The Glory of His Grace

While the world continues on its kick about self-autonomy, independence, and self-reliant living, Jesus turns the world upside down. Instead, it’s those who realize their desperate need and who go to Jesus that are truly happy. 

The two blind men in Matthew 20, fully aware of their desperate need of Christ, cry out more and more in the face of a taunting, rebuking crowd. 

“Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!” The crowd rebuked them, telling them to be silent, but they cried out all the more” (vv. 30-31).

The men’s plea for mercy shows that they knew that God didn’t owe them anything, but rather, that they could only ask on the ground of His generosity. They are aware of their need, and they are aware of Christ’s power.  

The question is, what makes a person bold in approach to Christ in the face of ridicule—fearless of what man may say or think or do to him? 

The answer is desperate need coupled with knowledge of one’s own wretchedness before God and confidence in the gracious character of God (Ps. 145:8-9). The blind men were fearless about the crowd because they knew how helplessly sick and diseased they were, and they knew that Jesus could heal them. 

Men dying of cancer don’t delay in going to the doctor, no matter what others say. 

So, turning the world on its head, Jesus blesses those who know they are needy, who know that they can’t merit God’s salvation, and who trust that God is gracious to give them abundantly all that they desire. 

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 5:3).

Needy is the best place to be before a generous and loving God whose blessing we can never earn.

With amazing insight and searing exposition of biblical texts, J.C. Ryle’s volume on Holiness is a breath of fresh, Scriptural air in an age of selfishness that has left the modern church, and the Christian, trapped in its own nightmare of repulsive sin.

As I reflect on the last few days in which I’ve loaded boxes, driven half way around Louisville, and spent a lot of time in the company of others—away from the regular silence and solitude I enjoy—one thing has become glaringly obvious: I am more sinful than I thought.

It’s easy to treat my own wounds lightly, to soft-pedal my own sins and to say, in essence, ‘Oh, you’re not that bad.’ And it doesn’t work. Ryle makes the point perfectly with an illustration about a boy:

“Of all the foolish things that parents say about their children, there is none worse than the common saying, “My son has a good heart at the bottom. He is not what he ought to be; but he has fallen into bad hands. Public schools are bad places. The tutors neglect the boys. Yet he has a good heart at the bottom.” The truth, unhappily, is diametrically the other way. The first cause of all sin lies in the natural corruption of the boy’s own heart, and not in the school” (Holiness, p. 4).  

The problem isn’t with my busy schedule. It’s not with the limited amount of time to spend with God. And it isn’t because I’m tired or because I’m not in my own house. It isn’t even because there’s been more pressure lately. It’s because of my heart. The first cause of all sin lies in this boy’s heart.