More Than Moses: Why the Law Was Never the Final Standard

There’s a growing interest among some Christians in returning to the Law of Moses. Whether through renewed Sabbath observance, dietary restrictions, or celebration of Old Testament festivals, many see it as a path to deeper obedience or greater faithfulness. At first glance, this desire may appear reverent—a longing to return to God’s original instructions. But beneath the surface lies a misunderstanding of what the Law was meant to do, and what time it is on God’s redemptive calendar.

The Law of Moses was never the ultimate standard. It was a starting point—a divine accommodation to human weakness, designed to begin shaping a people in the art of properly ordered love. Yet even that lesser standard proved too difficult to keep. In an effort to “protect” the Law, religious leaders over time introduced what Scripture calls the Traditions of Men—additions that made the Law heavier, not holier. These traditions were more restrictive, but not more righteous.

On the other end of the spectrum are the Expectations of God—not a longer checklist of rules, but a deeper calling: to love as God Himself loves. These expectations are stricter in a different sense—not legalistically, but morally, spiritually, and relationally. They aim not at external compliance but at internal transformation. And they reveal just how far short we fall—not only of God’s ideal, but even of the Law’s introductory lessons.

If the Law was already too high a bar for Israel, and the traditions made it heavier without helping, what do we make of God’s own standards—standards which go even deeper into the human heart?

II. The Law of Moses: Training in Properly Ordered Love

The Law of Moses was never intended to be the pinnacle of righteousness. It was a provisional covenant, tailored for a particular people in a particular stage of redemptive history. God gave it not as a burden, but as a gift—a structured, external guide to help Israel begin learning what it looks like to love God and neighbor in an orderly society.

In that sense, the Law functioned like training wheels. It didn’t demand the fullness of God’s moral expectations, but it did introduce the fundamentals: justice, mercy, holiness, and reverence. It taught the people to rest (Sabbath), to revere what is holy (clean vs. unclean), to care for the poor (gleaning laws, tithes), and to repent when they failed (sacrificial system). It was a gracious on-ramp to something much greater.

But even with these gracious provisions, Israel could not consistently obey. And within the Law itself, there were signs that it was an accommodated system—a divinely inspired compromise designed for a people still immature in love. Laws about divorce, slavery, and even taking women as captives in war were not expressions of God’s ultimate moral ideal; they were regulations that restrained fallen human impulses in a brutal world. As Jesus explained, certain commands—like those regarding divorce—were given because of your hardness of heart (Matthew 19:8). These concessions made life under the Law tolerable, but they also made clear that the Law was not the final expression of God’s righteousness.

The Law wasn’t flawed in itself. It was holy, just, and good (Romans 7:12). But it wasn’t designed to perfect the human heart. It was meant to guide, convict, and prepare. As Paul put it, “the law was our guardian until Christ came” (Galatians 3:24)—not a ceiling, but a floor.

That’s why it’s a mistake to treat the Law of Moses as an eternal blueprint for righteousness. It was a temporary measure that prepared the way for something better. And it’s why modern attempts to revive the Mosaic Law miss the point entirely. The very people to whom the Law was given could not keep it. And today, without the temple, the priesthood, or the sacrificial system, it is not only ineffective—it’s impossible.

III. The Traditions of Men: Stricter, But Oppressive

In an effort to safeguard obedience to the Law of Moses, generations of religious leaders built additional rules around it—what many refer to as “fences.” These were meant to prevent people from even coming close to breaking the Law, but over time, they became indistinguishable from the Law itself. What began as a strategy for reverence gradually morphed into a system of oppression.

These Traditions of Men focused obsessively on external behavior. They regulated everything from how far one could walk on the Sabbath, to the precise weight a person could carry, to elaborate hand-washing rituals not commanded by Moses. Jesus confronted these additions head-on:

“You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men.” (Mark 7:8)

The problem wasn’t just that these traditions added unnecessary burdens. It was that they obscured the heart of the Law itself: love. Jesus called them out for straining out gnats while swallowing camels (Matthew 23:24)—meticulously tithing herbs while neglecting justice, mercy, and faithfulness. In other words, they were stricter than the Law of Moses in their attention to detail, but not deeper in their devotion to love.

The irony is striking: these man-made rules, crafted to preserve the Law, actually undermined its intent. Rather than training people in properly ordered love, they choked it. Rather than forming a community marked by mercy and righteousness, they produced hypocrisy and self-righteousness.

The Traditions of Men added no redemptive value. They were not divine accommodations; they were human amplifications. And Jesus didn’t just correct them—He exposed them as counterfeits of true obedience.

IV. The Expectations of God: Stricter in Love, Not in Legalism

While the Traditions of Men multiplied rules and burdens, God’s expectations go in a very different direction. His standard is not about technical precision or ritual boundaries—it’s about the radical, sacrificial, other-oriented love that flows from His own character. And in that sense, God’s expectations are stricter than both the Law of Moses and the traditions, but not in a way that adds more lines to a rulebook. They demand more of the heart.

Jesus makes this clear in the Sermon on the Mount. God’s standard isn’t merely “Do not murder,” but “Do not be angry with your brother” (Matthew 5:21–22). It’s not just “Do not commit adultery,” but “Do not lust” (Matthew 5:27–28). It’s not “Love your neighbor and hate your enemy,” but “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:43–44). This is not a shift from law to lawlessness—it’s a shift from surface-level restraint to heart-level transformation.

God is the master at expressing properly ordered love. His expectations reflect the depth and perfection of that love. But to those still learning, still struggling with sin, these expectations can seem impossibly high. That’s not because they are arbitrary or burdensome, but because they aim for the very thing we are weakest at: loving rightly. God expects more than rule-following—He expects hearts that mirror His own.

This is why the Law of Moses was given—not to express the fullness of God’s expectations, but to begin leading a people in that direction. The Law gave form and structure to love in its early stages. God’s expectations go beyond form to essence. They are higher, but not heavier; deeper, but not more detailed. They add value where the Traditions of Men only added weight.

The more we understand the heart of God, the more we see that His expectations are not about restriction but about redemption. They aren’t meant to bind us, but to shape us. And yet, in our fallen condition, they are just as impossible to keep as the Law—or even more so—apart from divine grace.

V. The Institutions Are Gone—for Good Reason

Even if someone today wanted to return to the Law of Moses in full, they couldn’t. The Law wasn’t just a list of moral commands—it was part of a comprehensive covenantal system that included priests, sacrifices, and a temple. Without these institutions, central parts of the Law become impossible to fulfill.

There is no functioning Levitical priesthood.

There is no temple in Jerusalem.

There is no sacrificial system operating as prescribed.

This isn’t just a logistical problem—it’s a theological one. These elements weren’t optional accessories to the Law. They were essential components. The Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), the various offerings for sin, purification, and guilt—these were built into the fabric of the covenant. Without them, the Law collapses under its own weight. To claim we are returning to the Law while bypassing these foundational institutions is to mutilate the Law, not honor it.

But more importantly, these institutions didn’t disappear by accident. They were taken away by God Himself.

The destruction of the temple in AD 70 wasn’t just a historical tragedy—it was a prophetic marker. It signaled that the old covenant was passing away, just as the book of Hebrews says:

“When there is a change in the priesthood, there is necessarily a change in the law as well.” (Hebrews 7:12)

“In speaking of a new covenant, he makes the first one obsolete. And what is becoming obsolete and growing old is ready to vanish away.” (Hebrews 8:13)

God dismantled the old system because its purpose had been fulfilled in Christ. Jesus is now our High Priest (Hebrews 4:14), our once-for-all sacrifice (Hebrews 10:10–14), and the cornerstone of a new and living temple (Ephesians 2:19–22).

To try to go back is not only futile—it’s disobedient to the flow of redemptive history. The old covenant has served its purpose. The institutions are gone because the greater reality has arrived.

VI. Why Return to the Shadow When the Substance Has Come?

The Law of Moses was always meant to point forward—to something fuller, richer, and permanent. It was never the end goal. Paul calls it a “shadow of the things to come,” but says, “the substance belongs to Christ” (Colossians 2:17). The Law was preparatory. Christ is the reality.

Shadows can be helpful. They give shape and hint at form. But once the person steps into the room, we don’t cling to the shadow—we embrace the real.

And yet, that is precisely what some are tempted to do. Whether out of reverence for the Old Testament, a desire for deeper spirituality, cultural identity, or a sincere effort to obey God, many find themselves drawn back to the Law of Moses. Some even believe they are following Jesus more faithfully by doing so. But often, this return is driven by a misunderstanding of the teachings of Jesus and Paul.

Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:17—“I did not come to abolish the Law but to fulfill it”—are sometimes read as a command to keep the Law in full. But in context, Jesus is not calling His followers to live under the old covenant. He is declaring that He is the one to whom the Law and the Prophets pointed. Likewise, Paul’s statement in Romans 3:31—“Do we then overthrow the law by this faith? By no means! On the contrary, we uphold the law”—isn’t a command to return to Mosaic obedience, but a declaration that the gospel upholds the Law’s purpose: to lead us to righteousness through faith in Christ.

Jesus didn’t come to discard the Law—He came to complete its purpose. He fulfilled it by living perfectly, dying sacrificially, and rising victoriously. He became our righteousness (Romans 10:4). To cling to the Law after that is not reverence—it’s regression.

To go back is to trade grace for burden, transformation for regulation, Spirit for stone (2 Corinthians 3:6). It’s to take the tutor’s hand after the Master Himself has come to walk beside you.

This isn’t lawlessness—it’s the gospel. The call of Christ is to a higher law: the law of love, written not on tablets of stone but on hearts of flesh. We fulfill this law not by returning to old forms, but by walking in the Spirit (Galatians 5:16–18; Romans 8:4).

So why return to the shadow, when the light has already come?

VII. Conclusion: Resting in the Master of Love

The Law of Moses was good. It was a divine gift, suited for its time and purpose—to train the people of God in the basics of justice, mercy, and holiness. But it was not the final word. It was never meant to be. It pointed forward.

The Traditions of Men added weight without wisdom, complexity without compassion. They tried to protect the Law, but instead distorted it, burdening people with legalism while missing the heart of love God desires.

The Expectations of God, on the other hand, are not about rule-counting, but about properly ordered love—deep, radical, self-giving love that reflects God’s own heart. They are beautiful and transformative, but impossible to fulfill apart from Him.

That’s why Jesus came. He alone could embody the fullness of God’s expectations. He alone could satisfy the Law’s demands and expose the futility of human tradition. He alone could take the burden from our shoulders and replace it with His own righteousness. In Him, we don’t abolish the Law—we surpass it. Not by effort, but by grace. Not by clinging to the old, but by walking in the newness of the Spirit.

So let us not go backward, reaching for systems that were always meant to pass away. Let us press forward, eyes fixed on the one who fulfilled the Law, transcended tradition, and embodied the love of God in flesh and blood.

Let us rest in the Master of Love.