Myth 1 - I Would Never Do That

In the year 1492, when Christopher Columbus set sail for America, he was operating under a false assumption. He knew that the earth was not flat—he knew it was round. He just didn’t know how big around it was. He actually thought that the distance from Spain to India going west would be shorter than the distance from Spain to India going east.

So when he sailed across the Atlantic and arrived in the Caribbean, he was convinced that he had come to the Indies. And he thought that by sailing along the coast of Cuba that he would ultimately arrive in China. The Admiral of the Ocean Seas was totally lost—he was 10,000 miles away from where he wanted to be!

And likewise, when we set sail on the sea of life with a set of false assumptions, we get lost, too. Today, I’d like to begin an exploration of some of those false assumptions that throw us off course. Let’s call them myths—myths of the Christian life. These myths can take many forms. They can involve false expectations about what life is like. Or they can be illusions about ourselves, or about other people, or even about God.

And if we accept these myths as being true—if we allow ourselves to be led by these myths—we will find ourselves to be far off the course that God has charted for us. Let’s look at the first myth today. It is a myth that we hold about ourselves.

When I preached on Long Island last week, I met a family that was in the midst of a terrible tragedy. A man had three daughters. He and the mother of the girls were divorced several years ago and he had since remarried. This man and his second wife had just recently begun attending the church where I was preaching.

His daughters were now teenagers, and last week the second daughter—17 years old—died under tragic circumstances. She had been murdered—murdered by her mother, the man’s first wife. This woman was somewhat unstable and had adopted some strange religious beliefs. She had become convinced that her 17 year old daughter was demon-possessed. So she tried to cast the demon out of the girl, and in the process, suffocated her to death. The whole episode was witnessed by the youngest daughter.

A terrible tragedy brought about by a great evil operating through that mother. And when we confront such evil, we tend to be shocked. And we react in a particular way. We say to ourselves “How could she? How could a mother ever do such a thing?” And then in the next breath, we say to ourselves: “I could never be capable of doing something like that.”

And that is the first myth that we have about ourselves. It is the belief that, while other people may be sinners, I myself am not really capable of committing serious sins.

Oh sure, we all recognize in ourselves some minor flaws and defects; some personality quirks or weaknesses. But we tend to dismiss them in the belief that, when all is said and done, I am basically a good, decent, honest kind of person. In fact, I make a pretty good Christian, and God is rather fortunate to have me on his side.

You see, as evangelicals, we believe in the doctrine of the total depravity of man; it’s just that we have a great deal of difficulty applying that doctrine to ourselves personally. And this is where we are myth-led. This is where our moral compass is out of kilter. C.S. Lewis says “Until a person finds evil unmistakably present in his existence… he is enclosed in an illusion.”

Let’s look at the Scriptures to see how God illustrates this fact. Please turn to Luke 18:9 (page 1038), where Jesus tells a story about a Pharisee and a tax collector:

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable:

Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.

Did the Pharisee come into the presence of God regarding himself to be a sinner? No. He may have been willing to admit to some small sins, but on the whole, he was quite impressed with his own righteousness. You can tell that because he was comparing himself to others. He said “God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers, or even like that tax collector over there. I would never do the things that those kind of people do. No, on the whole, I’m okay. In fact, I’m doing pretty well. God, you should be proud of me. I fast, not once but twice a week, and I tithe on my income. God, you’re lucky that I’m on your side.” That was his attitude.

But look at the tax collector. What was his attitude? He was so burdened by his own sinfulness that he stood at a distance. He could not even bring himself to look up to heaven to pray. He beat his breast and said, “God, have mercy on me, because I’m a sinner.”

Who did God listen to? Who did God honor? Who did God justify? The man who recognized his own sinfulness.

And it is only when we come to that place where we recognize the potential and the reality of evil within us—its constant presence; its persistent pull on our character, always trying to draw us off course—that we can begin to appreciate why Christ had to die for us.

You see, Jesus Christ did not die on the cross to make good people better. He didn’t come to help us make some minor improvements in our lives. He came because we were dead in our trespasses and sins. He came because we were and are totally depraved. He came because “There is none righteous; not even one.”

He died on the cross because we are sinners.

Now our sinfulness can manifest itself in two ways. I want to show you how. Turn back a couple of pages to Luke 15. You’re probably familiar with the parable of the Prodigal Son—the boy who took his inheritance and went off to a far country and spent it in wild living—trying to fill the emptiness in his life.

Eventually he runs out of money. And when he runs out of money, he runs out of friends. He’s in a far country, poor, penniless, and starving. His lifestyle has left him empty. He realizes what a fool he has been to turn his back on his father. So he decides to go home, and to confess his sin to his father, and to ask for the mercy to be allowed to be a servant in his father’s household. He realizes that he is not even worthy to be called a son.

Let’s pick up the story in verse 20 to see what happens…

So he got up and went to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.

Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on.

‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him.

But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’

”’ My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’

This parable is not only the Parable of the Prodigal Son, it is also the Parable of the Proud Brother. You see, both of these boys were out of fellowship with their father. Both of these boys were living in sin. The Prodigal acted it out. He was the rebel. He went off to the far country. He lived a wild life. His sin was obvious.

But what about the older brother? How was his heart? Even though he lived in his father’s house and obeyed his father’s commands, his heart was far from his father. He did not share his father’s compassion for his younger brother. He did not share his father’s joy at the Prodigal’s return. Someone said “I wonder what would have happened if the Prodigal Son had met up with his brother before he got to his father’s house?”

The older brother was angry and bitter and proud. For all of his compliance and obedience to his father’s commands, he was hard-hearted. He had nothing but contempt for his younger brother. He looked on what his brother did and said “I would never do something like that.” And he was bitter and resentful towards his father. he especially didn’t like his father making a great fuss over the Prodigal’s return. And he refused to repent.

Thomas a Kempis said “It will not hurt you at all to consider yourself less righteous than others, but it will be disastrous for you to consider yourself better than even one person.” Are you like the Proud Brother this morning? I believe that this can be a devastating trap for Christians—especially for those who have been Christians for a while. You begin to compare yourself with others. You begin to forget that you’re a sinner in need of God’s grace.

When we consider ourselves better than someone else, we are just proving how deep seated our own sinfulness is. Because our own spiritual pride is revealed when we are confronted with the sins of others. We cluck our tongues in judgment and say “I would never do that.” And when we do, we just show how sinful we really are.

Oswald Chambers put it well: “When a moral person is confronted with contempt, immorality, disloyalty, or dishonesty, he is so repulsed by the offense that he turns away and in despair closes his heart to the offender. But the miracle of the redemptive reality of God is that the worst and the vilest offender can never exhaust the depths of his love.”

What should I do about my sin? Do what the Prodigal Son did. Confront your sin. Confess your sin. And come back to your father. The Prodigal Son did that. The Proud Brother did not, even though the father went to him and pled with him to come back into fellowship.

And so he stayed outside the house. Outside in the darkness, listening to the laughter and the joy. Outside with his bitterness and his stubborn pride, believing a myth about himself.

The Bible says that the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. And all of us have that kind of heart within us. It may be overtly displayed, or it may be covertly hidden. But it’s there.

How good to know that Jesus and only Jesus can deal with it. And he has dealt with it on the Cross. Only his grace, flowing from the Cross, can overcome the evil within us.

You don’t know just how far away from home I’ve been

She said as she looked into my eyes.

Could it be I’ve strayed beyond mercy’s outstretched hand

And now his grace no longer stoops to hear my cry?

You see, I just want to know—Tell me how far will He go?

Will He still reach to me in spite of where I’ve been?

And I told her:

He’ll do whatever, whatever it takes

His grace reaches lower than your worst mistake

And His love will run farther than you can run away, my friend

He’ll do whatever, whatever it takes

He’ll do whatever it takes.

Listen to the song, and as you listen if you want to receive God’s grace in your life, come up front to the altar. Some of you may feel like the Prodigal Son coming home from a far country. Some of you may identify with the Proud Brother—you’ve been in your father’s house, but you’ve been far from your father’s heart. Come and bow before the Cross—His grace is here for you. He’ll do whatever it takes.