Why Do You Call Me 'Lord, Lord'?

 In a world where faith is often reduced to bumper stickers and social media bios, the words of Jesus cut through the noise like a double-edged sword. "Why do you call me 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do what I say?" (Luke 6:46, NIV). This isn't just a rhetorical question from a distant historical figure—it's a direct challenge from the King of Kings to anyone who claims to follow Him. As a fundamentalist Christian, I've spent years defending the literal truth of the Bible, standing firm against cultural shifts that dilute the Gospel. But this verse? It forces me to look inward. It's easy to shout "Lord!" from the pews or in heated debates, but living it out? That's where the rubber meets the road.

This blog post is inspired by a homily I recently prepared for a group of like-minded believers—folks who, like me, hold the Scriptures as inerrant and unchanging. We gather in churches that prioritize biblical authority, separation from worldly influences, and a no-compromise stance on doctrine. Yet, Jesus' question in Luke 6:46 isn't aimed at the skeptics or the secularists; it's for us, His professed disciples. In the Sermon on the Plain (Luke 6:20-49), Jesus outlines a radical way of life: loving enemies, showing mercy, forgiving without limits, and giving generously. He then drops this bombshell, essentially asking, "If I'm truly your Lord, why aren't you obeying me?"

Let's unpack this. Fundamentalism, at its core, is about returning to the "fundamentals" of the faith—the virgin birth, the atonement, the resurrection, the second coming. We fight for these truths because they're under attack in a relativistic age. But Jesus reminds us that orthodoxy without orthopraxy—right belief without right action—is futile. He illustrates it vividly: The wise builder digs deep and lays a foundation on rock, so when floods come, the house stands firm. The foolish one builds on sand, and it crumbles (Luke 6:47-49). Our doctrines are that foundation, but if we don't build lives of obedience on them, we're setting ourselves up for spiritual disaster.

Think about the rich young ruler in Luke 18:18-23. He approached Jesus with respect, calling Him "Good Teacher," and claimed to have kept the commandments flawlessly. Sounds like a model fundamentalist—moral, law-abiding, zealous. But when Jesus commanded him to sell everything and follow, the man balked. His words honored Jesus, but his actions revealed a divided heart. How often do we do the same? We decry immorality in society, yet harbor unforgiveness toward a brother or sister in Christ. We preach family values but prioritize work over our spouses and children. We affirm God's sovereignty in sermons but worry endlessly about finances, ignoring His command to seek first the kingdom (Matthew 6:33).

In our communities, this disconnect can manifest in subtle ways. We're quick to separate from "compromised" churches or cultural trends—and sometimes that's necessary for holiness. But have we swung too far, becoming more known for our "against" list than our love? Jesus didn't just avoid sinners; He dined with them, healed them, forgave them. His lordship demands we do likewise. Consider the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37)—the religious elite passed by the wounded man, but the outsider showed mercy. As fundamentalists, we must ask: Are we the priests and Levites, too pious to get our hands dirty, or the Samaritan, embodying Christ's compassion?

Expanding on this, let's consider modern applications. In politics, we vote biblically, standing for life, marriage, and religious freedom. That's commendable. But Jesus' commands extend beyond the ballot box. He calls us to care for the immigrant ("I was a stranger and you welcomed me," Matthew 25:35), the poor, and the oppressed. Pure and undefiled religion, James says, is to visit orphans and widows in their distress and keep oneself unstained from the world (James 1:27). It's a both-and: Holiness and mercy, truth and grace.

Personal story time: I once attended a revival where the preacher thundered against worldly entertainment. Amen to that! But afterward, I overheard gossip about a struggling family in the congregation. No one offered help—just judgment. That night, Luke 6:46 haunted me. We called Him Lord in our songs, but ignored His plea to "be merciful, even as your Father is merciful" (Luke 6:36). It was a wake-up call. Obedience isn't optional; it's the proof of our faith.

So, what now? Revival starts with repentance. Examine your life: Where do you call Him Lord but resist His rule? Maybe it's in your relationships—forgiving that coworker who betrayed you. Or your finances—tithing faithfully even when it's tight. Or your time—serving the least of these instead of scrolling endlessly. Start small, but start. Build on the rock: Hear His words and do them.

In closing, Jesus isn't looking for lip service; He wants lordship in action. As fundamentalists, let's lead the way—not just in defending the faith, but in demonstrating it. When the world sees our obedience, they'll glimpse the true Lord we serve. Let's answer His question not with excuses, but with lives transformed.

What about you? How will you live out "Lord, Lord" today? Share in the comments below—I'd love to hear your thoughts.

DMMC 

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