Egypt's Unworthiness, Part V

The Pointlessness of Piety

The Preacher’s sphere of reference—life “under the sun”—does not even offer meaning in spirituality, religion, or the search for God. Paul told the Romans that the study of nature (all things under the sun) is sufficient to demonstrate the existence of an omnipotent and omniscient deity, but his conclusion is far from comforting. There is an almost palpable lack of joy in the closing words of Ecclesiastes:

The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil (12:13-14).

Though the Enlightenment promised us a god we could discover through unaided reason, the deity we found was anything but a comfort to those wrestling with the vanity of their own existence. This deus nudus – or “naked god” – as he has been called, seems more like an it than a who, a piece of celestial machinery that allows 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, Malcolm in the Middle, and countless other atrocities. Though the god we uncover by the efforts of our own rational deduction may inspire awe or fear, he certainly doesn’t make a very good case for why we should love or trust him. This God, the apostle explained to the Romans, does not save anyone, for the Book of Nature reveals a naked God of law, of justice, and of seeming indifference to human pain (1:18ff).

The existence of an x, a First Cause, or an Unmoved Mover who is more like “the Force” than like a Father may cause men and women to begrudgingly assent to his existence with their heads, but they will never trust him with their hearts. This generic deity does not invite trust in the truth but suppression of it, for the observation of brute facts and the “invisible hand” of Providence indicates that he cares no more for the good guys than for the bad or the ugly. Kreeft points out that “innocent little bunny rabbits and human babies do not fare well against predatory coyotes or leukemia…. The good die young, and the better you are, the more likely it is that you will be martyred.” It is for this reason that Solomon offered this advice:

Do not be overly righteous, nor be overly wise: Why should you destroy yourself? Do not be overly wicked, nor be foolish: Why should you die before your time? (Ecc. 7:16-17).

Nature’s God appears as an absentee landlord, an insignificant Other who may be there, but who is certainly not here. A god who, like “the Truth” in The X-Files, is “out there” is far from being “a present help in time of trouble” (Psa. 46:1). And even if he is out there, he appears to be too indifferent to listen, too holy to help, too transcendent to touch, and too vengeful to invoke. This also is vanity.

The “time-ishness” of time, therefore, serves to rob even the most noble of earth’s pursuits of any ultimate value, for the bigger the barns we build to store our bounty, or the more abundant our moral bank account appears, the more damning will be the “Thou fool!” that we will hear from God’s lips on that final Day (Luke 12:16-21; Matt. 7:21-23).

Thanks Anyway, But I'll Take My Best Life Later

I plan to return to the topic of Egypt's Unworthiness shortly, but before I do I must point out that if anyone missed Sunday night's episode of 60 Minutes, you missed a rather chilling experience indeed.

If Joel Osteen is a gospel preacher, then I am not one. If the gospel message is that God can be manipulated in order to secure for myself the things I want, then I reject the gospel. And conversely, if the message of the Reformation is in fact the biblical message, then Joel Osteen is a false prophet whose promise of "Peace! Peace!" when there is no peace is a farce at best, and damnable heresy at worst.

When a non-believing interviewer rebukes you for excluding the message of the cross from your gospel message and for saying nothing that can't be heard on Oprah or Dr. Phil, you know you're doing something seriously wrong.

And what confuses me to no end is when people in confessional Reformed churches express, even subtly, a sense of envy toward broad evangelicalism. Perhaps those who grew up in Reformation churches have seen the ugly side of Calvinistic elitism, but for this former megachurch evangelical, I take offense when the truths I actually had to pay a price to embrace are hocked, like Esau's birthright, for a bowl of my best life now.

Thanks very much, but I'll stick with a cross, an empty tomb, and some good old wine for these trusty old wineskins.

Egypt's Unworthiness, Part IV

The Pointlessness of Philanthropy

If serving oneself is vain and fruitless, what about serving others? Surely it is in philanthropy—love toward our fellow man—that ultimate meaning and purpose are to be found. But Solomon tried this as well, turning from self-gratification through the pursuit of wisdom, pleasure, and power to the benefiting of others.

Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone? (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

But this, too, was to no avail. The reason is simple enough: if the pursuit of pleasure yielded vanity and void, what good is there in sharing these findings with others? A man may sincerely desire to bless his blind neighbor by offering to lead him by the hand, but if he himself is also blind, his efforts will yield no fruit (Luke 6:39). Kreeft writes, “How can the gift of vanity be any more than vain? … Once I find the summum bonum, it must be shared, yes, but I cannot share it before I find it.” Multiply zero by any other number, no matter how high, and the result will still be the same.

Another reason why altruism is pointless in the world of Ecclesiastes is that it is not only the one who seeks the good of others who is ignorant of the meaning of life, but so are those whom he seeks to help. “What good is it to hand down the mite of wisdom that I have attained if posterity is as foolish as I am?”

Then I hated all my labor in which I had toiled under the sun, because I must leave it to the man who will come after me. And who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will rule over all my labor in which I toiled and in which I have shown myself wise under the sun. This also is vanity. (Ecclesiastes 2:18-19).

The good works we perform for our fellow man, therefore, are not only filthy rags in God’s sight because of his surpassing holiness (Isa. 64:6; Tit. 3:5), but considered on their own merits, they are not even helpful or worthwhile in any ultimately meaningful sense.

Egypt's Unworthiness, Part III

The Vanity of Time

As odd as it may sound, it is precisely man’s identity as a malcontent that makes him unique among God’s creatures. As Roman Catholic philosopher Peter Kreeft has pointed out, fish do not complain that their natural environment is too wet, nor do birds inwardly resent the breeziness of the air. But we humans share a collective sense of frustration with the intolerable ticking of the clock. As the wizard Gandalf mutters when setting out on a pressing errand in the film The Two Towers, “For three-hundred lives of men have I walked this earth, and now, I have no time.”

Perhaps you have been haunted by the inexplicable feeling that your very environment, the only environment you have ever known (namely time), is foreign. Could time, the very stuff of life and building block of society that greets us every morning with the buzzing of the alarm clock, and then pushes us through each day, actually be an enemy? As bizarre as it sounds, I suggest that it is, and as the Preacher argues in the book of Ecclesiastes, this enemy adversely affects all of our toil under the sun. In a word, time renders all of man’s earthly pursuits utterly pointless. Let us consider, then, time’s effect on three of man’s greatest quests for meaning in life: pleasure, philanthropy, and piety.

The Pointlessness of Pleasure

In Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 we read:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.

The vicious cycle described here engenders the frustrated cry, “What profit does the worker have in his toil?” (v. 9). Being born and then dying, sowing and then reaping all argue for the vanity and futility of existence under the sun. It would seem to follow then—and millions would concur—that the only reasonable response is rank hedonism: “Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die” (Ecc. 8:15, cf. Luke. 12:19). But is this answer valid?

At first glance it would seem so, for pleasure is one of those goals whose attainment is close at hand, exciting, and easy to obtain (it is almost the exact opposite of wisdom in this respect). In fact, Peter Kreeft has remarked that “wisdom is a mountaintop; pleasure is a plain. Wisdom is mysterious; pleasure is plain. Wisdom is a walking stick; pleasure is a plane.” In other words, of all man’s pursuits it is pleasure that offers the most immediate gratification.

How, then, could Solomon decry pleasure and insist that it contributes to man’s “vexation of spirit”? He had it all: He had wine, houses, vineyards, gardens, parks, fruit trees, pools, male and female slaves, singers, 700 wives, 300 concubines, herds, flocks, silver, and gold (Ecc. 2:1-11). And yet Solomon learned what all serious hedonists eventually learn: “Behold, all is vanity, and chasing after wind. Nothing was gained under the sun” (v. 11). As is nearly always the case, pleasure becomes need, fun becomes addiction, excitement becomes boring (a word, Kreeft argues, to which no ancient culture had any equivalent). Few today realize this, for the poor still hope that riches and pleasure will bring meaning. But the rich know better, for they alone have tried and failed. All the immediate gratification under the sun will be stolen away over the course of time.

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Stay tuned....

Egypt's Unworthiness, Part II

The Temporal and the Eternal

Thankfully, we need not burden ourselves with divining or decoding the reason for Joseph's and Moses' desire to abandon Pharaoh's land, for the text of Hebrews 11 spells out very clearly their reasons for refusing to give Egypt their allegiance, despite all it had done for them. What is only hinted at in Joseph’s mention of “the exodus of the Israelites” is made explicit in Moses’ own refusal to own Egypt as his true homeland: The “pleasures” of Pharaoh’s land were “fleeting,” and its “wealth” and “treasure,” though impressive to be sure, could not hold a candle to the “reproach of Christ” and the “affliction” suffered by the people of God. Because Moses “endured as seeing him who is invisible,” all the enticements of earth’s most powerful kingdom could not sufficiently capture his heart or affections, or distract him from “looking to the reward,” the “city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God” (vv. 25-27, 10).

The real issue, then, was not whether Egypt was a place of comfort or oppression, or whether its pleasures were necessarily sinful (some undoubtedly were, while others most likely were not). The issue, according to the text, concerned not Egypt’s goodness or badness, but its worthiness of these saints’ devotion. Speaking of all the saints of Hebrews 11, verse 38 sums up the problem with a beautiful succinctness: “Of [these saints] the world was not worthy.”

The “unworthiness” of Egypt in particular, and of this present age in general, is defined throughout the New Testament in terms of their fleeting, passing, and temporal nature. Paul argues that the sufferings that characterize life in this world “are not worthy to be compared with the glory that will be revealed in us,” and that the “slight momentary afflictions” we face here and now only serve to prepare us for “an eternal weight of glory beyond all compar-ison” (Rom. 8:18; II Cor. 4:17). His own life and ministry bear this out. Upon his final departure from Ephesus to Jerusalem, where he would face immediate imprisonment and eventual martyrdom, Paul confidently assured his flock, “But none of these things move me, nor do I count my life dear unto myself” (Acts 20:24, KJV). It was utter folly for Paul—as for Joseph and Moses—to choose earthly comfort, which is fading, over eternal blessedness, which never ends. For two of these saints, however, this choice did not only mean the loss of present pleasure but the gaining of present persecution.

But given the fact that eternal concerns always trump temporal ones, the choice was obvious.

Egypt's Unworthiness, Part I

I plan to steer clear of FV-related issues for the time being, and since I've been somewhat uninspired of late, I'll offer (in bite-sized pieces) a rough draft of something I've been working on. As always, comments, and crticism are welcome.

***

Anyone who has seen Fox’s hit TV show 24 understands the concept of racing against the clock. The program revolves around the central character of Jack Bauer, an edgy and daring member of CTU (Counter Terrorism Unit) who is constantly seeking to avert some new catastrophe or threat to our national security. What makes 24 unique—and gives it its title—is the fact that each full season takes place over the course of a single day in Jack’s life, with each of its 24 episodes occurring in one hour of “real time.” When a bomb is set to go off in 15 minutes, therefore, it will actually go off in 15 minutes (that is, of course, unless Agent Bauer can disarm it in time). Needless to say, each one-hour episode of 24 effectively shaves two hours off of the viewer’s life due to the stressfulness of the situations portrayed and the panic that ensues every Monday night from 9-10pm. In a word, time is a constant enemy, for there is never enough of it.

A Tale of Two Malcontents

But Jack Bauer isn’t the only one who would scoff at the title of The Rolling Stones’ song “Time Is On My Side.” In Hebrews 11 we encounter two others whose estimation of all things temporal was less than glowing. In verse 22 we read: "By faith Joseph, at the end of his life, made mention of the exodus of the Israelites and gave directions concerning his bones."

This cryptic passage is referring to the account in Genesis 50:24-25 in which Joseph, the son of Jacob, said to his brothers: “I am about to die, but God will visit you and bring you up out of this land to the land that he swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.” Then Joseph made the sons of Israel swear, saying, “God will surely visit you, and you shall carry up my bones from here.”

At first glance it does not seem at all strange that Joseph wanted to escape Egypt, even if that escape were postmortem. After all, wasn’t Egypt a horrible place which Scripture everywhere describes as a “land of slavery” and a “house of bondage” (Exod. 20:2)?

Not for Joseph it wasn’t. We must remember that Egypt did not become a place of hardship and oppression for Israel until after he died, when “a pharaoh arose who knew not Joseph” (Exod. 1:8). During Joseph’s own tenure there, Egypt was a place of bounty and salvation amid the famine that plagued the surrounding region, and Joseph’s status was that of being second only to Pharaoh himself in power, stature, and the respect of the masses. Whatever it was that caused Joseph to long for another land, it was certainly not Egypt’s difficulty or discomfort.

Another saint with similar misgivings about Egypt was Moses, whose experience of Egypt, like Joseph’s, was a far cry from that which characterized the Israelite slaves. He was an adopted son in the royal family of Pharaoh himself, and according to Stephen’s testimony in Acts 7:21-22, “Pharaoh’s daughter adopted [Moses] and brought him up as her own son. And [he] was instructed in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, and he was mighty in his words and deeds.” Yet Moses’ pedigree notwithstanding, Scripture says of him:

… when he was grown up, [he] refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, choosing rather to be mistreated with the people of God…. He considered the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt… he left Egypt, not being afraid of the anger of the king… (Heb. 11:24-27).

What was it, then, that brought both Joseph and Moses to come to despise the land that symbolized such protection, pleasure, and power?

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More to come....

The Federal Vision Report and the Pacific Northwest Presbytery

The following letter was submitted to the Pacific Northwest Presbytery yesterday:

Dear members of the Pacific Northwest Presbytery,

As you know, the PCA’s 35th General Assembly adopted the Ad Interim Study Committee’s Report on the theology of the Federal Vision, the third recommendation of which reads:

“That the General Assembly recommend the declarations in this report as a faithful exposition of the Westminster Standards, and further reminds those ruling and teaching elders whose views are out of accord with our Standards of their obligation to make known to their courts any differences in their views.”

In compliance with the report’s recommendation, TE Peter Leithart posted a public letter to the Stated Clerk of this presbytery, saying:

“… following the GA’s vote on the Federal Vision study committee yesterday… I am happy to discuss [my views] further with the Presbytery, and will also cheerfully submit to any decision the Presbytery might make concerning my fitness to continue as a PCA Teaching Elder. I have tried to be clear and precise, but no doubt I've failed at various points, and I am happy to provide clarification.”

In the light of the report’s recommendation that those whose views may be deemed questionable inform their respective presbyteries (which TE Leithart has done), and in the light of the report’s further recommendation to those presbyteries to exercise care and discernment in seeking to preserve the purity and peace of the church, TE Peter Leithart and TE Jason Stellman jointly request that a committee consisting of three ministers and two elders be appointed to examine this matter further.

Sincerely,

Jason Stellman
Peter Leithart

After some discussion, debate, and two substitute motions being voted down, this motion passed. The study committee consists of Rob Rayburn, James Bordwine, and me (three ruling elders will also serve). We are due to report back in January. Prayers for all involved will be appreciated.

Spirit, Flesh, and Christian Schizophrenia

The locus classicus of the flesh/Spirit battle is found in Galatians 5:17ff. Before anything is positively said about this passage, we must beware of interpreting this text in the light of our individual experience. Our existential concurrence with the "struggle" we perceive in this verse notwithstanding, it is exegesis, not experience, that must guide our hermeneutics. Gordon Fee writes:

"The flesh-Spirit contrast in Paul never appears in a context in which the issue has to do with 'how to live the Christian life'; rather, it appears in this case in an argument with those who have entered into the new eschatological life of the Spirit, but who are being seduced to return to the old aeon, to live on the basis of Torah observance, which for Paul is finally but another form of life 'according to the flesh' (cf. Gal. 3:3; 5:17-18; Phil. 3:3-6)."

In this semi-eschatological context in which Torah has expired and is no longer operative, Paul argues, the "law of the Spirit of life" is sufficient for holy living. "Flesh" versus "Spirit," therefore, do not refer to an internal/external or spirit/matter dualism, but an eschatological dualism between this age and that which is to come. Michael Horton writes:

"It becomes clear that this two-age model is concerned not with two worlds or realms, but with two ages, one inferior to the other not for any necessary or ontological reasons but for situational and ethical ones.... To be 'in the Spirit' is not to be ontologically spiritual as opposed to physical, but to be 'in Christ' rather than 'in Adam,' to belong 'to the age to come' rather than to 'this present evil age,' to be 'children of the resurrection' of whom Jesus Christ is the 'firstfruits.' The age of the Spirit is not contrasted with that of the flesh, says Ridderbos, 'first and foremost as an individual experience… but as the new way of existence which became present time with the coming of Christ.... This being in the Spirit is not a mystical, but an eschatological, redemptive-historical, category.'"

The crux of Paul’s flesh/Spirit contrast, therefore, is not that there exists within the individual believer an unceasing battle between his good and bad natures (rendering him somewhat of a spiritual schizophrenic), but that the believer, who is pneumatikos (spiritual), is called to live according to his spiritual identity and heavenly citizenship. This is new covenant sanctification, and is given the apostolic designation of "walk[ing] by the Spirit, and [not gratifying] the desires of the flesh" (Gal. 5:16)

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?

The Cross and Glory: Friends or Foes?

This may seem poorly-timed in the light of my "Baby Steps to Holiness" post, but I've been doing some thinking about Luther's cross/glory antithesis (and what his followers have done with it), and I can't help but wonder whether the German reformer's pitting of the "theology of the cross" against the "theology of glory" betrays an under-realized eschatology.

The organic connection between the cross and glory that we find in the New Testament demonstrates that glory itself is not necessarily negative (for if it were, Satan's offering Christ the kingdoms of the world, and their glory, would have been meaningless), nor is the cross necessarily positive (after all, it is the cruelest form of execution ever devised). Rather, the cross is only good when it leads to glory, and conversely, glory is only bad when it circumvents the cross and shirks the suffering that it represents.

This is the point that the risen Lord was surely making when he asked his disciples, "Ought not the Christ to have suffered these things and to enter into His glory?" (Luke 24:26). It is the very assurance of glory, therefore, that caused the Savior to set his face "like a flint" toward Jerusalem (Isa. 50:7; cf. Luke 9:51), and it is this same assurance of glory that causes his servants (who are not greater than their Master) to bear their crosses as well.

In a word, the cross is only half the story. Were it not for the "power of the resurrection" that results from the "fellowship of his sufferings" the people of God would be, of all men, the most pitiful. (Phil. 3:10; I Cor. 15:19). But we need not pity ourselves, nor must we accept the pity of the citizens of this age, for Peter insists that "the sufferings of Christ," by means of the resurrection, have inaugurated "the glories to follow" (I Pet. 1:11).

I would suggest that, in order to better integrate christology and pneumatology, we should label the New Covenant's semi-realized eschatology the "theology of the Spirit."

More to come....

Our Opinions Do Not Matter

Our discussion of the two kingdoms has turned, as it must, to the nature and bounds of ecclesiastical authority. I am reminded of the scene in The Big Lebowski in which the main character, The Dude, is told by a fellow bowler that he and his partner are going to be badly beaten in an upcoming bowling tournament. He responds, "Yeah? Well, you know... that's just like, uh, your opinion, man." A true sage indeed....

The Westminster Confession states that:

"The supreme judge by which all controversies of religion are to be determined... can be no other but the Holy Spirit speaking in the Scripture" (i.10).

Later on it adds:

"It belongeth to synods and councils, ministerially to determine controversies of faith, and cases of conscience.... All synods or councils, since the Apostles' times... may err; and many have erred. Therefore they are not to be made the rule of faith, or practice; but to be used as a help in both. Synods and councils are to handle, or conclude nothing, but that which is ecclesiastical: and are not to intermeddle with civil affairs which concern the commonwealth..." (xxxi.2-4).

When it comes to a church member seeking counsel, the session or pastor may "ministerially determine cases of conscience" using only what is found in Scripture, or what can be deduced from it by "good and necessary consequence." The church's authority, therefore, is only declarative and never legislative. We don't make up laws, we only repeat them.

And if you think about it, such a distinction between civil and ecclesiastical pronouncements is precisely what preserves the church's authority. If the church weighs in on this and rants about that, her voice will become a "noisy gong or a clanging cymbal." In a word, no one pays attention to the boy who constanly cries "Wolf," even if there really is one.

This necessarily means that the minister or session must, at times, hold their tongue when their wisdom is sought. Whether the issue is a church member wanting to join the military, block the entrance to an abortion clinic, or is simply seeking some sound career counsel, the temptation to think ourselves jacks-of-all-trades must be resisted.

The Church, it has been said, has no opinions, only declarations.

Is God Libertarian, Green, or Somewhere In Between?

In my post entitled "Eschatology Precedes... Pretty Much Everything" I raised the question of whether political activism would be more prominent in a transformational church, or in a church holding to a two kingdoms paradigm.

My guess is that most readers assume that my own position is that transformationists are more likely to be politically involved than 2K folks. I'm not so sure, though....

When the universal Lordship of Chirst over "every square inch" of the universe is (mis)used as an excuse to collapse the various spheres of his sovereignty (effectively forcing upon the Church the responsibility to transform every facet of culture from the arts to plumbing), politics becomes a lot more daunting than it would be if those spheres were properly recognized.

Think about it: If we jettison common grace (and common sense along with it) and convince ourselves that the Bible is our only source of economic and politcal wisdom, then any view that we adopt about anything, if it is to be considered a valid option for Christians to hold, must necessarily be the divinely-sanctioned position. Every political debate, then, will be over whether the Bible's vision is Libertarian, Green, or somewhere in between.

But if we are content to let the Bible be determinative only for those issues that it actually addresses in detail (like, say, the gospel), then the believer will be free to allow his conscience, study, and overall experience of the world to play a role in the forming of his own political opinions and involvement (or lack thereof).

Ironically, then, it is when the church refuses the burden of fixing the world that her members can be freed to play a role in improving it. But beware, their cars may not all display identical bumper stickers in the months leading up to November '08.

But then, what does that have to do with Christian unity anyway?

Baby Steps to Holiness

My more "optimistic amillennial" (read: postmillennial) readers may never forgive me for this, but I must point out that if the doctrine of the two kingdoms necessarily tempers whatever triumphalistic expectations that we entertain for the success of the church in this present age, it cannot but do the same for the individual believer.

As I argued in my last post, the apparent failure of Jesus' mission, demonstrated by his shameful death on the cross, was actually the rather ironic means of his powerful conquest. Just as in his earthly ministry he tread upon the Sea of Galilee's stormy water of which his disciples were so afraid (Matt. 14:25), so, on a deeper level, his defeat at Calvary actually becomes the pathway to his ultimate victory. "Through death," the writer to the Hebrews says, "he destroyed him who had the power of death, the devil" (2:14). In a word, Jesus actually uses that which instills fear in his people as the means of alleviating their concerns.

This is precisely why Paul could point to something as uncharacteristic as his weakness to illustrate his great strength (II Cor. 12:10). Likewise, we can derive comfort from our apparent failures, knowing that the cross of Jesus Christ calls into question the defitnition of "success" that the citizens of this age entertain. As our "emergent" brethren love to point out, it is better to live on the verge of falling than to boast in a Pharisaical sense of security, especially when the latter engenders pride while the former forces us to smite our collective breasts in humble recognition of our need for divine grace.

The Heidelberg Catechism speaks of "our best works in this life" as being "all imperfect and defiled with sin," reminding us that "even the holiest men, while in this life, have only a small beginning of this [perfect obedience to God's commands]" (Q/A 62, 114).

My point, therefore, is that if one desires to cling to a "theology of the cross" over against a "theology of glory," adopting a two kingdoms paradigm is a good place to start.

Subverting Success, Transforming Transformationism

When one arrives at a robust appreciation of the differences between the civil and spiritual kingdoms, his understanding of a church's "success" will be, err, transformed. Conversely, when our expectations for our churches mirror those of common cultural institutions, we give ourselves a very clear measuring rod for determining how miserably we fail.

I mean, what other conclusion are we to reach when our stated aim is to change the world, and the world just isn't changing?

It seems to me that it is precisely here that the cross should play a central role in shaping our definition of success. If the New Testament pattern of "the sufferings of Christ and the glory to follow" is at all germane to the discussion, then we surely must conclude that such concepts as power and weakness, boasting and shame, wealth and poverty, and success and failure should be utterly subverted and turned on their heads by what happened on that cursed hill outside Jerusalem all those years ago.

But they're not.

Instead, we hear that we must worship God "with excellence," which is code for worldly professionalism. Instead, we hear that the communities in which we worship should be so overflowing with appreciation for our service that they would beg us never to leave them.

One must wonder where we'd be if Jesus had "succeeded"? Peter, bless his heart, tried to properly motivate him, but instead of heeding his advice Jesus just yelled at him and then called him "Satan."

Cultic Worship, Cultural Withdrawal, and the Doctrine of the Two Kingdoms

The history of American Presbyterianism is largely a history of Sabbatarianism. "If you would destroy the Christian religion," Voltaire is quoted as saying, "you must first detsroy the Christian Sabbath."

The various attempts to protect and preserve the Lord's Day—from the forming of The General Union for the Promoting the Observance of the Christian Sabbath in 1828 to the institution of "blue laws"—all serve to reinforce the sentiments of the 1814 petition from the Presbyterian General Assembly to Congress urging Sabbath observance based upon the claim that it "contributes to increase the amount of productive labour, to promote science, civilization, peace, social order, and correct morality." In the minds of American Presbyterians, as goes the Sabbath, so goes the nation.

Now for something completely different....

For nineteenth-century postmillennialists, a rationale for Sabbath observance that focused upon its benefit to America's health and vitality makes good sense. But what about those of us whose understanding of the Church's mission does not include cultural transformation? If going to church and eating home-cooked meals on Sunday is not connected to winning the War on Terror, then why bother?

As I've been arguing, one's eschatology informs all of his Christian life. In keeping with this, why must an amillennialist need to see corporate worship as a means to furthering the American Dream? Why can't our cultic worship and cultural withdrawal on the first day of every week serve to subvert, rather than supplement, the grand visions of the rulers of this age?

If the Church seeks to be truly different from the world, then perhaps observing the Lord's Day is the way to do it. As Michael Horton has written, "This sort of observance would proclaim to the world that we are not slaves in Egypt, for we refuse to surrender this day to the tyranny of the clock and to the gods who amuse us."

To those who seek to commandeer the Lord's Day for the purposes of the kingdom of man (even if they are good), we answer that the Sabbath is not for sale.