The Weightier Matter of the Law



“Get rid of everything in your wardrobe that is not white. Stop sleeping on a soft pillow. Sell your musical instruments and stop eating white bread. You cannot take warm baths, or shave off your beard. To shave is to lie against him who created us because it is an attempt to improve upon his work.”

          ~from a second-century catechism

 

An incident in Luke 7:36–50 shows us the contrast between legalism and loving devotion. Jesus is having dinner at the home of Simon, a Pharisee, and a woman “who had lived a sinful life” (v. 37) enters, wets Jesus’ feet with her tears, wipes them with her hair, and pours expensive perfume from an alabaster jar on His feet.

 

The genius of legalism[1] is that it misses the point. Consider Simon, for example, who invited Jesus to his house for lunch. Simon was a rule-ridden Pharisee and thus gave his hands a rigorous scrubbing “with the fist” as their tradition prescribed (see Mark 7:3-5). He washed his cups and saucers and pots and pans with nervous scrupulosity. He observed every Pharisaic directive but neglected love, the weightier matter of the law. That’s what Jesus meant when He said to the Pharisees, “You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel” (Matthew 23:24).

 

There was a woman, however, who knew better. “She brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears” (Luke 7:37–38).  She didn’t have the traditions, but she certainly knew how to love.

 

“Simon,” Jesus said to His host, “you did not give me any water for my feet, but [this woman] wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet . . . For she loved much” (7:44–47).  Much love. That’s the measure of true holiness.

 

Simon’s actions go straight to the heart of the issue: Legalism makes secondary things primary and primary things secondary; it subordinates love to rules, regulations, and rigmarole, and thus it misses the heart of the gospel and the great heart of God.

 

God does draw fine lines,[2] but all of God’s lines lead to love. “The commandments, ‘Do not commit adultery,’  ‘Do not murder,’ ‘Do not steal,’ ‘Do not covet,’ and whatever other commandment there may be, are summed up in this one rule,” says Paul. “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Romans 13:9). Love is the point of the Word.

Sometime after World War II, during the reconstruction of Europe, John Mackie, who was then the president of the Church of Scotland, and two brothers in the cloth of another denomination–a  rather severe group–took a jeep and traveled to some of the villages where funds were being disbursed.

One afternoon Dr. Mackie and the other two clergymen went to call on the Orthodox priest in a small Greek village. The priest was overjoyed to see them, and was eager to pay his respects. Immediately, he produced a box of Havana cigars, a great treasure in those days, and offered each of his guests a cigar. Dr. Mackie took one, bit the end off, lit it, puffed a few puffs, and said how good it was. The other gentlemen looked horrified and said, “No, thank you, we don’t smoke.”

Realizing he had offended the two who refused, the priest was anxious to make amends, so he excused himself and reappeared in a few minutes with a flagon of his choicest wine. Dr. Mackie took a glassful, sniffed it like a connoisseur, sipped it, and praised its quality. His companions, however, drew themselves back even more noticeably than before and said, “No, thank you, we don’t drink!”

Later, when the three men were in the jeep again, making their way up the rough road out of the village, the two pious clergymen turned upon Dr. Mackie with a vengeance. “Dr. Mackie,” they insisted, “do you mean to tell us that you are the president of the Church of Scotland and you smoke and drink?”

“No, I don’t,” Dr. Mackie replied, “But somebody had to be a Christian.”

The second comes from a volume I found in a dusty bin at a garage sale. Something in it touches me in ways I cannot express. I leave it with you for your consideration.

“You smoke, don’t you, Rogers?” I said.

“Well, sir, I can’t deny it. It’s not much I spend on baccay, anyhow. Is it, dame?”

“No, that it bean’t,” answered his wife.

“You don’t think there’s any harm in smoking a pipe, sir?”

“Not the least,” I answered, with emphasis.

“You see, sir,” he went on, not giving me time to prove how far I was from thinking there was any harm in it, “you see, sir, sailors learns many ways they might be better without. I used to take my pan o’grog with the rest of them; but I give that up quite, ’cause as how I don’t want it now.”

“Cause as how,” interrupted his wife, “you spend the money on tea for me, instead. You wicked old man to tell stories!”

“Well, I takes my share of the tea, old woman, and I’m sure it’s a deal better for me. But, to tell the truth, sir, I was a little troubled in my mind about the baccay, not knowing whether I ought to have it or not. For you see, the parson that’s gone didn’t like it, as I could tell when he came in at the door and me a-smokin’. Not as he said anything; for, ye see, I was an old man, and I daresay that kep him quiet. But I did hear him blow up a young chap i’ the village he came upon with a pipe in his mouth. He did give him a thunderin’ broadside, to be sure! So I was in two minds whether I ought to be on with my pipe or not.”

“And how did you settle the question, Rogers?”

“Why, I followed my own, old chart, sir.”

“Quite right. One mustn’t mind too much what other people think.”

“That’s not exactly what I mean, sir.”

“What do you mean then? I should like to know.”

“Well, sir, I mean that I said to myself, ‘Now, Old Rogers, what do you think the Lord would say about this here baccay business?’”

“And what did you think He would say?”

“Why, sir, I thought He would say, ‘Old Rogers, have yer baccay; only mind ye don’t grumble when you ‘ain’t got none.’”

 

 

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[1] Legalists “go beyond what is written” (1 Corinthians 4:6), then give their additions and extra-biblical prohibitions the authority of inspired Scripture.

[2] In our fallen state God must tell us which acts are truly loving.