GOOD BUT DEADLY COMMANDS
For the written law condemns to death, but the Spirit gives life. 2 Cor. 3:6, N.E.B.
A popular bumper sticker on cars around Yosemite Valley says in bold letters, "Go Climb a Rock." The fine print at the bottom identifies it as the sentiments of a well-known rock-climbing club. I saw it one day as I drove to the base of El Capitan, that overwhelming rock monolith that rises abruptly several thousand feet from the valley's floor. I stood there looking up at the sheer cliffs, not even needing to wonder what would happen if I were to try to "go climb a rock." A few hardy spirits, with special training and exotic equipment, attempt to scale its face every year. Most of them make it.
But what if the command, instead of the cute jargon of rock climbers, were the explicit imperative of God Himself? What if it read, "Go Love Your Neighbor"? How would you feel as you stood contemplating a rather obnoxious neighbor, hearing the command to love him ringing in your ears? Worse yet, what if you looked for the special "equipment" of finding delight in the fulfilling of the command and found none?
Just as most of us flatlanders wouldn't have thought about climbing El Capitan until we saw the bumper sticker, so most of us who blindly ignore our neighbors aren't aware of how unloving we are until we hear the command "Love them!" Merely to look at the command is to know the keenest sense of failure and of condemnation. No wonder, then, that Paul could say that the written law condemns to death. To hear a command and not have the inner resources to fulfill it is to hear a pronouncement of failure and of death.
But the Spirit, Paul proclaims, gives life. That is, when the Spirit sheds God's love abroad in our hearts, we begin to find unsurpassed delight in actually doing what previously was an absurd impossibility. We behold our neighbor from a surprising new perspective, finding the "old crank" to be a valuable person with understandable, even crying, needs.
The experience described by Paul in Romans 7 is the "written letter" variety. One is aware of what the law demands and convicted that it is right. But outside of a relationship with Jesus Christ, one has no inner resources to respond. The Romans 8 experience, however, is the glad rejoicing of one whose focus has shifted away from the letter of the law to the adequacies of Christ.
For the written law condemns to death, but the Spirit gives life. 2 Cor. 3:6, N.E.B.
A popular bumper sticker on cars around Yosemite Valley says in bold letters, "Go Climb a Rock." The fine print at the bottom identifies it as the sentiments of a well-known rock-climbing club. I saw it one day as I drove to the base of El Capitan, that overwhelming rock monolith that rises abruptly several thousand feet from the valley's floor. I stood there looking up at the sheer cliffs, not even needing to wonder what would happen if I were to try to "go climb a rock." A few hardy spirits, with special training and exotic equipment, attempt to scale its face every year. Most of them make it.
But what if the command, instead of the cute jargon of rock climbers, were the explicit imperative of God Himself? What if it read, "Go Love Your Neighbor"? How would you feel as you stood contemplating a rather obnoxious neighbor, hearing the command to love him ringing in your ears? Worse yet, what if you looked for the special "equipment" of finding delight in the fulfilling of the command and found none?
Just as most of us flatlanders wouldn't have thought about climbing El Capitan until we saw the bumper sticker, so most of us who blindly ignore our neighbors aren't aware of how unloving we are until we hear the command "Love them!" Merely to look at the command is to know the keenest sense of failure and of condemnation. No wonder, then, that Paul could say that the written law condemns to death. To hear a command and not have the inner resources to fulfill it is to hear a pronouncement of failure and of death.
But the Spirit, Paul proclaims, gives life. That is, when the Spirit sheds God's love abroad in our hearts, we begin to find unsurpassed delight in actually doing what previously was an absurd impossibility. We behold our neighbor from a surprising new perspective, finding the "old crank" to be a valuable person with understandable, even crying, needs.
The experience described by Paul in Romans 7 is the "written letter" variety. One is aware of what the law demands and convicted that it is right. But outside of a relationship with Jesus Christ, one has no inner resources to respond. The Romans 8 experience, however, is the glad rejoicing of one whose focus has shifted away from the letter of the law to the adequacies of Christ.
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