Among the most oft-repeated principles of scripture ever enunciated
by our Lord is this: that we are what we do. It is our ongoing patterns of behavior
that most accurately reveal the condition of our hearts and our relationship
to God.
That is not to say that our words
and thoughts
are inconsequential; both will be subject to God’s judgment. But words can be
poorly expressed and easily misunderstood, while thoughts are often
fragmentary, incoherent, transitory and quite invisible to the world. Patterns
of behavior serve as much more accurate indicators of the condition of our
hearts than either of these.
We might say that genuine followers of Christ are regularly
found in the “produce department”. They are characterized by spiritual fruit
rather than just fine words.
Obvious, But Not Obvious
This is a notion so obvious that even the carnal and obtuse enemies
of the Lord were able to grasp it with ease. Jesus told a
parable of two sons, one of whom first refused an order from his father,
then thought better of it and obeyed, while his brother meekly promised
obedience but didn’t deliver. Asked which of the sons did the will
of his father, the chief priests and elders correctly replied, “The first.” The
fine promises and respectful demeanor of the second brother were surely more
pleasing to the father’s ears, but ultimately empty. An “I go, sir” from a
child who never goes is both deceptive and meaningless.
So then, we are speaking of a principle so transparently
evident that a synagogue
of Satan could teach it. We who profess to be disciples of Christ should
not have great difficulty with it, right? All the same, I find it a little
alarming to consider how often and in how many different ways the Lord repeated
it, almost as if he was concerned that we might otherwise miss his point.
The Principle Taught in Matthew 25
In Matthew 25, for example, this principle is
reinforced in three different ways. The first two are parables; the last a
description of coming judgment. We might reasonably infer that this principle
of actions speaking louder than words is the point of the entire chapter.
Of whom do the ten virgins speak prophetically? We need
not argue that here: what matters is what they did. Recognizing the importance of the occasion, five thought to
bring along flasks of oil. The other five went out unprepared. The
thoughtlessness of the latter reveals to us their impoverished relationship to
the bridegroom: their lack of respect for his special day, their undervaluing
of his invitation, and his unimportance to them personally. Their
actions — or rather their inactions —
tell the whole story.
Again, we may find ourselves curious about what historical period
is being addressed in the parable of the talents, but that question is probably
less consequential than this: that two of three servants worked diligently
to make their master’s money multiply for him, while a third did nothing with
it. Why? Because he
thought ill of his master and didn’t trust in his promise of reward for
faithful service. His actions revealed the condition of his heart.
Or again, when the coming judgment of nations is compared to
the division of sheep and goats, the measure of a man’s relationship to the King
turns out to be his treatment of strangers,
the poor, the sick and those in prison. His care for those in need serves
as a proxy for his relationship to the King himself, and the standard by which
he will either enter the kingdom or go away into eternal punishment.
In each of these passages, the eschatological schema we
bring to them is far less important than the necessity to grasp the
metamessage: that what we do reveals who we really are.
The Rest of the Gospel
But of course that’s not the end of it. Not by a long shot.
The principle is there in the Sermon on the Mount, where the evidence of family
relationship to God is showing
love to enemies and where one accumulates
one’s treasure; or in the instructions about how to recognize false
prophets, whose fruit
is an accurate measure of their character and authority. It’s there in the “house
on the rock”, where true security is a product not of hearing the words of
Christ but of
actually living them out.
It’s there in the healings: the woman with the discharge of
blood surely believed on Jesus before meeting him personally, but her healing occurred
in the moment when she actually touched
the hem of his garment. It’s there in the Lord’s pithy sayings: “Wisdom is
justified by her deeds.”
It’s there in the Lord’s most prized relationships: “Whoever does
the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” It’s
there in the parable of the sower: the good soil is the soil that produced
fruit. It’s there in Jesus’ condemnation of the Pharisees, the measure of
whom was not the technical accuracy of their teaching but the
effect of their rules on the needy. It’s there in the story of the rich
young man: enthusiasm is meaningless without follow-through.
I’m only partway through Matthew here, but you get the
point: Jesus never stopped talking about this subject. Evidently he felt he
needed to.
Theory and Practice
Once you start seeing it, this is not a difficult principle
to grasp. As I say, the Lord’s enemies had no difficulty with the theory.
It’s the practice that’s tough, and maybe that’s why Jesus kept reinforcing in
so many different ways an idea with which his disciples must have become very
familiar indeed.
Just for fun, let’s imagine for a minute what our churches
might look like if we were all thoroughly marinated in the notion that the
regular, ongoing production of spiritual fruit is the most compelling evidence
of mature Christian character and God-given authority.
For one, I suspect we would be a lot more discerning about
our leadership: we would prize the quiet, hard-working shepherd over the
dynamic platform presence. We would not be overly impressed by seminary
graduates and religious professionals; we would be more interested in examining
the long-term consequences of listening to what they have to say and following
their personal example. Moreover, our strongest personal friendships would be
with people who have stood back to back with us in hard times, as opposed to
those with whom we might be more naturally compatible but who have done nothing
more impressive than talk a good game. And perhaps even our marriages would be
more solid: young, serious Christians would weigh character against looks and
let character win every time.
But let’s forget shining the spotlight on others. If the
reality of my relationship to Christ may be tested by the things
I do, how exactly do I measure up? What evidence is there in my life
that I truly believe the things I profess?
In short, how am I doing in the produce department?
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