Why We Must Fall to Our Knees Before the Source of Life

For many of us, faith has become an escape route, a way of softening the sharp edges of existence. We have made of Christianity a comforting but deeply misleading fairy tale: religion as a cosmic emergency exit. In this scenario we treat God’s law as an irksome list of rules we can never live up to anyway, in order then to introduce Jesus Christ as the ultimate juridical contrivance — a loophole in divine jurisprudence that allows us to outsmart the system. We cling to Him not in order to change, but in the hope of dodging the dance, of having judgment pass us by without truly touching us.

But anyone who truly seeks the Truth (In veritatem) discovers that the cosmos does not bend to our human wishful thinking. God has not suspended the fundamental laws of His creation in order to please us. The system has not been abolished; the moral and spiritual gravity is as inexorable as on the day of creation. The way to freedom does not run around divine reality, but straight through it. Only when we dare to look the full, heavy, awe-filled truth of that system in the face do we find — I think — true rest. Real deliverance begins, after all, not with a juridical trick, but with the radical acknowledgment of our own nothingness before God’s absolute sovereignty.

What follows is no plea for an easy way out, with everyone trooping into heaven, but my conviction concerning the immovable law, the necessary role of the tempter, our continual struggle with ourselves, the grief of the Judge who wished to be Father, and the crushing grace of every breath that is granted to us at this moment.

The Law Is the Gravity of Creation

To begin, we must reckon with the way we look at the law. In our Western, democratic societies we see laws as agreements. We agree that we will not drive faster than one hundred kilometers an hour. If you break that rule and are not caught, you have been lucky. The law is something outside us.

But the reality of God’s law (Torah, which means literally ‘instruction’ or ‘direction’) is wholly different. We are not simply meant to keep ourselves to a set of rules; we are held by the law. The law is the fundamental structure of creation, the Logos, as inescapable and as essential as the law of gravity. God is the Creator. He is not merely the giver of life, He is the Source of life. To keep the law means simply to function within the reality the Source has designed.

“For with thee is the fountain of life; in thy light do we see light.”— Psalm 36:9 (RSV-CE)

If we set ourselves against God or place ourselves outside His order, we therefore break no arbitrary rule. We sever ourselves from the oxygen we are breathing. If you jump from a high-rise building, you do not break the law of gravity; you break yourself against the law of gravity. The system remains intact, but you go under. So it is with God’s order.

In the letter to the Colossians, this reality of God is beautifully stated:

“For in him all things were created (…) all things were created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”— Colossians 1:16-17 (RSV-CE)

We do not hold on to God to gain something; we are held by Him in order to exist at all. We are not independent entities who can negotiate with God over the terms of our life. We are created. We are creatures. That awareness of absolute dependence is the foundational stance we need in order to understand our own life. Paul puts it later in Athens:

“In him we live and move and have our being; as even some of your poets have said, ‘For we are indeed his offspring.’”— Acts 17:28 (RSV-CE)

So when we sin, we are committing in fact a kind of cosmic suicide. We tear ourselves loose from the structure that holds us in being. Sin is no administrative error; it is an existential uncoupling.

The Necessity of the ‘Good’ Tempter

If we accept that God is the perfect Source and we are creatures, the great theological question arises at once: why is there evil? Why is there temptation? Here I take a position that may sound confronting but that is essential for an adult conception of God: in God’s system, a “good tempter” is at work. By ‘good’ I mean simply that he does the work assigned to him.

In Christianity we have often adopted a dualistic worldview, as if God and the devil were two quarreling gods fighting for dominance, with the devil sometimes, alas, in the lead. This is a pagan idea, not a biblical one. In the Bible God is the only absolute Sovereign. The Adversary (Satan, which means literally ‘Accuser’ or ‘Adversary in the courtroom’) functions within the bounds God permits him.

Why is the tempter necessary? Because God created us for a relationship of love and obedience. But love, obedience, and faithfulness have no moral or relational value at all if there is no real alternative. A programmed robot cannot truly love God, because it cannot refuse. To give our ‘yes’ to God meaning, a ‘no’ had to be possible.

God calls us to choose, but the choice must be made in freedom, with a tempting alternative at hand:

“I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live, loving the LORD your God…”— Deuteronomy 30:19-20 (RSV-CE)

We all have that internal pull toward choosing for ourselves. Within Jewish thought this is called the Yetzer Hara: the inner, evil inclination toward selfishness, lust, greed, and pride. That a spiritual tempter exists who plays on this inclination is no flaw in creation; it is a mechanism. He tests the material. He examines whether the gold is pure or only fool’s gold. That is exactly what happens when the Accuser appears before the throne of God to test the man Job:

“And the LORD said to Satan, ‘Have you considered my servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil?’ Then Satan answered the LORD, ‘Does Job fear God for nought? Hast thou not put a hedge about him and his house and all that he has, on every side?… But put forth thy hand now, and touch all that he has, and he will curse thee to thy face.’”— Job 1:8-11 (RSV-CE)

The tempter does his work to see whether our faithfulness to God can withstand the pressure of the ego. The problem is not that we are tested. James and Peter even write that we should rejoice in trials, because tested faith produces steadfastness (cf. James 1:2-3). The vast problem for humanity is that we keep failing. We collapse, again and again, under the test.

We are not overwhelmed by some evil monster outside us; we are tempted from within by our own selfish, small life that we make more important than the Source:

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am tempted by God’ (…) but each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin; and sin when it is full-grown brings forth death.”— James 1:13-15 (RSV-CE)

The Court, the Ego, and Death

What happens when we side with the tempter and choose for our own will? Then the divine system of law goes into effect.

The moment we sin, the Tempter steps out of his role as whisperer and enters straight into the role of Prosecutor, the Accuser. He now has the evidence in hand: Look, God, this man lives for himself. He places himself on the throne. And God, who is absolute Truth and absolute Justice, must hear the accusation. A righteous Judge cannot, after all, ignore with impunity the breach of universal order.

Because the law is the source of life, uncoupling from the law leads inevitably to death. Death, in theology, is not primarily an act of vengeance by an angry God; death is the logical absence of Life. Without God the soul dies. The Accuser claims the soul, and the Executioner (death) is permitted to do his work. This is an iron law:

“For the wages of sin is death…”— Romans 6:23a (RSV-CE)

“Behold, all souls are mine; (…) the soul that sins shall die.”— Ezekiel 18:4 (RSV-CE)

Here we stand, then, as humanity. Defeated by our own ego. Caught in a system of law we ourselves have provoked. The evidence against us is overwhelming. We steal, we lie, we use others for our own pleasure, we ignore the weak, we build little kingdoms for our own glory. The Accuser does his work, and he has a watertight case.

Jesus and the Spirit: Conquering from within the System

How does modern Christianity often respond to this? By claiming that Jesus came to earth and tossed the entire legal system into the trash. It is preached that God, out of pure love, decided henceforth to take no further notice of sin and justice — so long as you believe in Jesus.

This is not only superficial; it is unbiblical and unjust. Jesus did not come to abolish the legal system; He came to fulfill it according to the rules.

“Think not that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets; I have come not to abolish them but to fulfill them.”— Matthew 5:17 (RSV-CE)

If God were to abolish the system, He would concede that the Accuser was right and that His order of creation does not function. Instead God Himself — in the form of the man Jesus — steps inside the system. Jesus, like us, is confronted with the ‘good tempter.’ He is led into the desert and the Accuser tries with all his might to trigger His Yetzer Hara, His human ego. He offers Jesus bread (lust), spectacle (pride), and political power over the whole world (ego) (Matthew 4).

But Jesus did what we could not: He refused to let go of the Source. He did not fail. He did not fall for the ego. And this has immense juridical consequences for the case.

Because Jesus was wholly without sin (cf. Hebrews 4:15), the Accuser had literally nothing to bring against Him in the heavenly court. The dossier was empty. There was no sin, and so there was no separation from God. When Jesus, innocent, bore the punishment on the cross, death had not the slightest legitimate right to hold Him. The resurrection was no conjuring trick; it was an inevitable, cosmic-juridical automatism: death has no jurisdiction over Someone who is guiltless and remains united with the Source.

“But God raised him up, having loosed the pangs of death, because it was not possible for him to be held by it.”— Acts 2:24 (RSV-CE)

By that victory Jesus became our Advocate. He defends us not by saying we are innocent, but by demonstrating that the debt has already been paid.

But — and this is crucial — Jesus’ victory does not mean that we may now stroll, whistling, as invulnerable saints, through the rest of our earthly life. That is a dangerous myth. The system is still running, and we are still standing inside it. We experience this every day. We still have our ego, the Tempter still tempts, and Satan still accuses us and others (rightly, this is the order).

If the coming of Jesus had suddenly made our life perfect, we would have no further need of supernatural help. But Jesus knew that we, stripped of our pride, must survive in this hostile, accusing system. That is why He left the Holy Spirit behind. Not as a mystical feeling or a theological medal, but as a sheer necessity if we are to stand in the courtroom of daily reality.

“Nevertheless I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Counselor will not come to you (…) And when he comes, he will convince the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment.”— John 16:7-8 (RSV-CE)

The Spirit guides us through the system. He enables us to bridle the ego (Galatians 5:16). And when we do fall — and we will — He immediately drives us back to the truth: acknowledge your guilt, be honest, confess your fault, and ask the Source for restoration.

“If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just, and will forgive our sins…”— 1 John 1:8-9 (RSV-CE)

Grace does not close the courtroom; grace gives us an Advocate in the courtroom and the Spirit to keep us from relapse.

The Bleeding Heart of the Judge

Surveying all this, we might suppose that God is a cold magistrate who takes pleasure in trapping us with regulations so that He can then weightily strike with the gavel. Nothing is further from the truth. And here theology ceases to be theory and becomes relational pain.

It was never God’s intention to run a courtroom. That we stand there in the dock, separated from Him by our selfish, destructive behavior, causes the Creator intense pain. We often treat God as if He were an emotionless accountant, but the Bible paints a God with a beating, and not seldom broken, heart.

God created us for relationship. He wished to share His abundance with us, walking in the cool of the evening (Genesis 3). We force God into the role of Judge by disordering His order, again and again. He must render judgment, otherwise the cosmos would collapse — but He does so with immense reluctance. Look at how God speaks through the prophet Hosea, when His own people have plunged completely into selfishness and idolatry. The indictment lies ready. The penalty is unavoidable. And then listen to the heartbeat of the Judge:

“How can I give you up, O Ephraim! How can I hand you over, O Israel! (…) My heart recoils within me, my compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute my fierce anger…”— Hosea 11:8-9 (RSV-CE)

And in the prophet Ezekiel, where God, as it were, begs humanity to keep away from that courtroom:

“As I live, says the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live; turn back, turn back from your evil ways; for why will you die, O house of Israel?”— Ezekiel 33:11 (RSV-CE)

When Jesus, God in the flesh, walks the earth and approaches Jerusalem — the city that is on the verge of rejecting the Source for its own ego and pride — He does not assume the bearing of a triumphant Judge. He breaks:

“And when he drew near and saw the city he wept over it, saying, ‘Would that even today you knew the things that make for peace! But now they are hid from your eyes.’”— Luke 19:41-42 (RSV-CE)

We force the God who longed to be Father to put on the Judge’s robe. The realization that our selfish, small behavior not only destroys ourselves but causes the Maker of the universe grief should remove every illusion of human independence.

The Theology of the Breath: The Ultimate Humility

This brings me to the ultimate, deepest truth of our existence. A thought so crushing and so inescapable that every theological discussion, every excuse, and every spark of human pride evaporates within it.

Imagine that situation. We stand in the courtroom. We have played into the tempter’s hand. Our life was ruled by pride, lust, gossip, selfishness, greed, and arrogance. The Accuser lays the flawlessly documented dossier of our life on the table of the Almighty Judge. The evidence is incontrovertible.

In our willfulness and pride we still try, often, to defend ourselves. We point to others (“It was his fault”). We invent excuses (“My intentions were good”). Or we do what modern man most loves to do: we turn presumptuously against the Judge Himself and tell Him He is cruel, or that He does not even exist. We stand in the courtroom and we accuse God. We curse the structure.

And now the inscrutable, paradoxical grace that occurs at that exact moment.

To stand as a human being before the God of the universe and to be able to revile Him, you need air in your lungs. You need vocal cords that vibrate. You need a heart that, in that moment, is pumping oxygen-rich blood to your brain so that the words of revolt can be formed.

And whose blood is that? Whose brain is that? Who is the giver of that lung-capacity?

“The Spirit of God has made me, and the breath of the Almighty gives me life… If he should take back his spirit to himself, and gather to himself his breath, all flesh would perish together, and man would return to dust.”— Job 33:4 and 34:14-15 (RSV-CE)

At the precise moment we sin against God… at the precise moment we defend ourselves selfishly or ignore Him… God actively supplies us with the strength to do so. The breath we expend to push through our own little sentence is His breath. The energy we turn against Him He lends to us. If He really were the cruel tyrant we sometimes see in Him, He would simply have released us at the moment of the first rebellious thought. One held cosmic breath, and we are dust.

This was precisely the indictment of the prophet Daniel against the arrogant, feasting king Belshazzar in Babylon. He saw how the king strutted with his ego and turned away from God. Daniel’s words cut through every human delusion:

“You have lifted up yourself against the Lord of heaven… but the God in whose hand is your breath, and whose are all your ways, you have not honored.”— Daniel 5:23b (RSV-CE)

The apostle Paul puts it later just as powerfully to the philosophers on the Areopagus: God is not served by human hands as though He needed anything, “since he himself gives to all men life and breath and everything.” (Acts 17:25, RSV-CE).

We stand in His courtroom. We have broken His laws. But we breathe His air, we think with the spirit He gave us, and every heartbeat is a rhythmic proof of His staggering patience and grace, even at the moment of our deepest failure.

O come, let us sing to the LORD;
let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!
Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving;
let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise!
For the LORD is a great God,
and a great King above all gods.
In his hand are the depths of the earth;
the heights of the mountains are his also.
The sea is his, for he made it;
for his hands formed the dry land.
O come, let us worship and bow down,
let us kneel before the LORD, our Maker!
For he is our God,
and we are the people of his pasture,
and the sheep of his hand.
Psalm 95:1-7 (RSV-CE)