My Disturbing Relationship with Righteousness
You can’t grow up in Christianity without thinking that righteousness is a big deal to God. The Scriptures were full of it. Our faith was structured around it. And dealing with our sin became a daily preoccupation—trying to avoid it when we could, confessing it when we failed, and promising God we would never do it again.
At best, that promise lasted a few days.
It was exhausting and confusing. Even on our best day, we knew we could never be righteous enough to earn anything from God—not in our thoughts, our deeds, or even our reactions to circumstances and people. So, we learned to minimize our failures, justify our motives, or compare ourselves to others whose sins seemed worse than ours.
Perhaps that’s why our ancestors found such comfort in the idea of imputed righteousness. If I believe in Jesus, God declares me righteous. That became justification by faith. I could be righteous in God’s eyes and finally free of guilt.
Really? If so, that’s the best deal in the universe.
But even as a child, something about that didn’t sit right with me. It felt too much like a theological mind game. Even though I still gave in to desires and thoughts that were not aligned with God’s heart, I was told I could still think of myself as righteous. At the same time, I was urged to “be holy as he is holy,” which we called sanctification. In our scheme of things, holiness was preferable, but not essential if the real goal was only to get into heaven.
Still, I pursued righteousness. After all, didn’t Jesus tell us to seek it first in Matthew 6:33? Though it didn’t seem to affect my salvation, I assumed it was the doorway to deeper engagement with Father, Son, and Spirit—or at least a way to make God more inclined to answer my prayers.
So I tried to be as holy as I could and kept careful account of my shortcomings. But my sins didn’t lose much power over me. Fear helped for a while. So did accountability sometimes, though often it only made me better at hiding what was really going on or justifying myself so my failures could look noble to others. When that doesn’t improve over time, you eventually stop trying so hard and settle for keeping your failures to the least embarrassing kinds.
That’s why I have so loved Tobie van der Westhuizen’s assertion that righteousness, as we have come to understand it today, isn’t actually in the Bible. That discovery has liberated me from the last vestiges of my preoccupation with righteousness and sin.
I know that scares people. They fear that if we don’t keep a constant eye on our sin, it will overrun us. But I’ve found the opposite to be true. The more we focus on the flesh, the more it owns us. The freer we are to focus on the Spirit, the more we experience his life. Cultivating a passion for God’s justice inside his love is what begins to free us from the flesh’s preoccupation with ourselves.
For some, this feels like taking away a security blanket. But why isn’t Jesus’s atoning death, his love, and his forgiveness enough to settle our guilt and shame? Why isn’t his presence sufficient to assure us that we are safe with him? Our confidence was never meant to rest in a theological decree, but in the experience of his presence living in us.
I’ve heard some complain that Just Love simply changes the requirement for salvation from righteousness to justice. That’s not what we’re saying at all. Salvation and acceptance by God come by his grace alone. Acting justly is not a new requirement; it is the fruit of a life lived loved. The more we engage his love, the more his justice is produced in our hearts and reflected in our actions. It is neither the origin of our salvation nor the proof of it.
Freed from our obsession with righteousness and sin, we can finally learn the way of love unimpeded by a preoccupation with the flesh. And that is a slow, beautiful transformation over time.
This is the heart and soul behind Just Love. It’s why Jesus and Paul both said that love fulfills the law. Instead of our deficiencies dragging us into condemnation and renewed efforts to try harder, they simply unmask our need for his love. The path to his justice runs through his affection, not our performance.
His love makes us safe in his presence. As that presence begins to fill us from the inside, the lies of darkness lose their grip. The need to find life outside of him slowly dissipates. And as his fullness grows in us, we begin to see the people around us differently, regarding them with the same tenderness and care we have discovered in him.
This is the relational justice Jesus invited us into, and the place where his transformation becomes real in us. Godliness doesn’t come from trying to be righteous, but in experiencing the depths of his love.
And it’s the part of the Gospel we don’t want to miss.
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Tobie and I will be in Kansas City next month (July 9-12) to host the Just Love Conversations, three days of conversation, connection, and discovery around the themes of this book. There’s no cost to attend, though donations are welcome to help cover expenses. If you’re coming from out-of-town, reservations must be made by June 16 to qualify for our reduced group rate. Click on this link for all the details. We only have a few spots remaining. To reserve your place, email waynej@lifestream.org with the names of those coming. If we run out of room, we’ll start a waitlist in case others have to cancel.
