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EFORMATION VOLUME 86 NUMBER NUMBER52
A Vale of Tears: Suffering as a Mark of This Age
SEPTEMB
A Vale of Tears: Suffering As A Mark of This Age FEATURES 5 Sick Souls Hoping in the Suffering Servant Michael S. Horton Nietzsche said that Christianity “is a degeneracy movement composed of reject and refuse elements of every kind.” He was right.
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11 Job, Theologian of the Cross Chad L. Bird The Voice from the whirlwind thundered: “Have you an arm like God?” (40:9). Have you the strength to save?
16 Suffering Servant, Sovereign Lord: Can God Suffer? Gerald Bray Liberal and conservative theologians are challenging the old belief that God cannot suffer. Why does this debate matter?
24 Suffering as the Path to Glory: The Book of Psalms Speaks Today
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Mark D. Futato We have forgotten—at great cost—that the Psalms were arranged in a purposeful order.
30 Exalting Pain? Ignoring Pain? How Do We Counsel Those Who Suffer? Edward T. Welch Christ has ultimately conquered even death, but pain persists in this age. How do we respond to it? Page 24
DEPARTMENTS 2 In This Issue… 3 Letters 15 Quotes 19 Free Space 28 Ex Auditu
35 36 39 40
Endnotes Review In Print On My Mind
Cover: Corbis/David H. Wells Couple at Vietnam Veterans Plaza and AP/Wide World Photos, Alabama Flood
EFORMATION
INTHIS ISSUE… By Michael S. Horton
Suffering hat gives you the right to lecture me about pain?” It was one of those abrupt exclamations that pastoral inexperience yields. But I’ll never forget the look on her face, as this young woman was daily slipping away from this life under the sway of cancer. Experience was the wrong playing field for me, of course. By God’s grace, my life has been comparatively carefree. Of course, we have all experienced some of the big disappointments, betrayals, surprising deaths of friends and extended family members. But the more that one deals with those who really suffer, the less confidence one feels in placing himself or herself among their number. But who would qualify to lecture someone about pain or the problem of evil in general? It would have to be someone who has personally experienced severe suffering. And not only suffering, but unjust suffering, so that it is not only a “random” curve-ball thrown somebody’s way, but an intent to cause harm to someone who least deserved it. Furthermore, this person would have to go to his or her death without any friendship—no support, nobody there to hold a dying hand. Complete loneliness. Desertion. In fact, revulsion. Add to this that he suffers at the hands of those for whom he suffers. Of course, you know where I’m going with this. As pastors and as laypeople we encounter people—sometimes even young people, who have more experience with suffering than we ever will in our lifetime. But our Savior has experienced suffering that far exceeds anything that anyone has known before or since. Christians may not be able to unravel the problem of evil to the satisfaction of every philosopher of religion in the world, but they can speak with confidence in the One who was crushed for our iniquities and by whose stripes we are healed. We could tackle the subject by going in one of two directions: purely theoretical or purely practical. In other words, we could try to sort out “the problem of evil” (theodicy), or we could try to offer consolation for particular types of suffering. We have sought to strike a “golden mean” between the theoretical and the practical, and we hope that regardless of your preferences on that scale, you will find each article helpful on a subject which, more than most, unites us in common human experience. When our ministers mount their pulpits and proclaim God’s Word on this subject, their right to lecture about pain is self-evident: they are God’s mouthpieces. Personal experience may certainly help shape their delivery of that message, and their calling will hopefully keep them from ranging beyond the limits of that Word, but God is already qualified to address the subject. After all, if anybody knows what suffering is like, is it not he who “so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son”?
“W
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A publication of Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals Editor-in-Chief Dr. Michael S. Horton Assistant Editor Benjamin E. Sasse Production Editor Irene H. Hetherington Column Editor Brian Lee Copy Editors Ann Henderson Hart Deborah Barackman Layout and Design Lori A. Cook Proofreader Alyson S. Platt Production Assistant Kathryn Baldino Alliance Council Dr. John H. Armstrong The Rev. Alistair Begg Dr. James M. Boice Dr. W. Robert Godfrey Dr. John D. Hannah Dr. Michael S. Horton Mrs. Rosemary Jensen Dr. J. A. O. Preus Dr. R. C. Sproul Dr. Mark R. Talbot Dr. Gene E. Veith, Jr. Contributing Scholars Dr. Sinclair B. Ferguson Dr. Allen C. Guelzo Dr. D. G. Hart Dr. Carl F. H. Henry Dr. Arthur A. Just Dr. Robert Kolb The Rev. Donald Matzat Dr. John W. Montgomery Mr. John Muether Dr. Richard A. Muller Mr. Kenneth A. Myers Dr. Tom J. Nettles Dr. Leonard R. Payton Dr. Lawrence R. Rast Dr. Kim Riddlebarger Mr. Rick Ritchie Dr. Rod Rosenbladt Dr. David P. Scaer Ms. Rachel S. Stahle Dr. David F. Wells Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals © 1999 All rights reserved. The Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals exists to call the church, amidst our dying culture, to repent of its worldliness, to recover and confess the truth of God’s Word as did the Reformers, and to see that truth embodied in doctrine, worship and life. For more information, call or write us at: ALLIANCE OF CONFESSING EVANGELICALS 1716 Spruce Street, Philadelphia, PA 19103 (215) 546-3696 • ModRef@Alliance Net.org www.AllianceNet.org
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LETTERS FRUSTRATION WITH THE ECUMENISM ISSUE (SEPT/OCT 1998) After reading Michael Horton’s statement on “ecumenism,” I was disturbed. Yes, both the word “ecumenical” and the work of the ecumenical movement make me more than nervous. I have been exposing this anti-Christ conspiracy since the Lord taught me the meaning of “separation” (2 Cor. 6:14-18), and I “came out” of the apostate United Churches of Canada in 1958. Paul wrote, “Mark them which cause divisions contrary to the doctrines which you have learned, and avoid them” (Rom. 16:17). I do not know one bornagain believer who would have anything to do with ecumenism once he hears what it stands for! “Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them” (Eph. 5:1). Our Savior’s prayer for true spiritual unity will be realized when, by his grace, we all get to heaven! What a day of rejoicing that will be! — Rev. John A. Dekker, D.D. Cub Hill Bible Presbyterian Church (Independent) Baltimore, Maryland I am amazed that in the same section in which Dr. Horton said that most divisions in the Reformed faith in the twentieth century were legitimate, he mentions the so-called “United” Reformed Churches in North America, which “schismed” from the CRC over a polity issue. At the same time, in the corner, Calvin is quoted: “First and foremost, we should agree on all points. But since all men are somewhat beclouded with ignorance, either we must leave no church remaining, or we must condone delusion in those matters which can go unknown without harm to the sum of religion and without loss of salvation.” (4.1.12) I do not doubt that my denomination is “beclouded with ignorance” on the issue of women’s ordination. But such an issue does not take away from the sum of Reformation faith, nor cause one to lose his salvation. Therefore, I have an obligation to stay as a positive model for the church, and work for the church and her ultimate blessing. Unfortunately, the 30,000 who have left the Christian Reformed Church do not read Calvin the same way. — Jeffrey D. Voorhees Munster, Indiana
Thanks for the issue on ecumenism, especially the article by Paul Schaeffer. But I have some concerns with Paul McCain’s “Holy Communion or Unholy Chaos?” 1. When he refers to “historic Christianity,” he really means “historic Christianity after the Reformation.” His example of Arians not being allowed to commune obscures the fact that the basis of the division was Christological, not eucharistic. They were not allowed to commune in Orthodox churches because of their heresy concerning Christ, not because they didn’t have the right explanation of the Lord’s Supper. McCain says that no one can commune in his church unless they hold to the same explanation of the Lord’s Supper. This line of reasoning also obscures the fact that before the Reformation, throughout church history, there was no authorized explanation or formula for Christ’s presence in the Supper, except that Christ was truly present. Some of the church fathers emphasized the natural union with Christ’s body which gave nourishment to our body and soul (Irenaeus, Hilary, Cyril, Ambrose), while others emphasized that Christ’s body was in heaven, but that we have REAL Holy Spirit-facilitated union with his physical body (Cyprian, Ignatius, Augustine). All would affirm that “Christ is truly present,” but there was no division over the various theories of how this happened. It seems that most were happy to live with the mystery unexplained. In the ninth century Radbertus and Ratramnus, both in a monastery in Corbie, held to different views on Christ’s presence, roughly embodied in the descriptions I gave above. After their views were aired, they remained in communion at the monastery, not seeing any reason to divide. 2. Now I acknowledge that the Zwinglian/ memorialist view is a post-Reformation innovation, and is a serious error. And I admit that many so-called “Calvinists” hold more to a Zwinglian form than a Calvinist for m of explanation (e.g., C. Hodge). However, you meld Zwinglianism with Calvin’s view with no distinction, and the quote you choose to use for Calvin is not his most well-known statement, and should not be interpreted without his best statements (especially the “Short Treatise on the Holy Supper of our Lord and only Savior Jesus Christ”). This misrepresentation can only be interpreted as ignorance of Calvin’s view, or an actual effort to misrepresent him. 3. If I wanted to join the Lutheran Church (Missouri Synod), and I affirmed that “This is Christ’s body and blood, that Christ is really and truly present in the Eucharist,” would this be sufficient? Or would you MARCH/APRIL 1999
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demand that I profess the omnipresence of Christ’s body, or some for m of transubstantiation or consubstantiation? It seems to me that if you would not accept my statement as it is, then you would be demanding more than the Scriptures state. Would Augustine, Cyprian, and Ignatius be allowed to commune with you? Or do you think that everyone was a consubstantiationist before the Reformation? If you don’t want communion between Lutherans and other Reformed churches, then give an acceptable reason, like, “too many of you Reformed churches don’t believe in or practice the Reformed (Calvinistic) position; most of you are practical Zwinglians.” But don’t blame Calvin for it, or assume that all Reformed churches are Zwinglian. My position (that Christ is truly and really present in the supper; that the bread and wine are his body and blood; and that his body is in heaven at the right hand of God) is as mysterious and full of “problems” (actually I think has less problems) as is yours when you claim that Christ’s body is omnipresent. But fundamentally, we say the same thing. — Blane Conklin Via Internet WHAT SHALL WE THEN READ? As a Christian Reconstructionist, I need a balance which gives me a higher view of the Church. As an American, I need a mindset which enables me to fight against consumerism and “technopoly” (as Neil Postman defines it). As a sentimental person, I need to constantly hear the Gospel as the objective work of Christ. As a presbyterian, I need to be reminded of the importance of the sacraments as signs and seals of the covenant of grace. modernREFORMATION does all of this. I used to read Rushdoony’s Chalcedon Report first when MR arrived in the mail on the same day. Now, I am tempted to read MR first. Thanks for a quality publication very much needed in these days. — Rev. Larry E. Ball Bridwell Heights Presbyterian Church Kingsport, Tennessee
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Sick Souls Hoping in the Suffering Servant MICHAEL S. HORTON “healthy-minded” and “morbidminded.” Those who belong to the “sick-soul” camp are those who see themselves as sinful, dispossessed, and disinherited, while the “healthyminded” religious experience exudes optimism. In the American Century, this has meant that the “bad” stuff has got to go: no downers, like human depravity and inability for self-salvation, the need for divine rescue, and so forth. Garry Wills, in his intriguing and controversial bestseller, Reagan’s America, contrasted the type of spirit expressed by presidents Reagan and Carter:
A contemporary of ours who embodies Nietzsche’s will to power (and his appraisal of Christianity) is CNN’s Ted Turner, a son of fundamentalist missionary parents, who has reportedly called Christianity “a religion for losers.”2 In his Varieties of Religious Experience (1902), Harvard philosopher William James distinguished between two types of religious expressions:
Ruth Naomi Flyod
The Christian movement is a degeneracy movement composed of reject and refuse elements of every kind…. It is therefore not only national, not racially conditioned; it appeals to the disinherited everywhere; it is founded on a rancor against everything well-constituted and dominant: it needs a symbol that represents a curse on the wellconstituted and dominant— It also stands in opposition to every spiritual movement, to all philosophy: it takes the side of idiots and utters a curse on the spirit. Rancor against the gifted, learned, spiritually independent: it detects in them the wellconstituted, the masterful. —Friedrich Nietzsche, The Will to Power1
There are different theologies at work. Carter’s in some ways is more modern… . But he is comparatively old-fashioned in his theology; too oldfashioned, in fact, in the eyes of evangelicals themselves, who deserted him for Reagan in 1980. Carter’s religion is what William James called that of the “sick soul”—a religion of man’s fall, of the need for repentance, of humility. In its Calvinistic form, this “classical” religion was important in the early history of America. But America has increasingly preferred the religion James called “healthy-mindedness,” which replaces sin MARCH/APRIL 1999
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with sadness as the real enemy of human nature. The modern evangelicals, beaming and healthy successes in the communications industry, are exemplars of that religion.3 Forget for the moment any political agenda behind Wills’ comments, and with or without Reagan it becomes clear that for Christians and non-Christians alike, “feeling good” has emerged as not only a national priority, but a religious obsession. And why not? Is Christianity supposed to be a form of masochism or stoic resignation to suffering: “Keep a stiff upper lip”? Perhaps Nietzsche, Marx, and Turner are right after all, and Christianity is just a “slave morality,” a way of keeping the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed in their place. That is certainly not how Martin Luther King, Jr., saw it, according to one of his noted interpreters, Harvard’s Cornel West.4 In actual fact, Christianity has been an enormous force for change in the world, often providing a theological rationale for defending every person’s dignity, relieving suffering and pain, and for building institutions which take account of human cor r uption, limiting both personal and institutional power through systems of checks and balances. Not a page of Western “progress” in virtually any field can be written without footnotes to the many Christians who contributed to their advance. But this is only one side. Christianity has also been exploited by the powerful throughout history as a justification for inflicting suffering. We need not rehearse the history of the cr usades, the wars of religion, slavery, the injustice shown to Native Americans, and apartheid. On one side there are those, like Ted Turner, who can only see Christianity as the chief source of oppression in the world, and then there are others—well, you know their names—who attribute microwave ovens to the success of Christianity. Both views par ticipate in a passion for glory: either Nietzsche’s “healthy-minded” narcissism or evangelicalism’s “healthy-minded” optimism. Both seem committed to therapeutic “wellness” at the expense of facing the reality of sin, death, judgment, hell, and suffering here and now. A sign of this theology of glory among Christians is evident in church-growth expert Lyle Schaller’s suggestion:
The best illustration of this [shift from “worship” to “celebrations”] is that we used to have “funerals.” Then we went to “memorial services.” Now we have a “celebration” of the life and ministry of the departed person. That’s a shift in the whole atmosphere of what happens during that period of time. It’s gone from pain, sorrow, grief, and crying, to celebration.5 This response to death has been characteristic of some Eastern religions and of gnostics, who longed for the spirit’s escape from the “prison-house” of the body. Such “memorials” or indeed “celebrations” were held by Unitarians and have been prominent in various mindscience cults. But Judaism, Islam, and Christianity have been characterized by a somber view of death: it’s not meant to be this way. There is something wrong. Anchored in the Scriptures, Christians have a healthy respect for the enemy. It is death’s victory, not its reality, which is overcome in Christ’s resurrection. Contrast Schaller’s perspective with that of theologian Karl Barth, for instance. Each Sunday, the church bell is rung to announce to the village that God’s Word is to be proclaimed. “And if none of these things help, will not the crosses in the churchyard which quietly look in through the windows tell you unambiguously what is relevant here and what is not?” 6 In Refor med, Anglican, and Lutheran service books there were specific public prayers offered for the sick and afflicted—and not a general “one-size-fitsall” response. There are prayers for war time, natural disasters, epidemics, a sick child, those in bereavement, travelers, and prisoners. In Puritan families, the body would normally be placed in an open casket in a central living space until the funeral itself. Children would ask about its meaning. Ministers visiting those on their death-bed would ask them directly, “Are you prepared to die?”, while some wrote eloquently and wisely on the art of dying well. During the mid-seventeenth century, as many as one-third of London’s population died either in the plague or in the great fire. In New England, things were not much better, given the harsh conditions, each winter leaving death in its wake. People did not have the time to complain about their treatment at work or their dysfunctional parents. It was not because they were
“‘Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?’ They replied, ‘We are able.’” What audacity!
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stoics, but because they were veterans of sickness, suffering, and death. They learned that they either had to reach more deeply into God’s Word for sustenance or simply call the whole thing off. (Recall the advice of Job’s wife: “Curse God and die.”) The Book of Common Prayer’s service “for the burial of the dead” (not the deceased or the “resting,” or the “departed,” but the dead) begins with the glorious promise of future resurrection. But then the Psalmist is cited: Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified how long I have to live. Behold, thou has made my days as it were a span long, and mine age is even as nothing in respect of thee; and verily every man living is altogether vanity. For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain; he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them… . And now, LORD, what is my hope? Truly my hope is even in thee…When thou with rebukes doest chasten man for sin, thou makest his beauty to waste away, like as it were a moth fretting a garment: every man therefore is but vanity. Hear my prayer, O LORD, and with thine ears consider my cry; hold not thy peace at my tears: For I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were. O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength once more before I go hence and be no more seen (Psalm 39). Other passages of hope are recited at this point, from the Psalms, Gospels, and Epistles, affirming the resurrection of the body and the free justification of all who trust in Christ. Then comes the sober prayer: O GOD, whose days are without end, and whose mercies cannot be numbered; make us, we beseech thee, deeply sensible of the shortness and uncertainty of human life; and let thy Holy Spirit lead us through this vale of misery, in holiness and righteousness, all the days of our lives: That, when we shall have served thee in our generation, we may be gathered unto our fathers, having the testimony of a good conscience; in the communion of thy church; in the confidence of a certain faith; in the comfort of a reasonable, religious, and holy hope; in favor with thee our God, and in perfect charity with the world. All which we ask only through Jesus Christ our LORD. But Where Is God When There’s So Much Suffering? Neither this ar ticle nor this issue of
modernR EFORMATION aims to address the larger theoretical problem of evil. Instead, I want to relate a specific biblical theme to the practical situation of those who suffer and grieve. I have been overwhelmed in recent years by seeing just how central is the contrast between the theology of glory and the theology of the cross in the Gospels. I realize that Luther drew this contrast in a relatively peripheral comment in his Heidelberg Disputation. Yet, it is important in both Luther and Calvin. This contrast is between God’s glorious majesty which inspires fear, and the humiliation of God’s incarnation, suffering, and death for reviling sinners which draws us into his loving arms. And no wonder it was a major distinction for the reformers, since it was so central for Paul and the New Testament—for that matter, for the biblical writers in general. But we see this especially in the development of our Redeemer’s last three years on earth. The God who created heaven and earth is now incarnate, dependent on a poor couple barely capable of providing for their own basic needs. As Jesus approaches his messianic vocation, John the Baptist announces, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” So from the very beginning, Jesus lived under the shadow of the cross. He is recognized by the Old Testament, consummated in John’s ministry, as the substitutionary sacrifice. As John baptizes him, Jesus knows exactly what will happen. This baptism not only “fulfills all righteousness,” but consecrates Jesus as Lamb of God. In other words, it seals his death already. The heavenly voice responds, “Behold, my beloved Son, in whom I am well-pleased.” It is in these moments of greatest humiliation for the Son that God is most pleased—not because God likes to see people suffer, much less his only begotten Son. It’s no morbid interest on God’s part; God’s joy lies in the result: Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him with pain. When you make his life an offering for sin, he shall see his offspring, and shall prolong his days; through him the will of the LORD shall prosper. Out of his anguish he shall see light; he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge. The righteous One, my Servant, shall make many righteous and shall bear their iniquities (Is. 53:10-11). If we ever question—and we will—the reliability of that famous assurance that “God works all things together for good for those who love God, who are the called according to his purpose” (Rom. 8:28), we have before us a dilemma which far outweighs our own struggles with the problem of evil. How could the incarnation, suffering, humiliation, and eventually the death of the Son of God be explained in anything but tragic terms? MARCH/APRIL 1999
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Ruth Naomi Flyod
And yet, unlike most instances of our suffering in the world, in this case we know not only that, but how, all things worked together for our good in those events. All along the way, there were obstacles. The first, not surprisingly, came from Lucifer the glorious angel, who had led the first Adam astray, had no doubt tempted Israel to “demand the food they craved” in the wilderness, and now sought to draw the second Adam into satisfying his own “felt needs” by choosing worldly pomp (“the kingdoms of the world”) over the cross. Taking Satan’s route, Jesus could secure the power, money, success, happiness—right here, right now. Total security. Never wondering whether there’s enough in the bank account to cover an expense, he would have the world at his feet. Glory for himself now, instead of the Cross, although the latter would lead not only himself but many sinners into future glory: that was the temptation. If it were only Satan’s temptation, we could understand it. But even the disciples never seemed to understand their master’s teaching. Repeatedly throughout the Gospels, Jesus is on a clear road leading from Galilee to Jerusalem. There is no press conference in Galilee. In fact, his early ministry is marked by secrecy about his identity, which is one of the reasons he was somewhat disturbed by his mother’s insistence that he replenish the wine supply at the wedding reception. But as Christ goes down that road toward Jerusalem, more signs accompany increasingly clear announcements about this person and work. Crowds are pressing on him and his disciples. He tries to confide in his disciples, explaining what this mission is all about, but they keep changing the subject every time he brings up his impending death. Even for Jesus’ own brothers, who did not yet believe in him, Jesus was a marketable 8
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product. It was the theology of glory, the religion of the “healthyminded” type: optimistic, revolutionary, victorious. They saw Jerusalem as the “bigtime”: “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” We’re going to Jer usalem alright, Jesus kept saying, but it’s nothing like what you’re thinking. Mark’s Gospel especially underscores the repeated times that Jesus tried to explain his death and resurrection. Finally, Peter, weary of all this talk about the theology of the cross, rebukes Jesus: Then [Jesus] began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things” (Mark 8:31-33). Like the Pharisees, the disciples were often more impressed with Jesus’ signs-and-wonders ministry than with his words to which the signs were mere indicators. So from this rebuke Jesus launches into a sermon: He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?” (vv. 34-37). Jesus will come with power, to liberate and to judge, in great splendor and majesty—as the disciples were anticipating for their arrival into Jerusalem to proclaim Jesus the messianic king. But that is not the purpose of this trip, Jesus says (9:1). James and John want to call down fire on the Samaritan village which refused to hear the Gospel, but “Jesus sharply rebuked them and they MODERN REFORMATION
went to another village.” In Mark 10, Jesus explains his impending death and resurrection for the third time. And what is the disciples’ response this time? James and John ask Jesus to put in a petition for their rank in the kingdom of glory: “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” Did they hear anything about the cross? Did they “get” any of it? You see, Jerusalem for the disciples still meant Jesus’ coronation day in the capital, and they could barely sleep at night picturing themselves on the platform with him. But here was Jesus’ response to this fresh effusion of the theology of glory: “But Jesus said to them, ‘You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?’ They replied, ‘We are able.’” What audacity! They were thinking that he would be anointed king. “Can you bear the awesome burden, as well as dignity, of being consecrated along with me?” This is what they were hearing, although what Jesus was saying—and had been saying often—was that this “baptism” was death! And no ordinary death. It was going to be the cruelest and most despicable form of execution, reserved for the greatest capital offenses. Furthermore, his disciples’ sinful fear and his Father’s just holiness would leave him bereft of all comfort, alone in a hell of splinters and nails, with all of heaven’s wrath weighing down on his brow. Indeed, “You know not what you ask,” James and John. In God’s mercy, these disciples were not crowned on Jesus’ right and left hand, but were spared that ignominious death. Whenever Jesus brings up his death with the disciples, they either rebuke him for morbidity or change the subject to a more uplifting, edifying discourse. Like all of us, they wanted the “healthy-minded” religion, not the religion of the “sick soul.” But the Father and the Holy Spirit respond differently. When Jesus willingly embraced the cross in his baptism, the Holy Spirit’s benediction was heard. And now, for the fourth time, Jesus speaks at length concerning his death and again the Father and the Holy Spirit testify to the Son’s ministry. In fact, the only times in the Gospels where we read of a voice coming from heaven are when Jesus obediently embraces the cross:
for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” The crowd standing heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die (John 12:27-33). What is so remarkable is that even at his crucifixion, as the disciples flee, it is the chief Roman military officer who, amidst the clamor of thunder and under the shroud of darkness declares, “Surely this is the Son of God.” It is only after the resurrection that Jesus finds his dejected disciples and explains to them how everything that had just occurred was according to plan—and not only God’s secret plan, by which he works all things together for good, but according to his unfolding plan in history which was largely available to them if they would only have read the Scriptures with Christ and the Gospel at the center. Like the Pharisees, who had closely studied the Bible without the key missing piece of the puzzle (viz., Christ himself, John 5:39), those who were most expecting glory on Palm Sunday were bitterly crying, “Crucify him!” on Good Friday. Taking Up Our Cross In my personal and pastoral experience, I have noticed that those who have demanded heaven on earth here and now—instant health, wealth, happiness, or holiness—often become the most embittered, hostile, and disillusioned critics of Christianity. Whether it’s perfect bodies, perfect sanctification, perfect success, perfect marriages, perfect children, perfect security, perfect churches—whatever, we must abandon this theology of glory instead of abandoning the God who works all things together for good. Death, like sin itself, is never good. It represents the separation of body and soul—an unnatural separation—that will persist until the final resurrection of the body. Its sting is removed; its ultimate claim over our destiny is broken. But sickness and death, suffering and pain, remain matters to be taken with
Christianity is for the weak
and oppressed. On that score, Nietzsche and his disciples were correct.
“Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is
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the appropriate seriousness—not to be trivialized on the one hand, or sentimentalized or “celebrated” on the other. We must take up our cross, neither avoiding it nor seeking it. As Luther said, the cross finds us. This is no call to morbid martyrdom, still less, to pretending that the cross of splinters is really a cause for celebration. But it is to be prepared to “let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also,” for the sake of the kingdom whose treasures far outweigh and outlast anything we can know in this fading age. Christianity is for the weak and oppressed. On that score, Nietzsche and his disciples were correct. They will tell us that our explanation for the problem of evil is inadequate. And, of course, it is. We can talk about the creation of the world and of humankind in righteousness, original sin, the curse upon all aspects of life because of the fall, and God’s provision of redemption from the curse in Jesus Christ. We can speak with great hope of “the age to come” when our bodies will be raised—an event for which the whole natural world groans, since it too will share in the glorious liberty of God’s children (Rom. 8). But at the end of the day, suffering is still an enigma. Yet it is only a problem because something in us knows that this is not the way it is meant to be, that there is something more, a purpose for everything in the future. Nietzsche and his disciples may have correctly identified that Christianity is for the weak and not for the selfconfident individual in his or her will to power. But because he who was rich for our sakes became poor; he who was powerful for our sakes became weak, and he who was wise for our sakes became foolish, “the meek shall inherit the earth” in Christ. To William James’ (or Robert Schuller’s) “healthy-minded” optimists, Jesus announces that he has come for the sick, not for the healthy. While some professing Christians have perpetrated enor mous injustices in the name of Christianity throughout the ages, more people have died under the experimental reign of Nietzsche and his disciples (most notably, Hitler and Stalin) than in all of the previous centuries combined. The good news announced so long ago, sealed by the Suffering Servant and his victory over sin and death, is still held out to those who are weary of being “supermen,” are tired of being cynical, and who are ready to exchange their theology of glory for a theology of the cross: “Come to me, all of you who are weary and weighted down, and I will give you rest.” MR Dr. Horton is associate professor of historical theology at Westminster Theological Seminary in California, and serves on the council of the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals.
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Tenth Annual Soli Deo Gloria Conference PITTSBURGH, PA
The Goodness of God MAY 7-8, 1999 This year’s Soli Deo Gloria conference will focus our attention on the goodness of God… DEREK THOMAS
DON WHITNEY
it is His goodness that leads us to repentance; it is His goodness that satisfies us; it is His goodness that sustains us; it is His goodness for which we should praise Him. Paul even speaks of “the riches of His goodness.”
DON KISTLER
Join us as we explore the goodness of God in this two-day conference.
For more information call: (412) 221-1901 Fax: (412) 221-1902
Soli Deo Gloria Conference P.O. Box 451, Morgan, PA 15064
MODERN REFORMATION
Job, Theologian of the Cross CHAD L. BIRD that question lurks behind every syllable of this holy book. And it is that question which jerks the head of the sufferer upward, and rivets our eyes on the cross of Jesus Christ. For only there is the divine understanding of suffering revealed.
The book of Job is a catechism on the theology of the cross. Throughout the centuries countless believers, bruised by the rod of suffering, have embarked on a pilgrimage into the heart of this ancient story to inquire, “Why do the innocent suffer?” Many have retreated from the answers sadly disappointed, others passionately frustrated, and still others—like Job—faithfully content. Perhaps the reason some find the answers inadequate is because they have failed to ponder a far weightier question, “How is God known by man?” Truly,
The Life and Times of Job The prologue of Job introduces the reader to a patriarchal hero who is exemplary in piety, blessed with affluence, paternally productive (seven sons, three daughters), and the scrupulous household priest of his close-knit family (1:1-5). All is well in the life and times of Job. Then one day the satanic serpent slithers into the throne-room of Yahweh and argues that Job walks in the path of righteousness only because of his material blessings. Satan challenges God, “But put forth thy hand now and touch all that he has; he will surely curse thee to thy face” (1:11). Soon thereafter, through a blitzkrieg of natural and supernatural disasters, Job loses livestock, servants, and all ten of his children. Unmoved, however, from his firm stance of faith, Job confesses, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I shall return there. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord” (1:21). MARCH/APRIL 1999
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The devil reappears before God and this time argues, “Skin for skin! Yes, all that a man has he will give for his life. However, put forth thy hand, now, and touch his bone and his flesh; he will curse thee to thy face” (2:4-5). With divine approval Satan then “smote Job with sore boils from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head” (2:7). At this, even Job’s wife mutters, “Curse God and die!” Nevertheless, Job persists in his integrity. With the advent, however, of Job’s three friends— Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar—and a seven-day, sevennight vigil of silent suffering, the tenor of the account changes. What follows in the main body of the book (chaps. 3-37) are three cycles of ever intensifying debate-like speeches between Job and his unholy trinity of accusatory friends. Job vigorously defends his innocence in the face of their legalistic claims that he must have sown vast seeds of iniquity to be reaping such ghastly fruits. Finally, when the friends have blunted their arguments against the iron wall of Job’s defense, a spectator named Elihu enters the fray. He first chides Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar for their poor arguments and then proceeds to offer his views. Although sharpening the previous arguments, Elihu too falls short in his endeavor to probe into the mystery of suffering. Finally, wisdom speaks. Hiding and revealing himself within whirlwind and storm, Yahweh puts Job on the stand in the celestial cour troom, twice interrogating him (chaps. 38-39, 40-41). The divine questions are exquisitely crafted to evoke humility, awe, fear, faith, and wisdom in Job. In response to this twofold interrogation, Job twice utters confessions of repentance and faith, ultimately coming to terms with his suffering and his God. The epilogue paints a joyous portrait of complete reversal—one might even say “resurrection.” Job is publicly vindicated by God, while his friends are indicted because they did not speak of God rightly (42:7). The suffering patriarch becomes their sacerdotal intercessor, offering sacrifices to atone for the sins of their mouths. The Lord then restores Job’s fortunes by doubling the number of livestock he had previously possessed, granting him ten more children, and bestowing upon him a long life and, finally, a blessed end.
Job’s, His Friends’, and God’s Response to the Afflictions As the painful narrative of Job’s tribulations unfolds and questions of “Why?” begin to surface rapidly, competing answers are voiced. The “naked-I-camefrom-my-mother’s-womb-and-naked-I-shall-returnthere” Job we meet in the prologue is soon the one who curses the very fact that he ever emerged from the womb (3:1-26). No mute stoic stance will do! Job bitterly laments the elusiveness of death when death is desired (10:18-22). He describes himself as an archery target for the bow-wielding Deity with poison-dipped arrows (6:4; 16:12-13). Without claiming sinlessness (13:26), Job protests that he has done nothing deserving such unspeakable agony (31:1-40). He bemoans his current condition and hungers for happier days of yore (29:1-25). Job appeals to God for an impartial hearing, either before or after his death, convinced that he will not be proven guilty because of his faith in God (27:1-12). Even as these hailstones of verbal agony rain from Job’s mouth, he tenaciously clings to his hope in God and awaits final justification. The light of faith shines in the darkness of his doubt. Job fully realizes and openly acknowledges the futility of a man attempting to justify himself by works (9:1-25). 1 Most importantly, he yearns for an “umpire” between God and man (6:3235) and finally confesses faith in such a One: a “witness in heaven” and “advocate on high” (16:19) who will be his living Redeemer. This one will take his stand on the earth, and resurrect justified Job so that with his own eyes he will behold God his Savior (19:25-27). In these bold statements of trust in the redemption and mediation of God against God, Job points ahead with a prophetic finger toward the incarnation, atonement, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In that Suffering One, Job the suffering one and all with him, receive justification. As Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar sit with their boilcovered friend on his ashes of mourning, grieved though they are by his sad plight, their theology will not allow them to understand suffering as anything but direct, divine retribution for iniquity. For them, the burn of suffering is always caused by playing with the fire of sin. Eliphaz gives classic expression to this faulty conviction, “Remember now, who ever perished being innocent? Or where were the upright destroyed? According to what I have seen, those
The cross, therefore, is not
only the place of salvation but of revelation. In it is revealed the visible and manifest things of God.
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MODERN REFORMATION
who plow iniquity and those who sow trouble harvest it,” (4:7-8). Job was reaping in this life what he had sown in this life, plain and simple. These accusers reason, first of all, that God always rewards the righteous with material prosperity and happiness while punishing the wicked with poverty, pain, and suffering. (They were the health-wealthand-happiness preachers of the day.) Reasoning backward from effect to cause, therefore, they conclude that Job’s suffering is a punishment from God for his transgressions. The God of Job’s friends is a tit-for-tat legalist devoid of grace, shackled by the chains of cause and effect, a demander but not a forgiver. Their theology remains pregnant with law while the Gospel is aborted. There is no room for faith, only penitence, submission, and blind obedience. Because they see God only through nature, reason, and experience, and not by faith founded on revelation, they misconstrue God. They would never have fathomed God in the crucified man on Golgotha, but would have contemptuously berated him as they did suffering Job, his forerunner. They were—to use the term Luther would later coin—theologians of glory. How, therefore, does the Truth himself respond to suffering Job? In his first interrogation, Yahweh sounds forth from the midst of a whirlwind, demanding, “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge? Now gird up your loins like a man, and I will ask you, and you instruct Me!” (38:2-3). In question after question, God declares the mystery of his divine power as Creator of heaven and earth. Through wisdom and might, unsearchable and unknowable by man, God has created and sustains the material world and all that is in it. How does this, however, help answer the question of the suffering one? Is Job merely being instructed to keep his mouth shut and let the sovereign God be sovereign? Hardly. Yahweh roars forth example upon example of his divine power not merely to sew Job’s lips shut with the strong thread of divine sovereignty, but to reveal that this almighty God—inscrutable in majesty, hidden in wisdom, beyond mortal comprehension—must be known in a far different kind of revelation. Job is not only humbled by the litany of God’s creative power; more importantly, he is brought to the realization that God must reveal who he is to man in a radically different way. And such a way he demonstrates in the second divine speech. When God speaks again, he tells Job, “Look on everyone who is proud, and humble him; and tread down the wicked where they stand. Hide them in the dust together; bind them in the hidden place. Then I will also confess to you, that your own right hand can save you,” (40:12-14). He then directs Job to gaze upon two mysterious creatures called Behemoth and Leviathan. The exalted, intricate description of this pair of beasts evokes images of supernatural, otherworldly monsters: untamable, ferocious, menacing. Behemoth is called “the
first of the ways of God,” (40:19), a description equally attributable to the angelic host, one of whom is Satan. Leviathan is similarly painted with devilish hues. In 41:20-21 he breathes forth fire like a dragon (cf. Rev. 12:3). Leviathan inhabits the sea (41:31-32), which in Job and the rest of the Scriptures is an “incarnation” of chaos and evil (Job 9:8; 26:12-13; 38:8-11). Job 41:33-34 says Leviathan rules over all the worldly “sons of pride” as their king, and “on earth is not his equal” (cf. “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”). He is Satan, prince of the demons.2 These types of Satan are who Job is commanded to humble, tread down, hide, and bind—a feat impossible for man! But where man falls far short, God surely accomplishes. Job is assured that God can and will control and ultimately conquer the evil and injustice perpetrated by the Foe. To this eschatological defeat of all that is evil, God directs suffering Job. This, then, is the answer to the problem of the righteous sufferer given in the book of Job. Though the righteous may now suffer, God has won the eschatological battle, and God tells Job, the righteous sufferer, that through faith he participates in God’s victory. The theophany reveals to Job that he too is involved in God’s work in the universe. According to the theology of the cross, the righteous sufferer is comforted since he participates in God’s eschatological victory over sin, death, and the devil.3 Theology of Glory vs. Theology of the Cross The foundational struggle in Job is between what Luther called the theology of glory and the theology of the cross. Here the weighty question is asked and answered, “How is God known by man?” This anguished query of Job is pondered anew by sufferers of every generation. Has God forgotten to be gracious? Why does he hide his face? In 1518, at the Heidelberg Disputation, Luther penned several theses which illuminate these questions. They cast light not only on the problem of pain but also on the more fundamental question of where God is in the midst of a believer’s pain. [Thesis 19] That person does not deserve to be called a theologian who looks upon the invisible things of God as though they were clearly perceptible in those things which have actually happened. [Thesis 20] He deserves to be called a theologian, however, who comprehends the visible and manifest things of God seen through MARCH/APRIL 1999
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suffering and the cross. [Thesis 21] A theology of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theology of the cross calls the thing what it actually is.4 The glory-theologian, gaping heavenward and earthward, cannot chatter sufficiently regarding God’s attributes of power, virtue, wisdom, justice, goodness, and eternity, all of which he beholds solely through the trifold lens of nature, reason, and experience. From these manifest materials of the created realm, the glory-theologian constructs the edifice of his theology. His creed depicts a deity who accepts only those men worthy of his acceptance, a God who rewards the righteous with good and smites the evil with misfortune, and who has absolutely no truck with such foolish things as suffering, weakness, trials, pain—no interest in the cross. The glory-theologian calls evil good and good evil; the day of crucifixion can, for him, only be termed “Evil Friday.” The glory-theologians of the book of Job are Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar, and Elihu. Job’s sufferings are grist for their theological mills. Nature, reason, and experience dictate unequivocally that Job is accursed by God because of his sin. They cannot understand his sufferings differently because their God is only a God of law and retribution. Obedience not faith, law not Gospel, are the hallmarks of their theology, and morality the article upon which their “church” stands or falls. Conversely, the eyes of the cross-theologian see reality through the crucified corpse of the suffering Son of God. By the light of faith, the cross-theologian sees Jesus as the Son of God and his cross as the disclosure of how God comes to man and brings man to himself. The cross, therefore, is not only the place of salvation but of revelation. In it is revealed the visible and manifest things of God. Reason, nature, and experience can only see a mostly naked man, blood oozing, hungry flies buzzing, thorns piercing, dry tongue swelling, chest heaving, crowd taunting, eyes closing, breath stopping, stabbed side flowing. By faith, however, the cross-theologian sees on the cross the Savior of the world, the incarnate love of God, life, peace, joy, hope, forgiveness, and heaven. In the midst of suffering, in other words, he sees God. The cross-theologian understands that faith is the “evidence of things not seen” (Heb. 11:1). For God, therefore, to reveal himself to man he must hide himself beneath the cloak of that which seems to nature, reason, and experience most ungodly. But the cross-theologian can see Job, clothed with ashes and moistened with ooze from his sores, and declare that suffering man to be closer to God than Satan who stood in the glorious, exalted throne-room of Yahweh. The cross-theologian views the sufferings and trials of believers not as divine punishments for sin but as holy relics to be treasured and 14
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received with glad and thankful hearts.5 Job, therefore, typifies not only the suffering Christ but exemplifies the suffering Christian. He is a theologian of the cross. Job: Type of Christ and Paradigmatic Disciple It was not without reason, therefore, that the church fathers spoke of Job and his sufferings as a type of Christ and his sufferings. Gregory the Great (540-604), for example, says of Job: And therefore it behooved that blessed Job also, who uttered those high mysteries of His Incarnation, should by his life be a sign of Him, Whom by voice he proclaimed, and by all that he underwent should shew forth what were to be His sufferings; and should so much the more truly foretell the mysteries of His Passion, as he prophesied then not merely with his lips but also by suffering.6 In his innocent suffering, final vindication, and priestly intercession for those who had wronged him, Job showed forth the pattern of the One in whom he believed. In both Job and Jesus the theologian of the cross sees paragons of how God makes himself known to man. For that reason Job is also the paradigmatic disciple. As St. James says, “As an example, brethren, of suffering and patience, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord. Behold, we count those blessed who endured. You have heard of the endurance of Job and have seen the outcome of the Lord’s dealings, that the Lord is full of compassion and merciful.”7 James holds up the “endurance” of Job as exemplary. Earlier in this epistle, James had encouraged his suffering readers using similar language. “Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” (1:2-4). Job is the model sufferer not because of a stoic acceptance of pain, but because of his certain hope of final, eschatological vindication. He was a man who came to a true knowledge of the purpose of suffering and found therein true knowledge of God—the God who hides himself in suffering, trial, shame, and lowliness in order to reveal salvation, life, and peace. From Job we learn what it means to live the theology of the cross. MR Rev. Bird is the minister of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church (Missouri Synod), Wellston, Oklahoma.
MODERN REFORMATION
QUOTES “Those persecutions, which we must suffer for the testimony of the Gospel, are remnants of the sufferings of Christ.” — John Calvin, Commentary on Acts, II:115. “And when they had come to a place called Golgotha, that is to say Place of the Skull, they gave Him sour wine mingled with gall to drink. But when He had tasted it, He would not drink. Then they crucified Him, and divided His garments, casting lots, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet: ‘They divided My garments among them, and for My clothing they cast lots.’ Sitting down, they kept watch over Him there. And they put up over His head the accusation written against Him: ‘This is Jesus the King of the Jews.’ Then two robbers were crucified with Him, one on the right and another on the left. And those who passed by blasphemed Him… .” — Matthew 27:33-39. “This is clear: He who does not know Christ does not know God hidden in suffering. Therefore he prefers works to suffering, glory to the cross, strength to weakness, wisdom to folly… . These are the people whom the apostle calls ‘enemies of the cross of Christ’ [Phil. 3:18], for they hate the cross and suffering and love works and the glory of works. Thus they call the good of the cross evil and the evil of a deed good. God can be found only in suffering and the cross, as has already been said.” — Martin Luther, Heidelberg Disputation, Explanation of Thesis 21. “[We] may patiently pass through this life with its misery, hunger, cold, contempt, reproaches, and other troubles—content with this one thing: that our King will never leave us destitute, but will provide for our needs until, our warfare ended, we are called to triumph. Such is the nature of his rule, that he shares with us all that he has received from the Father.” — John Calvin, Institutes, 2.15.4.
“O great God! I know that thou canst do anything, and that thou art the one who makest the wound and who bindest it up. Thou dost afflict and thy hand healeth; thou bringest down to the grave and thou bringest back. Thou healest, when thou wilt, the most desperately ill and thou bringest back to life and callest into being things that are not, as if they were. O matchless physician, not only canst thou pour out thy blessing on the remedies given to me; thou hast but to say the word and I shall be perfectly whole. If, though, for thine own reasons, thou doest wish my illness to continue, sustain me, Lord, and redouble thy fatherly care and the consolation of thy Spirit. Ar m me with tr uly Christian patience and clothe me with a constancy worthy of the faith with which thou has honored me… . Long have I considered this bed as the image of the grave in which I shall soon be laid, and I think of death as the hand that will come and break the last link in this chain of misery. It is death that will … lead me into the glorious, incorruptible palace where thou livest and where I shall praise thee eternally. Amen.” — French Reformed pastor Charles Drelincourt (1595-1669), Prayer of a Sufferer Preparing to Die (from Howard L. Rice and Lamar Williamson, Jr., eds., A Book of Reformed Prayers, 36). “Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory… .” — 2 Corinthians 4:16-17.
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Suffering Servant, Sovereign Lord: CAN GOD SUFFER? GERALD BRAY
In such a context, the traditional doctrine has been rejected on the grounds that it is of pagan Greek origin, and that it has little to do with the compassionate God of the Bible. These theologians charge that for centuries, the Christian church has been in thrall to an alien philosophy, from which it must now liberate itself. 16
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Those attacking the doctrine are cer tainly not all theological liberals; many conservatives too are uneasy with it. Even if they are reluctant to abandon this ancient teaching, few modern conservatives actively defend it. Such widespread agreement is impressive and must command respect, but the tradition cannot be set aside merely by the consensus of a single generation, despite the after math of exceptionally br utal times. Before we pass judgment on impassibility, we must look carefully at what it is, and try to decide whether, and to what extent, modern criticisms of it are justified. Corey Wilkinson, Scratchboard
Perhaps no traditional Christian doctrine has taken a g reater bashing from modern theologians than the assertion that God is “impassible” by nature— that is, that he cannot experience suffering. Such a doctrine sounds to many people today as if God does not care about human life. And in the wake of the terrible persecutions of our time, par ticularly the Holocaust, the impassibility of God is frequently blamed for the church’s failure to make an adequate response. Taking their cue from men like Jürgen Moltmann, who lived through the destruction of European Jewry and who had some personal experience of that catastrophe, many theologians have looked for a “God after Auschwitz.” They want a God who is near to us, who understands our suffering, and who par ticipates in it with us. Only by such participation, it is argued, can redemption occur, because only then has God truly committed himself to the reality which he himself created.
The Early History of Impassibility First of all, there can be no doubt that the concept of impassibility owes its origin to pre-Christian Greek philosophy, and to that extent may be regarded as “alien” to the Scriptures. Early Christian apologists and theologians were confronted with a widespread belief that the perfect being was by definition apathes, without suffering. They also had to confront the corollary assertion that human happiness consisted in achieving (as far as possible) a state of apatheia, or tranquillity. This supposedly enables the true philosopher to contemplate the essence of reality and enjoy it without distraction. Such a state could not be achieved without a high degree of self-denial, refusing to let pain and suffering affect one’s thinking. “Stoicism” was highly valued in antiquity, where there were numerous tales of men who met their deaths without flinching, because their minds were fixed on higher things. MODERN REFORMATION
The ancient concept of suffering was primarily one of physical pain, inflicted by an external force which served to weaken its victim, culminating in death. Whether the source of the pain was a blow from an enemy’s weapon, or a disease gnawing at one’s entrails, the essential point remained the same: Pain of this kind was unavoidable in human life. The proper stoic response was to overcome it by refusing to accept its power over the mind, even if there was not much one could do about the body. Besides, the ancients considered the material body of little importance, essentially evil and perishable. How did Christians respond? No Christian could deny the reality of Christ’s extreme suffering on the cross, its intensity often subsuming his death. The Nicene Creed, for example, says merely that Christ “suffered and was buried,” leaving the reader to infer that death occurred, but not actually saying so. Martyrdom immediately brought this home to ordinary believers: to be a Christian was to take up one’s cross and follow Jesus, even to the point of death. The early Christian apologists portrayed Christians as soldiers preparing for battle. They slighted the philosophers’ concept of transcendent tranquillity. Some Christians like Ter tullian (c. A.D. 200) strongly derided the philosophers’ impractical outlook on life. Therefore the notion of divine impassibility was not immediately compatible with early Christian teaching or experience. It is wrong then to say that it entered the language of Christian theology as a holdover from some pagan philosophical form. When the church did address the issue, however, it affirmed that God cannot suffer in his divine nature. The classical statement of this view is found in Cyril of Alexandria’s second letter to Nestorius, which was written about A.D. 429. His view was confirmed both at the first council of Ephesus (431) and at the council of Chalcedon (451). He writes: In a similar way we say that he [Christ] suffered and rose again, not that the Word of God suffered blows or piercing with nails or any other wounds in his own nature (for the divine, being without a body, is incapable of suffering); but because the body which became his own suffered these things, he is said to have suffered them for us. For he was without suffering (apathes), while his body suffered. Something similar is true of his dying. For by nature the Word of God is of itself immortal and incorruptible and life and life-giving, but since on the other hand, his own body, by God’s grace, as the apostle says (Heb. 2:9) tasted death for all, the Word is said to have suffered death for us, not as if he himself had experienced death as far as his own nature was
concerned (it would be sheer lunacy to say or to think that), but because as I have just said, his flesh tasted death. So too, when his flesh was raised to life, we refer to this again as his resurrection, not as though he had fallen into corruption—God forbid—but because his body had been raised again. In this passage we can see immediately that Cyril was operating with the contemporary Greek assumptions regarding suffering. Suffering applies to the body, and because God does not have a body, he cannot suffer. But like all his fellow Christians, Cyril did not go on (as would most pagan philosophers) to dismiss the body. On the contrary, he explains that the purpose of the incarnation of the Word was to make divine suffering possible. God was given (or took) a human body, in order to bring about the resurrection from the dead, which is the ultimate goal of the Christian life. Cyril’s vision shows God coming as close to suffering as he possibly can, by acquiring a body to experience it. There can be no greater involvement on God’s part in human suffering than this, Cyril states. He holds up the incarnation as the way in which the problem of God’s natural impassibility was overcome. The Modern Reworking of “Suffering” The modern question is rather different from the one faced by Cyril. First of all, theologians today want to affirm that God can suffer (in some sense at least) in his divine nature, and to claim that the whole concept of “suffering” needs to be rethought. Many would agree that if the ancient notion of suffering is accepted, then of course, God must be impassible. Not only does he not have a body, but his sovereignty makes it inconceivable that he could ever be subjected to an external force which is more powerful than he is. The real difficulty with the traditional doctrine is therefore not that it is wrong in its own terms (it is not), but that our understanding of what suffering is has changed in such a way that the older assertion no longer makes sense. This solution has the advantage of exculpating the ancient fathers, while at the same time demonstrating why their teaching has to be recast (if not entirely rejected) today. The main point of difference seems to be that suffering is regarded today as a psychological, emotional, and even spiritual phenomenon, as much as a physical one. The claim is made that such distinctions are artificial and untenable, and that if it is true that human beings can have a relationship with God which is both just and caring, then God must be capable of entering into our pain. The modern theologians are not talking here about brute physical force, but about compassion and MARCH/APRIL 1999
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“empathy,” which the ancients supposedly ignored. That is not strictly true of course—ancient Christian writers categorized such notions under “love,” rather than “suffering.” Once that shift of perception is made, it is quite clear that the fathers of the church believed in God’s compassion just as much as any modern theologian. Perhaps the best way to try to understand the nature of this problem is to take a familiar modern analogy— that of doctor and patient. Someone lying in a hospital bed does not want to be solely treated by a machine, which functions regardless of the pain it might inflict. Rather, the patient wants to be treated by someone who understands what he or she is going through, and who will sensitively adjust his approach. For this, a human being is essential, and any good doctor knows that his or her bedside manner is at least as important as any medicine. But having said that, what patient wants the doctor to climb into the bed next to him or her and start making groaning noises, as if to indicate that the doctor, too, is experiencing the same pain? This is not the kind of “empathy” desired, because the fundamental reason the patient wants the doctor is not to receive sympathy from him or her; the patient can get that just as easily from any medically unskilled visitor. What the patient wants is to be cured. Understanding pain is all very well, but overcoming it is what all sufferers really want. God is impassible, not because he is uncaring (he is in fact far more compassionate than any human being ever could be), but because he is strong to save. Unlike human doctors, who are available only at certain times and who are occasionally “off sick” themselves, God is always ready and able to help. The impassibility of his nature is, therefore, a guarantee that he will always be there. The modern reaction to impassibility may be understandable in its context, but it is essentially misguided. Accusations that the fathers of the church were influenced by their pagan philosophical background do not stand up to serious examination (quite the reverse, in fact). More important still, the doctrine is not a barrier to understanding God’s compassion, but is in fact the assertion that his compassion is always fully available and functioning. Impassibility may not be something that we need to think about very often (when things are going well, we usually take them for granted), but it is vitally important nevertheless. As Christians we need to appreciate where divine impassibility fits into the overall picture of God’s saving work. MR Dr. Gerald Bray is professor of historical theology at Beeson Divinity School, Birmingham, Alabama.
THE NEW GENEVA STUDY BIBLE
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MODERN REFORMATION
FREE SPACE VIEWS
EXPRESSED IN THIS COLUMN ARE NOT NECESSARILY ENDORSED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF
INTERVIEW WITH PETER JENSEN, PRINCIPAL OF MOORE COLLEGE, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA Moore College trains a significant number of Australia’s evangelical Anglican and Presbyterian ministers. This interview was conducted by Peter Hastie, editor of The Australian Presbyterian.1 The interview provides some international perspective on current debates about justification.
PH: What is the doctrine of justification by faith? PJ: The best place to start in thinking about the doctrine is with the judgment seat of God. The Bible teaches that we are all going to appear before the judgment seat of Christ to be judged one day. Either we will be acquitted or we will be condemned. Those who are acquitted will be “justified.” In other words, God will hand down a verdict of “not guilty.” He will declare that we are righteous. And the question is: how does that happen? Unfortunately, most people think it happens because of our good works. However, the Bible tells us that our good works have nothing to do with God’s declaration of justification. In fact, we are justified through our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ alone. His righteousness is freely given to us. So the doctrine of justification by faith is the teaching that God declares to be righteous those who have put their trust in nothing else but Christ for their salvation. PH: How is justification by faith integral to Paul’s Gospel? PJ: Justification is integral to Paul’s message because it is the Gospel of the good news about Jesus Christ. When Paul preached the Gospel, he focused on the death of Christ upon the cross. He preached that Christ had borne our penalty upon the cross, and had taken away God’s judgment upon our sin. Now, since the Lord Jesus does that, we may put our faith in him and be justified. So at the very heart of Paul’s message lies this great truth of justification by faith alone, and it is integral because it touches every part of his message. For instance, look at what Paul says about the Sacraments of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. All Paul’s teaching about them presupposes that we are saved
by grace through faith in Christ alone. The Supper proclaims that we are saved only by the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. So justification by faith is a teaching that lays an axe to the root of human pride and arrogance. It says “No!” to the idea that we are justified by our good works. This means that we must be sure that every aspect of our church life reinforces the fundamental idea that we are saved by God’s grace through faith in Christ and not in any sense by our works.
PH: Why did Luther call this the article of a standing or falling church? PJ: Because the church which does not preach the Gospel in a “justification by faith” way, is a Church that has lost the Gospel. It’s as simple as that. And even though it may be a church with an impressive history, like the medieval Roman Catholic church, with all the panoply and glory of a great past and much wealth, as well as an extensive priesthood and a powerful sway over millions of people, yet if it is not preaching the Gospel in a “justification by faith” way, then it has lost the Gospel. It is preaching another Christ. And it’s a miracle if some people are saved in the fellowship of such a church. So Luther rightly brought to bear the test of justification by faith upon the preaching of the church. Where justification by faith is being preached, the Gospel is being preached. Where it is not being preached, then the Gospel is being distorted and people are being sent back to their own works which cannot save them. PH: Can you explain why the Archbishop of Canterbury, George Carey, recently said: “Justification by faith is hardly a common expression these days, even in the church”? MARCH/APRIL 1999
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PJ: Yes, I can explain it, because what he said is true. It’s true about the worldwide Anglican Communion, and it is true of other churches too. There are a number of reasons for it. First, people are not familiar with their Bibles. The phrase “justified through faith” is a Bible phrase, and it’s only as you read the Scriptures that you’ll be led to think about it. If you don’t read the Scriptures, and the Scriptures are not taught and preached in the Church, then the phrase won’t come up and you won’t ever hear it. Over the last thir ty or so years in the worldwide Anglican Communion, there has been a strong movement to celebrate a weekly Eucharist where the preaching is based only on the set readings mainly from the four Gospels. It sounds fine in theory, but what it has meant is that people don’t know their Bibles, and they don’t understand the truths of the faith, particularly the doctrine of justification. This is a serious problem. Another reason why justification by faith is little known in the church is that preachers have tended to leave Bible language behind in their efforts to translate the faith for modern hearers. When they have put the Gospel into contemporary terms, they have tried to teach the general idea of “justification by faith,” but it has been under a different guise and using other terms. Now I can understand why preachers try to translate the Gospel for the twentieth century, but in the end we do need to introduce the phrase because it’s a Bible term. Otherwise, how can people understand their Bible properly? Preachers must remember that one of their tasks is to instruct their hearers so that they don’t lose touch with the Word of God. PH: Why doesn’t the doctrine of justification seem to g rip people today the way it did during the Reformation? PJ: The short answer to that, as usual, is sin. What we must realize is that the natural way that sinful people think is that God saves them because of their own decency and good works. That’s how we as children of Adam are born to think. Now the news that God saves us despite our good works is not something that’s easy to hear, and it requires God first to enlighten our minds by his Spirit. Otherwise we will never understand the extraordinary message of God’s grace. That has always been the case, and it was like that at the Reformation as well. But there is a further element that we need to explore in the question. Is there some reason why the doctrine doesn’t seem to grip Christians or church people in the modern world? I think that the answer to that lies in the weakness of our teaching about sin and judgment, and 20
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ultimately about the holiness of God. Tragically, the theme of judgment is thoroughly muted in the church. Likewise, what used to be called the preaching of the Law is rarely done. Although the way some may have done it in the past was inappropriate, nevertheless, I think that the commands of God and his holy demand upon our lives rarely get a mention these days. If people are not aware of God’s holiness and judgment, then they can’t really be aware of the depth of their own sin and their desperate plight when it comes to dealing with God. Now if we are not preaching the Gospel in those terms, then we are not preaching the Gospel. And I fear that we are not preaching the Gospel as we ought to be doing. PH: Why has the subject of justification by faith become once more a topic of hot debate amongst scholars today? PJ: This is an interesting question because it is a surprising phenomenon. Thirty years ago, it was not a subject for active debate, but it has become so since 1977. I choose that date because that was the year that a New Testament scholar, E. P. Sanders, published an important but controversial book in which he challenged the conventional view that first century Judaism was a religion of good works. Sanders was critical of the idea that religion in the time of Jesus was a religion of rules and regulations which would save you if you kept them. Up until Sanders’ book, scholars assumed that when Jesus and Paul were preaching their doctrine of justification by faith they were preaching against a straightforward “good works” religion. However, E. P. Sanders blew the whistle on this simple idea, and said that it wasn’t true. Sanders believed that a major reassessment of first century Judaism was needed. As a result of his studies, he formed the view that grace played a major role in the Jewish faith of the period. According to him, it was wrong to claim that the Jews believed in salvation by good works. Not surprisingly, Sanders sparked a theological row amongst New Testament scholars which is still raging today. So the current debate that is going on is not really provoked by issues like the sinfulness of man and the holiness of God; rather, it’s all about a reassessment of first century Judaism and how Paul was reacting to it. However, there is another element in the debate that I need to mention. Some scholars are also reexamining the meaning of justification by faith in the light of word studies on such significant terms as “righteousness” as it was used in the Old Testament. But again, none of this questioning is arising out of a sense of spiritual crisis prompted by the holiness of God and the sinfulness of MODERN REFORMATION
human beings. I think popular Christianity has become far less interested in holiness than it used to be, and that the current talk about justification by faith has barely filtered down from scholars to the average believer. PH: Why are some New Testament scholars like Tom Wright saying that the doctrine of justification by faith is not a central Pauline doctrine? PJ: I think that scholars like Wright are often reacting to the position of some German scholars earlier in the twentieth century who treated justification by faith as the central Pauline doctrine, as the definition of the Gospel. In doing so they probably owed their thinking to Luther, and so this later reaction is not just a response to an earlier generation of New Testament scholars, but it is also a reaction to the Reformation itself. Wright’s basic position is this: when you look at Paul’s writing you will notice that justification by faith doesn’t turn up everywhere, and there are other doctrines which would easily be regarded as more at the center of Paul’s thought. He would say, I think, that the Gospel was more central. Some other people think that incorporation into Christ is the center of Paul’s theology. Wright makes the point that Paul is mainly discussing the future of Israel and the relationship with the Gentiles. Thus justification is about the nature of the church (who belongs?) rather than salvation (who does God accept?). I simply make two observations about the broader issue, rather than about Wright’s studies particularly: First, I think that the business of trying to find the center of Paul’s theology is a mistake. How can you ever be sure that you have found it? The idea of “finding the center” of something is a very alluring metaphor, but it fuels the false hope that it can be done. Isn’t it much more sensible to say simply how a particular doctrine relates to the others, rather than to say that it is at the center? I think so. Second, it needs to be said that many New Testament scholars don’t believe that Paul wrote all the New Testament letters attributed to him. So the Paul they’re talking about is not necessarily the man that we are referring to. The other problem that they have is that they are looking exclusively at Paul without taking into account how the rest of the Bible handles these issues. My own view on all this is that justification by faith is absolutely integ ral to our whole doctrinal understanding because it has to do with what is so vital in the Bible, namely, the judgment day, what Christ has done to save us from that judgment day, and what we must do in response to Christ’s rescue of us from this coming crisis. After all, the reason for wanting to know
who is in the church is to know who is to be saved in the coming judgment. PH: How are some of these modern scholars like Tom Wright and James Dunn redefining the doctrine of justification by faith? PJ: Both Dunn and Wright are struggling to come to terms with the new perspective of E. P. Sanders, in their own way. Let me admit first that it is quite difficult to summarize these arguments briefly in a way that does justice to them. Sanders, as you will recall, suggested that we have misunderstood the beliefs of first century Jews. The Jews of Jesus’ day, he said, did not believe in justification by good works. Rather, they exalted in God’s grace and believed that it was only by grace that they were in the covenant. However, Sanders went on to say that although Jews believed that they were saved by grace, they also believed that they stayed in the covenant by works. Both Wright and Dunn in their different ways are trying to grapple with this, and they are trying to reassess the doctrine of justification by faith in the light of it. Both of these scholars are very attracted to the idea that Paul’s “justification by faith” talk comes out of the relationship between Jew and Gentile in the church, which is undoubtedly a major issue in Paul’s letters to the Galatians and the Romans. Dunn’s view, for example, is that Paul’s term, “the works of the law,” does not refer to the works we do in order to gain salvation through the law. Rather, these works are “boundary markers” or symbols of one’s Jewishness. A person is not saved by having or doing them. They are merely intended to signal that you are Jewish. The real question before the Gentile churches was this: Do you need to perform “the works of the law” to be a Christian? In other words, do you have to become Jewish to enter the covenant? The issue has nothing to do with good works or building up credit for salvation; rather it is about whether you have to become a Jew to be saved. In the end, Dunn does specifically see justification as having to do with their relationship with God, and dependence on God. But the initial point is this—you don’t have to become a Jew to be a Christian. You can be justified as a Gentile through faith in Christ without keeping the Law. In other words, you don’t have to convert to Judaism as a first step to being a Christian. But I am not at all convinced that he is right to say that works of the law are merely marks. I think that Sanders is wrong and that there is sufficient evidence that some people did put their faith for salvation in good works. What is sometimes missed is that the mere fact that MARCH/APRIL 1999
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people appealed to grace does not mean that they did not also rely on good works. Tom Wright is also interested in this matter. But for him the business of justification by faith is not so much a matter of God’s verdict on the day of judgment. Instead, it’s related to whether or not a person has a belief that Jesus is Lord and that God raised him from the dead. This shows that they are a Christian. Wright claims that this is evidence of the Spirit’s work in a person’s life, and hence proof that the person is already in the covenant. So what he is saying is that the doctrine of justification by faith is not about how God makes a person a Christian; rather, it is God’s righteous declaration that someone is already a Christian. For Wright, faith is not the instrument by which we grasp Christ, but the evidence that we are already in Christ. But this is not how Paul uses the term “faith” in my view. One of the effects of this way of approach is that it tends to dissolve the clear distinction between the Catholic and Protestant definitions of justification. I am concerned about his emphasis on church rather than salvation. PH: What’s the danger of going down the new path? What do we lose? PJ: Well, the first thing that we have to recognize is that this new path is attractive. It’s like all new things; it’s exciting and therein lies its danger. Sadly, some Christians will go down this path only because they’re like the Athenians who were always interested in some new thing. The other factor that makes this new path attractive is that it appears to give us a wonderful new way of looking at the New Testament that people haven’t thought of before, almost as if for thousands of years we haven’t known what the New Testament says. And now, suddenly, all is revealed. So it’s quite attractive. The advantage of this new view is that it gives the appearance of drawing us into the historical circumstances of the day. However, the danger of the new path is that it is inherently reductionist. That is to say, it certainly correctly draws us into the issue of Jew and Gentile relationships, but it doesn’t seem to ask the obvious question: why is this issue so important? I take it that the reason why the question was ever important in the first place was because it involved the crucial issue of how we shall stand before the judgment seat of God. Unless we realize that that is the real question, then the New Testament will be essentially trivial for us. It will be no more than the hobby horse of academic experts who happen to be able to read it in a new way. So personally, I think that the new path is dangerous. I believe that it will obscure the doctrine of justification 22
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by faith, and it will make assurance of salvation very difficult indeed. Further, I think that if it obscures the doctrine of justification by faith, it will cut off the root of godliness because godliness grows out of justification by faith as well. Charles Colson and Os Guinness, among others, have been calling on evangelicals and Roman Catholics to bury the hatchet on their differences over justification. Should we do that? And should we treat the Reformation as a backward stop? I believe quite strongly that evangelicals and Catholics should bury the hatchet on justification by faith, and both of us should do that by submitting to the truth. And we can do that best by witnessing to the truth continually. Sadly, many evangelicals no longer believe in justification by faith as you can see from the neglect of it in their popular writings. Historically, this has not always been so. In an earlier period, evangelicals regarded justification by faith as enormously significant. However, in the broad evangelical movement today it is not seen in the same light. So whether we are talking about evangelicals or Catholics, both of us need to rediscover the great teaching of justification by faith. I believe we have a responsibility to invite the Roman Catholic Church to do it. It hasn’t done so yet, although I hope it will. As far as the Reformation goes, I believe that it was a marvelous backward step. It is the sort of backward step that we ought to be taking all the time—right back into the New Testament. It’s time we realized that going back to the New Testament is the only way to go forward. And we need to do it again today. There’s an American Episcopalian Bishop who has recently been saying that we have to rewrite the Bible for every new age. I think he’s completely wrong. What we have to do is to go back to the sources of our faith in the New Testament. Then we will discover afresh in each generation the wonderful truth of the Gospel in a “justification by faith” way. I think that it’s tragic that many today who call themselves evangelicals are ashamed of the Reformation or attack the Refor mation. Some of them treat the word “Protestant” as though it’s a vulgar term, and they want to distance themselves from the Reformation as much as possible. I would question the credentials of any person who calls himself an evangelical if he does such a thing. I am not ashamed of the word “Protestant.” I think that one of the great losses of the last twenty to thirty years has been this term. It’s a very important word that we need to reuse and rediscover. PH: To what extent then can evangelicals and Catholics work together, bearing in mind, for example, their collaboration on pro-life issues? MODERN REFORMATION
PJ: It’s perfectly true that evangelicals and Catholics often work together on pro-life issues, and we ought to be grateful for that. I, myself, belong to an organization which has evangelicals and Catholics working on these sorts of causes. There are definitely issues on which Christians who have a Trinitarian approach to life can work together effectively. But if such cooperation obscures for a second the massive difference between us on the issue of how a person is saved, then we must stop doing it at once. Cooperation on secondary issues must never be used as an excuse for down-pedaling the crucial issue of how a person is justified. People often don’t realize the subtle impact of universalism. It explains why it’s easier for evangelicals and Catholics to come together today. When we really believe that all will be saved, the differences between evangelicals and Catholics seem insignificant and trifling. The popularity of universalism in the twentieth century goes a long way to explaining why there is a fresh push for unity with Rome. It is not because we really believe the same thing about justification by faith. Rather, it is because the issue of the judgment seat of God has been muted through universalism. That’s why it’s now so easy for Catholics to accept a watered-down version of justification by faith with Protestants. It’s all due to the error of universalism.
every stage by faith. It’s a life of faith that we live. We have faith in Christ, our great Saviour, and faith in him gives us assurance. However, in Catholic theolog y you are not permitted to have assurance. There’s always the element of uncertainty. Assurance is never on the agenda, because the presence of free-will and good works in Catholic teaching rules it out. Ultimately, your personal destiny hinges on your own ability, which gives us no confidence at all. So when people become enamored of a Catholic spirituality, even if they are Protestants, then you will get a different version of the Christian life, and a different pastoral practice altogether. I think it should be obvious to everyone that these are terribly important issues, and they are important because in our age so many prominent Protestant authors are now calling upon Catholic “spirituality” to help them in their pastoral practice. This is a movement fraught with great dangers, and it shows how many Protestants have a defective understanding of human sinfulness and the Gospel. The way forward is to refresh our understanding of the Gospel in a “justification by faith way.”
PH: What will be the pastoral implications if Protestant preaching no longer focuses on justification by faith alone?
PUTTING AMAZING BACK INTO GRACE Michael Horton
PJ: The essential thing that people must grasp is that Protestant pastoral practice flows out of the doctrine of justification by faith alone. If you look at Catholic spirituality, particularly Jesuit spirituality, you will find that inherent in it is the idea of free will and the capacity of human beings for a good life and good works. This is endemic in all Catholicism. It is an absolute and non-negotiable part of their teaching. Because Catholic teaching contains these ideas within it, Catholic spirituality takes a different form from Protestant spirituality. Protestantism has different assumptions altogether. For a start, Protestants do take seriously the scriptural teaching that human beings are totally sinful, that is, that sin has affected every part of our being. There’s no part of our existence which is untouched by sin’s effect, and so we need to refresh ourselves again and again by coming back to the cross of Christ and receiving forgiveness. The Gospel tells us that we can have assurance of salvation by faith in Christ, and it underwrites this promise by showing us the greatness of the Saviour. The Christian life begins and continues at
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Suffering as the Path to Glory: THE BOOK OF PSALMS SPEAKS TODAY
“Why do I have to suffer, Lord?” No doubt this cry has risen from the depths of your soul. For we have all suffered to one degree or another. But why? Sometimes we suffer because of our sin (Ps. 32:1-5; 38:1-4). Sometimes we suffer in spite of our innocence (Ps. 7:1-9; 44:922). But why? Whether because of sin or in spite of innocence, “Why do I have to suffer?” Didn’t the Lord Jesus Christ come that we “might have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10)? Hasn’t Jesus paid the penalty for our sins (Rom. 3:25)? Hasn’t he redeemed us from the curse so that we might experience blessing (Gal. 3:1314)? Why do we have to suffer in this life? People throughout the ages have offered a number of perspectives on the answer to this basic question of life. Perhaps a fully satisfactory answer remains beyond our reach as human beings. While not providing an exhaustive answer, the Book of Psalms gives us enough of the answer to support us in weathering the storms of suffering in this life. Suffering to Glory in the Outline of the Book The title “Book of Psalms” is based on the Greek and Latin titles for the book, not on the Hebrew title. The Hebrew title is best translated “Book of Praises.” 24
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Morna Kint, charcoal
MARK D. FUTATO
This is somewhat odd, given that more psalms lament our sufferings than celebrate our successes! Were we to name the book after the most frequent type of psalm, we would no doubt call it “The Book of Lamentations.” But the ancient Hebrews had a profound insight when they chose to call it “The Book of Praises.” Throughout the history of interpreting the Psalms it has been a given that the order of the psalms is not haphazard. Only in the last hundred years or so has the idea dominated that the Psalter is a random anthology of religious poetry. Just as pieces of music can be put into categories (classical, jazz, blues, pop, rock, rap, etc.), so can pieces of literature. A story that starts “Once MODERN REFORMATION
upon a time” is not a historical novel but is a fairy tale. A psalm is a different type of literature than a genealogy. The individual psalms can be put into categories: hymns, laments, and songs of thanksgiving are three common types of psalms. Studying one psalm in relation to other psalms from the same category can be quite helpful. For example, studying Psalms 15 and 24 together will help you understand both in a deeper way, since they are both entrance liturgies, i.e., psalms that were used by worshipers who wished to enter the presence of God at the sanctuary. But in the last twenty years, it has become again evident to scholars that the Psalter is not a random antholog y. The psalms have been ar ranged in a purposeful order so that the book as a whole communicates a message that is greater than the sum of its parts. I have found this to be an exciting and rewarding avenue of research. Though it is beyond the scope of this article to trace out in detail the purposeful arrangement of the Psalms, I want to draw your attention to one element in the overall shape of the Psalter. This element provides an insight into why the ancient Hebrews called the book “The Book of Praises.” Grasping this insight helps us see more clearly why we suffer in this life. While it is true that there are more laments than any other type of psalm in the Psalter, the laments are not spread evenly throughout the book. Rather, they are clearly clustered in the front of the book. LORD, how many are my foes! How many rise up against me! Many are saying of me, “God will not deliver him.” (3:1). Answer me when I call to you, O my righteous God. Give me relief from my distress; be merciful to me and hear my prayer (4:1). Give ear to my words, O LORD, consider my sighing (5:1). Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am faint; Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, O LORD, how long? (6:2-3). LORD my God, I take refuge in you; save and deliver me from all who pursue me, or they will tear me like a lion and rip me to pieces with no one to rescue me (7:1-2). Why, O LORD, do you stand far off ? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble? (10:1). How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? (13:1-2). Examples could be multiplied. The dominant cord at the front of the Book of Psalms is the discord of suffering. The end of the Psalter is remarkably different. The “Book of Praises” is rightly named because it ends on a crescendo of praise. The crescendo begins with the words, “Praise be to the Lord, my Rock” (144:1). Psalm 145 then starts with, “I will exalt you, my God the King; I will praise your name forever and ever,” and ends with, “My mouth will speak in praise of the Lord. Let every creature praise his holy name forever and ever.” This call is answered in the final five psalms, all of which begin and end with, “Praise the Lord.” In addition, we hear lines like the following: Praise the LORD, O my soul. I will praise the LORD all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live (146:1-2). How good it is to sing praises to our God, how pleasant and fitting to praise him! (147:1). Praise the Lord from the heavens, praise him in the heights above. Praise the Lord from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths.... (148:1, 7). Sing to the Lord a new song, his praise in the assembly of the saints (149:1). The crescendo reaches its peak in the very last psalm, every line of which contains two exhortations to “praise,” except the final line which says, “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” Therefore, in the macrostructure of the Book of Psalms there is a clear movement from lamentation to praise, from suffering to glory. Suffering to Glory in the Psalms of Lament This pattern of suffering followed by glory is found not only in the overall structure of the Book of Psalms, but also in the structure of the lament psalm itself. The well known Psalm 22 is exemplary in this regard. The psalm begins with the agonizing cry of the soul, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent. The next eighteen verses describe the depths of MARCH/APRIL 1999
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suffering experienced by the psalmist: “I am worm and not a man … All who seek me mock me… I am poured out like water … My strength is dried up like a potsherd … I can count all my bones…They divide my garments among them and cast lots for my clothing.” Then there occurs a most extraordinary shift in mood at verse 22: “I will declare your name to my brothers; in the congregation I will praise you. You who fear the Lord, praise him!” In the latter verses we also hear : “From you comes my praise in the g reat assembly” and “they who seek the Lord will praise him.” To what can we attribute this extraordinary shift from lamentation to praise, from suffering to glory? The answer is, “We don’t know for sure.” Perhaps the very articulation of the agony had a cathartic effect on the psalmist. Perhaps a priest spoke a word that promised relief and enabled faith to rise above circumstances (see 1 Sam. 1:17 in the context of Hannah’s previous lament). Perhaps there is a gap in time and experience between the lamentation and the praise, during which the psalmist experienced deliverance from distress. Whatever the circumstances, we do know that suffering led to glory.
this, Hebrews explains, is found in Psalm 8:4-6: What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? You made him a little lower than the angels; you crowned him with glory and honor and put everything under his feet. When created, we were crowned not with suffering but with glory. But when tempted in Adam, we sinned and suffered sin’s misery that results in death (Heb. 2:15). Our original sin and our actual sins bring suffering in their wake. Though created for glory, we now live in a world of temptation, sin, and suffering. But God’s purpose cannot be thwarted. He willed to bring us to glory, and the way that was “fitting” for him to bring us to glory was by making our Savior perfect “through suffering.” Jesus had to share in our humanity in every way, except sin, to be able to atone for our sins (Heb. 2:14-17, 4:15). Moreover, “he learned obedience from what he suffered” as one aspect of his work as our Savior. Since our destiny is glory, but our lot in this life is suffering because of sin, it was “fitting” for Jesus to enter into our suffering and learn obedience through his suffering in order to bring us into his glory. He suffered and entered into glory as our substitute. Jesus is the new humanity to whom the world to come has been subjected, and it has been subjected to us as we are united to him. His suffering atonement for our sins means that we do not have to suffer for this reason. Jesus alone walked that path.
In the macrostructure of the
Book of Psalms there is a clear movement from lamentation to praise, from suffering to glory.
Suffering to Glory in the Life of Christ Psalm 22 not only shows us the pattern of suffering as the path to glory, but it also draws us deeper into the mystery of this path as it points us to the Lord Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ himself cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46). The suffering of Psalm 22:1-21 is ultimately the suffering of Christ: He is the singer of the lament. Jesus Christ himself said in triumph, “I will declare your name to my brothers; in the presence of the congregation I will sing your praises” (Heb. 2:12). Thus the ultimate glory of Psalm 22:22-31 is the glory of the Lord Jesus. The path to glory that Jesus walked was the path of suffering. Just before the quotation of Psalm 22:22 in Heb. 2:12, the author of Hebrews tells us that Jesus is now “crowned with glory and honor because he suffered” (v. 9). The author of Hebrews understood the movement of Jesus’ life to be that of suffering to glory. But why was this Jesus’ path? Because it was the “fitting” way for God to bring us to glory (v. 10). The world to come has not been subjected to angels but to humans (Heb. 2:5, 1 Cor. 6:3). The proof of 26
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Suffering to Glory in Our Lives Though we think of Jesus primarily as our substitute in suffering, he is also our example in suffering. Since it was fitting that his path to glory be that of suffering, it is now fitting that our path to glory also be one of suffering. Paul says, “Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.” Peter likewise says, “But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed.” The suffering in view is no doubt partly the all-encompassing groaning of a creation that has been “subjected to frustration” (Rom. 8:20). But mainly, the suffering in which we MODERN REFORMATION
rejoice and are blessed is suffering “because of the name of Christ” or suffering “as a Christian” (1 Pet. 4:14, 16). It is suffering for “doing good [rather] than for doing evil” (1 Pet. 3:17). These New Testament authors understood the theology of the Book of Psalms. They understood that for us as for the Lord Jesus Christ, suffering is the fitting path to glory. Consequently, suffering should not be viewed as “bad” but as a path. It is a painful path, to be sure, but the pain of our path cannot compare with the glory of our destiny (2 Cor. 4:17). But sometimes we suffer because of our own sin. Peter warns that there is nothing praiseworthy about the suffering that we bring on ourselves by violating God’s will (1 Pet. 4:15). Such suffering is not “according to God’s will” but contrary to it (1 Pet. 4:19). The very first lament psalm (Psalm 3) provides an example of this. In Psalm 3 David is suffering opposition as a result of Absalom’s rebellion (see the title to the psalm). This festering situation grew from David’s own sin. Absalom’s rebellion can be traced back to his being exiled by his father for the murder of Amnon (2 Sam. 13:23-39). The murder of Amnon can be traced back to Amnon’s rape of Absalom’s sister Tamar (2 Sam. 13:1-21). The rape of Tamar and the murder of Amnon are the fruit of David’s adultery with Bathsheba and his conspiracy to have Uriah murdered (2 Sam. 11). In Psalm 3 David is reaping what he had sown. Such suffering, while not praiseworthy, is clearly the path to glory. When we suffer for our sin, God intends to teach us obedience. The psalmist said, Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I obey your word (Ps. 119:67). It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn your decrees (Ps. 119:71). In such suffering we see the goodness, righteousness, and faithfulness of our God (Ps. 119:68, 75) who is at work to bring us into conformity with the glorious image of his Son (Rom. 8:28-29). At other times we suffer in spite of our innocence. Psalm 44 provides a poignant illustration of this. In the recent past the king and people had, like their ancestors, trusted in the Lord and had given him the glory (v. 1-8) when they won military victories. But currently they were experiencing defeat and disgrace on every side (v. 916). Defeat and disgrace would have been understandable had there been rebellion against the Lord in one form or another. But their losses had come in spite of covenant loyalty to the Lord (v. 17-26). Indeed, because of their loyalty to God they were facing death all day long (v. 22). Paul quotes Psalm 44:22 in Romans 8:36 in the middle of a list of all kinds of suffering that we face in this life
as Christians. We too can experience the reality of Psalm 44—suffering in spite of innocence. The eye of reason cannot always penetrate the darkness of suffering in this life. The “Why?” of Psalm 22 bursts forth from our lips at such times. Through the psalms God allows us as his children to scream out our most agonizing questions in his presence: “Why, O Lord?” “How long, O Lord?” “O Lord, where is your former great love?” Such language is not off limits in prayer, but is welcomed by a Father who, somewhere in his mysterious love, has a place for suffering. The psalms help us get through those dark valleys of perplexity where God cannot be seen and his ways cannot be understood. Then God graciously gives the eye of faith to penetrate the darkness of the cross in the light of the resurrection. Faith enables us to be certain of what we cannot see (Heb. 11:1). As the eye of faith peers up into heaven, it gazes upon him who is now crowned with glory because he suffered. It views the nail-scarred hands of him who “suffered for [us], leaving [us] an example, that [we] should follow in his steps” (1 Pet. 2:21). It sees him saying, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matt. 16:24). Inexplicable suffering has a place in the Book of Psalms: that place is prior to the glorious doxology at the end of the book. In other words, the structure of the Book of Psalms teaches us that the inexplicable suffering we endure in this life is also in some mysterious way part of the path to glory. In the perplexity of doubt and fear and anger and confusion, God meets us. And in this meeting we are changed. His glory transforms us into a greater likeness to his glory (2 Cor. 3:18). In the dark hour of the soul the Holy Spirit comes to us and testifies to us that we belong to God (Rom. 8:16). By the Holy Spirit the Father pours out his love into our hearts when we suffer, enabling us to rejoice in the work he is doing in us (Rom. 5:3-5). The Holy Spirit comforts us in our suffering with a comfort which we can then extend to others who suffer in a like manner (2 Cor. 1:3-11). As surely as the Book of Psalms moves from lamentation to praise, so most assuredly will we, because Jesus has gone before us as our substitute and example. We may not receive a complete answer when we are forced to cry out, “Why do I have to suffer, Lord?” But this we know: suffering is the path to glory. In suffering we receive consolation and strength and freedom, for we experience the transforming presence of MR the Father and the Son through the Spirit. Dr. Futato is associate professor of Old Testament at Westminster Theological Seminary in California.
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EX AUDITU EXAMPLES OF CHRIST CENTERED SERMONS
JESUS AND LAZARUS JOHN 11:17-48, 53 JAMES T. DENNISON, JR. We respond to the reading of the story of Lazarus with a smile. It is a story with a happy ending. The death of Lazarus has been miraculously reversed—he who was dead is raised up to life. But before Jesus arrived in Bethany—before Jesus stood at the mouth of that tomb—death appeared irreversible. Death! What a tyrant is death—a seeming omnipotent tyrant. Does not death lay all down under its power? Do any escape death? Is there anyone living who will not die? Is not every sickness a reminder that there is a sickness unto death—a sickness from which there is no escape—no recovery. Tyrannical death seems so invincible, so universally victorious. Not one of us has been unaffected by death—a loved one, a relative, a sibling, a friend, a neighbor. Death has touched even us and we too sense its power—our helplessness—its potency. Even Jesus seems helpless in the face of Lazarus’ death. Is not Lazarus his friend? Is not Lazarus Jesus’ friend whom he loves very much? Yet Lazarus gets sick and Jesus does nothing—Jesus passively does nothing. Is not Lazarus Jesus’ beloved friend, yet Lazarus dies and Jesus does not prevent it. Jesus seems helpless to prevent the victory and power of death. Is there ever so slight a tone of disappointment in the voice of Martha, “Lord if you had been here.” Is there ever so slight a tone of anguished, heartfelt disappointment in the voice of Mary as she falls at his feet, “Lord if you had been here.” What is Jesus doing? Lazarus, his friend, his beloved friend, his friend for whom he weeps (v. 35) — Jesus’ friend Lazarus is silent, passive, helpless, shut up in the darkness of a tomb. What irony! What incongruity! Jesus helpless, Jesus passive, Jesus powerless before death the tyrant, death the leveler, death the entomber. Why?! Why is Jesus so apparently helpless, so apparently passive, so apparently powerless? This Jesus who is the I AM—this Jesus who is God. Why is he so like us in the face of death? Why is he so like … so like Lazarus? Helpless, passive, powerless. We know the end of the story. Jesus is not helpless, he is not passive, he is not powerless. This stupendous miracle proves who Jesus is—he is God with power over 28
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the grave. This magnificent miracle is unimpeachable evidence that Jesus is not powerless to prevent death. No, he is omnipotent beyond death—Almighty to raise the dead! Jesus is death’s Lord. He says to tyrant death, “I am stronger. You cannot hold those I love; those I weep over will live. Death be not proud—I am your robber, your despoiler, your conqueror. Whoever believes in me will live—never die.” Jesus is the resurrection and the life. He has proved it at the tomb of Lazarus. You can trust him—though you die, yet shall you live. Lazarus’ tomb is for you—your faith; written on your hearts is life, not death—resurrection life, not eternal death— everlasting life, not sempiternal destruction. Oh, you say, I know Jesus is the resurrection and the life. I know Jesus raised Lazarus from the grave. But, why did he wait so long? Why did he seem so helpless, so passive, so powerless? Why did Jesus do this in this way? John’s Gospel is Christocentric. Jesus is the center. Martha comes to Jesus (v. 20); Mary comes to Jesus (v. 32); the crowds look upon Jesus when he weeps (vv. 35, 36); Lazarus comes to Jesus (v. 44). There is no other to whom to turn—no one else to whom to go. In the face of sickness, death, tears, the grave—Jesus remains the center—the focus. And yet even as Jesus is the center, he is also the substitute. I have drawn out the passivity and helplessness of Lazarus in the tomb; I have labored the passivity and helplessness of Jesus before he arrives at the tomb. I have done that on purpose because John does it—this chapter does it. Have you noticed this “imitation of Lazarus” in Jesus? Lazarus helpless—Jesus seemingly helpless. Lazarus passive—Jesus seemingly passive. Lazarus dominated by the grave—Jesus seemingly daunted by the grave. You see, Jesus is entering into the helplessness, the powerlessness, the passivity of Lazarus so that he can deliver Lazarus from helplessness, powerlessness and passivity. Jesus is identifying with Lazarus so that Lazarus may be identified with Jesus. The transfor mation from death to life is a transformation which occurs in Jesus. The reversal from the grave to resurrection is a reversal which takes place Christocentrically. Jesus enters into death that he may MODERN REFORMATION
live; he appears helpless before the tomb that he may come forth from the tomb; he is passive under the curse that he may be raised up a blessing to those who love him, believe on him, have been transformed—yea, have undergone the death-life reversal in him. When Jesus commanded that the stone on Lazarus’ tomb be removed (v. 39), he was opening himself to death. “Come death!” he was saying. “Come to me! Death, come out from that darkness and possess me. Come death, wrap yourself around me, bind me, tie me up in your strength. I will rob you, death. I will conquer you, death. I will drain the death from you, O death. I will bind you, O death, and in your place, I will leave life. Lazarus, come forth—for I have taken your death. Your death, dear Lazarus, comes upon me and in its place I give you what is in me; I give you life; I give you resurrection life; I give you new life; I give you life from the dead.” The death which Jesus takes from Lazarus is a prophecy of the death he will die on Calvary. The subtler irony here is that the resurrection of Lazarus will be the occasion of the death of Jesus. What poignant reversals! Jesus raises Lazarus from death to life; the Sanhedrin plans that the life of Jesus will end in death. The death-life of Lazarus becomes the paradigm of the life-death of Jesus. In Jerusalem (near to Bethany, note v. 18), there will be another death—another tomb— another passive victim—silent before his accusers— helplessly nailed to a cross—wrapped and bound in gravecloths, laid in a tomb with a stone rolled across it. Jesus did this for you. What he did for Lazarus, what he endured himself, he did for you that in his death you may die and in his resurrection-life you may be raised to life—eternal life—life in heaven before the face of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost forever and ever and ever. Do you see? The power Jesus unleashed at Lazarus’ tomb was the power to make the dead alive. And Lazarus was rebor n from the dead; Lazarus was regenerated—made alive again from the dead. And the power which was unleashed on that first Easter morn in Jerusalem was the power to make the dead alive. Jesus was reborn from the dead; Jesus was regenerated—made alive again from the dead. And the power which is at work in you who believe on the crucified/risen Son of God is the power of a new bir th—the power of regeneration—the power of resurrection—the power of life from the dead. Rebirth from the deadness of your trespasses and sins is yours because Jesus has received a new life through his resurrection from the dead. Your regeneration is your union with the death and resurrection of Christ through the Holy Spirit. Your rebirth is your possession of that life Christ now lives— an endless resurrection life. Your history has been united to his history even as his history was united to your
history. Jesus entered into Lazarus’ story that he might transform Lazarus in the resurrection unto life. Dear friends, lose yourselves in the grave that in Christ you may find yourselves in the resurrection of an endless life. “I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.” Rev. Dennison is librarian and lecturer in church history at Westminster Theological Seminary in California, and editor of Kerux: A Journal of Biblical-Theological Preaching.1 This article is a revised version of a message delivered at Westminster Theological Seminary in California, May 16, 1996, and published in Kerux, September 1996. Et civitatem sanctam Ierusalem novam vidi…2
TWO CITIES, TWO LOVES JAMES M. BOICE
In the contemporary “culture wars” of our day Dr. Boice finds a spiritual replay of an event that shook the Western world centuries ago: the fall of Rome to the barbarians. Deeply biblical in argument, thoroughly conversant with contemporary culture and informed by personal involvement in urban ministry, he speaks with challenge and encouragement to Christians in the midst of turbulent times. B-TCTL Hardback, $20.00 Now $5.00 To order call (800) 956-2644. MARCH/APRIL 1999
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Exalting Pain? Ignoring Pain? HOW DO WE COUNSEL THOSE WHO SUFFER? EDWARD T. WELCH Human life entails misery and woe. Broken relationships, agonizing illness, the prospect of one’s own death, depression, injustice and atrocity, quiet yet paralyzing fear, memories of sexual victimization, the death of a child, and many other painful problems leave none unscathed. It would be impossible to minimize the breadth and depth of suffering both in the Church and the world. Significantly, God’s Word acknowledges this pain, stating that “the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth” (Rom. 8:22). Forced to respond to the reality of pain, most Christians are pulled in one of two directions. Some exalt pain, others ignore it. Some are bleeding hearts, others are stoics. Some are “pain counselors,” others are
“sin counselors.” Pain counselors are expert at having people feel understood; sin counselors are expert at understanding the call to obedience even when there is pain. Pain counselors run the risk of over-emphasizing pain to where the alleviation of suffering becomes the thing of first importance. Sin counselors run the risk of rendering personal pain of little or no importance. Pain counselors can be slow to lead sufferers in responding to the Gospel of Christ in faith and obedience. Sin counselors can run the danger of breeding stoics whose response of obedience is unaware of God’s great compassion. Pain counselors might provide a context that enhances blame-shifting and a counselee’s sense of innocent victimization. Sin counselors may be so concerned to avoid blame-shifting that they have a poorly developed theology of suffering. There are pitfalls to each position. Exalting Pain Those who lean toward exalting pain have said or heard, “The Bible doesn’t speak meaningfully to my suffering.” The Bible’s theology of suffering doesn’t seem to “work.” They tried the Bible, but it didn’t have deep answers. They have heard counselors and friends encourage them to have faith. They may have heard excellent preaching and biblical teaching about suffering. But nothing has really spoken to the depths of their pain. This accusation seems strange when you consider that the Bible is filled with penetrating teaching about suffering. Why does God’s Word seem shallow for some Christian sufferers? Why do Christians seek out counselors who will understand them and enter into their pain, but who will not lead them to the Gospel of Christ and God’s purposes in suffering? Undoubtedly, one reason is that many sufferers have been stung like Job by his comforters. We have all encountered people in the
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body of Christ who deal with suffering in a way that is academic, aloof, and whose counsel can be summarized as “shape up.” These counselors and friends have not really known what God says to those in pain, so they are poor ambassadors to others. But this is not the only reason. We are becoming a psychologized church, where healing from pain has become our deepest need! Consider this preface to a popular Christian book: “We have behaved compulsively [translation: sin] because it’s a way to stop pain.” The writer then describes three different men: one obsessed with sex and pornography, one with work, and one with alcohol. “In each of these men the behavior was not the real problem. The behavior was only a symptom of the problem. All of them were hiding from pain. The things they did were medicating the hurt that came from some deep wound somewhere in their lives.”1 Here is a consequence of exalting pain beyond biblical boundaries: our pain problem becomes deeper than our sin problem. We revise our theology to say that pain is actually the cause of sin. But is this what God says? Is it true that pain precedes sin? It certainly often feels that way. Most people who are angry in marital disag reements would say that hur t and disappointment stand behind their sin. But there are significant problems with granting primary status to suffering. Biblically, sin can never be reduced to—or explained by—pain. Sin is just sin. We cannot find the culprit anywhere else but in our own law-breaking. The cause of sin does not reside in the actions of another person or in our desire to protect ourselves from pain. Other people do, indeed, inflict pain on us; but this pain can never lead us into sin or keep us from loving others. To believe that pain causes our sins and that the alleviation of pain is really our deepest need has dramatic implications. First, sin is reduced to self-protection. That is, our greatest sin is protecting ourselves from further pain. This misses the distinctly “against-God,” lawbreaking nature of sin. Second, when we realize that we are not shielded from suffering, and as we find that “healing” never really loosens the grip of suffering, we believe that God has reneged on his promises; and we feel justified in our anger toward him. We also believe God’s Word has no meaningful answers to the deepest problem in living. God, however, never promises temporal freedom from suffering. In fact, he speaks to us on almost every page of Scripture in order to prepare us for suffering. As difficult as it may sound, the Gospel doesn’t take away all present pain. Instead, the Gospel goes deeper. It heals the problem of our sinfulness before God. It points us to realities that are more beautiful than our suffering is hard, thus offering joy even in suffering. It gives power for a new obedience that can endure under suffering. The Bible does not provide a technology that removes suffering, but teaches us how to live in the midst of it. To teach anything
different would be to compromise the Gospel itself. Ignoring Pain Those who lean in the direction of minimizing pain, or calling for a stoic acceptance of it, are often more precise in their theological formulations. But they may be guilty of ignoring important biblical themes and, thus, do not offer the full counsel of God to those who suffer. For example, if suffering is a result of being sinned against by another, those who minimize suffering might immediately think about the call to forgive the perpetrator. This theme is critical, so it certainly is no mistake to make forgiveness part of the counseling agenda. Yet it is a problem when forgiveness is made the only counseling agenda. Too often, the first and last advice given to a severely victimized woman is to forgive the perpetrator. To compound this problem, some counselors might attach a rider to forgiveness. That is, forgiveness must be accompanied by forgetting. This is sound counsel if forgetting is understood as not allowing your view of the perpetrator to be controlled by the sin. However, counselees typically hear this counsel to mean that they are sinful if they even think about the victimization. The result: the victim now becomes the perpetrator, and victims feel guilty if they ever again mention that being sinned against still hurts. Those who minimize personal suffering can also err by attempting to rapidly fix the sufferer. Men, in particular, seem to move in this direction. The intent might be praiseworthy. (Most of us want people in pain to feel better.) But the way it is carried out can be hurtful. Counselors might barely hear the outline of the suffering before they race in with answers. Counselees often respond by feeling like the counselor does not want to hear of the pain, and counselees then feel that the pain is in some way wrong. At other times, the “fix it” intent might not be so laudable. Some people simply don’t want to hear about another’s suffering. Tears are too messy to their otherwise comfortable lives. “Just get on with it” is their counsel. A brief study of Jesus’ compassion is a profound rebuke to this selfishness. The incarnation itself was the dramatic example of God entering into the lives of his people. Jesus was characteristically moved with compassion for those who were leaderless, oppressed, destitute, or bereaved. As Jesus counsels us to mourn with those who mourn, he points us to his own life as the example. The stoic avoids or ignores these clear themes in Scripture. Ask people who have gone through difficult suffering what most helped them. Many will say something like, “She was there with me.” A friend or counselor was able to be physically present during times of suffering. This friend might not have offered lots of MARCH/APRIL 1999
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counsel or advice. Rather, he or she was available so the grieving person did not feel so alone and swallowed up by the suffering. Perhaps it meant having an open house or a standing invitation to dinner, so the suffering person had a place to be with other people who cared and understood. Perhaps it meant sitting with the person in church. If our chief goal is to fix suffering, to make pain go away, we will probably make it worse. Another common pitfall of stoics occurs when a counselor has an internal alarm clock that goes off, announcing that it is time for the suffering to be over. There are different reasons for this. Again, perhaps the counselor is compassionate and wants the pain to be alleviated. (Perhaps the suffering is an inconvenience to the counselor.) Or perhaps the counselor thinks there is a biblically imposed one-month or one-year limit on grief, and then it is time to get on with life. Biblically, however, there is no time-table; there are no predetermined stages of grief and suffering. There are sorrows that will not be erased until the last day (Rev. 21:4). Counselors are to be patient with everyone, to mourn with those who mourn, and to maintain the goal of assisting people to love others and love God in the midst of suffering. So two potential hazards can lead us away from a biblical approach to suffering. If you exalt suffering, then pain becomes the cause of sin; selfprotection becomes the problem; and the alleviation of suffering is the chief problem to be addressed. If you ignore suffering, then pain becomes a minor, fixable problem; and compassion becomes a temporary step that is intended to pave the way for more important things. Even with the large number of good books about suffering, there are problems that a current theology of suffering must address. The practical theological task is to speak with compassion to those in pain and point them to realities deeper than their pain. In the remainder of this article, this task will be approached through two basic questions: Where does suffering come from? How can I help those who suffer?
stop it?” or, “Why me?” And, frankly, the “where does it come from” questions are less burning for most people. Nonetheless, the “where” questions do have important biblical answers, and these answers are dense with potential implications. We can properly identify five categories which answer the question of the cause of suffering: others, me, Adam, Satan, and God. These are important for their mind-clearing effects on sufferers, as well as the cautions they provide. When the relevant causes appear in bold relief, it can be immensely helpful for those in pain. It brings a biblical clarity that fosters biblical responses. For instance, when people who have been (wrongly) blaming themselves realize that their suffering was the consequence of another person’s sin, the sufferers are relieved of a burden that wasn’t theirs. Although this seems self-evident, those who have been victimized seem to have an instinct that says, “I am responsible.” God responds by reminding us that we do not cause the sin of other people. This answer can also encourage us because it points us to the heart of love: forgiveness of sins. As Christians, we are not stuck when the pain has been inflicted by someone else. Instead, we have the opportunity to grow in an attitude of forgiveness that it is hoped will lead to a fully transacted forgiveness, to reconciliation and restoration of the relationship. Similarly, recognizing where I am the source of my own suffering can be an encouragement because there is clear hope for change. Or, recognizing times—such as a drought or a flood— where Adam is the source of our suffering teaches us to anticipate the consummation when Jesus will return and the curse will be rolled away. But these answers are not always tidy. Suffering rarely falls neatly into any one of these categories. Instead, suffering often falls into all of them. Many psalms move back and forth from one cause to another. In any one incident there may be more emphasis on one part of the observable triad of me, others, and Adam, but the issue will be one of relative emphasis. For example, in cases of sexual victimization the emphasis is certainly on being sinned against by others. But this does not exclude the fact that the victimization wouldn’t have taken place if it were not for Adam’s sin, and it also does not exclude the reality that we are sinners who will profit
The incarnation speaks against the shallowness of the stoics. Jesus’ presence on earth shows his solidarity with those who suffer.
Where Does Suffering Come From? When pain comes at me, from what direction is it coming? Is it my fault? Is it Satan’s initiative? Or is God the author of it? These questions are different than the inevitable question, “Why didn’t (or doesn’t) God 32
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from God’s discipline in our lives. Apart from Jesus there is no such thing as an innocent person suffering. Or consider the case of physical sickness. The most obvious emphasis within the triad of others, me, and Adam would be the curse associated with Adam’s sin. However, physical sickness can also be related to personal sin, and it can be a result of the sin of other people (e.g., AIDS from a blood transfusion). Caution people to avoid reducing the causes of suffering to one cause. If suffering is reduced to “others,” we become blame-shifters. If suffering is always reduced to “me,” as it was by Job’s counselors, then guilt and condemnation are ever-present. If it is solely from Adamic sin and the curse, we become fatalists. If it is only from Satan, we become one-sided spiritual warriors who ignore the purposes of God and interpersonal aspects of suffering. The only sure “diagnosis” is that suffering, by the time it gets to us, is God’s ordained will for our lives. Yet we cannot reduce the cause of suffering even to God. God is over sin and suffering, but he is not their author. It is blasphemers and angry ones who make God the sole cause of suffering. What the Bible emphasizes is that suffering, no matter what the cause, is a time for tears and wrestling, for repentance, for putting faith in God amid anguish, for following him in obedience. With this basic theological background, we can consider further how to help fellow sufferers. How Do I Help Those Who Suffer? The biblical strategy for helping those in pain is to outweigh it.2 In other words, at first all the weight seems on the side of suffering. It is as if sufferers are unable to see anything outside of their own pain. Gradually, as they practice fixing their eyes on Jesus, they encounter glory-weights heavier than the weight of their pain. These glory-weights include the sufferings of Christ, the joy of forgiveness of sins, the contentment of obeying Christ in small ways amid large hardships, the presence of God in our lives, and the hope of eternity. To this end, those in pain must be surprised by both the intimate love and the transcendent glory of God; and they must be led to know God in a way that obeying, trusting, and worshipping God become irresistible. Biblical sufferers can guide us. When we encounter these people in Scripture, it is as if they come alongside, take our hand, and lead us to truths that are deeper than suffering. First, consider Job, a companion for many sufferers. In Job 1:21, he says, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” After the most horrifying of losses, this is Job’s first response. He worshipped God. The weight of God’s glory was more than that of his own suffering. Likewise, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had amazing spiritual instincts when, facing a fiery death,
they said, “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O King. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O King, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up” (Dan. 3:17-18). Suffering, or the threat of suffering and death, was a time when they knew they were called to depend on God alone. The Apostle Paul rehearses the same theme in 2 Corinthians 4:17. His sufferings were surpassed only by Jesus himself. After recounting his sufferings in chapter one, and before he reminds his audience of even more suffering in chapters eleven and twelve, Paul says, “Our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” How do you think a person in pain might respond to the Apostle Paul’s comments? If they didn’t read the context, they might say something like this: “Light and momentary? Get real, Paul, you don’t know about my suffering.” But when we recognize the extent of Paul’s suffering, he begins to engage our attention. Paul is a credible sufferer to whom we must listen. He is not offering casual encouragement; he is speaking truths that are weightier than suffering. Getting to the point where we echo these words may seem a long and impossible trek, but Paul sets before us a goal that can guide our prayer and meditation. He reminds us to look for biblical glory-weights that counterbalance, and thus lighten, the suffering. Again, though, we must remember that outweighing the suffering does not mean ignoring or minimizing it. Although we remind the sufferers of God’s purposes in suffering, we are not thereby attempting to get them to hide from their pain. Expressing your empathy is often the best initial response. Sufferers feel isolated. They feel like no one really understands their pain. Therefore, counselors are anything but passive during this time. They actively move into the world of the sufferer, seeking to understand through the eyes of the sufferer. “What is it like for this person?” is an ongoing question. Furthermore, it is critical that counselors express their responses to the sufferer. Are you overwhelmed by the complexity of the suffering? Tell the counselee. Are you grieved by what you hear? Say so. Are you angry at the wickedness of the person who caused the suffering? Express it. Are you moved to tears? Mourn with the person in pain. Do you do this for an hour? a month? a year? How long do you have compassion on the person in pain? How long do you encourage sufferers to name the silences in their souls? The answers are obvious. You have compassion as long as there is pain. You encourage people to speak as they have parts of their lives that are unexpressed before God. This doesn’t mean that they never listen. The verbalization of their pain is the beginning of a dialogue that consists of speaking to God and listening to God. MARCH/APRIL 1999
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In the course of that dialogue, you are helping the counselee learn to hear God. In cases of overt victimization, God acknowledges that we are not only sinners, but also sinned against, and that he is a God of justice. God also always says that he is with us, that he loves us, that he is sovereign, and that he has purposes in suffering. One purpose is often to produce repentance, faith, and obedience. Additionally, our suffering helps us see eternity. It provokes hope. It is as if our suffering urges us closer to eternity so we can see our present affliction from that perspective. In this dialogue with God about our suffering, we are learning more about our identity in Christ. Suffering Servants of God and Responders to His Grace So who are we? What is our identity? People of pain? People who are healing from pain? People who have been victimized and wounded? Or are we people who need to forget about pain and just get on with it? Do we need a tougher brand of Christian who ignores the pain and stays in the battle? God clearly shows another way. The incarnation speaks against the shallowness of the stoics. Jesus’ presence on earth shows his solidarity with those who suffer. His ministry was full of compassion and understanding. His ministry also exposes the shallowness of the bleeding hearts. He demonstrates that pain, suffering, victimization, and death are not the preeminent features of life. Jesus points us to deeper realities, deeper spiritual needs. We are “people-who-have-been-shown-mercy.” This certainly doesn’t sound new. It is an identity that even a child can see in the Scriptures. But its commonness belies its ability to revolutionize the sufferer’s perspective. For example, people who have suffered at the hands of others sometimes feel that life as a victim is certain. This is who they are, and the most they can do is try to protect themselves from the pain. But God reorients sufferers. He reveals that the grace they received does not compare to the pain they experience. Grace is weighty, suffering is light. Or consider people who are angry because they feel like they don’t deserve pain. As recipients of mercy and grace, these people are suddenly humbled by the astounding cost of the initiative of love taken toward them. They were reactive victims; they become loving responders. The foundation for the life of the Christian is God’s grace, not freedom from pain. We were enemies of God who were naked and blind, and he took the initiative toward us. “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8). Perhaps “responders” captures our new identity. God is the relentless initiator of liberating grace; we respond to his grace by faith. As responders, we are defined by the one who liberated us, and we become his 34
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servants. This does not remove suffering. No indeed, suffering will cling to earthly life. But we are not defined or controlled by it. We are responsive, suffering servants. Here is curious counsel for sufferers: we travel a path that urges us to look outward, toward the triune God. “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God” (Heb. 12:22). This certainly does not mean we ignore suffering, but the weight of God’s glory does mean that our questions begin to change. The question, “Why didn’t God stop it?” becomes less urgent; and we begin to ask, “How can I respond to what God has done for me by loving God and loving others?” “How can I treat others the way Christ has treated me?” The questions for sufferers, thus, become the same as those for all Christians, “How do I enact the two great commandments, love God and love your neighbor as yourself ?” Responders Who Love Others For people who have been victimized, this is when you talk about forgiving the perpetrator. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good (Rom. 12:21). The outward movement of biblical counseling makes this unavoidable. As you have been forgiven, you forgive others. As God has dealt with you “unfairly”— that is, he has loved you when you did not deserve it— you begin to love your enemies. What will this love look like? There are dozens of possibilities. Sometimes it will take the form of confronting the person, either by letter or in person. Sometimes it will take the form of praying for the perpetrator and not giving up hope for full reconciliation. Sometimes it will take the form of calling the pastor and 911 for help in the middle of a crisis. Sometimes it will take the form of ministering truth and grace to people suffering similar woes. God’s love can inspire many creative initiatives. Responders Who Love God At the last supper Jesus told the disciples that they were soon to experience great grief; but shortly after that pain there would be a joy which could never be stolen, even during the tremendous persecutions all of them were to face. I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices. You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy. A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. So with you: Now is your time MODERN REFORMATION
of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will ever take away your joy (John 16:20-22). How can this be: constant joy overlaid with grief and pain? Certainly it is a difficult experience to describe, but it is true nonetheless. It is because we worship the risen Lord. Jesus is alive. No matter what happens to us, our great God reigns. Personal hardships and afflictions cannot mute the resurrection. The greatest joy of the Christian is God himself and the fact that nothing can separate us from him. Evidence of this joy in suffering can be found at the funerals of many of God’s people. For example, consider the following comments given by the family of a child who died of cancer: Lend your heaven-song to ours from earth, dear son, and worship him whose love constrained him to die for the likes of us so that you could enter into the paradise you now enjoy so much and live forever with him. We miss you but “we’ll be strong, and carry on, till the day when we’ll see you, up in heaven.” There is great sorrow because of the loss of a dear friend or loved one. There might even be anger because death is an intruder that doesn’t belong in God’s creation. But there is also joy. Joy in knowing that the one who died is home. Joy in knowing that in the resurrection of Jesus the greatest enemy, the most profound cause of suffering, death itself, “has been swallowed up in victory” (1 Cor. 15:54). There are, indeed, realities deeper than our pain. The understanding love of Jesus who became a man, forgiveness of sins, knowledge that God has a purpose; these are glory-weights that change our suffering. But the greatest of all glory-weights is God himself. To know him as the true God who is to be worshiped and adored is the greatest glory-weight for any sufferer. It doesn’t end our temporal grief and pain, but it means that we neither exalt our pain nor ignore it. We exalt God amid pain. “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us” (Rom. 8:18). MR Dr. Welch is the Director of Counseling at the Christian Counseling and Educational Foundation, Laverock, Pennsylvania. An earlier version of this article appeared in The Journal of Biblical Counseling, Vol. XII, Number 3 (Spring 1994).
ENDNOTES SICK SOULS HOPING INTHE SUFFERING SERVANT— Michael S. Horton 1 Friedrich Nietzsche, The Will to Power, trans. Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale (New York: Vintage, 1967), 96. 2 Reported in World, November 14, 1998, 33. 3 Garry Wills, Reagan’s America (New York: Penguin, 1988), 235. 4 Cornel West, Prophetic Fragments (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988). 5 Lyle Schaller, Worship Leader, April-May 1993, 7. 6 Karl Barth, The Gottingen Dogmatics: Instruction in the Christian Religion, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 33. JOB, THEOLOGIAN OF THE CROSS—Chad. L. Bird Contrast this with the legalistic babbling of his works-righteous comrades (4:7-8; 17-21; 5:8-26). 2 Christopher Mitchell, “Job and the Theology of the Cross,” Concordia Journal 15 (1989), 168. 3 Ibid., 169. 4 Luther’s Works, American Edition, ed. H. T. Lehmann (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1957), Vol. 31, 52 (hereafter as AE). 5 Luther states, “A theologian of the cross (that is, one who speaks of the crucified and hidden God) teaches that punishments, crosses, and death are the most precious treasury of all and the most sacred relics which the Lord of this theology himself has consecrated and blessed, not alone by the touch of his most holy flesh but also by the embrace of his exceedingly holy and divine will, and he has left these relics here to be kissed, sought after, and embraced,” Explanations of the Disputation Concerning the Value of Indulgences (1518), AE, vol. 31, 225. 6 Moralia in Job, II. 96-99. For other Fathers who understood Job as a type of Christ, see, e.g., Jerome’s Commentarii, PL, XXVI, 801-802; Zeno of Verona’s Tractus XV, PL, XI, 439-443; and Hesychius’ Commentary on Job. 7 Ibid. 1
FREE SPACE 1 The interview was also published in The Australian Presbyterian. PREACHING CHRIST—James T. Dennison, Jr. Kerux: A Journal of Biblical-Theological Preaching, edited and published by James T. Dennison, Jr., 1131 Whispering Highlands Dr., Escondido, CA 92027. 2 The dedication for the original address was as follows: “On Sabbath afternoon, March 24, 1996, Dr. John H. Gerstner died at his home in Ligonier, Pennsylvania. Dr. Gerstner was the greatest pedagogue under whom it has been my privilege to sit. As he left our home for the last time in August, he gathered our family on the back porch and prayed fervently, commending each of us to the Lord Jesus Christ. This morning, I want to affectionately dedicate my remarks to his memory.” 1
EXALTING PAIN? IGNORING PAIN?—Edward T. Welch Vincent Gallagher, Three Compulsions that Defeat Most Men (Minneapolis: Bethany House, 1992), 29. 2 See also C. S. Lewis, “The Weight of Glory,” in The Weight of Glory and Other Essays (New York: Collier, 1949). 1
REVIEW—David R. Scaer See Francis Pieper, Christian Dogmatics (Saint Louis: Concordia, 1953), 3:304-305. 2 Ibid., 295. 3 Ibid. 4 The Belgic Confession is generally grouped with the Heidelberg Catechism and the Canons of Dort, much like how the Augsburg Confession functions in the Book of Concord. 1
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REVIEW A REVIEW OF MICHAEL HORTON’S “WHAT ARE THE PROSPECTS FOR GREATER UNITY” (MR, SEPT/OCT 1998) [We want to acknowledge before this review that many readers—and a much larger percentage of evangelicals—view ongoing disputes about the Lord’s Supper as divisive, pedantic, and irrelevant. We agree that such disputes (though not necessarily discussions about them aimed at resolution) are indeed often divisive, and they are sometimes pedantic as well. But it is more difficult to argue that they are irrelevant, especially if we want to take seriously the means of God’s grace and the biblical teaching about them, and to seek unity with our brothers and sisters in these matters. Though the objective may occasionally seem far removed from these sacramental conversations, the reason that confessional Christians discuss these matters is because we desire unity. And real unity—as opposed to merely the appearance of unity—requires a certain level of agreement in important matters. Consequently, it is hoped in love, we continue to pray for and to work for the resolution of our divisions. —Eds.] REVIEWED BY DAVID P. SCAER In a recent article in modernR EFORMATION, my friend Mike Hor ton scolds “many Lutheran theologians” for failing to recognize that Zwingli’s doctrine of the Lord’s Supper is not identical with the Reformed position. Horton, who honors Lutheran theologians as “our next of kin,” claims that Lutherans have fallen into the vice of making caricatures of their Reformed relatives. Lutherans should know that Zwingli’s position not only failed to be taken over into any of the Reformed confessions, but it was rejected by the Second Helvetic Confession and then by others. Even before exploring the various sacramental interpretations allowed under the Reformed umbrella (one of which is the Lutheran one), dissociation from Zwingli is a step, even if only a small one, in the right direction. It must immediately be added that it is doubtful that any Reformed minister has been defrocked for persistence in holding the Zwinglian doctrine of the Lord’s Supper. Horton himself points out that many Reformed ministers fall into the same type of confusion in not distinguishing Zwingli from Calvin on the Lord’s Supper and hold that Jesus is in no way present in the Lord’s Supper. Confused Lutheran theologians thus enjoy some good Reformed companionship. In studying Zwingli’s theology, one might safely conclude that only a love of order of the military variety prevented him from the chaotic extravagances of the Anabaptists whose positions on the Sacraments were so close to his. Zwingli and his theological descendants 36
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teach that Sacraments are something we do to show how much we love God, and not something God does to us. This is one large difference. Calvin and Reformed theologians in general have attempted to accommodate the Lutheran position, or at least give the impression that they did, and history demonstrates that they have been successful. (Note the recent mainline Lutheran and Reformed decisions to tolerate one another’s positions, as discussed below.) I feel compelled to respond to Horton’s concerns about Lutheran misrepresentations of the Reformed position because it is statistically probable that I am included among the “many Lutheran theologians” who misrepresent it. In self-defense I hasten to add that my sin of confusion was unintentional. On the basis of the written and oral evidence which I am obliged to provide from my files in any fair trial, I would have to enter a plea of “guilty” for the sin of ignorance. (I am uncertain where a sin of ignorance fits into the hierarchy of sin.) Horton’s indictment of uncritical Lutherans who are guilty of painting with the same brush any Reformed Protestant who is not Lutheran, is found in a section headed: “What About Confessional Christians?” This gets it right. “Confessional” is a stronger word than “confessing” when used with a particular Christian group. It signifies that people really believe something of a permanent nature. “Confessing” points to the courage with which confessions are made, but it does not insist on this or that particular statement of faith. The word “confessional” does. Now if “confessional Christians” are going to come closer together to form ecumenical MODERN REFORMATION
alliances, which is the thrust of Horton’s article, then they will more easily approach their goals if their positions are clearly delineated in documents; that is, if they are willing to be actually confessional—rather than merely confessing—Christians. Lutherans have the Augsburg Confession and the other documents in the Book of Concord. For the Reformed, Horton lists the “symbols and catechisms” as “Geneva, Scots, Belgic, Heidelberg, the Thirty-Nine Articles, Westminster.” Of course, we are already in problem territory. Whereas the Lutherans have only one set of confessions, the Refor med have separate confessions for the different churches which are divided along national and geographic lines. For example, the Westminster Confession does not carry the same weight in Switzerland or Holland as it does among English Presbyterians. Contrast this with the Lutheran view. One could hardly call himself Lutheran without the Augsburg Confession and Luther’s Small Catechism. On top of this, Reformed confessions differ among themselves. The Heidelberg Catechism teaches Calvin’s doctrine of the Lord’s Supper but not double predestination. At odds, too, are the presbyterian polity of the Westminster Confession and the episcopal polity of the Thir ty-Nine Ar ticles, even though both documents took root in the moist soil of the English Reformation. Nonetheless, Lutherans (who have lived at peace with one another under congregational, presbyterian, and episcopal polities) can more easily understand these differences in polity within the Refor med fellowship than we can the various understandings of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. Oddly, though, the Reformed seem to place a higher priority on polity than the Sacraments! For historically, differences over polity have presented greater obstacles to unity among the Reformed internally than their differing shades of sacramental views. Returning to the Lutheran confusion of Zwingli and Calvin then, Zwingli’s memorial view meant that we remember something Christ did when we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, but Christ is not there. Calvin held that Christ is present in the Lord’s Supper, but not exactly in the same way the Lutherans believe he is, and certainly not in the way Roman Catholics do. For Calvin, Christ’s divine nature is joined to his human nature, so in some sense Jesus is there. The only caveat offered by the genuine Reformed is that they do not specifically identify Jesus with the bread and wine. More precisely, Calvin holds that the human nature of Christ is locally present at God’s right hand. His body must be somewhere, that is, in one certain place. Christ’s body and blood, therefore, which are part of that human nature, are not present in the physical elements of Lord’s Supper, or if they are present, it is only to the extent
that they are joined or connected by the divine nature to those elements but without an identification between them. This means that the Reformed or Presbyterian minister, unlike a Lutheran pastor, cannot hold the consecrated bread and wine up before the congregation and say, “Behold, the Lamb of God which takes away the sin of the world.” It is hard to believe that Calvin would not call this a gross infringement against the commandment prohibiting idol worship, a prohibition not carried over into Luther’s Catechisms. Lutherans are taught the differences between Zwingli and Calvin on the Lord’s Supper. Whether it finds a permanent place in Lutherans’ gray matter is another issue. So Horton may be right, but we are taught the differences. Against Carlstadt’s view that Christ was pointing to himself when he said “This is my body,” Zwingli said the bread signified Christ’s body. Calvin said the bread was a sign of Christ’s body. 1 Lutheran dogmatician Francis Pieper points out that Calvin’s successor in Geneva, Reformed theologian Theodore Beza, disagreed with Calvin that body meant the symbol of the body, since the body and blood was “given for you” (314-15). I am not sure what Beza’s view was, but we are dealing already with a possible four distinct Reformed versions of what it means for Christ not to be present in sacramental bread. Speaking for confessional Lutherans, Pieper points out that Calvin comes to the same conclusion as Zwingli.2 That Calvin “deepened” Zwingli’s view of the Lord’s Supper and held a middle position between Zwingli and Luther is a favorite contention of modern histories of dogma, but a thoroughly incorrect opinion. In the Consensus Tigurinus, edited by Calvin according to his theology, it is asserted that the body of Christ “is distant [from the Lord’s Supper] as far as heaven is from the ear th,” and the literal understanding of the words of institution is judged to be a “preposterous” interpretation.3 The original German of Pieper’s Christian Dogmatics appeared in 1920 and was likely based on his lecture notes from the nineteenth century. So Lutherans probably do need a retooling in Reformed subtleties. But an apologetic for invincible Lutheran ignorance about shades of difference in the Reformed understandings of the Lord’s Supper is possible. The defense is that all Reformed views reject the position that the bread and wine as the body and blood of Christ are received by the mouth and not by faith only, and that unbelievers, even scoundrels, receive the same body and blood which believers do. When the incumbent in the White House was explaining (away) his testimony, he said that sometimes MARCH/APRIL 1999
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“is” did not mean “is.” The point of reference escapes me, but I am sure it was not sacramental, at least not in a religious sense. It was difficult to keep Zwingli’s Marburg encounter with Luther out of my mind. There Luther wrote in large print “Hoc est corpus meum” (“This is my body”). That says it all for Lutherans. In the last two centuries, confessional Lutherans have lost three major wars with the Reformed: 1) the Pr ussian Union (1817, 1830); 2) the Porvoo Declaration between the British Anglicans and European Lutherans (1996); and 3) the Agreement between the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) and the largest American Reformed denominations (1998). There is little territory left for Lutherans to surrender to the Reformed. It might be time for confessional Reformed churches to consider seriously the Lutheran position. One who believes in the God who became fully incarnate in the man Jesus would have little difficulty in further believing in his presence among us in bread and wine as his actual body and blood. The Agreement between the ELCA and Reformed bodies provides one way out of the sacramental dilemma: by deciding that both Reformed and Lutheran positions are adequate representations of biblical positions. For confessional evangelicals, this kind of compromise (finding two opposing views in the one Word of God) would compromise the sola Scriptura principle, something no one really wants to do. We must, therefore, continue to debate these important sacramental differences. Dr. Scaer is the chairman of the department of systematic theology at Concordia Theological Seminary (Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod), Fort Wayne, Indiana.
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Horton Responds: Professor Scaer implies that there is almost an infinite number of Refor med positions on the Sacraments. He then tacitly asks, “If the Lutherans are to dialogue with the Reformed, how are they to know where to begin?” This is not a helpful way of putting the question. For in reality, there are only two major Reformed confessions which are consistently regarded as authoritative in their churches—one representing the largely English-speaking Refor med world (the Westminster Confession), and the other representing the continental Reformed churches (the Belgic Confession).4 Now I would agree that there are indeed too many Reformed “traditions” which seek to parse these two confessions in their own idiosyncratic ways. But much of this variance is due to the prior national development of churches, and then various ethnic g roups transplanting their “traditions” in America. We should remember that the variety of Reformed expression is a result of these waves of immigration, not a result of a tradition which repeatedly split. But with Dr. Scaer, I believe that the Reformed in America should be willing to consider the place in which they find themselves, and ask if separate historical development is enough to continue keeping us apart. That was in fact the point of the article in question. So what does this have to do with Lutheranism? Unfortunately, many Lutherans (and as mentioned above, some Presbyterians as well) have been willing to identify the Reformed position on the Lord’s Supper with Zwingli’s position—but this is something that neither of these Reformed Confessions do (nor do any of our Catechisms). As a result, it would be helpful if Lutherans would try to deal with Calvin instead of Zwingli when they discuss the Sacraments with the Reformed. We Reformed could also be nasty to the Lutherans and say that they don’t take seriously the true humanity of the glorified Christ. But we don’t say that because of what the Lutherans actually profess on the matter, rather than because of what we might think naturally follows from their previous articulation of the Supper. It would be helpful if the Lutherans would treat us similarly, not rejecting our claim of the real presence simply because we differ over the mode.
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IN PRINT How to Handle Trouble: God’s Way Jay Adams (Phillipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian and Reformed, 1982). Focusing on Phillipians 1:12-26, this book presents clear and biblical ways for discerning God's hand in bringing good out of our problems. B-ADA-1 Paperback, $4.00 Lament for a Son Nicholas Wolterstorff (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 1987) After the death of his own twentyfive-year-old son, Wolterstorff hoped that this chronicle of his grief would give voice to those who, “sit beside us on the mourning bench for children.” What he found was that his book spoke to many who have suffered loss in other forms as well. Lament for a Son provides hope and comfort to those who know the pain of loss in its many shapes and forms. B-WOLT-1 Paperback, $10.00 Christ’s Call to Discipleship James M. Boice Although salvation costs us nothing, Christ's call to discipleship costs us everything. Dr. Boice outlines the meaning, path, cost, and rewards of being a true disciple of Jesus Christ. C-CCD 7 tapes, $38.00 B-CCD Paperback, $13.00 A Grief Observed C. S. Lewis (New York: Bantam) Written in the moments of sadness and longing after his wife's death, C. S. Lewis's A Grief Observed is an honest reflection on the fundamental issues of life, death, and faith. This classic work summons those who grieve to honest mourning and courageous hope. B-LE-27 Paperback, $6.00
The Cross of Christ John R. W. Stott (Westmont, IL: InterVarsity Press) “I could never myself believe in God, if it were not for the cross…. In the real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it?” Why should an object of Roman distaste and Jewish disgust be the emblem of our worship and axiom of our faith? B-ST-5 Hardcover, $23.00 Surprised by Suffering R. C. Sproul (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale, 1988). With honesty, sensitivity, and concern for bilical truth, Dr. Sproul addresses the afterlife and the role of suffering in the human experience. B-SPR-15 Paperback, $9.00
ORDER DIRECTLY: The Journal of Biblical Counseling Published three times per year by the Christian Counseling and Education Foundation, 1803 East Willow Grove Avenue, Glenside, PA 19038. (215) 884-7676.
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ON MY MIND By James Montgomery Boice
Repenting Always t one of the recent “Here We Stand” seminars sponsored by the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals someone submitted the following for our question and answer period: “I have witnessed in some churches which call themselves Reformed, a tendency to teach salvation by grace but sanctification by works. The result is a theology that looks no different than the works-based salvation of the world. What is the true biblical view of sanctification as it relates to our salvation?” One way to answer such a question is by explaining that growing in grace is a fruit of our regeneration and that it encompasses a desire for and practical use of all the means of grace: the Sacraments, Bible study, prayer and Christian fellowship. One of the speakers probably did answer along such lines. But as I have thought about the question it strikes me that it raises a far deeper issue than a mere theology of sanctification. The words are actually asking, Why do people who believe in grace so often seem to be self-righteous? Why do we who stand for the doctrines of grace, and even fight for them, allow the reality of grace to fade into the background of our daily living? Why do we appear to be not very different religiously from those who live around us in the world? I think the real problem is that we have forgotten we are sinners. We know we have been sinners. We rejoice that God has saved us from our sin through the atoning death of Christ. But now we suppose that we are living on a higher level and easily slip into the conviction that we are continuing to live on that level by our own efforts. What we need is to go back to our Reformation roots and remember what Martin Luther wrote as the first of the Ninety-Five Theses posted on the door of the Castle Church at Wittenberg. “When our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, said ‘repent,’ he meant that the entire life of believers should be one of repentance.” This means that we never cease being sinners, that we must honestly and constantly confess that we are sinners, and that we must rely unceasingly on the sustaining grace of God to obey God, live for God and serve others. Even then we must confess that at the best “we are unworthy servants” (Luke 17:10).
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We need a confession that is something like the line repeated by each participant at meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous: “My name is … and I am an alcoholic.” Never mind that the speaker may not have had a drink for ten years. His past is always before him, and the only way he is able to stay sober is by remembering not merely what he was but what he is. I have a good friend with whom I meet most weeks, and one thing he has shared with me is that he never begins a prayer without saying something like this: “Lord, I am a sinner. I sin all the time in my thoughts and in what I do. I need your forgiveness always, and I ask for it now.” Whenever we have talked about that prayer it has always struck me that it is a genuine prayer since the very act of coming before the holy God and living our lives in his sight reminds us that we are not holy and that we stand before him only by his grace. That is how we know that the prayer of the tax collector was a true prayer and the prayer of the Pharisee was not. Both men prayed to “God.” But the Pharisee’s prayer was about himself and his own righteousness. The tax collector prayed, “God, have mercy to me, a sinner” (Luke 18:13). Another friend of mine says that the trouble with Christians is that they do not believe that they are sinners. But we are! And unless we know it and confess it we will never be much use to a world that needs not so much the evidence of righteousness in us, which they can copy by their own fleshly efforts, as living demonstrations of God’s grace, which they need but cannot copy. People who know they are sinners, who confess it and who depend on God’s grace will live increasingly holy lives. But they will hardly be aware of it and will certainly not be talking about it all the time. They will be too busy marveling at the mercies of our God and concerned that others might come to know him also. Dr. Boice is the president of the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals and senior minister of Tenth Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia.
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