Hey You.... Yeah you.... Pharisee

I've been thinking a lot on how at times I resemble the pharisee. I've been thinking about how difficult it is for some to see the pharisee. How difficult it is for some to see their own pharisee. "I" can see, you see. Maybe it is true, it takes one to know one. Here is an article by Adrian Rogers. Yes, I know he isn't Reformed or Calvinistic in his theology, but I am glad at times I am able to suppress the Calvinist pharisee, the doctrinally precise pharisee in me and enjoy something from the "other" camp. Oh, I am sure Mr. Rogers has his theology  just right by now, as he is in the presence of the King of Kings and in a place that is pharisee free.

By Adrian Rogers

Jesus tells us a parable about a man who had two sons (see Luke 15) — one who squandered his wealth and the other who stayed at home. Many a sermon has been preached on the "lost" son but perhaps no son could be more "lost" than the one who stayed at home.

The younger brother was a rebel who ended up penniless, shameless, and friendless. The elder brother stayed at home. Outwardly he lived a very respectful life — very much like the self-righteous religious Pharisees who had a loveless, judgmental religion.

You'll find Pharisees in Bible-believing, conservative, fundamental churches more than in other places. You may even be one. Let's explore what one would look like in today's world.

The Performance of a Pharisee
If ever there was a man who knew how to perform, it was the elder brother. Notice where we first find this man — he was working "in the field" (Luke 15:25). But, he served his father for the wrong reason. When a man serves for reward, it's not long before he's complaining that he's not being blessed sufficiently. And it even gets worse when somebody else seems to be more blessed than he is blessed.

There is liberty and joy that flows out of a love for Christ. You can serve in the church from the time it was constituted till the day you die and will go to hell if your motive isn't to serve the Lord.

The Pout of a Pharisee
The oldest son got a pout on and his father came out to his pity party and begged him to come inside (see verse 28). But he wouldn't come in. He needed to be corrected, but he refused to hear what his father has to say.

In every Pharisee, there is a self-righteous heart and a spirit that is unyielding as granite rock. There will be some reading this who will walk away unchanged. They will say, "It's my way or the highway." And sadly, this highway leads to death and eternal separation from God.

The Pride of a Pharisee
The elder son's pout was rooted in pride. Look at Luke 9:15 and count the number of times the elder son referred to himself. It's all about him. Where does our pride originate? It comes when we compare ourselves with other people. The elder brother compared what his father had done for his younger brother with what his father had done for him.

The Presumption of a Pharisee
The elder brother presumed he was better than his younger brother. He was not better. The ground is always level at the foot of the cross. Through the first three chapters of Romans, Paul talks about all kinds of sinners from the rebellious Gentile perverts to the religious Jewish zealots. And he concludes: we've all sinned. Not only rebellious sinners (see Romans 3:10-18) but also religious sinners (see Romans 3:19-20).

Paul said the same thing that Jesus said, "Don't presume you're not a sinner because you don't do bad things or had a better upbringing." There is nobody so bad he can't be saved and nobody so good he need not be saved.

The Portion of a Pharisee
The story did not have a happy ending. Instead, it turned sour because of the elder brother's attitude when he described his brother to his father as "thy son" instead of "my brother." He had separated himself from his father and his brother. The father went out of the house for both sons. When he saw the prodigal son coming, he ran to meet him. When he saw his elder son out in the field, he went out in the field. One son came in and one son stayed out.

The Promise for the Pharisee
Is there a little Pharisee in you? Perhaps you've lived a good life but there's just one thing wrong with you. You've never been saved. Deep down, there's not a love connection between you and God, or for the lost. Don't let the story end there. Repent and make Jesus Lord and Savior of your life today!

Perhaps you're not a Pharisee, but nonetheless you have little compassion for the lost. Would you ask God to give you a heart for the prodigals? If we love God, we're going to love what He loves. And He loves the lost.

Calvinist Confessions 3

Thabiti Anyabwile



I am a Calvinist. And I am a Pharisee. Apparently, there are others like me.

As a “Calvinist,” I treasure the Bible’s truths about the glory of God and Christ; the good, wise and sovereign rule of God in all things; the efficacy of God’s electing grace and Jesus’ definite atonement; the hope that comes from God’s preservation and the call to perseverance; the present and coming-more-fully kingdom of Christ where righteousness reigns; and the promised share of His glory we’ll experience in the consummation. I treasure these things, as I know a lot of people do.

But I’m also a Pharisee. I tend toward a kind of care for detail and precision, toward “getting things right,” that undermines catholicity and charity (see here). As a Pharisee, I also find myself suspicious of a lot of things, including joy (see here). Tight and sober. Suspicious and narrow. Pharisee.

Most of my Calvinist friends maintain that of all Christians Calvinists should be the most joyful and the most humble. We should be. We’re not. I’m not. Let me not project.

Merely analyzing the truth doesn’t make us humble. Neither does merely being suspicious make us safe with the truth. Pharisees think analyzing and suspecting are enough. And so, in time, the Pharisee’s life becomes almost entirely negative. It’s negative in attitude. But it’s negative also because it’s negating; it’s a “contra-” life, a life a being against things.

But we have to defend against error. We have to guard the truth. We must protect the gospel. I know. I know. Pharisee.

There’s something else that makes me a Pharisee. It underlies most of the other things that turn celebrants of Truth into gnat-straining Pharisees. Here’s the third reason I’m a Pharisee and Calvinist, or, another reason why those two things happen together far more often than they should. The Pharisee in the Calvinist… is afraid. Fear loiters in his heart and mind like a senior feeding pigeons in Central Park.

The Pharisee lives with a chronic fear. That’s why the Reformed types are so often the ‘chicken littles’ of the Christian world–running everywhere, writing everywhere, screaming everywhere, “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!” And even when we’re not as manic as that, we’re quietly, respectfully afraid. Just like the Pharisees of old.

We’re afraid someone will take our place–the “others” who don’t believe this, who don’t practice that, or worse, who do practice that! Not them! We’re afraid the church will be weakened and corrupted, that tares will grow up with the wheat. We’re afraid our own hollow spiritual lives will be discovered. We’re afraid our children won’t be believers or won’t do well in school (and we’re more afraid of the latter than the former). We’re afraid the culture is going to get worse and overrun the church. We’re afraid of men’s faces.

Fear, fear, fear. Everywhere there is fear.

But didn’t Jesus say the wheat and tare would grow together? Didn’t He say the love of many would grow cold? Didn’t the Savior say there would be wolves and false Christs and deceivers? Of course He did. But the Pharisee says in his heart, “Yes, Lord. Of course, you’re right. I believe that. Let me just remove this one little tare or patch of tares over here.” The Pharisee is not only afraid, he’s also blind. I can’t tell the wheat from the tares; the Lord’s angels will one day stick the sickle in the harvest to reap. But I don’t remember that because we’re afraid.

Then the Pharisee speaks: “But what if that takes too long? What if bad things happen in the meantime? What if… what if… what if….” Pharisee.

Pick an issue. My first response is fear, not faith. I don’t call it “fear”; I call it “concern.” That’s more respectable. And who is respectable if not the Pharisee. And even when I do call it “fear,” I pretend I mean something other than being afraid. Gotta keep my head up; I’m a Pharisee.

And this is why Pharisaical tendencies make us such bad Calvinists (by which I mean Christians, though not as if Calvinists are the only Christians). The scared little Pharisee in me is a practical atheist. He acts as though the truth I know about God really isn’t at work. And it’s a nasty little cycle. My fear that God won’t act–at least how I want Him to act–causes me to act in my own wisdom or strength. Which then makes me afraid all the more. And so it goes until I’m wrapped and squeezed by an Anaconda of fear. The Pharisee.

Before I was a Calvinist, I suppose you could call me a semi-Pelagian, Arminian, dispensationalist. I suppose. I didn’t have the labels then, but that’s a fair sense of how I thought and acted. Not everyone wearing those labels thought this way, but I acted as though everything depended on me. My action in the world was the determining factor–whether that meant I had to be especially insightful and convincing in something like evangelism or Johnny wouldn’t “get saved,” or whether I had to “keep myself saved” in some way. My theology was bad. And my chief fear then was, what if I fail.

Then I discovered this mighty God on whom the governance of the universe rests. He was pleased to use means–human and otherwise–but He was the One ruling and guaranteeing the success of His will. How liberating that was! So I was freed from the fears associated with my performance.

But I wasn’t freed from being a Pharisee. I just chose other fears. Excuse me, other “concerns.” The kind of concerns that keep me employed as a Pharisee for as long as I would like, because, let’s face it, there’s no shortage of things to be “concerned” about. I can point out problems everywhere. I’m a Pharisee.


But the problem with Pharisees is they feel their fear and they fail to do anything constructive.

So I am “concerned” and not serving. I am afraid and not loving. I am “aghast” rather than empathetic. I am “hesitant” rather than enthusiastic. I am “alarmed” rather than steadfast. I’m an expert in fear and its synonyms. I can think of seventeen synonyms right now.

But how many synonyms for “grace” or “trust” can I count? Pharisee. How many can you count?

I am a Pharisee. Hear me roar–in fear.

In the end, the Pharisee is a silly man, a silly contradiction to the Calvinist. Fear? Really? Look upon Jesus the King you silly little man! Look to the Lord of glory!

What is this new fad you’re up in arms about? What is this new “movement” causing your temperature to rise? What is this weakness in your life and your church making your shoulders tense? What threat over the horizon really is a threat to the Risen King and Ruler of All Creation who defeated death, pushed back the grave, and promised that the gates of hell would not prevail against His church?

Why are you afraid, O my soul? Why are you timorous, O my soul? My soul, I will look to the Lord who counsels “Be not afraid for I am with you.”

I am a Calvinist, and I am an afraid Pharisee. I shouldn’t be. What I need is a fresh glimpse of Jesus. The One I need to fear is God alone.

I’m reminded of another Calvinist (speaking anachronistically, of course) who faced fears and terror everywhere–real ones. But he glimpsed Jesus. And he spoke, “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you but to fear the Lord your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and to observe the Lord’s commands and decrees that I am giving you today for your own good?” (Deut. 10:12-13)

O, Father, grant that perfect love would cast out all fear as we live for you and reverence your holy Name.

Calvinist Confessions 2

Author:
Thabiti Anyabwile


I am a Calvinist. And I am a Pharisee. This shouldn’t be the case, but it is. Admitting you have a problem is the first step in getting better.

Last time I tried to reflect on how a certain “bent” toward precision, accuracy, concern for detail seems to blend together with the rich exacting resources of Reformed theology and history to make Pharisees of those who lose sight of the object of our attention and affection: Jesus. If you care more about “getting it right” than you care about “getting close to Jesus,” then you’ll drift toward the Pharisees. You’ll swallow a camel and strain a gnat.
But let me not project onto you the things that happen in my heart and head. I am bent toward all those things, and I lose sight of Jesus too often and for too long.

I’m a Pharisee. And I’m a Calvinist. And I’m told and believe those two things don’t belong together. But why do they so often come together, like a dark prize hidden in the Cracker Jacks of the faith?
Here’s the second reason I’m a Pharisee and Calvinist, or, another reason why those two things happen together far more often than they should. The Pharisee and the Calvinist are both suspicious.
Now I’m suspicious of a lot of things, but I’ll just mention one. I’m suspicious of joy. Yep. Now, not my joy. That’s another problem.
No. Like a good Pharisee, other people’s joy makes me nervous. Not all people. Just those people who don’t express their joy the precise way I think they should. You see, without the “appropriate bounds” their joy just may make them careless, lead them to error, hurt the church and cause of Christ. Their joy is combustible; it’s dangerous. It’s enthusiasm and flights of fancy that need to ballast of sobriety and sound theology.
You see, that bent toward intellectual and precise things, that concern to “get it right,” sometimes leads us to suspect and question mirth, lightness, or merriment because those emotions appear too close to “trivial” for the Pharisee. If I’m serious about the truth, how can I be joyful?
I say to myself, perhaps you say to yourself, not out loud, of course: “All these happy people–happy about everything but the Truth, giving themselves to their happy little pursuits, singing loudly and clapping their hands, enthusiastic about everything–can’t be trusted. They are to be suspected. They’re to be watched carefully and ‘taught’.”
I know. I know. Teaching is good. Teaching is essential. Teaching guides the emotions. Teaching is commanded. Pharisee.
Didn’t Jesus warn us of the Pharisee’s teaching? For good reason. I wonder if for some of us “teaching” is simply another word for “behavioral modification,” for “rehabilitation,” for “re-education,” for “concentration camp.” People must be “taught”–by which we mean made to see everything just as I do. Pharisee.
I am a Calvinist, and I am a Pharisee. I’ve been “taught”. Sometimes “taught” right out of joy.
Don’t get me wrong. I know that joy may be expressed in all kinds of ways. I know the strong, silent type doesn’t express his/her joy like the naturally outward and gregarious type. And I know that joy itself has many flavors–jubilant, quiet, solemn, tearful, and so on. But Pharisees like me only trust the quiet, solemn types. If joy gets too loud, it needs to be silenced. Pharisees like it quiet.
But then there is my good friend, C.J. Ah… there’s “Reformed” spelled “p-a-r-t-y!” I love that brother! He dots all my “i’s” and crosses all my “t’s”. So, his joy is okay. Cool, even. But he is an exception, of course, because I’m a Pharisee.
Also there is my good friend, Mark. If you think C.J. is the life of the party and Mark is a sour puss, you don’t know Mark. About as silly, giddy, happy, optimistic, bright and joyful a man as you’ll ever meet. Don’t let the “SBC” or “Calvinist” labels fool you. Those labels are like the FBI warnings on your rented video or the “do not remove” tags on your mattress. Mark is a big… excuse me, slim ball of joyful energy. His love for the truth, like C.J., and Al and Lig’ and Piper and R.C. and so many others, leads them to joy! Have you ever heard these men laugh? It’s rowdy! They’re serious men. And (I almost wrote “But”; you see the problem?) they’re joyful men.
But not me. Not the Pharisee.
When did I become suspicious of joy? I mean joy is what the angels announce for crying out loud! (Luke 2:10)
Some of my oldest friends, going back to high school and college, would describe me as “silly.” I know. I know. What happened to that guy?
Well, he got saved and he started with joy; then he turned into a Pharisee.
Now, I’ve always been serious. Really. Always. Ask my mom. She still tells family and friends about how my friends used to come over to play, and rather than play with them, I’d connect the Atari (now that’s ol’ school) to the TV and then go into my room and read. From my early teens, I’ve been the family counselor. I’m an old soul, born with a veil over his face (little family superstition, there), and serious.
But I used to be fairly joyful, too. I think. Maybe. You see… I can’t remember. Perhaps you’re like me. It’s been so long since you’ve had a sustained life of joy, you can’t remember the last time you were joyful. As a disposition not an episode. Do you remember? Having a joyful disposition for a long time?
Maybe you’re a Pharisee, or a Pharisee in the making. Stop before it goes too far. Get happy. Now don’t get serious about joy. Just get joyful. Or else you’ll be a Pharisee. Like me.
The Pharisee lacks joy because he lacks Jesus. I don’t mean Pharisees like me aren’t Christians. I am I trust. I mean “the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field” (Matt. 13:44). There’s something implicit in this parable that if not made explicit leaves room for my inner Pharisee. What do you suppose the man did after he bought the field? The Pharisee doesn’t go on to imagine the answer. The joyful do. In his joy the man sold all and purchase the field so that he might possess and enjoy the Treasure therein. We may lack Jesus by not enjoying Jesus, by not coming into His presence where there is fullness of joy and pleasure forevermore.
The Calvinist knows this. The Pharisee forgets this. Feed the Calvinist and strangle the Pharisee.
There once was a Calvinist (speaking anachronistically, of course), who was not himself a Pharisee but dealt with them a lot. He prayed for joy–my joy and yours. Here’s how He prayed, “I am coming to you [the Father] now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them” (John 17:13). Let that sit with you. The Savior prayed for what the Calvinist Pharisee needs: the full measure of His joy.

Dear Sovereign Lord, the Joy of the world, let us know you, and thereby grant our heavy hearts liberating joy.

Calvinist confessions 1

I read this article by Thabiti Anyabwile at the Gospel Coalition Blog. It was well thought out and is a much needed "word" for us who hold to the reformed faith.


Thabiti Anyabwile

I’m a Pharisee. And I’m a Calvinist.
Those things should not go together. But they do in far too many instances. The Calvinist should be the last to become a Pharisee. Our theology should keep us humble. Or, so we’re told.
But I’m a Pharisee. And I’m a Calvinist. Which means I’m a bad Calvinist.
Here’s the first reason I’m a Pharisee and Calvinist, or, one reason why those two things happen together far more often than they should. The Pharisee and the Calvinist are both exacting persons. They care about precision, about “getting things right.” They care about the letter because each believes getting the letter correct is important. And it is.
So, there is this “bent” toward intellectual things. There is this tendency to live in our heads. And when that meets with a theological tradition as rich and robust as the Reformed tradition, sparks fly–in our heads. Add to that a pinch of argumentative spirit and out comes the Pharisee.
But you know what’s lost? The spirit, or the Spirit. Sometimes both. The letter kills. That’s what happens with us Calvinist Pharisees.
In my particular case, the letter became pretty important once I realized I had spent a few years of my life giving praise to an idol. Once I realized I had believed a lie and bowed to a god who was not God, well getting things correct theologically became desperately important. Who wants to “get it wrong” in the things of God? I certainly didn’t any longer.
I didn’t know it, but I began the Christian life with this impulse that could either help me grow in the grace and knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ, and/or push me into peevish, narrow, gnat straining regard for “getting it right.” I’ve experienced both in my Christian life. The difference is made by where you’re aiming: those who aim at knowing Jesus escape so much pharisee-ism; those that aim at “getting it right” become so much more Pharisaical.
Perhaps you’re like me. You’ve had some experience that’s left you zealous for getting it right. You love the Book in part because you love parsing things, dissecting them, weighing them, identifying what is wanting, tossing the chaff and holding onto the wheat. There’s a joy that comes from discovery–and refutation. Soon, you’re proud you’re not “one of those publicans” that explains the Trinity in loose language, that balks at giving various views of the atonement, that’s read the latest book from one of “those authors.” “Lord,” you pray, “I work to get it right. I avoid mistakes. I protect your word. I’m not like those who ‘happily’ accept ‘weak’ doctrine.”
Pharisee.
Truthfully, it isn’t our theology that keeps us from the self-righteousness of the Pharisee. Our theology, and the smugness of “Reformed” correctness, are part of the problem. Oh, I don’t mean we have aberrant ideas mingled with our theological outlook. We’d never have that. I mean all this heady truth barely lights our hearts. Our theology becomes the handmaid of our pride and our empty orthodoxy. Our fine theological theorems too seldom ignite liberty, joy, love, or anything else that accompanies the Spirit. Honestly, how often does your theology leave you with Jesus?
I know. The Lord reveals Himself in and by the word. The Spirit and the word belong together. Pharisee.
Do you remember that time when you were free? No, I mean happily care-free in your walk with the Lord. When there was lightness to everything?
Do you remember when you could share with others something God was teaching you, perhaps with imprecise language and a lot of enthusiasm, without first hesitating to make sure you were saying it “correctly”? Perhaps you were too liberal in assigning your enthusiasm or ideas to God, but you were happily excited about the possibility that indeed God had done something in you, for you, through you. Do you remember that?
I do. It was before I was self-consciously “Reformed.” I didn’t have a label then, other than “Christian” or “Baptist.” Even those I held lightly. I was label-less, free. And I felt free. I did dumb stuff. I said dumber stuff. But people knew what I meant. Then I discovered what I meant, and knowing what I meant seemed to replace experiencing what I meant.
Now, “experience” is a bad word. Pharisee.
Yep. That’s me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a “Calvinist” because what we popularly call “Calvinism” or “Reformed Theology” looks a whole lot like what I understand from the Bible. I think that’s what the Bible teaches, and that’s what I believe. So, I’m comfortable with the label–if we have to use one. I’m just not comfortable with the self-righteousness I see all too often in my heart and life. I’m sure I was self-righteous before; after all, I was an adherent of the world’s largest works-based religion. Pride and self-justification have always been there. Yep. Certified Pharisee here.
But here’s the bottom line: As long as my inclination toward detail ends with “getting it right” and not with getting more of Jesus, I’m going to be a Pharisee. Our theology doesn’t keep us humble. Jesus keeps us humble. I think there are a lot of Calvinist Pharisees out there, like me, who push deeper into the theology trusting the next truth to abase them before God. But we keep getting “puffed up” instead. Why? We settle for knowing more rather than knowing Jesus. We don’t stop to sit at Christ’s feet, to adore Him, to commune with God the Spirit. Far too often, that’s not the goal we have in mind.
My grandmother couldn’t cite you two theological terms if you paid her. She probably never heard of the theological “giants” of church history, and certainly never read them. You know what she did? She “had a little talk with Jesus, told Him all about her troubles. He would hear her faintest cry, and answer by and by.” With all her “little talks with Jesus,” she had infinitely more than I’ve gotten from my books. She walked with the Lord about like Enoch.
I know. Books are not the enemy. Books are our friends. Communing with the saints is important. That’s how we get it right and avoid mistakes. I know. I know. Pharisee.
There was another “Calvinist” (speaking anachronistically, of course) who won his bout with his inner Pharisee. He wrote: “I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Phil. 3:8). I want to be more like that brother–gripped by the greatness of knowing Jesus.
Lord, let us know you and cease the pretension of Pharisees.