single fruit. That is, no one can say, "I have love, but I just lack self-control," or, "They're full of patience, but not very gentle." It is all one fruit, and that one fruit has nine attributes. Can you imagine anyone making up such a list in this modern day?
So when we meet someone bearing the fruit of the Spirit, we don't usually think, "Ah, there's someone filled with the fruit of the Spirit." We just think they're a great person. A person we'd like to be around. A person we'd like to be like. A person who is thoughtful, considerate, encouraging, and (often, though not always) whimsical and gently funny. They can laugh at themselves. They are generally punctual, too, because punctuality is a kindness. They don't over-commit, because they think of their family and their other duties. They say "no" graciously and never harshly. They never interrupt, and they are excellent listeners. They don't get upset about being left off the invite list. They don't get irritated easily. They don't lose their temper. They aren't shy, because they don't think about themselves too much, nor worry overmuch about how they are being perceived; they are always thinking of the other person, but never in an intense way. They are not overbearing or domineering. They are not overcome by anxieties, but are open about their personal worries. They are simply great people to be with.
This is the opposite of what many people think "holy people" should be like. Hollywood doesn't tend to make movies about godly people any more (except to show how misguided or wrong they are), but when it did, it made them intense, otherworldly, censorious and domineering. Look, for example, at Charlton Heston's portrayal of Moses in Cecil B. DeMille's The Ten Commandments. After his encounter with God on Mount Sinai, Moses is portrayed as an intense holy zealot who thunders with commanding authority about Almighty God, complete with a new hairstyle suitable for a prophet and an austere wardrobe.
This is the exact opposite of how the Bible portrays Moses, who is described as a very humble man, more so than any man on the face of the earth (Numbers 12:3).
The same sort of character turns up in the film Paul. It made Paul into an intense, heavenward mystic who didn't seem all that concerned about his fellow Christians. Indeed, the character on screen didn't seem to care about anyone except "the cause" — which was never really articulated.
This erroneous view seeps into our Christian culture, where other attributes get treated as more important evidence of Christian maturity: intensity, zealotry, a powerful personality, education, charm, even worldliness. I am by no means the first to wonder whether some of today's church leaders are exalted not for the fruit of the Spirit but for their narcissistic tendencies.
How are we to avoid all this? Our human habit is to go back to the law — to grab that checklist of "doing stuff." But take note of the next line in Galatians.
Against such things there is no law. (Galatians 5:23b)
The nine attributes of the Spirit have no law attached to them.
This last phrase has confused some people, who wonder why Paul suddenly adds a comment about the law here. What he means is that there is no checklist.
Imagine a young man wanting to take a young woman out for the evening. Imagine he decides to "follow the law" of taking a girl out. He works through his checklist. He gets the chocolates and the flowers. He books a fancy restaurant. He makes sure they have a nice table. He pays for the meal. And then he is baffled when the evening falls flat. Didn't he "follow the law"? Once he'd ticked all the boxes, he felt he'd done his job. But he failed to ask a single question about her. He failed to make sure she was cared for, comfortable, or honoured — and for those things there is no checklist. There is no "law."
So reading the list of the fruit of the Spirit is often challenging — even a bit dispiriting — when we look at our own lives and see how far we have to go to bear these nine attributes.
How can we get there? How can we have a life laden with such fruit?
Paul answers this in two ways: the negative and the positive. First, the negative. How do we get there?
We crucify ourselves.
Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. (Galatians 5:24)
Crucifixion is the perfect metaphor for what we must do. It is uncompromising, grim and final. It also leaves the condemned "hanging there," so to speak. The context tells us that Paul is not talking about all passions and desires — not hunger, say, or a passion for sport. He is talking about sinful desires and sinful passions: the deep-seated craving for self that lives inside every human being — the flesh. The flesh cries out to us with ungodly desires, and it does not give up easily. It doesn't respond to a smack on the wrist. It doesn't respond to reason. It doesn't respond to some form of gentle control. Open the door even a little to the flesh, and a huge foot will appear and try to shove it open. The flesh needs brutality — emotional hammers and nails. It needs to be crucified.
And it can hurt — acutely.
Say, for example, someone set out to crucify their own selfish ambition.
The selfish-ambition part of that person argues against this crucifixion. "This is stupid," it may say. "I served you well. You got where you are because of me."
It protests: "You'll be a doormat without me. You'll be weak. Everyone will take advantage of you."
It cries: "You'll never succeed in life. You'll be nothing. Everyone else will get ahead of you. Everyone!"
It screams: "Don't do this. Don't! I'm part of you. You won't be you if you kill me."
And that, of course, is precisely the point. You won't be you. You will start to bear fruit.
So that is the negative side: we crucify ourselves. The positive side is that we keep in step.
Since we live by the Spirit, let us walk in step with the Spirit. (Galatians 5:25)
What does Paul mean by this? The metaphor is one of keeping in time while walking. First of all, it suggests a lack of intensity. We are not called to run as fast as we can. It's a walk — sometimes a long walk, but always in the same direction. It also suggests something that is not overwhelming, not too daunting. What could be more pedestrian than walking? But it is a metaphor that does suggest being active (not passive), and it implies constancy, as if it's a day-to-day thing.
We can't be God. We can't be on equal footing with God. But just as a child imitates its parent, we can be tiny, tiny imitators of God. Just as a child follows its father's footprints in the sand, so we can keep in step with the Holy Spirit.
What that means is that in our everyday decisions, in our many modes of behaviour, we can be — in the smallest, tiniest way — like God: in forgiveness, in kindness, in love, in humility, and even in wrath, just to name a few of His attributes.
And the beautiful thing is that the Spirit helps us toward this end. Not by taking over our souls and forcing us to do stuff, as some have wished for, but by guiding us in our newfound freedom. He encourages us not to give in to the flesh, teaching us — through His word, through His message, through the Apostle Paul — to serve one another humbly in love.
Paul urges us to do these two things — crucify the flesh and keep in step with the Spirit — not only so that we bear fruit, but also to protect us.
Freedom in Christ is a wonderful thing. But it is not without its risks. In the steeplechase of running a good race, one of the major obstacles is the idea that because we have freedom, we therefore have a superior status — that our freedom gives us a licence to chuckle at others and look down on them. To become conceited.
Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying one another. (Galatians 5:26)
This happens in churches all the time. The fruit of the Spirit is swept aside in favour of less meek ways of living. How do Christians provoke one another? They provoke one another by being conceited.
Not many people walk around thinking, "I'm conceited." Not many say to themselves, "I'm provoking someone," or "I'm envious of that person," or "I feel threatened by them." What people actually say is something more like this: "That person is doing everything wrong," or "That person really annoys me," or "They need to go," or "They're just not what we need for our ministry."
But when we crucify our fleshly desires and try to walk by the Spirit, strange things begin to happen. We start to see an unpleasant side of ourselves — aspects that were previously hidden from us, though obvious to everyone else. We may begin to understand service. We may give up something unhelpful and find it a joy to do so. We may also start to see a new side of those hitherto "difficult" people. We may begin to love them. We may start to show aspects of the fruit of the Spirit. And if that happens — in that simple, uncomplicated way — we become imitators of God.