Jesus Plus Nothing: The Math I Keep Doing on My Own Salvation

Kent Keller preached this Sunday at Christchurch, wrapping up our Colossians series. One line of his has been following me around all week, so I wrote it down. — Jeff Reed

I’m good at math I was never asked to do.

Kent said something Sunday that sounds simple and isn’t. He was in Colossians 1:19 — in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell — and he put it as plainly as I’ve heard it: it’s not Jesus plus works. It’s not Jesus plus baptism. It’s not Jesus plus the right politics or the right diet or having your act together first.

It’s just Jesus.

And I sat there watching online, doing the math anyway.

The plus I never say out loud

Here’s how I actually operate, if I’m honest. On a good week — I prayed, I was patient with my kids, I didn’t say the thing I wanted to say in the meeting — I feel like God and I are square. Maybe a little ahead.

On a bad week, I keep my distance. I don’t pray as much, because it feels like showing up to a friend’s house after you forgot their birthday. I know the gospel. I could preach you the gospel. And I still run my week through a scoreboard that the gospel says was unplugged two thousand years ago.

That’s the plus. Jesus plus my performance. Nobody taught me to say it out loud. I’d deny it if you asked. But it’s the equation my gut solves every single day.

Why “plus” is such a good disguise

The reason this is so hard to catch is that the “plus” always attaches itself to good things.

Prayer is good. Obedience is good. Generosity, self-control, showing up, serving — all good. Kent was careful about this on Sunday, and I want to be too: by all means, try harder. Be better. None of that is the problem.

The problem is what we quietly do with it. We take the good fruit and slide it underneath our standing with God, like a receipt we’re keeping in case He asks. And the second we do that, we’ve turned grace into a transaction — the one thing Ephesians 2:8-9 says it has never been. By grace you have been saved, through faith. And this is not your own doing… not a result of works, so that no one may boast.

Not a result of works. Not even a little. Not even the good ones.

What are you going to add to the cross?

Kent asked a question Sunday I haven’t been able to shake: What are you going to add to the cross of Christ? What do you have that improves on what He’s already done?

When you say it like that, the whole project collapses under its own weight. My best week — my genuinely best week, the one I’d be proud to show you — is going to improve on the finished work of the Son of God? Top it off? Add a coat of polish?

It’s almost funny when you see it clearly. It’s the lion in Kent’s opening story, roaring around the jungle demanding everyone confirm he’s king, when his standing never depended on the vote. I’ve spent a lot of energy campaigning for a position that was already decided at the cross.

What changes when you stop doing the math

I don’t want to oversell this, because I’m still learning it. But here’s what I’ve noticed on the weeks I actually believe just Jesus.

Obedience gets lighter. Not less serious — lighter. When I’m not obeying to buy something, obedience turns back into what it was always supposed to be: a thank-you. Colossians says it right there — as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him… abounding in thanksgiving (Colossians 2:6-7). Received, then walk. In that order. The walking is the response to the receiving, not the down payment on it.

And the bad weeks stop functioning as exile. When I fail — and I will, this week probably — I don’t have to serve myself a sentence of distance before I’m allowed back. The distance was the lie. My standing didn’t move, because it was never sitting on my scorecard to begin with.

So what do we do Monday

Church, this isn’t a technique. It’s three small honesties.

Name your plus. Everybody’s got one — the thing you secretly think you bring to the table. Being useful. Being respectable. Finally kicking that one sin. Say it to God out loud this week: I’ve been trying to add this to Your cross. It’s just You.

Catch the scoreboard. Next time you feel closer to God because you performed well, or further because you blew it, stop and notice it. That swing is the “plus” showing itself. Preach the one-word correction back to yourself: just.

Do the good thing anyway — as a thank-you. Then go be generous, go serve, go obey. Not to buy anything. Because it’s already bought. That’s the only motive that lasts past a hard Tuesday.

Jesus plus nothing. I’ve been carrying a calculator around a debt that was marked paid a long time ago.

I’m trying to put it down. If you’re doing the same math I am, I’d love to talk about it — find me Sunday, or come sit with a group this fall. We’re all still learning to subtract.

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