I am a Pharisee. Wait, let me clarify that. I am a recovering Pharisee. Unlike the biblical ones, I’m not proud of it; in fact, I’m quite ashamed of it. Jesus reserved some of his harshest words for these kind of people.
Those that (think they) know me will likely be confused by this confession. I probably don’t come across as, “self-righteous and sanctimonious,” as the dictionaries put it. My particular brand of Pharisaism is mostly a heart issue: it doesn’t often bubble up into the external world. But I know it’s there, and the Lord knows it’s there. Its visible manifestations are subtle.
Mostly it emerges in the inner dialogue I have within my head. These conversations are usually with vague, shadowy opponents with whom I debate the current point of theology I’m pondering. This is extremely telling. My love for theology is primarily about being able to best someone in a debate. My love for the Scriptures is because they are the ammunition for battle. I do not contemplate different theological issues with the goal of arriving at truth so that I may love and worship God better. I do it to be well prepared to beat someone in debate. But how is it wrong to point out error?
Indeed, pointing out error is not in and of itself wrong. Jesus and the New Testament writers do it all the time. They know that false understanding about God will often result in pain. One example of false belief is thinking God has made a promise that he really hasn’t. “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6 ESV). The fundamental misunderstanding of many people is that the book of Proverbs is not a list of promises; it is a list of general truisms. It is certainly true that, in general, if you raise your children correctly, they will turn out to be hardworking and productive members of society. But experience tells us that this is not always the case. History is replete with examples to the contrary. The problem arises when we think of this statement as a promise from God. What does the mother think when her child turns from what he was raised? Either she thinks God is a liar, or that she is a failure. Poor understanding of God ultimately comes back to hurt.
Like Jesus and the NT writers, my motivation for discussions on Christian doctrine should be love: to demonstrate the error so that the mistaken individual will understand truth and hence avoid future pain. But it is almost never so. My motive is self-righteous, to prove in my own eyes that I am a smarter, better, stronger Christian. I get a perverse pleasure out of besting someone intellectually. I’m a Pharisee.
It also appears in my outright dismissal of people I have one small disagreement with. One of my current targets is N.T. Wright, a renowned biblical scholar. In recent years he’s been a proponent of a squirrely redefinition of justification. However, much of his other material on the life of Jesus, heaven, the Kingdom of God, the reliability of the Gospels, etc., is very orthodox and extremely helpful and well written. But because I disagree with his justification theory (which, admittedly, is an important and central doctrine) I dismiss everything he has to say. I become suspicious of anyone who quotes him or finds his writings helpful. I’m a Pharisee.
Finally, it appears in the target of my love of theology: theology itself. Biblical doctrine and understanding is supposed to drive me to loving God more fully. My heart has stolen this. I love theology for theology’s sake.
It’s a very subtle works-righteousness. Christianity has always taught that salvation is by grace: sheer unmerited favor towards a rebellious sinner. “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9 ESV). I know that I can’t earn my salvation. But I approach the Bible and theology as a way of doing so. I seem to think that if I just learn enough of the right doctrines, then God will have to love me. After all, I understand him much better than the average Joe in my church.
Tim Keller, in his book, The Prodigal God, has demonstrated that what I’m doing is rebelling through obedience. I don’t obey God’s law or learn about him for the sheer pleasure of doing right by him. I do it to put him in my debt. I don’t treasure God, I treasure the things he can give me. I am trying to make him owe me temporal blessings and eternal life. I try to put myself above God, to be god myself.
How did I get this way? The root cause is my own sinful nature. I can blame no one but myself. But I can name one thing that brings my internalized Pharisaism to life: my education. This is not to say that anyone taught me to think this way. My professors have all been godly, humble, Christ-like teachers. The game of higher education itself brings the Pharisee in my heart to the surface.
One of the most tried and true methods of making sure a student understands a topic is to have him critique one of its opponents. To refute someone who denies, for example, the Trinity, the student needs to have a very firm grasp on what historic Christianity has said on this doctrine, as well as know all the Scripture to back it up. Writing papers, answering exam questions, and doing projects of this type have given an opportunity for my internal Pharisee to come to life. The methodology reinforces my love for debate. I learn things for the sake of being able to eventually defeat someone and to elevate myself above them.
Also, just the simple attribute of being educated makes me think I’m better than the riff raff who simply has not had the opportunities with which I’ve been graced. I certainly know more theological terms and ideas than the average Christian in the pew, but that definitely does not make me a better Christian. I think that because I can write a systematic theology, I know more about God and am therefore he will look on me more favorably. That’s an absurdity. There are plenty of people who can’t define precisely the difference between justification and sanctification. These same people are far more godly than I. They love better, serve better, and worship better.
But there is hope for recovering. At times, thinking about my Pharisaism has robbed me of assurance of God’s love. Am I really a Christian if I can’t say I love God more than doctrine? Am I going to be able to get past this? Is there any hope for me? But God has not allowed these errant thoughts to drive me to despair. He gently reminds me of some of those very doctrines: especially the ones about the work of the Holy Spirit.
The Bible teaches that all Christians are indwelt by the Holy Spirit, and one of his activities is the conviction of sin. The very fact that I am convicted of my Pharisaism is proof of my regeneration (that God has given me new life, ala II Cor. 5). If I were not a Christian, I would likely not care that I was so self-righteous and sanctimonious. Since I am convicted of these sins, I know that God will make progress in my heart. I will get better.
Furthermore, I have hope for recovery because of my calling to ministry. I have no doubts that the special call I felt 2 summers ago was authentic. If God has called me to ministry, then he will prepare me for it. Part of this preparation is the removal of these prideful sins. I will get better.
From a pragmatic standpoint, I blame much of my problem on being uninvolved in ministry. It’s easy to maintain Pharisaic thoughts and practices when you are stuck in academia. When you start dealing with real people, with real problems, and real misunderstandings of God, the desire to debate will shrink. I can hold spirited and strongly worded verbal fights with fictional opponents in my head. I definitely could not speak so strongly in person. Working with real people will help curb the Pharisee in me. I will get better.
So what is my next step? What I am I doing to turn from my wicked thoughts? First, I am repenting daily for my actions and beliefs. I spend some moments before going to bed asking God and myself how I have been a Pharisee that day. It is against him that I have primarily rebelled, and it is to him that I am repentant.
Second, I think about all the doctrines I’ve learned, and think especially about how they apply to me personally. I remember that Christ has perfectly obeyed his Father and fulfilled all the points of the law. I remember that he then died a brutal death on the cross in my place, to pay for my sins, though he himself was perfect. I remember that this is because God has loved me.
Finally, I need to apologize to the individuals who I’ve hurt because of my Pharisaism. I’ve maintained ill thoughts about these brothers and sisters in Christ, and have said things that have been hurtful. If any of these friends are reading this now, I offer my sincere apologies.
I am so thankful that God does not expect us to get everything right before we enter into his kingdom. Becoming Christ-like is the result of a life of following God, not the prerequisite. I’m clearly far from perfect, and I’m glad that he has begun to move me towards being a better Christian.
---
“17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. 18 All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; 19 that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. 20 Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.21 For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (II Corinthians 5:17-21)
