MATTHEW 23:1-12
I ENDED THE LAST CHAPTER with five Greek vocabulary words. I begin this chapter with one Latin word, lustitia. lustitia means justice or righteousness. It is used in the Bible for the doctrine of justification by faith—lustitia Dei, “the righteousness of God” (Romans 3:21) and ex Deo est lustitia in fide, “the righteousness from God that depends on faith [in Christ]” (Philippians 3:9).
A question raised in many of Paul’s other letters is the question, how does someone who is unrighteous get right with a perfectly righteous God? The basic answer given is, by God’s grace. More specifically, God pardons all our sins and accepts us as righteous in his sight due to the righteousness of Jesus Christ imputed to us and received by faith alone. That’s how the Westminster Shorter Catechism (A. 33) defines justification. And I agree. That’s what justification is. But what does this faith that justifies look like?
In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C. S. Lewis gives as good an illustration of such faith as I have ever seen. He shows us what justification looks like through the transformation of a character called Eustace.
Lewis’s book begins with one of the great lines in literature: “There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.” This boy deserved such an awful name because he was an awful boy. At the heart of his overall awfulness was his pride, a pride that led to perpetual complaining and persistent disbelief. He refused to believe in Narnia even though he was sailing upon its rough seas and holding conversations with its talking animals.
Lewis shows us what justification looks like by what J. I. Packer called Eustace’s “endragoning and dedragoning.” While on an unexplored island, Eustace wanders away from the group and finds a dragon’s hoard. Soon after, he is transformed into a dragon by the “greedy, dragonish thoughts” in his heart. It is then that Eustace begins to see himself for who he really is. He has been selfish, greedy, and proud because he is selfish, greedy, and proud. His dragonish actions have come from his dragonish heart. He also recognizes his inability to remove all of his dragon's skin, and thus he must and does call upon the lion Aslan (the Christ-figure) to dedragon him—to return him to human form, the same outside now with a new inside. On the final page of the book, the narrator says of Eustace, “You'd never know him for the same boy.’’ I begin with a definition and illustration of justifying faith in Christ, not because I want to impute that teaching into our text, but because I want us to read this text on the theme of “the exaltation of humility,” as I’ve titled this tract, through the lens of the humility of Christ, who is not only the ultimate example of the exaltation of humility, but also the only means by which anyone is put right with God. Put more directly, if there are any dragons reading these words, I want you to be dedragoned before the day is done. I want you to lose your old self in the newness of Christ.
Exposing Hypocrisy
In 23:1-12 Jesus does two things. First, he exposes hypocrisy. Second, he exalts humility. In verses 1-7 Jesus exposes hypocrisy.
Notice here that Jesus is talking “to the crowds and to his disciples” (v. 1) about “the scribes and the Pharisees” (vv. 2-7). In verses 13-36 he’ll shift. Verse 13 begins, “But woe to you, scribes and Pharisees.” There he talks directly to them or “at them.” But here in verses 1-12 his direct audience is the Ecclesia, if I can put it that way. Here he is not exposing the decay and kicking down the walls of the desolate house of Judaism (we’ll see that in the next tract); rather he is building up his future Ecclesia upon the present cornerstone of his own perfect humility. For “his disciples” and those from the crowd who will become his disciples, he is laying down the foundation, and he is laying down the law. Adolf Schlatter labels part of our text, “The Constitution of the Church.” That is a helpful analogy, for what Jesus teaches here should always govern the Ecclesia.
Keeping with the analogy of a constitution, let me lay down before you one article with two sections. Article 1 of the Ecclesial Constitution is called “Regarding the Matter of Religious Hypocrisy.” Section 1 is titled “No Big Mouths” and Section 2 “No Big Heads.”
“No Big Mouths” is what Jesus talks about in verses 2-4:
The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat, so do and observe whatever they tell you, but not the works they do. For they preach, but do not practice. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger.
I label this section “No Big Mouths” because of the theme of teaching / talking without doing or helping others to do. They have big mouths; that is, they talk a good talk, but they certainly do not walk a good walk. In verse 3 Jesus says they “preach, but do not practice,” and in verse 4 “they tie up heavy burdens” but won’t help anyone walk under their weight. These burdens, I take it, come through their teachings.
In the past in regard to Bible teaching, I have used the illustration of staying on the line of Scripture. We are not to add to what Scripture says (go above the line) or subtract from what it says (go below the line). Well, here the scribes and Pharisees do all three. Sometimes they stayed on the line of Scripture. They taught precisely what Moses taught. This is likely what Jesus meant by his admonition to “do and observe whatever they tell you” (v. 3) when they “sit on Moses’ seat” (v. 2; i.e., when they preach the Scriptures from the synagogue “pulpit”). When they actually teach the Word of God, they truly function as successors and official interpreters of Moses, and thus their teaching is to be listened to and obeyed, even if they themselves don’t listen and obey.
The scribes and Pharisees sometimes taught on the line of Scripture. But they also taught below the line. They taught others to live below the line, not always in their teaching so much as in their living. (Godliness is more caught than taught.) They preached God’s Law, but they didn’t live out the Law. “They preach, but do not practice,” as Jesus put it in verse 3, or as Paul said of the teachers of the Law in Romans 2:21-23:
You then who teach others, do you not teach yourself? While you preach against stealing, do you steal? You who say that one must not commit adultery, do you commit adultery? You who abhor idols, do you rob temples? You who boast in the law dishonor God by breaking the law.
The scribes and Pharisees lived (and thus taught others to live) below the line of Scripture. Moreover, they taught others to live above the line. Unlike Jesus who offered genuine rest for weary souls through putting on the yoke of his commandments (see 11:28-30; 28:20a; “his commandments are not burdensome” [1 John 5:3]), the scribes and Pharisees added so many man-made rules atop God's Word that the Word of God seemed stifling, tiring, and crushing. Later in chapter 23 our Lord will point out how the scribes and Pharisees have left out the lightness (if you will) of “the weightier matters” of God’s Law—“justice and mercy and faithfulness” (23:23)—and placed on people’s backs instead a thousand seemingly lighter laws—cleaning cups, swearing oaths, and tithing “mint and dill and cumin” (23:23), a thousand little laws that weigh just a pound each. There is a one-pound law here, another there, and soon a thousand pounds on one’s back. A thousand pounds that they have placed there with their big mouths and that they refuse (Jesus doesn’t say “they are not able” but rather “they... are not willing,” v. 4) to lift (“move”) even one finger to remove.
What a picture of hypocrisy! And, from this picture of hypocrisy we gain a word to the wise. The call to the Ecclesia is Christ’s call in verse 3: “do... not the works they do.” Do not teach below the line. Do not teach above the line.
“No Big Mouths” is Article 1. section I of the Church Constitution. Section 2 is “No Big Heads.” Pride is the issue Jesus hammers on in verses 5-7:
They do all their deeds to be seen by others. For they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long, and they love the place of honor at feasts and the best seats in the synagogues and greetings in the marketplaces and being called rabbi by others.
With these very Jewish verses—with words like “phylacteries,” “fringes,” “feasts,” “synagogues,” and “rabbi”—Jesus again exposes the hypocrisy of the Jewish leaders of his day. Two key verbs summarize his critique: “They do” (v. 5), and “they love” (v. 6). What do they do? What do they love?
Here is what they do: “They do all their deeds to be seen by others” (v. 5a). The word “all” should jump off the page. “All” their actions are polluted with pride. Two small examples of their bigheadedness should suffice. “They make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long” (v. 5b).
First, let’s consider their phylacteries. In order to be seen as being super-pious, the scribes and Pharisees took the words of Exodus 13:9 literally (overly so, in my estimation), which speak of wearing God’s Word between your eyes and on your hand. Every day but the Sabbath and holy days, they wore, as some Jews still do today, little leather boxes strapped around their wrist and forehead, filled with Torah texts. Jesus’ problem here was not that they took their Bibles literally (although that might be part of the issue he is getting at). Rather, the big issue was size: “broad” boxes for big heads.
That is what was wrong with their phylacteries. What was wrong with their “fringes” was similar. The “fringes” Jesus referenced were those blue or white strings that you might see on a Jewish prayer shawl today. In Jesus’ day they were sewn onto the four corners of the hem of the outer robe. This was in keeping with Numbers 15:37—41 (cp. Deuteronomy 22:12). Again the issue wasn’t so much that they had such adornment (Jesus himself wore a robe with fringes, 9:20; 14:36). The issue was ostentatious adornment, with the three key words of Jesus’ critique being “long” and “broad” and “to be seen” (v. 5).
If the picture of a modern-day bishop—with his red hat on his head, silver shepherd’s staff in his hand, large golden cross on his chest, and fifty-nine nickel-sized rosary beads around his waist—comes to mind, your mind is not far from the matter at hand. I think if Jesus witnessed the pomp of Vatican II, he would tear his peasant robe in two. But you might also want to think beyond high churchmen to low churchmen. I think of the contemporary worship leader who calls attention to himself by wearing skinny jeans, canvas shoes that look like they cost two dollars but actually cost two hundred dollars, and a winter scarf below his hairsprayed “bed-head” when it is 100 degrees outside. How many levels lower on the ostentatious scale is his rock-star showmanship than the coronation of Pope Leo XIII—entering the Sistine Chapel of the Vatican Palace on his pontifical chair under a white canopy borne by eight clerics to be crowned with the traditional three-tiered Papal Tiara as a Cardinal says, “Receive the tiara adorned with three crowns and know that thou art the father of princes and kings, the ruler of the world, the vicar on earth of Our Savior, Jesus Christ...”? The rock star worship leader and the kingly pope are both outrageous pictures.
Anyway, back to first-century Judea. (I’ll step down from my soapbox for the moment.) In verses 5-7, Jesus exposes the hypocrisy of Jewish leaders of his day. We looked at what “they do” (v. 5). Next let’s look at what “they love” (v. 6). They love bigheaded seats (v. 6) and bigheaded greetings (v. 7). When they come over for dinner, what they crave more than the food, hospitality, and conversation is the seat next to the host. They love being the guest of honor. And what is true when they enter a house is also true when they enter God’s house. They would love this idea of special chairs (or are they thrones?) facing the congregation. They would love the idea of buying pews in colonial Boston. They would love the mega-church’s speaker’s spotlight. For when they enter into the synagogue, it’s showtime, Saturday Morning Live! Their pious theatrics are on full display for all to see and admire.
They love the first and best seats. They also love getting greetings that match their self-perceived greatness. Whether they walk through the temple or the marketplace, the repeated greeting “rabbi” or “father” or “instructor” adds to their already big heads.
That is what they do, and that is what they love.
Now, what should be our application from what Jesus said about their arrogant attitudes and actions? It shouldn’t be too difficult for us to figure it out. As our application to verses 2-4 was “do... not the works they do,” so here we hear that note again: in essence, “do not do what they do.” We add to that, “do not love what they love.” “Greatnessism,” as one scholar labels what Jesus exposes in verses 1-7, “is a major social-spiritual disease,” and if it is not cured it will not only plague the Ecclesia but will destroy the individual soul. For you see, the door to the kingdom of heaven is only small enough for a child to enter in—i.e., those with childlike (humble) faith in Jesus. There is no way a big dragon is getting through, huff and puff as he might. This is what Jesus teaches in verses 8-12. If we want to be big, we must grow small. If we want to move up, we must go down. If we are to get in at all, we must lay flat on the floor.
Exalting Humility
“But you,” Jesus says to his disciples (the “you” here are them, and let me add “us”), are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all brothers. And call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven. Neither be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Christ. The greatest among you shall be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.
We move now from Jesus’ exposing hypocrisy to his exalting humility, from his diagnoses of religious sickness (vv. 1-7) to its cure (vv. 8-12). The medicine for big mouths and big heads is small talk and small thoughts (of self). Sticking with our church constitution analogy, we’ll explore now Article II, “Regarding the Matter of Religious Humility.” Section 1 is entitled “Small Talk” and Section 2 “Small Thoughts.”
If you have read much Victorian and pre-Victorian literature (or seen it these days, as the genre has gained much popularity in the movies in the past twenty years), you have in your mind some picture of what Jesus saw. Think of Mr. Elton in Jane Austen’s Emma or Dr. Thomas Proudie in Anthony Trollope’s Barchester Towers, proud clergymen who snub those beneath them and try to impress those above them. With men like them in mind, how do you shrink such big heads and close such big mouths? Jesus says that you first stop feeding them ecclesial titles. Notice the word “call” in verses 8-10.
But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all brothers. And call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven. Neither be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Christ.
The calling of Christian leaders, if I can put it that way, is not to be called anything special. A nice dose of small talk goes a long way. Jesus outlaws three titles—“rabbi” (v. 8), “father” (v. 9), and “instructor” (v. 10). Here Jesus uses what is called in poetry an ABA pattern. It looks like this:
A. Rabbi
B. Father
A’. Instructor
Thus the titles “rabbi” and “instructor” are synonymous. While the name “rabbi” etymologically means “my great one,” I don't think Jesus is using it that way. In fact, I think all three titles focus on the role of the teacher, the Bible teacher. They are all synonymous. The point is that there is no need for lofty titles like “rabbi,” “father,” or “instructor” or “Pastor” for Bible teachers.
Why is there no need? Two reasons are given—“all” and “one.” First, “you are all brothers.” Second, there is only “one” Father (God) and “one” instructor (the Christ, Jesus).
Let me explain the second reason first. There is no need for lofty teacher titles because “you have one Father, who is in heaven” and “one instructor, the Christ” (v. 10). We must be careful about calling anyone in the Ecclesia “father”—be it the local parish priest (“Good morning, “Father Brown”) or an early church father (“As the church father Ambrose once said...”)—because such a title might communicate an unorthodox equality with the one and only heavenly Father.
In Matthew’s Gospel Jesus uses the term “father” nearly exclusively in reference to his heavenly Father. For example, in the Sermon on the Mount Jesus uses the word "Father” seventeen times, and in each case he references his heavenly Father. His point here, however, is not that we should never call our earthly dads “father,” but rather that we shouldn’t call our earthly Bible teachers “father.” Why the Church (capital C) has chosen to ignore or disobey this teaching, I’m uncertain.
Furthermore, why—of all titles we could use for Ecclesial leaders (should we use any?)—the Roman Catholic Church has chosen “father” as its most prominent title honestly boggles the mind.
There is only “one” Father (God), and there is only “one” instructor (Jesus Christ). In his Institutes of the Christian Religion, Calvin claims that Christ “alone is the schoolmaster of the church.” In his commentary on the Gospels he writes, “The sum of this teaching is that all should depend on the lips of Christ alone.” That captures the idea here. There is one top teacher in the Ecclesia, and that top teacher is Jesus. In John 13:13 Jesus said, “You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am.”
Yet, this is not to say that the Teacher hasn’t made teachers. Let’s remember that the Gospel of Matthew ends with Christ’s commissioning his disciples to teach. And what are they to teach? All that Christ commanded (28:20). (So when Jesus says there is to be “one instructor, the Christ,” he is instructing his Ecclesia to do away with all personality cults in the Ecclesia—“I follow Dr. Bible.” “Oh, really ? I follow Super-Apostle Sam” (cp. 1 Corinthians 1:12). Don’t follow anyone but Christ! The only voice we are to hear is that of Jesus, and we hear that voice today only when teachers (small t) teach what the Teacher (capital T) taught. All faithful preachers are to preach Christ. That is what it means (if I may) to preach from the chair of Christ.
So one reason there is no need for lofty teacher titles in the Ecclesia is because there is only “one” Father (God) and “one” instructor (Jesus Christ). The other reason is that “you are all brothers.” While there are different roles in the Ecclesia, there is an equality of status. So Jesus’ counsel is that we go public with that status. If you don’t say to the usher, “Good morning, Usher Bradley,” is there really a need to say, “Good morning, Pastor Doug”? Might it be better to say, “Good morning. Brother Bradley,” and “Good morning, Brother Doug”?
I don’t want to get too nitpicky here. I think the title pastor is a good title, for it means shepherd. (There’s nothing lofty about that.) I think the title Recording Brother is fine too, if we understand what we are saying. Recording Brother is another way of saying minute taker. It reminds me of Gregory the Great’s title for the Bishop of Rome—“The Servant of the Servants of God.” That’s a long title, but not a lofty one. The issue is not so much whether we give certain people titles within the Ecclesia. It is more whether such titles are used to confer special privilege or status.
When I am called “preacher” it doesn’t go to my head (because these days being a preacher is not an esteemed profession in our culture). The other day a neighbor came up to me and said, “So, I hear you are a writer?” I said, “No, I’m a preacher, and I’ve written a couple of books.” “Oh,” he replied (not as interested in me as before), and on he went to ask me about being a writer. Being called “preacher” doesn’t and won’t go to my head, but being called a “writer” or better “doctor” (I have mistakenly been called “Doctor O’Donnell”) might.
I could get used to such titillating titles. It’s not the title’s problem. It’s my problem. But that’s just the problem. Preacher is a humble title; His Eminence is not. Bondservant is a humble title; Very Reverend is not. And titles like Mother Superior and His Holiness ought to make us nauseous. Let’s vomit them out of the church’s mouth! If we are to bestow titles upon those who teach the Word of God, let’s stick with humble titles. Small talk is what is called for. It’s the first cure for big heads and big mouths.
The second cure is “Small Thoughts.” This is what Jesus teaches in verses 11, 12. Here’s your medicine. Plug your nose. Open up. Gulp it down. “The greatest among you shall be your servant. Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”
In our study of the parables I have talked about something called “the law of end stress,” when Jesus stresses his main point at the very end. That is precisely what we have here. What are verses 1-12 all about? Humility! As the church father, I mean early church servant-leader, John Chrysostom said, “In this passage [Jesus] plucks up pride by the roots.” And the uprooting here starts in the brain, with small thoughts about the self. We must all renew our minds. We must
have this mind among [ourselves], which is [ours] in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him... (Philippians 2:5-9a)
We must think, “Those up must go down, for those down will go up.” Jesus makes a statement (or is it a command? so Hagner) “the greatest among you shall be [“must be”?] your servant” (v. 11).
Those up must go down. Then he adds two motives: “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted” (v. 12). Put differently, those now down will then go up, and those now up will then go down.
Jesus intentionally ends on this eschatological note. He pushes the future into the present. He takes the last day and sets it in the present day. Listen now, for when you stand before your Judge and Maker, you will “either be promoted and called to high office or demoted and sentenced to condemnation.” Jesus is very black and white here, isn’t he?
The Methodist church in my town did a sermon series entitled “Seeing Gray in a World of Black and White.” I don’t know what the precise topic was (so I won’t say a bad word about it), but I will say that I think we need the opposite today. We need to see, as Jesus does here, “Black and White in a World of Gray.” Our Lord does not blur the colors in verse 12. Black is black, and white is white. There is nothing gray. You will either be exalted because you were humble, or you will be humbled because you were proud. Let me rephrase that through the filter of the gospel and what Jesus will further explain about himself in Matthew 24—28: if you do not humble yourself before him as King, then you will remain in your proud, deadly, and ultimately damning disbelief.
Pride is the deadliest of the seven (or is it seven hundred?) deadly sins. It’s deadly because it so often lies deep beneath the surface of everything we think and say and do. When Eustace (to return to him here at the end) shares with Edmund about his transformative encounter with Aslan, he begins with the lion's command for him to undress before bathing in the healing waters. So Eustace, eager to change back into a human being, removes his dragon’s skin. But then, to his dismay, he finds another layer of skin beneath, and then another. “Oh dear,” he thought to himself, “how ever many skins have I got to take off?” “So I scratched away," he says, “for the third time and got off a third skin, just like the two others, and stepped out of it. But as soon as I looked at myself in the water I knew it had been no good.” Finally Aslan offered a suggestion. “Then the lion said... ‘You will have to let me undress you.’”
When Eustace changed into a dragon, he realized for the first time in his life the existence of self-love, self-admiration, and self-will. But the besetting sin of pride still lingered under his dragonish skin, for he actually thought he could just remove all the layers of sin himself. He thought some self-improvement would cure self-love. But as he learned, it is one thing to remove a layer of scaly skin, but quite another thing to turn a dragon back into a boy. So Eustace had a choice to make—to continue trying to peel off layer after layer, or to surrender and let the lion tear it all off. Eustace choose wisely. “I just lay flat down on my back,” he tells Edmund, “to let him do it”—to let the Lion of Judah tear away at his dragonish nature. And the lion began to claw. “The very first tear he made,” said the boy, “was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart.”
How does a sinful boy (or girl or man or woman) get right with a perfectly righteous God? He lies down (what a picture of humility and trust, i.e., justifying faith) and lets the lion do his work. He lies down and lets the one who “came not to be served but to serve” (20:28) serve him by scraping away layer after layer until he is finally ready to bathe in the waters, letting the Spirit of God pour over his body and into his soul.
(R. Kent Hughes. and Douglas Sean O'Donnell., 2013; edited Carl Hinton., 2020)