Ruleigion

Before we turn to Matthew chapter 12, I want to share a new word with you. Are you ready?

Here it is: Ruleigion.

Not religion — rule-igion.

I didn’t invent this word — it was coined by Joshua Harris from Covenant Reformed Church in Hagerstown, Maryland — but it names something Jesus confronts directly in Matthew 12.

Not religion — rule-igion. Religion, at its best, is belief in and worship of God — a lived relationship with the living God. But rule-religion is something else entirely.

Rule-religion is the belief that a right relationship with God is earned through rule-keeping. It’s the idea that obedience is the way up, that God’s favor is unlocked through performance, that blessing is negotiated through behavior.

Rule-religion says: If I do the right things, God will owe me something.

If we’re honest, rule-religion feels safe. It feels measurable. It feels controllable. It gives us something solid to stand on — or at least something that feels solid.

Rule-religion is completely at odds with the good news of Jesus Christ.

The gospel tells us something far more unsettling and far more beautiful: We don’t climb our way up to God. God comes down to us.

Salvation is not achieved; it is received. It is not earned; it is given.

Scripture is unambiguous about this. We are saved by grace through faith — not by works — so that no one can boast. Jesus fulfilled the law for us. Jesus paid for sin for us. Jesus rose from the dead for us.

Our standing before God rests not on our obedience but on His.

Which raises a very honest question:

If grace is so good, why do we keep drifting back toward rule-religion?

Because grace is humbling.

Grace removes our leverage.

Grace puts us in a position of dependence.

Rules, on the other hand, give us the illusion of control — over ourselves, over others, over outcomes. Rules let us manage anxiety. They help us categorize people. They give us something to point to when we feel unsure of our worth.

Rule-religion doesn’t usually announce itself as rebellion. It presents itself as responsibility.

That’s why it’s so dangerous.

In Matthew chapter 12, Jesus encounters a group of people who were deeply sincere, deeply religious, deeply committed to God’s law — and yet completely blind to God standing right in front of them. The Pharisees weren’t atheists. They weren’t secular. They weren’t mocking God. They were trapped in rule-religion.

Before we rush to distance ourselves from them, we need to understand something: the Pharisees are not included in Scripture so we can feel superior. They are included so we can recognize ourselves.

The Holy Spirit preserved these stories because God knows the tendency of the human heart — especially religious hearts — to slide quietly from grace into control, from trust into performance, from relationship into regulation.

So as we read this passage, the question is not, “How were the Pharisees wrong?”

The question is, “Where am I tempted to relate to God the same way?”

Let’s read Matthew 12, beginning in verse 1.

--- Don’t let the law obscure the Lawgiver

The story in Matthew 12 opens in a very ordinary place — a grain field. Jesus is walking with His disciples on the Sabbath.

They’re not protesting. They’re not challenging anyone. They’re hungry. And as they walk, they pluck a few heads of grain, rub them in their hands, and eat.

It’s a quiet, human moment. Friends walking together. Hunger being met. Life happening.

Suddenly, the Pharisees appear.

It almost feels abrupt. Like they’ve been waiting. Watching. Monitoring. And they say, “Look! Your disciples are doing what is not lawful to do on the Sabbath.”

Notice what they don’t say.

They don’t ask a question.

They don’t inquire about hunger.

They don’t express concern for people.

They issue a verdict.

To understand why this matters, we need to understand what the Sabbath was meant to be.

The Sabbath was God’s gift to His people.

The word itself means rest. It was rooted in creation — God rested on the seventh day — and it was tied to redemption — God rescued His people from slavery in Egypt. Every Sabbath was meant to say, You are not a slave anymore. God has done the work. You can rest.

The Sabbath wasn’t a restriction; it was a reminder. It wasn’t a burden; it was a blessing. It was a day to remember who God is and who you are because of Him.

Somewhere along the way, something shifted. Instead of resting in God’s provision, the people began guarding the Sabbath through layers of additional rules. How far you could walk. How much you could carry. What counted as work. What didn’t. These rules weren’t written in Scripture — they were fences built around Scripture.