Here is an article from a fundamentalist Baptist organization. The author writes:
There is no doubt that biblical Christianity is under attack as it never has been before not only in this country but around the world. The mentality with which we face the battle is revealing the underlying weaknesses of our respective movements.
The first sentence is absurd, historically. The second is perceptive, but likely not in the way the author intended. The great tragedy of the corpse that fundamentalism has become is that its only distinctive contribution to the broader evangelical conversation is sectarianism. This negative ethos has diminishing returns, which is why Baptist fundamentalism is a corpse as a movement, even as its ethos (rightly understood; see this article) is a pearl of great price:
First-stage fundamentalism was built on advocating for a broad biblical orthodoxy in the face of apostasy. It’s heirs are the conservative evangelicals. It’s why the people who still do this today are evangelicals.
Second-stage fundamentalism is what we typically mean when we use the term, and its ethos is on separation from conservatives who aren’t conservative enough. That is why second-stage fundamentalism is a cut-flower movement that’s dying in the vase on the countertop. It has no real distinctive, positive presentation other than separation. Ask a self-described fundamentalist why he’s not an evangelical and he’ll say “separation.” There is your proof.
Thus I say that, properly understood, fundamentalists should be conservative evangelicals.
Fundamentalism as a movement has mission drift. It has forgotten its purpose. Long ago, its original ethos of “that isn’t Christianity, this is Christianity, and let me tell you the real story of Jesus and His love!” largely degenerated to “those Christians are compromisers, so stay away from them and be pure, like us!”
It all doesn’t have to be this way, but it is, and so it’s all very sad.
So it is with our article and the organization from whence it came. Even as he tries to urge introspection, our author can’t help but rehash the old story of lost battles from last century. The frame of reference is stuck in neutral; in a sepia tone from the Truman/Eisenhower era. Fundamentalism’s own proponents are often incapable of framing their movement without reference to evangelicalism; that wealthier and successful cousin of whom they’re always jealous. This chip on the shoulder is ever-present, stalking the movement’s hopes, fears, and dreams—shaping its very essence. The mindset is akin to the “lost cause” myth of the South, complete with its own stable of heroes, villains, and the call to interpret defeat as honor in the context of a perpetual martyrdom.
Fundamentalism, as a movement, is that church that spends its time pining for the good old days, looking back with proud smiles at yellowing scrapbooks. It has no positive presentation. Even as it tries to muster the strength for forward motion, it’s all framed with reference to the past. And, as with that stereotypical dying church, you try to be polite and say the right things, but it’s all really a bit sad.
It didn’t (and doesn’t) have to be this way, which makes it sadder still.
We have a bi-monthly theology class with interested folks from my congregation. Right now, we’re considering the doctrine of sin. This might seem dry as dust, but it’s not. If you read the notes, below, perhaps you’ll see why. I’ve included short-ish excerpts from the teaching session if you want the Cliff Notes version in the meantime!
Kind of a big deal …
This question “what is sin” answers one of the “big questions” of life.[1] Everybody has these big questions, and they’re usually variations on these five:
Origins: How did we get here? How did the world get here? What are we as human beings? How can we be sure we know anything about reality at all? What’s the purpose of life? Is there a Creator and Sustainer, or is life just random chance and accident?
Suffering: What’s wrong with the world and with us? What are good and evil? Who defines these terms? Why does the world hurt people? Why do we hurt each other? What happens when we die? Why do we die?
Hope: Is there a solution to suffering? Will there be justice? What is justice? What basis do we have to look forward to some “better day?”
Rescue: How is this hope, whatever it is, achieved? What are its effects? Does it bring justice? Is this redemption individual, corporate, or both?
The End: How will everything end? What will it be like? When will it happen? What will happen?
So, this isn’t an academic consideration—it shapes and defines how we understand the world, ourselves and God in many ways:[2]
God: If sin isn’t so serious, then we’ll tend to think of God as the smiling, perhaps senile grandfather. He’s indulgent. He forgives. He forgets. But, if sin is indeed quite serious, then we’re more likely to see God as pure, righteous, and holy.
Ourselves: If sin is a matter of grading on a curve, then “goodness” is about how we compare ourselves to each other. We aren’t so bad, after all! None of us is Ted Bundy! But, if there is no curve, but a moral standard set by God, then we’re supposed to reflect God’s image and are held to His standard. This means we’re all in serious trouble.
Salvation: What we think about sin shapes how much “trouble” we’re in. If we’re basically good, then we don’t need much supernatural intervention. Maybe just a push, now and then. But, if we’re criminals without hope, then we do need a divine intervention!
The Church: What we think about sin shapes what we think the Church is here to do. If we’re basically “good people” in our natural state, then the Church exists to be positive, to be caring, to show love via mercy ministries (e.g. In His Steps). But, if we do need that divine intervention, then the Church is here to show and tell the Gospel and bridge-build towards the Gospel as we interact with our communities.
Society: What we think about sin shapes how we understand politics, and our society. If we’re basically good, then we solve problems in our world by fixing unwholesome environments. If we need a divine intervention, then we see that nothing will really be solved until people’s hearts are changed by the Gospel. The ultimate hope is then in Jesus’ second coming and His establishment of the new community.
What is sin?
I’ll start with a brief survey of how some folks in the Church have answered that question.
The text we’re using for theology class, Wayne Grudem’s Systematic Theology, offers this: “sin is any failure to conform to the moral law of God in act, attitude, or nature.”[3] This is a standard definition, no doubt derived from the 1647 Westminster Confession of Faith. Notice that Grudem captures three categories; actions, thoughts, and nature.
Here’s the Belgic Confession, Art. 15:
We believe that, through the disobedience of Adam, original sin is extended to all mankind; which is a corruption of the whole nature, and an hereditary disease, wherewith infants themselves are infected even in their mother’s womb, and which produceth in man all sorts of sin, being in him as a root thereof; and therefore is so vile and abominable in the sight of God that it is sufficient to condemn all mankind. Nor is it by any means abolished or done away by baptism; since sin always issues forth from this woeful source, as water from a fountain: notwithstanding it is not imputed to the children of God unto condemnation, but by his grace and mercy is forgiven them. Not that they should rest securely in sin, but that a sense of this corruption should make believers often to sigh, desiring to be delivered from this body of death.”
Note the emphasis on sin as a status, an infection that has spread to all people.
Here is the Church of England’s 39 Articles, Art. 9:[4]
Original Sin standeth not in the following of Adam, (as the Pelagians do vainly talk;) but it is the fault and corruption of the Nature of every man, that naturally is ingendered of the offspring of Adam; whereby man is very far gone from original righteousness, and is of his own nature inclined to evil, so that the flesh lusteth always contrary to the spirit; and therefore in every person born into this world, it deserveth God’s wrath and damnation. And this infection of nature doth remain, yea in them that are regenerated; whereby the lust of the flesh, called in the Greek, “Phronema Sarkos”, which some do expound the wisdom, some sensuality, some the affection, some the desire, of the flesh, is not subject to the Law of God. And although there is no condemnation for them that believe and are baptized, yet the Apostle doth confess, that concupiscence and lust hath of itself the nature of sin.
Now, we turn to the 1647 Westminster Confession of Faith, Art. 6, which explains sin is a “corruption of nature” (6.5):
By this sin they fell from their original righteousness and communion with God, and so became dead in sin, and wholly defiled in all the faculties and parts of soul and body. They being the root of all mankind, the guilt of this sin was imputed, and the same death in sin and corrupted nature conveyed to all their posterity descending from them by ordinary generation (6.2-3).
Finally, we have the Lutherans in the Augsburg Confession (1630), Art. 2:
… since the fall of Adam all men who are born according to the course of nature are conceived and born in sin. That is, all men are full of evil lust and inclinations from their mother’s wombs and are unable by nature to have true fear of God and true faith in God. Moreover, this inborn sickness and hereditary sin is truly sin [that is, there is actual individual guilt] and condemns to the eternal wrath of God all those who are not born again through Baptism and the Holy Spirit.”[5]
Sin is actually three different things at the same time, like layers of the same onion. We’ll go from the most obvious example of sin to its most fundamental essence:
Sin as lawlessness
Sin is lawlessness (1 Jn 3:4)—failing to follow God’s laws. It means breaking God’s law by what you do or don’t do; e.g. “thou shalt not kill” (Ex 20:13) and “If you really fulfill the royal law according to the Scripture, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself,’ you are doing well” (Jas 2:8-9). It also means breaking God’s law by what you think; Mt 5:27-28: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”
Sin as a controlling disease
But, as the survey of various confessions makes clear, sin is also a disease that owns, controls, and shapes people—“it infects our personal ‘control center’”[6] and produces “guilt and pollution.”[7] One excellent controlling passage is Romans 6:1 – 7:6, which you can read through and note at your leisure.
This means that, as a hereditary disease, sin controls us. We’re its slaves, and it corrupts all our affections. It’s a “total act” that involves all of our beings, because it springs from the heart (Prov 4:23; Mt 12:33-37). “The heart of man is evil … It is the Headquarters of the General Staff, not the office of some lesser official … the whole man rebels against God, ego totus, and in this rebellion all the individual powers of his body-mind economy are mobilized.”[8]
It’s shape comes from our environmental and social nexus[9] and is always evolving, mutating, expanding, shape-shifting—it can be “baked in” even to the level of the structural fabrics of our society (e.g. racism, sexism, ethnocentrism, classism, ageism, religious hatred, ecological pollution, genocide).[10]
Indeed, experience shows is daily how evil ‘infects’ society, spreading from one person to another, and perhaps involving them in it against their will. The power of the ‘infection’ is as great in the moral sphere as it is in physical epidemics. We ought to be aware of the fact—and remind others of it—that evil spreads to institutions and conditions, ‘infects’ them, and then breeds further evil, which, in turn, ‘re-infects’ the lives of human beings as individuals. Further, it is evident that the evil which is incorporated in asocial institutions, and the evil which becomes a mass phenomenon, waxes great and assumes demonic forms, which, as a rule, are not found in any individual evil. Evil which takes the shape of social wrong, or is incorporated in institutions, or as a mass phenomenon, is worse than evil in any individual form, in isolation.”[11]
All this is why we must be “born again” (Jn 3:5-7), because we need a new mind and new heart (cf. Ezek 36:25-26)—the Spirit must “wash” us clean (Titus 3:5) and “cleanse” us from this disease. Union with Christ (pictured by the object lesson of believer’s baptism) breaks that metaphysical slavery and sets us free.
We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.
Romans 6:4-5
Sin as cheating on God and rejecting His community
Largely following Stanley Grenz, with an assist from Emil Brunner and Millard Erickson, I believe the most basic essence of sin is infidelity to God and His plan for community.[12] Other suggestions are (1) rebellion and apostasy,[13] (2) selfishness,[14] (3) a privation or absence of goodness,[15] or (4) displacement of God.[16] These are good options. Still, infidelity and rejection of community seem to strike at the heart of “sin.”
God made us to be in community with Him and each other. By sinning, our first parents rejected His community (just as Satan had done), and so God had to expel them from Paradise (“he drove out the man,” Gen 3:24).
The bible’s story is God choosing and rescuing a community for His kingdom—we’ll only have peace and purpose in our lives when that relationship is fixed by pledging allegiance to Jesus. Sin is the great “problem” that stands in the way; lawlessness caused by a controlling force that has ruined our hearts and minds.
This isn’t an impersonal, legal crime, but a personal attack and rejection—infidelity,[17] adultery (cf. Hosea 1-3), a hurtful treachery (Hos 6:7; Isa 48:8; Jer 3:1-2, 8-10, 20, 5:11; Ezek 16:15f). There’s a reason why God so often frame this treachery as “adultery.” It’s the ultimate betrayal, the most personal and hurtful betrayal imaginable. It’s why God chose to use it when He expressed His anger.
So, “sin” is fundamentally about saying “no” to God’s community; “cheating on Him” and thus destroying our relationship with Him (fear of Him; Gen 3:10), with each other (Gen 3:7, 16), and with the natural environment God gave us (Gen 3:17-19)—the world God gave us is no longer our friend.[18]
For fun, I’ll also throw in a video of the free-ranging discussion we began during our last class on the question “why did God allow Adam and Eve to sin? This is one of the trickiest questions of the Christian faith. It all comes down to providence, and HOW God controls this world. In this video, the other pastor in my congregation lays out some options, we look at scripture, and then have a free-ranging discussion about the topic. If you want to know the answer to this question, read Article 13 from the 1619 Belgic Confession of Faith:
We believe that the same God, after he had created all things, did not forsake them, or give them up to fortune or chance, but that he rules and governs them, according to his holy will, so that nothing happens in this world without his appointment; nevertheless, God neither is the author of, nor can be charged with, the sins which are committed.
For his power and goodness are so great and incomprehensible, that he orders and executes his work in the most excellent and just manner even when the devil and wicked men act unjustly. And as to what he doth surpassing human understanding we will not curiously inquire into it further than our capacity will admit of; but with the greatest humility and reverence adore the righteous judgments of God which are hid from us, contenting ourselves that we are disciples of Christ, to learn only those things which he has revealed to us in his Word without transgressing these limits.
This doctrine affords us unspeakable consolation, since we are taught thereby that nothing can befall us by chance, but by the direction of our most gracious and heavenly Father, who watches over us with a paternal care, keeping all creatures so under his power that not a hair of our head (for they are all numbered), nor a sparrow, can fall to the ground, without the will of our Father, in whom we do entirely trust; being persuaded that he so restrains the devil and all our enemies that, without his will and permission, they can not hurt us.
Here is our free-flowing discussion on the topic. Next time, we’ll narrow things down and see what the Church has taught and believed about this difficult subject.
[1] For good introductions to the concept of “worldview,” see Ronald Nash, Worldviews in Conflict (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1992)and James W. Sire, The Universe Next Door, 6th ed. (Downers Grove: IVP, 2020).
[5] Theodore Tappert (trans. and ed.), “Augsburg Confession,” in The Book of Concord (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1959), p. 29. I am quoting from the German translation, not the Latin.
[11] Emil Brunner, The Christian Doctrine of Creation and Redemption (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1952), p. 96.
[12] I am following Grenz’s excellent work, here (Theology, pp. 187-188).
[13] Brunner, Creation and Redemption, pp. 90-93. For rebellion alone, see Carl F.H. Henry, God, Revelation and Authority, vol. 6 (Waco: Word, 1984), pp. 246f.
[14] Henry Thiessen, Lectures in Systematic Theology, rev. ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1949), pp. 246-247. “… all the forms of sin can be traced to selfishness as their source.”
[15] John of Damascus, Orthodox Faith 2.4, in NPNF 2.9. “For evil is nothing else than absence of goodness, just as darkness also is absence of light,” (New York: Christian Literature Company, 1899), p. 20. See also Augustine, where he explains trying to discern the cause of evil is like trying to “see darkness” or “hear silence.” We don’t know it by perception, “but by absence of perception,” (City of God, trans. Henry Bettenson [reprint; New York: Penguin, 2003], 12.7, p. 480.
[17] Calvin, Institutes, 2.1.4; “hence infidelity was the root of the revolt.”
[18] “The sinful destruction of community has been the human predicament from the beginning. The transgression of our first parents led to the unmistakable disruption of community. Their act brought alienation or estrangement where once had been only fellowship. The innocent transparency in the presence of each other they had once known gave way to shame (Gen 3:7). In addition, Adam and Eve now feared the face of God who had lovingly created them (v. 10). And they now experience the bitter reality that the world around them was no longer their friend (vv. 15, 17, 19),” (Grenz, Theology, p. 188).
I love the Book of Hebrews. It has the deepest Christology in the New Testament and in all of scripture. It also makes us think very deeply about the similarities and differences for the faithful believing life between the Old Covenant and the New. This very issue has come up repeatedly over the past few weeks within my own congregation, as we’ve worked our way through the heart of the “Jesus is the different, better High Priest” section which begins at Hebrews 7. Because the benefits Jesus brings to the faithful covenant member are so much better, people naturally want to know what was sodifferent about one’s relationship with the Lord before Jesus came.
So, people ask questions. They want to know about salvation. They know it wasn’t “by works,” but so often people don’t really know any more than that. They want to know about obedience—why did people obey God, back then? Fear or love? People ask about atonement—was it about getting back a salvation lost, or about maintaining a ruptured relationship that still existed? What’s “new” about this New Covenant?
As every astute interpreter knows, these are weighty questions. Hard questions. If you’re a dispensationalist of any flavor, I submit they’re even harder. More specifically, the more you fancy discontinuity in your system, the harder these questions will be to explain without lots of charts. This short article outlines how I answered some of these questions just this morning.
First, I will lay my cards on the table to either save some readers heartburn, or to provide fair warning so you can reach for the antacid tablets in advance:
I believe the Church has a direct relationship to the New Covenant right now. Israel will be brought into the covenant later, as promised. In short, Rodney Decker’s exegesis of Hebrews 7-10 cannot be gainsaid.[1]
I see more continuity than discontinuity. Classical dispensationalists may wish to take the antacid tablets at this time.
I believe Old Covenant saints were indwelt by the Holy Spirit. I follow Rolland McCune on this.[2]
When you compare a faithful believer’s relationship with God in the Old Covenant v. the New Covenant, there are at least four broad categories to consider:
My remarks here are not exhaustive and are little more than brief notes to orient the reader. My points are proven, I believe, by the “controlling passages” I identify. In fact, during class this morning the category which prompted the most discussion and puzzled looks was “why obey?” I suspected this would be the case. Next week, we will walk through my “controlling passages” on this and have a fun discussion. For this article, however, it will suffice to simply state a positive case and beat a hasty retreat!
These “controlling passages” I identify below are not the only place where these truths can be found; they’re just excellent representative passages.
Becoming a believer?
This has always been the same—allegiance to God because you trust His promise of the Messiah to come. What one knows and understands about this promise changes throughout time, as God provides more revelation. Abraham knew more than Noah. Moses knew more than Abraham. David knew more than Moses. Like a pixelated video that sharpens as bandwidth increases, clarity about the Messiah and His mission increases throughout the biblical story.
To be sure, some people (like Abraham) knew more than one might guess (Heb 11:8-16). But, the basic point stands.
The controlling verse is Genesis 15:6, and its greater context. The controlling passage is Romans 4 (esp. Rom 4:9, 22). Galatians 3:1-9 is an outstanding supporting, controlling passage.
Jesus didn’t preach a new message, but announced He was the fulfillment of the same old message (Lk 24:25-27, 44-53; Acts 1:1-11). This is why the Church’s earliest evangelism (Acts 2, 3, 13) and martyrdoms (Acts 7) emphasized the necessary continuity to the Tanakh. Salvation has always been by grace, through faith—and this “faith” has never been intellectual or emotional assent to facts, but a pledge of allegiance to God and all that entails.[3]
Why obey?
This, too, has always been the same—honest love for God. No matter if you’re Noah after the flood, or Tyler in 2021, you do what God says because you love Him. Period.
The controlling passages are Deuteronomy 6:4-6, Mark 12:28-34, and Hosea 5:15, 6:4-6. One could also supplement this list with any other passage from the minor prophets that condemns externalism. Hosea and Amos are both fertile ground for these denouncements. A subordinate controlling passage about the necessity of fruit for true obedience (because it flows from the heart) is James 2:14-26.
Sin after salvation?
The essence of this ritual has always been the same—honest repentance and a plea to God for forgiveness. Repentance means to confess and pledge to forsake sin (Prov 28:13). However, the Old Covenant also required an atoning sacrifice as the fruit of honest repentance in order to atone for the sin. Of course, this last step is not necessary in the New Covenant.
The sacrifice was never the essence of the matter. The point has always been about repentance from the heart accompanied by plea for mercy. The atoning sacrifice must flow from true repentance.
The controlling passage is 1 Kings 8:22-53. Pay particular attention to Solomon’s prescient scenarios of disobedience (“for there is no one who does not sin,” 1 Kgs 8:46), and the formula he presupposes must happen in each instance to obtain God’s mercy. Sacrifices are never mentioned. Honest repentance is. Of course, the sacrifices are necessary. But, at root, it has never really been about the sacrifices (Hosea 6:4-6; cf. Mt 9:13).
Shape of the relationship?
Here we come to the major differences. The shape and structure of one’s relationship to God is very different between the covenants. Here are three key differences:
God was the head of His people’s government on earth. Now, men and women are the heads of secular governments on earth.
One had to regularly undergo ceremonial cleansing for normal “life happenings,” back then. This had nothing to do with deliberate sin. It simply meant that, as a by-product of being a sinful human being, you would regularly be ceremonially “dirty” or “unclean” and unable to draw near to God. But, in the New Covenant, Jesus has perfectly cleansed all His people. This is why believers can now “with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need,” (Heb 4:16).
One had to regularly undergo moral cleansing by way of atoning sacrifices. This is what people typically think of when they consider Christ’s perfect, once for all sacrifice which rendered that system obsolete.
Newness of the new covenant
I propose there are three ways in which the new covenant is “new.” It isn’t that salvation itself is new or different. The “newness” and “betterness” that Jesus has wrought (cf. Heb 8:6) is a closeness of relationship. In short, the New Covenant is “new” and “better” because it provides perfect peace, in these ways:[4]
A new kind of relationship (Heb 8:10). Instead of God’s law as an external standard which one will always fail to meet (no matter how gracious a band-aid He provided in the meantime), now it’s a “finished” thing because of Jesus’ active and passive obedience. In the Old Covenant, you’re in a family where you’re regularly confronted, by way of the sacrifices for your sins, with your failure and unfittedness to be adopted. However, in the New Covenant you’re assured Jesus has paid for your past, present and future sins in toto. Just as a finished Polaroid is clearer than one yet developing, the believer’s relationship with God is now so much closer.
Perfect forgiveness (Heb 8:12). God will no longer “remember” our sins in the sense that He doesn’t hold them against us—because Jesus has now paid for them. In that since, it’s akin to a mortgage. You live in the house and call it your own, but it really belongs to the bank. When you pay the mortgage off, nothing outward has changed. You still live there. It’s still “yours.” But now, you have a new peace and freedom. The debt is paid. The bank has no claim on you. Or, you can consider a similar analogy with a maxed-out credit card vs. one that has been paid off and cancelled. It’s the peace that’s the point. No matter how benevolent your creditor is, it’s blissful to be released from the debt.
Pure membership (Heb 8:10-11). Unlike the Old Covenant, the New has a pure membership of believers.
Food for thought
Hopefully this brief sketch helps clarify some of the questions about a believer’s relationship to God in the Old and New Covenants. It’s a difficult subject, with innumerable rabbit-trails. I could say so much more. But … I’m not going to! If you wish to see me explain these concepts you can watch the teaching session from my congregation yesterday, below. Be aware we aren’t in our usual location, so the sound isn’t quite as sharp, but it’s perfectly watchable:
[1] Rodney Decker, “The Church Has a Direct Relationship to the New Covenant,” in Dispensational Understanding of the New Covenant: Three Views, ed. Mike Stallard(Schaumberg: Regular Baptist Press, 2012), pp. 195-222.
[2] Rolland McCune, A Systematic Theology of Biblical Christianity, 3 vols. (Detroit: DBTS, 2006-2009), 2:272-280.
[3] See Matthew Bates, Salvation by Allegiance Alone: Rethinking Faith, Works, and the Gospel of Jesus the King (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2017).
[4] Here I’m particularly indebted to comments on the new covenant by Philip Hughes, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians, in NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1962), 94. “The difference between the old and new covenants is that under the former that law is written on tablets of stone, confronting man as an external ordinance and condemning him because of his failure through sin to obey its commandments, whereas under the latter the law is written internally within the redeemed heart by the dynamic regenerating work of the Holy Spirit, so that through faith in Christ, the only law-keeper, and inward experience of His power man no longer hates but loves God’s law and is enabled to fulfill its precepts.”
William Lane echoes Hughes and remarks, “The quality of newness intrinsic to the new covenant consists in the new manner of presenting God’s law and not in newness of content. The people of God will be inwardly established in the law and knowledge of the Lord,” (Hebrews 1–8, vol. 47A, in WBC [Dallas: Word,1991], 209).
In a somewhat similar vein, Homer Kent explains, “[i]t is not implied that no one under the Mosaic covenant had the proper sort of heart, any more than one would say that no Israelite knew the experience of having Jehovah as his God. The point is that the covenant itself did not provide this experience, and many lived under its provisions and yet died in unbelief. The new covenant, however, guarantees regeneration to its participants,” (Epistle to the Hebrews [Grand Rapids: Baker, 1972; reprint, Winona Lake: BMG, 2010], 153. Kent’s explanation shades over to emphasizing the pure membership of the new covenant, rather than explaining just how this “new heart” arrangement was different in the new covenant vice the old.
F.F. Bruce explains about the “newness” of having the law internalized: “It was not new in regard to its own substance … But while the ‘formula’ of the covenant remains the same from age to age, it is capable of being filled with fresh meaning to a point where it can be described as a new covenant. ‘I will be your God’ acquires fuller meaning with every further revelation of the character of God; ‘you shall be my people’ acquires deeper significance as the will of God for his people is more completely known,” (Hebrews, KL 2183, 2188-2190).
When Christians consider whether and how to legislate morality, we’re immediately confronted with the fact we’re actually asking two questions:
What should inform the content of public morality in an ideal sense? That is, setting present geo-political realities aside and focusing only on transcendent values, what is “the public good,” how can we know it, and to what extent should we advocate for it in the public square?
How does the Church apply this public morality in real life, within the geo-political, pluralist realities that are the real world?
One way some Christians have answered the first question is to turn to natural law theory; specifically, a broadly Christian form of natural law. Is this a fruitful path?
What is natural law theory?
When we say, “natural law,” we mean it is “natural” in the sense that it reflects the nature, essence or intended form of something (X). “Law” refers to a normative dictum that explains what X, in light of its nature, should do in certain circumstances.1 This means human beings can (1) observe the nature and intended purpose of something, and (2) these observations form the basis for moral values and obligations.
So, to bring this down to earth, consider human beings. Natural law is our perception (even unwittingly) of the divine order within ourselves, by which we’re inclined to right action. We can observe ourselves, draw conclusions about our meaning and purpose, and so learn how we ought to behave. If you’re ever bored enough to read legal statutes, you’ll find that human laws are the result of a society’s reasoned application of general principles to particular cases for the common good. This is why even something so esoteric as the Washington State insurance code can proclaim:2
The business of insurance is one affected by the public interest, requiring that all persons be actuated by good faith, abstain from deception, and practice honesty and equity in all insurance matters.
It’s doubtful the Washington State legislature wittingly relied on natural law theory to craft this statute. Yet, there is an implicit appeal to such a law in that text. There is a public interest. Good faith can be known, defined, and it is “good,” (etc.). Indeed, some form of natural law must be the foundation for human law.3 Or else, we’re cast into the morass of subjectivism and individualism.
Christian natural law theory says scripture presupposes this divine ordering. David Haines and Andrew Fulford advance three propositions to express this idea:4
there is an objective order to the universe;
this order is objectively visible, there for all to see, “whether one is wearing the spectacles of Scripture or not;” and
at least some unbelievers perceive this order.
They explain:
the very fact of divine creation seems to point towards what has been traditionally called natural law: the notion that there is, because of the divine intellect, a natural order within the created world by which each and every created being’s goodness can be objectively judged, both on the level of being (ontological goodness), and, for human-beings specifically, on the level of human action (moral goodness). Ontological goodness is the foundation of moral goodness.5
In one of his famous five “proofs” for God’s existence, Thomas Aquinas explained we can perceive God from the observable order of the world:6
We see that things which lack intelligence, such as natural bodies, act for an end, and this is evident from their acting always, or nearly always, in the same way, so as to obtain the best result. Hence it is plain that not fortuitously, but designedly, do they achieve their end. Now whatever lacks intelligence cannot move towards an end, unless it be directed by some being endowed with knowledge and intelligence; as the arrow is shot to its mark by the archer. Therefore some intelligent being exists by whom all natural things are directed to their end; and this being we call God.
God, as it were, created everything as a carpenter plans and creates a piece of furniture.7 He sees an image in His mind’s eye, then executes that plan. Thus, God has a moral standard to which men are accountable, and His mind contains that “ideal” purpose and end of everything in His creation.
Scripture presupposes that this natural ordering and purpose exists. Here are but a few examples:8
Jesus’ so-called “Golden Rule” (Mt 7:12) presupposes that everyone, regardless of their spiritual state, acknowledges it is “good” to treat others equitably. This is as close to a universal moral good that one can get.
Deuteronomy 4:5-6. If the Israelites obey God’s laws, pagan nations “will say, ‘Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people,’” (Deut 4:6). If unbelievers can look at God’s objective “good” and appreciate it, like it, acknowledge, want it—then there must be an objective “good” to define human flourishing. It isn’t a social convention; it actually exists and can be seen, known, appreciated.
In creation, God pronounced it all “very good,” which surely means there is an objective “good” to this world.
How, then, can we know right and wrong?
Well, first we need to understand that everything, including men, women, boys and girls, is made by God for a specific purpose or end. An ear is made to hear. A sock is made to fit on your foot. A book is meant to be read. A car is meant to transport you to and fro.
You can abuse the original design by using it in a way the designer didn’t foresee. For example, a neighbor of mine recently used his Jeep to prop up a section of fencing that had collapsed in his backyard. It “worked,” I guess, but it was crude. Why? Because the Jeep wasn’t designed to do that—it wasn’t its nature or raison d’être.
You could say there is a “fitness” and “unfitness” to everything, depending on its created purpose.
Thus fitness or unfitness may be affirmed, at every moment, of every object in existence, of the volition by which each object is controlled, and of every intelligent being, with regard to the exercise of his will toward or upon outward objects or his fellow-beings. Fitness and unfitness are the ultimate ideas that are involved in the terms right and wrong.9
So, consider marriage, children, government, attitudes towards elders, the sanctity of life, political society, political authorities—what are God’s purposes for these institutions? What is their nature? When you find that out—when you figure the ends for which God made them—then you have a secure base from which to understand and uphold these realities in the world.10
But, again, how can you figure out these ends? How can you know what they are?
Certainly, the Gospel of Jesus Christ gives one a new mind and a new heart, along with the illumination to understand divine revelation. Indeed, if God created a binding moral order, it seems He’d be remiss if He did not reveal Himself and this moral order to His creation.11
Not so fast?
However, natural law seems to not require this step. Instead, it asks one to reason from natural revelation—to extrapolate from the observable order to “think God’s thoughts after Him” in a whole host of modern contexts. Specifically, we can know right from wrong by considering various forms of the questions (1) what is the nature and purpose of the one doing the action,12 and (2) what is the purpose of the action, (3) what are the motivations behind the action, (4) what are the consequences, (5) what are the means by which we propose to accomplish this end, and (6) what are the circumstances surrounding the action?13
However, Haines and Fulford’s blanket assertion that when human beings observe human nature and draw conclusions about it, “we are thinking God’s thoughts after Him,” is not quite correct.14 Satan has thrown a dark cloak over people’s minds to “keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God,” (2 Cor 4:4). This a blindness to reality, including natural law, for which we must account. This means unbelievers will not always “see” the natural order flowing from a created order at all. Christians will usually have to do a three-step dance when pressing the reality of natural law; (1) it exists, (2) your sin stops you from seeing it in creation, and then (3) do you see it now?
Indeed, there are non-Christian theories about natural law predicated on secular bases. These contrasting theories “differ widely about what human nature is and, as a result, about the moral theory that can be derived from it.”15 Indeed, different schools of thought (even within Christian circles) disagree about the essence of human nature itself and, thus, the implications about the “ends” to be drawn from its nature. “Unless that picture can be firmly established in sufficient detail to warrant the moral inferences drawn from it, the theory as a whole will lack credibility.”16
So, for example, can we legitimately employ natural law theory to forbid birth control? After all, the reasoning goes, the “natural end” of marriage is procreation (or, is it!?), and birth control would impede this purpose, so it is morally wrong. It therefore seems that to be most persuasive, Christian natural law theory must function with some degree of abstraction.
Preliminary assessment
Nevertheless, does natural law theory provide the Church with a framework to understand the “public good” regarding legislation of morality in the public square? It does, but only obliquely. Simply put, why do Christians need natural law theory when they could just point to scripture? That, of course, is the rub—nobody wants to use scripture in the public square. Natural law theory, for all its promise, seems to be a method for reasoning “God’s way” while not actually pointing to anything God has said.
Does it answer our second question? That is, does natural law theory help Christians “think God’s thoughts” via legislation in a pluralist society, in 2021? Haines and Fulford say it does:
The precisionists and the Anabaptists were wrong to deny that any just political order could be founded that did not submit to their own private and special revelation, since justice can be known from the wisdom in God’s creation.17
I am not yet convinced. To use just one example—people in the West simply do not acknowledge God’s justice or God’s objective order. Natural law theory appears to gravely underestimate the noetic effect of sin, which will inevitably prevent some people from agreeing with the specific implications of its general premises. In other words, while natural law theory supplies the Christian with some philosophical heft as a complement to a Reformed epistemology, I am not convinced it alone is a suitable vehicle for grounding moral values or legislation.
I am very new to the concept of natural law theory, and perhaps I have misunderstood it here. But my assessment at this date is that it would be simpler to use scripture to advocate for God’s values in a pluralist society. In that respect, it reminds me of the debate between classical and presuppositional apologetics.
Notes
1 David Haines and Andrew Fulford, Natural Law: A Brief Introduction and Biblical Defense (Lincoln: Davenant Press, 2017), pp. 4-5.
2 Title 48, Revised Code of Washington; RCW 48.01.030. Emphasis added.
6 This is Thomas Aquinas’ “fifth way” of proving God’s existence from Summa Theologica, First Part, Q1 (“does God exist?”), A2.
7 “[T]he divine mind ‘contains,’ or is, the ideas of all created beings—what we call exemplar causes—in much the same way that the carpenter’s mind contains the idea of a finished table prior to beginning his work,” (Haines and Fulford, Natural Law, p. 23).
12 The Westminster Larger Catechism sums it up nicely when it says, “Man’s chief and highest end is to glorify God, and fully to enjoy Him forever,” (Q1, A1).
Each year in January, our congregation celebrates the gift of life and focuses on some aspect of the sin of abortion in the United States. This year, we were honored to have the Executive Director of Options Pregnancy Clinic in Olympia, WA speak to our congregation:
I then followed with a short sermon challenging our congregation to look beyond a cardboard approach to the sin of abortion, and to consider what the Church’s attitude should be towards a people and society that celebrate abortion.
I have come to realize a defining issue for Christians is the Church’s relationship to the State, particularly in matters of morality. The Constitution is a pluralist document. It does not go “on the record” for or against one particular religion, though Christianity certainly loomed large in the philosophical and moral shaping of the founders by dint of their culture. Instead, it guarantees religious freedom of conscience for all.
That much isn’t too controversial. The controversy comes with this question: what moral values should therefore inform legislation?
Every piece of legislation, every value judgment by the State, comes from some objective or otherwise “authoritative” and recognized moral standard. The line that “we cannot legislate morality” is both true and false. It’s true in that we can’t change people’s hearts, but every criminal law on the books in local, State and Federal jurisdictions recognizes the deterrent value in having penalties to curb otherwise “immoral” actions (e.g. murder, sexual assault, etc.). As long as there was a broad, implicit consensus about the content of morality (in America’s case, a generic Christian-ish deism), then people could reasonably be on the same page. This is no longer the case.
Morality is legislated all the time. It certainly was in Bostock v. Clayton County, this past summer—a decision akin to Roe v. Wade for the transgender issue. The difference is we have competing and antithetical moral value judgments in our society; judgments that come from very different philosophical worlds. In this sense, I’m not certain pluralism is really tenable. It seemed like it could be if people operated from a common moral and epistemological foundation, even something as generic as a Christian ceremonial deism. But, that isn’t the case today.
For me, this is a true puzzle. I am doing research right now for a short book about the evolution of sexual mores in American society by examining key U.S. Supreme Court decisions from Roe v. Wade to Bostock v. Clayton County. I plan to examine each decision, and the accompanying transcripts of oral arguments and legal briefs, and provide a succinct analysis from a conservative Christian perspective. Of course, this means I’ll immediately come up against the Church’s relationship to the State regarding moral legislation.
I have much to read on Christian political philosophy and natural law. But, right now, these are my thoughts:
Every State must identify a foundation from whence it draws its ideas about morality. After all, we will always legislate someone’s morality. We should be honest about that.
Pluralism is a chimera unless the people have some shared epistemological foundation from which to argue, even if that foundation is something as generic as a Christian-ish deism.
The United States used to have such a generally shared foundation, but no longer does. So, the public square arguments about morality will continue to escalate.
Therefore, I am not certain an ostensible pluralism is a viable way forward in today’s Western culture, where morality is largely determined by majority consensus.
But, I am uncertain what a Christian response to this environment ought to be. Here is where the concept of soul liberty clashes with the imperative to advocate for future kingdom values. Should Christians, for example, really be “for” something God hates (e.g. drag queen “story hour”) in order to uphold pluralism and religious liberty for all?
I don’t have answers to any of this. It’s some measure of comfort to me that Gaines Foster, author of Moral Reconstruction, didn’t have the answer, either. He ends his book with this line:
The fundamental tension built into the moral polity of the early republic thus persists two centuries later: a democratic republic needs a moral citizenry but cannot force its citizens to be moral.
Cut-away drawings are interesting, because they show you what’s “underneath” the exterior. Here’s one of the Millennium Falcon, the ship that made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs:
This just isn’t the Millenium Falcon. The exterior is peeled away to reveal what lies beneath. You can even see Han Solo at the helm, ready to pilot the ship through an asteroid field to escape Imperial star destroyers:
In our passage, Zechariah 1:7-21, God is doing the same thing. He’s pulling back the “divine curtain.” He does this when He wants to comfort us, to give us perspective, to give us hope, to give us a glimpse of what’s going on beyond what we can see. And, when God does this, it’s always through extraordinary, mysterious and otherworldly visions.
In the vision from our passage, we encounter a mysterious Man With No Name, on a red horse. If we let Him, God will take us a few steps “behind the divine curtain” to see what message He has for us.
On the twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month, which is the month of Shebat, in the second year of Darius, the word of the LORD came to the prophet Zechariah, the son of Berechiah, son of Iddo, saying,
Zechariah 1:7
This is three months after Zechariah’s first message. When God speaks, He has a reason—what’s His reason? Something’s happening among God’s people to make this message necessary—what is it? That rebuke from Haggai 1:4 is a symptom, not the disease itself—what’s the disease?
We’ll only figure this out by reading what God has to say.
I saw in the night, and behold, a man riding on a red horse! He was standing among the myrtle trees in the glen, and behind him were red, sorrel, and white horses.
Zechariah 1:8
I once read a Lee Child novel in which a minor character, a pastor, explained to Jack Reacher that the Book of Revelation read like an acid trip.[1] Even if Christians wouldn’t put it quite so crudely, some would share the same sentiments. Why? Because of genre confusion!
The writer of Hebrews tells “long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets,” (Heb 1:1). The Old Covenant shows us poetry, proverbs, narrative, prophecy … and a genre called “apocalyptic.”
When you find strange and otherworldly prophetic visions in scripture, then you’re probably looking at apocalyptic literature. This is a sub-genre of prophecy, and God uses it when He wants to peel back the divine curtain and show us something.
What’s this genre look like? You usually have an angelic guide[2]. Daniel, Ezekiel, Zechariah and John each have one. They need these guides because the visions are, well … confusing! You find “graphic visions filled with unexpected and often mysterious scenes of heaven and the future.”[3] So, for example, you see John introduce a pregnant woman; “a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars,” (Rev 12:1). At the beginning of Ezekiel’s book, you see strange creatures, chariots, a vision of one like the Son of Man, jewels, fire … lots of odd things.
What’s it’s message? It’s often about “distant judgment and restoration: The final solution for the problems of this age is in the age to come, when God will reign and be recognized as the LORD of all.”[4] So, Daniel’s four beasts are slain by a stone that represents God’s kingdom (Dan 2). The Son of Man is crowned as King of the world, and His kingdom will never end. These are visions of a better future.
Why does God use it? When people feel hopeless and they need an awesome “window” into the future as a vehicle for hope—it’s an encouragement to persevere![5]. So, God shows His people a vision of a newer, better, massive temple (Ezek 40-48). And, of course, you have visions all over Zechariah. A surveyor takes measurements for a future Jerusalem (Zech 2). One day, the high priest and a king will be united in one person (Zech 4). Sin, personified by a woman (cf. Rev 17-18), is sealed into a container and cast into darkness (Zech 5). One day, a King will come to bring a new and better covenant (Zech 9).
It’s not that Zechariah, Ezekiel, John (etc.) are trying to describe strange things within the limitations of their language and experience. It’s that God communicates hope by way of fantastic images and visions of an eternal future. And apocalyptic is the genre for it, just as poetry/song is the genre for love.
After all, you don’t write essays to the one you love. You write songs, you write poetry, you write verse. Can you imagine writing a five-paragraph essay, complete with a thesis statement, and presenting it to your fiance? Of course not! You write poems. You sing songs.
For hope to persevere through crisis … God uses apocalyptic. It makes truth come alive. It makes you experience the events. It uses dramatic images, not data. God wants the powerful, otherworldly imagery to move you to action and shape your values.[6]
It’s about hope for the future—not chronological info about the future.[8]
It uses lots of non-literal, symbolic language to paint pictures.
So, because the “big picture” is the point, not the details, you should be very humble when proposing interpretations!
Don’t try to identify every single detail; focus on the bigger picture—akin to impressionist art[9] Take a look at this impressionist painting by Claude Monet:
In this picture, the details aren’t the point. It’s not about the ships, the sun, or what might be the city lost in the haze. It’s about the general impression. This is just a picture of a guy rowing his boat at sunset. It’d be a mistake to ask questions about the time of day, or about the names of the sailing ships in the harbor. It’s the same with apocalyptic literature.
What does all this have to do with the guy on the red horse? Well, you can tell it’s going to be “weird.” I’m showing you how to interpret the “weirdness!”
There’s a crisis. God wants to encourage us. Zechariah’s visions do that, in striking and mysterious ways.
So, what does Zechariah show us, here? He shows us the Man With No Name on a red horse. Behind him are three other horses.
Then I said, ‘What are these, my lord?’
Zechariah 1:9
Good question! It’s our question, too! Zechariah asks his guide. Remember I told you the prophets usually have one, in this type of literature? Zechariah needs a guide because he’s consistently just as clueless as we are (and so is Daniel, and Ezekiel, and John). So, if you’re confused about this, you’re in good company!
The angel who talked with me said to me, ‘I will show you what they are.’
Zechariah 1:9
It’s good to have a guide!
So the man who was standing among the myrtle trees answered,
Zechariah 1:10
The Man With No Name hears Zechariah’s question and answers, and you can picture the guide gesturing to him to get Zechariah’s attention. But, Zechariah wasn’t talking to him—so why does the guy on the horse answer?
Because this isn’t like A Christmas Carol, where Scrooge can only see, but not interact with the vision. Zechariah can see, and can interact.
These are they whom the LORD has sent to patrol the earth.
Zechariah 1:10
“These” are the three horsemen. The Man With No Name says, “Yahweh sent these guys out to patrol the whole earth!”
Who is this Man With No Name? Zechariah doesn’t know His name. The guy never tells us his name. But, he does differentiate Himself from Yahweh. We’ll have to wait to find out more.
Back to the three horsemen—why would they go out to patrol the earth? Patrol for what? It’s a reconnaissance—like imperial probe droids. These scouts have returned, and Zechariah parachutes in right when they’re about to make their report—what do they say?
And they answered the angel of the LORD who was standing among the myrtle trees, and said, ‘We have patrolled the earth, and behold, all the earth remains at rest.’
Zechariah 1:11
What kind of report is this? Good or bad? Well, because this is an apocalyptic genre, we can assume there is some kind of crisis going on, so the report likely isn’t positive at all—at least for Israel. But, the only way to find out is to see what the Man With No Name does with their report.
Then the angel of the LORD said, ‘O LORD of hosts, how long will you have no mercy on Jerusalem and the cities of Judah, against which you have been angry these seventy years?’
Zechariah 1:12
Before we answer the question we raised, we’re confronted with something else. Here is the first clue to the Man’s identity—He’s “the angel of the Lord.” Who is this angel of the Lord (LXX: ὁ ἄγγελος Κυρίου)?[10] The bible tells us this particular angel:
led the people from Egypt by fire and cloud (Ex 14:19),
comforted Hagar in the wilderness (Gen 16:17),
confronted Balaam and told him to prophesy to the Moabites (Num 21:22, 31f),
promised Samson’s parents they’d have a son who’d rescue them from the Philistines (Judges 13),
and was probably the commander of the Lord’s armies who meets Joshua outside Jericho (Josh 5:13-15)
As we look at one of these examples, we see the bible tells us He’s the angel who comforted Hagar (Gen 16:7), he refers to God in the third-person (Gen 16:11) but speaks as if He is God (Gen 16:10) and, after speaking to Him, Hagar thinks she’s seen God Himself (Gen 16:13). The Angel of the Lord, the Man With No Name, is Jesus.
Was the scout’s report good or bad? It was bad—He prays for His people immediately after hearing the report.
What’s so bad about the report? You can tell by what He prays. How long will you not have mercy? How long will you be so angry at your people? Why are our enemies happy and “at peace”?
The Man With No Name’s prayer tells us what the “crisis” is: “God doesn’t care!”
Why do the Persians prosper?
I thought God promised to curse His people’s enemies?
Can we even trust God?
Does He keep His word?
Will He be angry forever?
Does He have no mercy?
Haggai 1:4 (“Is it a time for you yourselves to dwell in your paneled houses, while this house lies in ruins?”) is the symptom, not the problem. People are asking themselves, “why should I go on, when God seems to have checked out?” It’s a fair question. They’ve endured sustained 16 years of local opposition. It’s easy and cheap to dismiss this as mere “disobedience.” 16 years ago it was 2005. That’s a long time to wait. It’s natural to suspect God has “checked out;” to suspect it implicitly even if you wouldn’t dare say so explicitly.
Have you ever felt the same way, as you survey your life? Do you feel the same way, right now? Is your life a mess? Is a crisis sapping your faith in God’s goodness? Are you wondering what God’s doing? Do you wonder if He cares? Wondering if He notices? Wondering if you should stay the course if God doesn’t care? Are you here physically, but “checked out” mentally and emotionally? Are you weary with unspoken frustrations about God’s goodness?
That’s the crisis that’s prompting God to peel the divine curtain back for Zechariah—so he can tell us what he sees! God is peeling that curtain back for us, too. For me, for you, for all of us. Because we need to be comforted, as well.
What does Zechariah see? What should we see? What’s behind the curtain? The vision isn’t finished yet, but we can already see this much:
God hasn’t checked out—He’s arranged a reconnaissance patrol.
God knows—He’s received a report from the scouts.
Jesus prays for His people … and God hears Him!
What is God’s message through this vision?
And the LORD answered gracious and comforting words to the angel who talked with me.
Zechariah 1:13
What does God say in His response? He speaks comforting words; God does care about our fears, hopes, dreams, terrors. He speaks gracious words; God does have mercy.
He wants us to know that He remembers, that He cares, that His Son prays for us, that He hasn’t abandoned us, and that He’ll fix this.
God wants us to know we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the Righteous One (1 Jn 2:1).
He wants you to know it, too.
So the angel who talked with me said to me, ‘Cry out, Thus says the LORD of hosts: I am exceedingly jealous for Jerusalem and for Zion.
Zechariah 1:14
God wants Zechariah to “cry out,” as if to say “this is what I want you to tell everybody!” God wants Zechariah to say this loudly.
they’re upset—tell them this!
they’re angry—tell them this!
they think I’ve forgotten about them—tell them this!
they think I deleted them like a bad smartphone app—tell them this!
they feel worn down by unspoken weariness about my goodness—tell them this!
He wants Zechariah to tell the people that He’s “exceedingly jealous.” He does care. He promises He cares. He remembers His promises. No matter what it looks like—he cares about His people. If you’re one of His people, He cares about you.
And I am exceedingly angry with the nations that are at ease; for while I was angry but a little, they furthered the disaster.
Zechariah 1:15
He’s angry at the “nations at ease;” those nations at peace from the scout’s report (Zech 1:11). Why is God angry? Because of His promise from Genesis 12 to curse His people’s enemies (Gen 12:3).
Therefore, thus says the LORD, I have returned to Jerusalem with mercy; my house shall be built in it, declares the LORD of hosts, and the measuring line shall be stretched out over Jerusalem.
Zechariah 1:16
From the beginning, God’s desire has been to dwell among His people. It was that way in the beginning, for a short time. The tabernacle and then the temple were object lessons to show us, in part, He has a plan to fix that one day. Through those structures, as living parables, God shows Himself living with His people, among them. But, God left His people a long time ago (Ezek 8-10). He’s never physically returned. Jesus certainly went to the temple (Mal 3:1), but was rejected.
Even now, God hasn’t “returned” to Jerusalem and built a place to be physically with His people. His promise to Zechariah looks forward to eternity. The imagery of the measuring line brings to mind surveyors and grand re-building plans.
Cry out again, Thus says the LORD of hosts: My cities shall again overflow with prosperity, and the LORD will again comfort Zion and again choose Jerusalem.’ ”
Zechariah 1:17
Again, God tells Zechariah to “cry out.” To tell the people about the hope for something better than the mess that is “now.”
And I lifted my eyes and saw, and behold, four horns!
Zechariah 1:18
These horns are symbols of power—what do they mean?
And I said to the angel who talked with me, “What are these?” And he said to me, “These are the horns that have scattered Judah, Israel, and Jerusalem.”
Zechariah 1:19
The horns are enemies in general, whoever they are, whenever they are. Four nations have not scattered Israel. These are not literal kingdoms.
Then the LORD showed me four craftsmen. And I said, “What are these coming to do?” He said, “These are the horns that scattered Judah, so that no one raised his head. And these have come to terrify them, to cast down the horns of the nations who lifted up their horns against the land of Judah to scatter it.”
Zechariah 1:20-21
These craftsmen are like a divine demolition crew. They’ve come to blast enemies off the face of the earth; to take the buildings down and leave nothing but rubble behind. Whoever His people’s enemies are, they’ll all be gone!
Exhortation
There are ups and downs in the Christian life. Zechariah is dealing with people whose lives are down. They’ve implicitly (but, perhaps not explicitly) “checked out.” Are you in the same place this morning?
This passage is about the angelic guide peeling back the divine curtain to show Zechariah that God does remember, and does have mercy, because Jesus is our advocate.
What is God doing, here? His aim is to assure His people to not be bitter with God or think He’s forgotten about His people—He hasn’t. So, when you feel bitter or angry with God at injustice in your life, know that Jesus prays for you.
How do we specifically apply this truth to become more like Christ? This is what I suggest. Whenever you doubt God, peel back that same divine curtain in your mind and repeat to yourself, “I can go on, because Jesus prays for me!”
You may be asking yourself, just like Zechariah’s folks did:
does God care about my heartache?
does God remember me?
does God notice my struggles?
does God keep His promises?
Well, when God peels back that curtain for Zechariah, he shows us Jesus translating those thoughts from your heart and mind and asking them for you—”O LORD of hosts, how long will you have no mercy?” (Zech 1:12).
God responds and says to Zechariah: “Cry out, Thus says the LORD of hosts: I am exceedingly jealous for Jerusalem and for Zion,” (Zech 1:14). He’s telling Zechariah (and us, too) “shout it on the rooftops, put it in CAPS, bold, underline, buy television airtime, launch social media campaigns—do whatever you gotta do to tell them, “I know, I care, and I’ll fix it!”
So, again, whenever you doubt God, I suggest you peel back that divine curtain in your mind, and repeat to yourself, “I can go on, because Jesus prays for me!”
[1] Lee Child, Nothing to Lose (New York: Dell, 2009), 435.
[2] D. Brent Sandy and Martin G. Abegg, Jr., “Apocalyptic,” in Cracking Old Testament Codes: A Guide to Interpreting Literary Genres of the Old Testament, ed. D. Brent Sandy and Ronald L. Geise (Nashville: B&H, 1995), 185.
[3] Ronald Giese, “Literary Forms of the Old Testament,” in Ibid, p. 22.
[5] “… in apocalyptic the coming judgment is written to encourage the saints who are caught up in the crises of living in an evil world; they are encouraged to persevere and not give up hope, for God is truly in control and will “soon” intervene into world events in the person of the Son of Man,” (Ibid).
“When faced with severe adversity such as the Jews experienced at the hands of the Assyrians or Babylonians or Syrians (or the Nazis), the response of many was to call on God for salvation. When relief failed to come, patience became thin and doubts about God’s control and mercy arose. People understandably lost sight of the bigger picture of how God might be at work in the affairs of this world and became preoccupied with the immediacy of their own misfortunes.
Largely in response to this kind of crisis, apocalyptic literature gives its readers a roller-coaster ride through the heavens and into the future. There are thrills as those faced with crisis get a glimpse beyond the problems of the present. The heavenly journeys and descriptions of activities and creatures in the domain of heaven—all so unlike anything known on this earth—help the persecuted put their own misfortunes in perspective,” (D. Brent Sandy and Martin G. Abegg, Jr., “Apocalyptic,” in Ibid., p. 186).
[6] D. Brent Sandy and Martin G. Abegg, Jr., “Apocalyptic,” in Ibid., p. 177.
[8] The genre is “a literary shock treatment of bold and graphic images to take our attention away from the problems we currently face and give us hope,” (Ibid, p. 188).
[9] “Apocalyptic tends to be impressionistic, more like an abstract painting which communicates an overall impression. If you stand too close to the painting trying to examine the detail of the artist’s work, you fail to grasp what the picture is intended to present,” (Ibid, p. 189).
[10] See a good overview of this issue in (1) “Angel of the Lord,” in Baker Encyclopedia of the Bible, ed. Walter A. Elwell and Barry J. Beitzel (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1988), 90, and (2) Elke B. Speliopoulos and Douglas Mangum, “Angel of Yahweh,” in Lexham Bible Dictionary, ed. John D. Barry et al. (Bellingham: Lexham Press, 2016).
Millard Erickson sums it up nicely when he writes, “There are three major interpretations of ‘the angel of the Lord:’ (1) he is merely an angel with a special commission; (2) he is God himself temporarily visible in a humanlike form; (3) he is the Logos, a temporary preincarnate visit by the Second Person of the Trinity. While none of these interpretations is fully satisfactory, in light of the clear statements of identity, either the second or the third seems more adequate than the first,” (Christian Theology, 3rd ed. [Grand Rapids: Baker, 2013; Kindle ed.], p. 413; KL 9090).
I read Rolland McCune’s systematic years ago, and still refer to it occasionally. It is an excellent representation of scholarly, second-stage[1] Northern Baptist fundamentalism. Tellingly, it is the only meaningful work of systematic theology a latter-day Baptist fundamentalist has yet produced in America.[2] I still treasure memories of reading the second volume of his systematic theology text regarding Christology.
In the doctrine of scripture from his first volume, McCune explains that general revelation acts through creation and conscience and reveals non-verbal information about God.[3] Preservation of scripture is providential, not miraculous. “Because of this, God does not miraculously prevent mistranslations or errant transmissions.”[4] God’s word is providentially preserved in the totality of manuscripts.[5] The Spirit assures us God’s word is true and provides “an ongoing capacity to understand the significance of scripture.”[6]
Accurate interpretation of Scripture is predicated on two pillars; (1) scripture is sufficiently clear about the Gospel, and (2) it is sufficient for life and godliness.[7] “It does not wait to be sufficient until it encounters the individual nor does it cease to be sufficient when rejected or ignored by the same.”[8]
In fact, the entire debate—both about inspiration and, even, inerrancy—boils down to whether or not one accepts Scripture’s origin and, subsequently, its claims about itself. Either these are accepted or rejected; there is no middle ground.[9]
McCune has excellent discussions about Jesus and the apostles’ testimony about the inspiration of the Old and New Covenant scripture.[10] His chart of the Old Testament miracles Jesus affirms is particularly helpful.[11]
McCune holds to a concursus kind of inspiration,[12] which he curiously files under the “dictation” heading.[13] He explains, “Concursive inspiration insists on the (miraculous) participation of both man and God in the writing process.”[14] He flippantly dismisses the dynamic theory in two short paragraphs, citing Augustus Strong as a proponent, falsely claiming this view believes scripture “merely records human reflections on historical encounters with God.”[15] Strong’s extensive discussion[16] deserved better than this, and McCune errs by imputing neo-orthodoxy to him—an anachronism if ever there was one!
Scripture is the result of God’s creative power—it is God-produced, not God-animated.[17] If “all” Scripture is produced by God, “then this production must extend to its very words.”[18] McCune does not deal with problem passages. As McCune left matters, the reader must conclude God moved the biblical writers to quote the LXX rather than the Hebrew, and produced Paul’s (shall we say) … creative re-purposing of Psalm 68:18 at Ephesians 4:8-10.
McCune believes inerrancy “argues for accuracy of statement, not necessarily exactness of statement.”[19] He declares, “[w]ithout question, the Bible teaches its own inerrancy by claiming its own truthfulness.”[20] Given that McCune goes on to pursue two lines of evidence for the Bible’s truthfulness,[21] one wonders why Michael Bird’s suggestion to re-package this concept as “divine truthfulness” has not caught on with Americans.[22]
McCune then draws a parallel to Christ’s dual nature incarnation to help us understand how God and man worked together to produce inspired scripture.[23] Troublingly, Strong has an excellent discussion on this very point just beyond where McCune last cited him,[24] but McCune never credits Strong (or, indeed, any theologian) with this insight.[25]
McCune closes the selection with a helpful survey of seven ways God reveals Himself to people.[26]
McCune does not interact with those even a bit to his left in any sustained way. For example, it would have been helpful if he had addressed criticism from the center-left of evangelicalism such as that of Donald Bloesch, who labeled positions like McCune’s an “epistemic bondage to Enlightenment rationalism.”[27] Bloesch was neither a liberal or a fundamentalist, and his observations are worth the effort to engage them. For example, “[b]iblical inerrancy has become a slogan masking a not-so-hidden antipathy to the historical-critical approach to Scripture.”[28]
But, McCune stays away from this. His is a solid, conservative systematic theology advancing views rather standard among second-stage Northern Baptist fundamentalists and their heirs. It’s a beginning text. It’s a “safe” place to get the “right” answers. That is not to say McCune’s answers are wrong. He just does not interact meaningfully with opposing views. Indeed, the student reading his text may not realize there are other views that hold sway in the broader stream of evangelicalism.
[1] This is Roger Olson’s term (Westminster Handbook to Evangelical Theology [Louisville: WJK, 2004]pp. 36-39). He accurately distinguishes first-stage fundamentalists who were concerned with doctrinal orthodoxy from second-stage fundamentalists whose rhetorical foe became conservatives who “compromised” on doctrine. First-stage fundamentalists are the modern conservative evangelicals (e.g. the GARBC). Second-stage fundamentalists are groups like the FBFI and the ACCC, who still fight the good fight of separation from evangelicals and other conservatives.
[2] One possible exception is Emery Bancroft, Christian Theology, second revised ed. (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1976). Bancroft’s work began life in 1925 and went through several editions. Bancroft died in 1944, and was a co-founder of Baptist Bible Seminary in Clarks Summit, PA. I hesitate to include Bancroft because I doubt he could be considered a “fundamentalist” in the second-stage sense of the term at all.
[3] Rolland McCune, A Systematic Theology of Biblical Christianity, 3 vols. (Detroit: DBTS, 2006-2009), 1: 42-43.
[16] Augustus Strong, Systematic Theology (Old Tappan: Revell, 1907), 211-222. McCune’s issue with the dynamic theory seems to be that it denies God’s direct agency in the choice of words (Systematic Theology, 1:80). Strong is inconsistent on this point. At the beginning of his discussion, he argues inspiration is plenary (Systematic, 211) but then remarks, “[t]hought is possible without words, and in the order of nature precedes words. The Scripture writers appear to have been so influenced by the Holy Spirit that they perceived and felt even the new truths they were to publish, as discoveries of their own minds, and were left to the action of their own minds in the expression of these truths, with the single exception that they were supernaturally held back from the selection of wrong words, and when needful were provided with the right ones,” (Ibid, p. 216).
[22] “Rather than ‘inerrancy,’ a better categorization of Scripture’s claims for itself would be ‘veracity,’ or ‘divine truthfulness.’ Instead of stating how or in what way the Bible is not untrue—which is an odd thing to say, when you think about it—we are better off simply asserting that God’s Word is true as it correlates with God’s intent for what Scripture is to achieve, because he is faithful to his world and to his Word,” (Michael Bird, “Inerrancy is Not Necessary for Evangelicalism Outside the USA,” in Five Views on Biblical Inerrancy, ed. Stanley Gundry [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2013; Kindle ed.], KL 2655).
J. Ligon Duncan opens the book with two chapters on the regulative principle (“RP”). This is the concept that corporate worship must only be based on positive commands from scripture. Duncan presents a familiar lament about contemporary worship services. You hear this so often that one wonders if these warnings are no more than recycled, plagiarized strawmen. Duncan presents the RP as the answer. “True Christian worship is by the book,”[1] he declares, and “there must be scriptural warrant for all we do.”[2]
So, Duncan presents a representative case for the RP, using sometimes questionable hermeneutics. He cites Exodus 20:5-6 to claim God is like a wronged husband who seeks revenge against “adulterous” believers who worship Him wrongly.[3] It is unclear what the that text has to do with the RP.
Duncan believes nearly every theme in scripture supports the RP.[4] The way we worship communicates how we think about God; “form impacts content.”[5] He asks, “what makes us think we can possibly fathom what would please God, apart from his telling us what to do in his word?”[6] We can only respond to what God has revealed,[7] and the Church has “derivative authority” to “administer his rule for worship, as set forth in the word.”[8]
Contra charges of legalism, “[t]he regulative principle is designed to secure the believer’s freedom from the dominion of human opinion in worship.”[9] Indeed, the Reformers “did not have the same interest in cultural accommodation as many modern evangelical worship theorists do.”[10]
Derek Thomas then weighs in with an angry article answering objections to the RP. He wastes time by arguing the Puritans did not misunderstand Calvin’s theology of worship,[11] presuming the reader will care about this burning question.
The RP is not legalistic at all—why shouldn’t God have rules? We only hate rules because of sin.[12] People who have different interpretations about the RP, Thomas warns, are likely motivated by prejudice.[13] In fact, Thomas suspects disagreement is merely a cloak for pragmatism.[14]
Thomas dismisses John Frame’s objections by, ironically for a RP advocate, not quoting one passage of scripture![15] He acknowledges the charge that Jesus, by worshipping in a synagogue, did not practice the regulative principle.[16] Thomas never meaningfully responds to this, and again cites no scripture.[17]
Thomas likes strawmen, so much so that even at 19 years distance since its publication a fire marshal may well shut his essay down as a fire hazard. To abandon the RP, he declares, is the slippery slope to ruin.[18]
Edmund Clowney chimes in with an essay arguing corporate worship is a means of grace (ch. 5)—an issue I was not aware was in dispute. His contribution is unnecessary. Albert Mohler queues up to offer a workmanlike article on expository preaching. Like Duncan, he employs the same laments about the state of the contemporary church[19] and declares “the heart of Christian worship is the authentic preaching of the word of God.”[20]
Mark Dever offers an uninspired article about how to preach evangelistic sermons. It includes the immortal remark that an evangelistic sermon is one where the gospel is preached.[21]
Terry Johnson and Duncan team up to offer advice on reading and praying in corporate worship. They rightly call the Church back to corporate readings, but their advice can be too idealistic.[22] Johnson does not approve of non-pastors reading scripture in public but, irony of ironies for an RP man, he cannot provide scriptural support.[23] Crudely, he suggest having women read scripture in public is a sop to an egalitarian culture.[24]
All told, this is a collection of passionate essays from men who, to greater or lessor extent, minister in a very Reformed context. At times you get the feeling you’ve stumbled into the middle of a nasty family dispute, and start looking for the exit. Some essays exhibit inappropriate contempt and suspicion for those who disagree.
[1] Philip Ryken (ed.), Give Praise to God: A Vision for Reforming Worship, Celebrating the Legacy of James Montgomery Boice (Phillipsburg: P&R, 2003; Kindle ed.), KL 540-541.
[3] “In other words, God is saying in this warning: ‘My people, if you commit spiritual adultery in your worship, I will righteously respond like the most fearsome wronged husband you have ever known.’” (Ibid, KL 802-804). Because “there is a double essence to the idolatry prohibited in the second command” (Ibid, KL 1179), we need the regulative principle.
[4] “[T]he doctrine of God, the Creator-creature distinction, the idea of revelation, the unchanging character of the moral law, the nature of faith, the doctrine of carefulness, the derivative nature of the church’s authority, the doctrine of Christian freedom, the true nature of biblical piety, and the reality of the fallen human nature’s tendency to idolatry,” (Ibid, KL 1103-1105).
[7]Ibid, KL 1192-1193. “Where God has not revealed Himself, there can be no faithful response, so “God cannot be pleased by worship that is not an obedient response to his revelation, because it is by definition ‘un-faith-full’ worship.”
[11] “Is it the case that the seventeenth century took the regulative principle in a direction that Calvin, for example, did not intend?” (Ibid, KL 1626).
[13] “[I]t is sometimes apparent that this response is not an objection based on principle, but on prejudice,” (Ibid, KL 1698-1699).
[14] “One suspects that reformation in attitude to sola scriptura is needed before progress can be made in advancing the cause of biblical worship practice,” (Ibid, KL 1700-1701).
[17] “Of interest to us here is to know whether synagogue worship contained anything in it that would be deemed contrary to the regulative principle. Did it contain an element of worship that was not warranted by the Old Testament? The answer is definitely in the negative. What did a typical synagogue worship service look like? Nothing that will give devotees of greater freedom any joy! The fact is that synagogue worship was remarkably predictable, containing a call to worship, a cycle of prayers, the singing of psalms, the recitation of portions of Scripture (the Shema in particular), reading of Scripture, and something that we would now call preaching or exposition, followed by a blessing. It all sounds very similar to a traditional worship service!” (Ibid, KL 1811-1817).
[18] “… being at the mercy of a worship leader with the Outback Steakhouse approach to Sunday morning worship— no rules! What prevents our adding a ‘Pet consecration moment’ between the singing of ‘Jesus Is All the World to Me’ and the offering? Or a section called ‘Getting in Touch with Feelings’ led by Counselor Smith in place of the sermon? Or ‘Mrs. Beattie’s Bread Board: Cooking with Jesus’ as the closing facet of worship? The answer is ‘Nothing!’ Only cultural mores and prejudice can keep worship sane if there is no distinction between the worship service and the rest of life,” (Ibid, 1834-1839).
[19] The Church has been seduced by topical preaching (Ibid, KL 2065). Therapeutic concerns set the tone in many congregations (Ibid, 2065). “The appetite for serious preaching has virtually disappeared among many Christians,” (Ibid, 2084).
[21] “One thing and one thing alone determines whether a sermon can properly be said to be evangelistic, and that is its content. Is the evangel— the good news—present?” (Ibid, KL 2365-2367).
[22] They proclaim the public scripture reading “ought to be arresting to the congregation. It ought to grab their attention. It ought sometimes to make them tremble and other times rejoice,” (Ibid, KL 2631-2632). This sounds lovely. It likely will not do that. The authors appear to have been carried off into rapturous delight in their prose.
[24] “Sometimes it is done (one suspects) to prove to a suspicious culture that conservative evangelical churches are not knee-jerk reactionaries in their stance against women preachers, and so sometimes women are invited to lead the church in this area, if not in proclamation,” (Ibid, KL 2664-2666).
Mathewson’s discussion of expository preaching as “more of a philosophy than a method” is quite good (pp. 21-22). He appropriately critiques pastors who preach all genres the same way. “The analytical outline approach presses the story into a mold that often works against it, especially when the outline points are alliterated or parallel,” (p. 26).
His review of the building blocks of a narrative plot are adequete (pp. 57-78). However, a pastor will only be a competent interpreter if he is already a reader. So, attempts to explain nuts and bolts about the narrative genre are of limited value. It would be akin to me, the investigations manager for a WA-state agency, trying to explain the basics of ERISA health benefit plans to laypeople and expecting them to do something meaningful with this information. Unless you are already “in the know,” such an explanation would be a waste of time. I fear it is here, too.
Mathewson suggests the pastor ask himself three functional questions when considering application; (1) what does it mean?, (2) is it true?, and (3) so what? (pp. 95ff). I do these during the sermon as rhetorical questions to engage the audience so we “discover” the story together.
His application suggestions are disappointing. He suggests the pastor “build application around the contours” of the vision of God and the “fallen condition factor” (a la Bryan Chapell) of the text (p. 101). I agree with Abraham Kuruvilla that such an approach is inherently generic and can be applied to many other passages—thus implicitly denigrating the concept of plenary inspiration.[2] If the inspired author’s intent with the passage, the action he wants the audience to take, does not drive our application then we are tacitly saying the text is useless. Christlikeness predicated on the theology of the passage is the better way.
Mathewson follows Haddon Robinson’s “big idea” approach (ch. 9), which distills the theology into a memorable saying. This approach is an error. Did God really inspire 1 Samuel 17 so Mathewson could fashion a kitsch ditty like, “when God has big business, faith always gets the contract!” (p. 105)? We can distill the application; the author’s imperative from the passage’s context, but we ought not do it to the theology of the passage.
Troublingly, Mathewson suggests our “purpose” for the sermon (again, following Robinson) can be different than the author’s purpose “as long as it is in line with the author’s purpose” (p. 109; emphasis added). His Father’s Day suggestion from Genesis 22 is tawdry and irrelevant.[3] Ironically, he doesn’t follow his own caveat; “Would the author be comfortable with the way I am using his story to address this particular situation?” (p. 109). Regarding Mathewson’s butchering of Genesis 22, Moses would perhaps be tempted to call down an 11th plague upon him.
He helpfully suggests pastors craft specific and measurable purpose statements, but his examples are crude and of dubious exegetical warrant (pp. 110-111). For example, applying Genesis 13 means people ought to set lunch appointments to resolve interpersonal conflicts.
Mathewson prefers an inductive, “telling the story” shape for the sermon (pp. 113-115). His discussion of outlines is fine (pp. 122-130), but I confess I have never used outlines. He provides troubling advice for “cold opens” involving first-person narrative, costumes, and triteness that veers well-nigh unto blasphemy.
He suggests pastors turn their backs on the congregation, then spin about and “become” the character for a brief period (p. 149).
Mathewson sums up Genesis 22 for an introduction by suggesting the immortal line, “There’s a story in Genesis 22 that helps us understand why God appears to eat our lunch when we’ve asked him for our daily bread,” (p. 148).
He also recommends pastors begin the sermon “as” the character to introduce the passage. “I always figured that the movie based on my life story would be called The Natural. But a more appropriate title would be The Jerk. My name is Samson,” (p. 150).
Mathewson’s book has some helpful but unremarkable advice recycled from better-known works by other authors. In that respect, his book is what generic Target-brand soda is to Coca-Cola. It’s not bad. It just isn’t particularly great. In addition, his rhetorical suggestions are tacky and cheap. His commendable passion to tell the biblical narrative “as story” has led him astray into irreverence.
[1] Steven D. Mathewson, The Art of Preaching Old Testament Narrative (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2002).
[2] Abraham Kuruvilla, “Time to Kill the Big Idea? A Fresh Look at Preaching” JETS 61.4 (2018), pp. 833-834.
[3] “Fathers will write out a list of sacrifices they make for their children that steal time or money rightly belonging to God,” (109).
The Eccentric Fundamentalist 