[Note: This sermon expounds Mark 11:27–33. Delivered 15 February 1981, Montreal.]
We turn now to Mark 11:27–33. "And they came again to Jerusalem. And as he was walking in the temple, the chief priests and the scribes and the elders came to him, and they said to him, 'By what authority are you doing these things, or who gave you this authority to do them?' Jesus said to them, 'I will ask you a question; answer me, and I will tell you by what authority I do these things. Was the baptism of John from heaven or from men? Answer me.' And they discussed it with one another, saying, 'If we say, "From heaven," he will say, "Why then did you not believe him?" But shall we say, "From men"?' — they were afraid of the people, for they all held that John was truly a prophet. So they answered Jesus, 'We do not know.' And Jesus said to them, 'Neither will I tell you by what authority I do these things.'"
The question posed by the chief priests and scribes is entirely characteristic of people who recognise authority only in external forms. "Who gave you this authority?" They are asking for credentials — a certificate of ordination, an institutional appointment, a letter of authorisation from a recognised body. I know this kind of thinking well from my own experience. At a hospital in Liverpool, I found that a collar around one's neck opened doors that were otherwise firmly shut — it was a purely external symbol that signified nothing about the inner reality of a person's relationship with God, but it commanded immediate institutional respect. At Kennedy Airport I was once stopped and questioned until I produced my Pastor's ID card, at which point the whole atmosphere changed. A cardinal's scarlet robe carries enormous weight in certain contexts regardless of the spiritual condition of the person wearing it. This is how the world thinks about authority: it comes from a visible institution and is signified by visible symbols.
But genuine spiritual authority is entirely different. It is internal, not external. It comes from God directly, and it is recognisable not by credentials but by character and the quality of what is said and done. John the Baptist had no institutional credentials whatsoever — he was not a temple priest, he held no office, he had no letter of authority from the Sanhedrin. And yet the whole nation recognised him as a prophet. That recognition was a response to something real in him — something that external titles cannot manufacture. The Lord Jesus had no formal rabbinic training from the recognised schools; he had no institutional sanction. And yet his words carried an authority that astonished the crowds: "he taught them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes."
The religious leaders, when pressed to say whether John's baptism was from heaven or from men, would not answer. Not because they did not know — they had an opinion. They would not answer because they were not committed to speaking the truth; they were committed to protecting their political position. If they said "from heaven," they would be exposed for not having believed him. If they said "from men," the crowd would turn against them. So they chose the expedient non-answer: "We do not know." And the Lord immediately withdrew the offer of an explanation: since they would not commit to truth, he would not speak to them about his authority.
This raises the most fundamental question about how one discerns a true servant of God. You cannot do it by examining credentials. There is no technique, no algorithm, no checklist that can substitute for genuine discernment. And discernment of this kind cannot simply be taught as a subject — it requires that you become a certain kind of person. The training of disciples must focus first on what they become inwardly, not merely on how much they know. A person who has never developed genuine love for truth cannot reliably discern truth in others.
For someone who does not yet know whether Jesus is real — who wants to know but is uncertain — the essential prerequisite is an unconditional commitment to the truth. Not a commitment to what you would like to be true, or what is socially convenient, or what will protect your reputation — but a genuine willingness to go wherever the evidence leads and to accept what you find, regardless of the cost. General Robert E. Lee was once asked by a senior officer to give his assessment of the professional abilities of a certain enemy general. Lee gave a frank, positive assessment of his enemy's military competence. The officer was astonished: "General Lee, do you not know that this man is one of your bitterest enemies and loses no opportunity to do you harm?" Lee replied: "You asked my opinion of his professional abilities, not his feelings towards me." That is what commitment to truth looks like: the willingness to assess honestly, even when honesty is uncomfortable.
If you genuinely commit to the truth in this way, God will reveal himself to you. He refuses to reveal himself to those who will not speak truth, as he refused to speak to the chief priests. But to those who come to the light — who commit to acknowledging what is true even about themselves, beginning with the acknowledgement that they are sinners (1 John 1:8) — God gives the Holy Spirit, who is the Spirit of truth. The church is described in 1 Timothy 3:15 as the pillar and bulwark of truth. In 2 Peter 2:2, the way of truth is what is blasphemed when Christians live badly. Truth is not an abstract proposition — it is a relationship, a way of living, an orientation of the whole person toward God who is himself the truth.
[Continues in Part B]
# Commitment to the Truth — Mark 11:27–33 (Part B) — Correcting Calvin; Truth as Knowable; Love for Truth vs. Dogmatism
[Note: This is Part B of the sermon on Mark 11:27–33, continuing directly from Part A. Delivered 15 February 1981, Montreal.]
When I cite errors in Calvin or Luther or Watchman Nee, I want to be clear that I am not attacking these men personally or dismissing their contribution to the church. These are better men than I am in many respects, and I recognise that. But truth matters more than reputation — mine or anyone else's. And because these men have had enormous influence, their errors carry enormous consequences. An error in a theologian who is read by ten people has limited impact; an error in someone whose works have shaped the theology of millions demands correction, precisely because of the scale of the influence. That is why I address these things publicly.
I have had my own exposition publicly corrected as well. Some time ago, I was expounding the parables of Matthew 13 — the treasure hidden in a field and the pearl of great price — and my interpretation was subsequently shown to me to be wrong. I had taught it before the training team. When I corrected myself publicly in front of that same group, one of the team members wept. I asked why. He said: it was because I was willing to acknowledge my error openly. He said: now I know I can trust you. If you were willing to protect your position and never admit error, how could any of us have confidence in what you teach? But because you are willing to follow the truth wherever it leads — even when it costs you face — we know the teaching can be trusted. I have been waiting for years for someone to show me where my exegesis is wrong in other matters I have taught; no one has done so yet. But I remain open.
Is truth knowable? Some people have given up on this question, concluding that everyone interprets things differently and that certainty is not available. But this is not what the Lord teaches. John 16 says that the Holy Spirit will lead us into all truth. If this is true, then the inability to reach truth in spiritual matters is not a problem with the availability of truth but with our commitment to pursuing it. God has not left us in confusion; he has promised guidance. The problem is not that truth is inaccessible but that we often do not want it enough to receive it.
There is a common confusion between love for truth and dogmatism. People sometimes assume that a person who holds their views with conviction must be dogmatic and unwilling to learn. But the opposite is actually true. Dogmatism — the refusal to examine one's views, the reactiveness when challenged, the strife over disagreements — is almost always the product of insecurity, not of certainty. A person who is genuinely committed to truth holds their views firmly but is not defensive about them, because they know that if they are wrong the truth will show it, and they want to be shown. The love of truth makes a person hardest on themselves, most willing to examine their own motives, least likely to take offence when reproved.
By contrast, the person who becomes angry or wounded when their views are challenged is revealing that their feelings about the matter have become more important to them than the truth of the matter. Proverbs says that a wise man gains knowledge when reproved, but a fool hates you for it. The test is simple: when someone corrects you, is your first instinct to examine whether the correction is right, or to defend yourself? If the latter, your love of self is stronger than your love of truth. And this matters enormously, because a person who cannot receive correction from fellow human beings will find it very difficult to receive anything from God either. God's correction to us is constant, detailed, and often uncomfortable. Those who love truth welcome it.
When two people are both genuinely committed to truth, any disagreement between them can be resolved in the same spirit of inquiry. They may disagree sharply on a point, but there is a fundamental agreement beneath the disagreement — a shared commitment to finding out what is actually right — that is stronger than any particular difference of view. In my own experience of working with other Christians, the greatest difficulties arise not from disagreements about doctrine but from the unwillingness of one or both parties to be honest. Once both people are truly committed to truth, even serious theological disagreements become productive rather than destructive. The more you love Jesus, the more you love truth; and the more you love truth, the more you are drawn to him who said: "I am the way, the truth, and the life."
Let us be quiet before God in time.