And when my soul far down is cast
Into the depths of all my fears;
When I am forced from God to fast
But, day and night, my meat is tears;
When circumstance shows no way out
Of places that the world has led;
When all things seem to start and shout,
"Give up, give up-your God is dead!"
Then I will seek his countenance,
Who is my help in everything.
By faith, I'll praise the excellence
Of him who is my Lord and King.
And after him I'll ever thirst,
For he alone can make me whole.
In everything, I'll put him first-
The cross of Christ has saved my soul.
I will not ask the praise of man
Nor act that he may then applaud.
I'll strive to do whate'er I can
That I may see the face of God.
This started out as a response to a comment over on Nowheresville, USA (from a post on 9/25). It had been suggested that "all of scripture preaches the gospel." I agree with this. This was countered by the example of 1 Chonicles 2. An unsaved person, hearing this chapter preached, would not be able to get the gospel out of it and be saved. I disagree. The following comment first defends the notion that all scripture preaches the gospel by distinguishing between views of how a person is saved. I then offer a way in which the gospel can be seen in I Chronicles 2. Should you choose to continue, you may decide for yourself how far off the mark it is....
I am convinced that the faithful preaching of 1 Chronicles 2 can be an effectual means towards the conversion of the unsaved. Faith comes by hearing the preached word. It is not, as so many in the evangelical world would have it, the result of mental agreement to a series of propositions. As though the Holy Spirit had to await a decision. Before I get chastised for not promoting God's simple plan of salvation, please know that I am not rejecting the teaching of such passages as Romans 10:9-13.
At issue is a consistently Reformed view of how the Holy Spirit brings about salvation. That this is, by far, the minority view has been exacerbated by the fact that many otherwise Reformed Christians have bought into the majority. This view is familiar enough. Tell the unbeliever that he's a sinner, that Jesus died for his sins and then rose again, and now, all he has to do is believe this (look to Jesus, ask Jesus into his heart, pray the sinners prayer, etc.) and he will be saved. Don't get me wrong: many an unbeliever has come to salvation by hearing this account. But it wasn't because Christ is any more the subject of Romans 10 than he is of, say, Numbers 5.
This is what makes faithful preaching, on whatever passage, an effectual means of salvation: all scripture points to the person and work of Christ. It is the job of the preacher to bring this out. Genesis 12 is not a morality tale on lying; 1 Samuel 17 is not about overcoming personal obstacles; Nehemiah is not about leadership principles. These are all about Christ and should be preached in such a way that he is the focus. I do not deny that this can be exceedingly difficult. Hence the need for well-trained ministers.
Romans 10, and passages like it, make such great salvation chapters for the average believer to use because Christ is so obvious in them. Gradually, however, the content of the gospel has been confined to this kind of passage (the Romans road, a few spatterings in John and Revelation, and a couple of places in Isaiah). Consequently, the rest of the Bible is reduced to the status of a practical living manual. And so, the all too common Sunday sermon- Aesop's fables are retold with the names and places changed followed by an unnatural segue into an invitation where the gospel can be presented. And that invitation is important. Heads bowed, eyes closed, hands raised, one more verse. Anything to get them down that aisle, because, if they leave without making a decision, they may never come back and get another opportunity.
So what of the aforementioned consistently Reformed view of salvation? It will depend upon an affirmation of the following sequence: Regeneration precedes faith. This regeneration is nothing less than the supernatural work of the Holy Spirit. In most cases, he uses the instrumentality of the preached word. In his own time, the Holy Spirit will use the preaching of the word to bring one of his elect to life. Having this life, the elect person will believe the content of the preached word. He will desire more of it and will return, thereby growing in the knowledge of Christ. And if he dies before ever getting to the part where Jesus died and rose again, he will still be saved.
Salvation is not to be reduced to believing these pertinent facts about Jesus and then saying a prayer to that effect. It is rather the case that the regenerate person will believe whatever truth he is told about Christ. A regenerate person cannot deny the death and resurrection of Christ, nor his full deity, dual nature, etc. Yet, it is not the case that this person will have heard all of these doctrines at the moment of his regeneration. If he sits under the preaching of the word long enough, he will; for it is the pastor's responsibility to preach the whole counsel of God.
But what, specifically, about 1 Chronicles 2? First, approach it knowing that it is about Christ. Next, put it in context. How does it fit into those chapters immediately surrounding it? into the book (which, despite the division, consists of both 1 and 2 Chronicles)? into the OT? into the Bible as a whole? What are the main themes in these contexts? Or, what are the Christological themes? What is the literary structure? What kind of typology is there? Does the NT intepret any of these?
1 Chronicles 2 lies within the immediate context of the first ten chapters, all of which are genealogies. These are arranged in a chiastic structure that emphasizes the tribe of Levi and the priesthood in chapter 6. All of who are associated with the temple. Chapter 2 narrows right down to the sons of Judah and then to the family of David. Then it appears to get out of order. But this is a deliberate literary device to draw attention to key persons and themes. It starts out with Caleb's line and only gets as far as Bezalel, the grandson of Hur. Then we back up to Hezron and go through some more of his descendents only to end up back at Caleb and then to Hur. Then we note that Hur has more sons than the one mentioned when we saw him last.
Hur is an important anchor. His genealogy last ended with Bezalel. This is the same Bezalel from Exodus 31 who fashioned much of the tabernacle. Note the implicit connection to the temple (cf. ch. 6). However, this is only a minor point here. In the immediate context, the main point is the Davidic dynasty, which is introduced in the first genealogy of chapter 2. When it is mentioned again, it takes up chapter 3. It is emphasized by the use of an inclusio, that is, a set of literary markers that act as bookends. In this case, these are a reference to Hur. Different sections of the genalogies are set off by the combination, "The sons of x....these were the sons of x." [2:25,33; 2:42,50] The same thing happens with the rest of Hur's genalogy (not counting Uri and Bezalel). 2:50-"The sons of Hur the firstborn of Ephrathah" 4:4--"These were the sons of Hur, the firstborn of Ephrathah, the father of Bethlehem." And right in the middle of Hur's genealogy is the Davidic dynasty. David is not one of his descendents. This unusual placement is a way of saying, "This is important."
Notice something else that the author has done. In 2:19, we are told that Hur's mother is "Ephrath." But in the subsequent bookends, this is changed to "Ephrathah." And in 4:4, the city of Bethlehem is mentioned (this is a city, as are several of the names. "Father" should be understood as "ruler" or "founder"). In a section dealing with the clans of Judah, the line of David has been set apart by mention of the terms "Bethlehem" and "Ephrathah." This is not coincidence. Chronicles is a post-exilic book whose audience would have been aware of Micah 5:2-"But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are too little to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days."
The main themes of the book have already been identified in the genealogies. The primary theme is the temple. The remaining narrative sections of Chronicles are divided up into units. Most of these are structured so as to point to the temple. The book ends with the decree of Cyrus to rebuild the temple, which, years earlier, had been destroyed. And now, let the NT interpret this final image- "Destroy this temple and I will raise it up." Chronicles is a theology of the temple written for the encouragement of those post-exilic Jews who had gone back to rebuild it.
But alongside the theme of the temple is that of the Davidic dynasty. These are interwoven in the Davidic Covenant recorded in I Chronicles 17. There, David wanted to build a house, or a temple, for the Lord. The Lord refuses, saying that David's son will do it instead. But he makes this promise in v. 10-"Moreover, I declare to you that the Lord will build you a house." David's son would be confirmed in this house forever and his throne would be established forever.
Both the temple house and the Davidic house are themes that find their fulfillment in Christ. Both are introduced in 1 Chronicles 2. When considered in its overall context, the gospel is in this text.
What people, Lord, is like your church?
Whom God chose to redeem
By taking on himself the flesh
Of men of low esteem.
That they may be of one belief
He gave to them his name
To magnify the things he did
And herald why he came.
And now, O Lord, you are our God
And all your words are true-
They purge our minds to be like Christ's
And all his will then do.
For you've confirmed us to your Son
To be for him a bride,
That we may dwell as one with him
In pureness at his side.
Therefore, Lord, be pleased and bless
This house, which you have made,
That on the truth that Christ is God
It ever may be stayed.
We have a strong city whose walls are salvation,
Whose strength is Jehovah; the Lamb is the Light
In which walk the nations of all of the saved ones.
The gates of it shut not, for there is no night.
Three gates on the eastside, and three on the northside,
Three gates on the southside, and three on the west;
Yes, all those who wish to may enter that city
By casting their burdens on him who is rest.
But there shall in no wise be that which defiles it
To enter that city and bring it to shame.
For God has reserved them a place in that city,
Who trust him forever, believing his name.
We know he is faithful to do as he promised;
By faith, we believe in those things we have heard.
We live in that city possessing foundations
Whose builder and maker is none but the Word.
In the so far ongoing epistemology comments, Abraham was mentioned in regard to his sacrifice of Isaac. This reminded me of the paper that I wrote for Dr. Davis' Epistemology class, in which I refer to Abraham (albeit a different incident). I'm not sure that it has much to do with what's being said; I only put it here because I happened to think about it. I've made some minor stylistic changes and have also incorporated the footnotes into the main text, both references and comments. Other than that, it is substantially the same. Since writing it, I have continued to study the implications of the covenants. Consequently, I don't know that I would have written it the same way now or that I would still defend every point. As many who have taken Dr. Davis will know, non-Philosopophy majors, or those doubling in something else, were required to focus their papers on the other major. I had to write something relating Epistemology to Biblical Studies. The title should explain enough to determine if you want to continue reading or just go on to your next scheduled blog.
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It is a peculiar feature of the Christian life that, as our satisfaction with the things of God increases, so does our desire for them. The more we mature in our knowledge of God, the more ignorant we realize we are. This principle can be seen in Genesis 15. In this chapter, God appears to Abraham and assures him that his offspring will be as the stars in the heavens. It is recorded in vs. 6 (NIV) that "Abraham believed the LORD, and he credited it to him as righteousness." It is important to note here that this is the passage that Paul quotes to indicate that Abraham had saving faith. One would think that no further assurances would be necessary. But then a surprising thing happens. God goes on to tell Abraham that he will take possession of the land that he is in, whereupon Abraham asks, "How can I know that I will gain possession of it?" If Abraham already had faith in what God had said, and that a saving faith, then why this request for further assurance?
It would be a mistake to conclude that Abraham only had faith in the part about descendants but not about possession of the land. These are not two separate promises but aspects of the same promise. This promise is first given in Genesis 12:1-3— The LORD had said to Abram, "Leave your country, your people and your father's household and go to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you."
This is the Covenant promise, which is mentioned in the New Testament as "the promise." Paul refers to it in Galatians 3:29-If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise.
In his sermon at Pentecost, Peter connects this promise with the sacrament of baptism. Acts 2:38,39- "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call."
So then, back to the original question. Why the necessity to be more sure of what one already believes? Geerhardus Vos observes the following concerning this account of Abraham:
Faith and a desire for faith frequently go hand in hand. The reason is that through faith we lay hold upon God, and in grasping the infinite object, the utter inadequacy of each single act of approbation immediately reveals itself in the very act. It is the same in the Gospel:
'Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief [Mark 9.24] (Biblical Theology, p.83).
The important thing to notice now is the manner in which God answers Abraham. He does so through sacramental means. Because a sacrament is used to answer a request for increased assurance, I would like to argue that it is a function of sacraments to ground our faith and, in so doing, to act as a source of warrant for our knowledge of the truths of that faith. This is accomplished in two ways. First, as signs, the sacraments, just like the Scriptures, are examples of special revelation. Second, as seals, they confirm what has already been promised. Finally, I would like to suggest a way in which people come to know that the sacraments mean something to them.
In his chapter entitled The Content of Pre-Redemptive Special Revelation, Vos argues for special revelation that is not the same as God's Word:
Everything connected with this disclosure is exceedingly primitive. It is largely symbolical, that is, not expressed in words so much as in tokens; and these tokens partake of the general character of Biblical symbolism in that, besides being means of instruction, they are also typical, that is, sacramental, prefigurations conveying assurance concerning the future realization of the things symbolized. The symbolism, however, does not lie in the account as a literary form, which would involve denial of the historical reality of the transactions. It is a real symbolism embodied in actual things (BT, p.27).
Three things should be readily noticed here: l) Sacraments are Symbols, 2) they convey assurance of the things symbolized, and 3) the symbolism is found in the actual things, not in the account of these things. This last point is important if the sacraments are not going to be a superfluous addendum to scripture.
There were, according to Vos, three sacraments (or sacramental Symbols) before the fall. The tree of life, symbolizing the principle of life; the tree of knowledge of good and evil, symbolizing the principle of probation; and the serpent, symbolizing the principle of temptation and sin.
It is important to note that none of these are sacramental to us. For us, there is no distinction between the Symbols and their record in scripture. However, to Adam and Eve, the people alive at that period of history in which they were given, these were sacraments. In much the same way, circumcision and the Passover are not, in their particular historical forms, sacramental to us. We come to know what they meant to God's people in a certain historical epoch by reading their account in scripture. The sacramental significance was to those who were circumcised and to those who partook of the Passover.
Why is this important? Because if the sacramental significance of a thing is found only in its account rather than in its necessary tie to an historical epoch, the sacraments that have been given to the people in that epoch become superfluous. Both sacraments and scripture are special revelation. As the revelation of God is either fulfilled or added onto verbally, the sacraments of prior epochs become obsolete. Newer revelation conveys the same thing. Circumcision and the Passover were both fulfilled in the revelation of Christ. We are now living in the period of God's final revelation, in which he has spoken unto us by his Son. However, because we are also living before the consummation of all things, we too have been provided with sacraments.
Baptism and Communion are the sacraments given to us at this time in history. As such, it must be assumed that they convey a special meaning to us that cannot be gleaned through scripture alone. If this were not the case, then, just as we can sufficiently understand the sacraments of the past by reading about them, so too could we understand those of the present simply by reading about them. Why actually partake of the Lord's Supper when doing so is no more advantageous than hearing a biblical explanation of it?
The sacraments of a given period in history are special revelation to the people therein. Because we can assume that special revelation comes from God and that whatever God reveals is true, we can be warranted in the knowledge that this provides us.
A second way in which the sacraments warrant knowledge is by confirming to us what God has already revealed in his Word. Calvin has the following to say in his Institutes of the Christian Religion IV. 14.5:
Nor are those to be listened to who oppose this view with a more subtle than solid dilemma. They argue thus: We either know that the word of God which precedes the sacrament is the true will of God, or we do not know it. If we know it, we learn nothing new from the sacrament which succeeds. If we do not know it, we cannot learn it from the sacrament, whose whole efficacy depends on the word. Our brief reply is:
The seals which are affixed to diplomas, and other public deeds, are nothing considered in themselves, and would be affixed to no purpose if nothing was written on the parchment, and yet this does not prevent them from sealing and confirming when they are appended to writings. It cannot be alleged that this comparison is a recent fiction of our own, since Paul himself used it, terming circumcision a seal, (Rom. 4: 11,) where he expressly maintains that the circumcision of Abraham was not for justifications but was an attestation to the covenant, by the faith of which he had been previously justified. And how, pray, can any one be greatly offended when we teach that the promise is sealed by the sacrament, since it is plain, from the promises themselves, that one promise confirms another?
We can see this confirmation of a promise by going back to Genesis 15. After
believing the promise made to him by God, Abraham, in asking God how he can know, is essentially asking God to ratify what he has promised. What God does has a two-fold significance. It is in keeping with the contemporary covenant ratification practices of the time: covenants in that day are typically cut. And it sacramentally symbolizes God's final ratification of this covenant, which is his own death.
Whereas, in order to give greater assurance that we intend to keep our word, we might affix our signature to it, the process was different in Abraham's day. The covenant in question was that between a superior and an inferior. Essentially, the superior would make certain promises to the inferior, such as protection from enemies, in exchange for obedience to a list of conditions. Since both parties had obligations, both typically ratified the covenant. The bodies of various animals were cut in two while both sides involved in the covenant walked between them. The idea being that, if any one of them broke the terms of the covenant, they would become like those animals. This time it was different. After Abraham had cut the animals in half, he fell into a deep sleep. God then walked between the pieces alone, signifying that he alone would bear the covenant curse no matter who broke it. This is the unconditional covenant; the covenant of grace.
We know through God's Word, and Abraham knew both sacramentally and through God's Word, that what God said was sure. Hebrews 6:17-19— Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope offered to us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.
We are still left with the conditional covenant; that of works. This is most clearly seen in the subsequent if/then propositions that God makes to his people, most, if not all, of which are contained in the Law. But it is not as if the Law was arbitrarily added. God wasn't going back on his word. The covenant curse under which God placed himself makes no sense apart from the Law. The covenant of works came first. This was the covenant symbolized to Adam in pre-redemptive special revelation. Meredith Kline observes that, "Coherence can be achieved in Covenant Theology only by the Subordination of grace to law" (By Oath Consigned, p.35).
Because a covenant rests upon the word of God, who cannot lie, he was not at liberty to throw out the covenant of works in favor of a new improved version. This should provide a measure of comfort to those who realize that his character also prevents him from discarding the covenant of grace.
Because the covenant of grace did not replace that of works but was concurrent, another sacramental sign was given in Genesis 17. That circumcision is primarily symbolic of the covenant of works can be seen in the penalty for not being circumcised: being cut off from his people for breaking the covenant.
In the years since the first advent of Christ, baptism has replaced circumcision as the sign of the covenant. But this should not be taken to mean that somehow grace has been given the primacy over works. Far from being benign, baptism finds its roots in ancient water ordeals:
Illustrative is the case dealt with in the second law of Hammurapi's Code. The accused was required to cast himself into the river. The word used for river in this law is preceded by the determinative for deity. The concept was, therefore, that the accused was casting himself into the hands of the divine judge who would declare the verdict. Emergence from the divine waters of ordeal would signify vindication: "If the River shows that man to be innocent and he comes forth safe," he shall dispossess his false accuser and the latter shall be put to death. But, "if the River overpowers him, his accuser shall take possession of his estate" (BOC, p. 55).
John the Baptist was the last of the Old Testament prophets. The Messiah was
about to come in judgment upon his people unless they kept the terms of the covenant. John's "baptism was not an ordinance to be observed by Israel in their generations but a special sign for that terminal generation epitomizing the particular crises in covenant history represented by John as messenger of the Lord's Ultimatum" (BOC, p. 61). The baptism of John was sacramental within a particular historical epoch.
It is significant that "the passing of Jesus through the divine judgment in the water rite in the Jordan meant to John's baptism what the passing of Yahweh through the curse of the knife rite of Genesis 15 meant to Abraham's circumcision" (BOC, p. 61). This is how the covenants of works and of grace are harmonized. God takes upon himself the penalty due us when the covenant of works was broken. In so doing, he enters into a covenant of grace with his people. Again, Kline, "In each case the divine action constituted an invitation to all recipients of these covenant signs of consecration to identify themselves by faith with the Lord himself in their passage through the ordeal."
Although Christian baptism is not identical to that ofJ ohn, it does derive much of its significance from it. The sacrament of baptism, as did that of circumcision, conveys a two-fold message. For those who are covenant breakers, it is the assurance that they will one day be cut off though the judgment of God. To those who in faith have been identified with Christ, it is the assurance that Christ has kept the covenant for them.
It has not been within the scope of this paper to deal very much with the sacrament of communion. I do, however, believe it to carry the same kind of covenanantal significance. Jesus did call it the New Covenant in his blood and Paul speaks of eating and drinking damnation to ourselves. As it has been seen, the sacraments convey warrant for belief both in their functions as signs and as seals. However, both ways beg the question of subjectivity. For the former, how do we know that God is actually the one behind the special revelation? For the latter, how do we distinguish genuine faith from a subjective feeling of identification with Christ? The answer, I believe, is found in the fact that the Holy Spirit gives us the ability to perceive the things of God, as though we had a spiritual sense.
If we believe that man is not just physical, that he has a spiritual nature;
if we believe that spiritual beings, such as angels, have the capacity to sense the world around them; then it shouldn't be a stretch to believe that God can create in our spiritual natures the ability to perceive spiritual truths. Calvin says in the Institutes IV. 14.9:
But suppose it is true that what sight does in our eyes for seeing light, and what hearing does in our ears for perceiving a voice, are analogous to the work of the Holy Spirit in our hearts, which is to conceive, sustain, nourish, and establish faith. Then both of these things follow: the sacraments profit not a whit without the power of the Holy Spirit, and nothing prevents them from strengthening and enlarging faith in hearts already taught by that Schoolmaster. There is only this difference: that our ears and eyes have naturally received the faculty of hearing and seeing; but Christ does the same thing in our hearts by special grace beyond the measure of nature.
That the sacraments are a means of grace is seen to be all the more true. The Holy Spirit uses both the sacraments and the sacramental aspect of preaching to effect our regeneration. It is in this regeneration that he gives us the eyes and ears of faith. Our faith then perceives what is revealed through the sacraments and grows thereby. Belief in the things of God is not the result of a rationalistic process. It comes about simply by perceiving what God has placed in front of us. Belief is no more a work than is seeing or hearing our natural world. But it only comes to those to whom God has given eyes to see and ears to hear.
I would not be relieved of pains
And so, perchance, forget my Lord.
Cut not these ties with brandished sword,
For I rejoice in all my chains-
They bind to Christ.
Request for me in earnest prayer
An inward and an outward strength
To act in truth and so, at length,
Be counted worthy as God's heir-
In Jesus' sight.
I am God's wheat; may I be ground
By martyrdom to bread most pure.
Herein is now my freedom sure:
I am with Christ in union found-
A sacrifice.
I only ask that you do not
Petition God for my release.
And do not set me at my ease,
Nor offer me a sweeter lot-
I want to die.
My place is not this earthen sod.
I'm sick for home; I cannot wait.
Permit me, then, to imitate
The passion of my Christ, my God-
My source of life.
My love is crucified and dead,
Nor burn within the hungry fires
Of time-slaved needs. My one desire's
To have my fill of heaven's bread-
And blood for wine.
Reject me not, I would not live
According to the way of men.
So slay my body, slay my sin,
But save my soul that I may give-
All praise to Christ.
Written after reading his Epistle to the Romans
The greater part of Genesis 17 represents the centerpiece in the narrative of Abraham. The story could have ended with the birth of Ishmael. God had promised Abram a son and now he had a son. Moreover, a son of whom it was promised that he would produce an innumerable number of offspring. Nothing is recorded to indicate that Abram did not consider Ishmael to be the promised seed. Abram had faith in the promise of God and, so far, Ishmael met all the criteria for a fulfillment. But God had something better in mind, and so, when the story might have ended, it is taken to the next level.
For thirteen years, Abram had every reason to believe that he had seen all that he could of the fulfillment of God’s promise. And then God appears to him and tells him that his covenant implies more than Abram ever thought possible. God begins with his name, “I am El Shaddai, God Almighty.” The name determines God’s ability to fulfill what he is about to say. Next, God puts conditions on the covenant. Abram is to walk before God and be blameless. Furthermore, he is to accept circumcision as the sign of the covenant. Failure to accept this sign on the part of any male in the covenant would entail his being cut off from the covenant.
God is not going back on his word by adding a new set of rules. In the midst of these conditions, God changes Abram’s name to Abraham. Abram’s inclusion in the covenant had resulted in a new identity. He would be the father of a multitude. Abraham’s identity was descriptive of who he was. His fulfillment of the conditions for the covenant would be nothing more than the outworking of the faith that was already his because of the covenant. Still, the threat of being cut off from the covenant was not to be met with complacency. It was all too real. The difference is illustrated in this new covenantal level. There are the children of Ishmael, who are in the covenant under a natural power; and there are the children of Isaac, who are in the covenant under a supernatural power. The conditions of the covenant are rightly imposed upon all. Only the promised seed will ultimately fulfill them.
Abraham’s new identity also serves to confirm further his role as a Christ figure, for these words are not ascribed to Abraham, but to Christ, “Behold, I and the children whom the LORD has given me” (Isa. 8:18; Heb. 2:13). The covenant is made with Christ. It is Christ who inherits all of the Land of Canaan, that is, the Earth, as an everlasting possession. Finally, it is Christ who, in his death, receives the fulfillment of circumcision. The theme of a renewal of identity is maintained in the next section when we see that Isaac will be the new Christ figure.
This section presents us with the intrusion of a supernatural element into the covenant. God promises that the mother of Abraham’s son would be Sarah. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary in the fact that Abraham could have a son. In fact, he has six more sons after he’s at least 137. But, that Sarah should have a son utterly transforms the nature of the covenant. No longer would it be comprehended in God assisting Abraham’s descendents in their earthly existence. Now, it would mean God translating Abraham’s descendents into his heavenly existence. The true heirs of the covenant would have a heavenly origin. Note what Paul writes in his allegory between Hagar and Sarah, “But the Jerusalem above is free, and she is our mother” (Gal. 4:26). We must also not overlook the connection between Isaac’s birth and the virgin birth of his antitype. Above all, the story of Isaac’s promised birth reveals the promised birth of his greater brother; otherwise, Isaac’s birth means nothing.
The placement within this narrative of the promise made concerning Sarah is not without significance. Following the foreshadowing of Christ’s death in circumcision, Isaac’s birth from a dead womb speaks of Christ’s resurrection. Abraham heard the promise concerning Sarah and was overwhelmed. Such things were not possible. Nevertheless, I find no warrant to view his laughter as a token of unbelief. God had transformed his identity and had revealed Christ to him. And so, in the midst of his laughter, Abraham believed. How could he do otherwise? God does not chide Abraham, but confirms what he has just said: Sarah would have a son.
After God leaves, Abraham obeys God by having himself, Ishmael, and all the men of his house circumcised. Paul will not let us forget the priority of Abraham’s faith. “He received the sign of circumcision as a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith while he was still uncircumcised” (Rom. 4:11).
Finally, this last section of chapter 17 provides us with a clue to the structure of the narrative of Abraham. I mentioned that most of this chapter was the centerpiece of this narrative. This can be seen when it is recognized as the midpoint of a chiasm. Preceding it in one order and following it in reverse order are a set of parallel passages. The common factor of the parallel set immediately before and after the midpoint is Ishmael: first his birth and then his circumcision. Both of these are associated with promises made concerning Ishmael: first to Hagar and then to Abraham. Further parallels will have to wait for future writing on the relevant sections.
Anyone who kept up with the Wittenburg Door at Covenant while I was there may recognize this; it will be new to everyone else. I wrote it shortly after 9/11/2001 in the context of a discussion over whether we could view the attack on the Twin Towers as the judgment of God. Some people were saying absolutely not while others thought that God's judgment was obvious. I got the impression that they might have been talking around each other. It is not a rare practice among fundamentalist types to identify a specific catastrophe as God's judgment upon a specific sin. I've actually heard it preached that such and such a storm, explosion, social problem, or whatever was the result of anything from legalized abortion and tolerance of homosexuals to taking prayer out of the public schools and the appearance of the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show to the translation of the wicked NIV. However, as far as I could tell, no one in the discussion at Covenant was claiming anything like this. I wrote this post, originally entitled, "Reading Job," in an attempt to draw a distinction between this kind of ignorance and a legitimate recognition of God's judgment. Because it was written with the assumption that the readers could easily reference previous posts on the subject, I have changed parts of it to make it stand better on its own.
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Shortly after the events of 9/11, there was much talk about the role of God in major displays of evil. Is there a free will defense; God allowing evil to happen so as not to violate our autonomy? A viable defense in some parts of Christendom, perhaps, but not among those who claim to be Reformed. There remains the necessity, in all of our thoughts about God, not to compromise his sovereignty. Many Christians have looked at past calamities and jumped to the conclusion that, obviously, God is judging group A for sin B. The result being that they are able to rest comfortably in their own righteousness. Lack of judgment implies lack of sin. The same attitude is found in the pages of scripture. Take the disciples in their inquiry concerning the man born blind, "Who sinned, this man or his parents?" Jesus responded, "Neither." This should not be taken as any indication that the man or his parents were free from sin. The same thing applies when we read the book of Job: we should not see his description as blameless and upright as any indication that he was free from original sin and, therefore, immune from the condemnation of God. If we keep in mind Job's original sin and God's right to judge original sin, this will go a long way towards understanding how God could maintain his justice in the midst of Job's afflictions.
Job's friends made the same mistake that the disciples made and that many people today make. They assumed that Job must have committed something particularly atrocious in order to deserve what was happening to him. They assured him that, if he would just turn from these wicked deeds, God would relent. The principle behind this is often true; however, they absolutized it. By doing this, God was turned into nothing more than a genie. God condemns Job's friends; nevertheless, it wasn't because they assumed that Job's afflictions were the result of God's judgment. The problem came in the specifics of their assumption. God's stated reason for condemning them was that they had not spoken of him what was right (42:7).
If it is wrong to say that particular event A is God's judgment for particular sins B, isn't this in part because it is wrong to presume to know the mind of God when he has not revealed his specific intent? [There may be just such a correlation, but we have no way or right to point it out.] I find it hard to disagree. Yet, at the same time, I do not find warrant for retreating into the idea that all of God's works are mysterious to the degree that we can say nothing about them. It is correct to say that the ways of God remain hidden unless he chooses to make them the subject of revelation. It is not appropriate, however, to suggest that events occurring after the completion of the canon and, therefore, after the end of revelation, cannot themselves be the subjects of revelation. Once God has revealed how and when he acts among men, we can assume that he is unchangeable in this regard. We know of the efficacy of the prayers of the righteous because God reveals this in scripture. But we are not confined to attributing to God only the answers to those prayers for which we specifically see examples in scripture. We need not wonder if the answers to our prayers were actually just coincidence. But this assurance is only possible because of the revelation of God. In the same way, many historical events in the Bible are interpreted for us as acts of God's judgment. There is no reason to suppose that the same assumption cannot be made of historical events not recorded in scripture. What we are barred from assuming is who is being judged and why, specifically, it is happening. This would be a presumptuous intrusion into the mind of God. On the other hand, to claim that we cannot say whether or not present day calamities are the judgment of God is equally presumptuous in its willful ignorance of previous revelation.
God did condemn Job's three friends, but this wasn't because they had assumed that Job's afflictions were the result of the judgment of God. This assumption, in itself, was correct. Elihu also presupposed God's judgment, yet he was not condemned. The difference was not in assuming the fact of judgment. It was that Elihu preserved God's sovereignty and holiness when the three friends had not. Elihu understood the sovereign right of God in exercising judgment. This is because he believed in total depravity and original sin and, with this, the necessary idea that all men are already deserving of God's judgment. He expressed this idea in Job 34:23,24, "God has no need to examine men further, that they should come before him for judgment. Without inquiry he shatters the mighty and sets up others in their place." If our paradigm is an assumption of the basic goodness of mankind, we become incredulous at the idea that God's judgment could actually be behind the world's catastrophes. However, if we adopt a view of man's guilt before a holy God, there is no problem in interpreting tragedy as the judgment of God. The wonder comes when we also recognize the intermittent periods of relative peace as the undeserved mercy of God.
The question now is one of relevance. How does knowing that God performs his judgment in historical events rise above the level of academic philosophizing? Precisely in this: that in both mercy and judgment the message is repentance. Note Paul's comments in Romans 2:1-5, "You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things. Now we know that God's judgment against those who do such things is based on truth. So when you, a mere man, pass judgment on them and yet do the same things, do you think you will escape God's judgment? Or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, tolerance and patience, not realizing that God's kindness leads you toward repentance? But because of your stubbornness and your unrepentant heart, you are storing up wrath against yourself for the day of God's wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed."
Paul speaks of a 'day of God's wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed.' This is a reference to the Day of the Lord, which is the culmination of history. It is a day in which both the justice and mercy of God will be revealed in their full glory, when the sheep will be separated from the goats, the righteous brought into the presence of the Lord, and the wicked consigned to hell. This Day is a major theme of scripture, especially of prophecy. From it flow all of God's acts in history, both cursing and blessing. The love of God for his church is not adequately comprehended unless it is placed in contrast to his hatred for his enemies. When we see God's kindness, tolerance, and patience we also see that these presuppose his right to judge and we are lead toward repentance. It also works the other way.
Luke 13:1-5 records the following incident, "Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish." Jesus is correcting the already mentioned assumption that those who are suffering tragedy must be under God's judgment because of some especially heinous sin. But notice that he is not correcting the idea that such events are indeed the judgment of God. They are not the final judgment of God: there is no reason to believe that all who died in them were eternally lost. They do, however, find their source in this final judgment and, in so doing, cry out for our repentance lest we too should perish. And just as it should not be thought that those on whom the tower fell had not repented, even so it should not be thought that repentance will save us from falling towers. Such an attitude may lead to a faulty conception of repentance. Repentance does indeed start when we stop and think of our own sins, but it also goes far beyond that. It is the forsaking of evil and following after the righteous law of God. This is only possible when we are granted faith to believe the gospel of redemption and judgment. Redemption of God's church at the price of the judgment of his Son.
When divers testings come your way,
Know this- the Lord is there.
A faithful God who won't allow
You more than you can bear.
He offers you a place to hide,
A rock wherewhich to flee.
Put down your idols, turn to Christ
Convinced that rock is he.
Don't think you stand, for when you do,
In time you'll surely fall.
Instead, beg God to guard your strengths,
Your weaknesses, and all.
Take heart and know the Father's love
Won't count the times you sin;
But, when you fall, his mighty arms
Will pick you up again.
For once for all the price was paid
For sin when Jesus died,
And God another can't demand
When once he's satisfied.
You have a priest who, without sin,
Was tempted as are you.
He knows what you're enduring and
The trials you're going through.
In all these things God's molding you
And he will not be done
Until he has conformed you to
The image of his Son.
Some of you may remember watching the Ken Burns documentary on the Civil War. One point that has stuck with me, for whatever reason, was a comment made on a point of grammar. It was to the effect that, since the Civil War, it has been customary to say, "The United States is." However, the antebellum usage was the grammatically correct, "The United States are". I suspect that there was more to this change than a collective nose-thumbing at the Queen's English. A recent discussion I had with Nick over at Sylvan Manor has me thinking about it again.
The issue is the evolution in how, for right or wrong, we have come to perceive ourselves as a nation. Is it desirable, or even possible for that matter, to interpret the Constitution in such a manner as to get back to the original intent of its authors? Or is it the case that the course of history has brought about changes within the document itself that have virtually redefined its terminology? I maintain the latter and, consequently, would argue that not every change in our political society has been the result of an out of control judiciary. Often, it is not so much a case of judicial legislation as it is a matter of trying to keep up with a morphing standard.
When compared with other world civilizations over the course of history, a democracy of the kind that we now have in the United States is a truly radical concept. Back at the founding of our nation, it was unheard of. Although the roots were definitely in the making, Revolutionary America knew nothing of our brand of individualism. It is possible, even likely, that the Founding Fathers were not thinking of liberty so much in terms of personal freedom as in terms of the freedom of societies from outside interference (not that the concept wasn't around- just consider the Declaration of Independence with its appeal to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness"). The colonies had just cooperated to throw off the rule of a de facto outsider: the King of England. This does not mean, however, that they disparaged the rule of law. The point was freedom for each of the colonies. These colonies could then govern their own citizens in whatever manner they saw fit. The circumstances of the time required that they maintain a common bond. But this did not mean that they had any intention of giving up their own sovereignty. None of the colonies would do it for the British Crown, and they certainly wouldn't do it for the newly formed Federal government.
In light of this backdrop, consider the original Constitution as it existed from the Preamble through the Bill of Rights. The most important point is a matter of terminology. "People" and "states," while not absolutely identical, are inseperable. Take, as an example, the second amendment: "A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed." Reading this today, we are inclined to insist on our individual right to own a gun, presumably in order to protect our homes. But in the original context of the amendement, the issue is not burglars. It is the security of a free state. This amendment guarantees the right of the states to maintain and regulate their own militias.
Or, consider the first amendment: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." Today, we understand this to mean that we can believe whatever we want, say whatever we want, report whatever we want, and peaceably gather in protest whenever we want. But is this the original intent of the amendment? Rather than protecting the rights of the individual from any government interference, it would appear that this amendment was designed to protect the states from Federal interference. At the time of its ratification, many of the states had an established church. Individual religious freedom is not so much in view then as the right of each state, if it so chose, to determine the religion of its citizens for itself. Also, nothing in this amendment forbids the states from regulating speech or the press. The ability to control both of these (or, at least, the Federal government's inability to control them) was seen as essential to the freedom of the state. Finally, the right of the people peaceably to assemble would probably not be talking about grassroots protests, but of the rights of the states to assemble and petition the Federal government.
There was a balance of power between the Federal government and the states with the emphasis going to the states. The individual did have certain rights enumerated in the constitution, which are especially evident in the third through eighth amendments where the subject is not "the people" but "person" (either explicitly or by implication; sometimes stated as "the owner" or "the accused"). The ninth amendment then states: "The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people." Note again the mention of "the people." While not denying the existence of individual rights not listed in the Constitution, this amendment leaves these at the discretion of the states. The tenth amendment may actually contain a distinction between "states" and "people," in which case "people" would mean "persons." Or it could be using "people" by way of explication for "states." It reads: "The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people." If there is a different meaning for "people" here, the states are still being given priority.
I don't deny that individual freedom was emerging as an issue, but it wasn't nearly as prominent as it is today. It wasn't where we might expect to see it. Take the compromise that led to our present two-part legislature. The larger states wanted representation according to population; the smaller states wanted it to be just for the fact that they were states. However, the larger states were not being champions of the individual. They just believed that size entitled them to certain advantages. One area in which some concern for the individual may be evident is found in the direct election of the lower house. Originally, members of the upper house were chosen by the state legislatures. The choice of President still belongs to the states. Our right to vote in Presidential elections has been granted to us by our respective states. That this is not a right granted to us as US citizens can be seen by the fact that US citizens who are not residents of any of the states or of the District of Columbia (per the 23rd amendment) do not get to vote. Puerto Rico would be the most prominent example.
The seeds of individualism were already present in revolutionary America. The concept gradually developed and a new revolution, or the Civil War, confirmed it. Southern states tried to secede from the Union. Since the Union originated as a voluntary cooperation of states, this would seem to fall within their rights. But Linclon didn't see it that way. Strictly speaking, he was probably wrong. However, in his defense, there were two other considerations. First, there was no reason to believe that the necessity, which had led to the original act of cooperation, had in any way been abated. The secession of any state represented a potential threat to the security and welfare of those that remained. In the second place, there was the matter of slavery. The status quo had served to sanction and preserve the worst form of institutional racism. To be sure, such an institution was not inherent within the system. Nevertheless, since it existed at the formation of this system and had, in a sense, developed a symbiotic relation with it, its irradication necessitated a paradigm shift. Individual states were just as despotic towards some of their subjects, if not more so, than the tax happy British monarch had been towards some of his. Time had done nothing to lessen this.
During the course of the war, the subject of the "people" was once again brought into the foreground. The occassion was the end of the President's speech at Gettysburg. Lincoln concludes, "...that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth." No longer was the term being used as a virtual synonym for the state. Lincoln, of all people, did not have states' rights in mind. The old concept of the divine right of Kings had been replaced by the God given rights of the individual.
The shift that had occurred in war was soon to be reflected in the Constitution itself. The first section of the fourteenth amendment is as follows: "All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws."
At first, this appears obvious and maybe even somewhat redundant. But it represented a major change in the balance of power. No longer was the state equated with the people. For better or worse, the state/people did not stand in need of protection from the outside Federal government. Instead, the citizens of the United States were now to be protected against the potential abuses of the several states. The rights of the people had been expanded; however, along with this, so had the power of the Federal government. Over time, these two sides would work together towards more individual rights and equaility. The Civil Rights Movement originated with people who recognized their status as US citizens and who, consequently, made their appeal to the government of the United States. Much civil rights legislation is designed to curb the discretionary power of the states.
The tension between a radically free citizenry and a powerful government is enormous. On one side, this government could go the way of all other powerful governments. On the other, the people could devolve into anarchy. And here is where I believe that the individual states have a valid and necessary function. They act as a guard against the excesses of either side. The dynamic between citizens, Federal government, and states has gradually developed into a system of checks and balances. Within a Constitutional framework, each has its own powers and rights. The full blown states rights of the original Union no longer exists. This does not mean, however, that the states have been reduced to nothing more than geographic land markers. Then again, they no longer serve as such strong emblems of our identity. We are no longer New Yorkers, Pennsylvanians, Virginians, or Georgians who are also Americans. We are Americans who also reside in our own individual state. The United States has become the new civic community and, as such, it is now the State. Our language has changed to reflect this: "The United States is."
To all of you that sing make this your song,
No matter what your service or your place-
Rejoice and joy in God when things go wrong
And rest upon his all sufficient grace.
In all things, nothing doubting, ever pray-
Especially when you think that he won't hear;
And you will find, if God seems far away,
In truth, at such a time he's not more near.
Again I say to praise him even when
Some things be in your life not as they should.
When righteousness and peace seem quenched in sin,
Be sure and thank him always. God is good.
For when it seems that all about is night,
Remember, God will, God will make things right.
I looked at the world and the things that I saw
Were more than the theories of man could explain-
For soon it did seem that but chance guided all
And earthly endeavors were, therefore, in vain.
So then I considered this idol of chance,
How that I might better its service to me.
And not having learned from the things I'd observed,
I saw not that chance, which was naught, could not see.
Who am I? I wondered, and why am I here?
This was, as it were, to the wind. No one heard.
Despairing an answer, I chose to give up,
Cast down at the thought that I'd merely occurred.
And being convinced of how worthless I was,
I reckoned myself as completely undone.
Then God, in his mercy, considered my case
And chose to reveal him to me in his Son.
I looked at the cross and the love that I saw
Was more than the theories of man could explain-
For there God incarnate took all of my sin
That I, by his life, might his righteousness gain.
So then I considered this man Jesus Christ
How that I might serve him- my Lord and my King.
For when God has given his Son in my stead
I cannot refrain then his glory to sing.
Of what he has written, I grow into faith;
Of reading his Word, I will not be denied.
For through it the man who I am now has life
And he who I was I believe to have died.
Who am I? I know now. One chosen of God.
Yet, why this should be, I cannot understand.
So when I consider this, all I can say
Is thank you, God, thank you.
This began as response to the first entry in Credo Ut Intelligam but it just kept getting longer, so I brought it over here. The question was, "Do we need an epistemology?" I only deal with one aspect of that post; nevertheless, it's probably best to read it first.
The situation of the child whose mother loves him is not all that clear to me. A pre-Gettier epistemologist may have argued that the child only has a true belief; he is incapable of knowledge as such precisely because he does not know what knowledge is. Now that this is no longer considered to be the case, it does not clearly follow that "a child may know that his mother loves him without knowing what knowledge is."
There are at least three options. The first would agree with the original conclusion that the child is capable of nothing more than true belief. Not, however, because he doesn't know what knowledge is, which he still doesn't, but because there is no proof that knowledge as such even exists.
The next two options may be expressed by the statement that has been given: a child does not need to know what knowledge is in order to know that his mother loves him. The first of these would deny the necessity of epistemology without also denying the existence of knowledge. But this would be a mere assertion. When this is weighed against the first option of the three, there is really no good reason to prefer it. We may want to adopt it because the thought that knowledge does not exist could be psychologically intolerable. Still, psychological intolerability does imply logical impossibility. It may actually be the case that knowledge does not exist. And we would never know it. Indeed, between the two already mentioned options, the first appears to be the more likely, since, not making any positive assertions about knowledge, there is no need to account for a sufficient cause to knowledge. The second option does make such a positive assertion, and, therefore, does need to provide a sufficient cause for its assertion (it only needs to do this because the first option exists); however, it does not.
The third option is that while the child does not need to know what knowledge is to know that his mother loves him, there is, nevertheless, an account for the child's knowledge. That is, the child's condition does not negate the existence of epistemology. Still, to say that there is an account for the child's knowledge means nothing if no one is able to provide that account. Epistemology, while it may exist, is moot and the third option is no less of an assertion than the second.
Before answering the question of whether a child may know about his mother's love regardless of his knowledge of knowledge, it is necessary to determine whether or not knowledge is possible. Neither of the three options will help us here since they each must presuppose one or the other answer to this question. At this point, we'll engage in some Christian cheating and turn to special revelation. The Bible claims the existence of knowledge; consequently, the first option is no longer available.
We must now determine whether an account for knowledge is sufficient to account for the specific knowledge that the child's mother loves him. Either way, the second option is out. If the answer is yes, then the second option cannot be distinguished from the third option. If it is no, then the second option must give way to the third option. In the case of the child, there is no compelling reason to decide. Even if it were determined that the second option is invalid and that there is an account, which can be provided, for the specific knowledge of his mother's love, would it really be necessary to provide this account? It's not as though anyone is challenging the child.
At this point, the illustration of mother and child becomes inadequate. When talking about the child's knowledge of his mother's love, it really doesn't matter if there is an epistemology or not. But is this illustration exhaustive? Could there be cases for which knowledge is possible, for which there is an account for the specific knowledge of that case, and for which it is necessary to provide that account? I believe that there are and I would identify at least one of them as a contextual point to this whole conversation: doctrinal disputes within the church (the possibility that the Van Til/Clark debates may have risen to nothing higher than philosophical disputes does not negate the point).
I should clarify that the necessity to provide an account for true belief is not so that this belief will qualify as knowledge. If this were the case, then we would have to say that an account must also be given for the child's belief that his mother loves him. The need to provide this account is only necessary to the defense of an already extant knowledge. The necessity for this defense arises because of what could be at stake.
Some doctrinal errors are damnable heresies. If the church is to make an authoritative pronouncement on these matters, as it has done in the past, then certain conditions must be true. 1) There must exist the ability for knowledge in general. 2) There must be an account for the specific knowledge in question. 3) This account must actually be provided. If it is not, then doctrinal differences become matters of opinion. Who's to say then whether the church councils were right and whether the subsequent Creeds based upon these decisions are all that reliable?
Of course, the non-believer may argue that, because Christian doctrine is a priori irrelevant, then the existence of epistemology has not been demonstrated. Were this the case, I would agree. I have already argued that the answer to the question of the possibility of knowledge as such can only be found through revelation. The non-believer has no basis for believing in epistemology. However, since I do hold to the Creeds, I must conclude that just as faith in divine revelation is necessary to an epistemological foundation, an epistemological foundation is necessary to Creedal Christianity.
Behold the child, the given Son.
The shepherds came and saw
Within a manger, clothed for death,
A baby in the straw.
Behold the boy who stayed behind
When of his parents sought
And stood among the priests and scribes
Who listened as he taught.
Behold the man, alone who lived
A holy, sinless life
And, when the devil tempted him,
With scripture won the strife.
Behold the Lamb who shed his blood
Upon a wooden cross
Lest sinners to the flames of Hell
Their souls should suffer loss.
Behold, behold your risen Lord
For Death has lost its sting.
Proclaim it in the mountain tops
And to the cities sing,
"Behold your God!"
Know his matchless worth.
Look unto him and be ye saved
All ends of all the Earth.