Devotional 86: The Acceptance of Works: God Receives Them Through Christ

The Confession Read

Notwithstanding, the persons of believers being accepted through Christ, their good works also are accepted in him; not as though they were in this life wholly unblamable and unreprovable in God's sight; but that he, looking upon them in his Son, is pleased to accept and reward that which is sincere, although accompanied with many weaknesses and imperfections.

— Westminster Confession of Faith, Chapter 16, Section 6

Introduction

Some words of Scripture carry weight that one reading cannot exhaust — words that serve as hinges around which entire worlds of meaning turn. 'Notwithstanding,' with which this section opens, is such a word. The Confession has just told us, in Section 5, that our best works cannot merit pardon or eternal life, that the disproportion between our obedience and the glory to come is infinite, that we can neither profit God nor satisfy the debt of former sins, and that our works, as they pass through our hands, are so defiled with weakness and imperfection that they could not endure the severity of God's judgment. That is the verdict. That is where the law leaves every son of Adam — standing before the bar of divine justice with nothing in his hands capable of bearing the scrutiny of eyes too pure to behold iniquity. And it is here, precisely here, at the point where every ground of human confidence has been stripped away and the believer is left with nothing to say except, "God be merciful to me, a sinner," that the Confession speaks a word of pastoral comfort. Notwithstanding. Nevertheless. Despite everything we have just said — the disproportion, the infinite distance, the defilement — there is an acceptance. Not an acceptance of our works on their own terms, as though the preceding section were a rhetorical flourish to be politely ignored. Not an acceptance that pretends the imperfections are not real. But a real acceptance, grounded in a real union, mediated by a real Priest, flowing from a real grace that does what no quantity of human effort could ever accomplish: it makes our stumbling, sin-mixed, imperfect works pleasing to the God whose holiness would otherwise consume them. This is the doctrine that keeps the Christian life from collapsing into despair. Without Section 5, we would be self-righteous, imagining that our obedience contributes something to our acceptance. Without Section 6, we would be despairing, wondering whether anything we do can matter to a God who sees every flaw. The two sections are not in tension; they are two movements of a single symphony, the minor key of humiliation resolving into the major key of grace. The Divines understood what every pastor learns in the trenches of ministry: you cannot comfort a sinner without first wounding him. Section 5 exposed the sickness. Section 6 applies the balm.

Scripture Foundation

The Apostle Paul, in the opening chapter of Ephesians, ascends to a height from which the whole landscape of salvation becomes visible, and at the summit of that vision he speaks a word that grounds everything the Confession will say: "To the praise of the glory of his grace, wherein he hath made us accepted in the beloved" (Ephesians 1:6). The Greek verb translated "made us accepted" is echaritōsen, formed from the root charis, grace. It means that God has graced us, bestowed upon us a status that arises entirely from His own generosity and not at all from our deserving. And the sphere in which this gracing occurs is "the beloved" — Jesus Christ Himself. The Father's acceptance of the Son is the ground of the Father's acceptance of every sinner united to the Son. As surely as the Father looks upon Christ with infinite and eternal delight, so surely does He look with favour upon those who are in Christ, not because they have become delightful in themselves, but because they have been enveloped in the Beloved, hidden in Him. This is the defining Reformation truth of union with Christ, and it is the foundation upon which the entire sixth section rests. The persons of believers are accepted in Christ; therefore, and only therefore, their works are accepted in Him. The acceptance of the person precedes and grounds the acceptance of the performance, not the other way round. In every false religion, the equation runs the opposite direction: perform well enough, and you will be accepted. The gospel reverses the equation: receive what God has done in Christ, and you will be accepted — and then, from that acceptance, will flow works that God is pleased to receive, not as the ground of acceptance but as its evidence and fruit. Peter takes up the same theme with an image drawn from the temple worship that his Jewish readers would have recognized immediately: "Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ" (1 Peter 2:5). The sacrifices are spiritual — the living obedience of a redeemed people, the praise of lips that confess His name, the generosity of hands that serve the saints, the patient endurance of trials, the whole array of graces the Spirit produces in the believing heart. And these sacrifices, Peter insists, are "acceptable to God by Jesus Christ." The Greek euprosdektos means well-received, welcomed, delightedly accepted. The sacrifices do not ascend to God on their own merit. They ascend through Jesus Christ, carried upon the merit of His sacrifice, perfumed with the incense of His intercession, presented by the great High Priest who ever lives to intercede. What is accepted is not a work that has passed some quality threshold of its own, but a work offered through the right channel, on the right basis, by the right Priest. The same sacrifice, offered apart from Christ, would be rejected. The same prayer, prayed without reliance on the Mediator, would fall to the ground. The channel is everything, and the channel is Christ. The author of Hebrews draws this truth out of one of the oldest stories in Scripture: "By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he being dead yet speaketh" (Hebrews 11:4). The narrative in Genesis is famously spare — Abel brought of the firstlings of his flock, Cain brought of the fruit of the ground, and "the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering: but unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect" (Genesis 4:4-5). The difference, Hebrews tells us, was faith. Abel's sacrifice was accepted not because the material was superior — both men brought the produce of their labours — but because Abel approached God with trust that looks away from self to the promised Redeemer, while Cain approached with the assumption that his own effort entitled him to acceptance. The same pattern repeats in every generation. Two men sit in the same pew, two women sing the same psalm, two hands place the same offering in the same plate. One does so in reliance upon Christ; the other does so in reliance upon the act itself. God accepts the one and not the other — not because the outward act differs, but because the inward ground differs. Faith makes the difference between a sacrifice that rises as a pleasing aroma and a sacrifice that lies dead upon the altar. The Confession's proof texts also point us to a passage that the Divines, steeped in the typological imagination of Scripture, would have recognized as directly relevant. In the instructions for Aaron's priestly garments, we read: "And it shall be upon Aaron's forehead, that Aaron may bear the iniquity of the holy things, which the children of Israel shall hallow in all their holy gifts; and it shall be always upon his forehead, that they may be accepted before the LORD" (Exodus 28:38). The phrase arrests the attention: "the iniquity of the holy things." Even the holy offerings — the gifts Israel brought to the tabernacle in genuine devotion — carried iniquity that needed to be borne. The gold of the sanctuary was tainted by the sinful hands that offered it. And the high priest, wearing the golden plate inscribed "Holiness to the LORD" upon his forehead, bore that iniquity so that the gifts might be accepted. Aaron was a type; Christ is the reality. Jesus bears away the iniquity that clings to every offering we bring, so that what remains — the sincerity of our devotion, the genuine love, the real though imperfect obedience — is accepted before the Lord. The apostle draws these threads together in the benediction that closes Hebrews: "Now the God of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is wellpleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ; to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen" (Hebrews 13:20-21). Observe the double movement. God works in the believer "that which is wellpleasing in his sight": the good work is His own production, the fruit of His Spirit. Yet this divine work is rendered acceptable "through Jesus Christ"; even what God Himself produces in us must pass through the Mediator's hands to be received. The work is divine in origin and yet imperfect in execution; divinely enabled and yet humanly mediated; truly good and yet in need of priestly intercession. The entire transaction, from the initial impulse to the final acceptance, is "through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever." And then there is the promise every believer longs to hear: "Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord" (Matthew 25:21). The Confession cites this as proof that God is pleased to "accept and reward that which is sincere." The servant did not multiply the talents perfectly; he simply did what he could with what he was given. The master's commendation is not a wage calculated by strict desert — five talents of profit merit five cities of rule, which no human calculus of proportionality could justify. It is a gift, a reward of grace, a welcome into joy that far exceeds anything that could be claimed as a right. The "Well done" of the last day will be spoken not to works that were flawless but to faithfulness that was real; not to a life that earned the commendation but to a life that received it as grace upon grace.

What the Divines Meant

To understand what the Westminster Divines were doing in this section, notice first what they were not doing. They were not retreating from the strong anti-merit language of Section 5. They were not quietly introducing a back door through which human merit could re-enter under the cover of the word "accepted." What they were doing was drawing a distinction that every balanced theology must draw: the distinction between the ground of justification and the acceptance of sanctification. Justification rests on the imputed righteousness of Christ alone, received by faith alone, apart from works of any kind. That ground never shifts, never wavers, never admits of addition. But the works that flow from a justified life are not irrelevant to God. They are not discarded as worthless. They are accepted, welcomed, delighted in, and rewarded — not as the ground of the believer's standing but as the evidence of union with Christ and the fruit of the Spirit's indwelling presence. The section has a clear three-part structure, each answering a question a thoughtful believer will inevitably ask. First, on what basis are our works accepted? "The persons of believers being accepted through Christ, their good works also are accepted in him." The acceptance of the person precedes the acceptance of the performance. The medieval theology against which the Reformation protested had reversed this order, teaching that works contributed to the maintenance of one's state of grace so that acceptance was an ongoing process in which works played a constitutive role. The Divines, following Paul, insist that acceptance is a settled fact grounded in union with Christ. A father does not accept his child because the child performs well; the child performs well because he is already accepted, already loved, already secure in a relationship his performance did not establish and cannot dissolve. So the believer: accepted in the Beloved before he performs a single good work, his subsequent works accepted because he himself has been accepted — not the other way round. Second, what is the character of the works that are accepted? "Not as though they were in this life wholly unblamable and unreprovable in God's sight." The Confession refuses to flatter us. The works are not blameless. The Lawgiver who sees the heart knows every mixed motive, every wandering thought, every residue of self-seeking, every failure of love that accompanies even our holiest acts. The Confession cites Job's recognition that "if I justify myself, mine own mouth shall condemn me" (Job 9:20) and the psalmist's plea, "enter not into judgment with thy servant: for in thy sight shall no man living be justified" (Psalm 143:2). The acceptance of which this section speaks does not deny the imperfection; it overcomes it. Third, how then can imperfect works be accepted? "He, looking upon them in his Son, is pleased to accept and reward that which is sincere, although accompanied with many weaknesses and imperfections." When God looks upon the good works of His children, He does not look upon them in isolation. He looks upon them "in his Son" — through the lens of Christ's merit, enveloped in Christ's righteousness, perfumed with Christ's intercession. What He sees is a work that is genuinely sincere — the word carries the sense of something unmixed, genuine, without deliberate hypocrisy. God sees a work proceeding from a heart that truly loves Him, truly desires to obey, truly trusts in Christ — and He is pleased with what He sees. Not because the work is perfect, but because the worker is united to a perfect Saviour. The Divines were careful to add that God "rewards" what He accepts. This is an uncomfortable word for some Protestant ears, but it is Scriptural, and the Divines were too honest with the biblical text to suppress it. The reward of which Scripture speaks is not a wage proportioned to the intrinsic value of the work; it is a gift graciously attached to the work by a Father who delights to honour His children's obedience. The same Lord who said, "when ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants" (the verse that anchored Section 5's denial of merit) also said, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." The two statements are not contradictory but complementary. The servant is unprofitable in the sense that he has placed no obligation upon his master and can claim no wage as a matter of debt. But the master, in the freedom of his generosity, may nevertheless commend and reward the servant whose service, though owed, was rendered with faithful diligence. The reward does not contradict grace; it expresses grace. It is grace crowned with grace.

Theological Depth

Calvin, in the third book of the Institutes, addresses the reward of good works with his usual clarity. He observes that when the Fathers speak of reward, they trace the origin of the good work itself to grace, so that the reward is not a payment but a fruit of grace. The works that are rewarded are themselves gifts, the capacity to perform them is a gift, the will to perform them is a gift, the acceptance of them is a gift — so that, as Augustine said, God crowns His own gifts in crowning our works. Calvin presses the point further: even the language of reward is accommodated to our weakness, for God condescends to motivate us with promises of blessing because He knows the frame of our infirmity. So God speaks to us of rewards, of crowns, of a "Well done" that awaits the faithful servant — not because we have earned them but because He delights to encourage the obedience His own grace has produced. Turretin brings his precision to the question, distinguishing between a legal acceptance, requiring perfect conformity to the law, and an evangelical acceptance, which receives sincere though imperfect obedience through the mediation of Christ. The former is impossible for fallen creatures in this life. The latter is not only possible but promised. Under the covenant of grace, God does not deal with believers according to the strict terms of the covenant of works. He deals with them as a Father deals with His children, accepting the sincerity of their obedience and covering its imperfections with the righteousness of His Son. Turretin draws an analogy that has helped many a troubled conscience: a father does not reject his child's letter because the handwriting is crooked and the spelling is imperfect. He accepts the letter because it comes from his child, pleased with the affection it expresses even though the execution falls short of calligraphic perfection. The Father of all mercies, looking upon the stumbling obedience of His children through the lens of Christ's perfection, sees the heart and is pleased. Owen takes the argument deeper into the sanctuary, where Christ ever lives to make intercession. The acceptance of our works, Owen insists, is not a passive overlooking of their defects but an active, priestly ministry by which Christ presents them to the Father, cleansed with His own blood and perfumed with the incense of His righteousness. Owen draws on the image of the golden altar in the tabernacle: as the high priest placed incense upon the coals so that the smoke would rise before the mercy seat, carrying the prayers of the people, so Christ's intercession envelops our works, carrying them into the Father's presence in a form He can accept. What reaches the Father is not the raw, unmediated work of the believer — that would be consumed by divine holiness — but the work as it has been taken up into the intercession of the Son, cleansed of its defilement and presented as the fruit of a union that makes the believer and his works acceptable in the Beloved. This is the secret of Christian confidence in prayer and service. The believer does not approach God hoping his own sincerity will suffice; he approaches in the name of Christ, trusting that the Mediator's work is sufficient where his own is not. Hodge draws out a truth of lasting practical importance: the doctrine of this section dignifies the ordinary. If God is pleased to accept sincere though imperfect obedience, then the daily round of duties — the mother changing diapers, the labourer doing honest work, the clerk keeping accurate accounts, the student applying herself to her studies — all of it, when done in faith and for the glory of God, is accepted as a spiritual sacrifice through Jesus Christ. The monk who withdrew from the world to pursue a higher holiness imagined that only extraordinary acts could please God. The Reformation's recovery of the priesthood of all believers meant that every lawful vocation, every act of love performed in daily life, provided it proceeds from faith and aims at God's glory, is as truly a good work, and as truly accepted by God, as the most heroic act of martyrdom. The mother who teaches her child to pray offers a sacrifice as pleasing as the missionary translating Scripture for the unreached. Both are accepted through Christ. Both spring from the same grace and are received by the same Father. Shaw emphasizes the word "sincere" and what it means for self-examination. Sincerity, in the biblical sense, is not the absence of all mixed motives — for no fallen human being ever acts from motives entirely pure. It is the genuine presence of a ruling desire to please God, even in the midst of contrary impulses. The believer who gives alms and feels a flicker of pride alongside genuine compassion has not thereby rendered his gift unacceptable, provided the compassion is real and the pride is resisted. The believer who preaches a sermon and feels a moment of satisfaction in the approval of men has not thereby nullified his ministry, provided the desire for God's glory is the dominant motive. Sincerity does not require the absence of competing impulses; it requires the presence of a genuine, Spirit-wrought love for God that, however imperfectly, governs the direction of the life. Shaw warns against a scrupulosity that would paralyze the believer by demanding a purity of motive possible only in glory. God knows our frame. He remembers that we are dust. He is pleased to accept what is sincere, even when sincerity contends with the residual corruption that will not be fully eradicated until we see Him face to face.

Puritan Application

First, rest the weight of your acceptance where the Confession rests it — not on the quality of your works but on the person of Christ. The most common spiritual sickness among serious believers is the slow drift toward grounding our confidence on the state of our sanctification rather than on the finished work of Christ. We know, doctrinally, that justification is by faith alone. But as we examine our hearts and find them wanting, as we review our prayers and find them distracted, the heart begins to look for a supplemental ground of confidence, something more tangible than the imputed righteousness of Another. This section is the Spirit's antidote to that drift. Your acceptance was established before you performed a single good work, and it remains unchanged when your works are weak. The Father looks upon you in the Beloved, and the Beloved is always pleasing. When your obedience is strong and your heart is warm, you are accepted in Christ. When your obedience is weak and your heart is cold, you are accepted in Christ. Learn to say with the apostle, "I am accepted in the beloved" — not, "I am accepted because I prayed well this morning." The ground is Christ alone, and Christ does not change. Second, take courage that God accepts sincerity rather than perfection. There are believers who have spent years in spiritual paralysis because they have absorbed the unspoken assumption that only flawless obedience counts. They examine their motives and find them mixed; they examine their prayers and find them wandering; they examine their love and find it lukewarm — and conclude that God cannot possibly be pleased with anything they do. To such a believer, this section comes as a liberation. God is not a harsh master reaping where He has not sown. He is a Father who knows the weakness of His children, who remembers that they are dust, and who is genuinely pleased with the faltering steps of obedience that proceed from a heart that sincerely loves Him. Stop despising the day of small things. The cup of cold water given in Christ's name, the whispered prayer in the middle of the night, the resisted temptation no one witnessed, the patient endurance of a trial you never asked for — all of it is accepted. All of it will be rewarded. Not because it is worthy in itself, but because it is offered through the Mediator who makes it worthy. Third, let the promise of reward stir you to diligence without corrupting your motives. The Reformed tradition has sometimes been nervous about the language of reward, fearing it will infect the believer with a mercenary spirit. But Scripture is not nervous about rewards. Jesus spoke of reward repeatedly: "great is your reward in heaven," "thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." Paul spoke of the incorruptible crown that awaits those who run the race. The author of Hebrews tells us that God "is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him." The reward does not contradict grace; it expresses grace, a condescension by which God stoops to encourage His children with promises suited to their frame. A child who obeys his father only for the promised treat has a defective motive. But a child who obeys because he loves his father, and is additionally encouraged by the promise of a treat, has not corrupted his love. So the Christian who serves God because God is worthy, and is additionally encouraged by the promise that his labour is not in vain, serves with the motivation Scripture itself supplies. Let the promise of "Well done" quicken your steps. The reward is not the ground of your acceptance, but it is a gift your gracious Father delights to bestow. Fourth, let this doctrine transform the way you regard your daily work. One of the great pastoral tragedies of the medieval church was the division of life into sacred and secular spheres, with the former alone capable of pleasing God. The monk in his cell was thought to render something more acceptable than the mother in her kitchen. But if our works are accepted not because of their intrinsic elevation but because they are offered through Christ in faith, then every lawful calling becomes a theatre for divine acceptance. The parent who changes a child's diapers in faith offers a sacrifice as pleasing to God as the missionary translating Scripture. The accountant who keeps honest books for the glory of God renders a service as acceptable as the elder shepherding the flock. The student who studies biology or literature as a steward of God's creation, offering her intellectual labour as worship, builds with materials that will survive the fire of the last day. This doctrine sanctifies the ordinary. It turns every moment into an opportunity to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. Fifth, fix your eyes on the day when the "Well done" will be spoken, and let the prospect of that day sustain you through the discouragements of this one. Few of us will be called to dramatic heroism. Few will see the kind of visible fruit that fills missionary biographies. Most of us will simply get up each morning, do our duty, fight our private battles with sin, love the people God has placed in our lives, and go to bed conscious of the gap between what we intended and what we achieved. The Tempter will whisper that none of it matters, that our lives are too small to interest God, that our works are too flawed to please Him. To that whisper, this section answers with the promise of the gospel: God, looking upon your stumbling, imperfect obedience in His Son, is pleased to accept it. And on the last day, when every hidden act of faithfulness is brought to light, you will hear the words that will make every weariness forgotten: "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord." That joy is not earned — it is Christ's own joy, purchased by His blood. But the works are the evidence that you belong to Him. Live every day, then, in the light of that final acceptance, doing your duty with quiet confidence — not because your works are perfect, but because your Saviour is, and you are hidden in Him.

Prayer

O Lord our God, whose holiness is such that the heavens are not pure in Thy sight and whose justice requires a perfection that no son of Adam can render, we bless Thee for the word "notwithstanding" — for the great reversal of the gospel by which sinners who deserve rejection are accepted in the Beloved, and works that deserve judgment are received through the mediation of Christ. We confess that even our best obedience is mixed with so much weakness and imperfection that, viewed in itself, it could not endure the severity of Thy judgment. We confess the wandering thoughts that attend our prayers, the divided motives that taint our service, the coldness of our love, the sluggishness of our zeal. If Thou shouldst mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with Thee, that Thou mayest be feared. And there is acceptance with Thee, through Jesus Christ our Lord. We thank Thee that Thou hast made us accepted in the Beloved before the foundation of the world, that our standing before Thee rests not upon the shifting sand of our own performance but upon the solid rock of Christ's finished work. We thank Thee that because our persons are accepted in Him, our poor, stumbling works are also accepted — not as though they were blameless, but because Thou lookest upon them in Thy Son and art pleased to receive what is sincere. We thank Thee for the intercession of our great High Priest, who bears the iniquity of our holy things and perfumes our sacrifices with the incense of His righteousness, so that what reaches Thy throne is not the raw, defiled work of our hands but the cleansed, accepted offering of those hidden in Christ. Grant us, we pray, to live in the freedom and dignity of this truth. Let us never despise the day of small things or imagine that our ordinary, daily obedience is beneath Thy notice. Sanctify the common round of our duties — the work of our hands, the words of our mouths, the affections of our hearts — so that everything we do may be done to Thy glory and accepted through Jesus Christ. Keep us from the pride that would claim merit where none exists, and from the despair that would deny Thy fatherly delight in the stumbling obedience of Thy children. Teach us to rest in Christ's perfection while striving after our own, knowing that the striving is accepted even when it falls short. And bring us at last, we beseech Thee, to that day when faith shall give way to sight and every hidden act of faithfulness shall be brought to light. On that day, let us hear the words our hearts most long to hear: "Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." Not because we have earned the welcome, but because Christ has purchased it, and we are His, and He is ours, for ever and ever. We ask all this in the name of Jesus Christ, our great High Priest, through whom every prayer ascends and in whom every sacrifice is accepted. Amen.