But now God’s righteousness has come to us apart from the law, although the Law and Prophets bear witness to it — God’s righteousness that is ours through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe. For all have sinned and fall short of God’s glory, and are justified only by his gift of grace through the redemption found in Christ Jesus …

Romans 3:21-24a

Many years ago I witnessed a daily phenomenon on the “Diag” – the epicenter of the University of Michigan’s main campus. Numerous groups or individuals would stand on various steps and benches, or under the Diag’s entrance arches, so that they could gain the attention of the thousands of students passing through or congregating around the area. The vast majority of these mountebanks were preachers (often more like haranguers) proclaiming some version of the gospel. Most were loud and vehement, decidedly opinionated, and almost never subtle.

One scraggly trio staked out their territory at a prime location a short distance from the Undergraduate Library. With unrelenting fervor and tireless, insistent energy, they declared, in finest King James English, one message: “Therefore by the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be justified in his sight: for by the law is the knowledge of sin” (Rom. 3:20). At the time, I found this ironic, since I calculated that somewhere around 90% of their audience cared not one whit for either being justified or in fulfilling any part of God’s Law. They were fleeing every constraint known to humanity, and doing so as zealously as the evangelists were warning them to avoid doing so.

Over time, I have come to realize that I was only partially correct in my assessment of that college audience. They were indeed dedicated to eradicating most traces of whatever religion they had brought with them to school. But I miscalculated the powerful urge that we humans have to construct and defend some system of righteousness. For unbelievers, the aim is to attain a sense of moral security and to order the world in a way that allows them to judge society and its denizens. For Christians, our need is to convince God and others that we are worthy of divine favor. And to order the world in a way that allow us to … OK, that’s too close for comfort.

The point is that, whether seeking to deny God’s kingdom or to prove ourselves good enough to get in, all of us have a law that will make us comfortable with our identity and destiny. Even Werner Erhard, the infamous founder of est, made his first rule – there is no objective truth – a statement of objective truth. The conclusion is obvious. Regardless of our affiliation, we are committed to a futile war for justification. No matter; we continue tilting at the windmill of self-generated righteousness. The impulse is too firmly set within us for any resistance on our own power.

I think we might even be able to say that we have arrived at THE original sin, bearing all the fruit of rebellion and evil. So many manifestations to consider: Do you – as I do – find it difficult to apologize and revert to powerful defensiveness when your wrongdoing is revealed (most of you men out there raise your hands)? Do you swim in the murk of false guilt as if you were demonstrating some great virtue (most of you women say, “That’s me”). Are we prey to criticism of others, jealousy, an overweening need for affirmation, a striving for identity, success, or position? Are we fearful, concerned about our image, easily angered when we don’t get our way? Do we judge and criticize others, often for the same failings that we fall into?

If we respond with a “yes” – and I propose that affirmation for at least one of the above should be universal – then we have strayed into the wilderness of unbelief. We are trusting in the broken reed and lame promises of legalism, moralism, and works of (some kind of) law. And the King is NOT impressed. I doubt that he is even slightly amused by our efforts. After all, our actions say that we are rejecting his “gift of grace that comes through the redemption offered by Jesus Christ” (Rom. 3:24a).

At this point, we might begin to wonder about why it is so difficult for us to accept the several crucial components of the Romans equation. First, that we are, in ourselves (and to pilfer words from the old CS&N song), helplessly hoping for a state of being that is infinitely beyond us. Second, that even if we were to conquer all but one of our sins by our own strength (see helplessly hoping if we think this is possible), we would still be left with an infinite chasm between us and God’s righteousness. Third, that it’s OK to take something that’s free – and infinitely so – from the one who alone can bridge the sin-abyss.

As someone who rebels against the very notion of someone helping me accomplish the smallest task, I can only say that the answer is a complex one. At its best, the impulse represents a simple desire to express some level of human dignity. We teach our children to become self-reliant and, ideally, to become interdependent. We want our aging parents to retain enough autonomy that they do not suffer humiliation. But these otherwise reasonable and rational motivations tend to run riot, like some kind of spiritual kudzu, and obscure our need for assistance, both human and divine. And this is most fatally true in the case of the unconditional necessity that we have for God’s righteousness and our freedom from sin.

Often our pride rises up against the demand that we acquiesce in the biblical claim of our poverty. Maybe we have come to ignore the fact that our works present a null set in the formula of justification and holiness. In either – or any – case, I think that the Father is absolutely committed to convincing us of the facts of the matter. He will allow us to fall and fail, to try and try again on our own. He will permit us to plumb the depths of our deception and to test every feeble means of strength at our disposal. And then, when we cry out for mercy, he will answer with grace, with power, with words that transform. And he will make us righteous and display us as his own handiwork.

Can we reach that end before we hit the bottom? Can we see how painful and exhausting it is to press on on our own path, angry with ourselves, or depressed, or turning a blind eye to the consequences of stubbornness? The Lord “waits to be gracious to us” and “exalts himself to show mercy to us” (Isaiah 30:18). He looks for our white flag as a sign of wisdom and courage, not one of cowardice. But white flags only appear when warriors believe that the one to whom they surrender will indeed be compassionate.

So the question returns to faith. What do we believe? Is our faith misplaced, focused on ourselves? Or is it in the one who promises freedom, and who is true to that word? Who will not lead us to destruction, but to life? Who welcomes us to his banqueting table, and whose banner over us is love? If he is the infinite, intimate God, why not put him to the test with extravagant prayers? Why not take what he offers – the intimacy of a right relationship and free access to his presence – with both hands?

I’m thinking that it might be good to ask for more from the Father, rather than less. Beginning with that perfect prayer: Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.