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V O L .2 6 | N O.2 | M A R C H -A P R I L 2 0 17

FEATURES 12

Regents in Revolt B Y M I C H A E L S. H O R T O N

The Need for a New Adam B Y J U S T I N S. H O L C O M B

“Comfort Ye My People”: A Reformation Perspective on Absolution B Y R I C K R I T C H I E A N D M I C H A E L S. H O R T O N

Living with a Limp BY ERIC LANDRY

COVER ILLUSTRATION BY TIM MCDONAGH

SEEK, DISCOVER, SHARE We realize that White Horse Inn podcasts and Modern Reformation articles may not be easily understood by new Christians. CCC Discover is a place where you can find and share articles that help people see God in the everyday. We pray that this will be a useful tool to help you share your faith with others.

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DEPARTMENTS

T H E O LO GY

Death, Dogma, and Discourse B Y P I E R C E TAY L O R H I B B S

GEEK SQUAD

How Different Religious Traditions Understand Original Sin

B Y A N D R E W D E L OA C H

BOOK REVIEWS

Progressive Covenantalism R E V I E W E D B Y J O S H UA T O R R E Y

B A C K PA G E

The “Already” and “Not Yet”

Understanding Gender Dysphoria

B Y M I C H A E L S. H O R T O N

R E V I E W E D B Y M AT T H E W J. T U I N I N G A

The Whole Christ REVIEWED BY TOM WENGER

MODERN REFORMATION Editor-in-Chief Michael S. Horton Executive Editor Eric Landry Managing Editor Patricia Anders Associate Editor Brooke Ventura Marketing Director Michele Tedrick

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Creative Direction & Design Metaleap Creative Review Editor Ryan Glomsrud Copy Editor Elizabeth Isaac Proofreader Ann Smith

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LETTER from the EDITOR

This isn’t to say that human actions are only and always evil; it’s merely that the ultimate motive behind our actions is never wholly righteous, as Michael Horton explains in his article “Regents in Revolt.” Adam was created in true righteousness, holiness, and knowledge, with a heart inclined to worship, and that image (though warped and distorted) still remains in his descendants. Justin Holcomb picks up this topic, explaining how Adam’s failure resulted in a long line of prophets, priests, and kings all trying to love the Lord their God—and all falling short—until the arrival of the last Adam, ut, damned spot! Out, I say!—One, who kept the commandment of the Creator and two. Why, then, ’tis time to do ’t. Hell endured the creature’s punishment, removing is murky!—Fie, my lord, fie! A solthe scarlet stain forever. It is this blessed fact dier, and afeard? What need we fear that gives us hope: “If we confess our sins, then who knows it, when none can call our power to he is faithful and just to forgive us” (1 John account?—Yet who would have thought the old 1:9). This declaration of forgiveness is someman to have had so much blood in him. thing that Rick Ritchie’s essay “Comfort Ye My (Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 1) People” reminds us that we not only need to hear from the pulpit, but we should also pronounce to With his characteristically sharp insight others as members of the universal priesthood into the human condition, Shakespeare illusof believers (Rev. 1:6). trates through Lady Macbeth the Though we are new creations malady that afflicts all humanity: being renewed in the spirit of our original sin. Scrub as we might, we minds, we still labor in bodies of can never remove its stain from our death, waiting for the day when we “ ORIGINAL SIN bodies or souls. We can emotionally finally lay down the sin that easily NO LONGER detach (a soldier shouldn’t be afraid ensnares us. Meanwhile, we rejoice DRIVES US TO of killing someone!) or rationalize in the resurrection of Christ, the (who’s going to know what we’ve great event that comforts us in our MADNESS.” done?) all we want, but the evisorrow and gives us strength for dence of our depravity (who would our fight. Unlike Lady Macbeth, have thought that old man would our original sin no longer drives us bleed so much?), strengthened by the convictto madness but into the arms of our Savior, who ing power of the law, stops our self-deception in invites us to come confidently before his throne, its tracks. We may not be compulsively washing where we can receive mercy for our rebellion and our hands, but we’re every bit as obsessed with grace to help us in time of need. removing our guilt like Lady Macbeth. Taking a more positive approach, we speak of selfacceptance and cutting ourselves some slack, and repeat every affirmation under the sun to convince ourselves that either we’re not as bad as we think or our feelings of guilt are unwarranted. BRO OKE VENTURA assoc iate editor

THEOLOGY

Death, Dogma, and Discourse by Pierce Taylor Hibbs

eath, dogma, and discourse might not go together at first glance. Death and dogma perhaps—as John Henr y Newman wrote, “Many a man will live and die upon a dogma”—but that makes discourse the third wheel. How is discourse—personal exchange— related to death and dogma? My experience has shown me that discourse is actually the beating heart of our hope. Our longing for it carries us over death’s threshold and into eternity.

DEATH It was just hair—black, faintly curled. It had gathered into clumps on the pillowcase and the

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bedsheets, which the nurses were folding up and tossing into a wheeled metal basket in the rhythm of routine. I said nothing—not because it didn’t bother me, but because I didn’t know why it bothered me. It was just hair. The man from whose body it had fallen had lost thousands of them, and we would have complained if the nurses left his bedding as it was. They did what they were supposed to do. But it still bothered me. The hospital room across the hall was vacant. On the day we found out the cancer was terminal, I wandered into that room and stared out the window at the clouds. Steam from a pipe on the roof ten feet below spiraled into the air and disappeared like a trailing thought. He was going to die.

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I know—everyone is going to die; we’re already dying. But part of being young is secretly believing that those you love will age but not atrophy, or atrophy but not perish. With age come sobriety and a frustrating realism, and the catalyst for all of this seems to be death itself. Years after my father passed away from cancer, I found myself sitting in a seminary classroom listening to a professor survey the Martyrdom of Polycarp. He told us that martyrs in the early church were marked as Christians by paying the ultimate price: blood-bought authenticity. These believers did not just die; they died for something. They burned and bled for the sake of something that extended beyond the time and space of their own lives. Reading those accounts did not bring about sobriety as much as it did wonder. I did not know whether the martyrs’ accounts were embellished, nor did I care. What I cared about was how someone could willfully die this way. Having seen my father give up his final three breaths after moaning for two hours from a failing respiratory system, I felt embarrassingly certain I did not have what it took to be a martyr. Polycarp was more an enigma than an example. After the lecture, I took comfort in thinking that martyrdom has only ever included a small set of Christians. I told myself that I was not bound to be a martyr, and that I didn’t have to be. All I had to do was keep my head down and deal with ideas, like a good little seminarian. The raw question of authentic belief—the sort of belief that rises above death itself—could be put off. The trouble is that while belief can be sidelined, death cannot. Leukemia, stroke, cancer of the spine—these things happen. And with them comes sobering and frustrating realism. Death goads us to the question of belief. In fact, it goads us to the question of martyrdom, too. Over the years, I realized that my father was martyred, in a sense: he fought for his life, not in a coliseum but in a cancer ward. Just as he lived many of his days for Christ, he also went through death for Christ. When his moment came, he gave up his last three breaths and

clung to something that extended beyond the time and space of his own existence. He died clinging to the hope of resurrection, and that is what martyrs do. In other words, no one simply dies—we all go white-knuckled, clutching whatever promises to carry us over death’s threshold. We all are forced to die for something, because we all will meet the infamous persecutor of faith in death itself. One day, all of us will be crushed by temporality and finitude—either in an instant or through a long process of deterioration. We will all come to the question of belief and martyrdom. As my father reached the final three weeks of his life, the tumor next to his brain stem impeded his ability to speak. The nurses gave him a table of signs on a piece of white cardboard. When he needed something, he would point: bathroom, water, pillow. The dynamic and complex medium of language was reduced to tiny pictures and an index finger. For the last few weeks, he was communicatively isolated in the cell of his own mind, largely cut off from those who loved him (not unlike the early church martyrs housed in actual prison cells). That is when, I think, life becomes very simple, for we have only the choice—the raw and real choice—to believe or not believe.

DOGMA Death, we might say, delivers our dogma to us— not as a stale set of theological propositions but as a living creed: a hope that stares unflinchingly into the harrowing face of death. Only that sort of hope, that sort of dogma, is worth dying for. That is where my father’s death led me. It showed me what sort of dogma I needed to have—not some universal principle or pithy axiom, but one rooted in time, space, and matter. Dogma must deal with the sting of death, and death stings (1 Cor. 15:55) because it threatens to remove us from communion with God and others. It threatens us with a state of impersonal isolation and coldly whispers that

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“ Death, we might say, delivers our dogma to us— not as a stale set of theological propositions but as a living creed: a hope that stares unflinchingly into the harrowing face of death. Only that sort of hope, that sort of dogma, is worth dying for.”

the hereafter will mean more than having our faculty of speech stolen by a tumor—it will mean the utter absence of personal discourse. Certainly, no program of propositional beliefs will withstand that. My father had been a minister for most of his life—he knew what he thought of death at a theoretical distance. But when death enters our living room, propositions turn to paper: they tear easily when the mind begins to doubt. We need something stronger, something that has a life of its own, something that refuses to be extinguished even as the wick of our life diminishes. What dogma could do that? Years later, I realized I was asking the wrong question. It was not a question of what but a question of who. If death threatens to cut us off from all communication—to isolate us from other persons—then communion with persons is our dogma: our living hope for unending discourse. This is the dogma my father gripped as death entered our living room. Though it sounds simplistic and naive, my father’s dogma was a person, the person of Christ. But I am a stubborn sinner. I was not content with this realization, because I had no clue what it meant practically. How do we cling to a person in death? I could never die upon a dogma that did not tangibly deliver truth. So once more, I set

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aside the question of belief. I turned to the study of ideas so that I could distract myself from the dogma I could not grasp.

DISCOURSE God has a way of bringing the stubborn to submission and teaching the perverse with creative patience. Death had led me to dogma, but I walked away from it. I turned instead to propositions (ideas)—the very thing I knew would not save my soul. The ideas and propositions that fascinated me were rooted in a theological reflection on the nature of language. I found in language the depth and mystery of the Trinity profoundly reflected in human behavior. The Father speaking the Son in the hearing of the Spirit for all eternity—the divine persons expressing love and glory to one another in personal fellowship was entrancing. As it turns out, the study of language would set me on a path that would lead right back to the question of dogma. Christ, the Word of the Father (John 1:1), spoken in eternity and uttered into flesh, is the eternal foundation for human language. During his time on earth, he was a divine and personal speaker. He wielded words as no person

THEOLOGY

ever had—stilling storms (Matt. 8:26), cutting through false character (Matt. 9:11–13), mending bodies (Matt. 8:13; Mark 1:41), restoring minds (Mark 5:15), offering hope (John 16:33). The person of Christ spoke powerfully and personally throughout his ministry. Here was the linchpin for me: death could not silence or tear him away from communion. That bleak possibility of entering isolation and never again having discourse with persons was shattered by Christ’s resurrection. He showed us that we will live beyond death to speak again. Personal communion with others and ultimately with the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost is not a propositional possibility; it is a resurrected reality in a person. God’s patience brought me back to the dilemma of dogma. I found great power in the resurrection when I considered the nature of language as rooted in the Trinity. The Word of the Father himself walked back over death’s threshold. The incarnate speech of God returned from the grave with an active body and a speaking voice. Death is defeated by divine discourse, and so we cling to Christ by the power of the Spirit in our hope to speak again. To cling to the risen person of the Son—the Word of the Father—means to hold within us the immortal and eternal hope of communion. Unyielding hope for communion as promised by God himself—that, I believe, is what every martyr clings to. Unending discourse is what makes dogma worth dying for. Putting all of this together helped me understand why it bothered me that my father’s hair was being shaken into a laundry basket so many years ago. Death leads us to the dogma, the hope, of unending discourse with God and with one another—in a resurrected body. Because of this, no part of a person is dispensable; nothing is laid to rest that will not be taken up again for the sake of communion. Nothing is ever thrown away for those who cling to the dogma of eternal discourse with God. This points to a sanctity of human life on earth, for all who die here with that faith will hold discourse again.

“To cling to the risen person of the Son—the Word of the Father— means to hold within us the immortal and eternal hope of communion.”

It is no surprise, then, that during my father’s death, everything about him seemed sacred— his exhausted, yellowed eyes, the rough feel of his skin, the murmuring of his breath, his hair. It was all sacred, because it belonged to a man who, as Newman put it, “lived upon a dogma, and was soon to die upon it.” But he would be resurrected to speak—with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and, one day, with me. Tossing his hair follicles into the trash suggested a definitive end rather than an unparalleled beginning. That is why it bothered me. Let us remember that death has the power only to lead us to true dogma, and that dogma is the hope of unending fellowship with the personal God. Discourse is the dogma that defeats death. PIERCE TAYLOR HIBBS currently serves as associate director

for Theological Curriculum and Instruction in the Theological English Department of Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia. He has written several articles on the nature of language and the linguistic theory of Kenneth L. Pike. He, his wife, and their two children reside in Quakertown, Pennsylvania.

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FEATURES

Only when we take seriously the glory of creation does the tragedy of the fall come into full view, and only in view of creation and the fall does the gospel appear to us in all of its glory.”

REGENTS IN REVOLT

THE NEED FOR A NEW ADAM

“COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE”: A REFORMATION PERSPECTIVE ON ABSOLUTION

LIVING WITH A LIMP

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photo illustrations by

MICHAEL S. HORTON

MLC

very major doctrine in Christianity is cloaked in mystery. Some claims to “mystery” are actually excuses for not having to support your claims with arguments and evidence—many play the mystery card when their claims turn to outright contradiction. But Christianity is full of mystery. There are answers—real answers—but they only go so far, and even then, they’re adjusted in a manner that accommodates to our capacity. One thing that makes these mysteries so mysterious is that they all contain a paradox at the heart. A paradox is not a contradiction (although a lot of people appeal to the former when they’re actually affirming the latter). A paradox says that there are two (or more) truths that appear contradictory at first but can be shown not to be in opposition. For example, how can God be one and yet three? Sounds like a contradiction, right? Not exactly—a contradiction would be to say that God is one in essence and three in essence, while the Christian claim is that God is one in essence and three in person. Or take divine sovereignty and human responsibility. On one hand, Scripture tells us that God is in charge of everything, that he works everything (even the falling of a bird) according to his plan, and so forth. On the other hand (here comes the paradox), Scripture is just as clear in teaching that God has given human beings the freedom to choose and holds them responsible for their choices. Seems like a contradiction, right? No, it just feels like one. There is actually no conflict between those two statements, each of which has ample support in Scripture. But people have to sit a spell and hear out that argument; otherwise, they’ll go with their gut and assume it’s a blatant contradiction. It’s the same with the union of two natures in Christ’s person: again, this is a paradox and mystery far beyond our reason and imagination, but not a contradiction.

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THE GOOD CREATION OF THE BAD MAN I begin this discussion of total depravity by reminding readers of this difference, because it

belongs to one of those mysterious paradoxes of revelation. I’ve explored the biblical definition of creation and the fall in many places, but here I want to focus on the importance of embracing the tension between the two. Cheerfully embracing contradictions is the irrationalist temptation, while the rationalist temptation is to resolve the tension in favor of one side of the paradox. This is typically how we get our heresies: Jesus is divine or human, God is one or three, God is sovereign or we are responsible. Living in the tension is more difficult: listening where God has spoken but restraining our curiosity beyond his word. Another paradox appears in the Bible’s view of human nature. Pelagianism and Manichean (Gnostic) heresies are easy to hold. You simply affirm either that human nature is inherently good or inherently evil. A Pelagian will tell you that although Adam’s sin was a speed bump (not to mention a bad example), you should get over it. Brush yourself off. Any talk of being depraved, helpless to save ourselves, ruined by sin, etc., is just negative thinking. A Manichaean will tell you that it’s no use. Evil is not the corruption of something good. Human nature as human—that is, material rather than spiritual, bound to time and space, creaturely rather than divine—is the problem. It can’t be redeemed. It can only be left behind. It’s a simple solution to turn the switch toward Heresy A or Heresy B. What’s really tough is living in the biblical tension between the natural greatness of humanity as it was created and human depravity due to the fall. But as any playwright will tell you, it’s precisely the tension that makes for a believable plot. Of all religions and philosophies, Christianity has the most affirmative view of human nature as such and the most sobering appraisal of our moral capacity after Adam’s sin. It’s both comedy and tragedy. We know intuitively how much of a mystery we are to ourselves and to one another. There isn’t a “good side” and a “bad side” to each of us—we are thoroughly great and thoroughly ruined, simultaneously. But, happily, we have more than intuition to guide us.

GOD’S GLORIOUS REGENTS It might surprise some readers that a Calvinist would say this, but Reformed theology has always affirmed with Scripture that human beings are basically good in their intrinsic nature, endowed with free will, with a beauty of body and soul, reason, and moral excellence. In short, we are created in God’s image. Now, that might not fit the stereotype, especially when the famous “TULIP” starts with “total depravity.” However, Reformed theology never starts with the fall, but with God’s good creation. Here is how the Westminster Confession (4.2) puts it: After God had made all other creatures, He created man, male and female, with reasonable and immortal souls, endued with knowledge, righteousness, and true holiness, after His own image; having the law of God written in their hearts, and power to fulfil it; and yet under a possibility of transgressing, being left to the liberty of their own will, which was subject unto change. Beside this law written in their hearts, they received a command, not to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil; which while they kept, they were happy in their communion with God, and had dominion over the creatures. Likewise, the Belgic Confession (Art. 14) teaches: “We believe that God created human beings from the dust of the earth and made and formed them in his image and likeness—good, just, and holy; able by their will to conform in all things to the will of God.” Luther’s Shorter Catechism (“The Creed,” First Article, Q. 1) confesses: “I believe that God has made me and all creatures; that He has given me my body and soul, eyes, ears, and all my limbs, my reason, and all my senses, and still preserves them.” Calvin believed that freedom of choice was an important gift of God to humans in creation: “In this integrity man by free will had the power, if he so willed, to attain eternal life. Here it would be out of place to raise the question of God’s secret predestination because our present

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subject is not what can happen or not, but what man’s nature was like. Therefore Adam could have stood if he wished, seeing that he fell solely by his own will.” There is no inherent propensity toward sin in human nature as God created it, no dangerous lure of the lower self. Adam’s faculties “were rightly composed to obedience, until in destroying himself he corrupted his own 1 blessings.” Created as God’s viceroys, human beings were placed over the rest of creation to extend God’s own reign of love, stewardship, and justice. And, significantly, God made us in his image as male and female. Unlike pagan creation myths, all human beings share equally in the dignity of this majestic nature. It is this high view of human beings as creatures of a good God that provided much of the impetus in the modern age 2 for human rights and dignity. Each person must “freely embrace the other as his own flesh.…Any inequality which is contrary to this arrangement is nothing else than a corruption of nature which 3 proceeds from sin.” If we begin with the fall, then we run the risk of giving the impression that human nature itself, as created, is weak and even prone to sin. A biblical view of human nature must therefore begin with a good Creator and his good creation. In fact, the Reformers and their heirs have criticized Roman Catholic theology for locating sin in an alleged weakness of human nature itself. According to this view, human beings are related to God and the angels by virtue of their “higher self”—the mind or soul—but are related to other animals by virtue of their “lower self”—the appetites associated with the body. This idea, influenced by Plato, gave rise to the notion of concupiscence: that is, the desires of the body for sensual pleasure. Concupiscence is not itself sin until it is acted upon, but it does suggest a weakness or defect in human nature as created by God. Aquinas, following Augustine, spoke of this concupiscence as the “kindling wood” for the fire of passion that leads to actual sins. However, this inclination is not itself sinful, and free will—though weakened—is still able 4 to cooperate with grace toward its healing.

If we begin with the fall, then we run the risk of giving the impression that human nature itself, as created, is weak and even prone to sin. A biblical view of human nature must therefore begin with a good Creator and his good creation.

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The married life is not evil, but it is lower than the contemplative life of the monk; and sexual relations within marriage are for procreative purposes alone, not for sensual pleasure. It is this sensual (animal) aspect of our constitution that drags us down from the heights of pure spiritual contemplation. The most fundamental problem with this view, says Calvin, is that it attributes sin to human nature as God created it. Against those “who dare write God’s name upon their faults,” Calvin says, “they perversely search out God’s handiwork in their own pollution, when they ought rather to have sought it in that unimpaired and uncorrupted nature of Adam.” It is not God but we who are guilty “solely because we have degenerated from our original condition.” Our mortal wound comes not from nature itself 5 but from its corruption through the fall. The depravity of human nature “did not flow from nature,” he says. “Thus vanishes the foolish trifling of the Manichees [Gnostics], who, when they imagined wickedness of substance in man, dared fashion another creator for him in order that they might not seem to assign the cause and 6 beginning of evil to the righteous God.” Concerning Adam’s fall, Calvin adds, For not only did a lower appetite seduce him, but unspeakable impiety occupied the very citadel of his mind, and pride penetrated to the depths of his heart. Thus it is pointless and foolish to restrict the corruption that arises thence only to what are called the impulses of the senses; or to call it the “kindling wood” that attracts, arouses, and drags into sin only that part which they term “sensuality.” In this matter Peter Lombard has betrayed his complete ignorance. For, in seeking and searching out its seat, he says that it lies in the flesh, as Paul testifies; yet not intrinsically, but because it appears more in the flesh. As if Paul were indicating that only a part of the soul, and not its entire nature, is opposed to supernatural grace! Rather, says Calvin, Paul teaches that the whole person is created in God’s image and

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in that same wholeness is fallen as well as redeemed.7 So Calvin rejects the body-soul dualism that tends to identify sin with the former. Rather, the image of God pertains no less to the body than to the soul, and it consists primarily of “righteousness and true holiness” (Col. 3:10; Eph. 4:23). Though not yet confirmed in everlasting immortality and holiness, Adam and Eve were good creatures, reflecting the moral 8 attributes of the Triune God. Just as the dignity of the image of God settled upon the body as well as the soul, after the fall “no part is free from the 9 infection of sin.” The mind is no less fallen than the affections or the body. Our fall in Adam has placed our glorious will in bondage to sin and unbelief, our excellent mind in a condition of disorder and rebellion, and our bodies under the ravaging effects of decay and death.

THE REVOLT THAT LED TO BONDAGE The problem with the philosophers, Calvin says (and he also has theologians in mind), is that they probe the question of free will without any reference to the fall: Hence the great obscurity faced by the philosophers, for they were seeking in a ruin for a building, and in scattered fragments for a well-knit structure. They held this principle, that man would not be a rational animal unless he possessed free choice of good and evil; also it entered their minds that the distinction between virtues and vices would be obliterated if man did not order his life by his own planning. Well reasoned so far—if there had been no change in man. But since this was hidden from them, it is no wonder they mix up heaven 10 and earth! Calvin’s point is crucial. When he (like Luther) speaks of the bondage of the will, it is in relation to sin, not to God’s sovereignty. As created, human beings were completely free to choose good or evil, truth or error, God or idols. God’s freedom is not a threat to human freedom

It’s not that we cannot think since the fall, but that we use the unique excellence of our intellects and imaginations to conceive rebellion against God and one another.

but the very presupposition of the latter’s existence. After the fall, however, human beings are bent toward unbelief and sin. The heart chooses that which it approves and desires. A person who is “dead in trespasses and sins” (Eph. 2:1) and “does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned” (1 Cor. 2:14) has lost this freedom for righteousness before God. At the same time, the fall has not destroyed the will any more than it has destroyed the mind, the senses, or any other faculty. Rather, it has corrupted every faculty. Adam and Eve had the freedom to choose immortal life; but in breaking covenant with God, they and their posterity became a race of rebels born in corruption, guilt, and death. At this point, Reformed theology came to emphasize a crucial distinction between natural and moral inability. When we say that humans are unable to believe and obey apart from God’s sovereign grace in Christ and by his Spirit, we are not saying that we are naturally unable as human beings. Rather, we are saying that we are morally unable as sinners. It’s our moral capacity to will the good, not our natural capacity, that has been vitiated. It’s not that we no longer have eyes, but that we’re blind to spiritual things; not that we no longer will according to our own desires, but that our desires are deranged. It’s not that we cannot think since the fall, but that we use the unique excellence of our intellects and imaginations to conceive rebellion against God and one another. Therefore, “total depravity” is something that happens to human nature, not something that arises from it as created by God. “This is the inherited corruption,” says Calvin, “which the church fathers termed ‘original sin,’ meaning by the word ‘sin,’ the depravation of a nature 11 previously good and pure.” He appeals to the double imputation in Romans 5—i.e., the parallel between Adam and Christ. If human corruption is simply a matter of imitating Adam’s trespass, then salvation comes by imi12 tating Christ’s good example. But original sin includes both guilt and corruption.13

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Yet even in our fallen condition, there are still remnants of the image of God that we cannot wholly eradicate by disobedience. Again, all of our confessions make this point as well. The unregenerate are capable of doing, making, and saying wonderful things that we (that is, other sinners) judge good, true, and beautiful. Nevertheless, apart from being reconciled in Christ, all of these actions are being done by rebels in revolt against God and cannot merit anything but judgment. “Total depravity” therefore refers to the extensiveness rather than the intensiveness of sin. It does not mean that no one does anything that others could count legitimately as decent and even noble. But it does mean that there is no spot in human nature that could become the Archimedean point for saving and restoring this fallen nature. We have to be rescued from outside of ourselves.

STILL TOTALLY DEPRAVED? So what of our condition after regeneration? Are we still totally depraved? Again, it would be easy to give up the paradox and resolve this tension with either an unqualified affirmative or unqualified negative answer. Instead, Scripture leads us to embrace the paradox not only of being “simultaneously justified and sinful” but of being simultaneously depraved in the whole person and regenerated in the whole person. On one hand, Scripture offers abundant testimony to our ongoing sinfulness. Anyone who imagines having reached a state of sinless perfection “deceives himself and makes God a liar” (1 John 1:8). Our depravity remains total in its extensiveness: our hearts, minds, bodies, desires, and wills. On the other hand, Scripture is just as clear in announcing the good news that we are not only justified but that we are also regenerated and are being sanctified, being conformed daily to Christ’s image by the Spirit through his word. We were “dead in trespasses and sins,” but now “he has made us alive” (Eph. 2:5). We once despised God’s law; in fact, Paul could say that even though he still transgresses the law, he does

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not—cannot—despise the law itself. “For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being” (Rom. 7:22). As Christians, we have a threefold paradox at the heart of our lives: 1. We are glorious creatures of God, image-bearers of God who reflect his intelligence, love, beauty, goodness, and power. 2. Our whole self is born bound by sin. 3. Our whole self has been raised in Christ to newness of life. All three of these scriptural teachings are equally true of us as believers. One is either a justified covenant-keeper in Christ or a condemned covenant-breaker in Adam. Like Jesus’ generation, which he compared to children who did not know either how to mourn or dance properly (Matt. 11:16–19), we seem to regard the verdict of the law as too severe and the verdict of the gospel as too good to be true. Our age does not seem to know either the grandeur of creation or the tragedy of the fall. However, the funeral game is just the warm-up for the wedding game! Only when we take seriously the glory of creation does the tragedy of the fall come into full view, and only in view of creation and the fall does the gospel appear to us in all of its glory. MICHAEL S. HORTON is the J. Gresham Machen Professor of Systematic Theology and Apologetics at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido. 1 John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, 1.15.8. 2 This characteristic emphasis of Reformed anthropology can be found among many of Calvin’s students, as in J. I. Packer’s Christianity: The True Humanism (Waco, TX: Word, 1986). 3 John Calvin, Commentary upon the Book of Genesis (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 1996), 97–98. 4 Catechism of the Catholic Church (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 405, 418. 5 Calvin, Institutes, 2.2.10. 6 Calvin, Institutes, 2.2.11 7 Calvin, Institutes, 2.1.9; see also 2.2.11 and 1.16.8. 8 Calvin, Commentary upon the Book of Genesis, 112–13. 9 Calvin, Commentary upon the Book of Genesis, 95. 10 Calvin, Institutes, 1.15.8. 11 Calvin, Institutes, 2.1.5. 12 Calvin, Institutes, 2.1.6. 13 Calvin, Institutes, 2.1.8.

NEW ADAM

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he Old Testament depicts a host of potential saviors who end up failing (often spectacularly) to show that even the best of us are not enough. Even our prospective redeemers need salvation. It is not until we get to Jesus that we find a Savior who can bear the crushing weight of our sin because he himself is sinless. Before we can understand how our hope is fulfilled in Jesus, we need to look back at the hope deferred by the would-be saviors of humanity, starting with Adam.

ADAM Adam is the Hebrew word for “man” or “humanity”—an apt name for someone who represents all of humanity with Eve. They were placed in the garden and given the mandate (the creation mandate) to “be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth” (Gen. 1:28). It is a good start, but Adam’s legacy was not the “progenitor of the righteous people of God, as he would have been if sin had 1 not entered the world.” His representative bequest was not hope but intrinsic sin. That sin polluted all born after him. It may seem unfair or strange, but this idea of original sin handed down to us in Adam’s “representative headship” isn’t as odd as it might seem: In the biblical world, the patriarch represents the clan; the father; the family; and the king, the nation. In the United States, parents legally act for their children, and people in Congress represent the citizens. Assuming the corporate solidarity of the

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race with its progenitors, Adam and Eve represented all people.2 After the tragic sin and expulsion of Adam and Eve, this creation mandate is given again throughout Scripture. However, to those individuals, it is a blessing rather than 3 a command. This is because Adam’s sin has rendered humanity incapable of ruling the earth as they were created to do. What was commanded to Adam is promised to men such as Noah, Abraham, and David. After Eden, “being fruitful and multiplying” will be a gift: “Something has happened which means that Adam’s descendants cannot simply be told to do this; the creator God will do it himself, and 4 will (according to Gen. 17) do it ‘exceedingly.’” The “second Adams” of the Old Testament must continue to receive rather than be expected to give. Scripture gives a portrayal of them that “highlights their sin in such a way that we can 5 see similarities to the first Adam’s sin.” The Scriptures include a number of second Adam figures, each demonstrating in his own way humanity’s inability to save itself— burdened by the sin they inherited from Adam and the sin they commit themselves, their reconciliation with God can be accomplished only by God himself. This is ultimately remedied by the coming of Christ, the one to whom Adam pointed and who fulfilled Adam’s purpose in the garden.

NOAH Although darkness occludes this violent world, the light of God’s grace permeates human history. In the wickedness of earth, only Noah finds favor in God’s eyes (Gen. 6:8), and we even see Edenic language used to describe him. Yet, instead of only the mandate to “be fruitful and multiply,” God adds to it a blessing: God blessed Noah and his sons, and said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth. The fear and dread of you shall rest on every animal of the earth, and on

every bird of the air, on everything that creeps on the ground, and on all the fish of the sea; into your hand they are delivered.” (Gen. 9:1–2) In Noah’s story, the flood is a “de-creation” in which God again makes the earth void of life, sparing only this “second Adam” and his family. It is a story of a “‘re-creation’—a restoration of the divine order and God’s visible kingship that 6 had been established at creation.” Just as in the first creation: The earth is made inhabitable by the separation of the land from the water. Living creatures are brought out to repopulate the earth. Days and seasons are reestablished. Humans are blessed by God, commanded to “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth,” and given dominion over the animal kingdom. God provides humanity—made in his 7 image—with food. Another major parallel is seen between God’s planting of a garden for the man to enjoy (Gen. 2:8), and Noah’s vineyard (Gen. 9:20). Just as Adam fell through the fruit of his garden, so Noah’s failure results from an abuse of the vine. With echoes of Eden, our hopes are apt to rise—the old was washed away and the new has come. Noah, alas, is no savior—only another broken man bringing sin into God’s “re-creation.” The hope that the receding waters of the flood swept sin away with the sinners is dashed as we see another garden defiled. Having drunk too much of his vineyard’s produce, Noah is found naked in his tent by his son, Ham. Instead of covering his father, he “told his two brothers outside,” but they “walked backward and covered the nakedness of their father” so they would not shame him (Gen. 9:22–23). Noah fails as a second Adam, and Ham shames him. Despite his failure, Noah—like Abraham after him—represents “a new beginning for humanity 8 through God’s gift of the covenant.” Man may have failed, but God remains faithfully resolved to accomplish his purpose to redeem a people for himself.

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ABRAHAM Echoing the creation mandate to Adam, God gives a promise to Abraham, a covenant blessing: “And I will make my covenant between me and you, and will make you exceedingly numerous.…As for me, this is my covenant with you: You shall be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. No longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. I will make you exceedingly fruitful; and I will make nations of you, and kings shall come from you.” (Gen. 17:2, 4–6) Abraham is another second Adam with numerous parallels: God gives Adam his garden of Eden; he gives Abraham the land of Canaan: “God told Adam to be fruitful and multiply; Abraham is assured that God will make his descendants as numerous as the dust of the 9 earth (13:16) and the stars of heaven (15:5).” Additionally, God walked with Adam and Eve in Eden, and “Abraham is told to walk before God and be perfect. Through his obedient and faithful response to these promises, the promise is turned into a divine oath guaranteeing its 10 ultimate fulfillment.” Abraham also serves as Israel’s representative head, meaning that they too will receive God’s 11 blessing. Because of Adam’s sin, his children would not be able to enter the land where Adam formerly communed with God. Instead of establishing another agreement whereby God will bless Abraham if Abraham fulfills God’s terms, God swears by his own sovereign majesty that he will give Abraham children and lands. There is a correlation between “the placement of Adam and Eve in the garden and the promise to Abraham 12 and his family about the land of Canaan.” Sadly, the similarity extends to the themes of exile and return: “Adam, given the garden to look after, disobeyed and was expelled. Israel, given the 13 land to look after, disobeyed and was exiled.” Therefore, “the return from exile ought thus to be like a return to Eden, a reclaiming of the

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ABRAHAM IS ANOTHER SECOND ADAM WITH NUMEROUS PARALLELS: GOD GIVES ADAM HIS GARDEN OF EDEN; HE GIVES ABRAHAM THE LAND OF CANAAN.

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THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SHAME AND GUILT

hilosopher JeanPaul Sartre accurately describes shame as “a hemorrhage of the soul,” that is, a painful, unexpected, and disorienting experience. It is often linked to some painful incident—sin that has been done to us rather than by us. Shame has the power to steal our breath and smother us with condemnation, rejection, and disgust. Guilt, on the contrary, occurs due to sins actually committed. It is based on the concrete fact of the human condition: God made us and requires us to be perfect (Lev. 19:2; Matt. 5:48), but because of original sin, we have all broken his commands. We stand guilty because of something we have done. Shame is a painfully confusing experience—a sort of mental and emotional disintegration that makes us

acutely aware of our inadequacies and shortcomings, and is often associated with a shrinking feeling of failure. It can be simultaneously self-negating and self-absorbed: “All day long my disgrace is before me, and shame has covered my face” (Ps. 44:15). Guilt results from the fact that we are sinners who cannot pay the moral debt incurred by our failure to keep God’s moral obligations, whether in thought, word, or deed. Because of guilt, most people seek grace. Yet because of the sin of others, they encounter the trauma of shame, a sense of isolation, and feelings of worthlessness. Because these two are often tied together so intimately, it is difficult to separate them. The main difference between guilt and shame is the distinction between a judicial verdict that flows from

behavior that is objectively wrong and the inner sense of unworthiness that is often rooted in trauma. One is fact; the other is a lie wearing the skin of truth. Both find their solution in Christ. Guilt comes because we have violated God’s good and wise commands. Because of that violation, we deserve the subsequent rejection by God. However, God turned his wrath away from us and toward Christ on the cross. In the resurrection, God turns our eyes away from our sins and directs them to Christ. This means that the gospel is not just negatively stated—no more guilt, no more condemnation, no more wrath—but is also positively declared. In Christ, we are loved, accepted, innocent. The Bible uses many emotionally charged words to describe shame: reproach,

BY JUSTIN S. HOLCOMB

dishonor, humiliation, and disgrace. Additionally, there are three major images for shame in Scripture: nakedness, uncleanness or defilement, and being rejected or made an outcast. In the great exchange, Christ took on our nakedness and defilement as he was rejected and crucified like an outcast; and we were clothed in his righteousness, cleansed of all sins, and adopted into the family of God. We can have assurance and confidence in relating to God. The foundation of these promises to us in the gospel—the certification and guarantee of them—is that the Son of God bore in his body all our punishment, guilt, condemnation, blame, fault, corruption, shame, nakedness, uncleanness, and rejection so all the benefits of his sacrifice and resurrection are given to us freely.

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original promises to Abraham and, behind that, the commands to the human race.”14 In Genesis 3:6, Eve takes that tragic bite and is delighted by the results, sharing the fruit with Adam. Later, we hear God telling Adam that “because you have listened to the voice of your wife, and have eaten of the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life” (v. 17). We see a similar situation occur between the second Adam, Abraham, and his wife in Genesis 16:2–3. Sarai is barren in both womb and faith. To “help” fulfill God’s promise of a child, she tells Abraham to sleep with Hagar, her slave (Gen. 16:2–3). Abram’s sin in taking Hagar as a second wife represents an overarching theme present in Genesis: sin is “motivated by dissatisfaction with God’s providence—the attitude that God is withholding something good from people, so 15 they must take action on their own.” In Genesis 12:10–20 and 20:1–19, Abraham tries to pass off his wife as his sister. When we look closely, we see that “the rebuke of the king in each of these incidents (12:18: ‘what is this you have done to me?’; 20:9: ‘What have you done to us?’) is reminiscent of the Lord’s words 16 to Eve, ‘what is this you have done?’” (3:13). In another direct parallel in Genesis 20, God says to the Pharaoh, “‘Now then, return the man’s wife; for he is a prophet, and he will pray for you and you shall live. But if you do not restore her, know that you shall surely die, you and all that are yours’” (Gen. 20:7). This is identical to his warning to Adam about eating from the forbidden tree—“mot tamut, you shall surely die” (Gen. 2:17)—and addresses the way Abraham fails his 17 wife. The text suggests that treating Sarah as “a mere object of desire is objectionable in the extreme and is likely to yield consequences as 18 dire as those threatened in the garden of Eden.” Additionally, Pharaoh “sends away” (salakh) Abraham and his family as God “sends away” 19 Adam and Eve (Gen. 3:23). Abraham was shamed and reviled before the king, and “just as Sarai had no response to Abraham in vv. 11–13, so 20 Abraham has no response to Pharaoh.” Humans cannot remedy this problem themselves.

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DAVID The parallels between this second Adam and the creation mandate are not as apparent as they are with Noah and Abraham, but “the two aspects of the creation mandate (fruitfulness and dominion) are discernible in Nathan’s oracle given to David. The Lord promises David that he 21 will build him a house, a perpetual dynasty.” The promises to the patriarchs involved kings, and since David’s dynasty was perpetual, “it seems apparent that he has now become heir of the promise of the new Adam given to the 22 patriarchs.” David’s sin with Bathsheba (2 Sam. 11–12) has been called “an aggravated version of Abraham’s 23 sin in Gen. 20.” In Genesis 20, “Abraham feared for his life because of a foreign king (Abimelech) who (so he thought) might take his wife from 24 him and kill him.” The parallel is that what Abraham, the elect patriarch, “fears of foreigners because of his wife is just what David, the elect, the Israelite king, does to Uriah the Hittite 25 because of his wife.” The similarity continues with David’s flight to the east in judgment (2 Sam. 15), and God’s proclamation that the sword would not depart from his house. “David is unworthy to be considered the new Adam, even though he was given the promises of the new Adam, and did more than 26 anyone else to bring those promises to reality.”

CHRIST AS THE SECOND ADAM The sins of the “second Adams” are a stark contrast to the obedience and holiness of Jesus—he was tempted in every way as they were and as we are, yet he is without sin (Heb. 4:15). Paul highlights the humility and attitude of Jesus toward God by comparing him to Eve—her mind was set on being like God (Gen. 3:5), whereas Christ “who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself” (Phil. 2:5–8). Paul’s wording in his description of the selfhumiliation of Christ makes this contrast with

CHRIST ALSO REPRESENTS ISRAEL IN THE SENSE THAT HE FULFILLS THE PURPOSE GOD GAVE TO ABRAHAM—TO MAKE HIS REVELATION KNOWN TO THE NATIONS.

Eve clear.27 That is, “the tempter urged Eve to seize this equality with God for herself, thereby expressing discontent with the high status in which the first pair was created (‘a little lower 28 than the angels’).” In a complete contrast, “Jesus gave up equality with God in order to become not just a man like Adam, put in charge of creation, but a servant, for the purpose of enabling his followers to truly gain the godlike29 ness lost in Adam.” When God asked Adam what he had done, Adam blamed Eve for his sin (Gen. 3:12). Both Abraham (Gen. 12:10–20; 20:1–18) and Isaac (Gen. 16:9–11) tried to pass off their wives as their sisters in order to save their own lives. David exploited another man’s wife for his own selfish pleasure (2 Sam. 11). The ways the “new Adams” sinned against their own and others’ wives form “an apt contrast to the work of Jesus, once we recognize that the church is his 30 bride.” This is clearest in the case of Isaac, who “lied about his wife, subjecting her to potential defilement,” because he was worried about his own life (Gen. 26:9). Jesus, in sharp contrast, gave up his life for his bride to make her holy (Eph. 5:25–26). In Romans 5–6, scholars believe that Paul is describing someone who is “under the law” as bound by God’s law to Adam as our representative, “just as a married woman is bound 31 by the law to her husband.” Using this analogy, the “old husband” (or “old human being”) dies with the Messiah in Romans 6:6, leaving Israel, the widowed woman, free to marry again. The Messiah is the new bridegroom, and “belonging to him enables ‘you’, like Abraham and Sarah despite their old age, to ‘bear fruit’. The resurrection of Jesus as the new bridegroom has opened new possibilities 32 not previously available.” A clear argument for Jesus as the last Adam is in 1 Corinthians 15:21–49, where Paul says that Christ must reign until he has put all his enemies and things in subjection under his feet (vv. 25, 27). This is the fulfillment of the mandate to “have dominion” to which both first and second Adams were all called. Christ also fulfills the call to multiply by his creating “children

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of the kingdom” (Matt. 13:37–38). “Unlike the new Adams of the OT, all his children are righteous because he is the true progenitor of the 33 righteous seed.” Christ also represents Israel in the sense that he fulfills the purpose God gave to Abraham—to make his revelation known to the nations. Theologian Bruce Waltke explains how this happened: Since humanity’s first representative, Adam, failed, the elect by God’s merciful and intervening gift of faith identify themselves with the second representative, Jesus Christ, who by his sacrificial death, resurrection, ascension, and giving of his Spirit, cleanses the human conscience, pays the debt incurred by every and all sin forever, and reverses the tragic effects of the Fall 34 (Rom. 5:12–19; 1 Cor. 15:22). The result is seen in how Peter describes believers: “You are a chosen race” (1 Pet. 2:9), which is a direct allusion to Israel being the Lord’s chosen people (Deut. 7:6–9). In Romans 5:12–21, Paul argues that Adam brought sin and death into the world, but Christ has reversed the consequences of Adam’s sin by giving his own life as the payment for their sin and giving to them his own righteousness to secure their entrance to eternal glory. It was through Adam’s sin that “sin came into the world” (v. 12), “many died” (v. 15), “death reigned” (v. 17), and “many were made sinners” (v. 19). It is through Christ’s life, death, and resurrection that “the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness” are given to us (v. 17) along with “justification and life” (v. 18). Where Adam, Noah, Abraham, and David failed, Jesus—the true second Adam and our new representative—reigns.

1 John L. Ronning, The Jewish Targums and John’s Logos Theology (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2010), 99. 2 Bruce K. Waltke, An Old Testament Theology (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2011), 279. 3 “In the book of Genesis, a number of individuals seem to be presented to the reader as ‘new Adams’ in the sense that the two aspects of the original creation mandate of fruitfulness and dominion are given again to them as a blessing, in wording that is reminiscent of the mandate given to Adam and Eve.” Ronning, 99. 4 N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (London: SPCK, 2013), 786. 5 Ronning, 100. 6 Paul R. Williamson, Sealed with an Oath: Covenant in God’s Unfolding Purpose, New Studies in Biblical Theology 23 (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2007), 60.   7 Williamson, 60–61. 8 Justin S. Holcomb, On the Grace of God (Wheaton: Crossway, 2013), 42. 9 Gordon J. Wenham, “Genesis, Book of,” in Dictionary for Theological Interpretation of the Bible, eds. Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Craig G. Bartholomew, and Daniel J. Treier (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005), 246–52. 10 Wenham, 250. 11 “Abraham’s fruitfulness, the multiplication of his family, the recapitulation of the Adamic blessing, remains a strange gift, not something that can be presumed upon, always under threat from every angle, yet winning through.” Wright, 787. 12 Wright, 787. 13 Wright, 787. 14 Wright, 787. 15 Ronning, 101. 16 Ronning, 101. 17 This construction of the verb mot with the infinitive absolute tamut is common in the Bible, but in Genesis, it appears only in the context of the garden and the sister-wife narratives; cf. Judy Kitsner, Subversive Sequels in the Bible: How Biblical Stories Mine and Undermine Each Other (New Milford: Maggid, 2011), 151. 18 Kitsner, 151. 19 Terence E. Fretheim, Abraham: Trials of Family and Faith (Columbia: University of South Carolina, 2007), 51. 20 Fretheim, 51. 21 Ronning, 102. “Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever” (2 Sam. 7:16). 22 Ronning, 102. 23 Ronning, 104. 24 John L. Ronning, “The Curse on the Serpent (Genesis 3:15) in Biblical Theology and Hermeneutics” (PhD diss., Westminster Theological Seminary, 1997), 312. 25 P. Miscall, “Literary Unity in Old Testament Narrative,” Semeia 15 (1979): 27–44, quoted in Ronning, “Curse on the Serpent,” 312. Ronning writes: “In 2 Samuel 11 the king is not a foreigner but David, who knowingly takes the wife of the foreigner Uriah the Hittite, then kills him to cover up the adultery. Perhaps Uriah was one of those foreigners brought to the worship of the true God by David, yet David in 2 Samuel 11 is like the king feared by Abraham in Genesis 20, who rules in a place where there is no fear of God.” Ronning, “Curse on the Serpent,” 313. 26 Ronning, “Curse on the Serpent,” 316. 27 Ronning, Jewish Targums, 105.

JUSTIN S. HOLCOMB (PhD, Emory University) is an

Episcopal priest and teaches at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary and Reformed Theological Seminary. He serves on the boards for REST (Real Escape from the Sex Trade) and GRACE (Godly Response to Abuse in Christian Environments).

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28 Ronning, Jewish Targums, 105. 29 Ronning, Jewish Targums, 105. 30 Ronning, Jewish Targums, 105. 31 N. T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God (London: SPCK, 2003), 254. 32 Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, 254. 33 Ronning, Jewish Targums, 105. 34 Waltke, 279.

The Lutheran View BY RICK RITCHIE

ome years back, I viewed Amadeus in the student lounge of the Assemblies of God college my friend was attending. In this film about Mozart, a Roman Catholic priest visits a lunatic asylum where Salieri, a court musician of mediocre talent, is pining away his last days. The priest seems sincere and has a good pastoral manner. Nobody reacts negatively to this character until he announces the purpose of his visit. He speaks the words “I come to offer you the forgiveness of God,” and the room explodes in mockery. Several students immediately point to their chests and say, “I come to offer you the forgiveness of God.” Their emphasis on the words I and God was meant to demonstrate the ludicrous arrogance of any man claiming to offer God’s forgiveness to another. This is considered by many to be the worst form of Roman Catholic arrogance. This opinion is by no means confined to the radical fringe of Protestantism. I remember the evangelical pastor of a church I used to attend saying that if any pastor of his denomination claimed to be able to forgive sins, he or she ought to be defrocked. These opinions were familiar to me growing up. In fact, I shared them. It wasn’t that I had heard careful proof-texting for the evangelical position. The Roman position simply seemed absurd on the face of it. Human analogies sprang quickly to mind. “If Tom totals your car, I am in no position to forgive him for what he did to you. He must approach you himself.” Besides this, the Roman Church was well known for giving priests powers that didn’t belong to them. Not

“Comfort Ye A Reformation Persp

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The Reformed View BY MICHAEL S. HORTON

rowing up in evangelicalism, I have found that there is a healthy suspicion of unbiblical ceremonies. At least in theory. In practice, we often substituted our own “sacraments.” Where Rome offered forgiveness if the penitent met the conditions and claimed the inherent powers of the priesthood, we evangelicals were nevertheless often led to ourselves, to wander in the caverns of our own subjectivity. As I began to read the Reformers and their criticism of a church that led people into terrible insecurities—wondering if they had been sufficiently sorry for their sins, if they had confessed every one—I saw striking parallels with my own experience. Reformation theology provides profound biblical insights into the meaning of guilt and its cure. It also offers us a concrete model of churches that actually dealt with the practical consequences of guilt. Even many Reformed people today would be surprised to discover some of these rich resources. For instance, preaching was viewed as a miraculous event where Christ met the sinner and brought him or her into saving union with himself. It was not chiefly information or exhortation, but a saving encounter with the Living God by the power of the Holy Spirit working through the preached word. Added to the proclamation of the gospel was the regular administration of the Lord’s Supper. Why did Calvin believe it should be celebrated every time the word is preached, or at least weekly? Knowing he could not prescribe something that was not explicitly required by

My People” ective on Absolution

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long ago, they were the only ones allowed to read the Scriptures. At one time they were immune from paying the civil penalty for crime. Why should it surprise us, then, that they would presume the divine power of forgiveness? When I was later exposed to confessional Lutheranism, some surprises awaited me. Holy Absolution was yet another place where the Lutheran mode of reformation differed from that of most of American Protestantism. The reformation with which I was familiar could be summarized as “out with the old and in with the new.” In this view, the Reformation began with the discovery that the church was grossly corrupt and unbiblical in its practice. Reformation consisted in starting from scratch and learning what the Bible taught afresh, without looking for direction from the Catholic past. Soon, I discovered that while this characterized the Anabaptists, it differed from the more conservative Lutheran stance. While the Lutheran Reformers were convinced that the medieval Catholic Church was guilty of gross corruption, their method was to carefully evaluate old practices. Where they were helpful to the gospel, they were retained. Where they were unbiblical and dangerous to the gospel, they were jettisoned. Where they were biblical practices corrupted by unbiblical additions, they were cleaned up. I had always assumed that absolution was an abuse in and of itself. The Lutheran Reformers saw it differently. They viewed it as a biblically grounded practice that had been abused. Their intention was to retain the practice purged of abuses. This mirrored their—and the other Reformers’—method of dealing with baptism and the Lord’s Supper. All considered these biblical practices that the medieval church had overlaid with superstition. The biblical practice was retained, but the abuses were eliminated. The mere knowledge that there is more than one way to reform a church does not in itself answer the question of whether absolution is a sound practice. Nor does our knowledge that

some Reformers taught the doctrine establish it. Still, it is helpful to remember the old proverb that abuse does not prohibit legitimate use. There have been obvious misuses of the practice of absolution (indulgence sales, for example). Yet this does not by itself prove there is no good use of the practice.

THE BIBLICAL GROUNDS was surprised to find out how biblical the grounds were for absolution. Yet some of the passages upon which it rested were familiar to me. In some cases I had ignored their implications, using the argument: Whatever this means, it can’t mean that (by that, I meant the obvious meaning of the text); that is just what the Catholics say, and they can’t be right. In other cases, I had been directed to the wrong portion of the text for my understanding of the doctrine. One of the clearest passages on absolution is also the most often misread. It is not that the language is unclear, but that attention is paid to the wrong portion of the passage. Consider the healing of the paralytic, found in Matthew 9:2-8:

And behold, they brought to him a paralytic, lying on his bed; and when Jesus saw their faith he said to the paralytic, “Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven.” And behold, some of the scribes said to themselves, “This man is blaspheming.” But Jesus, knowing their thoughts, said, “Why do you think evil in your hearts? For which is easier to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—he then said to the paralytic—“Rise, take up your bed and go home.” And he rose and went home. When the crowds saw it, they were afraid, and glorified God, who had given such authority to men.

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Scripture, Calvin nevertheless emphasized the importance of frequent Communion solely because he was an evangelical (that is, “gospelcentered”) in the best sense. As he argues the case, we are weak and feeble. If God does not constantly convince us of our misery and of his forgiveness and reconciliation, then we will invariably return to self-confidence or despair. The same sort of pastoral intuition led the Genevan Reformer to argue for the recovery of an evangelical practice of public and private confession and absolution. Like the other Reformers, Calvin was eager to see all of ecclesiastical action as ministerial rather than magisterial. In other words, officers are given the “ministry of reconciliation” (2 Cor. 5:21), not the power of lords and masters. Rome exercised tyranny by attributing powers to priests that belong to God alone. However, this did not mean that ministers had not been authorized to bring forgiveness to the lost. In Calvin’s section on confession and absolution in the Institutes (3.4.1–14), the evangelical concerns are primary. While Rome prescribed private confession as part of its sacrament of penance—contrition (feeling sorry for the sin), confession, and satisfaction (making amends to God and the offended party)—Calvin insisted that this was a terrible parody of the biblical doctrine of repentance. In recovering the apostolic and ancient church’s understanding of “the keys” (John 20:23; Matt. 18:18; 2 Cor. 5:20), Calvin urged a wise and guarded, evangelically shaped practice of private and public confession and absolution. For Calvin, private confession and absolution were simply a one-on-one version of the public proclamation of the gospel, much as private administration of Communion to shutins is an extension of the public administration earlier that day or week. It is not a different gift, nor is it a different degree of forgiveness, than one receives by taking advantage of confession and absolution. Rather, it is a greater sight of that forgiveness that all Christians receive

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CALVIN WRITES: “BESIDES THE FACT THAT ORDINARY CONFESSION HAS BEEN COMMENDED BY THE LORD’S MOUTH, NO ONE OF SOUND MIND, WHO WEIGHS ITS USEFULNESS, CAN DARE DISAPPROVE IT.” 33

THE LUTHERAN VIEW

ACCORDING TO THE NATURAL SENSE OF SCRIPTURE, GOD HAS GIVEN THE AUTHORITY TO FORGIVE SINS TO MEN. IF WE DO NOT BRING PRECONCEIVED IDEAS TO THE TEXT, THEN I BELIEVE THIS IS WHAT WE MUST CONCLUDE. 34

I am sure this passage is familiar to most readers. A good teacher ordinarily points out that Jesus establishes his authority to forgive through his miracle. We aren’t expected to believe that anyone who makes claims to forgive can do so. They must have divine authority. Jesus proves his divine authority by means of a healing. So far so good. What is overlooked, however, is that when people glorify God, they glorify him for giving such authority “to men.” As Christians who know the identity of Jesus, it is easy to think that Jesus is proving here that he is divine and that his divinity is the reason he can forgive sins. This is understandable, yet it leads to problems. It would take a unique display of power to demonstrate the deity of Jesus. The resurrection is such a demonstration (see John 20:28; Rom. 1:4). A healing is not. Jesus’ disciples could heal. Did this prove them to be divine? Of course not. The right principle to draw from this passage is that the ability to heal was a manifestation of divine authority. If an individual heals someone, he or she exercises an authority given from heaven. That healing is a manifestation of divine authority is supported by another passage in Matthew: “And he called to him his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal every disease and infirmity” (Matt. 10:1). If it is true that the ability to heal requires divine authority, and that the divine authority to heal can be used as evidence for the ability to forgive sin, then isn’t it clear that the divine authority to forgive might be transferable to other men? The people who witnessed the healing of the paralytic seemed to reason this way. What is ironic is that sometimes by direct statement and sometimes by implication, evangelical teachers suggest that the unbelieving Pharisees were better theologians than the believing crowds. The response muttered by the unbelieving Pharisees—“Who can forgive sins but God alone?”—is considered an example of good reasoning. That the crowds

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from God’s gracious hand. Calvin offers rich insights as a pastor who understood guilt and its remedies. First, he contrasts the New Testament doctrine of repentance and the medieval doctrine of penance. Although he is sarcastic in pointing out the speculative labyrinth erected out of the medieval imagination, he insists that this is serious business:

In the ancient church, confession to the minister was not a condition of forgiveness, but an aid for those who needed to be convinced that they were forgiven. It was Pope Innocent III in the thirteenth century, Calvin says, who introduced this tyranny of the priesthood.

But I would have my readers note that this is no contention over the shadow of an ass, but that the most serious matter of all is under discussion: namely, forgiveness of sins…. Unless this knowledge remains clear and sure, the conscience will have no rest at all, no peace with God, no assurance or security; but it continuously trembles, wavers, tosses, is tormented and vexed, shakes, hates, and flees the sight of God. (Inst. 3.4.2)

ut Calvin certainly did not completely abandon confession and absolution. They still have their place in the context of the church. First, they occur in the public worship:

To be sure, we must exercise godly sorrow for our sins, confess them to God, and make necessary changes. “But if forgiveness of sins depends upon these conditions which they attach to it, nothing is more miserable or deplorable for us.” At its root, Rome’s mistaken view of repentance is that it somehow pacifies God when we sin. Calvin replies, Repentance is not the cause of forgiveness of sins. Moreover, we have done away with those torments of souls which they would have us perform as a duty. We have taught that the sinner does not dwell upon his own compunction or tears, but fixes both eyes upon the Lord’s mercy alone. We have merely reminded him that Christ called those who “labor and are heavy-laden” [Matt. 11:28], when he was sent to publish good news to the poor, to heal the broken-hearted, to proclaim release to the captives, to free the prisoners, to comfort the mourners [Isa. 61:1; Luke 4:18]. (Inst. 3.4.3)

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THE GENERAL CONFESSION

For this reason, the Lord ordained of old among the people of Israel that, after the priest recited the words, the people should confess their iniquities publicly in the temple [cf. Lev. 16:21]. For he foresaw that this help was necessary for them in order that each one might better be led to a just estimation of himself. And it is fitting that, by the confession of our own wretchedness, we show forth the goodness and mercy of our God, among ourselves and before the whole world. (Inst. 3.4.10) Hardly an add-on for those weeks in which we feel particularly liturgical, “this sort of confession ought to be ordinary in the church.” Calvin writes: Besides the fact that ordinary confession has been commended by the Lord’s mouth, no one of sound mind, who weighs its usefulness, can dare disapprove it. For since in every sacred assembly we stand before the sight of God and the angels, what other beginning of our action will there be than the recognition of our own unworthiness? But that, you say, is done through every prayer; for whenever we pray for pardon, we confess our sin. Granted. But if you

THE LUTHERAN VIEW

“glorified God, who had given such authority to men,” however, is considered an example of bad reasoning. Isn’t this a strange use of a passage? Where else are the Pharisees right and the believers wrong? Yet this is exactly the way the case is argued by so many. Frequently, Mark 2:7 is quoted: “Who can forgive sins but God alone?” This passage, though, is a quotation of the unbelieving Pharisees. The full quotation is: “Why does this fellow talk like that? He’s blaspheming. Who can forgive sins but God alone?” If everything the Pharisees say is so true that their quotations in Scripture can be identified as the teachings of Scripture itself, then we have to say that the Scriptures teach that Jesus is a blasphemer too! Of course, this is unacceptable. The point is that the argument against absolution seems so self-evident to some that they are careless about whom they quote in their favor. Of course, God is the only one who naturally holds the authority to forgive sins. The important questions are, “Could God authorize the use of that authority by others if he so chose?” and “Has he in fact done so?” I could understand a reader answering these two questions differently. It is possible to say that God could choose to authorize others to forgive sins in his name but has not in fact chosen to do so. But are we prepared to say that God could not give this authorization to others even if he so chose? Protestants’ case for absolution must rest on passages and not on rational speculation. The following passage is an even clearer statement of the doctrine of absolution. (Although it is the clearest, I chose to present the abovequoted passages first, so that I could establish the grounds for the following passage to be taken according to its natural sense.) The passage is found in John, where Jesus appears to his disciples after the resurrection: “And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are

retained’” (John 20:22-23). The first time I read this passage, I concluded that Jesus gave his disciples the authority to forgive sins. I showed the passage to another evangelical who explained it away by saying, “But it can’t mean that. That’s what the Catholics teach.” There was no real attempt to explain what the passage did mean. I was just told that the natural sense was ludicrous. The fact that the Catholics teach a doctrine is no proof that it is false. Most would agree. We have to look to Scripture to determine whether a doctrine is true or false. But what happens when the Catholic reading is the natural reading of the text and the evangelical reading is not (or when there is no evangelical reading of the text!)? “That’s what the Catholics say” is considered a sufficient refutation. This form of reasoning has got to stop. According to the natural sense of Scripture, God has given the authority to forgive sins to men. If we do not bring preconceived ideas to the text, then I believe this is what we must conclude. Of course, we will have questions and concerns. If God has granted this authority, then who possesses it? How are they obliged to use it? What if they misuse it? I worry about two classes of readers. First I am concerned about the reader who is so bound to preconceived ideas that he or she cannot see that God has granted to men the power to forgive sins. Second, I worry about those who accept any implications drawn from it too easily. The preferred reader is the one who accepts that God has granted men the power to forgive sins since Scripture so clearly teaches it, but remains a skeptic until convinced that a certain theory about how that forgiveness is to be applied is a scriptural theory. The early Lutherans held to this middle course. They had grown up in the medieval church, so they had better reasons than we to fear priestcraft. Yet they considered Scripture authoritative, requiring them to bow to its teaching even if it seemed in some way to uphold a practice that the Roman church had abused.

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consider how great is our complacency, our drowsiness, or our sluggishness, you will agree with me that it would be a salutary regulation if the Christian people were to practice humbling themselves through some public rite of confession. (Inst. 3.4.11) This is why the practice of public confession and absolution was retained in Reformed and Presbyterian churches. Calvin adds: And indeed, we see this custom observed with good result in well-regulated churches; that every Lord’s Day the minister frames the formula of confession in his own and the people’s name, and by it he accuses all of wickedness and implores pardon from the Lord. In short, with this key a gate to prayer is opened both to individuals in private and to all in public.

PRIVATE CONFESSION ext, Calvin turns to private confession, pointing out that Scripture “approves two forms of private confession: one made for our own sake, to which the statement of James refers” (James 5:16) and the other “for our neighbor’s sake, to appease him and to reconcile him to us” (Inst. 3.4.12). It is the first that concerns us here. To be sure, James 5:16 has every believer in mind. The “priesthood of all believers” means that any Christian is authorized to hear confessions and pronounce God’s pardon.

Yet we must also preferably choose pastors inasmuch as they should be judged especially qualified above the rest. Now I say that they are better fitted than the others because the Lord has appointed them by the very calling of the ministry to instruct us by word of mouth to overcome and

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CALVIN WAS PREPARED, FOR BIBLICAL AND EVANGELICAL REASONS, TO RETAIN THE PRACTICE OF PUBLIC AND PRIVATE CONFESSION/ ABSOLUTION. 37

“You will agree it would be a salut the Christian peop humbling themsel public rite of —John

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with me that ary regulation if le were to practice ves through some confession.â&#x20AC;? Calvin

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THE LUTHERAN VIEW

SPEAKING IN CHRIST’S STEAD hat Jesus had the authority to heal and forgive sins, and could give that authority to others, is an established fact. The question remains: “How does this concern us?” So far, readers might be a little disturbed that the ability to forgive and retain sins is transferable but feel that the matter is still distant. Jesus told his hearers to do this, but can anyone else? If not, we are left with a curiosity, like Peter’s handkerchief in Acts. It was a strange thing to discover, and must have been useful at the time, but has little pertinence to us. Jesus’ hearers did many things we wouldn’t expect our own pastors to do. Establishing the link between Jesus’ granting of authority in Scripture and authority in our day appears difficult to us even when we believe he did grant it. Part of the reason lies within us. Once we accept that this authority existed, it is easier to believe that the disciples once had it than it is to believe that someone might have it today. After all, eleven out of twelve disciples turned out well, and this authority may only have been given out after the bad one died. (I think it plausible that the disciples were able to forgive when they were first commissioned, though this is not required by the text.) The eleven were no doubt careful in their use of authority. But what if this authority was given to priests and a priest to whom I was assigned had it in for me? Could he really damn me? Who would dare do business with such an individual? It is easy to imagine some grouchy priest going through a day saying, “I retain his sins, and his sins, and her sins, and their sins…” What would this say of God if he managed things like this? It is bad enough to know that religious authorities, like other authorities, may become corrupt and arbitrary in their use of power. Who wants to believe that when this happens, God has placed his stamp of approval on the situation?

Again, however, we must understand what God has revealed before deciding what he can or cannot have said. I do not doubt that people’s fears of possible misuse are well grounded. But the same can be said of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. Their misuse is even documented in Scripture itself! Yet we do not abolish them for that reason. It is important to reiterate that the Lutheran practice of absolution is primarily based upon Scripture. Consequently, Lutherans use a stronger form in pronouncing absolution than many Christians do. They sometimes say, “By the authority and in the stead of Jesus Christ, I forgive you your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” This is acting in Christ’s place, with the understanding that he has explicitly authorized it. When the teaching of absolution is derived from somewhere other than Scripture, there will be a tendency to favor weaker expressions, often because the early church supposedly did. It may sound more Protestant to some to say “God forgives you your sins” than “...and in the stead of Christ, I forgive you your sins,” because it seems to leave the matter to God. In fact, it does not. If we didn’t have explicit authorization to do this in Scripture, even the weaker forms of speech would be presumptuous. But if we have explicit authorization (the words being “If you forgive the sins of any they are forgiven”), well then, why not use it? We are not to reason out for ourselves how strongly we ought to speak. We must have a clear word from God. If he authorizes strong speaking, let us speak strongly.

THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM t is ironic that Protestants speak of the priesthood of all believers but deny what this entails. They teach that all believers are ministers, but nobody is a priest. In another article I have argued that teaching that all believers are

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HERE CALVIN STRIKES THAT FAMILIAR NOTE OF HIS: THE WEAKNESS OF OUR FAITH AND THE NEED TO BE STRENGTHENED. WE ALSO SEE GOD’S FATHERLY CONDESCENSION TO MEET US IN OUR WEAKNESS. MODERNREFORMATION.ORG

correct our sins, and also to give us consolation through assurance of pardon [Matt. 16:19; 18:18; John 20:23]. For, while the duty of mutual admonition and rebuke is entrusted to all Christians, it is especially enjoined upon ministers. Thus, although all of us ought to console one another and confirm one another in assurance of divine mercy, we see that the ministers themselves have been ordained witnesses and sponsors of it to assure our consciences of forgiveness of sins, to the extent that they are said to forgive sins and to loose souls. When you hear that this is attributed to them, recognize that it is for your benefit. Therefore, let every believer remember that, if he be privately troubled and afflicted with a sense of his sins, so that without outside help he is unable to free himself from them, it is a part of his duty not to neglect what the Lord has offered to him by way of remedy. Namely, that, for his relief, he should use private confession to his own pastor; and for his solace, he should beg the private help of him whose duty it is, both publicly and privately, to comfort the people of God by the gospel teaching. (Inst. 3.4.12; italics added) Summarizing the argument, then, private confession and absolution ought to be retained in an evangelical form, with the following conditions: 1. It is for the good of someone who needs it, not a requirement for all. 2. It is made to a pastor (or elder) because the pastor is the minister of the word and this is a part of that ministry, “to the extent that they are said to forgive sins and to loose souls.” 3. It is for comfort in the gospel teaching, not a condition for forgiveness to be

THE LUTHERAN VIEW

WE ARE NOT TO REASON OUT FOR OURSELVES HOW STRONGLY WE OUGHT TO SPEAK. WE MUST HAVE A CLEAR WORD FROM GOD. IF HE AUTHORIZES STRONG SPEAKING, LET US SPEAK STRONGLY. 42

ministers is like teaching that every sheep is a shepherd.1 But I do not deny to believers their royal priesthood. The power to forgive and retain sins is a priestly power. Here the Roman church is right. What the Lutherans did was to recognize that priestly powers belong to all Christians. Some Protestants abolished priestly powers, or at least the most notable ones. Regarding absolution, Lutherans did not just argue from the doctrine of the royal priesthood that all believers were given the authority to forgive. There are reasons to believe so from the text. As Luther argued, the John passage says that when he gave out the authority to forgive sins, he breathed out the Holy Ghost on his hearers. Now it is not just ordained priests and ministers who have the Holy Spirit, but all Christians. If he did not limit the Spirit to the one group, neither did he limit the authority to forgive to them. Does this mean that you and I can go around forgiving sins? Yes, absolutely. In fact, it is our responsibility to do so. But won’t that give people the wrong idea? Only if we haven’t been empowered to do so. If we are empowered to forgive, then if people who are forgiven by us “get the wrong idea,” they didn’t get it from us. Perhaps a comparison with the evangelical use of another passage might be helpful. In 1 John we are told, “If we confess our sins, God who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” This is private confession directly to God. It is biblical, and Lutherans hold to it as well as evangelicals. Lutherans state that when people do this, they in effect pronounce absolution on themselves. Why? Because in order to benefit from the confession, I must believe God’s promise. I confess, I look to the promise, and then conclude, “I am

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superstitiously invoked. Later (3.4.18), Calvin shows the impossibility of the medieval conditions. For instance, how could we possibly recall all of our sins? But he should always observe this rule: that where God prescribes nothing definite, consciences be not bound with a definite yoke. Hence, it follows that confession of this sort ought to be free so as not to be required of all, but to be commended only to those who know that they have need of it. Then, that those who use it according to their need neither be forced by any rule nor be induced by any trick to recount all their sins. But let them do this so far as they consider it expedient, that they may receive the perfect fruit of consolation. Faithful pastors ought not only to leave this freedom to the churches, but also to protect it and stoutly defend it if they want to avoid tyranny in their ministry and superstition in the people. (Inst. 3.4.12) However, our public or private confession cannot speak comfort to our guilty conscience alone. Therefore, absolution also belongs to the ministry as part of “the power of the keys” (John 20:23; Matt. 18:18). After all, it is no common or light solace to have present there [at the front of the church] the ambassador of Christ, armed with the mandate of reconciliation, by whom [the church] hears proclaimed its absolution [cf. 2 Cor. 5:20]. Here the usefulness of the keys is deservedly commended, when this embassy is carried out justly, in due order, and in reverence. Similarly, when one who in some degree has estranged himself from the church receives pardon and is restored into brotherly unity, how great a benefit it is that he recognizes himself forgiven by those to whom Christ said, “To whomsoever you shall remit sins on earth, they shall be

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remitted in heaven.” And private absolution is of no less efficacy or benefit, when it is sought by those who need to remove their weakness by a singular remedy. (Inst. 3.4.14) Here Calvin strikes that familiar note of his: the weakness of our faith and the need to be strengthened. We also see God’s fatherly condescension to meet us in our weakness. Instead of scolding us for not being sufficiently strengthened by the publicly preached word, God stoops to convince us by the privately preached word that is individualized: For it often happens that one who hears general promises that are intended for the whole congregation of believers remains nonetheless in some doubt, and as if he had not yet attained forgiveness, still has a troubled mind. Likewise, if he lays open his heart’s secret to his pastor, and from his pastor hears that message of the gospel specially directed to himself, “Your sins are forgiven, take heart” [Matt. 9:2], he will be reassured in mind and be set free from the anxiety that formerly tormented him. (Inst. 3.4.14) But whatever we choose to do in this matter, we must not make out of this practice a means of grace separate from (or even distinct from) the preached gospel. Here is where the Reformed diverge from our Lutheran brothers and sisters in their claim that confession and absolution constitute a third sacrament in addition to baptism and the Eucharist. We Reformed folks have no stock in the number “two,” but we can find no scriptural evidence for our Savior’s institution of this practice as a sacrament. In both baptism and the Supper, we see clear institutions established, but not so with respect to confession and absolution. If the Lutheran cites texts such as “Whoever’s sins you forgive are forgiven,” then we share their exegesis. Ministers forgive sins: that is what the biblical text says,

THE LUTHERAN VIEW

forgiven.” This is a declarative form of absolution. If I do not conclude this, then I charge God with falsehood. Have I given myself the wrong impression? No. The only wrong impression I might come to is that my sins are easy to forgive because they are insignificant. But this ignores the cross. God’s promise to forgive the penitent assumes that I am trusting that the forgiveness I receive is based upon Christ’s perfect payment on the cross. Apart from faith, I do not receive the benefit of the forgiveness, even if the forgiveness itself was valid. The same is true of absolution however it is received, whether pronounced by myself, another Christian layperson, or a pastor.

in the church. As Luther says, if everyone tried to do publicly in the church everything they had the power to do, we would have chaos. If everyone in the congregation wanted to baptize a child just because they had the power to do so, and a thousand people rushed to the font to exercise their authority, the child would be drowned! Things work best when the laity are free to exercise their priestly authority in the world, since pastors cannot be everywhere absolution needs to be spoken. And when pastors alone absolve publicly, it is clear to the congregation who has been absolved.

So why go to another Christian if I can pronounce absolution on myself?

he historical case for absolution can argue in favor of the practice, but not so effectively against it. If the Scriptures back the practice, then an absence of the practice in the early years would cause us to wonder, but not to give up our doctrine. If, however, the early church always practiced absolution as we read about it in Scripture, then the burden of proof shifts. Not only do we have Scripture on our side, but the early church read the pertinent Scriptures the way we do. The actual historical practice seems to have developed as follows. In the early church, the Scriptures I have mentioned in favor of confession and absolution were used to establish the practice of public confession before the congregation, followed by a public pardon. The Westminster Dictionary of Church History tells us, “Confession of sin as the first step was already traditional in the first century; the Didache speaks of ‘confession in church,’ presumably a public declaration (exomologe2 sis) of wrongdoing.” This was practiced for a few centuries but then discontinued because of the problems it caused. The practice was discontinued in the Eastern Church in AD 390 and condemned by Pope Leo in AD 459. The

Because I might think I am being easy on myself just to feel better. If I hear the words from another, they may benefit me more and do more to strengthen my faith. Then why go to a pastor if a layperson has so much to offer? For at least two reasons. First, the pastor is under the seal of the confessional. (Make sure your pastor understands and agrees with this before you charge ahead and tell him something that could be dangerous.) What is said to him is to be repeated to no one. If it is, he should be defrocked. This ensures greater safety to your reputation. If you have committed a serious crime, then he might strongly urge you to turn yourself in to the authorities, but he is under obligation to leave doing that to you. A layperson is in no such position. Second, when the pastor forgives, he does it not only as a representative of God but as a representative of the congregation. If the pastor says you are now innocent, then fellow members of the congregation are not to treat you as a guilty individual. In the Lutheran church, only ministers absolve publicly, but this is for the sake of order

THE HISTORICAL CASE

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INSTEAD OF MERELY REACTING, WE NEED TO GO BACK AND EXAMINE HOW THEOLOGY LEADS TO PARTICULAR PRACTICES AND THEN CAREFULLY EXAMINE THE SCRIPTURES TO SEE HOW WE CAN MORE FAITHFULLY APPLY OUR THEOLOGY. MODERNREFORMATION.ORG

and our confessions do not shrink from that conclusion. However, how is this a distinct sacrament rather than the exercise of the office of the keys—more specifically, the ministry of the word privately applied? But the Reformed join Lutherans in affirming this practice, in contrast to both evangelical individualism and Roman Catholic sacerdotalism (i.e., “priestcraft”). Rome never tired of discussing “the power of the keys,” but for her this meant that she could dispose of the eternal destinies of her subjects. Control, power, and subservience were uppermost in such discussions. Calvin was prepared, for biblical and evangelical reasons, to retain the practice of public and private confession/absolution. Yet it must be viewed as a ministry of the gospel in weakness leading to life and not a ministry of judgment in power leading to death. “For when it is a question of the keys, we must always beware lest we dream up some power separate from the preaching of the gospel.” Writing about excommunication, Calvin insists on letting the gospel have the last word. In fact, he sees this most extreme form of discipline as a law—work that will lead the person to see his or her need for Christ. Knowing how prone we all are to tyranny and “lording it over people as the gentiles do,” Calvin is anxious to keep this from becoming an independent power that the minister has over his congregation. Calvin’s view is by no means eccentric but characterizes the confessional and dogmatic heritage of the Reformed and Presbyterian communions. While denying any “priestcraft,” theologian Francis Turretin (1623-87) nevertheless argued that Christ had given the “power of the keys” to his ministers. But they loose and remit sins ministerially, both to the penitent and believers in common….The absolution committed to the ministers of the gospel is not judicial, such as belongs to a judge or lord; but ministerial, such as is partly by the preaching of

THE LUTHERAN VIEW

The Reformation make concerning Ca practice. However, dear if in our antithrow out the keys o with the chains

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did have a case to tholic abuses of this we lose something Roman crusades we f the kingdom along of bondage.

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problems that led to the abolition of public confession included scandal, gossip, and destroyed reputations. Perhaps it was also noticed that Matthew 18 set a precedent for sins being made public to as few people as possible. Whatever abuses auricular confession may have been subject to later, the reasons for establishing it were valid. According to a Lutheran reading of church history, it is not the practice of auricular confession itself that is abusive, but specific additions to it. One of the worst additions is the teaching that confession is necessary to salvation. Pope Innocent III decreed that all who failed to go to confession at least once a year were guilty of mortal sin. In addition, the Council of Trent decreed that every mortal sin had to be confessed to be forgiven. These two elements of the Roman teaching, the necessity of confession and the necessity to enumerate sins, were rejected by the Lutherans even as they retained the practice.

FEAR OF PRIESTCRAFT he chief fear that the doctrine of confession and absolution occasions is the fear of priestcraft. Just what will men do when they are invested with the power to remit and retain sins? This is an awesome power that in the wrong hands could do untold damage. The Roman church has historically had a tendency to ignore these dangers, and Roman writers scoff at accounts of priests abusing the confessional as Protestant propaganda. In early Protestantism, attacking the confessional was an easy way to attack the Roman church. In his book The Reformation in the Cities, Harvard historian Steven Ozment documents how this was done in early Protestant tracts. Some of the accounts are humorous, making use of sexual innuendo and double entendre. (The priests were portrayed as dirty

old men who made sport of seducing innocent girls, and asking them if they had committed indecent acts that they would never have imagined had they not gone to confession.) The Lutherans retained the confessional but made it less onerous by making it optional. Confession was not mandatory nor were penitents required to enumerate sins. This changed the practice’s whole character. Sinners whose consciences were sore because of particular sins, and who had a hard time believing that God had forgiven them, could go and have a minister forgive them in God’s stead. While this forgiveness was no more genuine than the one they received after confessing privately to God, it might sink in more easily. Yet even after seeing that the Bible teaches confession and absolution, some might still worry. How will it be for me if I start going to confession? Personally, I have found the practice helpful if I have particular past sins that weigh on my mind. If after confessing directly to God, I find that these sins still come to mind, I have found that taking them to private confession keeps them from coming back to torment me. On the other hand, I have not found the practice of going weekly to be helpful, at least as far as I am conscious of this. Weekly confession made me feel as if the forgiveness was wearing off over the course of the week. I felt forgiven on Wednesday nights after confession, but felt as if I had to be careful on the freeway on the weekends. This was not what I was taught, but when I saw how the practice was affecting me, I eliminated weekly confession. Two groups will fault me for this account. First, the more evangelical party will suggest that the fear of mortal sin I experienced was part-and-parcel of the practice of confession. “This is how Catholics think,” they will say. “Why should you be surprised if acting like a Catholic makes you think like a Catholic?” On the other hand, the Catholic party will suggest that my decision to leave off the practice when it did not leave me “feeling more forgiven” was

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the gospel (which consists in remission of this kind) or by his heralding or ministry of it, and in the exercise of ecclesiastical discipline, as it is subordinated to that preaching of the gospel.1 The sixteenth-century Second Helvetic Confession warns against the tyranny of auricular confession as practiced by Rome. If, however, anyone is overwhelmed by the burden of his sins and by perplexing temptations, and will seek counsel, instruction and comfort privately, either from a minister of the Church, or from any other brother who is instructed in God’s Word, we do not disapprove; just as we also fully approve of that general and public confession of sins which is usually said in Church and in meetings for worship….Thus, ministers remit sins….Ministers, therefore, rightly and effectually absolve when they preach the Gospel of Christ and thereby the remission of sins, which is promised to each one who believes, just as each one is baptized, and when they testify that it pertains to each one peculiarly. Neither do we think that this absolution becomes more effectual by being murmured in the ear of someone or by being murmured singly over someone’s head. We are nevertheless of the opinion that the remission of sins in the blood of Christ is to be diligently proclaimed, and that each one is to be admonished that the forgiveness of sins pertains to him. (Ch. 14) Similarly, the Westminster Confession (1647) declares, “To these officers the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven are committed, by virtue whereof they have power respectively to retain and remit sins” (Ch. 32). This is no arbitrary power: it does not reside within the minister himself, but belongs to all elders and ministers as they are Christ’s ambassadors.

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THE POWER OF THE KEYS IN GENERAL AND CONFESSION AND ABSOLUTION IN PARTICULAR ARE, IN THE REFORMED TRADITION, OFTEN LINKED TO BOTH THE PUBLIC WORD AND SACRAMENT MINISTRY AS WELL AS TO PRIVATE DISCIPLINE. 49

THE LUTHERAN VIEW

too subjective. If valid forgiveness is offered, that is all that matters. So why do I take a middle course? I believe that absolution exists for the sake of my conscience. God does not need my confession to forgive me. But hearing the gospel addressed individually to me and my particular sins is helpful to my faith. The practice of confession and absolution is not to be taken as yet another thing we need to do to be saved. It is another way of delivering the gospel we have already heard and received. This being so, it is my own “Roman” conscience that concocts a fear of absolution wearing out during the week. Yet I have found that the confessional can actually be a place where consciences are de-Romanized, as pastors challenge their parishioners to stop thinking of their sins the way Roman Catholics do (at least at their worst). But, likewise, if absolution exists for my benefit, if I see the opposite of the intended result coming from it and leave feeling less forgiven, then it makes sense to discontinue the practice. It grants a valid forgiveness to be sure. But if it exists to strengthen faith, and my faith is not, in fact, strengthened, then it is not working for me, however valid it might be. I view going to confession similarly to going to the doctor. It beats operating on myself, especially when I need major surgery. But if I find that the lesser treatments do more harm than good, I as the patient am in the best position to know what is best. This really is a middle course between a Catholic “trust everything the doctor tells you even if you feel like it’s killing you” philosophy and an evangelical “I’m my own surgeon” credo. 3 I have gone to confession. Have I lost all fear of priestcraft? No. I still do not know the limits of pastoral power as it is practiced in my church, and I am uncomfortable about the idea of its misuse. I do not laugh at evangelicals who have this fear. I do not consider them ignorant for their fear of the unknown. But I am convinced

that confession and absolution is a biblical sacrament. I have seen its value. I don’t doubt it can be misused. I still have a lot to learn about how these powers are to be regulated in a congregation. To anyone who thinks these powers in the hands of men could be dangerous, I say amen. But I am still convinced that God has given these powers to men, and that they can be used for the good of the church. Further, I believe that all would benefit from a deeper investigation of the nature and history of the practice. We can make more intelligent decisions about our own involvement with it if we know facts and not propaganda. I hope readers will be convinced by the Scriptures to recognize that God has been generous in the ways he has chosen to convey the forgiveness of sins. What I have argued for does not make it harder to be forgiven, since the practice is not mandatory. Rightly understood, it can only make it easier. The Reformation did have a case to make concerning Catholic abuses of this practice. However, we lose something dear if in our anti-Roman crusades we throw out the keys of the kingdom along with the chains of bondage. There is an evangelical practice of confession and absolution we need to recover. God’s voice of freedom should be echoing out of as many mouths as possible. RICK RITCHIE is a longtime contributor to Modern Reforma-

tion magazine. This article appears in the recently released book The Reformation, Then and Now: 25 Years of Modern Reformation Articles Celebrating 500 Years of the Reformation, edited by Eric Landry and Michael S. Horton (Hendrickson Publishers, 2017).

1 “Every Sheep a Shepherd?” Modern Reformation 6, no. 2 (March/ April 1997): 28–33. (I must credit pastors Kenneth Korby and William Cwirla for much of the material contained in this article. They are not, however, responsible for any of its shortcomings.) 2 Westminster Dictionary of Church History, ed. Jerald C. Brauer (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1971), 645. 3 I write of my experience, not to suggest that everyone will find the same to be true for themselves. I don’t know how lifelong Lutherans experience this sacrament. But it may be helpful for evangelicals who have not experienced this but are convinced that it is scriptural to read the experience of someone else.

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The power of the keys in general and confession and absolution in particular are, in the Reformed tradition, often linked to both the public word and sacrament ministry as well as to private discipline. For instance, a repentant person who is struggling with a particular sin may not only need to hear that he or she is absolved, but might also need practical help and ongoing accountability. In our own church, private confession is just that—private. Nevertheless, in most cases the individual is actually surprised and relieved to interact with the elders. As Matthew 18 teaches, private sins are dealt with privately, while public sins are handled publicly. When someone is unrepentant and completely resistant to correction, the law is needed. They need to have their presumption shaken so that they will flee to Christ and the gospel. Consequently, according to the Reformed tradition, confession and absolution are entrusted particularly to the officers of the church in three ways: (1) public worship, with the general confession in the liturgy; (2) privately, to assure the conscience that the forgiveness is not merely offered generally but applies specifically to this struggling person; and (3) privately or publicly in the practice of ecclesiastical discipline. In this regard, new Calvinists tend to overreact to their backgrounds. Former Roman Catholics flatly reject penance and its practice of private confession and absolution. And those of us who were formerly Arminians simply jettison the altar call and regular evangelistic preaching as human-centered manipulation. (Of course, there is something in that, and such illegitimate practices as the altar call should not have any place in rightly ordered churches.) Nevertheless, what happens in the course of the Christian life is this: a person is converted by the preaching (hopefully!) of the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ for sinners, and then finds in years to come that he or she is still struggling. Sin and temptation undermine the person’s confidence: Was I really converted? Maybe I didn’t really mean

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it? Surely if I were really a Christian I wouldn’t have this much trouble with sinful desires and habits. “Means of grace,” such as Roman Catholic penance and Arminian altar calls, were invented just for the crisis that occurs when grace is considered conditional. Instead of merely reacting, we need to go back and examine how theology leads to particular practices and then carefully examine the Scriptures to see how we can more faithfully apply our theology. For instance, many sermons repeatedly try to persuade people to “make a decision.” This emphasis is not consistent with the apostolic preaching of the cross. But it is clear from the Scriptures that the church, as well as unbelievers who might be in attendance, needs to be evangelized weekly. Furthermore, if we shun the altar call, why not have regular Communion and an invitation for those who wish to talk to the pastors and elders after the service? Perhaps an extended time of private ministry of the word could follow the public ministry each Lord’s Day. Clearly, such ministry should be available not only for new converts but also for the oldest Christian. We are given ministers not to trouble our conscience as masters, but to lift the burden in Christ’s own name. Servants rather than lords, they apply the salve that alone can heal our soul’s sores. It is because this is a ministry of life that we can rejoice that Christ has given his servants these keys. “Therefore,” Calvin writes, “when you hear that this is attributed to them, recognize that it is for your benefit.” MICHAEL S. HORTON is the J. Gresham Machen Professor of Systematic Theology and Apologetics at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido. This article appears in the recently released book The Reformation, Then and Now: 25 Years of Modern Reformation Articles Celebrating 500 Years of the Reformation, edited by Eric Landry and Michael S. Horton (Hendrickson Publishers, 2017). 1 Francis Turretin, Institutes of Elenctic Theology, ed. James T. Dennison, trans. George Musgrave Giger (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing, 1997), 3:554–5.

ERIC LANDRY

LIVING WITH A LIMP

illustration by

MOLLY MEND OZA

In the evangelical 1980s, regular appearances of “The Power Team” at local megachurches were great opportunities for desperate youth pastors to connect with bored young men. In the name of Jesus and by the power of the Holy Spirit, team members would take turns performing feats of strength. It was all designed to remind the boys especially that being a Christian wasn’t for wimps, that you could be “cool” and a Christian, too.

Honestly, I doubt they were very successful at either aim. Instead, events like this merely cemented in my own young mind, and in the minds of my peers, the already carefully crafted message we heard in our churches: Good Christians were always victorious. Victorious over embarrassing sins, victorious over cultural temptations, victorious over telephone books! God help you, however, if you weren’t victorious—if you struggled, if you failed, if all your feats of strength ended in an embarrassing whimper for help. As those boys became men, I wonder how many of them walked their pilgrimage with a limp, like I did. How many of them felt the frustration of remaining sin, knew defeat just as often as victory, and stuffed any honest engagement with sin deep down into their psyche? To succeed in the Christian life, I thought I could only acknowledge the sin I left behind, not the sin that continued to ensnare me. What wanna-be Power Team member could walk with a limp?

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But limp we did and limp we do. Each one of us continues not just to fight against remaining sin, but to be marked by those battles we have fought and lost against sin. Since that’s the reality in which each of us lives, why do we pretend it is otherwise? We’re not fooling anyone, and we’re not helping anyone come to terms with the profound hope and confidence that comes—even for those who must live with the mark of their sin for the rest of their lives. Count me among the remaining few who believe that Romans 7 describes the normal Christian life. This interpretation—now out of vogue among many New Testament scholars—is not just well attested historically, it is also experientially true. In Romans 7:14–25, the apostle Paul describes his battle against sin—not a former battle before he became a believer in Jesus the Messiah, not a hypothetical battle that a carnal Christian fights before becoming fully sanctified, but the very real and personal battle so familiar to all of us: “For I do not understand

my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Rom. 7:15). Sin is an ever-present reality for the apostle, just as it is for you and me. In fact, Paul goes on to describe the nature of sinful temptation in Galatians 5:17, “For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do.” We are at war with our sinful nature; and tragically, even though we have been set free from the guilt and corruption of sin, we sometimes freely give in to the temptations to sin. The tragic stories of men and women of great faith and hope in Christ who in a moment of sin torpedo their lives are a bracing reality for those of us in church leadership. We confront the truth of Romans 7 and Galatians 5 every day in our offices, as well as in our own hearts. Occasionally, as part of God’s work of sanctification, we do see the power of particular temptations grow less severe, perhaps even to the point where we might claim a certain kind of victory over sin! But the problem with that language is that it puts us in the victor’s seat, and it gives us false assurance that the old temptation will never again raise its ugly head. An even more insidious implication of this way of thinking is that having gained some victory over sin, we should never have to fear the effects of that sin in our lives. There isn’t one of us who can honestly sing the sappy words of the camp song: Little by little bit every day, Little by little bit every way, My Jesus is changing me (Oh yes, he’s changing me). Since I made that turnabout face, I’ve been walking in His grace, My Jesus is changing me. The subtitle of one well-known pastor’s newest book is My Story from a Life of Obedience. The hubris of such a claim would be funny, if it didn’t lead others to think that they too could have such victorious faith. As the early Holiness movement adherents quickly learned, the only way

they could achieve a state of moral perfection in this life was to redefine sin and obedience to something achievable and observable. The English hymn writer John Newton famously wrote a letter that outlined the “advantages of remaining sin” to a friend who suffered from deep guilt and remorse over his sin. Newton reminds his friend that being aware of the remaining sin in our lives causes us to be humble before the Lord and others, knowing that our only boast is in the mercy and grace of Christ toward us, not in the opinion others may have of our victories over sin. Now, of course, there is a difference between simply being aware of remaining sin and glorying in that state. In Mere Christianity (HarperCollins, 2001), C. S. Lewis calls on his readers to resist temptation by comparing it to resisting the German army: A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. You find out the strength of the German army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down. A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. (142) While we are not allowed as Christians to take a perverse comfort in the fact that we are and will continue to be sinners, we must still be honest about our state. Only one man ever perfectly resisted temptation: not for just five minutes, not for just an hour, but for thirty-three perfectly obedient years. Jesus was faithful to his Father and obeyed the law of God in thought, word, and deed so that we who are united to him might enjoy his status as the covenant-keeping Son and heir of all things! As Christians, then, we walk the path of discipleship with a limp—still afflicted by the effects of remaining sin in our lives. I think that the Old Testament patriarch Jacob is a good analogy to our living with a limp today. Remember that Jacob, after tricking his father Isaac into blessing

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As Christians, then, we walk the path of discipleship with a limp— still afflicted by the effects of remaining sin in our lives.

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him instead of Esau, flees to his uncle Laban’s house. There he becomes wealthy and powerful. Married to two sisters, Rachel and Leah, he is blessed with many children. Eventually, Jacob’s family and wealth become a threat to his uncle Laban, and Jacob prepares to return home to Canaan to take up his inheritance—the same inheritance he received by deceiving his father, the same inheritance jeopardized by his brother’s angry threats against his life. Jacob knows he must face Esau, but he doesn’t know if Esau will be gracious toward him or want to finally exact his revenge after so many years of Jacob’s exile. Genesis 32 tells us that Jacob prepared to meet Esau by sending messengers who would curry favor and project strength on Jacob’s behalf (vv. 4–5). The messengers returned with ominous news: Esau was coming to meet Jacob, along with an army of four hundred men! Jacob responded to Esau’s display of strength by sending a peace offering: two hundred female goats and twenty male goats, two hundred female sheep and twenty male sheep, thirty camels and calves, forty cows and ten bulls, twenty female donkeys and ten male donkeys divided in nine groups. Each group was led by a group of Jacob’s servants. He sent wave after wave of animals and servants, saying the same thing: Jacob was willing (and able) to repay Esau all he had stolen in robbing Esau of the inheritance. The night before Jacob met with Esau, he sent his family across the stream and waited alone. But sometime in the night, Jacob realized that someone else has joined him in the darkness, and he wrestled with this man all night long. After many hours of silent struggle, the daylight began to break. Jacob had held his own against this silent, violent stranger. Jacob hadn’t yielded. But with the first rays of light, Jacob felt the sharp pain of his hip being put out of socket. His pivot-power disappeared. Then Jacob heard the man’s first words: “Let me go” (v. 26). Can you imagine the desperation in Jacob’s answer, the pain as he tried to form his words? No longer looking for a move to pin him, he clung to him: “I will not let you go unless you bless me” (v. 26). Jacob was an amazingly strong man (he singlehandedly removed the stone covering the well

Jacob can only know God in God’s hiddenness and weakness, not in God’s power. Only as Jacob became weak in his struggle against God did his victory emerge.

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in Gen. 29), but his strength blinded him to the man’s identity. In verse 29, he asked the man’s name. Jacob, as he had so often before, blindly waded into battle, with a single eye focused on what he wanted—disregarding every sign to the contrary. Only afterward did he realize he had gone to the edge of the abyss and been rescued. That the man was God was a realization that dawned gradually upon Jacob. Surely he began to understand after he felt the man’s sudden strength, and his desire to leave before daylight could reveal him for who he was. All doubt was gone after the man renamed Jacob as Israel, the one who had striven with God. The power of God on display in Genesis 32 is strange. Jacob “prevails” over God (v. 28). God’s power is manifested in his weakness! Jacob can only know God in God’s hiddenness and weakness, not in God’s power. Only as Jacob becomes weak in his struggle against God does his victory emerge. Isn’t it the same for us? As Gordon Hugenberger says about this passage, “When we thought we had overcome him and crucified the Lord of Glory, it was at that moment of hiddenness and divine weakness that Jesus stays the hand of judgment and bears the nail prints himself.” Our wounds and weaknesses reveal our greatest strength. God is not out to make each of us a member of the Power Team, but he is out to reveal to us the crippling power of the cross. As we die to ourselves, our rights, our strength, our positions of power, the great victory of God becomes ever more evident in our lives. That’s a hard word to hear. It was hard for Jacob, because he wanted to end his encounter with God with glory, a glimpse into the hidden majesty of God. In much the same way, the disciples in Matthew 20 pestered Jesus to see who might sit on thrones next to him. Jesus responded by pointing them to cups of judgment, baptisms by fire, and crosses of death. The lesson through it all is that glory comes through shame and victory through weakness. Prevailing faith walks with a limp. As a pastor, I often find myself in my office, in a living room, or across a café table trying to help people make sense of the mess they have made of their lives. They want so desperately to

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be free from the pain their sin has caused; they want so quickly to turn a page and get on with life. They want to know that they are forgiven and that everything will be okay. With profound gratitude to God for giving me the rights and responsibilities of my office, I gladly tell them that God in Christ has, in fact, forgiven them of their sin. But the joy and relief that absolution brings quickly fades as I tell them that God may not rescue them from the effects of their sin. Whether it is a relationship broken by infidelity or a body broken by addiction, these forgiven sinners may still walk with a limp for the rest of their lives. Part of pastoral counseling, of course, is to walk with them until the limp becomes more manageable, until they know how to more easily navigate life. Are you limping through your pilgrimage? It isn’t a sign that you have failed to measure up, failed to achieve, failed to see victory. It is a sign of God’s victory; it is the way of the cross. It is the foolish, shameful path of victory, a sign of the blessing you have received from God. And it tells others that you have suffered the effects of sin, that you know the power of temptation, that you have felt the pain of loss, but that you have also seen the break of day. Walking with a limp is a testimony to God’s faithfulness to us; and it is far more effective than the testimony of the powerful, because it points others who feel the sharp pain of sin and misery to the God who has given them the ability to feel that pain and who promises to rescue them from the power of sin. An unbeliever will never know the frustration over sin that Paul feels in Romans 7. Only those who have been set free from the bondage of sin can feel the pain of sin into which they so easily stumble or which they freely choose. And only those who know the redeeming power of God’s grace can walk gracefully with their limp—telling others that God is indeed faithful to rescue them, if not from the effects of their sin, then from his wrath against sin, so that they can be witnesses to others who like them cry out for relief, for deliverance, and for blessing. ERIC LANDRY is executive editor of Modern Reformation and

pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Austin, Texas.

REGAIN YOUR FOCUS It’s easy to find ourselves neglecting the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives. In Rediscovering the Holy Spirit, Michael Horton reintroduces readers to the Spirit, unpacks why we shouldn’t take the Spirit for granted, and helps us see the Spirit with fresh eyes.

WHITEHORSEINN.ORG/SHOP

BOOK REVIEWS

Book Reviews 60

Progressive Covenantalism: Charting a Course between Dispensational and Covenantal Theologies

Understanding Gender Dysphoria: Navigating Transgender Issues in a Changing Culture

The Whole Christ: Legalism, Antinomianism, and Gospel Assurance â&#x20AC;&#x201D;Why the Marrow Controversy Still Matters

by Mark A. Yarhouse

Stephen J. Wellum and Brent E. Parker, editors

by Sinclair Ferguson

REVIEWED BY

Joshua Torrey

Matthew J. Tuininga

Tom Wenger

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BOOK REVIEWS

Progressive Covenantalism: Charting a Course between Dispensational and Covenantal Theologies Stephen J. Wellum and Brent E. Parker, editors B&H Academic, 2016 320 pages (paperback), $32.99 ystematic theology can be intimidating. Like every discipline, it comes with its own vocabulary, a complex history, and seemingly endless debates. At first glance, it may appear more problematic than practical, but it would be hard to find any topic discussed in the church today (from the ordination of women to the role of instruments in worship) that doesn’t have its foundation in systematic theology. Dispensational and covenant theology have enjoyed a long discourse in contemporary theological discussion. Dispensational theology arose in the nineteenth century as a primarily nondenominational and Baptist movement. Using a woodenly literal hermeneutic, dispensationalism emphasizes that Jesus Christ will reign over his future kingdom from the nation of Israel and that God’s Old Testament promises belong to Israel exclusively. This theology was popularized by the Scofield Bible and the founding of Dallas Theological Seminary. In contrast, covenant theology is structured around God’s Old Testament covenants as they are fulfilled in Jesus Christ and his bride, the church. This concept was standard in church tradition before the Reformation, and it can be loosely described as the systematic working out of God’s different covenants with humanity and their implications on our salvation. Covenant

theology reached its zenith in the Westminster Confession of Faith and remains a guiding principle of reformational systematic theology. While the two concepts (dispensational and covenant theology) do share some common ground on justification by faith alone and the progressive nature of sanctification, the primary difference lies in their respective definitions of the nation of Israel, the church’s fulfillment of Old Testament promises, and eschatology (the study of the end times). In an attempt to establish a middle ground between these two systems, Baptist theologians from the Southern Baptist Convention seminaries have taken what they consider to be the biblical foundations for both dispensational and covenant theologies and are reengaging the discussion on the Abrahamic and new covenants. The result is called “progressive covenantalism.” In Progressive Covenantalism: Charting a Course between Dispensational and Covenant Theology, edited by Stephen J. Wellum and Brent E. Parker, the reader is introduced to this theological system through its development and current articulations. Wellum and Parker assembled theologians and scholars to describe and defend a variety of scriptural and theological topics (e.g., apostasy, ethics, and ecclesiology) from the progressive covenantal position. In brief, progressive covenantalism affirms that God’s work in Scripture is generally continuous (e.g., Jesus and the church are the fulfillment of the Old Testament) but rejects the idea that God’s work is homogenous (e.g., the sign of circumcision to infants does not correspond to baptism of infants). These two assertions lead progressive covenantalism to reject important principles of both dispensational and covenantal theologies.

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By affirming God’s covenant actions in the Scripture, progressive covenantalism affirms that the church is the fulfillment of God’s promise to Abraham, and it rejects dispensationalism’s doctrine on the nation of Israel. This is seen exegetically in their critique of the dispensationalist interpretation of Romans 11:26 as indicative of the restoration of geopolitical Israel. By asserting that God’s work is not homogenous, progressive covenantal theologians stress a discontinuity between the old covenants and the new covenant in the way God identifies his people and how God’s people are to live out their witness to the world. For instance, reformational theology has routinely spoken of the three aspects of the Mosaic Law: moral, ceremonial, and civic. Rejecting this as nonnative to the text of Scripture, the progressive covenantal proponents vacillate in their formulation and articulation of how the New Testament changes the ethical responsibility of the church. Though affirming the validity of God’s Scripture, the authors are not consistent in seeing how God’s covenant at Sinai applies to his covenant people (chs. 6 and 8). Progressive covenantalism also rejects covenant theology’s view of the Abrahamic covenant in the covenant of grace. They stress discontinuity in the sign of circumcision/baptism and the mixed company of the covenant people (regenerate and unregenerate members) under the new covenant under Christ. This leads progressive covenantalism to reject infant baptism (ch. 5) and reads warning passages in the book of Hebrews as false warnings, since covenant members cannot apostatize (ch. 7). Mo s t o f t h e e ss ays i n P ro g ress i ve Covenantalism excel in presenting a large scope, biblical-theological view of each topic while performing dutiful exegesis of specific passages. In their laudable attempt to provide a lay-accessible tone and maintain a reasonable length, however, more than a couple of the essays feel rushed or underdeveloped. Still, every essay highlights the progressive covenantal emphasis on continuity in God’s

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“By asserting that God’s work is not homogenous, progressive covenantal theologians stress a discontinuity between the old covenants and the new covenant in the way God identifies his people and how God’s people are to live out their witness to the world.”

work while maintaining the discontinuity in the new covenant. Though Baptistic in nature, progressive covenantalism should not be lumped in and discarded with older Baptistic systems (e.g., dispensationalism). Reformed and Lutheran scholars owe these theologians thoughtful responses on God’s covenant with Abraham, the role of heart circumcision in the Old Testament, and apostasy in the book of Hebrews. Progressive Covenantalism: Charting a Course between Dispensational and Covenant Theology should be seen as an encouraging development in the reforming of biblical studies. Avid students of theology will find the material invigorating and respectful of Scripture, which makes this work a valuable resource for all Christians. JOSHUA TORREY lives with his wife, Alaina, and three kids

in Austin, Texas. He is a member of Redeemer Presbyterian Church.

BOOK REVIEWS

Understanding Gender Dysphoria: Navigating Transgender Issues in a Changing Culture by Mark A. Yarhouse IVP Academic, 2015 191 pages (paperback), $20.00 he politics of transgenderism is removing the veil that has long obscured gender dysphoria and intersexuality from the serious thoughts of most Christians. Very few Christians have any real understanding of what gender dysphoria and intersexuality even are, let alone their cause or the trauma and isolation endured by individuals exp er ie nc i n g t h e m . Th e church’s temptation is simply to reject anything that seems new or different. If that is all we do, however, then we will be withholding the compassionate ministry of the church from those under our care and throwing up barriers against those outside of the church— in the harshest possible way. This is why Mark A. Yarhouse’s book Under-standing Gender Dysphoria: Navigating Tra ns ge nde r Iss ues i n a Changing Culture is a mustread. Yarhouse is a mental health practitioner with long and rich experience counseling individuals struggling with gender dysphoria. What makes this book particularly helpful is that he carefully interprets his expertise through the lens of a gospel-centered biblical theology. He does not answer every pertinent question—this is a book permeated with humility—but he does leave his reader with a better understanding of gender dysphoria and solid pastoral direction for those seeking to minister to gender dysphoric individuals in loving, Christ-like ways.

Yarhouse urges Christians not to approach the issue of gender dysphoria through the lens of the culture wars. Most people who experience gender dysphoria are not gender activists, he points out, nor have they chosen their dysphoria as an act of rebellion against God or society. Rather, they are simply children, young people, or adults who struggle in varying degrees with deep uneasiness or dissatisfaction with their biological sex. (Gender dysphoric individuals must be distinguished from individuals who are born with ambiguous genitalia or with both male and female biological characteristics, a phenomenon known as intersexuality.) Yarhouse devotes an entire chapter to demonstrating that no one really understands why this occurs; the scientific scholarship is extremely thin and complicated here. The book stresses that we should understand gender dysphoria and transgenderism as umbrella terms that encompass a seemingly infinite variety of experiences and struggles. As Yarhouse puts it, the saying goes that if you’ve met one transgender person, you’ve met one transgender person. Beyond walking his readers through the complexity of gender dysphoria and transgenderism, he stresses the importance of being conscious about the mental framework through which we try to understand these phenomena. He points out that, while it is true that God created human beings as male and female, the curse of the fall reaches to our bodies and minds in innumerable ways that are not reducible to willful sin. While God grants us redemption, he does not offer us complete sanctification in this life. Christlikeness for a gender dysphoric Christian may not involve the overcoming of gender dysphoria in this life, but God will use a person’s dysphoric struggles to bring them to greater maturity in Christ.

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“Yarhouse urges Christians not to approach the issue of gender dysphoria through the lens of the culture wars. Most people who experience gender dysphoria are not gender activists, he points out, nor have they chosen their dysphoria as an act of rebellion against God or society.”

Perhaps the most helpful paradigm Yarhouse offers is his distinction between the three most prominent frameworks for thinking about gender identity concerns. The first is the “integrity framework.” This views God’s creation of each human being as male and female as sacred, “an immutable and essential aspect of one’s personhood” (47). It tends to emphasize that there is one morally sound option for those who struggle with gender dysphoria, and one option alone: conformity to one’s biological sex. The second framework is the “disability framework.” This framework recognizes that gender dysphoria runs counter to a healthy and ordinary human experience of gender but considers it to be a non-moral condition that may or may not be under some measure of a person’s control. It emphasizes that a person who struggles with gender dysphoria is not necessarily any more morally culpable than is a person with depression, autism, or Down syndrome. It calls for caring for gender dysphoric individuals with compassion and empathy. The third framework is the “diversity framework,” which Yarhouse describes as having both a weak and a strong form. In its weak form, it

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celebrates transgenderism and intersexuality as phenomena to be celebrated. It encourages individuals to embrace a transgender identity in the spirit of diversity. In its strong form, it calls for the deconstruction of norms of sex and gender altogether. Yarhouse argues that a healthy Christian perspective on gender dysphoria and transgenderism must include the strengths of all three frameworks, while avoiding their weaknesses. It must affirm the biblical teaching that God created human beings as male and female and that we are being redeemed as such. Yet it must also recognize that due to the fall, human beings struggle with all manner of dysfunction that is not reducible to sin, including mental dysphoria of various kinds. Christians need to work compassionately with dysphoric individuals, bearing their burdens without undue moral judgment. Finally, a Christian perspective must take seriously the need to affirm gender dysphoric individuals and provide meaning for them as gender dysphoric Christians while upholding biblical teaching regarding gender. Yarhouse concludes the book with two chapters on how Christians and churches should

BOOK REVIEWS

“ He centers on the need for Christians to be humble and welcoming to those who are suffering, even as they seek faithfully to witness to the truths of the gospel for human beings created as male and female in the image of God.”

respond to gender dysphoria and transgenderism. Because of his recognition of complexity and his pastoral sensitivity, his advice is humble and restrained. It is also sobering. Yarhouse offers numerous anecdotes that show just how ignorant and reactionary many Christians have been in this area, dismissing gender dysphoria as rebellion, responding with rejection or fear, and ultimately driving many gender dysphoric individuals out of the church altogether (and into the more welcoming and compassionate arms of the LGBT community). He centers on the need for Christians to be humble and welcoming to those who are suffering, even as they seek faithfully to witness to the truths of the gospel for human beings created as male and female in the image of God. The Christian witness cannot be driven by the reactionary impulses of the culture war. We need to struggle alongside our dysphoric brothers and sisters, bearing their burdens with them, and so fulfilling the law of Christ (Gal. 6:2). Some readers will be troubled by Yarhouse’s reluctance to offer more specific, universal principles, or to condemn certain interventions

outright, but I think that would be to miss what really drives Yarhouse’s restraint: his humility. Yarhouse warns Christians not to confuse rigid cultural or traditional assumptions about gender with God’s created order. Far too often, he argues, such assumptions have led Christians to be arrogant and judgmental against those individuals who simply cannot—for physical, psychological, or other reasons outside of their control—conform to such rigid expectations. If anything, I wish Yarhouse had explored the biblical resources on gender and sexuality further in this respect. A reflection on the significance of Jesus’ comments about those who are eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom (Matt. 19) or Paul’s declaration that in Christ there is neither male nor female (Gal. 3:28) may have helped to sharpen a theological paradigm for how Christians should respond to gender dysphoria. Still, what Yarhouse gets right far outweighs such shortcomings. He has given the church a resource of inestimable value as it seeks to proclaim and embody the good news of Christ to the gender dysphoric. MATTHEW J. TUININGA is assistant professor of moral theol-

ogy at Calvin Theological Seminary in Grand Rapids, Michigan. He blogs at www.matthewtuininga.wordpress.com.

The Whole Christ: Legalism, Antinomianism, and Gospel Assurance—Why the Marrow Controversy Still Matters by Sinclair Ferguson Crossway, 2016 256 pages (hardcover), $24.99 aving benefitted from his lectures on this topic years ago, I was excited to hear that Sinclair Ferguson was finally going to publish his work on the Marrow Controversy. Weaving together the insight of a church historian and the heart of a pastor,

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Ferguson uses the Marrow Controversy as a map to help track our way through our own controversies today: namely, as the subtitle reads: Legalism, Antinomianism, and Gospel Assurance—Why the Marrow Controversy Still Matters. This book is a welcome and timely contribution to these topics for a number of reasons. Specifically, accusations of antinomianism and legalism occur with too much frequency— and not enough accuracy—in the discussion of motivations for sanctification. Ferguson’s work shows us that these battles are not new and that great insight can be gained from those who have suffered through such conflicts. In so doing, he excites the reader with the passion and dedication of the “Marrow Men” to see the gospel go forth, bringing unbelievers to faith, as well as comforting and strengthening Christians in their struggle against the influences of the world, the flesh, and the devil. Fe r g u s o n b e g i n s w i t h a trip back in time to the small Scottish town of Auchterarder, to an unexpectedly influential Presbytery meeting of the Church of Scotland in February 1717. At this meeting, a candidate for ordination was being examined and was asked whether he agreed with the following statement (which came to be known as the Auchterarder Creed): “I believe that it is not sound and orthodox to teach that we should forsake sin in order to our coming to Christ, and instating us in covenant with God” (28). The affirmation or denial of this statement is what led to the so-called Marrow Controversy. Those who affirmed the Auchterarder Creed accused those who denied it of being legalistic; they in turn accused those who affirmed it as

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being antinomian. The latter group became known as the “Marrow Men” (most notably, Thomas Boston), who were significantly influenced by the seventeenth-century book The Marrow of Modern Divinity, attributed to Edward Fisher. Ferguson defends the position of the Marrow Men against the legalism that had crept into the Church of Scotland at that time. A form of preparationism had taken root, which demands that people evidence good works before they qualify for receiving the gospel. Ferguson uses this specific issue as his point of departure to explain that sanctification and assurance must flow from the finished work of Christ and that neither can happen apart from receiving the “whole Christ.” His point is well made: People cannot produce good works before receiving the gospel, because they have not been given the whole Christ—i.e., all of the benefits that flow from his finished work. To demand the fruits of sanctification before the gospel is received is saying that one can have some of the benefits of Christ without receiving all of Christ. T h e W h o le C h r is t t h u s unpacks what God has accomplished for us in Christ, and then how that work properly motivates us in sanctification and assurance of salvation. After explaining the benefits of Christ’s work, Ferguson deftly steers the discussion between the Scylla and Charybdis of antinomianism and legalism, showing that both stem from a similar low view of God’s law and his gospel. Contrary to recent opinions that the Reformed do not treat law and gospel as theological categories, Ferguson helpfully explains their distinction and then puts them in proper relationship to one another.

BOOK REVIEWS

“Ferguson demonstrates how the only means to a high view of God, his grace, and his commands is by Spiritwrought appreciation of the love God has shown us in Christ.”

Ferguson’s explanation of the similar roots of antinomianism and legalism is perhaps the most valuable of his insights in this book. Both errors separate God’s loving character from his law, turning them into cold deprivations rather than beautiful representations of his character. Using the example of Eve’s disregard for God’s command in the garden, Ferguson explains: It is this— a failure to see the generosity of God and his wise and loving plans for our lives—that lies at the root of legalism and drives it. It bears repeating: in Eve’s case antinomianism (her opposition to and rejection of God’s law) was itself an expression of her legalism! (82–83) Continuing in this vein, Ferguson demonstrates how the only means to a high view of God, his grace, and his commands is by Spirit-wrought appreciation of the love God has shown us in Christ: Commands are the railroad tracks on which the life empowered by the love of God poured into the heart by the Holy Spirit runs. Love empowers the engine; law guides the direction. (168–69)

Moving on from motivation in sanctification, Ferguson appropriately wraps up his discussion with three chapters on assurance of salvation. In keeping with the rest of his argument, Ferguson offers a balanced and properly ordered account of our assurance flowing from resting in Christ as belief gives rise to obedience, not obedience giving rise to assurance irrespective of believing. Such faith cannot be forced into us by our efforts to be obedient; it arises only from larger and clearer views of Christ. Herein lies the paradox: we want to talk and think about how to get better evidences; [Thomas] Boston is concerned that we get a better grip of Christ. Then the evidences will grow like fruit. (204) Ferguson’s excellent interactions with historical sources and sound exegesis make this a crucial read for anyone wanting to have a faithful understanding of the Reformed view of how the gospel grounds and motivates our sanctification and assurance. TOM WENGER is pastor of Trinity Presbyterian Church (PCA) in Crofton, Maryland.

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GETTING TO THE CORE The Campaign for Core Christianity is a media-based initiative to challenge the growing influence of Christless Christianity. This media campaign focuses on a biblical response to the most fundamental questions about the Christian faith.

C O R E C H R I S T I A N I T Y. C O M

GEEK SQUAD

How Different Religious Traditions Understand Original Sin by Andrew DeLoach

ehold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.” (Ps. 51:5)

It’s a curious truth that through their attempts to deny the doctrine of original sin, marketing companies and self-help gurus unconsciously end up reinforcing it. If we’re so wonderful and capable of so much, how is it that we’re so wrong? (And why do we need their products to reach our full potential?) Wherever we fall on the spectrum, there are generally only two possible responses to the question of why people do bad things: we sin because we’re sinful beings, or we sin because something or

someone makes us sin. Some people choose Option C—“none of the above”—and argue that what we call “sin” isn’t really sin in the ethical sense, but a misunderstanding based on a wrong conception of the self or the universe. This isn’t a real answer, though; it simply sidesteps the problem of people doing bad things by arguing that those things aren’t really bad at all. For this issue, we asked someone skilled in determining what the law considers “bad” to help us sort out how the major religions in the world today define “original sin.” Andrew DeLoach is an attorney in Los Angeles, California, and an adjunct professor at Trinity Law School and Concordia University Irvine.

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CHRISTIANITY (ROMAN CATHOLIC)

Adam’s sin cost him—and all humanity—the original holiness that God gave to him, but this original sin does not impute any personal guilt to any of Adam’s descendants. Only voluntary transgression is sin; the concupiscence that remains is not. Original sin is merely a deprivation of holiness, a stain or deformity. The fallen human nature has not been totally corrupted, nor has it been deprived of the ability to respond to God’s love. Thus, original sin has weakened, but not entirely destroyed, the freedom of the will.

CHRISTIANITY (ORTHODOX)

After Adam’s first sin, humanity inherited only its consequences—chief among them, death—but not Adam’s guilt. Thus, original sin is often called “ancestral sin”—it is the first sin but not the condition humanity is born into. Humankind inherits mortality and a disordered, sinful impulse. Original sin is moral weakness that, nevertheless, leaves the will free to choose (with the assistance of divine grace) to be God’s child.

CHRISTIANITY (REFORMED AND LUTHERAN)

Since the fall of Adam, all humans are conceived and born in sin (Ps. 51:5). We are also born with the inclination to sin (“concupiscence”), which itself is sin. This hereditary sickness, by which our entire nature is corrupted, is the chief sin and condemns us all to eternal death.

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Adam’s guilt is passed down and imputed to his descendants (Rom. 5:12–19). We inherit a corrupt, sinful nature (1 Cor. 15:21–22). This is a corruption so deep that there is nothing uncorrupted left. We sin because we are sinners—not the reverse. Some streams of Protestantism (following Zwingli) do not teach total depravity; instead, original sin caused serious but not irreparable damage. Likewise, some (following Arminius) deny that Adam’s sin was imputed to his descendants. Instead, man retains some free will to follow God’s law and accept the grace of God.

JUDAISM

Rabbinic Judaism speaks of the yetzer ha-ra’, or “evil inclination,” instead of original sin. The rabbis taught that people must fight against the evil inclination inside of them and that they are responsible to God for their actions. Rather than speak of sin as a quality that is hereditary, Judaism prefers to speak of sinful acts performed by individuals. The rabbis urge Jews to avoid sin through study of and practice of God’s law. In the Mishnah, God says, “My children! I created the evil inclination, but I created the Torah as its antidote; if you occupy yourselves with the Torah you will not be delivered into [the inclination’s] hand” (Kid. 30b).

ISLAM

Original sin is completely denied. While Adam and Eve did disobey God, God forgave them (Sura 20:121–22). Thus Adam’s descendants do not have a sinful nature. We are born innocent, with the free will and ability to do good or evil; we become sinful only when, through weakness, we consciously rebel against Allah.

GEEK SQUAD

HINDUISM

There is no original or inherent sin. Sin is ignorance about ultimate reality (“the One”)— misapprehending the true nature of the cosmos and the self. We are not separated from God by our sin; rather, we are separated from the One by our belief in sin. By recognizing that everything—including the self—is one undifferentiated, impersonal reality, we escape from an otherwise endless cycle of reincarnation. “Sin” may also refer to intentional, wrongful action that causes us to accumulate karma, which prevents us from escaping ignorance and illusion.

SCIENTOLOGY

Ther e i s no co ncep t o f o r ig inal sin in Scientology. Humankind is basically good, and our survival depends on our own action and our unity with the universe. Despite our sinless nature, our experiences in the physical universe (over many lifetimes) have led us to depart from rational thought and behavior and commit evil acts or “sins,” which reduce our innate goodness as spiritual beings.

The LDS Church rejects the concept of original sin. Humans are not conceived in sin or with a fallen nature of any kind. In fact, the prophet Mormon said that children are not capable of sinning. We will be punished only for our own actual sins, not for the sin of Adam (Pearl of Great Price, Articles of Faith, 1:2).

JEHOVAH’S WITNESSES

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE

Humans are not born in sin but are part of a divine and flawless reality. Sin, sickness, and death are beliefs—illusive errors—that arise from our distance from God (Science and Health [Boston: Christian Scientist Publication, 1875], ch. 11, 343:19–20). God would not create us in the divine likeness yet still subject to these three errors. In order to return to the divine reality, we must pray and seek physical and spiritual healing.

BUDDHISM

Buddhism has no concept of original sin. “Sin” is rarely viewed in ethical terms (where it may refer to unwholesome action), but as ignorance of, and separation from, the true nature of reality (“the Void”). Since all existence is one undifferentiated ultimate reality, there are no distinctions such as good and evil. Humanity does not have a corrupt or sinful nature; instead, “all beings are Buddha” by nature. The Buddhanature is always present in all beings, obscured only by our ignorance, preventing the attainment of deathless nirvana.

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MORMONISM

Adam and Eve were created perfect, not inclined to error. When they chose to sin, they damaged their perfect nature, and that disobedience affected all future generations. All humanity inherits that sin; we are born with a damaged nature, imperfect and inclined to error. The consequences are guilt, sickness, and death. We cannot rid ourselves of this inclination by our own efforts, but nonetheless must exercise faith in Jesus and change the course of our lives.

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HERE’S TO 25 MORE YEARS As part of our 25th Anniversary celebration, we have partnered with Hendrickson Publishers to release The Reformation Then and Now: 25 Years of Modern Reformation Articles Celebrating 500 Years of the Reformation. We’re grateful to God for sustaining us for the last quarter century. We’re also grateful to you for the opportunity to spread our work through your gifts and subscriptions.

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B AC K PAG E

The “Already” and “Not Yet” by Michael S. Horton

any of us were raised on the idea of salvation from this world— whether it was the drama of a rapture and apocalyptic destruction, or the traditional hope of bright lights and streets of gold, salvation was less about this world redeemed than about “I’ll fly away.” Then the pendulum swung in the other direction. Salvation has increasingly become associated with human flourishing here and now. It comes in different packages some are prone toward hedonistic individualism, while others are more socially and altruistically oriented. Let’s bring the pendulum ba ck t o t he cent er. The Chr i stian confession is not “I believe in going to heaven when I die,” but “I believe in the resurrection of the body and life everlasting.” The soul does not wish to be stripped of its flesh. “For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life” (2 Cor. 5:4; italics added). The cosmic “restoration of all things” is the ultimate hope. For now, the body of believers succumbs to this present evil age as a way of putting an end to the corruptible in order to raise the same body in incorruptibility (1 Cor. 15:36). This is something far greater than an eternally disembodied existence or a mere empowerment of this fading age toward self-perpetuation. This new birth has already occurred inwardly, even as our bodies waste away (2 Cor. 4:16).

Thus there are crucial distinctions—between God and the world, between the body and the soul, between general and special revelation and common and saving grace—but not vicious dualisms. We should be on guard against reacting to pagan dualism only to fall into the arms of pagan monism, where all distinctions between soul and body become blurred. On one hand, we may exploit this distinction between the “already” and “not yet” as an excuse for passivity toward our stewardship in the world. We can dismiss our responsibility with the shrug, “It is not yet what it will be, and only Christ’s return can bring it about.” But most of those who say this (or at least think it) would not say the same of their sanctification. The same Scriptures that tell us we are simultaneously justified and sinful also tell us that we’re regenerated and are being sanctified so that we should “work out our own salvation with fear and trembling” (Phil. 2:12–13). If sanctification is an objective gift as well as a subjective “more and more” reality, then how can we restrict our sanctified living to the private sphere? Rather, the fact that only the return of Christ, with his Spirit, can bring the reaches of the consummation of his kingdom to fulfillment should provoke in us a longing to live in the light of that ultimate telos. At the same time, the consummation is in the hands of the Triune God, which means we’re free to pursue our callings with patience, rather than the feverish triumphalism that leads to despair. MICHAEL S. HORTON is editor-in-chief of Modern Reformation.

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STILL HUNGRY? Whatever happened to the doctrine of original sin? Are we really born guilty and corrupt, or did our first parents merely leave us a bad example when they sinned in the garden? What is the relationship between our view of sin and the doctrines of grace? How should we think about sin in the context of the Christian life? In this four-part series, the hosts will answer these questions and more as they explore the doctrine of original sin.

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