Christianity today finds itself fractured over a fundamental question: Is the Law of Moses still binding, or has it been abolished? On one side stand those who believe the Law is obsolete; on the other, those who insist that God’s standards have never changed. Navigating this divide requires setting aside denominational traditions and letting Scripture—particularly the words of Jesus—serve as the sole, unadulterated guide.
Jesus’ teachings are directed specifically toward those whom He has called—and only He knows who they are. Consequently, His words do not resonate universally, nor are they meant to. It is frustrating to witness the casual cherry-picking of His sayings, yet this tendency is understandable; many of His lessons appear thoroughly impractical when viewed through a purely physical lens, especially to Gentile minds unfamiliar with the Hebraic foundations of the Law.
So, should the Law of Moses still be followed to the letter? According to Jesus, the answer is an unequivocal yes. In Matthew 5:17–20, He declares:
“Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Therefore, anyone who sets aside one of the least of these commands and teaches others accordingly will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.”
This passage is profound, yet it is frequently misunderstood—either legalistically distorted by those who cling to the letter or conveniently dismissed by those who prefer grace without obedience. In contemporary Christianity, many have become preoccupied with outward religiosity, missing the deeper spiritual heartbeat of Jesus’ words. There is a vast chasm between believing in Him while safeguarding one’s self-interest and truly embracing His teachings with a heart willing to forsake sin.
Jesus remains as provocative and unsettling today as He was in the first century. His focus was relentlessly spiritual, even as His ministry played out on the physical stage of Galilee and Judea. He spoke to the crowds in parables, veiling truth, but unveiled it to those earnestly seeking regeneration—like Nicodemus in John 3. Without a meticulous study of that discourse, one cannot grasp the full weight of Christianity; indeed, even His closest disciples failed to comprehend until the arrival of the Holy Spirit.
Consider the pivotal moment when Jesus foretold His suffering:
“From that time on, Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, the chief priests, and the teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life. Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. ‘Never, Lord!’ he said. ‘This shall never happen to you!’ Jesus turned and said to Peter, ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.’ Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me’” (Matthew 16:21–24).
From a human vantage point, Peter’s interjection seemed affectionate and loyal. Why such a stinging rebuke, even likening him to Satan? Because it starkly illustrates the collision between divine and human reasoning. God perceives reality from an eternal, spiritual altitude; humanity remains tethered to temporal, physical horizons. What we deem solidarity, He often regards as obstruction.
The spirit is limitless; the body is confined—not only by space and time, but also by how we define kinship through physical closeness. For instance, traveling to Cape Town without a single coin is an impossibility in the flesh, yet spiritually, it could occur in an instant. This glaring disparity underscores why true Christians must subordinate the physical to the spiritual, which is precisely why Jesus demanded that His followers relinquish everything before taking up His yoke.
What Jesus revealed in rebuking Peter is nonsensical to a world governed by tangible logic. Earthly relationships are built on exclusivity and proximity; spiritual ones thrive on radical inclusivity and divine provision. The command to give away all possessions and sources of income appears reckless. Yet the disciples walked away from their fishing nets and families to follow Him—an act that remains impractical and unacceptable to ordinary human sensibilities.
“Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Peter answered him, “We have left everything to follow you! What then will there be for us?” Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel” (Matthew 19:24–28).
This exchange highlights the futility of mixing physical pragmatism with spiritual calling. Jesus never coerced anyone to follow Him; in fact, He often actively discouraged the half-hearted.
“When Jesus saw the crowd around him, he gave orders to cross to the other side of the lake. Then a teacher of the law came to him and said, ‘Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.’ Jesus replied, ‘Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.’ Another disciple said to him, ‘Lord, first let me go and bury my father.’ But Jesus told him, ‘Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead’” (Matthew 8:18–22).
Such passages are routinely glossed over by those who claim the Christian name. Anyone who dares to practice them is often branded heretical, peddling unorthodoxy. In a sense, that is predictable—Jesus Himself was deemed a heretic. The Laws given to Israel were fundamentally spiritual, and thus they stand in perpetual opposition to the value systems of the physical world.
Pastors frequently explain away these hard sayings to soothe new converts, reasoning that if bishops do not take them seriously, why should the laity? This placation breeds a comfortable deception, offering the solace of religion without the conviction of transformation. But honesty compels us to ask: Is Christianity designed to be convenient or inconvenient for the flesh? The only honest answer is that it can only be grasped through the lens of sacrificial atonement.
Deception is among the most pernicious evils; it provides immediate gratification while leaving reality untouched. One cannot narrate the story of Zimbabwe without acknowledging that comfort preceded the calamity. Independence in 1980 arrived with promises of self-determination, yet a sober assessment reveals that material life has deteriorated compared to the colonial era. Anything that offers instant ease—like the euphoria of 1980—often paves a road to delusion, a blindness that has afflicted the nation ever since.
For those who perceived the illusion early, the current hardships are no surprise. But for the majority, over forty years have elapsed without recognizing that independence was, in many ways, a phantom. Today’s afflictions, starker than those before 1980, are blamed on external forces rather than on ourselves.
One of the most soothing yet destructive attitudes is the refusal to accept responsibility. That convenient evasion can be distilled into four words: “It’s not my fault.” For decades, many Zimbabweans have clung to the sanctions narrative as a scapegoat. It has been refreshing to hear a few voices challenge this falsehood, yet a vast number of young people still choose exile abroad rather than confront the irresponsibility festering at home. The implication is clear: true independence has never genuinely been realized.
At the root of this self-deception lies a distortion within Christianity itself—where words Jesus never uttered are wrongly attributed to Him, and religious complacency is shaken only when He speaks of “gnashing of teeth” at His return. The core issue is the misinterpretation that comes from conflating spiritual truths with physical realities. Perhaps we must begin by unpacking what law-keeping truly entails. Jesus said, “For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:20).
God’s perfect Law is a mirror of His Kingdom’s nature. You cannot comprehend the Kingdom without revering the Law. Jesus’ life exemplified the flawless keeping of God’s statutes, particularly as He embodied the true meaning of Sabbath rest. The Pharisees, strict in their external observance, challenged Him because they missed the spiritual substance; they failed to see that these commandments were always intended to reflect one’s inward spiritual condition.
Jesus never instructed anyone to disregard God’s Laws, which remain in force for this present world. As He stated, until heaven and earth pass away, not a single stroke of the Law will vanish. So we must ask: When do heaven and earth disappear? According to the Judeo-Christian canon, the ultimate dissolution occurs after the final judgment, as depicted in Revelation:
“Then I saw ‘a new heaven and a new earth,’ for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea… ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away’” (Revelation 21:1–4).
Thus, God’s Law remains intact until all is consummated. After the final judgment, the wicked are eradicated, and the redeemed dwell eternally as God’s children. At that point, the Law becomes unnecessary—just as Jesus and His brothers do not need it. His brothers are true Christians, born of God through baptism, who, though they face hatred and persecution, have earned the privilege of sonship by living as He lived. While Revelation 21 describes the future reality for all, God’s people have already known His presence throughout their sojourn.
The distinction is that Christians endure physical persecution, whereas those who merely inhabit the New Jerusalem without having suffered for Christ’s sake will instead face the consequences of breaking divine precepts. Jesus made it unequivocal that those who embrace His teachings will not taste the death that springs from disobedience:
“Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day…’” (John 6:53–57).
What else could the Pharisees do but plot His demise? He exposed the irreducible clash between the spiritual and the physical. Blaming the Jews for their blindness is as fruitless as blaming oneself; they could not grasp heavenly principles because their gaze was fixed on earthly concerns.
“The Jews answered him, ‘Aren’t we right in saying that you are a Samaritan and demon-possessed?’ ‘I am not possessed by a demon,’ said Jesus, ‘but I honor my Father, and you dishonor me… Very truly I tell you, whoever obeys my word will never see death’” (John 8:48–51).
This last promise remains mysterious to many modern Christians. Yet Scripture plainly testifies that true believers already possess the right to eternal fellowship with God and are no longer under the Law’s condemnation. This does not imply, as some erroneously assert, that the Law was rescinded at the cross. Rather, Paul explains to the Galatians that reliance on the works of the Law places one under a curse: “For all who rely on the works of the law are under a curse, as it is written: ‘Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the Book of the Law’” (Galatians 3:10).
All humanity labors under this curse—save for true Christians, to whom Jesus has pledged everlasting life. For them, the Mosaic Law no longer holds jurisdiction, because they have surrendered every earthly attachment to follow Him. The Law, once corrupted by Israel’s physical obsessions, was redeemed through Christ’s blood and fulfilled spiritually.
In the same manner, genuine Christians are liberated from the Law’s bondage, having renounced all to become God’s children. They walk by the Holy Spirit, with Jesus as their intercessor. This path is arduous for those who have left everything behind, but He invites: “Come to me, you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). In Christ, true freedom is found.
While adherence to God’s Law remains relevant for those still enmeshed in the world, true Christians are not commissioned to preach legalism, for they have been emancipated from worldly systems. Their mission, as Jesus ordained, is to proclaim the gospel of the Kingdom and baptize repentant believers in the Triune name. Nevertheless, they will not encourage others to flout the Law, lest they risk being called least in the Kingdom. Their role is to announce the good news and call for repentance.
For those who, after weighing the cost, choose not to follow Christ, living by the Law is not inherently wrong—as Jesus implied in Luke 14:31. Some may observe these commandments sincerely, according to their understanding. Yet that alone does not make them Christians. The deeper misunderstanding resides in those who attempt to keep the Law while presuming they are already Christians. True Christianity is not a patchwork of observance; it is allowing Christ to live within and to act through us.
The decisive difference is that Christianity demands total surrender to Jesus, severing the tug-of-war between godliness and worldliness. Ironically, the Law itself can fuel that internal conflict. Ignoring God’s Law may lead one toward ruin, yet it might afford temporary enjoyment—much like the comfort of 1980, which brought fleeting relief to many, only for subsequent generations in Zimbabwe to reap the whirlwind decades later.
A good life—truly, eternally good—starts with sacrifice.
Andrew Masuku is the author of Dimensions of a New Civilisation, laying down standards for uplifting Zimbabwe from the current state of economic depression into a model for other nations worldwide. A decaying tree provides an opportunity for a blossoming sprout. Written from a Christian perspective, the book is a product of inspiration, relieving those who have witnessed the strings of unworkable solutions, leading to the current economic and social decay. Most Zimbabweans should find the book to be a long-awaited providential oasis of hope, in a simple conversational tone.
The Print copy is now available at Amazon.com for $13.99
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