Faith and Works

Because of what we’ve already seen about the basic nature of faith from the New Testament, it makes perfect sense that faith—being the way we receive God’s free gift—stands in direct opposition to human effort or merit. Faith and works are often shown in contrast. This isn’t just a theme in one or two verses—it’s a consistent truth throughout the New Testament. In the letter to the Galatians, this contrast takes center stage. That entire book is a powerful defense of the teaching that we are made right with God by faith alone, not by anything we do. For this reason, Galatians has been called the “Magna Charta” of Christian freedom.

At the start of the 1500s, spiritual darkness covered much of the world. But God raised up a man who read Galatians for himself, and the Protestant Reformation was born. Today, the world again finds itself slipping back into spiritual slavery—this time not to rituals, but to the idea that we must earn God’s approval. Yet God still lives, and He may again shine light upon His Word to bring freedom to His people.

Sadly, many people are blind to this truth. Galatians, which should be plain to anyone with eyes to see, is hidden under layers of confusing misinterpretations. These are just as ridiculous as the so-called “fourfold sense” of Scripture that the Reformers rightly rejected. Although many say they support the grammatico-historical method of interpreting Scripture—reading it in its plain, historical context—they ignore it in practice. Preachers and even some scholars twist Paul’s words to mean whatever they want.

If there is to be another true reformation in our time—like the one in the 16th century—it will have to include a return to plain thinking and sound understanding. We must let Paul say what he actually meant, not what we want him to say.

So, what was Paul actually trying to say in Galatians? What kind of error was he correcting? What truth was he defending?

Many modern teachers claim that Paul was only opposing shallow ceremonial religion and promoting deeper moral principles. They say he was arguing against a checklist-style religion and urging a more loving, unified life based on inner values. In short, they believe Paul opposed “legalism” in favor of “spirituality.”

This may sound appealing, but it’s completely wrong. That interpretation undermines the very heart of Christianity. It does contain a bit of truth—Paul does mention that the Old Testament’s outward rituals were lower in some sense than the inward life of faith under Christ. But that alone doesn’t explain the message of the letter.

Even in the one passage where Paul points to the outdated nature of ceremonial law, he does so to highlight a deeper problem: the entire system of trying to be right with God through law—whether ceremonial or moral—is inferior to being made right with God by grace. The external nature of the law was meant to show the weakness of a system based on human effort instead of God’s free gift.

Now, to be clear, Paul never says the Old Testament was only about law. He’s clear that grace runs all throughout it—especially in the promises. But the false teachers in Galatia ignored that. They misused the law by taking it as a system of earning salvation, instead of using it as a teacher to lead them to Christ.

So, what exactly was wrong with that legal approach, according to Paul? What made it inferior to the gospel?

The answer isn’t hidden—it’s stated clearly throughout Galatians. Paul isn’t just contrasting two different levels of law—an external version and a deeper, more heartfelt version. He’s making a completely different point. He’s showing that no matter how noble or moral a law may be, it cannot save. Why? Because it relies on human effort. Instead, salvation comes only through God’s undeserved kindness.

That truth is completely ignored by today’s modernist interpretations. Those who teach “salvation by good character” think Paul was just fighting old-fashioned ritualism. But Paul’s argument cuts just as sharply against them. He was fighting against anyone—ancient or modern—who tries to be accepted by God based on their own goodness, rather than through the sacrifice of Christ, who paid the penalty for our sins on the cross.

In fact, the popular interpretation found in many modern churches sounds almost identical to the Roman Catholic view—which, again, is the opposite of what Paul actually taught.

The return to this kind of medieval interpretation of Galatians is part of a larger trend—where people misunderstand not just one letter, but the whole Bible. One of the most common examples of this is how people misread Paul’s statement in 2 Corinthians 3:6: “The letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”

That verse may be the most misquoted sentence in the entire Bible. There are other contenders, of course—like “God in Christ” being twisted into vague, pantheistic spirituality, or the entire gospel being reduced to optimistic moralism. Or people saying the incarnation means that God and man are essentially the same thing. These kinds of distortions were common in the second century among the Gnostics, and they are just as common now. The method of careful, historical reading of Scripture is disappearing. Instead, modern readers turn the Bible into a reflection of their own wishes.

This breakdown of sound interpretation shows up everywhere in religious writing today. But nowhere is it more obvious than in how people misuse 2 Corinthians 3:6.

People often read, “The letter kills, but the Spirit gives life,” and assume Paul was saying we can ignore the details of God’s law. They think he was a “liberal” who believed the Old Testament was not true in specifics, and that what really matters is the general idea—the “spirit of the law.” They claim Paul was warning against being too literal or too strict, and encouraging people to focus on broader principles instead.

That idea may contain a little truth, but it completely misses the real weight of Paul’s words. In fact, it turns something serious into something shallow. Yes, it’s good to pay attention to context and not be narrow-minded. But Paul wasn’t just saying that. He was saying something far more intense.

Paul wasn’t contrasting the literal words of the law with the general idea behind them. He was contrasting God’s law with God’s Spirit. When he said “the letter kills,” he wasn’t condemning legalism or rule-following. He was pointing to the sheer, terrifying holiness of God’s law. The law reveals God’s perfect standards—and it condemns us as guilty.

That’s what Paul meant. The “letter,” or the written commandments, declare the death sentence on sinners. But the Holy Spirit brings life by applying the gospel to the heart.

Paul was not attacking the law of God, but pointing out its nature. The law is good and right, but it’s outside of us—it doesn’t provide the power to obey. It’s written in Scripture, on stone tablets, or in Christ’s commands, but it remains external. And because of our sinful nature, the law ends up making sin even more obvious and serious. It doesn’t save—it condemns.

That’s why Paul says the law kills. Not because it’s too strict, but because it is right—and we are not. God’s commandments don’t shrink or soften for us. They declare death for the guilty. And we are all guilty.

But thank God, that’s not the end of the story. Paul goes on: “The Spirit gives life.” And by “Spirit,” he doesn’t mean our inner spirit or some vague attitude of goodwill. He means the Holy Spirit of God.

The Spirit gives life by applying Christ’s saving work to our hearts. He brings about the new birth, or as Paul calls it, the new creation. The written law condemns, but the Spirit saves.

That theme is found all through the New Testament. In Romans 7, Paul writes, “O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from the body of this death?” That despair is replaced by hope in Romans 8: “For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus made me free from the law of sin and of death” (Romans 8:2, UASV).

Christ took the full punishment of the law in our place. The written record of our guilt—the “letter”—was nailed to the cross. Through faith, we are brought into a new relationship with God. And through the Spirit, we are made new people.

This is the fulfillment of the promise in Jeremiah 31:33, where Jehovah says, “But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says Jehovah: I will put my law in their inward parts, and I will write it in their heart; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”

Under the gospel, the law is no longer an external demand we must meet in our own strength. Now it’s something God writes inside us by His Spirit. That’s the freedom of the gospel. The law isn’t removed—it’s loved and fulfilled from the heart.

How about you? God’s law still stands. You and I have broken it in thought, word, and action. The law’s verdict is death. So, what will we do? Pretend the law doesn’t exist? Make up a softer version? Or will we receive Christ as Savior, who erases our guilt and fills us with the Holy Spirit to obey from the heart?

That’s what Paul meant: “The letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.”

So the real contrast in Paul’s writings—especially in Galatians—is not between outward ceremonies and inner religious feelings. That is important, but it’s not the main point. The true contrast is between two entire ways of thinking about salvation: a religion based on human effort and merit, and a religion based on God’s grace alone.

Galatians stands just as firmly against today’s teaching of “salvation by character,” or the idea that Christ is just a moral example to imitate. Paul wasn’t only correcting the Jewish legalists of his time—he was fighting the same kind of thinking that exists in many churches today. His central message is this: salvation is God’s work from beginning to end, and human merit has no place in it.

This is why Galatians is so powerful and necessary. Paul wasn’t just teaching that we’re justified by faith—something even his opponents would have accepted. He was insisting that we are justified by faith alone. The false teachers in Galatia, known as the Judaizers, didn’t deny the importance of faith in Christ. But they also said believers had to obey the law. In their view, salvation came from a combination of faith and good works.

They didn’t say, “You’re saved by works only.” They said, “You’re saved by faith and works together.” That is the exact view held by the Roman Catholic Church even today.

Paul’s answer to that compromise was firm. He said you cannot mix grace and works. Either you are saved completely by what Christ has done, or you are trying to save yourself—and in that case, Christ is of no value to you.

“If righteousness is through the law, then Christ died for nothing” (Galatians 2:21, UASV). That’s the hard truth Paul delivers. If you’re trusting even a little bit in your own efforts to be saved, you’ve abandoned the gospel.

This might sound like a harsh message. But it doesn’t feel harsh to anyone who has truly stood at the foot of the Cross. If you’ve ever struggled under the weight of guilt and tried to earn your way into God’s favor—only to realize you can’t—you know what a relief it is to hear that Christ has already done it all.

The heart that has been changed by God’s grace is the best theologian. The person who has seen their sins forgiven and has looked to the Savior in faith says with joy: “He loved me and gave Himself for me” (Galatians 2:20, UASV). That person understands that trusting Christ for part of salvation is not enough. We must trust only in Christ—or we are not trusting Him at all.

That is the center of the Christian message: God’s grace is undeserved, powerful, and sovereign. Salvation is not earned. It is not partially earned. It is a gift. Judgment comes because of our works, but salvation comes entirely by grace. That truth runs through the whole New Testament.

You can hear it in Jesus’ parables—like the servant who comes in from the field and receives unearned kindness, or the laborers who are paid the same regardless of when they started. You can hear it when Christ says, “It is finished,” sealing the work of salvation at the cross (John 19:30, UASV). You can hear it in the clearest summary of grace: “For the wages of sin is death; but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23, UASV).

Faith is how we receive this gift. It’s not a work we perform. It’s not a reward we earn. It’s not doing something—it’s receiving something. To say that someone receives salvation “by faith” is to say that they did nothing to earn it, but simply trusted the one who earned it for them.

So even faith itself is not a way of saving ourselves. Faith does not save us by its own power. Faith simply connects us to Christ, who saves us.

But someone might say: “Even if salvation is a gift, don’t I at least deserve some credit for believing? Isn’t that still something I do?”

Even that thought is challenged by the Bible. Scripture teaches that faith itself is a gift from God. The Holy Spirit gives us faith and unites us to Christ. Salvation doesn’t come from us—even our believing is part of God’s work.

Faith is the tool God uses to bring us into salvation, but that tool was chosen and provided by God. And we can even understand why faith, and not love, was chosen as that tool.

Love is active—it does something. Faith is passive—it receives. If the Bible said, “You are saved by love,” even if that love came from the Spirit, we might be tempted to think it came from ourselves. We might start thinking we had earned our salvation.

But faith doesn’t let us do that. Faith is not an achievement. It’s the admission that we have nothing, and that only God can save us. It is the opening of the empty hand to receive the gift.

Yes, ultimately we are saved by love—but not our love for God. We are saved by God’s love for us. “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins” (1 John 4:10, UASV).

That’s the love that saves. And the way it saves us is through faith.

So becoming a Christian is not an accomplishment. It’s an experience of God’s grace. When a person is saved, they are not doing something great—they are receiving something wonderful. Salvation is the work of God alone.

That doesn’t mean people are unconscious or unaware when they are saved. Salvation usually feels simple. Sometimes it’s emotional; sometimes not. But faith is always something the person is aware of. It involves a decision to stop trying to earn God’s favor and to start trusting Christ.

That’s why Christian preachers must speak to people’s minds, hearts, and wills. They should answer doubts, present reasons, appeal to the conscience, and encourage the heart. All of that is part of preaching. But none of it, by itself, brings a person to faith. Only the Spirit of God can create faith.

We aren’t here to explain the psychology of faith in full detail. And we’re not saying people need to understand themselves perfectly when they believe. Often, the less someone focuses on their inner thoughts, and the more they focus on Christ, the better.

But we can say this: even the conscious decision to believe in Christ is produced by the Spirit of God. That decision—however simple or emotional it may feel—is the fruit of God’s supernatural work.

If becoming a Christian is not an achievement but an act of receiving, and if faith is not a work but a gift, then what happens next? Does the Christian life have any real activity or responsibility?

Absolutely. That question is important and must be answered clearly. If salvation starts with a gift we receive passively, what happens to the moral strength of Christianity? What about the sense of personal responsibility, the drive to live a life of action and value?

Christianity has always stood out from other religions for encouraging its followers to live active, holy, and meaningful lives. But how can that be, if the Christian begins by doing nothing to save himself?

To answer this, we must look at the relationship between faith and works, and between doctrine and life.

Let’s begin with a question that has puzzled many believers. Doesn’t James 2:24 contradict Galatians 2:16? Paul says, “A man is not justified by the works of the law, but only through faith in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 2:16, UASV), but James says, “You see that a man is justified by works and not by faith alone” (James 2:24, UASV).

At first glance, this seems like a direct contradiction. Paul says we are justified by faith apart from works; James says we are not justified by faith alone but also by works.

To understand this, we must look deeper into what each apostle meant by the word faith and the word works.

Paul’s teaching about justification by faith alone, which we’ve already seen, is the foundation of Christian liberty. It teaches that we are accepted by God not because of what we have done, but because of what Christ has done. If salvation depended even a little on our own efforts, we would never be sure we were truly saved. Like people in debt trying to pay off a growing loan, we would always fall short.

But instead, God accepts us by grace. He welcomes us not based on our goodness, but based on the goodness of Christ. “God made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us; so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21, UASV).

This is the joyful certainty of the gospel: We are saved because of what God has done—not because of what we do. This truth shines through the writings of Paul, especially in Romans 8, Galatians 2–3, and 2 Corinthians 5.

Yet James seems to say something different: “You see that a man is justified by works and not by faith alone.” How do we make sense of this?

The answer lies in how each writer is using the word faith. James is talking about a kind of faith that is empty and dead. He says even demons believe that God exists—and they tremble (James 2:19). That kind of “faith” is just head knowledge. It has no trust, no love, no change of heart. It doesn’t save.

Paul, on the other hand, is talking about true, saving faith—a faith that not only understands who Christ is but receives Him, trusts Him, and is transformed by Him. This faith changes a person’s heart and life.

So James is not disagreeing with Paul. He’s correcting a misunderstanding that could arise from Paul’s teaching. Some might wrongly assume that as long as they believe certain facts about Jesus, they’re saved—even if their lives never change. James is saying: That’s not real faith.

The kind of faith that Paul describes—real, living faith—is the kind of faith James says we must have. James is just warning that some people have counterfeit faith, which produces no works, no repentance, no love. That kind of faith cannot save.

Now, let’s consider the word works. Paul is talking about “works of the law”—things people do to try to earn God’s approval. These include ceremonies, rituals, or efforts to obey God in hopes of gaining salvation. Paul says these works cannot save, because salvation must come by grace.

James, however, is talking about acts that result from real faith—like Abraham offering Isaac in obedience to God. These works don’t earn salvation; they prove that faith is genuine.

So, the difference between Paul and James is not one of contradiction, but one of emphasis. They are using the same words in different ways.

James was writing early in church history, before the controversy with the Judaizers began. The terms “faith” and “works” had not yet taken on the specific theological meanings that Paul would later use. If James had written after Paul, he might have phrased it like this: “We are saved by faith alone, but we must be sure that our faith is real—not empty, intellectual belief.”

Therefore, James isn’t correcting Paul, nor is he correcting people who rightly understand Paul. He is simply calling out false faith—faith that has no fruit. His words prepare the way for Paul’s deeper teaching about grace and salvation.

The Epistle of James is valuable for Christian growth. It has sometimes been called the “epistle of works,” but that doesn’t mean it’s shallow or legalistic. James talks about prayer, faith, and the greatness of God. He reminds us how fragile life is and how everything depends on God’s will:

“Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into this or that city, and spend a year there and trade and make a profit’—whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? For you are a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that’” (James 4:13–15, UASV).

Clearly, James was not preaching some kind of man-centered “practical” religion. He was deeply focused on God, eternity, and true faith.

Paul would agree with James that anyone who claims to have faith but lives in constant sin is deceived. He writes: “Do not be deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, … nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners shall inherit the kingdom of God” (1 Corinthians 6:9–10, UASV).

So Paul, like James, insists on the ethical and moral nature of the Christian life. The difference is this: we are not saved by moral living, but we are saved for moral living. Salvation changes us and leads us into a new way of life.

Sometimes Paul speaks with such force about holiness that it almost sounds like he’s saying all Christians are sinless. But he’s not. Paul was a pastor. He encouraged and restored believers who had stumbled. He was patient and loving toward Christians who had sinned. He never said that Christians are perfect.

But he did teach that sin has no rightful place in the Christian life. For Paul, sin in a believer is like an intruder—it doesn’t belong there. It’s a terrible mistake, a contradiction of who we are in Christ.

That’s why Paul speaks so strongly. Even though Christians do fall into sin, they must never excuse it. They must fight against it with all their strength.

So according to Paul, the Christian life begins with an act of God alone—a supernatural work called the new birth or the new creation. The person who is spiritually dead—“dead in trespasses and sins” (Ephesians 2:1, UASV)—is made alive by the Spirit of God. This awakening is not something we help bring about. It is entirely God’s doing.

Just as a newborn baby has no part in causing his own birth, so we play no part in our spiritual birth. We are raised from death to life by God’s power alone.

But new birth is only the beginning. Once we’ve been brought to life, we are called to live. And in this new life, the believer becomes active. The Christian doesn’t just sit still; he enters into a spiritual battle against sin. And in that battle, there is a cooperation between God and the believer.

Now, even that cooperation is made possible by God. He gives the ability, the strength, and the desire. But once the believer is alive in Christ, he truly fights. He puts effort into pursuing righteousness. And God doesn’t take away that responsibility. He commands it and strengthens it.

So while salvation begins with God’s act alone, the Christian life continues through the believer’s willing, Spirit-empowered obedience.

That means the Christian life is not passive, but active. It involves a constant struggle against sin—a struggle we are guaranteed to win, because God fights alongside us. Still, it is a real fight. And it is not only God’s battle—it is also ours.

Faith, by itself, doesn’t “do” anything in the sense of performing works or earning merit. But it leads directly into a life where much is done. And that brings us back to Paul’s unforgettable phrase in Galatians:

“For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision avails anything, nor uncircumcision, but faith working through love” (Galatians 5:6, UASV).

What a powerful statement! In just a few words, Paul captures the heart of the Christian life: Faith doesn’t sit still. It works through love.

This message is perfectly suited to our modern, action-oriented culture. People want to know if something “works.” Paul tells us that true faith works—but not by self-effort or legalism. It works by producing love.

And yet, we must not forget this irony: Our age, for all its emphasis on results and efficiency, is failing to achieve what it longs for. Society talks endlessly about productivity and change, yet falls short in accomplishing real progress.

Why? Because when we chase results without knowing the purpose or using the right means, we fail. It’s like trying to build a strong house without sound materials. You can use all your energy, but if the bricks are cracked and the wood is rotten, the building won’t stand.

Modern people are obsessed with being “effective,” but they don’t stop to ask what kind of work actually matters. They often praise success without asking whether the success itself is good or evil. We admire people who “get things done,” regardless of whether those things are truly right.

That’s why the modern world needs the gospel’s wisdom. Paul’s words point us to a better kind of work—the work of love, which is the result of true faith.

So what is this love? Paul describes it clearly in the last part of Galatians. Love isn’t just an emotion or a desire to help. It’s not vague compassion. It’s practical, moral obedience.

Christian love keeps the moral law of God. “For the whole law is fulfilled in one word, in this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Galatians 5:14, UASV).

A true Christian worldview does bring comfort, joy, and emotional peace—but it is not genuine Christianity unless it makes people better. Real faith results in holy living.

That holiness isn’t cold or legalistic. It doesn’t follow rules just for rules’ sake. The Christian obeys out of love. He doesn’t do good because he fears punishment or wants praise. He does good because he loves righteousness. He cannot help but follow God’s law, because it is now written on his heart.

Christian love is also unselfish. Much of the world’s culture—even in its polished, sophisticated form—is deeply selfish. It may look beautiful, but at the core it’s centered on self-interest.

Christ, on the other hand, gave His life for those who had nothing to offer. So must His followers. “Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility, let each consider the other better than himself” (Philippians 2:3, UASV).

Christian love also includes, above all, love for God. We are not saved by our love for God, but we are saved so that we may love Him. The New Testament never says, “Your love has saved you,” but “Your faith has saved you” (Luke 7:50, UASV). Yet the result of faith is always love—love for God and love for neighbor.

So, how do we live this life of love? Can we just decide one day to start doing it?

The so-called “practical” man says, “Yes. Just try harder. Use your will. Choose to do better.”

But human willpower is not enough. The way is always open—yet people never enter it. Why? Because of sin.

Some deny the power of sin. They say we’re just “imperfect,” and that over time we’ll grow better, like moving from the Stone Age to modern technology. Others admit there is evil but think each bad choice is isolated, not part of a deeper problem.

Paul rejects both views. He says sin is not just a series of bad choices. It is a power—a master—that enslaves us. He writes, “It is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me” (Romans 7:17, UASV).

Some object: “If it’s sin in me, and not really me, how can I be guilty?” But the people who are most deeply aware of sin’s power are the ones who feel the most guilt. Why? Because they see that each sinful act is evidence of a deeper allegiance—a connection to a rebellious force against God.

When we realize that sin is not just what we do, but what rules us, we begin to despair of ourselves and cry out for help beyond our own strength.

That help is found in faith. But again, faith doesn’t work like magic. It is not simply a mindset or an uplifting idea. True faith is the channel through which the power of the Holy Spirit enters a believer’s life.

In fact, Paul’s description of the Christian life in Galatians 5—where he talks about the fruit of the Spirit—doesn’t even mention faith in that section. Why? Because the Spirit is the one who produces that fruit. Faith is what connects us to the Spirit, but the Spirit does the work.

Faith, in itself, does not produce love. But through faith, we receive the Spirit of God. And He fills our lives with love, joy, peace, patience, and every other fruit of righteousness.

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