Why do you do anything? That’s a question of motive. It’s the sort of question buried beneath every little human decision in history. What’s your motive? What’s driving your decision? What’s reverberating off the walls of your heart?
Parents think about this all the time because we know there’s a big difference between empty obedience and heartfelt response. This comes out clearest when I ask one of my kids to say, “Sorry.” I don’t know why we don’t see the irony in asking another human to be repentant, which is only an act of God when it comes down to it. The angry and terse “Sorry!” isn’t so surprising. And we usually say something like, “No, you have to mean it.” That is, you have to trade empty obedience for heartfelt response.
Moralism vs. Obedience
This daily roadbump in reconciliation brings up an important difference. How do we know when we’re teaching our kids moralism (“just do the right thing”) and when we’re teaching them obedience (“act with a heart for God”)? In my morning devotionals, I came across 2 Corinthians 5:16–17. Right after talking about how we’ve died with Christ, Paul writes, “From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” We don’t regard Christ “according to the flesh,” that is, by outward appearances. And we don’t view each other that way anymore. Being a “new creation” means, among other things, being heart creatures. God is the one who sees the heart (1 Sam. 16:7). Moralism, in this context, is behavior based on outward appearances. Biblical obedience is done with a heart for God, a heart that God sees with piercing clarity, a heart in which God works.
Now, we’re all aware that people don’t have immediate heart change. That’s why it’s ironic that we tell our kids, “No—say you’re sorry and mean it!” It’s the equivalent of “Just change already!” We know it’s not that simple and that heart change doesn’t happen with a finger snap. It takes time to process. The heart isn’t electrically wired. It’s more like a stone that has to heat up in the sun of God’s goodness and grace.
But moralism is content with the empty obedience. It says, “It doesn’t matter what’s going on inside you. Just do the right thing!” The problem for Christians is that God says the right thing emerges from the heart. We love God with our whole being (Matt. 22:37)—heart, soul, and mind—not just with our actions.
I hear the practical concern at this point, since I share it. “So, what are we supposed to do? Just let our kids walk away without saying ‘sorry’?” Well . . . yea. Otherwise, we risk suggesting that empty obedience is enough. And that’s more dangerous than we think. Christianity, after all, isn’t about external change; it’s about internal change that leads to external applications. Though broader culture (in its kids’ books and movies) praises moralism as humanity’s highest virtue, nothing could be further from the truth. Moralism isn’t a virtue; it’s a vice. It suggests that masking our hearts is a good thing. But if we do that, we’re just fooling ourselves, the same way a child does when he shouts “Sorry!” and walks away with a sense of fulfilled obligation.
Looking at Obedience in Children’s Books
(Editor's note: Spoiler alert for The Wingfeather Saga in this section!)
When we read children’s books to our kids, we need to look at what those books are saying about the human heart, not just what they’re saying about human action. It’s for this reason that I valued the inner spiritual discourse that happens for Janner Wingfeather in Peterson’s The Wingfeather Saga. Look at the heart reflection going on in Janner’s desire to be more selfless. The context is him being jealous of his younger brother Kalmar being allowed to descend a tunnel to talk with “the Maker” (God).
Janner’s heart somersaulted with shame, embarrassment, envy, frustration at himself, contrition, gratitude, and then more frustration. As soon as he settled on one feeling, the next one crowded it out. He sighed, wishing he could rest and let things be as they were. He felt as if he were two people: one boy who saw the situation objectively, who knew the right answers—which were to be content with his lot, grateful to the Maker, humble to his calling—and another boy whom he hated, who felt things hotly and demanded attention like a child throwing a fit.
Even the good feelings betrayed him, because once he felt them he was proud of having them, which opened the door for the next multitude of conflicting emotions. No, he would think. Gnag is dead. You’re the Throne Warden. Be glad Kalmar is acting like a king; be glad the Maker is real; be glad you get to be a part of this. He would settle for a moment, even breathe a sigh of relief. Then like a rat in the kitchen, a dark thought would skitter across the floor of his thoughts.
On and on it went, in the light of the Fane of Fire, while Leeli contentedly rested her head on his shoulder and waited.
Gradually Janner began to understand, deeper in his heart than any of these other thoughts or feelings, that what was happening inside of him was the Maker’s doing. Just being this close to the Fane of Fire stirred the muck in Janner’s soul so that every broken part of him floated to the surface and was drawn in sharp relief, just like those dust motes.
After more than an hour, with Leeli now asleep on his shoulder, Janner understood something about his own heart: he was deeply, blatantly selfish.
Now, that is what real repentance looks like, the spiritual pulse of the word “sorry.” Of course, this response from Janner comes at the end of a long inner battle. It wasn’t commanded of him in a moment. There’s a process, as there always is for growth in Christlikeness. Sanctification isn’t a chair we sit in; it’s a road we walk, all the while begging the change to come now. Hearts don’t grow so quickly. And when we try to force them to? That’s when we get moralism. Real obedience, biblical obedience, is a matter of the heart.
Following Jesus vs. Becoming Like Jesus
Our kids need to see that there’s a difference between following Jesus and becoming like Jesus. We use the former expression with good intentions, and the language has biblical roots. Jesus tells us to “follow” him (Matt. 4:19). But when used uncarefully, that language becomes a trap for moralism. It means, “Do what Jesus does,” as the popular slogan suggested years ago, WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?). That’s very different from becoming like Jesus. Becoming like Jesus means having his heart and will become your own. It means that his person, through the power of the Spirit, works inside us, slowly and purely, to change us from the inside out.
Becoming like Jesus isn’t a moral project. It is, like every other aspect of our redemption, an act of God. Janner realized that “what was happening inside of him was the Maker’s doing.” The Maker’s doing—not Janner’s attempts at self-improvement. The same applies to our redemption, our repentance, our heart health. It’s the Maker’s doing.
God vs. Moralism
Do you know why true obedience trumps moralism every time? Because God defeated Satan, that’s why. God is the one wholly responsible for shaping and turning our hearts, for beating back the evil inside us, for bringing us from selfish to selfless. Just like he’s responsible for upholding our brain synapses, our muscle movements, the seasons waxing and waning. God upholds everything by the word of his power (Heb. 1:3). He’s going to be the one responsible for our obedience, not some hollow attempt at moralism.
As parents, we need to be vigilant about what the books we read our kids assume about human nature, about redemption, about godliness. Because there’s a big difference between teaching moralism and teaching obedience. The former teaches human effort. The latter teaches divine grace. We know where our salvation lies. Let’s read books that point our kids in the right direction, that showcase the mysterious and incomprehensible grace of the God of hearts.
