Language changes over the years, moving along with the flow of cultural trends. For example, people used to greet each other with, “How are you?” followed by the response, “I'm fine, thank you—and you?” This conventional way of greeting conveyed that thankfully all was going well and that the one greeting was just as important and worthy of interest and attention as the one greeted. Sometimes people still do ask about the wellbeing of the other person—but the odd change is that what used to be “I'm fine,” seems to have typically become replaced with “I'm good.” Notice the result: If I'm “good” and you're “good” and everybody else is “good” too, then whatever happened to what Jesus said about the goodness of humanity?

“There came one running, and kneeled to [Jesus], and asked him, Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life? And Jesus said unto him, Why callest thou me good? there is none good but one, that is, God” (Mark 10:17, 18, emphasis added).

The man was correct in realizing that Jesus was indeed good, because He was indeed God. Yet the Lord here makes it clear that the human race is not inherently good—not a single one of us, including this man who was so eager to inquire of the Lord that he had come running, even kneeling before Him.

Jesus continued: “Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Defraud not, Honour thy father and mother. And he answered and said unto him, Master, all these have I observed from my youth. Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest” (Mark 10:19–21).

Most of us are familiar with this story. Here was a young man who had likely been a model youth among his peers. He had grown up knowing and keeping God's law, at least outwardly. As Jesus beheld him, He loved him—but He also saw the deeper picture: that there was something missing in this young man's experience. The succeeding verses reveal that the hidden issue was a lack of care for others less fortunate.

Perhaps the man had assumed that those less fortunate were less materially blessed by God because they were less “good” than he was. After all, he had known the law and kept it many years. So, he may have reasoned, God was simply being fair by giving him a lot because he deserved a lot.

How many of us assume that blessings come because we deserve a lot? Probably most. But “[God] maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust” (Matthew 5:45).

In reality, “God looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did understand, that did seek God. Every one of them is gone back: they are altogether become filthy; there is none that doeth good, no, not one” (Psalm 53:2, 3).

Does this sad situation include me? Human nature supposes: “It's easy to see the flaws in everyone around me. I'm in a church with high standards, so my brethren should be without spot or wrinkle or any such thing; they are to be holy and blameless (Ephesians 5:27). I can see that they are not, so I deserve more.” But what does God want us to realize?

“The disciple is not above his master: but every one that is perfect shall be as his master. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Either how canst thou say to thy brother, Brother, let me pull out the mote that is in thine eye, when thou thyself beholdest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, cast out first the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy brother's eye” (Luke 6:40–42).

This same passage in Matthew 7:3 warns that “thou considerest not” the beam in thine own eye—in other words, we tend not to think about this beam; we give it no consideration. After all, we may think we've got other religious things to think about (perhaps some pet doctrinal theory or religious controversy to distract us away from focusing on the investigative judgment, or church problem supposedly showing my life to be cleaner than someone else's). (Remember, God reads our motives!)

The similar passage in Luke says we don't even perceive this beam. That means not only do we not consider it; we don't even see it! Yet a beam is much bigger than a mote—and it's bigger than an entire eyeball, too! How could we possibly manage to miss it?

Let us recall the scene: Jesus is with His twelve disciples at the last supper before His crucifixion. He utters the prophecy that one of them will betray Him. Nearly all are horrified at such a thought. Who would do such a thing? They immediately search their own hearts, freshly softened by the sight of their beloved Master having washed their feet (John chapter 13).

Matthew describes: “Now when the even was come, [Jesus] sat down with the twelve. And as they did eat, he said, Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me. And they were exceeding sorrowful, and began every one of them to say unto him, Lord, is it I?” (Matthew 26:20–22).

The disciples dreaded the thought that any could be guilty of such a thing—yet they were so tenderhearted at this moment that they were open to digging deeper into their souls to see whatever might be the honest truth about themselves. All did this . . . except the disciple who really was guilty. He avoided the heart-searching moment.

“The disciples did not suspect Judas. But they saw that Christ appeared greatly troubled. A cloud settled over them all, a premonition of some dreadful calamity, the nature of which they did not understand. As they ate in silence, Jesus said, Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray Me' (Matthew 26:21). At these words amazement and consternation seized them. They could not comprehend how any one of them could deal treacherously with their divine Teacher. For what cause could they betray Him? and to whom? Whose heart could give birth to such a design? Surely not one of the favored twelve, who had been privileged above all others to hear His teachings, who had shared His wonderful love, and for whom He had shown such great regard by bringing them into close communion with Himself!

“As they realized the import of His words, and remembered how true His sayings were, fear and self-distrust seized them. They began to search their own hearts to see if one thought against their Master were harbored there. With the most painful emotion, one after another inquired, Lord, is it I?' But Judas sat silent. John in deep distress at last inquired, Lord, who is it?' And Jesus answered, He that dippeth his hand with Me in the dish, the same shall betray Me. The Son of man goeth as it is written of Him: but woe unto that man by whom the Son of man is betrayed! it had been good for that man if he had not been born' (Verses 23, 24). The disciples had searched one another's faces closely as they asked, Lord, is it I?' And now the silence of Judas drew all eyes to him. Amid the confusion of questions and expressions of astonishment, Judas had not heard the words of Jesus in answer to John's question. But now, to escape the scrutiny of the disciples, he asked as they had done, Master, is it I?' ” 1

So, Judas was finally stuck asking the question just to escape the scrutiny of his brethren. They had already been informed that he was the traitor, but somehow it had not registered in their minds. Now Judas' main preoccupation was not to please his Lord, but rather to keep his status in the group.

Like Judas, Ananias and Sapphira were bent on maintaining prestige in the congregation. Acts chapter 5:1–11 relates how they conspired to impress their brethren with a more extensive appearance of charity than they actually had. In another case, in John 9:19–22, the parents of a blind man whom Jesus had healed refused to confess the great Healer out of fear of losing their social status among their religious peers.

Further, “among the chief rulers also many believed on [Jesus]; but because of the Pharisees they did not confess him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue: for they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God” (John 12:42, 43). Today, in the current dispensation in which circumcision has been replaced by baptism, the fervent appeal of the apostle echoes down to us, the spiritual Jews awaiting the Lord's return:

“Thou that makest thy boast of the law, through breaking the law dishonourest thou God? For the name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles through you. . . . For he is not a Jew, which is one outwardly; neither is that circumcision, which is outward in the flesh: but he is a Jew, which is one inwardly; and circumcision is that of the heart, in the spirit, and not in the letter; whose praise is not of men, but of God” (Romans 2:23, 24, 28, 29, emphasis added).

So, what is this circumcision of the heart? Circumcision is a cutting of the flesh—and likewise, the circumcision of the heart comes through the surgical expertise of God's word, which is “is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. Neither is there any creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do” (Hebrews 4:12, 13).

“It is Christ who searches the hearts and tries the reins of the children of men. All things are naked and open before the eyes of Him with whom we have to do, neither is there any creature that is not manifest in His sight. In the days of ancient Israel the sacrifices brought to the high priest were cut open to the backbone to see if they were sound at heart. So the sacrifices we bring today are laid open before the piercing eye of our great High Priest. He opens and inspects every sacrifice brought by the human race, that He may prove whether it is worthy of being presented to the Father .” 2

Many of us unconsciously boast of a religious pedigree. Others boast of vast years of experience in the church. It seems that the longer we are connected with the present truth, the more deserving we tend to think we are. But in reality, we're not more deserving—we're more accountable to God and others, and are without excuse.

Jesus warns, “that servant, which knew his lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes. But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more” (Luke 12:47, 48).

“To him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17). We like to expect unconditional love from God, but do we render to Him unconditional confession of specific sins—with no self-justification, if's, and's or but's?

“Many have a form of godliness, their names are upon the church records; but they have a spotted record in heaven. The recording angel has faithfully written their deeds. Every selfish act, every wrong word, every unfulfilled duty, and every secret sin, with every artful dissembling, is faithfully chronicled in the book of records kept by the recording angel.” 3

In such a light, am I really as good as I thought I was?

“When Jesus was entered into Capernaum, there came unto him a centurion, beseeching him, and saying, Lord, my servant lieth at home sick of the palsy, grievously tormented. And Jesus saith unto him, I will come and heal him” (Matthew 8:5–7).

Jesus was willing to heal the servant of a Roman soldier. Weren't this type of people usually the kind that the Jews would not mingle with? How had Christ come in contact with this man?

Luke gives the background:

“When [the centurion] heard of Jesus, he sent unto him the elders of the Jews, beseeching him that he would come and heal his servant. And when they came to Jesus, they besought him instantly, saying, That he was worthy for whom he should do this: For he loveth our nation, and he hath built us a synagogue” (Luke 3:3–5). By this logic, although the man did not have a religious pedigree, he was supposedly worthy to receive a favor from the Healer because of financial favors he had rendered to the Jewish society.

Would Jesus be impressed with that? What did the man declare about himself?

“The centurion answered and said, Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed. For I am a man under authority, having soldiers under me: and I say to this man, Go, and he goeth; and to another, Come, and he cometh; and to my servant, Do this, and he doeth it” (Matthew 8:8, 9, emphasis added).

Here the centurion openly acknowledges the omnipotence and omnipresence of Christ and his own unworthiness. He boasts neither of his Roman military pedigree (“boss” status) nor of his generous philanthropy towards the national temple. Though evidently a wealthy man, he does not even boast of his high-end domicile as being a dwelling sufficiently adequate to welcome the Healer.

“When Jesus heard it, he marvelled, and said to them that followed, Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel. And I say unto you, That many shall come from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven. But the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. And Jesus said unto the centurion, Go thy way; and as thou hast believed, so be it done unto thee. And his servant was healed in the selfsame hour” (Matthew 8:10–13, emphasis added).

The experience above clearly reveals that greater faith is somehow found outside of spiritual Israel than within it. What did the centurion have that the religious people did not? Or rather, what did he not have? He could boast of no religious pedigree, nor even a religious standing within the clique. He recognized that his monetary gifts and even his posh house weren't good enough. We need to learn from his attitude. “We have nothing to recommend us to God; but the plea that we may urge now and ever is our utterly helpless condition that makes His redeeming power a necessity. Renouncing all self-dependence, we may look to the cross of Calvary and say—

In my hand no price I bring;

Simply to Thy cross I cling.' ” 4

While in her youth, Ellen White dreamed: “If Jesus were upon earth, I would go to Him, and throw myself at His feet, and tell him all my sufferings. And if He would have mercy upon me, I would love Him always—He would not turn me away. Soon the door opened, and a person of beautiful form and countenance entered. He looked upon me with pity. Said he, Do you wish to see Jesus? He is in the place, and you can see Him. Take everything that you possess and follow me.'

“Gladly did I gather up everything, every treasured trinket, and followed him who had given me the pleasing information. He led me to a steep, and it looked like a frail stairway. As I commenced to ascend the stairs, he gave me a word of caution, to keep my eyes fixed upwards, for if I looked down I should become dizzy and fall. Many seemed to be climbing up this steep stairway, and some fell before reaching the top. I succeeded in climbing to the top. Then my guide bid me lay everything at the door. Cheerfully I laid down all I possessed. He then opened the door and told me to go in. As I entered I saw Jesus, so lovely and beautiful. His countenance expressed benevolence and majesty. I tried to shield myself from His piercing gaze. I thought He knew my heart, and every circumstance of my life. I tried not to look upon His face, but still His eyes were upon me. I could not escape His gaze. He then, with a smile, drew near me, and laid His hand upon my head, saying, Fear not.' The sound of His sweet voice, caused me to feel a thrill of happiness I never before experienced. I was too full of joy to utter a word. I grew weak, and fell prostrate at His feet. And while lying helpless, scenes of glory and beauty passed before me. I thought I was saved in heaven. At length my strength returned. I arose upon my feet. The loving eyes of Jesus were fixed upon me still, and He smiled upon me. His presence filled me with such holy awe that I could not endure it. My guide opened the door and I passed out. Then all things I had left at the door he handed me again. And he also handed me a green cord, coiled up, and he bid me wear it next my heart, and when I wished to see Jesus, to stretch this cord. I must not let it lie still any length of time; for if I should, it would become knotted and difficult to straighten. I placed the cord near my heart, and joyfully went down the narrow stairway, praising the Lord as I went, and telling all I met where they could find Jesus. I then awoke.” 5

May God help us to be truly awestruck by this same precious assurance for every trembling soul. It is the only ground of hope for the “not-so-bad” who are often far worse in God's sight than the “bad”—and either way, it's the grace desperately needed by all.