I had a terrible habit of telling white lies when I was younger.

“Thanks for inviting me to your birthday party, but my grandparents will be in town.” “Thank you for asking me out, and I would, but my dad wants to go camping.” “I appreciate the invitation to youth group, but I have a huge test tomorrow.”

When my now-husband and I started dating, he overheard me telling white lies to other people and he called me out. I defended myself. I was just doing it to be polite, I explained. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. That’s the definition of a white lie, “a lie about a small or unimportant matter that someone tells to avoid hurting another person.”[1]

But he was adamant that, small or not, they were lies. The motive didn’t matter, he said. I was intentionally deceiving another person. With arms crossed and jaw dropped, I didn’t have much of a defense.

I couldn’t see that my white lies were wrong until they were held up to a clear standard.

A SIN IS A SIN—NO MATTER HOW SMALL

I had justified years of fibbing in the name of being polite. But the black and white measuring stick of truth showed my lying for what it was: deception.

In reality, I wasn’t kind; I was a liar.

“Why then the law?” Paul asks in Galatians 3. He answers his rhetorical question this way: “It was added because of transgressions” (Gal. 3:19). When we transgress, the law gives us eyes to see our transgressions. It lays bare the sins we commit but want to keep hidden or explain away. It calls sin “sin.”

When we label sin something else, the law calls our bluff.

Because of our tremendous capacity to justify and normalize sin, we need the black and white standard of the law to remind us that:

• Sex before marriage seems so normal, but it’s actually adultery.

• Fudging a number or two on the income tax report seems savvy, but it’s actually stealing.

• An excessive drive to climb the corporate ladder seems like a good work ethic, but it’s actually idolatry.

• Being jealous of our friend’s home seems like a compliment, but it’s actually covetousness.

• And being angry at our family seems justified, but Jesus calls it murder (Matt. 5:22).

For both the Israelites thousands of years ago and for us today, the law is a mirror we desperately need to look into. And if we’re honest, we will admit that we transgress against that law, and often.

But this isn’t just about our actions. Jesus says the law is not just for behavior, it’s for our hearts as well.

Without the law, we are prone to believe that we are sin-free. But with the law, we are crushed. We realize that, on our own, we are ruined. We see that, in our own power, we will never be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect.

But the law is not meant to leave us hopeless and helpless.

THE LAW SHOWS US OUR NEED FOR A SAVIOR

The law is not a tool in the hands of a vengeful, condemning God. Rather, it is a gift of grace. The law makes us desperate for help, for something—Someone—to make a way. The law reveals our sin and our need for salvation. The law is actually a means of wooing us into grace.

Martin Luther said, “The Law is an usher to lead the way to grace.”[2] It first shows us how far we fall short, and second, how much we need the grace of a Savior. The law makes us humble. It kills our self-sufficiency and self-righteousness. It shows us no matter how hard we try to be honest, white lies come out of our mouths because our hearts are sinful.

This is a heavy load to bear, and we cannot bear it. And that’s the point. Without someone to rescue us from the weight of our transgressions, we are lost forever.

But praise be to God in heaven, for we are not alone! “Because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved” (Eph. 2:4).

We don’t have to stay dead. We are not without hope. There is a Rescuer, and he saves by grace!

THE GIFT IN THE LAW  

So, when my then-boyfriend-now-husband busted me for lying, it was a gift of grace. Sure, I was offended at first. I did my best to justify my behavior. But he was right. He showed me God’s standard, we compared it to my behavior, and I came up woefully short.

As ashamed as I was to get caught, it revealed to me that I cannot be perfect, that I need help. I am, in fact, a sinner in need of a Savior.

And as embarrassing as it is to admit, I’m still tempted to tell white lies, and I sometimes do. And when I do, it’s the law that convicts me. My flesh and my culture all tell me that white lies are fine, no big deal, or even the right thing to do.

But the law says, no, you are called to be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect. And it puts me on my knees again and again. Oh, how I am prone to wander. Oh, how I need sustaining grace!

The law is a gift. It shows us our limitations and our deep need for rescue.

Jesus says, “Come to me and I will give you rest,” (Matt. 11:28). In response, let’s say, “Yes,” and, “Thank you.” Let’s not return to self-sufficiency, self-reliance, and self-help.

No matter how we might try, we cannot keep the law on our own. Let’s allow the law to reveal our fallen nature so we are driven into the arms of our gracious Savior.

Author’s Note: This article first appeared at GCD in October 2019.