Expedient Religion | Sunday, October 6, 2024

And it came to pass... In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes. (Judges 17:6; cf. 18:1; 19:1)

Now there was a man from the mountains of Ephraim, whose name was Micah... his mother took two hundred shekels of silver and gave them to the silversmith, and he made it into a carved image and a molded image... The man Micah had a shrine, and made an ephod and household idols; and he consecrated one of his sons, who became his priest. (Judges 17:1–6, abridged)

When religion becomes a means to our own ends, we make God a useful servant instead of the glorious end he is.

A Formative Message from Judges 17

This morning we are in the Book of Judges, chapter 17. There are certain events in life that, looking back, you recognize as formative. About 25 years ago a friend gave me an MP3 file of a message from Judges 17. It was delivered around 1963 or 1964 at a Bible conference in upstate New York by a former missionary and pastor named Paris Reidhead. The message was called "Ten Shekels and a Shirt."

I listened to that message over and over—dozens of times between the ages of 20 and 24—until I could almost quote it from beginning to end. Then I didn't listen to it for about 20 years. Last Sunday, knowing we would be here this morning, I brought it up on my phone and listened again while walking. Looking back, I realize that message fundamentally changed my perspective about my life as a follower of God. It is a convicting message.

In Those Days There Was No King

We just finished a four-week series on Samson, the strong man with weak character. Even though Samson died in chapter 16, we keep that theme, because these last five chapters of Judges introduce other individuals of weak character. What we find in chapters 17–21 is a striking, sobering, and sad story about Israel some 3,200 years ago.

You read these accounts—especially what happens in chapter 19—and you wonder: how could something like this happen among the people of God? These are people in covenant relationship with the one true God, and yet you look at their behavior and ask, what on earth is happening with these people? The answer comes in a refrain repeated throughout this section, first in Judges 17:6: "In those days there was no king in Israel, and everyone did what was right in his own eyes."

These are heavy words. There was no king in Israel at this point by design—God intended to be their ruler, King, and authority. They were to be directed by his law, guided by judges who would remind them how they ought to walk before God. But when you follow their history, that simply did not happen. Those words illustrate the spirit of that age—and they illustrate the spirit, the Zeitgeist, of our time as well. In Western postmodern culture there is no single ruling moral standard people agree upon, so everyone does what is right in his own eyes.

Utilitarian Religion and a Useful God

In his message 60 years ago, Paris Reidhead said the ruling philosophy of our day is pragmatism. He spoke of what he called utilitarian religion, expedient Christianity, and a useful God. Sixty years ago—and you'd think things were so much better back then, but they are pretty much the same. He called out a humanistic bent in our theology that reduces everything to this idea: the end of all being is the happiness of man. Everything exists to make us happy.

The challenge is that this thinking finds its way into the church and into the gospel, so that the message becomes, "Come to Jesus so you can be happy." The gospel becomes "God reigns in heaven to make man happy." Now there is some minor truth in this, because a byproduct of salvation is joy, peace, hope, and satisfaction. Peter even speaks of a joy inexpressible. But the danger comes when we tweak it so that we relate to God only as the one who exists to make us happy.

The reality is quite the opposite: we exist to serve God and bring him glory. The Westminster Shorter Catechism asks, "What is the chief end of man?" To glorify God and to enjoy him forever. Enjoyment is a result of glorifying God. But we make our pleasure, joy, and happiness the point of salvation itself, and this thinking becomes pervasive not only in our culture but in our Christian lives.

An Evil Lie That Is Almost True

This concept is so pernicious because parts of it are basically true. I would call it an evil lie. All lies are morally wrong, but some carry an added level of evil—the lie that is 95% true but off just enough to be devastating. It seems so right, yet it destroys everything.

That is the kind of lie the serpent told Eve in Genesis 3. "Has God said you shall not eat of all the trees?" She added, "nor shall we touch it." The serpent seized on her change and said, "You shall not surely die... your eyes will be opened, and you shall be like God." So much of it seems right, but it is devastating and dangerous. It is the same with how Satan tempted Christ in Matthew 4—using Scripture, but out of context, off just a degree.

So happiness, joy, and satisfaction are byproducts of being saved. I believe we are most content and most happy when we are living fully in Christ, and Scripture supports that. But God does not redeem us to make us happy. When we make the gospel man-centered rather than christocentric, it becomes devastatingly dangerous, because it can produce what Jesus called stony-ground hearers.

In the parable of the sower, some seed sprang up quickly but had no depth, and when the sun of difficulty and trial came, it withered. You may have met a person—maybe in your own family—who says, "I tried that Christianity thing; it didn't work for me." What were they given? A message that said, "Come to Jesus so you can be happy." Reidhead said we present the gospel as if we'll put some springs on your wagon to make the ride smoother, or some sugar in the bitter coffee.

Why God Actually Redeems Us

Why did God redeem us? Because he is rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, because he is full of grace. By grace we are saved (Ephesians 2:4). He redeemed us because we were dead in our trespasses and sins, in desperate need of a Savior, otherwise facing judgment for our sin. He saved us by grace through faith—not of ourselves, it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.

As a result of his salvation, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. We who had no hope and were without God in this world now have peace, hope, and joy inexpressible. But the peace and enjoyment of being saved are results of salvation, not its primary purpose or focus.

Micah's Religion of Convenience

The last five chapters of Judges present a series of situations in which Israel is God's people in name only. They are not walking in rightness before God; their life with him has become mere religious ritual. There is a real danger in religion—it can get us into the routine of doing all the right things, in the right way, at the right time, expecting a certain outcome, as if it were algorithmic: if I do this, this, and this, then God will do that.

I grew up in the Episcopal church, so if you take me to an Episcopal or Catholic service today, I know all the proper times to say "and also with you," when to stand, sit, kneel, and make the sign of the cross. Those things are not necessarily bad, but there's a way we think that if we just go through the rituals at the proper times, everything will work out fine. That is essentially how Israel was living. Their association with God was in title only. They had rejected his rule and authority in their day-to-day lives—because there was no king in Israel. And as Judges 2 said, "They did evil in the sight of the Lord." Their religion had become purely utilitarian, expedient, pragmatic.

Now consider the story. Micah, from the mountains of Ephraim in the far north, appears out of nowhere. At this point, to worship God you had to travel a significant distance south to Shiloh, where the tabernacle, the Ark of the Covenant, and the Levites were. With no chariot, that was a three-day walking journey. You can see the temptation: worshiping God this way had become difficult. It would be so much easier without all those hoops.

Micah's mother had 1,100 shekels of silver—about $60,000 today. (Interestingly, in the previous chapter Delilah was given 1,100 shekels to seduce Samson; some have even wondered if Micah was connected to Samson, though it's unlikely.) One day her silver went missing, and she cursed whoever took it. Later Micah sheepishly confesses, "Mom, I took it." She says, "Bless you, my son—I had wholly dedicated that silver to the Lord, so that you could make an idol so we could worship God."

Human-Centered Means for Human-Centered Ends

There is some weird thinking going on here, because this breaks the first three commandments at once: have no other gods, make no carved image, and do not take the Lord's name in vain by worshiping an idol as if it were God. Not to mention "you shall not steal," "you shall not covet," and "honor your father and mother." They are on a string of broken commandments—yet she says she dedicated it to the Lord so they could make an idol and worship him.

How could this happen? In those days there was no king in Israel, and everyone did what was right in his own eyes. "I had all this extra silver, so I figured I'd serve God with it"—it seems noble, yet it means breaking the first, second, and third commandments to make an idol.

Point one: Human-centered religion seeks to serve God by human-centered means for human-centered ends. And because we are good at justifying wrong motivations, we tell ourselves the ends justify the means.

Now Micah has a replica temple and a priestly ephod, but no priest. So he ordains one of his sons. The utilitarian thinking runs: Shiloh is a three-day journey—that's a lot of work and requires something of me. It would be far easier to have my own temple, my own ephod, and my own priest at home. Point two: What is right in our eyes is not always righteous before God.

Does This Still Happen Today?

This may seem strange and foreign—3,200 years ago, a different culture. What does it have to do with 2024? In principle, the same thing happens in our time. People say, "Some people need that church thing; I don't. I connect with God in my own way, on my own time, in my own house, or out in nature. I don't need to jump through all those hoops."

And sometimes that person was a churchgoer. In our post-COVID world this is more pronounced among Christians than ever. Just yesterday I asked a man if he attended church. "We're members of such-and-such church," he said—a well-known one in our area. "But not so much after COVID. We do church our own way, in our own home." It becomes utilitarian and pragmatic.

The Levite Who Wanted More

Then a new character enters. A young Levite from Bethlehem in Judah leaves his city to find a place to stay and comes to Micah's house (Judges 17:7–9). Now, social welfare 3,200 years ago wasn't great—unless you were a Levite. A Levite had a home provided by the nation, an income, and a job serving at the tabernacle. He had it all set. But he looked at his cards and figured he could do better on his own.

Micah seizes the opportunity: "Dwell with me; be a father and a priest to me, and I will give you ten shekels of silver per year and a suit of clothing"—ten shekels and a shirt, plus his sustenance. The Levite was content. Then comes the kicker, verse 13: "Now I know that the Lord will do me good, because I have a Levite as my priest."

The plot thickens. Micah stole the silver, his mother cursed it then dedicated it to make an idol, they built a replica temple, and his son served as priest—but his son wasn't a Levite. Then a Levite shows up looking for a place, and Micah has both a place and a need. "What awesome fortune! You're a Levite, I need a Levite; you need a place, I have a place. Come be my personal live-in priest—room, board, and ten shekels a year, better than Shiloh." The Levite agreed, and Micah concludes he has finally checked every box: "Now I know the Lord will do me good."

Reidhead says: Micah wants a little chapel, a priest, prayer, and devotion, because "I know the Lord will do me good." And this is selfishness and sin, because it is not in line with what God called him to do. Point three: Self-centered worship is selfishness and sin. It makes sense—it's pragmatic, expedient, no three-day journey to Shiloh—but it is outside what God commanded, and therefore sin.

The Conviction This Brings

Is our time much different? This is convicting. When I heard it 20 years ago and again last Sunday, it weighed heavily on my own heart, because I can so easily fall into this expedient view of God and faith.

It goes like this: I go to church—I don't just go, I serve and work there. I study, read, memorize, and teach the Bible. I do all the things. Beyond that, I think I'm an okay husband and a pretty good dad. We're giving and hospitable; we have people in our home; we try to be kind. I don't lie, cheat, or steal. I do all the things—therefore I know the Lord will do me good. And then it goes a step further: "I did all the things, so you owe me. I did my part; now you have to do yours."

Point four: Self-serving devotion is spiritual harlotry, not worship. I'm doing all these devoted things for the payment I deserve—"you owe me, God." If the motive of my worship is "what do I get out of this?", then I am exactly where Satan accused Job of being.

Skin for Skin: The Test of Job

In Job, God says, "Have you considered my servant Job?" Satan answers, "Does Job fear you for nothing? Have you not made a hedge around him? You have blessed the work of his hands. But stretch out your hand and touch all that he has, and he will surely curse you to your face" (Job 1:10). Satan is saying Job is a mercenary who serves only because God blesses him. So God permits it—and Job loses everything, yet does not curse God. He tore his clothes, shaved his head, fell down and worshiped: "Naked I came into this world, and naked I shall return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:20–21).

Then Satan returns with another charge: "Skin for skin! All that a man has he will give for his life. Touch his health, and he will curse you." That is a phenomenal statement, and if we honestly assess it, in our fallen nature it is too often true of us: skin for skin, everything I have I'll give for my life.

So how do we know whether our devotion comes from the right motivation? I'll confess plainly: not everything I do is rightly motivated. I want it to be, but I'm still fallen, so I have to check my motives, and the answer is not always yes. And I do not like the answer to how we discover whether our motivation is right—suffering. I don't like that answer, because I don't like to suffer. I don't even want you to suffer. But I do know I want to be found faithful if I do suffer.

Paul says it in Philippians 3:7: "What things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ... I count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ... that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection." We all want that. But it doesn't stop there: "and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if by any means I may attain to the resurrection from the dead."

True Devotion Seeks God, Not His Gifts

Point five: True devotion seeks God himself, not his gifts. I confess I don't always meet this call. If our devotion to God is contingent on his blessings—"I'll serve you as long as you keep your end of the deal; now I know the Lord will do me good because I went to church, gave, served, and maybe I'll read my Bible tomorrow"—then our faith is conditional and self-centered. True worship is characterized by a desire for God himself, not just what he can provide.

Micah's story doesn't end here. The Levite's devotion to Micah—now that Micah pays him ten shekels, a shirt, and food—will be tested in the next passage, and the plot will thicken further next week. But for us it comes down to a heavy question: what is my motivation?

It's not an easy question. Why did I become a Christian? My mom says I was four and a half when I prayed to receive Jesus. Why? I didn't want to go to hell—not a wholly terrible reason, but if that's the only reason I serve God, it's not the right motivation. Why did I try to stay faithful as a teenager in the 1990s? Honestly, partly because I didn't want to be left behind—if I got caught in sin, maybe the trumpet would sound and I'd miss the rapture. That should not be the motivation. Why did I want to go into ministry at 19 or 20? Part of me thought I'd reach thousands and tens of thousands. We can twist it to justify it—"it's all about you, Lord"—and yet make it all about us. Boil those motives down, and they're pretty selfish.

I'm not saying we will never have wrong motives—we will. But hopefully, as we walk with Christ, our motivation changes over time.

The End of All Being

Reidhead closes his message like this: "Christianity says the end of all being is the glory of God; humanism says the end of all being is the happiness of man. One was born in hell—the deification of man; the other was born in heaven—the glorification of God. One is a Levite serving Micah; the other is the heart serving the living God, because it is the highest honor in the universe."

He says: if you do not know the fullness of the Holy Spirit, come and present your body a living sacrifice, and let him fill you, so the purpose of his coming may be fulfilled in you and he may get glory through your life. It is not what you are going to get out of God; it is what he is going to get out of you. Let us be done, once and for all, with that utilitarian Christianity that makes God a means to an end instead of the glorious end he is. Let us tell Micah we're through—we will no longer be his priest for ten shekels and a shirt—and cast ourselves at the feet of the nail-pierced Son of God, to obey, love, and serve him as long as we live, because he is worthy.

That message radically transformed my thinking, and when I heard it again last week it was convicting, because we can fall into an expedient Christianity that's all about me. I've posted it on our website if you want to hear it. We serve God ultimately for his glory. The chief end of man is the glorification of God—and as a byproduct, we enjoy him forever.

Closing Prayer

Father God, I thank you for convicting passages like this one in Judges that confront us with the brokenness of our own nature, and that when we see those things we can bring them to you and lay them down at your feet and say, "Lord, would you forgive me if there are areas where my motivation is wrong?" Lord, would you continue to cleanse and purify us; prune our lives so that we might bear much fruit for your glory. Our culture around us needs to see your glory revealed in our lives, so God, would you glorify yourself in us. We pray this for the week ahead, and we ask it in Jesus' name. And all those that agreed said, Amen.