For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it.
James 2:10 (NIV)
Monday was one of my favorite days. Wendy made fresh, homemade Italian bread. The aroma wafting up the stairs into my home office was intoxicating. Whenever Wendy makes Italian bread she always cuts off a slice while the loaf is still warm from the oven, bathes it in butter, and brings it to me.
A little slice of heaven on earth.
The last couple of times Wendy made her Italian bread things didn’t go as planned. She’s not sure what happened. Fresh bread can be finicky, especially in the rising.
From ancient of days, yeast was used as a metaphor for sin. The Law of Moses prescribed that the Hebrews should eat bread without yeast. Jesus warned His followers to “beware the yeast of the pharisees,” meaning that for all their self-righteous pomp and religiosity, their hearts were full of corruption. Jesus didn’t want His followers following a similar path.
Back in the days when everyone made bread fresh at home, yeast was a meaningful metaphor. Everyone knew that a teensy-tiny pinch of yeast will spread through the entire lump of dough, causing the whole thing to rise. In the same way, one tiny sin infects my entire being.
In God’s economy, there is no more-or-less sinful. Sin is a binary measurement. It’s all-or-nothing. If you’re sinful the whole person is infected. No one “has just a touch” of the Bubonic plague.
And, that’s James’ point in today’s chapter as he continues to argue that God’s ways are not our ways. The world loves to play favorites. The wealthy and famous get maximum screen time and VIP treatment. When it comes to the poor and homeless we look the other way and quickly scurry past them on the street. In God’s economy, everyone is measured by the yeast standard. As Bob Dylan sang it, “Ain’t No Man Righteous — No Not One.”
But then James does something amazing. He applies the reverse logic to faith. If sin is like yeast that spreads to the whole lump of dough and causes unrighteousness of all kinds to rise within me, then faith is like a tiny mustard seed that germinates, takes root, grows and bears the fruit of the Spirit. And what fruit does the faith-fueled seed produce?
Works. Deeds. Tangible acts of love towards other human beings that reveal…
Joy.
Peace.
Patience.
Kindness.
Goodness.
Gentleness.
Faithfulness.
Self-control.
James is poking at the very principle he’d heard his big brother preach on many occasions. If a tree isn’t producing fruit that you can see, pick, and taste, then it tells you something about the tree.
A teensy pinch of yeast? The whole dough is tainted.
No fruit on the branches? No faith in the root system.
And this, in the quiet of this morning, leaves me meditating on how desperately I want the measurement of God’s economy to be different. I want sin to be a sprained ankle not a deadly infection coursing through my entire being. I want faith to be measured by the appearance of healthy leaves on the branches. Pay no attention to the fact that there’s no decent fruit to be found.
I can’t do that, and James knows it. I can’t take an honest look at myself in the mirror and pretend that I don’t see the honest truth staring back at me.
I am hopelessly infected by sin.
Jesus’ love-fueled grace and mercy is the only cure.
If I have faith to believe and receive the cure.
It will be evidenced in the tangible outpouring of that love to everyone around me.
Paul told the Corinthian believers that when Jesus’ Love gets inside you and then starts pouring out it creates a spiritual aroma.
I’d like to think it’s like the aroma of fresh baked Italian bread.
If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.
