Years ago a friend told me what I was. Most of us have had that experience at one time or another. (If not who we are, at least where we can go.) My friend told me that I was an apologist. I would have been flattered if I’d known what that meant. It was somewhat later I encountered one of the greatest of Christian apologists, C. S. Lewis. And then recently I came across a quotation from C. S. Lewis that explained a vague disquiet that follows me around. Apologists can be saved only by falling back continually from the web of our own arguments into the reality—from Christian apologetics into Christ Himself. Lewis was remarkable in this regard. He was an intelligent, highly educated, well-read man who also had the good sense to doubt himself, to examine himself, which one cannot do without self-doubt. Lewis understood the spiritual dangers of vanity and he also understood what a thin web is woven by a good argument. He said, No doctrine is dimmer to the eye of faith than that which a man has just successfully defended. Now, doctrine and apologetics are essential otherwise you would never know where you are, you would never know what you should do next. But there is also a temptation to vanity. This was never more clear to me than when I read that quotation from the dean of apologists.

There’s a fairly well-known denomination that believes no one is going to be saved except members of their own church. I remember there was a time in my past—I had been baptized by a Baptist church and I was struggling at that time with certain things—and I remember distinctly having a picnic with some friends of ours who are members of this other denomination which shall remain unnamed. Once they realized that I was a little bit at loose ends, they became very urgent about getting me baptized into their church. They wanted to take me down to their church that day, that hour, and get me under the water. They were very concerned that if didn’t get baptized and something happened to me, I would go to hell. I would go straight to hell. think those people will be profoundly surprised when they find me standing right next to them on the sea of glass before the Lamb of God in the resurrection. In fact, I might be as surprised as they are.

I’ve been too far down that road myself. Now think about this just for a moment. Imagine that you have made it, you’ve been raised from the dead, you’re standing there before him—the judge of all the earth—you can see him as he is, and there standing along side of you are two figures you recognize immediately who come from differently separate religious backgrounds. They are Billy Graham and Pope John Paul II. Now if you know very much about Catholic and Baptist doctrine, you have to ask yourself, Now how on earth can that be possible? Well, I think I finally understand. They will not owe their presence there to the fact that they had a correct set of doctrines. They will not be there because they kept this or that law, or followed that particular rite or ritual. But, then you see, you won’t be there for that reason either. What makes it possible for you or anyone else to stand before God is the grace of God. And that grace, if it can’t transcend our doctrinal differences, if it can’t transcend our little picky arguments, doesn’t amount to much. And what makes that grace possible is Christ himself. Let’s take a look at an illustration of this in John, chapter 13.

I don’t suppose there has ever been a man on the face of the earth who had the power at his beck and call that Jesus had. But there was never a time when he abused it. He tried to make this lesson clear at the last supper when he got up, took a towel, laid aside his outer garment, got a basin of water, and began to wash his disciples feet. He said, If I have washed your feet, you should wash one another’s feet. The whole idea is that we are all servants. We’re not emperors, lords, nothing of the kind; we are not masters, we are servants.

It seems odd to me when I think about it, but of all the things that Jesus might have said, of all the instructions he might have left us, these are his only words about church governance. He forbade his men from exercising dominion over, or authority upon, the people. It’s that simple. And Jesus, it seems, also taught that he is governed best who is govern least—that old principle still applies. And if you trace the grief that has befallen the church down through the ages, an awful lot of it has come straight from ignoring these words and letting some person become the big boss, the governor, the leader of all the people. I think this lies somewhere near the source of what God told Malachi to tell the priests in his own time:

For the lips of a priest ought to preserve knowledge, because he is the messenger of the Lord Almighty and people seek instruction from his mouth. But you have turned from the way and by your teaching have caused many to stumble; you have violated the covenant with Levi," says the Lord Almighty. So I have caused you to be despised and humiliated before all the people, because you have not followed my ways but have shown partiality in matters of the law.

It seems like it’s very hard for the servants of God to keep their act together. The worst thing that can happen to us is good times. For the Israelites who returned to Jerusalem from exile, the times had indeed been very hard for a while. They had started rebuilding the temple, then they had to stop because of political pressure. Then, under the prompting of the prophets, and with God’s protection and blessing, they set to work again and finished it. Two men played a major role in all of this: Joshua the high priest and Zerubbabel the governor. They were good men and they wanted to get the job done, they had prophets along that were stirring everybody, up and the work got done.

But there is another danger all of us face. When God has blessed us, we assume we have his approval in more areas than are really justified. In other words, we think that since we built the temple—we got it done—we are really good people. There is yet another danger when any long-term goal is finally realized. After all this striving is past, once you have arrived at your goal, you can find yourself at loose ends. You may think, “Well, I have accomplished this. I deserve a break.” And maybe you do; but it’s a serious mistake to presume it.

So here’s the picture for the Israelites: the second temple has been finished, many aspects of their lives were now much better, the ongoing service of God in the temple was continuing on a day-by-day basis, and everything was going on like it was suppose to. Another generation, though, has entered the priesthood and public life, and there is the inevitable let-down that take place—the loss of focus, the loss of awareness, and that’s the picture that prevails when a prophet name Malachi comes on the scene with a message from God.