Let me be clear about something from the start: I cannot obey the Torah perfectly. Not even close. The culture I live in, the circumstances of my life, the absence of a temple, the complexities of modern society—all of these make complete Torah observance impossible.
I get that. I'm not suggesting otherwise. And I'm certainly not claiming to have achieved some level of righteousness through my efforts.
But here's what I am saying: the Torah is the law God Himself gave to His people, Israel. It's not a collection of moral opinions. It's not man-made wisdom. It's not cultural preference. It is God's direct instruction to His people—something no other moral standard can claim in quite the same way.
And because of that, we should respect it as something important and sacred.
We Should Strive Where We Can
Even though I can't obey the Torah perfectly, I can obey it in the ways that I can. And I believe I should.
Does that make me legalistic? Does that mean I think I'm earning my salvation? Does that mean I'm putting myself under a burden God never intended?
No. And this is where I need you to hear what I'm actually saying, not what you might infer.
We are redeemed through faith, not works. I believe in Jesus as my atoning sacrifice, and that is what pleases God. That is the foundation. That is the gospel. My standing before God is secure because of Jesus—not because of anything I do or don't do.
But from that place of security—from that place of freedom from guilt—I am free to obey God's commands in a spirit of love and eagerness. Not to earn anything, but to express something: gratitude, love, trust.
When You Can't Obey
There are laws in the Torah that I simply cannot obey given my circumstances. Some require a functioning temple. Some require living in the land of Israel. Some require a community structured in ways that don't exist in modern Western society.
When I encounter those laws, I don't abandon the entire mission and call it quits. I don't sink into despair. I don't berate myself for falling short.
Instead, I embrace the truth that I am unable to obey, and I thank God all the more for Jesus, my atoning sacrifice. I acknowledge my limitation, and I worship the God who knew my limitation before I did—and who made a way for me anyway.
It's not about berating ourselves. It's about recognizing God's sacrificial love for us.
When You Can Obey, But You're Reluctant
But here's where it gets convicting.
When there's a law in the Torah that I can obey—fully capable of obeying—but I'm reluctant to do so, that should cause me to pause and reflect on the weightier matters.
Why am I reluctant to obey this law that I am fully capable of obeying?
- Is it because I would be embarrassed to obey it in front of other people?
- Is it because my church isn't worried about it, and that's good enough for me?
- Is it because there's just something inside of me that doesn't want to?
Those questions matter. Because they reveal something about my heart. They reveal where I'm prioritizing comfort over obedience, where I'm prioritizing social acceptance over God's instruction, where I'm prioritizing my own desires over His wisdom.
And that's uncomfortable to face. But it's also good to face. Because growth happens when we confront those places in our hearts where we're resistant to what God has said.
The Importance of Torah: It Drives Self-Reflection
This is the importance of the Torah—it drives self-reflection and improvement.
God's law doesn't line up with what is in our nature. That's the whole point! If it did, we wouldn't need it. But it doesn't, and so the Torah is the counterpart to our human heart. It's iron sharpening iron.
Our natural inclination is to do what feels right to us, what's comfortable, what's culturally acceptable, what everyone else is doing. But God's law calls us to something higher. It calls us to holiness. It calls us to be set apart. It calls us to examine our motives and our hearts and our actions against an objective standard—His standard.
And here's the beautiful tension: God's Spirit allows us to maintain a spirit of love. God's law allows us to refine that love and align it with truth.
The Spirit keeps us from becoming cold, legalistic, self-righteous. The law keeps us from becoming aimless, relativistic, self-justifying. Together, they shape us into people who love God and obey Him—not perfectly, but genuinely.
It's Not Legalism—It's Love Responding to Love
When I talk about honoring the Torah, some people hear "legalism." They hear "works-based righteousness." They hear "bondage."
But that's not what I'm saying. That's what you're inferring.
I'm saying that God gave His people instructions because He loves them. He didn't give them arbitrary rules to make their lives harder. He gave them wisdom to make their lives better. He gave them boundaries to protect them. He gave them practices to draw them closer to Him.
And when I read those instructions and think, "You know what? I can do that. And I want to do that, not to earn God's favor, but to honor Him"—that's not legalism. That's love responding to love.
Jesus Himself said, "If you love me, keep my commands" (John 14:15). Paul wrote, "The law is holy, and the commandment is holy, righteous and good" (Romans 7:12). James called it "the perfect law that gives freedom" (James 1:25).
Obedience isn't the enemy. Loveless, prideful, self-righteous obedience is the enemy. But obedience rooted in gratitude and love? That's worship.
Torah Is the Standard God Gave
Here's what makes the Torah unique: it is the moral standard God Himself gave to His people, Israel. Every other moral standard—whether it's cultural, philosophical, or even drawn from other parts of the Bible—was not given by God in such a direct, explicit manner as we see in the Torah.
God spoke. Moses wrote. Israel received. That's the Torah.
Does that mean the rest of the Bible isn't important? Of course not. Does it mean the teachings of Jesus or the writings of Paul don't matter? Absolutely not. But it does mean that the Torah holds a unique place as God's explicit instruction to His people.
And if I am part of Israel—grafted in through Jesus, as Paul explains in Romans 11—then those instructions are for me too. Not as a means of earning salvation, but as the wisdom of a Father to His children.
The Heart of the Matter
So when I say I strive to follow the Torah, here's what I'm actually saying:
- I believe God's instructions are good, and I want to honor them where I can.
- I recognize I can't obey perfectly, and I'm grateful for Jesus' sacrifice that covers my shortcomings.
- When I can't obey due to circumstances, I don't despair—I worship the God who made a way for me anyway.
- When I can obey but I'm reluctant, I examine my heart and ask why.
- I see the Torah as iron sharpening iron—God's wisdom refining my love and aligning it with truth.
That's it. That's what I'm saying.
I'm not claiming perfection. I'm not promoting legalism. I'm not adding requirements to the gospel.
I'm simply saying: God gave us His instructions, and I want to honor them—not to earn His love, but because I already have it.
A Challenge for All of Us
Whether or not you feel called to observe the dietary laws, the Sabbath, or any other part of the Torah, I think this principle applies to all of us:
When God has clearly instructed something, and you're capable of obeying it, but you're reluctant—pause and ask why.
Maybe it's a command to love your neighbor. Maybe it's a call to forgive. Maybe it's an instruction to be generous, to speak truthfully, to honor the Sabbath, to avoid sexual immorality, to care for the vulnerable.
Whatever it is, if you know what God has said, and you're able to do it, but you don't want to—that's the moment to lean in and examine your heart.
Because God's commands aren't meant to burden us. They're meant to bless us. They're meant to shape us into the people He created us to be. They're meant to draw us closer to Him.
And when we respond to His love with obedience—imperfect, stumbling, grace-dependent obedience—we're not being legalistic. We're being His children.