Dispelling the “Basically Good” Myth

Photo by Julie Moore [#julebugphotography]

I remember a now-ancient Berenstain Bears movie where Sister Bear learned about character via a Mama Bear object lesson on wormy, rotten apples.  The illustration is perhaps cliché, but is still revealing of the way human beings evaluate and judge one another.  Racism is based on ethnicity, speech, skin color.  Compassion (or lack thereof) for the homeless and the mentally ill is based on their physical condition, attitudes, appearance.  Most often, dating relationships begin with emphasis on the peripheral -- the looks, the interests, the tastes -- before any of the sinew and tissue and heart muscle of the true character beneath is ever exposed and valued.

Whether we ignore a book because its cover is lackluster or we leave an apple at the bottom of the grocery store barrel because it has lumpy flesh, we are presuming that the exterior says something true about the interior.  The way we shop for produce indicates how superficial our judgment values can be.  Is being a picky shopper a sin?  Probably not.  The reality, however, is that we don’t really know what the inside of that apple looks like until we take a big bite.  More often than not, a wrinkly skin hides great sweetness while a gorgeous exterior belies a deeply rotten core.

The world wants to subscribe to the theory that what is outside is separate from what is inside.  In other words, what I do does not (or should not) necessarily reflect who I am.  My mistakes shouldn't bear any reflection upon my identity -- they are the exception to the rule of my basically good character.  The world says, "My flaws are external to who I really am.  I’m a basically good person who happens to make mistakes.  To be human is to err.  Therefore, I’m not to be judged or held accountable to anyone for my failings."

"I'm a good apple with a lumpy, bruised skin."

This is flawed, self-deceptive human reasoning at its most basic level.  We deceive ourselves because we don't really know ourselves (Jer 17.9).  Socrates purportedly trolled the "unexamined life" as not being "worth living," according to Plato's Apology.  Whether we define that concept as the pursuit of self-knowledge or the exploration of options and potential, we are still acknowledging that, as individuals and as a society, we human beings lack a fundamental understanding of ourselves and must quest to find it.  In fact, the very school of philosophy and the countless world religions all exist because humanity recognizes the inherent holes in our self-identity as a species.  Though we feign otherwise, we are truly rotten to the core -- no matter how good the skin might look.

The very premise with which we operate is wrong: I am not a human who must go on a pilgrimage to define my own identity and transcend my own shortcomings.  Mistakes of character evidence an incompleteness that I cannot overcome on my own.  Evolutionary theory says humanity has not yet arrived at the “final state” of evolution and that, as a species, we will continue evolving toward a state of perfection.  This philosophy places man on an optimistic trajectory that goes against the grain of everything we see both in our world today as well as in ages past: immorality so severe that neither media nor individual nor historian can help but label it as pervasive, degenerate, pan-generational behavior.  Broken political structures and failed governments litter the pages of history and current affairs, altogether power- and/or wealth-hungry and drenched in blood.  "Harmless" selfishness corrupts on all interpersonal levels, deriding the beauty of and potential for personal sacrifice: look-at-me style social media; no-strings-attached, favor-my-preferences sexuality; broken family structures and utterly careless "parenting"; abortion as a thoughtless escape from personal responsibility; time theft and slander of employers; and countless other aspects of our self-centeredness are historically endemic of our species, even if they looked different in the past.

Things don't get better when they're perpetually flawed -- not over millennia, not over eons: they get worse.  Entropy isn't just a property of physics.

By contrast, the Bible says man isn't on a trajectory at all -- one mistake all by itself, one slip of the tongue or one impure thought is enough to condemn us to permanent spiritual death (Jas 2.10).  It's spilled wine on a white sheet -- it's irreparably tarnished.  And most of us have done more than just one bad thing with our choices.  Nothing short of perfection is "good enough" when you must stack up your filthy laundry against God's standard of holiness.

It turns out that we're not on a road headed somewhere.  We're standing in a quagmire and sinking deeper.  Those of us who think we're headed somewhere positive are doing headstands in their eagerness to get to the bottom of the pit.

If you've served in any branch of the military, you know that the standards of personal cleanliness and discipline are extraordinarily high: as soldiers, sailors, pilots, etc, our armed forces are expected to hold themselves to a higher standard than the average citizen.  To an even higher degree, that is what God requires: perfect conduct, perfect thought-life, perfect desires.

To make matters worse, we’re guilty of more than G-rated "mistakes."  Romans 1 attests that we act in full, albeit repressed, knowledge of what is true, right, and good.  In other words, somewhere deep inside, we all know the truth about a holy, omnipotent Creator God and yet choose to reject it.  Whether you've had rough experiences with faith and lost trust in religious figures or whether you harbor absolutely no animosity towards Bible-toters and have simply doubted the existence of God your entire life, there still exists within all of us an abstract knowledge of morality and cloudy, half-forgotten purpose.  These inexplicable fragments, coupled with the miracles of life and the miraculous order in a massive, clockwork universe, altogether point toward the reality that we are not the epitome of evolution we might otherwise think.

The harsh reality is that is that the kind of moral pit to which we have condemned ourselves comes with a tremendous penalty.  The Apostle Paul tells us that the toll for imperfection is death -- a soul-rending, eternal, spiritual death (Rom 6.23).  But instead of recognizing this reality for what it is, we choose instead to think we are the exception to the rule.

We say, "If you just understood what I’ve been through, you'd overlook what I did."

We insist, "God can't condemn me for my choices because my life has been absolute hell."

We obfuscate, "I am truly following the path that I believe to be right, so God will honor me for my faith -- even if it was 'misplaced.'"

The reality is that all of our reasons for why we chose what we did don’t change the fact that we still violated the law.

It's like getting a speeding ticket.  I get pulled over for going 45 in a 25 on my way to work, keep my fingers crossed as the cop runs my license and insurance through the database, and then feel justified outrage when he comes back to my window with a $250 ticket in his hand.

He doesn't know me, I scream in my head.  This is the first time I've been caught speeding in years!  He should let me go and go chase that Mustang that just raced through here instead -- THAT guy deserves the ticket, not me who's just trying to get to work on time!!

In my anger, I ignore the reality that, regardless of my reason, I've still broken the law.

"Breaking the law" is a little harsh... 

Was I speeding?

Well, yes, but --

Was I speeding?

...yes.

We don’t fully understand guilt or culpability.  Sin is not as gray as we might want it to be.  We over-contextualize our choices so that motivation becomes the hinge on which a guilty/innocent verdict swings.  We insist that we deserve better than what we are given because our motive was pure (and even that's doubtful).  I've been done injustice by this $250 ticket, I insist.  However, even if my wife is in labor and I'm racing to the hospital to get to her, I've still earned a speeding ticket for breaking the law.  If the cop listens to my story and gives me a break, he's granting me mercy, not justice.

In fact, if I demand justice, then I should write the ticket myself.

That's our problem.  We aren't "basically good" people who simply make mistakes.  We violate the law of God's eternal, perfect character, and therefore -- regardless of our reason for doing so -- we stand condemned to an eternity of spiritual isolation and condemnation.  This is our just reward for our inherent selfishness, arrogance, and ungodliness.

It is not murder that earns me hell.  It is placing myself at the center of my existence instead of God.

In light of all this, I must change my premise: I am not a pilgrim on a journey to self-realization; I am a hopeless sinner in need of redemption.

Here, then, is the hope that God gives: we have been granted mercy.  He has withheld justice from us and fulfilled it in His Son.  Jesus Christ, the Divine incarnate, accepted the wages we had earned and carried them on His own shoulders when He went to the cross on our behalf.

He didn't have to do this.  He chose to do it.

Jesus the Messiah forgives and restores: He accepts you just as you are and He loves you enough to not leave you that way.  He pays for our speeding tickets and then-some.  It doesn't matter if you've cheated on your spouse, shoplifted, or hated your brother.  His grace is sufficient to cover any and all sins.  His unmerited, redeeming favor teaches us gratitude and accountability for our previous wrong-doings.  It teaches us to love Him and others above all else, to grant forgiveness as we've been forgiven, and to restore to those we've wronged out of the abundance of grace and mercy now rooted in our own hearts.

The only condition God places on salvation is that I must believe, trust, love, and pursue Him alone.  I must surrender all my deep-seated notions about being a "basically good" person and instead embrace the reality of my own sinfulness, so that I can be covered by His holiness and renewed.  He did the heavy lifting; as His children, we bear an easy and light burden, because our righteousness is actually His righteousness attributed to our account.

He offers freedom -- freedom from having to work my way toward heaven, only to fall so far short in eternal disgrace.  Freedom from myself.

It takes humility to recognize that we need this -- to recognize that we are slaves to our own desires and helplessly lost in our own moral darkness.  Once we do so, we can breathe in deeply the fresh, aromatic air of redemption, stepping out of our dank, "basically good" prison cells and into the golden warmth of daybreak.

Imprecatory Psalms: What do I do with them?

"Contend, O LORD, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me!  Let them be put to shame and dishonor who seek after my life!  Let them be turned back and disappointed who devise evil against me!  Let them be like chaff before the wind, with the angel of the LORD driving them away!  Let their way be dark and slippery, with the angel of the LORD pursuing them!"

-- Psalm 35.1, 4-6

Reading through the psalms, you come across frequent passages like this, often bookended (ironically) by hymns of praise and thanksgiving.  In fact, the requests found in chapter 35 might seem fairly tame in contrast to some of David's other requests for judgment on the wicked.  However, the tone of each of these passages remains the same: desperation for God to act retributively upon injustice.

I've read a number of blogs and commentaries that dismiss the imprecatory psalms as sinful expressions of David's vengeful heart, as well as some that have dismissed these passages as the type of "Old Testament thinking" that bears no relevance to contemporary Christianity.  I'm not going to waste time dissecting those fruitless arguments, because if the Word is living and active, and if it truly is inspired by God, then those interpretations crumble without support.

There are several things we should keep in mind when reading David's imprecatory psalms, from which we can make several points of personal application as well.

More than his enemies' anguish, David is praying for his own deliverance.

Consider the fact that David's request is built upon his own helplessness: "Fight against those who fight against me!  Let them be put to shame and dishonor who seek after my life!"  If we simplify his request, he is begging the Almighty to protect him from evil, and to destroy that evil in the process.  Throughout the psalms, each plea for his enemy's paths to be "dark and slippery" is part of a request for protection from the Lord.  Any time he calls for the destruction of the wicked, it is the result of their relentless oppression upon him.  What that means is not that he is bloodthirsty or unnecessarily outraged, but that he senses his own helplessness at the hands of the wicked and is willing to entrust his predicament to God's provision -- instead of taking matters into his own hands.  By asking God for His divine interaction, David is acting according to the principle -- a principle that is, by the way, fundamental to both Old AND New Testament thinking -- that vengeance belongs to the Lord, and is not something man has any right to take for himself (Deut 32.35; Rom 12.19).  David is asking the Lord to honor His promise to preserve the righteous -- a promise found in that very same passage about His right to vengeance (32.36) -- and to exact retribution on the wicked for the misdeeds they have done to God's children.  Though they may seem harsh and full of anger, David's imprecatory psalms are ultimately an expression of his complete dependence upon God for deliverance.  They are his expression of desperation for God.  Realistically, being driven to desperation is sometimes the only thing that can force us to cling to Him alone.

He is also praying for God's justice.

Above the preservation of his own life, David values the glory of God.  Ultimately, he recognizes that though the attack of the wicked is directed at him, it is against a Holy God alone that they have sinned.  He even experienced the flipside of that himself when he stole Uriah's wife and then proceeded to have the man murdered (Psa 51.4).  How infinite God's grace and deep David's repentance that he is still called a man after God's own heart!  Despite his imperfections, David pondered and meditated upon the things that the Lord loves, and the psalms are evidence that he chose to delight in the Lord and despise the things that the Lord hates.  Therefore, if God hates wickedness -- if He destroys the liars, the bloodthirsty, and the deceitful (Psa 5.4-6) -- then the imprecatory psalms are David's desperate plea for God to unleash His righteous wrath upon all sinfulness -- once and for all.  And in that regard, though David may be speaking in a present tense and genuinely asking for direct intervention with the oppressors in his own life, he is ultimately asking for the final judgment that will come at the end of creation -- when all the world, all men and women throughout history, will stand before the Throne of God and give an account for their lives.

In many ways, the imprecatory psalms are an expression of what righteous anger should look like.  Don't get me wrong: we shouldn't be asking for fire to come down from heaven on every person who wrongs us.  But we should be passionately disposed against sin.  David's psalms are overflowing with his hatred of sin, his grief over the oppression of the righteous, and his disgust at the wickedness in his own heart.  He is so fueled by a holy anger against sin that he begged God to strike the wicked for their delight in evil.

I am convinced that perhaps the biggest reason we don't overcome sin in our lives is that we don't hate it the way God does.  If you hate roller coasters, you don't get on them.  If you hate country music (as well you should), you don't listen to it.  Frankly, if we hated sin the way David did, and regarded it as the spiritual depravity that it truly is, we wouldn't engage in it.  We too would long for the time that God will finally, finally, punish sin and purge its existence for eternity.

We too should be entrusting our lives into God's hands.

It should be our modus operandi to pray for mercy upon those who would do us harm.  Christ admonished His followers to bless those who persecute and offer the other cheek for another humiliating slap -- as opposed to lashing out in anger (Matt 5).  Love covers a multitude of sins and is a powerful force in forcing the persecutor to see his own wickedness by contrast.  In those places where we choose to respond peacefully in the face of injustice, and it seems to makes no difference, then we have the opportunity to exercise the same type of dependence upon God that David utilized.  We can rest in the knowledge that God is the One who will repay, that He collects the tears of the saints in a vial (Psa 56.8), and that He will one day rectify all wrongs that were done to the righteous (Rev 6.9-11).

More often than not, we take matters into our own hands.  We're not content to let someone win an argument, because we have to prove ourselves right.  We're not content to trust that one day our enemy's wrongdoings will catch up to them.  We want to see them weep with remorse now over what they've done.  I think that's particularly where our thinking concerning the imprecatory psalms gets off-track: we assume that David just wants to see the wicked get what's coming to them, but his anger is less concerned with injustice done to him personally than with the injustice done to all the righteous, against God.  We need to entrust our lives into God's hands, knowing that our confidence in His provision extends beyond this life and into eternity.

We too should be praying for God's justice.

Micah 6.8 is one of my life verses: "He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"  This passage communicates that three of Lord's biggest priorities in His children are concern for justice, kindness, and the practice of humility.  If we are to be like Him, holy as He is holy (1 Pet 1.16), and if we have access to the mind of Christ (1 Cor 2.16), then we should be molding our desires to be akin to the Father's: to see perfect justice done upon unrighteousness, to see all men the way He does (2 Pet 3.9), and to see them receive the grace that He so freely offers (Eph 1.7-8).

Obviously we should necessarily be modeling our prayers after the exact wording of these imprecatory passages.  In the same way that Paul's account of pummeling his body into submission (1 Cor 9.27) shouldn't be the grounds for harmful, self-flagellating practices of discipline, and Hosea's decision to marry and re-marry Gomer at the Lord's prompting (Hos 1.2-3; 3.3) shouldn't be justification for pursuing emotionally damaging relationships, neither should David's example in the imprecatory psalms be an exact template to follow.  We can't understand the personal experiences of these men, nor what God was directly doing in their lives in order to benefit the saints thousands of years later.  The Spirit prompted David to record these passages, and they are included in the Scriptures so that we might have a window into what a passionate hatred of evil looks like.

Therefore, what we can take from David's example is the desire to see God glorified above all else, and wickedness eradicated.  For that reason, I might not pray that the Lord would "shatter their teeth in their mouths" (Psa 58.6), but I would pray that the Lord would reveal to them the error in their thinking, and silence the lies that they tell.  Though I might not pray that the wicked man's "children be fatherless and his wife a widow," (Psa 109.9), I would pray that the wicked man might come to an understanding of grace so that his family too can know and understand the mercies of God.  Furthermore, sometimes God works through pain to make a point.  As Eliphaz correctly observed (albeit, not the truth Job needed to hear at that time), "He wounds, but he binds up" (Job 5.18).  In that regard, I can also legitimately pray for God to get ahold of a wicked man's attention by any means necessary -- not as an expression of my desire to see that individual suffer, but to see his soul added to the Kingdom.

When considering the imprecatory psalms, the bottom line is that we don't have direct access to the mind of David.  We can't fully understand from his perspective what the Spirit was motivating him to record.  What we do know is that we are to be a people who model the love of Christ even to the point of our own personal detriment.  We know that God loves mercy and justice.  We know that vengeance is His right alone, and that one day He will exact it.

When we read the imprecatory psalms, we can stand upon these principles: that we should pray for God to work justice and not try to take it ourselves, and that we should entrust both our fates as well as the fates of our enemies into the hands of the Almighty.