So many of us—myself included—have mastered the art of "looking the part" of a "good Christian." It is all too easy to make our faith into a performance, doing good works primarily to fuel our pride rather than to benefit our neighbors. However, if we want to live the kind of life that makes an eternal impact, all that we do must be done in love, for love's sake.

Earlier this week, I logged onto social media, and within seconds I saw a video of a Christian with a sizable online following speaking "truth" in such a hateful way. The way they spoke about people who disagreed with them seemed nothing like how Jesus would talk to or about someone. The disgust and vitriol were palpable. And in the comments below, fellow Christians were affirming this behavior and even being hateful as well.

Paul spends eleven chapters building an argument — sin, grace, the law, Israel, mercy, the whole sweeping story of what God has done. Then he arrives at chapter 12 and says, essentially, here's what to do with all of it. Not a new set of doctrines. A posture. A response to everything that came before. It's also where our own time together started weeks ago, if you've been walking through this series — attention, then affection, then activity, each one a piece of a larger picture Paul is finally putting back together in one place.

Have you ever wondered what God's will for your life was? I have. It seems like with each decade, I wrestle with what God is calling me to. In my youth, I wrestled with God's will, assuming it applied only to what college or career path I chose. In my adult years, the question deepened and expanded beyond location and job choice, often including marriage, parenthood, caring for aging family, and where we would eventually move and plant roots.

There are plenty of reasons to do good and serve others. Many of us complete volunteer hours to satisfy school, work, or service organization requirements. Others—in our less virtuous moments—show kindness and generosity in hopes of gaining leverage in our relationships. And whether we admit it or not, most of us are motivated to do charitable things, at least in part, because doing so helps us feel like "good people."

Micah was written to a people who had religion figured out but had lost the plot underneath it. They were bringing sacrifices, going through the motions, asking what more God could possibly want from them — more offerings, more ritual, more spectacle. Micah's answer cuts straight through all of that noise.