Dogs: “Beware of dogs.” Philippians 3:2. In speaking of those who trouble the gospel, our concern is not with the careless world but with the confessing church, those who profess to know grace, yet by subtle turns of doctrine undermine it. Chief among these are many who call themselves “reformed” or “calvinist,” adorning their system with the polished phrase “the doctrines of grace,” as though the truth of God could be divided into compartments or Christ Himself reduced to a series of points. And, I’m not singling out the calvinist or the reformed because of some petty grievance or sectarian spite. That is not the case at all! It is because their teaching comes so perilously close to the truth, that error proves all the more dangerous. Isn’t there an old proverb that says, “the nearer a falsehood approaches the truth, the more dangerous it becomes?” That is exactly the case here.
What makes certain aspects of their theology so perilous is not a rejection of scripture, but its misuse. It’s not that they stand aloof from holy scripture, but that they press close to its borders while presenting Christ through a lens clouded by law. Their words are full of Christ, but it is a Christ partly concealed, where grace is mingled with law, and his preeminent glory dimmed by conditions. Another reason I single out the reformed and the calvinist is because I truly believe that within their gatherings exist many who love Christ and delight in His salvation. But here is the heartache, for all their sincerity, even these are too often swept along by the subtle misguidance of a gospel mixed with works. And since what I write is always aimed toward the household of faith, and toward those who are inquiring in the ways of Christ, it is to them that Paul’s solemn voice still resounds, “beware of dogs.” Philippians 3:1-3.
That sounds exceptionally harsh and unloving, but there is nothing unloving in defending the gospel of Christ. Paul uses strong language because eternal things were in view. Those who deviate from the simplicity of Christ, however sincere, disorient the soul, even though they speak with Scripture’s authority, in pleading for holiness and good works. Wonderful, we need more “holiness” and “good” works amongst those that confess Christ, and the Scriptures are clear, those who name the name of Christ, depart from iniquity. II Timothy 2:19. But when obedience is made the condition rather than the consequence of grace, the gospel’s peace is lost, and Christ’s glory is diminished, and what may appear outwardly to promote a holy life often works in practice to obscure the very source of holiness, Christ Himself, until He is nearly eclipsed from view.
Once grace and works are confused, the sinner’s eyes are turned from Christ to his own efforts, to a mutilated gospel, one that is dressed in all the right clothes, but conceals the dagger of self-righteousness beneath its robe. II Samuel 3:27. And how does this confusion spread? It spreads through pulpits, through teachers who drape their words in the language of holiness, but who subtly shift the ground of justification onto obedience and a transformation of life. Faith, they subtly imply, must prove itself in works before God will declare a man righteous. The claim has an air of reverence, draped in words about repentance, obedience, and godly living. Who could resist such words? And yet this is the snare, what sounds biblical in tone actually redirects trust away from Christ, and so undermines the very gospel it claims to defend.
For if a changed life is made part of our justification, then the question must be faced, how much change is enough? How holy must I become before God will declare me righteous? Must we forever put ourselves on the scales, testing and retesting whether our lives display enough change? If so, who among us can stand? One day will condemn the other, and joy and sorrow will fluctuate, leaving the soul chained to uncertainty. Such a religion breeds doubt, not faith; despair, not joy. It binds the conscience to itself, instead of freeing it to Christ. If it depends on us, wouldn’t any sense of true scriptural assurance be forever out of reach? To sum it all up, how changed must my life be before God can declare me just? What measure must I reach to obtain that verdict? Tell me then, on this scale of “biblical” conformity, when am I permitted to breathe easy, confident God has actually justified me?
Speak plainly to those who peddle this law/gospel mixture, and, “in no wise,” they will reply, “do our works earn God’s verdict, and do not contribute anything to salvation,” yet with equal force they add, “but without them you cannot be justified.” They are said to be worthless, yet indispensable. What strange contradiction is this? A riddle that only unbelief could invent, and is it any wonder that so many live their days under the shadow of uncertainty, bound by invisible chains that none but Christ can break. You can almost see it written on their faces, weary traces of a lifelong servitude to law. They dare not deny the grace of Christ, for they have been taught from childhood that salvation is by grace; yet a dread of presumption holds them back from resting in that grace. It masquerades as humility, but it is unbelief in disguise. They tremble to claim what they feel no warrant for, and so they hover between hope and fear, between law and grace, never entering into the joy of the Lord. Such may indeed hear their entire lives that “it is finished,” but still their conscience insists that it cannot be that simple. What could be more tragic? They live beneath the sound of the gospel, yet never taste its joy. This is the fruit of a gospel half-law, half-grace, confusion, not Christ. For once conditions and works are added to justification, the message of grace is corrupted, and it ceases to be the gospel at all. Yet as we seek to expose such error, we do so as those whom Christ continually delivers from error ourselves, daily delivering us from our own distortions of truth. God’s preserving grace is our only safeguard, Jude 1:1, for who among us sees all things clearly? We are but dust, upheld only by the same grace we seek to defend, so when we raise our voice against that which distorts the gospel, we do so as one who knows his own weakness, dust upheld by grace, pleading with others to look where we ourselves have found mercy, in Christ alone. Romans 9:3-4.
It is a grief, for many imagine they are strengthening or safeguarding the gospel or serving Christ, yet by tampering with its liberty and shifting the eye from Christ to what lies within, they bind themselves with a burden too heavy to bear. It is the very bondage the apostles warned against, “a yoke which neither our fathers nor we were able to bear.” And tragically, in seeking righteousness by something short of Christ, they obscure the righteousness freely given in Christ. It is like asking the prisoner to forge his own chains, or the dying man to heal himself. Such a burden crushes, because it is built on the delusion that man can add to what Christ has already accomplished, but the gospel stands in its plain glory. Christ is the gospel’s simplicity, and Christ is its glory. To add is to subtract, for all additions blur the clear light of distinguishing grace that radiates from Him alone. Hebrews 1:3.
Additionally, the truth of justification is not locked behind doors for the scholar or moralist to unlock; it is a straight path, so clear that even a child can follow. May we not be unsettled by those who dress it up with clever formulations, for the gospel needs no ornament but Christ. Paul himself warns us not to be led away “from the simplicity that is in Christ.” Christ died, Christ rose, Christ reigns! In Christ alone the sinner is justified, apart from works, apart from merit, apart from any “other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” Acts 4:12. MPJ