On the Ordo- and Historia Salutis

I've noticed that, for some reason, I am more careful and nuanced with my formulations in the "comments" section than I am in my posts proper. For this reason, I want to clarify something.

In the Christian life, the existential and individual experience of the faith is rooted in the eschatological realities of that faith. To put it differently, redemption applied to me (ordo salutis) stems from redemption accomplished outside of me (historia salutis).

So the redemptive-historical shift from worship according to "the old way of the letter" to worship according to "the new way of the Spirit" accounts for the experiential differences between the saint of Romans 7 and the saint of Romans 8. Moreover, the horizontal movement from the old age to the dawning of the new is the background for Paul's dichotomy between the flesh and the Spirit in Galatians 5.

In fact, I am arguing in my current series of sermons on the psalms that it is the psalms of remembrance (like 136) that inevitably lead to psalms of confidence (like 91). So knowing that God "brought Israel out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm" leads the psalmist to say that "he who dwells in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." The historia salutis grounds the ordo salutis, and redemption accomplished always leads to redemption applied.

This is all fine in theory, but it gets tricky when new indicatives make their entrance into the story (like, say, the resurrection of Christ and subsequent gift of the Spirit). When we ignore the ongoing development of God's redemptive plan, we are not only in danger of losing the contours of the biblical landscape, we are also susceptible to an under-realized eschatology that cannot but affect our daily Christian living.

What I'm saying is that both street maps (systematic theology) and topographical maps (biblical theology) are important. We can probably get by with one or the other, but we lose much more than we gain by such neglect.

The Law and the Flesh

According to Paul, the plight of the "wretched man" (Rom. 7:14-25) is said to be coterminous with his living "in the flesh" and serving God "according to the old way of the letter" (7:5-6). Just to make sure you didn't miss that, I'll say it another way: For Paul, living "in the flesh" is connected with life "under the law."

Apparently the NIV is wrong, and being "in the flesh" is not simply acting according to our "sinful natures." Or, just as "under the law" is redemptive-historical rather than existential, so is "in the flesh."

The Hebrew word baśar (flesh) refers to the flesh of bodies (Gen. 2:21, 23). By extension it came to connote humanity, and more specifically, human frailty (Gen. 6:12; Ps. 78:39).

The Pauline appearances of "flesh" (sarx), however, rarely denote flesh in its physical form, but usually carry the extended notion of humanity (hence his use of "Israel" or "Abraham" "according to the flesh," meaning according to human genealogy, I Cor. 10:18; Rom. 4:1). Where Paul’s employment of the flesh/Spirit motif is unique, however, is in its eschatological formulation. For Paul, the work of Christ and the subsequent gift of the Spirit signaled the entrance into this age of the life and dynamic of the age to come. The primary element of heaven is the Spirit, whose proper domain is in glory. Hence the apostle's most commonly used description of holy living as walking "according to the Spirit," or, according to the coming eschatological age. In contrast to this is life lived "according to the flesh," i.e. existence that is in accordance with this present evil age that is passing away. Thus Paul’s use of "flesh" is unique in that it highlights the progression from denoting anthropological creatureliness (humanity) to theological creatureliness (sinful humanity), and finally to eschatological existence (life in keeping with this age).

This means that neither Romans 7:14-25 nor Galatians 5:16-26 are describing a struggle between the "good" and "bad" sides of our personalities. Don't get me wrong, a struggle is surely involved in both passages. The former, however, is between nomos (law) and ego (I), while the latter is between sarx (flesh) and pneuma (Spirit).

And both are eschatological rather than existential.

The Law: Sin's Subtle Accomplice

Paul says in I Corinthians 15:56 that "the sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law." His point, it seems, is that indwelling sin has an accomplice that aids its progress and furthers its agenda. This is why Paul could say in Romans 7:5 that "our sinful passions were aroused by the law" when we were living "in the flesh."

What is it about the law that brings about such seemingly counter-productive results?

For those who insist upon reading Paul's statements about law and grace in purely existential terms (i.e., "under the law" means a state of condemnation, "under grace" means a state of justification), the only way to make sense of Paul's negative statements about the law is to assume that he must be talking not about law as such, but about a Pharisaic legalism that distorts the law into a means to earn God's blessings (see how the NIV renders Phil. 3:6, for example).

But if we say, rightly, that "under the law" and "under grace" in Romans 6:14 mean under the jurisdiction of the Old- and New Covenants respectively, then we must conclude that there was something about the former that engendered bondage in its subjects.

What was it about the Old Covenant that led to the dominion of sin?

I think the only answer that makes sense is the law's works principle ("Do this and live"). As long as Israel was serving God according to the "old way of the letter" (Rom. 7:6), they were "no different than slaves," for while they were heirs to God's blessings, they were eschatologically immature and juvenile (Gal. 3:23 - 4:7). The Mosaic law, then, functioned as a "babysitter" to keeps close tabs on God's people until they reached maturity.

What, then, signals the saints' graduation from adolescence to adulthood?

If comparing Romans 7 and 8 gives us any indication, I'd say the answer is the indwelling Spirit of the risen Christ.

Was Paul a Carnal Christian?

Countless hours and gallons of ink have been spent discussing the "wretched man" of Romans 7:14-25, the debate often centering on whether Paul is describing a regenerate or an unregenerate man.

The answer is no.

Before we get to my position, though, I will address the more popular view, namely, that Paul is speaking of himself and his own battle with the flesh.

If Paul is describing his own personal experience in Romans 7:14ff, this creates a serious contradiction between his statements in 6:14, 7:14, and 8:7. According to this position, the apostle's conversion (his individual shift from being "under the law" to being "under grace") resulted in "sin… not hav[ing] dominion over [him]." But at the same time that Paul was allegedly free from sin's dominion (6:14) he was "sold as a slave to sin" (7:14). In other words, Paul’s so-called autobiographical account in 7:14ff is a perfect description of the condition that his so-called conversion in 6:14 is supposed to have precluded.

Furthermore, when we compare 7:14 and 8:7, the "autobiographical view" would force us to say that Paul's description of himself as "carnal" in 7:14 demands that he is therefore "hostile to God" and "not in submission to God’s law" (8:7). But this description appears inconsistent with his "delight[ing] in the law of God according to the inward man" spoken of in 7:22. These inconsistencies force us to reject the view that the "wretched man" of Romans 7 describes the normal condition of the believer.

Still, there is obviously some difference between the liberated saint in Romans 6:14 and the shackled man of Romans 7:14-25. What accounts for this contrast? Is the former a "victorious Christian" who has received the second blessing of the Spirit while the latter remains a "carnal Christian"? Is the so-called "saint" of Romans 7 even a Christian at all?

I would argue that answer is found, not surprisingly, in the text itself. The contrast is drawn in 7:6 between the person who serves God according to the old way of the letter (i.e., under the [Mosaic] law), and the person who serves God according to the new way of the Spirit (i.e., under grace [of Christ]). The distinction, then, is redemptive-historical rather than existential in nature (though the latter results from the former). The Old Covenant, therefore, produces bondage, condemnation, and death (as Paul argues in II Cor. 3).

This means that when we recognize ourselves in the carnal man of Romans 7, labelling this type of sanctification the result of "a theology of the cross" as Lutheran theologians are wont to do, we are stopping short of espousing the semi-realized eschatology of the New Covenant.

Law, Grace, and the Dominion of Sin

I have been arguing that the New Covenant gift of the Holy Spirit has concrete ramifications for the believer's sanctification, for the heavenly promise, of which the Spirit is the down payment, is no longer merely a part of the "not yet" of future hope, but in some measure participates in the "already" of our present experience.

Consider Romans 6:14 ("For sin shall no longer have dominion over you, for you are not under the law, but under grace"). The traditional approach to this passage has been to interpret the categories "under the law" and "under grace" existentially, as denoting our pre- and post-conversion situation.

Some problems arise from this view. First, "law" in Paul usually refers not to an abstract a-historical principle, but to the law of Moses in particular. In fact, his other uses of "under the law" (hypo nomon) leave us no other option. When Paul spoke to those Galatians who desired to be "under the law," was he talking to people who longed to be under the condemnation of the law? When for the sake of the Jews Paul became as one "under the law," does this mean he became as one condemned by the general principle of law? When Jesus is said to have been born "under the law," does it mean that he was born under the condemnation of the law? Of course not. "Under the law" means under the jurisdiction of the Mosaic covenant.

Secondly, if "under the law" and "under grace" are existential categories describing one's being either condemned or justified, then Paul's argument is a non-sequitur. Justification does not free a person from the power of sin, it frees him from the guilt of sin.

But if Paul's categories of "under the law" and "under grace" are redemptive-historical rather than existential in nature, then it makes perfect sense that the person living under the jurisdiction of the New Covenant would be less susceptible to the dominion of sin that the Old Covenant saint. After all, we have been indwelt by the Spirit of the risen Christ, whose law sets us free from the law of sin and death.

But don't take my word for it. Paul goes on to give us two vivid examples of what life "under the law" and "under grace" look like.

Just read Romans 7 and 8.

An Ascending Son, a Descending Spirit

If what I have argued is true, and the cross and glory are not antithetical but organically related (the former being the means to the latter), where does that leave us today? Are believers under the New Covenant no closer to glory than those saints who lived on the other side of the cross, under the shadow of Sinai?

In order to answer this question we must remember that the cross was followed by an empty tomb three days later. The resurrection and ascension of Christ play an enormous role in our own sanctification, for it was these events in redemptive history that were the occasion of the Holy Spirit's descent upon the gathered church at Pentecost. Though Jesus prophesied at the feast of Tabernacles of providing "living water," "the Spirit was not yet given, because Jesus was not yet glorified" (John 7:39).

If the Holy Spirit is the "Spirit of glory" whose proper domain is heaven (I Pet. 4:14), and if this "Comforter" was sent by the now-ascended Christ as a down payment of the future (John 16:7; Eph. 1:13-14), then it follows that the saint on this side of the cross and empty tomb enjoys a fuller measure of his heavenly inheritance than was possible under the law.

To put it differently, the experience of the saint who "draws near" to God according to the "new and living way" that Christ has instituted is characterized by a lot more "already," and a lot less "not yet," than that of his Old Covenant counterparts. That's why it's called "semi-realized eschatology."

After all, we love to yell at the Catholics because their crucifixes all have a dead Jesus on them. But as Protestants, does our boast in an empty cross have ramifications for sanctfication, or only for church décor?

Covenantal Prolegomenon

"The doctrine of the covenants," writes David VanDrunen, "can itself unite the various strands of theology into a unified, coherent, and harmonious whole." The Bible, after all, is more than an ecclectic and hasily-thrown-together gaggle of battle accounts, prophecies, parables, and personal letters. It is the story of the creation, fall, redemption, and consummation of all things, the playwright and director of which is God, and the lead character in which is his Son.

So let's unpack this idea that "all of the basic realms that systematic theology investigates are defined in covenantal terms," shall we?

VanDrunen begins with Prolegomenon, which is basically a fancy codeword for our method of doing theology, the various tools we need in order to begin our task. Building upon Michael Horton's work, VanDrunen argues that we should allow the Bible itself to provide us with our theological and hermeneutical method, rather than our bringing our own preferred method to the table.

A "covenantal prolegomenon," therefore, would begin with the biblical insistence, echoed in WFC vii.1, that the relationship between the Creator and his creatures occurs through a "voluntary condescension on God's part, which he hath been pleased to express by way of covenant." In other words, we do not relate to God in a purely individual capacity, but collectively and covenantally.

As passages like Jeremiah 31:35-36, 33:20-26, Psalm 19, and Romans 1 demonstrate, "Man's first contact with nature, both that within and outside of himself, confronts him with the powerful Deity who is none other than covenant Lord.... In this light," VanDrunen concludes, "prolegomenon is thoroughly covenantal."

So what think ye? A worthwhile project? A stretch?

Westminster Systematics: An Oxymoron?

In his essay entitled "A System of Theology? The Centrality of Covenant for Westminster Systematics," Westminster Seminary California's Associate Professor of Systematic Theology David VanDrunen begins with "the provocative question of whether the Westminster Seminaries have ever actually done systematic theology." He argues that Murray, Gaffin, and Strimple were actually exegetes, not systematicians, "perform[ing] their 'systematics' task by exegeting passages related to various topics under consideration, [while remaining] relatively uninterested in developing a system as such" (see The Pattern of Sound Doctrine, p. 195-220).

Toward developing such a system, VanDrunen suggests that "the Reformed doctrine of the covenants [is] the place where a system of theology can be centered and from which it can emerge in orderly coherence and biblical fidelity" (p. 196).

Before outlining what this might look like, a few caveats are offered. First, since all theology arises from Scripture, "the rigorous exegesis that has marked the tradition must be sacrosanct." Further, Vos's appreciation for a redemptive-historical hermeneutic must be maintained, with biblical theology functioning as a servant of systematics. VanDrunen's final concern is to not allow a system to be forced upon Scripture as a straitjacket that controls exegesis and stifles God's Word.

As long as systematics' various loci are arranged around a single doctrine (justification for Lutherans, predestination for hyper-Calvinists), these dangers are not likely to be avoided. But if the Scripture itself provides "a way of expressing the unity and coherence of the whole of Reformed doctrine, an architectonic structure that undergirds all of the various threads of revealed truth," then we can begin taking steps in the right direction.

This idea that "centers" the system while not being "the center" of it, is the doctrine of the covenants. In subsequent posts I plan to flesh this out with the good professor's help. Stay tuned....

Forest and Trees, Parts and the Whole

Our discussion concerning the role and authority of confessions leads us, quite naturally, into the somewhat murky relationship of systematic- to biblical theology. The former focuses on revelation as a whole and has been likened to a road map, whereas the latter focuses on the unfolding of God's redemptive plan, and has been described as a topographical map. In the former the dots are connected, while the latter displays the hills, valleys, and plot twists of the divine drama.

Systematic theology has traditionally been dubbed "the queen of the biblical sciences," and without a doubt, we ignore it at tremendous cost to our faith (which, I would argue, is happening in so-called Federal Vision circles as we speak). But at the same time, when Scripture becomes a "cul-de-sac of isolated proof-texts" to reinforce our dogmatic assumptions, we have fallen off the tightrope in the opposite direction.

"In both biblical theology and systematic theology," writes Michael Horton, "the dialectic of whole and parts, never resting on one or the other, is always generating greater refinement as well as scope" (Covenant and Eschatology, 240). In fact, a handful of professors at Westminster Seminary California are advocating a reintegration of these two disciplines under the rubric of covenant (an idea I plan to explore in subsequent posts).

When the eschatological subcurrent of Scripture is appreciated, doing theology becomes less clinical and abstract, and theology is approached the way one would approach a person rather than a subject under a microscope.

"[Biblical theology] is not theology from a 'God's-eye' perspective, but from down on the ground, where one is never quite sure what looms over the horizon of the next mountain range until one arrives there. To be sure, there are directions, prophetic anticipations of what one will find, but the fulfillment always surpasses expectations" (Ibid., 241).

Jesus Christ, the focus of Holy Writ, is not a "timeless idea" but a Person. But how do we study God's revelation of him while avoiding dogmatism on the one hand, and biblicism on the other?

The New Covenant and the Law of Christ

The moral will of God was not only expressed in the law of creation and then covenantally formulated for God’s old covenant people at Sinai, it is also given to the church by means of the new covenant, and its law, the law of Christ. It would be a grave mistake, however, to insist that, since God’s moral will is immutable, therefore the law of Christ is no different from the moral law expressed in the Decalogue (which, according to WLC 98, is where the moral will of God is "summarily comprehended").

While it is certainly true that the moral commands of the Decalogue are of perpetual validity (as Paul’s numerous quotations of them demonstrate), it must not be forgotten that it has been a while since Israel was led out of Egypt, and some significant things have transpired in the meantime. As Paul’s indicative/imperative paradigm suggests, the entrance into redemptive history of new indicatives opens the door for the entrance of new imperatives as well. For this reason we ought not think it strange that the moral will of God should undergo certain nuances that reflect the unique post-Pentecostal period of fulfillment in which we are now living (the shift of the church's worship from the last to the first day of the week comes immediately to mind).

For a further example consider I John 2:7-8. Concerning the command to love one another the apostle writes:

Brethren, I write no new commandment to you, but an old commandment which you have had from the beginning. The old commandment is the word which you heard from the beginning. Again, a new commandment I write to you, which thing is true in Him and in you, because the darkness is passing away, and the true light is already shining.

Here we see that a command that John's readers had had "from the beginning"—and therefore an old command—is called new because "the darkness is passing away, and the true light is already shining" (or, because the kingdom has been inaugurated and the last days have begun). What we have here is not "eternal moral law," nor is it "the third use of the law." Both of these formulations tend to flatten salvation-history by lifting principles from one redemptive epoch and placing them in another, as though the Bible were a collection of "timeless truths" that fell from the sky, leather-bound and thumb-indexed for easy use. Rather, what is exemplified in I John 2:7-8 is an application of the law of Christ, which consists of an old command repeated with new spin, grounded upon the indicative of Christ's love for his sheep expressed in his death, resurrection, and ascension to glory.

Tyranny, Liberty, and the "Wretched Man"

Most would agree that there is some form of contrast between the subject of Romans 7 and the subject of Romans 8. One is "carnal" and "sold as a slave to sin" while the other is "indwelt by the Spirit" and, liberated from bondage, is able to call God "Abba, Father."

It is not the presence of the contrast that occasions debate, but the nature of it. What accounts for such a wide discrepancy between the experience of the subjects of these two chapters? Is one a carnal Christian while the other is a victorious one? Has one received the "second blessing" of the Holy Spirit's power while the other remains woefully untouched by such a reviving influence? Or should we insist with the traditionalists that these chapters present no tension at all?

I would reject all of these solutions in favor of the suggestion that the contrast between "under the law" and "under grace" specifically, and between Romans 7 and 8 more broadly, is clearly set forth in 7:6.

"But now we are released from the law, having died to that which held us captive, so that we serve not under the old written code but in the new life of the Spirit."

Notice that the supposedly mysterious contrast, which Paul actually takes time to explain in no uncertain terms, is not the existential contrast between a believer and an unbeliever, or between a spiritual Christian and a carnal one, but the redemptive-historical contrast between serving God "in the old way of the letter" (the law of Moses) described in chapter 7, and serving him "in the new way of the Spirit" (the law of Christ) described in chapter 8.

Unless we are willing to bite the traditional bullet and affirm that a New Covenant saint is "carnal" (7:14, contra 8:9) and in bondage to sin and law (7:14, contra 6:14), we are left with little choice but to conclude that the explanation for the discrepancy between the saint of Romans 7 and the saint of Romans 8 is found exactly where Paul told us it is found: The former served God under the tyranny of the Mosaic law, while the latter serves God under the liberty of the gospel.

Ridderbos, Moo, and Fee on Romans 7

I still plan to argue my own position on this much-disputed text, but for now, consider what these men have to say:

"It is this redemptive-historical contrast of the old and the new (7:6) which governs everything and in the light of which one is to answer the anthropological questions. If, on the other hand, one turns the matter about and takes his point of departure in the anthropological description of what is then conceived as the struggle between the old and the new man, it is no longer to be comprehended how one could still maintain the real, redemptive-historical theme of these chapters (the antithesis between law and Spirit) in an intelligible manner." Herman Ridderbos, Paul: An Outline Of His Theology, 143-44.

"... This clause ['I was once alive apart from the law'] depicts the situation of Israel before the giving of the law at Sinai—when sins were not yet 'being reckoned' (5:13).... Paul is looking back, from his Christian understanding, to the situation of himself, and other Jews like him, living under the law of Moses.... We might say, then, that Rom. 7:14-25 describes from a personal viewpoint the stage in salvation history that Paul delineates objectively in Gal. 3:19 – 4:3." Douglas Moo, Romans, 437, 448.

"The personal dimension thus refers to life under Torah. That, and that alone, is under scrutiny.... Whatever else, this passage does not describe a struggle within the believer between his or her flesh and the Spirit, but rather describes what it is like to be under the Law while in the clutches of sin and the flesh; and according to both 7:1-6 and 8:1-4 for the believer that all belongs to the past." Gordon Fee, God's Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul, 513. Fee also cites Romans 7:5 ("When we were in the flesh, the passions of the flesh used to be at work, aroused as they were through the law") adding, "Only a theological or existential a priori can get around something as transparent as that."

The Triplex Usus Legis

Despite the fact that the Bible rarely, if ever, uses the term "law" in an a-historical fashion denoting the theological category into which all divine imperatives—whether found in Genesis, Jeremiah, or John—must fit, it is precisely this assumption that makes the taxonomy of the triplex usus legis (the threefold use of the law) possible. A more redemptive-historical and covenantal paradigm, on the other hand, would yield similar conclusions while employing a different method in reaching them.

The schema that I am proposing would avoid extrapolating a general and universal notion of "moral Law" (with a capital L) which is then applied to people in varying ways depending upon their individual status before God. Rather, this approach would seek to discover the application of the divine will to individuals by identifying which covenant, and thence which law, they are under. As I hope to demonstrate, there are three principal covenants identified in Scripture under which men and women throughout redemptive history have stood in relation to God. Each covenant contains its own law, with its own respective uses.

I will unpack this in future posts, but for now I will just set the taxonomy forth:

1. All people, by virtue of the imago Dei, are under the covenant of creation and are subject to its law, the law of nature.

2. Israelites in time past were under the Old Covenant and were subject to its law, the law of Moses.

3. Believers today are under the New Covenant and are subject to its law, the law of Christ.

"Law" in this schema is connected to, and coextensive with, the covenant of which it is a part. Moreover, each law (-of nature, -of Moses, -of Christ) has its uses built into it, which eliminates the biblical acrobatics needed to decode how "the Law" applies to people in their varying covenantal contexts.

OK, fire away....

Law: Existential or Eschatological?

We have seen that questions such as "How does the law function in the covenant of works as opposed to the covenant of grace?" betray a view of law that is ipso facto non-covenantal. "Law," this question assumes, stands outside of time and simply drops into covenantal arrangements while remaining distinct from the covenants themselves.

The Bible, however, simply doesn't speak about the law in this way. Nowhere is "law" used to denote an eternal and unchanging list of moral norms that stands outside of covenant history. Sure, God talks about "My law" in Jeremiah 31, but that's none of our business. What is our business is how that "moral law" gets covenantally enshrined, either on tables of stone (as under the Old Covenant) or on the fleshy tables of the hearts of men (as under the New).

When the Bible does speak about the law, rather than pointing to an abstract and a-historical ethical code, it is almost always referring to the law of Moses (sometimes to the OT Scriptures in general, other times to the books of Moses in particular, and still other instances to the specific works principle upon which the Mosaic covenant is based).

So for example, when Paul says that "sin shall not have dominion over [us, for we] are not under the law, but under grace," he is not saying that the person who believes the gospel is free from the condemning aspects of the law (regardless of redemptive-historical context), and possibly also from the civil and ceremonial aspects as well (depending on redemptive-historical context)... but either way, he is still subject to the moral parts of the law (but only in its third use, no longer in its first).

This view, while common, assumes an existential rather than eschatological conception of "law."

What Paul is actually saying is that the person who is under the New Covenant is not under the law of Moses, period. No moral/ civil/ceremonial division, no first use/second use/third use distinction. The law, by which Paul means the Mosaic law, has passed into obsolescence in its entirety.

(... Which seems to me to be exactly what his first-century audience would have understood him to be saying.)

God and Coppertone

One of the touchiest areas in preaching is the part that is usually tacked on at the end of the sermon: application. Now you may be thinking, "What's so hard about application? Just tell me how to put the biblical passage into practice." But God is not like Coppertone -- he's just not that easy to apply.

As creatures made in God's image, we are "wired" for law. By this I mean that, unlike the gospel, which is foreign and counterintuitive, the law is in us by nature. Whether it's "Five Simple Steps for Victorious Living" or "Ten Ways to Improve Our Marriages," the fact is undeniable that the imago Dei in us craves instruction, and the American in us believes that if we put our minds to it, by golly, we can accomplish anything.

When we add to our moral self-confidence the fact that we are hopelessly self-obsessed, practical application becomes even more tricky. You see, the notion that the Bible is not actually about us, but about Jesus Christ, is rather offensive to our fragile egos. Hence the promise on the websites of our megachurches that the messages given contain helpful principles that can be used in the "real world" (which means my world). But when all the minister does is talk about Jesus and what he has done the complaint quickly arises, "But what does all that have to do with ME?"

I'm not suggesting we jettison practical application, but I am suggesting that we alter our approach to it. Rather than viewing God as a commodity that religious consumers use to improve their lives, ought we not reorient our lives to make them useful for him and his purposes? And instead of reducing God to a "co-pilot" whose occasional advice helps steer the ship of our lives, shouldn't we see ourselves as hopelessly shipwrecked without him, and him alone, at the helm?

It is only after we humbly acknowledge that we are but small parts of something much greater and grander than oursleves that we will ever be ready to be told what to do.

A Kinder, Gentler Moses?

I realize I'm doing this out of order, but as a follow-up to my last post on Christ in the Prophets I'd like to discuss the issue of preaching Christ from the Law.

Again, we must beware of the danger of simply drawing the line from the Old Testament commandment straight to ourselves. I realize we're a self-obsessed and narcissistic lot, but our need for self-application can easily get us into trouble.

The Penteteuch (the five books of Moses) forms the foundation of the covenant that Yahweh made with Israel on Mount Sinai. That may sound rather obvious, but please don't miss the point. The Mosaic Covenant had some important distictives that radically affect how its commandments come to us on this side of the cross and empty tomb. The most significant of these distinctives is the "works principle" that stands behind the various laws and precepts of the Old Covenant. Paul sums up this works principle by quoting Leviticus 18:5:

"For Moses writes about the righteousness that is based on the law, that the person who does the commandments shall live by them" (Rom. 10:5 cf.Gal. 3:12).

Looming over the entire Sinaitic legislation were the promised blessings for obedience and threatened curses for disobedience. If Israel did what they swore they would do, then they would enjoy long life in the land of Canaan, but if they transgressed the law, they would suffer the covenant curses, culminating in exile.

What about us today? Do we labor under the constant threat of disinheritance? Is our standing in continual jeopardy?

Absolutely not. All of the curses of the law have been poured out upon Jesus Christ, the second Adam and true Israelite. The terror of Sinai has been swallowed by the mercy of Zion, and God's children are now free to obey him as full-grown heirs whose future inheritance has been brought forward into the present by virtue of the indwelling Spirit if the risen Christ.

In a word, Jesus suffered the exile which the Babylonian captivity foreshadowed in order to elicit obedience from his children without fear. He is neither a "kinder, gentler Moses" nor a harsh tyrant whose sermon on the mount ratcheted up God's demands while providing no hope for their fulfillment. Rather, as Paul assured the Romans, "Christ is the end of the law for righteouness to everyone who believes" (10:4).

Moralism, Character Studies, and Daring to be a Daniel

In my last post I used the oft-employed sermon title “Dare to be a Daniel” as an example of moralistic preaching. Let me explain....

When reading the Old Testament, the temptation arises to try to relate directly to the biblical characters in order to make the passage relevant to our lives today. “Daniel didn't back down in the face of pagan adversity,” we think to ourselves, “and therefore the message of this text is that I shouldn't back down either.”

This hermeneutic is perfectly illustrated by the lyrics and cover art of Keith Green's album No Compromise. The cover depicts an ancient scene in which a multitude of people is bowing before a pagan ruler, with one courageous man in their midst standing upright in defiance. The lyric says, “No empty words, no white lies, no token prayers, no compromise.”

Now please do not misunderstand me. I’m not saying that Old Testament characters like Daniel provide no examples for us to aspire to. What I am saying, though, is that drawing the line directly from them to ourselves is a misguided and dangerous method for devotional reading, hermeneutics, and (especially) Christian preaching.

The fact is that Daniel, brave though he may have been at times, was still a fallen prophet. Moreover, his ministry of pointing Israel to the soon-to-be-realized deliverance from captivity resulted in a return to the same Mosaic economy that was powerless to prevent their exile in the first place.

The “line,” therefore, must be drawn from Daniel, through Christ, and then to us. When we read the prophet from this side of the cross and empty tomb, we realize that he applies to our current situation because he both points to, and demonstrates the need for, the true “Prophet whom the Lord God would raise up from among his brethren” (Acts 3:22; cf. Deut. 18:15), the very Prophet who was “not without honor save in his own country” (Mark 6:4), and who alone among the children of men stood tall amid the onslaught of the serpent’s temptations (Matt. 4:1ff; cf. Gen. 3:1ff). The Lord Jesus Christ, not Daniel, is the One who dared not compromise, but chose rather to be obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.

When the central Figure in all of Scripture is marginalized or altogether forgotten, all the hearer is left with is the courageous example of a fallen man in a sermon that could just as easily have been preached in a synagogue, mosque, or Promise Keepers convention.

When Jesus Doesn't Jump Off The Page

OK, we've established that any exposition of a text that neglects to set forth "Christ and him crucified" ultimately falls short of being a Christian sermon. But how is the preacher to (legitimately) find Christ in an obscure Old Testament text? Genesis 22 or Isaiah 53 are easy, but what about less obviously Christological passages?

Let me provide an example from a portion of Scripture where Jesus doesn't exactly jump off the page at you: Ezra 3:10-13.

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In this passage, the newly-returned exiles have begun to rebuild their temple, but upon the laying of the foundation, the emotions of the people were mixed. Many cried out for joy at God's faithfulness, but others (particularly the elderly who remembered Solomon's temple) lifted up their voices and wept, so that "the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people's weeping."

Coupled with this obviously "small beginning" and the lingering trouble posed by Israel's enemies outside the camp was a palpable sense of anticlimax that clung to this whole venture. Yes, Israel was back in the land, but they were still laboring under the same covenant that had both threatened and foretold the exile from which they had just been liberated. In a word, they were in no better a position than they were in before their captivity. The law, the temple, the priesthood -- indeed the entire Mosaic Covenant -- screamed at them "DO THIS AND LIVE!" If Israel obeyed, they were promised blessing and long life in the land. But if they failed (again), a threatened curse loomed on the horizon. The law could command, but it could not renew. Hence the bittersweetness of this building project.

So was this it? Was this the promised restoration that God's people had been longing for? Was it their fate to forever worship him under the constant threat of disinheritance?

Absolutely not! About 560 years later, in that very spot on the temple mount, a Man stood and cried, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up" (which his disciples later learned was a reference to his resurrection). And concerning the physical temple that then stood, he simply said, "Do you see this temple? Not one stone will be left upon another which shall not be thrown down."

God's people no longer labor under the harsh tyranny of the law which, metaphorically speaking, commanded bricks to be made while providing no straw. Rather, we worship under a New Covenant, the blood of whose Mediator speaks better things than that of Abel. The law commands "Do this and live," while the gospel cries out, "It is finished!"

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The more we read the Bible Christocentrically, the more we'll see him on every page. And pretty soon we'll become so trained to expect Christ to be preached in every sermon that the usual moralism ("Dare to be a Daniel!") and therapeutic pop psychology ("Ten Steps for Raising Positive Kids in a Negative World") will no longer suffice. God's children need to feed on the Gospel of the crucified and risen Christ, not on the Law of a kinder and gentler Moses.

Tell Me the Story

In U2's version of a lament psalm ("Wake Up Dead Man") Bono pleads,

Tell me,
Tell me the story;
The one about eternity,
And the way it's all gonna be.

This is a common theme in the biblical canon as well. It seems like God is constantly in the business of performing redemptive acts and then talking about them. Virtually every time he addressed his people in Old Testament times he began by reminding them, "I am the LORD your God, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage" (Deut. 5:6). Entire chapters of Scripture are devoted to rehearsing God's mighty acts in history (Ex. 15; Ps. 78).

In the church today, however, we often hear that the pastor's message must be "relevant" and "applicable to daily life." God, it seems, is a character in my drama, rather than the other way around.

But when God's people today corporately gather around Word and Sacrament, it is not to re-align God's priorities to match our own, but to re-align and re-orient ourselves to him. He has taken our plotless and pointless lives and rescripted them, writing us into his cosmic drama of which he is the Playwright and Director, and in which Jesus Christ, and not we, has the starring role.

Christ-centered preaching, therefore, does not force the Savior into the sermon or cleverly leap from an obscure text to Jesus, but it takes the trees (the verses being expounded) and properly situates them in the forrest (the larger story of redemption). In a word, faithful preaching addresses a "people who were once not a people" and re-constitutes them as "the people of God" and as newly-added characters in the epic tale that he is telling.

Christ-Centered Preaching

Proponents of "Christ-Centered Preaching" (such as Bryan Chapell, President of Covenant Seminary, and Michael Horton, Professor of Theology and Apologetics at Westminster Seminary California) argue that the Person and work of Jesus Christ is the central message of the Bible, and therefore any sermon that fails to do justice to Scripture's central message necessarily fails in its primary task.

The New Testament abounds with evidence for the Christ-centeredness of God's revelation; Luke 24:27, 44-45 is a characteristic example:

"And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.... Then he said to them, 'These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms must be fulfilled.' Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures."

But the matter is far from settled.

There are those who argue that, while Christ is certainly to be preached from passages where he is explicitly mentioned or typified, to force him into every text is an unnatural imposition that does damage to the message of that particular passage.

There are others who agree with Christ-centered preaching in theory, but have difficulty making the transition from the (perhaps obscure) text to Christ. The result is often an awkward jump from "Samuel hacked Agag into pieces" to "Sick of being 'hacked to pieces' by the world? Come to Jesus!"

And finally, evidence suggests that the majority of evangelical pastors consider messages focusing on the cross and resurrection to be irrelevant to modern church-goers. The Gospel is great for unbelievers, but once they're "in," they need practical messages that are useful in "the real world."

Into which category do you fit?