Legalists Anonymous
I have a number of dear friends who are involved with Alcoholics Anonymous, and the parallels between my understanding of the relationship they have with alcohol and my own relationship with legalism are so striking that sometimes I want to change the name of Metamorphosis to Legalists Anonymous.
Frequently I find myself patting myself on the back for being so grace-centered, loving, and inclusive. I wind up becoming an anti-Pharisee. What I mean by that is not that I am merely opposed to pharisaical legalism but that my pride creeps in to make me feel superior to those ensnared in legalism. I have not humbled myself in any way to become like the tax collector in Luke 18. Rather, I become a third character in the parable: the anti-Pharisee.
The Pharisee prays to God thanking him that he is not like the tax collector. The tax collector prays to God for mercy. I pray to God thanking him for showing me grace but also add a jab at the Pharisees in my life.
“Thank you for showing me your mercy, God, that I have not ended up like the legalistic fundamentalists I know.”
In this way I rebuild the old system I fight so vehemently against, the one Paul talks about in Galatians 2:18 which God has torn down. I wish it was not true. I wish I could say I am the humble tax collector, but I just flat out am not.
By nature, I am so thoroughly legalistic that even the grace and mercy I espouse becomes a competition. I am indeed like a dog returning to his own vomit, a pig back in the mud (2 Peter 2:22).
The truth is I was not a legalist once upon a time any more than my friends were formerly alcoholics. It is a daily struggle for each and every one of us.
I’ve heard it said that, for all their expected similarities, one of the striking differences between AA and the church is that while showing up late for church is a recipe for disappointed glances, a late arrival to AA is welcomed with open arms. Lateness is treated in AA as a sign that one almost did not make it — a cause for true concern cum celebration — rather than the irresponsibility that the church projects on a latecomer in a collective guilt-trip.
What would the church look like if we were really honest about who we are and what we struggle with? I’m not talking about covering up our faults with the broad stroke of an everyone-makes-mistakes mentality or a nobody’s-perfect spiritual shrug. What would it look like if we actually began all our conversations in church by admitting how legalistic and judgmental we really are? We may find we have a lot less room to continue to judge others. It is harder to believe my judgmental lies when I tell you I am a liar.
If the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, the first step to real recovery for each of us in the church may turn out to be admitting we are powerless over legalism—that our spiritual lives have become unmanageable.
My name is Khad, and I’m a legalist.
