Traveling in Judea beyond the Jordan, Jesus left to go up to Jerusalem and along the way, a scrupulous young man asked Jesus what he must do to obtain eternal life. Jesus refers him to the ten commandments: by keeping them, he will have eternal life. Either frustrated, unimpressed, curious, or despondent, the young man responds that he has kept all of the commands and asks what he still lacks. Jesus responds: “If you want to be perfect, leave, sell your possessions, give to the poor, and come follow me” (Mt 19:21). The young man left feeling dejected, for he had many possessions. To Jesus, perfection lies beyond fulfilling commandments of the Law. Giving to this young man a more severe law that outstrips the Torah, the standard of perfection required willful poverty, generosity, and following Jesus.
Jesus’ demand for perfection from the rich young man echoes his earlier teaching in the Sermon on the Mount. After outlining the numerous ways his followers were to possess a righteousness greater than that of the Pharisees and the scribes, Jesus offered a perhaps discomforting conclusion: “Therefore you must be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect.” What kind of righteousness did Jesus expect? Nothing short of a divine perfection that exceeded literally everyone who ever lived. The righteousness of the kingdom was so radically defined it only existed in heaven, lacking any human examples.
To be clear, Jesus really did demand perfection. Some have suggested the Greek word, teleios, should be understood more as “wholeness,” “completeness,” or more expansively as “whole-heartedness” and “an invitation to be beautiful.” God doesn’t want conformity to an external standard, it is said, but something like maturity. These alternatives, however, both lack the necessary rhetorical force and tend to ignore their contextual significance. While moral perfection can easily be compared to God’s own character, the same is not true for divine wholeness or completeness, which tends to imply God’s aseity or self-sufficiency. And perhaps more egregiously, a demand for wholeness can readily become a call to wellness and adequate self-care — the exact opposite of Jesus’ demands for sacrificial love that, for example, values reconciliation over fairness (Mt 5:25) or acquiesces to the abusive demands of an evil person (5:40-42).
Debating the proper English translation of teleios admittedly verges on the kind of pedantic argument that makes people’s eyes glaze over, but I find it to be representative of how many go to great lengths to moderate the radicality of Jesus’ ethical teaching.
The starker the demand, the more likely it is to be nuanced with innumerable caveats, diluted to a more manageable bourgeois practicality. To us, Jesus can appear to be the wrong kind of religious zealot who could afford to skip his morning coffee, in need of some updating to smooth out his antiquarian ways. Few would go so far as to suggest that Jesus didn’t mean what he said, but the effect is the same.
Widening Jesus’ narrow door just a smidge, his call to limitless forgiveness is deemed pastorally insensitive or should be reserved for the right kind of people. Disregarding the worries of tomorrow might work in an agrarian society, but there are budgets to be balanced. Surely the cross one must bear was a thoughtful metaphor for being patient with small children. And while it might be impossible for the rich to enter into the kingdom, a little generosity from the young man (how about 10%?) probably would have gone a long way. The sanitized banality of it all is something to behold.
At every turn, the unseasonable morality of Jesus is made more appealing by weakening its uncompromising demands. Like a diet soda, it has a similar enough taste to seem like the real thing, but with half the guilt and no nutritional value. The now tame Jesus becomes practical, with very little to offend.
Lowering the requirements of the law isn’t new, of course. The 16th century reformer Martin Luther was famous for seeing how the church had substituted churchy piety and tradition for Jesus’ teaching. But onwards from Luther (and his contemporary, John Calvin), there arose a more subtle way to moderate Jesus’ unyielding ethical teaching. When faced with the demand for perfection, Jesus’ no-exceptions requirement to forgive, or the sweepingly boundless necessity to love even one’s enemies, the specifics of Jesus’ ethical teaching are subsumed under the theological use of the law.
On this approach, what Jesus actually taught is of little to no importance compared to the rhetorical effect such a demand has upon the hearer. By virtue of its impossibility (because sinners manifestly don’t keep the law) the true purpose of the law shines through. More like a sledgehammer than actual teaching, Jesus gave ethical instruction to disabuse one of any claims to righteousness. His teaching was intentionally hyperbolic, knowingly impossible, like the mean-spirited drill sergeant who will say anything he can to belittle new recruits into submission. Returning to the rich young man, Jesus didn’t tell him to sell everything because he believed willful poverty was a precondition to perfection, but because Jesus simply wished to undercut the young man’s self-assured sense of worthiness. The demand for perfection is a means to a different end altogether, namely humility.
Whether Jesus’ teaching is more like a sledgehammer or diet soda, the effect is the same — though for very different reasons. Both views end up moderating Jesus’ demands, either through casuistry or by claiming a deeper purpose for the teaching. Both views end up letting the law off the hook.
A diet soda version of Jesus’ ethics might be more palatable, but it only gives the impression that one is really doing what Jesus asked. It fools one into believing Jesus walked around Galilee making fairly reasonable requests that any sane person would not only agree to, but easily do with marginal effort. Accordingly, the law isn’t all that bad and Jesus isn’t much of a savior, nor is he all that profound, appearing more like a benevolent life coach who gives you simple pointers on your backswing.
On this front, the sledgehammer view of Jesus’ teaching is a marked improvement, but the theological function of the law (revealing sin) can put the cart before the horse. The conclusion that the law condemns is hard won through struggle and failure, borne out of experience rather than imposed from the outset. To so quickly forestall that process is to undermine Jesus’ himself, reducing his teaching to a mere data point on a larger trendline. Put another way, it is precisely because the ethical content of the demand is upheld that the law condemns. It is precisely because Jesus’ teaching was unyielding, unequivocal, and absolute that his offer of forgiveness to failures has any real meaning. However uncompromising Jesus’s teaching was, however radical his views might seem, he really did mean what he said.
The rich young man went away saddened by Jesus’ demand to sell everything he had, never to be heard from again. But I wonder whether that fork in the road of his life would come back to haunt him. Eating his lavish meals from the comforts of his large house, could he happily live with the imperfection knowing that his dutiful fidelity to the law still fell short? His was not a unique case in the life of Jesus, for many others would walk away from Jesus. Even Jesus’ disciples would depart in fear as Rome tightened its grip. The dismay the rich young man felt in that fateful moment need not be decisive, for from the seeds of sorrow grows the fruit of repentance. The surprise of grace for him, the disciples, and everyone is that the terrible condemnation of the law is never the last word.
COMMENTS
5 responses to “Letting the Law Off the Hook”
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wonderful words, Todd! this question of “did Jesus really mean what he said?” has sent me on one too many mental/theological spirals. perhaps as it was supposed to. thank you!
This sounds like the truth. I’ve appropriated both the diet soda and sledgehammer approaches. Neither seems right. You put it well: “The conclusion that the law condemns is hard won through struggle and failure, borne out of experience rather than imposed from the outset.”
Here’s what struck me most, and I read over and over to feel its heft: “It is precisely because Jesus’ teaching was unyielding, unequivocal, and absolute that his offer of forgiveness to failures has any real meaning.” That’s so well said.
One question (unrelated to above), how does MT 5:40-42 support Jesus’ call on us to love or ”acquiesce(s) to the abusive demands of an evil person”? It’s the part about giving over the cloak too, and walking two miles instead of one, basically “exceeding expectations,” in popular parlance.
In context of your article, I can’t make the connection between what you’re asserting, and the use of these verses to support it. I just have a very specific reason for wanting to know. Thank you
Mt 5:40-42 has been the foundation for women and children not leaving their abusers even though they had a safe haven.
YES