Speak the beauty that is Jesus
To a broken hearted soul.
Tell him of the Great Physician
Who has died to make him whole.
Say that he will find enjoyment
In the God who is his friend
When the glory of his Maker
Is his chief and highest end.
Tell that he who heeds the sparrow
Keeps a count of all his hairs.
Even in the smallest matters
Tell him, "Listen, Jesus cares."
Christ, the lily of the valleys,
Tends the lilies of the field.
Clothed in glory for a season,
Soon to him their lives they yield.
When he feels that all is hopeless,
Tell him news to set him free-
Conquering death our Lord has risen:
Jesus lives and so shall he.
In Genesis 15, there is a covenantal ceremony that is similar to the one that occurs at Sinai when the Law is given. Genesis 16 actually presents Mount Sinai and the giving of the Law. This particular interpretation doesn’t jump out. It requires the assistance of Paul in Galatians 4:21-31. Here, he interprets the story of Sarai and Hagar allegorically. They are two covenants, two mountains, two cities. One is Law, Sinai, and the present Jerusalem; the other is Gospel, Zion, and the Jerusalem that is above. Their respective children, Ishmael and Isaac, are born into slavery and freedom. Paul tells the churches of Galatia that, like Isaac, they are children of promise. Isaac foreshadowed Christ. Starting from Paul’s interpretation, it is possible to read this narrative and see the relationship that exists between the two covenants.
The story of Hagar actually extends through Genesis 21:21. Moses has written it in such a way that the beginning of the story acts as a preview to the whole. Hagar is lifted to a place of honor. She then holds Sarai in contempt and, after Sarai deals harshly with her, flees into the wilderness. The angel of the Lord instructs her to return. Later on the altercation is between their children. Ishmael laughs at Isaac. Paul elaborates: this was a form of persecution. Sarah demands that Hagar and her son be cast out. Once again, God watches over Hagar and Ishmael. This part of the story can wait. For now, focus on the opening in Genesis 16:1-6.
This passage is often interpreted as the impatience of Abram and a lapse in his faith. I believe, however, that this not only misses the greater point of the passage, it may not even be correct. Abram knew that the promised seed wouldn’t be Lot or Eliezer: God had told him that it would actually be his own son. Furthermore, Abram had not yet been told that the child would actually be Sarai’s and it was accepted practice for a woman to have children through a female servant. The distinction between Ishmael and Isaac as sons of the flesh and of promise is not to be found in Abram’s actions but in God’s. Therefore, getting beyond the moralizing, what does the passage say about Christ?
So far in the narrative, Abram has been the Christ figure. There is no need to change this now. Paul has identified Sarai as the Jerusalem that is above. Comparing this with similar images in scripture, we learn that she represents the true church. She is the bride of Christ. Nevertheless, the covenant on Earth extends beyond those who are elect. It encompasses the visible church and, in OT times, the whole nation of Israel: the nation that had been to Sinai. And just as God had entered into a covenant with Israel at Sinai, even so, Christ enters into a covenant with the visible church. This is typified when Hagar is elevated to the status of Abram’s wife. Yet, this covenant is conditional. It lasts only as long as Israel keeps the terms. When Hagar treats Sarai with contempt, Abram gives Sarai the authority to judge her. In the same way, Christ has given to the church the keys of the kingdom. That Sarah’s final judgment is ultimately righteous is seen when Paul attributes her words in Genesis 21:10 to the scripture. It is God’s will that, in the end, those who are not of the children of promise will be cast out.
Although this passage typifies the church’s role in Christ’s final judgment of the apostate world, historically, Hagar was still under the covenant protection of Abram’s house. Because of this, Christ himself, in the person of the angel of the Lord, deals with her in the next section. He instructs her to go back to Sarai and submit to her. This serves a double function: it shows that Christ has subjugated the Law to Grace and that he has given authority to the church. The angel goes on to tell her that her offspring will be innumerable. She is the mother of Abram’s child. The covenant promises will apply to him also, even though they are only earthly and temporary. The name “Ishmael,” which means “God hears,” would be a reminder of God’s mercy towards Hagar in her affliction. Ishmael, she is told, will be “a wild donkey of a man.” The connotation here is that, unlike their mother, Hagar’s descendents would be free. [There is no conflict with this and the Pauline allegory. The covenant promised to Hagar’s son is genuine; however, it is conditioned upon the ultimate acceptance of Christ. Once Christ is rejected, then the final distinction is made between the children of the flesh and the children of promise.] The wild donkey, spoken of in Job 39:5-8, was an animal that could not be domesticated, and, as that text implies, this is God’s doing (See Shimon Bar-Efrat “Narrative Art in the Bible” p. 207). They would live in conflict with those around them; however, this, in itself, is not a curse. The same would be true of the seed of promise while still on this earth. The last segment of the angel’s promise can be understood in two different ways. Either, “he will be in conflict with his kinsmen,” or “he will live next to his kinsmen.” My own preference is for the latter. Geographically, this is fulfilled in the position that Ishmael’s descendents end up taking between both Egypt and Israel. In terms of the allegory, it would refer to the extent of the visible covenant in encompassing both the children of the flesh and the children of promise until the final judgment.
There is nothing in the angel’s words to indicate that Ishmael’s descendents could not become one with the children of promise. Hagar’s response is positive. She recognizes who the angel is and calls him “A God who sees me.” The well where they were speaking was named “Beer-lahai-roi,” or, “The well of the living one who sees me.” Hagar obeys the angel and returns to Abram’s house where she bears him a son who is included in the covenant and will later receive the sign of that covenant. The depiction of Christ in Genesis 16 has been two-fold: he is both the Lord of the Covenant and a God of mercy
Just before entering the second grade I prayed that a 12 year old Indian boy would get saved. A couple of years later, I prayed all the more fervently that no one else would find out. It all started when my mother wanted to know why the back of my head was bleeding.
“Duane threw a can at me.”
“But, why?”
“I don’t know. I was just looking at the swing and he threw a can at me.”
Further interrogation brought out more details. I had been outside playing on the swing when Duane wandered in from the village and asked if he could play too. Saying yes was the polite thing to do and, besides, Duane was bigger. After he had been there longer than I thought necessary, I gingerly suggested that perhaps turns would be in order. To my surprise, Duane seemed to be agreeable to the idea. Sporting a rather prominent grin, he immediately jumped to the ground and allowed me to make my approach. But then, grabbing the swing, he threw it over the top bar well out of my reach and headed back to the village.
“So, when did he throw the can at you?”
“Um…”
“Did you do anything to make him mad?”
“No.”
“Did you throw something at him?”
“No.”
“Did you say something to him?”
“ .”
“Kevin?”
It hadn’t taken long to recover from the initial shock. My social status during the upcoming school year required that I take action. I called out to him and Duane turned around to look at me. Soon I remembered that he was obviously too large for me take down on my own. So, I claimed the only weapon that a young Christian boy has in these kinds of situations. I quoted the first Bible verse that came to mind. Then, still maintaining my composure, I turned my back to him and faced the swing.
That evening, my mother suggested that God could still make everything turn out better. I didn’t see how. All I had to do, she explained, was to pray that God would change Duane’s heart. Pray that God saves Duane. I reluctantly agreed. There was, after all, no guarantee that Duane’s salvation would prevent him from throwing more cans. Later that year, after one of the church services that we would hold in our living room, Duane stayed after to talk to my father. He became the only convert to the faith that we had during our two year stay as missionaries in Anvik, Alaska. And the first prayer was answered.
The World Baptist Fellowship exists as a cooperative effort of independent churches in order to send missionaries to the field. Every May, they hold a missions conference to coincide with the graduation ceremonies of their college. There are representatives from WBF churches all over the country. For those that are close enough to the DFW Metroplex, whole congregations may show up. In addition, all of the missionary families that are home on furlough and able to attend come and give testimonies about their time on the field. That year, we were able to attend. I was just completing the third grade and in four months we would be leaving for Brazil.
I didn’t really know what was going on. It looked to me like a lot of the church services we’d been to while raising more support. As usual, I would blend in with crowd while my father said something about our new mission field. Perhaps he would even preach. But then I noticed something rather disturbing. The missionaries who were on stage speaking were up there with their families. In most cases, the man would speak while his family stood dutifully next to him. Occasionally, his wife would say something. They would then exit stage right to a short burst of applause. My fate having been sealed, I began preparing myself. Okay, you can do this. All you have to do is stand there.
An usher broke my concentration, “Y’all are next!” We were escorted backstage and waited our turn. It came and I began to wonder if all the other MKs’ stomachs were in the same kinds of knots. Relief came when my father finished speaking. I started walking off the stage only to quickly realize that my mother was headed in the wrong direction.
What is she doing?
“I’d like to tell you about Duane.”
The sheer intensity of prayer has erased the next few minutes from my memory. However, I distinctly remember hearing the verse, the only Bible verse that had come to mind.
“Ye are of your father the devil!”
And so it happened that, instead of my second prayer being answered to my satisfaction, I was left standing on a stage in an auditorium in Texas while two thousand people laughed at me.
We were never able to do any follow up work and no other missionaries went to Anvik after us. I still wonder whatever happened to Duane. More prayer is in order.
The Lord declares that Christ himself will build
A house, His holy name to magnify.
The blessings promised David are fulfilled
In raising him who for this house did die.
The Spirit has, when Christ 'nearth's womb was staid,
Created from his death him first in birth.
Rejoice! This is the day the Lord has made:
His Christ now rules the kingdom of this earth.
As God has said to him, "You are my Son;
I have become your Father on this day,"
So saying, he has crowned him as the one
Who evermore remains though worlds decay.
Hosanna, save us Lord that we may bring
The blessing due your Christ- our Priest and King.
Magnify the Lord Jehovah,
Joy, my spirit, in your God.
He, your low estate regarded:
Render ceaseless praise and laud.
He was born to work within me
Life by his ignoble death;
Greater thing than when creating
Breathed he in man life’s first breath.
Fear the Lord. His name is Holy-
He alone has strength to live.
In remembrance of his mercy,
He is willing to forgive.
I will kneel in prayer before him,
All my sins to him confess.
He will, being just and faithful,
Cleanse me from unrighteousness.
Jesus Christ is God Almighty.
Other name shall never be
That can seize my soul’s affection
While it sets my spirit free.
The theme of every text in scripture is Jesus; that is, the person and work of Christ. That being said, it is far too easy to develop our own ideals concerning Jesus and then read these back into a text. The Bible itself must define who Jesus is; however, this does not mean that we collect that set of proof texts that matches our own preconceptions. Rather, we must be able to recognize the covenantal structure that serves as the Bible’s own interpretive grid. This structure is, essentially, the Covenant of Works and, apart from it, Christ cannot be properly understood.
The covenant begins at creation. Adam is set up as the vassal king in charge of the Edenic temple. It is his task to guard the sanctity thereof. As a matter of justice, successful completion of this task would be greatly rewarded. Adam failed, yet, the covenant itself remains intact, and, because of this, there is room for the Last Adam to take his place. This Last Adam is Christ and he will be defined entirely according to the paradigm set up in the Covenant of Works. While this means that Christ is the ultimate goal of redemptive history, scripture takes it to an even deeper level. It tells the story in such a way that Christ permeates history. This is done by treating the various episodes within this history as typological republications of the original covenantal story.
Consider Genesis 14. Abram, the vassal king, has just guarded the sanctity of the land by driving out the invading kings and then declaring his allegiance to the Lord as his suzerain. Justice for this situation requires that Abram be rewarded, so he is entirely within his rights when in chapter 15 he says to the Lord, “What will you give me?” God’s answer, that Abram would have descendants as numerous as the stars, leads to the observation that Abram believed the Lord and this was counted to him as righteousness.
This observation, however, presents a problem. So far, the entire scenario has been set up in terms of a reward that Abram receives for something he has done. But when Paul comments on this verse, both in Romans 4 and in Galatians 3, he is making the point that Abraham’s righteousness came by faith and not by works. The situation is not immediately remedied when James weighs in with the second chapter of his epistle. He claims that this verse is fulfilled when Abraham is justified by works in the sacrifice of Isaac. So then, are James’ hermeneutical skills superior to Paul’s?
Consider, first of all, that James is speaking of the evidence and not the grounds of justification. Whereas the background of Genesis 15:6, as originally stated, is Genesis 14, James use of this verse considers it in the subsequent context of Genesis 22. Still, it is necessary to explain why Paul opts for justification by faith when the immediate context seems to indicate works. The solution to this problem comes when we realize that Abram recognized the typological nature of his own situation. When God promised him descendants as numerous as the stars, Abram was able to reference this back to the original declaration of the covenant to him in Genesis 12, the same declaration that, in Galatians 3:8, is identified as “the gospel preached beforehand to Abraham.”
Abram’s faith lifted him from the realm of typology to that of reality. His faith was not merely in the fact that God had spoken, as though believing anything that God might happen to say is sufficient unto righteousness. Nor was it in his own recent accomplishments as a typological Adam. Rather, it was in the fulfillment of the type, which is found in the person and work of Christ, who is the antitypical and eschatological Adam.
Now that we have seen the nature of Abram’s faith, the potency thereof is drawn into question. When God tells him that he called him out of Ur to give him this land, Abram asks, “How am I to know that I shall possess it?” But the question in our own minds only comes if we aren’t aware of the covenantal context. God had just initiated a covenant treaty ratification ceremony and Abram’s response was the only appropriate one under the circumstances.
Perhaps it would help if a comparison were drawn with a similar ceremony that took place on Sinai. In that situation, the historical prologue is stated, “I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.” This is followed by a list of covenant stipulations. Compare this historical prologue with that given to Abram, “I am the LORD who brought you out from Ur of the Chaldeans to give you this land to possess.” Other than locale, these appear to be identical; nevertheless, an important element is missing from the account in Genesis. It may be easy to overlook at first because, though present in the Exodus account, it remains unspoken. The historical prologue in Exodus assumes the crossing of the Red Sea, which involved both the redemption of God’s people and the judgment of his enemies. In that event, God himself, in the double pillared Theophany of cloud and fire, passed through the divided waters. The Red Sea crossing goes on to serve as the evidence, required by the terms of the treaty itself, that God will fulfill all of his promises to Israel.
According to the structure of the treaty that God had just initiated with Abram, and by the dictates of his own justice, he was legally bound to offer proof that he would fulfill his promises. He does this through a “Red Sea” crossing; however, this time it isn’t water, but animals’ bodies that are divided. Notice also the similarity of form that the Theophany takes. In the one instance, it is the double pillar of cloud and fire; in the other, it is a smoking firepot and a flaming torch. During this proving ceremony, God also gives Abram an historical preview of what will happen to his descendants. The typological Covenant of Works was to be be reenacted by the nation of Israel.
The fulfillment of this covenant involves acting out the image of God. Note the pattern. God judges Satan; Adam’s act of judging the serpent would reflect God’s image, but he fails. God judges Egypt; Israel’s act of judging the Canaanites would reflect God’s image, but they fail. Abram’s situation is, admittedly, out of sequence; nevertheless, in the slaughter of the kings, he has successfully reflected the divine image. Still, none of this would mean a thing without the antitype. God judges Satan; the Last Adam reflects God’s image by crushing the serpent’s head. However, this act involves the bruising of his own heal. Because he has taken upon himself the sin of the world, Christ’s judgment of the serpent entails God’s judgment of Christ. In accordance with the symbolism of the serpent that Moses raises in the wilderness, these two judgments are merged into one event.
Not only God’s words spoken during the proving ceremony, but the ceremony itself points to Christ. This can be seen in the broken bodies and shed blood of the animal victims. Hebrews 10:20 alludes to this when it speaks of the living way opened for us through Christ’s flesh. Furthermore, Jesus self designation as “the way, the truth, and the life” can now can be seen as intimately tied to his death. The crucifixion, as the antitypical Red Sea Crossing, is the proof that God will fulfill his promises. Paul had this in mind in Romans 8:32 when he wrote, “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?”
Types are, by their very nature, inadequate to the task. Take, for instance, the use of goats on the Day of Atonement. One was sacrificed and the other was released into the wilderness. It took both of these to typify the work of Christ. The same kind of thing happens in Genesis 14. God’s redemptive work is beyond the depiction of one man. Both Abram and Melchizedek will serve as Christ figures even though they appear together in the same text. This particular passage has the advantage of a two-fold exegesis in subsequent scripture: first, in Psalm 110 and then in the comments both of Christ and of the author of Hebrews on this Psalm.
Jesus is concerned with the opening of the Psalm. He uses it to dispel the depleted view that the Jews had of the Christ. When he asks whose son Christ is, the Pharisees say, “The son of David.” This is the case, but it is not the whole picture. The Pharisees could not see beyond a political figure who would rescue them from the power of Rome. So Jesus wants to know why David would call him Lord. How can he be both? Jesus is not pointing out a contradiction, as though his audience would now have to choose the next option. He is bringing to light their unbelief. A naturalistic outlook would never be able to grasp the answer.
The Pharisees read this passage and missed the point that the son of David is God. But they did see one thing that might be easy for us to miss. Notice that Jesus just assumes that they would know that the passage he quotes is talking about the Christ. The key is found in the phrase, “Sit at my right hand.” This is a privilege reserved for only one and it implies something that does not normally occur to us: Christ, properly defined, is one who will aspire to nothing higher than second place. Paul says as much in I Corinthians 15:27, 28 (q.v.).
This leads us into a concept that, even though it was presupposed in the creation account, is introduced in Genesis 14: the Suzerain-Vassal relationship. Chedorlaomer is presented as the Suzerain. The kings of Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, Zeboiim, and Bela had been serving him for twelve years. They are vassals (whether the kings of Shinar, Ellasar, and Goiim are co-suzerains or non-rebellious vassals is beside the point). The king of Elam is, historically, the chief king in this war. Yet, he is not the first mentioned. Instead, we are first introduced to Amraphel king of Shinar. This sets the redemptive context. It goes in two directions. First, we are transported back to the plains of Shinar. The Tower of Babel is awaiting the judgment of God. But now, in keeping with the theme of the past chapters, Moses looks forward. Israel has been called out of Egypt, the kingdom has been divided, and now Lot has been captured. Or, as later scripture would have it, we are witnessing the Babylonian exile. Still, we should not look upon the correlation between the patriarchs and the nation of Israel as an end in itself. Both point to Christ.
When Abram takes it upon himself to rescue Lot, we see Christ appearing as the Kinsman-Redeemer. It is also Christ who redeems Israel from exile. This, however, is not only to be found in the return recorded in Ezra-Nehemiah. It occurs both in type and, later, in reality. The temple glory, which Ezekiel saw leaving, now returns in the person of Jesus. Shadow meets substance. Abram meets Melchizedek. But this is getting too far ahead. We need to look deeper into the slaughter of the kings.
Kline is helpful in tracing the history of an identification given to Abram in vs. 13. He is called, “Abram the Hebrew.” Contained in this name is the task to which he was called. It all goes back to Noah’s oracle. Shem was to be the one through whom redemption would come. However, this also meant that through Shem would come the judgment of the Canaanites. This is easy enough to see in the conquest of Canaan under Joshua. Nonetheless, we are still in the realm of types. Redemption is not found in military conquest. It is the work of an individual. And so Moses begins to narrow the field.
In Genesis 10:21, Shem is identified as the father of all the children of Eber. But Eber is three slots down in the genealogy. Furthermore, Shem has had other descendents by this time. But Moses wants to focus in on the children of Eber; that is, the Hebrews. The elect one has yet to be singled out, and so, Eber’s children are divided. Peleg’s name is prophetic of this event, “For in his days the earth was divided.” This division is reflected in the double treatment of Shem’s genealogy. First, in chapter 10, it is traced through the line of Joktan. But then, chapter 11 goes through his brother Peleg and straight to Abram. We are now left with the typological fulfillment of the Noahic oracle in a single individual, “Abram the Hebrew,” or, in terms of the antitype, Christ.
Now, Christ in Abram must complete the task prophesied by Noah. There seems to be a problem, though. Abram is fighting against the invaders; however, he is protecting the Canaanites. But Noah is not concerned with the physical descendants of Ham’s son. True, it will be these physical descendants who are addressed under Joshua’s conquest, yet even this points to a greater reality. To see what it is, consider Christ in his role as the last Adam by understanding the failure of the first.
Adam was installed as priest-king over the Edenic temple and charged to tend and guard it. This involved cleansing the temple of any outside evil influence that would try to make its way in. Rather than getting rid of the serpent, Adam gave in to its temptation. God then promised a second priest-king, the seed of the woman, who would crush the serpent’s head and, through this one act of righteousness, cleanse the temple forever. The ancient Israelites, acting corporately as Christ, were to foreshadow this event. The land of Canaan was the temple. Here then is the significance of the slaughter of the kings: Christ is crushing the head of the invading serpent and, in so doing, he is the redeemer of his kinsmen.
But now, after the slaughter of the kings, Moses introduces Melchizedek, who blesses Abram. As the author of Hebrews puts it, “It is beyond dispute that the inferior is blessed by the superior.” We should take a closer look at Psalm 110; here, David includes the section that the author of Hebrews finds so fascinating. “The LORD has sworn and will not change his mind, ‘You are a priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.’” Note carefully the context. It occurs in the middle of the description of the one who is to rule in the midst of his enemies and will shatter kings on the day of his great wrath. The Psalmist makes it clear that the same individual is under consideration throughout. But, if we go back to the historical foundation, Melchizedek is not the one who is shattering kings. This task belongs to Abram. David has just exegeted Moses. Whereas historically, Abram and Melchizedek are two, separate individuals, typologically, they are one.
At the same time, the author of Hebrews will deepen the exegesis. He describes Melchizedek in this way, “He is without father or mother or genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, but resembling the Son of God he continues a priest forever.” Melchizedek is the consummate Christ figure. Even though this is the case, Moses also portrays him as God the Father to Abram’s Christ figure. By viewing the picture from this angle, we will be able to see the redemptive play, which was presented to us before the appearance of Melchizedek, redone and cast in a new light. The serpent is still being crushed, but now this can be seen in terms of the declaration of allegiance to a suzerain. It happens when Abram gives the tithe to Melchizedek indicating that he would submit to the God of Melchizedek. Along with this pledge is the corollary, which Abram mentions in his response to the king of Sodom. Abram had lifted his hand to the LORD that he would take nothing that belonged to the king of Sodom. It was the prerogative of the suzerain to decide what happened to the war booty. Had Abram accepted this offer, he would, by all rights, be made the vassal of Sodom’s king. And just as the king of Sodom could not entice Abram, neither would Satan be able to derail the plans of Jesus. His bread is God’s Word; the LORD will not be tempted by him; and not for all the kingdoms in this world will he become the serpent’s Christ.
The one righteous act of Christ is seen both in the slaughter of the kings and in the refusal to acknowledge the king of Sodom. The first depiction was accompanied by redemption in the rescue of Lot. The second, however, seems to lack the same redemptive motif. But then, the author of Hebrews does some more explaining. His purpose in the book is to show the superiority of Jesus. At the moment, he is detailing how much better his priesthood is. Melchizedek is cast against Aaron. Levi, he claims, paid tithes in Abraham because he was still in the loins of his father. On one level, the author is dealing with Levi only in terms of his physical descendents. He will get nowhere unless he can establish the superiority of Jesus’ priesthood to this earthly tradition.
Still, on a deeper level, it is legitimate to consider the Abrahamic tithes in terms of the double typology of the original account. It will take both Abraham and Melchizedek to do full justice to the priestly work of Christ. The same priest who operates under the power of an eternal life offers his own life as the sacrifice. One goat was sacrificed for the sins of the people, the other bore them away. Abraham is not merely paying tithes to the priest of the Most High God; rather, the part symbolizes the whole. Abraham is offering his whole being to the LORD. Christ is sacrificing himself to God.
To see how Levi fits into the picture, we will need to look into the true identity of the Levites. Recall that their inheritance was not to be land, but God himself. A promise like this is not limited to a single physical tribe. It speaks to the spiritual whole; that is, to the church. The Levites paid tithes by virtue of being in the loins of Abraham. We, by virtue of our living union with Christ, have been offered up together with him to God and, thereby, our redemption, which is unto purification, has been accomplished. The sons of Levi may now bring offerings in righteousness to the LORD.
The Hawaiian Kingdom had just regained its independence from what many considered to be an unjust usurpation of authority by the British Empire. Kamehameha III addressed his people with these words, “Ua Mau ke Ea a ka Aina i ka Pono,” that is, “The life of the land is perpetuated in righteousness.” The contemporary political climate probably prevented anyone, including the speaker, from understanding the deeper truth of what had just been spoken. These words apply to the New Heavens and the New Earth.
OT Israel did not live up to the standards of its antitype. The Israelite people had been brought out of Egypt into the Promised Land. They had passed through the times of the Judges and then the heights of the monarchy under David and Solomon. But now the kingdom was divided. Original commands for conquest and cleansing of the land had not been met and now the consequences of this failure were manifesting themselves.
And so we read of that time that the Canaanites and Perizzites were dwelling in the land. It is essential that we tighten our focus. The time is not that of the Divided Kingdom but of its foreshadowing. Moses has just recorded the Exodus of Israel in the life of Abram. He rivets our attention to the fulfillment of promise and then jolts his readers into the realization that the time of types and figures was still very much in play. The promised reality still lay in the future. The land could not support the flocks of both Abram and Lot and so, there was strife. One of them would have to move. Abram gives the choice of locale to Lot.
At this point, the temptation to make the text applicable is overwhelming. Be selfless and generous like Abram. God will reward you with more than you gave up. Others would admonish not to point your tent in the direction of your own personal Sodom. You might end up living there. All such lessons are based on what seems to be obvious: while Abram is promised all the land he sees, Lot is living in a doomed city. These are two entirely different fates. Yet, to see only this fails to take into account not only prophetic intent, but also apostolic interpretation.
Such treatment of the text misinterprets the character of Lot. He is vilified and all are warned to beware. A more sophisticated approach will note the theme of division that runs throughout scripture. This is seen in the differentiation between the lines of Cain and Seth, in the call of Abraham, in the election of Israel, and in the existence of the Church. Its root principle is traced back to the proto-gospel found in Genesis 3:15. How easy then to assume it as a paradigm for interpretation. It is, to be sure, here. The mention of the Canaanites and of the future destruction of the Sodom proves this. In the case of Abram and Lot, however, it will not work.
This particular division is always between two seeds; that of the woman and that of the serpent. Peter’s assessment of Lot places this story in a different category. It is essential to the point he is making in chapter two of his second epistle that Lot was righteous. He does not hesitate to mention this twice. The division spoken of in this chapter must be one that occurs among the elect. Furthermore, there are lessons to be learned from the aforementioned references to the Canaanites and Sodom. Even though he acknowledges the historical reality of the story, the conservative exegete falls into the same trap as the liberal infidel. Whether the events are seen as non-factual or as long ago and far away, both seek the ethical relevance to our times. Remember that the story of Abraham, real though it was, foreshadows greater realities. It flies over ancient Israel only to come to rest in Christ and his Church.
There is, then, a three-fold layering of time. The split between Abram and Lot occurs while the Canaanites are still in the land and before the LORD has destroyed Sodom. Do not fail to note that this judgment takes place in the context of a divine advent. Now, take the narrative to the next level and find yourself living in the Divided Kingdom. [Not that Moses has the Divided Kingdom in mind-he is not making the same kind of literary parallels that exist between the call of Abram and the Exodus, both of which he was able to write about. The point is that, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, both the Divided Kingdom and this episode in the life of the patriarch point to the same ultimate fulfillment.] Your fathers have failed in their task and the Canaanites are still in the land. At the same time, you await your coming Messiah, who will bring the judgment of God down on his enemies. But then, an unexpected twist: the Messiah is judged. However, this is the basis on which he will judge the world. We move on to the next level.
The failure of Israel to drive out the inhabitants of Canaan reenacts an event in the Garden of Eden. Adam failed to drive out the Serpent and then succumbed to its temptation. The ground was subsequently cursed. God would allow it to be a reluctant source of life sustaining produce, yet, at a terrible price. The land would require and then convert to dust the bodies of all those whom it had fed. The life of this land is perpetuated in blood.
We still need to deal with the next time indicator. Moses writes, “This was before the LORD destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah.” Remembering that this is a divine advent, look forward now to the time when Christ will appear in the clouds and destroy his enemies with the brightness of his coming. This, then, is the context of the promise given to Abram at the end of the chapter. It is to be fulfilled after the destruction of Sodom; that is, after the final advent of Christ. Abraham is not promised a larger piece of this present sarcophagus. Instead, he awaits a supernatural land wherein dwells righteousness; one that is to be found only in the regions of heaven.
As seen, the narrative takes place between the first and the last Adam. We are participants therein and it cannot be any more relevant. Still, there are loose ends. Moses has presented us with the ultimate solution, but, what governed his choice of problems? We have to be able to see the relevance of the end, both to the split between Abram and Lot, and to the Divided Kingdom. This will only become apparent upon recognizing that the main theme of the chapter is not division but reconciliation. When reading the promise, it is essential to pay attention not only to its content, but also to its recipients. Not just to Abram, but to his seed.
Recall the problem that precipitates the parting of ways between Abram and Lot- there was not enough land. Already, we are beginning to see the relevance of the solution. Be careful, though. God is not promising Abram better land because Lot snatched the prime real estate. The promise is given to both of them. The seed is Christ and, by extension, all those who are in union with him. Despite the urge to judge Lot according to appearances, we must submit to the apostolic testimony. Lot is a righteous man. Much more than a promise of land, God has sworn to heal the breach.
There remains the matter of the Divided Kingdom. In the 37th chapter of his prophecy, Ezekiel is told to take two sticks, named Judah and Joseph, and hold them together. This is to represent the time when there are no longer two, but one kingdom. God will set up his sanctuary in the midst of this reunited people and both he and they will live forever in the land that he has given them. Here is a story that is both about reconciliation and land. Be sure, however, not to be too easily content with surface issues. There is no call to reduce this to nothing more than a principle of reconciliation. The reconciliation spoken of here is not an abstraction, but a concrete, historical reality.
When the Israelites finally crossed the Jordan into Canaan, the land was divided up as an inheritance among the tribes. That is, for all but one. The tribe of Levi did not receive any land. But, far from being deprived of the blessing, this tribe approached it the closest. The LORD was their inheritance (Deuteronomy 10:9). This was no aberration, but a sign. It pointed all Israelites to the true reality of their inheritance. Not an earthly plot, nor even the heavenly country alone: land, no matter how holy, could, in itself, do nothing to heal the breach between Abram and Lot. They must also inherit the God who sanctifies the land.
Merely comparing Moses with Ezekiel may allow some to think that nothing more is to be considered than future plans for national Israel. Paul will not let this happen. He writes in the second chapter of Ephesians that both Jews and Gentiles have been brought together into one body and are being built up into one edifice. All of this is made possible by the crucified Christ in order that he might reconcile both to God. For God so loved the world…
Abram could think of nothing better than to suggest that he and Lot separate. The divine solution is on a much grander scale. Give all of the land to Abram and his seed. This would entail two results. First, there would be the removal of the serpent’s seed, those who had no claim to this land. Sodom will be destroyed. But then, there is the restoration of the exiles. God says as much in Ezekiel’s account of the two sticks, “Behold, I will take the people of Israel from the nations among which they have gone, and will gather them from all around, and bring them to their own land.”
The promise is not given to physical descendants of Abram, but, “In Isaac shall your seed be called.” It belongs to Christ and is the inheritance of those who have inherited him. The flocks of Abraham will once again find pasture with those of righteous Lot.
What are the standards for humility in the face of martyrdom? I recently had the chance to reread the St. Crispin’s day speech from King Henry V. Ever since first running across this play, I have become increasingly impressed with Shakespeare’s portrayal of Henry as a Christ figure. In this speech, Henry encourages his men with the honor that will be theirs for fighting in the upcoming battle. The battle is not to be fought by just anyone. Henry makes it clear that he does not want to be in the company of those who have no stomach for this sort of thing. He will, in fact, give such men safe passage home. The honor is to go only to those who have joined together in a fellowship of death. Death, however, is not the point. There is no desire here on the king’s part to end his existence. He covets honor and will share it with all those who are united with him. Henry declares all those who shed their blood with him to be his brothers. Yet, this doesn’t mean stoic resignation. This shedding of blood serves as the basis for the relationship; by serving as a purification, or, in more theological terms, a blood atonement, it becomes a bond of eternal reconciliation between Henry and the vilest of men. “This day,” he declares, “shall gentle his condition.” The St. Crispin’s day speech is not about death. It is an affirmation of life and, by showing how this band of brothers will be remembered until the end of the world, of resurrection.
It is a popular conception of salvation that Christ died so that we would not have to. Not to diminish the doctrine of vicarious atonement, but this is not the whole story. Paul does say that he lives “by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” But this is not life that has escaped death; it is life that has gone through death. Paul begins this passage by saying, “I have been crucified with Christ.” Christ died, not that we might avoid death, but that, dying with him, we might also be raised with him into eternal life. Paul’s doctrine of his union with the sufferings of Christ did not stop at the forensic aspects of the crucifixion. He identified his whole life with that of Christ. It was his desire to know Christ-“the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his sufferings.” He even wanted those in the church to join with him in this privilege. Two things had been granted to them: to believe on Christ and to suffer. This was not suffering for its own sake, but for the sake of Christ. It would result in everyone attaining the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Paul was so taken up with his identification with Christ that he now wanted what Christ had earned, both for himself and for other believers. But this was far from impudence on his part. More than anything, the apostle was overwhelmed with a sense of godly covetousness.
Death is vicious. Christ has tamed it. A necessity of the curse becomes a portal to glory. In the opening chapters of Genesis, two genealogies are recorded in close proximity. One is a simple list from Cain to Lamech. The other records the progression of the covenant line. With one notable exception, this genealogy bears a consistent refrain absent in the first: “and he died.” The story of Enoch is miraculous, yet, it does not distinguish itself by showing how unfortunate the other people in his family line were. It is, rather, a sign pointing to their ultimate end. These were the people of the Lord; consequently, he regarded their deaths as something precious. The consistent refrain is not evidence of God’s displeasure; it is a badge of honor. Not death in itself: anyone can die. The honor belongs to all whose lives have testified of Christ and to no one else. As Henry said, “We would not die in that man’s company that fears his fellowship to die with us.”
All of this by way of background. I had been thinking along these lines when I ran across this response by Josiah in which, based on the fact that the groups with which we associate ourselves are relatively insignificant in the larger scheme of the world, he makes a plea for humility when it comes to knowledge claims. There very well may be objective truth, but how can we know that we have it? In many cases, he’s right. We should, perhaps, question our sense of omniscience and take other people’s views into consideration. Yet, as appropriate as his argument may have been in its original context (I do not wish to address this), my recent thoughts alerted me to a glaring exception. He spoke of our slice of the church and, yes, I do admit that, at times, we can get a bit carried away with our denominational distinctives. But how do our common confessions speak of the church? We believe in the holy catholic church. This is a catholicity that extends, not only to the elect who have yet to pass through death for themselves, but to the elect of all time.
As is always the case in literature, the analogy breaks down at some point. Henry speaks of his band of brothers as “we few, we happy few.” Not so with the fellowship of the redeemed. We are part of a multitude without number whose significance is eternal. Still, we have no chance of fully grasping the magnitude of our situation until Christ returns or until we can be counted among those of whom it is written “and he died.” If we have trouble comprehending our own significance, how much less must the world see it? We do need to act with extreme humility. So I return to my original question. What are the standards for humility in the face of martyrdom?
I have chosen to qualify the question in this manner because it is our status as martyrs that identifies us as a part of the catholic church. Not that our deaths will always be the direct result of our testimony for Christ, but because they will always attest to the fact that we have been crucified with Christ. Remember the gifts of Christ. Belief and suffering go hand in hand. But what if we are called upon to die for our faith? Martyrs, in this restricted sense of the word, are almost always executed because it is understood that they are making a knowledge claim. They refuse to recant the knowledge that is theirs due to the revelation of Christ. In the last book written before his own execution, Paul asserts, “I know whom I have believed.” This is certainly a knowledge claim and it was spoken in humility; however, it was not the kind humility that questioned the possibility of his knowledge. It was humility before his Lord. Such knowledge had been revealed to him; he dare not pretend ignorance.
Paul knew that he was part of something much larger than himself. Not only in the hours before his death, but throughout his life as a convert he attested to this fact. He was a martyr all along. The same must be true of us. As Christians, we can never let the rest of the world think that we regard our faith as anything less than gospel truth. If we do, we might find ourselves to have been excluded from the fellowship. The king will give us safe passage home and enter into his honor without us.
The twelfth chapter of Genesis opens with one of those milestones of Covenant theology. Paul reads it and sees the foundation of the gospel as it was preached to Abraham, “In you shall all the nations be blessed” (Gal. 3:8). This covenant is the foundation of his argument against works righteousness. It is that promise, which the Law, given 430 years later, cannot annul. This passage must not, however, be thought of as a proof text; nor does the Apostle use it as such. His argument arises out of the fabric of revealed truth and the historical narrative is used to illumine this.
Genesis 12 ends with the account of Abram’s journey into Egypt. While there, he makes a pact with Sarai his wife that they will claim to be nothing more than brother and sister. This is enough. Lying is bad. Consequently, time after time, many congregations, who on one Lord’s Day are elevated into the glories of the Covenant of Grace, spend the next with nothing more than the admonition to never ever tell a fib. God, they are told, simply cannot bless such violations of proper morality. Never mind that the text does nothing to support such conjectures. In fact, Abram ends up better off than he was before. Conversely, there are those that pick up on this last fact and choose to emphasize the grace of God in spite of Abram’s ethical breech. Both have this in common: a particular event in the life of the patriarch is understood in terms of its practical application to the contemporary individual. The legalist and the antinomian have found common exegetical turf. Dare, or, perhaps not, to be an Abram.
A better approach sees the narrative as an account of God’s preservation of the messianic line in order that he might fulfill the Covenant just articulated. Even though this too is often mixed in with observations and applications about the propriety of Abram’s lie, it does have the advantage of keeping the Covenant before our eyes. Christ has been preached. Or has he?
Jesus made the rather bold claim that Moses was writing about him and, therefore, if any one believed Moses, he would also believe him (John 5:46). This is not to say that, somewhere in the Mosaic writings, there are Christological references. Rather, Jesus was proclaiming himself the subject of all that Moses wrote (and, for that matter, of the Word of God entire). And it is this claim that, I believe, exposes as false the idea that noting God’s preservation of the messianic line is the same thing as preaching Christ. Aside from being presented as an afterthought to what is otherwise a morality tale, one could just as validly make the claim that God was preserving the line of James. Make no mistake, there is no attempt here to assert that scripture does not teach, even emphasize, that God will work in history to bring about the fulfillment of his Covenant; only that, to make this the point, misses the point.
Enough then of ways not to handle the text; how should the second half of Genesis 12 be approached? I suggest, first of all, that this text does not constitute an adequate pericope. It needs to be considered in conjunction with that which precedes it. The chapter opens with the call of Abram; however, it does not go on to other things. The subject matter of the entire chapter is this call. Indeed, the first half of the chapter is to be understood in light of the second. Before we can do this, though, we should consider that the chapter divisions can be somewhat arbitrary. A more natural starting point is given by the author in Genesis 11:27 when he begins the section of the generations of Terah. Immediately, we learn that Terah fathered Abram. Soon thereafter, Abram is called Terah’s son. In our hurry to rush through this connecting material, we have missed the obvious. Although we are inclined to think of Abraham in terms of a father, and this rightly so, he is first presented to us as a son. The significance of this will be made apparent.
Leave Abram for now and jump ahead in the Mosaic narratives. Joseph is second in command over Egypt. He has just overseen a massive food storage project, which has assured that Egypt is not subject to the famine now gripping the rest of the world. Among those entering Egypt in search of food are his brothers, the children of Israel. Joseph recognizes them and arranges for the entire family to be brought down to Egypt to live. A Pharaoh who does not know Joseph ascends to the throne. He subjects the Israelites to slavery, but God brings them out of Egypt by means of plagues upon the Egyptians; the last one, especially, touching the house of the Pharaoh himself. The prophet Hosea comments on the situation, “When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son” (Hosea 11:1).
Familiar? And no, I am not asking for a show of hands from those who have heard the stories of Joseph and of the Exodus. Recall that our text is Genesis 12. There is a famine in the land and so Abram and Sarai go down to stay in Egypt. Sarai is brought into Pharaoh’s house. God brings Abram and his wife out of Egypt by means of plagues upon Pharaoh and his house. This episode in Abram’s life foreshadows the paradigmatic redemptive event of Old Testament Israel. Abram, the son, has been called out of Egypt.
It is not enough to make a parallel between the call of Abram and the Exodus and then just leave it at that. This simply invites the abuses of the second text. If God can get Israel out of Egypt and across the Red Sea, then he should have no problem getting you out of a tight spot. Only believe.
Further revelation is needed. Matthew provides this when he explains why Joseph had to take the young child Jesus and his mother down into Egypt, “This was to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet, ‘Out of Egypt I called my son’” (Mt. 2:14). In other words, the experiences of the nation of Israel (and, by extension, Abram) testify to, and are fulfilled in, Christ.
We cannot suppose, however, that Matthew meant to imply that the Exodus and the call of Abram find their ultimate meaning in the fact that, one day, a little boy would be rescued from Herod; even if that boy is Jesus. This only serves to put us back into the “God will preserve his Covenant line” mode of interpretation.
Just as these Old Testament events were fulfilled in the work of Christ, even so, his own sojourn into the land of Egypt foreshadowed that greater Exodus, which he would accomplish for his people in his death and resurrection. This would be that final redemption in which the Son, and all those in faith union with him, would leave the temporal plains of Egypt and enter into their eternal rest. Note the idea of this union echoed in the Covenant given to Abram, “in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Genesis 12:3).
The call of Abram does not exist as a morality tale, nor is it a doctrinal primer on divine providence. It is a tale of the Christ and of his Gospel, which God has seen fit to reveal to the nations through Abraham’s greater Son.
Object of our praise,
Sovereign of our wills;
Father, all our hearts in worship,
All Thy being fills.
Died and risen Lamb,
Jesus, God the Son;
Once for all Thy perfect priesthood
Thine elect has won.
Spirit of the Lord,
Holy, gentle breath;
By Thy power we are living,
Who had walked in death.
Not for our own worth,
Thou hast changed our ways;
Lord, by that Thou workest in us,
Now accept our praise.
One may get the impression that, through the judgment at Babel, we can see God making the best of a bad situation. It goes beyond this, though. To see it, we need to keep the narrative in context. Chapters 10 and 11 are not in chronological sequence; however, in the narrative, each chapter is connected to what precedes and follows it. First, look at chapter 10, also known as the table of Nations. It relates how the descendants of Noah’s sons were divided over the Earth. In Paul’s sermon on the Areopagus, he says that God made every nation of men from one man “that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live.” Genesis 10 is not then a mere record of what happened, but of what God did. Paul goes on to say why God did this-“so that men would seek him.” This relates to the oracle that Noah speaks concerning his sons, which immediately precedes chapter 10. He says, “Blessed be the LORD, the God of Shem!” It is a subsequent phrase that is of immediate interest, “May Japheth live in the tents of Shem.” A time was coming when the Gentiles would be brought into the Covenant people of God. God divided the nations up in order that he might elect one of these to then be a light to the Gentiles. This was accomplished in the judgment at Babel. Genesis 11 does not then describe God reacting; rather, it reveals how God went about carrying out his sovereign and redemptive purpose.
The creation of a multiplicity of tongues at the Tower of Bable finds its reversal on the day of Pentecost where these tongues, instead of preventing communication, are the means whereby the gospel is universally understood. In Peter’s explanatory sermon of this event, he claims that it is the fulfillment of the Day of the Lord spoken of in the prophet Joel. While this term, "Day of the Lord" is not specifically used in Genesis 11, it is consistently associated in scripture with the coming of God in judgment. The ultimate Day of the Lord has to do with the second advent of Christ and his consequent judgment. However, throughout the Bible, various judgments are spoken of in terms of the Day or the coming of the Lord. All of them, including the passage in question, point forward to this final Day in which the present age ends.
We can look at the tower itself. The imagery is multilayered. Perhaps the simplest classification would be ‘tall things that connect heaven and earth.’ Interwoven are images of the kingdom. Consider what happens: the people build a tower whose top may reach into heaven. God comes down [indicative of their lack of success] in judgment and confounds their language. The people are scattered and the tower comes to nothing.
There is a great tree, the branches of which reach into heaven. A holy one descends from heaven and declares that the tree is to be chopped down. This from the fourth chapter of Daniel. Or go back two chapters to another of Nebuchadnezzar’s dreams. A great image, representing the kingdoms of this world is ground to powder and blown away after a stone descends from heaven and strikes it on the feet. These are all, essentially, the same story. They all end the same way. Nebuchadnezzar is forced to live like an animal for seven years until he acknowledges that God alone rules over the kingdoms of the world. The stone that destroys the image grows into a mountain and fills the whole earth. At first glance, it would appear that the Babel narrative doesn’t fit the pattern; that is, until one considers it in its context. In other words, keep reading. God makes a covenant with Abraham and the kingdom is assured. From here on out scripture is the story of a growing stone.
The location of Babel in the land of Shinar provides another clue concerning its function as the backdrop of election. In Zechariah 5, a woman named Wickedness is in a basket, which is then carried away by two women with the wings of a stork. Kline sees this as a reverse Exodus. The two women with stork wings carrying the basket is a perverse representation of the Ark of the Covenant with the winged cherubim hovering above the mercy seat. The woman Wickedness, who is inside the basket, is apostate Israel. She is being taken to the land of Shinar where she will have a temple built for her. This is not merely going back into Babylonian exile or even into Egyptian slavery. The imagery is that of Babel; it is of being reabsorbed into the non-elect.
Still another theme to note is that of the city. Cities, as such, are not bad things. The New Jerusalem is revealed as a city. Yet, it is instructive to see how Moses deals with this theme, especially that of building cities. We are presented with the specter of Nimrod building a city, but he is not the first. This honor belongs to Cain. Note the similar motives between the two. Those at Babel do not want to be scattered over the earth; Cain builds Enoch after God has condemned him to be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth. Later on in the Mosaic writings, when the children of Israel are to enter the Promised Land and live in cities, they are not allowed to forget that these are cities that they did not build. Consider that the narrative of Babel is immediately contrasted with that of Abraham. The placement is not random. The author of Hebrews comments on the significance thereof when he speaks of Abraham’s faith. Abraham, he writes, looked for a city with foundations, whose builder and maker is God. The eternal city is the ideal and it is the pilgrim character of the people of God that most clearly evidences their faith and possession of this heavenly inheritance. In contrast, Babel was a repudiation of this reality.
A possible connection between Babel and the fate of the non-elect may be found in the information that Nimrod was a hunter. Taken by itself, this doesn’t seem as important as the fact that he built cities, or that he was a mighty man on the Earth, or, for that matter, that he was descended from Ham. Yet Moses takes pains to point it out, even going into redundancy by quoting one of the current sayings, “Like Nimrod a mighty hunter before the LORD.” And then, after all this, the only other individual in scripture who is called a hunter, and this by the same author in the same book, is Esau. I suspect that the connection may be intentional. Furthermore, there appears to be a connection between both of these men and Cain. Genesis 36 provides a record of the descendants of Esau and of the kings over Edom, who had their own cities and reigned before Israel had any kings. This genealogical record is reminiscent of that of Cain found in Genesis 4. Furthermore, if one agrees with Kline that the Sons of God in Genesis 6 are actually kings in the line of Cain, then there is a parallel with the listing of Edomite kings after the genealogy. Then there is the book of Obadiah, which tells of the coming destruction of Edom. In this book, we are brought back again to the image of the tower/kingdom. This time it is in the form of a contrast between two mountains; namely, Zion and Esau.
We should consider one more aspect of the Tower of Babel. Being a ziggurat, the tower was intended to function as a staircase between heaven and earth. We have already noted that the tower was hardly adequate to the task. It was counterfeit; yet, in this very aspect, it, as do all counterfeits, testified to that which was real. Jacob had a dream in which there was a staircase that reached up into heaven. Angels were ascending and descending on it and the Lord stood at the top of it reaffirming his covenant with Abraham and Isaac. Years later, Jesus explains the vision when he tells Nathanael that he will see “the heavens opened up, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.” Jesus has explicitly identified himself as the only link to heaven. He is both Lord of the Covenant and the redeemer judge.
This was originally supposed to join all the other comments under Josiah’s Mel Gibson post, but I figured it would end up being unshort enough to put over here.
First, to Bill: Josiah’s explanation of the passage “to the Jews first” was not primarily meant to explain the extent of the term “Greeks.” Yes, we are all in agreement that “Greeks” equals the rest of the world. The extreme bit of exegesis comes in assuming that Paul’s description of his own ministry should serve as a paradigm for our understanding of the role of the Bible today, as though Jews were currently in some privileged position to receive its message first. The church is built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets; consequently, apostolic practice is not always an example to be emulated but is often a foundation upon which to build. Paul’s ministry reflected the historic progression of God’s people from the particular nation of Israel to the universal church. He lived in a period of transition when there still existed those Jews who, although not Christians, were still saved. They believed the OT prophecies of the coming Messiah. All Paul had to do was tell them about the existence of Jesus and that he was, in fact, this Messiah. Only after Paul had fulfilled his duty toward the believing remnant of Israel could he then go about the task of bringing the gospel to the Gentiles.
I, too, share many of your concerns about the Roman Catholic Church; however, I would like to limit these to the points under dispute in the Protestant Reformation. Your contention that “the Catholics rarely use the Bible for the basis of anything they do” is a demonstrably untrue generalization. The problem within Catholicism comes, not from their lack of regard for scripture, but from their equal, if not greater, regard for their own tradition. I am not denouncing tradition as such. Tradition, as Nick as pointed out, is authoritative. But this is only true insofar as its source is authoritative. Paul commands the Thessalonians to withdraw themselves from every brother who does not walk “after the tradition, which he received from us.” Again, he is not using himself as an example whereby future leaders in the church may now develop their own traditions to be followed. He is claiming the unique right of the Apostles to establish the traditional foundation for the church. This tradition is nothing more nor less than their practice and teaching, which has been recorded in scripture.
We are agreed on the possibility of knowing what the Bible means. Still, I disagree with your individualistic approach (either that, or I am not clear on your position). Your rhetorical question on how we come to know this, “From a professor at a Christian institution/university or by the Holy Spirit?” evidences a false dichotomy. The Holy Spirit illuminates scripture through the ministry of the church. This means Apostolic Tradition, which is reflected in Ecumenical Creeds and Councils, Confessions of Faith, the counsel of elders, or the sermons of a pastor. If a professor at a Christian University, or any one else for that matter, is in line with that teaching, then they are also included among the instruments that the Holy Spirit uses to explain his word. You may have been including some or all of these under the Holy Spirit, but, if you meant to suggest that the Holy Spirit shows you things apart from these means, well, no he doesn’t. I do not deny the Holy Spirit’s raw ability in this matter, since this is pretty much what he did for the Apostles and Prophets. However, the revealed nature and function of the Church precludes any possibility that he would continue to act in such a manner. There is no need to rebuild the foundation.
Josiah, you may be right that we should be able to learn from the Baptist tradition despite the fact that many within it, having missed the point of the gospel, are ungracious and unloving. But this does not translate into doing the same thing for the Roman Catholic Church. The difference is this: the Baptists that you encountered were largely influenced by a sociological phenomenon intersecting their religious tradition. The Baptist religion, considered in itself, is faithful to the gospel. The Catholic religion is not. The Council of Trent, insofar as it codified Rome's disagreement with the Reformers, essentially defined the gospel out of existence.
As to your charge that Baptists weren’t around during the Reformation, some may not agree. Modern day Baptists do not claim a single heritage. Some claim to be descendents of the Anabaptists, who were around at the time. This is especially prevalent among a group that denies the existence of the universal church. They are known as the Landmark Baptists, or “Baptist Briders” (I was a member of two of these churches and once held to the position). Basically, Baptists are not viewed as Protestants because, supposedly, they never broke away from the Catholic Church. Instead, these Baptists trace an unbroken lineage back to John the Baptist (yes, Jesus had to be baptized into his own church). Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodists, Anglicans- your average paedobaptists, are seen as wimpy Catholics.
While I think I agree with the spirit of what you’re saying about treating other Christian religious viewpoints with humility, I’m not sure if I like the way it’s coming across. It sounds like, “Sure, Biblical truth is important, but, since no one can nail down just what that truth is, we should all be humble about each other’s points of view and learn from them.” Biblical truth was intended to be understood. We can and should know it well enough to recognize error. The exercise of humility would then come in how we deal with that error. Like I said, we are probably in agreement, but, having been one, I can say that the way you are making your point is playing right into the dispensational Baptists’ hands. Their literal interpretation of scripture is characterized by a Euclidian precision. And, as you may guess, anyone following this hermeneutical principle would not see any validity in the distinction between Biblical truth and the subjective understanding of that truth.