In the Life of Christ
Jesus made a statement that must have startled everyone listening on the hillside: “Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:20, KJV). The scribes and Pharisees were widely regarded as the religious professionals of their day. If exceeding righteousness meant keeping more regulations, praying longer prayers, or looking more religious, the ordinary listener had little hope. But Jesus was not demanding a more polished version of Pharisaic religion. He was describing the righteousness produced when God gives someone a new heart.
The first evidence of that new heart appears in our attitudes. Throughout Matthew 5:21–48, Jesus repeatedly moves from what people have heard to what God intended. Murder begins before the physical act, when anger and contempt are permitted to settle within us. Adultery begins before the outward betrayal, when lust is welcomed and nurtured in the imagination. Dishonesty begins before a promise is broken, when our words become tools for manipulating appearances. The Pharisees concentrated on avoiding the punishable act; Jesus addressed the hidden condition from which the act grows.
This is where the Sermon on the Mount becomes uncomfortably personal. I may never strike someone, yet punish that person through silence, resentment, or contempt. I may appear faithful while entertaining thoughts that dishonor another person. I may technically tell the truth while carefully leaving a false impression. Jesus does not merely renovate our public behavior; He enters the private rooms of the heart. Grace does not teach us how to appear innocent. Grace teaches us to love what is holy.
A second evidence appears in our desires. In Matthew 6, Jesus speaks about giving, prayer, and fasting. He assumes that His disciples will practice these disciplines, but He asks why they practice them. “Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them” (Matthew 6:1, KJV). The issue is not whether someone notices our devotion. Jesus had already told us to let our light shine. The issue is whether being noticed is the reason we are shining.
David Guzik observes, “Jesus tells us to not do righteous things for the sake of display or image” (Enduring Word). That distinction reaches deeply into modern discipleship. I can teach, give, pray, sing, serve, or post Scripture while secretly craving human approval. A regenerated heart may still feel that temptation, but it will also fight against it. Increasingly, the believer begins to want the Father’s pleasure more than public applause. The question is no longer simply, “Did I do something good?” but, “Whose approval was I seeking?”
A third evidence is found in our ambitions. Jesus said, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33, KJV). Before Christ changes us, life naturally revolves around security, possessions, recognition, and comfort. After Christ enters our lives, those concerns do not instantly disappear, but a competing desire is born. We begin wanting God’s name honored, His kingdom advanced, and His will accomplished.
This does not mean faithful Christians never worry or become distracted by the world. We live in the tension between what God has already begun and what He has not yet completed. We are saved, but we are not yet glorified. The evidence of new life is not flawless performance; it is a new direction. When earthly concerns pull one way, something within us keeps turning back toward Christ.
Finally, exceeding righteousness transforms our relationships. “Judge not, that ye be not judged” (Matthew 7:1, KJV) does not forbid spiritual discernment or loving correction. Jesus soon tells us to remove the mote from our brother’s eye—but only after addressing the beam in our own. Stuart Weber summarizes the teaching well: “When you exercise judgment toward others, do it with humility” (Got Questions).
Jesus is confronting the pride that enlarges another person’s failure while minimizing our own. Christian correction should never sound like one superior person speaking down to an inferior one. It is one sinner, sustained by grace, helping another sinner move toward the same Savior. Before I correct someone, I should ask what repentance God is requiring of me. When correction is necessary, it should be offered with truth, gentleness, and visible humility.
There should be something recognizably different about the lives of Jesus’ disciples. Not sinless perfection, but growing love; not religious performance, but purified motives; not freedom from every worldly concern, but a heart increasingly occupied with God’s kingdom; not the absence of correction, but correction seasoned with grace. This is the exceeding righteousness Jesus produces—a life changed from the inside and steadily becoming visible on the outside.
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