Rare Wisdom | James 3:15-17
"But because most people, immersed in their own errors, are struck blind in such a dazzling theater, he exclaims that to weigh these works of God wisely is a matter of rare and singular wisdom [v.43], in viewing which they who otherwise seem to extremely acute profit nothing. And certainly, however much the glory of God shines forth, scarcely one man in a hundred is a true spectator of it!"
- John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion Vol. 1
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This is not the wisdom that comes down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic. For where jealous and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. (James 3:15-17)
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If the truth of the world is a prismatic, kaleidoscope of ever-changing reality that shifts the door before you can ever walk through it, the unpretentious truth of James, then, is a two-toned archway built out of solid stone.
With James, you can have one or the other. You can have friendship with the world or love for God, faith or unfaithfulness, the wisdom from above or its ugly counterpart. And James asks you to pick - he asks you to identify yourself, and then, pervasively, asks you to prove yourself by means he could touch. "Show me your faith," he demands. (James 2:18) It is not enough to see with James; it is demanded that you understand and believe, and this is by a wisdom not of the earth.
The wisdom of James has legs. It has arms, and teeth - don't get too close, or the wisdom from above may sink into the protective wall you've built around your own little ego or sense of self. It has teeth to not only understand the language of the Gospel, to "weigh these works of God," but to "show his (man's) works in the meekness of wisdom." (James 3:13) Perhaps this is why Calvin calls such wisdom "rare" - men are strangers to the concept of being moved by some invisible light.
Yet, this is what James asks.
Give the truth a body. Give it your body, and see what is done by the hands and feet sunk down in the concrete of an unmovable feast like the Word of God. There is a crowd gathered around James, a cacophony of angry, questioning voices that are plagued by doubt and ignorance - yet, he is speaking now to those who might listen. Who might be moved by this rare, celestial wisdom
Be pure. James grabs your face and turns you to look at the shoulders pushing towards the narrow door, stained in their hypocrisy and evil ways, all clawing at each other's eyes and throats to be first and to be right. Let Him greet you as that virgin bride, unstained and innocent. (2 Corinthians 11:2)
Be peaceable, he chokes out. "What causes quarrels and fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you?" (James 4:1) As you continue to stare at this crowd pushing for the doorway, you notice with horror that their faces and voices have begun to change. At first, they were all men and woman with intelligible voices - now their "wisdom" is drowned out in animalistic grunts. There is no longer an order to where feet go; they step on the throats of the bodies beneath them and pull without thought.
Be gentle, James commands. The faces are melting into masks more horror than human. Their hands become clubs; their arms become swords.
Be open to reason. A beast cannot distinguish between submission and surrender. (Jude 10) He feels hands on his back and he tears away, bucking his legs to be free of even kindness, of even correction that would lead unto "salvation of his soul from death." (James 5:20) The cord of discipline is a noose; the saddle of instruction is a straight-jacket. He is running with the wind in his ears towards the edge of a cliff, only he sees the freedom of the wide open plains before his feet.
Be full of mercy and good fruits, James yells above the noise, putting his hands on your shoulders. This is one of the driving edges of his book - even immediately before this passage, James is asking that you show your wisdom by your "good conduct."
The smell of the crowd is like rotten fruit. If there is anyone among them full of wisdom, they are growing like a green, wild vine - maybe they are becoming unrecognizable too, but it is only because the ugliness of their humanity is changing evermore into a holier glow, a leafy picture of a better Light.
As James pushes you towards the door, you hear the last bit. Be without doubting, without hypocrisy. Because the masks in the crowd, stinking now to high Heaven, are double-faced. You can begin to see them clearly in a way you didn't before - maybe they were never really changing at all. Maybe they have always been this way. You are simply beginning to understand.
And then you are alone.
The crowd has fallen away, the stink is gone, and the noise is replaced by a quiet stillness as deep as the first darkness. You are alone because James, brother of Christ, built a mirror when he crafted his book, just as much as he wrought a sword. You might imagine that the wisdom from above descends like a dove on those who bend the knee at the gateway to Christendom. But now, there is a knocking on the little door that is heart-shaped and closed deep within your soul that no one else can see or fathom. Open it!
What do you see?
Either a garden growing, some trees stronger and taller than others that struggle to clear the soil, or a wasteland full of rottenness.
"And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace."
We shall go about, the quiet of the world, armored with the celestial wisdom from above, sowing the righteousness of the Father in the dark places. We wait for the rare wisdom to reveal what we have always known - that all works come to fruition. That one day the things seen dimly will be seen clearly.
That we will be returned to the seat of all wisdom, like sparks that rise upwards to the sky.
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