by Dan Phillips
Thus far: we've established that our Lord singled out immeasurable love for God, and measured love for our neighbor, as the two most important commands — in that order. And we noted that the two loves are
distinguishable, yet not detachable. The first leads to and controls the second; and the implementation of the second demands discernment and wisdom, often in copious measures.
Today: the only point I mean to belabor today is that
we very seldom seem to get the balance right, individually or corporately.
The great sin of our day, of course, is elevation of our notions of the second, at the expense of the first. Countless dainty souls live in verbose fear that anyone might
offend a false teacher, a heretic, a compromiser; a Judas, a Balaam, a bar-Jesus, a Demas, a Simon Magus; a Judaizer, a Colossian errorist, a Nicolaitan. Their greatest fear seems to be that some straying head should go un-patted, some compromise of the Word remain unflattered.
One easily pictures Paul, or Peter, or Jesus Himself scarcely able to finish the opening words of a thundering denunciation without some precious, self-appointed Tone Cop plucking anxiously at his (or His) sleeve, cautioning him (or Him) about tone, warning him (or Him) above all not to be a "jerk."
And so the commands to
love are twisted into commands to
protect the false pride of, to
shelter the apostasy of, to
gild the faithlessness of, our Scripture-twisting, God-defying neighbor — or to
enable the straying and harmful dithering of our erring brother.
Dare to
agree with Jesus that love for God rules above all, and silk hankies are twisted in bleating expressions of anxiety that anyone take this as a license to be —
The
Great
And
Cuddly
Allfeelgood forbid! —
rude to deliberate perverters of Gospel preaching or living. We mustn't rob unbelief and dithering over eternal matters of its
dignity.
I honestly don't think that the great danger of our age is loving God too much. Really. Just not seeing that particular epidemic.
I don't even think our gravest failing is using love for God as an excuse for harsh behavior. I suspect that most who are quickest to pour a glass of that particular whine have more than a touch of
cosmophiliitis — a disease against which Dr. John warns most gravely (1 John 2:15-17). No, nowadays, it's hard enough even to get
evangelicals serious about
defining and defending the edges of the Evangel, which must certainly be a core manifestation of love for God.
Man has effectively dethroned God — and when I say "man," I mean
evangelical man, all too often. Not in theory, to be sure (hel-lo? — "evangelical"), but in practice. The
de facto has trumped the
de jure. Man and his feelings, his (God-challenging) questions, his doubts; worse, his
right to his (God-challenging) questions and doubts...
worse than worse, his right to yammer on and on about his
precious and inalienable right to his doubts, at the expense of actually getting on with learning, believing, embracing, living and openly affirming what God has in fact
said in His Word.
Yet still, even among those who really do try to agree with God as to His own express moral/spiritual hierarchy, the balance so often proves elusive. Why is that?
It seems to be a general rule that private individuals, or public figures (pastors, writers, speakers, debaters) who stand foursquare for the truth often are personally cool, restrained, distant —
at best. They (we?) can come off as rude or indifferent; and I'm not just talking about
the dodge that the convicted invariably shelter behind, I mean
really. Talk about personal matters, confess personal failings, have needs, and their eyes glaze over. The skill of personal connection just isn't theirs.
In some, it's actual lovelessness. I can think of several examples of doctrinal and intellectual sharpness (good) coupled with personal sharpness (bad), of skill as to
facts and concepts unhappily married to indifference as to
persons. One fellow I knew pastored a church while he was in seminary. When I heard him speak of the sheep in his care, it was invariably with seething, sneering contempt. I felt so sorry for them. (He went on to have a very nice academic career. And he pastors.) But he's far from the only smart and graceless man I can think of.
It seems rare, doesn't it, that a man be known
both for doctrinal depth and acuity — which is
a necessary facet of loving God —
and for personal warmth, compassion, graciousness, kindness, love. (Once again: I'm not talking about the lazy dodge that ditherers invariably invoke when their ox is gored, but actual failure to pursue 1 Peter 3:8 and 4:8 as diligently as they pursue 2 Timothy 4:2.
Equally I can think of
individuals I've known who were wonderfully warm and caring, very friendly and "easy" in a good way — yet who were doctrinally lax, or significantly off. It's not for nothing that the charismatic movement has that reputation. Ditto some flirting with emergent error, or others who are wobbly on matters I think important.
What can be said of individuals applies also to
churches. Few will argue with this observation: it
seems as if a church is
either known for its doctrinal, Biblical depth and accuracy,
or for its practical expression of love, compassion, care, friendliness, and hospitality. A church that combines
both graces is rarer than snow in the Sahara.

Here's a warm and friendly and loving church... and its pulpit features "lite" preaching, sermonettes for Christianettes, or stories, or the latest fads in entertainment and world-pleasing.
But not this
other church. No, its pulpit features solid, passionate, in-depth expository preaching that is Biblically orthodox through and through. Yet the pastor is aloof, withdrawn, self-involved, and the people reflect a similar introversion. He can preach
about people like a wonder. He just can't
deal with them, can't
show care and compassion for them — can't display
love for them, in person. Only in theory.
As I say, I've seen it on both sides of the pulpit. Decades ago, a fellow began attending a church I pastored. A disciple of Col. Thieme, he came for "Bible doctrine," because I preached expositorily from the Greek and Hebrew text. He didn't stay very long, though. Why did he leave? Because I kept "talking about ooey-gooey love." (And that's just because I
talked about it; it wasn't even that I actually
did it very well.)
These things ought not to be. Yet they are. Why?
Oh dear, you're looking at me as if I can answer that question. I can't. Except to say, "Because we are screwups, every one of us, even on our best day." Except to say, "That's why we need a Savior." Except to say, "Only Christ perfectly embodied both."
So we really, really need to learn
of Him, and
from Him.
Let's give that a try in the next post, which should (
should) be the last in this series.
Update: this way to the conclusion.