Tell me where the line is, and I’ll show you how close I can get without crossing it.
Give me a rule, and it won’t be long before I start asking questions about the boundary. What exactly does it mean? What counts? What doesn’t? Are there exceptions?
There’s nothing particularly wrong with those questions. We all like clarity.
And sometimes that’s all a rule needs to do. A speed limit doesn’t care what kind of person I’m becoming. It just wants me to slow down.
But what happens when the rule is actually meant to shape how I live? How I treat people. What I do with money. Whether I forgive. Whether I’m honest. Whether I put myself or someone else first.
That’s where things get interesting.
Because once I can measure what kind of person I am, I can keep score. Once I can keep score, I can compare my score with yours.
Before long, a good score starts to feel like something I’ve earned. And once I’ve earned my position, it’s remarkably easy to feel superior to those who haven’t. From there, entitlement and judgement aren’t far away.
So what went wrong?
The rules didn’t change. Somewhere along the way, the purpose did. Instead of shaping who I was becoming, they became a way of proving how well I was doing.
Which leaves us with an interesting problem. How do you teach someone to become generous, forgiving, humble or compassionate without simply giving them another set of rules they’ll eventually learn to satisfy?
That’s what makes the way Jesus taught particularly interesting.
He could have simply given people another detailed moral rulebook. Instead, He repeatedly taught in ways that made simple compliance difficult.
Lose your life to find it.
The first will be last.
Become like a child.
Love your enemy.
Imagine if Jesus had answered every moral question with another perfectly specified rule. I suspect we’d eventually turn those into a scorecard too. We’d work out the minimum requirement. We’d define the exceptions. We’d technically comply.
And eventually we might even become quite pleased with how well we’re doing.
In fact, Jesus told a story about someone who had done exactly that.
The Pharisee’s problem wasn’t that he failed to follow the rules. He apparently succeeded. He fasted. He tithed. He behaved himself. But then he’s standing in the Temple saying, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people…”
Jesus shifts the question:
Who exactly counts as my neighbour?
Wrong question. What kind of neighbour am I?
How much must I give?
Wrong direction. Am I becoming generous?
Who is greatest?
Wrong conception of greatness. What does greatness actually look like?
He keeps moving us away from the boundary and back towards the person standing in front of it. And that’s considerably more challenging than a rule.
A rule eventually gives me a point at which I can say, “Done.”
Becoming loving, generous, forgiving, merciful and humble doesn’t.
Our desire for clear rules can sometimes reveal that we’re still looking for the minimum required of us.
What we choose to do matters. But perhaps what those choices are turning us into matters even more.
So next time you find yourself asking, “Just tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do“, perhaps there’s a different question worth asking.
What kind of person am I becoming?
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Author:
Rudy Labordus
Hi, I’m the writer behind Messy Clay — someone just like you, full of questions, awe, and wonder.
This isn’t a place for perfect answers. It’s a space for honest words from the middle of the mess we call life. If you’ve ever felt like you’re still being formed — cracks, rough edges and all — and left with more questions than answers, I hope you’ll feel right at home here.
I’d love for you to get involved — leave a comment, say hello, wrestle with these thoughts. As iron sharpens iron, maybe we can grow together.
