Paul has been talking about requirements.  We’re used to requirements, to apply for a job, get a driver’s license, a passport, a loan.  To do just about anything there are requirements: got to have money, have at least a certain level of health and mobility.  When these are in short supply, there’s not much a person can do—life has become sort of constricted, then.

I can think of myself as a person in good health, though my doctor might think otherwise.  I can think of myself as innocent; the court might find otherwise.  I can even call myself Christian . . . -ish.  Claiming a name carries no weight and has no real effect.  Even today, out there are many who would say they are Christian, though probably not as many as there used to be.  Being Christian no longer opens many cultural or social opportunities for advancement, rather the opposite.  The expectation of regular attendance at worship, regular presence with our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ—that expectation is still there, at least inside the church—being part of this life together, wanting to be.  Priorities.  Church is not like the Lions Club, where many are members and few show up.  My father for many years was involved, deeply involved, in the American Legion and in that group’s inner circle, called Forty and Eight.  He found it was basically impossible to get anyone to join, let alone show up, be active, do anything to help or show any commitment to or enthusiasm for either organization.  But the members-only bar stayed active enough, and bingo night always brought folks in.

So, Paul is telling us that claiming a name won’t get anyone very far, because anyone can claim a name.  The point is to have been claimed by the Name.  To be claimed by Christ—that’s what’s needed: that makes the difference.  Neither I nor you get to rule on who has and has not been claimed by Christ.  And to be claimed by Christ, to have the Holy Spirit, indwelling, will kickstart some changes.  We find great comfort in faith; God wants this to be so.  Faith is a powerful force for change, which is another way of saying we are changed by grace.  Grace is the medium in which faith can have its full effect, its full effectiveness.  Faith has its effect, when once the seed has been watered, receives the warmth of the light, the blessing of the air, and the feeding from the good soil.  Faith reminds us that the only name that matters is the name Jesus Christ, who reworks us from the inside as he takes his seat upon the throne of our lives.  Be a Liberal, God help you.  Be a Conservative, if you must.  Above all and before all, be a slave of Christ.  Don’t put your God-given faith in the service of any worldly ideology; call every ideology, all values, to bend the knee to Christ the king of glory.

Paul elsewhere writes of how faith, hope, and love abide; they are enduring and durable.  We love that Paul says quite plainly that the greatest is love: the gold medal.  Love wins, truly, but the love that wins, the love that is greatest, is the love of God: God’s love, which He imparts to us by grace through faith.  It is the gift of love that God gives that makes possible meaningful hope and genuine faith.  Paul will soon be telling us that “God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us” (Rom 5:5).  All gift.

In Hebrews, Scripture reminds us again of the very close connection between faith and hope.  The two get distinguished for the sake of drawing us further into the mystery, the revelation, the nature of God.  As we experience life in Christ, faith, hope, and love are not so very separate or distinct but one, as God is one, yet also three.  Love begets faith; faith hopes—and more than hopes: faith believes, trusts, and acts in that belief.  Faith in action is love.

Paul insists that God imposes no requirements for salvation.  Salvation is available to all, but it could be said that there is at least one requirement, one major hurdle or even stumbling block: faith.  Accessing all God’s promised blessings can happen only where there is faith.  No faith, no salvation.  God blesses us all, everyone, abundantly—life is a blessing.  And God wants us in the abundance of His life.  But not all want or value that.  Many do not believe.  The seeds of faith are everywhere; I’m afraid many have not yet germinated.  They’re lying there, inert.  I’m hopeful it’s just a matter of time.  Let’s all be praying about that, please.  May God water those inert seeds, shine His warm light upon them, breathe His quickening breath upon them, there in the soil He by grace can make good, in Christ.  Maybe He wants to use you to bring the light, the water, the quickening breath of the Word.

The point of what Paul is trying to get across is that “a person is justified by faith apart from the works of the law” (3:28).  Jesus was often asked what must I do—tell me what to do.  That’s the basis of the merit system, meritocracy.  Meritocracy is not a bad thing, but it has no bearing upon salvation, except that Christ is the only one who has any merit; he also happens to have all merit.  Rather than what must I do, a better question would be who must I become or, put a bit differently, whose must I be?  You know, I pay my taxes and don’t grumble, much.  Typically, I observe the speed limit.  I prefer truth to not quite exactly the truth.  I don’t let my eyes roam over the pretty young things, much.  I try to keep my language clean and decent, except when I don’t try.  So, by all outward measures and indications—to all appearances—I am basically a decent human being.  I like to think many of you might agree.  I’m pretty sure Devon really believes I’m not a terrible human being.  So, I’ve got a lot of people who would vouch for me, if it came to that.  I also know the reality of my heart.  So does God.

So, I’m not relying upon my record; I know I cannot.  I cannot come before God and say, Lord, I’m a Christian—I believe I am, others say I am, so You’ve got to let me in.  The name on my shirt justifies me!  Lord, Lord, open to me!  A Christian, huh?  From memory, recite for Me seven verses from the Bible, My Word.  By the way, how much time did you give to reading the Bible, My Word, by which you shall know Me?  A Christian, huh?  Every year has 365 days, 52 of which are Sundays.  Each Sunday has twenty-four hours, of which the worship service takes one hour.  Fifty-two hours a year.  Fifty-two out of 8,760.  Geez, God, why the big fuss about being in church?  I prayed out in the fields, at the lake, in the barn, the shop, when I prayed.  Well, it wasn’t like prayer prayer . . . more like that peaceful, easy feeling, when I just sort of felt right and left it at that without thinking or even thinking I ought to think about it or how it was a gift and a call from You to know You and devote myself to You.  I devoted myself to You by not concerning myself about You, and that was good enough for me.  Why can’t it be for You?

But justification through Christ—to be regarded as innocent in God’s eyes, for God’s salvation purposes—this comes by faith in Christ, and faith, like love, looks like something.  Paul is using a key theological term: justification.  What is that?  What does that have to do with love, or faith?  Justification isn’t exactly like justified.  I was justified when I said that.  I was justified when I did that.  This means I was right, not wrong—right in my own eyes, right by any fair measure.  The only fair measure, the only measure that matters, is God’s measure.  And Paul has already told us what Scripture says: no one is righteous.  Jesus told those listening that no one was good, except God.  But we need to be made right with God, because God requires righteousness: a healthy, vital, right relationship with Him.  We need what we cannot get.  Without grace, we won’t even know we need something we cannot get.  What we need must be given.  It is.  To be justified is to be regarded by God, not for our sake but for the sake of Christ who claims us, regarded by God as innocent—we are cleared of all sin, past sin.  What about present or future sin?  Justification is God’s legal, binding declaration concerning you and me.  Justified, we are released from the prison of sin.

With God, it isn’t only faith, hope, and love that all swirl together in a cloud of light.  God is a God of love, Amen!  God is also, as much, equally and always a God of justice.  Justice is what we talk about and demand when someone has been wronged.  Justice becomes crucial because we haven’t lived according to God’s love.  We have ignored and abused God’s love.  Well, yes, You call it a sin, God.  But I’m going to do it, anyway.  We have wronged God.  And we aren’t the only ones.  We also have caused disorder; we also have caused harm.  We are guilty; God requires innocence.  With God, love and justice are inseparable.

No one is good; none are righteous.  God requires righteousness: a right relationship with Him, in order to enjoy His presence, eternally.  We do not cause ourselves to be righteous; we are entirely unable to clear our sins ourselves.  Oh, we may try to hide them, deny them, convince ourselves.  Maybe we could even pay back the debt—maybe!  But we cannot undo the consequences of our sins.  People always seem ready to argue it out with others and even God.  That’s the predicament Job had to navigate, convinced as he was that he was not a bad man, convinced as he was that God was wronging Job for no reason.  Feeling sorry for himself, Job consoled himself by telling himself God was unjust.  Job wanted to reason with God, pointing to all the good Job had done, how everyone had always praised and thanked Job.  He was like a saint, so why the suffering, God?

Job’s wanting to argue it out with God was grounded in Job’s unshakeable faith in God: the kind of God God is, His nature, His character.  Job cried out to God because he had faith in God.  Job’s faith in God was all bound together with love for God.  The deeds, without love, without faith, do no one any lasting good.  Without faith and love, no one’s deeds are much good.  There are many atheist activists, many atheist educators, but I do not find many atheist philanthropists.  Whatever is good is good because of love, love that follows the ways of God’s love.  If we’re going to love, we’ve got to learn how.  Let’s learn from the Lord.  Love as we learn includes faith.  Love loves truth.  Love labors for justice, through guiding to confession and opening the way of reconciliation.  All of that is to say faith lives to reflect God.  By doing what vital faith does, faith demonstrates that God is on the throne of that life.  God wants us to see and know who is on the throne of our lives.  It matters.

Doing good matters.  We try to do good.  We do some.  Never as much as we could, and we know it.  Maybe we can do a bit more.  We probably should.  We have the distinct impression that doing Good, these days, typically involves giving money.  The more money you give, the more good you do.  As though money were good.  Doing good, lasting good, God-glorifying good, doesn’t require us to keep our bank account at zero.  God does not demand that we impoverish ourselves.  Neither is He pleased, let alone glorified and honored, by our lavishing the bounty with which He blesses us upon ourselves.

God-glorifying good means we are making time to notice others, making time to help them see and know we care, see and know they are not abandoned, not forgotten, not worthless.  Noticing and helping involves work; this relationship building does not come naturally or easily to all of us.  Making time for others depends upon and springs from taking time to spend with God, in prayer, in Scripture, in worship.  Anyone can do sustained good deeds, for a while.  Then we sort of cool off, lose enthusiasm . . . this happens because we are doing good for the sake of doing good and feeling good about ourselves for doing it.  If I rejoice in me, I know whom I’m worshipping.  What are we doing from lasting, durable, vital love for God?

Do faith.  Faith is not about doing good.  Faith is about having a real, meaningful, vital relationship with the one who loves us, calls us, speaks to us, and makes a binding promise, in His own blood, on His own life, to keep and bless those who live faith.  God who gives faith expects us to do something with it because by grace we now are able to.  God who gives faith expects us to begin to consider what we have, begin to feel the contours of this gift, feel our way into faith as it makes its way further into us.  Faith that makes its way to our head hasn’t gone far enough.  Faith that finds its way into the core of our twisty-turny hearts, our achy-breaky hearts, hasn’t driven far enough.  The totality of our life and living, day by day—that’s where God-given faith wants to go; that’s the place from which God-given salvation faith does its real work of sanctification, outfitting us for eternal life.    God wants us to let Him prepare us for more.

Faith that encompasses the totality of our living begins with this justification we have been given, the germinated seed.  Under God’s standard, the guilty are shut out; only the innocent are welcomed in.  Through the blood of Christ, God provides the way by which He chooses to regard the guilty as if they were innocent, just as Christ is innocent, perfectly, purely, beautifully, radiantly, eternally innocent.  Faith, just faith, only faith—trusting, believing, following, giving ourselves—this makes us right in His sight, for His purposes.  It isn’t the case that only Democrats can have real faith.  It isn’t the case that only Republicans can have true faith.  It isn’t the case that women are just closer to God, or that men reflect God better.  It is not the case that homosexual people neither know nor care about God.  Heterosexuality is not a requirement for salvation.  It is the case that people tend to make many representations of God: Our God loves these and loathes those.  Our God rejects that and blesses this.  Such thinking, feeling, comes from little real acquaintance with God’s Word, comes from the innate tendency in every heart to justify itself and manufacture self-serving idols.  The Bible tells us all about it.  The more we read, reflect, and pray, the more we are changed; the more we read, reflect, and pray, the more we find true comfort.  Being a Christian after God’s own heart is probably the most difficult thing any of us could do, and we can’t, without grace, which is always, abundantly and sufficiently, given, because God is love.  Grace is for comfort.  Grace is for change.

People make many gods, many images—all these have their standards, of course, standards that remarkably resemble the standards of those who fashion such images.  And Paul reminds us “there is only one God,” who justifies all whom He will justify through faith (3:30).  He is faithful to His promise; He works faith in us.  He gives us what we need.  My Shepherd will supply my need.  God supplies all our need so that we can do all things through God who blesses us.  As an online Christian influencer recently, timely, and wisely wrote: “Do not assume comfort equals blessing or suffering equals abandonment.”[1]  I invite you to contemplate that, this week.

If good deeds aren’t the main thing, being a good person, why bother?  What’s the point?  Why give this law declaring what is right and what is wrong?  Why all the pressure?  Every accommodation the church has made and will make is to ease the cries of those who complain of a simply unendurable pressure: more than they can bear.  I want to contemplate what Christ endured.  Paul has already told us there is a place and reason for the law: to make people conscious of sin, their sin, their transgressions, their guilt.  That consciousness is not to cripple us, though it may feel like it.  But don’t let go of hope; only, hold on to true hope.  That sense of unbearable weight may be part of God’s chastisement.  But any and all chastisement is exercised upon those whom God loves, to bring about repentance: the confession that we are wrong and only God is right, the confession that God alone can make right, make us right, remake us, really.

God is unable to remake us so long as we do not ask, plead, demand that God remake us, on His terms.  God will have us turn to Him, not to our record, our loud, insistent claims to clean hands and clean hearts.  God will have us turn to Him for help, mercy, grace, peace, and love.  Paul insists that his teaching, his Gospel, upholds the law (3:31).  The law is not dissolved but resolved for us by faith in Christ.  Christians uphold the law we cannot fulfill because that law was given to point us always and again back to God who promises to fulfill His law for us, as we have faith, live faith, share faith, and call others into this life-giving faith.

[1] Farmer Girl, on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/erica.d.429).