The Son of Man will come in might
And sit upon His glorious throne;
Dividing nations left and right,
The King will separate His own,
And to the blest He will declare,
“Receive the kingdom I prepared!”

“I hungered, and you gave Me bread;
“You brought Me water in My name;
“Within your homes, I laid My head;
“You clothed My nakedness and shame.
“To sickness and captivity,
“There too you came to care for Me.”

The just will say, “When did we see
“That You were hungry or in need
“And show You hospitality
“Or quench Your thirst, or clothe, or feed?
“That we should gain this great reward,
“What have we done for You, O Lord?”

And then the King will make reply
To those who followed His design,
“The brethren you did not deny,
“The very least of these are Mine,
“And all you did in charity,
“You did it also unto Me.”

Since I moved to Tennessee, one of the most obvious changes in my life has been a greatly increased interest in and appreciation of firearms.  I think that they’re valuable for any number of uses, from hunting to self-defense.

What’s more, I believe that it’s lawful for a Christian to use a firearm to defend innocent life, whether his own or someone else’s, from the lawless.  I argue here that Jesus’ commandment to turn the other cheek should be read in a context of refusing to resist governmental oppression from the Romans.  Nothing in Scripture prevents a disciple from using weapons for protection from criminals. 

However, this argument has consequences, and it particularly has consequences for our views of whether American Christians have the right to take up arms against an oppressive and tyrannical government.  At least some of the Founding Fathers (most notably Thomas Jefferson) would have argued that we do.  In this case, though, it is the word of God, not the views of the Founders, that must guide our behavior.

Most Christians who have thought about the subject recognize that Romans 13:1-7 is the most relevant text here.  On their face, Paul’s words appear straightforward.  Christians are to submit to the government, full stop.  However, I have heard brethren argue that in the case of the United States, the Constitution, particularly the Second Amendment, is the true government.  Thus, Christians can “obey the government” by asserting their Second-Amendment rights against the villains in Washington who want to take away their guns.

There are two problems with this claim.  First, according to constitutional theory, the sovereign of the United States is not the Constitution.  It is the people.  The Constitution is merely an expression of the will of the people, as are the various officials elected and appointed under the Constitution’s terms.  Yes, there are checks and balances built into the Constitution to protect the minority from the majority, but if the people decide that the Second Amendment refers to the National Guard, or that it should be written out of the Constitution altogether, that is the right of the sovereign.

Second, and more tellingly, the Constitution doesn’t fit the definition of “the governing authorities” in Romans 13.  In Romans 13, the government brings wrath on those who practice evil.  It collects taxes.  It demands obedience from its subjects.  The Constitution does none of those things, so it doesn’t make sense to apply Romans 13 to the Constitution.  Instead, the clear modern analogue of the Romans 13 government is. . . our federal, state, and local governments—all those who make, carry out, and interpret the law of the land.  If they say, “Give us your guns!” and we say, “No!”, we are resisting the lawful, God-established government.

Some might argue that Romans 13 does not require Christians to submit to tyranny, but according to our definitions, all the governments of the New Testament were tyrannical.  They beat, imprisoned, and even executed the innocent without a fair trial.  They imposed taxes to which the taxed had not agreed.  The Roman Empire ruled by the swords of the legions, not the consent of the governed.

Oppressive?  Yes.  Unjust?  Yes.  The government to which first-century Christians were to submit?  Also yes.  Indeed, one of the great overlooked themes of the gospels is Jesus’ desperate attempt to persuade the Jews not to take up arms against Rome.  Christians may sometimes be forced to obey God rather than men, but they are not to be the architects of civil disorder.

I sympathize with the Christians who want to hold on to their guns, no matter what.  I think it’s good public policy for them to be allowed to do so, and it accords with the priority that God’s word places on protecting the vulnerable and weak.  When my daughter moves out of my home, I want her to take with her a firearm that she knows how to use, so that she can defend herself in the hour of desperate need. 

However, our hope is not and must not be founded on these things.  If we are blessed with the opportunity to live under a just and well-ordered government, we ought to be thankful.  If we are not, we must remember that God, not ourselves, is our ultimate hope for justice.  If we assert our rights at the expense of honoring Him, we will have made a bad bargain. 

As all of you hopefully know by now, my favorite sermon topics are the ones that the brethren here request.  I know that when I preach on those topics, my sermons are closely connected to the interests and needs of my hearers, and I believe that makes them as useful as they possibly can be.

This morning’s sermon idea comes from Jason.  He and I were talking after my sermon two weeks ago, which was about love, and he began musing about what the portrait of a loveless Christian would look like.  I said, “That’s a great idea!  I’ll preach on that!”, so here we are.

It’s tempting, I think, to compare such a portrait to other Christians whom we have known, but it’s most important to compare it to ourselves.  When we figure out where we have fallen short in our love, it shows us where we most need to improve.  Indeed, if we don’t figure that out, we may lose our souls over it.  Let’s consider, then, what this portrait of a loveless Christian looks like.

First, the loveless Christian is PUFFED UP.  Consider 1 Corinthians 8:1-2.  In context, Paul is referring to first-century Christians who understood that it didn’t matter whether meat had been sacrificed to an idol or not.  In comparison to God and Jesus, idols are nothing!  However, these knowledgeable Christians were so self-centered that they didn’t care that their behavior was leading others to sin against their conscience.

Today, the debate about meat sacrificed to idols isn’t an issue for us, but spiritual arrogance still is.  It can show up in any number of ways.  It appears in the life of the Christian who has studied a great deal, but who uses his knowledge to crush and intimidate others rather than gently guiding them to God.  It also shows up in the Christian who doesn’t know nearly as much they think they do and aren’t nearly as righteous as they think they are, yet presume to sit in judgment on others.  When Christians insist on getting their way in every decision that the church makes and aren’t willing to let some minor matter go for the sake of peace, that too is being puffed up.

These things are sinful, but they are insidiously dangerous because they are not immediately obvious as sins.  The Christian who is living in adultery sooner or later is going to be unmasked and called to repentance, but it is entirely possible for unloving and arrogant Christians to remain on the membership rolls for years or decades.  We’re usually not comfortable in confronting one another when the presence of sin is a matter of judgment, so when it comes to these things, each one of us must search our own hearts.

Better still, we must work to develop the humility of Christ:  not callous toward others, not blind to our own shortcomings, not self-seeking.  For the Christian, it always is right to put others first, to set their good before our own.  The worldly wisdom of arrogance sees this as the road to ruin, but in reality, it is the way to becoming greatest in God’s kingdom.

Second, loveless Christians are HYPOCRITICAL.  Look at Paul’s appeal in Romans 12:9.  Love must be without hypocrisy because the presence of hypocrisy reveals the absence of love. 

We have no better example of this than the Pharisees.  Often, people describe the Pharisees as arrogant legalists.  They did everything right in the Law, and they trusted in their own righteousness to save them.  Well, that’s partially true.  They did trust in their own righteousness, but they did not do everything right in the Law. 

The problem with the Pharisees wasn’t the laws they kept.  It was the laws they broke.  According to Jesus, the Pharisees were willing to watch their parents starve in order to keep a vow they had made to the temple.  They used legal trickery to take the houses of poor widows away from them.  They tithed garden herbs, but they had zero interest in justice, mercy, and faithfulness. 

In short, the Pharisees followed all of their own little rules and condemned those who did not do likewise, but the godliness they claimed for themselves was not actual godliness.  Instead, they were disobedient to God’s will and dishonored Him.

Today, then, Pharisaism still is a massive potential problem for Christians, but it’s not the problem that people think it is.  It’s not a problem when we care about all of God’s commandments, even the tiniest ones.  However, when we get so focused in on the tiny ones that we stop obeying the broad, significant ones, that’s when we walk in the footsteps of the Pharisees.

We don’t have a piano in our church building.  Great!  We don’t spend money on church colleges and fellowship halls.  Wonderful!  We show up for services every time the doors are open.  Outstanding!

But where are our hearts, brethren?  Where do we stand when it comes to justice, mercy, and faithfulness?  Do we shine at home and at work so that people who look at us see Jesus?  Do people know that even the hard things we tell them, we say because we love them?  These are the things that distinguish the genuine disciple from the hypocrite.

Finally, loveless Christians BITE AND DEVOUR.  Pay attention to Paul’s admonition in Galatians 5:13-15.  Here, we learn that contention and hostility toward our brethren is another thing that excludes the possibility of love.  As John so pointedly asks, if we can’t love our brother whom we have seen, how can we love God, whom we have not seen?

There are so many ways that biting and devouring can show up.  It happens on social media all the time.  In fact, it seems to be happening all the time recently.  This isn’t scientific by any means, but I’ve had a number of Christians tell me over the past week that they’re leaving Facebook at least temporarily because they can’t handle all the vitriol that brethren are spewing at other brethren.  All these ugly arguments over the pandemic and racism and what have you—those things are biting and devouring.  They’re sinful!

Biting and devouring happens plenty in person too.  Sometimes, we bite and devour a brother or sister when they’re not even present.  I’m talking, of course, about gossip.  I think all of us know that not all Christians are equally easy to like and get along with.  It’s probably true that for somebody, every one of us is one of those Christians!  Nonetheless, even if a brother jumps up and down on our last nerve every time we see them, that still doesn’t give us the right to talk bad about them behind their back. 

Love doesn’t do that.  Love doesn’t zero in on the quirks and faults and imperfections.  Love celebrates what is beautiful and good about everyone—and prays for patience with the rest!

Finally, we bite and devour when we stir up trouble in the congregation.  Some Christians seem to have a knack for it.  They’re always in some fuss with somebody, and it’s always going to the elders and making their lives miserable.  Brethren, if that’s us, we need to take a long, hard look at the possibility that the problem isn’t all those other Christians.  It’s us!  If we aren’t careful, our selfish bickering can do massive damage to the church.

The other Sunday, I was approached by one of the younger sisters at church.  She had a couple of questions.  They involved hypotheticals that many of us have encountered before.  What about the tribesman in the Amazon jungle who never gets to hear about the gospel?  What about the man who is on his way to be baptized when he gets in a car wreck and dies? 

I gave her my usual answer about not letting hypotheticals and things that happen to somebody else distract us from what we should do, but she didn’t seem satisfied with that, so I promised her I’d consider the subject further.  True to my word, I gnawed on the questions until my subconscious bit off something. 

Eventually, I saw that even though these two questions are aimed at different doctrinal positions (the necessity of the gospel versus the necessity of baptism), they both operate the same way.  Both are an appeal to our sense of fairness.  We intuit that if somebody dies without having heard the gospel and goes to hell as a result, it’s unfair.  If somebody sincerely intended to be baptized but dies before being able to and goes to hell as a result, it’s unfair.

The problem, though, is not with the doctrine in question.  It’s with our intuition.  “Fair”, after all, is a dressed-down synonym for “just”.  We feel that it is unjust for God to punish the sinner who never heard or to punish the penitent sinner who never managed to make it to the baptistery.  However, we need to be suspicious of that feeling.  Not only is it incorrect, it is ultimately fatal to the Christian system of faith.

Let me explain.  Neither in Hypothetical 1 nor Hypothetical 2 is a sinner being unjustly condemned.  God gave both of them the same things He gives all of us:  life, free will, ample evidence of His existence, and a sense of right and wrong.  Despite these gifts, the people in both hypotheticals chose to sin. 

According to the first three chapters of Romans, such sin incurs the wrath of God, and it does so justly.  As Paul puts it in Romans 6:23, the wages of sin is death.  It is just for such people to spend eternity separated from Him, as it would be just for all of us to spend eternity separated from Him.  That is what we all deserve.

However, in the case of Christians, God has chosen to be merciful.  He showed us mercy in two ways:  in sending His Son to die in our place, and in giving us the opportunity to hear and obey the gospel.  None of us are entitled to His mercy.  It is utterly and completely undeserved.

As a result, neither of our sinners has any standing to complain that God has been unfair to them.  They don’t have any right to expect His mercy.  They are entitled to His justice, and God will be scrupulously fair to them as He is to everyone.  They could have chosen to do right, they had all the information they needed to make that choice, but they chose evil instead.  They will be judged accordingly. 

If this is not true, if sin does not invite the just judgment of God, God does not have the right to judge any sinner.  Any attempt to preserve His right to judge anyone will devolve into a standardless exercise in line-drawing.  If the one who never has heard is entitled to mercy, what about the one who heard an incompetent preacher?  If the one who dies on the way to the church house is entitled to mercy, what about the one who dies on the way to a Bible study that would have convicted him?  The more these questions unfold, the more obvious it becomes that our cheap sympathy for sinners (as opposed to Christ’s precious sacrifice) has overwhelmed God’s right to judge righteously.

There is no partiality with God.  This is my chief objection to Calvinism.  How can it be just for God to condemn an unbaptized infant who has done neither good nor evil, simply because of who their ultimate ancestor was?

However, God’s impartiality is a knife that cuts both ways.  If God is just in condemning sinners, He must be just in condemning all sinners.  Only the death of Christ and the faith of those who trust in Him allow God to do anything else.

Matthew 16:1-4 is one of the more off-putting passages in the gospels.  Some Pharisees and Sadducees come to Jesus asking for a sign.  A reasonable request, right?  Don’t you have the right to ask a self-proclaimed prophet to show that he’s really from God before you believe in Him?

However, Jesus does not accede to this apparently reasonable request.  Instead, He condemns the sign-seekers as belonging to an evil, adulterous generation and then leaves.  If Jesus were merely human, the exchange might leave us wondering if He woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning!

Of course, Jesus is not merely human, and His response clues us in to an important piece of spiritual wisdom.  Contextually speaking, the Pharisees and Sadducees were not seeking a sign.  After all, Jesus had just miraculously fed more than 4000 people!  Instead, they were seeking another sign, not because they were looking for a reason to believe, but because they were looking for a reason to doubt.

Jesus makes this point in vs. 2-3.  His critics were perfectly capable of assessing the atmospheric conditions and reaching a conclusion about the weather, but when it came to Jesus, they all of a sudden got dumb:  “We don’t have enough information yet!  We need more!” 

Really, though, their problem wasn’t an information problem.  They had all the information they needed.  Instead, they had a heart problem, and all the information in the world wouldn’t help.

Today, Christians frequently encounter modern-day sign-seekers.  These are people who already have made up their minds that they don’t want to believe in the Bible, or that they don’t want to believe something in the Bible.  However, they hide their hard-heartedness behind reasonable-seeming requests for more evidence, and whatever evidence is supplied, it still won’t be enough.

Here, I’m particularly reminded of a story that a sister in Joliet once told me.  She was talking Bible with a friend of hers who belonged to a denomination that practiced baptism by sprinkling.  Naturally, they started talking about the necessity of immersion.

The friend asked to see a passage that showed that baptism was by immersion.  The sister turned to Acts 8 and the story of the conversion of the Ethiopian eunuch.  She noted that Philip and the eunuch went down into the water and came back up out of the water.  Ergo, immersion.

The friend replied, “I want to see another passage besides that one.”

No, she didn’t.  She wanted to go on believing that sprinkling was an acceptable mode of baptism, and a whole Bible-full of evidence wouldn’t have been enough to change her mind.

In our discussions with others, it is useful for us to be able to recognize the “one more sign” pattern of behavior.  If we make a solid Scriptural argument, and a friend immediately asks for more proof without engaging the proof we’ve provided, that’s a sign that they’re not being honest.  Nothing we say is going to get through to them, and we might as well stop wasting our time.

Most of all, though, we need to watch out for such a spirit in ourselves.  One passage is enough to establish a spiritual truth, and if somebody reasons from that passage to a conclusion, we are responsible either for rebutting the argument or accepting the conclusion.  What we must not do is cry out for more evidence when the evidence provided is sufficient.