The following message by Alistair
Begg is made available by Truth For Life for more information visit
us online at truthforlife.org. We’re going to read from the Old Testament, in the
book of Micah and chapter 6. And if you are able to turn to it in your Bible, wherever you are,
let me encourage you to do that. Micah chapter 6 and reading from verse 1:
Hear what the LORD says: Arise, plead your case before the mountains,
and let the hills hear your voice. Hear, you mountains, the indictment of the LORD,
and you enduring foundations of the earth, for the LORD has an indictment against his people,
and he will contend with Israel.
“O my people, what have I done to you?
How have I wearied you? Answer me! For I brought you up from the land of Egypt
and redeemed you from the house of slavery, and I sent before you Moses,
Aaron, and Miriam. O my people, remember what
Balak king of Moab devised, and what Balaam the son of Beor answered him,
and what happened from Shittim to Gilgal, that you may know the
righteous acts of the LORD.” “With what shall I come before the LORD,
and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
with calves a year old? Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?” He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God? Amen.
Father, as we turn now to the Bible, we ask for your help both in speaking and in
hearing, in understanding and in believing, obeying, living in the light of its truth. No
mere man could ever accomplish any or all of this, but we look to the work of the Holy Spirit,
whose amazing coming we celebrated last Sunday. Come now, Holy Spirit, we pray, and do for us
what each of us needs. For Jesus’ sake. Amen. Well, if we have a text for this morning—and I
suppose we do—it would be the eighth verse of the passage that we read: “He has told you, O man,
what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and
to walk humbly with your God?” I should say that I’m going to take quite a while to get there.
I hope I won’t frustrate you along the journey. But let me begin in this way, by asking a
question: Do orchestras really need conductors? Franz Welser-Möst would surely answer yes to
that question—but after all, he is the conductor of the Cleveland Symphony. And I would imagine,
although I haven’t checked, that along with him, all the members of that orchestra would agree.
If the conductor were to be deposed by them in some kind of coup and the members decided
that what they were going to do was simply go with their feelings—play whatever they felt
at any particular time and whatever volume they chose and so on—well, of course, clearly the end
product would be chaotic and would be unappealing. All of the harmony that was potentially there
in submitting to the orchestra score and in bowing under the baton and the beady eye of the
conductor would, of course, have been forfeited. Now, let me ask a second question: How are we to
account for the absence of harmony in our world? And one way of answering that—and it is the
Bible way of answering that—is to acknowledge that we have deposed the conductor; that the Bible
tells us we have been created by God and for God, and yet we have been separated from God, and we
have been scattered in the imagination of our hearts. And so, that is why you find people
saying—and you may say this yourself—“Well, who needs a score? We can make the plays up as we
go along. We can just play whatever tune we like, and whatever it is to me is what is important,
and what it means to somebody else will just have to find its place.” And furthermore, people
might say the idea of a conductor—the idea of one who oversees us and so on—is just so far
away from all that we now hold to and affirm. Now, in this you may not agree, and you may
find that the metaphor is far too clichéd for you. But there are few people that I meet
at the moment who would be prepared to deny the fact that our world is out of kilter. It
is, as our friend Melanie Phillips suggests, a “world turned upside down.” It is a world that
is not only fractured, but it is fearful. It’s a fearful place inhabited by people who are
themselves increasingly filled with fear. And that fear has a basis. There is a foundation
for the fearfulness. And we’re dealing, actually, at the moment, it would seem,
with a three-headed monster. We’re dealing with it pandemically. Our lives
have been completely changed as a result of this virus which has swept the world. And every
morning that we awake, there are new statistics, there are conflicting solutions, varied attempts
to restrain the virus, the constant and obvious search for a vaccine, and in the middle of
all of that, the novel and somewhat dreadful experience of being continually isolated from one
another, and not least of all in the experience of illness and in the sadness of death. Who
would ever have planned for a virtual funeral? Not only pandemically but also economically. It’s
not for me to give any kind of instruction in this regard. I, like you, just simply read what I find
day to day. But it would seem obvious that we have been confronted now by levels of unemployment,
by mountains of debt, that we are told will take more than time to relieve or to repay.
And then, racially. Pandemically, economically, and racially. Our nation now has been fractured,
and its brokenness has been highlighted in the demonstrations that have come in the aftermath
of the unspeakably brutal and cruel death of George Floyd. And again, fear grips the nation.
Which is the worst of the viruses, we would find ourselves saying: that which threatens us
pandemically or economically or racially? What is the antidote to racial prejudice?
It’s almost impossible to come to Micah 6:8 without, certainly in these days,
saying something along these lines. Two observations. One: I have chosen to use
the more old-fashioned term racial prejudice, or racial discrimination. And the reason for that
is because language is now so abused. For example, a term like fascist, which has a real
meaning and a real origin, is used at all kinds of times and in different ways and
with different people—or Nazi in the same way, and also now the word racist. The word racist has
now been so abused that it has virtually lost its meaning. So I say, the issue we deal with is
racial prejudice. It’s just one observation. The second observation is this: that
with the events of the last few days, objective morality has now made a reappearance.
What do I mean by that? Well, matters now are immediately identified as being either right
or wrong. So right and wrong is now back on the agenda—which is quite surprising, because Western
culture, certainly over the last fifty years, has increasingly come to regard ethics as a matter
of personal taste. After all, with no conductor, we can play any tune we want, with the only caveat
being “as long as it doesn’t bother anybody else.” But even that doesn’t play much of a part. As I
drove here this morning, one of the signs read, “Racism is wrong”—which, of course, it is, however
you want to define it. We know what we’re talking about today. But the thought that occurred to
me was, “Isn’t it interesting that it doesn’t say something like ‘Racism is a bad idea’ or
‘My personal view is that it is this’?” No. It simply says, “It is wrong.” Because every honest
person knows that it is wrong, and from a biblical perspective clearly so. Because when we turn to
the Bible, we realize that the Bible says there is only one God, and there is only one reality, which
is that man has been made—men and women made—in the image of divinity, in the image of God. And
as a result of that, there is only one morality, and that that morality emerges from God himself.
Therefore, God is a God who says, “I’ll tell you what’s right, and I’ll tell you what is wrong.”
Now, people react to that today, but they’ve reacted to it in every day. Listen to how Paul
gave an address along these lines when he was asked to speak to a group of people in Athens.
And this is how he began; I’ve shortened it in order that the impact may help us. This is Paul
speaking to the gathered group: he says to them, God who made the world and everything in it …
made from one man every nation of mankind to live on … the face of the earth, having determined
allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God,
and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him. … But now he commands all people everywhere
to repent, because he has fixed a day [when] he will judge the world in righteousness by a man
whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.
Now, in light of that, it is impossible to say nothing matters. What Paul is affirming is what
the Bible declares: that we do not live in a random universe; we are not here by chance; we are
not sustaining ourselves by our own endeavors. We were intricately put together in our mother’s
womb, and all the days of our lives have been written in his book before one of them came to
be. To say nothing matters is ridiculous. It all matters. It matters far more than we know,
because it matters to the Creator, it matters to the Lawgiver. And for this reason, black
lives matter. It is impossible to be otherwise. In fact—and this we will not delve into this
morning—these issues of such brutality and murder matter far more than our culture is
prepared to accept. The sanctity of human life—the sanctity of human life—is bound up in
the fact that man was made in the image of God, that he is not a random collection of molecules
held in suspension. He is not the product of time plus matter plus chance. He was put together
purposefully. His genetic code was written by the Creator himself. And that is why the Bible says
that if you take a man’s life, you forfeit your own life. And the recognition of the sanctity
of life is revealed not only in the way we care for those in the fragile elements of life but in
the way that we are prepared to acknowledge that capital punishment for such murder is not
only legitimate, it is divinely ordained. You think we care about life? We don’t
care about life enough. God cares. God made us. God loves those who have been so
tragically bereaved. And our great need, as we have been reminding ourselves through these
days of COVID chaos—our great need in all of these discussions is to have a solid dose of theological
realism. All of us have emotional attachments. All of us have backgrounds that are unique to
ourselves and so on. But the real question is: Are we going to gain an understanding of things by
looking to the Scriptures themselves? My opinion is as valid as the next person’s opinion, perhaps,
if it’s true, if it’s good, but by and large, we all are in need of being taught by the one
who knows the answers to all the questions. And that is essentially the role of the prophet.
And the Minor Prophets—Micah is one of the Minor Prophets. That doesn’t mean that, you know, you
have, like, grade-A prophets and then grade-B prophets and that he’s basically a B. It just has
to do with the amount of the material. He just has seven chapters; Isaiah has a ton of chapters. So
he would be Major in terms of length, and Micah and the others—in fact, there were twelve of
them all together in a scroll for a long while. What is Micah the prophet saying? What
is he providing for the people? Well, he’s not talking about his own ideas.
Look at how the chapter begins: “Hear what the LORD says.” This is the role of
the prophet. This is the role of the preacher of the Bible—not for me or for anybody
else to stand up and give you our views, but to stand up and say, “Listen! Listen, now.
Listen to God.” And that’s why we constantly say, “You are sensible people. Examine the
Scriptures to see if these things are so.” Now, you will notice… And we can only go
at a high altitude over this material. There was a lovely plane flying over our
home yesterday evening, and I thought, “That’s how I’m going to have to go over Micah
chapter 6, at about that elevation.” Notice that he is speaking to his people; it is God here who
is speaking, and he is speaking to his people. And he has reason to contend with them, to indict
them. And the reason for that is because, if you work your way back through the text, you will
see that they have been “devis[ing] wickedness”; they have been “work[ing] evil on their beds”;
they can’t wait to get up in the morning to “perform it,” and “it is in the power of their
hand” to do. That’s the beginning of chapter 2. Further on in chapter 2, in
verse 8, “Lately,” says God, my people have risen up as an enemy;
you strip the rich robe from those who pass by trustingly
with no thought of war. The women of my people you drive out
from their delightful houses; from their young children you take away
my splendor forever. Arise and go,
for this is no place to rest, because of uncleanness that destroys
with a grievous destruction. And so it goes on. And so, he
is addressing them, and he is addressing them with reason for contention.
Also, you will notice that in addressing them, his tone is one of entreaty. Twice in verses
3–5 you have the opening phrase “O my people.” “O my people.” That sense of tenderness: “O…”
It’s a bit like, “Oh, come on.” “O my people.” Now, what he then does is he reminds them of his
righteous acts. You will see that down in verse 5: “the righteous acts of the LORD.” Now, he’s just
giving them essentially a little reminder of history: the redemption that he has brought about
in verse 4, in bringing them safely out of Egypt; the leadership that he then gave to them so that
they might make progress, in Moses and Aaron and Miriam; the way in which, in the events of Balak
and Balaam, God in his great providence turned curses to blessing. And in the encounter from
Shittim to Gilgal, he’s simply reminding them of the events that were there when they crossed the
Jordan. You remember, if you recall that story, how it was in full spate—not a good time to try
and cross the river. And yet, when the priests put their feet in the water, the waters were held
back, and the people walked through on dry ground as another reminder to them that the God of the
exodus was the God who was looking after them. These, he says, are “the righteous acts of
the LORD.” And notice: “that you may know the righteous acts of the LORD.” It doesn’t mean
that you might be able to rehearse them, that you could write them down like if you had an exam
at school, a history exam—“When was the Battle of Hastings? When was the end of the second World
War?”—that you might be able to do that: “When did they cross the Jordan?”; you know, “Where was
that in the book of Numbers?” or whatever. No. No, the knowledge that he’s speaking about here
is a life-transforming knowledge: “that you [might] know the righteous acts of the LORD”—that
when you think about what God has done for you, it might be transformative. In other words,
that the knowledge of God’s righteous acts stir them up—stir them up and also steer them
in where they should be going. Knowledge of the truth of God is the basis, then, for making sure
that our emotions and our feelings are both given full effect and at the same time held in check.
Incidentally and in passing, this caused me to pause for a moment and go back to the hymn “It Is
Well with My Soul.” Because I have always—until I got here in 1983, I always sang, “You have taught
me to know it is well with my soul.” And yet, now, for the last thirty-seven years, I have been
singing, “You have taught me to say,” and I’ve never liked it. And so I said to myself yesterday,
“I gotta find out what the original was.” And of course—and I can hardly suppress the smile—the
original was “You have taught me to know.” Because if you think about it, it is one thing
to say it. And you can say it without knowing it. And so he says, “I want you to know the
righteous acts of God. I don’t want you just to be able to say, ‘This is what happened,
and this is what happened,’ and so on. No, that you may know. That’s the real question: Do
you know God?” His people had completely lost sight of all that God had done for them. That’s
why he says to them, “What have I done to you? How have I wearied you? Answer me!” It had all
become tedious. It had become tiresome. They’re saying, “Oh, it’s the same old material.” It was
routine. It became irrelevant. It was dangerous. And so we call… And there’s actually a court
scene here, really. We might set it in that way. “Plead your case”; that’s in verse 1. And
now, in verse 6, let us call the counsel, then, for the defense. What is the response of the
would-be worshipper? Well, you have here it in verses 6 and 7. And we can read these verses,
where you have this progression of expressions of devotion: “burnt offerings, with calves a year
old.” Whoa! A year old! That would cost more than just giving one up in its infancy. Uh-huh?
Well, what about “thousands of rams,” “ten thousands of rivers of oil.” What if I was like
Abraham and offered up my son in an expression of my desire to have my sin dealt with?
Now, the way we need to understand this, of course, is in light of what Scripture tells us.
We have an illustration of it when we studied in 1 Samuel many moons ago, if you will remember.
And Samuel the prophet confronts Saul, you will recall, and he says to him, “Has the LORD … great
delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices”—does he have as great delight in burnt offerings
and sacrifices—“as in obeying the voice of the LORD?” And, of course, that’s the point. He’s
not saying that the sacrifices were irrelevant or the expressions of devotion are irrelevant,
but what God is looking for is obedience. You have it in a parallel passage in Amos,
which, when I read it in Peterson’s paraphrase, struck me forcibly. And this is a similar context
where the prophet Amos is taking on the same issue. The people are saying, “Well, we could come
before God, and this is what we’ll be able to say. We’ve done a wonderful job on sacrifices. We’ve
been very self-giving. We have been prepared even to go to the extremities of it.” And God says,
I can’t stand your religious meetings. I’m fed up with your conferences and conventions.
I want nothing to do with your religion projects, your pretentious slogans and goals.
I’m sick of your fund-raising schemes, your public relations and image making.
I’ve had all I can take of your noisy ego-music. When was the last time you sang to me?
Do you [want to] know what I want? I want justice—oceans of it.
I want fairness—rivers of it. That’s what I want. That’s all I want.
“Well,” we say, “that’s fine. Because we haven’t been doing anything with calves or
sacrifices or anything at all.” But what is our plea? You see, Israel was thinking, “God
wants to see evidence of my commitment. And so I will show him evidence of my commitment in these
things,” with an ever, if you like, intensifying sense of duty and engagement of activity.
So what would be parallel? I don’t know. People always say, “And, now, what programs
do you have at your church? How many Bible conferences do you have? Marriage seminars?
College events? Prison ministry? Prayer times? Soccer leagues?” And on and on it goes,
ever-ascending expressions of the fact, “God, you know we’re really into this. We’re very
committed.” Ralph Davis says, “But why do we think we have to be so frantic? Why do we have this
hypertensive view of the Christian life? Why do we think God wants us to organize more Christian
things to do?” That’s what their answer was. God says through his prophet, “What are you guys up
to?” They say, “Oh no, we’ve got it covered.” Finally, the prophet responds, and in
verse 8. Now, this eighth verse is, of course, quoted frequently. I’m sure you
will have turned to it in the past few days, and understandably so. Interestingly, Newton, the
hymnwriter and the pastor, commenting on this, said, “There is hardly any one passage in
[Scripture] more generally misunderstood.” Now, you’ve read it, and I have read it.
And you may find yourselves saying, “Well, it seems pretty straightforward to me.”
There’s essentially only three points. Number one, “to do justly” —that is, to act in
such a way that is the reversal of all that was taking place; that it means doing justly in accord
with the will and purpose of God as he has both manifested it and as he has revealed it to us
in Scripture. So, for example, in Deuteronomy, Moses says God “executes justice for the
fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing.” So, within the
framework of God’s revelation of himself, we want to take seriously these things—perhaps far more
seriously than we have been giving credence to, to this point. But taking that seriously is not
the same, I suggest to you, as this commentator’s explanation of “what doing justice according
to the Bible really means”: “It is,” he writes, “creating a situation and a society where
everything is right, a society where every last person in it, including the most vulnerable
and the weakest, can flourish and thrive.” It’s not my purpose to interact with that for now,
but it is to set it out before you so that you, like me, can be thinking along these lines.
“To do justly,” “to love mercy.” A heart attitude. If doing justly is the action, then loving mercy,
or loving kindness, is the attitude of the heart. Warm-hearted compassion—these actions taking place
not as a performance of some demanded duty but as a glad and spontaneous action. It’s not gonna be
possible for us to really believe that “Father, your love is a faithful love” and then for us
to be faithless in our expressions of love. And then, thirdly, to “walk humbly.” To “walk
humbly.” In other words, to walk in submission to God’s will. In New Testament terms, it’s
Romans 12:[1]: to offer your body as a living sacrifice that is an acceptable form of worship
to him. Humility means that I don’t take myself too seriously, that I don’t cherish exaggerated
ideas of my own importance, that I don’t assume that I have everything buttoned down and know how
it should be—which is, of course, one’s tendency. “Well,” you say, “that’s fairly comprehensive,
and it’s fairly clear. Why did Newton say, ‘There’s hardly a passage in Scripture
more generally misunderstood’?” Well, he’s not here to answer the question, but I think
at least this would be true of what he meant. Number one, because of how this verse is attempted
without the gospel. How it is attempted without the gospel. And then it becomes just a display
of natural virtue. Then it becomes the sort of normal, nice religion of virtuous life. A person
says, “How can I come before the Lord?”—verse 6. An answer: “I’m going to come before the Lord; the
way I do it is by doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly.” It’s just another version of “A
good God, if he exists, will reward nice people if they do their best,” and part of the way of doing
your best involves justice, it involves mercy, and it involves being humble about it. I think
Newton must have had that in mind: how easy it is for us to attempt this without the gospel.
Also, how easy it is for pastors to proclaim it in place of the gospel. In place of the
gospel. You see, this is a very easy slide. Men and women by nature are keen to contribute to
their standing before God—to contribute to it on account of their own endeavors. And so, if the
message that comes across is “Why don’t you go out and have a really good week and do justly,
love mercy, and walk humbly with God?” they say, “I’d be able to take a stab at that.” But you see
the inherent danger. Am I wrong in suggesting to my friend that he ought at least to be wary of
explaining Micah 6:8 as “creating a situation and a society where everything is right”?
That is called the new heaven and the new earth. We’ve got to read the Prophets in light
of the apostles. We’ve gotta interpret the Old Testament in light of the New. You’ve gotta
ask yourself of that kind of explanation how it fits within the Epistles of the New
Testament and the emphasis of the apostles, who themselves had a prophetic ministry.
But our time is gone, so let me just tell you the third reason that I think it is one of
the misunderstood passages: because of how it is attempted without the gospel, because of how
it may be proclaimed in place of the gospel, and because it needs to be understood that it
is only possible by the gospel. By the gospel. Micah is not here charting a path as a means to
acceptance with God. And I, for one, am really thankful. And if you are a believer today, you
ought to be as well. If God were—on the day that he has fixed, which we read of in Acts 17—if
God were on that day to judge me by this text, I would have no basis for appeal. Because if I
even do my own assessment, I’m not even getting an F on justice and kindness and humility. And I’m
talking about just myself on my bed! I’m not even talking about the people who know me. I don’t want
their assessment. I can’t imagine how bad it is. So what is the answer? Well, you see, the answer
is not in our righteous acts but in “the righteous acts of the LORD”—verse 5. “He has [shown] you, O
man, what is good.” Jesus is good! If your Bible is open, you just go back a page and you’d find
yourself in the Christmas narrative: “But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, [though you] are too little
to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be [the] ruler in
Israel,” you read it all the way down. And verse 5: “And he shall be their peace.” “He shall be
their peace.” “Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God.” Or as we have it in
Titus, “For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation [to] all people.”
When Newton preached on this passage, he entitled his sermon on this verse “No Access
to God but by the Gospel of Christ.” “No Access to God but by the Gospel of Christ.” And I’m
pretty sure that is what he meant when he said this is so misunderstood: so taught or received
in such a way as to say, “You know, this is the missing link. This is the key.” But what the
passage is saying is, “Would you come before God? Then come in the name of Jesus. You’ll find
acceptance.” Because, remember, before Jesus left, he said, “Whoever comes to me, I won’t cast out.”
And if we don’t come by way of that entrance, there is no other way. And if we’re worried
about what kind of response we will receive, go to the end of the chapter; go to the closing
verses of the chapter, where the prophet says, “Who’s a pardoning God like you? Who pardons sins
like you? Who forgives iniquities? Who cleanses us? Who fits us for your presence? You do.”
What you essentially have in verse 8 are the credentials of our justification—not the
things that contribute to our justification but the evidences of our justification.
And I find myself saying, “You know, I think my credentials could do with a bit of a
polish.” He said here, “O my people… O my people… O Alistair… O Parkside… O American Christianity…”
Well, loved ones, we can’t fix the world. But with God’s help, we can make a pledge to one another
to declare our willingness to live the gospel in expressions of justice and kindness and humility.
And as strange as it will sound to an onlooking world, God has provided in the local church
the genetic blueprint of a broken world remade. Does an orchestra need a conductor? Surely.
Do we need a Savior? Surely. To him we look. Gracious God, we have not served you as we
ought. Alas, the duties we’ve left undone! So much of ourselves and our selfishness
have taken hold of the way in which we adjudicate on things and seek to chart our
course. So we pray that you will help us not to get on the wrong side of Newton’s most
misunderstood text. God grant that we may not attempt it without the gospel, that we
may not proclaim it instead of the gospel, but that we may live it by the gospel.
For in Christ’s name we pray. Amen. This message was brought to you from Truth For
Life where the learning is for living to learn more about truth for life with Alistair
Begg visit us online at truthforlife.org
